The Wrath of the Lizard Lord

by Jon Mayhew

  For Sarah Davies

  ‘But a man, a living man, and with him a whole generation of gigantic animals. Buried in the entrails of the earth – it was too monstrous to be believed!’

  Jules Verne, A Journey to the Centre of the Earth

  Contents

  ELBA, 1815

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  A Note from the Author

  Also by Jon Mayhew

  ELBA, 1815

  Chapter One

  A Demon from Hell

  Dakkar bit his lip, hardly daring to breathe as he approached the guard who was slumped against the tunnel wall. Crimson blood stained the white of the man’s shredded uniform and a pistol shook in his hand. He lay beside a solid oak door that led deeper into the building’s cellars or perhaps up to the ground floor. The remains of another door littered the other end of the passage. It had been smashed open with some force.

  ‘Oginski, quickly!’ Dakkar hissed to his mentor, who followed behind him in the tunnel. ‘Someone got here before us!’

  Oginski barged past, his big frame almost crushing Dakkar against the rough side of the passageway. He snatched a flaming torch from a bracket in the wall and squatted down beside the guard. Dakkar joined him.

  ‘Who did this, mon ami?’ Oginski said to the guard as he gingerly examined the man’s wounds.

  ‘A demon!’ the guard gasped, his eyes widening. He lifted his pistol and waved it towards the shattered door that had once barred the tunnel that stretched before them. ‘I shot it and it fled back from whence it came. Down there.’

  The whole tunnel shook as a roar echoed around them.

  ‘It hasn’t gone!’ Dakkar yelled. ‘Is this loaded?’ he demanded, grabbing the guard’s rifle. The man gave a weary nod and slumped back as if passing all responsibility to the new stranger.

  ‘Dakkar, wait!’ Oginski called after him, but Dakkar had already dashed through the splintered door. With an oath, he charged after him.

  Oginski’s torch cast wild, dancing shadows, the light reflecting off a trail of black blood spots that led down the tunnel.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s bleeding,’ he called to Oginski. ‘Do demons bleed?’

  ‘Demons!’ Oginski spat. ‘Whatever came down here is as mortal as you. Which is why you should slow down!’

  ‘Look!’ Dakkar cried, hurrying ahead.

  In the flickering light, Dakkar glimpsed the glowing orb of an eye and a flickering tip of a tail. Torchlight shimmered on the creature’s scaly skin and flashed on rows of pointed yellow teeth. Then it vanished round the corner.

  Dakkar stopped so abruptly that Oginski ran into his back, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

  ‘Impetuous boy!’ Oginski groaned, rolling on to all fours. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Dakkar staggered to his feet, rubbing his bruised backside. He stared up at the bend in the tunnel.

  ‘Didn’t you see it?’ he asked, his voice low.

  ‘See what?’ Oginski snapped, dusting himself down.

  ‘The demon?’ Dakkar whispered.

  Oginski stepped in front of Dakkar and grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Dakkar,’ he said, staring deep into the boy’s eyes. ‘There is no demon.’

  ‘But I saw it,’ Dakkar began. ‘It was a monster . . . with teeth and tail, scales and claws.’

  ‘Follow me,’ Oginski said, blowing his breath through his teeth and shaking his head. ‘And keep that rifle ready.’

  The silence was unbearable as they inched towards the blind turn in the tunnel. What is that thing? thought Dakkar. It might be waiting to pounce even now.

  Rock dust began to trickle from the ceiling, making Dakkar freeze.

  ‘Oginski,’ he hissed. ‘The tunnel, it’s –’

  But Dakkar’s voice was drowned out by the deafening roar of tumbling rock. He stumbled to the side as chunks of stone rained down. One rock struck him, numbing his shoulder. He could see Oginski falling backward through a fog of dust as the entire passageway shook. Bigger slabs crashed around him, and Dakkar crouched, covering his head with his hands as if that would save him somehow.

  Then all fell still.

  Oginski coughed and spluttered as the air cleared. ‘Are you all right, Dakkar?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dakkar said, his voice parched by the experience. ‘Just a bit bruised.’

  ‘We can’t follow it now,’ Oginski said. ‘Whatever it was.’

  Rubble covered the ground and a wall of fallen stone sealed the tunnel ahead of them. Nothing was coming out of there.

  Dakkar peered over Oginski’s shoulder.

  ‘Listen!’ Oginski said, holding up a hand. A faint, metallic whine, followed by a grating, scraping sound from behind the rock, gradually died away.

  ‘I’ve heard that sound before,’ Dakkar said, shivering suddenly and hugging the rifle against his chest. ‘It was a Mole Machine. Do you think another of your brothers has perfected such a device?’

  He thought back to their last encounter with Count Cryptos. He had been building a giant machine that dug tunnels, intending to cause a massive volcanic explosion. Thankfully, Oginski and Dakkar had foiled the plot but Count Cryptos had died in the ensuing chaos. There would be another Count Cryptos to take his place, though – that was certain. The count who had died was one of Oginski’s six brothers, all of whom were determined to change the world order and rule themselves.

  ‘I fear it’s more than possible,’ Oginski said, snapping Dakkar out of his thoughts. ‘One of my wonderful brothers must be behind this. We were right to come and investigate.’

  ‘Do you think Count Cryptos brought the . . . thing here?’ Dakkar asked, edging towards the pile of stones and straining to hear.

  ‘Whatever-it-was came up into this cellar through a tunnel made by the Mole Machine,’ Oginski muttered, dabbing a finger in the congealing blood on the floor. ‘When it went back, the tunnel collapsed behind it. We can’t linger – the alarm will have been raised by now.’

  ‘You think the one we came for has already escaped?’ Dakkar said.

  ‘I don’t know but that tremor and the wounded man are enough to bring him and his entire personal guard down here if he hasn’t left already.’

  As if in reply to Oginski’s comment, muffled shouts echoed down the tunnel towards them, followed by the sound of urgent footsteps.

  ‘We’d better go!’ Dakkar said, turning to hurry back up the passage.

  Something gleamed in the frame of the shattered door as Dakkar passed it, making him stop and squint in the dim light.

  ‘Dakkar, there is no time,’ Oginski
snapped.

  ‘It’s a claw,’ Dakkar exclaimed, plucking it from the wood of the door. ‘It must be two inches long!’

  ‘Very good,’ Oginski said, grabbing Dakkar’s arm. ‘We can look at it later. Now, come!’

  Dakkar slipped the claw into his pocket and scurried after him.

  The wounded guard still lay propped against the wall. His breathing was shallow and blood pooled around him. Dakkar felt a lump in his throat.

  ‘You never get used to it,’ Oginski said, his voice heavy. ‘If you do then you’ve become a monster.’

  ‘Halt!’

  Dakkar spun round and found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle. Three guards, in similar blue and white uniform to the dying man, spilled through the remaining doorway, glaring at them with bayonets fixed.

  ‘Gentlemen, it is not what you think,’ Oginski said in fluent French.

  ‘This man will vouch for us,’ Dakkar said, glancing down at the injured guard.

  But the guard gave a last, strangled gasp and sagged lifeless against the wall.

  ‘My comrade seems indisposed to answer any questions,’ the head guard hissed, clicking back the flintlock on his rifle. ‘And I see no other possible culprits. Prepare to die.’

  Chapter Two

  The Little Corporal

  The other two guards cocked their rifles and levelled them at Dakkar and Oginski.

  ‘You must listen to us,’ Dakkar said, shaking his fists in desperation. ‘We didn’t kill this man.’

  ‘Even if that were so,’ the guard said, squinting down the rifle at Dakkar, ‘you are trespassing beneath the palace of the emperor himself!’

  More footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Dakkar squeezed his eyes tight shut, waiting for the roar of the rifles.

  An imperious voice cut through the tramp of feet. ‘Wait!’

  Dakkar opened one eye to see the tunnel filled with men in blue and white uniforms. The soldiers who had first apprehended them lowered their weapons and stood to attention.

  A stocky man worked his way through the scrum, soldiers standing bolt upright as he did so. His clothes – a brown woollen jacket, green waistcoat and cream knee breeches – suggested to Dakkar that he was a gentleman of some kind, while his steely blue eyes suggested a higher authority. He reminded Dakkar of his own father, the Rajah of Bundelkhand, and hoped he wasn’t such a ruthless and pitiless ruler.

  ‘Count Oginski,’ the man said, a smile lengthening his round face. ‘Is this a social call or have you come to join me?’

  ‘Your excellency,’ Oginski said, giving a shallow bow. ‘I’ve come to save your life.’

  ‘Really?’ The man seemed amused by this. His eyes wandered to Dakkar. ‘You bring a child on your rescue mission?’

  ‘Forgive me, your excellency,’ Oginski said, gesturing to Dakkar. ‘This is Prince Dakkar of Bundelkhand.’

  ‘And I’m not a child,’ Dakkar said, glaring back at the man.

  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 invent�
�ive 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.