Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (39 page)

Brave but foolish.
They should have pulled back to the stair, at least.
Fengel shook his head for the hundredth time. He could admire the bravery of his fellow pirates. They just needed to fight smarter.
At least this fellow had a sizeable force with him. If I can save his hide from the Perinese, we might be able to build a real defense together
.  A massive shadow flitting past made him smile. At least his worthless father-in-law had gotten the airships moving again.

The alleys, drug dens, and warehouses of the Waterdocks flew past. Several years ago, when he’d wed Natasha, they’d almost all been burned to the ground. No great loss, in his opinion. When it had been rebuilt, though, no one had bothered with anything like civic planning, recreating the warrens that right now seemed an admirable defensive feature. The Bluecoats had made alarmingly impressive progress anyway. If Haventown were a normal city, they’d have been halfway to Nob Terrace by now.

Fengel turned a corner and quieted. Corpses littered the street, roughly piled against the walls of the warehouses. They were locals, not a Bluecoat marine among them. Fishermen, seamstresses, and simple laborers. This hadn’t been a fight—they’d been hauled outside and executed. He clenched his fist around the musket and swore in every language he knew.
Damn the Kingdom. Damn it and its pride, arrogance, and cruelty. These were townsfolk, not pirates!

A huge crash sounded on the next street over, followed by shouts and clattering swords. Fengel glared at the battle.
Well, now I’m here. And I’m going to make you pay for every moment you dared to set foot in my town, you imperialist bastards
.

Romper’s Way was closed off from this street. Getting onto it in the proper fashion would have taken another ten minutes. But there were other ways, Fengel knew.

He dashed down past a warehouse to the alley between it and its neighbor. A rough wooden fence walled it off, the legacy of some long-forgotten dispute. But a dozen old crates lay about in a rough stack against the fence, making a perfect stair.

Fengel clambered up atop them, then went for the overhanging lip of a warehouse roof. He flung the musket up on the rooftop, then scrabbled up after it, the trip made awkward by the stolen pistols and blades he’d taken from Lanters. Their handles gouged into his gut as he rose to a crouch, grabbed the musket, and snuck over to the edge of the roof facing down onto the battle just below.
 
 

Romper’s Way was a twisty almost-alley that ended between two warehouses and a tavern: the Cock O’ the Green. Fengel hadn’t much reason to come down here, but Henry Smalls swore by the pub. The whole street looked just as small and mean as he remembered it, the only difference now being the barricade choking off the end and the ranks of blue-jacketed Perinese soldiers that filled the rest of the Way.

At least seventy Bluecoats were here, almost a full ship’s company. They were all rumpled, weary, and bloodied. They hung back, shaking their weapons and shouting curses down the street. Fengel spied an older officer among them who looked startlingly familiar.

Their ire was aimed at the barricade and both of the sides that warred there. Assailing it were the clockwork automatons, marching implacably forth, occasionally pausing to take a shot with their heavy pepperbox muskets. Those in the lead would clumsily attempt to climb the barrels and crates the pirates stood upon, only to slip or be thrown roughly back. Every fall, blow, or pistol ball they took failed to stop them, though. Fengel marveled again at their construction.

Atop the barricade, the pirates fought desperately. Maybe a dozen still stood. They shot at the automatons—or just hacked at them with rapidly chipping blades. The defenders were a motley lot, whom Fengel recognized from several crews. Shannon MacKinnon was here, though he wondered why she wasn’t aboard the
Windhaunter
. There was the aetherite Danica too, sporting a bandage about her head. But Fengel’s heart leaped into his chest as he spied the familiar shapes of Sarah Lome and Henry Smalls among the crowd.

What in the Realms Below are they doing down here?
His crew knew better than to get trapped in a blind alley! Fengel felt a moment’s panic.
I’ve got to do something! And where are Lucian and the others?
He half rose from his crouch to yell at them and shout orders. Then he stopped as he spied the bent-backed old figure screaming epithets down at the Perinese from the middle of the barricade.

It was Euron Blackheart, the pirate king.

Fengel wanted to spit.
Of course. Of course that mad old bastard disobeyed
. Now he was stuck, down here at the arse-end of the Waterdocks, about to drag Fengel’s own crewmen down into the Realms Below with him.

Well. Fengel wasn’t going to stand for that. Not one bit.

He set his musket down and shifted Imogen’s stolen satchel about. The bomb inside was big, larger than an eighteen-pound cannonball, though not nearly so heavy. Weird spikes protruded from it, along with a fuse—a mechanism not unlike the flintlock hammer of a cannon’s gun cock topped it. Fengel reached in to pull it out as he eyed the crowd below. Where would it do the most damage?

A shadow darkened the street, accompanied by a piercing whistle and the whirr of nearby propellers. The pirates quieted. Even the Perinese Bluecoats ceased shouting, and the automatons paused to look up. Fengel glanced at the dark hull of an airship coming in low, dropping a hail of fizzing black bombs as it went.

He threw himself aside, rolling back across the roof and away from the street. The detonations sounded a long second later, shivering the building that he lay upon. Fengel cracked an eyelid open when it was over, listening to the screams of men echoing up to him.

Solrun’s Hammer
flew overhead. The airship was battered. Dead crewmen hung limp across the gunwales. Captain Brunehilde was there, though, waving cheerfully down at the street below.

“There’s a gift, Fengel!” she cried. “All I had left! Quit lying about and make use of it! I’m running back to dock!”

Fengel scrabbled to his feet and grabbed the musket. Sketching a quick bow at the already-gone airship, he ran up the roof for its other side, where it met the barricade. He’d always had a soft spot for Brunehilde—she could be counted upon in a pinch.

Fengel shouldered the musket and dropped off the eaves onto the barricade beside the still-stunned pirates. The nearest whirled at him, cutlass raised, only to stop in shock.

“Captain Fengel?” said Henry Smalls.

“Hello, Henry,” replied Fengel. He clapped the man on the shoulder as he sidled past. “One side, if you please. There’s a lad.”

He unshouldered the musket, raised it up, and fired point-blank into the face of an automaton crawling up the side of an overturned cart. It rang like a bell and fell away. Fengel reversed the weapon, holding it like a club by the now-hot barrel. He swung the stock into the helm of another, sending it crashing below. He tried not to look at the carnage down the street where the Bluecoats screamed and died.

Turning, he glared out at the dozen remaining pirates and roared out in his best command voice, “What are you all doing? Find a way to fall back!”

“Ye damned popinjay!” shouted Euron, standing a dozen feet away atop the barricade. “What be ye doing here?”

“Saving your hides!” roared Fengel.

“Captain Fengel!” shouted Sarah Lome. The joy was plain on her face. “But there’s nowhere else to go!” The rest of the pirates all called their agreement. Where before they’d been grimly determined, now both hope and relief lit their features.

“Are you blind, Gunney?” asked Fengel incredulously. “Get one of the warehouses open!

“I tried, Captain. But those doors are all rusted shut, and we don’t have time to hack one open!”

Fengel paused, taken aback. “Oh. Well. Um...”

“In here, quickly!”

Everyone turned at the voice. It came from the open door to the pub, the Cock O’ the Green. An older man stood within it, dark haired and clad in a finer outfit than any of the pirates possessed, or most of Haventown, for that matter. He gestured frantically.

Fengel blinked. “Yes. Like that.”

“What?” yelled Euron. “Stand and fight, ye mutinous dogs!”

Reflected light flashed in the corner of Fengel’s eye. He lashed out with the musket in his hands, catching his cantankerous father-in-law by the back of his knees. The old man fell, rolling down the back of the barricade with a surprised cry, just as an automaton raised up its cannon and fired.

“Inside!” roared Fengel. “Get inside the pub!”

Then he threw the weapon aside and hopped down the barricade himself, landing on blood-stained boardwalk and the corpse of a pirate whom he felt he should know. The others didn’t have to be told twice. Shannon MacKinnon fled through the doorway, followed by Danica Barker and the others. Gunney Lome and Henry Smalls hung back, falling in beside Fengel at the rear of the crowd.

“It’s good to see you, Captain,” said Henry.

“It’s good to be seen, Mr. Smalls,” Fengel replied. He adjusted his monocle and put his hands behind him. “But what are you two doing down here? Where’re Lucian and the others?”

“We got split up during the retreat,” said Sarah Lome. “Some of us made it aboard the airships, but the rest of us had to run back through the jungle. Henry and I barely stuck together; I don’t know about Cumbers, Lucian, Maxim, or the rest. We two went looking for you, but the pirate king was rounding people up to fight down here in the Waterdocks.”

Shouts rang out from down the street just as the barricade began to shift. Trailing columns of steam rose up from behind it, accompanied by the clank of the automatons. Fengel jerked his head at the pub, its doorway standing empty now but for the man within it. “Lucian knows what he’s about. We’ll find him after we get out of here. Oh, and Gunney, please bring that sad sack of mouldering liver spots along, if you please?”

The huge woman looked momentarily uncertain, but then she nodded sharply. Leaning down, she grabbed up Euron Blackheart from where he was rising creakily to his knees and threw him over her shoulder. He snarled and spit as she trotted into the Cock O’ the Green. Fengel smiled and nudged his steward in the ribs as they trotted after. Henry returned the smile, but grudgingly and tainted by worry.

The publican slammed shut the door as soon as they were inside and threw down a bar to lock the portal. Two other men were waiting, and they pushed through the crowd with a heavy cask. Fengel stepped aside as they wedged it up against the door, then left for more things with which to reinforce their barricade.

Fengel let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The taproom they stood within was a modest one, with a cold brick fireplace along the left wall and a well-stocked bar directly across from the door. Round tables took up most of the space. Polished teak paneled the walls, which were covered in an assortment of oddities.

Trophies, caps, and tools hung in places of pride. Fengel glimpsed framed broadsheet advertisements, each proclaiming the advantages of a powder or elixir that swore to give one an advantage over one’s opponents. Oil paintings portrayed men dressed in plaid standing upon verdant fields.

“Golfing equipment?” asked Fengel in surprise. Some of the things here he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

“You know the Royal Sport, then, sir?”

Fengel turned to see the proprietor standing near. His dark hair was disheveled, and his brass spectacles were fogged over with sweat. “A little,” replied Fengel. “It’s not a game that lends itself well to my vocation.”

“Are you sure? A club and a ball, and you’ve got a start.” He reached out a hand. “Martin Pool, proprietor of the Cock O’ the Green. Hello, Henry.”

Henry Smalls gave the man a nod. “Good to see you, Martin.”

Fengel took the offered hand and shook it. “Captain Fengel, of the
Dawnhawk
. Thank you for your timely aid, Mr. Pool.”

“Well, I couldn’t just stand there while you were fighting and dying outside, now, could I?”

The two other men pushed past, rolling another heavy keg. Both were older, grey-haired and with full beards. One jerked his head towards the stair just below the bar. “That goes out just below the Craftwright’s Terrace stair.”

“James Von Lossow is our brew master,” said Martin. “And Tom O’ Driscoll, our cook.”

Both men set the keg up against the door, gave a wave, then pushed back through the crowd. “You brew your own ale?” asked Fengel.

“Of course!” replied Martin. “In fact, if you’ve a moment—”

“Let me down, ye damned freak of a woman!”

It was Euron, of course. Fengel turned to see the pirate king flailing from where Gunney Lome still had him in a fireman’s carry across her back. She released him abruptly. Fengel’s furious father-in-law fell with a crash upon a table beside them, then down to the taproom floor. Sarah stepped back, the contempt plain on her face. Even Henry frowned, irritated. Once, such manhandling of Euron Blackheart would have been unthinkable. Now Fengel didn’t especially care, and it looked like his crew were coming around to the idea as well.

The rest of the pirates all went still. They quickly pulled away, forming an uncertain circle around Fengel, his crewmen, and the pirate king. James Von Lossow and Tom O’Driscoll pushed past carrying a table, oblivious to the fight brewing right behind them.

Euron clambered to his knees. “Ye mutinous, yellow-bellied cur! How dare ye strike me? How—”

“I dared,” snapped Fengel, “because you would have died out there on that pile of garbage and brought everyone here down with you!”

“We were fightin’ ’em back!” roared Euron, standing.

“You were cornered!” continued Fengel. “And besides, what are you even doing down here? I sent you up to the Skydocks, Euron!”

The crowd gasped. Euron glared up at him, hatefully. “Ye don’t be sendin’ me anywhere!” he snarled. “Ye don’t rule Haventown—”

“Wrong!” said Fengel, taking a step forward. “I
do
.”

Another collective gasp went about the room. Everyone but Shannon MacKinnon stared at him in surprise. Even Henry Smalls and Gunney Lome seemed shocked. A rumbling murmur rose up from those assembled, even as something outside crashed. Fengel looked from face to face and realized the time was now or never.
Never let them see you stumble.