Melbourne watched Yokel fall and then screamed as he felt white-hot pain lance into his side. He turned to see Rabbit, blood staining his front teeth, smiling viciously as he pulled the knife from Melbourne’s side and stabbed him again. Melbourne stumbled. He swung his sword weakly at Rabbit. The already injured pirate couldn’t defend himself and the sword sliced across his stomach. He fell backward into the doorway, the grim smile still on his face.
Melbourne heard more pirates coming down the steps in the forward hold and others moving toward him from the sleeping quarters. He wasn’t going to have time to get Lynn to the ground. He hurried to the hole in the floor and looked down at the dangling cage.
*
Lynn lay flat on the floor of the cage, her arms and legs spread like a child making a sand angel. A pirate had fallen from the dirigible above and smashed into the cage, causing it to swing from side to side and spin wildly. At first Lynn had been worried that the falling body had been Melbourne, but as it plummeted toward them she was pleased to see that it had been the small, dark-skinned pirate with the clicking gold rings on his fingers. He had bounced off the wooden frame of the cage and impacted the ground below amid a circle of rising red dust.
“Hold on!” Lynn heard Melbourne shout from above. She was relieved to hear his voice. She hadn’t known what had been happening since he’d disappeared from sight.
Lynn rolled over, looking up, trying to focus on the opening in the dirigible while the world rocked and rotated around her. She couldn’t see anything. Then, after a moment, Melbourne’s head appeared in the hole in the hull. He leaned out, hanging precariously over the edge until he grabbed hold of the rope. Lynn felt a wave of relief. He was going to climb down. He wasn’t going to stay behind. That must have been his plan all along: get them low enough that they could jump, then climb down and escape with them. Thank the Ancestors. But this feeling of relief faded as Melbourne pulled the rope toward him with his left hand and placed the blade of a sword against it with his right. Lynn’s eyes went wide as Melbourne started making sawing motions.
“What are you doing?!” Lynn yelled up at him. “Melbourne, stop!”
But Melbourne didn’t stop. Even from here Lynn could see that his face was strained, as if just the motion of cutting the rope was causing him great pain.
“Squid, hold on!” she said.
The rope above them snapped with an audible twang and the cage, with Squid and Lynn inside, began to fall.
CHAPTER 18
The sword severed the rope so easily that Melbourne had to fight to maintain his balance, grabbing what was left of the rope hanging above him as the cargo cage released. Gravity did the rest.
He watched as the cage fell and struck the red sand below, splitting open and rolling onto its side. Lynn and Squid should have survived the fall from this height unharmed. But what if he was wrong? Could he have done anything else? He didn’t think so. He had to get Lynn to safety. He had to buy her more time. He would do this right. This last thing.
“Yellow? What’s going on down there?” Captain Pratt’s voice called from the deck above.
Melbourne heard more pirates coming down the steps in the forward hold and others moving toward him from the sleeping quarters. He wanted to wait for a sign of movement from the splintered cage below. He wanted to make sure that Lynn had made it out unscathed, but there was no time. His job wasn’t finished yet. He knew that for Lynn to be truly safe he had to take the Blessed Mary down.
Melbourne grimaced as he moved through the forward bulkhead. He knew he was bleeding too much from the stab wounds Rabbit had inflicted. He could feel the blood running down his side, soaking into his pants. He kept moving, though. There was no time to stop and evaluate the injuries. It didn’t matter anyway. He only needed a little more time.
“He got Rabbit and Yokel!”
“Oh, you’re gonna die, Digger.”
Two pirates came at him simultaneously. He parried the attack from one but his wounds made him slower. He attempted to dodge the second attack but the end of the pirate’s blade ran along his chest. It was only a light cut, but more pain flared through his body. Melbourne struck at the first pirate, catching him in the top of the arm. He turned to the second pirate and only just managed to deflect his next attack. Melbourne defended two more blows. He felt lightheaded. He felt as if this barely trained criminal was as fast as the best Diggers he had sparred against. He managed to find an opening and put his shortsword through the pirate’s stomach. He’d hardly had the strength for this skirmish and he didn’t think he could fight much longer.
Melbourne climbed the ladder up to the deck. Twice his foot slipped from the rung above and he had to grab on to stop himself from sliding all the way down. As he emerged from the open hatch onto the deck above he saw the red beard and fiery eyes of Captain Pratt staring at him from some distance away.
“Well, Melbourne,” Captain Pratt said, “it appears I was wrong about you. I had you picked for a conformer. Someone who would join us but wouldn’t dare betray us.”
Captain Pratt stepped toward him, the click of his cane on the wood an intimidating sound. The crew on the deck stood in silence as they watched. The world swam before Melbourne’s eyes.
“We are no different from anyone else in the Territory, you know,” the captain said as he approached. “We are survivors.”
Melbourne stood still. He knew he had to conserve energy. With every passing second he could feel his strength ebbing away through the two holes in his side. He was relieved to note that Captain Pratt moved as if the cane wasn’t just for show. He limped, his right leg obviously a hindrance. It was less of a relief to see that he still moved with self-assurance. His old injury hampered him, but Melbourne could tell he had learned how to fight around it.
Captain Pratt stopped, maybe three or four paces from Melbourne, and turned to gaze out over the landscape below them. He looked away from Melbourne with complete confidence, as if the Digger posed no threat whatsoever.
“That’s all that exists in this forsaken red waste,” Captain Pratt said, “the desire for survival. Even though God doesn’t want us here, we cling to the earth he has already extinguished. That’s what every person out there wants. That’s what every creature that scratches its pitiful existence from the sand wants. Hell, that’s what the ghouls want, only to survive. That’s what you are, isn’t it, Melbourne? You’re a survivor, and you’ll do whatever it takes to save yourself.”
Melbourne looked past Captain Pratt to the stern of the ship. The bridge, raised above the rest of the deck, held the dirigible’s main wheel and the collection of levers and handles for controlling altitude and speed. At the back of the deck was one of the main lines, one of the thick ropes that held the balloon secure in its rigging.
“Maybe once,” Melbourne said, grimacing and panting through the pain and dizziness. “Maybe I was a survivor once, but you’re wrong. There’s more to life than surviving. Even in this world there’s right and wrong, and doing what’s right is more important than just surviving.”
“Is it now?” Captain Pratt said, still not looking toward Melbourne. He gripped the shaft of his cane with one hand, held the handle with the other and pulled them apart. The shaft of the cane came away with the ringing sound of metal on metal, revealing it to be a sheath around a shining steel blade. The captain raised the blade and swished it experimentally through the air.
Melbourne launched himself at the captain. It wasn’t a noble move, striking while he wasn’t watching, but Melbourne knew his situation was dire and he wasn’t going to miss the only opportunity he may have. He drew all the strength he had remaining into his arms as he thrust forward, the blade of his sword aimed at Captain Pratt’s back. But before Melbourne’s sword could find its mark Captain Pratt’s blade flashed up, arcing around to intercept. With tremendous force Melbourne felt his blow parried aside, sailing harmlessly past the pirate.
Melbourne stumbled but managed to stop himself before
he fell forward. Captain Pratt turned his head and smiled, a dangerous smile encircled by the red of his beard, a menacing smile that revealed the predator he truly was. He used the empty shaft of the cane to support himself as he spun, bringing his thin blade slashing toward Melbourne. Melbourne felt a sting as the point of Captain Pratt’s blade cut from the left side of his forehead down to the right corner of his lip. Blood flowed. Melbourne felt at his nose, where there was a deep split in the flesh.
“How is doing right going to serve you now, Digger?” Captain Pratt spat, his voice, like his smile, wild and vicious. “Doing right is not going to save you.”
Melbourne squeezed his left eye closed; blood was clouding his vision. He knew he couldn’t fight the captain, not in this condition. Captain Pratt lashed out again, flicking the cane-sword so that it sliced into Melbourne’s bicep. Melbourne felt his grip on his shortsword weaken, but he held on, he wouldn’t let it go. He turned and moved, limping and bleeding, stumbling and staggering, but going as fast as he could, toward the stairs up to the bridge.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Captain Pratt said.
Looking back over his shoulder Melbourne saw that the captain wasn’t following him.
“You can’t get away,” the pirate said, almost laughing.
Melbourne reached the curved stairs that ran up to the bridge. On the first step he slipped and fell face down. He heard the crew laughing as they watched the entertainment unfold. They could see that their captain was just toying with him now. It was only a matter of time until Melbourne was finished and tossed over the side to be left for the dingos and eagles.
Melbourne pushed himself up, forcing himself to climb the steps. His vision swam with points of light and the dirigible felt as though it rocked beneath his feet. At the top he took a long, slow breath. He felt close to collapse, and he knew with complete certainty that it was a collapse from which he would never rise. But it didn’t matter. There was only one thing he had to do.
Melbourne looked at the airship’s wheel, the air bladder and propeller controls before him. The bridge was empty. There was no need for it to be manned with the dirigible floating at anchor. A noise behind him made him turn and look back toward the lower deck.
Captain Pratt had sheathed his cane-sword and rested it against his leg.
“Trout, pass me that,” he said, extending his arm to a nearby crew member who had a mechanical rifle raised and pointed threateningly at Melbourne.
The crew member hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he did as his captain asked. With practiced ease Captain Pratt took the rifle, pulled the cocking handle back to ensure a round was loaded in the firing chamber, snapped the firing mechanism back into place and raised the weapon to his shoulder, aiming it squarely at Melbourne.
“Well, Digger,” Captain Pratt said, “we reach the end of our time together. I’m afraid I can’t let you touch those controls.”
Melbourne looked past the barrel of the rifle, lit as it was by white moonlight, to Captain Pratt’s face. The pirate captain did not wear a scowl of anger like the rest of the crew, and he was not hungry for revenge or desperate for blood. He was measured and calculating. That, Melbourne realized with a jolt of understanding, was how the captain maintained control over his crew. The pirates were dogs trained to know who held their leash, but they were wild, and Melbourne knew being wild led to mistakes.
Melbourne felt the chill that had been forming in his arms and legs begin to enter his stomach and chest. This was it. He knew his body was shutting down. He had lost too much blood. He didn’t have long left. Melbourne felt for the pistol wedged in the back of his pants. He lifted it, fighting the shake in his arms, and pointed it at Captain Pratt. They hadn’t known he was armed. Other rifles were raised and loaded among the crew, each and every one with a bullet a mere flinch on the trigger away from piercing his flesh. Captain Pratt raised his hand, indicating for the crew to hold their fire.
“An old-fashioned standoff, is it, Melbourne?” Captain Pratt said, his voice betraying no hint of fear. “How long do you think you can last before you bleed to death?”
“Not long, I imagine,” Melbourne said, using his other hand, his broken arm, to steady the shake of the pistol as best as he could. He sighted through his one good eye. It wasn’t easy as lights continued to dance in his vision and a darkness blacker than the night had begun creeping in around him, tunnelling his vision down to just Captain Pratt.
“No,” Captain Pratt said, “not very long at all. I know you think you have nothing to lose, but just remember that if you shoot me the crew will end you and then they will collect your little sister down there, and without me to be their moral guide, God only knows what they’ll do to her.”
Melbourne could hear the slowing of his heart in the pulsing of blood in his ears.
“I suggest you –”
Captain Pratt was cut off by the cracking blast as Melbourne fired the pistol. He hadn’t had a choice. He had wanted to give Lynn a chance to get away, but he was out of time. He had to take Captain Pratt down.
There was a moment of silence in which the sound of the shot seemed to echo around the silent deck, not so much the sound of it, but the recognition that it had happened. The moment of surprise was followed by a moment of concern as the eyes of the crew looked to their captain, but he was standing exactly where he had been, unharmed.
“You shouldn’t have missed,” Captain Pratt said. He squeezed the trigger of his rifle.
Melbourne was lying on his back. That was the next thing he knew. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest. He realized in the next moment that it had been a bullet that had kicked him, and he thought about how much being shot hurt. He couldn’t breathe. It felt as though his lungs were full. He coughed and a burning pain spread out from somewhere below his left shoulder. There was blood pooling beneath him; he could feel it warm and wet on his clothes.
He rolled over, coughing blood onto the deck of the bridge and feeling a searing pain emanate from his shoulder with every movement. He tried to push himself up but his left arm gave out beneath him and he collapsed back onto his face. He tried again, placing most of his weight on his right arm to push himself to his knees. He wrapped his bloodied fingers around the hilt of the shortsword that had fallen nearby and slowly he rose to his feet. He looked at Captain Pratt.
“I …” Melbourne coughed, felt the warm red blood spray from his mouth. “I didn’t miss,” he said, forcing the words out with what little air was left within him.
And he hadn’t. He knew that. In the moment of stillness that had come after he’d fired he’d seen his bullet cut through one of the balloon’s main lines. It hadn’t severed it completely, it had caught the side of the rope, shearing it part of the way through.
The balloon above was secured in its wooden rigging by four main lines. One had been partially cut, another was only feet behind Melbourne. If he could cut that line the other would fail and that should be enough to cause the dirigible to tip.
Melbourne watched Captain Pratt’s head turn and follow his gaze. The pirate saw the damage to the line and swung back to look at Melbourne, his face showing concern for the first time.
“Shoot him!” Captain Pratt roared.
As the shots rang out Melbourne was already turning, using the last of his energy to aim his sword at the rope behind him. Melbourne watched his blade cut the line, and it was as if the world had slowed. Melbourne could see the blade moving through the rope, each of the fibres splitting around the sharpened metal. As soon as the line behind him was cut and the other ropes were forced to take the weight of the hanging hull, the damaged line behind Captain Pratt snapped as well and the balloon moved within the rigging above. The Blessed Mary began to roll to one side.
Melbourne didn’t feel the bullets that struck him in the back, the arm, the neck and the leg. His body was shot full of holes, each one causing him to jerk in a kind of spasmodic dance, but it didn’t matter to him. Melbour
ne Hermannsburg, the greatest graduate the Academy had ever seen, was dead before he hit the deck.
CHAPTER 19
Squid felt himself being moved as he was pulled free of the wreckage. The back of his head knocked in a steady rhythm against the bars that had once been the side of the cargo cage but were now underneath his back.
“Squid.” It was Lynn’s voice. She coughed. “Squid, are you okay?”
Squid nodded, only then realizing that he was still forcefully squeezing his eyes shut. He had been since the moment the cage had begun to fall. He opened them now. Dust was floating in the air above him, the top layer of the dry soil disturbed by the impact. Lynn was on her hands and knees nearby, looking as if she had just crawled free of the shattered cage. Her head was hanging, and she was coughing intermittently. She looked up toward him. She was dusty and scratched, a cut above one eye leaving a trickle of blood down her face, but apart from that she looked unhurt. She seemed to be moving away from him though. Then, feeling the slide of sand beneath him, Squid realized it was he who was moving.
He raised his head and looked down toward his feet. Mr. Stownes had hold of both his ankles in the large grip of one of his hands and was pulling him away from where the cage had landed. Mr. Stix was standing beside him.
“Are you hurt, Master Blanchflower?” Mr. Stix said.
Squid scanned down his body. He was in pain, no doubt he would have bumps and bruises, but he didn’t think he was seriously hurt. “No,” he said. “No, I think I’m okay.”
Mr. Stownes dropped his feet. “Good,” said Mr. Stix. “Next time, follow the plan. Right now though, we need to go.”
Mr. Stix turned to Lynn, who was following them and dusting herself off. He looked her up and down. “You had better be worth this trouble.”
A City Called Smoke: The Territory 2 Page 13
