Iron master, p.41
Iron Master, page 41
The Herald’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. ‘I hear there’s been a change of plan,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
‘Are we talking about the Consul-General?’
‘We are.’
‘What’s happened? Did someone cancel the trip?’
‘No. It’s still on. He’s even been boasting about it.’
‘Then he’ll be taken care of.’
‘That wasn’t the deal, Brickman. You know what my client’s wishes were. It was to be in the air. The way you showed me.’
‘Yeah, well, due to circumstances beyond our control, it’s not going to be quite like that. But don’t worry, he’s still going off the top board.’
‘Do you mind telling me how?’
‘I can’t explain how. You wouldn’t understand. But since your friends won’t let me fly, I’m having to use a device powered by the Dark Light. Okay? All I can say is you won’t be disappointed. And I won’t have to explain how I accidentally lost a very important passenger.’ He shrugged. ‘So it works out fine for both of us.’
‘Oh, Brickman…’ breathed Toshiro.
‘Yeah,’ said Steve. ‘I know how you feel. But why spoil all the fun?’
The atmosphere became electric as they stared each other out. Cadillac, Jodi and Kelso kept their heads down. The two Trackers had a feeling they’d seen the Jap before, but they didn’t know who he was or why Steve was courting death by facing him down at such a crucial moment, or what was going to happen next. Just when the suspense was becoming unbearable there was another timid knock on the door.
A wavering voice addressed the Herald in Japanese. Toshiro responded with a gruff command. The door slid open to reveal the two house-women kneeling outside, then Clearwater – still masked – appeared between them and stepped through into the room.
Steve’s heart leapt, but he didn’t let it show in case the Herald got the wrong idea. ‘What kept you?’
Toshiro, who didn’t realise that the question was rhetorical, answered for her. ‘I think you’ll find her porters had to step aside to let the procession pass.’
Clearwater didn’t say anything. The only time she had met the Herald he had been swathed in black from head to toe. Although she had encountered him on the road and his voice was vaguely familiar, she didn’t know who this imposing figure was or what he was doing there. But since Steve was on his feet she stayed on hers.
The two house-women, crouched low over bent knees, shuffled in and deposited Clearwater’s luggage: a cloth bundle and a bag.
Toshiro issued some kind of order in Japanese. One of the house-women picked up the bag and came forward on her knees to hand it to him. He gave them another order which they both acknowledged with a grovelling bow then backed out of the room, sliding the door shut behind them.
Steve heard their cottoned feet beat a hasty retreat down the corridor as Toshiro turned and tossed him the bag.
‘The leaves you’ve been asking me for. That wraps up my half of the deal. Make sure you deliver yours.’
Steve nodded. ‘Nice doing business with you. Better go out the back way. If you were to be –’
Toshiro cut him short. ‘Brickman, advice from you is one thing I don’t need. I thought it would have been clear by now you weren’t dealing with an amateur.’
Steve bowed politely.
Neither are you, gorgeous. Neither are you…
*
Seated with their chief lieutenants in the centre of the grandstand and separated from the other spectators by a three-deep wall of their own samurai, Lords Yama-Shita and Min-Orota surveyed their surroundings. Immediately below them, hidden by the canopy erected to shield the Shogun from the view of any potential assassin, sat the Consul-General and the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa. Their box was guarded on all four sides by government soldiers from the Mara-bara garrison.
To Yama-Shita’s right, the stand was filled with officials and merchants from his own domain; the other half was occupied by a similar group from the Min-Orota family. Ranged on the field before them was a line of eight flying-horses, with a second staggered row of four behind. All twelve were perched on wheeled trolleys. Their gleaming white, silk-covered wings and bodies were marked on both sides with the hinomaru, the blood-red disc that was the symbol of Ne-Issan, Land of the Rising Sun. The tails carried two signs: a Tracker numeral and its Japanese equivalent.
The alien markings had been necessary to allow the original workforce of outlanders to identify the individual craft. This explanation came from Shigamitsu, the Heron Pool commander, who was seated behind the two domain-lords to answer any questions they might wish to put to him. He also informed them that the first eight flying-horses were fitted with rocket-trays, whose efficiency would be demonstrated later: those behind were used as gliders for initial training.
Two samurai – a pilot and an observer – stood by the nose of each craft and four ground-handlers were lined up under the high tails. The aircrews were dressed in all-white outfits, with headbands bearing the hinomaru flanked by two Japanese ideograms. Seven pilots were from the Min-Orota, five from the Yama-Shita family, and their individual house symbol was emblazoned on the left breast and back of their loose-sleeved tunics.
The show began with a drumbeat parade of the cavalry and foot-soldiers who had accompanied the two domain-lords. Bearing the tall narrow banners of the respective houses, the cavalcade passed between the line of flying-horses and the grandstand in review order, led by a standard-bearer carrying the flag of the Toh-Yota Shogunate and a detachment of government troops. It was only a token presence, but it was customary for them to head any procession at which the Consul-General was present in his official capacity. And since all the spectators were, in theory, loyal subjects of the Shogun, they rose and declaimed the oath of allegiance as Yoritomo’s flying-crane banner was carried past.
With the parade over, the troop detachments of the two domain-lords reassembled on either side of the grandstand, with the government soldiers ranged to the left of the Min-Orota and within a stone’s throw of the wall separating the flying field from the tree-fringed grounds at the rear of the pavilion occupied by Cadillac.
Following the troops past the grandstand was a group of shinto priests of varied rank and importance and their assistants bearing flutes, tubular bells and drums. This group stopped as the soldiers withdrew, bowed en masse to the assembled dignitaries, then moved to the left-hand end of the line-up. In a lengthy ceremony involving the singing of invocations and responses, the waving of burning joss-sticks, the sprinkling of water and the distribution of garlands of paper flowers, the samurai and their flying-horses were blessed on behalf of the Iron Masters’ sky-gods and – presumably – awarded the celestial equivalent of an airworthiness certificate.
Returning to the grandstand, the priests formed up into two lines like a guard of honour, bowed to the assembly, then turned to face each other. It was the signal for the two domain-lords to descend with their immediate entourage to inspect the aircrews and their flying-machines.
Watching through a narrow gap in the screens at the rear of the pavilion, Steve saw the Consul-General and Toshiro attach themselves to the group as it left the stand. Shigamitsu and his two chief lieutenants at the Heron Pool followed dutifully behind. Using a ’scope with a zoom lens that had been included in the third airmail package, Steve was able to zero in for head and shoulder shots of individuals in the group. The two guys at the front were obviously the domain-lords but, having never seen either before, he didn’t know which was which.
The preliminaries were almost over. In a few minutes the real action would start. He passed the ’scope to Cadillac. ‘Keep your eye on the Consul-General. Unless they’ve changed things around again, he’s due to open the flying display.’
‘May I look through this magic eye too?’ enquired Clearwater.
‘Sure…’ Steve sent her a message with his eyes, then started to pull the hidden weapons out of the floor storage units.
Jodi had already checked the house and found it empty. Every member of Cadillac’s small domestic staff was now lined up along the back wall, totally absorbed in the happenings beyond. It was unlikely they would be disturbed, but there was no point in taking chances. Situations like this were governed by Sod’s Law: if something could go wrong, you could bet your last meal-credit it most probably would. That was why she and Kelso had armed themselves with concealed handguns and were now roving silently around the house, keeping an eye on the various entrances in case they had any unexpected callers.
Stripping off his loose jacket, Steve donned the sleeveless padded vest that AMEXICO had supplied. It contained a holster for his air pistol, pockets for the spare mags and pressure cartridges, and clips to hold the grenades under a loose flap that concealed their tell-tale outlines. There was another pocket positioned level with his right elbow to hold the face mask. He filled up the various compartments and selected a lethal cocktail of grenades. By the time he was finished, he was a one-man war machine.
He began to load up the three other vests. ‘How’re we doing?’
Cadillac told him: ‘Min-Orota’s finished his inspection of the pilots and planes. The man next to him must be Yama-Shita. The four machines in the second line are being moved back towards the workshops, but the crews have been stood down and have gone to the front of the stand.’
‘Good. That’s more than enough for us.’
‘And they’ve just started to move five from the first line.’
‘Where to?’
‘They’re pushing them towards the grandstand. Wait a minute.’ Cadillac lapsed into silence, then said: ‘Ah, yes… They’ve parked them in a V-formation right in front of the stand, with their tails pointing towards the spectators.’
‘And the crews?’
They’re positioned front and rear like they were before.’
Steve continued loading the pockets of the combat vests. ‘So that leaves three out on the field… Can you see their numbers?’
‘Yes. Six, Seven and Eight. One to Five are in front of the stand.’
‘Good.’ The tidy-minded Iron Masters couldn’t have made his task easier. Steve looked up and saw that Clearwater had taken over the ’scope. ‘Where’s lover boy now?’
‘He’s handing his swords to your friend, the Herald. And now he’s taking off his hat and wig and tying a scarf around his head.’ Clearwater moved the ’scope on to Min-Orota, then found Yama-Shita’s face filling the rectangular frame. She was gripped by a sudden chill as she recognized the slitted eyes and steel-trap mouth. It was her tormentor, the implacable master of the wheelboats who had crushed, drowned and tortured eight Plainfolk Mutes to demonstrate what could happen to her if she did not obey him.
She felt the hatred well up within her. Not reckless and unreasoning, but cold and calculating. The memory of the merciless game played out on the giant paddle-wheel and of the two mutilated heads she had had to share her cabin with was still as fresh and as shocking as ever. She had vowed to avenge the deaths of her fellow Mutes and she would do so today. Yes… this soulless monster and his servants would pay the blood-debt. Many times over.
Oh, Talisman, when I call upon you, lend me your strength!
‘Now he’s taking his seat in the front of the flying-horse. And a samurai is climbing into the seat behind.’
Steve repossessed the ‘scope and zeroed in the Consul-General, then panned left on to the tail. Number Seven. Cadillac had told him that one of the gods in the Iron Masters’ pantheon was in charge of lucky breaks. He didn’t know whether they viewed the number seven as having any specially favourable significance, but if they did, the fat man was in for a big surprise.
The set-up was becoming clearer by the second. Toh-Shiba was going up with Six and Eight acting as escort. All three aircraft were being pushed back on a diagonal line across the field to the take-off point by the workshops, followed by the other two pilots and their observers. Yama-Shita and Min-Orota were returning to their seats in the stand.
And the Herald? Ah, yes… he was walking past Min-Orota’s troops towards the government detachment, moving forward on a line that would take him to Steve’s right. Steve tracked ahead with the ‘scope and caught sight of Toshiro’s horse with its distinctive trappings. Another mounted samurai was holding the reins. Steve watched as the Herald was helped up into the saddle. He had obviously decided to improve his chances of survival by staying mobile. Smart move…
Steve called Jodi and Kelso back into the study and handed out the combat vests. They put them on under their tunics. Steve helped Cadillac into his. ‘I hope you know how to use this stuff…’
‘If you do I do.’
‘Yeah, well, this is the one to watch.’ He unclipped a gas grenade and explained its effects to Cadillac and Clearwater, and how they could protect themselves by using the face-mask. He handed the last one to Clearwater and told her to try it on.
Steve saw her eyes widen in alarm through the visor as her muffled voice leaked through the side-filters. ‘I feel as if I am drowning!’ She pulled the mask off quickly.
He laid a calming hand on her arm. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened about. You’re not going to suffocate. Just breathe deeply. You won’t have to wear it for long, but you must put it on when you see any of us give this signal–’ he brought his hand down over his face. ‘Immediately. You understand?’
Clearwater nodded.
‘And don’t take it off until we remove ours. You got that?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Time to get changed.’ Steve produced a canvas tote-bag and handed it to Clearwater, then placed a faded blue Tracker worksuit on top of it. ‘Pack your white mask, robe and whatever you’re wearing underneath in the bag. But do it carefully. Did you bring that set of body-paints?’
‘Yes. They’re bundled up with the clothes I came in. Plus the other things you asked for.’
Steve turned to Cadillac. ‘What about your walking skins?’
‘I burned them.’
Steve eyed him. ‘Trust you. Where’re the body-paints you told me about?’
‘In one of those cupboards…’
‘Well, we need ’em.’ Steve laid the bag of precious pink cleaning leaves on top of the worksuit. ‘Put these in too, plus anything else that might come in useful.’ He signalled Jodi and Kelso to precede him through the door. ‘Okay. We’re just gonna take a look around. You’ve got five minutes to get changed and packed. Then we’ll go over the plan.’ Steve stepped quickly outside, then popped his head back into the room. ‘And while you’re at it, why don’t you two patch things up? We’ve got a long haul ahead of us, and we’re gonna need each other every step of the way.’
He slid the door shut and joined Jodi and Kelso at the far side of the adjoining room, whose window screens faced the side wall of the Heron Pool compound.
Kelso eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I ain’t too happy ’bout that lumphead walking around with all that hardware. S’pose he turns it on us?’
‘Yeah,’ murmured Jodi. ‘I thought we were taking these two guys back as prisoners.’
‘That comes later,’ said Steve. ‘At the moment, we’re all supposed to be on the same side. You’re a couple of renegades helping us make the break. You want to get back to the Big Open, and they’re going back to their own people.’
‘And you’re going with them…’
Steve shrugged. ‘Listen. As long as they believe that, it’s gonna make our job a whole lot easier – right?’
‘I just hope you know what you’re doing,’ muttered Kelso.
‘Trust me,’ said Steve.
*
Steve stepped out of the pavilion on to the rear veranda and walked down the steps into the yard. Beyond it was a small vegetable garden, then a short stretch of grass which ended in a line of shrubs and trees and a stone wall. Cadillac’s domestic staff were still ranged along it, with their children perched on top.
Even though they had been watching the build-up since early morning, their attention was now riveted on the three planes preparing for take-off. Over the past months, flying machines had become a familiar sight but today’s events were special because of the importance of the people involved and the surrounding pomp and ceremony. No one noticed Steve cross quickly to the dungheap where he had left two wooden buckets containing the usual night mix but, as he went to pick them up, the plump, bossy cook turned to pick up a wandering bare-assed infant. Recovering from her surprise, she gave him a suspicious stare. Steve tilted the bucket towards her to reveal its contents then pretended to empty it.
There was a dramatic roll of drums and –
Shwaah-ba-ba-BOOOMMM! The sound of three pairs of launch boosters igniting in quick succession rippled towards the pavilion. The cook hurriedly lifted the small child on to the wall and sought a foothold herself to get a better view. A full-throated roar of approval came from the seated spectators and watching troops as the Consul-General’s flying-horse climbed steeply into the sky followed by his two escorts.
Steve took a firm grip on both buckets and hurried out of sight. Entering the bath-house, he stripped off his distinctive brown uniform and donned a set of borrowed clothes: the sleeveless wrap-over top and trousers worn by the Mutes who manned the cookhouse and other services provided for the Tracker workforce. After making sure the load of ordnance that was packed round his ribs didn’t show, Steve pulled a battered wide-brimmed straw hat down about his ears, collected his buckets and went down the newly worn path that linked the pavilion to the workshops behind the Heron Pool compound.
The name, which had only come into use at the beginning of the year when the project had begun, came from the pond behind the flying field. The compound itself had been built several decades before and had originally been used to house a detachment of horse-soldiers belonging to the Min-Orota. Years of peace and partial demobilization had left it empty except for a caretaker and his family, and most of the original buildings had been dismantled and transported elsewhere. It had then been rented by the local landowner as a feed and grain store and as winter quarters for his livestock.
