The door opened, and Boson let go of his hold on the dragon heads and jumped back in surprise on his face. Wallace picked up on Boson's manner and grabbed him by the neck.
"Engineering, is it, my lovely? More a grown man fooled by a child's trick." Wallace hissed through clenched teeth.
Wallace's hand moved quick as a bullet from the dark of the corridor carved through the sleeve of his jacket. Wallace grabbed Boson's ear and pulled him a little closer; with his other hand, he wrapped his fingers around Boson's neck. Then, with a powerful twist of his hips and shoulders, he threw Boson, twisting to have him land behind him. The older man landed on his hands and knees with a crunch audible to all on deck. Boson quickly rolled to his back, holding his left forearm and a hand sagging at a right angle. Wallace looked at Boson as he lay on the deck and spat at him, then issued the order to get him to the doctor on the ship as he was useless here.
The hallway behind the open door was dark; if there were lanterns, they had been snuffed out. No shapes could be seen moving or still. This was an obvious trap for the brave crew of the Raven's Claws. Mr Wallace turned to the Captain.
"Captain, I advise you to get back. You could be in the line of fire. Thanks to Boson's incompetence," he said, laying blame for any possible outcome on another shoulder's and taking no share in what had or was about to come.
"Yes. Quite right," Captain Stevenson responded, yet he made an effort to lean forward to peer into the darkness before turning on his heels and stepping back.
"You stay put," Mr Wallace said, pointing at Kincade.
"I don't want anyone important injured by a stray bullet. And you're not to help that trash," Mr Wallace continued to point at Kincade. He looked at the gathering soldiers around the portal. And they broke into raucous laughter and jeers for the comments of their better.
"As you were," the Captain said at almost a whisper. Spurring the soldiers to silence.
"Mr Wallace, if you will," the Captain continued his pronouncements.
"Walters. To me," Mr Wallace shouted.
"Aye, Aye, Sir," Walters, a short, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair, responded.
"How will your men take the rest of the ship?" Mr Wallace asked.
"Sir, I don't like this. They could have anything or anyone down there. Did you see the name of this ship?" Walters asked.
"No, how is that important to us here and now?" Mr Wallace required.
"This is the Kaitangata. A few of you know her to be a troop transport. Others know her to carry coal. So, depending on if it was going towards or away from New Zealand, we could have a few hundred men waiting for us," Walters responded.
"Right then, the name is of importance. Surely, if they were soldiers, they would have put up a bit more of a fight. So it's a payday for us, " Mr Wallace reasoned.
"I still don't want to go wandering into what amounts to an empty cave with one or more bears waiting in the dark, ready to tear the throat out of the first person to show their face," Walters said.
"All in all, standing here, talking about it won't change the number of bears," Mr Wallace continued. Then he got a wistful look on his face.
"You know, we had Corgis when I was a boy," Mr Wallace trailed off.
"That's all fine and well, Sir. I had a few right-friendly rats, myself," Walters offered with a slight grin.
"And," Mr Wallace continued, ignoring the input from Walters.
"In the summers, We would shove them down the rabbit hole. Then, if we were lucky, the rabbit would pop up from one of the other holes into a net we'd placed for them." Mr Wallace bent forward at the waist, looking directly at Kincade. He clapped his hands together, grinning, and in a high voice called, "Here doggy, here boy." Wallace was looking directly at Kincade.
After another five minutes of planning, they piled seven lanterns, all that could be collected from the rest of the ship, in front of Kincade.
"Now, my lovely little Corgi. We want to move forward down that corridor. Hang each of these on the lantern hooks," Mr Wallace told Kincade.
"And, if anyone tries to stop you, drop to the ground, and my men will swiftly resolve the situation," Walters added to the instructions reassuringly.
Kincade looked at the lanterns on the deck and back to the dark corridor. His chin was against his chest.
"What if I don't?" Kincade mumbled.
"Oh lovely, you don't matter." Mr Wallace swung an open hand at Kincade, catching him on the side of his face and knocking him to the deck, forcing nervous erupting laughter from the gathered soldiers.
"Lad, it is better to have a chance to live over the certainty of death. Just do what they say," Boson yelled out, followed by audible whence.
Kincade lifted himself onto his hands and knees and moved one hand forward. His other hand followed next, and he crawled to the pile of lanterns on the deck. Picking each of them up. He stood, turned, and stepped into the darkness, bringing light where there was none.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"That's it, my little Corgi, down the vermin-filled shaft. You lot, with me, arms at the ready," Walters ordered the collected soldiers. A few moments later, they followed Kincade, some with rifle muzzles forward, bayonets attached. For others, they had a cutlass at the ready.
The lantern lit the plainly adorned hallway. Wood paneling ran along the bottom half of the floor to the wall. The top half was unpatterned and finished without any flourish, but it was clean of grime and dust. Everywhere the color blue, someone had brought the paint in bulk and used every last drop. Every second hook was on the opposite side of the corridor. Yet, no other element was present in the darkened hall. For a moment, Kincade lifted one of the lanterns high above his head, peered into the darkness, and could not see the end of the corridor. Moving one step after another, depositing a lantern on every other hook, making the long corridor seem like a darkened ally, with enough light to make a person feel safe. But with enough shadow, they could not see the route's dangers.
It created shadows where almost anything could hide between the beacons of light. Walters moved behind Kincade. After they had put up three of the lanterns, Kincade came to yet another lantern hook and lifted it above his head. In the darkness, he could see a junction up ahead. Another corridor forked off to the right and left.
"Walters, look," Kincade said, turning back to see that Walters was looking at the new feature.
"Aye, Corgi. I see it. Lads, you first three with me, to the port side, the remainder to starboard and take a lantern and be quick about it," Walters hissed.
Walters grabbed Kincade by the shoulder, "Corgi, you go first. Keep that light high in the sky if you know what is good for you." Walters pushed Kincade ahead, giving him a kick in the bum for good measure. At the junction, Kincade poked his head around the corner only to see that no one else was visible in the poor light. He slipped around to see that the corridor was marked with cabin doors at regular intervals.
"Ain't no one is here, Walters," one of the soldiers said, "They could have held that corridor for an age if they wanted to," he continued.
"Quiet," Walters commanded, shoving Kincade to move him to the side of the first door. "Smitty," Walters signaled to another soldier. The man's eyes were bright and shone with life even in the gloom of the cabin.
The second man was heavily tattooed around his neck and over his bald head. The art was in the style of an Asian dragon, long, graceful, and flowing. The flickering of the lamplight made it look to Kincade as if the creature was moving of its own accord. With that simple flick of Walter's fingers, Smitty kicked out at the door. The lock split away from the door jam and swung inwards with a crack and thump. Then Walters rushed into the room. A few moments later, he walked out.
"Corgi, next door, if you please," Walters asked politely. Kincade looked at him and took another few steps to the next door. He stood still next to it, and Walters signaled to the bruiser, who kicked in the door. It was as if this man was a great Spartan general and leader, screaming, "This is Sparta!" This time, the third of the soldiers rushed in fast and broad. After a few moments, he walked out with an upward flick of his head. Walters pushed Kincade onto the next door.
"Smitty, if you will do the honors," Walters asked. Smitty readied for another kick and launched his big body at the door. The door was pulled open at the last moment, and Smitty's momentum forced him into the room, crashing to the floor.
Kincade jumped back from his position, knocking into Walters. Both of them fell to the ground. A man rushed out of the darkened cabin, yelling a string of profanity that could only be in the lexicon of a sailor.
Walters pushed at Kincade, lying beside him, yelling, "Get off me, you oaf." Walters struggled, pulling at Kincade, willing him to roll one way or tother. He looked up to see the man standing still, knife in hand, looking this way and that. Kincade's ears rang with the rapport of a gun. All other sound was gone except for a ringing in Kincade's ears. Smoke filled the corridor, and then there was blood spreading on the floor.
Walters rolled Kincade over next to the man's body, the defender of his ship, who was now lying in his own blood. The Kincade's clothes were soaked into Kincade's clothes, and he ran into the cabin before Smitty exited a few seconds later, pistol in one hand and sword in the other.
"Thank you, Mr Linux. That was a nice shot," Walters said. Smitty stood behind him.
"As for you, idiot," Walters yelled, kicking Kincade in the side. "Never, ever, get in my way, you scar-faced piece of scum," Walters continued.
They could hear the sound of a conflict from the other end of the ship. The sound of steel rang against steel, and gunfire sounds went off at a distance.
Walters looked down to see they had one cabin left, and then it was a dead end.
"Smitty, with me. You two, finish this, and anyone left," Walters ordered before running off with Smitty.
"Now, Corgi, get up one more room for you," the last soldier said, grabbing Kincade by the shoulder and lifting him.
Kincade stood before the last door. The soldier had his back against the corridor wall.
"Well, get on with it, Corgi," the man hissed. Holding a lantern, Kincade reached out with the other and twisted the doorknob. It turned freely, and the door swung open without hindrance or any other audible queue of danger.
"For the sake of Poseidon, will you get on with it," the soldier said, scowling at Kincade.
"Tell me your name first," Kincade replied.
"Walters," Walters responded.
"Isn't the other guy Walters?" Kincade asked.
"We're brothers. So get on with it!" Walters, the younger, responded. Kincade looked at the man over the same build as the other Walters but a little younger in the face and clean-shaven.
Kincade turned and took a tentative step into the room, holding the lamp up, slowly and deliberately shining the light ahead. Swinging the lamp slowly from left to right, taking it all in. There was a stack of papers on a desk. A messy and unordered. An inkwell had been knocked over, spilling the ink onto paper some letters. Behind the desk, a steamer trunk lay closed but was unlatched and open in the corner. A couple of shelves were visible with shaving and beauty powders, and a poof was just visible. The remaining two walls had been built over and under bunks, but no one was in the room.
"Anyone in there, Corgi?" Walters, the younger, asked.
"No. Not a soul," replied Kincade. And with that, Walter walked into the room, sword in hand, the point of it hung towards the ground.
"Let's see if we can get anything good," Young Walters said, opening the desk drawers and shifting the contents around.
Then, his eyes fell on the unopened steamer trunk. Kneeling down next to it, he lifted the lid. A small boy leaped up and, lifting his leg, tried to leave his hiding place. Walters was too fast and grabbed the boy; fortune did not favor the brave.
"We got a little stowaway, have we," Walters said, standing up.
"Mister, let me go," the boy said, weakly kicking out with his foot. No shoe, just a sock.
"Let the boy go," Kincade said, finding courage in protecting another person.
"No. You know the orders. This one is going to die," Walter said.
"No, Mister. No. Let me go. Please, let me go," the boy pleaded. Walters lifted the blade of the sword to the boy's throat. Drawing the boy closer until they were face to face. The boy's breathing was labored and heavy. Kincade could not see the smile on Walter's face or his eyes open wide.
Kincade intervened and plunged the whalebone-handled knife into the base of the younger Walter's skull.