Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (51 page)

Conrad hurled the burning coat over the railing, then snatched up a nearby opti speaking tube, since the ever present smoke had temporarily robbed the quartermaster of any ability to shout all the way to the quarterdeck. “Message from the ground, Cap’n: Doc Llwellyn be sayin’ the Fomorians be using that gas like before, just be more refined this time. They be firin’ it at us!
Take longer before we feel any effects with this batch.” The quartermaster hesitated a moment before he completed his thought. “Good chance if they be true, we’ve been breathin’ it for a few minutes at least! Dependin’ on the wind, a’course.”

“Blood and sand,” Hunter swore, rubbing his eyes wearily.

Krumer lifted the nearby black speaking horn to reply. “What of Mr. Falke? How badly
is he burnt?”

“He be a lucky bastirt,” O’Fallon replied. “His coat be takin’ the brunt of it. Fire crew’s got him good and doused. Wrappin’ him in a blanket and lookin’ over him for any wee burns that need seein’ to.”

He glanced over where two of the
Griffin’s
crew had wrapped William in a blanket and were helping him to his feet. William, however was babbling frantically and pointing at the unexploded munition. The quartermaster lifted the speaking horn again.

“What do ye want me doin’ about the shell, Cap’n?” he asked. “We could be leavin’ it where it be an' hope there’s no crack in it. It be the only one so far.”

Hunter considered that a moment when suddenly a blast from the Revenge sent ruined wood and metal flying through the air! Hunter and Krumer ducked, Noel dodged sideways, putting the ship’s wheel between himself and the debris.

The
Griffin
roared again in concert with the
Whirling Strumpet
. Lightning played over the armored skin of the
Revenge
. The Fomorian ship threw open a set of her gunports and let loose a barrage of both cannon shells and streams of electrified high-pressure water. Wood exploded near the bow and the
Griffin
shuddered, like a thing in pain.

“Captain, if it is cracked, it would be already trailing out a fine cloud of it now,” Krumer explained, “if we even could see it.”

“Provided we have not been breathing it the entire time, non?” Noel added, turning the wheel to stabilize their course.

“If we shove it over the side, it will land on the people we’re trying to save,” Hunter said, thinking aloud. “Worse is that the
Revenge
likely has her stores full of that ammunition.”

“So taking her down unleashes the gas,” Krumer commented morbidly.

“Yes,” Hunter replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What then, mon Capitaine?” Noel asked anxiously. “We cannot take much more of this!”

Hunter glanced past the railing towards the orange glow still rising from the pit in the hillside. “The ‘what’ is that we plant her where she does the least amount of harm.”

“Captain?” Krumer asked, confused.

“That pit! If we pull ahead, she can’t train her main weapons at us. If her engines are out, we lock lines on her and haul her to that pit. Once there we cut her free and concentrate on her gas bag.” Hunter ran for the stairs leading from the quarterdeck to the main deck. “While I roust some men to handle the tow lines, send word to Wilhelm! I’ve no doubt that wily pirate has more than one means to disable a ship’s engines!”

Krumer, still uncertain, nodded while he tapped up the code on the opti for the
Whirling Strumpet
. “Aye, Captain.”

Noel was not quite as stoic. “Mon Capitaine! Just how do we break her once she is there?”

Hunter paused at the top of the stairs. ““I’m not positive, Mr. St. Claire. Not yet. We’ll burn that bridge when we land on it.”

The pilot’s ebony face broke into a wide, bemused grin, “I do love this ship! It is always exciting!”

Krumer shook his head with a sigh, then placed the call to the
Strumpet
.

C
aptain Hunter raced down the stairs of the
Brass Griffin
. He hit the main deck at a full run. Behind him, the cannons erupted with another torrent towards the
Revenge
. All across the main deck, the air was alive; the blue-violet glow of St. Elmo’s fire crackled and hissed along the line of artillery, bathing the crew in an otherworldly light.

The captain rushed across the deck, then grabbed Conrad O’Fallon by the arm. “Hook and line! We need hook and line!”

Confused, the Scotsman frowned while he tried to understand the Captain’s request. “What?”

Hunter leaned in to make himself heard over the buzz and crackle of electrical cannon fire. “Hook and line, man! I need five stout crew with me! We’re going to catch the
Revenge
and reel her in!”

Conrad’s confused look melted to astonishment. “Reel her in? She’s a bigger girl than the
Griffin
!”

“Trust me, Conrad,” Anthony replied with a grin and a brief yet
 
reassuring grip on the quartermaster’s arm.

William struggled painfully to his feet. “I’ll help ya, Cap’n.”

Anthony looked over at the singed and bruised young man, then shook his head. “No, Will. I need you resting as much as you can.”

The
Griffin
shuddered as another artillery shell clipped her stern. Wood cracked and the vessel seemed to rumble in pain. William flexed a singed left arm, then put a hard look to the Captain.

“Beggin’ ya pardon, Cap’n, it needs doin’. It’s for the good a’ the people we’re here to get,” Mr. Falke said firmly.

Hunter hesitated. William had been through enough these past months, from nearly being murdered by a raving lunatic in Edinburgh to almost being burned alive in a scuttled airship only a day or so ago. The crew needed a medic, but Anthony did not want to put the young man through any more.

“Cap’n, there’s no time to fanny about,” the young man said with a lopsided grin on his bruised face. “So what’re we about to wreck?”

“Ah know three lads who can be spared from the artillery,” the quartermaster interjected. “Their own station blew a water main, so it had to be shut down.”

Hunter smiled with barely concealed pride. “Right then, send them along. The general plan is to tow the
Revenge
, slice open her air bag in a weak spot, so we can scuttle her in that flaming pit. I’ll explain the details as we go.”

Conrad turned and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Jenkins! Maris! Little Tom! Ye three be with us! The Cap’n’s got a plan!” O’Fallon grinned, “It might be pure dead brilliant!”

Of the trio, the closest was a man, not so tall as he was wide,
with thick knotted shoulders iron-hard from years of work. He rubbed the cold water spray from his face and bald head, then unconsciously stroked his copper red beard. “Oi! On our way!”

Once the three arrived, William lead the others across the deck to the port side of the
Brass Griffin
as she turned to pull ahead of the
Revenge
. Around them burnt airship debris rained down, pelting the deck at their feet with the soot-driven rain, falling from the gray clouds of acrid smoke. Throwing open the wooden locker when they reached it, O’Fallon handed out coils of rope and dull steel grappling hooks. When the locker was empty, they raced off again, this time for the stern winches. O’Fallon, reaching them before the others, immediately began to rapidly thread his coil of rope into one of the machines.

“Cap’n?” William asked, out of breath when he caught up to the others. “What’s the sign for when Cap’n Wilhelm gets his part done?”

“We will know,” Hunter replied evenly, threading his rope into a second winch.

“But,” the young tracker began. His thought was interrupted as he saw the
Whirling Strumpet’s
sails and gas bag rising up behind the
Revenge
.

A twin set of cannons – positioned on either side of the
Strumpet’s
bow – belched flame and smoke! Aboard the
Brass Griffin
, a cheer echoed across the deck as the crew watched their ally move into position.

Suddenly, two long, thin objects shot out, each trailing gray-white coal smoke from a small pair of brass exhaust pipes. Behind them, the small propeller screws spun frantically while stubby, brightly colored bat-shaped fins popped out on either side. Screaming like a pair of wild banshees, the twin devices slammed into the stern of the
Revenge
, hitting the airship hard enough that her rear bucked high into the air, knocking her crew about the deck like loose bowling pins. The
Revenge
roughly sunk
back down, snapping two of her lines connecting gas bag to deck, smoke and fire billowing out of her rear.

Her propellers ground to a halt with the sound of nails scraping across new steel as the twisted metal from the explosion wrapped tightly around the screw axle and fouled the mechanisms.

Hunter grinned knowingly. “The man is Moira’s uncle. Surely you didn’t think he would be quiet about it? Where do you think she gets it from?”

“Oh,” William said, wide eyed, as he watched the larger ship behind them buck like a wild horse that had been slapped firmly on its rear. The rigging jerked and bounced the ship, the gas bag straining from the abuse. On the deck, those not dazed from the jostling about scrambled for safety.

Captain Hunter tied off the grappling hook to his rope, then glanced around at the
men next to him. Smoke from the
Revenge
washed over them all, pelting them with soot. “Use the casters. We’ll have only one shot at this! So we’d best make it bloody well count!”

“Aye!” came the unanimous cry from all around.

In moments, stubby harpoon launchers, powered by a clockwork-wound bow and resembling nothing short of an automatic wound ballista
fired with a series of pops and metallic twangs. Grappling hooks sailed majestically in the air, their
 
ropes snaking out behind them. They arched up, then gently turned downward.

Just as quick as it started, their graceful arc turned deadly as they slammed onto the
Revenge
!

Two hooks bashed through ruined barrels – long since victims of an earlier broadside barrage. Another one deflected off a mast, then slammed into a Fomorian, dragging him across the deck to pin his arm into the wooden railing. The last bashed a Fomorian from his seat at a lightning cannon, the grapple’s spikes driving home in the now empty seat and metal frame near the water intake.

No sooner had the hooks sunk home, Hunter lunged for a black speaking tube nearby. Quickly cranking the opti to a brief resemblance of power, he shouted into the mouthpiece. “Now, Mr. Whitehorse! Full speed ahead! Let the
Griffin
have her head and run!”

“Aye!” came the exuberant reply.

The
Griffin
jerked hard, almost knocking the five crew members off their feet. The ropes snapped taut, and gears far below deck audibly whined with the strain.

A whine snapped through the air, and Jenkins
grunted as a rifle bullet slammed into his chest, hurling him to the deck!

William coughed against the smoke, calling out, “Here they come!”

Grapple lines sailed out from the
Revenge
and hooked the
Griffin
firmly on her rail. Across the wide space of night air, riflemen – Fomorians who had not transformed – took hasty aim with their Spencer rifles
and let loose a sharp volley. Bullets rained out over the deck; Hunter and his crew dove flat to the deck planks, the bullets screaming overhead.

Once the first volley subsided, Hunter scrambled onto one knee. In a fluid motion, his revolver was in his hand. His first shot dropped a Fomorian rifleman where he stood, the second caught another one wielding an ax.

“We stand here!” Hunter shouted out to his crew. “They must not get aboard!”

The four men stood their ground while more of the
Brass Griffin’s
crew raced over to help them. All around, the battle exploded in a bloody ferocity.

The ships danced about in the air: The
Griffin
, her bloody claws sunk deep into the
Revenge
, hauled away at the larger vessel. The
Revenge
, however, bit back, her crews firing desperately at the
Griffin
, trying to make a beachhead where they could board. Behind the
Revenge
 the
Whirling Strumpet
, brightly colored flags flying in a wild display around her sails and gas bag, harried the Fomorian ship with shot after searing hot shot of chain munitions. Between each artillery volley, the lightning cannons erupted with crackling bursts of electrified, high pressure water jets across her deck.

As the Fomorians fought back, Hunter barked another order to fire, then squeezed the trigger on his revolver. The
Griffin’s
cannons crackled then roared to mad life, scouring the
Revenge
. The Fomorian airship struggled like a burnt and bloody rabid beast, clawing the
Griffin
with bullet and small cannons – a desperate gamble to soften the smaller ship while a pack of Fomorians downed their Hellgate elixirs to begin their nightmarish transformations.

“They’ll be boardin’ us!” O’Fallon shouted over the chaos. He glanced at the glowing pit that loomed so close, but not close enough for the
Griffin
to deposit her burden inside. “Cap’n, we’ll not make this one! She just can’t be handlin’ the strain!”

Anthony looked over and frowned. He shoved his smoking revolver into its holster, then patted the
Griffin’s
fractured wooden railing. “Hold on girl,” Hunter whispered, “you’ve got her where we want her. Just hold on a mite longer.”

Captain Hunter looked over the railing toward the
Revenge
, then around the
Griffin’s
deck, searching for inspiration. His eyes locked onto one of the mooring lines which lead across to the grappling hook now embedded in one of the lightning cannon on the
Revenge
. With a savage grin, he reached over and yanked the winch lever back, causing the device to reel in the rope.