Patchwork Earth Book 1: Chapters 19 & 20 (Patreon)

Chapter 19

Goto hated guns. In San Francisco, he had heard an advertisement saying that only God could make a man, but a Colt revolver could make them equal. It was ironic that a selling point for the gun was exactly his point against them. They were a coward’s weapon, wielded without skill or physical strength.

If that was true of an ordinary pistol, it was even truer for those ray guns the Romish brandished. He’d seen enough gunshot wounds in San Francisco to know that his disdain wouldn’t protect him. He also had to worry about friendly fire if he closed the distance, and trying to fight off those Romish when they could surround him in an instant was also a losing proposition.

How storming a hostile vessel singlehandedly made more sense was a question he would have to ask his gut later. Goto could only hope that the element of surprise would carry the day.

The Romish man studying a clipboard at the top of the gangplank certainly had not seen that coming. “Wait, who are-”

Goto shouted as years of training finally found their purpose. He did not wield a sword to fight grotesque elephants or burrowing monsters. He had trained to cut down men for his lord in a righteous cause. His enchanted katana had no issue with the man’s metallic armor, and he felt a certain satisfaction in the cleanness of his kill.

“So much for being the runt,” he said. “My brothers are probably pushing papers for the Shogun as we speak. Who is the true warrior now?”

Goto took in his surroundings. The cargo hold of the flying ironclad was just tall enough for him to stand up straight, but it ran the length of the ship. It was a dark, dingy place, lit only by the sickly light of yellow lanterns in the corners. Everywhere he looked were piles of shoveltusker hides and tusks.

“That is one mystery solved,” he muttered to himself.

He pulled a tall lever near the gangplank, the most familiar technology he had seen since landing in Patchwork. It did what he expected, another pleasant surprise, retracting the gangplank and dimming the chamber even further. It cut off the scouting party’s escape route, but it also meant there would be no help, even if Bose and the rest were successful. It was do or die now.

He finally spotted a way out as he heard the crack of Bose’s revolver from outside. If he could hear the gunfire, then so could the Romish. That meant that his first priority was locating the guns that had brought down the Tralingan vessel. He charged across the hold and flung the door open.

“Who the devil are you?” asked the startled Romish crewman. He went for his short sword without waiting for a response.

The katana flashed in the reflected lanternlight and the Romish man collapsed before him with a shriek. “Goto Matsukata,” he said as he stepped over the cooling body. “You should be more welcoming to guests.”

There was the slap of boots on the metal hull in the direction of the closed portholes, so Goto decided he should go that way as well. The narrow hallways of the ironclad didn’t lend themselves to running, and he nearly crashed face first into a door labelled in Western letters. If they read the same in Patchwork as in San Francisco, they spelled out Ignis. He hoped that meant cannon.

“Some good luck for once!” The space was dominated by cannons set into tracks to allow for the recoil, three in total. He was shocked at their sheer size. He could have easily climbed into one, if he stayed on hands and knees.

Goto was so impressed by the cannons that he almost missed the Romish furiously working to load them. They hadn’t missed him, though, and the air next to his ear sizzled as the fastest Romish let loose with a pistol-sized ray gun. The others went for their own swords and guns. Goto considered running back the way he’d come. However, he saw one of the crewmen frantically turning a crank, and the rays of the sun peeked in through the slowly opening portholes. He clearly made out the crack of Bose’s revolver. They were still out there, still fighting. Could he do any less?

No. If those cannons went into action, his friends would be vaporized in a heartbeat.

His feet pounded beneath him, closing the distance in an instant. Goto’s conscious mind went on the back burner as he instinctively dodged, parried and slashed. The Romish’s swordplay was different than what had been drilled into his head by his grandfather on the family estate, but they were just as unfamiliar with his own forms.

“Peace has made the current generation soft,” the aging Ichiro had declared many a time, usually as a winded Goto lay at his feet. “And you are the softest I’ve yet met.”

Goto was a respectful young man, so he had put up with the abuse in silence. He had wanted to point out that his Grandfather was a fat man in his seventies who lived in a land that had not known a war since before he was born. However, he kept that to himself. He had used the spite to power his training, which he considered might have been the point.

If only his Grandfather could have seen him then! Fighting in such tight quarters gave the lone man the advantage. The Romish kept stumbling into each other’s way, allowing Goto the chance to punish them as they presented opening after opening. Friendly ray gun fire cut down nearly as many as Goto’s sword, but the samurai did not have the focus to do anything but react. There was nothing in the world except him, his blade, and the enemies in front of him. As his mind came out of its adrenaline-fueled haze, he realized he had cut down all but three of the Romish.

A burning sensation in Goto’s left hip told him his luck had run out. He stumbled and cried out in pain as his leg protested. The blood-slicked gladius sang through the air above him. He dodged, but he felt it slice through his top knot.

“Who is this barbarian?”

The tallest of the Romish leveled his ray gun at Goto. “Who cares at this point? Just kill him and we’ll sort it out later!”

Goto’s sword slashed out at the gunman, but his injured leg didn’t carry him as far as he had hoped. The katana’s tip passed near the point of the pistol just as it fired, and the enchanted metal refracted the bolt every which way, including through the gunman’s throat. He collapsed, gurgling in surprise.

The swordsman didn’t give Goto time to recover, but he didn’t need it. He continued his long slash and pivoted on his good leg. Their blades met, a contest the gladius lost, splitting in two. The Romish swordsman was thrown off balance, which Goto took advantage of with an elbow to the back of his neck. There was a sickening crunch, and the man collapsed like a ragdoll at his feet.

Goto turned to the last Romish, wondering why he had not joined his fellows in their last stand.

The man cowered behind one of the cannons. “Don’t kill me, please! I’m a wealthy man, my father’s a senator! I’ll give you anything, just please!”

Ah, that was why. “Step out with your hands up. Slowly.”

The man stepped out, and Goto realized he couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He swung his sword to clear the blood and gore before sheathing it. “You’re just a boy. What are you doing on a pirate ship?”

“W-we’re not pirates. We’re with the Republic Navy.”

“You are poaching ivory and hides in violation of your treaty with the delphens,” he said. He hoped that Klai had been telling the truth about that, or he was about to look rather foolish.

As far as Goto was concerned, the guilty look in the boy’s eyes confirmed Klai’s story. “I’m just an ensign,” he insisted.

“Then do something useful,” replied Goto. “Take me to your captain.”

He wordlessly pointed to one of the lifeless bodies at their feet.

“Ah, I see. Who is in charge, then?”

The boy gulped. “Y-you are, sir.”

Goto couldn’t help but grin. “That was not the answer I expected, but I will take it.”

Chapter 20

Bose removed his Stetson to wipe the sweat from his brow as he surveyed the sight of their brief skirmish. He murmured a brief prayer for the dead Romish, commending their souls to the mercy of a God he hoped could still hear him. So much he had seen in this world was unexpected. Dolphins that walked, ships that flew, and Romans with weapons he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Yet, as so often happened out on the trail, it had been decided by a steady aim and healthy dose of luck. He might have hoped that things could have been more peaceful in another realm, but he supposed that mankind was fallen and sinful, no matter where he went.

Klai was not so generous, and she spat on one of the Romish men. “That’s what you get, you Romish scum!”

Bose returned his hat to its place. “Simmer down, Ms. Klai. They can’t hear you anyhow.”

“You don’t know what they’ve done to us,” she said. “I’m just glad we caught them this time.”

“You are both forgetting that we are not done,” said Saxtin. “Those boats carry a compliment of twenty.”

“And there’s only five of us, if we don’t count your man. How’s he doing?” The Tralingan who had been struck by the energy bolt was being carried by his remaining fellows, slung between them like a sack of rice. His eyes were unfocussed, but the vents on the sides of his bulbous head still pulsed open and closed, which Goto took to be breathing.

“Better than your friend about now, I imagine,” said Saxtin.

Klai shook her head. “Don’t underestimate a worldwalker. If half of the stories I have heard are true, they can do astounding things.”

“Klai, maybe you don’t want to spread that around too much,” said Bose. He peered at the imposing ironclad and bit back a curse. “Dag blast it, and Goto locked the door behind him. Saxtin, do you see a way in?”

The Tralingan’s square eye narrowed, admiring the dent that Bose’s revolver had put in the size of the vessel. “That weapon of yours is a bit archaic, but it packs a punch.”

“I don’t know how that happened,” said Bose. “When that shovetusker attacked us, it didn’t make a hole near that big.”

A puff of steam interrupted Bose’s thoughts, and the gangplank lowered. Everyone who could raised their weapons.

Bose holstered his and ran up when he recognized the sandaled shoes before him. He gathered up the samurai in a bear hug. “Goto! You son of a gun, I thought…” Something wet soaked into his clothes, and Bose broke the embrace. “Jehoshaphat, man, what happened to you?”

The blood-soaked Goto held us his hands. “It is not mine, I assure you.” He winced as he stepped back. “Mostly.”

Klai was at Bose’s side in a moment, a wide, toothy grin splitting her face. “I would welcome you just as much, but my robes will not clean themselves.”

“Thank goodness you’re alright,” said Bose, sickened by the blood that had seemingly ruined his new duds. “Who’s that?”

“I do not know my new ensign’s name yet.” Goto looked over his shoulder at the boy cowering at the top of the gangplank. “Come out here and introduce yourself.”

The Romish lad followed, careful to put Goto between himself and Klai. “I am Ensign Atticus Sura.”

Saxtin brought up the rear, cautiously eying Atticus. “Where is the crew?”

Goto puffed up his chest. “Atticus is the remaining crew.”

Bose took a step back. “You killed fifteen men? All by your lonesome?”

“It was a glorious fight,” the samurai replied.

“My, ain’t you a bloodthirsty one?” Bose tried to keep his tone neutral, but the disapproval bled through. “Did you give ‘em a chance to surrender?”

Goto met his gaze. “They fought me to the last, and I stopped them from manning the cannons.” He gestured at the wreckage of the Tralingan’s vessel. “You should thank me.”

Klai tapped Bose’s shoulder. “We’re most thankful, Goto.” Her eyes widened and she clicked happily. “This is it! This is the proof we need that the Romish violated our treaty!” She darted past them. “Those bastards! There must be two score of hides in here! No wonder the hunting has been so poor this year!”

Atticus looked imploringly at Bose and raised his hands. “I was only following my captain’s orders.”

“You’re safe now, Atticus,” replied Bose. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you. Right, Goto?”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Goto.

Saxtin let out a wet cough. “Could we discuss this inside? There will be cooling mechanisms in there, and medicine for my wounded. Including me, as you may recall.”

Goto and Bose’s eyes met one last time and they exchanged a silent nod of agreement. Later.

“Where did you fight ‘em at?”

“Towards the right-side guns,” replied Goto.

“Port,” said Saxtin. “The port side guns.”

“Whatever side,” said Bose. “I ain’t going over there. You can clean up that mess.”

“We will take care of that,” said one of the Tralingans. “We do not find the sight of dead humans as distasteful as you.” Bose saw the sense in that. The wounded being’s scent still made him oddly hungry. The challenges of dealing with sentient beings that weren’t human, he supposed. “Once we have gotten a bed ready for Yarnis.” He bobbed his enormous head sadly. “Poor man, he took one right to the mantle.”

For the first time, Bose noticed the blue fluid leaking from the bulbous head of the Tralingan. “Will Yarnis be alright?”

“Tralingans heal very well, compared to you boned folk,” replied Saxtin. “It is a question how easily his brain will bounce back. He may be a little scrambled.”

One of the other Tralingans shuddered. “The first death.”

“Hush,” spat Saxtin. “Go tend to him so the Yarnis we know will be the one who wakes up. Atticus, take us to the bridge. I want to see what we are working with.”

The first death? And who else would wake up besides Yarnis? Bose didn’t pretend to understand and, frankly, he didn’t want to.

“Goto, you look like we just lost the battle,” said Klai. She had gotten a gladius and a scabbard from somewhere, and her Tralingan ray gun was slung across her back.

“You ever fought men before, Ms. Klai? You ever had to kill ‘em?”

She shook her head. “I can’t say that I have. Don’t tell me you feel sorry for these pirates! They’re thieves, and they would have killed us given the chance!”

“Maybe,” said Bose. “It’s just I don’t like taking things that can’t be given back, if’n I can help it. I’ve had to do it too many times. The ones outside were one thing, since it was them or us. I just hoped they’d see reason.”

“It was them or me, too,” said Goto. “They did not give me the chance to surrender, either.”

Bose studied Goto’s face a moment before nodding. “I believe you, friend. I just wish it could’ve gone different. I don’t like the idea of slaughtering so many men in one go.”

“Do not worry,” said Saxtin. “We have enough hands to man this ship, as long as we don’t need to deploy the cannons.”

Bose dropped the subject. None of them really understood. Patchwork was a world of wonders, but like he’d thought, men were still men, no matter how they dressed, what color they were or how many legs they might have.

Proving the point, Klai was still ecstatic about the victory. “Forget what I said before. The stories don’t do worldwalkers justice! I can’t believe one man took down an entire crew!”

Goto swelled with pride. “It was years of training and a warrior’s spirit.”

“That and your gifts,” said Klai. “They say they can make a worldwalker fight like an army.”

Goto’s face fell, and Bose wasn’t quite sure why. He doubted his friend had grown a new appreciation for the sanctity of human life.

They arrived at the cabin soon enough. It was a cramped space that was barely large enough for all of them. The controls reminded Bose of the dingy, only on a larger scale. There was the same sort of control yoke, and a panel to the side with dials and switches whose purpose he could only guess. The difference was that they could not see outside at all. He caught sight of a set of periscopes, one labelled with an up arrow, the other with a down. “Those must be them funny spyglasses they used before.”

“Well spotted, Mr. King,” said Saxtin. “These patrol boats are almost indestructible by conventional weapons, but as you can see, they have enormous blind spots.”

Klai was already fiddling with the controls. “I think I can fly this, if somebody can tell me where to go.”

Bose turned to Atticus. “Do you know where that core y’all stole is?”

Atticus nodded. “Yessir.”

Bose smirked. “Then it seems to me we have a delivery to make.”

****

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