“And what is your point, Mr. Sloan?”
“Street fighting is far more vicious and brutal, as the Guundarans will soon discover, my lord. They do not face the enemy across a field of battle. Instead the enemy lunges out of a doorway wielding a meat cleaver or throws hot grease on their heads.”
Mr. Sloan was proven right. The gunfire became more sporadic and people began to cheer. Assailed from all directions, the Guundarans who had marched along the Indigo Road to seize the bank had been forced to retreat to reconsider their position.
“I fear the celebration is premature,” said Henry. “The Guundarans will not give up that easily.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Mr. Sloan agreed. “In their place, I would make use of the transport barges to sail over the barricades and attack the bank from the air.”
“For God’s sake, do not give them ideas, Mr. Sloan!” Phillip protested. “We would not want your thoughts winging their way to some Guundaran commander.”
“I will endeavor to control myself, Your Grace,” said Mr. Sloan.
Henry took advantage of the lull in the fighting in the city to shift his attention to the battle taking place in the harbor.
He was puzzled by an eerie blue-green glow lighting the Breath near the entrance of the Trame Channel, until the glow strengthened and he realized it came from the magical steel plates of the Terrapin. He could tell by following the bright glow that the ship was on the move, but without a spyglass he could not see well enough to know where she was bound or why.
“Alan must be planning to take on the King of Guundar and the Hoffnagle,” said Phillip. “Sixty-eight guns each.”
“And the Terrapin has twenty-four,” said Henry gloomily.
“And the devil’s own luck,” Phillip reminded him.
Henry sighed.
The lull in the fighting in the city continued. The Guundaran forces that had attacked the barricade had not returned, and the people began to celebrate in earnest in the belief that the fight was over. Henry was starting to think he’d been wrong and that the Guundarans had given up. His hopes were dashed by the arrival of one of Captain Rader’s men, who came running upstairs to report.
“The captain says to tell you that the Spuds took to their barges and are preparing to attack our position from the air.”
Henry glared at his secretary. “I blame you, Mr. Sloan.”
“I am profoundly sorry, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “I would suggest that Captain Rader and his men fall back to assist in guarding the bank.”
“I agree, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.
The man ran down the stairs with his orders for his captain. He must have said something to Sir Reginald on his way out the door, for the bank owner came up to join them on the roof.
“Brought my glass so I could see the damn Guundarans for myself,” he said, flourishing a spyglass. “I hear they are going to attack from the air.”
“They are on their way, my lord,” said Henry. “Right now, however, you can see the battle raging in the harbor.”
Sir Reginald put the spyglass to his eye and trained it on the harbor. “So you can,” he said.
Henry longed to see for himself and had to fight the temptation to snatch the spyglass out of Sir Reginald’s hand.
“Damned if I can tell one ship from another,” said Sir Reginald.
“If you would allow me, sir,” said Henry, reaching for the spyglass. He started to look, then handed it to Phillip. “On second thought, Your Grace has the best eyesight.”
“Your Grace!” Sir Reginald frowned at Phillip. “But he’s a clerk!”
Henry did not choose to enlighten him. “What do you see, Your Grace?”
“The Terrapin is headed straight for the King of Guundar,” Phillip reported. “Wait! Damn it. Too much smoke. I can’t make out … By God! The Terrapin rammed her! The two ships are locked together.”
He paused at this critical moment.
“Well?” Henry demanded impatiently.
“The King is sinking, my lord. Looks like the Terrapin managed to free herself. But the Hoffnagle escaped,” Phillip added in grim tones. “She’s joining the three warships in the harbor.”
“What is Alan doing? Is he just letting her get away?” Henry demanded.
“That would appear to be the case, my lord,” said Phillip. “The Terrapin is not giving chase.”
“It is not like Alan to give up!” Henry said.
“Perhaps the Terrapin was damaged in the collision, my lord,” Mr. Sloan suggested.
“The Terrapin must be sinking then, because Alan would not let that stop him,” said Henry.
Phillip kept watching and suddenly gave a whoop. “The Hoffnagle’s on fire!”
“What? Where? Let me see!”
Phillip handed Henry the spyglass and he trained it on an orange glow lighting the inky blackness of the harbor. The Hoffnagle was ablaze, and the burning hulk was sailing toward her three sister ships.
“Good old Alan! He must have captured it and turned it into a fire ship, my lord!” Phillip cried, practically dancing up and down with excitement.
Henry could not see the deck of the burning Hoffnagle, but he knew with certainty that Alan would be standing at the helm in the midst of an inferno, guiding the blazing wreck toward the other ships.
The Guundaran ships saw their danger and stopped firing rockets into the city to try to save themselves. An enormous ball of flame suddenly erupted in the harbor. The sound of an explosion followed, rolling across the city.
Everyone else on the roof cheered as the Hoffnagle went down in flames. Henry did not cheer. He wondered if Alan had been caught in the blast. He lowered the spyglass in silence and returned it to Phillip.
“The Guundaran ships are both on fire,” Phillip reported. “Looks like one has lost control of the helm because it’s veering toward the other. Good God! They’ve smashed into each other!” He waited a moment, then said, awed, “They’re gone, my lord. Both of them sunk.”
“Sir, sir!” The pimple-faced youth was stammering, pointing and frantically clutching at Mr. Sloan. “Mr. Sloan, sir! They’re c-c-coming!”
Henry had forgotten their own peril in his worry for Alan. He turned his attention from the harbor to see the hulking shapes of Guundaran landing barges slowly sail over the barricades. People on the rooftops began firing at them and hurling bricks, slate tiles, or whatever else came to hand. The barges were forced to travel slowly, for the smoke obscured their view and they did not want to crash into a chimney or the side of a building.
Captain Rader and his men arrived at the bank on the run, and Sir Reginald went below to meet them. Phillip pocketed the spyglass and went to join Mr. Sloan manning the swivel guns.
Henry raised his rifle. He could hear Captain Rader shouting orders to his men and Sir Reginald booming defiance from inside the bank. He sighted in on the lead barge and waited for it to come within range.
“Hold your fire!” Phillip called urgently.
Henry lifted his head. The lead barge had slowed almost to a crawl to allow the other two to catch up. The officers were shouting back and forth.
“What are they saying, Your Grace?” Henry asked.
Phillip had the spyglass trained on the nearest barge. The Guundarans made no attempt to lower their voices. Judging by their tone, they were obviously shaken.
Phillip began to laugh. “They also saw the battle in the harbor and they have just realized that they are now stranded here in Wellinsport. Those three warships that just sank were supposed to pick them up and carry them back to Guundar.”
“They might still attack,” Henry said, not inclined to cheer yet. “You served with the Guundarans, Mr. Sloan. Will they die for a lost cause or retreat and live to fight another day?”
“I have found the Guundaran people to have a great deal of common sense, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “They abhor waste.”
The Guundaran officers were still shouting at each other and Phillip was listening.<
br />
“They intend to retreat. They have enough lift gas to make it as far as the Travian city of Sornhagen. They are going back to the tollhouses to pick up the remainder of their force.”
“I hope they make it,” said Henry, watching the barges until they had vanished into the smoke and darkness. “There has been enough death this day.”
Phillip gave a sigh and slumped down, exhausted. “‘All’s well that ends well,’ as the poet says.”
“All’s well that ends,” said Henry.
FORTY-SIX
News that the Guundarans had been driven off swiftly spread throughout the city of Wellinsport. Church bells rang out in jubilant triumph. People flowed into the streets to sing and dance. Those manning the barricades threw down their weapons and raised bottles and jugs. Tomorrow the people of Wellinsport would bury their dead. Tonight they could rejoice in the fact that they had fought valiantly and saved their city.
Henry and Phillip left the roof to see how Sir Reginald and his forces had fared inside the bank, leaving Mr. Sloan and his pimple-faced young friend, whose name was Charlie, to secure the weapons on the roof and make certain they did not fall into the hands of the street gangs. Henry found Sir Reginald promising loans on generous terms to anyone interested in helping to rebuild the city.
He greeted Henry and insisted on opening the vault to prove that the gold and silver reserves were safe.
“I’ll do my job, Wallace,” said Sir Reginald. “You do yours. Stop that bastard Ullr.”
Sir Reginald eyed Phillip askance, then drew him off to one side.
“You were Pip, a clerk for the viscount, when you were living here. Right? I didn’t mistake that?”
“That is correct, my lord,” said Phillip.
“But now you’re a duke?” Sir Reginald asked, perplexed.
“I was a duke at the time I was a clerk, my lord. The Duke of Upper and Lower Milton,” said Phillip.
“I’ll be damned,” said Sir Reginald.
Henry had one abiding, all-consuming thought, and that was to find out what had become of Alan. He was haunted by the sight of the Hoffnagle perishing in a ball of fire.
“Even the devil must set a limit on luck, Mr. Sloan. I’m going to find a cab.”
“I fear that might be difficult, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.
He proved to be right. Henry left the bank and was immediately caught up in the celebration. He stared at the crowds in dismay.
“Even if we could find a cab, we wouldn’t get far,” said Phillip, joining him. “The streets will be jammed. Wait inside the bank for me, my lord, where it is quiet. I suggest you try Sir Reginald’s excellent brandy.”
Henry returned to the bank and sank down in a cozy chair in Sir Reginald’s office. He was dazed from fatigue. His head buzzed, his skin twitched, and he felt as though he was standing off to one side, watching himself. He was seized by a fit of coughing and could not stop. Someone brought him a glass of water and he drank it without knowing what he was doing. He closed his eyes.
Henry started awake at the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder.
“I have secured an island hopper, my lord,” Phillip said. “We can sail out to the Terrapin. I left it in back under the care of Mr. Sloan.”
“How did you manage to find an island hopper?” Henry asked, still half asleep.
“A costermonger of my acquaintance,” Phillip replied. “Jenny earns her living selling her produce to the cooks in Fort Gregory and Fort Alfred. She was not home—I assume she is manning the barricades—but she will not mind if I borrow her hopper. I left her some money to recompense her, and a note saying that it was in my possession so that she would not think it was stolen.”
Henry felt better after his short nap. He found Mr. Sloan in the alley behind the bank, standing guard over the small, single-masted boat. Captain Rader and his men were in the alley, as well, loading the weapons they had obtained from the armory into a wagon.
Mr. Sloan motioned Henry over to speak to him privately. “If I might make a suggestion, my lord. I was thinking you could dispatch Captain Rader and his men to Nydrian’s Cove with a view to keeping watch on the White Well.”
“An excellent idea, Mr. Sloan. I will need the governor’s sanction, but considering that this attack might have been prevented if he had listened to me, I believe Crichton will be amenable.”
“Very good, my lord. I was also thinking that if you have no pressing need for my services, I could accompany Captain Rader. Master Yates will be eager to obtain information on the well and I could conduct scientific studies for him.”
“I will miss you, Mr. Sloan, but I know Simon would appreciate your endeavors,” said Henry.
“Any word of Captain Northrop, my lord?”
Henry shook his head. “No, none.”
“I am certain he is safe, my lord.”
Henry did not answer. He paused to watch Charlie lugging bags of swivel gun canisters into the wagon.
“You will make a soldier of the lad yet, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.
“Master Charlie has decided the rigorous life of a soldier is not for him, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “He states that he intends to become a private secretary.”
“He has a worthy model in you, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.
“Thank you, my lord. I did mention to him that he must first learn to read and write,” said Mr. Sloan.
Henry boarded the island hopper. Phillip took the helm, and as the small boat rose into the air, Henry was surprised to see the eastern sky starting to lighten with the coming of dawn. Night had seemed unending.
He and Phillip sailed over what was left of the harbor district. They stared at the destruction in shocked silence, too appalled for words. A few buildings had escaped the shelling and remained standing, but most of this part of the city had been reduced to charred, smoldering rubble. Fires were still burning, but since the fire brigades had run out of water they could only stand by and watch helplessly until the flames burned themselves out. With the coming of dawn, people went to work among the ruins, trying to save the living and recover the dead.
Phillip suddenly pointed to a large mansion that had been burned to the ground. All that remained were blackened timbers sticking up at odd angles, and a chimney.
“The Governor’s House,” he said.
“Are you certain?” Henry was horrified. He could see nothing recognizable.
“I am, unfortunately,” said Phillip. “Pip used to work there.”
Henry wondered if the governor was dead or alive. If Crichton was alive, he probably wished he was dead. His political career was over. The citizens of Wellinsport would never forgive him for his foolhardy decision to give the Guundarans permission to enter the harbor.
“You tried to warn him, my lord,” said Phillip, seeing Henry’s dark expression.
“I should have reasoned with him instead of bullying him,” said Henry. “Small wonder he took umbrage. The same is true for Alan. If anything has happened to him…”
He could not go on.
They sailed toward the Terrapin, taking care to avoid the guns of Fort Godfrey and Fort Alfred, fearing they might still be in the hands of the Guundarans.
“Not for long,” Henry predicted.
Admiral Tower and the Freyan fleet would arrive with the dawn and dispatch troops to reclaim the forts. Having seen five of their warships sink into the Breath, the demoralized Guundarans would soon surrender.
The Terrapin had taken up station in the Neck. Her lookouts were still on duty, for the ship fired a warning shot, telling the hopper to keep her distance. Phillip waved his handkerchief as a white flag and they were allowed to approach within hailing distance.
“State your business,” an officer shouted.
“Sir Henry Wallace to speak to the captain,” Phillip shouted.
Henry glanced around at him. “Aren’t you coming with me, Your Grace?”
“I would like to return to Freya, if you have no need of me, my lor
d. I am worried about Sophia.”
“I am certain you have no cause to fear,” said Henry, smiling. “She is with Miss Amelia and King Ullr himself would not dare to tangle with Miss Amelia.”
He held out his hand. Phillip took it and they shook hands warmly.
“Thank you for your help, Your Grace,” said Henry. “I am truly glad I did not shoot you.”
Phillip laughed and guided the island hopper to a landing on the deck of the Terrapin. “I’ll wait to hear about Alan, my lord.”
Henry found the crew already hard at work repairing the damage. Lieutenant Hobbs recognized him and came over to greet him.
“Where is Captain Northrop?” Henry asked anxiously.
“In his cabin, my lord,” Hobbs replied. “The surgeon is with him.”
Henry tried to speak, but he could not ask the question.
“The captain was injured, but he will be fine, my lord,” Hobbs assured him. “I will have someone take you—”
“I know the way,” said Henry. “Go tell His Grace the good news. He’s waiting in the island hopper.”
Henry hurried down the stairs to Alan’s cabin. He heard Alan before he saw him and he entered to find his friend sitting on a chair swearing roundly at Perry, who was smearing a foul-smelling, blue ointment onto his burned arm.
“What is that stuff?” Alan demanded, gagging. “It smells worse than a barrel of rotting fish!”
“A concoction of my own, sir,” Perry replied. “Allow it to do its work. The balm will ease the pain, as well as heal the flesh. The smell dissipates after a time.”
He began to pack up his instruments and glanced around when he saw Alan’s gaze shift. Henry had entered and was standing awkwardly just inside the door.
Perry looked from one man to the other and acted to ease the tension.
“How is the shoulder, Sir Henry?” he asked. “I see you removed the sling.”
“My arm is a little weak, but otherwise fine, sir,” said Henry.
“Nevertheless, I would like a chance to examine the break. At your convenience, my lord.”
“Certainly, Mr. Perry,” said Henry.
Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs) Page 44