Culpepper's Cannon (4 page)

“Would you like me to lead it, sir?”

“No, no, I don't think so. I'd just be lost without you here.”

“Yes, sir.” Sergeant Bremish saluted and left the tent.

“Now,” the captain said, “why don't you tell me about these things?” He pointed to the contents of Amos's pockets, which had
been emptied on the desk. Sergeant Bremish had taken them out when they had first come into the tent.

“And what is this?” the captain asked.

“It's a Superball, sir.”

“A Superball? And what is a Superball?”

“It's just a ball, a toy. You bounce it. Go ahead—try it.”

“You don't mind?”

“No, of course not.”

The captain picked up the ball and looked at it. He looked back at Amos. “This isn't a trick, is it? It won't blow up when I drop it?”

“No, sir, it's just a ball.”

“And you're not lying?”

“No, sir.”

“Of course not. You're a good boy.” He dropped the ball, and it bounced almost all the way back up to his hand again. “Delightful,” he said. He bounced it harder, and it touched the canvas on the ceiling. He clapped his hands and smiled happily.

“You can keep it if you want, sir,” Amos said.

“You don't mind? I mean, it is yours.”

“I don't mind. You're going to shoot me anyway, remember?”

“Oh, that's right.” He wrinkled up his face in disgust. “War is such a nasty business.” He sighed. “But still, it must be done, mustn't it?” He looked back down at the desk and picked up Amos's digital wristwatch. Amos had asked for it for Christmas last year because with a push of a button it converted to a Space Zowies video game. But he had broken the wristband, so he kept it in his pocket.

“Oh, look at this!” the captain said. “There's numbers on it!”

“It's a watch, sir.”

“A watch? But there are no hands. Eight forty-five. That is the right time. But—oh my goodness! It just changed to eight forty-six!”

“It's called a digital watch, sir.”

“A digital watch?”

“Yes, sir, and there's more to it than that. It's also a video game.”

“A video game?” The captain looked back up at Amos. “Do you play that on a football field?”

“No, sir. Let me show you.” He walked around the desk and leaned over the captain's shoulder. “Now,” he said, “when you push this button …” He pushed the mode button, and the time disappeared. Little Space Zowies started to descend toward the bottom of the screen. “And now you shoot them with this button.” He pushed the fire button, and one of the Zowies disappeared in a tiny digital explosion.

“Oh, my heavens!” the captain cried. “Let me try!” He pulled the watch away from Amos's fingers and started pushing the buttons. There was another tiny digital explosion.

“I got one!”

“Good for you, sir.”

“My, but this is good fun.” The captain was leaning over the desk now, too absorbed in the invasion of the Space Zowies to worry about a suspected spy. Amos slipped quietly out the canvas door of the tent and disappeared into the darkness.

•
6

It was close to midnight now, and cold. Amos had been hiding in a stack of barrels near the southeast corner of the plaza for hours, waiting for the plaza to clear. There was a huge pile of boxes fifty yards west of the monument. He had been watching it for hours and had seen no movement. If Dunc was hiding there, he had hidden himself well.

The plaza was empty now except for one guard who was patrolling its perimeter. Every time he passed Amos, he walked slower and paid less attention. Amos figured three
or four more rounds, and the guard would be walking in his sleep.

Amos rubbed his legs. He had been sitting cross-legged for a long time, and they were starting to get numb. He didn't try to stretch them out. A little brown spotted dog had crawled up in his lap and fallen asleep. Amos didn't mind. The little guy kept him warm.

Amos peered around the barrel directly in front of him and watched the guard. He had quit walking around the plaza and was leaning against a building on the far side. Amos watched as his head started to fall then bob back up again. He did it over and over until his head looked like a yo-yo. Finally it went down and didn't come back up. Amos waited. The guard's knees started to bend, and a moment later he slid down the wall to the ground and collapsed in a little heap. Amos woke the dog up and it yipped in complaint, then crawled out of his lap and settled itself against a barrel to sleep again. Amos stood up.

The hours of sitting had left pains like long needles in his knees, and he had to
take a few minutes to rub them out. When they were gone, he looked around the plaza again. Except for the sleeping guard it was empty. He starting tiptoeing toward the monument. Halfway there, a door opened on the far side of the plaza. Yellow lamplight streamed out and framed the silhouette of Bremish as he stepped into the night.

Amos froze like a rabbit caught on the freeway in a pair of headlights, half frightened out of his wits. The sergeant stood in the doorway of the building with his hands on his hips and stared across the plaza. Evidently his eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness yet, because he looked directly at Amos and didn't seem to see him. His moustache glowed red in the light, and the steam from his breath rose above it so his face looked like a bonfire. He hadn't seen Amos yet, but it wouldn't be long before he did.

Amos stood still a moment longer, undecided about what he should do. He looked back to the barrels he had been hiding in. Too far. He slunk silently to his right until the monument blocked his view of Bremish,
then tiptoed up to it. He stuck one eye around its corner.

Bremish was still standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, but now another man was standing there with him. “You got a light?” the other man asked.

“Yeah, McClarsky,” Bremish said. “I've got a light if you've got a spare cigar.”

“Sure.” McClarsky reached into his pocket, took out a cigar, and gave it to Bremish. The sergeant's match lit up his face for a moment, then he handed the match to McClarsky. McClarsky lit his cigar and closed the door behind him. In the dim moonlight the glowing ends of the cigars looked like two fireflies. They danced silently around the door for a few moments, then started moving toward the monument. Amos pulled his head back and held his breath.

The two men stopped on the other side of the monument. They were so close, Amos could smell their cigars and the sweat on their bodies.

“Nice night,” McClarsky said.

“Too cold,” Bremish replied.

“A little.” The two men were silent for a moment. “I hear the
Virginia's
going out again tomorrow,” McClarsky said. “A couple more days like the one she had today, and the blockade will be taken care of.”

“Yeah.”

“You're awfully quiet tonight.”

“Just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About those spies.”

“You really think they were spies? They were just kids.”

“But did you see the way they were dressed? They were dressed too strange to be just kids. And the things in the second spy's pockets. Top-secret things. He had this little sphere that he actually convinced the captain was a toy.”

“I saw that sphere. It could have been a toy.”

Bremish snorted. “You need to start seeing things through a trained military eye.”

“And what did your trained military eye see?”

“Cannon shot. A new, special kind of
cannon shot. The way that thing bounced around, it could kill ten people.”

“You could be right.”

Bremish snorted again. “I know I'm right.” He started walking around the monument with McClarsky following him. Amos had to tiptoe quickly to stay on the opposite side.

“You want to see something funny?” Bremish said.

“Sure.”

“Watch this.” He whistled, and Amos saw the little dog come from behind the barrels toward the monument, wagging its tail. He looked at Amos and wagged his tail harder for a moment, then went around the monument to where Bremish was standing.

“Good dog,” Bremish said. “You want a piece of candy?” Amos looked around the corner. The dog was sitting up on its back legs, begging. Bremish was leaning over it. All of a sudden he jabbed his cigar against the dog's nose, and the dog ran yelping back toward the barrels. Bremish burst out in a roar of laughter.

“Why do you do things like that?” McClarsky asked.

“It makes me feel good,” Bremish said. He puffed on his cigar. “And I'll do the same thing to those spies if I ever catch them. They're not the two innocent boys they make themselves out to be. Maybe the end of a cigar will make them tell the truth.” He took another puff, and the end of the cigar glowed red. All of the sudden he took the cigar out of his mouth and stared across the plaza.

“Where's that guard?” he said.

“I don't know.”

“Guard!”

Amos heard a snuffling and snorting from where the guard had fallen asleep. Luckily, the guard was on the same side of the monument as Bremish and McClarsky.

“Yes, Sergeant?” the guard asked. Amos could hear the sleep in his voice.

“What are you doing over there?”

“I thought I heard something,” the guard lied.

“Oh?” Bremish said. “Could it be one of the spies?”

“Yeah, that's it!” the guard said. “It could be one of the spies!”

“Let's go,” Bremish told McClarsky. The two men started walking toward the guard. As soon as they left, Amos slunk like a shadow toward the boxes, where he hoped Dunc would be waiting.

Amos was hiding in the boxes by the time Bremish and McClarsky got back to the monument. The guard was with them. Amos looked around. There was no one else hiding with him.

“Nothing,” Bremish growled.

“I swear, I know I heard something,” the guard lied again.

“Maybe it was a rat,” McClarsky suggested.

“Yeah, maybe.” Bremish threw his cigar on the ground. “Keep your eyes open, guard.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“It's cold out here,” Bremish said. “Come on, McClarsky. Let's go back inside.” He led the smaller man back toward the door they had come out of. There was a splash of light when the door opened, and Amos had to
duck behind a box. When the door closed, it was dark again.

The guard resumed his patrol around the plaza. Amos waited. It only took two trips before he was leaning against the wall and sound asleep again.

Amos started quietly searching through the boxes. He couldn't tell what was in them, but they were big and heavy, and Amos assumed they were filled with ammunition. He thought for a moment that maybe Bremish had hidden gold in them, but no one in the whole world could own that much gold. After a few minutes he found a note tucked between two slats of a wooden box on the side of the pile farthest away from the monument. It was almost too dark to read it in the moonlight.

“Sorry I couldn't make it,” the note read. “I have to hide from Bremish. Look out for him. He's a big man, and I think he's really dangerous. He's a sergeant in the Army and pure mean.” Amos looked up. He thought he heard a noise, but it was just the guard snoring. “I think I've figured out the pulses,” Dunc continued. “I think they have
something to do with either how many people have gone through or how many more people can go through, you know what I mean? I saw three when I went through. How many did you see? Forget about the cannons for your paper. Do it on the battle between the
Monitor
and the
Merrimack
. It happens tomorrow. Go down by the docks. I'll be waiting for you there. If we don't see each other, just go through the portal after the battle and I'll see you back home. I'm sure you remember the directions and the code word. Dunc.”

“Directions?” Amos said out loud, almost too loud. “Dunc, you know how I am with directions. And the code word was … was … well, it was g-a-z-something. You can tell me tomorrow.” He peeked over the boxes at the guard. He was still asleep. Amos stood up and crept across the plaza in the direction that he thought led to the docks. He had to find Dunc.

•
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