The Map Maker's Quest by Matthew J. Krengel

dominated the town below it. Delicate spires that had originally marked the center of learning and cultural beauty now flew his new flag—a black ensign with a red hammer and fist set atop a design he had created: two lines that resembled snakes and crossed each other in the middle, one standing vertical and one standing horizontal.
    â€œDrop anchor!”
    Cain listened as the massive chains ran out the open ports on the sides of the ship. Two huge chunks of cold iron dropped into the depths of the lake and buried themselves in the lake bed. Mounted to the deck before him was a control box with a series of switches and gauges that displayed the amount of energy the sundering device was pulling. Before coming on deck, he had checked the master map carved into an oak table in his chambers. Working the map into a table made of planks cut from the heart of a mighty crimson oak was a stroke of genius. The boards were so hard to make it had taken three years just to find enough wood to build the table.
    It had taken workmen another four years to carve the intricate designs that marked the edges of Lake Superior and most of Lake Huron. He had killed four map makers of varying skill during the painting of the map. All that time and effort invested into something he didn’t even know would work. As it was, he could catch glimpses and hear scattered bits of what was happening on maps around the marked area. Still, it allowed him to stay a step ahead of these so called rebels. He knew where they were gathering and generally what they planned, and it worked well with what he was doing thus far.
    â€œNothing so far,” Cain muttered. He looked over the map closely before coming on deck, but nothing had moved as far as he could tell. The rebels were still dug in at Palisade Head and his forces were moving slowly closer. “Time to make our appearance, Captain.”
    The Adherent standing nearby nodded and turned the massive wooden wheel of the ship until the bow of the Goliath was pointing west. They steamed ahead at full power for almost an hour before the great rock cliffs of Palisade Head came into view.
    Cain smiled as he watched the frantic activity atop the rock formations. Let them feel the destructive power of his fleet, even reduced as it was in number.
    â€œOne pass, Captain,” Cain instructed. “I want to be in Duluth tomorrow by mid-morning.”
    â€œYes, sire,” the captain responded. “Prepare to fire!” There was a temporary rumble of hatches opening, and the deck shook as dozens of massive cannons were run out. “Prepare a single broadside!”
    The men in the confined spaces below struggled to load the regular cannons while the men on deck checked the arming charges on the magical versions. It took the cannons longer to charge then it did the muskets. They could safely fire the odd shaped cannons about once every two minutes, in between those shots the great iron cannon balls filled with gunpowder would force an enemy to stay out of range.
    When the preparations were complete, they waited as the ship steamed closer with agonizing slowness.
    â€œFire a ranging shot!” the captain shouted. Moments later a single cannon from below decks barked out, and the ship shuddered. A plume of fire lanced out of the ship. Immediately everyone in the area knew they were there and spoiling for a fight.
    Cain watched with fascination as the single cannon ball arched out from the ship. There was a sudden burst of activity on the cliffs as the small figures of fighters threw themselves behind whatever cover they could find. Then the cannon ball struck the cliff low near the water line and a great fountain of water and stone erupted into the air.
    â€œBring it up five degrees,” the captain shouted. “Fire another ranging shot.”
    Again the cannon below deck barked, and the ship trembled. This time the shot impacted the top of Palisade Head. The explosion sent a great