Revenge of the Brotherhood (Book 3 in the Tom & Laura Series)

by John Booth

  “I did not think you would approve.” This conversation was getting away from Tom.

  “Daisy told me to come to her when you wanted to come home. You are an idiot, Thomas Carter and it is lucky you are so obvious in your secret plans that I had the time to provision the Hubris. She is fully ready to go.”

  “You are coming with us?” Antonia said, disbelief coloring her words.

  “Of course I am. That’s why I took this godforsaken job in the first place.”

  There was a long pause. Dougal was the one who finally broke it.

  “Well, which of you is going to open the doors?”

  Tom and Antonia ran to the doors and began to push them open. Dougal boarded the Hubris and started up the engines. The steam engines powered a small generator and soon pale electric lights began to glow on the bridge.

  Tom untied the ropes and then ran to board the Hubris before it rose too high. Antonia was ahead of him and she gave him a hand to get onboard.

  “It is a pity we don’t have more crew,” Dougal said as they arrived at the bridge. “However, I could not tell anyone what I was going to do in case it got back to high command. I doubt they would approve.”

  Antonia was nervous as she adjusted their altitude and the Hubris bumped against the roof before she got it under control. Dougal was at the wheel and Tom felt like a spare part, not much good for anything.

  Once out of the shed, they began to rise. There followed an enormous bang, which shook the Hubris and knocked Tom off his feet.

  “What was that?”

  Dougal spun the wheel and the Hubris turned. Tom’s mouth fell open for the second time that night as he saw the fort was on fire. The buildings near to the gate had been destroyed by a massive explosion and only the mansion looked be in one piece. Sounds of sporadic gunfire split the night.

  “The natives are attacking the fort. Someone must have set off the gunpowder,” Dougal said in a remarkably calm voice. “Our men don’t stand a chance.”

  “Then we must go back and help them,” Antonia said. “Which of you two is steering this thing?”

  13. Flight

  It was just before noon when the camp stirred. It had been a bitter morning. Those guarding the camp had sat immobilized for nearly eight hours, wondering if the enemy would come across them and kill them. For the soldiers in the camp it was a shock to wake in the same state as the men and boys they had killed, unable to move and scared to cry out for fear it might alert the enemy to them.

  The enemy did not call as they were in full retreat against an Army capable of killing them without them being able to fire a single shot. So the camp sat there in a blaze of summer sunlight with the only sounds being that of the horses, insects and birds

  Corporal Wainwright was one of the first to recover the use of his limbs. He knew at once that the culprit had to be Laura, but she was not the urgent problem. That was securing the perimeter of the camp from the enemy.

  He staggered to the tents where his men lay and shook them. Not all responded, but some were able to get to their feet. All of them had trouble moving as their muscles didn’t seem to be working properly.

  “Pick up your rifles and relieve the guards. Prop yourselves up if you have to, but make sure you can shoot anyone who gets too close. Shoot first and ask questions later, we are in no state to defend the camp against a serious attack.”

  His men staggered to their feet and set off in two’s towards the perimeter.

  “What have you done to us, Miss?” Wainwright mused as he headed for his officer’s tent. The female Bretons had recovered in minutes once Laura’s bind had broken, why were the soldiers taking so long to recover?

  Captain Trentwood had been awake, but unable to move since dawn. He had squirmed feebly on his bed and was aware that his body felt different and he had lost his bushy sideburns. His longjohn’s flopped about his arms and legs as though he had shrunk in some manner.

  Captain Trentwood was never as glad to see someone as he was to see Corporal Wainwright stagger into his tent. The Corporal came to the side of his bunk and stared down at what he saw in shock.

  “Captain Trentwood? Is that you?” he asked. Trentwood saw the man’s lips twitch as though he was trying not to laugh.

  “Of course it’s me, man…” Trentwood stopped speaking, because what he heard wasn’t his voice. It was far too high. “Wha… what has she done to me?”

  Wainwright turned away and Trentwood saw the man’s shoulders heaving. He was trying to suppress laughter and not fully succeeding as painful wheezing gasps were escaping from his wracked frame. Trentwood tried to move and managed to lift a hand, which fell across his chest. He felt soft bulges that shouldn’t be there and squealed like a girl. As a matter of incontrovertible fact he sounded exactly like a girl.

  Wainwright pulled himself together and turned to face his commanding officer.

  “I have managed to raise a few of our men, sir,” he stifled a laugh with some difficulty, “and have sent them to guard the perimeter. They are all weak and unable to move around normally.”

  “Good work. But what about me, man? What about me?”

  Wainwright’s face twisted as he fought to stop himself laughing. “I am afraid to say, sir. That the Spellbinder has taken her revenge and not only has she taken your balls, sir, but she appears to have turned you into a girl. Eleven or twelve years old, if I might make a guess, sir.”

  General Brent-Smyth woke late. He was a heavy sleeper and relied on his Adjutant to wake him at dawn each morning. He felt a surge of anger run through him. His adjutant was a disgrace and he would put the man on a charge as soon as he could get out of bed.

  Unlike Captain Trentwood, the General slept naked and the night had been so warm and humid he did not bother with sheets. Bleary-eyed he sat on his bunk before getting to his feet, seeking the water jug and his travel dish. He poured water into the dish and splashed water over his face. That was when he noticed his moustache was missing.

  He opened his eyes to see two attractive female breasts staring back at him, reflected in the water in the bowl. His hands travelled to his chest and he realized they were his own.

  “I will have her whipped to death for this,” he said feeling righteous rage build in him. His feminine tones still conveying deadly certainty. His crotch felt strange and somehow damp. He was not surprised to discover his manhood was missing, but when he raised his hand and discovered it covered in blood the shock was almost too much for him.

  Corporal Wainwright ran into the tent and stopped when he saw the naked woman.

  “She’s done it to you too, sir,” he said, with awe in his voice. “A little older in your case.”

  “Get her from the wagon,” the General hissed, the effort of turning to face the Corporal almost too much for him.

  “She’s gone, sir. Along with Agent Drew. I suspect all the officers have been changed to girls, err woman in your case. I’ve secured the perimeter, but my men can barely walk, sir.”

  The General became incoherent with rage. Emotions of far greater power than he had ever experienced ran through him. He felt an urge to cry. Needing to get Wainwright out of the tent before that happened, he pulled himself together enough to speak.

  “Check on the other officers, then report back.”

  “Yes sir.” Wainwright turned to leave when a thought occurred to him. “Begging the General’s pardon, but would the General like me to get you some rags for that bleeding?”

  “Get out, Corporal.”

  Daisy stopped walking and surveyed the landscape, dense forest in all directions. Since dawn they had been using the sun to head roughly north into enemy territory. She did not need to be a Precog to know that the enemy behind them would treat them far worse than the enemy they were fleeing towards.

  There was a convenient fallen tree to sit on and Laura joined her a few moments after she sat down.

  “You spent a long time on that bind. I have never seen you write such a long one.
Did you turn the Captain into a frog?”

  Laura took out the bind and checked the paper for signs of charring. When that happened the bind would be about to burst into flames and she would need to decide what to do next.

  “Worse than that. But I did not kill them, not even the General. And his men were only carrying out orders and would have been shot if they refused.”

  “Have you punished me enough yet? You giggled annoyingly for the first hour of our walk. Tell me what you did.”

  Laura smiled. “I have forgiven you. I might have done the same if I was you and Tom was in my charge. I created a complex bind and it probably breaks a couple of the rules of magic.”

  “You and Tom have never obeyed any rules, have you?”

  “And that is why you love us so. I set up three binds in one. The first bind was to immobilize the camp as I did to the Bretons. I could not leave that on too long as a local would be bound to notice and take revenge on them, so I set up a secondary bind that after eight hours they would wake, but be unable to carry out any strenuous task. That will be with them until the bind bursts into flames.”

  Daisy knew Laura could have kept the camp immobilized for at least a day and somebody would have discovered the soldiers helpless. It would have been what Daisy would have done, but Laura’s had beliefs including ‘thou shalt not kill.’

  “I take it the third bind was the one that left you laughing?”

  Laura nodded. “We need a distraction to allow us to make good our escape. If I had turned the General into a frog, his second in command would take over and chase us down. Even if I immobilized all their commanders, the sergeants or the corporals would come after us. Even the ordinary soldiers would seek revenge because I have humiliated them.”

  “You came up with a distraction?”

  “I turned all the officers into girls. The younger ones will be young girls and some, like the General, will be young women. Their men will find it difficult to take orders from children, especially female ones. It should give us the time we need.”

  Daisy smiled and then as she considered the full implications she started laughing.

  “You stripped the command of their balls. They will shoot us on sight.”

  “I wonder if they will choose to wear dresses.” Laura was unperturbed by the thought of being killed. If they shot her it would be better than the alternatives.

  “I would love to have been there when Trentwood found out,” Daisy said between giggling fits.

  The two girls sat there laughing for several minutes before sobering up enough to start walking again.

  “Tom, get down to a Gatling Gun. Scare the Indians if you cannot bring yourself to shoot any of them. I will steer the ship over the fort and we will try and pick up any survivors.” Dougal’s commands came in a crisp sharp manner and Tom felt feelings of relief run through him. Someone knew what to do.

  When he got into the gunner’s position they were nearly over the fort. He saw French and Baum shooting from the upper windows of the mansion at shadowy shapes flitting across the open ground. Tom aimed ahead of the shadows and fired.

  A stream of bullets raked across the area killing over a dozen natives in less than five seconds. Tom had failed to allow for the airship’s motion and the bullets flew straight at the approaching men. He took his finger off the trigger, but it was too late. They were dead. The light from the fires was enough to show the damage he had done

  Up on the bridge, Dougal aligned the ships wheel to bring them directly over the mansion.

  “I didn’t think Tom had it in him,” he said in a whisper. “Cut the engines Antonia. Baum and French look to be the only ones left alive.”

  Antonia moved the propeller control to neutral and most of the engine noise ceased. The only gunfire they heard was coming from the mansion. The rest of the fort was ablaze and the fire was spreading fast enough to threaten the mansion within minutes.

  “We can’t stay over the blaze, the heat will set the Hubris on fire,” Dougal told Antonia. “You stay on the bridge and be ready to start the propellers if the fire spreads. I have locked the wheel. I am going down to open the bomb hatch and lower a rope ladder for the men.”

  Tom saw Indians outlined in the blaze behind them. He elevated the gun, but he could not bring himself to pull the trigger. They had seen the devastating power of the Hubris and he hoped they would stay where they were. French and Baum had stopped shooting and they must have seen the airship by now. He did not know what to do and felt completely helpless.

  “Tom, help me with the bomb hatch.”

  Dougal’s shout was a great relief; especially as obeying the command would take his finger well away from the trigger. He clambered out of the gunner’s chair and up the ladder.

  Dougal struggled with the hatch in the floor. It was designed to be opened by two men, not one. The twin door hatch lifted upwards rather than dropping down as people had to walk over it when it wasn’t in use. Tom took hold of the other handle and the hatch lifted to reveal the roof of the mansion. Baum and French had moved up to a skylight in the roof some twenty feet below them.

  “Hey, good to see you guys,” French called out cheerfully. Franz Baum looked panicked and frightened, but he gave them a wave.

  Dougal dropped a rope ladder, which clattered along the tiles before French grabbed it. French tied his end to the window frame, tethering the airship.

  “Come on up, gentlemen. Tom’s shooting will not keep the natives at bay forever.”

  French gave Tom a smart salute. “First class shooting, sir. I see you got the hang of the ship’s speed.”

  “Perhaps you should get a move on,” Tom suggested. He wanted to go somewhere private to vomit, but that would have to wait.

  Dougal handed Tom a heavy knife. “As soon as you have them safe, cut the rope ladder and we’ll be off. I’ll go back to the bridge to keep an eye out for the natives and keep the ship steady.”

  Tom nodded. When he looked back at the ladder, French was already halfway up. Baum was dithering by the window.

  “You have to get on the ladder, Franz. Do it now,” Tom called.

  Baum shook his head. “I am scared of heights.”

  French, who was now almost within Tom’s reach, stopped and looked back at the German. “I shall come back and get you, Franz. Don’t you go and make me do it.”

  French’s words stirred Baum into action. He climbed out of the window, clutching onto the ladder, and began to climb. Sensibly, he kept his eyes up, looking at Tom for reassurance. French laughed and completed his assent.

  “Permission to go man the Gatling Gun, sir?” he asked Tom, who nodded.

  French ran for the gun turret while Tom watched Baum climb. There was a native whoop from the house and Muguara appeared at the skylight. He looked up at Tom and grinned savagely. Then he put his axe in his belt and began to climb.

  Baum heard him and looked down. He screamed and wrapped his arms and feet tightly around the rope ladder. He was only just out of Tom’s reach, but he might as well have been a mile away.

  “Climb the rope, Franz. You must.”

  But Baum’s arms and legs were locked in place and Muguara was almost on him.

  The Indian stopped climbing at the level of Baum’s feet and looked up at Tom.

  “Your death will be swift, just as I promised,” he said grimly and in perfect English. He took his axe from his belt. “I just need to dispose of Mister Baum first.”

  As Muguara launched a roundhouse swing the Gatling Gun came to life and cut him in two with a concentrated blast. It also cut the rope ladder. The top half of Muguara smiled before he fell to join the bottom half of his body on the ground below.

  The propellers came to life and the compressors began to sing. Franz Baum hung onto what remained of the ladder as the ship lifted away from the mansion and began to move east.

  Tom vomited out of the bomb hatch, missing Baum by only a few inches.

  A hand fell on Tom’s shoulder and
squeezed. He looked up to find French staring anxiously at him. “You all right, son? I’ll need some help to haul Franz up before he gets too tired to hold on. You up for it?”

  Tom nodded and got to his feet. The challenge of sheer physical effort blanked out his mind as he pulled on the ropes and Baum rose towards them.

  “Miss Wright, are you awake?”

  Andrea was lost in the images her sister was experiencing as the Hubris drifted high in the sky and broke into sunlight. She wondered if Baum has made it to the airship or fallen to his death. Gareth Jones’ almost musical Welsh accent was an unwelcome intrusion in her vision.

  “Sorry sir, my sister was doing something interesting.”

  Jones consulted his pocket watch. “But isn’t it still the middle of the night over there?”

  Andrea grinned and a number of unsuitable answers popped into her head, which she dismissed. Too many men took offence at earthy talk from women.

  “I can assure you, sir, morning has broken where my sister is right now.”

  Jones coughed to cover his embarrassment. He was well aware of the sisters’ proclivities in certain matters. He disapproved, but as his predecessors before him he made special allowances for such talented Telepaths. And there was always the hope they would get pregnant and bear Telepathic children.

  “Can I do something for you, sir?”

  “You failed to tell me Arnold Tompkins visited you the other night. The night Mercury House was broken into.”

  Andrea smiled slyly. “Did I sir? I am sure I would have remembered if a man had disturbed my bath.”

  Jones sighed. It was always like this with Andrea and Antonia. He restrained the urge to slap her and started again.

  “I have been wasting my time thinking the attacks on my men were Brotherhood related, but now I know Trelawney is behind them. I should tell you that I am on his side.”

  “I thought the enquiry said the Brotherhood did not exist?” Andrea was genuinely surprised by his comments, despite the things Tom had told her sister. Men always lied to get them into bed.