In response, gunfire from the attackers doubled. Smith heard some hollow thumps above him, the sound of smaller bullets hitting the thick canvas envelop cover. Fortunately, the men below them had no weapons larger than shotguns, which would be ineffective at bringing them down. Unfortunately, the thought arrived in his head at the same time he heard a boom from below, followed by shattering wood, and a vibration that shivered through the hull.
He looked over the railing and saw a small cannon mounted on the back of a cargo wagon. It was out of his field of fire so he yelled across to the Harper, “You need to get that one, Ben!” When there was no response, he looked across to the other gun and saw Harper sprawled out, blood seeping from a wound on his head, and his right arm bent at a wrong angle.
He grabbed the ships tube again and yelled. “Need assistance for two injured men on the observation deck, now!” Smith jumped away from his rifle to the one mounted on the port side. Another explosion rocked the ship before he could make it to the gun. The ship rocked and he stumbled, falling and sliding across the deck. It was then that he noticed part of the bulkhead and railing had been blown away, leaving a gap twice as wide as his torso.
Smith saw Harper’s unconscious form laying to the left of the hole he was sliding toward. He dragged his right arm against the wooden deck, the friction swiveling his body around so that his feet were forward. Upon reaching the hole, he spread his legs to span the gap. It worked, he now straddled the hole, and began looking for a handhold. It was then that Haskin arrived, rolling over his right shoulder, across his torso, and against his right leg, dislodging it and causing him to lose his footing. Again, Smith found himself sliding through the hole.
A hand reached out and grabbed Smith’s, pulling him away from the hole at the same time the ship began righting itself.
“Get those two below, then come back, or send someone.” Smith said, allowing Joseph to help him to his feet. He turned and jumped to the starboard gun, charged it, and aimed at the open muzzle of the cannon. Of the two men in the wagon at the cannon’s breach, one dropped his arm signaling the other to fire the weapon. The other’s arm dropped, touching a torch to the cannon’s fuse.
Smith fired, his aim was dead on, as always. Whether the impact of the large bullet set off the powder, or the lead jammed the ball in the barrel, he would never know. Regardless, the cannon exploded in a shower of flames and shrapnel. From habit, he loaded another round in the rifle and looked for another target. Neither the cannon, nor the wagon to which it was mounted, nor the triple stacked crates on either side of the wagon could be seen. Nor did he see any movement of personnel, and with the ship a good two-hundred feet from the ground, Smith expected no further exchange of lead. Being no greenhorn to conflict, he knew to expect the unexpected so he stayed with the gun, watching for another airship.
Three minutes later he gave his station over to the young sooty and made his way below to survey the damage. Going aft on the main deck, he came to Mr. Beacon’s cabin, the furthest aft and just below the damage done by the cannon ball above decks. Opening the door, he walked into an empty room, most of the furniture crated far below. He smiled. Or uncrated, depend’n on how close it was to that cannon.
Debris lay across the floor and a breeze hit his face from the right. Two lockers stood against the port side wall. The door on the first locker remained shut, though the top half of the locker was missing, replaced by a large gash in the ship’s hull. Smith watched as clouds passed by, then moved his eyes to the second locker, in which a large bag lay half out, blocking the door from shutting. Kitchen implements spilled from it. Odd, he thought, but he knew little of how the wealthy thought. Perhaps they all keep their kitchenware in their lockers. “Well, all in all, not that bad,” he said aloud. “A little canvas nailed over the hole until we get to Natal, then a few planks, some tar and paint it will be as good as new.”
A sound, like a moan, came from the remains of the destroyed locker. Smith pulled his pistol and moved to the wreckage. He placed a hand on the latch and tugged. The door sprung open and a young dark-haired man rolled out onto the floor.
Smith knew every man on the crew and this one was not a Daedalus crewman. He shoved a toe into the young man's stomach, causing the man to moan again. He could see no blood, except for a couple scratches on his face. He pushed him again and the stranger’s eyelids fluttered open.
The man looked up at the ceiling, then into Smith’s face. “I ...” He sat up, then stood, wobbly brushing dust and specks of debris from his clothes. He looked at Smith, who still pointed his pistol at the young man. “I was hoping for a better introduction.”
“Maybe you could just gimme the one you already got, and before you speak you should know,” Smith cocked his pistol, “liars don’t get a second chance.”
The young man raised his arms above his head, which looked ridiculous to Smith, but if it made him feel better he wasn’t going to stop him.
The youth opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again as he considered what to say, “I am Luis Javier Cabrera, your new cook.”
Chapter 50 – Mr. Morris Adds His Two Cents
“She is correct,” Morris said, stepping foot on deck, with Persi close behind him. Boots and the others turned as he approached. “Apparently Duke Narcissa is this Lady Westbury’s right hand man. I heard a man named Gracken say so.”
Boots stood and helped the man to his own seat, then retrieved two other chairs and seated Persi. When Boots had seated himself, Morris continued. “Except, I also overheard several of the others whisper that it was the other way ‘round, that the Duke was in charge and Westbury did what he said. Anyway, when we got to the warehouse, they pushed our crates off the wagon, which I think is where at least one rib was cracked.” He looked at Boots, “The rescue party was the right thing to do. I don’t believe they were ever going to release us. I believe we were actually going to be food for their captive vampires.”
Jane gasped. John bowed his head and slammed a fist on the table putting a long crack down the middle. Aiyana began to cry again.
Morris looked at the Nightwalkers, “Yes, he is purposefully corrupting them,” he gasped in pain, then shifted in his chair, obviously in discomfort.
“I tried to dissuade him from coming,” Persi whispered to Boots, “but he insisted He said he had important information.”
“After they kicked the box off,” Morris continued, “they carried me away from the wagon, dropped me again, then stood around passing a bottle. That woman arrived and sent all but this Gracken away. When he asked her what would happen to Nicholas and I, she laughed and said something like ‘the workers would need to be fed.’”
Even in the warm night, Persi shivered and Boots wrapped an arm around her.
“She told Gracken about how he, Duke Naricissa, would send teams to collect Nosferatu and he would also need to capture humans to feed them. Gracken asked what the Duke intended to do with all the savages, meaning the vampires, and she said he would change some to be used as fighters, and the others he would use in those mechanicals.” Morris paused and looked at Boots. “Mister Boots?” he asked.
In that instant upon hearing the young man say his name, he remembered Morris was, just a year out of his teens. He also remembered his own twenties, full of adventure and death, and while he envied his cook the former -- to once again be young and adventurous -- he wanted to protect him from the latter.
“Yes, Morris?” Boots answered.
“I think somehow they are merging the vampires with the mechanicals,” Morris said, “using that Elder god magic you found in those weird papers the Agency sent you. Gracken asked and that’s what she told him, ‘merged through magic’ she said, though I can’t tell you if it’s true.”
“Oh, it’s true,” Persi said.
Morris nodded, then slouched in the chair, obviously tired.
“Which is why he must be stopped,” Genevieve said, stepping out of the stairwell, “and which is why I am w
illing to help you.” She paused to smirk, “That, and I cannot allow this Duke’s bitch to beard the lioness in her own den, so to speak.”
“Beautiful timing,” Persi said. “There is nothing we have heard that should be hidden from you, please sit with us.”
She nodded acceptance, then glanced at the crack in the table, rubbing her hand across it. She looked at each vampire until she came to John, who shrugged and lowered his head in embarrassment. The captain shook her head.
She whispered something to Julius, who arrived just after her, and he opened a panel near the rail and pulled a lever. A pop sounded near them followed by a hiss of steam as a much larger table rose from the deck. When it was at full height, he carried a chair over and seated his mistress.
The others stood and moved their chairs around the larger table, then Boots gave her a summary of what they had learned. When he was done, she asked, “Is there anything in this book that can help us? Give us an edge?”
“Not that I’ve read,” Persi answered. “There is a lot written of opening gates, and about protecting those doing the opening lest they be injured in the attempt, and several pages concerning the correct way to close the gates.” She leaned in and in a mocking tone said, “Apparently closing them incorrectly is a big deal.” She leaned back and said, “But that is about it. I read nothing that would be useful as a weapon.”
Everyone sat back in their seats, except Morris whose head sagged. “John, could you return Mister Morris to his berth,” Persi asked. “I believe he has reached the extent of his energy.”
John nodded, stood and picked Morris up with the ease and gentleness with which one gathers up a sleeping baby. At the same time, Genevieve gave Julius a task and he left, returning several minutes later with coffee. Two other stewards followed him, each carrying a tray of food, with John following. In front of each Nightwalker, a steward sat a plate with several types to be raw organ meat.
“The night is warm so we shall allow this meeting to work into dinner. My staff will join us in time, but meanwhile, here is something to tide us over until dinner is served.”
“Very thoughtful,” Jane said. The other two vampires bowed their agreement.
“Yes, very thoughtful,” Persi said, lifting a small fried pie from the tray before her.
“I think those are stuffed with roast pork,” Genevieve said. “Please pair that with the white goat cheese to your left. I believe you will find it to your liking.”
Persi did just that and after her first bite, nodded her approval.
****
The trip down the coast passed quickly and soon the Black Swan was mooring near the center of Natal, Brazil. It was still early in the day when Persi and Boots slipped from the ship for an excursion into the market. A quick stop at the airfield maintenance office and a few questions to the field maintenance crew gave the name of a bar that aircrews frequented. Persi and Boots set off to gather what intelligence they could on Duke Narcissa’s ship called, Jewel of the South.
When they arrived, they found it to be less like a saloon, which is the picture they had in their minds, and more like a window in a wall. One went to the window, placed ones’ order, and then found a seat at one of the many tables, each covered with a small thatched roof made from palm fronds.
Boots seated his wife. “What to drink, my love?”
“Oh, I don’t know, it is a little early for something strong, see what they have that doesn’t contain alcohol.”
He picked her hand up from the table, his mechanical one giving off a quiet hiss as he brought it to his lips. “I shall see what they have.”
She smiled as he strode to the window looking like a perfect gentleman. Too perfect, Persi thought. She had borrowed a dress from Genevieve, and though it had a European cut, it blended in with their current surroundings and culture. Boots, however, had only his one set of clothes and his high-class Bostonian fashion caught the attention of several rough looking men seated around their own table.
Boots returned with two huge coconuts. A hole was cut in the top, from which projected a small porcelain stir stick. A section had been cut from the bottom to allow it to sit flat. Boots sat one in front of her and took a seat himself.
“I see you purchased the small size,” she said with a smirk.
“It was the only size, my love. Agua de coco, which I believe means, coconut water. The woman at the window said it was very refreshing.”
“Ahh,” Persi said non-committal and stirred the drink. “And what am I stirring?” she said, holding up the stirrer.
“Oh, nothing, she said it was a straw. One sucks the liquid from the coconut through it thus avoiding any un-necessary spillage.” He demonstrated by taking a pull on the straw. “Ah, yes, very refreshing.”
Persi took a sip herself. Though it felt awkward to suck on this device in public, the liquid was delicious, watery, and sweet with a pinch of bitter. “Yes, refreshing. I wonder if we might secure several of these to take with us on our trip.”
She looked up and watched Boots as he ignored the drink and intensely studied the straw. “Fascinating,” he said.
“Yes, Senhor, one of the many fascinating things you will find in Brazil,” said a man as he walked up to their table. He pulled out a chair and seated himself.
“Please, have a seat,” Boots said. He recognized the bold man as the same who had been sitting at the other table and glanced that direction. Of the five he had originally counted, only three remained. “How can we help you?”
“Oh no, Senhor, it is I who can help you,” the man said grinning, the teeth that were still in his mouth were dark and rotting. He was not dirty, per se, nor was he dressed in rags, but the general impression he gave off was of a peasant trying to play the part of a noble, but without knowing much about nobility.
Persi fidgeted in her chair. “Boots, these chairs are not very comfortable, are they?”
Boots smiled and shook his head knowing that movement was to disguise the removal of a pistol from a hidden pocket in her bodice. “I’m sorry, my dear, shall we return to our ship?”
“Ship? Air or water?” the man asked with some excitement.
“Air,” Persi said. “I’m sorry, did you say you could help us, how?”
“Oh, yes, Senhora, the good book says that money is the root of all evil, and since you seem to have more than your share, I would like to de-evil you.”
“Excuse me, did you say, de-evil us?” Boots asked, raising his straw in exclamation.
The three men who remained at the table, stood and walked to stand behind the agents.
“Ahh,” Boots said, “I think I begin to see.”
Chapter 51 – Persi and Boots Encounter a Bit of Trouble
“Senhor, perhaps you and the lovely lady would escort us to a private table we have been given, just behind the building. There we can talk about matters without other eyes and ears,” the man said, grinning his decaying smile.
Boots looked at Persi, “My dear, perhaps these are just the gentlemen for which we been looking.”
“I think you are correct, and I for one am ready to hear what they have to say,” Persi said, reaching across and patting Boots’ hand.
“I too,” Boots said, then looking to the leader asked, “but why must we retire to your private table when this one is fine, and there don’t seem to be any prying ears or eyes?”
The three men behind them stepped closer. The one with the stub of a cigar sticking from between thick greasy lips, placed his hand on Boots’ shoulder.
“Ahh, I see, well then, we must certainly take you up on your invitation,” Boots said, sticking his straw behind his ear and moving his chair back with slightly more force than needed, hitting cigar man in the abdomen.
Cigar man grabbed a handful of Boots’ shirt and pulled him from the chair. Boots did not resist but if possible, looked even more the soft city gentleman.
Persi looked across at the leader with a bit of an eyelash flutter, “Excuse me, may I
have your name?”
The man grinned and tapped his forehead in salute, “You may call me Mario.”
“Yes, Mario, uhm... I will comply as you wish, but I must inform you that I am with child and would ask you to be gentle where it comes to its health.”
This news seemed to jar Mario. Well, it seems that Mr. Mario has at least a shred of decency, Persi thought.
His face took on a solemn patina. “You will be under my personal protection,” he said with a nod, then stood and reached his hand out to help her stand. She took it and they followed Boots and two men, with the third bringing up the rear. Mario reached behind her and slapped her bottom.
“Oh,” she exclaimed.
At Persi’s exclamation, Boots tried to turn but Cigar man cuffed him and they continued forward.
The sitting area behind the bar was rather nicer than any of the tables in the front. The roof was freshly thatched, and provided with both chairs and a table, both of which looked out of place. Boots decided that Mario was the leader of a local street gang and probably knew everything that happened in his part of the city.
“Please sit and I shall give you my instructions,” Mario said.
“Give me instructions?” Boots asked, “That doesn’t seem very helpful. I don’t feel the least bit de-eviled.”
Persi smiled, “Nor do I my love, and I am worried about the missing man.”
“Oh, no worries, I’m sure he will show up when he thinks he is needed,” Boots said.
“You two, shut up. This is what you will do ...” Mario said.
“Mister Mario,” Persi interrupted, “we also need something for our troubles, those of which have become significant.”
Mario raised an eyebrow in question, though the rest of his face continued to scowl, quite a feat of facial gymnastics.
Persi took a second to flick a spec of debris from her blouse. “Information,” she stated.
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