The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  “Pirates,” Persi murmured.

  “And I will offer you a chance for true freedom, and wealth, and power, and all you have to do is denounce your oath to the Captain Genevieve Bourdieu, and swear a loath of loyalty to me.”

  The crew grumbled and shifted in place.

  “And if you don’t, I will have my men take you to the cargo loading bay and push you out. Or perhaps shoot you, then push you out.” She looked up at the ceiling as if thinking. “Whatever, it will be their choice. So what say you, those wanting a place on my ship, step forward.”

  No one moved. Regina’s face darkened. “Are you sure?”

  “Three for Captain Bourdieu,” someone sounding like Burke, yelled. “Hip hip, hur ...”

  The crack of a rifle stock on bone, followed by the sound of a body crumpling to the floor, told Boots all he needed to know.

  “Fine, get them out of here, and off my ship, the sooner the better. Mister D’Cruz let us adjourn to my wardroom for some coffee and a further discussion of plans.”

  Boots almost fell across the women as he ran down the stairs. “Move.”

  They ran down the hall, ducking into the room across from the Captain’s cabin. Someone moaned from inside.

  “I have a plan,” Genevieve said. “It’s chancy but has a high payoff.”

  Persi and Boots nodded for her to continue.

  Regina’s men pushed the crew of the Black Swan into the cargo hold and prepared to open the cargo door. Suddenly, the ship shuddered and tilted to the right. A high nasally voice sounded through the tube, “We’re being attacked. Swan crew attacking in the Engine room.”

  As Genevieve suspected the men left the hold and locked the door trapping them in the room. Boots and Persi spoke from behind boxes. “They aren’t very smart are they?”

  When they cut everyone’s bonds, Burke stepped forward a hand over a bloody spot on his head. “The Captain, is she ...?”

  “She’s up to some mischief, and apparently is pretending to be a boiler man. She asked that we remain here for a bit. Ten minutes to be exact.” Boots said.

  When ten minutes had passed, Boots pulled a key from his waistcoat and unlocked the door. Looking out he saw a couple men sprawled on the floor. One of them was snoring.

  Burke was next out the door. “The sleeping vapors?” he asked.

  Boots smiled and nodded. “Now we must all take rope and scurry about tying up the members of the other crew.”

  Thirty minutes later, they had secured all non-Swan members but when Persi, Boots, Genevieve and Burke met in the wardroom, they reported that no one had seen either Regina or Mario D’Cruz.

  The ship rumbled aft, then a loud explosion rocked the ship.

  “Captain, this is the engine room.” The voice was breathy and weak. “Sabotage,” was the next and only thing the voice said.

  Genevieve picked up a tube, “Fire in the engine room, all able hands respond.”

  The ship shuddered again.

  “Captain, we are being fired upon. It’s the J.H. Grant. She’s fired one volley and is positioning for another.”

  “Captain, the engines are gone,” the breathy voice came again. “The boiler is gone,” a gasp and cough, “we tried to save it but no patches would ... the steam burned ...”

  The ship shuddered again, she could hear would splintering on the deck below. “Port gunners, prepare for a full volley.”

  No answer returned from the gunners.

  “Starboard gunners, anyone?” she yelled.

  Nothing.

  “Bridge,” she said to Persi and Boots and they ran, entering the bridge as a ball came through the window and smashed the navigation table and Bull.

  “Captain,” Burke said, having taken Bridge watch while the Captain cleaned up. “We have no engines, our rudder is jammed and we don’t seem to have any gunners.”

  Captain Genevieve Bourdieu stood looking out the window, her hair, blowing wild in the wind.

  “Captain?” Burke tried again.

  A boom sounded to their starboard and they could see two balls rip into the J.H. Grant. A second later, the Daedalus flew above and in front of them and fired another volley. This time three balls hit, spraying wood fragments into the air.

  “Well, my dear, I believe our good captain and ship have arrived,” Persi said.

  “And just in time, I might add,” Boots replied.

  Genevieve made her decision. “Mr. Burke, take the ship to ground.”

  “Beach the Swan, but ...”

  “Greg,” she smiled, “we’ve had a good run. We had some adventures and some laughs, but the Swan is dying, let’s put her to rest in a grand style.”

  A smile spread across his face, “Dragon’s Breath?”

  She smiled and nodded. Take her down. Off load all our crew, the ones we rescued from the caves and as many supplies as you can in,” she paused and looked at her watch, “an hour?”

  “Provided the Daedalus can handle the Grant,” Burke poked.

  “Oh, I believe Captain Grimm and our crew will give you an hour, at least,” Boots said.

  Chapter 66 – The Death of the Black Swan and the Lady

  “Starboard gunners, reload, Port gunners, coming around, fire at will,” Captain Grimm yelled into the tube. “Helm, come to 0-2-0. Ships Control, descend 500 feet.”

  When the Daedalus was steering the new course, the port guns reported and the Grant lost several more pounds of wood. “Good shooting, men. Reload. Helm, come about to 2-8-0. Ships Control, full rise, ascend to 5000 feet.”

  “Full rise, at 1000 feet, ascending to 5000 feet, aye,” the young man at the controls reported.

  “Mister Cabrera,” Grimm said, “your grandmother made you a fine cook, but I will make you the fine airman.”

  Puffs of smoke came from the Grant’s starboard side as it discharged its cannons but she was two low and had rolled starboard, the angle causing the balls to go beneath the Daedalus. Grimm ordered a starboard volley now closer than they had been. Four of their six cannons hit, nearly tearing off the airship’s aft section. The Daedalus came around to port and closed in for another port volley when the Grant raised the white flag.

  Grimm was elated. He had gambled on this attack, but didn’t like that the sun was setting and they would have to fight a night battle. As the last rays of the sun filtered through the tops of the jungle canopy, a small spurt of steam left the Grant and dropped into the jungle below.

  ****

  The Black Swan came to rest in a clearing only one hundred miles from Kifuca, and not far from Pointe Noir. Genevieve used the Horizon to send Burke and some of his “Rescue Team” to the Grant for negotiations. And by ‘negotiations,’ Genevieve meant for Burke to strand the Grant’s crew in the jungle and replace them with some of hers. She loaded the rescued people, still in their deep sleep, into the Grant, as well as supplies and equipment they were not willing to part with. The Swan’s engineering crew repaired the Grant’s engines, even though her Engineer said the damage was not bad and was disgusted at the lack of knowledge from the Grant’s engineers.

  The Nightwalkers awoke and were confused at first but then helped with the transfer of supplies and equipment. Jane found Persi and Boots on the broken bridge of the Swan with Grimm and Genevieve. “Mister Beacon, may we speak?”

  “Yes, Jane,” Boots said.

  “Alone?” she asked.

  “Well, I don’t think we need to ...” he moved his hand to indicate all who were present, “I trust these with my life.”

  “As you like,” she said. “We have sensed a ... a person like us, but not like us. We have no idea how to explain it because we have never had encounter before. We thought we would warn you because he is near, maybe even a part of one of the crew.” She looked at her hands, “We are uncertain.”

  “Do you have a description you could give us?” Persi asked.

  She shook her head initially, then closed her eyes. “He is like us, a Nightwalker, but strange. It fe
els like something we feel when we are near the Nosferatu, but in this case, it is not the same wild feeling. And that is all we have, I am sorry.”

  “Well, we will certainly keep an eye open for such a person. Thank you,” Persi said.

  “There is something else,” she said but would not look at them.

  “Yes, what is it?” Boots asked.

  “We have changed our minds about meeting with your leaders. We do not think you are ready, and maybe neither are we. Humans, seek power, any place they can find it, even if it means the end of yourselves. We are not ready to turn ourselves over to that.”

  Both Persi and Boots smiled. “We understand,” Persi said. “Not all humans are as hungry for power as Narcissa was.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, smiling weakly. “Anyway, we would like to be dropped off where you found us. We are tired of adventure and would like to rest in the peace of our people and the Nosferatu, at least for a while.”

  “We understand,” Persi said. “We will honor your request.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, then left.

  Mister Burke entered the bridge and turned to Genevieve. “Captain, we have complete the transfer and are ready to depart.”

  “Very well, Mister Burke. We had a good run, yes?”

  “Yes, Captain, lots of good memories.”

  “Well,” she said, “one thing will be of benefit. The British will have nothing to chase us for, now.”

  Burke smiled, “Hmm, they don’t always play fair, or did you forget where you found me?”

  She smiled. “It is time to leave.” She nodded at Burke and an unspoken message was transferred.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” He turned and ran down the stairs quickly, only to meet them outside as they entered the Horizon and ascended. The ships flew together toward Pointe Noir where they would all moor. After a farewell party, Genevieve would work with Mister Mumbutu to find families of survivors, while the Daedalus would cross the Atlantic to Natal and begin its voyage home.

  ****

  She watched the Horizon lift and join the two airships heading southwest to the coast, then walked from her hiding place in the last rays of sunlight. She felt like laughing. The Duke, or should she call him by his true name, John William Carpenter, thought he was better than her, and look now, she was alive and he was dead.

  “What darling?” she spoke to his shade she imagined stood just behind the tree line, “Do what for you, get what for you, kill who for you?”

  The ship was empty but she thought she might find some supplies, maybe a few weapons she could use to help her get back to Pointe Noir. A lamp lay on the ground showing its green light. She bent and picked it up, the movement caused it to glow brighter and she held it before as she walked into the inner darkness of this ship. Narcissa’s specter followed her into the grounded hulk.

  Walking down a stair, she entered what appeared to be a weapons deck. She heard the tick tock of a clock, the only thing still working on this wreck. She smiled at the large holes in the side of the hull and the charred wood, evidence of small fires caused by the cannons under her command just hours ago. In fact, had that macho idiot D’Cruz not taken command from her, she knew he would still be alive and she would still have the ship.

  The clock ticked louder as she reached the back of the deck. She opened the door from which the ticking sounded and saw a large box with strings coming from it. A string descended from the box to several sticks of dynamite sitting on the floor in front of the box.

  “Better run, bitch,” the ghostly Narcissa snarled. Regina smiled too, for there was her mother standing in her white flowing dress. It was just as she remembered as a child except for the eyes, the eyes were wrong. They were all black.

  The clock ticked, then tocked, then stopped, and a snap sounded, like that of a rat trap. A flash of light flared from the box as the fuses sparked. The shortest fuse was the one Maggie Brewster of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, alias, Lady Regina Westbury, saw jump from the box and enter the dynamite.

  ****

  Persi, Boots, and Grimm were on the back deck of the Daedalus, while Genevieve and Burke stood on what broken parts of the J.H. Grant constituted a back deck. The ships were only one hundred feet away and Persi waved but was unsure if they saw her since the night had come and the moon had not risen yet. A burst of light leapt from the jungle followed by a huge fireball that rose above the canopy two-hundred feet.

  Persi jumped into Boots who lovingly wrapped his arms around his wife. “Burke told me it would be a big bang but I had no idea how big.” He looked across the space to see Burke salute. Boots returned his salute then watched the Captain and he move from their positions and down into the ship.

  “It was to make sure the British would find a completely destroyed airship, if they bothered to look.” Grimm said. “Genevieve hopes they will stop the chasing and let her rest.”

  “I’m not sure what ‘rest’ would look like to her, Grimm.” Boots said.

  “Aye, probably just the overthrow of a small Caribbean nation,” Grimm said. “Now if you will excuse, I need to speak with our navigator about our crossing.”

  “We have a navigator?” Persi asked.

  “No, mon amie, alas, I just look into the mirror and talk to myself.” Captain Grimm smiled and left the deck.

  “That man ...” Persi said.

  “Hush,” Boots interrupted, “Do you realize we have a several week passage back to the states in which we have nothing to do. No research, no training, nothing but rest and ...” he cocked an eye at her.

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. “And what, might you be speaking of, husband?” She looked into his eyes and knew the answer. “Hmm, we can discuss it later, right now, let’s just look at the stars and thank the Good Lord that we survived.”

  “Amen, to that wife,” he said. “Amen to that.”

  Epilog

  It wasn’t that they called to him, the Old Ones. It was more that he could hear them, feel their movements and track them. He knew they were moving into Canada and the frozen north. After arriving in North America aboard a steam ship to which he hired on as seaman, he thought San Francisco might be someplace he could settle in. There was plenty to learn and the streets were crawling with plenty of food, the sick and dying, and his favorite, the criminal.

  He signed into the hotel, the Palace, as John William Aspen. The John William was he took from the one who had created him, though the darkness had finally taken that dark Duke, and to that he added, Aspen, the place of his birth.

  “Thank you Mister Aspen, that will be $2.00, sir. Will you be wanting a bath?” the clerk asked.

  “Hmm, yes, a bath would be nice,” John responded.

  “That’s another twenty-five cents, sir.”

  John smiled. “So much activity surrounds these gold and silver coins.”

  The clerk laughed, “I’m sure you’re right, sir.” John saw the suspicion in his eyes. He sees that my dress is not as these others, but he has also seen the roll of money I carry. Curious.

  “Any bags?” the clerk asked.

  “Why does it cost more if I do?”

  The clerk looked confused. “Oh, no sir, just wondered. If you did I would get them carried to your room.”

  “No thank you. I have very little now, just show me to my room. By the way, I am what I believe is called a, ‘night owl’ so please do not bother me or wake me in the morning. I will be awake and out sometime in the afternoon.”

  When John entered the room and the door was shut and locked he changed into the natural form of the Nosferatu. It was not that he couldn’t stay in his human form, but changing into Nosferatu made him feel comfortable, a part of something. He could feel his people, though hundreds of miles away, he could feel them. He rubbed the silver disk that had been sunk into his skull by his father, just above his ear. His finger showed the soot he used to hide the shining metal under his hair. He smirked. My birthmark.

  He realized he was fooling himself
, he couldn’t settle down in this city, not when those things were still here. He had learned to care about people. Well, maybe not care so much as he kept his desire to rip them part buried deep, but these Old Ones, that was a different matter. They wanted to destroy it all, they wanted everything, and he had just been born and had plenty to see, to hear and learn. He would not let them end that for him.

  Before his bath he walked to a clothing store and spent more of the money he had taken from the criminals he had fed upon, and bought three shirts, two pants, some underwear, socks, and boots. He also bought an old navy pea coat, gloves and a hat. He did not exactly know what he would need to wear in Canada, but he had to start with something.

  Making sure the door was locked, he bathed then pulled the window curtains and changed into his Nosferatu form. He crawled beneath the sheets of the bed, not needing the covering to sleep but using them as a secondary protection against someone like a maid walking in on him. He molded his dreams until he fell asleep in a bed of leaves, the smell of the dark soil around him. Even though this was the city and that was a past life, he allowed these memories as he slept.

  The next morning, early, before the sun rose, he fed. It was a young man he found beating an older woman, one of the many woman who obtained her little silver coins by selling her body. Just after he pocketed her money, and while she was unconscious, he pounced on the man, dragging him back into an alley. He had cleaned up and was back in his room, and under the covers before the sun had fully risen. He had no need to worry about the sun, but something in him, more primal, and something for which he could apply no logic, caused him to shy away from it.

  That afternoon he rose, dressed and found the train depot. He looked over the routes, then used his money to purchase what tickets he needed to get him to Canada. The first train left tomorrow morning. Once in Canada, he would need to acquire more money. He was not worried about the money. This country, with these cities, which many called, ‘civilized,’ was full of evil men and therefore he neither worried about money nor food.