The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection

by Harry Harrison

  ‘Seatbelt, right, thank you.’ I clicked it on and turned the switch again.

  ‘The engine will start only with the gear selector in neutral.’

  The banging on the door was even louder. I cursed as I pushed the selector, trying to find the right location in the dim light. The door crashed and splintered. There, now the switch again.

  The motor turned over. I pushed the drive into forward. And the voice spoke.

  ‘Do not attempt to drive with your handbrake on.’

  I was cursing louder now, the small door broke down and crashed to the floor, pistons began to move around me while steam spurted and hissed. Someone shouted and the men in the door started towards me.

  The thing shuddered and lumbered forward.

  This was more like it! Covered in steel plates and fake ironmongery, it must be incredibly heavy. There was a simple way to find out. I floored the accelerator, twisted the wheel – and pointed the hulk straight at the large door.

  It was beautiful. The steam roared and spurted as I accelerated. Hitting the door dead centre with a crash that deafened me. But my noble steed never slowed a fraction. Wood screeched and tore and fell away as I ploughed through in a cloud of flying timber. I had a quick view of fleeing pedestrians before I had to duck down to prevent myself from being beheaded by a board. It scratched and clumped and fell away. I sat up and smiled with pleasure.

  What a wonderful sight. Soldiers were fleeing in all directions, dashing for cover. I swung the wheel and spun in a tight circle looking for the way out. A bullet clanged into the steel plating and whined away. There the gate was – dead ahead. I floored the accelerator again, then found the whistle cord. It screamed and steam spurted and I picked up speed.

  And none too soon, either. Someone had kept his head and was trying to lift the drawbridge. Two men had plugged the handle into the clumsy winch and were turning it furiously; chains clanked and tightened. I headed for the centre of the gate, whistle screeching, bullets beginning to spang on the steel around me. I crouched down and kept the pedal on the floor. I was going to have only one chance.

  The drawbridge was rising, slowly and steadily, cutting off my escape, getting larger and larger before me. It was up ten, twenty, thirty degrees. I was not going to make it.

  We hit with a jar that would have thrown me out if the safety-belt hadn’t been locked. Thank you, voice. The front wheels rose up onto the drawbridge, higher and higher, until the nose of the car was pointing into the air. If it, climbed any higher it would be flipped onto its back.

  Which was a chance that I would just have to take. The gears growled and my transport of delight bucked and chuntered – and I heard a squealing and snapping.

  Then the whole thing pitched forward. The chains lifting the drawbridge had torn from their moorings under the massive weight of my car. The nose fell and we hit with a crash that almost stunned me.

  But my foot was still down and the wheels were still turning. The vehicle shot forward – straight for the water. I twisted the steering wheel, straightened it, then tore across the bridge and onto the road. Faster and faster, up the hill and around the bend – then let up on the speed before we overturned on the ruts. I was safe and away.

  ‘Jim,’ I advised myself, gasping for breath. ‘Try not to do that again if you can avoid it.’

  I looked back, but there was no one following me. But there would be, soon, if not on foot then in one of the other fake steamcars. I put my foot back down and kept my mouth clamped shut so it didn’t clack and splinter my teeth when we hit the bumps.

  There was a long hill that slowed my pace. Even with the accelerator on the floor we crawled because of the gearing and the weight of the beast. I used the opportunity to check the charge – batteries full! They had better be because I had no way of recharging them once they ran down. Above the clatter and rumble I heard a thin and distant whistle and flashed a quick look over my shoulder. There they were! Two of the machines, hot on my tail.

  There was no way they were going to catch me. Off the road these things would be useless and mired down – and there was only one road leading to Dimonte’s keep. I was on it and headed that way and I was going to keep them behind me all the way.

  Except that if I led them there they would know who had pinched their wagon and would come after it with the gas bombs. No good. I looked back and saw that they were gaining – but they soon slowed to my pace when they reached the bottom of the hill. I went over the top and my speed picked up as did the jarring. I hoped that they had built the thing to withstand this kind of beating. Then the crossroad loomed up ahead, with peasants leaping out of my way, and there was the left turning that would take me to Capo Dimonte. I steamed right through it. I didn’t know this road at all so all I could do was go on and keep my fingers crossed.

  Something had to be done – and fairly soon. Even if I stayed ahead of them all day, I would run the battery flat and that would be that. Think, Jim, cudgel the old brain cells.

  Opportunity presented itself around the next bend. A rough farm track led off through a field and down to a stream. Then, like all good ideas, this one appeared full-blown in my forebrain, complete in every detail.

  Without hesitation I turned the wheel and trundled down into the meadow. Going slower and slower as I felt my wheels sink into the soft soil. If I got mired now it was the end. Or at least the end of my mastery of this crate – which I would dearly like to keep for a while. Carry on, Jim, but carefully.

  At the lowest speed, in the lowest gear, I ground forward until the front wheels were in the stream. They were sinking mushily into the mud as I stopped – then carefully began to back out. Looking over my shoulder, keeping in the ruts I had made on the way down. Reversing out of the field until I was safely back on the road. As I shifted gears I permitted myself a quick glimpse of my work. Perfect! The ruts led straight down to the water and on into it.

  On the road behind me I heard a not too-distant whistle. I stood on the throttle and accelerated around the bend until I was hidden by the trees. Lifted my foot, killed the engine, slammed on the brakes and jumped down.

  This was going to be the dangerous part. I had to convince them to follow the tracks. If they didn’t believe me I had little chance of escape. But it was a risk that had to be taken.

  As I ran I pulled off my jacket, staggering as I pulled my arms free and turned it inside out. I draped it over my shoulders, tied the arms in front, then bent to roll up my trouser legs. Not much of a disguise, but it would have to do. Hopefully the drivers had not had a good look at me – if they had seen me at all.

  I stood by the spot where I had turned and had just enough time to seize up some dirt and rub it into my face as the first pseudo steamcar clanked around the bend.

  They slowed as I stepped into the road and pointed. And shouted.

  ‘He went that-away!’

  The driver and the gunmen turned to look at the field and stared at the tracks. The vehicle slowed to a stop.

  ‘Splashed right into the water and kept on going through the field. Feller a friend of yours?’

  This was the moment of truth. It stretched taut, longer and longer as the second vehicle came up and slowed to a stop as well. What if they questioned me – even looked closely at me? I wanted to run – but if I did that would be a giveaway.

  ‘Follow him!’ someone called out and the driver twisted his wheel and turned towards the field.

  I slipped back into the trees and watched with great interest. It was beautiful. I felt proud of myself, yes I did. I am not ashamed to admit it. When a painter creates a masterpiece he knows it and does not attempt to diminish its importance by false modesty.

  This was a masterpiece. The first car rattled down through the field, bobbing and bouncing, and hit the water with an immense splash. It was going so fast that its rear wheels actually reached the stream before it slowed to a stop. And began to slowly sink into the soft mud. It went down to its hubs before it stopped.


  There was much shouting and swearing at that – and best of all someone rooted out a chain and connected the two cars. Wonderful. The second one spun its wheels and churned the field until it too was safely mired. I clapped appreciatively and strolled back to my own car.

  I shouldn’t have done it, I know. But there are times when one just cannot resist showing off. I sat down, snapped on my belt, started the motor, moved the car carefully forward and back until I had turned about. Then accelerated back down the road.

  And as I passed the turnoff I pulled down hard on the whistle. It screeched loudly and every head turned, every eye was on me. I waved and smiled. Then the trees were in the way and the beautiful vision vanished from sight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was a victory ride. I laughed aloud, sang and blew the whistle with joy. When this first enthusiasm had died down I moved the queen on my mental chess-board and considered what came next. The hissing of steam and clanking of machinery was distracting and I examined the controls until I found the switch that turned the special effects off. The steam was being boiled to order and the sounds were just a recording. I threw the switch and rode on in peace towards Capo Dimonte’s keep. It was late afternoon before I reached it – and by that time my plans were complete.

  When I came around the last bend in the road and turned onto the causeway I had full sound and steam effects going again. I trundled slowly down in clear sight of the guards. They had the partially-repaired drawbridge raised long before I reached it and peered out suspiciously at me as I stopped before the gap.

  ‘Don’t shoot! Me friend!’ I called out. ‘Member of your army and a close associate of the Capo Dimonte. Send for him at once for I know he wants to see his new steam cart.’

  He did indeed. As soon as the drawbridge was lowered he strode across it and looked up at me.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.

  ‘Stole it. Climb aboard and let me show you some interesting things.’

  ‘Where is the sleeping gas?’ he asked as he climbed the rungs.

  ‘I didn’t bother with it. With this cart I have developed an even better and more foolproof plan. This is no ordinary steam cart, as I hope you have noticed. It is a new and improved model with some interesting additions that will capture your attention …’

  ‘You idiot! What are you talking about?’ He slipped his sword up and down in its scabbard; such a quick temper.

  ‘I will demonstrate, your Caponess, since one action speaks louder than a thousand words. I also suggest that you sit there and strap that belt about you as I have done. This demonstration, I guarantee, will impress you.’

  If not impressed already he was at least curious. He strapped in and I backed the length of the causeway to the shore. Going slowly with all attendant wheezing and clanking. I stopped the car and turned to him.

  ‘What about the speed of this thing? What are you used to?’

  ‘Speed? You mean how fast it moves? This is an excellent yoke and goes with greater alacrity than my own.’

  ‘You have seen nothing yet, Capo. First – notice this.’

  I turned off the sound and steam and he nodded with understanding. ‘You have banked its fires and it rests and does not move.’

  ‘Quite the opposite. I have simply silenced it so no one can hear its approach. It is raring to go – and go it will. After you answer one question. If this cart belonged to an enemy and it appeared here – would your soldiers have time to raise the drawbridge before it reached them?’

  He snorted with derision. ‘What sort of fool do you take me for with questions like that? Before a cart could crawl its way there the drawbridge could be raised and lowered more than once.’

  ‘Really? Then hold on and see what this baby can do.’

  I floored the accelerator and the thing shot forward in almost perfect silence. There was the hum of the motor, the rustle of the tyres on the smooth stone. Faster and faster towards the gate which expanded before us with frightening speed. The guards who were standing there dived aside just in time as we hit the rough boards of the repaired wooden drawbridge with a crash, bounced and rocked through the gate.

  And shuddered to a halt inside the keep. The capo sat there with round eyes, gasping, then struggled to get his sword free.

  ‘Assassin! Your attempt to kill me has failed …’

  ‘Capo, listen, it was a demonstration. Of how I am going to get you and your soldiers through the gate of Capo Doccia’s keep. Right through the open gate into the courtyard where you can kill, loot, murder, torture, maim, destroy …’

  This got his attention. The sword slid back into its scabbard and his eyes unfocused as they looked at the wonders I had summoned up for him.

  ‘Right,’ he said, blinking rapidly and coming back to the present. ‘You have an interesting idea here, soldier, and I want to hear more about it. Over a flagon of wine – for that ride was something I have never experienced before.’

  ‘I obey. But let me first get this cart hidden and out of sight so it cannot be observed. The attack will only succeed if there is complete surprise.’

  ‘In that you are correct. Put it in the barn and I will post guards over it.’

  The wine he gave me was a good cut above the acid the troops were issued and I sipped it with pleasure. But not too much for I was going to need a clear head if the game were to proceed as planned. I had to find reasons that would make sense to him, to convince him to get cracking with his war plans at once. Because if we didn’t move quickly, Prof Lustig would be swarming over us with his gas bombs. I am sure he was most unhappy about my pinching his buggy. And there were not that many keeps in the area where it could be hidden. It was time for action. I slid out a rook along a mental rank and spoke.

  ‘The keep of the foul Capo Doccia is no more than a five-hour walk from here – is that correct?’

  ‘Five hours, four-hour forced march.’

  ‘Good. Then consider this. He attacked you while you were away with the greater part of your army. His troops did great injury to the drawbridge and the fabric of the keep itself. Before you venture out to launch an attack you must have the drawbridge repaired, hire more soldiers perhaps. So when you begin your next campaign no advantage can be taken of your absence. Is that correct?’

  He slurped his wine and glared at me over the rim. ‘Yes, damn and blast your head, I suppose it is Prudence, my officers always counsel prudence when I want to behead that creature, rip out his entrails, flay him alive …’

  ‘And you shall, yes indeed, fine things lurk in your future. And unlike your other advisers I do not counsel caution. I think that fiend in human guise should be attacked – and at once!’

  This appealed to him all right and I could see that I had his undivided attention as I explained my plan.

  ‘Leave the keep here just as it is – and take all your men. If everything goes as planned you will have troops back here long before anyone knows we have gone. We march at midnight, silent as vengeful spirits, to be in positions of concealment at dawn, as close to Capo Doccia’s keep as is possible. I know just the spot. When the drawbridge is opened at dawn I shall use your new machine to see that it stays open. Your troops attack, take the keep by surprise – and the day is won. As soon as you have captured the keep you can send a strong force back here.’

  ‘It could happen that way. But how do you plan to stop them closing the drawbridge?’

  As I told him the wicked grin spread across his face and he whooped with joy.

  ‘Do it!’ he shouted, ‘and I shall make you rich for life. With Doccia’s groats of course, after I loot his treasury.’

  ‘You are kindness itself to your humble servant. May I then suggest that all in the keep be persuaded to rest for it will be a long night?’

  ‘Yes, that will be done. The orders will be issued.’

  After that I slipped away. Other than my natural concern for the tired bodies of my comrades, I had other reasons for wishing
all of them in their beds. I had a few important tasks to perform before I could get any rest myself.

  ‘Tools,’ I told Dreng when I had routed him out. ‘Files, hammers, anything like that. Where would I find them here?’

  He shoved a finger deep into his matted hair and scratched hard in thought. I resisted the urge to reach out and shake him and waited instead until the slow processes had crawled to a finish. Perhaps the fingernail rasping on skull helped his sluggish synapses to function. It would be best not to interfere with an established practice. Eventually he spoke.

  ‘I don’t have any tools?’

  ‘I know, dear boy.’ I could hear my teeth grate together and forced myself to keep control. ‘You don’t have tools, but someone here must. Who would that be?’

  ‘Blacksmith,’ he said proudly. ‘The blacksmith always has tools.’

  ‘Good lad. Now, would you kindly lead the way to this blacksmith?’

  The individual in question was sooty and hairy and in a foul mood, sour wine strong on his breath.

  ‘Hiss off, runt. No one touches Grundge’s tools, no one.’

  Runt indeed! I did not have to force the snarl and growl. ‘Listen you filthy piece of flab – those are the Capo’s tools, not your tools. And the Capo sent me for them. Now either I take them now or my knave goes to bring the Capo here. Shall I do that?’

  He closed his fists and growled, then hesitated. Like everyone else he had seen me drive the capo into the keep and knew I was his confidant. He couldn’t take any chances on crossing his boss. He began to bob up and down bowing and scraping.

  ‘Certainly, master. Grundge knows his place. Tools, sure, take tools. Over here, whatever you want.’

  I pushed past his sweaty form to the dismal display of primitive devices. Pathetic! I kicked through the pile until I found a file, hammer and clumsy metal snips that would have to do. I pushed them towards Dreng.

  ‘Take these. And you, Grundge, can crawl over in the morning to the barn and get them back.’