The Merry Men of the Riverworld (5 page)

They circled the stinking mire of Pisstown, keeping upwind as much as possible. The northern side of the stockade faced out on a sea of tree stumps sprinkled with little copses of saplings; the forest had been cleared for hundreds of yards around New Chicago for its wood. Like phantoms they drifted from hiding place to hiding place until they were twenty yards from the stockade walls.

While the others waited under cover, Robin and Will Scarlet jogged over to the side gate Robin had scouted during his time in the city. Robin pressed his ear to the wood and heart deep snoring from the other side. The lone guard had fallen asleep at his post.

He mimed it to Will, who had taken out the long, thin strip of brass Verne's men had prepared. Nodding, Will inserted the strip between door and frame, working it carefully upwards. It caught on the bar. Will shifted left, then right, then up again, and the bar lifted out of place.

Using his fingertips, Robin pushed the door back. Will reached in, caught the bar, and lowered it silently. They both slipped inside.

Next to the gate they found a guard sprawled in a high-backed wooden chair, his mouth open. He was snoring softly. Robin notched an arrow and leaned forward until its tip pricked the man's throat. He came awake with a frightened mew.

“Don't move,” Robin said. “Will, tie him up.”

Will Scarlet did as instructed. In minutes the guard was firmly bound and gagged with strips cut from his own clothing. He could do nothing but stare at them with wide eyes.

Turning, Robin pushed the gate completely open and motioned toward the saplings. In groups of three and four, the rest of his band crossed into the stockade.

As they entered, Robin reminded everyone where to go and what to do. “Watch for a flaming arrow,” he said. “That will be our sign that the attack has begun.”

His men dispersed, melting into the dark streets and alleyways like a fine mist.

Dawn brought a cool gray sky, with a brisk wind that held the promise of rain. Robin, Little John, and five others sprawled on the roof of a building that overlooked the central plaza. Their bows were strung; arrows lay close at hand.

“He'll come from the central doorway,” Robin was saying. He passed the little periscope Verne had made to each man in turn; they looked over the roof's peak with it, down into the plaza “He'll have at least four others with him, possibly more. The best time to strike is when they're in the center of the plaza. I'll give the signal. Agreed?”

“I'm not sure assassination is the answer,” Little John said.

Robin turned to look at his friend. “Abe, he's a criminal and a murderer.”

Lincoln bit his lip.

“If I thought we could safely take him prisoner,” Robin went on, “I'd try it. You know I don't want Capone free to raise another criminal empire somewhere else along the River. But I also have to balance our possible losses against his. This is the best way.”

Little John shook his head sadly. “Perhaps you are right. Even so, I find the idea of assassinating him distasteful.”

“It's not murder,” Mutch pointed out. “He won't die.”

“But he'll feel it nevertheless.”

“True,” Robin said. He retrieved the periscope from Mutch and took up watch. A second later, the palace's main doors opened.

Robin let his voice drop to a whisper. “Get ready. They're coming out!” He selected his arrow and prepared to stand and fire. Around him, his men did the same.

“On the count of three,” he said. “Everyone aim for Capone. He's the short, round-faced man in the center. One ... two ... three!”

And on three, all seven rose and fired.

Either the whistle of arrows in flight or the sudden movement on the rooftop gave Capone the warning he needed. The gangster jerked one of his men around, and he took two arrows in the chest and one in the leg. It was Eichmann, Robin saw. The German staggered, a startled look on his face, then collapsed.

“Guards!” Capone was shouting. He grabbed another men as a shield. “Bring out da guards! Archers on da roofs!” Guards!”

Robin fired a second time, just missing Capone's head by a hand's breadth. The gangster continued his retreat, still bellowing for help.

Meantime, the Robin's men had killed the rest of Capone's lieutenants. Their bodies lay in the plaza, surrounded by growing pools of blood, arrows protruding at odd angles from their bodies.

Robin calmly notched a third arrow, took careful aim, and let it fly. This time he hit the lieutenant Capone was using as a shield, killing him instantly. The gangster continued to drag the corpse in front of him, though, and made it up the palace steps and through the doors unscathed.

“Get down!” Robin said. His men crouched out of sight once more. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said, pounding his leg with his fist. “I should have had him!”

“It wasn't meant to be,” Little John said.

Robin grimaced. “We'll take him later, if we can,” he said. “It's time to start the second phase of our attack. Mutch?”

Mutch produced flint and steel. Robin pulled an arrow with an oil-soaked rag bound tightly around its shaft. Mutch struck sparks until the rag caught fire, then Robin rose and fired. It arched across the sky, bright as a flare, a clear signal for everyone else involved in the plan.

“Let's hope the others succeed in their tasks better than we did,” he said grimly. “I'll lead the guards away. Little John, you stay here and keep watch, in case Capone comes back out. The rest of you, scatter and keep an eye out for danger. If you can, rally the people to our cause.”

With a cry of, “God save the king!” Robin rose and ran across the top of the roof. With an Indian war-whoop, he leaped to the next building's roof. Shouts came from below as the guards spotted him and gave chase.

Robin grinned and sprinted toward the next building, ten feet away and six feet lower. He'd lead them a merry chase, all right. He reached the edge, leaped, and hung over thirty feet of emptiness. Then, with a grunt, he hit the other building's roof and scrambled for purchase. His feet slipped on the wood shingles and he fell forward, grasping for a handhold. He slid six feet before he found one.

Pulling himself up, he glanced over the edge. Twenty or thirty guards were staring up, swords drawn. A cry went up, and Robin began to run again.

He led them from rooftop to rooftop. Over the next ten minutes, he found the number of guards had grown alarmingly—there were at least a hundred men following him below, waiting for him to slip or get himself trapped.

At last he reached the end of his chase, as he found himself on the roof of a meeting hall. He stood on the top of the roof, looking around in seeming confusion, as if he didn't know where to go from there. Then he climbed down to an open window in the second story and climbed inside.

The guards rushed the building
en masse
. As they entered, Robin dashed across the balcony that overlooked the ground floor, drawing their attention.

Then in the center of the balcony, Robin held up his hands and shouted for their silence. A bit to his surprise, the guards paused and stared at him.

“I have come,” he shouted, “to free this city from tyranny! Look around you—you are surrounded by my men! Lay down your weapons or you will all be killed!”

For the first time, Capone's men began to look around the meeting hall. Robin's archers had been waiting motionlessly up against the walls. Now forty-five of them stepped forward, arrows notched.

A sudden, confused babble of voices rose from the guards. Bewildered questions—puzzled demands—angry threats.

Robin shouted them down. “Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!” he instructed. “This is your last warning!”

One by one swords began to thud against the floorboards. Two of Robin's men moved forward and began collecting them, while the others kept the guards covered.

Chuckling, Robin descended to take charge.

Outside, he could already hear scattered gunshots, as the smiths and their apprentices took care of what other guards remained. It would only be a matter of mopping-up after this.

The city had completely fallen to Robin and his men. By noon the last of the fighting had ended, as the last few holdouts among Capone's men were disarmed and locked into the meeting hall with the others. All told, three hundred and forty-four of Capone's guards and lieutenants had been rounded up. Another sixteen lay dead, and eighteen more were wounded and not expected to live through the night ... mostly due to New Chicagoans settling old grudges with their former captors. The whole city had joined in the revolt at the end. Robin hadn't lost a single man.

Of Capone, though, there was no sign. Robin assumed he'd somehow made his way from the city and fled. With such complete victory in hand, though, it seemed a minor detail. They'd send out patrols to try and find him later. Considering all he'd done to the land and people, Robin through Capone would have few friends willing to aid his escape.

That afternoon, as the
Belle Dame
sailed close under its skeleton crew, Robin's men raised a red flag over the council building as a signal that all was well. A long whistle blared from the
Belle Dame
in reply.

Musicians were already playing in the streets, and men and women were dancing in the plaza with joyous abandon. The gates to the city had been thrown wide; most of the population of New Chicago and Pisstown had come in to join the celebration.

Emile van Deskol and the other gunsmiths and their apprentices had organized themselves into a police force, and the threat of their guns kept order. Truly, a new age had come to New Chicago.

“Look!” Mutch said, grabbing Robin's arm and pointing toward the River.

It took Robin a minute to see what he meant. Two outriggers had cast off from shore and were sailing toward the
Belle Dame
. In the lead boat ... was Al Capone!

Robin counted quickly. The outriggers held a total of twelve men ... all armed killers. The
Belle Dame
had a crew of eight at the moment, and two were little more than boys. They wouldn't stand a chance against Capone and his men.

“They must have been waiting near the water,” Mutch said. “We weren't guarding anything but the city. They saw their chance to escape and took it ... and the
Belle Dame
just happened along at the wrong time.

Robin felt an electric shock run through his body. “We've
got
to stop them!” he cried. “If they gain control of the riverboat—”

“Get two boats ready,” Little John said. “I'll fetch some of our boys with guns. It's not too late. We can still stop Capone.”

Robin and Mutch raced for the water.

Ten minutes had passed by the time twenty armed men made it to the outriggers from New Chicago. Robin had to stand helplessly and watch as Verne and his men scurried across the
Belle Dame
shutting hatches, fastening wooden shutters over the windows, doing anything and everything they could to protect themselves before Capone and his men could board. At Verne ushered everyone into the pilot house, slammed the hatch, and (Robin assumed) bolted it closed from the inside. Perhaps Verne would be able to hold out long enough for Robin to save him.

As Capone's outriggers pulled even with the
Belle Dame
and the gangster and his men began to climb aboard, a curious thing began to happen. Robin had to blink and rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

The riverboat was sinking.

Or perhaps submerging was the appropriate word, since it didn't seem to be happening in any way like a disaster: there were no explosions as cold water hit the steam boilers, and the craft was descending evenly, prow and stern simultaneously. The newsreels Robin had seen of ships sinking had always shown them turning tail-up and then sinking into the depths.

“It's a submarine, too,” Mutch breathed.

“But the smoke-stacks...” Robin said.

“Perhaps they stick out of the water at all times,” Mutch said. “He's brilliant!”

“I don't understand,” Little John said. “Is it sinking or not?”

“It's not!” Robin let out a relieved laugh. “That's how he knew his ship could never be taken by force—he can submerge it whenever he's attacked!”

“Keep us clear of the riverboat,” Mutch said. “When she goes down, the sudden undertow might be enough to capsize us.

They circled the
Belle Dame
from a hundred yards away, watching as she continued to sink. Capone and his men had abandoned their outriggers when they boarded; now they could only climb higher and higher as first one deck, then another fell awash.

At last they stood on the pilot house's roof, pounding futilely on the wood with their swords, screaming obscenities at Verne and his infernal riverboat. Then the water covered even the pilot house, and they found themselves floundering in the river.

“Riverfish...” Little John murmured. “The riverboat has stirred them up.”

“Where?” Mutch asked.

He pointed, and Robin saw them too: four or five dark shapes moving swiftly through the water. In seconds they reached Capone and his men and pulled them under. The water turned bright red.

Robin swallowed and found a lump in his throat. He found he'd been unconsciously rooting for Capone to make it to shore. Devoured by riverfish ... that wasn't a fate he would have wished on anyone, even Al Capone.

Over the next few weeks, things gradually returned to normal in New Chicago. The people went back to their jobs, trials were held for Capone's men (all were sentenced to five years at hard labor in the mining camps), and Jules Verne himself restored the scientific council, to continue the press toward new research and the reinvention of all mankind had lost.

Robin and his men were declared Heroes of the City and awarded every honor Jules Verne could think of. Verne himself pinned the Nemo Medal on Robin's chest in a holiday to celebrate ten days of liberty for the city.

At the end of the evening, as Robin and his men returned to their temporary quarters, Robin found his thoughts wandering toward the River and what lay ahead once more. He knew it was time to leave, to continue his journey.