The Wrath of the Lizard Lord (2 page)

Dakkar felt Oginski’s elbow in his ribs and suppressed a gasp.

‘This,’ Oginski said through gritted teeth, ‘is the Emperor Napoleon.’

Dakkar felt the blood drain from his face. He’d seen pictures of Napoleon Bonaparte in British newspapers – caricatures, he realised now – looking short, in ridiculously oversized uniforms. Dakkar had heard people call him ‘the Little Corporal’ but this man was no shorter than most of the soldiers that surrounded him.

He knows Oginski
, Dakkar thought.
How?

Napoleon stared deep into Dakkar’s eyes. Dakkar felt his cheeks redden again.

‘A boy,’ Napoleon murmured, ‘from a minor principality in a huge country. Did they mock you at school, boy? Did they laugh at your accent?’

Dakkar nodded dumbly. He felt as if Napoleon could see into his soul.

‘My own family were Corsican nobles,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘They mocked me at school too. It drove me to greater things.’

‘I ran away,’ Dakkar murmured, avoiding Napoleon’s searching gaze.

‘Sometimes, that is wise,’ Napoleon said, with a smirk. Then his smile faded as he looked down on the fallen guard. ‘Who did this, Oginski?’

‘I’m not certain,’ Oginski said, his voice hoarse.

‘He told us he saw a demon,’ Dakkar said, without thinking. ‘We saw something too, through there, but the tunnel collapsed.’

‘A demon?’ Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

‘It was a beast of some kind. We think Count Cryptos might have been behind this,’ Oginski said, his voice heavy with resignation. Clearly, he had wanted to avoid giving too much detail away.

‘I would concur with you,’ Napoleon replied, clicking his fingers.

An old man in uniform hurried forward. Despite his limp and his grey hair, Dakkar could tell he was still a strong man – and probably a deadly fighter. The old man pulled a scrap of black cloth from his pocket and handed it to Napoleon with a curt bow.

Napoleon held the cloth up to examine it. It was a badge with a snake curled round the letter C and a trident poking up behind it.

Dakkar recognised the emblem. It was the insignia of Oginski’s brother Count Cryptos, who had tried to kidnap and finally kill them. But Count Cryptos was more than just one person – Oginski had five other brothers, each dedicated to the cause of world domin­ation, all of them working together secretly to bring down the great nations of man.

‘Alfonse here encountered three of Cryptos’s men in the tunnels this morning,’ Napoleon said, giving a grim smile. ‘Or rather they encountered Alfonse.’

The old man’s weather-beaten face cracked into a broad grin and the soldiers around them chuckled.

Dakkar shivered.

‘It is the Cryptos insignia,’ Oginski murmured. ‘My sources told me that my brothers were trying to get to you.’

‘Your sources are reliable,’ Napoleon said, nodding. ‘They have been probing our defences for some time now but you need not fear for me. I am well protected by my Imperial Guard.’ He gestured to the soldiers who flanked him.

‘Cryptos has ways of getting around that protection, your excellency,’ Oginski said, giving a tight smile. ‘They are not to be underestimated.’

Dakkar looked from Oginski to Napoleon and back again, marvelling at how, a moment ago, they were about to be shot and now they were talking with Napoleon as if he were an old friend.

‘Oginski and I go back a long way,’ Napoleon said, addressing Dakkar directly. ‘We have fought with and against each other in the past.’

‘In my wilder days,’ Oginski muttered, lowering his gaze to the ground. He looked up at Napoleon. ‘We have both changed since then!’

For a moment Napoleon and Oginski stared at each other. Dakkar glanced from one to the other, trying to read their faces. Finally, Napoleon shook himself and clapped his hands.

‘I know the dangers of Cryptos, Oginski, which is why I am leaving,’ he said, still clasping his hands together. ‘I am returning to Paris. My people need me. Join us!’

‘That would be an honour, your excellency,’ Oginski said, then nodded at Dakkar, ‘but I have responsibilities now. I’m not the firebrand you once knew and you yourself seem somehow
.
.
. changed.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ Napoleon said. He patted his round stomach and gave a laugh. ‘I suppose none of us is getting any younger, that is true.’

‘But if you leave this island,’ Dakkar blurted out before he could stop himself, ‘won’t people try to catch you?’

Napoleon shrugged. ‘They may,’ he said, ‘but I’d rather die than watch my once great nation be torn apart and its citizens treated like dogs.’

‘I think we have wasted enough of your excellency’s time,’ Oginski said suddenly, giving a shuffling bow as he backed away. ‘With your permission, we will depart.’

‘No,’ Napoleon said, narrowing his eyes. ‘You shall stay a little longer. I have many questions to ask and I suspect you may be of some assistance. You always had an invent­ive mind. You were also very friendly with one Robert Fulton, the man who tried to impress us with his submersible craft, were you not?’

Dakkar shifted uncomfortably and looked up at Oginski, whose face had paled.

‘I n-no longer dabble in engineering and natural philosophy,’ he stammered. ‘I am more of a poet these days.’

‘Then we shall discuss poetry and great literature,’ Napoleon said, clapping his hands. ‘And maybe your young companion can shed some light on how you managed to get into the cellars beneath my home without having to overpower even one of my men.’

‘Please, your excellency –’ Oginski began.

‘Enough of this charade,’ Napoleon snapped. ‘I suspect there is more to you and your young friend than meets the eye, Oginski. Guards, take them to the cells!’

The soldiers sprang into action and before Dakkar could act, firm hands clasped his arms and a gun barrel jabbed painfully in his ribs. Oginski’s protests were useless as they were marched away from Napoleon and down the tunnel towards imprisonment.

Chapter Three

Toys

Dakkar’s rasping breath was all but drowned out by the clatter of the soldiers’ hobnail boots on the rough tunnel floor. Every now and then, Oginski would utter an oath and Dakkar heard him groan as a guard jabbed him with a rifle butt.

‘And things were going so well,’ Dakkar hissed. ‘I thought you and Bonaparte were friends.’

‘We were,’ Oginski said, his voice breathless.

‘How long will he keep us?’ Dakkar asked.

‘You won’t be here long, mes amis,’ said Alfonse, the old guard. ‘We leave for France in the evening. Napoleon will have decided what to do with you by then. Either you’ll be free or your worries will be over.’ The wrinkles on his tanned face deepened with his grin. Dakkar’s scalp prickled.

Five guards had jostled them away to the cells, led by Alfonse, who now stopped outside a heavily studded iron door.

Dakkar took in its dimensions at a glance. Two inches thick. Blast proof. A small grille at the top for observation and a food hatch at the bottom. Bolted from the outside: no chance to pick a lock.
Once we’re inside that cell, we’re trapped
, he thought.

The tunnel had widened at this point and there was a small table and a seat for whoever guarded the cells. Another studded door faced the one that awaited Dakkar and Oginski.

‘If you could empty your pockets, gentlemen,’ Alfonse said, and gestured to the table.

Dakkar glanced over at Oginski, who, after a jab with a rifle, disgorged a small pistol, some gold coin and a snuffbox from his coat and slammed them on the table.

‘And you, young man,’ Alfonse said with a nod at Dakkar.

Dakkar pulled out string, old cogs from a broken clock, some nails and a metal object shaped rather like a toy dog. A key poked from its side.

‘What is this?’ Alfonse sneered, picking up the toy dog. ‘You are a little old for wind-up toys, are you not?’

‘Please, monsieur, be careful with that,’ Dakkar said, reaching out. ‘It is
.
.
. fragile. If you overwind it, the spring might break.’

‘Pah!’ Alfonse said, giving the toy’s key a few savage twists. ‘A grown boy playing with mechanical animals!’

He turned to his comrades and placed the toy dog on the table. They gathered round as the dog began to totter towards the edge of the table top, the sound of the spring whirring. One of the men poked it just as it teetered on the brink of the table, sending it marching back towards Alfonse.

‘Six, five, four
.
.
.’ Dakkar muttered under his breath.

‘Why are you count–’ Alfonse started.

Before he could finish his question, Dakkar shoulder-charged Oginski, sending him tumbling into the cell. The tunnel erupted in a storm of fire and smoke and Dakkar barely had time to dive inside. Oginski threw himself against the iron door and heaved his back against the blast that tried to ram it open again.

Dakkar’s ears rang and his head thumped. The echo of the blast rumbled through the tunnel, fading into silence. Oginski swayed in front of Dakkar for a moment and then staggered. Dakkar leapt up to grab him.

‘Clockwork explosives?’ Oginski croaked, peering at Dakkar as if he were far off. ‘When did you think that one up?’

‘Just something I’ve been playing about with.’ Dakkar gave a grin and held Oginski upright as the man slumped against him. ‘Oginski, we must hurry,’ he said, shaking the heavy man’s shoulders.

Outside, Alfonse and the men groaned, their faces blackened with gunpowder. Dakkar could see their belongings scattered across the tunnel.

‘Thank goodness,’ Dakkar said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘The blast wasn’t enough to kill – it just stunned them.’

‘Good lad,’ Oginski said, leaning awkwardly against the tunnel wall.

Dakkar stooped down to rescue Oginski’s pistol and snuffbox, which lay among the debris. They hurried down the tunnel, clutching a guttering torch that had stayed alight somehow. Dakkar glanced over his shoulder at Oginski’s pale face.

‘Are you all right?’ Dakkar called back.

‘Yes,’ Oginski said, stumbling against the passage walls. ‘Keep going!’

Behind them distant voices barked commands and shouts of alarm grew louder. Dakkar scurried back to Oginski as the big man tripped and fell heavily.

‘Not far now,’ Dakkar panted, heaving him to his feet.

‘I can’t,’ Oginski panted. ‘Leave me. Get the
Nautilus
away from here
.
.
. You need to warn the world about Bonaparte
.
.
.’

‘You can do that yourself.’ Dakkar grunted and slung Oginski’s arm over his shoulder, half dragging him along the passage. ‘I’m not leaving you.’

The voices were close now. Oginski stopped again and leaned against the wall of the tunnel.

‘Snuffbox,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘What?’ Dakkar snapped. ‘Oginski, this is no time –’

‘Snuffbox,’ Oginski repeated, extending a shaking hand. ‘You’re not the only one with a trick up his sleeve.’

Dakkar pulled the snuffbox from his pocket and handed it over. Shadows wobbled in the torchlight as the pur­suers grew nearer.

‘Just something
.
.
.
I’ve
been playing
.
.
. about with,’ Oginski said, giving Dakkar a feeble grin. He flicked a lever from the side of the box and hurled it down the tunnel, stumbling back as he did.

The box hit the ground with a metallic clank and the tunnel behind them began to fill with a thick brown smoke. Dakkar grinned at the shouts of consternation, and even a gunshot that split the air, as the guards stumbled to a halt.

He turned to see Oginski almost falling forward down the passage. Hurrying after, Dakkar grabbed his arm once more and began scanning the sides of the tunnel, which were becoming rougher and rockier as they descended into the labyrinth that lay beneath the cellars and passageways. But the cries of the guards grew louder once more. In a few minutes, they would be upon Dakkar.

A musket ball buzzed past Dakkar’s ear and ricocheted off the tunnel wall. Dakkar groped along the wall, his heart hammering.
It has to be here. Surely this is where we broke into the tunnel
.

Finally, he found a narrow crevice. Grabbing Oginski, Dakkar pushed him into the gap, gripping his upper arm tightly. Another shot rang against the wall close by, sending splinters of stone showering on to them. For a moment, rock scraped Oginski’s shoulders and Dakkar feared he would be stuck. Then the big man slipped through and vanished. Dakkar winced at the heavy thud that followed and even managed a grin at Oginski’s muffled oath.

Footsteps clattered down the passage and Dakkar pushed himself through the gap, briefly relishing the cool rock against his skin.

The slap and gurgle of waves against rock echoed around Dakkar’s aching ears. Nearby, the
Nautilus
bobbed in the water. Grey light filtering in from the mouth of the cave glimmered on her polished planks and the bands of brass that held them tight. A long tube of burnished wood with a short stubby tower halfway along, she made Dakkar think of a wooden whale waiting impatiently for their return. She looked like no other boat on earth. This was Oginski’s submarine, an incredible craft that could submerge underwater and take them to places mankind had never seen before.