by Pete Clark
The tunnel forked. One path slanted downward, but carried a soft scent of fresh air up toward them. The other slanted up, but smelled only of more mildew.
“Which way do you think,” said Marion, looking over Boone’s shoulder. Another shot rang out.
“Zablooie!” Morgan announced to confirm the kill.
“I say down,” decided Boone.
“But we are in a cave. Doesn’t down mean deeper and up mean out?” Marion asked.
“Not always. We could be in a mountain. Out could be in any number of directions. Besides, it smells of fresh air down there. That’s a good sign.”
“You’re the tracker. Lead on.”
So, he did. As they progressed at a more and more pronounced downward slope, Boone began to lose confidence in his decision. Still on they went. The ground started to get a little softer, wetter, almost muddy in fact.
“What is this about,” Morgan asked, as he slipped in the mud.
“I think we are probably getting close to a water source within the cave.”
“Is that good?” Marion asked.
“It is,” Boone replied. “If we can find water, we can probably track its source or means of egress via a brook or stream and that should lead us out.”
“Means of egress.” Morgan shook his head.
“What if the water is its own source and it goes nowhere?”
“That would suck, but we will be no worse off. Besides, it’s really unlikely that there is just a stagnant pool of water in these caves.”
“Why would that be unlikely?” Marion wanted to know.
“Hey, have you noticed?” Boone changed the subject. “Those goblins don’t seem to be after us anymore. Morgan? When is the last time you saw one?”
“I’d say fifteen or twenty minutes at least. What do you think that means? I doubt they just gave up.”
“It probably means that they either know a shortcut to where we’re going, or where we’re going is so stupid that there is no way they will follow us,” Marion said.
The cave passaged opened up dramatically. Even with no light, they could feel the difference in the air. The space was massive. Boone could hear the water moving. Good, he thought. There was a stream of some kind that they could follow. The roof of this massive cavern had to be eighty feet in the air. They could fit a fort in here.
“Now what could be down here that would be so stupid that the goblins would not follow us?” Boone asked with prideful mockery.
That was when the dragon walked into view.
****
Simon Fraser was not particularly happy to be heading back to America. He had had a rough time of it, to say the least. Yes, he gained some valuable military experience and proved himself to be a capable field tactician. But there was that issue with the Wendigo. That was crazy. Worst of all about heading back to America was the possibility of running into more werewolves. Man alive, did he hate werewolves.
With him was another veteran of the French and Indian War: Major James Grant. Fraser and Grant did not generally see eye to eye. Fraser was a quick thinker who liked to respond to his opponents and create havoc and surprise on the battlefield. Grant was more into planning thoroughly in advance and sticking to his guns. Grant was also not very good at math, as his well-documented error at the battle of Fort Duquesne had shown.
Fraser and Grant were currently on the deck of the warship Manchester, the open night above them providing a peaceful view as they sailed across the cold Atlantic.
“Do you think we’ll be able to handle this without a war?” Grant asked.
“Unlikely. They seem more interested in rebellion than actually coming to an agreement. No, I think war is what they want. And when one side wants a war, generally war is what we get.”
“Shouldn’t take long, I would think. They have no navy to speak of. I don’t believe they even have a standing army. No cannons really. They should just save themselves the time.”
“I have to agree with you. They are outnumbered, outtrained, and outsupplied. But remember, my dear Captain Grant. It is no easy challenge to defeat anyone on their home soil and when they think the cause is just... No, this will be no easy victory.”
“What about those monsters? Do you think they’ll be a factor?”
“You have a lot of questions.”
“Just trying to share a bit of conversation to warm the cool night air.”
“Yes. I’m sure they will play a role. That is why the crown thought it fit to send a dozen French ‘experts’ with us. Apparently, Fort Duquesne was not the only research site back then. Some of those men whom we have with us are scientists who were there as well.”
“Why don’t we question them now, since we have time?” Grant pointed down into the cabin area.
“I’m not interested. I am going to try and prevent a war, and then to win it. These creatures will only die if they get in our way. I am not interested in learning about them. I’ll just kill the ones I see, especially those damnable werewolves.”
“I guess.” Grant was not feeling like he wanted to kill anything. He had no appetite for war. If he had to, he had to. But he would much rather everything worked out. And to tell the truth, the creatures frightened him. Heck, even the French were scary in their own weird way. He was simply getting too old for this. It seemed they were always fighting the French, and yet they were off to fight the Americans with a handful of French to help? That didn’t make any sense. If they weren’t fighting the French, they were fighting the Spanish. He had been fighting, and been taxed so others could fight, for so long now that it seemed like there was never any end to it. Why should he fight more just because some colony of England didn’t want to pay their fair share?
He was sick of it all. Fraser seemed to be into it. Not that he was a warmonger. That wasn’t true. But he was a natural leader of men. A natural warrior and those types of guys had a certain love of war. You couldn’t really blame them. People enjoy what they’re good at. Even if what they are good at is killing other people.
****
This is some kind of horseshit, thought Prescott. What were the chances that an army of wraiths would just happen to attack the building that was holding the Continental Congress just as soon as he managed to sneak into it? Somebody was behind this. Prescott’s list of people to get revenge against kept growing, but his knowledge of how to get said revenge was the same list of nothing.
They had a choice to make. Sure, there were a few men in the room with combat experience, but he and Arnold would likely be needed to prevent the wraiths from smashing through the doors and windows. In general, if he did not get involved, it could mean the death of most of the major players in American politics. Luckily, it seemed that at least a few of them could act to save themselves.
Washington had started to assume command. He had already ordered muskets and powder to be brought in from the small armory that was here. It wasn’t much but they managed to hand out what they had to the most skillful of the men. A few of them had their own pistols and most carried swords. However, wraiths needed to be killed with silver. Prescott doubted that there was a ton of that lying around.
“Push those cabinets against the wall to seal the windows. Barricade the doors. We need to keep them out.” Washington’s charisma could not be overstated. Even in a room full of men who wanted to lead and be heard, he stood out as the man in charge.
Noticing Adams as he attempted to push a large bookcase up against a window, Prescott figured it was time to act. He tied his rope to the ceiling beam he was hanging on and dropped the rest of it. He then climbed slowly down the rope. Dawes and Arnold followed suit. This was great for Arnold. The last thing he wanted to do was stand around.
“Adams,” Prescott called. “You lied to me.”
Adams turned and saw Prescott. To say he was shocked would be a sin to the King’s English. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” He started to look around, half expecting some nonexistent security guard to save him. “Lie? What
lie?”
“About de Lavoir being on the boat. He wasn’t there and you knew he wouldn’t be. You just wanted to use me.” Prescott drew his sword.
“I did not know he wouldn’t be there. I had no reason to think that he would be, of course. And, sure I used you, but it was for a good cause.”
“This stabbing of your liver is also for a good cause.” Prescott advanced, but Revere stopped him.
“Hang on. Don’t kill him. The revolution needs him. Besides, we are up to our necks in semi-intangible monsters. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
“Right,” Adams jumped in. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“I don’t trust your deals. Obviously.”
“This time you can have it in writing.”
“That isn’t convincing, but just for fun, what did you have in mind?”
“Help us get out of here. Get rid of these things and I’ll help you find your guy. I swear it.”
Prescott looked around. Revere nodded. Dawes seemed to want him to agree.
“Stab him,” said Arnold. “If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a turncoat.”
“I’ll stab him later if he doesn’t come through.” Prescott glanced around the interior of Carpenters’ Hall. There was a somewhat organized chaos occurring as Washington attempted to marshal what force he had to barricade themselves in.
There were a few men who still had a warrior in them. Among them was Thomas Lynch Jr. He was a young man of about 25. He had acquired a musket and was looking for something to do.
“You there,” Prescott called to Lynch. “We could use someone with courage. What do you say?”
“Certainly, Mr. Prescott.”
What the hell? Even this guy knows my name, Prescott thought. What is the point of being incognito? Even some random kid in Philadelphia knows who I am. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be the most powerful figure of the revolution.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Lynch seemed very eager. Odd that he called Prescott sir as they were about the same age; Lynch may actually have been a touch older.
“We can’t all just sit in here and hope the wraiths don’t break in. Here.” He handed Lynch a silver blade. “You need to kill them with silver. Sort of like a werewolf. Now, we are going to find a way outside so that we can get around behind the group of them and do some damage. It’s you, me, Dawes, Arnold, Revere, and Adams.” Adams had started to slink away. “No way, Adams. You’re coming with us. I’m not taking the chance of you getting away.”
“Should we let Washington know what we’re up to? So he can understand the situation? Maybe he can even help,” Arnold said.
“I guess so.”
They approached the startlingly tall Washington. He glanced at them. “Don’t you men have a task? We need to secure this building. I heard that these creatures were wights; know anything about them, Prescott?”
Jesus Christ, thought Prescott.
“They’re wraiths, not wights. You need to kill them with silver. Like a werewolf. They aren’t nearly as fast or strong as werewolves, but they are tricky. They move like ghosts and, if they grab you, they will suck the life from your body in a matter of seconds. You need to strike fast, ideally from a distance, and don’t forget that you need to use silver.”
“Thanks for the information. You seem as good as your reputation.”
Reputation? Come on.
“I don’t believe we have a ton of silver here. A few of the men have silver swords, but not many. Of course, we all have a couple of silver bullets, but again, very few. Not enough for what is going on out there.”
As if on cue, a large grinding noise followed by a crash came from the window along the northeast wall.
“Secure that break,” Washington shouted. “Get some men to that breech. We need silver to kill these things, men. Load silver and make your shots count.”
They ran in a mass toward the break. Washington remained cool headed.
“Men stay at your posts. We will handle this breech. Watch your areas and keep them secure. Floating watch to the breech.”
This guy was organized. He had already barricaded all the entrances and posted teams at each window and door. Further, he had established a floating watch. This was made up of the most talented and experienced fighters in the group. Their job was to remain loose and go where help was needed. That was the northeast window.
A wraith was halfway through one of the corners of the window where the large bookcase had been pushed back. A man, whom Prescott did not recognize, let loose with his musket. The aim was true and took the wraith in the chest, but the shot was lead; after being stunned for a second, the wraith got a better grip on the case and started pushing it further out, widening the opening.
Prescott drew one of his four-barreled pistols. He had already loaded silver rounds, of which he always carried many. He aimed and fired; the wraith’s head came apart with a pop. Prescott turned the barrel and fired again. A second wraith had just appeared and it too was now short one head. The rapid fire caused the creatures to lose ground and the defenders on the case surged forward and re-secured the window. They held fast to the bookcase, making sure it did not come loose again.
“Fine marksmanship,” said Arnold.
“Well done, Prescott,” said Washington. “We need a solution though. We need more silver.”
Arnold had an idea. “Isn’t this a home of luxury, sir?”
“What of it?” The future commander in chief asked.
“I would be rather surprised, if in the kitchen, we did not find at least two full sets of silverware. Likely fit to serve a hundred. There you will find your silver, sir.”
Washington was already grabbing a handful of men to follow him to the kitchen to gather the metal. “Mr. Jay, start a fire in the center of the great hall. Keep it secure, though. Rock it in; there should be plenty of furniture you can use for wood. Find a good sized cast iron bowl,” he said to another man. “We need to melt some silver.”
“Sir,” Prescott and his party followed him into the kitchen area. “Security is important but perhaps not enough. We need to go on the offensive.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I’m not certain yet, sir.” Prescott was used to being an army of one. Leading a group, even such a small one, was not his forte.
“Simple, sir,” Arnold spoke up again. “We can get out through the roof windows. Which reminds me. You need to get men up to the upper floors to secure those areas as well. It is only a matter of time before they realize that up could also get them in.”
“Damn,” said Washington. “How could I have been so stupid?” He looked around at all of the busy and terrified faces. “We don’t have the manpower to block off the upstairs and the roof. We will have to barricade the stairs instead.” He held up his hand to block the protests. “It is not ideal. But we simply cannot guard all those areas effectively. If we tried then we would have no true security. A strong barricade at the main stairs could work. Besides, there is a chance they won’t get that far anyway.” A crashing noise from above seemed to end that argument.
“Sir,” Arnold said again. “We six shall head upstairs. We will clean out the upper areas while you build a strong barricade at the main stairs. We shall then exit out the roof and use what equipment we have to cross the rooftops until we are outside of the ring of wraiths. Once behind them, we will take an aggressive guerrilla style attack pattern until we whittle their numbers sufficiently for your main force to push through.”
They all paused at the simple yet effective method placed before them.
“This is a dangerous task, sir. What is your name?”
“Benedict Arnold, sir. I do not fear danger when there is work that needs to be done.”
“Fair enough. Move quickly now.”
They ran to and up the large staircase of the great hall, stopping when they reached the large double doors. In the distance, but clearly on the second floor and in the building, they could he
ar movement. “Once you’re through these doors, we are going to seal them. Then we are going to barricade them. I cannot guarantee there will be a way back in for you here.”
“Understood,” nodded Prescott. The men seemed resolute and undaunted. Even Adams appeared to be getting up some energy.
“Ready?” Washington asked.
“Ready.”
He threw open the doors and the six men rushed out. The doors slammed closed behind them and they could hear them being locked; then they heard large objects being dragged over and pushed up against the doors. Arnold looked around. They were in a large hall that reached east and west. There were a number of doors on both sides and windows at either end. Neither of these windows had been broken yet. However, there was an eerie chill in the air. The lights up here were fewer and dimmer. They didn’t think to bring their own light.
He stepped forward. “Which way to the attic?”
****
The dragon was pretty happy. He liked his cave. Sure, it was a little dark, but he could create light with his nifty fire breath whenever he wanted. Most creatures would have found it too cold and damp, but his body was conditioned to withstand drastic ranges of temperature. If he could swim in lava and also in the depths of the ocean, then certainly he could deal with some moisture in a cave.
Getting food wasn’t that easy, though. He was large and so, often hungry. As a result, he spent most of his time hunting for food in the large forests that surrounded his cave home. Often he would bring his food back alive, since he did not want it to spoil and, after he ate the good parts, he would simply shove whatever junk they had on them into one of the many large corners of his cave.
But boy, did he like shiny things. The dragon did not know why he liked shiny things so much, but they were awesome. When his food had shiny things, he would collect those and pile them up nice and neat by the softer rock around his lake. What a cool shiny pile he had gathered. It was nearly as big as he was. Even though the dragon didn’t always feel like going out to hunt (even dragons get lazy), he had no choice. There was no pizza delivery for dragons or really for anyone in the eighteenth century. Sometimes, he would catch a break. Like today. A few snacks had just wandered into his cave; they didn’t even know he knew they were there. Let’s have some fun with them, he thought. I can play with my food as long as it doesn’t spoil. He then chuckled a little dragon laugh.
