They were so intent on Aurélie, none of them was looking for Killigrew. Perhaps they thought she had been acting alone. The next stack of timbers was only a few yards away, and he reckoned he could reach it without being spotted. From there, it was only a short distance to the door of warehouse number thirteen.
He sighed, and snapped open the frame of his revolver, tipping out the spent cartridges and replacing them with fresh rounds from his satchel. Her creed might be ‘every woman for herself’, but Killigrew lived by a different code altogether: one that would not permit him to turn and run, abandoning a woman to the cellars of the Kochubey Mansion; even if she was the sort of woman who unhesitatingly left a chap to die and used expressions like ‘mon cul’! He stood up and stepped on to the quayside, levelling his revolver as he advanced on the four soldiers.
‘Let her go!’ he commanded in Russian.
The NCO turned to regard him with amusement. ‘It’s all right, lads,’ he told his men. ‘That gun’s no good to him with wet powder.’
Killigrew aimed at the NCO – always start with their leaders, he told himself – and opened fire. His first shot splintered one of the timbers behind the NCO’s head. Then the other soldiers were unslinging their muskets, and there was no time to pick his targets. All he could do was blaze away, aiming for the relatively large targets of their chests. Fortunately they were bunched close together, and his only concern was that he might hit Aurélie.
She proved to be perfectly capable of looking after herself, however, snatching a four-by-two from the pile and swinging it at the head of the soldier who had been frisking her, laying him out. Next she turned on the NCO and swung the plank at his head, but he caught it and tore it from her grip. Showing no reluctance about striking a woman, he swung it back over his shoulder. Aurélie had no reluctance about striking a man, for that matter, and she moved in close, butting him on the bridge of the nose. He staggered back against the stack of timbers, and she turned and ran. Killigrew was about to finish the NCO off with his final shot when he realised that the only other Russian still standing was levelling his musket at him. Killigrew swung the revolver round and shot him first, hitting him in the chest.
And then it was just Killigrew and the NCO.
Killigrew drew a bead on his chest and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on a spent cartridge: even M’sieur Lefacheaux could not invent a revolver that carried more than six bullets.
Realising he was not dead after all, the NCO grinned wolfishly and charged, swinging the four-by-two at Killigrew’s head. The commander ducked beneath it and the plank connected with nothing except air, but that did not stop the NCO’s onrush. He crashed into Killigrew, bowling him over, and the two of them grappled on the quayside. Killigrew tried to swing the grip of the revolver at his opponent’s head, but the NCO caught him by the wrist and rolled on top, smashing his hand repeatedly against the cobbles until the revolver flew from his fingers. Taking the four-by-two in both hands, the NCO pressed it against Killigrew’s throat, choking him. Then the NCO’s whole body seemed to shudder, and his eyes crossed and glazed over. Killigrew threw him off to reveal Aurélie standing over him.
Killigrew rubbed his neck gingerly. ‘What happened?’
‘I kicked him in the balalaikas,’ she explained, clasping his hand and hauling him to his feet.
He snatched up his revolver and tucked it back inside his pocket. ‘I thought you said every woman for herself?’
‘I decided I owed you one. Besides, I need you to show me a way out of here.’
‘What’s wrong with the way you came in?’
‘They’re between me and it.’ She pointed to where three dozen more soldiers were charging on to the quayside from the direction of the main gate.
‘Warehouse thirteen,’ he told her, pointing in the opposite direction.
She needed no further bidding, but sprinted across the cobbles so fast that Killigrew struggled to keep up. She got the Judas gate open and disappeared inside. He stumbled in after her, closing the door behind them, and the two of them lifted the bar and slotted it across the gate.
‘I’ll tie the rope around you, climb up first, then pull you up after me,’ he told Aurélie. ‘You’ll be quite safe, I assure you—’
He turned to see she was already shinning up the rope perfectly nimbly without any assistance from him.
The Judas gate shuddered as the Russians outside started to batter at it. The bar would not hold for ever, but it would keep them at bay for a couple of minutes, and a couple of minutes was all Killigrew needed to get clear. Seized by a momentary inspiration, he picked up one of the infernal machines and put it down just inside the door, with one of its horns pointing towards the planks.
Aurélie was already scrambling up through the skylight above. Killigrew shinned up after her. This time, at least, she had the grace to wait and help him squeeze through at the top, but she did it with the air of a younger partner whose style was being cramped by grampa.
Once on the roof of the warehouse, Killigrew ran to the outer edge and gazed down to where the line still ran from the birch tree to the window of the tenement on the street on the other side of the embankment. ‘Bring the rope and the grappling iron,’ he told Aurélie over his shoulder.
‘The rope I just dropped back down into the warehouse so the Russians cannot climb up after us, you mean?’
‘Yes, that one,’ he agreed sourly.
She joined him at the edge of the roof and followed his gaze down to the birch tree, twenty feet out from the back of the warehouse. Realising her error, she looked up at him with a sheepish, impish grin. ‘Oops?’
Chapter 15
A Pleasant Cruise Through St Petersburg
The soldiers were still battering at the door of the warehouse; and from the sound of splintering wood, the bar on the door was going to give way at any moment. On the roof of the warehouse, Killigrew seized Aurélie by the hand and dragged her on to the next roof, leading her up the sloping tiles to the apex.
No sooner were they running down the other side than a succession of explosions shattered the night, growing louder and overlapping as Killigrew’s impromptu booby-trap exceeded his wildest expectations. He glanced over his shoulder to see the shattered tiles from the roof of the warehouse borne up into the night sky by a billowing cloud of flame. The roof beneath their feet shuddered and a great wave of hot air slapped into their backs, throwing them down into the gutter between the next two gables.
Aurélie picked herself up. ‘Now what?’ she asked.
‘How should I know?’ he retorted.
‘I thought you had a plan!’
‘I did!’ he reminded her. ‘Right up to the moment where you threw the rope away.’
They continued running over the gables, up one side and down the other, again and again and again. It was remarkably like trying to move on a violently pitching deck, Killigrew was surprised to find. They rounded the angle at the north-east corner of the island and made their way down the east side, crossing a dozen more gables. The next warehouse’s gable ran longitudinally rather than transversally, and they jumped down on to it from the eaves. Killigrew landed awkwardly on the tiles and yelled in alarm as he tumbled over the edge. He managed to catch hold of the guttering, and dangled helplessly with his feet scrabbling against the brickwork before Aurélie appeared above him.
‘Where would you be without me to look after you?’ she demanded, clasping his free hand to help him haul himself back to safety.
‘About thirty feet below where I am now,’ he admitted, ‘but spread over a wider area.’
They edged along the side of the roof to the gable end, where the way was blocked by the gap for the channel running from the central basin into the Kryukoff Canal. It was fifty yards to the continuation of the roof on the other side of the channel, and thirty feet to the cobbles below.
Killigrew and Aurélie peered over the edge. ‘How do we get down?’ she asked.
‘I’m open to su
ggestions.’
‘We jump!’
‘Sensible suggestions, I meant.’ Killigrew took another look over the edge. There was a ledge a couple of feet below him, and a few more feet below that a series of brickwork buttresses supported the gable-end of the warehouse: although steeply pitched, the buttresses were not sheer, and there was a good chance he and Aurélie could climb down.
Squirming on his belly, Killigrew eased his legs out over the edge until his feet touched the ledge. He eased himself down from that until his legs touched the top of a buttress, and from there he could see there were a number of windows looking out across the gap. Straining to reach from his precarious perch, he managed to push up one of the sashes, and looked up at Aurélie on the ledge above him.
‘Do you think you can—’ he started.
She looked at him as if butter would not melt in her mouth, inviting him to continue with only a hint of a smirk on her lips.
‘Oh, never mind,’ he sighed. ‘Just follow me.’
He lowered himself from the top of the buttress and dangled from one hand until he could hook the other over the window-ledge and swing himself across. The toes of his half-boots scrabbling against the brickwork below, he boosted himself up and through the window to tumble on the bare floorboards within. Aurélie landed on top of him barely seconds later. As annoying as she was, Killigrew had to admit it was a good thing she was every bit as nimble as he was, otherwise they would never have got this far.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You look… derangé. Pardonnez-moi,’ she added, squirming on top of him.
‘My pleasure, mam’selle,’ he assured her.
She grimaced, and pushed herself up by putting a hand against his face and thrusting his head down. Once she had climbed off him, he picked himself up and followed her down the corridor to the flight of stairs at the end.
Three flights below they reached a hallway with a stout door at the far side. Killigrew tried the handle: it was unlocked. Opening it a crack, he peered out across the quayside. No one was rushing towards them: he could hear shouts from somewhere off to the right, out of his line of vision, but the only Russians he could see were the matrosy working on board the steam pinnace tied up at the quay on the far side of the channel, now loading it with more infernal machines from one of the warehouses. Smoke issued from the pinnace’s funnel, and there was a glow from the furnace on deck. It was impossible to tell if the engine had sufficient pressure up, but Killigrew could only hope. There was a drawbridge across the channel separating them from the quay, but it was down, thank heavens.
Aurélie tugged at his sleeve. ‘We’re still on the island,’ she reminded him.
‘It’s all right. I think I’ve just found a way out of here.’
‘Oh?’ She sounded sceptical, so he opened the door a couple of inches further so she could see for herself. ‘But no! You are not serious?’
‘But yes,’ he retorted, throwing the door open. ‘Après vous, ma petite barbouze.’ He ushered her outside.
There was no need to tell her not to run. The two of them crossed the drawbridge at a steady walking pace. Off to their right, the boathouse was a smoking ruin, and soldiers were carrying away the wounded men scattered before the shattered remains of warehouse number thirteen.
‘How’s your helmsmanship?’ he asked her in a low voice as they approached the steam pinnace.
‘My what?’
‘Do you know how to steer a boat?’
She shook her head.
‘Never mind. When we get on board, you cast off the mooring ropes and I’ll take the helm. You do know how to cast off mooring ropes, don’t you?’
She scowled at him. ‘What about those men on board?’
‘After we’ve dealt with them, I meant. We could take them with us, but I doubt we’d relish their company. They don’t look like witty and amusing companions to me.’
‘Will two of us be enough to crew her?’
‘More than enough,’ he assured her. ‘It’s not as if we’re planning a six-month cruise on the open sea.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing!’
‘Trust me.’
‘You sound like a politician.’
He looked hurt. ‘I say, that was a low blow! Bow-fast first.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The one at the front. Er… that’s the pointy end.’
She nodded, glowering at him, and continued along the quayside while Killigrew dropped down into the stern of the pinnace. ‘Dobryi vecher, mouzhiki,’ he told the matrosy.
‘Dobryi vecher, szr,’ they replied, bowing and scraping at the accent of an officer without looking at him properly.
Aurélie unlooped the bow-fast from its mooring bollard, and crossed to where the stern-fast was tied. Seeing what she had done, one of the matrosy ran to the gunwale to stop her, protesting. Reaching the gunwale, he looked up at her, and gaped in astonishment when he realised she was a woman. She kicked him in the head.
With a shout of alarm, another matros ran to his shipmate’s aid. Killigrew tripped him up, sending him flying headlong across the deck to crack his head against the engine casing. A third stared at Killigrew in amazement, and got a fist in his jaw for his pains, tumbling him back over the gunwale. Aurélie cast off the stern-fast, and jumped down into the stern. She picked up a shovel and used it to whack the stoker in the face, flipping him back over the gunwale into the basin.
The soldiers on the opposite quay had seen what was going on by now, and levelled their muskets, but at that range their aim with the antiquated weapons was erratic at best, not so much a danger as a distraction.
Killigrew waved Aurélie across to join him by the engine, and showed her two levers, tapping one. ‘Push this one forward when I say, “Turn ahead, half,” and both of them when I say, “Turn ahead, full”. Pull them back for “turn astern”. Got it?’
‘I think I can remember that,’ she said drily.
‘You’ll have to stoke the furnace, I’m afraid,’ he told her, moving aft to take up position at the tiller. ‘Keep an eye on the pressure gauge: if it goes into the red, stop shovelling. If it falls, start shovelling again.’
The soldiers had reloaded, and were running around the quayside now. ‘Turn ahead, full!’ Killigrew shouted as one of them dropped to one knee and levelled his musket, sending a bullet close enough to smash splinters from the tafffail.
Aurélie pushed both levers forward and the deck throbbed beneath their feet as the engine shuddered into life, the screw-propeller churning the water astern into a millrace. Killigrew adjusted the tiller, turning the bow away from the quayside, and as the propeller blades bit at the water the pinnace surged forwards. He aimed the prow at the channel leading out of the basin into the Moika River, beneath the great arch between the warehouses on that side.
‘How come you know so much about the engine on a Russian steam pinnace?’ demanded Aurélie.
‘Check the name-plate on the boiler!’ he called to her.
‘“Seaward and Capel, Millwall, eighteen fifty-three”.’
He nodded. ‘Great Britain, arms manufacturer to the world!’
‘That must make you very proud,’ she said, deadpan.
‘Anything but,’ he assured her.
As the pinnace approached the channel leading beneath the arch, soldiers converged on from both sides of the quay. The first to reach it started to winch down the drawbridge to block their escape.
‘We’ll never make it!’ Aurélie yelled at Killigrew.
‘Of course we will,’ he shouted back. ‘Although having said that, you might like to duck your head.’
She threw herself down on the deck between the engine and the gunwale, and Killigrew crouched at the tiller. The soldiers lining the side of the channel fired down into the boat, their bullets splintering the woodwork or spanging off the iron frame of the engine.
The drawbridge was at forty-five degrees when the pinnace’s prow passed beneath it. There was plenty o
f clearance.
Except for the mast, of course. It bent forwards as the bridge pressed against the forestays on the starboard side, and then the stays snapped and the mast whipped back, rocking the whole boat. Then it whipped forward again, so it was moving at more than twice the pinnace’s accelerating speed when it struck the bridge. There was a splintering crash, and the mast went by the board while the bridge itself was ripped off its hinges to flop down across the gunwale, where it caught on the transom. The pinnace slewed around to starboard, and Killigrew adjusted the tiller to compensate, the whole vessel groaning in protest. It started to heel over, and for one heart-stopping moment he was sure they would turn turtle. Then the wrecked bridge slid off the transom and crashed sideways into the water.
The impact had all but stopped the pinnace, and even though the propeller drove them on as soon as they were clear of the obstruction, it was still slowed down sufficiently for half a dozen of the soldiers on the quayside to risk trying to jump down on her deck. Three of them even made it, two sprawling on the deck boards while the third managed to hook his hands over the gunwale. One of them lunged at Killigrew with his bayonet. With the far side of the Moika River looming up, the commander did not dare release his grip on the tiller even for a second, but the soldier was struggling to keep his balance on the rolling deck. Killigrew kicked him in the chest and threw him back against the port gunwale, while Aurélie laid the other low with her shovel. As they passed beneath the arch, Killigrew jinked the tiller to port, scraping off the man who clung there so that he fell into the water with a scream. Then they had emerged into the Moika and Killigrew pushed the tiller to starboard, making a sharp left.
‘No!’ Aurélie shouted in panic. ‘Turn right!’
It was too late, however, even if Killigrew had been inclined to follow her advice. There was hardly any room to manoeuvre in the narrow confines of the river. The tight turn was enough to heel the pinnace over to port, catching the man with the bayonet off guard and throwing him over the gunwale.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 30