Authors: Mark Latham
We stepped into the boat, and the oarsmen took up positions, ready to push off. Before that moment, the very idea that the Lazarus Gate would open and a force of invading soldiers from another world would appear before us seemed unreal—an impossible fantasy that had somehow taken root in my mind and driven me to delusion. But if I had any doubts as to the very real danger posed by the Othersiders, they were instantly obliterated, for no sooner had we taken up our positions than a series of strange phenomena began to manifest, heralding the start of the battle. We found that our sense of hearing was dulled, and an unbearable pressure rose in our ears, causing each man to put his hands to his ears and exercise his jaw. Some of the men nearby groaned as the pressure caused their heads to ache. All around us, the darkness seemed cloying as the very air appeared to thicken. The inky black water beneath our little boat that had previously seemed so gentle now appeared as a ponderous swell, as though the entire river was composed of glutinous oil.
Just as the atmosphere became unbearable, the fearful high-pitched humming began. It had been there all along, I think, almost inaudible, but now it rose in pitch and intensity, signalling some great rent in the fabric of our universe. With my hands over my ears, I turned to look at the shadow-shrouded archways of London Bridge. Fine lines of crackling energy were cascading from the apex of each arch, following the curve of the brickwork and fizzling out in the water, like sparkling dynamite fuses. More and more trails of sparks crawled down the masonry, until the underside of each arch was illuminated by their radiance. The trilling noise intensified further, and I heard men cry out along the riverbanks, and on the parapets above us, as the pain in their heads began to overcome them. And then it happened.
A flash of brilliant light made us all turn our heads away from the bridge. When the light faded, the noise and pain had stopped, and there was a moment of utter calm. The moment that had seemed to last an age had finally passed, and the splashing sound of river water around our boat was once again natural. I turned back to the bridge, and was struck with awe and wonder. Each of the five arches was now filled with a sheet of soft light, like huge windows of amber-glass. Where the light touched the surface of the river, the water steamed and the otherwise smooth veil of light rippled at its touch. A soft yellow glow reflected off the waves of the Thames, like the delicate light of an autumn moon. The last time I had seen a portal to the other world, it had been like a mirror, reflecting our own world back at me. This one, however, was translucent; shadows flitted and darted behind it. It was as though we were peering through yellowed gossamer into a long-forgotten and mysterious realm beyond. The sense of wonder from everyone assembled was palpable—but that wonder very quickly turned to dread.
A great shadow, darker than the rest, appeared at the central arch, the largest of the five. A part of the shadow made contact with the portal from the other side, causing a bright, coruscating light to flare around the foreign object. It was the bowsprit of a vessel, which was slowly pushing its way through to our world in a blasphemous birth. It took some moments before the prow of the ship loomed into view—part thrust into our world, and the rest in shadow. Energy crackled and raged around every inch of the ship; this was a vessel of war, born unto violence, and I saw that it was not alone as the shadows behind the other arches grew darker and loomed larger. The time for action had come.
Our boat had barely carried us into position near the central arch when the gunfire began. At least twelve yards of prow had pushed into our world, and the gypsies up on the bridge had caught sight of the first enemy sailors to come through with it. The Othersiders were at their most vulnerable, for they could not make a ship battle-ready until it was all the way through the portal and they had a true sight of their targets. Jim had instructed his men on the banks of the river not to fire upon the first ship that came through, for that was the vessel we intended to board. However, the gypsies and the few soldiers on the parapets above were there to clear the decks so that we could climb aboard and find Lazarus. Only then would this nightmare be at an end.
As the reports of the rifles grew more infrequent, we asserted that the advance guard must have ducked for cover or retreated back though the portal, leaving us clear to send up our grapples and begin the climb to the deck. I had not thought through the difficulties of such a climb with a wounded shoulder, and I was by far the slowest man up the ropes. Thankfully, the need to answer the call to action was greater than my frailties, and I soldiered on, finally heaving myself over the gunwale in time to see Jim and his men taking up firing positions on our portion of the deck. The prow of the ship was bereft of hatches as far as I could see, so we knew we would have to fight our way along the length of the vessel to get to my father. The ship was a flush-decker, and there was little cover, so we hunkered down behind the anchor machinery in the centre of the deck. Through the amber portal we could see indistinct shapes running to-and-fro, and I was certain that the Othersiders could see us as similar shades. They had numbers on their side, and we could not tarry long before they plucked up the courage to come at us again. I said as much to Jim, who nodded grimly and snapped orders to his men. The ship was creeping further and further into our world, and the central structure, which was probably the command bridge, was looming closer. We could see the indistinct figures of men assembling in the walkways on either side. Would Lazarus be amongst them? Would he have made it so easy for us?
Four of Jim’s men fanned out, making for opposite sides of the ship so as to guard against attacks from either of the walkways. Two large howitzers, one positioned on either side of the foredeck, were slowly revealed as the ironclad ship groaned and creaked into existence. The crews of the guns scurried back to their own side of the veil as soon as they were met with gunfire from above and afore, and the guns provided our men with invaluable steel-plated cover. The other two men remained at the anchor crank, ready to cover our advance. As soon as the command bridge came into view, Jim and I planned to run to it whilst the men on either flank took care of the enemy. Before long, the crackling energy that signalled the emergence of some foreign object began to dance around the great block of dark iron, and the armour-plated frontage of the ship’s control tower loomed over us, its tiny windows too high to reach, and with no signs of ingress. Despite the rather daunting appearance of the vessel, Jim and I stuck to the plan, and raced to the foot of the iron wall. No sooner had we reached it than the first wave of enemy marines came through the portal—hard-bitten men brandishing rifles. The first man from each side of the ship fell instantly, and only one marine managed to return fire rather ineffectively before the marksmen on the parapets of London Bridge fired down upon them. The crossfire was brutal, and the marines fell over each other to scramble back beyond the portal. I was just beginning to wonder if it was even possible to fire a weapon though the shimmering gateway when my question was answered—a bullet ripped through the veil and slammed home against the arm of one of Jim’s men. There had been no gunshot, only a flare of white light as the gateway resisted the projectile for but the briefest moment.
This action sparked the most terrifying engagement, as the men on both sides, both buoyed and panicked by the fact that the veil offered no real protection, began to fire wildly at the obscure shadows beyond. The deck of the ship was lit by dazzling flashes of light as bullets ripped through the air, ricocheting off iron rails, embedding themselves in wooden decking, and only occasionally drawing blood from a combatant. The orderly conduct of our men was soon dashed, and it became every man for himself. We realised that we could not hold our position, and Jim was first to react, barking orders at some men to cover the port side, whilst ordering all of the others to fix bayonets and prepare to enter melee on the starboard. The prospect was not a thrilling one, but I drew my pistol, gritted my teeth, and prepared to charge.
‘Are you sure this is safe?’ yelled Jim.
‘As sure as I can be,’ I replied.
‘Then let’s go. For Queen and country and all that!’
And just like that, we threw ourselves through the portal.
It was the strangest sensation I have ever felt. Rather than pass through a veil of energy in the blink of an eye as I had expected, we had to push our way through the membranous portal, which took on the consistency of treacle. Time itself seemed to flow slowly, and for a horrible moment we were trapped like flies in amber. I remember panicking that perhaps we weren’t meant to cross; I could not see Jim even though he had been right next to me, and I could hear nothing but strange, muffled echoes, and the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Just as I thought that it was the end of the road, that perhaps I would die trapped between the worlds, or be turned inside out when we reached the other side, we emerged in a flash of light, gasping for air and plunged into a fight for our lives.
A bullet zipped past me, tearing my coat and rippling into the portal, causing me to discharge my pistol instinctively into the group of enemy sailors who faced us. I put down one of them for certain, and put the fear of God into several others before they fell upon us with rifle butts and bill-hooks. I fell to the ground, and fired again, catching an assailant in the chest. The buck-toothed man gasped his last breath and fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I looked around in desperation, feeling warm blood ooze onto me and hoping that it was not my own. Jim had been hit in the arm by the opening volley, and had dropped to one knee, battling manfully with his sabre against three men who were pressing towards him. The ship was no larger than a frigate, and the gangway that faced us was only a few yards wide, which prevented our enemies from outnumbering us too severely—and yet they were proving equal to the task of overcoming our rather weak assault, so shaken as we were by the passage between the worlds.
Just as I thought we were done for, two of Jim’s men found their courage and charged through the portal. One of them, a big, broken-nosed man, held his rifle across himself and pushed over two Otherside sailors like ninepins; the other man, a wiry sort with a large, puckered scar on his right cheek, skewered an adversary with his bayonet. In the confusion, I managed to heave the dead man off me and stagger to my feet, hauling Jim up too. Our men took up firing positions near a bulkhead and cleared our path with expert precision, and in the brief respite we took stock of our surroundings. We were in the shadow of the central arch of London Bridge. The ceiling of the bridge above us was covered in pipes and bundles of cables, which sparked periodically as they conducted huge amounts of electricity between the arches. It seemed that the whole structure had been transformed into some gigantic, diabolical science experiment. The masts and spars of the ship, though not as tall as one would find on a conventional Navy vessel, almost scraped the inner archway, and tiny streaks of lightning darted betwixt spar and cable. It had been the old waterman, Grimes, who had mentioned the Thames tides to me, and by my reckoning the tide was now at its lowest; even so, the shallow-draught warship could only just scrape under the bridge. Looking along the length of the vessel, the walkway opened out onto a long, flush deck, with compact smokestacks dotted along its centre line. Howitzers lined the ship’s deck—I counted eight on each side of the vessel—and amidst the smoke and steam we could discern dozens more sailors running to and fro.
Without a word from us, the smaller of the two marines opened the bulkhead door beside him, and before we could stop him he had lit a stick of dynamite, thrown it inside and closed the door behind it. There was a loud
bang
, followed by muffled cries.
‘What are you doing?’ I yelled. ‘We’re here to find their commander!’
The man shrugged. ‘Orders is to kill him,’ he said, by way of explanation.
I shot a glance at Jim, who likewise shrugged, and I realised that he was right. By fair means or foul, we were there to assassinate Lazarus.
‘Well then,’ I said, ‘just you be careful with that dynamite; it’s not known for its stability.’
‘Best not ask where he got it,’ Jim interjected, with a wry smile.
Jim issued orders to his men to secure the aft portion of the walkway, and defend it against the marines who would surely join the fight any second. We moved along the walkway behind them, forced somewhat by the portal, which crept up behind us inch by inch as the ironclad continued its slow progress. The bulkhead was soon half-swallowed up by coruscating light, but that was no longer our prime concern. A few yards ahead was a stair rail, leading up to the bridge. Jim and I would have to brave it whilst the sailors below covered our ascent.
Jim went first up the steep steel-shod steps, while I struggled up behind him. He had given me no time to volunteer to go ahead, even though his injury meant he’d had to sheathe his sabre in order to make the climb. The first I knew that there were enemy marines in our path was when one came flying over the rail above, almost knocking me down the stairs. Jim had virtually run into the fellow as he reached the upper platform, and had heaved the man over his shoulder and sent him crashing to the deck below. I gritted my teeth, wincing at the thought of having to fight on with my own injuries, and raced up the stairway as fast as I was able. At the top was a platform, and a doorway to the bridge, but there was no further time to assess the situation. Jim was even then engaged in a brawl with another marine, whilst a second was racing at him with a naval axe at the ready. I drew my pistol and snapped off a round, taking the man in the side and sending him spinning away. Jim had by then bested his man, and kicked him down the stairway opposite, where he collided with his onrushing accomplices.
Jim indicated the door next to him, and we did not pause before flinging it open and rushing inside. Most of the bridge section had now passed further towards the portal, and as we entered the room we saw a sheet of shimmering light bisecting it; the glowing amber window between worlds seemingly could not be obstructed even by walls of iron. The ship’s captain stood by the wheel, wrestling with it as the portal enveloped him. Flanking him were two midshipmen, who turned with a start as Jim and I made our presence known. One tried to stop us, but Jim hit the man full in the stomach and shoved him aside, before drawing his sabre and pointing it at the second sailor, who threw up his arms in surrender. Jim threw the man from the room and fastened the door tight shut. By then the captain had sunk into the portal, with just a man-shaped outline of tiny dancing sparks to account for his whereabouts. I girded myself and leapt through after him, hoping upon hope that the gate would allow me to cross back and forth an unlimited number of times.