Henry was suddenly half-blinded by the dazzling light of a signal flare that soared into the air and burst directly over their heads, momentarily bathing the surroundings in a bright red glow. By its light, Henry saw what appeared to be several large barges filled with soldiers almost dead ahead of them. Some of the barges were in the air, while others had already landed.
“Hush! Not a sound!” Phillip called in a loud whisper. “No one move!”
The bright glow faded. Henry could no longer see the barges, but he could hear the whirring of large airscrews only a short distance ahead.
“Stop the boat,” Phillip ordered urgently. “We’re practically on top of them!”
The helmsman reacted immediately to reduce the flow of magic to the lift tanks and the airscrews. They whirred to a stop, and the blue glow of the lift tank faded away. The pinnace hung motionless in the air for a moment, then began to drift down toward the ground.
“Land there,” Phillip whispered, pointing.
The helmsman brought the boat down in a sugar cane field near a grove of trees. They were within sight of the two tollhouses manned by the local militia, whose primary duty was to collect the tolls used by the city to maintain the Indigo Road. Their secondary duty was to prevent an invading army from entering the city by way of the road, though such a thing had never happened in the city’s history.
The tollhouses were small, squat fortifications built on either side of the road. A fence with a gate in the middle stretched between the two, blocking entry. The toll takers stopped everyone to collect the toll and ask their business. After travelers had paid, the toll takers would open the gate.
Lights shone in the windows of the tollhouses. Travelers arrived at all hours and the toll takers had to be awake to open the gate. Henry had no doubt that every man inside would have been wakened by the sounds of the shelling.
Those in the pinnace waited in tense silence for the warning shout that would mean someone on one of those barges had seen them. Minutes passed and no one raised the alarm. Everyone started to breathe again.
Phillip crawled over the benches to speak to Henry and Mr. Sloan.
“Those are Guundaran troop transport barges, my lord.”
“What the devil are the Guundaran soldiers doing in the middle of a sugar cane field?” Henry demanded, baffled.
“Good question,” said Phillip. “I will find out, my lord.”
Before Henry could say a word, Phillip jumped nimbly over the side and landed in the sugar cane field, which had recently been harvested, to judge by the stubble left behind. He disappeared into the night, his boots crunching on what remained of the stalks.
Mr. Sloan cast a worried, questioning glance at Henry. “How will His Grace find out, my lord?”
“Phillip speaks Guundaran like a native,” Henry answered.
Mr. Sloan nodded, satisfied.
Henry kept watch, staring into the darkness at the barges until his eyes ached. He could see almost nothing except now and then the flash of a dark lantern. He could hear a great deal, however: men giving orders, boots shuffling, rifle butts thumping on wood, muffled swearing.
Henry removed the sling and tossed it onto the deck.
“Hand me a pistol, Mr. Sloan,” he said. “Distribute weapons to the rest of the crew.”
Mr. Sloan pressed a pistol into Henry’s hand and stealthily and silently placed a rifle on the bench beside him, then handed out rifles and pistols to the crew. They sat unmoving, waiting for Phillip’s return.
The moon rose, spreading pale light over the field. Phillip had chosen the landing site well. The pinnace had come down in the shadow of a grove of trees. Henry could now clearly see the large transport barges on the road ahead of them. The soldiers were lining up on the road, forming into ranks.
After what seemed an interminable amount of time, he heard someone hurriedly crunching through the field, approaching the pinnace. The man came into view. He was wearing a Guundaran uniform.
Mr. Sloan and Henry and half the crew raised their weapons.
“It’s me! Pip! Don’t shoot!” Phillip called in a piercing whisper.
He climbed into the pinnace. His hands were covered in blood, and he grimaced as he wiped them on a handkerchief, then tossed it aside. Seeing the blood, Henry had no need to ask Phillip how he had come by the coat.
Phillip motioned for Henry and Mr. Sloan to come close so they could hear.
“The Guundarans are here to rob the Bank of Wellinsport,” he said softly.
Henry stared, speechless with astonishment.
“I know, my lord. I didn’t believe it either,” said Phillip. “I put on this coat, then approached a commander to ask in my best Guundaran for him to clarify his orders. He told me that I was a dunderhead who had no business being an officer in the Guundaran army, and then confirmed that we were here to rob a bank.
“They are using the shelling of the city as a diversion. Part of this force will attack the two forts that guard the toll bridge and hold them to protect their rear flank. The remainder of this force will enter the city under the cover of the confusion and chaos of the shelling to seize the bank. The main Guundaran force is on board the two warships in the harbor. They will land once the shelling has softened up the city.”
“The Bank of Wellinsport…” Henry repeated, puzzled. “Why would the Guundarans want to rob it?”
Mr. Sloan suddenly sat bolt upright. “The Bank of Wellinsport, my lord! The gold reserves…”
Henry jumped to his feet. “We have to stop them. Tell the helmsman.”
“My lord, hush, they will hear you!” Phillip warned, trying to urge Henry to sit down.
“That cannot be helped,” said Henry grimly. “If the Guundarans succeed in robbing the bank, King Ullr will have no need to invade Freya. He can declare victory this very night. Freya will have no choice but to surrender.”
FORTY-THREE
Henry gave a hurried explanation. “When Her Majesty was first diagnosed with a fatal illness and the matter of the succession was undecided, the Privy Council feared civil war. They deemed it would be prudent to transfer the gold and silver reserves of the nation from the Freyan Royal Treasury to the Bank of Wellinsport as a hedge against political and currency risks. We carried out the transfer successfully, with the utmost secrecy. Or so we thought,” he added grimly. “The Guundarans must have found out.”
“Queen Mary used to say there were more spies than vermin in the palace, my lord,” said Phillip. “Thomas told me he overheard King Ullr laughing with Baron Grimm about Freya ‘paying for her own destruction.’ Neither of us knew what he meant at the time.”
“He must have meant this,” said Henry. “When our people become aware that the gold and silver reserves are in the hands of the Guundarans, they will flock to the banks to demand money that won’t be there. The entire Freyan financial system will collapse. Freya will be plunged into ruin.”
“How many men are in the barges, Your Grace?” Mr. Sloan asked.
“I estimate a force of three hundred or more. Elite troops. How many men in the tollhouses?”
“Twenty-five, at the most,” said Henry. “Local militia.”
“They will observe the shelling, my lord, and they will be worried about the fate of their families in Wellinsport,” said Mr. Sloan. “We must assume that some or all may have abandoned their posts to go to their families.”
“I cannot say I would blame them,” said Henry.
“We must alert the tollhouses, if anyone is there,” said Phillip. “I’ll tell the helmsman.”
“The Guundarans will be aware of our presence, my lord,” Mr. Sloan observed.
“Then we should prepare for a fight,” said Henry. “Tell the helmsman to crank up those airscrews as fast as they will go.”
The helmsman sent magic to the lift tanks and the airscrews. The lift tanks glowed blue, and the airscrews hummed to life. The helmsman increased the flow of magic. The airscrews whirred loudly and the pinnac
e surged forward.
The Guundarans immediately caught sight of the pinnace and realized they had been discovered. They raised the alarm, pointing and shouting and grabbing their rifles.
Everyone ducked except the helmsman, who valiantly remained at his post. The Guundaran elite troops were well-trained and excellent shots. The first volley struck the helmsman, and he collapsed onto the deck, his face covered in blood. Phillip jumped up to take his place at the helm, crouching as low as he could while keeping his hands on the brass panel.
The second volley hit one of the airscrews. Henry heard the ominous sound of metal striking metal and the airscrew ground to a halt. The pinnace slowed.
Henry risked lifting his head to see how close they were to the tollhouses. A bullet slammed into the bulwark, nearly taking off his ear, and he ducked back down.
“Half a mile,” he reported. “At least now the militia will be warned.”
Another Guundaran shot hit the second airscrew and it crunched to a halt.
“We are going down, gentlemen,” Phillip shouted. “Hold tight! The landing will be a rough one!”
Henry grabbed hold of the hull as the keel plowed into the sugar cane field, cutting a wide swath through the mud and the stubble until the pinnace finally lurched to a stop.
“Are you all right, my lord?” Mr. Sloan asked.
“I am, Mr. Sloan,” Henry stated, picking himself up off the deck. He looked to see how everyone else had fared.
The crew members had gathered around their fallen comrade. Phillip gave Henry a wave to let him know he was well, and knelt down to tend to the wounded man.
Henry glanced back at the Guundarans. Having achieved their objective in bringing down the pinnace, their officers gave orders to cease fire and return to their task of unloading the barges. If the Guundarans had been counting on the element of surprise, that was gone, for both tollhouses now blazed with light.
“Mr. Sloan, run to the tollhouse and warn them they are about to come under attack.”
Mr. Sloan hesitated. “I don’t like leaving you and His Grace, my lord.”
“We will be right behind you,” said Henry. “Phillip and I will meet you at the tollhouse.”
Mr. Sloan started off through the field, running and stumbling over the rough terrain in the darkness.
Henry went to check on the helmsman and was pleased to see he had regained consciousness and was on his feet.
“Bullet grazed his head,” Phillip reported. “Lots of blood, but nothing broken. He was damn lucky.”
“We’ll take care of him, my lord,” the coxswain offered. “The lads and I have talked it over and unless you have need of us, my lord, we’re going to try to find a way to return to our ship. The captain will want all hands.”
“I am certain Captain Northrop will be glad to have you back on board,” said Henry. “Good luck to you.”
The crew set out across the sugar cane fields, heading toward Wellinsport. Henry and Phillip slogged through the muck and stubble. Henry tried to catch a glimpse of Mr. Sloan, but he had ranged far ahead of them and was no longer visible.
The shelling of the city continued, and now that they were closer, they could see flames from burning buildings. He could smell the smoke, the foul odor of war.
Henry was soon exhausted, and his shoulder ached abominably. He longed to stop to catch his breath, but a glance over his shoulder showed him the lead ranks of the Guundaran army were on the move, marching down the Indigo Road.
“You should take off the Guundaran uniform, Your Grace,” Henry advised. “The militia men are liable to shoot you.”
“Good God, you’re right, my lord!” Phillip exclaimed and hurriedly divested himself of the coat. “I had forgotten I was wearing it.”
They finally reached the first tollhouse and learned that Mr. Sloan must have arrived and given the warning because they were immediately challenged by a panic-stricken young sentry, waving a rifle at them.
“Stand and be recognized!” he called in a quavering voice.
Henry and Phillip both raised their hands.
“I am Sir Henry Wallace. Mr. Sloan told you we were coming. Lower your weapon and let us pass.”
“I dunno,” said the sentry. “You might be spies.”
Henry saw the rifle waver in his hand. His finger was perilously near pulling the trigger.
“Mr. Sloan!” Henry shouted.
“Here, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan, hurrying to their rescue.
He reassured the sentry and escorted Henry and Phillip to the entrance of the tollhouse.
“A prime example of the local militia,” Henry said. “Pimple-faced boys against Guundaran elite troops. They will be wiped out in the first volley. Who is the commander, Mr. Sloan? Where can I find him?”
“Captain Rader, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “Veteran of the Bottom Dweller War. He seems a solid, steady old soldier.”
“Thank God for that.”
Captain Rader arrived to greet them. He was calm and unruffled and notable for a long white beard, of which he was quite proud, for he constantly stroked it.
“We heard the gunfire, and our lookouts spotted the army marching down the road,” said Rader. “Hard to tell by moonlight, but there seems to be a fair number of them.”
“We estimate three hundred, sir,” said Henry.
Rader cast a glance back at his small force, who had lined up along the fence. “We could hold them off for a time. Not sure how long.”
“I applaud your courage, sir, but you do not need to make such a sacrifice for your country. Your small force will be of more use to me alive,” said Henry. “I require you and your men to guard the bank.”
Captain Rader was surprised, as evinced by the fact that he stopped stroking his beard. “The bank, my lord?”
“The Guundaran forces are planning to seize the bank. I propose that you and your men leave the tollhouses to the Guundarans and take up positions around the bank.”
Captain Rader gave a slow, resigned smile. “Some of the lads have already left the tollhouse, my lord. They were worried about their families, you see, sir. What with the shelling. I told them they could go.”
“You did well, Captain,” said Henry.
“The militia has a stockpile of weapons in the arsenal at headquarters if those would be of use, my lord,” Captain Rader stated. “It’s only a few blocks from the bank.”
“Excellent,” said Henry. “Mr. Sloan is a retired marine, sir. He can assist you and your men.”
The captain was grateful. “We can use all the help we can get, my lord.”
He left to prepare his men to march out.
Henry drew Mr. Sloan to one side. “The bank building is six stories tall, solid, constructed of brick reinforced with magic. It has iron bars on the windows, which is one reason I chose it to house the gold reserves. If we could get inside the building, I believe we could hold it for some time. You go to the arsenal with the captain. I will meet you at the bank.”
“Very good, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.
Captain Rader and his small force left the tollhouse with alacrity, obviously glad they were not going to be called upon to die defending a tollgate. Henry saw the pimple-faced sentry fumble his rifle and almost trip himself.
“What now, my lord?” Phillip asked cheerfully. He was eager, excited, filled with energy, and seemed ready for anything. Henry felt his spirits revive just looking at him.
“You know the bank’s owner, Sir Reginald Dawson.”
“I do, my lord, from the time I spent here as your agent. Sir Reginald was an acquaintance of the viscount and in Pip’s capacity as the viscount’s clerk, I found occasion to invite myself to his parties. Pip gleaned a great deal of valuable information from his guests.”
“And so you know where he lives!” Henry said, relieved. “That’s excellent.”
The two set out for the city, following in the wake of the militia. The shelling was now almost continual. The rockets had first
hit the residential districts, but were concentrating on destroying the harbor, the naval dockyard, and the warehouses and businesses that surrounded the docks.
Henry could not count the number of columns of smoke he could see rising from the destruction. The streets were clogged with people either running toward the fires to help put them out, or fleeing them, while others were simply running, crazed with fear. Fires raged out of control, lighting the night sky with lurid orange flame.
“Sir Reginald lives near the harbor, my lord,” said Phillip worriedly. “Let me go on my own. I’ll meet you at the bank. The Guundarans will take care not to shell it.”
Henry shook his head. “I know Sir Reginald. You will need me to help convince him.”
Phillip grinned. “Probably so. He never did much care for poor Pip.”
They were drawing closer to the harbor and the shelling. The rockets made shrill, high-pitched whistling shrieks as they fell from the sky, then came the boom of explosions that shook the ground. Smoke roiled, thick and black, and flames, fanned by the wind, crawled up the sides of tall buildings, devouring them until they collapsed into blazing piles of rubble.
People wandered about the streets dazed, wounded and bloodied. Wagons careened past at breakneck speed, carrying limp bodies to hospitals that were already filled to overflowing. People frantically dug through the rubble of fallen buildings trying to reach those trapped underneath. The local constabulary was doing their best, but they were overwhelmed, their help needed everywhere at once.
Choked by the smoke, Henry and Phillip stopped at a water pump to ease their thirst. Henry had visited Wellinsport many times, but he had no idea where he was, for nothing looked the same amid the destruction, covered by a pall of smoky haze. Phillip had lived in Wellinsport for years, however, and he knew every side street, every alley.
“Sir Reginald’s house is not far now, my lord,” he said. “I hope it is still standing.”
Hearing the sound of another rocket, they both ducked into a doorway. The blast came only a few blocks away.
This area had thus far escaped the worst of the shelling. Buildings were still standing. The street lamps were still shining, their glow surrounded by halos of drifting smoke. Phillip pointed out Sir Reginald’s house.
Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs) Page 41