When Adventures Begin.
By The Chronicler
Chapter Seven
"Um.... Nathan?" Vin called back to his ship mate.
"Yea?" Nathan answered, but he was too busy arming, or trying to figure out how to arm, a small, odd looking cannon
"We have company." Vin leaned over the deck rail. "And they don't look friendly."
Nathan's hands froze, grenade held inches from the barrel. He looked up at his comrad.
But it was Lord Fogg who answered. "Gentlemen." he called to them, his commanding tone bringing instant calm to the agents. "Remember: this is expected." he continued as he walked down the middle of the bridge toward the observation deck.
"Yea? Were we expectin' them to be lead by that Mississippi boy?" Vin wanted to know.
The British man hesitated, frowning. "It was conceivable." he admitted. He stood behind the Texan and looked over his shoulder.
It was a small company of ten men who made their way through the tall grasses of the river bank heading toward the air ship's mooring anchors. From there they could call down the lift. Once in the lift, as long as those aboard didn't lock the gears, they would be boarding as quickly as ninety seconds... give or take depending on weight.
Vin Tanner started to lift his rifle, preparing to take aim.
"Hold your fire." Fogg instructed him, before turning back and calling for his man. "Passpartout."
"Hold my fire? I can get most of them from here!" Vin protested.
"Yes, you could. And you would be telling the Prometheuse that they need to send more than ten men!" Fogg snapped. "We let them board, we show them hospitality." He smiled a cold hard smile. "As I understand it, you Americans have a unique view of hospitality." He looked the young Texan up and down. "You do know how to use something smaller and... more descrete than that rifle, I do hope."
Vin and Nathan glanced at each other.
Ezra Standish glanced up, more feeling than seeing the eyes watching their approach. He held his breath, waiting to hear the shots, feel the bullets, see the dying...
But it didn't happen.
"A problem, Standish?" the lieutenant asked, pausing at his side, his narrow eyes scanning him intently. When he could find no answer in the gambler's face, he looked up at the air ship nearly over there heads.
It was a pretty little air yacht, harmless looking when compared to the great Prometheus across the river. But, the Lieutenant had seen the British Aurora in action enough times to know that it wasn't the craft, but the men within that were the threat. And he still wasn't sure if this Standish kid wasn't one of them.
"Nothing unexpected, Lieutenant." Ezra answered smoothly. "Our approach has been observed."
Again the man looked at him, frowning. "How do you know?" he wanted to know.
Ezra smiled. "The same way I know when to lay the bet down and when to fold." He pushed pass the soldier and continued on, saying over his shoulder "I'm smarter than you are." With that, he paused, glancing about. Then he saw what he was looking for and took the three steps to a drooping willow tree. Reaching up into the branches, he shook free a heavy rope.
The Lieutenant's head came up. "The mooring line." he observed.
The gambler glanced at him as his men gathered around them. "Still don't trust me?" he wondered.
The Lieutenant didn't hesitate in answering with a simple "Yes."
Ezra flashed a hurt, shocked look, which neither man took serious. With a pull on the mooring line, he set into action the cranks and screws that lowered the small, six man lift slowly down.
It was a beautiful lift, unlike the mechanical box that served the Prometheus. A fine, polished oak floor with fine silver cage laced with copper pressed ivy vines and leaves. A lamb skin covered rail ran along the inside about waist high.
Two of the men hurried forward to guide the lift down until it settled on the ground. Then they slid the wrap around gates open and waited for further instructions from their commander and the gambler.
Ezra bowed his head to the lieutenant, flashing him a venomous smile. "After you?"
"No.... after you." He returned the smile with the exact same amount of venom.
"As you wish." Ezra stepped into the cage.
"You four wait for us to send the lift back down." the Lieutenant commanded half of his men as he motioned for the other four to crowd into the lift. Then he stepped in and the gate was slid close. "Mr Standish." he announced his readiness with a glance at the gambler.
Ezra smiled. "Going up." He tugged on a pull line.
Clicks and clangs sounded, followed by a metallic cranking sound from above. The carry lines pulled taunt. The lift lurched slightly, its passengers snatching at the rail. Then it was moving, slowly but smoothly, up towards the airship above.
It scarcely took longer than a minute and a half, just inside two minutes, but it seemed to take very much longer.
The Lieutenant found himself crossing his arms over his chest, his toe tapping in irritation... as much at having to wait so long to what he was sure was more of a fight than the gambler was letting on as he was as that damn, irksome humming that same troublesome gambler was occupying himself with.
It seemed the higher they got the louder the boy got. Until, finally, reaching the top of the lift, the Lieutenant spun about and snapped at Standish "Would you please' shut up!"
Ezra smiled apologetically, bowing his head in recognition of the request.
The lift jerked as it slid into its anchors. Clanks sounded, announcing that it was locked into place.
The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed, suspicious even still of the gambler. But, when he heard his men opening the gates, he turned to face what might be there to face.
A heavy fist slammed into the Lieutenant's face, smashing his nose and throwing him back against two of his own men.
Before any of them could respond to the sudden attack, Ezra moved. A derringer appeared in the palm of his hand. He pressed it up and under the heavy vest of the Prometheus' soldier standing in front of him and fired.
The sound was muffled by the man's own body, but the physical reaction could not be missed. He jerked forward, stumbled a step, then fell dead at Lord Philease Fogg's feet.
The Lieutenant's own men shoved the hurt and stunned commander aside as they struggled to raise their own weapons. They had been at the ready until they, too, were distracted by Ezra's humming. And now that they were under attack, they found themselves at a distinct disadvantage.
Ezra was turning toward the remaining men, his derringer searching for a next victim when the Lieutenant was pushed against him, pinning him back against the corner of the lift.
One of the soldiers made a lunge for Fogg, but the Lord was ready for him. Grabbing his out stretched gun hand in a steel grip, the powerful man jerked the arm up over the soldier's head, giving it a twist.
There was a sickly snap and the soldier opened his mouth to scream.
But Fogg's fist slammed into his throat, cruching it, and silencing any sound that he might have made. Turning, Fogg whipped the man out of the lift and slammed him against the wall where he dropped him like a discarded sack of trash. Then he turned to see what else might come out of the lift.
"Watch it!" Nathan warned as he leaped pass the Lord, his lightening quick hands whipping back over his shoulder and, even quicker, coming forward again.
There was a whistle as something passed through the air. Then a thud and a gurgle as one of the men in the lift slammed back, the hilt of a knife protruding from his throat. His cocked pistol fell from his useless fingers, falling to the floor of the lift, where it hit with enough force that it fired, sending a bullet shooting directly at Lord Fogg.
"Master!" Passpartout cried, slamming his Lord aside.
The bullet hit the edge of the cage just in front of the valet's face and ricochet off, striking Passpartout in the arm. With a cry, he stumbled back.
"Passpartout!" Fogg snarled. Enraged beyond control at seeing his loyal servant and friend fall, he turned back to the lift.
Ezra struggled with the Lieutenant over control of the derringer. His hands were pinned back against the cage of the lift, the rail pressing painfully across his back. The soldier was trying to drive his knee up against the young southerner, but Ezra had turned his body just enough that he only hit his thiegh and not the more sensitive groin.
"You traitorous bastard!" the Lieutenant sputtered, spraying Ezra's face with spit and blood from his own smashed nose.
Ezra turned his face away as he twisted and struggled, trying to free his gun hand.... either one. There was another derringer hidden in the other sleeve as well. But as long as the bigger, stronger, better trained fighter had him pinned, he could not put either of them in use.
"Get the hell off of 'im!" roared a heavy Texas accent. A gloved hand dropped on the back of the Lieutenant's head. With a quick snap, it bounced the man's head forward, slamming it against the bars of the cage just over Ezra's shoulder.
Instantly his grip on Ezra loosened, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head.
Ezra reacted at once. Shaking loose, his derringer moved into place and pressed against the Lieutenant's gut. "Did you' ever make the wrong bet?!" he hissed, pulling the trigger.
The man jumped back, his hands clawing at the hole in the middle of his gut. With a gasp, he dropped to his knees.
"Get him out!" Ezra growled, pushing him back towards the entrance before he had even fell to the floor. "Don't let them bleed in the lift! It'll warn the others." He started pass, but Vin Tanner grabbed his arm and pushed him back in the corner.
"You wanna tell me what the hell you are doin'?" he demanded.
Ezra glanced at Fogg as the man twisted the head of the last soldier, snapping his neck. Then he turned back to Vin, his head tilting to one side. "I am bluffing my way through a losing hand." he answered, his tone cold and angry. "Now, there are four more rouges down there, any of which could raise the alarm if we do not silence them immediately!" His green eyes narrowed. "And, I assure you, I wish that alarm to be raised no more than you do."
Vin glared at him a moment longer, before releasing him. Spinning about he grabbed the man Nathan had taken down and started to drag him out of the lift.
With no one left to kill, Fogg turned his attention to his valet. "Passpartout." he growled, crouching down in front of him. "You fool."
The little Frenchmen blinked up at him. "Is the Master well? Was he hurt?" he wanted to know, reaching out for him with his uninjured arm.
"Was I?" Fogg shook his head in disbelief. "You stupid, little fool." he chuckled. Grabbing him by his suit vest, he hauled him to his feet.
Passpartout groaned and he clutched his wounded arm to his chest.
"I'll take him." Nathan offered, stepping up and pulling the valet's good arm over his shoulders.
"Take good care of him, Agent." the British Lord told him, leaving no doubt in his tone that it was as much a warning as a request.
"But I am alright, Master Fogg." Passpartout protested, though he didn't resist as Nathan lead him away.
Vin dragged out the last man and rolled the body against the wall with the others. Then he and Ezra stepped back.
"So.... are you gentlemen ready for the next hand?" Ezra wondered.
Fogg reached across the front of the gambler, blocking him from sending the lift back down. His dark eyes scanned the him, taking in every little detail, before he asked "just who exactly are you bluffing?"
Ezra smiled slightly. "Is there absolutely no one that holds the littlest spark of faith in me?"
"Should we?"
His smile faded. In all honesty, he answered "No." He straightened up, and turned his attention to reloading his derringer and sliding it back up his sleeve. "Let's lay our cards out, Lord' Fogg. I am on my side and only my side! All I care about is my freedom and the freedom of my mother. The only way I can achieve that is to get her away from that... that monstrosity. And at this moment you and this airship is the best bet of that happening."
"Where's your mother?" Fogg wanted to know.
"And Chris and Josiah?" Vin added.
The gambler stiffened. "Agents Larabee and Sanchez were taken into custody."
"What?" Vin advanced on the man, but Fogg held a hand up in-between them. "You let them?" the Texan continued. "And what about your mother? She get the suite while the Captain gets a cell?"
"My mother gets a death sentence if those men below report back that something up here has gone awry!" Ezra snapped. "Now, shall we take care of business, or shall I give you blow by blow until we've both miss the opportunity to get what we've put out lives on the line for?!"
Vin glared a moment longer, then, finding he couldn't tell if he was being lied to or not, he looked up at Phileas Fogg.
Fogg sighed, nodding once. "Bring them up. But, be aware, Standish, you are not the only gambler here... and I do not lose!"
General Coal's eye narrowed. He leaned on the map table and peered through the front windows of the Prometheus' bridge.
From that very position he had, with the aid of a looking glass, watched his men cross the river, and disappear under in the brush and trees under the Aurora. That had been an hour ago.
And the Aurora still floated above the tree tops, unmoving, un retiring, unsurendering.
He had sent the escort down to the cells with Larabee and his man two hours ago. And Margarita had yet to appear and cock-a-doodle about her new toys.
"Something's wrong." Coal growled.
"Sir?" asked the navigator.
Coal glanced at him sharply. Then he straightened up and tugged on his uniform blouse. "Commander, raise anchor." he ordered.
"Yes, sir." was the crisp reply of the bridge commander who quickly turned to give orders to the deck crew.
"And our destination, sir?" the navigator asked, preparing the table for his maps.
"There." Coal answered, pointing out the front window.
The navigator stopped as he looked out the window. "The Aurora, sir?"
"Gunner, I want a bead on that airship, ready to fire when and if I, and only I, give the order." Coal continued as he turned and headed for the exit.
"To have a word with our guests." was the General's only answer before he was gone.
Passpartout's eyes went big.
Nathan stepped back. "What? Does the arm still hurt?" He reached out to check the bandage again, but stopped when the valet shook his head.
"Look." Passpartout pointed. "The Prometheus... its coming."
Nathan turned to see.
Sure enough, across the river, the huge ship was slowly turning toward them.
The medic spun about and reached for the alarm bell. But before he could pull it, Fogg, Vin, and Ezra hurried into the room.
"Master! The prometheus!" Passpartout started.
Fogg nodded, leading the way to the steering ball. "Passpartout, can you take the helm?"
The valet was quick to rise to his feet and nod. "Yes, Master, Passpartout ready to serve." he assured, snapping off a salute with the wrong hand, since the proper on was tied up in a sling.
Despite the man's injuries, Fogg showed absolutely no doubt in his abilities. "Good man. Raise anchor and get us out where we can maneuver." he answered as he grabbed the small canon, a riffle, and a few other odd bits of weaponry. "Gentlemen, arm yourselves." he advised the agents. "This is where things get interesting."
