Waterwitch

[Keeper]

“What are they doing?” Seth Gecko called out of the crane’s cab. It was hard now to make himself heard over the combination of wind and gunfire. Coming from both the ground and the half dozen men on the deck of the Waterwitch.
Mickey Eden, ignoring the lead flying around him leaned out over the handrail and peered down at the cage and the constable’s office.
He could see Lilly’s body in the cage but no sign of anyone else.
Darting back to the crane he told Gecko, who frowned for a moment before making a decision. Yanking back on a lever the crane hoisted the cage up and over the side onto the deck.
“Get Buxley to sick bay!” he yelled, then, once Eden had detailed two men to carry out the task, he lowered the cage once more.

He didn’t know it was a pointless task.

[Keeper]

Anger boiled inside Lord Sebastian Reynolds, Baron of Roborough as he looked down at James Hartfields corpse. But like the weather outside, it turned cold, and rather than developing into a blind rage it formed into a purpose.
Dialling his brother on the ether-comm once more he quietly instructed him to turn off the lights and then wait.
Jonathan wasn’t sure of the merit in his brother’s request, wanted to know why Sebastian wasn’t just coming aboard so that they could leave.
His answer was short but it was the tone of his brother’s voice that sent him running to the already fuming Holt.
Eventually the massively bright search-lights blinking out.

Lord Reynolds noticed the change in lighting from behind his eyelids.
He opened them and found himself to be in pitch blackness.
Throwing open the rear door of the constable’s office the world outside was a much brighter place, by comparison.

Having removed his heavy coat Reynolds easily manoeuvred himself out of the doorway and behind a snow covered pile of logs. He knew from the sounds of gunfire that at least one of the Americans was here.
Straining his ears for a sound that would give away the man’s position Reynolds ignored the cold, his anger providing warmth enough.
The wind was going to make the task difficult, but Reynolds didn’t have to wait long as a voice called out.
“Frank? Hey, Frankie?”
“What, dammit?”
“Why’d they put the lights out?”
“I don’t know, maybe they got that Reynolds fella?”
“But they ain’t leaving?”
“Shoot, Dumper! How the hell should I know?”


Reynolds shifted position, looking in Frank’s direction.
The man was on the corner of the constable’s office, in fact he was looking directly at Reynolds, he just wasn’t seeing the man that was a shadow amongst shadows.
Baron Roborough steadied his breathing and let the title slip away until he was just plain old Jimmy Ambrose.
“Now you fuckers pay!” he whispered.
Ambrose’s pistol was a heavy revolver complete with silencer. Von Stauffenberg had told him it was the only truly silent revolver in the world.

Ambrose aimed for a while, wanting to be sure of his shot.
Phut, went the gun with almost no recoil.
Frank’s dark shape dropped liked a felled tree.

[Keeper]

“Frank?” Dumper called out. “Frank, what was that flash?”
Of course no reply came.
“Shit, Frank,” Dumper’s voice sounded nervous. “Is that door open?”
Still no response.
“Are you inside?” Dumper moved towards the open rear door of the constable’s office. “Dammit, Frank, you’re inside. How about waitin’ for me?”
Quickly now he dashed for the door, missing the crouching form behind the log pile.

Jimmy Ambrose replaced the pistol in his pocket and extracted his knife. By the time Dumper was at the doorway there was all of four feet between them.
The knife slipped into the soft tissue of Dumper’s throat, severing his vocal chords and opening his windpipe to the air.
Ambrose pulled back on the man’s head as he sliced the knife across the jugular vein and blood fountained into the sky, staining the surrounding snow red.

Dumper lashed out, catching Ambrose with a lucky backhander, crunching a meaty fist into the cartilage of the other man’s nose.
Ambrose saw stars and had to blink rapidly to clear them.
By the time his vision had returned, Dumper lay in the snow, his head surrounded by a halo of red.
Jimmy shivered as the adrenaline ebbed, feeling the cold wind against his face and at the cuffs of his sleeves. He realised that he was soaked in blood from his own nose and a lot of Dumper’s.

[Keeper]

After stemming the flow of blood Reynolds’ anger was somewhat diminished and his resolve had lessened. Had it really only taken at fit of bloodlust to sate his anger over Hartfield’s death?
He was very glad that it was too dark to truly make out the body that lay mere feet away. Now that the adrenaline had ebbed and his anger no longer fuelled an inner fire Reynolds began to shiver, and doubted very much that he would be able to hold the contents of his stomach.
He had two choices now; go inside and get to the Witch or carry on, kill the man responsible for killing Mac.
The thought brought back a small flame of anger, but also a feeling of sorrow and guilt.
With a deep sigh Reynolds moved on into the snow laden darkness.

Skirting around the backs of some houses Reynolds soon came to a position where he could see two figures huddled behind a trough, silhouetted against the bright snow.
One was slight and had a long rifle, the other was large and Reynolds guessed had to be Ox.
They were too close and too alert for him to make this a knife fight, so out came the pistol again.

A noise from behind made the aristocratic thief pause.
Slowly, so as not to reveal himself in the deep shadows, he scanned the surrounding area and noticed three men, carrying a couple of shotguns and a large pistol between them.
These men were sneaking forwards, but not towards him, but rather towards Ox.

Reynolds decided to hold back, watching.

Once they were in a position almost on top of the Baron, one of them gave a shrill whistle.
Ox and the other man turned their weapons in the whistle’s direction.
At that moment on the opposite side of the street, lanterns were unveiled and about a dozen men rushed forward, weapons of varying descriptions aimed threateningly at Ox and his companion.
There were yells and threats called out but Reynolds could not make out what was being said.
Obviously Ox and the other man had turned to face this new threat and so the three next to Reynolds moved up behind them.

That was it for Ox, there was nothing left to do but surrender.

Reynolds recognised Malcolm White amongst the men.
One of the men with White stepped forward, his pistol steadily aiming at the big man who relinquished his own gun on demand. Reluctantly Cooper did the same.
The Malcolm White stepped forward and stood over the two men who still remained sitting behind the trough.
“What do you say, Yankee?”
Ox remained passive, his face one of calm, showing no hostility.

“You killed Bob and his bot, Terry,” White said coldly. “And from that red coat over there I Reckon you killed the constable too.”
Ox shrugged at the accusation, there was no point denying it. He knew if he kept calm now, there’d be a chance later to turn this around or escape.
“So what you got to say for yourself, boy?” White glared at the bearded Oxley, but got no reply.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Just get on with it,” Ox eventually said tiring of this and wanting to get out of the cold.

“What’ll we do with them Mal, now Richley’s dead?” asked one of the crowd.
“We put them in the cage and wait for the judge,” Malcolm replied. “On your feet!” he directed to his captives.
Ox and Cooper clambered to their feet, the men maintained a circle around them.
Reynolds noticed a subtle movement from behind Cooper, a long bladed knife being adjusted.
The baron moved fast, springing up from his hiding place.
He’d pulled the trigger before any of the townsfolk even noticed his presence.
Cooper sprawled onto the snow, a bullet lodged in his spine, his legs forever useless.

White and the other men reacted slowly but on a sign from the barman they relaxed.
“That’s murder where I come from,” Ox growled.
“Really?” Reynolds injected surprise into his voice.
“Oh, yeah! So I guess it’ll be you and me in that cell and we can see what the judge makes of that in the morning.” Ox had a peculiarly smug look on his face that struck Reynolds as not being particularly suitable for the situation.
Reynolds laughed. “You are a card there, sir! Distracting these folks with our pompous objections to the current proceedings? Perhaps that way their guards against you will drop and you may be able to take advantage?”

“I’ve been in worse situations and I’m still here,” Ox sneered.
“This may be true, sir,” Reynolds replied, “however I know of one sure way of making sure you don’t get away with this.”

Sumpter Oxley knew exactly what the Englishman was saying.
“You ain’t got the balls,” he spat. “Damned English toff!”
“You would think,” Reynolds nodded in agreement. “But I ain’t no toff!”
Quick as a flash his pistol came up, paused long enough for Ox to realise his fate, and pulled the trigger.
“Sentence passed!” Reynolds said before turning away and walking towards the constable’s office.
“Jesus Christ!” cursed one of the townsfolk in shock at the amount of blood!

[Keeper]

With the cage door shut Seth Gecko pulled the lever that would hoist the iron frame up over the side and down through the cargo hatch where it could be released and stowed, after the body of the Chief Engineer had been brought on board and carried to the vessel’s uncomfortably large morgue.

Gecko watched four of the crew carry the body along the cargo deck and into the vessel. He knew this would be a blow to both the crew and the captain.
Seth was about to turn everything off when his banks-man waved to get his attention.
“What?”
“Brewer’s down there!”
Gecko sighed and winched the cage back over the side.

Jonah Brewer looked meekly at the Witch’s first-mate.
“Get on board and to your station, you fuck!” Gecko barked.
Brewer skulked away, not wanting to loiter under Gecko’s accusing gaze. Once inside he’d seek safe ground with Wade.

He stopped in his tracks as he entered and stared like a startled rabbit at the blood soaked form and the cold glaring eyes.
Reynolds said nothing but Brewer shuddered anyway. Did the Englishman know what he and Wade were doing? No, he didn’t think so, how could he?
Moving passed the Peer he scurried down the ladder out of sight.

[Keeper]

Captain Lindsey Holt leaned against the hand rail on one of the engine room’s upper walkways.
Holt wasn’t a tall man, wasn’t especially muscular, nor was he especially handsome. Plain, would have been one description for him.
However, he was an excellent seaman, who knew the ways of the world’s oceans as well as any man. In fact he knew rather a lot more than most as his vessel spent a considerable amount of time under the waves these days.
It was his years of experience and his skill that demanded the respect of his crew, as much as his position on the boat did. Even Wade wouldn’t argue that point. But his experience also taught him to respect the crewmen under him, everything from their own unique skills to the odd and often unfounded superstitions that seamen seemed to have. Which was why the captain now looked down on the hot, oily, noisy engine room and the crew that manned it. He was proud of them, and he’d told them so. The crew here had just lost their chief and some of these men had counted him amongst their closest friends.
But they’d bee stoic in their acceptance of his death and had gone back to work swiftly, ensuring that the Waterwitch ran smooth and well, just as Hartfield would have wanted.
One problem the skipper had yet to face was assigning a replacement. The men who knew the types of systems on the Witch were few and far between.
One of the crew had asked if it was Wade who had caused the death, they all knew neither man had liked the other.
Holt had openly denied Wade’s involvement and had played up Hartfield’s desire to rush to Buxley’s aid. The romantic notion seemed to assuage their suspicions. The last thing Holt needed right now was a war on board his boat.
The trouble was Holt wasn’t too sure Wade didn’t have anything to do with Mac’s death. Yes, there was no direct connection, and Lord Reynolds had not been very forthcoming with any information he may have had on the matter.

Holt’s reverie was interrupted as a figure joined him. It was Seth, and Holt was grateful for that as the last thing he wanted right now was grief from Wade of his cronies.
“We’re about there, captain,” Gecko informed him.
Gecko was talking about diving the Witch once more.

Having taken Hartfield’s body on board and the foppish form of Jonah Brewer, Holt had ordered the Witch out east, away from the coast and the storm.
The captain hated to admit it but Nestor Wade’s piloting skills had come into their own as he’d driven the gargantuan vessel ever higher, fighting the winds and driving snow.
As Reynolds had suggested, Holt had taken the Witch higher than most zeppelins usually went, bringing her up above the storm clouds and into calmer, clearer skies.
They had made good ground and Holt was impressed with how well the Witch seemed to handle the altitude.
The Witch had then turned south, heading for Montreal and Jonathan Reynolds’ family.

Their rescue, if it could be called that, had gone without incident until they had arrived at the dockside and found themselves not about to board a luxury liner, or zeppelin, but an odd looking rusty old freighter.
Oddly it was the familiar, but slightly out of place face of his daughter that had persuaded Mrs Reynolds aboard.

Of course their snobbish reticence faded somewhat when, once clear of the city, the captain had ordered the vessel skyward again.
Now the Witch was out over the Atlantic and with various factions including pirates on the seas and in the air Holt considered it best to take the Witch down into her more favoured environment, and thus dive her.

[Keeper]

“Mr Gecko! Dive the boat!” Holt ordered as he stepped onto the bridge.

Seth Gecko nodded his acknowledgement to Holt and turned on the spot to face forward.
“Mr Whitby,” he said with authority, “General Dive Alarm and set the fore planes.”
“Aye, Aye, sir,” Whitby replied as he went to the control panel on the starboard side of the bridge and pulled some levers to bring the forward bow planes down to their operating position. Next he raise a telephone handset to his mouth an broadcast across the vessel. “All stations, all stations. Dive the boat.”
This was immediately followed by a klaxon and he added, “Station Cheifs report readiness.”

Across the Witch men went to their allotted positions and adjusted valves, secured water tight doors, hatches and ventilation openings and ensured the watertight integrity of the airship that was about to become a submarine.
Whitby ticked off the various stations on his list as they reported back to him and after a few minutes he reported that all stations were ready for dive.

Gecko nodded sharply. “Thank you Mr Whitby. Mr Wade,” Gecko said the name without the venom it normally carried when he spoke about the ship’s pilot. There were times to be personal and this was not one of them. “Take her down gently.”
“Aye, taking her down gently,” Wade confirmed. He too knew when to be professional, and that was when he was doing his thing.

Despite the Witch being a privately owned commercial vessel, its very nature and the environments in which it operated in made it necessary to run it in a very militaristic manner.
It was one of the reasons Holt liked his essential personnel to have at least served in a county’s naval forces, he just wasn’t that fussy which country.

Slowly the gigantic vessel dropped from the sky, passing through the cloud layer into rougher weather.
“Jesus!” Wade exclaimed as the Witch was buffeted around. He knew it was going to be tough bringing the Witch down – the seas would be right up in this. Thirty foot waves wouldn’t be surprising.
Holt knew it too. “He’s not on board today, Mr Wade, so you’ll have to provide the miracle if you please.”
Wade snorted. “Oh, I’ll give you your miracle, captain,” the pilot said with a fair degree of derision injected into the title,” just you remember who does what around here.”
“Stow it, Wade,” Gecko warned, to which Wade merely cast him a hateful look.
Holt ignored the exchange. He’d had enough of Wade’s moaning but couldn’t afford to get on the pilot’s wrong side right now.

Their prediction proved to be correct and so Wade pushed the vessel’s bow down, putting her into a steeper, quicker dive so that he could spear the massive boat into the back of a huge wave.
“All hands – brace!” Whitby broadcast. Even he could see this was going to be a bumpy one.
As the Witch hit the sea it was like a steam car hitting a wall, the sudden lurch upwards in the bow and change of momentum brought those throughout the vessel who were unprepared to the floor with a harsh thump.

Jonathan Reynolds cursed as he picked himself up from the carpet and checked on his family. He wondered silently how his brother, who had been standing at the moment of impact hadn’t fallen.
His wife was all right though his children were upset, but more because the blocks they had been playing with on the floor had smashed against the forward bulkhead.

The vessel was still shaking and juddering and making all sorts of protesting noises as she drove herself down under the waves.

“Bloody hell, Wade!” Gecko said but there was no reprimand there, more astonishment. “Good work,” he added. Then said, “Let’s get those windows shut up Mr Whitby.”
Whitby moved to his console again and yanked down on a lever. Huge steel shutters closed over the bridge windows, sealing them against the enormous pressure about to be put against them.

Eventually the Waterwitch settled as she sank beneath the turmoil of the surface and its haphazard currents.

“Captain,” said Hopkins from the small communications room at the back of the bridge. “You received an Ether-message just before we hit the water.”
“Thank you,” Holt replied rising from his chair and heading for his ready-room.

Gecko knew where they were heading and made his way to the charts to plot a course, wishing Buxley was around.
“Mr Wade, take us down to a depth of four hundred feet, new course one-six-five, ahead standard. Take us to Haven.”

Haven, a huge underwater city in the Atlantic not far off the coast of Bermuda. It was a place frequented by their sort and mostly out of reach of the British, Germans and Americans.
Wade grinned at the thought of it. “Aye, Haven it is Mr Gecko,” he said pleasantly. It was one order he certainly didn’t disagree with.

[Keeper]

A whistle sounded two blasts over the intercom then a voice announced, “Hand-over second watch.”
Sebastian Reynolds stood to one side of the bridge doorway as members of the ship’s second watch took over from the first.
It really was run like a navy ship, he thought, then his eyes made contact with Nestor Wade.
“There’s a civilian on the bridge!” Wade announced.
Gecko, who was just handing over to the second watch duty-officer, a bull necked man named Grierre, turned to see who it was.
“Ah, Lord Reynolds,” he said in greeting.
Wade gave a snort of derision at that. “No civilians on the bridge,” he commanded. “Go on, clear off!” he waved the baron away like someone dismissing a dog.
“Wade!” Gecko barked a warning.
At that moment the door to the captain’s ready-room opened and an ashen faced Holt emerged.
“What’s wrong?” Gecko asked frowning.
Holt couldn’t speak, he waved a hand towards the small cabin.
Gecko looked worriedly at Reynolds and the two men entered.
There was a message on the ether-scope screen which Reynolds restarted.
It showed a scene from a scope location, a very attractive young woman lying on a bed, just waking up. She wore a very revealing yet simultaneously elegant dress, typical of scope avatars.
“Buxley!” Gecko said in surprise.
Reynolds looked closer and saw that yes, the avatar had Lilly’s face.
They watched the scene progress into the circular many doored room, and listened to the German, Eric Schimler, give is instructions to the woman and to the scope lens.
The two men watched in horror as Lilly stepped through a doorway. It wasn’t an exit.
Beyond the entrance Lilly walked into a room crowded with faceless men.
They brutalised the young woman almost to the brink of death, every act designed to humiliate, torture, and terrorise her. But they didn’t go far enough to kill her, that would have broken the link with the scope and returned Lilly’s mind to her body.

Sobbing her naked body was dragged into a plain cell and the door locked.
The scene cut back to Eric Schimler.
“You have a debt to settle captain. And I am most eager to help my employer collect on that debt any way I can because, as you know, I really hate you. So for my sake, don’t pay up just yet!” the plastic like avatar grinned then the screen went blank.

There was stunned silence in the room as both men digested what they had just seen.

“Who would have thought Buxley could put out like that?” Nice tits though!” Nestor Wade said maliciously from the doorway. He’d been watching unnoticed by Gecko or Reynolds all the time.
A red mist ascended over Lord Reynolds’ mind.
“You foul-mouthed bastard!” he snarled as he launched himself at Wade, his fist connecting with the pilot’s jaw.
Wade staggered back, unprepared for the sudden assault, but he was a veteran of many a fist fight and recovered his wits quickly, blocking Reynolds’ next attack and countering with a gut punch that knocked the wind from the baron.
Wade used that to his advantage, leaping on the man with his hands around Reynolds’ throat.
“You fuckin’ prick!” Wade swore in outrage. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he let go with one hand so that he could ball his fist and smash it onto the Peer’s nose. Then his hand was back at the soft throat again.
Suddenly Gecko was behind Wade, pulling him off his opponent. “Wade!” he bellowed, and snapping out of his horror induced trance, Holt joined his first officer.
“Goddammit, Wade!” he said angrily.
Wade wagged a finger at Reynolds. “You’re fuckin’ dead! You know that? I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bastard!” he tried to pull free of Gecko and Holt but they held him back. “Your fuckin’ title don’t mean shit down here, pal! I promise you.”
Holt and Gecko dragged Wade to the door and threw him out.
When they finally managed to make Wade leave, Holt apologised to Reynolds.
“That man’s a cancer, you know that?” Reynolds said with a handkerchief pressed to his bleeding nose.
Holt said nothing for to admit it would mean having to do something about it, and Wade had far too many supporters on board for him to be able to just get rid.
“I have bigger things to worry about right now,” was all he said before departing.

“You figure out how to get shot of Wade without causing a mutiny, then you just let me know, my Lord,” Gecko said before following after the captain.

[Keeper]

Baron Roborough paced around his small cabin like a caged lion, sometimes rubbing gently at his sore nose. He considered himself lucky that Wade hadn’t broken it.
Despite that bit of luck he felt sure he’d have a couple of black eyes come morning.
Is encounter with Nestor Wade wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Reynolds was greatly troubled by what he had seen happen to Lilly.
Although her body lay in sick bay right now, with the medic forcing food into her through a tube down her throat, the atrocities she had undergone were still in her mind, memories of an event as real as any in her life – and that bothered Reynolds. This was not only because his chivalric attitude towards women was offended, but because he had promised a dying man that he would help Lilly.

Putting Nestor Wade out of his mind, for now, he wandered out into the vessel in search of Captain Holt.

[Keeper]

Reynolds silently climbed a ladder that led to the deck upon which Holt’s cabin was located.
Turning a corner he stopped and stealthily pressed himself back against the bulkhead.
A figure was lurking outside Captain Holt’s cabin with his ear pressed against the door.
It only took Reynolds a few moments to recognise the scrawny form of Jonah Brewer.
Silently the baron crept along the passage until he was right behind the man. Then he raised a booted foot up to Brewer’s back and shoved as hard as he could.
Brewer slammed into the door, jarring it open and sprawled onto the cabin floor with a girlish yelp.
“I do hope you gentlemen weren’t aiming on having a private conversation,” Reynolds said sarcastically to Holt and Gecko who were sat at the captain’s small round table with surprised and stunned looks on their faces.
Gecko rose from his chair, a look of murderous outrage now etched where surprise was moments ago.
“For fuck’s sake Brewer!” he bellowed. “I’d have thought you’d be keeping your head down!”
He grabbed the man by the collar with both hands, hoisting him bodily from the floor so that his feet flapped about several inches above the carpeted deck.
His nose inches from Brewer’s he hissed, “I ought to beat the breath out of you then flush you out a torpedo tube!”
Brewer gave a squeak of terror.
“Seth,” Holt warned tiredly.
Shaking with confined rage, Gecko released the greasy haired man who bolted for the door but Reynolds was in the way.
The baron said nothing, but locked eyes with the nervous little man. The look told Brewer that his cards were marked. Swallowing hard Brewer ducked under Reynolds’ outstretched arm and fled.

“We need to talk, Mr Holt,” Reynolds said authoritatively.