The Hellhound Consortium

by B A Simmons

  Just after sunrise the next day, the party left Cici. Mark paid Howard’s asking price of two silvers per bomb along with an advance payment for more grenade shells. Cici’s potters were familiar with the design, having made many for Tremblay in years past.

  They followed the coastline of Big Nose southward, passing by another town called Port Charles on the map. It was near the end of the second day that they found themselves mooring at the Southport docks. No harbormaster greeted them, only suspicious and leering eyes from those on other nearby ships. Mark ordered five guards on watch at each ship while he, Alistair, and Gus made their way into town.

  Unlike Safe Harbor, Port Edward, or even Port John, there were few lamps to light up the night. Given the circumstances, this created more anxiety for the three men. Gus walked with his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for any threat. Alistair stayed close to Mark, helping search the streets for both threats and their destination.

  After what seemed to them hours of wandering the town, they finally saw it—a dimly lit building with a white skull painted on the door, on either side of which stood two large and scruffy-looking guards. As Mark approached the door, one of them held up a hand.

  “Are you lost?”

  “Isn’t this a tavern? We’d like to go inside,” Mark said.

  “It’s a private establishment. Unless you have business with someone here, I suggest you find somewhere else to drink.”

  After a moment’s hesitation Mark said, “And if we’d like to have drinks with Edward . . . the Toad?”

  “Do you have an appointment?” The guard said it as a threat.

  “No.”

  The guard looked at his companion. “Go see if he’s busy.”

  The man knocked twice on the door. A small porthole opened, allowing light to illuminate his face. A moment later, the door opened and he was allowed in. As the door shut again, Mark noted there were no handles on the outside of the sturdy barrier.

  The remaining guard stood, staring at Mark and his two companions with menacing eyes as if to test their resolve. The uncomfortable scene continued for some time before the door opened again. Someone placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder and he cocked his head slightly to hear the whisper in his ear. He nodded.

  He looked at Mark. “You leave your weapons with me.”

  Mark drew out his sword and knife, handing both over to the guard. Gus and Alistair followed suit, and all three of them were permitted inside.

  The scene that greeted Mark’s eyes was difficult to make out. Only a few candles and oil lamps lit the table-strewn room. To the left, along the wall, stood a long serving bar, the patrons of which hunched over their drinks while looking surreptitiously from side to side. Those sitting at tables or on randomly placed chairs seemed more alert of their surroundings. Some gave heed to the three strangers in their midst, but many continued their sordid conversations and indifferent vigils without giving Mark so much as a glance.

  Mark noted that every one of them was armed with a short sword or axe. Above the bar, a curious object hung as a weapon on display. It had the appearance of a hand cannon with an elongated barrel. The stock was oddly shaped too, and the whole object was the same dingy white color all over. As their escort led them past the bar, Mark noted a word written on the stock near the grip—Shintoku. It made no sense to him, but he was too worried about other matters to care at that moment.

  Through a door at the end of the room, Mark passed into a smaller room. If it were possible, it seemed dimmer than the first. There were two more guards standing just inside. Three empty chairs awaited them, in front of which, sitting upon his own ornately carved, bejeweled wing-backed throne, sat a short but very muscular fellow. He wore a thick sword belt around his waist. The hilt of the sword hanging there was silver, with a large ruby for the pommel. Below the belt, his black pants and leather boots were ordinary. Above the belt, he wore only an open, sleeveless jacket. For a moment, Mark wondered why the man’s chest was so dark, while his face was obviously white. Then he realized that his chest and arms were almost completely covered in tattoos. Above and behind him, two long spears crossed each other on the wall. From each of these was hung a black pennant flag bearing the same white skull design.

  “Come, sit,” the man said with a smile. “You’re welcome here.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Mark asked, “You’re Edward? The toad?”

  Edward smiled wider, “It’s just a nickname. You know, after you kill a dozen or more enemies with a spear, people like to give you a nickname. Now sit.”

  Mark, Alistair, and Gus each accepted the invitation. The man’s friendly manner threw off their expectations. There was another moment of awkward silence.

  “If you want to do business with me, you’d best start by telling me your names.”

  “I’m Mark Engleman. I come from an island called Engle Isle.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Yes, well . . . we’re under threat of invasion from the Falcon Empire. You may have heard that they conquered an island called Alimia late last year.”

  “So you’re them?”

  “Them?” Mark questioned.

  “Them. The men fighting the Falcons on Alimia.”

  “Oh yes, that’s us.”

  Edward leaned back in his chair. “Who told you to come to me?”

  “We learned of you through a contact on Fallen Dome. An antique jewelry dealer called—”

  “No names,” Edward interrupted. “I know who you’re talking about now. And I think I know why you’re here. You need powder to fight your little war with the Falcons.”

  “Yes, that’s why we’re here.”

  “I can provide you with some powder, but it’ll be expensive. The Falcons have been shutting down black market suppliers from inside their borders. And with those borders expanding as they have, well, it makes such dealings more difficult than they were already.”

  “We can pay.”

  “I like your confidence Mark Engleman, but can you pay twenty gold per pound?”

  Mark had never been great at mathematics. At that moment, he wished Rob was with him. He tried to do the figures in his head, but then gave up.”

  “Yes,” he said. “We will take fifty pounds.”

  Edward smiled again. “I like meeting you honorable fighters. You remind me of myself, years ago.”

  “What happened?” Alistair asked. Mark cringed at the question. Gus looked to the guards behind them.

  Edward’s smile faded, but he seemed to understand Alistair’s naïvety.

  “You start out with the best intentions, boy. You fight for honor, for glory, and for country. Then you fight for the man next to you because if you don’t fight, you both die. But then something changes. Honor and glory don’t put food in your belly. They don’t repair your ships, and they sure as Ayday don’t ease the pain of dead friends and sleepless nights. So you have to change too. You start fighting for money and when nobody is willing to pay you, you fight to take what you need. You make your own honor and your glory comes from still being alive after your enemies are all gone. That’s the Punisher way, isn’t it lads!”

  A loud “hoo-ah!” sounded from the guards at the door.

  “Punisher?” Alistair asked.

  “Come here, boy. All of you come here. I’m going to show you something because I like you and I must be in a good mood today.”

  Edward stood up and moved to a chest resting on the floor behind him. After a minute of rummaging about inside it, he retrieved a leather tube. He pulled gloves over his hands and with a grin stretching from ear to ear, he carefully reached inside. Holding it gingerly between his fingertips, he withdrew a booklet.

  “This is something I picked up after a battle in the seas around Whitby Isle.”

  He held the booklet near the lamp to show his guests. Mark could see a man on the cover. This man stood tall with muscled arms and chest like Edward. In his hand, he held something that must have bee
n a cannon of some sort, for the artist had drawn a wisp of smoke coming from one end. His tunic was black with a white skull, the same skull that decorated Edward’s tavern. Above the man were the words The Punisher in bold lettering. Truly, none of them had ever seen such a piece of art before.

  “I’d let you touch it, but a certain antiques dealer we both know advised me not to. I rarely touch it myself. It’s quite old and valuable. As you can also see, it is my inspiration. The Punisher is a man rejected by the world, as I have been. So, he makes his own laws and his own place.”

  “I think there’s a lot of that going on these days,” Mark said. He wasn’t thinking of himself, though he later realized it was the impression he gave.

  Edward replaced the booklet and reached an arm out to Mark. As they shook he said, “The best of luck to you in your fight. If you need men of my sort, you know where to find us.”

  “Thank you. I’ll have your money at the docks when you bring the powder.”

  Edward insisted on giving Mark an escort. Three tattooed and armed men flanked Mark, Alistair, and Gus as they returned to the ships. Within an hour, another group of men, armed to the teeth and led by Edward himself, arrived protecting a wooden box. Mark strode forward with a box of his own, full of gold coin. The boxes were opened to reveal their contents and then exchanged.

  Before they could exchange the customary farewell pleasantries, a voice called out to them.

  “Well, well, well! I see you neglected to do your homework, Edward.”

  They turned to see a white-haired and stout man wearing a patch over his left eye. He sauntered forward with the butt of a readied crossbow resting on his hip.

  Mark noticed Edward and his men tense up as the latter replied, “What do you mean by that, Kelly?”

  “I’m here to give you a chance, Toad. Out of respect for your reputation, I am warning you leave the box this fellow has just given you and depart in peace. There’s a reward for your new associates here, and I’ll be having that as well as your goods and their payment. Be wise in your decision; you are surrounded by my men.”

  Mark looked back to the Entdecker and Anna Louisa only to see his crew looking out to sea. The sails of a large ship could be seen a couple hundred yards behind the two visiting vessels.

  “Your men?” Edward retorted. “Kelly, the only thing your men are good for is feeding nessies. You may have us surrounded, but any one of my Punishers is worth ten of yours.”

  “So be it,” Kelly said, and he aimed the crossbow.

  14 – Homefront

  Pete Engleman was home again. However, it didn’t look quite the same as when he had left it the month previous. A short stone wall stood as a barrier separating the docks from the town of Port John. As a defensive fortification, it wasn’t much to look at from the bay. It wasn’t until the Alphina was moored and Pete had come ashore that he realized there was more to it.

  As he mounted the stairs, Pete realized that the wall was being supported by earth on the opposite side. Tons of it had been moved there by the Engle Islanders in their absence. While there were still gaps needing to be filled, he noticed Roger’s head pop up near the south end.

  “Hallooo! Pete, welcome back!”

  “Roger, what are you doing down there?”

  “I’m figuring the amount of fill we need to place here to create a firing platform.”

  “A firing platform for what?”

  “Our mangle nell,” Roger said with a proud smile.

  “Our mangle what?”

  Roger pointed behind him to a strange structure sitting on four wheels. He led Pete over to the device and explained it with the same excitement a young boy might have in explaining his own drawing to a parent.

  “This is the arm,” he said, pointing to the large spoon-like piece in the center. “It holds the shot, which is mostly rocks, but we could look at making some firebombs in the future. The arm is set in the coil, which we’ve made from the strongest ropes we could find. At least, Mister Turl assured me they’re the strongest on the island.”

  “If Jasper Turl made them, then they are the best to be had,” Pete confirmed.

  “The coil is kept taut so that when the arm is pulled back, a job for at least three men, it must be held by this pin while loading and aiming.”

  Pete noted a thick wood pin set into the base frame of the device. It looked ready to be slid into a bronze ring hanging from the arm. A long, thin rope attached to the pin was laid out behind the mangle nell.

  “Once we’ve loaded the shot, we use these wedges to adjust the tilt and, if necessary, we can adjust the crossbeam also. This allows us to aim.”

  Pete picked it up from there. “Then, when you’re ready to fire, you pull the pin.”

  Roger beamed, “Yes, that’s right. And oh, does this kid jump. We’ve got that coil wound tighter than a miser’s fist.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.”

  Pete was impressed but curious. “Have you tested it yet?”

  “We’ll do more than that! As soon as I’ve got that platform ready, we’ll mark out bearing to see exactly where in the bay she can hit. I’m willing to bet she can almost reach the eastern shore.”

  Just as Pete was about to congratulate Roger for his work, a familiar face arrived. Pete beamed at Alphina Smith, her arms holding a basket of food.

  “Hoy, my love! I’ve brought you some lunch,” she called out, looking right past Pete.

  “Alphina darling!” Roger said.

  “Darling?!” Pete said.

  Alphina finally noticed who it was standing with Roger.

  “Pete! You’re back!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, I’m back. Perhaps you thought I wouldn’t be?”

  Roger stood with a confused look on his face while Alphina’s face flushed.

  “Alphina, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing, Roger,” Pete said. “I’m glad to see that you’re being made to feel at home here. Has Alphina been accommodating?”

  “She’s . . . well yes. Is there something . . . um, I’m missing something.”

  “No worries,” Pete said. “I should have known better. At least she’s not laughing this time. Pardon me, I have to go give the Campbell family news of their sons.”

  Pete walked stolidly from the awkward scene.

  After giving the sad news of Shawn’s death to his family, Pete was in a right disgruntled mood. He decided a visit to Harrisville to report to the Council of Elders would be the best course of action to cheer himself. Why he thought this, not even he understood.

  As he was the only one of the native Englemans back on the island, he felt obliged to stop at his uncle’s farm on the way. As he approached the house, he heard the sounds of laughter and soft voices coming from the garden. Peering around the corner, he saw his cousin Lisette lying on the ground with her head couched upon the sturdy chest of John Cooper. While innocent enough in appearance, the couple was obviously enamored with each other, for as they conversed in tender tones, John ran his fingers through Lisette’s long brunette locks. It was enough to bring Pete out of his unhappiness.

  Lisette saw the spying face and reacted as if she’d been caught stealing sweets from the pantry.

  “Pete! You’re back!”

  “Yes, and I seem to be interrupting all the lovers on this island today.”

  “What?”

  John grunted as he slowly brought himself upright. “Good to see you, Pete! Don’t tell me the war’s over already.”

  “Would you be disappointed if it was?”

  Both John and Lisette gave sheepish smiles.

  “How are things going out there?” John asked pointedly.

  “We’re doing well. We’ve fought the Falcons on Alimia again and on the sea, with only a few casualties. We’ve also got full crews for the Alphina and for our new ship, the Old Man.”

  “The Old Man?” they both asked.

  “I’ll explain that later. Is your fathe
r home, Lisette? I was hoping he could accompany me to Harrisville to make my report to the council.”

  “Oh . . . Pete. Father’s no longer on the council,” Lisette said.

  “What?! Why?”

  “Local politics,” said a voice from behind him.

  Pete turned to see his uncle Mark standing in front of the house. After a hearty embrace, the group went indoors to escape the heat of the early summer sun.

  “I resigned my position on the council almost two weeks ago. I had to or there may have been worse consequences.”

  “Damn that Mister Jones!” Lisette spat.

  “Lisette!” John said, more in surprise than in scolding.

  “Raymond Jones is just as concerned for the safety of this island and its people as we all are. He just disagrees with us on how we should go about ensuring that safety.”

  “He lied about you, father! You and Lewis Johnson.”

  “He didn’t lie. He expressed his belief and was very convincing about it.”

  “What happened?” Pete said. “Wait, is Mister Johnson off the council also?”

  “No, he’s still on,” Mark said. “Mister Jones believes that we were using this crisis with the Falcon Empire to exercise undue authority over everyone. His words.”

  “We? You mean our families?”

  John answered, “The Engleman and Johnson families together with us, the mercenaries.”

  “How could anyone believe that?” Pete asked.

  “As incredible as it sounds to us, after the battle outside John’s Bay and the death of George Beckworth, there were many who began to agree with him.”

  “Why did you resign, uncle? Why not fight him back? Show him we’re not out to gain power.”

  “I did exactly that by resigning, Pete. Stepping down allows me to show everyone that I have no intention of installing myself or my sons as dictators over this island.”

  “There’s always been an Engleman on the council, until now.”

  “I have no doubt that there will be an Engleman on the council again, just not me. Besides, now I can focus more on my family and farm. There’s a lot of extra work to do and I’ve only got John here to replace Mark and Rob.”