Haft stepped away from the bulkhead. Splash light showed him to Spinner. He tapped his own chest and made a gesture. He pointed at Spinner and made another gesture. Spinner nodded. They made ready, then Haft bolted through the hatch and twisted to one side; Spinner followed on his heels and spun the other way.
“Gwah?” A Jokapcul soldier who hunkered over one of the cabin’s hammocks stood up at the noise of their entry and looked around. His slitted eyes popped wide, he dropped the coins he was tumbling from hand to hand, reached for the knife at his belt, and opened his mouth to cry out. Neither his hand nor his voice made it before the two were on him.
One hand clapped over the soldier’s mouth while a knife point sliced up through his diaphragm to pierce his heart. Another blade slashed though his larynx, and an arm around his chest prevented him from falling to the deck. The two men held the body up until its legs quit kicking, then they dumped it onto an empty hammock.
“He was robbing us!” Haft said indignantly.
“He didn’t think we’d be needing our money, I guess,” Spinner said dispassionately. The individual chests of the Marines were all broken open and their contents strewn about. Coins and other valuables were dumped on one hammock, personal weapons were piled on another. Other usable items were stacked on a third. The remaining three hammocks were empty. “Let’s move fast, his friends might come looking for him.”
Frangerian Marines were issued sabers. Haft found his and hefted it, thought for a moment, then put the saber aside. Like many of the Marines, he used the saber mostly for parade and ceremonial duty; he had another weapon he preferred for fighting. “Ah, here it is.” On the hammock filled with weapons, he found the axe that gave him his name. The axe’s two-and-a-half-foot-long haft was made of ironwood. A half-moon blade projected a foot beyond the end of the haft and an equal distance down its length. A thick spike opposite the blade tapered to a sharp point. A rampant eagle adorned the face of the blade. Haft swung it in a short arc.
“Watch that!” Spinner jumped out of the way of the swing.
“Sorry.” Haft didn’t sound sorry, but he lowered the axe. He slipped his hand through its wrist strap and let it hang free. He picked up a crossbow. “This one always was better than mine,” he said. He slung it over his shoulder and opened a belt box of quarrels; it wasn’t quite full, so he opened another and jammed as many of its quarrels into the first as would fit.
Spinner found a full box of quarrels to put on his belt. His crossbow also went onto his shoulder. He opened his chest and withdrew an oilcloth-wrapped bundle. He opened it enough to make sure what it held, then sealed it closed again and tied it to his belt.
“Lord Gunny Says?” Haft asked, referring to the manual Spinner had.
Spinner nodded. “Never know when you’ll need it.” Then he looked at the hammock filled with coins and valuables. “Do you remember how much money you left in your chest?” he asked. Haft shook his head. “Neither do I.” Spinner considered a moment, then said, “I have a feeling our shipmates won’t be needing any money.” He pushed his hands, back to back, into the pile of coins and valuables and shoved them apart. “That pile’s yours,” he said. He grabbed the coins from the other pile and poured them into a soft leather pouch that he plucked from the pile on the hammock filled with usable items.
Haft considered the remaining pile for a moment. The coins in it were from a score of nations; some from the nations the Sea Horse visited in its trading, some from the home nations of the Marines. He wondered if the casual way Spinner divided the coins made a fair split. He decided they could settle it later if it wasn’t, and likewise filled a leather pouch.
Spinner pondered the remaining valuables for a moment. The talismans and decorations, like the coins, were from a score of nations. Some of the coins were Frangerian, but none of the rings or medallions were. Frangerian Marines were all foreigners, since native Frangerians were not allowed to serve their country that way—they were supposed to be traders, merchants, or craftsmen. Some men joined the Frangerian Marines because they sought adventure, some because they had a past they wanted to leave behind. It was the custom for them to adopt fierce, warlike names and never use their own while serving. That custom helped keep the past from catching up with those who wanted only a present or only a future. It also helped them seem more menacing to those they might have to fight.
Finally, Spinner selected three rings that fit and hung two gold medallions on gold chains around his neck. He shook his head sharply. “Why do I feel like a thief?”
“I don’t know. I don’t.” Haft started draping chains around his neck, filling his fingers with rings, circling his wrists with bracelets.
“I always thought you were a bit greedy, Haft.”
“Come on, Spinner. If we don’t take it, the Jokapcul will. Our shipmates would rather have us take their valuables than leave them for the Jokapcul.”
Spinner looked calmly at his friend. “You know, we have to swim back to shore. Do you really think you can swim with all that weight?”
Haft looked down at himself for a moment, considering. “Maybe not,” he finally said, and removed the smallest medallion, which hung from what looked to be the lightest chain. He looked up. “I’m ready anytime you are.”
Spinner looked at all the jewelry his friend wore and shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling this bay will soon have some very rich fish?”
Haft just looked at him.
Spinner never moved to pick up his saber. Like Haft, he had another weapon he preferred. Tied upright in a corner near the hatch stood a seven-foot-long staff nearly two inches in diameter. Spinner undid the thongs that held it in place and took it. “Let’s go.”
Again they ran quietly down the passageway. Halfway along, Spinner abruptly stopped and tried the hatch to the bosun’s cabin. The hatch was always secured; it wasn’t now. The Jokapcul who took the ship had broken it open. It scraped against its frame as it opened.
“In here,” Spinner murmured. Haft followed him into the cabin they had always been forbidden to enter.
The bosun was responsible for many things on board the ship. One of his responsibilities was to be keeper of the fire. An orange glow from a brazier fashioned of iron straps gave them a dim light to see by. The cabin was thoroughly ransacked.
“Bosun will have a fit when he sees this,” Haft murmured. Spinner grunted. “Oh, right,” Haft added. “He probably won’t be coming back.” He kicked at a small, broken chest leaning precariously against the bulkhead where someone had tossed it. The chest dropped to its side with a clatter.
“Stop that,” Spinner said, sharply but quietly. “Keep quiet.”
Haft grunted. But after a few seconds it was clear the noise hadn’t attracted the attention of anyone on deck.
Spinner breathed deeply and commenced a search. First he peered into the dark recesses of the shattered chest the bosun’s mattress normally lay across; the thin mattress was now flung into a corner. Unable to see anything, he probed into it with a sweeping hand. The chest, usually abrim with the weapons that were to be issued to the crew in emergencies, was empty. He picked up the mattress and stuffed it into the chest. The small, broken chest that Haft kicked went on top of the mattress. A middle-size chest that had held the bosun’s uniforms and other garb was also broken open and its contents strewn about. Spinner haphazardly tossed articles of clothing into it to clear the floor.
“This isn’t the time to clean the bosun’s cabin,” Haft said with urgency. He was growing anxious to leave the ship; every minute they stayed aboard increased their chances of being discovered.
“I’m not cleaning, I’m searching.”
“Searching for what?”
Spinner shook his head. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but surely the bosun’s cabin held something of value to them. He picked up the bosun’s dress sea-blue cloak to toss out of his way and a small object fell out of a fold. He picked the object up, looked closely at it, and said,
“Good.” He tucked it into the pouch with his money.
Haft had just enough time to see that it was metal, little more than the length of a man’s knuckle and not as high. In color, it was a dull silver, with scarlet and yellow flames painted on it. He recognized the magic house.
“That’s a salamander!” he exclaimed. “They’re dangerous!” The salamander’s house was constructed so that when its door was open a properly fed salamander could only come out partway and light a fire. Salamanders were always angry at their imprisonment.
Spinner shook his head. “There’s no magic to using salamanders, all you have to do is keep them fed.” He continued his search until he found a sealed canister, which he sniffed. “Good,” he said, “salamander food.” He found nothing else usable. Even the magician’s cabinet built into the bulkhead opposite the bosun’s chest-bed had been stripped, all its arcane contents either taken or broken. “That’s all,” Spinner said after his eyes swept the cabin one last time. “Let’s go.”
The hatch to the crews’ quarters now stood ajar and a dim light shone through it. Spinner was the first through the hatch and fell over a soldier who was bent over, breaking open a locked chest. Another soldier spun at the noise, drawing his sword. He saw Spinner sprawling across the deck and swung a vicious overhand blow at him.
“Spinner,” Haft cried out as he flipped his axe into his hand.
Spinner twisted his body, and momentum changed his sliding sprawl into a roll. The heavy blade of the Jokapcul sword thunked into the deck, just missing him.
Haft swung his weapon at the swordsman, but his blow was deflected by the blade of the man Spinner had tripped over, now on his feet with his sword in his hand. Haft spun out of the way of the soldier’s thrust.
In one fluid motion Spinner was on his feet, staff held in both hands, and sidestepped the next slash from the man who’d already swung at him. He started to swing his staff, but had to parry a thrust before his blow struck home.
Haft had problems with his man. The cabin could house twenty sailors, but it was barely bigger than the cramped cabin he normally shared with only five other Marines; there wasn’t enough room for him to use his axe effectively. He could parry and jab, but couldn’t swing very far. The Jokapcul soldier rushed in with a quick flurry of blows that kept Haft too busy parrying to jab. Then Haft ducked under his foe’s swing and tucked himself inside his arm. He gave a short chop to the man’s side below his ribs. The Jokapcul gave a sharp, anguished cry and stepped back, his hand clasped against the entrails boiling out of his body. Haft swung his axe in a tight upward circle and brought its blade down on his opponent’s neck. The enemy soldier crumpled to the deck, twitched a few times, and died.
Haft turned in time to see Spinner finish off his man. Spinner held the staff in front of him, spinning it like a baton, barely clearing the cabin’s deck and overhead, deflecting each blow his opponent directed at him. Suddenly his hands shifted on the staff and one end of it shot out, slamming against the soldier’s head with a crunch that left no doubt his skull was smashed. Spinner looked at the crumpled man in front of him for a second as though making sure he wasn’t faking.
“Let’s go,” Haft snapped. They heard a loud voice call out from the deck above.
Spinner reached the open porthole, climbed through, and dropped before Haft reached it. When Haft was halfway through the porthole himself, he heard the splash of Spinner hitting the water fifteen feet below. He scooted through head first and went straight into the water.
The decks of several nearby ships rang with cries of query, but the two in the water paid them no attention. They swam through the darkness under and between the ships. The sun was up now. Quickly, they swam inward in the mass of ships, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the Sea Horse. More voices were upraised on the ships. They heard the stomp of shod feet running along the decks.
Spinner pulled steadily ahead of Haft and turned at the second ship in when Haft was still only halfway past that ship. Spinner sprinted toward the dock. Haft splashed and struggled, weighted down by his weapons and the gold he’d taken. He gasped and foundered, and grimaced as he remembered what Spinner had said about rich fish. He bobbed in the water as he swam, his head below the surface more often than above it.
At last, after once spending almost more time under than he could hold his breath, he grabbed a dangling bumper line and paused to get his breath back. Spinner was right! Cursing silently, Haft jerked chains off his neck and bracelets from his wrists and let gold worth several years’ pay fall to the bottom of the bay. Then, unencumbered but for his weapons, pouches, one bracelet, and the rings on his fingers, he was able to continue through the water.
Spinner gave Haft’s bare neck a knowing look when the latter joined him at the base of the dock, but didn’t comment. Instead, he cocked his head and pointed upward.
Feet tramped hollowly on the wooden deck above their heads. Jokapcul soldiers were marching directly above them. And with the sun having risen, they could see each other clearly in the shadows between the ships and the dock.
CHAPTER
THREE
A sharp command was barked on the dock, and the tramp of feet slammed one-two to a halt. One pair of feet accompanied by the jangling of gear quick-marched a few paces: by the sound, an officer or a sergeant. Then the man barked a question. A sergeant, officers didn’t bark that harshly, not even Jokapcul officers. A distressed halloo answered him from the direction of the Sea Horse. The sergeant barked another question, received another distressed response, barked an order at his men. Several pair of feet quick-marched to the edge of the dock. Thuds sounded on the deck of the ship Spinner and Haft were next to as several soldiers jumped onto it from the dock. The disorderly thumps and clinks of men crossing an unfamiliar obstacle marked their passage across that ship to the next one out; they were hurrying from ship to ship to the Sea Horse. The sergeant barked another order, and a soldier broke from the line and ran back in the direction from which the formation had come. Then the sergeant growled something low at his remaining men.
Even though they didn’t understand the sergeant’s words, the growl sounded to Spinner and Haft like he told his men they would now wait in good order for something else to happen, or for the messenger he sent to come back with new orders from an officer. Sergeants of all armies sounded alike, no matter what language they spoke, so it didn’t take much imagination for the two Marines to follow the meaning of the sergeant’s barked orders and growled commands.
Spinner and Haft looked at each other: What do we do now? A formation of soldiers, probably a squad or two, was on the dock directly above them, between them and the shed where they’d hid their clothes. Soon the entire dock area would be alerted and a search organized. It probably wouldn’t be long before their clothes were found, then not much longer before they were found themselves. They were armed, but the odds against them were too great; they wouldn’t be able to fight their way to freedom, not through an entire army.
Spinner motioned Haft to follow and, careful to avoid making noise, half paddled and half pulled himself from piling to piling deeper under the dock.
Haft at first wondered if Spinner thought they could hide under the dock until nightfall, no matter how many swimmers the Jokapcul sent to search the water. Then he remembered the hole in the floor of the shed. The search for them would probably start on the ships near the Sea Horse and in the water around the ships and under the dock. It would be some time before the invaders launched a search on the docks themselves, and even longer before they started searching in the city proper. By then the two of them would have found a place to hide, a place to plan their next step. Somehow they had to free the prisoners. Or at least enough of the Frangerian Marines to fight back. If they could find a safe place . . . If they could find Marines, or even sea soldiers of another nation, held by few enough guards for them to overcome . . . If the prisoners weren’t locked away where they couldn’t get to them . . .
If a thousand other things. But Haft didn’t worry about the ifs; he never worried about the ifs. Once they were away from the docks, the odds against them would be greatly reduced. Besides, he had full confidence in his and Spinner’s fighting ability.
But first they had to find that hole in the dock, and the hole had to be big enough for them to get through. Was it big enough? Haft couldn’t remember. But that was an “if” he’d worry about later—if it had to be worried about at all.
In moments, they reached the seawall under the dock and found more problems. The tide was out, so the bottom of the dock was almost six feet above their bobbing heads, which would make the hole in the dock hard to reach. They paddled about for a few moments, looking for handholds on the barnacle and seaweed coated pilings, searching the darkness above for any hint of an opening in the dock, without seeing or feeling anything.
Haft wondered how deep the water was under the dock at low tide, and he felt with his feet—New Bally wasn’t known for the depth of its tides. He found the bottom and stood up. He tapped Spinner, who had to look up at his shorter companion.
Spinner gave a quick shake of his head and stood up, annoyed for not thinking of that himself. The water reached only the middle of his chest. It was shoulder deep to Haft.
Wading was less noisy than paddling and made looking up easier. They continued searching for the opening in the dock above them. Then Spinner probed up with his staff, making as little noise as possible.
After several moments, he said, “I found it.” Then he staggered as Haft unexpectedly clambered up to stand on his shoulders.
“Hold still,” Haft hissed. He crouched to keep from bumping his head while he felt with his hands just above his head. “We’re not directly under it, move a little to your left.”
Demontech: Onslaught Page 3