Hellsbaene

by Aeryn Leigh

  "I like mysteries," said Amelia.

  The sound of deep-belly rumbling filled the room. Lucius lay on his back and couldn't stop laughing. "Mysteries," he said, managing to get the word out between breaths.

  We're fucked, he thought.

  "There, there, it's ok," said Amelia smiling, crawling over and patting Lucius on the leg. Then Mick started laughing, and Daniel, and Andrew, and the rest, and soon the hall flowed with mirth.

  "They're mad," said Magnus, fingers working the sharpening stone down his sword as laughter echoed off the walls.

  "Then they will fit right in," said Snorri. "Right, Beowulf?"

  Beowulf thought of the day he met Laurie. He stood up. "It helps," he said.

  The blast of the horn deafened the jovial outbreak. Jerland stood at the top of the stairs. "All ranged weapons are to be left on the rug before you. You have the king's word that no harm will befoul you."

  Lucius started to speak, but Laurie put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Did you seriously think we'd be allowed into an audience carrying our pistols?" he said to the Damage Inc. captain. "We knew this was coming."

  "If Beowulf is wrong… " said Lucius, and said nothing more. He unbelted his holster and with the others, laid their sidearms on the rug.

  "Bring the weapon you call Betty however," said Jerland. "They want to see it."

  At the top of the stairs, the passageway led down a wooden corridor, and to more stairs, everything around them made of wood and iron. They reached a large, double door, which opened before them. Jerland stopped.

  "The throne room," said Beowulf, and walked in. The group followed.

  The throne room is magnificent, thought Andrew.

  A stone fire pit lay in the centre of the room. Tapestries and banners hung from the walls, and weapons of all manner and shapes adorned the gaps between the cloths. A doorway led off from the left wall. Armoured Vikings lined the room, heavily-armed with bladed weaponry and flintlock pistols. At the far end of the room, on a raised platform, covered in rich rugs, rested a grand chair. And in that chair, an old man stood up, in gleaming metal and leather plate. On his waist, holstered, sat an eight-shot flintlock revolving pistol.

  The air smelt of dust, and tradition.

  "Father," said Beowulf, who kept walking and hugged his father.

  "Beowulf," said Rothgar Hffylson, clapping his son on the back. "You're back early."

  "I am," said Beowulf. He turned to the others, who'd now filed into the room and stood at the entrance. "This is King Rothgar Hffylson, leader of the Viking Empire, Norseland." Or what remains of it, he thought. "And, Father, this is the group that arrived in Gods Arena. And the man who destroyed my command. Lawrence John."

  Laurie hesitated, but took a step forward. "That's me," he said.

  "My son says that you are a berserker, and a great warrior," said Rothgar. He looked at the battered flight-suit that Laurie and the rest wore, the leather and lambswool lining covered in dirt, blood, and muck. "Are these your men?"

  Laurie snorted. "No mate," he said, "some are, but Lucius here also has command." Lucius stood with his arms crossed. The king raised his eyebrows, and turned to his son.

  "It didn't go well," said Beowulf to his father, who sat back on his throne. "Jorvik took it on himself to capture the Newbloods, and chain the blumen." He gestured to the bomber crews. "In their world, all men are free," he said.

  The king laughed, a raspy deep note. "Freedom," he said, standing. "Tell me how they vanquished you? They look weak. This 'Laurie'," he shouted, "crushed your command how? He is one mortal man." The armoured Vikings stiffened, their hands on their sword hilts. "Even a berserker has limits."

  Laurie smiled thinly, and turned to Griffin. "Show him Betty." Griffin walked over to Laurie, and rested the four-foot long machine-gun on the ground, and passed Laurie the top of the steel barrel. "Thanks mate." He lifted the gun up, and slowly walked towards the king and Beowulf. He stopped six feet from the king, who gestured for the guards to stand down. He eased the bottom end of the gun onto the stone floor.

  Laurie willed himself to remain calm, as his mind screamed in rage. It's bastards like these who sent good men to their death, into a wall of machine-gun fire that no man could survive.

  It's how I vanquished you.

  He gritted his teeth.

  "King Hffylson," said Laurie, "do you know what this is?"

  The king scoffed. "A gunpowder gun, and what of it?"

  "Do you know what a machine-gun is?" said Laurie. The king regarded him, then shook his head. "A 'gunpowder' gun that fires hundreds upon hundreds of bullets a minute." He fished in a pocket and pullet out the last .50cal round he'd borrowed off Griffin in the hall.

  He tossed it to the king. The king caught it with his left hand.

  "That is one bullet. One bullet will go through five of your armoured men there if they stood in a row." He had the satisfaction of making the Viking warriors stand a little taller. "Don't believe me? Ask your son, or Snorri, or Magnus if you doubt. With one gun," he said to Rothgar, who held the massive round in front of his eyes studying it, "I slaughtered Beowulf's whole command. All his war horses and armoured cavalry."

  He looked the king in the eyes. "Now imagine twenty, thirty of these guns, that can kill a mile away. You want to win this war?"

  He paused.

  "Then for fuck’s sake, stop trying to kill us, or enslave us, King Hffylson."

  Jerland gasped. "You dare speak to the king in such foulness?" He advanced towards Laurie, unsheathing his sword.

  "Yeah, I do," said Laurie, not breaking eye contact with Rothgar. "What you think of how war is fought is as dead as your men back at the fort."

  "Enough," said Rothgar, eyes calculating. He threw the bullet back at Laurie underhand. "Show me."

  "And me," said a voice from the left doorway. "This is exactly what I've been afraid of." A woman with short black hair, a gold and red cape over one shoulder, entered the room. Skippy gave a short friendly bark.

  "I am General Marietta Versetti, Commander of the Republic. Tell me everything you know."

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Demonstration

  Griffin knelt by Betty, resting on a crude wooden box and metal mount, and fitted the firing pin. He chambered the solitary round they possessed. An hour had passed, and now the group, the king, and his commanders, the Republic general, and what seemed like half the fighting force of Odinsgate lined the long, thin three-hundred-yard area in between the northern castle walls. Only Amelia, Mick, the two wounded men, and both animals were absent. Mick had insisted on seeing the medical facilities of the castle, and dragged a protesting child along with him.

  "But I want to see," said Amelia. She tried pouting.

  "You already saw back at the fort," said Mick. "Besides, you want to see where Skippy might need help with giving birth yeah?"

  She'd grumbled "Oh, alright." And they'd left, guided by a Viking who'd lost a coin-toss.

  In front of Griffin, a row of wooden stands, each with a serviceable but battered armour resting upon them, stood.

  "Ah, fruit," said Lucius, at the new arrival. The wooden cart contained something like cantaloupe crossed with a watermelon. "Inside the armour, guys." Two men put the large, greenish-red fruits inside each chest. "Good job. You better move."

  General Versetti stood next to Laurie, parallel to the third coat of armour. King Rothgar watched from directly opposite, Beowulf and Jerland flanking him. The rest of the bomber crews watched from where the gun sat.

  "Aim good," yelled Lucius towards Griffin, and walked over to the king. "I'll even stand here," he said, in the line of fire if Griffin decided to take a shot at the king. The king nodded, as Jerland glared at him. A horn sounded, and the crowd fell silent.

  Griffin looked down the sights, thought of his children, breathed out in a continuous smooth motion, and pulled the Browning's trigger.

  "Whatever you need," said Marietta, seconds later, wiping crimson fr
uit mush off her face.

  "Christ Almighty, you should have seen it," said Bear to Mick later that afternoon. The whole group rested in the guest-quarters hall of the castle, around a huge fire pit, over which a dead animal roasted. Rugs and wooden benches ringed the fire next to a solitary table. Bear sliced off another portion of meat and ate it. "Frigging fruit splattered everywhere and over everything. Griffin nailed it. The .50 calibre went through all armour sets and took a chunk out of the rear stone wall."

  Griffin finished the mug of ale and put it down. "That's my Betty," he said. "Folks sure did get themselves in a huff after that."

  "Good," said Lucius, munching on a hunk of well-done crispy meat. He threw an extra-hard bit to Skippy who sucked it up and devoured it. "It'll give them something to think about."

  "It will at that," said Andrew. "How's James and Abe?" He took a sip of the ale. "Not bad."

  "Doing a lot better," said Mick. "You should see their wounded — by the look of it the Inquisition hit this place pretty hard a few days ago and even that was half-hearted. Mostly splinter wounds from cannon fire hitting hard-wood planks. Nasty shi…" He looked at Amelia. "…err, stuff." He finished his drink and got up to refill it from the barrel next to them on the table. Thank God there was beer here.

  "That's ok," said Amelia, feeding morsels of meat to Zia in her lap.

  There was a knock at the main door. They looked at each other. "It's open," yelled Bear. The wooden doors opened and General Versetti walked in. Her cape was gone but the sword on her belt remained.

  "May I join you?" She held up a flagon of wine and a round whorl of cheese. "I have gifts."

  "Ha," said Laurie. "Bribery is always welcome. Sit."

  Lucius and Andrew shuffled up the bench to make room, and the visitor sat down after placing the wine and cheese on the table. She accepted a mug of ale. Skippy thumped her tail as the general patted her.

  "Enjoy the show?" said Lucius.

  Marietta took a long pull of ale. "It was some demonstration," she said. "Eight-hundred rounds a minute? Incredible." She ran a hand through Skippy's fur. "My papa only dreamed of this."

  "Your papa?" said Amelia, opening her biscuit tin of now quite rare, coloured pencils, and her sketchbook.

  "My papa arrived just like you did," said Marietta. She finished her drink and went to the table and started carving up the cheese. "The Battle of Lissa, in your year, 1866."

  "He did?" said Daniel. "What battle?"

  "Between the Austrian Empire and the Italians," said Andrew, cutting Marietta off mid-breath.

  "Yes," she said, "a naval battle that the Italians lost. My papa served on the flagship which sank."

  "Was there a storm?" said Amelia.

  "He never said," Marietta said. "The ship rolled and sank, and he was dragged under. All he ever did say was that a voice told him to hang onto a wooden mast that sank next to him, a great gleaming eye in the dark, and the next thing, he's floating on the water and the navy is nowhere to be seen." She rotated the crank of the spit-roast. "And here I am."

  "Where's your papa now?" said Amelia, once again quicker than everyone else.

  "In Heaven. Or whatever the next world is."

  "Oh," said Amelia. "Mummy said there is no heaven."

  "And where is your mummy?"

  "It's a long story." Lucius interrupted. "First, questions."

  Both the bomber crews, Amelia and Marietta did their best to answer all the questions over the next few hours. The keg of beer lay drained, the wine drunk, and stomachs for the first time in weeks were full. Amelia, Skippy, and Zia snored in a tangled puddle of limbs and fur, sated and also for the first time in weeks, at peace.

  "Flying machines, like birds, but great long metal tubes and wings powered by oil-burning engines, that fly great distances over sea and land? Ha!" said Marietta.

  "Oh yeah?" said Lucius, standing up on the bench flapping his arms. "Just like this? Like monsters that swim under the sea and winged beasts that use mortals as their playthings? Bullshit." He laughed and sat back down.

  "Laugh all you want," said Marietta. She took a swig of water. "How do you explain being here? Or your friend that was taken where you crashed? Earth only has one Sun, yes?"

  Lucius began to speak but stopped. "Yeah," he said. "Can't explain my brothers being chained either."

  "The Vikings are uncouth, as they say. Their empire is a shadow to what it used to be, it is said, and gold is gold. Slaves sell. The Republic does not."

  She stood up, and her voice grew harder.

  "The Inquisition is moving against us," she said, "and compounding the matter, they've captured almost everyone that's passed into this world over the last two-hundred years, and whatever they rode on. They are formidable and fanatical, and their industry dwarfs us. My spies tell me something new and diabolical has their Emperor's utter attention."

  "What did Amelia say again Griffin? Back at the crash site?" said Thorfinn, a memory that had been bugging him finally resurfacing.

  "She only told me once. She said the man who chased them had a lightning badge on his collar, and knew her Mama," said Griffin. "Twin streaks of lightning. A colonel. Her Mama said he's a bad man."

  "Jesus fuck," said Mick. "Why are we only hearing this now?"

  "Pardon?" said Marietta, eyes alert. "What is the problem?"

  "A Nazi Secret Service officer being swept up by the Inquisition and spilling all the pretty things he knows in his head," said Laurie, his own head between his hands. "We better hope the fucker is dead."

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Archimedes Lever

  The fucker was not dead. Far from it. The fucker had gone on to do a great deal of fucking in the previous seven days, and the body trail writ large generated its own aura and power — which in turn, fed more paranoia and despair to those left, and the sycophants grew ever larger.

  Colonel Grieg wiped his dagger on the pants, in the damp musty cellar. He frowned at the notch in the blade in the oil lantern's light. Not his pants, no, why soil respectable clothing? And he wasn't colonel any more. He racked his brain trying to find a new title, something benefiting a man of his station. Something new.

  The Inquisition, as they called themselves, reminded Grieg of the pious acolytes within the Nazi party.

  All fire and brimstone, until alone. Then their base human nature showed itself, like the slovenly parties up at Hitler's lair in the Austrian Alps, licking liqueurs off pregnant naked dwarfs whilst the blood of the Fatherland bled itself dry on the Eastern Front.

  It had been too easy, too simple, to work out and isolate the brains behind the Emperor's throne, to figure out where the real intelligence and power lay. The Emperor would be safe for a while, for he needed a public figurehead to captivate and be the shield in front of him. But those around the Emperor, those men who insisted on sending foolish suicide missions to their enemies, well... more grit for the compost, as his grandfather once said.

  A party here, a party there, and Grieg seemed everywhere. Isolating the security apparatus and terminating it was something even Grieg hesitated at, yet, he reminded himself, remember Archimedes lever. The right prod in the right area and you could lift the world. And this world, he thought, this world, with this world, a man could do many, wonderful things. And speaking of wondrous things, where was the fount of secrets the dead men kept talking about? The Emperor's Lair?

  He tried to banish the thought of his son, as he stuck the dagger once more into living flesh.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Decisions

  "What did you mean before about your Papa?" said Griffin. "He dreamt of what?" He looked at Betty in the darkened far corner of the room.

  "He told me about a hand-cranked gun with multiple barrels he saw being demonstrated in Rome by an American," she said. "Just before he sailed. He said it could be a great weapon against the Inquisition."

  "A Gatling gun," said Laurie. "Sounds about right time wise. The first machine-gun."


  "Ah," said Marietta.

  "Maybe that's what has their attention?" said Lucius.

  "I will know more when I return home," said Marietta. "And now I must depart. Thank you for the company and our little chat. I hope you will join me on my trip back to the Republic." She walked to the door. "Until tomorrow."

  "Marietta?" said Andrew.

  "Yes?"

  "May I ask what happened to your father?"

  "What happens to lot of men who arrive here." She put her hand on the wooden door. "He couldn't accept what happened and took his own life." She pushed the door open and left.

  "You had to ask," said Mick. The crew of the two bombers from the Old World said nothing more, just staring into the flames.

  Laurie tossed and turned all night, his dreams dark yet when he woke he could not remember them. Daylight crept through the stone window slits above him. Skippy stared right into his face. "C'mon girl, outside for a wee." He got out of the bunk and led her out to the guest courtyard down the corridor, being a small patch of grass and a tall, slender tree.

  He rubbed his hands together, and waited for Skippy to do her business. Laurie took the initiative and pissed against the tree, as Skippy sniffed everything, all in her own time.

  "When are you going to birth those pups, girl?" he said. "You get any wider and you might just explode." Skippy looked at him. "Fine, I'll turn around." He stared back down the corridor.

  There's no going home mate, he thought. Not that you gave two fucks about it anyway. You're a shattered war vet who wants to just die. But the crew. Crews. They have family. Loved ones. But they'll be stoic and brave about it and be a man and when they can't take it any longer and the booze doesn't work anymore they'll eat a gun. He craned his head up and looked at the blue-grey sky. "Fuck you."

  Laurie lowered his head. Sighed.

  What are they going to do? Go?