The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (23 page)

‘Everyone here knows me, knows old Tusker. I was cutting off heads when most of
you weren’t even potty-trained. So I’m going to talk and you are going to listen and then you will get a chance to talk too. Anyone here don’t like that idea?’

He closed one immense fist and held it out, then turned in a circle scowling fiercely. There were some angry mutters, but none loud enough to imply disagreement.

‘Good. Then listen. I know those black-frocked buggers from a long way back
and I don’t trust them. All they think of is their own hides. If they want us to fight for them that’s only because there is big trouble ahead and they would like to see us killed rather than them. I don’t like it.’

‘I don’t like it either,’ another man called out. ‘But what kind of a choice do we have?’

‘None,’ Tusker growled angrily. ‘And that’s what I was going to say next. I think we have
been grabbed by the short and curlies.’ He drew his sword and shook it at them. ‘Every weapon we have, outside of them new guns, comes from the Black Monks. Without their supplies we have nothing to fight with, and without nothing to fight with we have nothing to do and we can starve or go back to the farm. And that’s not for me. And it better not be for any of you either. Because we are all in
this together. We all fight – or none fight. And if we fight and any of you try to sneak out of here before the action starts, then he is going to find my sword stuck all the way through his liver.’

He shook the shining blade at them while they glared in silence.

‘A solid argument,’ The Bishop whispered, ‘the logic impeccable. Too bad that it is wasted on this ignoble cause. You and your comrades
have no choice but to agree.’

The Bishop was right. There was more shouting and argument, but in the end they had to go along with the plans. They would march at the side of the Black Monks. None of them, myself included, was very happy about the idea. They
could stay up and argue until midnight but I was tired and could use the few hours sleep. The Bishop wandered out in search of information
and I rolled up on the bunk and slipped into a restless slumber.

The shouted orders woke me, feeling more tired than when I had gone to sleep. No one seemed happy about the midnight march – or our battle companions – and there were dark looks and much cursing. There were even some oaths I hadn’t heard before, real nice ones, that I filed away for future use. I went out to the primitive lavabo
and threw cold water on my face which seemed to help. When I returned The Bishop was sitting on the bunk. He rose and extended his large hand.

‘You must watch yourself, Jim. This is a crude and deadly world and all men’s hands are turned against you.’

‘That is the way I prefer to live – so don’t worry yourself.’

‘But I do.’ He sighed mightily. ‘I have nothing but contempt for superstition,
astrologers, palm readers and the like, so you will understand why I feel great disgust at myself for the black depression that possesses me. But I see nothing but darkness in the future, emptiness. We have been companions for such a brief period, I do not wish it to end. Yet, I am sorry, do excuse me, I have a sense of danger and despair that cannot be alleviated.’

‘With good reason!’ I cried,
trying to put enthusiasm into my words. ‘You have been torn from the security of your quasi-retirement, emprisoned, freed, fled, hid, dieted, fled again, bribed, were cheated, beaten, enslaved, wounded – and you wonder why you are depressed?’

This brought a wan smile to his lips and he grasped my hand again. ‘You are right, Jim, of course. Toxins in the bloodstream, depression in the cortex.
Watch your back and return safely. By the time you do I’ll have worked out how to relieve the capo of some of his groats.’

He was looking his age – for the first time since we had met. As I left I saw him stretch out wearily on the bunk. He should be feeling better when I returned. Dreng would fetch his food and look after him. What I must do is concentrate on staying alive so I would come back.

It was a dreary and exhausting march. The day had been hot, and so was the night. We shuffled along, dripping with perspiration and slapping at the insects that rushed out of the darkness to attack us. The rutted road caught at my feet and dust rose into my nostrils. On we marched, and on, following along after the clanking and hissing conveyance that led our
nightmarish parade. One of the steam
cars was hauling Capo Dimonte’s war wagon in which he travelled in relative comfort. His captains were in there with him, swilling down booze no doubt and generally enjoying themselves. We marched on, the cursing in the ranks growing steadily weaker.

By the time we stumbled under the sheltering trees of Pinetta woods we were tired and mutinous. I did what most of the others did, dropped onto
the bed of sweet-smelling needles under the trees and groaned in appreciation. And admiration for the sturdier warriors, with old Tusker in the van, who insisted on their ration of acid wine before retiring. I closed my eyes, groaned again, then slept.

We stayed there all day, glad to have the rest. Around noon rations were reluctantly handed out from the cart. Warm, foul water to wash down rock-like
bits of what might have been bread. After this I managed to sleep some more, until we formed ranks again at dusk and the night march continued.

After some hours we came to a crossroads and turned right. There was a murmur through the ranks at this, starting with those who knew the area well.

‘What are they saying?’ I asked the man who marched beside me, in silence up until now.

‘Capo Dinobli.
That’s who we’re after. Could be no one else. No other keep in this direction for one day, two day’s march.’

‘Do you know anything about him?’

He grunted and was silent, but the man behind him spoke up. ‘I served with him, long time ago. Old bugger then, must be ancient now. Just one more capo.’

Then it was one foot after another in a haze of fatigue. There had to be better ways to make a living.
This was going to be my first and last campaign. As soon as we returned The Bishop and I would sack the treasury and flee with all the groats we could carry. Wonderful thought. I almost ran into the man in front of me and stopped just in time. We had halted where the road passed near the forest. Against the darkness of the trees even darker shadows loomed. I was trying to see what they were
when one of the officers came back down the ranks.

‘I need some volunteers,’ he whispered. ‘You, you, you, you.’

He touched my arm and I was one of the volunteers. There seemed to be about twenty of us who were pulled out of line and herded forward towards the woods. The clouds had cleared and there was enough light from the stars now to see that the black bulks were wheeled devices of some
kind. I could hear the hiss of escaping steam. A dark figure strode forward and halted us.

‘Listen and I will tell you what you must do,’ he said.

As he spoke a metal door was opened on the machine nearest us. Light gleamed as wood was pushed into the firebox. By the brief, flickering light I could see the speaker clearly. He was dressed in a black robe, his head covered by a cowl that hid his
face. He pointed to the machine.

‘This must be pushed through the woods – and in absolute silence. I will put my knife into the ribs of any of you who makes a noise. A track was cut during daylight and will be easy to follow. Take up the lines and do as you are instructed.’

Other dark-robed figures were handing us the ropes and pushing us into line. On the whispered signal we began hauling.

The thing rolled along easily enough and we pulled at a steady pace. There were more whispered instructions to guide us – then we halted as we approached the edge of the forest. After this we dropped the ropes and sweated as we pushed and pulled the great weight about until the guides were satisfied. There was much whispered consultation about alignment and range and I wondered just what was going
on. We had been forgotten for the moment so I walked as quietly as I could past the thing and peered out through the shrubbery at the view beyond.

Very interesting. A field of grain stretched down a gentle slope to a keep, its dark towers clear in the starlight. There was a glimmer of reflection about its base where the waters of the moat protected it from attack.

I stayed here until dawn began
to grey the sky, then moved back to examine the object of our labours. As it emerged from the darkness its shape became clear – and I still hadn’t the faintest idea of what it was. Fire and steam, I could see the white trickle of vapour clearly now. And a long boom of some kind along the top. One of the black figures was working the controls now. Steam hissed louder as the long arm sank down until
the end rested on the ground. I went to look at the large metal cup there – and was rewarded for my curiosity by being drafted to help move an immense stone into place. Two of us rolled it from the pile of its fellows nearby, but it took four of us, straining, to raise it into the cup. Mystery upon mystery. I rejoined the others just as Capo Dimonte appeared with the tall robed man at his side.

‘Will it work, Brother Farvel?’ Dimonte asked. ‘I know nothing of such devices.’

‘But I do, Capo, you shall see. When the drawbridge is lowered my machine will destroy it, crush it.’

‘May it do just that! Those walls are high, and so will our
losses be if we must storm the keep without being able to break through the gate.’

Brother Farvel turned his back and issued quick instructions to the
machine’s operators. More wood was pushed into its bowels and the hissing rose in volume. It was full daylight now. The field before us was empty, the view peaceful. But behind us in the forest lurked the small army and the war machines. It was obvious that battle would be joined when the drawbridge was lowered and destroyed.

We were ordered to lie down, to conceal ourselves as the light grew.
It was full daylight by this time, the sun above the horizon – and still nothing happened. I crouched near the machine, close to the cowled operator at the controls.

‘It is not coming down!’ Brother Farvel called out suddenly. ‘It is past due, always down at this time. Something is wrong.’

‘Do they know that we are here?’ Capo Dimonte said.

‘Yes
!’ an incredibly loud voice boomed out from the
trees above us.
‘We know you are there. Your attack is doomed – as are all of you! Prepare to face your certain death.’

The roaring voice was totally unexpected, shocking in the silence of the forest. I jumped, startled – nor was I the only one. The monk at the machine’s controls was even more startled. His hand pulled on the control lever and there was a gigantic hissing roar. The long arm on top of the device thrashed skyward, pushed by a stubbier arm close to its hinged end. The arm rose
up in a high arc and slammed into a concealed buffer that jarred and shook the entire machine. The arm may have stopped – but the stone in the cup at the end of the arm continued, high into the air, rising in a great arc. I rushed forward to see it splash into the moat just before the closed drawbridge. Good shot – it would certainly have demolished the structure had it been down.

All around
me things became busy quite suddenly. Brother Farvel had knocked the monk from the controls and was now kicking him, roaring with rage. Swords had been drawn, soldiers were rushing about – some of them firing up into the trees. Capo Dimonte was bellowing orders that no one was listening to. I put my back to a tree and held my gun ready for the expected attack.

It never came. But the amplified
voice thundered again.

‘
Go back. Return from whence you came and you will be spared. I am talking to you, Capo Dimonte. You are making a mistake. You are being used by the Black Monks. You will be destroyed for nothing. Return to your keep for only death awaits you here.’

‘It is there, I see it!’ Brother Farvel shouted, pointing up into the trees. He spun about and saw me, seized me by the arm
in a painful grip and pointed again. ‘There, on that branch, the device of the devil. Destroy it!’

Why not. I could see it now, even recognise what it was. A loudspeaker of some kind. The gun cracked and kicked my shoulder hard. I fired again and the speaker exploded, bits of plastic and metal rained down.

‘Just a machine,’ Brother Farvel shouted, stamping the fragments into the ground. ‘Start
the attack – send your men forward. My death-throwers will give you support. They will batter down the walls for you.’

The capo had no choice. He chewed his lip a bit, then signalled the bugler at his side. Three brazen notes rang out and
were echoed by other buglers to our rear and on both flanks. When the first of his troops burst from beneath the trees he drew his sword and ordered us to follow
him. With great reluctance I trotted forward.

It was not quite what you would call a lightning attack. More of a stroll when you got down to it. We advanced through the field, then stopped in order to wait for the death-throwers to get into position. Steam cars pulled them forward into line and the firing began. Rocks sizzled over our heads and either bounced from the keep wall or vanished into
its interior.

‘Forward!’ the capo shouted and waved his sword again just as the return fire began.

The silvery spheres rose up from behind the keep walls, rose high, arced forward above us – and dropped.

Hit – and cracked open. One struck nearby and I could see it was a thin container of some kind filled with liquid that smoked and turned to vapour in the air. Poison! I threw myself away from
it, running, trying not to breathe. But the things were bursting all about us now, the air thick with fumes. I ran and my lungs ached and I had to breathe, could not stop myself.

As the breath entered my lungs I fell foward and blackness fell as well.

I was lying on my back, I knew that, but was aware of very little else because of the headache that possessed me completely. If I moved my head
ever so slightly it tightened down like a band of fire on my temples. When I tentatively opened one eye – red lightning struck in through my eyeball. I groaned, and heard the groan echoed from all sides. This headache was the winner, the planet-sized headache of all time, before which all other headaches paled. I thought of previous headaches I had known and sneered at their ineffectiveness. Cardboard
headaches. This was the real thing. Someone groaned close by and I, and many others, groaned in sympathy.