“Never met a live one, you mean,” said Riley.
Gutsy grumbled. “Just let me at the Bosche bastard.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Atkins. He picked absent-mindedly at the fungus, but kept his eyes on the officers across the chamber. “What the hell was all that about dark scentirrii?”
“Ignore it,” said Pot Shot. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Atkins wasn’t so sure. He remembered Mathers’ prophecy, and tried to dismiss the unwanted implications.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” asked Riley, watching the officers.
“A way out of here, with a bit of luck,” said Mercy, through a mouth full of half-masticated fungus. He looked up to see Gazette staring at him. “What?”
“God, doesn’t anything put you off eating?” asked Gazette.
“Gutsy’s farts?” Mercy shot back, spraying him with a soggy shrapnel of fungus. “Besides, do you know when we’re going to get another meal?”
It was this attitude, of getting what you could where you could, that made Mercy such a useful asset to the section, not to mention the platoon, but in this case, Gazette was prepared to make an exception.
“Suit yourself,” said Mercy.
EVERSON HAD BEGUN to tire of the social niceties. “What are you going to do with us, Werner?” he asked.
Werner looked affronted. “Me, Lieutenant? Nothing.” He waved a hand at the two chatt attendants. “My hosts merely extended me the privilege of a little company. After all, I did let them know you were coming.”
“You told them about us?” repeated Everson.
“Of course. They might have killed you all otherwise. After the unique manner of my arrival, the insekt menschen were on the look out for more like me. I told them of your existence and I told them you were coming. What are you even doing out here, Lieutenant, so far from your nice cosy trenches?”
“We lost… something. In the crater,” said Everson. Ironclads were still supposed to be secret; tankers often referred to themselves as the Hush Hush Crowd, such was the clandestine nature of their training. However far they were away from Earth, Werner was still a Hun, and he didn’t want to give any information to him that might profit the enemy.
Werner looked rueful. “Ah, the crater. Then I’m afraid it is gone for good. The insekt menschen are very zealous. They do not allow anything out of the crater and they certainly do not let anything in. They believe it is an evil place. When they knew you were headed towards it, they became very agitated, hence their attacking you like that. You were looking for some lost men, I think?”
“Yes,” said Everson, warily. “Have you met a man calling himself Jeffries? An English officer.”
Werner tapped his lips with a finger, frowned and shook his head. “I think I would have remembered an officer.”
“You’d have certainly remembered him,” Everson admitted with a grimace.
“What about soldiers?” asked the Padre.
Werner shrugged. “The insekt menschen have brought in one or two patrols, or deserters, maybe? I had to question them, see if they were useful. But to be honest, even if they were, the treatment of the urmenschen they keep as slaves here is brutal. I wouldn’t hold out much hope for them, Lieutenant.”
Werner shuffled uncomfortably, noticing black looks from the men by the troughs.
“There was nothing I could do,” he said diffidently.
“So that’s why we’re here,” said Everson, scarcely able to maintain an even tone, nodding towards the inscrutable chatts watching them silently. “So you could tell them if we’re useful or not?”
There was an embarrassed silence.
“And what will you tell them?” asked Everson bitterly.
Werner lowered his head. “I regret, Lieutenant, that I cannot save you.”
“Cannot, or will not?” he demanded. “Surely you can’t side with these chatts against us? We’re human.”
Werner shook his head, heaved a sigh and corrected him. “You’re British, Lieutenant,” he said. “These insekt menschen may be uncivilised, but they do understand the nature of a territorial dispute. I told them you were my enemy when they found me. Your battalion is your downfall. These creatures see your numbers as a threat to their territory and resources.”
“So you’re working with them?”
“Don’t be so high and mighty, Lieutenant,” said Werner with disdain. “You had your battalion. I was on my own. These creatures saved my life. They raised me above the urmenschen that cling so desperately to existence here, and I agreed to help them. They are searching for something. I merely offered my services.”
“As what?”
“A Luftstreitkräfte.”
Werner ushered them out onto a balcony beyond the window. Looking down, Tulliver noted that the urmen shanty town that existed on the slopes of the Khungarrii edifice didn’t exist here. The edifice was fortified, as if they expected a siege. Below, he saw a large courtyard, still under construction, judging by the chatts scurrying over the partially built walls. There within it, tethered, patched and inflated, was a silver-grey German kite balloon.
Tulliver remembered seeing one when they first arrived on this world, its winch line severed the moment they vanished from Earth. He had a vague memory of it drifting off when they appeared here. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, having an Albatros to deal with, and a world of strangeness since then.
“They might not understand our flying machines, but it didn’t take long for them to grasp the principle of the balloon. Even now they are constructing their own.”
“For what purpose?” asked Everson. “Are they at war?”
“In a manner of speaking. I told you they fear the crater. To them it represents some great evil, and they seek to arm themselves against it. They see the balloon as a useful instrument in their eternal vigilance. They stand guard at the edge of the crater like the angels at the gates of Eden, no, Padre?” he said, turning to the chaplain.
Before the Padre could reply, they were interrupted by a creaking sound and the fibrous door to the chamber shrank open. Werner’s disappointment was evident. Even more so when two armed scentirrii stepped through. Four more waited outside. “No,” he protested to his attendants. “They’ve only just arrived.”
“Come,” ordered the scentirrii. It waited for a moment then repeated the command, belching the word out. They were a lot less articulate than the Khungarrii. The scentirrii motioned towards the door with their spears, while guards outside wore clay battery packs and held electric lances similar in design to those of the Khungarrii.
“Come.” It hissed again, raising itself up on its legs threateningly.
“Food was lousy anyway,” muttered Mercy, spitting a half-chewed gobbet at Werner’s feet as they passed. “Hope it chokes you.”
Werner wore a look of pained exasperation.
Everson was still trying to finish his conversation with Werner, glean what further intelligence he could. “What happened to them, to the men they captured, damn it?”
Werner shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “I do not know, but I’m very much afraid you will find out.”
“No. Not me, I can be helpful,” cried Hepton desperately, as a scentirrii prodded him with a spear.
Atkins looked at him with disgust. When another scentirrii manhandled him, he took the opportunity to accidentally plant his elbow into Hepton’s solar plexus.
Hepton doubled over, winded, struggling to draw breath as he glared at Atkins through watering eyes.
“Sorry, Hepton,” said Atkins.
A scentirrii attempted to seize Tulliver by the arm.