'You drop that gun right now," Lee said. 'You just let go and let it fall behind you."
The man had stiffened in surprise. He probably hadn't expected Lee to move so fast, and quite possibly no one had pointed a gun at him with intent before; he was just a boy no older than twenty. His eyes widened and he swallowed nervously before dropping the pistol.
"Now kick it over here," Lee said.
The boy groped behind him with the toe of his boot and sent the pistol bouncing over the flagstones. The Captain bent to pick it up.
Then the man at the right of the line, the other man with his hands behind his back, did a stupid thing: lie swung his right hand round and fired a shot from the big pistol he was holding.
But he didn't take time to aim properly, and the bullet went over Lee's head. The crowd behind screamed and scattered, but Lee had fired before the first cry arose, and his bullet caught the man's hip and spun him round so that he fell right at the edge of the quay, and then, unable to hold himself safe, he fell into the water, taking the gun with him. His cry was caught short by the splash.
Lee said to the other men, "Now he's going to drown unless you pull him out. You don't want that on your conscience. Hurry up and do that, and get out of our way."
He strode forward. The other men fell aside sullenly, and two of them slouched to the help of the man in the water, who was now splashing and shouting with pain and fear.
"Let me see that pistol, Captain," said Lee, and the Captain handed it to him. It was a cheap and flimsy piece, and the barrel had bent when the boy dropped it. Anyone who fired it would be in danger of losing his hand. Lee tossed it into the water with regret, because he knew, in the moment he squeezed the trigger of his own revolver, that the cylinder had stuck for good. That was the one shot he was going to get.
"I'm going to need that rifle of yours real soon, Captain," he said.
He put his gun back in the holster and looked around. The crowd behind was much bigger now, and the sounds had changed: across the water, the steam crane was still, the operator and the ship's crew staring across at the place where the shots had come from. In the absence of the clank and crash of the great bucket, Lee could hear the steady chugging of the dredger near the harbor mouth, and the excited murmur of the crowd behind.
The three of them moved on. They were not far from the schooner now, and Lee could see the crew gathered on the poop, watching wide-eyed as the little group made its way along the quay towards them.
But then one of them pointed at something back in the town, and the others shaded their eyes to look, and Hester said, "Lee, you better look and see what's coming."
By this time they were level with the stern of the ship, and opposite the last warehouse. A little alley ran between that and the one before it. Lee looked down the alley, looked up at the two rows of windows in the warehouse facade, looked across the harbor at the steam crane and the coal tanker, checking everything before looking back where Hester was indicating, and he noticed the bear doing the same.
"What the hell is that?" said the Captain hoarsely.
A large machine powered by some kind of gas-engine was making its way along the waterfront, and turning onto the quay. In the moment or two Lee saw it in profile, he remembered the model he'd seen the night before in the parlor behind the stage at the town hall—the model of the gas-gun the Larsen Manganese people had been showing off. It was monstrous. The steel wheels and the half-track behind were grinding their way along the flagstones, and the crowd shrank back against the Harbor Master's office wall to make room for it.
"A gun?" said Iorek Byrnison.
"Yep," said Lee.
"I do this."
And the bear turned and ran silently into the alley.
"Captain, the rifle, if you please," said Lee. "Right now."
"Oh, ja. Ja. Mr. Mate!" the Captain bellowed, and a voice from the rail called:
"Aye, skipper!"
"Mr. Johnsen, would you go and bring my rifle and the box of ammunition from the lazaret, if you please. Look lively."
Further down the quay, the gun had stopped. The crowd was backing away to give it room. A man in maroon stood beside it, and shouted something through a megaphone which was utterly incomprehensible. Lee spread his hands wide.
The man shouted again, and again it was impossible to understand him. Lee shook his head.
Someone ran down the gangplank behind him, and hurried up to the Captain. A moment later, van Breda handed the rifle to Lee.
"Oh, thank you, Captain. Well, my sweet Aunt Betsy! A Winchester! How about that?"
'You know this rifle?"
"Best there is. And in good order too."
He swiftly filled the magazine, cursing his carelessness over the pistol, and enjoying the feel of a well-balanced and well-oiled piece of machinery. He felt much better having it in his hands.
"Captain," he said, "this is the warehouse, this one right here?"
"It is."
"Do you know exactly where your cargo is stowed?"
'Yes. All we need to do is open the door."
Lee took a handful of cartridges from the box and dropped them into his pocket, then turned to look back along the quay.
For the gas-gun had resumed its grinding forward movement, and Lee could see now how it was crewed: it looked like one man to drive it, two to fire and reload. The long barrel rose and swung from left to right and back again, before settling on the stern of the schooner. It was a thing to smash down buildings with, a thing to sink a ship, and Lee thought that if they fired it just once it would be the end of this adventure, and the end of him too.
It came closer, and Lee lifted the rifle to his shoulder. It was nearly at the end of the middle warehouse, just opposite the alley between that and the next to last, and Lee's finger tightened on the trigger—
But before anything else happened, there came a thunder of feet and a roar such as Lee had never heard, and out of the alley burst Iorek Byrnison, to hurl the huge weight of himself against the bulk of the gun.
Lee gave a cry of surprise—he couldn't help it.
The gunners cried out in alarm as the wheels and the track skidded and scraped on the stone. Iorek's first smash had swung the front of the gun round so that the barrel was pointing out over the harbor, and the driver desperately hauled at the brake; but then Iorek set his shoulder to the side of the carriage, and heaved and shoved until the two front wheels had rolled over the edge, and the whole gun tilted forward. The gunners were shouting with alarm and struggling to swing the barrel back round, and then Iorek shoved again and the gun went off with a flash of fire and smoke and a deafening bang, sending a shell skipping across the water, right into the side of the quay beside the coal tanker. It exploded with a plume of water, and rock hurled high into the air, scattering the ship's crew and the crane driver. But few noticed them, because the blast of the gun had infuriated Iorek, and now he had his claws under the rear of the carriage, and while the engine roared and the caterpillar tracks screamed on the stone, the bear straightened his back with an immense effort and heaved the whole weapon and its three-man crew into the water with a huge splash. One of the men jumped clear; the other two disappeared with the gun.
Cheers from the ship's crew, a yell of delight from Lee.
The bear dropped to all fours again and sauntered along to join Lee at the schooner.
"Well, I'd hate to see you get angry, York Byrnison," said Lee.
Across the water, the crew of the coal tanker were cautiously inspecting the damage to the wharf. The crane driver was shaking his head at the bosun, who was yelling at him to get back to work, and the driver in charge of the rail trucks was running back from the engine to see what had happened. Even the dredger had stopped work for a minute, but presently the steady chugging resumed.