Dark Empress (52 page)

-Clang.

“Steady, lads.”

-Clang.

And now their former nemesis was with them, professing loyalty and deeply involved in Samir’s plan without knowing himself what he was working toward.

-Clang.

Yet there was no accident to this, Ursa was sure. If Ghassan was with them now, it had been in Samir’s mind for a long time and was yet another thread woven into the plot.

-Clang.

And it had to be said that this man, for all his history of mindless subservience to the navy, seemed to have a similar mind to his brother. Amazing, really. Should these brothers truly work together, there would be little they couldn’t achieve.

-Clang.

Ursa frowned. How many was that? Damn it, he must stop getting sidetracked. Nodding, he put thoughts of his two commanders and their relationship aside and concentrated.

-Clang.

That must be the sixth? Yes, the sixth.

-Clang.

“Ready lads?” he whispered. “Know where you’re all going?”

-Clang.

There was a low murmur of affirmative noises.

-Clang.

Good. Ursa tensed.

-Clang.

“Ready…”

-Clang.

“Go!”

As the last bell tolled, the four men hurtled out of the shadows like cockroaches in sudden light. The perimeter wall of the compound was thick and solid and around eight feet high, but not wide enough for a walkway. Broken sherds of pot had been cemented into the top to prevent easy access and the guards patrolled around the inside edge every few minutes.

Ursa and his companion made straight across from the shadows and to the wall opposite, behind which he could just make out the apex of the tile roof. The other two men veered off to the right, heading toward their second phase.

As the big man reached the wall, counting slowly under his breath in order to keep the perfect timing this would need, he crouched and cradled his hands. The second man reached him, put his foot in that huge grip, and launched himself up and onto the wall. The heavy leather bracers he wore on his forearms were a last minute idea, but proved invaluable as he landed on the sharp pottery tips and struggled quietly across onto the roof.

Turning, he threw the heavy blanket from his shoulder over the sherds and reached down, quickly hauling the heavy first officer up after him.

Ursa tipped over onto the roof as quietly as he could. From here they could see the entire compound and therefore could be seen from it. However, the guard changed at midnight and the two men now on patrol were at the far side, hidden from this angle by both the bunk house and the stockade. They would have little more than a minute before the two guards emerged from either end of the buildings, heading round the periphery to converge on this spot before crossing paths and continuing on their way. There would be a man at the door to the shed, but he would be looking out the other way across the compound and should remain unaware of their presence, given the crackling of the brazier next to which he stood, so long as they were quiet enough.

The first officer, familiar with the layout of the ammunition shed from the previous night, gestured to the man with him and the two began to hurriedly lift the tiles from the roof, placing them quietly nearby.

As the covering gradually disappeared and a hole formed, the room below obscured only partially by the supporting beams, Ursa pointed down and grinned.

Directly below them, wooden shelves contained small pots of liquid fire for use as grenades in ship to ship combat. The two men smiled and nodded at one another, reaching into their jackets. With a deep breath, they withdrew two ceramic flasks each, marked with the strange language of the northern barbarians. It broke Ursa’s heart to discard such rare and expensive liquor this way, but when needs must…

With a deep breath, the two men uncorked the flasks and liberally emptied their contents through the hole onto the pots below and the straw and wood shelving beneath them. As the last few drops fell and they carefully placed the flasks on the roof, Ursa clenched his teeth and removed the bundle of sticks and wadding from his jacket. Retrieving flint and steel, he began to strike as quietly as he could, praying devoutly until the showing sparks finally caught on the bundle.

61… Timing was getting too tight for comfort.

With a deeper breath, he dropped the flaming mass into the hole and the two men slid down the tiles and off the edge. They dropped the eight feet from the roof onto the soft gravel with a crunch that was altogether too loud for Ursa’s liking. Here, the two men stood, hunched into the corner formed by the meeting of the perimeter wall with the ammunition shed. The main light within this area of the compound: the brazier in front of this very building, cast a deep shadow here and the two men held their breath.

Across the compound, the patrolling guards emerged from behind the other buildings. This would only work if the timing was right…

Suddenly, the wall behind the big man seemed to actually bulge and buckle for a moment, trying to contain the pressure from within. There was a series of deep thumps from within as several of the pots exploded. The interior of the ammunition store would now be wreathed in fire, but the building had been constructed with this possibility in mind. The heavy walls contained it, and the huge pots would survive intact, so long as the fire was put out quick enough.

A cry of alarm issued from round the corner at the front of the building as the guard by the door realised what had happened. Sure enough, just as Ursa had expected, the two soldiers on patrol came hurtling directly across the compound toward the building as the guard struggled with his keys to open the door. There were several more bangs from within and flames were now issuing from the roof in an impressive column. As the approaching guards reached the front of the shed, occupied with the fire and the noise, distracted by the dancing flames within, Ursa and his companion took the opportunity to run along the wall, heading toward the compound gates.

They were only halfway there when the ox cart that marked phase two burst through the wooden portal, shattering the beam that held the gate fast and coming on unstoppably.

Briefly, Ursa had to feel for the oxen. They were huge and strong creatures, but to be driven directly into the gate must have been excruciating for them. The heavy cart thundered into the compound, the two drivers turning slightly and heading for the next gate; the one in the stockade.

Behind the cart, Ursa and his companion ran to keep up.

All hell was now breaking loose in the compound. Most of the soldiers were holed up either asleep in the bunkhouse or drinking and sheltering in the guard room. Men emerged from the doors, expressions of shock and surprise plastered across their faces; many of them unarmed and unarmoured, caught in an off-duty state.

Confusion reigned and the newly-arrived guards panicked, most of them rushing off toward the burning ammunition store. They would have to get the flames under control before the larger pots caught or they could lose a lot of the warehouse district to fire in the night. A few men who could see beyond this immediate danger turned and ran for the cart. The first, stupidly, tried to grab the reins of the oxen as they thundered past. There was no hope of stopping the huge bovines with this amount of momentum, and the unfortunate man was dragged beneath and trampled to a bloody pulp.

As others tried to keep pace with the heavy, unstoppable cart, Ursa caught up with it, panting and running along behind with his companion, moments before the vehicle hit and burst through the stockade gate.

Screams and shouts of alarm issued from within as the captive pirates and other criminals threw themselves out of the way of the rolling nightmare. As they passed the threshold, the two pirate drivers threw themselves from the cart and rolled to their feet.

Ever-prepared, the men of the Dark Empress began to emerge from the stockade at a run. Ursa heaved a deep breath and bellowed “To the Empress!”

The pursuing guards pulled up sharply as previously-caged criminals of numerous varieties poured out of the stockade with a taste for freedom and many a grudge against their wardens.

As the two dozen men of the Empress ran toward the gate, Ursa shook his head sympathetically at the plight of the guardsmen around him as they struggled amid the wreckage of shattered stockades and gates to control the ever increasing fire at the ammunition store that threatened the whole district, while several dozen vicious criminals took the opportunity to either flee or exact their vengeance on any figure of authority they spotted.

Ghassan had been explicit that he wanted the body-count kept as low as prudence allowed; preferably nil. To Ursa’s knowledge, the only direct casualty had been the man beneath the oxen but, he thought sadly as he ran toward the jetties with his shipmates, the number of deaths caused by fire and escaping prisoners could yet be appalling.

Nothing he could do about that, now, though. His duty was to the Dark Empress, her crew and her captain, wherever he might be.

In which there is a night time visit

The rope had been removed, of course. Samir wondered how long it had taken before the more observant of the palace guards had spotted it arcing out across the street. Likely the entire compound had been searched down to the last cupboard for some kind of interloper. They’d been sadly disappointed. Briefly, the fugitive pirate captain considered walking up to the main gate, bold as brass, and demanding entrance. The shock value of such a move appealed tremendously. However, in all likelihood he would end up chained in the remaining half of the prison tower without ever setting foot in the compound that way.

He glanced up and down the street. The sun had gone down hours ago and, while he had no idea how Ghassan was going to break out the rest of the men and free the ship, he knew two things for certain: that his brother would succeed, and that something spectacular would be involved.

And so he’d stood on one of the highest roofs in this the upper part of the town where he had a magnificent panoramic view of the docks way below at the other end of M’Dahz. He’d not known exactly what he was waiting for, but he felt sure he would recognise a sign of action and he didn’t really want to make his next move until he was sure Ghassan was getting underway.

The wait had been long and dull and Samir had sat on the roof, cutting slices of peach with his pocket knife and snacking as he watched the dark district far below. And then, just after the midnight bells rang out in the town’s temples, he’d spotted what he’d been waiting for. There had been a flash and a column of flame had burst through a roof. He’d have put that down to Ghassan regardless of where it happened, but there was no doubt that the flames were rising from the ammunition store in the guard compound. The colour of the flames and the roiling smoke rising to the stars above was testament to that.

“Good.”

And so he’d turned and made his way down to the street where he now stood, frowning at the palace compound wall. This time he was here on his own schedule and, while he couldn’t afford to waste hours, it was dark and the streets were empty, giving him plenty of space to work.

Looking up, the fifteen feet of sheer-faced boundary wall revealed no possible hand or foot holds but the construction, while cored with solid stone, offered a mud-brick and plaster outer as was common in architecture from the poorer days of M’Dahz.

Gritting his teeth and frowning in concentration, Samir drew two weapons from his belt; utilitarian knives, rather than fighting blades, these were thick and strong. His tongue protruding slightly as he worked, it took only half a minute to dig out a chunk of the wall’s surface at waist height. Smiling, he made another hole at head height with equal ease.

Slowly, he began to climb, using his freshly-excavated hand holds and carving out new ones as he rose. In less than ten minutes, he reached up and for the first time his fingers touched the tile bonding-layers in the wall of the main building itself. With a smile, Samir hauled himself up to the layer and put his knives away carefully, clinging on to the narrow holds and trying not to look down.

Slowly, he pulled himself up to the next available grip and made his way diagonally toward the window of the governor’s office. There had been no light or sign of life in the room when he’d checked from the building opposite, so it was a good place to start. With a grunt and a last heave, he grasped the lintel and pulled himself up and inside, dropping lightly to the floor in a crouch and glancing around sharply.

There was no sound or movement; the office was dark and quiet. Standing, Samir examined the exits. The main door at the far end would lead to the main hallway, probably with a stairwell. That would be the way people entered the governor’s reception room, which this clearly was. Likely, though, the governor would have a second entrance so that he could move between his private apartments and this room without passing a more open, public space.

There were two doors leading off in addition to the main exit, one on each side. Closing his eyes, Samir summoned up a mental picture of the outer façade of the palace from the roof across the street. The two rooms to the left as one faced the wall had been busy during the daytime when he’d sneaked here to eavesdrop on Asima. That meant they were almost certainly administrative or business areas. He couldn’t remember seeing any movement in the rooms to the right, however. They had been empty and silent during the middle of the day.