by Anthony Ryan
“I have sound intelligence,” Hilemore said, turning back to Kulvetch, “that a large host of Green and Red drakes is advancing towards this city. We estimate they will arrive in less than two days.”
Kulvetch managed to keep her reaction to a few rapid blinks of her eyes, but Hilemore saw how her throat bunched a little above the starched collar of her tunic. “What sound intelligence?” she asked. “Or am I to simply trust the word of a corporate officer who so willingly surrenders his honour to throw in with these murderous fanatics?”
“Your father was the murderer,” Coll shot back. “Where were you on Lomansday when he flogged and slaughtered innocent people? Busy at home playing with your dolls?”
“Enough!” Hilemore barked, seeing Kulvetch’s face redden with fury, her hand inching towards the side-arm on her belt. “I have thrown in with no one,” he told her. “I come here in search of common cause, for without it we may all be doomed.”
He paused, pondering his next words and coming to the conclusion that there was no longer much value in secrecy. “As for the source of my intelligence, the Blood-blessed on my ship is in trance communication with a Contractor company in the Interior. You wondered why we came here, well, they are why. Their mission is vital, and I must recover them.”
“So,” Coll said, “you want us to fight the drakes off long enough for them to get here.”
“I don’t need to stay here to recover them,” Hilemore replied, once again deciding honesty was the best tactic. “But I do need the ships in this port. Most are now willing to sail to Varestia where there is a struggle of far greater import than your feud.”
“What assurance do I have that any of this is true?” Kulvetch asked.
“Wait two days and find out, you silly bitch,” Jillett advised with a bland smile.
Kulvetch flushed a little with suppressed rage and addressed her next question to Hilemore. “You propose we evacuate?”
He shook his head. “There aren’t enough ships to accommodate more than a quarter of your population. You questioned my honour, but it’s my honour that keeps me here rather than leaving you to your fate. I have formulated a plan which may succeed in ensuring this city’s survival, but to survive you’ll have to fight, and fight together. If you can’t do that, tell me now and we will be on our way.”
Kulvetch and the two Voters continued to stare at each other during the lengthy silence that followed. Hilemore felt as if the air separating them had somehow become heated with their mutual enmity. He had begun to wonder if this hadn’t been a fool’s errand when Coll spoke up, speaking directly to Kulvetch, “It’s a truce. That’s all. We ain’t forgiving or forgetting nothing. When it’s over there’ll be an accounting.”
“A day I hunger for,” Kulvetch replied before turning to Hilemore. “Your plan, Captain?”
* * *
• • •
They didn’t like it, nor had he expected them to, but at least grudgingly agreed to put it to their respective populations. Hilemore spent the rest of the day overseeing the redistribution of crew and fuel amongst his new fleet, all the while expecting both sides to respond with a firm no. However, such worries were overthrown by the reappearance of the Red that afternoon.
It flew lower this time, descending to a height that proved irresistible to marksmen throughout the divided city and the fleet, who let loose with a furious barrage of rifle fire. The Red twisted and turned in the sky above the harbour, the hail of bullets thrumming the air around it without scoring a hit. Hilemore detected, or perhaps imagined, a taunting note in the screech the Red let out before flying off to the north, chased by yet more ineffectual rifle fire. Despite the waste of ammunition the drake’s visit had the beneficial effect of focusing minds on both sides of the falls and Hilemore received the agreement of both factions by nightfall.
Via a trance with Zenida, Clay had confirmed that the Greens appeared to be keeping to the western bank of the river. Greens were renowned as good swimmers but at this latitude the river was too fast-flowing even for them, meaning their assault would fall on that side of the city. Colonel Kulvetch seemed to enjoy almost absolute authority over the western side for the bulk of the populace obediently decamped for an orderly transfer to the other side of the falls. Many made their way over the bridge but most were moved by the ships in the harbour.
At Kulvetch’s insistence an entire quarter of the eastern side had been cleared to make way for the new inhabitants. The civilians were preceded by a large contingent of Marines, who cordoned off the allocated streets. There were complaints, of course, few west-siders relished the prospect of taking up residence in what one middle-aged manager referred to as “the hovels of the uncontracted.” But the mood for the most part was one of fear rather than defiance. At least for the time being the citizens of Stockcombe were willing to forgo their bitter little war for the sake of survival.
It took over thirty hours to fully clear the west side, save for a few die-hards who refused to leave their homes. They were mostly former senior management types, those who had survived the initial bout of conflict but then found themselves side-lined in the days that followed, their skills and prior authority suddenly rendered meaningless. Colonel Kulvetch displayed an unsuspected sentimentality in not having the heart to compel obedience from these impotent luminaries. Hilemore, finding the issue a distracting nuisance, didn’t press the matter when she refused his offer to have the stubborn old buggers forced into boats at gunpoint.
With the transfer complete he arrayed the ships into a defensive line across the harbour, starboard hulls facing the other side. Every cannon, rifle and harpoon in the fleet was arrayed along the starboard rails and west-facing upper works. Unsurprisingly, the Dalcian vessels proved to contain the most armaments, piracy being a time-honoured hobby amongst those who plied the merchant trade. Altogether, Steelfine reported a total of seventeen cannon and three hundred rifles, plus the harpoons of the Blue-hunters. It was less than the combined fire-power of a single Protectorate flotilla but it would have to do.
Hilemore put more faith in the mines with which they had seeded the harbour waters. The value of such devices had been made clear to him amidst the southern ice and he had the survivors from that travail to thank for the rapidity with which the mines had been manufactured. Furthermore, a number of nasty surprises had been prepared in the streets of the west side. Hilemore knew this would all take a fearful toll on the Greens, but the Reds were another matter.
He had Kulvetch and the Voters place all the armed personnel under their command on the roof-tops of the east side. There were a few Contractors amongst the Voters with experience in killing drakes, but the bulk of the defenders had been told to aim for the wings rather than waste ammunition in vain attempts to achieve a head-shot. Positioned at various points in the streets were numerous fire-fighting squads armed with buckets and pump hoses. It was a measure of Hilemore’s assessment of their ability to defeat the coming assault that the fire-fighters outnumbered the armed defenders by two to one.
Time, he reminded himself as he made his way to the crest of the arched bridge. Night was coming on fast and his gaze was fixed on the northern horizon beyond the moonlit waters of the river. We just have to buy enough time.
He had left Steelfine in command of the Superior in favour of occupying a vantage point atop the east-side bridge tower. He had complete faith in the Islander’s ability to command in combat, besides which the plan allowed little scope for improvisation when set in motion. In fact there was only one decision to be taken dependent on the outcome of events. Mothers with children had been secluded in the cellars closest to the docks, ready to be rushed to the ships for a swift evacuation should the coming battle turn into a disaster. It would entail raising the harbour door on a one-moon night, meaning the lower portion of the city would be lost along with many of the townsfolk, but he considered this preferable to the alternative.
> Hilemore had asked for only one volunteer to accompany him, Lieutenant Talmant stepping forward immediately. Hilemore’s first impulse had been to inform him that he belonged on the ship, being technically third in command. But faced with the young man’s stern, almost demanding expression the words died on Hilemore’s tongue. The lad’s earned the right to stand where he likes tonight, he thought, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder and ordering him to draw a rifle.
Besides Talmant, he had been joined by the Wash Lane Defence Volunteers, there on Coll’s order with instructions to “keep the corporate bastard alive.” Hilemore thought them a strangely cheerful lot in the circumstances, clustering round a flaming brazier as the night drew on and engaging in banter rich in mutual ridicule and lacking any mention of the impending danger. He detected a forced tone to much of their profane humour and knew it to be a refuge from fear, one he didn’t begrudge them.
The company included one additional recruit, there at Hilemore’s insistence and provisioned with as much product as he felt able to spare. Jillett had objected to being placed under his command, expressing a desire to stand alongside her Voter comrades in a speech that was rich in indignation but, to Hilemore’s ears, lacking in conviction. He could see the palpable fear in her eyes as she stood amongst the Volunteers. As the Voters’ only Blood-blessed she had been shielded during the conflict and tonight would be her first true taste of battle. He had wanted to place her aboard the Superior as added insurance in case the ships were forced to flee, but knew that Coll and the rest of the committee would never have stood for it.
The time before battle was usually a trial of jangled nerves and unnaturally long minutes, so he felt a pang of paradoxical gratitude when the drakes chose not to keep them waiting. “Sir,” Talmant said, handing him a spy-glass and pointing to the north. It didn’t take Hilemore long to find them, Nelphia’s light shimmering as it played over the mass of Greens on the western bank of the river. They were moving at a steady loping trot rather than a mad rush, presumably to conserve energy for a charge when they drew closer. He quelled an upsurge of dismay, realising it indicated some kind of reasoning intelligence behind this attack.
“We could just go,” Zenida had said before he took his leave an hour earlier. “This lot are intent on killing each other in any case. What do we owe them?”
“There are children here,” he said. “And others who took no part in this bloody farce. I can’t just abandon them.”
She hadn’t pursued the issue, merely shaking her head with a weary grin as she said, “You would have made a terrible pirate.”
“Send the signal,” Hilemore said. He raised the spy-glass to the sky finding it a starlit, partially clouded spectacle free of any drakes. They’re up there, he knew. Too high to see, probably.
The night was split by the flat crump of an exploding rocket as Talmant let the fleet and the city know the enemy was in sight. The message was answered with a prearranged chorus of sirens and steam-whistles from the ships, intended to wake any drowsing defenders on the roof-tops. Hilemore lowered the glass to gauge the progress of the Greens. They were keeping close to the edge of the river, those in front increasing their speed, mouths gaping as they let out their challenge calls. It grew in volume as the mass drew nearer, the screeching barks combining to produce something that resembled the burgeoning growl of a hungry monster.
“Oh fuck me,” he heard a Wash Lane Volunteer mutter then curse as one of his fellows cuffed him to silence.
Hilemore tracked the leading Greens until they reached the base of the wall on the far side of the river. They boiled over the partially ruined structure in a leaping, snarling torrent, some charging directly into the town whilst others scrambled onto the battlement and sprinted towards the bridge.
Hilemore closed the spy-glass with a brisk snap and handed it back to Talmant before descending the tower steps at a measured walk. He moved to the box positioned at the point where the bridge met the eastern wall. One of the Volunteers barked out a command and they moved to position themselves alongside him in two ranks, kneeling in front, rifles and carbines levelled.
“Save your rounds,” Hilemore advised, turning the locking switch on the box and elevating the handle. Chief Bozware had rigged this some hours earlier, Hilemore unwilling to trust the task to anyone else. “Once the lock’s off just push it forward, sir,” he said. “There’s a one-second delay, give you a chance to put your hands over your ears.”
He told the Volunteers to do this now, but, receiving only puzzled glances in response, shrugged and turned his attention back to the bridge. The first Green crested the span almost immediately, flames already blooming in its maw. The Volunteers all fired as one, peppering the bridge with bullets and scoring hits on the beast’s forelegs and shoulders but failing to stop its charge. Seeing another two Greens behind it Hilemore decided further delay would be unwise and pushed the handle on the detonator before clamping his hands over his ears.
The blast wave was sufficient to send Hilemore and the Volunteers sprawling, blinking rapidly against the instant pall of dust then huddling or dodging to avoid the falling cascade of debris. Hilemore shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears, rubbing at his eyes and wafting smoke. When it cleared he was rewarded with the sight of a dozen or more Greens tumbling into the space where the central span of the bridge had been. They fell screeching into the fast-flowing torrent below to be instantly swept over the falls. The momentum of the Greens’ charge was such that the cascade of falling drakes continued for several minutes, much to the amusement of the Volunteers.
“That’s it, drown, you scaly fucks!” a thin-faced girl yelled across the divide where a dense throng of Greens milled about the end of the stunted bridge, shrieking in rage and coughing out flames. “Try and eat us now!”
Hilemore shifted his gaze from the enraged Greens to the west-side streets below the wall, seeing them packed with a tide of onrushing drakes. The first booby trap went off a few seconds later, the explosion destroying the fountain in one of the palatial squares in the administrative district. Hilemore saw at least ten Greens tumbling amidst flame and debris. The remaining traps exploded in quick succession, each blast seemingly bigger than the one before.
Despite the carnage the Greens charged undaunted through the streets towards the harbour. The bulk of the booby traps had been placed in and around the harbour side, explosives strapped to the piers and wharfs in the expectation the Greens would be drawn there, and so it proved. The entire water-front seemed to instantaneously erupt into a wall of flame. Numerous mansion houses were transformed into rubble by the multiple blasts, which birthed a series of raging fires.
Hilemore called for Talmant to toss him the spy-glass and trained it on the water-front, seeing a mass of drifting smoke and rising flame. For one brief moment he entertained the notion that they had stopped the Greens completely, perhaps destroyed them all, but a brief scan of the neighbourhoods beyond the inferno revealed ever more Greens thronging the streets. Undeterred they charged through the raging fires and into the harbour waters, churning them white with multiple overlapping wakes as they swam towards the western side of the harbour.
Hilemore was impressed by the discipline of the merchantmen who, as instructed, held their fire, waiting for the moment when the Superior let loose with her broadside. The first mine erupted when the Greens were a third of the way across the harbour, producing a sixty-foot-high spout of water along with several dismembered drakes. The remaining mines exploded in quick succession with similarly grisly results. For a brief time it seemed the harbour waters were boiling, such was the energy released in so short a time. Water lapped over the east-side wharfs like waves in a storm-tossed sea and the line of ships heaved in the swell.
“Did we get all the bastards, Cap?” one of the Volunteers asked, the hefty lad who had shown an interest in Hilemore’s medals.
“It’s Captain,” Hilemo
re replied, watching the displaced water subside back into the harbour in a miniature rain-storm. “And I very much doubt it.”
An instant later a Green shot from the water barely ten yards from the hull of a Blue-hunter and latched itself onto the forward anchor chain. It managed to scramble halfway to the prow of the ship before a fusillade of rifle-shots from the crew sent it flailing back into the water. Small-arms fire erupted as Green after Green shot through the surface, reminding Hilemore of a huge shoal of salmon making their way up-stream. Most were cut down in mid air but some managed to gain purchase on the rails, casting their flames across the decks and roasting several crewmen before being shot down. Hilemore saw with dismay the numerous white flashes close to the Superior and knew the mind overseeing this attack had recognised the greatest threat and concentrated its forces accordingly.
Thankfully, under Steelfine’s command the Superior proved equal to the task. The cannon arrayed along the starboard rail fired successive blasts of cannister as the Greens rose into their sights, blasting most to pieces. The few who did manage to clamber up the hull were swiftly cut down by experienced marksmen on the upper works.
Taking the sound of the Superior’s cannon as their cue the other ships opened fire with their heavy ordnance. At Hilemore’s insistence they had all been loaded with cannister or, in many cases, a collection of any hard metal that could be found. The deadly rain lashed the harbour, killing Greens still attempting to swim across from the west side and catching many as they leapt clear of the water.
The cannon fell silent and Hilemore knew this to be the moment of greatest danger as the gun-crews frantically began reloading their pieces. The burden of holding off the Greens now fell on the riflemen and those merchant crew with small-arms. The crackle of rifle- and carbine-shots sounded the length of the ships, the marksmen moving to the rail and firing down at the Greens below. The drakes seemed to have abandoned their tactic of leaping for the rails in favour of climbing up the hull with the aid of their iron-hard claws. Several ships began to take on a serious list as the weight of drake flesh dragged them down. Hilemore bit down a curse at the sight of drakes swarming over the side of a small steam-packet. The potentially disastrous loss was averted when the next ship in line, the freighter commanded by the Dalcian pirate woman, turned its freshly loaded cannon on its neighbour and raked it with cannister-shot. Blasted free of drakes, the steam-packet righted itself but there was no sign of life, either drake or human, on its deck.
