by Gordon Ryan
“If you were Niels Grunberg,” Peter said. “How would you defend this island?”
“He’s there already?” Tess asked.
“Yes.”
“And if I were Niels, what’ve I got to work with?”
“No cannons—they haven’t been invented yet—and your force is too small and too recently arrived to set up a ballista or anything like that.”
“How many approaches are there?” she asked.
“Just one dock. There is also a sandy beach on the south side, but this ship is too big to use it. But Niels doesn’t know that. We might be arriving in longboats, for all he knows.”
“How far away is the beach?”
“About a mile from the docks.”
“So he’d have to choose one or the other. The docks will be easier to defend and he’s got to know we’re coming with a bigger force, right? Does he know when we’re coming?”
Peter nodded. “Sometime this afternoon or evening. Reasonable to assume we’d come at night. Niels has only a handful of men, no more than five. They arrived twelve hours ago, their reinforcements will come later.”
“If I were Niels, I’d secure myself in the castle. Even with five of them and twenty of us. Even with two men, they could hold us that long. We don’t even have a ladder.”
“The castle is off limits. These are the rules, he gets to the island first, but we get the larger force. We drew straws on that. Whoever wins the battle gets the castle and a garrison. The loser gets a larger army, but has to assault the castle.”
“Always better to be on the inside of a castle.” More importantly, being on the inside, helping to organize its defense, she’d have cause to inspect every inch of the castle. Find that converted garage filled with looted artifacts.
“Oh, and Niels can’t destroy the docks before we arrive,” Peter added. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to see something in her reaction.
Tess had been thinking about the logistics of emptying Peter’s enormous vault, stuffed with crates. She smoothed her features, but felt the ripples of the guilty frown that had cross her face.
“Look,” she said. “With only a few men, he’s got to choose either the beach or the docks. And there’s no way we’re coming in long boats. Not unless we wanted half of Burlington down on the docks and the local paper taking pictures and looking for an interview.”
“True,” Peter said. “It was hard enough to keep it quiet with the sailing ship.”
“So he knows about the docks. He still might go for the castle, even if he can’t go inside. It’s on a hill, and he could make a barricade next to the gates. How long does he have to keep us out?”
“Until Wednesday, dawn.”
“Thirty-six hours,” Tess said. “That’s a long time for five guys.”
“Five guys, maximum. We drew straws for that, too, but I don’t what he drew.”
“Okay, so he’s got to keep us from docking. Niels Grunberg may not have a ballista, but he can sure as hell come up with something to give us problems.” She thought about it. “You don’t have a lifeboat do you?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Well, I’m back to thinking about that beach,” Tess said. “How cold is the water?”
“It’s November,” Peter said. “A deep lake in the mountains. Call it a crazy hunch, but it’s not bath water.”
“In that case, I hope you’re a fast swimmer.”
Chapter Fifteen:
Tess stripped to her underwear, ignored the stares of the men, and climbed onto the edge of the deck on the starboard side of the poop deck. She held the railing and let her bare feet grow accustomed to the swell of the ship. Last thing she needed was to brain herself. Sleet pricked her skin. Peter and Lars stripped, then climbed to either side of her.
“Either I’m an idiot,” Lars said, “or this is the most awesome thing I’ve ever done.”
“Why can’t it be both?” Tess asked. “Since you’re having so much fun, why don’t you jump first?”
“Maybe you’d better go first,” he said. “Everyone is staring at your tits, not mine.”
“Don’t know why they would,” she said. “Yours are bigger.”
The island loomed just a few dozen yards in front of them. The captain hadn’t wanted to get any closer and had dropped anchor. They’d cloaked the lamps and come in almost blind, with only the light of the moon. Peter’s man muttered something about needing radar, but had skillfully maneuvered them into position.
“Someone has to go first,” Peter said from her other side. “It’s not getting any warmer up here. I just don’t think it should be me.”
“Fine, you big babies.”
Tess jumped. An icy fist crushed the air from her lungs. She came up gasping, then flinched as a dark shape sailed toward her, then another. A moment later and all three were treading water, gasping together.
Dmitri dangled their weapons and clothes, which they’d wrapped in oiled leather. Tess took hers, lay on her back with the sword held as much as possible out of the water, and kicked for the shore. The sword felt twice as heavy and her legs already numb and leaden. This was nuts.
The other two labored behind her, as loud as breaching whales. She’d better be right about the empty beach or they’d be dead before the set foot on dry land.
But the beach was empty by the time they finally threw their bundles ashore and dragged themselves across the gravel. “Oh, god,” Peter said. He got to his hands and knees, then struggled to gain his feet.
“I lost my hammer,” Lars said.
“You said you could carry it,” Tess said. “I warned you and you told me it was no big deal.”
“Yeah, well I was wrong. It was either the hammer or my clothes.”
“Should have left the clothes, then.”
Peter said, “He’d be even less use naked and freezing.”
Tess got to her feet and slapped her hands together then rubbed vigorously at her legs and arms while she dried in the breeze that blew off the lake. Her breath steamed into the night air. She dressed with numb fingers while Peter and Lars struggled to untie their bundles. The leggings were damp, but her jerkin was dry, and most importantly, her boots.
“Hurry it up,” she said. “The ship is halfway to the docks by now, we don’t there first, we may as well give up.”
They dressed. A few minutes later and they were pushing through the trees and toward the road, which Peter said was just up the hillside above them. There were rocks in her boots and grit down her bra and panties, but that would have to wait until later.
The reached the road. It was dirt, muddy from rain, and rutted. Trees enclosed it on both sides, shut out the moon. But the blackness was just enough deeper on either side that they were able to continue at a steady walk.
“We left our armor, so we don’t have blood packs,” Lars said. “How are we going to know if we die?”
“No armor, any blow will finish you,” Peter said. “That’s only fair. Just shout that you’re dead and they’ll stop swinging.”
The trees thinned as they reached the docks. A grassy area, now mostly covered with leaves, slopped toward the lake on the southwest corner of the island. Tess held up her hand to stop the other two. The dock stretched into the water, empty. The grass was empty, too.
A light flickered on the open water, some distance off. Then another light. They grew larger. A third light. The ship’s lamps.
“Where are they?” Peter whispered.
“Back at the castle?” Lars asked.
Tess frowned, wondering if he might be right. All that swimming, the freezing cold, totally unnecessary. But as her eyes swept along the docks and this side of the island, she thought she knew where she would find him.
“Up there,” she said. “No, to your left.”
The grassy area to the east of the docks was shorter than on the other side. A hill rose above it, together with a ledge that overhung the approach to the docks.
“He’s got a rock
or a big log. He’s going to roll it off there. Roll a three hundred, four hundred pound log, it’s going to punch a hole right in the side of the ship. It’ll sink before it reaches the docks. Niels can come down and kill them one by one as they cling to the side of the docks. Assuming that sinking the ship is not against the rules. Can they do that, Peter?”
“Yes.”
“No way,” Lars said. His voice was too loud. She shushed him and he said in a lower voice, “Drop something off there and you might kill someone. I mean, really kill them. Niels wouldn’t do that.”
“He would,” Peter said. “He’ll shout a warning first, but he’ll drop it. I’m telling you, this is for real.” He took Tess’s arm. “I know how to get in behind them. There’s a deer trail along that ridge.”
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
#
Lars led the way, followed by Tess and Peter. They came in fast and quiet just as the ship came toward the docks. Only seconds now. Men moved across the deck and Tess saw Dmitri hold out a lamp and peer into the darkness toward the docks.
Four men lay flat on the stone on the edge of the promontory. They looked down at the ship and not at the three figures creeping in behind them. To their side were half a dozen logs, each about two feet in diameter and ten feet long. The men had sharpened the ends into points and Tess saw their plan at once. They would stand at the last moment and flip the logs end over end. After falling for thirty, forty feet, at least one of them would strike at the right angle and with enough strength to punch a hole in the deck.
It almost took her breath away. God, that would be dangerous. Even with a shouted warning, one of those logs might cave in someone’s skull. One of the four men gave a nod and they rose to their feet. Dividing into pairs, they picked up the ends of two logs and prepared to heave. The ship was seconds from gliding below them.
“Now,” Tess said in a sharp whisper.
Lars charged with a roar. He was unarmed and unarmored, but his opponents had no time to draw their swords, just dropped their logs. Lars grabbed the first man by the scruff of the neck, where Peter dispatched him with a slash across the chest. The second man grappled with Lars and the two men fell near Tess’s feet, with her friend shortly coming up on top. Tess jabbed the man, hard, between the ribs.
“I’m dead!” he said, and she left them alone while Lars struggled to regain his feet. The two dead men crawled to one side to keep from obstructing the ongoing battle.
The swifter of the remaining two made Lars pay for his bravery. His first attack glanced off Lars’s shoulder, then he lifted his sword for a killing blow. The man lay on his back and raised his arms to defend himself.
“He’s dead!” Tess said. “He has no armor.”
He pulled back his blow. Tess pushed Lars down with her boot to get over him and at the man who’d just killed her friend. Her enemy lifted his sword.
She tried to dispatch him at once, but he guessed her opening swing and almost cut under her defenses. This must be Niels Grunberg; he was the one who’d signaled to the others. She tried again, but shortly was on the defense. Even armored, he was swifter and stronger than she was.
Meanwhile, Peter turned aside the fourth man’s sword, hastily drawn from its scabbard, killed him, and turned to help her with their final standing enemy. “Keep back, or you’ll get us both killed,” she ordered.
There was something about the man’s technique that felt familiar. He had a powerful overhand stroke, but his fore stroke was slow. As soon as she realized this, she leaned back like she was stumbling, to lure him into that fore stroke. She blocked him low and brought the pommel into his chin. He staggered and fell.
“Yield,” the man said, before she could finish him.
He rose to his feet and pulled off his helmet. A black shock of hair fell free. “Damn. I thought I had you this time.”
“You,” she said. “From Central Park, the SCA guy with the sword-fighting demo.”
He sheathed his sword and held out his hand. “Hello, Tess. I’m Niels Grunberg.”
“What the hell were you doing? You tricked me into that fight. Trying to get an edge.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t trick you. I appealed to your ego. Gets ‘em every time.”
“Ha. You let me think I was overpowering you. Unless you’ve been lifting weights, you’re stronger than you were. You were holding back.”
“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I wasn’t holding back this time, and you still beat me.”
She didn’t believe it. There would be another, more important confrontation later. Why would he reveal his true strength? Mental or physical? Better to let her think he was vulnerable, easily beaten.
“What’s that about?” Lars asked. He stood to one side with the other dead men.
She explained what had happened, then turned to Peter. “Did you help Niels set me up?”
“No, of course not.”
“Except you told me that she and your son always went walking through Central Park at a certain time,” Niels said.
“I did? I don’t remember that.”
“It was the day you first told me about the castle. Was easy enough to set an ambush.”
Tess was surprised. That meant Peter must have been planning this whole thing for more than a year. He’d never mentioned it to her. So then he’d broken up with her, while apparently intending to invite her all along. “But why?”
“You’re the world expert in medieval warfare, Lady Burgess,” Niels said.
“Oh, cut the crap.”
“You are. When I’m unsure about something, I go straight to your papers. I use your textbook in my classes, and mine only as a supplement.”
“Well, of course,” she said, enjoying the flattery. “But don’t call me Lady Burgess. That’s just silly.”
“Right. Tess, then?”
“Sure, fine. Niels. But you’ve known I was coming for months. You tricked me into a little encounter in Central Park. I found out you were coming three days ago.”
“I need every advantage I can get.”
“Right, that again. You’re the one Hollywood hired when it wanted to stage an authentic looking siege.”
“Did you see the movie?” he asked. “The siege is fine, but the computer animated castle looks about as authentic as the Excalibur Hotel in Las Vegas. Wish they’d called you instead.”
“Who says they didn’t?”
The ship pulled into the docks below. Lars went to the edge of the rock and shouted back and forth with Dmitri and Henri to tell them what had happened. Winners and losers alike met on the docks a few minutes later. Henri hung lanterns to help the men see as they unloaded supplies.
Tess noticed Niels watching and noting both men and equipment, while he and Peter chatted about how the timetable for the next few days, when both armies would arrive and prepare for the siege.
“So,” Niels said to Peter. “You get the castle. That makes you king.”
“King Peter,” Tess said. “Nice. As if his ego isn’t big enough already.”
“And that makes your man the usurper,” Peter said with a smile. “Hope Lord Borisenko isn’t too put out by your loss.”
Dmitri and Lars had taken a crate from a pair of men on deck and walked past her. They stiffened visibly at mention of the name.
“Lord Borisenko?” Tess asked. She met Niels’s gaze, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you are so going down.”
Chapter Sixteen:
It was easy enough for Dmitri and Henri to slip into the darkness with one of the chests. Men grunted, swore, bashed fingers, argued. Some of these guys were billionaires, yet they worked as hard as anyone else. Peter had chosen well.
Through all his time on the ship, Dmitri had noticed that Henri never moved more than ten feet from that chest. Even before the Belgian whispered in Dmitri’s ear as men lashed the ship to the docks, he’d known there was something special about its contents.
Someone raised a lamp to the top mast and flashed a signal
to the far castle. Within half an hour, a dozen men arrived from the castle, driving a pair of draft horses, or riding in the back of the wagon they pulled.
“This is your garrison,” Dmitri heard Peter telling Tess, “together with the men from the ship.”
“What’s that? Fifty, sixty men?” She glanced at Niels Grunberg and his men, still standing to one side, watching, but not helping. She said something else to Peter, but in a lower voice that Dmitri couldn’t catch.
“Teper,” Henri whispered to him in Russian. Now.
Everyone Dmitri had met so far was bilingual or better, with the exception of one American and an Australian. But Henri stood out. He spoke at least Russian, French, German, English, and Dutch fluently.
Two lanterns lit the docks, the first centered on the boat, and the second on the wagon. It had rained a few days earlier, leaving the area between them a muddy mess and Peter decided not to risk getting the wagon stuck. More muscle work. Men bumped into each other or stumbled with their loads in the shadowy stretch between the two.
Dmitri and Henri carried their chest along the south side of this stream of moving men. Then, when they were in the centermost point of the dark path, Henri veered sharply from the road. Dmitri forced the Belgian to slow the pace, afraid he’d go sprawling.
“Come on,” Henri whispered. “Trust me.”
Dmitri’s splinted thumb was throbbing too hard to buy that line. “Slow down, asshole.”
“Here,” Henri whispered at last. He stopped them at the base of a big oak tree. They set down the case while Henri rummaged around the other side. “Don’t sit there like an idiot, give me a hand.”
“What’s in the box?” he asked.
“Uh, uh,” Henri said. “We don’t need to know, so we don’t open it.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“Yeah, well that’s what Kirkov said. Don’t open it.” He came around with a pine branch, which he tried to put over the chest.
“Move out of my way,” Dmitri said. “I’m opening the damn box.” He opened it.