Down: Trilogy Box Set (23 page)

The top of the
Hellfire
mizzenmast was felled by chainfire and crashed onto the stern, narrowly missing Hawes and Norfolk. John found himself covered by canvas and realized his right leg was pinned by a section of the mast. He heard Hawes order his portside cannon to open fire and the return barrage was deafening. A knife blade poked through the canvas only inches from his chest and with a rip, the face of Antonio appeared. John felt his leg being freed and when he was lifted through the torn sail, he saw Simon and Luca had shifted the mast.

“Were you hurt?” Luca shouted.

He tested his leg. “I’m okay.”

“We’re being boarded!” Simon yelled, pointing at the looming Iberian ship.

Grappling hooks were flying through the air, catching on rails and rigging. Musket balls were thudding into flesh and wood. The two ships came together with a splintering thud and shrieking Iberians clamored on board with sabers drawn.

“Fight or perish!” Antonio shouted.

John drew his sword and without a moment’s thought rushed at a nearby boarder and ran him through. Though they had never trained together, John found himself in an effective combat formation with his three new comrades, the four of them, two-by-two and back-to-back, protecting each other’s rears. Around them, men fell, cut down by steel and lead, and the deck ran red with slippery blood.

An Iberian sailor who had swung from the riggings of his ship to the Hellfire topgallant mast, dropped down onto them, felling Simon and Antonio. The Iberian recovered his bearings, took the knife from his teeth and started to bring it down on Antonio’s face when John viciously swung his sword, catching the man’s knife arm at the inside of the elbow. The sailor cried out, the blood spurting from his brachial artery, then collapsed, helplessly watching himself bleed out through his stump.

Antonio delivered a terse, “Grazie,” to John then resumed fighting.

There was a shuddering volley of cannon fire from the
Hellfire
gunnery deck and the
Martillo
erupted into a fireball.

John heard Captain Hawes scream that they’d hit their powder lockers. The Iberian ship began to list heavily, stretching and popping the grappling lines that held the two vessels together. The remaining boarders, realizing their fates were sealed, decided to take their chances with the stormy sea and to a man they jumped ship. There was a rolling round of hurrahs from the
Hellfire
crew then Hawes ordered the remaining grappling lines cut. He ran down the stairs to the maindeck to personally survey the damage and stooped to cradle one of his wounded men, a man who, on Earth, would have been gone, but here, with a ball through his chest, still had open eyes and a pleading look.

Norfolk was leaning over the quarterdeck railing, shouting, “Throw that man overboard! Get all the non-able-bodied off my ship and get me a damage report, captain!”

Simon, his chest heaving, caught enough breath to tell John that now was the time to act. John came over to Hawes in time to hear him mutter, “I should throw Norfolk overboard.”

“Why don’t you?” John asked.

The captain gently laid his wounded man back down and stood. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Join us, captain.”

“Us?”

Simon, Antonio and Luca circled around.

“We want your ship,” John said.

“I do not understand.”

“We aim to go to France,” John said. “To rescue my friend.”

“If I did not do my utmost to stop you, it would be treason,” the captain said.

Simon was by their side now, shaking his head. “What is treason in Hell? Defending a murderous king and his murderous duke. We’ve all done things which have condemned us to this world but I’d like to think that some of us are better than others.”

Luca now had his shoulder around Simon in a show of solidarity and said, “We serve a man who is the best among us. He is no king, but if he were, then perhaps this would be a better world. We have agreed to help our unusual and most able friend, John Camp, and he has agreed to help our cause.”

“And what cause is that?” Hawes asked.

John shrugged. “They haven’t told me yet and my guess is they won’t tell you either. It’s a matter of faith, I guess.”

“I have not relied on faith for a very long time,” Hawes said wearily.

Again, Norfolk screamed down to toss the wounded into the sea and when the captain did not relay those orders, Norfolk began to descend to the main deck.

“I will not condemn my men to an eternity at the bottom of the sea. ’Tis a worse fate than a rotting room,” Hawes said. He wheeled to face Norfolk who was red in the face, his jugulars bulging. “I will have you off this ship before them, sir,” Hawes told him.

Norfolk shouted back that the captain was relieved of his command and he began to draw a pistol from his belt. But before he could, John had the tip of his sword an inch from the duke’s neck and Antonio removed the gun from his suddenly limp hand. Norfolk gave John a hateful look but started to tremble.

“Can you swim?” Hawes asked.

“What manner of a question is that?” the astonished Norfolk asked.

Simon took two fistfuls of the back of his coat and said, “What do you say we find out?” and as the shell-shocked crew of the
Hellfire
watched, the duke was marched to the portside railing.

“Wait!” John said, rushing over to the railing. For a moment Norfolk must have thought that John intended to save him because his look of fear turned to haughtiness but John snatched his silver chain and pulled the heavy, silver watch from his pocket.

“That was given to me by the king!” Norfolk said.

John felt its heft in his palm. “I don’t think it’s waterproof,” he said.

And as the duke sputtered in indignation, Simon threw him over the side.

Norfolk hit the water hard and splashed about before remembering the breaststroke, but just as he mastered a stroke or two, the
Martillo
pitched forward, her bow piercing the waves, her stern rising up. She went down fast. The vortex she made sucked in Norfolk and with a panicked, helpless look, he disappeared below the surface.

Hawes quickly ordered his men to do the best they could for the wounded and took a report from his first mate that the ship, though holed above the waterline fore and aft, was reparable. The captain ordered him to get the carpenters to work and stood there, hands on hips, trying to think. The fog was still heavy, the cliffs invisible.

John opened the watch cover. It was four o’clock in the afternoon on his fifth day in Hell. In less than two days MAAC would be fired up again but he’d be nowhere near Dartford. He slipped the watch into his pocket and approached Hawes. “We will take this ship, with you or without you,” John said. “I’d prefer it was with you.”

“Join us,” Luca said. “You will not be sorry.”

“Henry will send the fleet after us.”

John said, “When the fog lifts they’ll find wreckage. They’ll think we were sunk.”

“What can I tell my crew?” the captain asked.

Simon said, “Tell them we offer hope for better lives.”

“Hope,” Hawes said, wistfully. “That word again.” He looked at John then turned to his first mate and said, “We have three good masts. Clear the debris as quick as you can, set a course for Francia and assemble the men on deck. We will never be able to return home but I will talk to them about hope.”

Well into the long, dark night, Emily found herself dozing on the saddle. She had to catch herself repeatedly and struggle to stay awake lest she slip and dethrone herself and the tethered horseman. She had a sense they were riding through a forest because every so often she was whipped by a branch but for all she knew there was a precipitous cliff or ravine to one side. That the riders were able to keep at their rapid pace in the dark suggested they were on a trail and when the very first pink light of dawn came, she saw this was so.

A branch struck the top of her head with a crack. A moment later JoJo must have hit the same branch because she too said “oww,” and both women, despite their dire situation, started laughing. Seconds later, through the trees, Emily saw two bright lights and wondered if the head bashing had produced stars.

The horses made for the lights. They became brighter and brighter until the trail before them was perfectly illuminated and when they were so bright her eyes hurt, her horseman stopped, pulled the rope that joined them over his body and dismounted. Then he tugged her down onto spongy legs.

A male voice called out from behind the lights in a modern German, “Welcome to Germania, Frau Professor Doktor Loughty.” Then in English he said politely, “Forgive me, my manners. Do you speak German?”

She answered in German that she did and asked who he was.

He replied by gruffly telling the soldier to bring her closer. When he did, she was to suffer two shocks: the first, that the bright lights were the headlights of a boxy, open-topped automobile, the second, that the middle-aged, smallish man in the rear seat was dressed in a wide-lapelled, twentieth century business suit, his bony face framed by steel-rimmed glasses. There were two other cars behind the first one, their lights off. The men who got out were more archaic in appearance, wearing a mélange of uniforms of the centuries.

Emily was about to say something when Clovis dismounted and rushed forward, babbling rapidly in his guttural language and pushing her out of the way. He held out his hand, as if demanding payment.

The small, prim man no longer seemed polite. He began hurling epithets back at him in German then said something quietly to the driver, a hefty fellow in fairly modern clothes. The driver reached down then tossed a leather pouch that clinked onto the ground. Clovis reached for it, undid the drawstring and pushed his meaty hand inside. When he was satisfied that all was as agreed, he spat in the dirt and withdrew.

“Such a barbarian!” the small man said. “My apologies, but you see, Frau Doktor, he really
is
a barbarian.” Then he awkwardly chuckled at his own joke.

Clovis returned, dragging JoJo with him and he began shouting again. Emily listened to the small man say that he didn’t ask for anyone else, he had no interest in a Negress, and he refused to pay more. He and Clovis angrily went back and forth until the driver tossed a few more coins onto the ground and that seemed to settle it. Clovis spat again and rode off into the forest with his retinue.

“All right?” Emily asked JoJo.

“Yeah, who’s this creep?” she replied in French.

“I’m sure we’re going to find out.”

“Such unpleasantness,” the small man said. “Well, you can expect better treatment from now on, Frau Doktor.”

“You seem to know who I am but I don’t know who you are.”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Heinrich Luitpold Himmler at your service.”

Emily blurted out, “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am perfectly serious.”

“Who is he?” JoJo asked.

“He’s a bloody Nazi, that’s who he is. One of Hitler’s lot.”

Himmler smiled in delight. “I am pleased you know who I am. Do they teach about me in your British schools?”

“Oh, yes,” Emily said, shaking her head in continued disbelief. “You’re still in the curriculum.” It was one thing to meet historical figures like the Duke of Guise and Clovis, men she knew little to nothing about, but Himmler? Well, she knew a great deal about him. Suddenly, the evils of Hell filled her nostrils with a particularly vile stench. She seethed at him, “We like to remind ourselves over and over what your filthy gang did so we’ll be less likely to let it happen again.”

“I see,” Himmler said. “This sounds to me like a rather naïve approach to history. But please come. We have another journey ahead. It will be more comfortable than your night ride. You and your Negress friend will ride in my motor car.”

“JoJo.”

“I am sorry?” he asked with a squint of confusion.

“Her name is JoJo.”

“Excellent. She will sit beside my driver and you will sit beside me.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Why, to Marksburg on the Rhine, near Koblenz. Frederick, the ruler of Germania, is most anxious to meet you, as I myself have been. If it were only for your scent of life that, I must say, is more fragrant than any blossom in Hell, you would be fascinating. But you are also a scientist, I understand. A physicist. My how I respect the mind of a scientist! Now come, get in quickly and we will be on our way.”

The women hesitated for too long prompting Himmler to advise them that they would do better to obey voluntarily than be coerced by his men. Once they had climbed into the automobile, the driver began furiously moving a lever at his feet, forward and back, forward and back, until the car began to make a moaning sound, like the resonant call of a whale, followed by a loud hissing which accompanied the release of plumes of steam.

Soon the hissing morphed into a whistle, like an exaggerated whistling of a kettle, and Emily exclaimed, “This is a steam car, isn’t it?”

“Yes, quite so,” Himmler replied. “It is extraordinary, is it not?”

When the driver was satisfied there was enough pressure inside the boiler, he put the car into gear and they were off, surrounded by a cloud of steam, chugging and choo-chooing away like an old-time locomotive.

Emily bounced violently on the leather bench-seat prompting Himmler to say, in a loud enough voice to be heard over the noise, that he was working to improve the rubber in the tires and the quality of the shock absorbers.

“You must appreciate the problems I have advancing the technology here,” he said, seeking her understanding. “The people who come here tend to be inferior in all ways. It is so remarkably difficult to find men who possess useful skills.”

Emily sat stiffly, her arms crossed angrily at the prospect of sharing the ride with this monster. “You mean to tell me there aren’t many Nobel prize-winning murderers and rapists about?”

This elicited a genuine belly laugh. He offered her a blanket that she passed over the seat to JoJo.

“We can put up the top if it rains,” Himmler said, “but it does little against the morning chill. I must say, it took me thirty years to find the men in Germania and elsewhere, each with a complementary skill, to produce a functional automobile. Of course, we do not have the ability yet, and I stress the word
yet
, to drill for oil and to refine petroleum into diesel, so I had to settle for steam power. On a good stretch of road, they will go over fifty miles per hour. Old King Frederick’s eyeballs nearly popped from his head when I rolled out the first prototype. It was like giving a caveman fire.”