Deathworld Vol2 Part 12

"At last you are being wise. All will be arranged."

It was full summer. The days were hot and humid, the air cooling off only after dark. Jason had reached the proving stages of his steam catapult when he was forced to violate his rule of doing only day work. At the last minute he decided on an evening test, since with the oil-fired boiler working full blast the heat was unbearable during the daytime. Mikah had gone out for water to refill their kitchen tank-he had forgotten it during the day-so Jason did not see him when he went down to the workshop after dinner. Jason's a.s.sistants had the boiler hot and a head of steam up: the tests began. Because of the hiss of leaking steam and the general uproar of the mechanism, the first sign he had that anything was wrong was when a soldier burst in with blood soaking his leather from a crossbolt quarrel stuck in his shoulder.

"Attacking-Trozelligoj!" he gasped.

Jason shouted orders, but was ignored in the concerted rush to the door.

Cursing, he stayed long enough to damp the fire and open a bleed valve so the boiler wouldn't blow up while he was away. Then he followed the others out of the door, going by way of the rack that held his experimental weapons, and without stopping he pulled from it a newly constructed morning star, an ugly-looking weapon consisting of a thick handle surmounted by a bronze ball into which were set machined steel spikes. It balanced nicely in the hand and whistled in the air when he swung it.

He ran through the dark halls toward the sounds of distant shouting, which seemed to be coming from the courtyard. As he went by the stairs that led to the upper floors, he was vaguely aware of a clatter from somewhere above, and a m.u.f.fled shout. Going out the wide main entrance that opened onto the courtyard, he saw that the battle was in its final stages and would be won without any help from him.

Carbon arcs lit the scene with a harsh light. The sea gate leading into the pool had been crashed partly open by a barge with a pointed prow, which still remained there, caught fast in the splintered gates. Unable to force their way into the courtyard, the Trozelligoj had attacked along the wall and wiped out most of the guard there. But before they could reach the courtyard and bring reinforcements over the wall, the counterattack of the aroused defenders had halted them. Success was now impossible and they were retreating slowly, fighting a rear-guard action. Men were still dying, but the battle was over.

Corpses, most of them studded with bolts from the crossbows, floated in the water, and the wounded were already being dragged away. There was nothing much here that Jason could do, and he wondered what reason lay behind the midnight attack.

At the same moment he felt a presentiment of further trouble clutch at his insides. What was wrong? The attack was beaten off, yet he felt that something was not right, something important. Then he remembered the sounds he had heard coming down the stairwell-heavy feet and the clattering of weapons. And the shout, cut off as if someone had been silenced. The sounds had meant little when he heard them; if he had thought about them at all he had a.s.sumed that more soldiers were coming to join in the battle.

"But I was the last one to come through this door! No one came down the stairs!" Even as he was saying the words, he was running towards the stairs, and he bounded up them three at a time.

There was a crash from somewhere above, and the clank of metal on stone.

Jason burst out into the hallway, stumbling and half falling over a body huddled there, and he realized that the sounds of fighting were coming from his own rooms.

Inside them it was a madhouse, a slaughterhouse; only one lamp lay unbroken, and in its uncertain light soldiers stumbled over the crushed remains of his furnishings, struggled, and died. The rooms seemed smaller, filled now with fighting men, and Jason leaped over a pair of tangled corpses to join the thin ranks of the Perssonoj.

"Ijale," he shouted, "where are you?" and swung the morning star against the helmet of a charging soldier. The man went down, taking another with him, and Jason jumped into the opening.

"There is the one!" a voice shouted from the rear ranks of the Trozelligoj, and Jason was almost swamped as the attackers turned their attention to him.

There were so many of them that they got in each other's way as they pressed the attack home with desperate fury. They were trying to disable him, attempting to cut his legs from under him or put a crossbow bolt through his arm. A sword sliced into his calf before he could deflect it, and his arm ached with the effort needed to keep the morning star a twirling web of death in front of him. He was aware only of the desperate men who were attacking him, and did not know that word of this raid had spread and that more defenders had arrived until the soldiers in front of him were swept back by a rush of Perssonoj.

Jason wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and stumbled after them. There were more torches now, and he could see that the outnumbered raiders were in retreat, fighting a rear-guard defense shoulder to shoulder while others struggled to get through the wide windows that faced the ca.n.a.l. His carefully installed gla.s.s panes were now broken shards underfoot, while hooks and grappling irons were sunk into the frame and wall, and thick ropes pa.s.sed out through the opening.

A crossbow squad rushed in and brought down the last of the rearguard and Jason led the rush to the window. Dark forms were vanishing out of sight down the wall, clambering in desperate haste down the hanging rope ladders. The shouting victors began to saw through the ropes until Jason knocked them aside with a sweep o2 his arm.

"No-follow them!" he shouted, and swung his leg over the windowsill.

With the haft of the morning star clutched in his teeth, he climbed down the swaying rope ladder, cursing indistinctly its swaying rungs.

When he reached the bottom he saw that the ends of the ropes trailed in the water, and he could hear the sound of hurried oars vanishing in the darkness.

Jason was suddenly and painfully aware of his wounded leg, as well as of his state of exhaustion: he was not going to attempt to climb back up.

"Have them bring a boat around," he told the soldier who had followed him down. Then he hung there, his arm hooked over a rung, until the boat appeared. The Hertug himself was in the bow, a naked sword in his hand.

"What is this attack? What is the meaning of it?" the Hertug demanded.

Jason hauled himself wearily into the boat and sank onto a bench.

"It's obvious enough now-the whole attack was just meant to get me."

"What? It cannot be. .

"It certainly is, if you just look at it closely for a moment. The attack on the sea gate was never meant to succeed; it was just a distraction while the real plan to kidnap me was pushed through. It was only chance that I was working in the shop tonight-I'm usually asleep by this time."

"Who would want you? Why?"

"Haven't you waked up to the fact yet that I'm the most valuable piece of property in Appsala? The Mastreguloj were the first to realize that; they even successfully kidnapped me, as you may remember. We should have been alert for a Trozelligoj attack; after all, they must know by now that I'm making steam engines, their old monopoly."

The boat swung in through the splintered sea gate and ground against the dock, and Jason swung painfully ash.o.r.e.

"But how did they get in and find your quarters?" the Hertug asked.

"It was an inside job, a traitor, as always on this pest-ridden planet.

Someone who knew the routine, who could set the hook and drop the first ladder down to the waiting boats just before the attack. It wasn't Ijale-they must have captured her."

"I will discover who the traitor is!" the Hertug raged. "I'll feed him into the arc furnace an inch at a time."

"I know who it is," Jason told him, and there was an ugly glitter in his eye.

"I heard his voice when I came in, telling them who I was. I recognized the voice- it was my slave, Mikah."

15.

"They'll pay-oh, how they'll pay for this!" the Hertug growled, grating his teeth together with a horrible sound. He was sipping at a gla.s.s of Jason's brandy, and his eyes and nose were even redder than usual.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, because it's just what I had in mind," Jason said, leaning back on a couch with an even bigger gla.s.s balanced on his chest. He had washed out the cut on his leg with boiled water and bound it with sterile bandages. It was throbbing a bit now, but he doubted if it would give him much trouble. He ignored it and made his plans. "Let's start the war now," he said.

The Hertug blinked. "Isn't that sudden? I mean, are we ready yet?"

"They invaded your castle, killed your soldiers, wrecked your-"

"Death to the Trozelligojl" the Hertug screamed and crashed his gla.s.s against the wall.

"That's more like it. Don't forget what stab-in-the-back b.a.s.t.a.r.ds they are, pulling a stunt like this. You can't let them get away with it. Plus the fact that we had better start the war soon, or we will never have a chance. If the Trozelligoj will go to this much trouble to grab me, they must be very worried. Since this plan didn't succeed, they will be thinking next of a stronger attack-and will probably get some of the other clans to help with it. They are all beginning to fear you, Hertug, so we had better get the war rolling before they decide to get together and wipe us out. We can still take the clans on, one at a time, and be sure of victory."

"It would help if we had more men, and a little time. . ."

"We have about two days-that's as long as it will take me to equip my invasion fleet. That will give you enough time to call in the reserves from the country. Strip the estates, because we want to attack and take the Trozelligoj fortress, and this is the only chance we will have. And the new steam catapult will do the job."

"It has been tested?"

"Just enough to show it will do what it was designed to do. We can do the ranging and sighting with the Trozelligoj for a target. I'll start work at first light, but I suggest that you get the messengers out now so that the men can get here in plenty of time. Death to the Trozelligoj!"

"Death!" the Hertug echoed, and he grimaced horribly as he rang for the servant.

There was much to be done, and Jason accomplished it by going without sleep. When he became tired he would think about the treacherous Mikah, and wonder what had happened to Ijale, and anger would drive him back to work. He had no a.s.surance that Ijale was even alive; he just a.s.sumed that she had been kidnapped as part of his household. As for Mikah, he was going to have a lot to answer for.

Because the steam engine and propeller had already been installed in a ship and tested inside the sea gate, finishing the warship did not take very long. It was mostly a matter of bolting on the iron plates he had designed to shield it down to the waterline. The plating was thicker at the bow, and he saw to it that heavier internal bracing was installed. At first he had thought to install the steam catapult on the warship, but then had decided against it. A simpler way was better. The catapult was fitted into a large, flat-bottomed barge, along with the boiler, tanks of fuel, and a selection of carefully designed missiles.

The Perssonoj were pouring in, all of them fuming with anger over the back-stabbing attack and thirsting for vengeance. In spite of their shouting Jason s.n.a.t.c.hed a few hours' sleep on the second night and had himself waked at dawn.

The fleet was a.s.sembled, and with much drum-beating and off-key bugling they set sail.

First came the warship, the "Dreadnaught," with Jason and the Hertug on its armored bridge; this towed the barge. In line astern were a great variety of vessels of all sizes, loaded with the troops. The entire city knew what was happening and the ca.n.a.ls were deserted, while the Trozelligoj fortress was sealed, barred, and waiting. Jason let go a blast of the steam whistle, well out of arrow range of the enemy walls, and the fleet reluctantly halted.

"Why don't we attack?" the Hertug asked.

"Because we have them in range, while they can't reach us. See." Immense, iron-headed spears plunged into the water a good thirty meters from the bow of the ship.

"Jetilo arrows." The Hertug shuddered. "I've seen them pa.s.s through the bodies of seven men without being slowed."

"Not this time. I'm about to show you the glories of scientific warfare."

The fire from the jetiloj was no more effective than the shouting soldiers on the walls who were clashing swords on shields and hurling curses, and it soon stopped. Jason transferred to the barge and saw that it was anch.o.r.ed firmly, pointing its bow directly at the fortress. While the steam pressure was building up, he aimed the centerline of the catapult and took a guess at the elevation.

The device was simple, but powerful, and he had high hopes for it. On the platform, which could be rotated and elevated, was mounted a single large steam cylinder with its piston connected directly to the short arm of a long lever. When steam was admitted to the cylinder, the short but immensely powerful stroke of the piston was turned by mechanical advantage into flailing speed at the far end of the arm. This whipped up and crashed into a padded crossarm and was stopped, but whatever load was placed in the cup on the end of the arm went speeding off through the air. The mechanism had been tested and worked perfectly, though no shots had yet been fired.

"Full pressure," Jason called out to his technicians. "Load one of the stones into the cup." He had prepared a variety of missiles, all of them weighing the same in order to simplify ranging problems. While the weapon was being loaded he checked the flexible steam lines once more: they had been the hardest thing to manufacture, and they still had a tendency to leak under pressure and continued use.

"Here goes!" he shouted, and pulled down on the valve.

The piston drove out with a satisfactory speed, the arm whipped up and crashed resoundingly into the stop-while the stone went whistling away, a dwindling dot. All the Perssonoj cheered. But the cheering stopped when the stone kept on going, clearing the topmost turret of the keep by a good fifty meters, and vanished on the other side. The Trozelligoj burst into raucous cheering of their own when it splashed harmlessly into the ca.n.a.l on the far side.

"Just a ranging shot," Jason said offhandedly. "A little less elevation and I'll drop one like a bomb into their courtyard."

He cracked the exhaust valves and gravity drew the long arm back to the horizontal, at the same time returning the piston for the next shot. Jason carefully shut the valve and cranked on the elevation wheel. A stone was loaded and he fired again.

This time only the Trozelligoj in the fortress cheered as the stone mounted almost straight up, then dropped to sink one of the attacking boats less than fifty meters from the barge.

"I do not think much of your devilish machine," the Hertug said. He had come back to watch the firing.

"There are always field problems," Jason answered through tight lips.

"Just watch the next shot." He decided to abandon any more attempts at fancy high trajectories, and to let fly head-on, for the machine was far more powerful than he had estimated. Cranking furiously on the elevation wheel, he raised the rear of the catapult until the stone would leave the cup almost parallel with the water.

"This is the shot that tells," he announced with much more conviction than he felt, and crossed the fingers of his free hand as he fired. The stone hummed away and hit just below the top of the crenellated wall. It blasted out a great chunk of masonry and utterly demolished the soldiers who had been standing there. There were no more cheers heard from the besieged Trozeliigoj.

"They cower in fear!" the Hertug screamed exultantly. "Attack!"

"Not quite yet." Jason explained patiently. "You're missing the whole point of siege weapons. We do as much damage to them as we can before attacking-it helps the odds." He gave the aiming wheel a turn and the next missile bit a piece out of the wall further along. "And we change ammunition too, just to keep them on the jump."

When the stones had worked along the wall and were beginning to tear holes in the main building, Jason raised the sights a bit. "Load on a special," he ordered. These were oil-soaked bundles of rags weighted with stones and bound about with ropes.

When the special was seated in the cup he ignited it himself and did not shoot until it was burning well. The rapid journey through the air fanned it into a roaring blaze that burst expansively on the thatched roof of the enemy keep, which began immediately to crackle and smoke. "We'll try a few more of those,"

Jason said, happily rubbing his hands together.

The outer wall was pierced in a number of places, two towers were down, and most of the roof was on fire before the desperate Trozelligoj made an attempt to strike back. Jason had been waiting for this, and noticed at once when the sea gates began to swing open.

"Cease fire," he ordered, "and keep your eyes on the pressure. I'll personally murder every one of you that survives if you let that boiler blow up."

He jumped for the manned boat he had waiting alongside. "Pull for the battleship!" he said and the boat bobbed as the Hertug hurtled after him.

"The Hertug always leads!" he shouted, and almost beheaded one of the oarsmen with his wildly waving sword.

"That's all right by me," said Jason, "but just watch where you are putting that sword, and keep your head down when the shooting starts."

When Jason reached the bridge of the "Dreadnaught" he saw that the clumsy-looking Trozelligoj side-wheeler had thrashed through the sea gate and was heading directly towards them. Jason had heard blood chilling descriptions of this powerful weapon of destruction, and he was pleased to see that it was just a ramshackle and unarmored vessel, as he had expected. "Full speed ahead," he bellowed into the speaking tube, and took the wheel himself.

The ships, head-on to each other, closed rapidly, and spears from the jetiloj, the oversize crossbows, rattled off the "Dreadnaught's" armor plate and splashed into the water. They did no harm and the two vessels still rushed towards each other on a collision course. The sight of the low, beetle-like and smoke-belching form of the "Dreadnaught" must have shaken the enemy captain, and he must have realized that collision at this speed could not do his ship much good, for he suddenly turned the ship away. Jason spun the wheel to follow the other, and kept his bow aimed at the ship's flank.

"Brace yourselves-we're going to hit!" he shouted as the high dragon prow of the other ship flashed past, frightened faces at the rail. Then the metal ram of the "Dreadnaught's" bow hit squarely in the middle of the dripping boards of the port paddle wheel and crashed on deep into the ship's hull. The shuddering impact hurled them from their feet as the "Dreadnaught" slammed to a stop.

"Reverse engines so we can pull free!" Jason ordered, and spun the wheel hard over.

A soldier who had jumped or been knocked from the other ship fell to the armored deck of the "Dreadnaught." Howling battle cries, the Hertug climbed out of the bridge window and attacked the dazed man, slashing him across the neck and then kicking his body into the water. Screams, thuds, and the shrill hiss of leaking steam came from the sidewheeler. The Hertug dived back to the safety of the bridge just as the first crossbow bolts slammed down from above.

The propeller whirled, full speed astern, but the "Dreadnaught" only vibrated, and did not move. Jason muttered, and threw the steering wheel hard in the opposite direction. The ship rocked and levered free, then began to move smoothly astern. Water gurgled and rushed into the holed side-wheeler, which began immediately to list and settle.

"Did you see the way I vanquished the knave who dared attack us?" the Hertug asked with immense satisfaction.

"You still swing a wicked sword," Jason told him. "Did you see the way I knocked a hole into that barge? Ahh! There goes the boiler," he added as a tremendous jarring thud came from the stricken enemy, followed by a cloud of steam and smoke as she broke in two and swiftly sank.

By the time Jason had swung the battleship back towards their position, the side-wheeler was gone and the sea gates closed again. "Run the survivors down," the Hertug ordered, but Jason ignored him.

"There is water below," a man said, poking his head up through a hatch. "It is sloshing over our feet."

"Some of the seams opened after the crash," Jason told him. "What did you expect? This is why I installed the pumps, and we have ten extra slaves aboard. Put them to work."

"It is a day of victory," the Hertug said, looking happily at the blood on his sword. "How the swine must regret their attack on our keep!"

"They'll regret it even more before the day is over," Jason said. "We're moving into the last phase now. Are you sure that your men know what to do?"

"I have told them myself many times, and have given them the printed sheets of orders that you prepared. All is ready for the signal. When shall I give it?"

"Very soon. You stay here on the bridge, with your hand on the whistle, while I have a few more shots."

Jason transferred to the barge and planted some of the fire-bomb specials on the roof to keep the fire roaring. He followed these with half a dozen rounds of canister shot-leather bags of fist-sized stones that burst when fired-and cleared away all the firefighters and soldiers who were foolish enough to expose themselves. Then he worked the heavy stones back along the wall, crumbling it even more, until his hurtling missiles reached the sea gate. It took just four shots to batter the heavy timber into splinters and leave the gates a sagging wreck. The way was open. Jason waved his arms and jumped for the boat. The whistle screamed three times and the waiting Perssonoj vessels began to move to the attack.

Because there was no one he could trust to do an adequate job, Jason was not only commander-in-chief of the attackers, but also gun layer, artilleryman, ship's captain, and all the rest, and his legs were getting tired from running back and forth. Climbing to the bridge of the "Dreadnaught" was an effort. Once the attackers were inside the stronghold he could relax and let them finish the job in their efficiently bloodthirsty manner. He had done his part: he had weakened the defenders and caused a good number of casualties; now the forces would join in hand-to-hand combat, opening the way to complete victory.