A baseball bat worked against Daleks, and gold coins did for Cybermen. Neither, Ace thought, would be of much help in the storming of a fortified palace. Ace considered what she knew about besieging castles, and decided she didn’t know much. She concluded that, when in doubt, she should arm herself with some explosives.
And, she thought, casting her mind back to black-and-white films about Ruritania and men in iron masks, there are probably dangerous, swashbuckling prisoners who’d be handy in a punch-up, if released and armed.
Dungeons and ammo stores. Both downstairs, probably.
Bep-Wor woke with a start. He had been dozing, curled on the floor, dreaming. He had been sitting on the veranda, watching the crimson sea, with the aroma of frying herbs and fish floating by him on the warm breeze. From the kitchen came a voice, calling him. Kia-Ga.
He sobbed with anguish when he remembered where he was.
He could see the walls. There was light. The door, high up, at the top of the stairway, was open. Not much light: just the glimmer of a torch in the corridor beyond the door.
A lone figure stood in the doorway. A boy - no, a young woman.
‘Blimey, what a stench,’ the woman said. Then she raised her voice. ‘Anyone down there?’
Whoever she was, she wasn’t one of the King’s guards.
‘Here,’ Bep-Wor called out.
His voice emerged from his throat as a whispered croak. He hadn’t spoken for hours. He tried again. ‘Over here! There are about a hundred of us.’
‘Who are you?’ the woman shouted.
‘We’re from the other world,’ Bep-Wor shouted back. ‘The world called Mendeb Two. We used to be free.’
‘You’ll not be chums of the King, then,’ the woman said.
‘Good. Well, you’re free again. Something’s going on: an attack on the palace, I think. War, rebellion, that kind of thing. Join in, if you want. I’m off to find some dynamite.’
‘I know something of this attack,’ Bep-Wor started to say, but the young woman had gone from the doorway.
But the door remained open.
Bep-Wor stood on trembling legs. ‘Up!’ he exhorted the prisoners. ‘Come! Let us leave this pit.’
By the dim light he could see the shapes of his comrades moving sluggishly as they tried to rouse themselves.
‘Would the Doctor want us to remain here as slaves?’ he cried. ‘No! The Doctor would lead us up, and into the light.
For his sake, let us march once more. We may yet die. But we will die free.’
‘Doctor! Doctor!’ The chant began, quietly at first, and then with increasing force as the men and women dragged themselves up from the foetid floor.
Still chanting, they followed Bep-Wor up the steps.
When Madok reached Carracton Square he rode his camelope straight into the patch of green lawn at its centre.
Here, at least, there was comparative peace. On all sides of the square, citizens of the city were leaning from their upper windows, hurling questions and rubbish on to the brawling soldiers below. As far as Madok could tell none of the soldiers were Kedin’s men: the fight seemed to be between a troop of the King’s guards and a contingent of the citizens’ militia.
His five men followed him into the tree-ringed haven.
‘Dismount,’ Madok said, ‘and tether your steeds. We’ll go on foot from here. We’re too visible riding.’ He tied the reins of his camelope to the outstretched hand of the statue of Count Carracton.
‘It’s slow progress either way,’ one of the Harran men said.
‘Half the city’s locked itself indoors. The other half’s out on the streets and fighting mad.’
‘And not much sign of the covert units,’ Madok said.
‘Although that’s as it should be. Plenty of evidence of where they’ve set fires and charges.’
‘It’s keeping the guards busy just fighting the flames.’
‘Keep your guns hidden, if you can,’ Madok said. ‘Now we’re on foot we may once again pass as farmers.’ He stuffed his handgun into the front of his jerkin. He didn’t feel comfortable out of uniform, but it would have been folly to ride into the King’s capital as an identifiable follower of Kedin Ashar.
‘We’ve seen enough of the skirmishing in the suburbs,’ he told his men. ‘The indications are that the main forces have advanced into the inner city. Everything’s going to plan. We’ll make for the Citadel gates.’
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his rough woollen trousers, lowered his head, affected a slouch, and set off into the burning, brawling streets.
He and his men walked as two groups of three, so as to look less threatening. They were uniformly tall and strong for farm workers, and they walked with a sense of purpose that was strange to see in out-of-towners on a late-night spree, but the citizens and soldiery of Gonfallon city had too many other concerns to inspect too closely two groups of slightly-drunken country folk.
They passed a warehouse with flames leaping from its roof.
Furtive figures were running from its broken doors, carrying away bundles of loot.
They entered a wide avenue, only to find it blocked with a barricade of merchants’ carts. The soldiers behind the barricade, militia commanded by officers from the King’s guard, had their weapons aimed and ready to rake the avenue with bullets. But there was no sign of an enemy for them to shoot at.
They heard, nearby, the sounds of an intense gun-battle.
They heard, distantly, occasional explosions. The sky was orange with reflected fire; the air smelt of smoke.
Three guards emerged from an alley to challenge Madok and the two men beside him. Madok prevaricated, acting drunk, until the other three came up behind the guards. It was six against three: the guards fell before they could summon aid.
They passed the sites of earlier battles: blood running between the cobbles, the smell of gunpowder, ungainly bodies in stained uniforms. Madok was relieved to see that few of the dead were Kedin’s men.
They came upon a crowd in a wide street: the people, quiet and curious, were surrounding an abandoned machine.
Madok held up his hand to indicate that his men should remain in the shadows; he staggered across the street and pushed his way into the crowd.
‘Never seen anything like it,’ a woman said. It’s unnatural.’
‘The self-propelled vehicle is modern, that’s a fact,’ a man said, ‘but as for the device on top of it...’
‘Could it be a bomb?’ someone else said, and the crowd drew back as one.
Madok recognised the machine at once. It was one of the weapons taken from the space station, mounted on one of the latest self-propelled vehicles. It was the disrupter that had shattered the gate of the inner city and allowed in Kedin’s main force, led by Lafed. It was destroyed: its funnel-shaped barrel was broken, its casing pierced with bullet-holes.
‘That’s bad,’ Madok muttered to his men when he rejoined them. ‘Lafed will find it hard going at the Citadel gates without the disrupter.’
‘We’re almost there,’ one of the men pointed out. ‘I can hear the fighting.’
They rounded two more corners, and it became obvious that a fierce battle was in progress nearby. Two cargo vehicles, parked sideways, blocked the street ahead of them.
The rattle of guns and the whine of bullets were continuous.
Any slight hiatus was filled with the shouting of orders and the cries of wounded men. Shadows danced against the lurid colours of the flames that coated the tall buildings.
‘Stop!’ a voice shouted from behind the vehicles. ‘No further or we’ll shoot.’
These were Lafed’s men: the rearguard, defending his position against attack from behind. And to judge from the few troops guarding the rear, Madok concluded that Lafed had found it necessary to commit virtually all his forces forward.
Madok held up his hands. ‘I’m Madok,’ he said. ‘Aide to Kedin Ashar.’
There was a silence. Madok imagined the whispered discussion betw
een the sentries. ‘Advance,’ a voice said.
Gesturing to his men to stay back, Madok walked towards the vehicles. He hoped that the sentries - no doubt the least experienced of Lafed’s troops - had steady trigger fingers.
‘It is Madok,’ a voice rang out. ‘I saw him once. It’s him.’
Madok ran forward and squeezed through the gap between the vehicles. He was appalled to find only three men, and youngsters at that, on duty.
‘Those are my men,’ he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Let them pass. We’ve ridden here from Grake – we took the castle earlier this evening. My men are exhausted.
I’ll leave them here with you. It looks as though you could do with reinforcements. Where’s Lafed?’
‘At the front, sir.’ The lad pointed up the street, although it was obvious where the battle was taking place. The twin towers of the Citadel gateway loomed above the tall mansions that lined the street; in front of the wedge-shaped bases of the towers, each as large as the prow of an ocean-going ship, a ribbon of men and machines sheltered behind a makeshift barrier of vehicles, fallen statues, and the bodies of the dead.
Bullets and grenades rained down from the towers; intermittently, rockets and bullets were fired from the ground towards the battlements.
Madok didn’t like the look of it at all. Lafed’s force had been pinned down in front of the gates, and without the disrupter there seemed no prospect of breaking through.
Crouching, and keeping under the eaves of the houses, Madok ran towards the cacophony of the battle. He found Lafed directing his troops’ fire from behind the low garden wall of the last house.
‘Madok! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?’
Lafed’s face was black with smoke. His eyes were bloodshot.
‘Couldn’t bear to miss the fun,’ he said, attempting to be lighthearted. ‘This doesn’t look too good.’
‘It isn’t.’ Lafed shook his head. ‘We can’t get through here.
I’ve sent a radio message to Kedin’s assault group. I’m waiting for the signal to withdraw and regroup.’
A bullet struck the parapet of the wall, and splinters of stone exploded. Madok and Lafed ducked their heads.
Madok’s ears were ringing; he felt a trickle of blood down his cheek.
‘You won’t get it,’ he said. ‘Tevana Roslod wasn’t being held at Grake. She must be in the palace.’
Madok watched Lafed’s face as he absorbed the news and understood its meaning. ‘Yes,’ Madok said. ‘Kedin will have to go in. He won’t leave Tevana here.’
Lafed’s eyes were wide. ‘His group will be cut to pieces if they go in without support.’
‘And so we have to keep trying,’ Madok said. ‘If we can’t get into the palace, at least we’ll keep some of the guards busy.’
‘Until we’re all dead,’ Lafed said. Suddenly he grinned.
‘Right then. Let’s see how long we can keep fighting.’
Ace studied the base of her pitcher. It wasn’t so much as cracked. She looked down at the unconscious guard whose head she had just struck. Crockery that was harder than a soldier’s head - she was impressed.
She dragged the guard away from the door he had been standing beside, round a corner and into the shadows below a flight of stairs. She frisked the still body. The guard had a sword, but no gun: that was no good, a sword was too noticeable. No keys, either.
Ace poked her head round the corner. The corridor was still empty. She hadn’t yet found a weapons store, and despite the reassuring solidity of the wine pitcher she was getting desperate for something with some real firepower. She was about to set off along the corridor, when the door whose sentry she had just knocked out seemed to draw her attention.
She tiptoed towards it, pressed her ear to the solid wood, and listened. She could hear nothing. She knocked.
‘Yes?’ said a female voice. ‘Enter, by all means, if you have a key.’
A woman prisoner. And with a dedicated guard, too. Ace’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Who’s in there?’ she said, as loudly as she dared.
There was a long silence. When the woman spoke again, it was clear to Ace that she had moved close to the door. ‘I am Tevana Roslod,’ the woman said. Her voice sounded calm and amused. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know. And who are you?’
Tevana. Ace thought she recognised the name, but she couldn’t remember from where or when.
‘My name’s Ace.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes.’
There was another pause. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, Ace,’ Tevana said. ‘I regret that I’ve not heard of you. You should go. I’m not supposed to receive visitors, other than Vethran and my guards.’
‘The palace is being attacked,’ Ace said.
‘I know,’ Tevana said. ‘I’ve heard the explosions.’ She seemed not at all surprised.
Ace was becoming exasperated. ‘Well, do you want me to try to get you out of there?’
Tevana laughed. ‘I’ll be quite safe,’ she said. ‘I’m very valuable to the King. But you sound young, my dear. You should look to your own safety, and go.’
Ace stared at the door. Evidently the woman locked behind it was important. She didn’t know what she should do.
The sound of marching feet echoed along the corridor.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Ace said. ‘Sounds like guards.’
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ the gentle voice said. ‘I’m in no danger. Now go.’
Ace struck her forehead with her hands. The sound of marching feet was becoming louder. Ace realised that she would have to conceal herself. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, and ran to the corner.
She pressed her back against the wall. Just in time: the footsteps were in the corridor now. At least two guards. If only she’d been able to find some weapons. The wine pitcher wouldn’t be much use in a frontal assault on two or more armed soldiers.
‘Where’s the sentry?’ one of the guards said.
‘Don’t know, sir,’ another replied.
‘Called away, perhaps. No matter. Unlock the door.’
Ace heard the rattle of keys. She turned, and risked a glance along the corridor.
There were four of them, armed to the teeth. No hope of jumping them. One of them was carrying a tray, on which Ace could see a plate of food and a goblet.
It was just a mealtime visit. Nothing to worry about. The woman named Tevana would be safe for a while, at least.
Ace determined to continue her search for weapons. Maybe she’d be able to come back and release the woman later.
Bep-Wor had quickly given up his attempts to persuade his people to move stealthily. Their cry of ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ echoed along the corridors, preceding the miasma of dungeon odour that wafted around them. They streamed and surged into rooms and up stairways. With unkempt hair, wild eyes, and damp, flapping rags as clothes, they seemed to strike fear into whoever they met. Servants and courtiers ran; any soldiers who tried to hold back the human flood were overwhelmed, their weapons plucked from their hands.
As they poured through the innards of the palace their numbers grew: every Two they found they instructed to join them. Bep-Wor’s army was reconstituted, and was once again on the march.
He found Kia-Ga in the kitchens. As his people swarmed alongside him, he stood still in the waves of heat emanating from the long iron ovens. He held Kia-Ga’s face in his hands, and stared into her eyes. He could not be sure that she even recognised him.
He realised that there had been no point in finding her. He could hold her in his hands: she was warm, alive. But she had gone forever.
‘Follow me,’ he told her. ‘Obey no more orders from anyone other than me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied.
He sobbed, and wiped tears from his eyes.
‘Don’t call me sir,’ he said. Call me Bep-Wor.’
‘Yes, Bep-Wor.’
The kitchen had emptied as suddenly as it had become crowded. His arm
y had sped on and he, its leader, risked being left behind.
Onwards. Upwards, into the light. There was nothing left but vengeance.
‘Come on, Kia-Ga,’ he said. ‘We must hurry. Run!’
‘Yes, Bep-Wor.’
The pitcher was now very heavy. It contained ten cylinders that, in Ace’s opinion, were sticks of explosive. They had red warning signs stuck on them, and fuses made of something that looked inflammable.
There was, Ace thought, only one way to find out just how much of a bang they’d make, and she had therefore lifted from the weapons room, along with the cylinders, two books of matches.
She also now had a gun in the inside pocket of her jacket.
She had emerged from the subterranean passages below the palace: she was making for where the noise of battle was loudest.
As she walked through a low doorway, she found herself in the open air. She was in a narrow, curved courtyard, with high walls on both sides. In the crescent of night sky above her there were stars, obscured by drifting smoke. The noise -
gunfire and shouting - was much louder, and came from the far end of the courtyard.
She hefted the pitcher on to her shoulder and set off across the flagstones. She could see, at the top of the wall to her left, men running along the battlements and crouching to shoot through the crenellations.
As the courtyard curved round to Ace’s right it widened, and she saw that it opened on to a wide plaza. In normal times it would be a pleasant open space, she thought. She saw avenues lined with what appeared to be lamp-posts, topiary shrubs in huge containers, banners flying from flagpoles. Now it was full of carts and vehicles, with lines of soldiers carrying boxes to and fro, and officers shouting to be heard above the noise of the gunfire.
Ace retreated into the shadows and watched for a moment.
This is where it’s all happening, she said to herself. The King’s men on this side and, on the other side of this wall to my left, the other lot trying to get into the palace. And although I’ve been lucky so far, I think I’d be rumbled if I tried to carry off my serving-wench impersonation in the middle of a firelight - so I can’t get any closer to the action.
Independence Day Page 23