Iron Horsemen

by Brad R. Cook

  And then a sandy-brown fuzz ball, a Barbary macaque, leapt down from above and swiped my fruit. Genevieve laughed as I chased the monkey around the alley. It screeched at me and then sprang to a window sill on the second floor.

  “Wait,” she said. “You can’t hurt them. A legend says if the monkeys ever leave so will the British, much like the ravens of the Tower of London.” She handed me the remainder of her half. “Here, have a bite of mine.”

  “I wasn’t going to hurt him, just scare him. Thanks.”

  We shared her fruit and watched the macaque, which was quickly joined by several others. Genevieve and I laughed at the antics, as all tried to sneak a bit of pomegranate from the first monkey. Bounding around the alley and up the building, they sprang from one spot to the next, screeching and calling as they tried to get some fruit. Rodin dove and scattered the troop. The little bronze dragon delighted in chasing them, but Genevieve called Rodin to her shoulder so he’d stop annoying the monkeys.

  “We should keep an eye out for any leads on my father,” I said, bringing us back to the reality of why we were in Gibraltar in the first place.

  “Agreed, Gibraltar was where my father was to start looking,” she said.

  Slipping between two buildings, we stayed off the main road, hoping to avoid any problems with the city’s inhabitants. We walked beneath a stone archway, a strange circular arch that didn’t appear as old as the stone buildings on either side. Symbols etched on the back of the stone caught my eye, a mix of several languages and symbols.

  A door at the end of the alley started to open and Genevieve pulled me into a nearby doorway. A tattooed man with dots covering his face in a lined pattern and a thin, lanky frame stepped into the alley. He wore a black vest and pants with a dirty white button down underneath. A sickle blade sat on the belt at his left side, while a club with a chained-cord hung from the other. He wore a flat, wide brimmed hat and coughed, a deep repetitive hacking that had settled in his lungs. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood from the corner of his mouth.

  The man headed out through the back of the alley and missed us huddled in the doorway. He was no gentleman, more likely a pirate, and I wondered about his tattoos and what he was doing here. Knowing that the Knights of the Golden Circle were interested in Gibraltar, I also wondered if he could be involved with them. He was dressed in black, after all.

  We slipped over to the door but it had no handle and couldn’t be pushed open.

  I studied it while Genevieve and Rodin watched the street. I looked for a hidden switch or another way through the thick wooden door. And then I noticed it. Above me, in the corner of the doorway, a small golden circle had been screwed into the stone. Genevieve looked at me with a nervous gaze. Tense and anxious, I leaned against the door, listening for any sounds within.

  She whispered, “Hear anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  I stared at the golden ring and tried to push it, turn it, pull it, but it remained anchored. Genevieve watched in amusement. I snapped a look at her and she shook her head.

  “Check the rest of the door, it’s probably meant to distract you.” Genevieve pointed to the hinges. “See if you can lift the pin.”

  I pulled the pin and heard a click from behind the door. Pulling it further, I heard the latch release and the door opened. Genevieve smiled in triumph.

  We entered a small room tucked on to the back of the building. A circular rug lay in the center and a chest sat against the far wall. We looked around the empty room, and I walked over to the chest. As I passed over the rug I heard a change in the sound of my steps. Genevieve flipped back the rug revealing a pattern of stone tiles on the floor in the shape of a pyramid.

  Stepping on each stone, the top one rocked while others remained firm. We pulled on the tip, lifting just above the other tiles and slid over. A narrow circular rod-iron staircase led down into the shadows but the soft glow a flickering flame illuminated the way. We slipped down the stairs and found ourselves in a small chamber underneath the alley.

  One wall had an upside-down semicircular arch mirroring the one above. I realized that the two arches made a circle and I brimmed with excitement as Genevieve turned up the flame on the gas lamp hanging at the bottom of the stairs. Stacked books and papers strewn on several desks around the room called to me. I ran over and began carefully filing through them. Genevieve walked over to the only wall without a desk and looked at the mosaic mural.

  I scanned over books about astronomy, geology, minerals, history and a variety of other subjects. There had to be common thread that linked them and I thought hard trying to figure it out. I found a set of papers labeled ‘The Sungrazer Comet’ and saw the thread.

  The papers outlined the core of the comet, a diagram showed that it was ice but with a dark core at its center. The diagram also showed that it was not one block of ice but several bound together surrounding this dark core. A pencil line led to the side of the page where an annotation was written—‘unknown metallic compound.’ There was more at the bottom.

  I read it aloud. “The comet used to return every seven hundred years, but in 372 BC Aristotle prevented the horsemen from appearing by stopping the comet from passing over the sun. In doing so it broke apart.”

  “Alexander, you have to see this mosaic.”

  I walked over and looked at the wall; it was a map of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. Everything looked in place but then I noticed the Azores were much bigger and further out to sea than they should be. I turned back to Genevieve and pointed to the paper. “It looks like they’ve been studying the comet.”

  Her shoulders drooped and she looked around the room. “I bet this is the place my father was supposed to find.”

  I nodded. “I think it is.”

  “We shouldn’t stay long.”

  I couldn’t agree more, already the voice in the back of my mind screamed to leave. My nervous laugh broke the tension. “I don’t think my father has been here, all of these books were written in English.”

  “You do have a keen eye.”

  “You’ve never been in my father’s house. Pick up a book and you first have to figure out what dead language it’s in before you can read it.”

  Genevieve chuckled and I turned down the gas lamp before we ran up the stairs. I slid the stone back into place as she dropped the carpet over the pyramid. We headed back through the archway, in the opposite direction from where the tattooed man had gone.

  CHAPTER 12

  RUNNING AROUND THE ROCK

  Passing through the market, a flash of bronze and spark of electricity caught my eye. Down a dark, narrow alley, I saw Col. Hendrix in his black coat and bowler hat talking to a woman with long, black curly hair and the man with the tattooed face.

  Genevieve yanked me back out of sight.

  I drew the Thumper from its holster and opened the breach. I loaded one of the two shells from my pocket and peered around the edge of the building. Anger welled up inside me, and I wanted to charge down the alley, throw that abomination against the wall and demand to know where my father was, but even I knew that was foolhardy.

  Col. Hendrix handed the woman a small leather bag. She smiled with delight, peered inside, and drew up a handful of coins.

  Hendrix said. “I’ll rejoin the ship as soon as I’ve checked the island.”

  The dark haired woman bit down on a coin. “Don’t worry, I have my end handled.”

  Hendrix turned toward me. I snapped back, but my knee struck the drain pipe. A symphony of sound echoed along the narrow alley. I gripped my knee trying not to scream in every language I could think of and peered through the chipped wall.

  The woman spun on her heeled boot, her leg jutting out the high slit of a full, black skirt. The sun glinted off the silver skull-and-crossbones that decorated her black corset. She snatched the pouch closed and asked, “What was that?”

  “Trouble,” Col. Hendrix said. “Get out of here. I’ll handle this.”<
br />
  She motioned to the tattooed man. “Tobias, go with him.”

  I heard the sound of gears locking in place.

  Genevieve tugged at my sleeve. “We need to leave,” she whispered.

  Nodding my head, we fled as the Colonel and Tobias stepped around the corner. I turned, saw the Colonel raise his mechanical arm. A gun barrel extended out the sleeve. “Run!”

  “What do you think I’m doing!” Genevieve sprinted down another alley and up a set of stairs.

  I followed, but turned around as we reached the top. Col. Hendrix swung the lever under his arm and cocked the rifle. The tattooed man carried a sickle blade.

  I fired. The concussive blast slammed into the wall as the two men ducked.

  Genevieve and I ran across a square heading for the road that led to the airdocks. I loaded the final percussion shell.

  I looked back, but didn’t see anybody, perhaps we’d lost them. Then Genevieve screamed. I spun around.

  Tobias’ tattooed face stood in front of me with his sickle in his right hand and a club in the other. Both covered in black leather gloves. A cord from the club wrapped around his back. He coughed, wheezing to catch his breath like a singing bird.

  Genevieve drew her saber and blocked the sickle just as I raised my Thumper, but it was knocked aside by the thick serrated blade extending out of Col. Hendrix’s sleeve.

  “So predictable,” Col. Hendrix sneered. “Come to find your pa?”

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  “Near enough to tease you, but far enough, that you’ll never find him.”

  “I want him back.” My knees wanted to crumble, but I refused to falter in front of this monster.

  “Foolish boy,” he hissed through the bronze plates on his face. “Why don’t you come with me, I’ll take you to him?”

  I paused, and for a brief moment the offer sounded like the best idea yet. I could go with Hendrix and, once reunited with my father we could sneak out and meet back up with Genevieve. But who knew what they’d do to Genevieve in the meantime and my father wouldn’t listen to me long enough to escape on my terms anyway.

  “What are you thinking?” Genevieve tugged at my sleeve and whispered through gritted teeth. Thank goodness she returned me to reality. I shook my head. Going with Hendrix was not an option. This needed bolder action, Baldarich style.

  I raised my Thumper and pushed the trigger; the concussive blast threw the Colonel back against the wall, but didn’t hurt the bronze armor.

  “Now you’re gonna get it,” he growled.

  Genevieve dodged Tobias’ curved sickle blade, but couldn’t avoid the club. It struck her shoulder sending an electric jolt through her body. She screamed in pain and knocked it away with her saber.

  Then two shots rang out, echoing throughout the stone alleyway. One struck the club sending it spinning from Tobias’s hand. It swung down connected by the cord and struck him in the knee. He cried out as it sparked and grabbed the club with his gloved hand. He violently coughed and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  The second shot knocked the bowler hat clean off Col. Hendrix’s head. Everyone turned toward the shots and saw a man in a long dark-brown duster, backlit by the sun.

  Ignatius’s face and two six-shooters caught the fading light, and he fired two more rounds from each gun. Dust kicked up from the ground next to Col. Hendrix and Tobias. The tattooed man ran off, but Col. Hendrix kicked me away as the serrated blade slid into his sleeve. I heard the grinding gears and sliding metal as the rifle barrel extended out from the colonel’s cuff. Hendrix raised his arm and returned fire. Ignatius spun out of the way and fired.

  In the confusion, I grabbed Genevieve and ducked behind a short wall. We darted up the stone stairs crouching to avoid the gun battle around us.

  When his first two pistols emptied, Ignatius holstered them and quickly drew two more from his belt, sending a torrent of lead at the colonel.

  Genevieve, Rodin, and I reached the top of the stairs and heard Ignatius call out in his Southern-mimicked European accent, “Keep running up the rock, I’ll deal with this varmint.”

  Col. Hendrix fired again. “That’s var-mit, yah European city-lover. If you ain’t from the South—just shut yer mouth.”

  Ignatius holstered the second set of pistols and drew two more from shoulder holsters under his coat. I scanned the smoke shrouded street below, but the Colonel was gone, only his bullet-riddled bowler hat remained.

  “Captain sent me to fetch you, good thing too, I don’t think he was expecting you’d run into metal head,” Ignatius said.

  I holstered my Thumper. “Thank you, Mr. Peacemaker.”

  “You saved our lives,” Genevieve said as she sheathed her saber.

  Ignatius tipped his hat with one of his pistols. “My pleasure. Now let’s get you two back to the ship.”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE STORM VULTURE

  Genevieve and I, with Ignatius right behind us, ran on to the airdocks as Mr. Singh stowed the crane inside the Sparrowhawk. Mr. Singh stepped up to the captain who casually leaned his elbow against the iron mooring clamps. “All is loaded.”

  I couldn’t believe it. No one frantically prepared to leave.

  Baldarich smiled and clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He shook his head as we tried to catch our breaths. “Did they anger a vendor?”

  Ignatius removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “No, I exchanged a few shots with their bronze-plated friend.”

  I pointed down the hill. “He paid a woman with black hair and some tattooed faced guy a bag of gold.”

  The captain’s expression changed and he snapped up from the mooring. “Did she have silver skull-and-crossbones on her corset?”

  Genevieve nodded. “Yes, she headed off and the two men chased us.”

  Urgency crept into the captain’s voice as he said to Ignatius and Mr. Singh, “We’re leaving! Fire up the engines and make this bird ready to fly.” He pushed me and Genevieve onto the gangplank. “Get onboard and hope she doesn’t see us.”

  I asked. “Who?”

  “The dreaded Sky Pirate Zerelda, captain of the Storm Vulture.” Baldarich checked the skies above and ushered everyone onto the Sparrowhawk. “She’s the Anne Bonny of the European skies.”

  Mr. Singh began barking orders to the crew. “Baton the hatches and prepare the wingsails for deployment.”

  Ignatius ran for the bridge as Genevieve and I followed closely behind. Genevieve pulled me over by the maps.

  Baldarich ordered Coyote, “Get me in the air.” He flipped open the farthest left copper tube and yelled, “Gears, stoke the engines, be nice to her.”

  The frantic pace of everyone around me brought a tremble to my legs, this woman must be scary. But we were leaving, and I might lose this chance to rescue my father. I charged over to the captain. “We have to find Col. Hendrix’s ship.”

  The captain ignored me.

  “My father will be on that ship.”

  Coyote primed the engines, powering them in reverse and slowly pulled away from the moorings. Baldarich checked Ignatius who nodded and held up his thumb. I stepped in front of the captain, and though I feared getting punched out of the way, I stood my ground.

  Baldarich loomed over me. “I highly doubt that, kid.”

  “Excuse me captain,” Genevieve said. She walked over and stood beside me. “May I remind you that you are being paid for your services and have been chartered to find Professor Armitage? What is the point of traveling to Malta if he resides on a ship in the harbor below? Besides fleeing is exactly what this Zerelda will be expecting.”

  I looked around the bridge and saw Ignatius and Coyote staring at the captain, Genevieve’s words had challenged him, and they awaited his response.

  Captain Baldarich smiled, put his hands on his hips, and threw his head back with a cackling laughter. “You both have spirit, I’ll give you that. Coyote take us down; look for one leaving the harbor with
its guns out.”

  Looking out the windows I watched as the wings unfurled. The Sparrowhawk dove over the harbor and skimmed the top of the high-masted merchant ships.

  Rounding the Rock of Gibraltar I saw a ship with its gun ports open and a frantic crew running around on deck.

  “Captain.” I pointed toward the harbor. “There it is.”

  Baldarich looked out the window and smiled. “Coyote, bank right three degrees.”

  “Aye captain.”

  “Ignatius, get to the gun deck. Aim for the sails. I want to slow them, not sink them.”

  “Aye captain,” Ignatius ran from the bridge, his dark brown duster billowing behind him.

  Baldarich turned to Genevieve and me, “You two watch those dials and let me know if any of them go past the red lines.”

  I replied, “Aye Captain.”

  Excited to feel like part of the crew, I rushed over to the wall of large brass dials. The hands of the largest dials showed the three main engines running at sixty percent. The needle began to rise and I kept a keen eye on the red line at ninety percent.

  I looked over the other dials and scales. Three marked Oldruck, monitored the oil pressure of each engine. One labeled Kraftstoff displayed fuel levels and looked full. Then I turned my attention to the dials labeled Helium-druck, which were well above the red lines.

  The captain let out a guttural cry that startled me. “Bring the guns around.”

  “Aye captain.” Coyote turned the wheel and stepped on one of the petals below him. The vessel banked to the right.