The Children of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  John stood next to Charlie and examined the bodies lying on the ground inside the wall; an even mix of their own and the enemy. A sudden shout from the left side of the line drew everyone’s attention.

  “Nellie!”

  Roger had just realized that his pride and joy was about to fall into the enemy’s hands. This was something he could not allow. With a lit firebomb in hand, he rushed forward. An enemy crossbow bolt struck his left shoulder. Seemingly unfazed by this, Roger continued forward and hurled his bomb, landing it against the armature of the machine.

  A second bolt struck his left leg, bringing him down. John bolted forward even as Charlie and Joshua shouted “Don’t!”. He caught a bolt with his shield and continued toward Roger. It was then that the line of Falcons moved forward. John found himself dodging and parrying spear thrusts and bolts. He was forced back and watched the inert form of his friend Roger swallowed by the grim force of advancing enemy soldiers.

  The defenders fell back to the center of town. John saw Charlie take up his slow match and hide himself behind a corner of the inn. There a barrel used to catch rain had been filled instead with powder and the small leftovers from the masons work on the Harrisville wall. At the next building down, the Claythorne house, another militiaman waited with the same intentions.

  John joined the new line of defense in front of the town’s well and watched as the Falcon marines took the lead again down the street toward them. Already the walking wounded were being escorted up the road toward Harrisville. He knew they would soon be joined by the rest of his force. The plan did not call for them to defend Port John at all costs. Rather, they were to delay the advance of the Falcon invaders toward Harrisville. They were to give everyone as much time as possible to obtain the relative safety of that wall as well as make the Falcon’s pay for every foot of ground they took.

  The advancing marines reached the inn and John wondered if the FitzHughs were still inside; he hoped they were not. Charlie timed the barrel bomb’s fuse perfectly. The first line of marines had just passed that corner of the inn when the barrel exploded.

  The explosion engulfed the street in smoke and dust. The front half of the inn collapsed and what was left quickly took flame. Bits of wood landed on John and the other defenders. At first, he thought they were shards from the inn roof, but many of them were painted. A large piece showed part of the double-headed falcon, which John recognized as part of a Falcon shield. A few feet in front of him he noticed a mangled bronze helmet and several spear heads. Their owners were nowhere to be seen, even as the dust cleared, they saw that the marines had retreated back to the defense wall.

  A few minutes later, the heavy infantry flanked again, moving around the south part of the town, they cut their way through hacklebushes to circumvent the explosion. Yet, here they were met with disappointment and misery. For the second militiaman had noted their efforts and moved his barrel to position at the rear of the Apgood house. John saw him set the barrel up just as the Falcon infantry turned that corner. The man had no time to reset the fuse. Just as the Falcon spears closed in on him, he set his slow match to the top of the barrel.

  He disappeared into a burst of flame and flying stone. The Apgood’s house was obliterated, but with it went the first line of heavy infantry. John looked over to Charlie and found that the veteran mercenary was already talking to him, though he could barely hear his voice over the ringing in his ears.

  “We should pull out!” Charlie screamed in John’s face.

  “Why? We’ve got them wondering where they can go and not be blown up!”

  Charlie pointed down the street toward the docks. There, John saw a marine standing on the wall with semaphore flags; communicating with the ships. He realized what Charlie meant just as the cannons fired. Three shots crashed into the town, two of them struck defenders, killing them instantly.

  “Pull out!” John shouted. “Form up at the farm!”

  The men nearly broke into a dead run, but Charlie commanded them to form ranks which they did even as more rockets fell around them. The withdrawal from Port John was as neat and orderly as they could make it. John was the last to leave. As he limped away from the town, he wondered how many they’d lost. Roger’s face loomed in his mind and John had to fight back tears. The island he loved was on fire and there seemed to him no way to stop it.

  Longbeard Isle

  R ob awoke in a hammock, bumping up against the hull below decks. The only light to see by came from an oil lantern in desperate need of cleaning. Yet, it did not take Rob long to determine he was in the forecastle and judging by the presence of a long thin table, it appeared to be the sick bay. No one else was in the room and Rob’s hands and feet were free. He therefore determined that while his attempt to kill Piers failed, he must have passed the test Di Donato had given him.

  “I am no pirate,” Rob said to himself.

  He tottered a bit when he stood. His legs felt weak and he used the table and bulwarks to steady himself. He found his tunic, cleaned and dried, and dressed himself and made for the door; only a little surprised to find it unlocked.

  Through the door was the forward hold and crew quarters; he saw the stacks of sailcloth and coils of rope where he’d spent his first day aboard. What caught Rob’s attention was the lack of people. Usually, at least some of the crew would be in their hammocks sleeping or at the tables eating anytime of the day. Rob could feel the ship rolling with the waves; they were still at sea. Yet, there was no one.

  The sound of voices calling out commands came from above. Rob ascended the ladder to the main deck and found everyone either at work or at the port side of the ship. Despite the awkwardness of it, Rob’s curiosity pulled him there to see for himself what the others found interesting.

  He saw a lush green and rugged island not more than half a mile distant. The land was large, though it was too difficult to tell just how big without knowing just where they were in relation to the shoreline.

  Rob turned to one of the crewmen and said, “What island is this?”

  The sailor’s eyes narrowed as he realized who was speaking to him. Perhaps he didn’t speak Engle, or perhaps he was just too suspicious of Rob to want a conversation. He backed away, pulling on the arm of a shipmate in cautionary fashion.

  “Che isa… um, che isola?”

  “It is Longbeard Isle, Mister Engleman.”

  Rob turned to see Captain Di Donato standing behind him. The old man joined Rob at the gunwale and leaned on it as if he hadn’t rested in days.

  “That is your name, yes?” Di Donato asked.

  “Rob. My name is Rob. No other name matters anymore.”

  Di Donato studied Rob with an amused eye. “Who is Piers? He has given me much information about you, and very little information about himself.”

  Rob’s scowl returned. “What does it matter? We should both be dead. Why did you save us?”

  “Perhaps I want the bounty on you.” Di Donato paused, looking for a reaction. Seeing none, he said, “Perhaps I am intrigued by your behavior. You could have cut his throat and had your revenge. Instead you try to drown yourself with him. I do not think you have any idea of what a pirate is, Rob.”

  “I am no pirate.”

  “But you are a member of the Hellhound Consortium. A known band of pirates.”

  Rob scoffed. “We consider ourselves freedom fighters. Your people invaded Alimia, Isle de Joc, and…”

  “Longbeard Isle, yes. I understand your point, yet while I may disagree with some of my nation’s politics, I fail to see how it justifies your people’s actions.”

  “Please, capitano. I am in no mood for a discussion of ethics. If we’d met a week ago… Now, all I want is to kill Piers and die.”

  “You could not kill him or yourself yesterday. I do not think you will be able to finish the job today. After today…”

  “After today?” Rob said.

  “After today you will be someone else’s problem. I will be taking another group of w
ounded soldiers to Isle de Joc. Your fate will be determined by the Commandant of His Imperial Majesty’s forces on Longbeard.”

  Di Donato left Rob to digest this information. The crew continued to work and watch the island. Hours passed and Rob remained at the gunwale, his eyes shifting their gaze between the green island and the blue waves. He remembered what Jacob said about Longbeard and about how the Falcons were fools for invading the island. Di Donato and his crew seemed to be a regular ferry for those wounded in this battle. It told Rob that the empire’s attempts to conquer islands weren’t always as easy as Alimia or Isle de Joc.

  Rob’s thoughts shifted to Engle Isle; to his family; to Anna. Were they still safe? Surely by now Pete, Charlie and Edward the Toad were planning, if not carrying out the invasion of Alimia. No… he remembered. He was supposed to have delivered the weapons from Aruth to them before the invasion. Those weapons were with the Entdecker, at the bottom of the sea. Perhaps, his friends and family thought Rob was dead. Perhaps they figured the Entdecker was lost and were moving on with the plans despite such losses.

  “What else can they do?” Rob muttered to himself.

  The ship rounded a peninsula and sailed across a large bay. Toward the east edge of the island the ship turned in to small inlet and docked at a gloomy port. The crews of three war ships anchored in the natural harbor looked at the cargo cog with mixed expressions of anticipation and boredom.

  Rob awaited Di Donato on the main deck, still wearing nothing but the trousers in which he’d escaped the Duarve House. The captain came out from his cabin dressed in an unadorned military uniform. It bespoke his rank as captain, but nothing else. Rob mused on the fact that the old man hadn’t worn this uniform at all during the past two days.

  From the cargo hold aft, the boatswain appeared with Piers. The spy fixed his eyes upon Rob and glared. Again, there appeared to be no fear in him, only contempt and confidence. Rob’s failed attempt on his life seemed only to embolden him. Neither of the castaways were bound or restrained. While both Captain Di Donato and his boatswain were armed, no other man was spared in escorting them off the ship and into the Falcon camp. Just as soon as the four of them disembarked, the crew began assisting the medics in loading wounded soldiers aboard. These men lined the dock in their misery. Missing eyes, burned limbs and faces, amputated legs; they were everything Rob understood war to be.

  The Falcons had clear-cut a swath of the dense Longbeard Isle jungle back about half a mile back from the coast. Using the trees they cut, they surrounded this area with poles set vertically, forming a fifteen-foot tall stockade with watch towers spaced at irregular intervals. Beyond the stockade, the jungle terrain rose up on the east and west. A ravine on the west side of the camp split the high ground, allowing a narrow river of water to flow to the sea.

  Four warehouses stood near the docks, but as they passed them, Rob was unable to see what they housed. To the south, several piles of charcoal adorned the beach; the remnants of large pyres. North from the warehouses, two long rows of tents were erected. Here Rob noted wretched looking men and even a few women. Slaves; brought in to labor while the soldiers fought. Beyond these tents were larger pavilions of rough-cut wood with jungle-leaf canopies. There men sat eating while cook fires burned even in the stifling heat of the day.

  Di Donato lead them farther east from the dock where a group of tents displayed the stark leisure life of a soldier on the frontline of war. A tall pole flew the regimental colors while a few soldiers with their arms in slings or blood-stained bandages wrapping various appendages sat staring at the rock-strewn ground. Dozens of others stood conversing in small groups or crouched in circles tossing dice or playing cards, but even among these there was no sight or sound of enjoyment. What Rob found of interest here was that most of them still wore their armor, even while inside the stockade.

  From this encampment, they turned north to a series of larger tents. These were adorned with pennants displaying the household arms of a few royal families. Rob felt a small desire to know the names of each house represented. He recognized this as the remnant of the once bright-burning flame of curiosity he once felt for such trivialities. The tents were clearly the abode of officers and their personal attendants. As Di Donato had indicated Rob and Piers were to be turned over to the commandant, he supposed they would find this man here— in the safest part of the camp.

  Di Donato presented himself to a guard outside the largest of these tents, handing him a folded parchment. The guard saluted and took the parchment into the tent. They waited outside for several minutes before the guard reappeared, holding the flap of the tent open for them to enter. For a moment, Rob felt the urge to run, but found himself following Di Donato into the tent. The spacious dwelling had carpets covering the ground and several chairs around the outer wall. A large center pole allowed curtains to divide the space for privacy, but these were drawn back and iron hooks held oil lamps. Yet, it was the man at the table in the far-right corner who caught Rob’s attention as Di Donato and the boatswain bowed in deep reverence.

  Antoni Garibaldi rose to his feet and bowed in return. “Capitano Di Donato, siete i benvenuti qui.” He paused as he saw the two men with the captain and his boatswain. The pause extended as he recognized them and Rob was sure his own expression matched the one looking at him.

  Garibaldi recovered his poise and said, in Engle. “I see we have some... guests? Capitano, would you please introduce me to these men.”

  Noting his switch in language, Di Donato also spoke in Engle. “Your Grace, these are two castaways we found drifting. One of them claims to be a bounty hunter from Table Isle, and the other... well, he would appear to be a member of the Hellhound Consortium.”

  “Is that right?” Garibaldi said, his eyes fixed on Rob.

  “Yes, Signore. I am not so certain this is correct. There are some interesting facts that indicate he is not a pirate, as we know those people to be. In any case, I must leave them with you. Judge them as you please.”

  Garibaldi said nothing, his eyes shifted from Rob to Piers and back to Di Donato. After what seemed an eternal silence, Garibaldi dismissed his attendants as well as Di Donato’s boatswain. Two guards remained, yet it seemed either Garibaldi trusted them more than any others or he knew they didn’t understand Engle at all.

  “Capitano,” he began, “you and I have known each other a long time. I consider you a friend and ally. At this moment I ask that you trust me, trust my loyalty to the empire.”

  Di Donato’s expression changed; his brow furled. “Signore, you have never given me reason to doubt you. I am your humble servant, always.”

  “Bene. I am issuing you new orders. You will take these men with you. Once you have delivered our wounded to Isle de Joc, you will continue on to Copper Isle and deliver both of them there. Should your crew question you, tell them you are under orders as they are. No one is to speak of these men again.”

  Piers decided it was his time to speak. “Your grace, while I appreciate what you are attempting to do. Please hear me. I was never a real member of the Consortium. I infiltrated them so that I could capture their leader and bring him to justice in your country... for the reward, I confess. This is Rob Engleman; he is their leader.”

  “You infiltrated them?” Garibaldi said.

  “Yes, I am a bounty hunter as Capitano Di Donato has said.”

  Garibaldi’s eyes looked into Rob’s morose eyes. “Is this true, Rob? You may speak your piece.”

  “He... is no bounty hunter. He is a spy in the employ of Fallen Dome. He confessed to me that his original mission was merely to observe the Consortium and report back to Minister Tremblay at Fallen Dome. However, Tremblay is no longer the Minister of Defense there. The new minister changed his orders. Told him to steal ancient Duarve technology from us and bring me in for the reward. He murdered Jacob and Tom and... I suspect he also killed Doctor Morris, though he was already dying.”

  “Tom, captain of the Entdecker?” Garibalid asked.<
br />
  “Yes, my cousin.”

  “I didn’t do that. The car-dun did that. I tried to bring Tom in just as I have Rob. I am no spy, signore.”

  Garibaldi scowled at Piers. “You fought with me and Rob against the Quillian and against sea serpents. You sailed with the Hellhound Consortium against my people. Then you turned on them. These are not the actions of a bounty hunter. They are the actions of a cowardly spy. The type of action I know Baron Summerhays would order his spies to take.”

  Garibaldi motioned for his guards to sieze Piers, which they did without any courtesy. Garibaldi continued, “I know what kind of man Rob Engleman is... and you have just proven yourself beneath him. Let’s see how you fare among the Longbeard natives we’ve captured. Sergente, portalo alla palizzata dei prigionieri.”

  Piers did not plead for his life, but his face showed frustration and anxiety as the guards pulled him out of the tent. Rob felt a glimmer of hope return to his heart as Garibaldi invited him to sit. He poured a cup of wine for Rob and Di Donato before sitting behind his desk again.

  “Now we are even, Rob. Do not expect such courtesy again. Once Di Donato has paroled you on Copper Isle, if you fall into our hands again, you will be taken and tried as a prisoner of war.”

  “I understand,” Rob said. “I just can’t believe... of all the people to decide my fate.”

  Garibaldi’s mouth turned in a wry smile. “This... this is your doing also. My punishment for surviving the Sea of Grass but failing to save Ambassador Pompeo and my ship. I was promoted to this command.”

  “Your invasion of Longbeard is not going as expected, I take it.”

  “No, the natives here are fierce and cunning fighters. They employ ambush tactics with poison darts. They wear no armor, rather they cover themselves in dung and mud as cameoflage and fight nude.”

  “Sounds like the Quillian.”