by Jon Mayhew
A shadow passed over Cutter’s square face. ‘He was once,’ he said. ‘And he will be again.’
Another of the men brought two bowls of steaming broth and some chunks of bread. Dakkar’s mouth watered. The smell was so good after days of stale biscuit and salt beef. Cutter waved a hand to the bowl and Dakkar couldn’t resist snatching a spoon and slurping up the soup. This is all wrong, he thought. Oginski is dying on that table and here I am eating with this agent of Cryptos. He put his spoon down.
‘I just want Oginski to live,’ Dakkar said, narrowing his eyes at Cutter.
‘Eat your soup – you’ll need your strength for the journey to Lyme,’ Cutter said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘As for Oginski, we’ll do our best.’
Dakkar picked up the spoon again. Oginski had talked a little about his past but not gone into details. Dakkar didn’t know that his mentor had once commanded men and guards as Count Cryptos did. Had Oginski once called himself Count Cryptos? Had he ever plotted to overthrow countries or even empires?
‘You served with Oginski?’ Dakkar said, his voice thick with the soup.
Cutter rested his elbow on the table and pushed his shoulder forward so that the Cryptos insignia on the top of his arm faced Dakkar. ‘Cryptos Red Faction,’ he said, pointing to the insignia. ‘We were Oginski’s most loyal men, his elite fighters. Our missions took us all over the world. Twenty men now guard this cove for him. Over the years, Franciszek Oginski saved the lives of every one of us. We swore an oath of loyalty to him.’
‘Then why do you still wear the badge of Count Cryptos?’ Dakkar said, frowning.
‘Cryptos is more than just one man. It is an army,’ Cutter replied, raising his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. ‘We are loyal to our comrades too. When Franciszek Oginski turned against his brothers, we swore we would never harm him but we couldn’t turn against our other comrades. It was a dark day.’
‘So you don’t fight for anyone now?’ Dakkar said.
‘We will help our brothers, if they call,’ Cutter said. ‘But not if it involves Franciszek Oginski. In the meantime we keep busy – a little smuggling, some robbery. We wait for him to return and lead us once more.’
Dakkar sat speechless. I can’t imagine Oginski leading these men, he thought. Surely he wasn’t like the Count Cryptos I knew – ruthless and cold.
The cottage door burst open and the man called Piper stood there, panting. He looked as if the devil himself were after him.
‘The carriage is ready, Cutter,’ he panted. ‘The men are ready with a stretcher to carry the count up the cliff path.’
‘Good work, Piper,’ Cutter growled, rising to his feet. ‘Oginski would be impressed with your speed.’
Piper gave a tight smile and nodded.
These men really do care about Oginski, Dakkar thought. Why didn’t he try to reform them?
Dakkar watched, forgotten by the men as they hurried to lift Oginski on to the stretcher. Four held the stretcher by the handles, two at the front and two at the back, each flanked by a man armed with a rifle. They eased their burden out through the door and into the darkening night.
Cutter nodded to Dakkar to follow them. The big man grabbed a thick woollen jacket that hung on the back of the door and threw it to Dakkar.
‘That’ll keep you from perishing in the cold,’ he said. ‘Now, come with us.’
Darkness filled the quay and some of the men carried lanterns that swung as they moved, making the cobbles dance. Dakkar felt a little dizzy.
He glanced back at the black outline of the Nautilus, bobbing at the end of the jetty, and bit his lip.
‘Don’t worry,’ Cutter called back to him. ‘The rest of the men will guard Oginski’s sub with their lives.’
Dakkar hurried next to Oginski’s stretcher as the men began to march along the narrow quay. As they moved, Dakkar noticed crumbling, derelict fishermen’s cottages skirting the cobbled space. He shuddered. Had the people here moved out of their own free will?
‘This place was long abandoned when we took it over,’ said the man holding the back of the stretcher, as if reading Dakkar’s mind. ‘The entrance to the cove collapsed, making it almost impossible to get boats out to sea. The villagers left for easier ports.’
Soon, the path rose steeply and turned into steps carved out of the crumbling rock. The men’s pace didn’t change and Dakkar found himself panting for breath as the weeks of deprivation and effort caught up with him. The soup he had eaten earlier threatened to force its way out of his stomach and his head thumped. He glanced up as the men’s feet pounded in a uniform rhythm on the steps. Oginski’s stretcher remained level, and even though the men at the back were virtually holding the big man above their heads their faces betrayed no sign of effort.
Soon they crested the cliff and climbed on to a narrow, muddy track that led into the darkness. The cliff path whirled and veered in front of him. He felt his legs give way at the knee and he pitched forward, bumping into one of the guards. Suddenly he found himself staring back down on to the cottages, tiny now they had climbed to the top of the cliff. He stumbled straight towards the edge of the path and the drop below. He couldn’t stop himself. He was falling.
Chapter Eight
Night Attack
Dakkar felt weightless for a second. He tried to scream but his dry mouth and throat let out a hoarse croak.
Then a firm hand yanked at his collar, choking him and dragging him back. His feet kicked forward and he fell hard on to his backside. Cutter stood over him, his hands on his hips.
‘Careful, lad,’ he said. ‘It’s a long way down.’
‘Thank you,’ Dakkar gasped, his voice like sandpaper.
He felt strong hands sweep him up and half push, half drag him up the path towards a waiting carriage. As he came closer, he could see that it was quite plain – more a box on wheels with a door at each side and thick curtains covering the open windows.
‘Get the boy inside,’ Cutter barked.
The carriage door creaked open and Dakkar was dragged up. He eased himself on to a bench at the back, glad to have the chance to sit and rest. A moment later, Oginski was pushed in on his stretcher. The whiteness of his face stood out in the darkness. Dakkar rested a palm on the man’s clammy brow.
‘Don’t you dare die, Oginski,’ he whispered, tears prickling his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare!’
Piper climbed in and sat next to Dakkar.
‘Do not worry, my friend,’ he said, laying a hand on Dakkar’s arm. ‘We will get him to Doctor Walbridge. Oginski is strong. He has cheated death before.’
Serge, the man who had held Dakkar at gunpoint, climbed in and sat on the other side of him. The carriage began to rock as the driver smacked the reins, waking the horses into motion.
‘How did he come to be so badly hurt?’ Serge said, looking down on his fallen leader and shaking his head.
‘There was an explosion,’ Dakkar muttered, looking at the floor. ‘And some men shot at us. A bullet caught Oginski’s shoulder.’
‘You’ve been at sea for some days,’ Piper said, looking keenly at Dakkar. ‘Where did this happen?’
Weariness ate at Dakkar’s very bones. He didn’t have the energy to think and didn’t want to say. But, looking down at Oginski’s frail form, it all seemed so pointless. He heaved a sigh.
‘We were on Elba,’ he said, grinding the heel of his hand into his eye. ‘Trying to stop Cryptos from killing Napoleon.’
‘Just you and Franciszek?’ Serge said, his eyes wide. ‘How many men did Cryptos have?’
‘Which of Franciszek’s brothers was against you?’ Piper asked, leaning forward.
‘I don’t know,’ Dakkar admitted. ‘They had some kind of beast but it fled when an imperial guard shot at it.’
‘So you didn’t see any Cryptos guards?’ Serge frowned.
‘No,’ Dakkar said slowly. ‘Only some badges that Bonaparte’s guards said they had taken from Cryptos’s.’
‘S
ounds like you’ve been led on a wild goose chase,’ Piper said.
‘A what?’ Dakkar said.
‘A pointless mission,’ Serge explained. ‘If Cryptos really wanted Bonaparte dead, he would be. They wanted to draw Oginski out, distract him, maybe from a larger plan.’
‘But Oginski had reliable information that Cryptos was going to kill Bonaparte,’ Dakkar said.
‘We heard that rumour too,’ Piper said. ‘Not that we’d have done much about it.’
‘I did wonder why he was so keen to protect such a man as Bonaparte, Dakkar said, stamping his foot. ‘He has caused nothing but misery in Europe. He’s worse than Cryptos himself!’
‘That’s one point of view.’ Serge nodded in agreement. ‘Oginski admires him, though. He’d often point out that even during his short time on Elba, he has established democratic councils and improved the irrigation and drainage systems for the people. Anyway, if Cryptos wants Bonaparte dead, Oginski wants him alive!’
‘It’s true,’ Piper said.
‘Quiet in there,’ hissed Cutter, banging on the side of the carriage. ‘We have company.’
‘Soldiers,’ Piper whispered, staring out of the carriage. ‘On the lookout for smugglers, no doubt.’
‘Stop!’ shouted a gruff voice from outside. The carriage rumbled to a halt. Dakkar’s heart pounded. Piper clicked back the hammer on his pistol. ‘What’s your business, travelling at this time of night?’
‘We have a poor unfortunate who needs a doctor,’ Cutter called back. Dakkar peered out of the window door into the night.
‘If we don’t get him to Lyme, he’ll surely die.’ He could see at least ten soldiers, the colour of their uniforms bleached blue by the moonlight. They blocked the narrow lane, their rifles cocked and trained on Cutter.
Where are the other men who have been running alongside the carriage? Dakkar thought. There had been at least six of them, but now the big man stood alone.
‘We’ll need to search your carriage,’ said the officer in charge of the soldiers as they inched forward, rifles levelled at Cutter.
‘Sorry, boys,’ Cutter said, raising his hands, ‘but we’re in a hurry and can’t be waiting.’
A shot rang out from the lane and one of the soldiers fell to the ground with a scream. Dakkar threw himself back into the carriage as more gunfire lit up the lane. The soldiers’ rifles roared, sending bullets ripping through the top of the carriage. Then Dakkar heard the grunts and yells of hand-to-hand combat. He looked out again, expecting to see a bloodbath. Instead, he saw Cutter swinging his heavy fist into the officer’s chin. The blow lifted the soldier off the ground and into the hedgerow that lined the lane.
Cutter’s men had crept round the side of the soldiers and leapt from the bushes, taking them by surprise. The guns had gone off in all directions, missing Cutter. Dakkar saw Bolton crack a soldier on the top of the head with his fist, sending the man crumpling to the earth, unconscious. Another of Cutter’s men lifted a soldier above his head and threw him to the ground.
Soon, all the soldiers were strewn across the lane. One held his arm where the first shot had winged him.
‘Tie them up quickly,’ Cutter said, clicking his fingers. ‘We don’t have time to waste.’ He glanced round at Dakkar. ‘Don’t worry, your highness – they’re all alive. If we killed one of them then the place would be crawling with His Majesty’s army. As it is, these boys will probably be too embarrassed to report this little episode.’
Dakkar nodded, sliding back on to his bench. Oginski groaned as the carriage began to rattle along the lane again.
The rest of the journey proved uneventful and Dakkar tried to stay awake, keeping watch over the limp figure on the stretcher at his feet, but exhaustion overwhelmed him. He dozed fitfully, being shaken awake every now and then by the ruts and potholes in the lane that made the carriage jump and lurch. Time seemed disjointed, stopping and starting until Dakkar didn’t have a clue how long they had travelled for.
‘Wake up, boy. We’re here!’ Serge said, poking Dakkar in the arm.
Dakkar forced his heavy eyes open to see the men sliding Oginski’s stretcher out of the carriage.
They stood in a cobbled street that plunged steeply down towards the sea, which hushed and shushed them somewhere behind the claustrophobic press of little houses. The men, led by Cutter, hurried across the street to a two-floor stone cottage. Dakkar could see its occupants were a little more well-to-do than their neighbours by the freshly painted door and the brass knocker.
Cutter ignored the knocker and hammered on the door with his fist. Dakkar glanced around the street, expecting lights to flare in the tiny windows that looked out darkly at them. Cutter thumped at the door again.
A square panel opened in the door and a rifle barrel poked out.
‘Who is it?’ hissed a voice from inside. ‘And what d’you mean, coming here, banging on my door in the middle of the night?’
‘It’s Cutter, Doctor Walbridge,’ the big man replied in a low but urgent voice. ‘I have a patient on the verge of death.’
The barrel vanished back through the panel and Dakkar heard bolts being drawn back. The door opened to reveal a portly gentleman in a long nightshirt and a cap on his round head. Grey frizzes of hair poked wildly from under the nightcap and he glared at them all over a pair of half-moon glasses.
‘Get inside,’ he snapped. ‘You’ll wake the whole town with your bellowing and stamping around.’
They all followed Cutter and the stretcher as they squeezed into the narrow hallway. Ten men and Oginski on the stretcher filled the house and spilled into the tiny living room that adjoined the hall.
‘You men wait here,’ Walbridge said, waving vaguely at the rooms. ‘Take the patient upstairs.’
Dakkar went to follow Walbridge and Cutter but the doctor turned and raised a hand to stop him.
‘Let him come, doctor,’ Cutter said. ‘He brought Oginski to us.’
‘Oginski!’ Walbridge exclaimed, pushing his glasses up his nose and staring over the shoulders of the stretcher bearers. ‘My word. I would never have recognised him. Quickly – get him up to the room on the left.’
They hurried up the cramped stairs and Dakkar stood forgotten as the doctor hurried to get Oginski on to a bed.
‘Breathing shallow but regular,’ Walbridge muttered, pressing an ear to his chest. ‘Heartbeat fast.’
‘He took a rifle ball in the shoulder,’ Dakkar said.
Walbridge paused and stared at Dakkar over his glasses. ‘I can see that, young man,’ the doctor said. ‘I am just assessing whether or not Count Oginski is strong enough for me to remove it.’
Dakkar watched helplessly as the doctor undressed Oginski and examined his wasted body. Finally, Walbridge shook his head.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Dakkar asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.
‘He is very weak,’ Walbridge asked. ‘He has internal injuries and the wound is infected. There’s nothing for it but to remove the shot from his shoulder.’
‘His life hangs in the balance then?’ Cutter said, with a catch in his throat.
Walbridge nodded. ‘I will do my very best,’ he said, his voice softening. ‘Oginski is an old friend of mine. Now you must leave me to do my work.’
Chapter Nine
The Old Oginski
Dakkar followed Cutter downstairs to await the results of Walbridge’s operation. He felt numb and cold.
They stepped into the tiny living room. A table had been pushed back and men sat on the floor or on the few chairs that stood there. A small fire smouldered in the grate and Piper knelt, trying to add kindling to bring it back to life. Not that a fire was needed; the crush of the men filled the room with warmth. Dakkar sat by the window and listened as they talked about past adventures with Oginski.
‘Do you remember the time we blew that ammunition store in Seville?’ Serge said, grinning. ‘Franciszek nearly went up with it himself. Had to run back for Bolton.�
��
‘I’d been shot in the ankle,’ Bolton protested, then he gave a sad smile. ‘But, yes, he came back for me.’
‘He wouldn’t have abandoned any of us,’ Cutter said. ‘He pulled me from that sinking ship. We both nearly drowned.’
Dakkar felt jealous that these men shared a past with Oginski, time Dakkar knew nothing about.
‘Different now, though, isn’t it?’ Piper stood up and stared into the fire. ‘Now he’s got his tame little prince.’
Dakkar looked up. The eyes of every man in the room were on him. Eyes full of menace.
‘What do you mean?’ Dakkar said, his voice barely audible.
‘We’d never have let ’im get so close to death,’ Serge muttered, scowling at Dakkar. ‘If you weren’t around, maybe he’d have come back to us.’
‘Oginski left us long before this pipsqueak turned up,’ Cutter said, spitting into the fire. ‘You can’t blame Dakkar. But what days, eh?’
‘I can’t believe Oginski would commit . . . crimes,’ Dakkar said, his voice faltering. The Count Cryptos he’d met killed without a moment’s thought and plotted world domination. ‘Oginski isn’t like that.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Piper muttered, looking darkly at Dakkar. ‘But believe us when we say that there was a time when Franciszek would have taken life and liberty from anyone who stood in his way.’
The night dragged on. The men took it in turns to sleep or to keep watch out of the window.
‘Those military men won’t get back to their barracks until late morning but we’ll keep our eyes peeled,’ Cutter said.
Dakkar dozed, startling to wakefulness whenever someone spoke or moved. Sometimes he stole out to the bottom of the narrow stairs and looked up at the candlelight flickering from under the door of Oginski’s room.
‘It’s a ticklish business,’ Cutter said, ruffling Dakkar’s hair. ‘You can be a better help by being rested and refreshed in the morning.’
Dawn broke, grey and watery, as Dakkar waited. Someone put a plate of bread and cheese in front of him but he barely ate any of it.
