Aurélie returned, struggling to balance all four cartridges in her arms as well as the spool of fuse. ‘Where do you want it?’ she asked archly.
‘Just put it down over there.’
She did as he bid her. ‘Verne says the pressure gauge is up to twenty-two.’
‘We’ve still got a couple of minutes, then—’ Seeing her eyes widen in surprise, he broke off and started to turn even before his ears registered her cry of warning. He swivelled to see a matros charging along the dockside towards him with a knife in one hand, stripped to his shirtsleeves and sopping wet. Killigrew fired his revolver, hitting him in the chest, but then another wet matros had jumped down from the stack of crates above them to grab Aurélie from behind. Killigrew dared not fire for fear of hitting her, but it did not matter: she had dropped the equipment she was holding, stamped on the matros’s instep and rammed an elbow into his ribs. Breaking free, she whirled to face him, punching him in the throat, kicking him in the crotch and lifting a knee into his face as he doubled up.
She turned back to Killigrew. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?’
She shrugged. ‘If you like. Where did those two come from?’
‘They must’ve used the air-lock to swim out underwater,’ explained Killigrew, mentally kicking himself for not having anticipated that Fedorovich would think of such a trick.
The hatch on the deck of the Sea Devil was thrown open, and a matros bobbed up, levelling a revolver. Killigrew raised his own revolver and fired, tearing a lump out of the matros’s left shoulder. The matros slumped, and then seemed to find strength from somewhere and raised the revolver once more. Aurélie flung a bayonet across the shed, piercing the man through one eye. He crumpled, and was dragged back down through the hatch, only for Fedorovich and four more sailors to climb quickly up out of the hatch, intent on rushing the two saboteurs.
Killigrew squeezed the revolver’s trigger repeatedly, knocking down one man with his first shot, the other two going wide. Then the revolver’s hammer clicked on a spent cap. He scrambled over the crates and ran to intercept the rest, with Aurélie hard on his heels. The second matros thrust at him with a knife. Killigrew side-stepped and caught the matros by the wrist, spinning him around and smashing an elbow into his face before turning to face a third. As the fourth matros squared up to Aurélie, Fedorovich grabbed her from behind. Nothing daunted, she kicked the fourth under the jaw and somehow flipped herself backwards over Fedorovich’s shoulder, landing on her feet behind him and throwing him into a stack of crates, which crashed down on top of him.
Squaring up to the third, Killigrew launched into the set-piece he thought of as the ‘Killigrew special’: right jab, right jab, left uppercut, right cross, and then the coup de grâce – that old left hook that came out of nowhere when they were too dazed to see it coming. It did not always work, but then Killigrew did not always find himself up against ordinary mortals. This one was an ordinary mortal, however, and he pirouetted neatly with a glazed look in his eye before measuring his length on the dockside.
Killigrew turned to Aurélie to see if she needed any help, but she merely stood over Fedorovich, dusting her hands off. As she walked across to where Killigrew stood, one of the matrosy groaned and tried to rise. She casually kicked him in the head as she passed, and this time he lay still.
Killigrew counted the bodies. ‘Nine plus one in the Sea Devil: that’s the lot. I’ll climb inside, you start passing those cartridges down to me.’
He jumped on to the back of the Sea Devil and climbed down the hatch. Once he had made sure there were no living souls within, he climbed back up the ladder and stood halfway out of the hatch so that Aurélie could throw the cartridges to him from the dockside. He caught them one after the other and dropped them to the grating at the foot of the ladder. Climbing back down, he glanced around the interior of the underwater boat, trying to work out where to stack the cartridges to do the most damage. The enclosed space of the airlock seemed most promising: the blast should rip open both doors, and even if it didn’t the valves would be smashed beyond repair. If the valves were smashed, then the air-lock was inoperable; and without the air-lock through which one of the sailors would get out to fix an explosive to an enemy ship’s hull, then the Sea Devil was nothing more than so much scrap metal, to all intents and military purposes.
Having stacked the cartridges in the airlock, he crossed back to stand at the foot of the ladder leading up to the hatch. ‘Can you pass the fuse down now?’ he called.
There was no reply.
‘Aurélie?’
‘I’m afraid she’s not in a position to answer you,’ Ryzhago’s plummy tones called back.
Killigrew’s heart sank: it had been too much to hope he could destroy the Sea Devil and get away from Sveaborg without a final reckoning with the assassin.
Chapter 25
The Road to Piccadilly
Killigrew climbed up the ladder to find Ryzhago standing on the dockside behind Aurélie with the chain of his pocket watch looped tight around her neck. She was still alive… for now.
‘Throw down your weapons, or I’ll leave another dead woman at your feet,’ Ryzhago told him with a grin.
He did not seem to be carrying any kind of weapon, but then a man like Ryzhago did not need to rely on guns and knives. Killigrew climbed all the way out of the hatch to stand on the back of the Sea Devil. ‘I’m unarmed. Let her go: this is between you and me.’
‘If you insist.’ Ryzhago threw Aurélie against the side of the shed. She crashed against the wall and slumped to the floor, lying still with blood oozing from a graze on her temple.
Ryzhago tucked his watch back in his fob pocket and strode across the dockside, grinning wolfishly. Killigrew jumped on to the dockside to meet him, and then backed away as Ryzhago continued to advance.
‘The two of us can try to batter one another into submission,’ he told Ryzhago nervously. ‘But with the whole world being blown to hell, don’t you think a couple of intelligent chaps like ourselves can find some way to come to a mutual understanding without resorting to fisticuffs?’
‘No.’ Ryzhago threw a punch at Killigrew’s jaw, spinning him back against the railing at the foot of the steps leading up to the gantry.
Killigrew shook his head muzzily. ‘Didn’t think so,’ he muttered, and threw a punch at Ryzhago’s midriff. It had no effect, of course; unlike Ryzhago’s next punch, which came damn’ near to knocking Killigrew’s head clean off his shoulders. He thought about trying the old ‘Killigrew special’, and then decided against it: his knuckles had had enough punishment for one day. Instead, he feinted to the left, dodged to the right and skipped behind the Russian to smash a fist into one of his kidneys. Ryzhago cried out. Not so invincible as you look, thought Killigrew. Heartened, he hit him again, and again, and again, a succession of well-placed blows that would have had any normal man passing blood for a week. Each time his fist landed, the Russian gave a sob. The bigger they are… Killigrew told himself.
Ryzhago turned to face him. Killigrew was astonished and dismayed to see he was smiling dreamily.
‘Hit me again.’
Killigrew shrugged. ‘If you insist.’ He threw a fist at Ryzhago’s jaw, snapping his head around.
‘Again!’
Killigrew punched him again.
‘Harder!’
And again.
‘Harder!’
Killigrew bunched his fist, reminding himself that this was the bastard who had murdered Araminta. He pictured her, tied to the armchair in his rooms, screaming as Ryzhago applied the red-hot poker to her cheek; and afterwards, her struggling on the bed as he throttled her with his watch chain, no doubt deriving the same pleasure from it that Killigrew himself had shared with her in rather more tender moments. Right on cue, rage and hatred welled up within him. He focused those emotions in his shoulder, putting all his strength into the punch that followed, whipping Ryzhago’s head around.
When the Russian turned back to face him, blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it off on the back of his hand, and then licked it off, gazing at Killigrew with a crazed look in his eye.
‘Harder,’ he whispered.
Killigrew sighed. ‘You want harder?’
Ryzhago nodded. ‘Give me everything you’ve got!’
‘You asked for it!’ Killigrew flicked one half-boot into the Russian’s crotch.
Ryzhago positively squealed with delight as he sank to his knees, clutching himself. Killigrew moved in close, grabbing a fistful of the Russian’s hair and kneeing him in the face. Ryzhago was thrown back across the floor, laughing ecstatically.
Killigrew stood over him, resting with his hands on his knees, panting for breath. There was no satisfaction in thrashing someone like Ryzhago if the fellow was going to enjoy it.
The Russian stood up and pointed to his jaw. ‘Hit me again!’
‘You’re insatiable!’
‘Hit me harder!’
‘Hit yourself, damn your eyes! My knuckles are raw!’
‘Hit me!’ Raging now, Ryzhago threw a fist at the commander’s jaw.
Killigrew took no pleasure in inflicting pain, even on scum like Ryzhago, but he certainly had to agree that it was better to give than receive. He landed on his backside and was still sitting there, wondering if his jaw was broken, when he looked up to see Ryzhago standing over him. The Russian bent down, seized a fistful of the front of Killigrew’s tunic, and hauled him to his feet.
‘Hit me!’
Killigrew bunched a fist and drew back his arm, but his head was swimming so much it was difficult to focus on Ryzhago’s face. Growling impatiently, Ryzhago hit him first. Killigrew’s head was snapped round and he was sent spinning across the dock to crash into the wall. He clung on to a rail for support, and then realised it was not a rail at all, but a boat-hook resting across a couple of wall brackets. He lifted it out and whirled, swinging it at Ryzhago. It connected with the Russian’s head and he gasped as the metal tip snapped off the shaft.
‘That’s more like it!’
Killigrew stared in dismay at the broken shaft, and then Ryzhago had grabbed the end of it, jerking it from his grip. He snapped it across his knee and tossed the two halves away. Advancing on Killigrew, he got his huge hands around the commander’s neck and began to squeeze. Killigrew thumped him repeatedly in the stomach, but Ryzhago only laughed as if being tickled by a lover.
‘Harder! Harder!’
‘The devil with this!’ Breaking free, Killigrew turned and ran.
He started up the steps to the gantry, but Ryzhago caught him by the ankles before he got halfway, tripping him so he landed heavily on his front. He twisted and slammed the heel of one half-boot into Ryzhago’s face. The Russian cried out ecstatically, ‘Yes!’
Killigrew turned and scrambled up as far as the gantry; but he knew he could not run for ever; and if Verne had any sense, he would not wait for him and Aurélie once the pressure gauge reached twenty-five. He stopped in the middle of the gantry, grabbing one of the blocks and tackles that swung from chains overhead, and swung it at Ryzhago’s face as he charged across. Ryzhago jerked his head aside, and the tackle swung harmlessly past.
He laughed. ‘You missed!’
Killigrew arched an eyebrow. ‘Did I?’
Ryzhago whirled to face the block and tackle as it swung back; except that it had gone wide, and was in no danger of hitting the back of his head.
But he had fallen for Killigrew’s bluff, and turned his back on him for two vital seconds. Killigrew pulled Wojtkiewicz’s watch and chain from his trouser pocket and jumped on his back. He drew the watch chain tight against Ryzhago’s throat. Roaring, the Russian slammed him back against the railing of the gantry. Killigrew gasped, struggling to maintain his grip on the chain. He gave up trying to throttle Ryzhago and knotted the two ends together as tightly as the links would allow while the Russian flailed about wildly, trying to pitch him over the railing down to the back of the Sea Devil some forty feet below. Killigrew almost went over, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand to keep his balance: the hook at the bottom of the block and tackle.
‘You enjoy pain?’ he asked Ryzhago, digging the point of the hook under the fob chain. ‘You’ll love this!’
He swung himself over the railing and caught hold of the other end of the pulley. The links rattled through the block and tackle overhead, hoisting Ryzhago up to the girders above while gently lowering Killigrew to within inches of the Sea Devil’s deck. Pulled hard against the underside of one of the girders, Ryzhago made a ghastly choking sound, and then the knot Killigrew had tied in the fob chain came adrift, and the Russian plunged to the deck of the Sea Devil. He landed on his back across the wheel of the hatch, and Killigrew heard his vertebrae snap.
Killigrew stretched out his hand and the watch dropped into his palm. He tucked it into his pocket.
Still not dead, Ryzhago managed to raise his head a few inches to look at Killigrew. The commander moved to stand over him, one foot raised ready to stamp down hard on the Russian’s neck. But Ryzhago’s head flopped back to the deck and he lay still, a smile of blissful ecstasy frozen on his face for eternity.
Sobbing for breath, Killigrew jumped back on to the dockside and was relieved to see Aurélie regaining consciousness. He helped her to her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ he panted.
‘I think so. What happened to Ryzhago?’
‘Oh, I managed to fob him off…’
Before she could ask him what he meant, the whole building shuddered around them as a shell exploded next door, and there was a terrible crash from the adjoining gunboat shed. Killigrew and Aurélie exchanged worried glances, and the two of them left the Sea Devil’s shed to run next door.
The adjoining shed was a shambles: one wall had collapsed entirely, bringing with it several of the girders supporting the roof, two of which had slammed down on the gunboat’s deck, smashing it down into the water of the dock. The far end of the dockside was in flames and smoke was rapidly filling the shed. Stålberg and Lindström were helping Verne and his men carrying the wounded on to the dockside.
‘What happened?’ demanded Killigrew, as he and Aurélie helped get the wounded outside.
‘Not sure,’ Verne slurred. There was a cut above his hairline and one side of his face was slick with blood. ‘Shell hit the corner of the roof, I think. Laval’s dead, and Gagneux and Fanton are badly injured.’
‘Well, that gunboat’s had it,’ said Killigrew.
‘Then so have we,’ said Charrondier. ‘I don’t know about you, m’sieur, but I’m damned if I’ll spend another minute locked up in one of their cells. I’m for taking as many of the bastards with us as we can.’
Verne smiled. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, Charrondier; but you forget we have a woman and two civilians to concern ourselves with; and I doubt our Russian friends will treat any of them with the courtesies of war.’
‘Don’t worry about me, m’sieur,’ said Aurélie. ‘You forget I’m a military officer, the same as yourself, even if I don’t fight in uniform. And if we must die fighting, there’s one thing we can still do first: make sure the Sea Devil is out of action.’
Killigrew stared at her: then seized her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Aurélie! You’re a genius!’
‘What?’
‘The Sea Devil! We can use it to escape!’
‘What is the Sea Devil? asked Verne.
‘I’ll show you.’ Killigrew led the way back to the gunboat sheds, and the others followed, carrying Gagneux and Fanton between them.
Verne’s jaw dropped when he saw the Sea Devil. ‘What in the name of God is that?’
‘The Sea Devil,’ Killigrew explained. ‘It’s an underwater boat. My mission was to destroy it; but I don’t think Lord Palmerston will object if I deliver it to the Royal Navy instead.’
‘A boat that sails underwater?’ Verne sho
ok his head in disbelief. ‘My brother Jules is never going to believe this!’
Killigrew removed the chain from the wheel on the dorsal hatch. ‘Down the hatch, everyone!’
They climbed inside, lowering the two injured matelots through the hatch and making them as comfortable as they could in the cramped confines in the interior.
‘Are you certain you know how to pilot this thing?’ demanded Aurélie.
‘How hard can it be?’ Killigrew asked breezily.
Once they were all inside, he sealed the hatch and lit the candle in the hurricane lamp. ‘Now listen carefully, everyone: we’re going to have to work together to make this work. Charrondier, I want you to take the helm. It works just the same as the helm on any other kind of vessel. Aurélie, perhaps you’d be good enough to control the trim? You just use this wheel here: anti-clockwise lowers us by the head, clockwise by the stern, got it?’
‘I think I can manage that,’ she said drily.
‘Verne, these pumps control the ballast: this one takes in water to make us sink, this one expels it so we float again.’
‘You hope!’
‘Trust me.’
‘Do I have any choice?’
‘’Fraid not. Major Lindström, do you think you could keep an eye on the bathometer here? Thank you. The rest of you: the treadmills, if you please.’ He climbed up into the observation cupola. ‘If you’re ready, gentlemen, we’ll begin…’
Darlot and the other matelots began to turn the treadmills. The gears groaned and the Sea Devil began to move, slowly at first, but steadily gathering way as the matelots on the treadmills began to get a steady rhythm going. The vessel nosed its way out of the gunboat shed and into the channel. Through one of the portholes, Killigrew could see explosions ripping up the ground on the opposite side of Artillery Bay. It seemed as if the whole of Vargon was ablaze. There was so much smoke in the sky it was difficult to tell if it was day or night, although it could not have been past nine o’clock in the morning. And still the shells continued to fall relentlessly. One landed on the gasometer on West Svarto, and burning gas leaped high into the air with a terrific roar.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 48
