Chapter 54
‘What on earth is he doing?’ Lucy asked, hoping for insight.
‘I have no idea,’ Dashwood replied.
He threw a glance over to Torres, who met his gaze and shrugged.
So far their plan was working, Ulcha providing cover with the sails, pushing her horses hard for a brief chase then veering off.
The straw-stuffed dummy had drawn the initial fire.
Elsa had taken out one guard, and Torres and Hekili had managed to link their coach and the wagon to ensure it couldn’t get away.
But now their prey was acting in an unpredictable manner. Sir Walter tugged and ripped at the canvas of the wagon in a frenzy, as if in a desperate attempt to destroy it. He seemed to be completely ignoring the harpoon.
Through the open roof of Torres’s coach, Hekili tied off the rope, the memento of his whaling days now put to good use.
Though they had no means of drawing in the wagon, it prevented it getting further away.
Whenever they closed sufficient space Hekili would tie off another section, gradually closing the gap.
While the former whaler’s actions were calm and methodical, Sir Walter continued his frenzy, with little rhyme or reason.
There was a ripping sound and the covering of the wagon finally gave way, the wind peeling it off and sending it billowing.
If it was a desperate attempt to halt his pursuers, it had failed utterly, caught by a gust that drew it up and over both speeding vehicles.
No sooner had it passed overhead did those following realise it had not been his goal, and there had been a method to his madness after all.
‘Is that …’ Lucy trailed off in disbelief.
‘Yes,’ Dashwood replied flatly. ‘That is a cannon.’
The Iron Adder, the one and only prototype of the infantry cannon, gleamed in the lantern light, looking every bit as deadly as the name implied.
‘I thought you said they only had the plans.’ Lucy stared at the vicious-looking weapon pointed back off the wagon.
‘Obviously my information was out of date.’
‘Obviously. So … cannon rules.’
‘Cannon rules.’ He nodded grimly.
Sir Walter had not revealed the cannon without intent to use it, and he was already lifting a bag of powder, emptying the contents down the barrel.
‘Dashwood!’ called Torres. ‘Get alongside. I’ll draw his fire.’
‘Draw his fire?’ Elsa exclaimed loudly.
Torres drew back on his reins, the horses slowing slightly.
In response the army wagon began to move away, only for the rope to go taut, wrenching the rear of the wagon slightly upwards. Sir Walter stumbled, but held on to the cannon and continued his frantic work.
Dashwood moved to the right, closing ground more swiftly.
Whether he would be fast enough remained to be seen.
Lucy could see the older man had little regard for the mess he was making all around him, ramming shot into the barrel, clearly intent on blowing away his pursuers altogether.
Close enough to try for a shot, Elsa raised her crossbow, but switched her aim from Sir Walter at the last second.
The mercenary messenger at the front of the wagon, now unhindered by the wagon covering, raised his rifle to fire at Torres and became the more immediate threat.
Elsa’s bolt missed, but forced the man to crouch out of sight, delaying his impending shot.
Sir Walter was a closer target, but he was moving wildly, often behind the cannon, making him harder to hit.
Elsa reloaded rapidly, ready to fire again, but was once more drawn to the messenger.
This time her bolt hit home, hitting him in the chest and knocking him back, at least for the time being.
Dashwood urged the horses forward, slowly drawing level with the army wagon.
‘I need to stop him firing that cannon,’ he called to Lucy.
‘I agree.’
‘Keep her steady then pull ahead.’
Before she could protest, he had handed her the reins and climbed back onto the roof of their coach.
She was now driver and messenger in one.
Elsa fired again, this time hitting Sir Walter in the arm. The frenzied man barely seemed to notice.
‘Dante?’
‘Dashwood will make it.’
‘If he doesn’t—’
‘He will,’ he asserted. ‘But you might want to get down.’
Lucy tried to keep the coach steady as they rode alongside the army wagon. The horses were well trained, but her experience up to now had been purely observational.
A moment later, any chance of handing the reins back vanished. Dashwood leaped forward, flew through the air and crashed onto the deck of the army wagon, sprawling but unharmed. Lucy’s eyes darted back and forth, forward and to the side, knowing she could do little but stay in the chase.
In his manic focus, Sir Walter was as oblivious to the boarder as he was to the bolt in his arm. All his attention seemed focused on the singular task of firing the cannon. As he gripped the firing cord, Lucy was sure she heard a wild giggle.
Dashwood seized Sir Walter’s ankles, tripping him forward.
As Sir Walter fell, his weight landed on the rear of the cannon, tilting its barrel upwards a fraction. With an almighty hiss and roar, the Iron Adder fired for the first and last time.
A wall of grapeshot erupted from the barrel, shattering the roof of Torres’s coach into a shower of splinters.
The Spaniard, crouched as low as he could, gripped the reins tight, the horses panicking but not scattering.
Elsa had already ducked and Hekili was lying on the coach floor, each of them unharmed but for a few splinters.
Lucy gripped her reins, the horses jerking but drawn back in line. She glanced to the side to survey the damage.
The roof was no longer there, which meant there was no longer a rope linking the two wagons. With Torres’s coach half destroyed and his horses scared, there was no way to maintain enough speed to keep up.
The army wagon slowly began to draw away.
Dashwood and Lucy were on their own.