Howls. Multiple howls. Including a very deep howl.
“Rip this in half and wrap each piece around the branches. We’ll never get out of here at this rate in this dark.”
As Pool tightly tied the fragments of his jacket around the end of the branches—it was clear from the beginning she intended them as torches—Etelka pulled out her mechanical lighter. It was not even an invention of hers, although she had made this one.
“With the flames, we will move faster, but they will sooner notice us. We must hurry.” She reached into her vest and pulled out a small pistol. “Miss Tagore gave me this one. There is just the one magazine.” Pool took it and chambered a round.
They ran along the twisting stream bed. Splashing the babbling brook with every step. The howls and growls grew closer.
Without warning Etelka stopped and back-tracked.
“But…Baro….Etelka!!??” sputtered Pool after Etelka as she scurried up the embankment. He could see the sputtering torch she carried. He could also hear splashing up the stream from their pursuers.
He was utterly surprised when she performed a stunt that he had only witnessed amongst gymnasts (or Miss Tagore in her special mode.) Etelka leapt nearly over him, torch in one hand and the antique rifle in the other and her own automatic flailing around in the small of her back.
Breathlessly, she exclaimed, with almost a gleeful smile on her fire-lit face, “Come on…our camp was there…”
They were back running. The Ngablakh were now only a couple hundred meters behind—the distance a long bow could land an arrow. Both were out of breath and had racing hearts.
Just as they broke through the forest wall into the clearing, one of the Ngablakh hooted and howled as he or she launched a spear at them, their atlatl spinning on the down swing. It grazed Pool’s arm. The stone point drawing blood from his left shoulder.
Etelka spun around, tossing the torch at a nearby dry shrub and raised the rifle to her shoulder.
As the bush burst into crackling flame and illuminated a greater area of the clearing she sighted on one of the pursuing Ngablakh down the barrel of the gun, felt the heavy recoil.
That one fell.
I came in peace. Did I fail to mention that? I at least brought them a gift. What kind of person kidnaps an ambassador? A researcher?
She chambered another round and took aim at the second one.
She missed. Twice. Three times.
The third was closer than she expected when she finally noticed…him. Fortunately for him the rifle jammed. She let out an uncharacteristic expletive and pulled her dangling automatic around.
After shouldering the antique rifle—she didn’t want to let them go, because they were a matching set that went with Baba Yaga’s Hut—she charged the auto.
There were now half a dozen more of the forest-dwellers in the clearing. Pool was behind her jumping up and down trying to gain the attention of the crew of the airship above them. He was yelling something incoherent even in Brethmanic. Maybe Beatrix is listening, she thought before spraying the marauding pursuers.
She had only intended to lay down cover fire so she and Pool could retreat to the airship and safety.
What she didn’t expect was the pair of concussive explosions from fifty meters above.
Etelka glanced up, side-lit by the burning bush next to her and half-surrounded by Ngablakh. Baba Yaga’s Hut’s starboard guns—small cannons really—sounded with deafening effect. Neither shot hit a target, but they spectacle of fire and smoke and noise caused the pursuers to pause and look to their own safety.
She took the opportunity to retreat to where hapless Pool was gesticulating, trying to think of his better moments. With a hand on his non-bloody shoulder, she calmed him down and handed him the rifle, telling him to unjam it before putting in the fresh magazine. This was all punctuated with short bursts in the general direction of the encroaching Ngablakh.
Without looking, Etelka could hear the cargo lift cranking down, above them. From the duration, she estimated another 90 seconds or so.
The field of combat was illuminated entirely by that one burning bush and being spindly and dry, it didn’t last long. The deep howls of the Chief, Perpiscuitous Dream, were in the field now.
Another pair of near simultaneous firings from above. The clearing already smelled of powder-smoke, not unlike firework celebrations.
The pursuers were kept at bay.
Except the Chief, who railed at and rallied his people—more than the dozen they had seen the village—to advance and recapture the human woman and her manservant.
Staccato echoing from Etelka’s gun. She wasn’t even aiming as she couldn’t see him at all, nor most of his people.
The cargo lift was low enough that Pool had begun jumping for it, although he was still a few meters short.
“Pool! I really need you to shoot. Now!!”
Seven Ngablakh sped crouched across the field jumping effortlessly over crumbling ancient walls, pushing aside shrubs and bushes to hurl spears at them.
Finally, Pool took aim at the closest and dropped her with one shot.
So, at least he got it unjammed. If only I had gotten more of the magazines.
Etelka dropped a clip and shoved another one in from her ammunition pouch.
More bursts.
“Baroness,” yelled Pool, “the lift is low enough to reach. You go first.” He offered clasped hands for her to step up, leaving the rifle hanging on his (not bloody) shoulder. Still he winced when her toe pressed his hands down.
Attaining the lift, Etelka lay on her stomach and lay down cover fire against the closest enemies. Then, looking over the edge saw Pool and stretched down an arm to him.
She was not strong enough herself to pull him up, but he was remarkably agile, albeit in a bumbling sort of way.
By the time they were pulled tight into the cargo hold of Baba Yaga’s Hut there were three spears lying next to them, and they would discover later, another four hanging from the gondola of the airship.
…
Anchor up.
In the lounge, sitting around the world-table, Pool spoke: “So, what now, Baroness? What of your research into these mysterious Ngablakh?”
She looked at him with piercing aquamarine eyes: “Constable Pool, where would we all be if we gave up so easily?” That said she left him with a manic smile, a kind that only she could manage, and retired to her cabin.
Work in progress. Mistakes and misspellings are present. This is a very rough draft. Copyright 2021 Ion Fyr ionfyr.net
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Ion Fyr 