Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2)

by E. J. Robinson

“I will,” Friday promised.

  Robinson slipped into the large corridor that circled the inner pyramid. Candles were lit at various intervals, but they gave off little real illumination.

  Several times, he huddled in the shadows as guards or the Flayer elite passed by. Many were on their way outside to join the fête. No one had been alerted to his presence yet.

  Three men suddenly emerged from a door inside the ring. Two were clearly Flayers, but the sight of the third stunned Robinson. He wore the mark of the Aserra, and yet he walked without shackles.

  Two floors above, Friday was changing into the clothes of one of her victims. She wrapped a necklace of bones around her neck and tucked a dagger into her waistband. She saw the door leading to the stairs, but she had one stop to make first.

  Vardan Saah was sitting on his bed scouring over a set of papers when he heard a knock at the door.

  “Come,” he said in the pidgin language of this land. It felt dirty rolling off his tongue. He couldn’t wait to be done with it and these people and leave them all to rot, as they should have long ago.

  A small figure entered carrying a tray.

  “Food and water, m’lord,” a soft voice said.

  “There,” he said, pointing to a table without looking up.

  The figure set the tray down. It took Saah a moment to realize the person hadn’t left.

  “Well?” he said. “What else—”

  The first thing he noticed were the drops of blood spattered on the hem of her vest. The second was the jagged piece of metal clenched in her fist.

  “What do you want?” Saah said.

  “The key around your neck,” Friday answered calmly.

  He sat, shocked that the savage girl was in his room.

  “You won’t be able to fly it,” he said.

  Her grip on the sword flexed.

  Saah quickly pulled the cord with the flier’s key over his head and held it out.

  “Jaras told me you believe young Ser Crusoe is coming for you,” Saah said. “I’m sorry to say the world doesn’t work that way. There are no storybook endings anymore.”

  Friday tucked the key into the vest before her eyes were drawn to the papers strewn across the bed.

  “What are those?” she asked.

  “Relics. Once the beginning of the end, now the end of my beginning.”

  “If it’s the end you seek,” Friday said, “why wait?”

  Friday reared back with her weapon when the doors flew open and four Flayers ran into the room. She clubbed Saah across the head before turning back to face her opponents. They were well conditioned, better rested and fed, and confident in their numbers. The odds were not in Friday’s favor. But the Aserra never cared for odds.

  She did as she always did.

  She charged.

  Robinson waited until the moment the guards passed by to spring from the shadows, clubbing the first guard to the ground before spilling the guts of the second.

  The Aserra slave scrambled back across the floor, but Robinson held up his hands.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m looking for a girl. Aserra. Brought here by Arga’Zul.”

  “It’s you,” Valud said in disbelief. His eyes darted around. “She said you would come, but … I know where you can find her. Follow me.”

  He rose and led Robinson toward the inner doors. Robinson stopped, hesitant.

  “Quickly,” Valud said. “She’s just inside.”

  Valud opened the central door and waved Robinson forward. As he approached the door, Valud reached for the dagger he kept in the narrow of his back.

  Robinson got a glimpse of the palace room before he sensed Valud’s movement. He wheeled back at the last moment, but the dagger still opened a gash across his shoulder.

  Valud swung his blade again, gnashing his teeth and shifting his balance to keep Robinson off the balls of his feet. This man was Aserra. There was no doubt. And yet his moves were slow and indecisive, as if he hadn’t wielded a blade in some time.

  “Don’t you understand?” Robinson said. “We’re on the same side!”

  “I am on my side,” Valud spat. “And you have no place here!”

  Valud swung the dagger in great arcs that made it difficult for Robinson to counter. He tried to lock onto the rhythm of the swings, but the dark, smoky corridor made it hard to see.

  Robinson’s tomahawk swung in counter movements, pairing the men in a dance of death, each waiting for the other to make that singular mistake that led to victory or defeat.

  Robinson feinted high and went low. The blade caught Valud on the outside of the thigh, and he stumbled. Robinson brought the axe up, but Valud rolled out of the way a moment before the axe struck the ground.

  Valud screamed with rage and charged Robinson, who stumbled over one of the dead Flayers on the floor. Valud swooped in for the killing blow but was shocked when a red light blinded him.

  Robinson couldn’t pull the trigger—it would alert every Flayer in the village to his presence—but the laser was distraction enough to let Robinson bring the axe down on Valud’s foot, cleaving it in two.

  Valud choked out half a scream before Robinson pivoted hard and took his head off with a single whack, sending it rolling down the hallway.

  Robinson was stumbling to his feet when something at the far end of the corridor caught his eye. A Flayer rushed down the stairs before turning quickly for the pyramid’s front entrance. There was something familiar in that gait.

  “Friday?” Robinson called.

  Friday never heard it. She was already pushing through the front door. She expected immediate resistance. What she saw instead was the guards suddenly breaking from the pyramid to run toward the bazaar. She immediately realized she had a very real chance to flee unseen. She pulled a hood over her face and kept her eyes down as she descended the steps.

  As she entered the crowd, she sensed, as they had, something big was about to happen.

  Chapter Thirty

  Countdown

  Boss’s men were unloading the last car of gunpowder. She had told them to go slow to buy the kid some time, but it was becoming obvious that he wouldn’t return.

  At the same time, the Flayer army loomed ever closer. They appeared relaxed, as if their presence there was nothing more than show, but a niggling fear began to eat away at Boss. There was a current of tension coming from the crowd that didn’t feel right. They were excited, which made sense, as they were a part of this fête, but Boss had survived on her gut feeling, and now it was telling her to be wary.

  Boss had always known betrayal was a possibility. It didn’t make sense, but few things of this world did. She’d taken what precautions she could, but something told her it wasn’t enough. Even if she had brought every Big Hat in Cowboytown and armed them with rifles and guns, they still wouldn’t have the numbers to defeat the army before her.

  Boss gave a special signal to Mr. Dandy in the cab. He pulled one of the Big Hats close, and the man went to retrieve a box.

  Out across the bazaar, a wave of cheers went up. The crowd surged together and then parted as Baras’Oot’s retinue arrived. He was carried on an ornate palanquin. He waved languidly to the crowd that gesticulated with reverence as he passed.

  Boss felt her throat tighten as his sideshow approached and came to a halt some fifty paces away.

  Boss gave a quick bow, and Baras’Oot nodded in return.

  Arga’Zul approached.

  “Seventy tons of gunpowder delivered to you on time, as promised,” Boss said. “Can I assume the food stocks are nearby?”

  Arga’Zul looked past her.

  “I like your ship,” he said.

  “Thank you. It’s called a train.”

  Arga’Zul grinned at her correction.

  “It goes where my ship does not.”

  “Anywhere there are rails.”

  “I think I’ll take it too.”

  The buzz in her belly went nuclear, but Boss held her
ground.

  “I’m afraid it’s not for sale,” Boss said. “And in case you’ve forgotten, we already have a bargain. The gunpowder for the food stocks.”

  “I offer a new bargain,” Arga’Zul said. “Give me the train and I will let you live. Your men … I will take as slaves.”

  “And if I say ‘no’?” Boss asked.

  Arga’Zul looked back to his brother and then smiled again.

  “You will die,” he said.

  And then Arga’Zul held up a fist. The Bone Flayer army immediately fell into fighting stance, archers drawing back bows. On the train and below, the Big Hats pulled their guns.

  The moment was electric.

  And then Boss held up a device.

  “Then I reckon we’ll have to die together,” she said.

  Arga’Zul frowned.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s called an explosive charge, made from the very gunpowder sitting at your feet. I’ve hidden one of these in each bundle of gunpowder. If your army attacks, boom. If you try to find them, boom. I estimate just one could take out half the folks on this parade ground. Reckon all three might take out that fancy pyramid as well. If I were you, I’d honor our agreement, give us the food you promised, and let us go on our way.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Arga’Zul said, but he seemed unsure.

  “Oh, you think so? Maybe this’ll change your mind.”

  She pulled a pin, and the device started ticking.

  “You have sixty seconds,” Boss said.

  Arga’Zul’s smile faded. He searched Boss’s eyes but found no deception and too little fear there. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He looked back at his brother and saw his retinue drawing back.

  Arga’Zul signaled one of the warriors at the front of the line and pointed to the device in Boss’s hands. The Bone Flayer did as ordered. He approached Boss, who saw no reason not to hand it over.

  The Flayer quickly turned and sprinted toward the river. Boss prayed the kid had designed it correctly. If it failed to go off or took too long, they were all dead.

  “Now, we find out,” Arga’Zul said. “But if you are bluffing, I will flay every inch of your skin and feed on it personally.”

  Everyone kept their eyes on the young savage as he ran across the parade ground, save Boss and Arga’Zul. Their eyes stayed locked on each other.

  When the minute seemed to pass, Arga’Zul’s mouth curled.

  And then a deafening blast erupted near the water, and the crowd reared back in horror.

  Baras’Oot’s retinue turned and quickly ushered him away.

  Boss smiled.

  Arga’Zul felt a desire to rush Boss and snap her neck with his bare hands. But this was only a brief setback. Both he and the train woman knew he could crush her precious town at any time. Part of him even admired her for her courage. But it sent a message to his people that he would have to rectify.

  “Give her the supplies,” Arga’Zul said to his men.

  Boss took a deep breath as the tension seeped from her body.

  The food supplies had been stored on the opposite side of the bazaar. Shortly thereafter, Bone Flayers began arriving with boxes of produce and livestock.

  Mr. Dandy counted the supplies as they were loaded onto the train. Boss had insisted the gunpowder not be removed until everything in her ledger was accounted for.

  Mox watched the goods come in with mounting frustration. Part of him expected a fight. The stranger kid had beaten him on the train—embarrassed him, really. He never expected the kid to be so fast. But he shouldn’t have been surprised. He was one of those people who everything seems to turn out right for, unlike Mox. He’d always had rotten luck. Now, he’d return to Cowboytown and be the butt of everyone’s jokes. Even worse, if the kid came back, he’d be the one on the outside. And that didn’t mean more sentry duty out at the yards. It meant him on a boat to somewhere else. And that didn’t sit right. Not at all.

  As Mox looked out, he saw a group of scantily clad women standing at the edge of the bazaar. They were dark-skinned and wore heavy makeup that made them look foreign and unlike anyone at Cowboytown.

  “Hey, Boss,” Mox said. “What say you get the big fella there to throw in a couple of his whores? We need some new stock.”

  “You know I don’t barter in slaves,” Boss said. “Get back to work.”

  “So you can help the kid find his girl, but you can’t get one for me? I’ve been working for you for five years.”

  “And you’ll be out of work unless you do your job and let me do mine. I’m the boss here, remember?”

  “Maybe that should change,” Mox muttered.

  Mox suddenly had an idea.

  “Hey, Chief,” he called to Arga’Zul. “You know you’re getting screwed here, dontcha?”

  “What are you doing?” Boss asked.

  “Cheated,” Mox said. “You savvy, cheated?”

  “Mox, shut the hell up,” Boss said.

  Arga’Zul’s eyes narrowed. “Cheated how?”

  Boss saw the situation spiraling out of control. She signaled her men to pull Mox back, but it was too late.

  “Our fearless leader here brought a kid to your village. Set him off soon as we arrived. He means to take something don’t belong to him, understand?”

  “Something?” Arga’Zul asked.

  “Someone,” Mox said, grinning. “A girl. A savage girl.”

  Arga’Zul suddenly reached out and grabbed Mox by the shirt.

  “Describe this boy,” Arga’Zul barked.

  “Sure, sure,” Mox said, realizing he’d made a terrible mistake. “He’s a foreigner. Has a funny accent and carries an axe—”

  Arga’Zul whirled and took off for the pyramid in a dead run, screaming at his warriors as he passed.

  “Kill them!” he said.

  The Bone Flayers charged, forcing the cowboys to open fire. As bullets and arrows flew, the Big Hats took shelter behind the mountains of gunpowder and what stacks of food remained outside the train.

  Boss pulled both her pistols and dove behind the first gunpowder mound, screaming, “Start the train!”

  Mr. Dandy hustled into the engine cab.

  The parade ground descended into pandemonium. Somewhere in the crowd, pounding drums sounded and drowned out the crackling gunfire. Mox fired into the crowd, but an arrow struck him in the hamstring and another in the back. He cried out as he fell, begging his men to come back for him, but the Flayers were too quick. The horde was on him in an instant, dragging him back into the heart of the crowd, where they tore him limb from limb.

  Boss knew the time for hard measures had come. She whistled and gave the signal to arm the detonators. She armed the one in the gunpowder mound in front of her and ran for the train.

  The countdown had begun.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Exodus

  The eruption of gunfire echoed across the bazaar. Though the sound was unfamiliar to most, the rush of Bone Flayers speeding toward the parade grounds sent a wave of panic through the crowd.

  Traders watched in confusion as the merchants quickly closed up shop and motioned angrily for them to leave. Bewilderment quickly turned into dread as villagers began running for the safety of the pyramid. The war cries could soon be heard over the trampling of feet, followed by the release of arrows and screams.

  Friday pushed against the current of the byzantine grounds until she came in sight of the building that held the flier. Four guards stood outside. Although they remained at their post, Friday could see they were tense—their focus solely on the battle unfolding without them.

  She looked for a weapon.

  Jaras had heard the train’s arrival and wanted to see it for himself. It was a seminal piece of the industrial revolution, and yet its colorful fortifications made it look almost comical.

  There was no laughing, however, when Arga’Zul abruptly fled the parade ground. The familiar pit of bile began to churn in his belly. H
e was already on his heels when the fighting started and a wave of war cries swept over the yard, mixed with the flight of bullets that sounded like angry bees.

  In the chaos that ensued, Jaras was knocked from his feet, the dust growing so thick he could hardly see. He regained his feet and called out for his escorts to return him to the pyramid, but they had abandoned him to join the battle.

  Somewhere in the distance, the drums of war began to sound, sending currents of electricity up through the soles of Jaras’s feet. When the train engine roared to life, he felt his bladder threaten to release.

  A stampede of foreign merchants were rushing for the docks when the Flayers began indiscriminately cutting them down. Jaras was horrified. He began pushing against the mob when he was struck hard across the back of the head and went down. His vision was swimming, but the bodies clamoring around him threatened to trample over him. Already his hands were getting stepped on as the swath of bodies moved past.

  Jaras stood, but swayed. His vision was blurred and the boom of the drums sent excruciating waves of pain through his head. He spun around, trying to get his bearings when he was buffeted in the crowd.

  Jaras saw a flash of color and recognized one of the palace guards. He reached out for the man.

  “You!” Jaras shouted. “I need you to return me to the palace at once.”

  The Flayer brushed his arm aside, but when Jaras grabbed him again, the man shoved him into the crowd. He saw the rage in the man’s eyes—his thirst for blood—and tried to back away.

  Then a fracas erupted behind him. Two traders tried to take off with goods they claimed to have paid for. It didn’t matter if they had or hadn’t, a merchant took out a sword and slayed them at Jaras’s feet.

  Blood splashed across Jaras’s face, but he couldn’t retreat anymore. The screams of other traders erupted as more merchants armed themselves. The moment was descending into madness. Jaras could scarcely breathe. Things begin flying in the air. Jaras ducked what he could, but something slammed into his ear, drawing more blood.

  He wanted to cry out, but he was short of breath. People started to run. He was caught in the tide, slammed between merchants desperate to flee. The villagers began hacking at the crowd. Jaras’ vision continued to blur. Brutalities broke out around him as the mob descended into total chaos.