by Brad R. Cook
“No,” Richard put his hands on his hips. “There is no way you are fighting in the coming battle. Let your father drive that infernal armor.”
“Excuse me?” Genevieve stepped back and her expression hardened.
“Richard, you need to stop. Genevieve is an amazing warrior, and you won’t ever diminish that.”
Genevieve whipped around and faced me. “Alexander Armitage, I do not need you to fight my battles. I can stand up for myself.”
My mouth dropped open, but I didn’t respond. Richard didn’t even listen, he stepped around Genevieve and said, “Quit trying to steal my betrothed, colonist.” He took a step closer. “You need to step off, commoner. I don’t care about you, or your little savage friends. These armors are going to real warriors, real knights. My betrothed is coming with me, and you can go fall off the end of the earth.”
“Step off yourself, your grace; this isn’t Eton.” I stared him down. “If you continue to use that word, I will challenge you.”
“Challenge me, colonist?” Richard’s eyes burned wild. “If you want a fight, I will give you one.” He drew the long sword from his scabbard and raised the blade toward me.
I didn’t know how to react; I didn’t even have a sword, only my Thumper and the knife the captain had given me. If I pulled a weapon, we would duel, an outcome as destructive as a war.
I had to resist. The Templars would never accept me if I attacked a member of the royal family, and the Duke would have his dog. Even if I won, I’d never actually win. .
Richard extended his arm, and his legs slipped into a fighting stance. Genevieve released an exacerbated sigh, drew her saber, and parried Richard’s blade toward the ground. “What are you doing? And you … I can stand up for myself.”
Before I could respond, Richard pressed her shoulder, trying to force her aside “Out of my way, this is a matter of gentlemen. It will take just a moment to deal with this thorn.”
Genevieve spun out of his grip and swung her saber at Richard. He backed up and brought his longsword up to block the blade. With the slight movement of her wrist, she hooked his blade with the end of her curved saber, twirled her wrist, and sent his sword flying from his hand. “I want you to understand something, Richard,” she said, her voice sharp as her sword’s razor edge. “I will always be able to defeat you with a sword. That will not change when we are married. No matter what, you will never raise your sword to this man.”
His eyes narrowed and he turned toward me, but she pressed her blade to his chin. “I’m not done yet. The Bronze Knight is a part of me, and I will defend the crown as my father has done, as my family has done for generations.”
He pushed her away. “You are as bad as your mother.”
Her face transformed. The fire in her eye blazed, but still, I thought I saw a hint of doubt. How did she really feel about the lady assassin?
For a moment, they stared at each other, then the inferno in Richard’s eyes subsided with her steel still against his chin. He backed off Genevieve’s blade and walked off. She lowered her saber and slid it back into its sheath. She dropped her head and her long auburn hair covered her face, which muffled her soft sob. I wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know what to say. Without a word, she slipped away.
The next morning, we prepared to leave the village and search for the Milli-train. Captain Baldarich boarded the Sparrowhawk, along with the baron, Eustache, Owethu, and me. Genevieve joined us as well, her stoic grace restored.
As we lifted up over the land of lions, elephants, giraffes, plus hundreds of other creatures I had only read about in books, I settled down beside the windows on the bridge. I was excited to be setting out on my first African safari, even if this one was from the air.
Zululand was extraordinary. Grassland stretched out in every direction, rolling hills rose upward into small mountains. Streams meandered between them and joined larger rivers that rushed to the sea. Gone were the cold days in London, the harsh bitter winds replaced by a warm breeze, and a sun that, by midday, drenched me in sweat.
The captain set the course of the Sparrowhawk to where Owethu and the Zulu thought the Milli-train might be. Nothing. Not even any signs of tracks. By mid-afternoon, we’d come no closer to finding them, and our spirits were faltering. When we returned to Owethu’s village, Captain Baldarich had Heinz wiggle the Sparrowhawk’s wings to let the others know we’d found nothing, Then we headed off in another direction.
That evening we returned to the village, disheartened. We’d searched a huge swatch of northern Zululand and not found anything. Tomorrow was another day, but we only had one more to find the Milli-train and stop the Iron Horsemen.
CHAPTER 39
IRON ZULU
I walked up to the Chief Zwelethu’s dwelling with Owethu and Captain Baldarich. The fire outside crackled, sending embers soaring into the night’s sky. My father and the rest of the Templar Order sat in discussion.
“We have one unfinished Iron Knight hobbled together from bits and pieces.” My father ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
“Which won’t matter if Hendrix, Kannard, and the lady assassin find the fourth horseman’s heart before we do,” Sinclair said. “We need to hold the line here. Until the Templar fleet arrives.”
My father turned to Sinclair. “Hardened soldiers against villagers and a handful of your people? We have to find another way.”
“No professor.” The Grand Master put his hand on my father’s shoulder. “If we don’t engage, they could find the heart before our reinforcements come, which would mean our certain deaths. We are all that stands between the world and the horsemen.”
“He’s right.” I said. “The Golden Circle is coming here because of Schoenbruster’s journal. We have to stop them, but sir, my father is also correct. I don’t know if we’ll be victorious without reinforcements. Besides, they know our fleet is on the way, too, I doubt they will wait to attack.”
My father looked at me and smiled. “You are getting too good at this. If only you’d put this much effort to your studies.”
“I want the next language I learn to be Zulu.”
Chief Zwelethu laughed. “I like your son. My shaman tells me I should heed his words. I will send the children off across the river with their mothers and the cattle.”
Sinclair nodded. “An excellent idea.” He pointed his cane at me and said, “You go with your father and help the Tinkerer finish the armor for Owethu.”
“You got it. We’ll get it moving before our enemies arrive.”
Sinclair ruffled my hair with his large hand. “Damn fine work, lad. I thank you.”
“My honor, sir.”
He tipped his head before turning to Chief Zwelethu to leave. My father then led me to the Imperial Airship, which rested just outside the village. Twice the size of the Sparrowhawk, the royal airship had gold trimming and finely crafted wood covering the metal frames. We remained in the crew section, which consisted of rooms and hallways. However, to reach the other end of the airship, we had to go through the cavernous main section. Metal beams and support cabling ran the entire length of the airship. The large helium tanks above us looked like giant icebergs suspended from the ceiling. We walked along the catwalk toward the aft section. Amazed at the structure of the airship, I wanted to stop and continue to take it all in, but my father continued to the gangplank.
The Tinkerer, already in the workshop he’d set up right outside the cargo door, worked on an engine. All his tools, along with a pile of scrap iron and every spare part he could muster, surrounded him. Even a porcelain sink pulled from one of the ships of the fleet. I shook my head.
Sitting in the center of this metal maze was the fully-assembled engine and treads for an Iron Knight, along with the feet and legs. The Tinkerer was folded over inside the engine compartment, but spun around as we approached. He still wore his thick apron over an undershirt, and his trousers were drenched in sweat and smeared with
grease. His enormous pupils filled the multi-layered lenses of his goggles.
“Good yer back,” he said in a thick Scottish drawl.
My father pointed to the armor. “I finished that intake valve. So, we’re here to do whatever you need.”
“Installed. Thank you.” He turned to me. “Glad to have an extra set of hands. Search through these piles of stuff for something the driver can sit on.”
“Will do.” I darted through the piles of stuff in search for something cushiony. Because the Black Knight, my armor, was a prototype, it had a hard metal seat that battered my entire body with every explosion or vibration on the cobblestone.
I found a twisted mess of metal bars with a bicycle seat attached. I also discovered the padded back of a broken chair and took both to the Tinkerer. “Best I could do.”
“Perfect,” he said, nodding with a welding torch that spit blue fire. “I’ve got your father working on the joints. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had an interest in riveting?”
“I’ll rivet whatever you need.”
“Good, then load some rivets into the furnace there and we’ll get started, but first put that apron on.”
I did as he said, grabbing the rivets with a pair of tongs. Then dropping the iron rivets into the brick furnace that radiated so much heat it was hard to approach even with the apron on. The Tinkerer nudged me. “Use those tongs to place the rivet in the iron armor, and I’ll do the rest.”
“You got it.”
Gears walked up to us. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Captain, thought I might be able to help, too.”
The Tinkerer nodded. “Another set of hands is always appreciated.”
So, the four of us worked throughout the night to complete the newest armor. The ping of a hammer striking iron never ceased. I thought I might lose my mind, but eventually, the sound became a drumbeat driving me onward. Amazingly, the Tinkerer worked from memory, not missing a single detail. As the night wore on, I’d done so many different jobs, that by first light I could have probably build an armor myself. My favorite task had been working on the shield, an isihlangu, the traditional Zulu impi shield, which maintained the elliptical or leaf-like shape of the smaller version. I’d reinforced it with iron bands on the back of the shield, and even painted a cowhide pattern to match the smaller version. Finally exhausted, I fell asleep in the armor.
My father opened the door and I popped awake. When he grinned at me, his white teeth shone, they were the only part of him not smeared with grease. He was almost as filthy as Gears.
I pulled my father over to the armor and said, “We made the chest from an airship hatch. It even has a porthole that the Tinkerer reinforced.”
“It looks great,” he said. He turned toward me then and put his hand on my white button down. “You’ve done really well.”
“Thanks,” I said.
He removed his hand, but the dark stain of his print remained on my shirt. “Sorry, son, we’ll get you a new shirt back in London.”
I nodded but shrugged. “I don’t mind.” In reality, I wouldn’t have minded if I’d never had to wear another starched white shirt.
He stood there for a moment more before rushing off in answer to the Tinkerer calling for assistance. As I stood there admiring our handiwork, Rodin surprised me and flew up and landed on my shoulder. I rubbed behind his horns. “Why, good morning, Rodin, how are you? I looked up, expecting to see Genevieve, but she wasn’t there. However, Owethu and his father walked up, followed by several women from his tribe, including the shaman.
“Owethu! It’s so good to see you,” I said. His father shifted and I bowed.
With delight in his eyes, Chief Zwelethu said, “We have come to see the progress of your machine.”
“Excellent timing. We have to get Owethu ready for the Iron Zulu.” I couldn’t wait to show him, and motioned for them to follow.
We rounded a hunk of scrap metal and the iron armor came into view. The machine rose twice my height, and appeared patched together with a mix of dark iron and brass. They stopped and stared in awe at the contraption. Chief Zwelethu kept nodding his head, but did not say anything. Owethu froze, and the tears in his eyes reminded me of the first time I set eyes on the Black Knight.
“Meet the Iron Zulu,” I said. “Let’s start with the shield, since I made it.”
“You did this? Very nice work.” Chief Zwelethu ran his hand along the shield. “It looks just like an isihlangu, only bigger.”
“I tried to be as authentic as possible. This one is made of iron, though, not cattle skin.”
Owethu finally approached, “Can I see inside?”
“Of course.” I grabbed the mgobo that ran vertically just behind the shield and pulled the door open. Then I lifted the visor. Rodin craned his neck to see inside. “Make sure this is up when you get in so you don’t hit your head.”
I opened the hatch. Inside, the compartment was just big enough for one.
“By the ancestors,” Owethu gasped, but didn’t hesitate to climb inside.
“Put your arms in up here and you should feel the controls. Your legs go on either side of the small seat. Feel the pedals?” I turned to him and demonstrated with my hands, “Your hands control all the upper systems—the arms, hands, and weapons. Your feet control direction and speed.”
“I see,” Owethu gave me a thumbs up.
“Check this out,” I said, “we used steam pipes for the inner arm and then plated them with additional armor.” I pointed to the back. “The boiler came from one of the airships.”
“I am humbled,” Owethu said.
“I felt the same way when I saw the Black Knight.”
“All I see is the shield. Where are the weapons?” Chief Zwelethu asked.
I pointed to the shield. “Behind here is a grappling hook and a short barrel cannon. There is a longer barrel that flips forward on the sword arm, here on the right. The shield holds the club, a knobkerrie, and an Assegai spear. Both are Iron-Knight sized. But here is the best.” I walked over and struggled to lift the short spear. “We made you an iklwa.”
Owethu’s face lit up.
“This is a Zulu,” his father said. “There is no mistaking it.” With a motion of his hand, Owethu stepped out of the armor and the women brought forward a white-haired ox hide with a few black markings and handed it to him. He placed the hide over the shield and tied it to the braces on the back with leather cord.
Chief Zwelethu stepped back and the shaman swept forward. She clutched a bundle of sacred herbs and flowers that she placed into a stone bowl and mashed them until nothing but powder remained. With her gnarled, cracked and dusty hand, she smeared the mixture over the shield as she chanted.
I leaned in to Owethu, “What is she doing?”
“She is adding a spell on the shield, so I will be invulnerable in battle.”
“Fascinating.” I didn’t want to tell Owethu how much he might need that protection. “I wish we had more time for training, but don’t worry, last year we didn’t have much time, either, and we’re still here.”
The Tinkerer popped his head out of the engine, approached the chief and Owethu, and shook their hands. He leaned in and pointed at Owethu’s chest. “He’s forgetting the most important part. These are great machines, but the soul of the machine is in the rider. If your will is strong, then the armor will never fail you.”
“My will to protect this village knows no sunset.” Owethu took a deep breath, bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt. He pressed it on the chest hatch and then rubbed the soil in his hands together. “
“Now, let’s get you inside and light the fires.” I helped Owethu get situated in the armor. As soon as I closed the chest hatch and flipped down the visor, my stomach twisted into knots. I doubled over, as the horns warning of danger echoed through the village.
The Tinkerer adjusted his goggles and pointed with his mallet. “You’d better find the captain or Lord Sinclair to make sure the
y know we’re ready. I’ll finish up with Owethu’s orientation.”
“Good luck, Owethu.” I shook his hand. “When the rest of the fleet gets here, I’ll roll out in the Black Knight, and together, we’ll tear the Golden Circle apart.”
“I look forward to it.”
I rushed off to find the Grand Master, or the captain. I turned to Rodin. “Go find the baron or Genevieve. Make sure they know we are ready.” As he flew off a wave of elation came over me.
Captain Baldarich walked up and wrapped his arm around me. “Alexander, with me.”
“Captain, what is it?”
He pointed at the Sparrowhawk. “The Milli-train is coming, and I am looking forward to raining lead down on that iron serpent with you alongside.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.” I saluted and followed him. “Do we know when the rest of the fleet will be showing up?”
He stroked his moustache. “They won’t arrive until this evening, at the earliest.”
“So close …”
“And yet this battle will probably be over by then.”
“We just have to hold them to nightfall then.”
“This is why I like you, always looking at the sunny side. Now, let’s go tell these guys we mean business. Apparently they didn’t get the message last year.” He clapped his hands together and pivoted toward me. “See you onboard.”
Genevieve tapped my shoulder. “It’s almost time.”
“Thanks,” I sat up. “Are you okay?”
“No. But it did feel good to say all of it.”
“He deserved it,” I chuckled. “But I didn’t get a chance to say thank you. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of that fight.”
She paused. “He shouldn’t have acted that way; you deserve nothing but his respect.”
“I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Her words made me pause, but her touch on my shoulder ignited my passions. I wanted to kiss her, to tell her it all be okay, and how I wanted to spend time with her back in London, but I couldn’t. Pushing my passion back into my heart, I said, “We should get out of here.”
