Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (41 page)

Hunter nodded. “Excellent point. As he’s technically a guest aboard, make the request of him. I doubt he’ll refuse. He seemed quite equally keen on running the Fomorians to ground as the rest of us.”

Conrad grinned, nodding. “Aye, Cap’n.”

Abruptly an explosion ripped through the air! The
Griffin
shuddered around the trio.
In the time it took Conrad to leap to his feet, Anthony and Krumer had raced out of the officers’ cabins and onto the main deck.

Black smoke coiled about the rigging like a sea snake winding its way through the water. Several of the crew on deck had managed to take cover; some behind barrels, others by scaling rigging towards the gas bag overhead. The source of the smoke proved to be a makeshift wooden target lashed to the starboard railing, decorated with the fresh ugly black scars of burn marks.

There, in the middle of the deck
stood Moira, an elated look on her face. Next to her was young Lucas Gregory, wounded leg bandaged and bound in a splint. Both Moira and the apprentice pilot wore what appeared to be FireBlotter Packs: backpack-tanks holding a mineralized water solution that was sprayed out through a rifle-like nozzle. Traditionally, a FireBlotter Pack was used to expunge fires aboard an airship quickly, and most vessels carried a few, along with a modest supply of the ‘water’.

Strangely, the pack Lucas wore belched steam and smoke while the young man frantically attempted to adjust a set of new dials haphazardly connected to the fire fighting equipment. The dials, in turn, were attached to a hastily added arc lantern, which was electrifying the liquid in the tanks. Next to Lucas, Moira was just as quickly making her own adjustments on the far side of the boy’s pack.

Hunter skidded to a stop on deck, too astounded for words. Krumer stared, wide-eyed, at the entire scene. A few feet away, a hatch opened; Dr. Llwellyn raced up onto the main deck, medical bag in hand.

“What in bloody hell is going on?” the doctor demanded as he, too, saw the bizarre contraptions Moira and Lucas wore. “Woman! Have you gone quite mad? That young man is supposed to be resting! Not being cooked like a plum pudding!”

“It was ma’ choice, Sirrah!” Lucas squeaked, eyes wide in surprise. “I wanted ta help. I … I just was wantin’ ta do my part takin’ them louts down!”

Conrad appeared on deck next, and simply stared
in amazement at the devices. “Och, never have ah seen the like!”

Krumer sighed heavily. “Moira, just what are you doing? What is all this?”

The lady blacksmith made one final adjustment to the erratic assembly of parts the young man wore, which abruptly brought an end to the smoke. She turned to face the others with a stern look on her face.

“We’ve all been getting ready to follow the Cap’n on this, preppin’ the ship and such. Have any of ya thought what happens once we get face ta face with them monsters?” she asked tartly. “They shrug off bullets like a cow battin’ flies with her tail. They move like lightnin’ and hit like a hammer strikin’ an anvil, all the while droolin’
 
like lunatics in an asylum.”

“Yes, true,” Thorias replied. “But Moira … this … is this what I think it is?”

Conrad chucked, a smirk flowing across his face. “Och, if yer thinkin’ a portable lightnin’ thrower, then ye be spot-on! Moira, ye be brilliant!”

Dr. Llwellyn scowled. “It’s lunacy, you mean. One or two pulls on the trigger and the unfortunate soul wearing this contraption is as cooked as their target!”

Moira fixed the doctor with a sour look. “If I can’t go and trust me own pistols, then I’m as good as naked. That just won’t do. So, I had a bit of an idea. Well, it was the boy’s idea, I just added me own idea to his.”

Lucas blushed a deep crimson, wishing he was still in his bunk and not being scrutinized like a bug. “I had me time ta think about it … after I heard the stories.”

Without a word, Captain Hunter walked forward. Slowly circling Moira and Lucas, he scrutinized the packs. Carefully, he trailed a hand along the hose that connected the tanks to the modified rifle-nozzle.

“Moira, the doctor’s correct,” Hunter said finally.

“Cap’n?” the young woman replied, deflated.

The captain leaned forward to examine a set of wires that provided the connection between the arc lantern and the fluid-filled tanks. He nodded thoughtfully as he saw a bead of the liquid slowly escape through a rubber seal Moira had overlooked in her modifications.

Hunter stood up and faced the blacksmith. “The wearer, quite likely, would be cooked,” Hunter explained. “You’ll need to provide better insulation for the wearer, and fix that leak in the top-most seal. How soon can you get that done?”

Moira brightened considerably as a sudden smile beamed from her face. “An hour, Cap’n!”

“Excellent,” Hunter said. “You have your hour. We’ve four more packs aboard in addition to the one you’re wearing, and the one on Lucas. Take one more and alter it to give us three, while leaving three in case of fire aboard ship. Oh, and up the power output. I’d like to see a bit more of a punch. I don’t want those monsters standing up. Also, put some thought to something similar, yet smaller, that could be easily thrown … if we’ve the spare parts for it.”

“Aye!” Moira said, grinning.

“Brilliant,” Hunter replied tersely. With one last thoughtful look at the deadly modifications, the captain turned on his heel and walked back towards his cabin.

Thorias raced over to join him. “Anthony, you can’t be serious! I understand your rage, but … this? Isn’t this extreme?”

“Not now, Thorias,” Anthony said in a low, tired tone.

“Now is precisely the time, Anthony,” the doctor replied in earnest.

Captain Hunter stopped in mid-stride and closed his eyes with a ragged sigh. He turned to face his longtime friend with a serious look. “Thorias, this isn’t a ragged band of unwashed thieves pinching a purse in a marketplace.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I fully understand the nature of the evil that nips at our heels,” Thorias retorted, voice still held low. “However, if something goes wrong with those devices … we would lose as much as we might gain! At what cost comes victory, Anthony?”

“Damn it, Doctor!” Anthony snapped, likewise keeping his voice low so only Thorias could hear. “When we do find whatever hole the Fomorians have crawled into, I suspect they will not offer us any quarter at all. When that happens … if that happens … I intend to pay them back in kind!” Captain Hunter took a deep breath, letting it drain out of him slowly. “Thorias, anyone who would make and use that gas – and all the horror it can do – is an evil beyond measure. It stops here. It must.”

While Hunter returned to his cabin, Dr. Llwellyn looked back where Moira was quickly explaining the design to Mr. O’Fallon. With a worried frown, Thorias slowly began his way to his small infirmary below deck.

“Be content … and the times lament,” the doctor sang in a morbid, quiet voice, “you see the world turn'd upside down.”

T
he acrid, pale green smoke writhed about the underground laboratory's ceiling. It coiled and twisted like an Amazonian python encircling its hapless prey. Methodically the bile-tinted mist slid downward, wrapping itself among the four occupants of the room.

Tonks blinked against the bitter stench that stung his eyes while he tugged on the rope around Dr. O'Flynn's wrists, making sure the knot keeping her hands bound was secure. The lady scientist glared at the pilot as he turned his head to cover a short, wet cough into a dirty shirt sleeve. He coughed a second time, his chest wracked by the effort. Noticing his pain, the doctor watched the sandy-haired disheveled man with narrowed eyes. A malicious smile crawled across her face.

"Ugly cough, that," the doctor said with a smirk. "The damp's only going to aggravate
yer health – until ya get somethin' ta drink, that is. If ya feelin' that urge to nip a swig from a flask, I’ve a stout drink that’ll perk ya right up." Dr. O'Flynn smiled sweetly, batting her eyes a little. "It might make a new man of ya.”

"I'm quite fond of how I already am," Ian replied tersely with an unpleasant glare. "So shut it, if ya don't mind, or I'll use a bit of cloth to put a proper gag in yer mouth.”

"Mr. Wilkerson, before you gag that woman – which I will gleefully provide the cloth for – I do have one question,"
 
Dr. Maria Von Patterson interrupted sharply, cradling the unconscious form of her werewolf daughter in her arms. "What did you do to my daughter, you trollop?” she demanded, irritably. “What was that alchemical fog you tossed in her face?”

Dr. O'Flynn sniffed haughtily. "It's a sleeping powder. Not like ya'd understand how it's made.”

"If your work is as slipshod as your laboratory, I dare say that I would not only understand it, but actually improve upon it," Maria snapped back. Carefully, with some effort, she slowly lifted Angela off the ground, cradling the young werewolf against her.

Maria ignored the venomous look from Dr. O'Flynn, instead addressing Tonks. "Angela's breathing is steady, Mr. Wilkerson. There’s no sign of sudden congestion. Steady, strong heart beat, though I can't speak to blood pressure. It's likely some ethyl ether derivative," Maria said with a brittle tone. "Taking into account the compound’s manufacture, we must get my daughter to someone with proper medical training, and soon.”

Ian quickly stepped over to Dr. Von Patterson
 
as the woman struggled to adjust the grip on her daughter.

"Here, let me carry her." the pilot offered gently. "The girl's still in her were form. She's bound to be a rock of muscle, and heavy as lead. We'll be quicker if I tote her about.”

Dr. Von Patterson looked uncomfortable with the idea, but finally relented. "Very well," she replied.

Maria transferred her sleeping burden of werewolf to Ian with a worried look at her daughter. Ian smiled reassuringly.

"Chin up," he said. "Angela's a tough one, she is.”

Behind them, Dr. O'Flynn - taking advantage of the unexpected lack of attention - suddenly raced for the open door! The woman made it no farther than the edge of the room as a knife slammed into the doorframe. The steel blade shivered angrily, mere inches from Dr. O'Flynn's nose.

"That is the last warning I will extend you ... Doctor," Maria said coldly. "Do not try my patience; I have very little left.”

Stunned to her core, Dr. O’Flynn’s highly developed sense of survival kept her very still. Her eyes locked on the quivering blade in front of her face.

Across the room,
the white haired figure of Dr. Edmund Hardy, a quiet witness to the preceding events, stood up slowly. His eyes nervously glanced over the dead, bloodstained body of the guard. The older man adjusted his glasses, straightened his soiled tweed jacket as best he could, then cleared his throat.

"If … if I might venture a question? What are your intentions for me?" he asked bravely. His voice was thin and frail, barely concealing a heavy blanket of nervous fatigue
that was obvious from the way he carried himself. “I would appreciate an explanation.”

Maria briskly walked over to the doorway. She yanked the knife from the doorframe with one hand, her other clamping a tight grip on Dr. O’Flynn’s left arm.

“Gentlemen, this is neither the time or place for explanations,” Dr. Von Patterson replied curtly. “Bauer and his hooligans could return at any moment, and my daughter needs medical attention. We must depart now. The Fomorians have eyes and ears all about.”

During the exchange, the pilot glanced around the room. He was certain he heard a faint tapping sound - like the thinnest end of metal carefully tapping against metal. He listened carefully, but the sound quickly ceased. He returned his attention to the others. “To where?” Ian asked curiously.

“I’ll explain along the way,” Maria replied. With a hand in the middle of Dr. O'Flynn's back, she firmly guided the red-headed irate scientist through the doorway and into the hall beyond.

Abruptly, gunfire roared in the hallway! Bullets smashed into the doorframe behind Maria, showering her with splinters.

"We've been discovered!" Dr. Von Patterson shouted over her shoulder. She shoved Dr. O'Flynn across the hallway to the far side amid another lethal flurry of bullets from the right of the doorway. Selina O’Flynn struck the wall hard, letting out a rush of air as the wind was partially knocked from her body.

Tonks quickly stepped to one side, turning his back to put himself between the wooden shards and Angela. A few feet away, Dr. Hardy jumped visibly, then ducked for cover behind one of the undisturbed laboratory tables.

“How’d they know?” Ian demanded.

“As I said, the Fomorians are, somehow, all too aware of what transpires in much of this complex!” Maria replied sharply, following Dr. O’Flynn across the hallway.

Once on the far side of the corridor, Dr. Von Patterson withdrew a small seamstress spider from a worn leather pouch at her belt. The device was heavily tarnished and decrepit, having been hastily repaired multiple times in its mechanical life. Maria placed the spider against the lock Angela had been tugging at earlier and turned a small brass key in the spider’s back. Quickly the device clanked to life. It shuddered; extending two of its eight spindly brass limbs into the large padlock, quickly working to unlock the tumblers.

Ian swore under his breath, looking around for something to use as a shield over Angela’s sleeping form. The tables were too large for him to carry one of them and Angela; neither was the pilot going to leave her behind. While he frantically looked around him, an idea sprung to life in his mind – he might not have to carry a table to have it be effective!

Quickly and gently, Ian set Angela down away from the doorframe. He kicked over one of the long wooden tables. Glass vials flew to the floor, shattering into dozens of razor sharp pieces while strange chemicals bled freely across the ancient stones. The pilot swung the oak table around on its side, then with a battle cry rushed for the open doorway. Muscles burned like fire as he shoved the table out into the maelstrom.

In the hallway, the table provided a formidable barrier, granting a modest amount of protection for Dr. Von Patterson and the cowering figure of Dr. O’Flynn. It was formidable, but by no means impenetrable. Ian glanced once over the edge of the table, yanking the revolver free from its holster.