The Amtrack Wars - Earth Thunder Part 42

She had also not believed there would be enough room for everyone, but when the last of Mishiko's guards clambered down the rope ladder and wriggled his way through to his seat at one of the six oars, she was proved wrong yet again.

Seeing her 'okay, you win' look, Cadillac decided not to tell her that the combined weight of people and baggage had pushed the long-boat dangerously low in the water. The wind was light and the sea relatively calm, but if a squall blew up on the way to Bei-poro it wouldn't take long for waves to swamp the boat.

Having two-thirds of the hull below the waterline also put an added strain on the oars-men, but Mishiko's guards proved up to the task.

They let the ebb-tide current carry the boat away from the junk, stroking the water gently to keep the long-boat from drifting into view of the patrol ship. When the last of the moored vessels had slipped by, they hoisted the small, square-cut foresail, and began to pull strongly on the oars.

Cadillac felt a surge of excitement as he heard the water begin to ripple past the hull. He would have liked to take his turn at the oars, but his disguise did not .allow him to do so. As far as Mishiko's servants were concerned, he and Roz were two courtesans - a gift from Lord Kiye Min-Orota to the Shogun: rowing boats did not figure in the list of services they were expected to provide.

He and Roz sat crammed in the bows of the boat on the leeside of the foresail with Lady Mishiko, her three children, their nurse, three female servants and a stack of baggage - for despite several appeals to reason, Mishiko had stubbornly insisted on taking every single item.

The rest of the baggage, the five remaining women and two men - one of whom manned the tiller - sat in the stern behind the six rowers.

Cadillac looked up at the sky. The ma.s.sive blanket of cloud was beginning to break up. The moon showed its face briefly, casting a tarnished silver gleam over the sea.

Resting on top of it, like two thin, uneven strips of black paper were the coastline of Aron-Giren, and the sandbar which lay to starboard.

As long as they stayed more or less parallel to the sand-bar, they couldn't go wrong. According to the map it converged gently with the sh.o.r.eline. Beiporo, the small harbour they were aiming for, was three miles from the north-eastern corner of Great South Bay where the sh.o.r.e of Aron-Giren made a sharp ninety degree turn to the right towards the sandbank, closing the gap between them from two miles to less than four hundred yards.

Like most harbours, Bei-poro would probably have some kind of transportation for hire, but Cadillac did not intend to land there.

Given the present situation, it might also have a bunch of beady-eyed clerks or soldiers with orders from the Chamberlain's Office to check everyone going in or out. The captain had a.s.sured him there were plenty of accessible beaches beyond it.

Anywhere between Bei-poro and the narrows would do just fine.

Acquiring the wheels they needed could wait until they were back on solid ground...

Leaving the junk was probably the wisest decision Cadillac ever made.

Half an hour after the longboat slipped away unnoticed into the darkness, another longboat, with m.u.f.fled oars, made a similar journey from one of the other moored ships - towards the junk. The six oarsmen - clad in black and with their faces covered with a head cloth that left only a slit for their eyes guided the boat alongside the junk, shipped their oars, then used their hands to manoeuvre the boat towards the stern.

Once underneath the overhang formed by the two floors of cabins and the stern deck, the long-boat was secured in place, then two of the black-clad figures climbed nimbly upwards, carrying coils of rope.

These were tied around the arched timbers supporting the protruding sections of the stern accommodation and pulled taut across its full width.

By hooking their bodies over the two lines, the climbers were able to traverse quickly back and forth below the underhang and this allowed them to complete the second stage of the operation, the positioning, beneath the cabins, of six barrels of gunpowder, twenty-four inches long and fifteen inches in diameter.

While they were busy with this task, their companions in the boat were lashing two more barrels into place in the centre of the stern, just above the waterline. Stage three involved inserting carefully measured slow-burning fuse wire into the barrels under the overhang and gathering the strands together. These were lit from a shielded oil-wick lamp pa.s.sed up from below.

The two climbers then slid quickly down the escape rope into the boat where the flame was applied to the fuses of the waterline barrels.

These ignited with an angry hiss and burned with a dull red glow.

Their task now completed, all six men used the oars to push their boat clear of the junk, dropped them into the rowlocks and pulled away molto rapido into the darkness.

Planting the prepared explosives had taken about twenty minutes. The fuses took another fifteen fateful minutes to burn down to the barrelsenough time for the black-clad rowers to reach the safety of their own vessel.

The captain of the junk, who had been dumped in Mishiko's cabin, was probably the only one to hear the faint scuffling sounds beneath the overhanging floor on which he lay, but he thought it was caused by rats who were constantly scampering around the dark recesses of the ship.

Had he known the danger he was in, there was little he could do about it. He had been bound and gagged as securely as the remainder of the night watch and had resigned himself to remaining there until released by his crew when they awoke in the morning and found the deck deserted.

He did not, however, fail to identify the collective hiss as the six lengths of fuse wire burned down through the last twelve inches into the barrels beneath the overhang, and in those last few seconds, his brain was able to appreciate the full horror of what was about to happen BA-BA-BABOOOMMM!!

The high, wide stern of the junk disintegrated in a billowing orange-white sheet of flame, reducing the luckless captain and the rest of the night-watch into gobbets of flesh and bone not much bigger than the gold pieces scattered by the same blast into the waters of the bay.

And a split second later -BA-BOOOMMM!!

The two barrels of powder on the waterline exploded, demolishing what was left of the stern right down to the keel. Water flooded in through the gaping hole, and the junk began to sink. The off-duty crew, thrown from their bunks in the for'sle by the shock of the first explosion, found themselves sliding down the deck as the bows rose out of the water. Scrambling up the companionway in blind panic, they found the door had been barred from the outside. A few quick thinkers found alternative exits they could wriggle through, the rest were reduced to battering down the door.

When it finally gave way, those at the front fell forward and found themselves tumbling down the main deck.

With the junk now settling fast, the deck was only some fifteen degrees off the vertical and the lower half of the mast and mainsail were already under water. A few more of their crewmates followed. Anyone who hesitated was trampled underfoot by those clawing their way out from behind, and there were still men wedged in the doorway as the bow section sank into a grumbling, frothing pool of debris.

Cadillac, Roz and the rowers were the first to see the fan-shaped orange starburst light up the night sky. Their gasps caused everyone's head to turn. What they saw was a roiling cloud of smoke lit from beneath by a blood-red glow. Silhouetted briefly against its flame-bright heart was a tiny black shape.

Everyone knew, without being told, it was the junk which had carried them to Aron-Giren. In the last hour they had travelled some four miles, and now, in the wake of the distant fireball, the sound of the explosion reverberated across the water.

... bbbaaa-bbbaa-bbboooommmm ... bbbabooommmm ....

Cadillac looked across at Mishiko and saw her arms tighten around her two young daughters, Miyori, and Narikita. Toshi, her two-year-old son, coc.o.o.ned in a sleeveless, padded cotton pouch to protect him from the cold, was held securely in the strong arms of his nurse.

Pitching his voice higher for the benefit of the servants huddled round Mishiko, Cadillac said: 'You were right, your highness. We owe our lives to your superior wisdom."

'Do not thank me,' replied Mishiko. 'Thank the loved one whose power guides our steps."

Cadillac accepted this with a bow of the head. There wasn't room for any of the usual extravagant kowtowing.

Pulling the hood of his cape as far forward as it would go, he huddled down beside Roz in a s.p.a.ce he'd created between the baggage. A December night was definitely not the best time to go sailing on the Eastern Sea, but there was one small advantage of being dressed up as a courtesan; the close-fitting face-mask kept your nose warm.

From the deep shadow cast by his hood, Cadillac studied Lady Mishiko and her children, and the uncomplaining servants perched on the baggage that surrounded her. Ever since Roz had aired her own misgivings, he had felt increasingly guilty about driving this woman to her death.

Mishiko was strong, intelligent and - by Iron-Master standardsstrikingly beautiful. She was also extremely stubborn, haughty and used to being waited on hand and foot.

It was crazy, yet oddly touching, the way she had insisted on bringing all her luggage into the boat. If all went as planned she only had another forty-eight hours to live - so what did she want it all for?

It was also sad to see her son who was condemned to die with her, wrapped up and cuddled protectively to prevent him catching a fatal bout of pneumonia.

But it had to be done - for the good of the Plainfolk.

Killing Ieyasu and her brother would give the Yamas.h.i.ta the chance they and their fellow-Progressives needed to topple the Toh-Yota. The Chamberlain's desire to control every aspect of government had put too much power into one aging pair of hands. Removing him and the Shogun, and his nearest male heir, would plunge the ruling family into disarray. Any hesitation over the succession would create a power vacuum at the centre, unleashing the pent-up hatreds harboured by the less-favoured domain-lords. h.e.l.l-bent on settling old scores, they would split into warring factions, bring a period of instability and with luck - a protracted civil war that would halt any plans to expand westwards.

That would take the pressure off for a while. If the Progressives led by the Yama-s.h.i.ta came out on top, then the centuries-old edict banning the Dark Light would be cast aside. In time, the technological gap between Ne-Issan and the Federation would start to close.

The sand-burrowers wouldn't let that happen because it was their superior technology that gave them the edge.

They would have to wage war on Ne-Issan - and that would divert men and valuable resources from their current campaign against the Plainfolk.

And by the time Tracker and Iron Master had fought themselves to a standstill, the Plainfolk would be ready. One nation under Talisman, the Thrice-Gifted One.