“Can I come in?” she shouts, leveling her pistols.
“Alina!” Hansi plunging into the room right behind her.
Now they catch sight of her. She’s tied to an inquisitional chai, with her eyes agape and a rag crammed in her mouth. A man with long white hair and oriental features has a pistol aimed at the side of her head and another one raised in front of him. At the edge of the chamber, heaped on the earthen floor, is an English sailor, his hands linked to a chain, gagged and blindfolded. Behind him, a gaunt nervous criminal, with a big black moustache and sharp little eyes, turns towards them with a sawed-off musket. The Swiss men behind them have already taken up their arquebuses, but no one dares pull their trigger first—knowing that no matter what death would come for them all; the distances are too short to miss.
“Good evening, Assan,” Gabriela enters, strolling into the room with studied ease, casually crossing through the firearms’ deadly trajectories. The silence is absolute; Silla hears her boots scraping against the bits of debris on the ground. “I haven’t thanked you yet for the help you gave me in tracking down Tibbets. My aunt is doing better now, with his aid.”
“And I bet I owe that sack of dung something myself. For having pointed this place out to you,” the Loafer grumbles, with his thick Slavic accent.
“I had to withdraw to Riga for repairs, and Tibbets was anxious for a change of scenery; he accepted passage in exchange for some directions on where I could deliver my thanks. But I don’t see why I can’t take my crew back on board now.”
Silla turns her head for a second to look at her, but she quickly returns focus to her aim. If she shoots with both pistols, she could strike the hand pointing the gun at Alina’s head with one blow and the Loafer’s heart with the other. There’s no escaping his henchman’s rifle, however; both barrels are directed at her. She’d need to fire extremely close to the young woman’s ear and the projectile could ricochet toward her or the Loafer might pull the trigger fast and blow her head off. She rests her knee on the ground for more stable support and waits.
The Loafer licks his lips. She senses that time plays in his favor; in the long run his men would get the better of them. They know the underground and indeed they might receive reinforcements from inland. “We can come to an agreement,” the criminal suggests.
“What do you want in exchange for those two?”
Wrong, Silla thinks. She needs to distract him, provoke his anger and force him to take a false step, not bargain. The man will never let them walk away from here on their own two feet.
Fire, urges the sergeant in her head. What is it, are you afraid you’re not fast enough? Or accurate enough?
“Let’s discuss it. What will you offer me?”
Silla notes, out of the corner of her eye, that without attracting attention the English sailor lying in dust on the ground has lowered the blindfold on his face. He seeks her out with his eyes. She follows his gaze until she stops on his hands clenched into fists. The military man slowly raises his little finger. He wants to do something. That’s one of the signs sailors in all the taverns on the Continent exchange before starting a brawl. Silla moves her pinkie across the butt of her pistol, to let him know she understands.
“I offer you freedom, for you and all your men,” Gabriela says, continuing negotiations in the meantime.
“You’ll pay me with my own currency? I’m at home here, and my weapons guarantee me my freedom.”
The Englishman also raises his ring finger and, after a second, the middle one. He’s counting, Silla barely nods her head. When he reaches, five he’ll make his move to sideline the crook with the double barrel. Silla concentrates on the Loafer in front of her, honing her aim.
The man raises his index finger followed by his thumb. Silla changes her target at the last moment. She’ll shoot with both shafts pointed at the arm holding the pistol, to be more sure of her mark, and luck will help her with the criminal’s other arm. Otherwise, it will be the last orbit of the comet in her heart. Allport clenches his fist and get up on a knee, pushing with his feet against the nearby furniture. He rams his head into the crotch of the guard who fires off a shot, hitting the door’s lintel.
Silla blasts with both barrels and strikes the hairy ne’er-do-well in the joint of his wrist. Time seems to last an eternity while the witch waits for the arrival of the man’s bullet less than two yards away from her, together with the verdict on her fate. The explosion reaches her ears and the whistle, but no impact against her body. The discharge from a rifle behind scores a clean hit on the other bandit, hurling him against the far wall.
The gun smoke slowly thins out. Silla’s eyes meet those of the little witch, tied up in front of her. The eyes of a person who’s still alive.
She turns toward Hansi. “Was it you who shot the Loafer?”
“Yes,” the man answers, distracted, as he runs toward the prisoner.
“You saved my life, German,” she remarks. She points herself toward the master of these cramped, subterranean quarters.
Assan the Loafer gurgles unintelligible words through a stream of blood flowing from his lips. His left hand is only attached to the rest of his arm by a strip of skin and tendons, while his upper body displays a hole with singed edges. Silla pushes the weapon away with her foot and she checks him so as not to be surprised when she turns her back.
“H…he…help me,” he murmurs, when she puts her ear close to him.
“You are alone with your fate now, friend,” she answers.
The other criminal is so riddled with bullet holes that she doesn’t even bother to inspect him. In the meantime, Hansi has untied Alina’s pigskin straps and pulled the cloth out of her mouth. The girl squeezes him with all her might, sobbing. She then frees herself from his arms and dives into Silla, crushing her body against hers, eyes filled with tears.
“Silla. Oh, Silla, I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Sweet baby doll,” Silla pats her head, “it’s all over now, up, up.”
“You risked getting us all killed, Blue Mountains,” Gabriela moans. “I was negotiating, in the end I don’t think those two would have demanded all that much.”
“I didn’t like it; it seemed to me like he was drawing it out to buy time.” She nods to the sailors behind her. “Free the Englishman.”
“By all the saints, I thank you,” Allport exclaims, as soon as they pull the gag from his mouth. “The keys to my chains are on this man’s belt.”
“Who is he?” Silla asks Alina.
“He went down with his airship and Jillian Cerriwden picked him up. His name is Kenneth Allport, and he fell into the same trap as me.”
“I didn’t fall into any trap,” the Englishman massages his wrists, with a brash smile, “when they grabbed you I was already far away, and the thug who was supposed to capture me was on the ground with a broken nose. It’s a shame I then decided to follow the Loafer all the way here, to try and free you. Then they took me and chucked me in here.”
Silla wrinkles her forehead: Alina manages to spontaneously bind people to her destiny with her sensitivity and sweetness.
A noise comes from deep inside the mountain, as if a thousand drums were plummeting down a steep slope.
“Go, go, go!” Silla orders. She clasps Alina by the hand; she won’t let her go so easily this time, seeing how much work it is to get her back.
They run across the dark cavern, toward the stairs, but they’re surprised by musket fire coming from above, which forces them to fall back. The noise increases in intensity until it becomes an unbearable thundering. A rush of water bursts out from the opening of the stairwell flooding the area.
“We need to force our way out or we’ll die like rats.” The most agitated of the Swiss sailors ventures up the stairs, the water to his knees, but a pair of blasts strike him full on in the chest, giving a tinge of red to the river inundating the room.
“We’ll never make it that way,” Gabriela shouts. “We’re trapped.�
��
“The Loafer had an escape route,” Allport suggests. “He wouldn’t risk drowning down here.”
The water rushes down the steps in such quantities that it’s up to their ankles, even though the underground warehouse is vast.
“Right,” says Silla. “Sisters, come here. We need to search for air. The rest of you make sure no one makes it down.”
They join hands, closing the circle. The water is rising rapidly, up to their calves now, freezing their bodies and making the incantation more complicated. With much effort, Silla manages to reawaken her demon from the inertia and cold of outer space in which it seems to have been born. At her side a young tigress growls in the blaze; but their spirits are chilled, weak, fearful. Just as despair is about to extinguish her flame, from the darkness on her left the sound of a scorching exhalation reaches her, chasing away fear and reinvigorating their strength. The profile of the rain dragon emerges from the shadows, huge and thirsty for human blood. The dragon stares at her with his severe eyes, obscured by the vapor that rises from his red-hot scales. He opens his mouth and immerses her body in liquid flames, hotter than hell itself. Silla’s consciousness ignites and soon directs her sisters’ power over the four elements. The air blows violently on their skin and in a whirl, it seeps into the next to last door at the end of the long corridor.
“Found it!” Gabriela rejoices. They break the circle and hurry toward the exit; the lake that’s now up to their shins slows their progress.
Four arquebuses point against the wooden door, and it explodes into a flurry of chips and splinters when they open fire. The room is empty, save for a dangling rope, attached to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Silla pulls the cord, exposing a metal ladder leading into a vertical tunnel.
“Who shall climb up first?” Allport asks, aware the risk of being shot down by a bullet in that tight passage, or as soon as someone peeks out, is very high.
After a moment’s silence, Silla hands one of her pistols to Alina. “If you’re in any doubt, fire,” she advises her.
She then positions herself below the hole and with a leap grasps the first rung. She pulls herself up until her feet are also resting on it. The opening is four or five yards higher up, and it seems to let out into an area with some dim light. The witch reaches the floor level and peers out, but the space is empty. Toward the end of the passage, she glimpses the shadows cast by a fire.
She shouts at her companions to climb, helping up Alina, Hansi and Gabriela. Just as the first of two surviving sailors pulls himself up to the upper hatch, a distressed scream comes from the end of the corridor. Four criminals appear, running with firearms in their fists. As soon as the men see them, they hit the ground and start shooting in their direction.
The shells bounce off the earthen surfaces. Silla takes cover against the wall, but the distance is substantial for her revolvers. A shot in the dark, lacking targets. The second sailor has jumped out of the tunnel and slithers toward the enemy to use his weapon. Allport is the last to emerge from the rungs amid the barrage of bullets.
“Go!” Silla says. “We’ll stop them with our rifles. She undoes the leather laces, pulls out the arquebus from behind her back and takes aim. Behind her shoulders Hansi, Alina and Allport slink away, while Gabriela finally removes her high-caliber musket from its case.
Silla aims with care, trying to remain indifferent to the storm of lead hissing all around her. She fires her first shot and blows a hole in one of the enemies’ forearms. The others take cover even more, while continuing to fire at random. A strangled cry escapes from the blonde sailor of the Mala Avis, struck by a ricocheted projectile. Silla sees only the foot of the man who fired, but that’s enough for her to put him in her crosshairs and render him harmless.
Another thug gets up to shoot, but Gabriela and the Swiss sailors quickly fill him with lead, making him fall immobile into the dust. Only one of them is still on his feet, hidden behind the angle of a wall. Silla closes the hood over her face and wraps herself in her black garment.
“Go,” she whispers. “I’ll take care of him.”
Gabriela and the military men arise from their positions, keeping the far end of the corridor in their sights while racing in the other direction, toward the exit used by their companions.
Silla presses herself against the wall, motionless, a black phantom against a dark wall. She left only a small chink in her hood from which to observe the movements in front of her.
After several minutes, she sees her opponent move forward cautiously. Silla freezes, even slowing down her breath. The ne’er-do-well advances warily. He’s only a few meters away when he suddenly spins his head around, but it’s too late: the pistol has already been drawn and the slug it’s discharged hit him square in the chest.
Silla sprints toward the end of the passage, where she already glimpses sunlight. There are three bodies on the ground, but fortunately none of them belong to allies. She reaches it with a leap, continuing down the escarpment. The remaining guards must be bolting out of there; the hillside seems deserted. Silla tears through the distance separating her from the much-welcomed dock, until she’s made it up to the rock from which they disembarked. Only the East Wind is attached to the moorings. The Mala Avis is sailing high above in the azure sky, covering them.
Hansi and the two Swiss soldiers seem to have their hands full keeping Alina and Gabriela apart as they shriek and wrestle with each other.
“What the devil’s going on here?” Silla drops down between them. She aims a kick at Cerriwden’s knee, making her tumble to the ground and hugs Alina, to keep her from fighting the other woman.
Gabriela pulls out a knife and is about to spring into an attack, but Silla is faster and she points the revolver at her forehead forcing her to freeze in place.
“Easy,” Silla saya. “Now explain to me what’s going on, you two; then we can climb aboard the ship—perhaps before someone comes out of that damned cave and skins our hides.”
Cerriwden bares her teeth like a feral beast. Silla raises the revolver and, with a deliberate gesture, places it back in the holster. Trying to keep well in front of Alina, she approaches the other witch and holds out her hand. “Gabriela, calm down and explain to me.”
The young woman eyes the offer with contempt. “Pirates, that’s what you are. I risked my life and my aunt’s to come back and save you, and you stole my airship. Allport, that Englishman, climbed aboard and barricaded himself inside. And I don’t even know if my aunt is still alive.”
“Alina?” Silla asks.
She answers in a whisper. “When we arrived here, Allport told me to give him the pistol so he could come cover your retreat, while Hansi would protect me. I… I’m exhausted, I couldn’t even manage to hold it. I didn’t think… I don’t know, we shared the same prison cell all these days, I… I let him have it. He pointed the weapon at Hansi and disarmed him. ‘No hard feelings, Kraut,’ he said. He held us at gunpoint and jumped on the vessel’s gangway. He entered the hatch and locked it behind him. Right after that Gabri arrived and fortunately the two Swiss men were with her; otherwise she would have killed me, the fool.”
“Liar!” Cerriwden screams. “You two planned this!”
“Gabriela,” Silla tries to make eye contact, “first of all, I would make sure you aunt is okay, right? That seems the most important thing to me at the moment. Second of all, we will help you take back control of your airship. Does that seem like a plan that works for you?”
“You lie. You both lie, servants to the English!”
Silla lets loose a roundhouse kick which sends Cerriwden’s knife flying into the distance. In a fluid motion, she unsheathes her six-inch blade and grabs her by the collar with the other hand.
“Little girl,” she hisses holding the point of the knife under her cheekbone. “I fought under the Union Jack when your aunt was still shitting her diapers, and I’m proud of having served under that flag. If an Englishman thought it a good idea to take your airship I would b
e rather inclined to let him do it; I think he’d put it to better use than your clan who has always been on the Palatinate’s payroll. Your great aunt sold out our battle plans at Dieppe and my comrades-in-arms, my… friends!” Silla shouts in her face. “They died by the dozen there.” After a second of venomous silence, she sighs. “Nevertheless, you returned to rescue my sister Alina, and I believe that, witch to witch, you deserve a chance. So, do you accept my plan?”
Gabriela swallows and then mutters, “Yes.”
In the meantime another eight Swiss soldiers arrive who had been deployed to various positions along the mountain by Silla earlier.
“We should take off,” the highest in rank among them says. “They could pounce on us soon. I counted four of mine at the exit; one on the roster is missing.”
“He fell while he was with us, in the underground. He let himself be overcome by panic; I’m sorry. Let’s go.” Silla heads to the gangway until she hears Allports voice.
“Stop! Or I’ll fire the machine gun!”
“Soldier,” Silla calls to him, “don’t play stupid games. Why haven’t you already taken flight?”
“I’ll do it in a few minutes, don’t worry.”
“I’ll answer that myself. Because you received a transmission from the Mala Avis, which is directly above you. I’ll bet they threatened to shoot you down if you detach from the moorings without first sending my report. Right?”
“Get out of here.”
“We can’t. Some criminals might arrive at any second, dead set on cooking our goose, and we’re out in the open here. How fares Jillian Cerriwden?”
“I disarmed her and locked her in her cabin. She’s very weak, but I didn’t harm her.”
“Who let you come on board?”
“There are two people here with me, a Russian named Ramai and his partner, Yaga, who wish to travel to the United Kingdom and don’t want to be sold to the Germans at any cost. They let me enter, tricking Cerriwden with the help of my friend, George.”
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 31