Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (25 page)

They crossed the drawbridge and were suddenly on the back of the beast. Railings ran around the edge of the howdah, providing cover for soldiers near the edge and ensuring that the ball would not fall out if they decided to play a game of football en route to the battlefield. The main fortress, which held the rocket batteries and howitzers, was in the middle of the ravnaphant’s back, over its hips.

The Deepspace Operations Group waited in the howdah. Clad in a pith helmet and enormous shorts, Major Wainscott was explaining something to his men. ‘… trying to snatch a chap’s mangoes,’ he said. ‘Ah, here’s Smith and Co. Looking forward to bagging a few lemmings, Smith?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Good fellow. And here comes the Brig!’

A huge, barrel-shaped man approached, his hands jammed into the pockets of a battered safari jacket. He had one eye and a thick beard. A pipe protruded from his beard as if to mark out the location of his mouth. Overall, he resembled a gnarly old pirate.

The man removed his pipe and stuck out a massive hand. ‘Brigadier Harthi,’ he announced, shaking Smith’s hand. ‘I run this show. Madam,’ he added, bowing to Rhianna. ‘Welcome aboard Mildred.’

The ravnaphant turned to look back down its spine. It stared at them all for a while, decided there was nothing of interest, and used its tusks to break off another mouthful of the castle wall.

‘Best get cracking,’ Brigadier Harthi said, ‘before the big girl eats half the battlements. Trevor, let’s get moving!’ he bellowed into the air about a foot from Smith’s head. ‘Duty calls,’ he added, and he turned and stomped off, leaving Smith the impression that Brigadier Harthi and Major Wainscott were probably related.

‘Well,’ said Smith, ‘I suppose we ought to get out of the way. Is there a viewing lounge?’

Ropes were cast off, the last boxes of equipment hauled aboard and the gangplank raised. By a process of shouting and prodding, the squad of marhouts occupying the cabin on its head made the ravnaphant start to move.

The deck lurched. Like a ship afloat on the green sea of jungle, the great beast picked up speed, pushing through the forest. A bow wave of panicked birds and terrified quanbeasts preceeded its enormous body. ‘I think we ought to go inside,’ Smith said.

Rhianna paused, fingertips pressed to her forehead.

‘Can you read its mind?’ Smith asked.

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said, ‘I can sense… not much, actually. Normally, I’d think it was kinda cruel to put a building on an animal, but right now I’m not sure it’s noticed it yet. Wait – I think…’ She frowned. ‘The brain in its spine needs the toilet, and the one in its head wants to know whether it’s time for dinner yet.’

Long ago, before the war, the viewing lounge had been used by travellers, and the ceiling fans still turned lazily above wicker armchairs. But the plinth for the robot bartender was empty, and there were sandbags against the French windows.

‘This is incredible,’ Rhianna said, as fifty yards of jungle sped by with every step. Far below, Mildred’s huge feet boomed on the forest floor.

Rhianna kicked off her sandals and stretched out on a chaise longe. The combination of Rhianna recumbent on a wicker chair and the low vibrations coming up through the floor had a disconcerting effect on Smith. It was easy to forget that they were going to fight the Yull.

Rhianna opened her eyes. ‘Isambard, come over here,’ she said.

‘Righto, old girl!’ Smith replied, sensing that romance was on the cards.

The door burst open and Wainscott stomped in, carrying a fishing-rod and looking like an angry gnome. ‘Fruit!’ he declared, and he stepped to the window and lifted his rod. ‘Thought I might get something tasty,’ he added.

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ Smith muttered, but Wainscott was too busy scouting for mangoes.

‘Remarkable animal, this,’ Wainscott said. ‘The ravnaphant lives off minerals, you know. They can live for thousands of years in the wild. They also must be about the only creature in the British Space Empire that has a brain in its arse.’

Rhianna looked at Smith. Smith discreetly shook his head.

Wainscott hefted his fishing tackle. ‘Mind if I dangle my rod over the edge?’

‘It’s never stopped you before,’ Smith said, and Wainscott gave him a puzzled, quizzical look.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Smith asked, as Wainscott reeled in a mango. ‘Once we’ve found the lemming men, what then?’

Wainscott frowned. ‘The lemmings’ll be dug in deep – they like their warrens. So, we infiltrate the area and hold them down long enough for Harthi to get Mildred on top of their base. Then she jumps up and down and makes lemming squash. Should be simple.’

‘So how do we find the lemmings?’

‘Not my department,’ Wainscott replied.

‘Um, Isambard?’ Rhianna tapped Smith on the arm. He looked around. ‘I think they’ve found us.’

Lights rose from the forest like frightened birds. They arced over the treeline, reaching a peak and swinging down towards the ravnaphant.

‘Bastards’ve spotted us!’ Wainscott snarled.

‘I thought that might happen,’ Smith said. ‘We are riding a dinosaur, after all. Rhianna, can you –’

She threw her arm up, covered her eyes with her hand, and made a humming noise.

From below, someone yelled ‘Brace!’ Two AA guns swung to cover the rockets and suddenly the air was full of streaking bullets. Chaff sailed out from the howdah. One of the rockets went wide, corkscrewing into the forest. The second and third burst in mid-air as if they had hit a wall.

‘Jolly good, old girl!’ Smith exclaimed. He rushed to the edge of the howdah, pulling his rifle into his hands. Something exploded on the far side of the howdah. The deck rippled and shook. Smith fell against the railing: Rhianna fell against him.

With a roar, the forest caught light in front of them. A great stripe of fire rushed across the ground, as if a chasm had opened to Hell. The ravnaphant stopped, shuddered and took a backwards step that set the ceiling fans swaying.

‘The Yull have got a fougasse!’ Wainscott snarled.

‘Like hell they will.’ Smith cocked his rifle. ‘They can fougasse off.’

‘Let’s go,’ Wainscott said. ‘Susan!’ he cried, and he ran out of the room, rod in one hand, mango stashed under his arm.

Smith turned to Rhianna. ‘We’d better go too,’ she said. ‘In case he gets into trouble.’

Outside, men ran across the decking, firing small arms and shoulder-launched plasma guns. The ravnaphant turned, slow as an oil tanker, while the big guns boomed and chattered from its sides.

Brigadier Harthi stood at the railing, brandishing a sabre, shouting orders and looking more like a sea-captain than ever. ‘Prepare to repel boarders!’ he called.

Specks appeared in the air, winged like pterodactyls. ‘Lemmings in flight!’ a M’Lak soldier bellowed, and the gliders swooped down. One of the mounted guns blew the wings off the nearest glider and it dropped into the canopy. The ravnaphant lunged and snatched another out of the air, and started to chew it. The glider blew up, and the great beast roared at the sky.

‘I’m sensing unhappiness,’ Rhianna said. ‘At least, in its front brain. The back one still needs the toilet.’

The Deepspace Operations Group stood at the starboard side of the howdah, providing covering fire. Susan had braced the beam gun on the railing. Now she heaved it down and pointed into the forest. ‘The gliders are coming from over there.’

‘Can we get them?’ Smith demanded.

Susan nodded. ‘We’ll take the lift. This way.’

They hurried to a gap in the rails. A wooden platform hung out over the ravnaphant’s side, rigged to a pulley system. They crowded on: Smith saw a row of levers like those in an old railway signal box. ‘Hang on,’ he called, and he pulled the lever marked ‘Down’.

The platform dropped away. The chains rattled: they plunged down the ravnaphant’s flank as if down a cliff face. Mildred’s scales were the size of medieval shields. Air rushed past them as Smith tried to find the brake.

Something huge crashed into the ground behind them. Trees creaked and splintered.

‘The Yull are dropping bombs!’ Wainscott barked.

‘Actually, that was the ravnaphant,’ Rhianna said.

The chains were a clattering blur. Smith found the brake lever and heaved it upwards. The mechanism squealed and the platform hit the ground.

They stumbled off, slightly dazed. Suddenly, they were in a half-trampled mass of fern-like plants.

‘Get out the way!’ Wainscott shouted, brandishing his mango. They followed him into the foliage. The ravnaphant’s huge leg flattened the ground behind them. Jagged leaves brushed their shoulders. Smith could smell burning, somewhere to the right.

‘Which way?’ he demanded.

Rhianna frowned. ‘This looks familiar,’ she said, pointing at the vegetation.

‘You know where to go?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘But I used to grow plants just like these.’

‘Follow me!’ Wainscott cried, and he struck off to the right. Smith paused, tried to figure it out, and pursued him.

They pressed on over the rough ground, through the greenery. A bank of acrid smoke rolled in, and visibility dropped to twenty yards.

‘The Yull won’t know how few we are in the fog,’ Wainscott growled.

Smith felt slightly light-headed. He strode on, through the reek of burning vegetation. He was fairly sure that he could hear M’Lak voices coming from behind. At his side, Rhianna said, ‘Um, guys, I’ve just thought of something...’

Her voice was drowned out by a wild screech from the left.

‘Lemmings,’ Susan said, and she swung the beam gun. Smith saw figures moving up ahead, dark blurs in the pungent smoke. His head felt wobbly.

Nelson stopped, pulled his Stanford gun up and let off a burst of fire. A lemming man screamed.

They advanced. The smoke cleared slightly and Smith saw a whole pack of Yull. They had rigged an enormous elastic belt between two sturdy trees and now three serfs were pulling it back while an officer with an explosive vest and a pair of leather wings barked commands.

Smith fired. The nearest serf fell back. The belt flicked out and hit the officer in the backside, flinging him head-first into the undergrowth. He exploded.

All hell broke out. Gunfire blazed out of the smoke. Smith grabbed Rhianna and threw her down. Head spinning, he hit the earth beside her, twisted around and fired his rifle prone. A dark shape buckled and executed a strange lurching dance before keeling over.

‘Forwards!’ Wainscott cried. Smith stood up, head swimming, and helped Rhianna to her feet. Which way was forwards?

For his own part, Major Wainscott was feeling somewhat confused. He’d breathed in a load of that bloody smoke; an exploding lemming must have set the foliage alight. His head felt funny and nothing had even hit it yet. He looked down at his hands and saw that the dirt on his arms had started to go blue. Armoured figures yelled and roared ahead of him, waving a banner. The blue warpaint curled around his arms like snakes.

Susan leaned in. Her hair looked wilder and redder than he recalled.

Wainscott dropped his gun and pulled a long knife, almost a short-sword. With a couple of cuts he freed himself from shirt and trousers, and was surprised to see the same blue markings on his chest. The fierce sun blessed his body with strength.

Susan was shouting something behind him; no doubt words of enthusiasm and approval, especially given his lack of attire. ‘Scythe blades,’ she was saying. ‘Weld ’em to the hubcaps!’

Naked apart from his boots and bandolier, Wainscott braced his legs and waved his knife at the Yull. ‘Say hello to my little friend!’ he cried, and he charged.

Smith watched Wainscott’s advance without much surprise. His head throbbed. The world felt distant. People seemed to be underwater. Their voices sank and slowed down. Dimly, he wondered how much smoke he’d inhaled.

The trees slid away from him and suddenly he was standing on a flat rectangle of grass. White lines stretched away and at the edge of his vision, he saw a pavilion. Rhianna stood on the steps in a summery dress.

‘Cricket,’ Smith said. ‘Nice.’

A figure appeared at the far end of the crease. It was covered in pads, almost like a suit of armour. The figure ran towards Smith like a bowler, but it swung the bat up over its head, two-handed.

‘Howzaaaat!’ it screamed. Smith reached for his sword, but his hands were too slow –

The sky tore open like canvas and a gigantic, evil head looked down. Eyes goggling, mandibles open, Suruk grinned down upon the world.

Oh, that’s not good, Smith thought. Suruk’s turned into a god.

Suruk reached down with a spindly bare arm, scooped up a handful of tiny lemming men and dropped them into his jaws. He ate the lemming men, roaring with laughter as he did and sounding a lot like a ravnaphant.

The gigantic Suruk started dancing on the far end of the cricket pitch. Jimmy Horlicks and Grimdall the Rebel sat on his shoulders, performing on ukuleles. Carveth descended from the skies on cherub wings. A squadron of little blue Pegasus circled Suruk’s head like birds around a stunned cartoon character. Smith was pretty sure that he was hallucinating.

Shadows reached in for him. He drew his sword and sliced at them. The blade cut their smoky arms. They screeched and fell away.

‘Isambard!’

He whipped around. A tall, dark-haired woman stood before him, a long skirt flowing around her. ‘I was hallucinating,’ he gasped. ‘Thank God you’re here, Emily Bronte.’

‘It’s me, Rhianna.’ She raised her hands. ‘You know I said I recognised the plants here? Well, they’re on fire, and you’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. You’re having a bit of a bad experience. Just… chill, okay? Everything’s cool. It’s all going to be fine –’

‘
Yullai!
’

Smith whirled and a huge shape tore out of the mist. He slipped left and an axe swung down like a guillotine blade. Smith rammed his sword into the monster’s chest, up under the breastplate and out the back. The Yullian coughed and gasped. Smith pulled the sword back and the alien fell spluttering at his feet.

‘Except for us being in a battle,’ Rhianna added. She frowned. ‘I’m sure there was something else. Something I’ve forgotten…’