The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [68]
“Aye, sir. Above us, three ships with lanthorns blazing. They want us to know they're there.”
“They want their ship back, I reckon.” He fingered his chin. “Should we release our charges, try to blast them from the water?”
“Beg pardon, Margrave, but I think that wouldn't be wise,” Parmenter said. “None of ‘em are straight overhead, and they may have countermeasures we know nothing of. But they will surely finish us off if we prove dangerous.”
“What if we surface, then, and take our chances fighting from the deck?” But he shook his head. “No. Even I don't like those odds.”
Tomochichi, who had slipped in from the next compartment as they were speaking, cleared his throat. “The devil gun. Could you not use it to make them sink, as we did those boats upriver?”
“No,” Oglethorpe said. “Fired here, it would only set loose our own captive demon. Then we must all swim for it.”
“I know,” the old chief said. “But if someone took the gun and swam up, it could be done.”
“We can't open the hatch,” Oglethorpe explained. “Water would rush in.”
“Not the water underneath. We hold it at bay.”
“He's right, sir,” Parmenter said, some excitement in his voice. “Remember? The water will not force through the lower hatch, not as long as the upper is sealed. Someone can swim out from there.”
“Very good,” Oglethorpe said. “Mr. Parmenter, you're elected.”
“Sorry, General. I—I can't swim.”
“I'll do it,” Tomochichi said.
Oglethorpe frowned, remembering the Indian's fear of underwater spirits. “No. I know you don't like this below-the-water business.”
“What else can I do here?” Tomochichi asked. “Shoot my musket? No. Raise my war club? No. My younger brothers are already covered in glory. I will do this. This is mine.”
Oglethorpe hesitated only for an eye blink. “Very well, Chief, it's yours.” He clasped the old man's arms. “Good fortune.”
“If my allotted days are broken, it is so. No man can escape his fate. But I will end our enemies.”
A chill stalked down Oglethorpe's back. He hated it when the Indians started talking like that.
“Go with God, Chief.” Oglethorpe turned to Parmenter. “Put the knife to the Russian pilot. No, bring him here so I may do it myself. I will know how his countrymen see us.” He turned back to Tomochichi, who was doffing his matchcoat, revealing the dark wings tattooed on his chest and torso. For a dizzying instant, the old Indian seemed not human at all but instead some Oriental combination of man and bird of prey.
Then the illusion vanished, and he again saw a vulnerable old man.
“Tie a rope to the chief ‘s ankle,” Oglethorpe commanded, “so he can find his way back.”
Tomochichi slipped into the opaque waters at about the same time they brought the sullen Russian captive before Oglethorpe. He was a young man, perhaps twenty-two, with a heavy beard and mustache. He still wore the green breeches of his uniform and a sweat-stained white shirt.
Oglethorpe already knew the fellow spoke English, from the earlier interrogation.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Feodor Yurivich Histrov.”
“Very good, Mr. Histrov. No doubt you are aware of our present troubles. It seems your friends have a method of locating us, and of knowing we are unfriendly to their cause. I'm sure you were aware that would happen, and I congratulate you on your bravery in keeping silent. You must have known you would die with us, or that we would kill you for your omission.”
Histrov did not answer, but his face pinched tighter.
“Come here,” Oglethorpe said softly. “I want you to see something.”
He pulled the Russian forward, then crowded with him into the watchtower, where one of the windows looked upward.
“There? You see them? What are they waiting for?”
“For you to surrender,” the Russian replied. “By now the narrows is blockaded as well, so you will not escape.”
“No? Then is it worth your life to keep the secret of our detection from us?”
“Yes.”
Oglethorpe motioned to Unoka, who pulled an ugly-looking bone-handled dirk. With a swift motion, the little man