Pinion (41 page)

Bork took a deep breath and visibly gathered himself. He closed his eyes a moment, contemplating his own frustrations, then said, “You sail into my waters under a ridiculous banner not to be found in the flag books. You command an enemy ship, filled with enemy sailors, in a time of war. You make bald-faced assertions of your authority without any written orders or charters to validate your claims. Do you expect me to believe all this?”

“Well, yes,” Childress said, in her most pleasant speaking-to-theology-students voice. “What else is there for you to do?” She glanced up the conning tower at Leung, who was watching impassively. Time to take a
step that would almost certainly give him dreadful pause. Childress had thought this through carefully but had quite deliberately declined to discuss it with the captain. “I shall offer you a compromise.”

“You are in a position to offer me nothing,” huffed the lieutenant commander.

“Of course I am, silly man.” She smiled, letting her teeth show. “I am in a position to offer you the chance to save your own career, and possibly claim a hero’s welcome on your return to London. Far better that than the ignominy that awaits you should my mission fail on the rock of your intransigence.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips. “Madam, what would this vaunted compromise entail?”

She pitched her voice so it would carry clearly to the captain’s ears. “Send two of your men aboard. One may seal the tubes and stand by in the torpedo bay to ensure nothing untoward takes place in British waters, and most especially the vital Suez that you are so rightly charged with maintaining. The other may remain topside in the conning tower while I and my executive officer Mr. Leung pilot this ship through the passage and into the Mediterranean. Dispatch whatever hulls you deem necessary to serve as escort, and to clear us at Port Said so that I am not forced to renew this ridiculous argument with Her Imperial Majesty’s Mediterranean Fleet.

“During the transit, Cap—I and Mr. Leung will keep the majority of our crew on deck so that you may know we are not moving to arms or committing some other untoward sabotage. On reaching the open waters, we shall resume our normal operations, but your seals may remain upon our tubes.”

Bork appeared almost impressed. “If you are telling the truth, perhaps all will shine as a result of this plan. If you are lying, then I will have admitted a grave threat into the heart of the empire.”

“Lieutenant Commander Bork, have you ever heard of a Chinese warship commanded by an Englishwoman? Or indeed, any warship, anywhere, commanded by a woman? Spin whatever wild tales you will about me, but rest assured that I am not the mistress of some one-ship attack force from halfway around the Northern Earth bent on domination of the high seas.”

“She has a point, sir,” the laughing officer said from behind Bork’s shoulder. He seemed in full command of himself now. “There might be truth and truth, but this doesn’t stand or fall on an act of war.”

“You’ll be the Cairo squadron commander’s problem if I let you through,” Bork grumbled. “Passevoy always was half a fool, and I know which half. And I’m almost ready to believe you. You’ve a colonial accent,
and a wretched Scotsman besides, for proof.” He turned back to the man who’d just spoken. “Lieutenant Ericks, you will remain here as observer. Take one of the men from the launch to watch over the torpedo bay of this benighted ship.”

Childress’ heart leapt until the officer’s next words. “In the meantime, I’ll take your man al-Wazir off for consultations. He’s such a highly placed fellow, I’m sure he won’t mind tea with my captain.” Bork’s eyes bored into hers. “You shan’t miss a one-handed petty officer, I can’t think.”

She opened her mouth, and closed it.
Think
, Childress told herself,
and quickly
. She’d already taken too long, lost the air of habitual assurance that she had so carefully cultivated.

“I shall require his services once we reach Port Said.”

“I am certain Captain Yalow will not mind a little trip up the canal on escort.” Now Bork was grinning. “This man is under oath to the Crown. We’ll hold a hearing, work through the details of his service to Admiralty behind closed doors. Chief, you will come to me.”

Childress could feel al-Wazir’s eyes boring into her shoulder. Leung’s gaze would be heavy and angry from above. What could she do but say yes? Any other answer doomed the ship.

“Chief al-Wazir, I shall expect you in Port Said,” she said crisply.

Lieutenant Commander Bork returned to his launch with a satisfied smirk, now that the exchange of hostages had been negotiated. Lieutenant Ericks approached Childress. “I’ll have Seaman Spradley with me, madam. Sir. Ma’am.” He seemed briefly lost in the honorifics.

“Mr. Leung will show you to your duty stations,” she said absently. Her stare was fixed on the wild red hair of the man even now being taken away. What had she just sold him into? How would he resolve the divide between loyalty to his oath and the very informal but real alliance formed here aboard the submarine?

One wrong answer from al-Wazir and Bork would have
Five Lucky Winds
at the bottom without a trace.

She sighed, and turned to face the wrath of the submarine’s real captain.

Battle was joined in a rattle of rifle fire and the bark of the stern chasers. Obsolete weapons anywhere but in the air, he knew. Old habits died hard up here, and a good, solid bit of shelled shot was just the ticket for the predominantly wooden airships of both empires.

For these damnable winged savages, a Maxim gun would have been far more to the point, but they were quite difficult to keep cooled in aerial applications.

He crouched next to Tremblay, the old sailor at the helm, aware that at any moment the Chinese airships with their battle lanterns hung out could open up with their weapons.
Two
, both comparable to
Notus
’ class. Barring a miracle,
Erinyes
was done for, even without the killer angels.

McCurdy’s successor chivvied his men urgently, lining them up on the rail in firing parties while simultaneously shouting belowdecks. Boaz walked among them, giving orders.

The winged savages made several bloodless passes, just for the sake of terror, Kitchens realized. They certainly had that effect on
him
. A few lines parted at the flick of a blade, while the beat of their wings could be heard even over the drone of
Erinyes
’ engines.

Altitude. She was smaller and lighter than her pursuers. He had no illusions about this little airship outflying the savages, but perhaps the Chinese threat could be reduced. Kitchens studied the telegraph, then rang for nose-up, dump all ballast.

She lurched with a thunderous whoosh as the tanks along the keel were opened. The deck jumped, the masts and stays groaning violently. Many of the defenders were thrown down with violent shouts. Kitchens only kept his feet by clinging to the telegraph’s brass capstan.

“Usually they whistles that one around first,” the helmsman groused.

“Keep us up and circling away from the Chinese,” Kitchens snapped. “There’s no time for niceties.”

The sudden maneuver had done nothing to discourage the winged savages, but the airship was now visibly higher than the Chinese pursuers. The two airships were like dragons cruising the moonlit night, lazing after the desperate swallow that was
Erinyes
.

They’d circled far enough into their climb that the starboard battery could fire on the enemy. A ragged cheer went up from that rail, though Kitchens could not see what they celebrated—no sparks fountained, no flames erupted, and neither of the pursuing vessels staggered in their courses.

Then the winged savages came aboard in earnest.

Boaz was everywhere on the deck at once, laying to with a boathook. Sailors in their panic fired indiscriminately, both over the rail and across the deck to the mortal danger of their fellows. A dozen of the attackers pushed from the fore. Kitchens realized that he was unarmed, at least for this sort of work. If they’d come over the aft rail he’d already be dead.

He grabbed up a loose carbine with a fixed bayonet, dropped by whomever had also bled copiously on the oaken boards. Kitchens retreated back to the wheel only to discover Tremblay missing his head and one arm, while the helm spun free.

He grabbed at it once, twice, his blood-slicked hand stinging from the impact, before taking control.

Oh, Lord, heed a longtime apostate and show me Your mercy now
. Kitchens brought the wheel back closer to true, to avoid bogging into a turn so tight
Erinyes
would waste all her momentum. He had no way to read the wind, no means to track the sky, so he steered away from the Wall. One way or the other they would all be dead soon.

Then the Chinese began to fire upon them. The dragons were gaining on the swallow, while killer angels bled her dry.

He willed them to more speed, to more altitude, wondering if airships slain in battle flew to a cloudless heaven of their own.

Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air.          
—I Thessalonians 4:17

When the airship jumped up, his boathook swung wildly and tore into a sailor’s jacket. Another three inches and he would have killed the man.

::
we will make a fort of the clouds and slay even the rain with our spears of lightning
::

Many fell cursing. Winged savages were over the rail in force now. They were stupidly fearless. They were also tough enough to take a bullet in the chest and continue their attack, where any monkey man would have either decently expired or at least moaned out his pain.

A seven-foot length of ironshod oak, on the other hand, these flying horrors definitely respected.

::
so he shewed them their own lights upon a stick, and their ambassador agreed that another path should be found
::

Shove.

Crack.

Tear.

Smash.

Yank.

Battle was full of short, sharp words, often repeated, never resolved, one death after another until eventually everyone fell.

He’d slain his own brothers, other selves of his self, defending Ottweill’s stockade, and now he’d slay the armies of Ophir to fight for another few minutes of life before Chinese shot claimed them all.

A winged savaged loomed large, mouth bloody with someone’s scalp. Boaz fed it the iron end of the hook for a chaser; then his implement jammed on a prominence of the jaw. The Brass cursed, pushed forward,
and shoved both the flier and his own weapon overboard together. He turned swiftly to see what other wild-eyed madness was afoot.

::
then the Lord sent an angel with an inkhorn, and seven more of His host with swords of jet and chalcedony
::

“Get out of my head!” Boaz shouted as he slapped away a bronze sword in midswing.

The fight was tumbling rough. The winged savages were not going directly for the kill, but rather worrying at their prey. That the Chinese continued their pursuit was only a bitter lagniappe.

Boaz experienced a moment’s respite as the attackers swirled away to regain their momentum.
Erinyes
’ pitifully small complement of cannon spoke from the ship’s waist, but they were little threat to the flying killers. He looked up at the gasbag and wondered when they would simply start slitting the cells. A few deft slices and a bit of flame would put paid to everyone’s ambition.

::
flew he acrost the walls of the Garden with poison in his mouth
::

“I don’t have any poison.” The Brass man braced himself for the next wave of screaming flesh and flashing eyes and bloody blades. They were all too happy to oblige.

Sometime later—minutes or hours, he could not say—quiet prevailed upon
Erinyes
. Smoke eddied from belowdecks, but no one seemed alarmed at the prospect of fire, so Boaz reasoned it was from the cannon. The survivors were ragged, bloody, wild-eyed. The airship’s engines shrilled. They ran so hot and hard he feared damage, but Kitchens had held the helm and was pushing them farther away from both the Wall and the pursuing Chinese.

::
the King sent four men down from the mountains of spring to treat with the devils and their strange boats
::