"Poisoned bullets," Professor Einstein explained, brandishing the Adam's .32 pocket revolver. "Rubbed with the venom of the Golden Arrow Frog from South America: the most deadly poison known to modern science."
Just then, a robed assassin armed with a hatchet dashed in through the smashed doorway at the far end of the coach. Without hesitation, Lord Carstairs brushed aside his tweed jacket to draw a massive revolver and pull the trigger. The deafening boom of the weapon nearly burst the professor's eardrums as, minus a head, the Squid God worshiper collapsed into a vacant seat, instantly rendered no more dangerous than his deceased predecessors.
"Webley .455 British Army revolver," Carstairs reported, waving the barrel of the military pistol to disperse the smoke pouring from its gaping maw. "Poison would be superfluous."
"Most definitely, lad," the professor agreed in clinical admiration.
Over the cold wind, a cry of pain sounded from the caboose, and the explorers surged forward. Hopping from one rattling car to the next, they kicked open the door to the caboose with their weapons drawn and ready. But the caboose was a slaughterhouse. The dismembered bodies of the relief engineer, cooks, and porters lay neatly arranged to create some form of ghastly pentagram on the bloody floor. Nobody was alive in that nauseating hell, aside from the twenty hooded figures that now gleefully advanced while howling their indecipherable cry.
Firing their pistols in unison, Einstein and Carstairs retreated to the passenger car. While Lord Carstairs held off the Squid God worshipers with his booming Webley, the professor lay down to release the locking mechanism that held the two railroad carriages together.
Suddenly, the caboose began to fall behind the rest of the train. One Squid God worshiper tried to dive across the widening gap, but failed completely, with grisly results. But then, several more of the robed lunatics, armed with crossbows, appeared and started shooting. The first quarrels went wild, but the next slammed into the woodwork directly alongside the two explorers.
Assuming a firing stance, Professor Einstein emptied his revolver at the retreating enemies while Lord Carstairs quickly reloaded. Every man the professor hit, no matter how small or trifling the wound, twitched once and dropped stone dead.
Then Carstairs took over. The booming Webley sent the robed fiends running for cover, as this was a danger they could understand.
"Bloody cowards," the lord snorted, standing in plain sight. But by now, the caboose was beyond the range of the crossbow arrows, and the huge explorer turned a contemptuous back on the murdering dogs. Then he went stiff in shock.
"Professor, behind you!" Carstairs cried, as a hooded figure leapt out of the water closet behind his friend.
With the older man directly in the way, the lord could not risk a shot, but Einstein ducked, and both men fired their weapons together. The Squid God worshiper hit the floor a yard from his shoes, his toes already curling into death.
"That was dirty pool, eh what?" Lord Carstairs grumbled in disdain.
"Quite true, lad. But I find all of this much too easy," Professor Einstein observed, removing the lone spent shell from his gun. "I really expected better."
"Agreed," Lord Carstairs said, cracking the heavy cylinder of the Webley to reload again. The empty brass fell to the floor with musical tinkling sounds. "Perhaps we killed off the leader, in the last attack."
"Doubtful, lad," Einstein said, taking a glassine envelope from his coat pocket. Inside was a single .32 bullet, the lead tip streaked with an oily yellow substance.
"How do you milk the frogs for the venom?" Lord Carstairs asked out of curiosity, as he thumbed in fresh .455 rounds.
"Tickle them with a warm goose feather right behind the…"
A crashing shower of glass interrupted the dissertation, and a screaming hooded figure flew in through the window to their left. Dropping his pistol, Carstairs grabbed the assassin in midair and added his strength to the woman's momentum. As gracefully as a trapeze artist, the surprised killer continued to fly across the passenger car, smashed through the window to the right, and disappeared into the rushing forest.
"Well done, lad," the professor complimented, closing the cylinder on his revolver with a neat click.
"Thank you," Lord Carstairs replied, retrieving his own pistol. Then he scowled. "Sir, I've just had a rather nasty thought. Might this clumsy attempt be a diversion to keep us busy while the real attack happens in another location?"
"Of course! The Po River Bridge!" Einstein exclaimed, smacking himself in the forehead. "Quick, lad, to the engine!"
At top speed, the pair of men raced back to the middle carriage, pausing only for second at their compartment, so that Lord Carstairs could grab his travel bag.
Reaching the lead car, Einstein and Carstairs impetuously shoved a hysterical conductor into a closet to get him out of the way, and then stepped outside the lead carriage onto the small platform. There were no more carriages to use. Directly ahead of them was the riveted steel aft-end of the coal car.
Gauging the top as too high to reach with a jump, the men separated. Each stepped around the corner of the coal car to place a shoe onto a slim catwalk running along the exposed side of the fuel carriage. Holding onto a smooth iron railing, they swung around and started slowly edging forward. The footing was treacherous, but this was the only access route to the engine. The wind whipped their clothing about painfully as the men inched along. The rushing ground below their feet was only a blur that they desperately tried not to think about, having already seen the grisly results of somebody's falling off the train.
Inches of distance slowly became feet, then yards, and finally they reached the end of the catwalk. Pausing to draw their weapons, the explorers swung around the corners and stepped into the engine cabin ready for anything! The startled engineer and shoveler both cried out at the sight of the armed British men. But the Italians proved to be alone and unharmed.
While Professor Einstein conversed with the quaking men in idiomatic Italian, Lord Carstairs leaned out the open side of the cabin to check ahead of the train. He still had the feeling that there was more to come in this attack.
Squinting against the blurring effect of the onrushing wind, the lord could just barely see the rapidly approaching Apennines crossing and the wooden trestle of the Po River Bridge. He started to relax, but then noticed something on the side of the bridge trestle about midspan. Oh, Hell!
"Professor!" Lord Carstairs cried over his shoulder, pointing ahead of the train. "See there! Midway on the superstructure!"
Rushing to join his friend, Einstein raised a hand to soften the pressure of the wind, and then cursed in four languages as he spotted several robe-clad figures crawling along one of the main support columns.
"Planting bomb!" Professor Einstein shouted over the screaming wind. "Must stop train!"
His hair whipping madly about, Lord Carstairs shook his head. "Too fast! No time!"
"What do we do?"
"Follow!"
Stepping out of the rushing air stream, the lord tore apart the lid of his travel bag and withdrew a heavy wooden stock. Deft as a palace surgeon, Carstairs expertly began to attach a long steel barrel to the stock, and then slid in a single-action bolt. In stunned surprise, Professor Einstein watched as his friend nimbly assembled a Holland & Holland .75 Nitro Express elephant rifle in mere seconds.
"But you'll never make it, lad!" the professor cried. "The train is rocking and the wind shear is impossible to calculate!"
With steadfast resolve, Lord Carstairs slid in an eight-inch-long cartridge and worked the bolt. Without comment, the British lord leaned out the window, squinted, aimed, and pulled the trigger. There was a thunderous report from the weapon that momentarily overpowered the strident wind, but nothing else seemed to happen.
***
"Okay, pass me the…ugh!" cried the Squid God worshiper as his chest exploded, and he flew off the support column like a puppet yanked by invisible strings.
"By The Great Squid!" the t
all hooded man gasped, as the body of his comrade disappeared into the misty abyss of the river chasm. A moment later, artificial thunder boomed across the yawning abyss.
Hurriedly, the short man glanced at the approaching train, which, instead of slowing for the crossing as per regulations, seemed to be increasing its speed. "Light the fuse!" he ordered frantically.
With a grim nod, the tall man struck a match. Instantly, blood sprayed blood from both sides of his chest. A second later, another rumbling boom arrived as the screaming man dropped into the depths below.
In raw desperation, the last Squid God worshiper strapped the dynamite bomb to his stomach and struck a match. As the wind blew out the flame, there was a loud crack. An overhead strut exploded into splinters, followed by another roll of thunder. Praying for divine assistance, the Squid God worshiper tried again. The second match flared, and died, as another beam in front of him disintegrated.
"Protect me, Mighty One!" he beseeched. Emptying the entire box of matches into a hand, he scratched every one simultaneously across the striker. The bundle flared like a miniature volcano. The flames bent to the wind, but did not go out. Yes! Touching the crackling fire to the fuse, the man whimpered in ecstasy as the gunpowder string hissed into life.
Success! In triumph, the Squid God worshiper clenched a raised fist at the rapidly approaching train, just as one more wooden strut behind him cracked, closely followed by the expected rumbling explosion.
Not a very good shot, the killer thought smugly. Those first two hits must have been pure luck.
Then he abruptly changed his mind as the disconnected section of the trestle began to bend away from the bridge. The assassin could only hang on to the wooden lattice as it snapped completely free and began to plummet. His last thoughts were not very complimentary to either his dark master or to the now-proven accuracy of the unseen rifleman.
***
Still accelerating, the train was in the middle of the weakened bridge, traveling at twice the recommended velocity, when the falling bomb detonated. The force of the violent blast shook the entire trestle and the Italian Central swayed dangerously as it continued to rocket onward.
With the support beams of the bridge creaking and groaning in protest, the Roman engineer threw the throttle lever to the floor. The 408-cycle steam engine lurched forward in a burst of raw power. This jerking surge of the iron wheels caused a fresh rain of struts to begin dropping from the damaged section, and the bridge began to sway dangerously.
Putting aside their weapons, Einstein and Carstairs joined the panting shoveler and used their bare hands to throw coal into the fire door. The pressure gauges rapidly rose to the danger level as the screaming train raced across the sagging bridge.
All across the support trestles, the breakage spread like some horrible disease. Timbers and columns fell away in a growing deluge of splintery destruction.
The engineer started to pray, and the shoveler to curse, as the rails buckled, the bridge writhed, and the whole world shook around the steaming locomotive. One of the pressure gauges shattered. A pipe cracked, releasing precious steam. Their speed dropped, but then the howling engine went level as it shot off the bridge and onto firm ground! Now the locomotive doubled its speed and started pulling the rest of the carriages to safety like fish on a stringer.
But at the exact second that the last car of the Italian Central cleared the river chasm, the disconnected caboose appeared at the other side of the bridge. Taut above the carriage was a crude sail made of swords and hoods, and a swarm of naked Squid God worshipers cheered as they rolled onto the bridge in hot pursuit of their escaping enemy. That was when the entire wooden structure gave a mighty groan and collapsed.
Tumbling over sideways, the caboose full of startled men joined the avalanche of timbers and beams cascading down into the rocky Po River. If the Squid God worshipers screamed, the sound could not be heard above the deafening barrage of destruction. In less than a heartbeat, there were only the wobbling iron rails and wooden ties of the railroad track itself remaining to span the wide river valley. Then those also broke apart and fell away.
In joyous victory, the engineer sounded the whistle, and the exhausted shoveler stood to light a cigarette. The sweaty passengers on board the train stopped their praying and commenced cheering.
"Magnificent shooting, lad," Professor Einstein exhaled, wiping a film of coal dust from his sweaty brow. "Especially from a moving platform. Where the devil did you ever learn to do that?"
"On safari," Lord Carstairs calmly replied, trying to disassemble the prized rifle with his dirty fingers. "I've often hunted lions while riding on the back of an elephant. You must shoot the beast through the eye, or else ruin the head for a trophy. It's all a matter of timing, sir."
"Good thing that trestle was made of wood," the professor noted, hesitant to voice his opinion of hunting for recreation. His personal views were so out of touch with the times. "Probably it was just another temporary structure erected until they could replace the original granite bridge destroyed in The…"
"Trouble," the engineer interrupted, wiping his grinning face with a dirty rag.
Tolerantly, the professor eyed the older man, and sighed. "Yes…yes, as you say." Then after a moment, Einstein grimly muttered, "Although, I dare say they'll put up a proper bridge now."
"On the other hand, I bally well want to know how the squiddies found us," Lord Carstairs demanded as he worked the belt tight, to cinch closed his travel kit. "We did everything possible, but turn invisible!"
"Quite right, lad, it is a puzzler." Pensively, Professor Einstein toyed with his shark tooth watch fob. Its vaunted good luck seemed to be operating rather spottily these days. "The Squid God worshipers are either hot on our trail, or even worse, have deduced our destination. I can only pray that we're not too late."
Now the professor turned and spoke with passion, "Lord Carstairs, we must get to the Vatican as fast as is humanly possible!"
Chapter Six
"And here we are at the Vatican!" Professor Einstein declared, as their horse-drawn carriage raced around a street corner.
A rosy dawn was beginning to illuminate the towering spires of a hundred cathedrals across the great city of Rome. Countless church bells were slowly ringing, their strident tones mixing into a clarion song of joyous music.
"Made bally good time, too," Lord Carstairs noted, "what with paying off the railroad and customs to get all of our weapons through."
Sitting in the rear of the open cab, the lord kept a hand firmly on his hat as the driver whipped the team of horses ever onward. In Italy, when passengers asked for all due speed, that is precisely what they received! People on the sidewalks and side streets were only a blur, and twice, when they had plowed straight through a loaded fruit cart, the professor and Carstairs tossed a handful of lira over their shoulders to pay for the destruction in their wake.
"Money is the language of the world, lad," Professor Einstein added, swaying from side to side as the horses swerved over a brick fruit stand far too resilient to go through.
"Quite!" the lord chuckled. But then Carstairs frowned as the driver began to slow the cart. Blast!
After checking their luggage into a small hotel, the two explorers had headed straight for Vatican City. Their chosen carriage made good time through the narrow streets and alleys of Rome until it approached the final destination. But now, just as they got within sight of the Vatican, the bustling crowds of people slowed the rushing vehicle to a crawl. The delay caused Professor Einstein to fume and curse under his breath. Diplomatic as ever, Lord Carstairs leaned forward to speak with their driver, a stout, round-faced man dressed in an old red shirt, whom they had hired mostly because of his remarkably good grasp of English.
" Scusi, signore ," Lord Carstairs said, tapping the fellow on the shoulder. "But is there some religious festival, of which I am unaware, taking place?"
Tilting a battered cap, the driver scrunched his face. "No, signore . Why you a
sk?"
Waving a hand, Lord Carstairs gestured at the milling throng. "It's just that I don't remember the Holy City being quite this crowded."
"Ah, you mean the pilgrims," the driver smiled, displaying oddly perfect teeth. "Yes. It is the bad weather that makes them come. Seas are rough, fishing bad, and the crops, they fail. Some blame it on the turning moon. Pazzesco! Strange events frighten people. So they come to pray."
"I see," Carstairs replied, taking his seat once more. " Grazie. Thank you."
In the universal language of all cabbies, the driver eloquently shrugged. " Siete benvenuti, " he said calmly.
Itching with impatience, the explorers forced themselves to stay in the carriage as walking would not have gotten them to the Vatican any faster. This close to the Holy City, the crowd was a single mass of people, moving in waves and eddies like some impossible Sea of Humanity. And everybody seemed to be praying. It was soon difficult to hear anything above the constant murmuring and steady clicking of rosary beads. But slowly, almost interminably, the driver guided his horses to force a path through the milling throng and eventually brought the vehicle to a glacial halt across the street from the famous city-within-a-city.
Bursting with energy from the confinement, Professor Einstein leapt to the sidewalk even before the vehicle had completely braked. Arms waving, the professor impatiently tapped his foot as Lord Carstairs paid the driver and bid the friendly Italian a good day. Whistling contentedly, the cabby drove off at the merest crawl, his next passengers stepping into the carriage from the mobbed streets without bothering to wait for it to stop.
Turning to face the Vatican, Einstein and Carstairs only briefly glanced over the world-famous colonnade that encircled three fourths of St. Peter's Square. Four rows of marble Doric columns supported a walkway some ten yards in the air, lined with life-size statues of various saints and notables. They had seen it all before, and under better circumstances, too.
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 7
