A Children's Tale Page 3

  Tonks waved a hand at his friend. “Hush, now. Wait. Didya hear that?”

  Krumer bottled his temper and frowned in concentration.

  “Hear what? I don't …”

  Then he stopped in mid-sentence when a faint, fleeting buzz reached his ears.

  Tonks nodded, a smile of satisfaction slowly grew on his face. “I'm hearin' it too.”

  Slowly, carefully, the pair turned to face different parts of the room. They each listened, and when they heard the faint buzz again, took a careful step in that direction. In no time, they found themselves staring at a blank corner. Krumer looked to Tonks quizzically. Tonks shrugged, a little confused himself. Then an idea struck him, the narrow cabinets high on the wall to his right could hold the source of the sound. He gestured at them and reached for the knob of the closet cabinet. As if on cue, they heard the buzz again from behind the cabinet door.

  Tonks smiled as Krumer tensed to grab whatever the source of the sound was. The pilot took a slow breath. If the device could fit in a small cabinet it would have to be small. Perhaps no larger than a person's open palm. Especially given that cabinet was only used to store spare twine and cotton rags for cleaning. He had dealt with such items in the past when he worked for the Foreign Service. Never had he expected to see them again, especially here. He yanked open the cabinet door.

  Immediately a small object shrieked in alarm and shot out of a dark space beside a stack of cotton cloths. A glint of brass among the blur was all they saw as it raced around the room.

  Krumer dove immediately for it but crashed into the wall. His hands clutched at air where it had been. “Missed!”

  Tonks watched the small brass blur fly about the room as it looked for an opening to escape. “Ya can't grab at it like that, it'll expect that. We can't let it outta our sight, though. We'll lose it for sure.”

  “How do we catch it then?”

  A thought came to the pilot. “Burlap! Them stacks of old coffee bags we've got from the last cargo we hauled. Catch it with that or some other kinda cloth. Like catchin' fish with a net.”

  Krumer got to his feet and raced out of the cabin, calling for the crew. Tonks eyed the blur with an impish grin. “Oh you're wantin' loose, I can tell it. Well, we're not gonna hurt ya, but we gotta know what ya know or who ya workin' for.”

  The little blur darted this way and that, Tonks did his best to jump in the way to block it, but in the end it outmaneuvered him. It raced out out the cabin door. “It's on deck!” Tonks shouted, fast in pursuit of it.

  Above, the crew scrambled with old brown burlap bags stamped with either plantation names or simply 'coffee' on them. They swatted and waved at the blur but none could catch it. They managed to barely prevent it from flying off ship. Finally, the brass blur dodged one crewman, sailed beneath Krumer's legs and soared upward towards the gas bag and rigging.

  “Don't let it leave the ship!” Krumer shouted in a mix of anger and disbelief.

  Suddenly a shirtless Tonks Wilkerson threw himself from the rigging directly at the blur. Man and flying object collided in mid air. No sooner than that, Tonks wrapped his shirt around the buzzing creature like he would bag a bird. Just as he finished, he and his captive fell to the wooden deck sideways in a hard landing. He held the shirt closed tight, inside his captive struggled fiercely. Finally, the struggles and angry buzzing subsided. The pilot carefully unwrapped part of his catch.

  In his shirt was a brass dragonfly, no longer than ten inches in length and an inch and a half wide at its thickest point. Its wings were a gossamer, copper metal mesh and its body a series of brass tubes jointed with some unusual gray leather. The teardrop-shaped head with its ruby faceted eyes looked at Tonks then around at the crew nervously.

  Tonks stood slowly, careful not to harm his small captive. “Mr Whitehorse. Looks like ya were right. We've been bugged.”

  “Good work Mr. Wilkerson. Can we learn anything from it?”

  The pilot raised an eyebrow at the brass dragonfly with a grin. “More'n a bit I'd suspect. Depends on how helpful it'll be. Now little bug, just so yer on the same terms I am, all we want ta know is what yer doin' here and who sent ya. No harms comin' to ya. Understand?”

  After a moment of consideration, the brass dragonfly nodded slowly, nervously and buzzed once.

  Chapter 7

  The group broke camp just past dawn after a quiet meal of jerked beef, dried fruit and a three-inch-round barley biscuits still referred to by its ancient name, 'salschoon'. Morning wore into mid-day while the knots of gray clouds that had lasted since morning slowly made way for pale streams of daylight. Following a game trail William discovered, the group descended, leaving the trees behind for a wide clearing. There, snow lay in thick drifts of white powder on the ground and pine trees that dotted the gentle slope. Despite events of the previous day, spirits rose just as the sun reached its zenith at noon.

  William, having taken his turn carrying young Miles and a pack of blankets, stepped around a snowdrift that had mingled with a large rock. He shifted the pack and the boy's weight on his shoulders and scanned the sky. “Anybody else hearin' that?”

  Moira helped Angela over a patch of ice hidden by snow. Once she set the girl onto ground next to her she looked up quizzically. “What sound be that?”

  Captain Hunter, who was pulling O'Fallon on a crude litter, paused and frowned in concentration.

  William looked up and around again. “The hum. Thought it 'twere a bird, y'know? Like one o' them hummin'birds I heard of.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Too cold for that here. They'll be in the warmer lands.”

  Angela looked up. “I hear it, too.”

  Just as the sound reached Moira and Hunter's ears, Moira shot Hunter an alarmed look then gestured to a pair of dark shapes far overhead. “That's nae bird. Less they come with steam engines and two wings, mind ya.”

  Hunter snarled. “Steambats! Make for the trees!”

  The powdery snow fought the group as they staggered for the trees only yards away. Above, a pair of steambats hummed overhead like a pair of giant bees. Breaking the clouds, they passed over once, banked, then dove for the running figures like wolves to hunt. Bullets screamed. Streams of water-guided lightning crackled. Snow sprayed in great white plumes behind the group, drawing closer with every step.

  Moira, with Angela in her arms, reached the thick stand of trees first. Depositing the young girl behind a tree, she spun and knelt in one smooth motion, pistols in hand. Steadily, she aimed while the plumes of snow and the hail of bullets clawed at the heels of her crewmates. William tripped on a hidden branch, Miles spilled with a scream of terror into the snow.

  Without a glance back, William grabbed Miles and threw himself at the trees, falling on a patch of packed snow. They slid breakneck towards the forest. Further behind, Hunter dropped the litter and bodily drug O'Fallon to his feet. Hauling the quartermaster over his shoulders, the captain struggled in the deep snow, racing for his life while the bullets peppered the ground inches behind him.

  Moira took a deep breath to steady her aim. Overhead the steambat drifted left, then right like a bird caught on the wind. She waited, letting the shouts around her and bark of gunfire fall away. Suddenly the small silhouette of the closest aircraft's pilot crossed her gunsight. She smiled a wicked grin much the way a she-wolf snarls over prey and whispered, "Gotcha."

  Her pistols bucked twice. Time slowed for the sliver of a heartbeat. Two shots arced up and out of the trees along the path the attacking aircraft's own gunfire had taken. Three seconds later, time collapsed on itself. The pilot jerked once then twice. His steambat sprayed steam and heated water in a wide shower over the clearing before it banked wildly to the right. The second aircraft, caught off guard, narrowly avoided collision with his wounded comrade. He pulled up and over the damaged aircraft then banked to the left, which ruined any chance at a better shot at the people below.

  The wounded aircraft danced on the wind, fighting the pilot's attemp
t to regain control. Finally, the craft leveled out and gently turned around, heading back up the slope in the direction it had come. Behind it, a plume of steam traced its retreat.

  Hunter slowly eased O'Fallon down behind a tree and gulped in the crisp mountain air. O'Fallon looked pale but conscious.

  "We be all here? Sound off!" Croaked the quartermaster.

  Moira closed her eyes quietly a moment to steady her nerves, then she dropped her pistols into their holsers. She spared a smile to Angela and gave the girl a reassuring hug.

  Angela fought back a terrified, angry sob while Moira called over her shoulder. "Moira's here and I've the young miss with me."

  "Miles and Sirrah William," was a small, shaken, piped reply from behind a tree. That was followed by a deeper voice that finished the call with a wheeze of, "Aye. We're hale and whole."

  Hunter limped a step or two and sat next to O'Fallon, "Aye, I'm here as well as any."

  "At least we be all breathin'." O'Fallon turned slightly to look up at the sky and the remaining steambat that circled far overhead. He turned back and leaned against the rough bark of the tree, eyes closed while he fought back a stab of pain.

  Moira tossed her pack on he ground and dug out a blanket which she promptly fashioned a crude shawl for the young girl. "Darlin' yer chilled. Ya shoulda' said somethin'."

  Angela, pale from the cold, fought another shudder. "I ... I'm alright. I'm more worried about Miles."

  Moira smiled. "Well yer a good sister at that, though. William! Get yer lazy backside up!"

  A small struggle ensued, but William emerged from the tangle of blankets and bags that threatened to bury him. Miles helped his friend with tossing a few blankets aside as well. "Aye ... just sortin' y'know?"

  The shawl finished, a growl resounded in Moira's voice. “I'd just want ta be knowin' who the bloody buggers are!”

  Hunter exhaled a light cloud of breath. "I don't know." He looked over at young Miles, who was fully engrossed in helping William sort and repack the spilled blankets. The captain looked over at Angela in turn, bundled in her makeshift shawl. She was speaking to Moira shyly, much as any child being overly-doted on would.

  "I simply just do not know.” The captain repeated firmly in frustration. “What I do know is once we reach a village or somewhere with more shelter than a few trees, we can take a hand at repairing the opti-telegraphic and call the Griffin. Then perhaps pay these thugs back in kind."

  O'Fallon nodded slowly, careful of his head wound. "Aye tae that. Krumer'll be stayin' till past all the ship's stores run dry." He looked up at the remaining steambat that circled high above. "What be he doin' up there?"

  "Waiting for us to emerge from the trees, I'd likely imagine. He can't stay aloft all day. A craft that size doesn't have the fuel for that small a steam engine."

  While the two men watched, the craft dipped its wings once, twice, then gently banked to the right.

  O'Fallon frowned while he tried to guess the pilot's intent. "Now what be he on about?"

  In answer, a plume of white snow blossomed on the higher slopes of the mountain as a dull rumble of thunder growled in the distance.

  "Light's breath!" Hunter exclaimed.

  "Avalanche!"

  Ignoring their discarded packs, William hefted Miles and took the lead, crashing through the snow and dodging trees. Behind him ran Moira and Angela, then further back, Captain Hunter with O'Fallon. From up slope the white plume gave way to a curling wave of snow. At first it was a slow ripple along the mountainside, but in seconds it was a wall of ice, rock and snow several stories tall.

  The group raced downhill, shoving through ankle-deep snow. Thick, low-hanging boughs tore at their clothes, slowing them down while the deluge of snow and rocks roared closer behind them. William slid to a stop and pointed as young Miles collided into him in the rush.

  "Cap'n! There!"

  Off to William's right sat a cluster of ancient rocks that towered fifteen feet above. Caught in a depression in the ground, they stood tilted at a wide angle against each other. Most important, they were shelter. Hunter nodded once in appreciation then bellowed to be heard over the roar of the oncoming landslide.

  "To the rocks!"

  William and Miles reached the small cave first as the spray of snow pushed into the trees. Moira and Angela stumbled along moments later. Lagging behind were Captain Hunter and O'Fallon. Trees bent and snapped from the press of the avalanche, snow flying thick in the air like an icy waterfall. As O'Fallon stumbled on a tree root, both himself and Hunter fell in a heap into the snow. Moira instantly raced out into the impending maelstrom. William yelled but the deafening roar muffled his cries.

  Pitched face-first into the ground, Hunter raised his head when the wall of ice and death arrived, hammering him down like a giant fist as snow and rocks swirled deadly through the air. Stunned, his vision blurred from each rock, each branch that hit him. Pain lanced through him but soon it gave way to a cold darkness that tried to blanket him. Dimly, he heard William shout in surprise and Moira exclaim something in shock. Before the darkness swallowed him, he felt one last abrupt tug on his coat. Through the storm of snow, a short mass of brown fur had grabbed Hunter in a pair of strong claws and pulled.

  Chapter 8

  Silence and darkness shrouded the cave while outside, the sounds of the avalanche dimmed to nothing. Seconds passed slowly, then sounds of life stirred in the complete darkness. Survivors moved cautiously, feeling their way along rough stone to make sense of their new surroundings.

  William coughed at dust that lingered in the air. "Anyone be thinkin' ta drag a light along?"

  Moira sat up slowly, careful to not bump into what she could not see. "Ah box of tindersticks and a striker, hold on."

  The blacksmith fumbled with cold fingers at a small pouch on her belt. By only touch, she withdrew a small leather bundle of sticks and a flat, thumb-sized piece of slate. Slowly, she worked one of the tindersticks out of the bundle. Then she struck the treated end of the tinderstick against the slate once, then twice.

  One small spark followed another, then the end of the tinderstick burst into flame. Moira held the burning stick high to let the feeble light shine as best it could. The cave was small, but could just accommodate the group. The only entrance had been completely filled with snow. At the back of a cave a small niche rose upwards into the rock.

  Her tinderstick's glow also revealed grim and tired faces of people she expected to see, and a few things she did not. Namely, a small discarded pile of branches, some with leaves still attached. They were not much, but would make for a simple, yet serviceable source of heat. Moira laid hands upon one and ran the tinderstick over it until the flame caught onto the leaves and branch itself.

  "We gotta lot o' diggin' ahead o' us." William sighed with a mournful look at the cave entrance.

  Captain Hunter, however, was not looking at the snow. He had fixed a stern look on one of their number. "That we do, but once we are free of our little burrow, I, for one, will want a explanation, Miss Angela, straight away."

  There in the dim shadows of the cavern, Angela sat crouched against the wall. Her clothes were torn with bits of fur thrust through the ripped holes. All-too-human eyes peered out from an obvious canine face, complete with a wolf's snout. Distinctive wolf-like ears had thrust through her hair, and while her body retained much of her human appearance, her hands had developed small claws. Her feet had a definite canine curve to her legs that ended in large paws.

  Lithe as a panther, Angela shifted her weight uneasily. Aware of the uncomfortable stares from her companions, the look of worried concern from her younger brother, and the hard look of Captain Hunter made her more self-conscious than a girl her age would normally be. Her eyes drifted uneasily around the group to rest on Hunter. She nodded, almost ashamed.

  "Yes Sirrah Captain. I'll explain then."

  "Don't you hurt her!" Blurted Miles in a fit of tears and young rage, his small arms shaking with all the boun
d energy of an upset youth.

  William put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Hush now, lad. No way to talk to the Cap'n."

  "He's not my Captain! He's not our father or anyone!"

  Hunter sighed, his look softening a touch. "No boy, I'm not. But I and my crew were charged to bring you both back safely and that's what we plan to do. Secrets like this? Right now lad, I've got to say aren't helpful. However, that's neither here nor there. This snow won't dig itself. Angela, Moira, help me dig. William, see if that niche in back of the cave leads anywhere."

  "What ... what a' me?" Miles stammered.

  "Think on what I've said, lad. Think hard on it and sit with O'Fallon. He'll be needing someone with him right now. If there's anything else we don't know, and you think we ought to, speak up."

  Miles turned a faint shade of pink and obeyed with a downcast look on his face. He sat next to O'Fallon and stared glumly at the dirt-strewn cave floor.

  The group worked in silence, as much to conserve air as it was their conversation had lost its momentum. After a few minutes William returned from his exploration to shake his head slowly.

  “Can't tell where that chimney's goin'. No wider than my own fist could be fittin'. Seems taller than twice my height though, so I'm not thinkin' the younglings could be scootin' through it.”

  Hunter shook his cold hands to try and warm them from digging at the snow, then sighed with a faint hint of frustration over the news.

  "Unfortunate. Well, another pair of hands working to clear the snow won't hurt."

  Working in shifts, the group labored in silence. They scooped at a steady pace, depositing the snow in the back of the cave. Two hours later, hands numb from the cold, William broke the surface of the snow.

  "Ah'm through!"

  With an elated grin and renewed vigor, William desperately shoved the snow aside to scramble up. He emerged with a deep breath of relief, and smiled. Warm afternoon sunlight played through the trees overhead and lifted the chill just slightly in the mountain air. The young sailor closed his eyes and took another deep breath, enjoying the immediate relief from the claustrophobic cave below. Having enjoyed his brief moment of sunlight, he slowly opened his eyes, then froze in shock. There, no more than two yards from where he stood, was a large furred creature that had just stepped from behind a tree. Covered in white, matted fur from head to toe, the six-foot-tall beast took a heavy breath and a step closer, leaving the same peculiar animal tracks William had seen outside the camp the night before.