The citizens of Wellinsport were prepared to meet the enemy. They had thrown up barricades all over the city, blocking the roads with overturned wagons and carriages, furniture, barrels, and anything else they could find to toss on the pile.
Elderly veterans took down their blunderbusses from the walls and manned the barricades, standing side-by-side with razor-wielding street toughs and children armed with bricks and paving stones. Women stood on rooftops, armed with coal scuttles filled with red-hot coals.
Henry admired their spirit, but not only were troops marching over the Indigo Road into the north of the city, troops stashed on board the warships would soon be entering the city from the harborside. His people could soon face a thousand disciplined well-armed Guundaran soldiers that would crush all resistance like an avalanche thundering down the side of a mountain.
He could tell the moment the first ranks of the Guundaran soldiers encountered the barricades by the crackle of gunfire and cries of outrage and defiance. He shook his head in grim foreboding.
“I fear the worst, Mr. Sloan,” he said, and added with a disapproving glower, “Why are you smiling?”
“It had occurred to me, my lord, that Guundaran soldiers are accustomed to fighting what we might term ‘civilized’ battles in which opposing forces line up across from each other in orderly rows on the field of conquest. The orders are given: Fire, reload, fire. Advance. Retreat.”
“And what is your point, Mr. Sloan?”
“Street fighting is far more vicious and brutal, as the Guundarans will soon discover, my lord. They do not face the enemy across a field of battle. Instead the enemy lunges out of a doorway wielding a meat cleaver or throws hot grease on their heads.”
Mr. Sloan was proven right. The gunfire became more sporadic and people began to cheer. Assailed from all directions, the Guundarans who had marched along the Indigo Road to seize the bank had been forced to retreat to reconsider their position.
“I fear the celebration is premature,” said Henry. “The Guundarans will not give up that easily.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Mr. Sloan agreed. “In their place, I would make use of the transport barges to sail over the barricades and attack the bank from the air.”
“For God’s sake, do not give them ideas, Mr. Sloan!” Phillip protested. “We would not want your thoughts winging their way to some Guundaran commander.”
“I will endeavor to control myself, Your Grace,” said Mr. Sloan.
Henry took advantage of the lull in the fighting in the city to shift his attention to the battle taking place in the harbor.
He was puzzled by an eerie blue-green glow lighting the Breath near the entrance of the Trame Channel, until the glow strengthened and he realized it came from the magical steel plates of the Terrapin. He could tell by following the bright glow that the ship was on the move, but without a spyglass he could not see well enough to know where she was bound or why.
“Alan must be planning to take on the King of Guundar and the Hoffnagle,” said Phillip. “Sixty-eight guns each.”
“And the Terrapin has twenty-four,” said Henry gloomily.
“And the devil’s own luck,” Phillip reminded him.
Henry sighed.
The lull in the fighting in the city continued. The Guundaran forces that had attacked the barricade had not returned, and the people began to celebrate in earnest in the belief that the fight was over. Henry was starting to think he’d been wrong and that the Guundarans had given up. His hopes were dashed by the arrival of one of Captain Rader’s men, who came running upstairs to report.
“The captain says to tell you that the Spuds took to their barges and are preparing to attack our position from the air.”
Henry glared at his secretary. “I blame you, Mr. Sloan.”
“I am profoundly sorry, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “I would suggest that Captain Rader and his men fall back to assist in guarding the bank.”
“I agree, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.
The man ran down the stairs with his orders for his captain. He must have said something to Sir Reginald on his way out the door, for the bank owner came up to join them on the roof.
“Brought my glass so I could see the damn Guundarans for myself,” he said, flourishing a spyglass. “I hear they are going to attack from the air.”
“They are on their way, my lord,” said Henry. “Right now, however, you can see the battle raging in the harbor.”
Sir Reginald put the spyglass to his eye and trained it on the harbor. “So you can,” he said.
Henry longed to see for himself and had to fight the temptation to snatch the spyglass out of Sir Reginald’s hand.
“Damned if I can tell one ship from another,” said Sir Reginald.
“If you would allow me, sir,” said Henry, reaching for the spyglass. He started to look, then handed it to Phillip. “On second thought, Your Grace has the best eyesight.”
“Your Grace!” Sir Reginald frowned at Phillip. “But he’s a clerk!”
Henry did not choose to enlighten him. “What do you see, Your Grace?”
“The Terrapin is headed straight for the King of Guundar,” Phillip reported. “Wait! Damn it. Too much smoke. I can’t make out … By God! The Terrapin rammed her! The two ships are locked together.”
He paused at this critical moment.
“Well?” Henry demanded impatiently.
“The King is sinking, my lord. Looks like the Terrapin managed to free herself. But the Hoffnagle escaped,” Phillip added in grim tones. “She’s joining the three warships in the harbor.”
“What is Alan doing? Is he just letting her get away?” Henry demanded.
“That would appear to be the case, my lord,” said Phillip. “The Terrapin is not giving chase.”
“It is not like Alan to give up!” Henry said.
“Perhaps the Terrapin was damaged in the collision, my lord,” Mr. Sloan suggested.
“The Terrapin must be sinking then, because Alan would not let that stop him,” said Henry.
Phillip kept watching and suddenly gave a whoop. “The Hoffnagle’s on fire!”
“What? Where? Let me see!”
Phillip handed Henry the spyglass and he trained it on an orange glow lighting the inky blackness of the harbor. The Hoffnagle was ablaze, and the burning hulk was sailing toward her three sister ships.
“Good old Alan! He must have captured it and turned it into a fire ship, my lord!” Phillip cried, practically dancing up and down with excitement.
Henry could not see the deck of the burning Hoffnagle, but he knew with certainty that Alan would be standing at the helm in the midst of an inferno, guiding the blazing wreck toward the other ships.
The Guundaran ships saw their danger and stopped firing rockets into the city to try to save themselves. An enormous ball of flame suddenly erupted in the harbor. The sound of an explosion followed, rolling across the city.
Everyone else on the roof cheered as the Hoffnagle went down in flames. Henry did not cheer. He wondered if Alan had been caught in the blast. He lowered the spyglass in silence and returned it to Phillip.
“The Guundaran ships are both on fire,” Phillip reported. “Looks like one has lost control of the helm because it’s veering toward the other. Good God! They’ve smashed into each other!” He waited a moment, then said, awed, “They’re gone, my lord. Both of them sunk.”
“Sir, sir!” The pimple-faced youth was stammering, pointing and frantically clutching at Mr. Sloan. “Mr. Sloan, sir! They’re c-c-coming!”
Henry had forgotten their own peril in his worry for Alan. He turned his attention from the harbor to see the hulking shapes of Guundaran landing barges slowly sail over the barricades. People on the rooftops began firing at them and hurling bricks, slate tiles, or whatever else came to hand. The barges were forced to travel slowly, for the smoke obscured their view and they did not want to crash into a chimney or the side of a building.
Captain Rader and his men arrived at the bank on the run, and Sir Reginald went below to meet them. Phillip pocketed the spyglass and went to join Mr. Sloan manning the swivel guns.
Henry raised his rifle. He could hear Captain Rader shouting orders to his men and Sir Reginald booming defiance from inside the bank. He sighted in on the lead barge and waited for it to come within range.
“Hold your fire!” Phillip called urgently.
Henry lifted his head. The lead barge had slowed almost to a crawl to allow the other two to catch up. The officers were shouting back and forth.
“What are they saying, Your Grace?” Henry asked.
Phillip had the spyglass trained on the nearest barge. The Guundarans made no attempt to lower their voices. Judging by their tone, they were obviously shaken.
Phillip began to laugh. “They also saw the battle in the harbor and they have just realized that they are now stranded here in Wellinsport. Those three warships that just sank were supposed to pick them up and carry them back to Guundar.”
“They might still attack,” Henry said, not inclined to cheer yet. “You served with the Guundarans, Mr. Sloan. Will they die for a lost cause or retreat and live to fight another day?”
“I have found the Guundaran people to have a great deal of common sense, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “They abhor waste.”
The Guundaran officers were still shouting at each other and Phillip was listening.
“They intend to retreat. They have enough lift gas to make it as far as the Travian city of Sornhagen. They are going back to the tollhouses to pick up the remainder of their force.”
“I hope they make it,” said Henry, watching the barges until they had vanished into the smoke and darkness. “There has been enough death this day.”
Phillip gave a sigh and slumped down, exhausted. “‘All’s well that ends well,’ as the poet says.”
“All’s well that ends,” said Henry.