by James Maxey
Vance chewed slowly, looking as if he might spit the chili out. Suddenly, his eyes bulged. He swallowed quickly.
"Oh my gosh!" he said, waving his fingers in front of his mouth. "My mouth is on fire!"
Burke reached down beside the stove and picked up a clay jug. "Take a swig of this."
Vance lifted the jug, swallowed, and then quickly pulled it away from his lips. His face was all puckered for about half a minute before he could speak again.
"Have I done something to make you angry?" Vance asked weakly.
"Nope. That's goom," said Burke. "We've got about 900 gallons of it. The earth-dragons distill it from cabbage and chilies. Fortunately, it's so alcoholic that a few swigs numbs your mouth. Can you still feel your tongue?"
Vance's tongue flickered across his lips. "Nothing. Guess it works."
"Don't burp around any open flames," Burke said. "Goom ignites easily. It's the fuel for the Angry Beetle's flamethrower."
Vance took another bite of chili. Sweat beaded his brow as he chewed the stringy meat.
"If you survive this meal, you'll have a good story for your grandkids," said Thorny with a chuckle. Thorny then turned his attention back to the Angry Beetle.
"How many people does it take to run this thing?" he asked.
"A perfect crew would be four," said Burke, lifting the hatch. "But, it's a tight fit with two people, and three people need to be real friendly. If there were more women around, I'd recruit them for crew."
Thorny peeked inside the open hatch. "They'd need to be skinny."
Burke shrugged. "At least I don't need to worry about Ragnar's Mighty Men commandeering this. I don't think Stonewall could squeeze through the hatch."
As he said this, a chill winter wind swept across the room. The sliding door to the warehouse shuddered on its tracks. Burke looked up and found Stonewall standing in the doorway, glaring at him. To his left stood Ragnar, with his twin scimitars held loosely in his hands; a half dozen armored Mighty Men lurked behind him. To Stonewall's right stood Frost, grinning like it was his birthday.
"Burke," said Ragnar, in a voice that was oddly calm and controlled. "We should discuss what happened at the well."
Burke crossed his arms as he leaned back against the Angry Beetle.
"I agree," said Burke. "That was quite a show. I'm still trying to make up my mind as to precisely what it was that happened. How did Shanna get through the blockade? How did she get to the well if your men didn't let her in? Shanna's been a spy for years. She's a good actor. And, the more I think about it, if you faked her death, tossing her into the well was a good way of keeping anyone from seeing her get up and walk away once the performance was done. What I haven't figured out yet is, what are you up to? What are you trying to prove?"
"You have lived a life of lies so long you cannot see the truth," said Ragnar. "I would never deceive my followers with base theatrics."
"If it wasn't staged, that's even worse. Shanna helped us win Dragon Forge. You killed her like she was a dog."
"A mad dog," said Ragnar, still calm. "It was clear from her words that she'd been corrupted by the worship of a false god."
"Or hallucinating from those dragonseeds, whatever they are. You should have jailed her and let her sober up. We'll never know what really happened to her now."
"You're quick to criticize my decisions," said Ragnar. "Your open defiance in front of the crowd was intolerable."
"You'll have to tolerate my criticism a bit longer," said Burke. "You need me if you're ever going to break the blockade and spread this rebellion further."
"Do I?" asked Ragnar. "The Lord has given me an army. We now have the sky-wall bows. We have shotguns and cannons. I believe your usefulness draws to an end."
"Without gunpowder, all you have are a bunch of iron tubes," said Burke, crossing his arms. "I'm the only one who knows the formula."
Ragnar smiled, an expression that made Burke's blood turn cold.
Frost said, "I noticed that Biscuit was capable of mixing up gunpowder while you were recovering from your surgery."
Burke's jaw tightened. "Biscuit's a good man, but he's no chemist," he said, carefully controlling his tone.
Frost held up a scrap of paper that Burke instantly recognized. It was the formula for gunpowder. "I spoke to Biscuit earlier today. He found my arguments… persuasive. He has reaffirmed his loyalty to the cause."
Burke clenched his jaw. He looked away from Ragnar and his Mighty Men, shoved his iron crutch back into his armpit, and hobbled to the stove. "So what now?"
"Now we assemble the men at dawn," said Frost. "You repent your sins and swear your obedience to the Lord and his prophet. Or we behead you in front of the crowd as a reminder that no single man is greater than the cause."
Stonewall furrowed his brow at the mention of the beheading.
Frost grinned like this was the happiest moment of his life.
Burke picked up a tin cup sitting at the edge of the stove. He poured himself a cup of goom.
Ragnar and his Mighty Men were ten feet away. The Angry Beetle was close enough to touch. He contemplated his choices. He could avoid violence just by standing in front of the crowd, saying a few words he didn't believe, and then going back to work.
He shook his head. "If you're planning to kill me, I'd rather not wait for dawn."
It was Stonewall, not Frost, who stepped forward. His big beefy hands reached for Burke's shoulders, as he said, "Sir, if you'll come with us, I promise to-"
Burke flung the goom into Stonewall's face.
The tall man staggered backwards, hissing in pain. Goom in the mouth was bad enough; Goom in the eyes was crippling. Frost tried to get out of the way of the stumbling giant, but crashed into the Mighty Man behind him. Stonewall tripped over Frost, and as he fell he toppled the rest of Ragnar's thugs.
Ragnar, however, had been spared from the flailing of his henchmen. Burke was getting tired of the seemingly divine hand that spared the prophet from misfortune. Ragnar brandished his scimitars and leapt toward Burke with a growl, apparently agreeing that dawn was too long to wait for Burke's beheading.
Burke grabbed the iron handle of the chili pot and swung it with a grunt. The cast iron connected solidly with the side of the prophet's shaggy head. The force of the blow knocked the scimitars from Ragnar's grasp. Hot, thick chili splashed down Ragnar's bare body, matting his chest hair. The prophet's eyes grew large. A very unholy word formed on his lips.
Burke didn't wait to hear it. With the heavy pot still in his hands, he swung upward, catching the big man under his hairy chin, knocking him from his feet.
"Get in the Beetle!" Burke screamed.
Thorny was already two steps ahead of him. His scrawny legs disappeared into the shadowy interior of the war machine. Burke turned to grab Vance by the wrist, but Vance, too, was already moving, diving into the interior. For a third time since they'd come to the warehouse, Burke suspected the boy could see more than he let on. But, why would Vance lie about such a thing?
Burke threw his crutch in and rolled into the Beetle, hitting the catch that held the metal hatch open. He pulled his leg in as the hatch slammed shut. Seconds later, loud bangs shook the Beetle as the Mighty Men who'd regained their footing began to hack the war machine with their swords.
Burke sat up, grabbing Vance by the wrist. "You're going to have to shovel coal," he said. "Let me put your hand on the-"
"I can see," said Vance.
"What?"
"I can see! My sight's not fully back yet, but it's getting there. I only see blurry colors out past a few yards, but up close I see pretty good."
"So… you've been faking?" Burke asked.
"No! My sight's just started coming back in the last little bit."
Thorny scratched his scraggly beard. "I've heard of men going blind after they drink goom. Maybe it works the other way around, too."
"I'm pretty sure it's because of the dragonseed," said Vance.
"What?" aske
d Burke.
"I swallowed it five minutes after you gave it to me. What did I have to lose?"
"Your life, if it had been poison. Your mind, if it had been a hallucinogen." Burke frowned. "How do you know you can really see? Maybe you're just imagining it."
Vance reached out and put his finger on the tip of Burke's nose.
"The dragonseed worked. My sight's been getting a little better since I took it. First I could just detect light from dark, then shapes started coming back, then colors."
Burke grimaced. He lived in a world that followed certain rules. Magic seeds were the stuff of fairy tale. They didn't belong in a world of gears and guns. Vance had lost his sight due to a head injury. Sometimes these things got better on their own. The timing must be a coincidence.
The hull shuddered violently.
"I'm guessing they found the sledgehammer," said Burke as the ringing in his ears abated. "Here's the ten-second guide to running this thing. This is the boiler." He opened the iron door next to Vance. A small red flame still flickered inside. "Shovel coal. There's a foot operated bellows. Pump as if your life depends on it. We need a lot of heat to build up steam."
Burke checked the gauges. There was still a little pressure left over from this morning, but nothing like what they'd need to escape.
The hull rang out again from another blow of a sledgehammer. He wondered how long it would be before one of the Mighty Men was clever enough to wheel a big cannon out of the foundry and use the Angry Beetle for target practice.
"Thorny, the Beetle can only roll backwards. I designed all the controls to sit up front. You need to look out that little hatch in the back and tell me what you see."
"Got it," said Thorny.
"Don't open the hatch until we're moving," said Burke. "The Mighty Men might be smart enough to poke a shotgun inside."
Burke looked around at the mention of a shotgun. He had one shotgun inside, which he'd been using to test the visual span of the various gun slots. He had plenty of shot, and two barrels of gunpowder. The Beetle also had fixed cannons at the front and back, and there was the goom-powered flamethrower, with maybe thirty gallons in the reserve. He also had a sky-wall bow and a quiver of arrows. He'd wanted to test if there was enough space to actually use a bow at one of the slots. There wasn't.
Burke wiggled his way past Vance to reach the driver's seat. Burke calculated the odds of escaping and frowned. Sometimes it was a curse to be good at math. He was certain he hadn't killed Ragnar. Stonewall probably wasn't permanently blinded. Was it too late to find some reasonable way out of this? Or was he going to have to kill a lot of people?
All this time, he'd been worried about what Ragnar might do to his fellow men once he had guns and cannons. Now he was in a situation where he was going to be turning his weapons against humans, and for what? So that they might die a mile away instead of here in the warehouse?
He realized that nothing had hit the hull for at least a minute. He cracked open the sighting hatch at the forward cannon. He was facing the open doors leading to the street. The Mighty Men were now milling about outside. Ragnar and Stonewall were nowhere to be seen. Burke watched through a slit only an inch high and six inches long. It was hard to say what he might be missing. Why had they stopped trying to get in? The Mighty Men stood back as a new group came onto the scene, straining as they pushed one of the newly forged wheeled cannons into place and turned it toward the warehouse.
Burke looked at the pressure gauge. They needed more time.
People were going to have to die.
"I'm going to fire the cannon," he said, reaching into one of the many pouches on his leather tool belt. He pulled out a clump of cotton wads and leaned back in his seat, stretching out to Vance and Thorny.
"Stuff these in your ears and cover your ears with your hands. Keep them covered until I've taken my shot."
"With cotton in our ears, how will we know?" asked Thorny, as Vance helped him jam cotton into his ears.
Burke smirked. "You'll know."
He stuffed cotton into his own ears as he looked back out into the street. They were still ramming gunpowder down the shaft of the cannon. A five pound keg of black powder sat on the street. He couldn't have asked for a better target.
Burke spun the sighting wheels for the forward gun. The Angry Beetle's cannons weren't as big as the one in the street, but it would get the job done. Unlike the Mighty Men, he'd loaded his cannon in advance.
"Hands over your ears!" Burke shouted, as he pulled the flint trigger.
He squeezed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, his jaw clenched as tightly as possible. The seconds passed with unbearable slowness.
The noise hit him in the chest like a hammer. The Angry Beetle lurched as the five pound charge in the street exploded.
Burke pulled his hands away, yanking out the cotton. His teeth felt loose.
"Everyone all right?" he asked. There was no answer. He could barely hear his own voice over the ringing. He tried again, shouting, "Vance? Thorny?"
"You're right that we'd know," said Thorny.
"I should've used more cotton," said Vance.
"Keep pumping the bellows," Burke said. "The pressure is almost in the zone."
He slid the sighting hatch open once more. The front wall of the warehouse was gone. There was a crater where the cannon had been a moment before. Unidentifiable lumps of meat were scattered in all directions. He slid the hatch shut before he had a chance to identify any of the chunks.
"Gentlemen," he said. "It's safe to say we've worn out our welcome. I'm sorry you got swept up in this."
"You apologize too much," said Thorny. "Let's roll."
"What's it look like behind us?"
Thorny pushed the rear sighting hatch open with the back of his twisted hands. He shook his head. "The doors are closed."
"I don't think that's going to matter," said Burke as he let out the clutch and engaged the gear. The Angry Beetle shuddered as it crept backward. It took a surprising length of time to cover the short distance to the rear door. Fortunately, when it finally reached the barrier, the war-machine pushed through the wood as if it were a paper curtain.
"Since we can only move in one direction, it's important we don't hit anything the Angry Beetle can't push over. I'm going to follow the southern boulevard to the city gate. Let me know if I'm getting close to any buildings."
Burke leaned over to watch out the sighting hatch as they rolled away from the warehouse. He knew the layout of Dragon Forge as well as anyone. He just might pull this off.
"We're getting close to a big building on the left," said Thorny.
Burke turned the wheel.
"No!" said Thorny. "My left!"
Burke hastily steered the other way.
"We should be coming up on a big broad avenue now," he said. "See it?"
"Yeah," said Thorny. "People are moving fast to get out of our way. A lot faster than they need to, honestly. Pokey Turtle might be a better name for this contraption."
"Duly noted," said Burke. "Keep shoveling, Vance. We need to build up more pressure if we want to get up any kind of speed."
"We're at the avenue," said Thorny.
Burke turned the wheel sharply. The treads churned beneath the Angry Beetle with a satisfying rumble. The steering mechanism worked like a dream. If he had any real power getting to the treads, this might turn into an interesting ride. He disengaged the clutch.
"We're slowing down," said Thorny.
Burke was surprised that they were still rolling at all. But, the southern avenue did slope down slightly. He'd take whatever help from gravity he could get.
"We took off before the pressure was in the zone," Burke said. "Let's give the boiler another minute. I'm worried about the southern gate. You see it?"
"Yeah," said Thorny. "We're maybe two hundred feet away."
"Can you see down the shaft of the rear cannon? Does it look like we'd hit the gate if we fired on it?"
Th
orny was quiet for a moment. "I guess," he said.
Vance said, "Burke, we worked hard to get that gate closed. Forget Ragnar. Do you really want to open that gate to the dragons?"
"It's not the gate keeping the dragons out," said Burke. "It's the sky-wall bows. No winged dragon wants to fly within a mile of the walls. Thorny, I know you don't have much grip, but triggering the flintlock fuse only takes a nudge. Think you can do it?"
"I'll try," said Thorny.
"Okay then. Cotton in ears, everyone. Thorny, on the count of ten, do it."
Burke shoved cotton in his ears. Thorny's countdown went by in silence.
The Angry Beetle trembled as the cannon fired. Burke's brain felt like goom sloshing around in a jug.
He pulled the cotton from his ears. Thorny's distant voice sounded panicked. "The gate's still there!"
"Did we miss it?" Burke asked, incredulous.
"No. We punched a hole in it. The left half looks tilted back a little."
"That's the part we'll ram, then."
Burke looked back out his own sighting window. The street was mostly empty. It was good this was happening at night. Here and there, faces peeked around the corners of buildings to watch the progress of the Angry Beetle as it rolled at its leisurely pace toward the gate.
What now? The cannons could be loaded from the inside, but it was a pain. Thorny definitely couldn't manage with his hands. He looked at the barrel of gunpowder beside him. He had a small spool of gunpowder-infused cotton to cut fuses from. Getting out of the Beetle to hop up to the gate and fashion a quick bomb didn't seem wise, however.
Did the Beetle have the speed and mass necessary to push open the gate?
He peered at the gauge. The needle hovered at the bottom edge of the green zone.
"We only live once, gentlemen," he said, and engaged the clutch.
The Angry Beetle's treads rumbled beneath the floor. On the incline, they quickly reached a speed that surprised even Burke. They might well be rolling at almost fifteen miles per hour. With a horrible crunch, they crashed into the gate. The Beetle felt as if it were going to tip over as the damaged gate fell from its hinges and one tread rode up onto it while the other stayed on the ground. Seconds later, the Angry Beetle shook violently as it dropped back to level and rolled on. Stunned guards looked down from the walls as the Angry Beetle roared away from the fort. The road sloped sharply downward toward the river. Burke disengaged the gears, allowing gravity alone to propel them so that they could build up enough pressure to climb the hill on the other side of the river.