A Children's Tale (11 page)

Hunter clenched and unclenched his fists slowly. "They would not accept that."

"With bodies they quite likely would. Namely those of the children and your crew. Though while some of the dead bodies of your crew would be produced and paraded about, you were to be barely alive. After all, they'd need someone to hang while Von Patterson expressed his deepest sorrow."

Hunter's face turned a light crimson, his fists clenched so tight that the skin stretched over his knuckles turned white. He rushed forward, intent to knock the gun from RiBeld's hand then beat the man into submission. However, Hunter only managed a few steps. RiBeld raised the pistol and cocked the hammer as he carefully got to his feet. "Ah, now that would be foolish. Though, I tire of Von Patterson's games. He'll have to make do with your body, as well. I've learned, to my dismay, that you and your crew are far too dangerous to leave alive. It has been quite an adventure Captain Anthony Hunter. Farewell, Sirrah."

RiBeld squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell sharply but there was no smoke, no thunderous sound. Worse yet for RiBeld, Hunter did not fall to the ground. The gun had jammed. 

"Curse you and your thrice-damned luck!" RiBeld threw the pistol and raced for the safety of the gap between buildings. 

Hunter lunged for the pistol near him. He hit the ground in a roll, and came up to one knee, as he aimed at RiBeld's retreating back. Just when he made to pull the trigger, a shrill yell rang out to the captain's right that shattered his concentration. 

"Captain!" Miles yelled, while looking around in terror yet clutching the opti-telegraphic. "I got it ta work! I can hear somethin' over it!"

Hunter glanced at the boy, then at RiBeld who was tensed to run at the child. Sensing Hunter's uncertainty, RiBeld ran at the boy and jerked him from his feet. Miles screamed in terror. Hunter aimed, but stayed his hand at pulling the trigger. Using the boy as a shield, RiBeld backed away slowly.

"You won't fire Hunter, I know you too well. You won't risk the boy's life!"

Steady, despite his wounds, Hunter leveled the pistol with his right hand at just below Miles' leg. Right in the area of RiBeld's left leg. "Indeed, Sirrah. I might not." He replied. "Unless I was certain of my shot."

Before he could squeeze the trigger, a flash of pain and lights exploded around Hunter's eyes. RiBeld's first mate, Johanssen, tossed aside the broken timber he had just clubbed Hunter with. Captain Hunter collapsed into the dirt, dazed. 

RiBeld nodded and handed the screaming Miles to Johanssen. "Good man. Take this. It's time we left."

"Ja. Und de other one?"

"We only need the body of one child. We can let these primitives and nature finish his sister off."

"Ja, Captain."

With Miles screaming like a siren, the two men raced off between the buildings. From around another corner Moira and Angela appeared. It was Angela who saw her brother first.

"Miles!" She roared in a near panic.

Moira caught her before she raced off in one of her bounding jumps. "Na runnin' off! They'll be gunnin' ya down. 'Sides Ah might be gettin' 'em from here." Moira drew one pistol and took careful aim, calculating wind, smoke and the chaos of things that spun around her. She squeezed the trigger, the pistol bucking in her hand. 

Instantly, Johanssen jerked, bits of clothing erupting from his back right shoulder. Despite that, he kept running, though not as fast. Moira swore harshly. "He must be havin' somethin' under that shirt. It should'a been droppin' him. Though he won't be gettin' far winged like that."

"Moira ... Angela ..." Hunter croaked hoarsely. Slowly, once more, he hauled his pain-wracked body off the ground.

"Cap'n!" Moira started to run over but Hunter waved her away.

"They are making their way to the longskiffs. They want us to chase them through that mess. Better to cut them off. We'll go around." 

Angela kept glancing in the direction her brother had vanished, then back to Hunter who looked very beaten and battered. Finally she rushed over and helped the captain to his feet. Once he was upright, she released her hold on him. Her paw-like hands came away bloody from his wounds. "You shouldn't go. You're really hurt."

"The girl's speakin' some sense. O'Fallon's back under one o' them Yeti healers agin', faith knows where William be at by now. Ah'm na keen on ya bleedin' all out."

Hunter scowled darkly. "Then pray tell, do not watch. That monster and his band of hobgoblins have been trying to kill these children from the start and blame the murder upon us. Now they have Miles, despite my best efforts to prevent such. My wounds hurt dearly, but had they been more serious I'd not have survived the beating I had taken after being shot. Now I'm going after him. You can join me or watch as I half-run and half-limp around that devil's trap to catch him hopefully unaware." 

Moira deftly opened the cylinder on her pistol and reloaded. "Ya always did be givin' the prettiest speeches. The moment we be loose o' this trouble, yer goin' to Doc and yer doin' whate'er he says. Agreed?"

"As we've little time to argue, I agree."

"Well then, lets be runnin' this fox ta ground for a' change."

C
aptain Hunter and Moira ran, or limped in the captain's case, along the village paths. Angela, still in her werewolf form, bounded up and along a wall, then run off ahead. She would sniff the air, listen close, then return to report what she found.

The young girl stopped just ahead of Captain Hunter and Moira. "They 'ad laid a trap. I could 'ear several of 'em complainin' we 'adn't come along."

"Just like the man in thinking we'd bore straight after him. He has no tactical sense." Hunter growled, a hint of self-satisfaction in his tone. He then raised an eyebrow towards Angela, "Take deep breaths and mind your diction young lady. It's unbecoming."

"Yes, Sirrah." Angela's blush showed just slightly around her eyes from beneath her fur. 

"Unbecomin'? Ah'd love ta be knowin' how?" Moira asked with a smirk.

Captain Hunter raised an eyebrow at her. "Not a word from you. You were harmed by too much time in the Americas."

Moira winked at Angela, then returned her attention to the matter at hand. "So Cap'n, how'd ya be knowin' about the trap? Ya never be sayin' ya met him afore." Moira asked. 

"Correct, I have not. When you fight someone, you tend to learn a bit of their habits. Through that, a bit of themselves. He has no finesse. He's a rough brute at best. He may be a nobleman by birth, but by nature he's a base cad and a poor example of one at that." Hunter approached the corner of a building, glancing quickly around for any sign of ambush. Satisfied there was none, he motioned for the other two to follow. "This way is clear." Hunter paused with a sigh and turned. "Oh, pray tell, what is it Angela?"

Angela, who was quite literally, ever so slightly bouncing up and down on her hind paws, had a slight grin on her lupine features and a bright glint of excitement in her eyes. It was the look of any ten year old who had just discovered something important that no one else had yet learned. For a ten year old girl, the motion was distracting. In a ten year old werewolf girl, it was just short of disturbing.

"I think I'm knowin' ... pardon ... I know ... where Miles is! Right now! Right, right now!"

Both Moira and Hunter stopped dead in their tracks. "What? Where? Are we headed in the right direction?"

"Almost! A building more to the right and we'll be headed right for them! I can hear him yellin' in the trees."

Hunter had already changed his course to head in the direction Angela pointed. He called over his shoulder. "What else do you hear? Spare nothing, girl!"

The trio turned and raced along the cold, dirt path between mud-brick buildings, now scarred by bullets and blood stains. Angela maintained a running account of what sounds she heard. 

"Clicking sounds. It's like a wheel. Now Miles is yelling again. Someone just yelled in pain." Her voice dropped an octave, an ugly feral snarl crept into her voice. "They're yelling at him again. Sayin' they're likely to hit him."

"Angela, concentrate."

She took two deep breaths. Slowly she regained her composure, though her anger still bubbled just beneath the surface of her thin calm. "Yes, Sirrah. I hear water and a whistle."

Moira cast a quick glance over at Angela while they ran. "A whistle? Like a shrill thing? Or be it a teakettle?"

Angela jumped over a forgotten bundle of ram fur with a single leap, then listened carefully again. "Teakettle."

"Cor blimey! They be at the longskiffs!"

"Steady, we'll get there."

Drawn to the noise of conversation, two mercenaries appeared with pistols drawn. One was dressed in gray trousers with a ragged cuff, a worn leather belt around his waist, a white shirt and an old brown vest. A day's worth of iron-gray stubble that matched his hair, adorned his face and chin. The other was dressed in a similar fashion: brown trousers instead of gray, no vest and and a malnourished, thin, reddish mustache instead of stubble. Both wore old black leather sailor's shoes that had seen better days. Their attitudes and swagger made it obvious they did not consider the badly wounded Captain Hunter, crouching Angela, or Moira a threat. 

"Well 'ere now. 'ello me dear poppets." Said the one on the right. 

"We have no time for this, gentlemen. Stand aside." Captain Hunter warned the duo.

he one to Hunter's left giggled, very much like a young girl at play. A normal sound for a child. For an adult, it was very unsettling to hear. "Oh 'e sounds so purty. Me mate 'ere think ye more than enough time fer us, dearest!"

Hunter did not blink. He set his jaw, straightened his spine, and raised his hands slightly. All of this was merely a distraction that drew the sailors attention. Immediately, Moira sidestepped and aimed from her hip at the mercenary to Hunter's right. Angela burst from her crouch, jumped over to Captain Hunter's left side, then jumped again. Claws out, she slammed into the sailor on Hunter's left. The mustached sailor screamed in terror the moment Angela's blur resolved into an angry mass of fur and claws. 

A few moments later, a smirk crossed Hunter's weary face while he limped by. He nodded to the wounded mercenaries, who now both rolled on the ground yelling in pain, clutching one or more shot or clawed appendages. "Word of advice gentlemen. When asked to stand aside for two fine ladies, one does so. Otherwise, said ladies, as you have noticed, take that rather ... poorly."

"It's Miles! He's yellin' again!" Angela exclaimed.

"Then we'd best hurry." Hunter replied.

Despite Hunter's wounds, they raced at best speed out of the village. Downslope in their direction, fingers of a dark tree line reached toward the village but did not quite touch it. Further down, the strands of trees joined together into a thick wash of greenery covered in the mountain snows.

No sooner than they had reached the first few thick stands of the snow-covered trees, a dull roar shook the air. Trees shivered from a blast of steam that rolled like a white wave through the branches. The wave of steam covered the trunks of the trees, fast turned to fog and engulfed Moira, Captain Hunter and Angela. Overhead, a longskiff rose quickly above the trees, its gas bag tight and main aft propeller already turning.

"No!" Angela screamed at the vessel, tears poured from her eyes and down along her snout.

Moira grabbed the girl by the shoulder to get her attention. "We're not done by half. There be another longskiff. We just need ta 'borrow' it a mite."

Captain Hunter limped quickly into the forest. "You can say 'take', I will not be offended."

"Usually ya be."

"Not today."

Deeper within the forest, beyond the thick stretch of trees that reached out toward the village, the second longskiff sat quietly in the snow. Two sailors were left aboard as sentries. At that moment, one was checking the boiler, while the other looked over the snow toward the trees. 

"Are ye sure o' what the Cap'n said?"

The sailor at the boiler put down his wrench on a wooden bench in front of him. "Aye, ah'm sure. Three figures, says he. One woman, one girl and a man who's had the lovin' snot kicked outta him."

The sailor on watch shifted his sitting position. His face screwed up in thought. "That don' sound all bad." 

A rush of wind blowing from the wrong direction and the faint scuffle of feet caught the lookout's attention. "Oi, Boyd, ye be hearin' that?"

There was no reply. The lookout frowned. He scanned the forest one more time, then turned around. "Boyd, be ye deef? Pay attention ..."

His words trailed off to a squeak when he saw his companion, Boyd, plastered against the railing of the longskiff. Atop his chest, Angela was perched with her claws pointed menacingly at a softer, more sensitive part of Boyd's anatomy. Namely, his throat. She growled at the lookout. "We need your boat!"

The sailor suddenly snapped out of his shock, struggling to jump up and bring his rifle to bear. He only made it off his seat when he heard the click of a gun being cocked not far behind him.

"I most certainly wouldn't try that if I were you, Sirrah." Captain Hunter advised while pointing his pistol at the sailor on lookout. "Now, Angela, manners young lady. Remember your manners."

Angela bared her teeth in a horrific mockery of a smile, and said in her most convincing ten year old little girl voice, "Please?" The lookout swallowed nervously and tried to smile in return. Slowly, he stepped from the boat.

Hunter limped toward the longskiff. "Ah, good man. The rifle, toss it away. Moira? Be a dear and check the boiler would you? It seems they had some trouble with it."

Moira grinned and holstered her pistol. "Aye, Cap'n. Gladly." 

"Angela? I think the young man would like to join his friend."

Slowly, Angela climbed off her captive. The moment she was two steps away from him, he scrambled to his feet in a panic and nearly threw himself from the longskiff into the snow. Meanwhile, the lookout had fingered his rifle nervously, but had not thrown it aside.