Soleil

by Jacqueline Garlick

  “Bertie J.!” Eyelet screams.

  The cycle struggles back upward, furiously flapping his wings. The Nogard device between the headlamp eyes blinks, desperately trying to register our voices.

  “Here!” Eyelet shouts. “We’re over here!” She waves an arm in the air. Her voice echoes out from us in a vibrating cone. The Nogard device locks onto it.

  Bertie turns in our direction and drives toward us like an eagle after prey.

  “No, Bertie!” Eyelet waves him off as he soars too dangerously close to the rock face. “Not so close.”

  His device blinks confused. He circles again. In his second pass, his pedals narrowly miss becoming tangled in the fluttering netting we’re clinging to.

  “This isn’t gonna work,” Eyelet shouts. “He’s never going to reach us.”

  “Then we need to reach him, don’t we? Jump when I tell you.”

  Eyelet’s eyes bulge.

  “Look at me.” I grab her by the chin and stare deep into her darting, caramel eyes. “How much do you trust me.”

  “No, please.”

  “We’ve no other choice, Eyelet. Now come on,” I tighten my grip on her. “We do this together. On three. Ready? One… Two…”

  Bertie J. swoops deep, cutting past us, and spirals unexpectedly back. I spring from the netting, bicycling through the air as though I’m a cycle, fighting my way toward him, just as Bertie J. twists under us. I land, bouncing wing-to-wing, knocking him momentarily off balance. Our weight sends Bertie J. into a sidelong soar, which he struggles to recover from. Eyelet loses her grip on me. She slides down the wing and off the side, falling and shouting, then screaming.

  The sound of her voice shreds me.

  “Eyelet!” I scuttle my way off the wings onto the seat, grab hold of the handlebars and yank Bertie J. around. “Eyelet!” I push the cycle after her, diving and peddling, launching it into a wide circle. Eyelet tumbles through the middle, hollering and screaming.

  I stand and throw myself forward over the handlebars, urging Bertie J. down, down, down. I throw him into a tight right curl, and he dives past her. He’s dove too deep, we’ve gone too far—

  “Backward!” I shout.

  Bertie J. reverses the motion of his wings. He draws them out, then flaps crazily backward. The cycle steadily backs up, up, up. Reaching out, I snag Eyelet by the back of her clothing as she topples past, and reel her to me, her back slamming hard against my chest. The impact near knocks us both off the cycle, as I struggle to pull Bertie J. out of his reverse nosedive. He shudders and beats his wings hard, turning us right side up, then soars off on a current.

  “You all right?” I ask Eyelet.

  Her eyes are as wide swallow’s eggs. “Much better now, thank you,” she gasps.

  I can’t help myself. I kiss her. Then I draw up on the handlebars and pedal hard. “Let’s go, Bertie J. Up, Bertie J. Up! Up! UP!” He flaps and strains and fights against the wind that seems to be growing stronger and stronger.

  I pedal onward, my heart racing, Smrt’s manic voice calling at our backs, harder, faster, up, up, up, toward the silvery cloud-cover, glass bubble beast gaining on us—Sir Mad Hatter’s eyes lurking behind the glass.

  Chapter Forty-One

  C.L.

  We race straight from the square to the doors of Masheck’s old factory without waitin’ for the winds to die down. Near as we can figure, they’s not gonna. These winds, they mean business.

  If we wait, they could even get worse.

  Sadar and Martin stitchin’ along behind us, struggling to keep up.

  “Are you sure the girls are all safely tucked away?” Masheck shouts through the blusterin’ wind. His voice sounds otherworldly through ‘is gas mask ventilator.

  “Positive,” I shout through the whirl of the white whippin’ wind.

  “And they’ll have enough food ‘till we return?”

  “Absolutely,” Martin says. “I saw to that myself.”

  “Well then, boys,” we barrel around the final corner, up the street that the factory’s on, along the outskirts of Brethren, “we’re all set.”

  Masheck slows to a stop just outside the factory gates, Martin and I and Sadar, fallin’ into place behind ‘im. He grabs the lock then hesitates, gazin’ through the iron bars at the dishevelled pile of tin. I can tell by his eyes, he’s rememberin’ bein’ ‘eld captive there, goin’ over ‘is ‘istory, which was nothin’ but grim. It’s gonna be ‘ard for ‘im to walk back through those doors. I reach up and pat ‘im with a reassuring foot. His Adam’s Apple clicks in his throat, then ‘e lowers ‘is ‘ead and picks the lock clean in seconds.

  “I’m not sure about all this.” I scratch me head. I don’t like the looks of this storm. Even under the ringmaster’s mad guise, we never needlessly journeyed out into known Vapours. At best, this plan seems ludicrous. But then again, this journey ain’t needless.

  Masheck unravels the chains, lettin’ the lock falls to the dirt. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

  I glance back toward the castle. “It just don’t feel right leavin’ the girls behind with all this goin’ on.”

  “Are you mad?” Masheck scowls. “You’d rather we drag them into battle with us.”

  When ‘e puts it that way...

  “You realize we be could facin’ down thousands of Infirmed when we get there—at the very least, hundreds. That could be the reason they ‘aven’t returned.” He stares at the bars. “When Pan brought that dead probe back…” He swallows.

  “I know, I know. It’s just—” I roll my toes together.

  “Don’t tell me. It’s Livinea.” Masheck grimaces.

  “No, actually. It’s Iris.”

  “What?”

  I look to ‘im, pained. “I promised ‘er a long time ago we’s would always look out for one each other. And now I’m goin’ off like this into the darkness, not tellin’ ‘er—” I glance up the road and back. “It just feels wrong, you know?” A betrayin’ worm crawls through me guts. I’ve never not been ‘onest with Iris.

  “Wrong or not,” Masheck pushes on through the gate, “it’s gotta be done. You ‘onestly think she’d let you go if she knew what you was up to?”

  “No.” I ‘ang me head.

  “Then it’s settled. No more talk of the girls.” Masheck thunders up the gravel walk to the door of the factory. “Besides, they’s safer ‘ere,” ‘is gaze streams back over’ is shoulder toward the castle. “The whole damned lot of ‘em.” He grabs hold of the massive factory door. “We all don’t need to die.”

  Slowly, muscles strainin’, Masheck shoves aside the massive slidin’ box car. It rattles across the hangin’ track above.

  We step inside. In the faint light streamin’ through the grimy windows, three willowy images appear. I falter. A blast of cleansin’ steam rises up from the floorboards of the threshold.

  Masheck falls back against the rattling train door.

  “Livinea?” I slap on the lights.

  Aether torchlight sconces flicker on one after the other, in a continuous loop around the side walls of the perimeter. One by one, the intruders are exposed.

  “What are you doin’ here?” I squint.

  Livinea’s big baby blues flash under thick batting eyelashes. “I could ask you the same thing.” She punches forward, and pokes me in the chest. “You—you—were going to leave me. And right after you proposed.”

  “I what?” I swallow.

  “She’s confused again,” Masheck whispers.

  “I am not,” Livinea snaps. She pinches ‘er ‘ips an’ narrows her saucer-sized eyes. “I can’t believe I trusted you with me ‘eart.” She stuffs ‘er nose into the air.

  “But I—”

  “Did you think you were going to get away with abandoning us?” She closes her eyes and cocks her chin.

  “I…” I stutter, looking at Masheck. “W-we, ah… I never—”

  A second figure emerges out of the steam’s shadows. She glares throug
h bug-eyed visors.

  “Iris?” I gulp, tremblin’.

  She smalls ‘er gaze and crosses ‘er arms firmly over ‘er chest.

  “I can explain…”

  They’re both dressed, peculiarly, in battle gear, as if they’d already known what was ‘appenin’, an’ men’s ridin’ trousers and aviator frocks, though Iris wears ‘er skirts overtop.

  Livinea wears a scanty corset, with what appears to be nothin’ below it. “You thought you could just leave me behind and forget all about me.”

  I stare at the laces. “Not a chance of that.”

  She adjusts the aviator’s ‘elmet she wears on ‘er ‘ead.

  Wanda creeps out from the furthest corner dressed in a warrior’s breastplate, armoured headgear, heavy boots, and gentlemen’s chainmail pants.

  “Oh, good God,” Masheck groans. “Not you, too.” ‘E claps a ‘and to ‘is ‘ead. “We can’t ‘ave this.” He turns and paces, walkin’ off ‘is excess energy, then whirls back around. “Oo told ‘em?” Masheck huffs. He turns mean eyes on me.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  He shoots an accusin’ look at Sadar and Martin.

  “We’re not stupid; we figured it out ourselves,” Livinea states, proudly.

  Iris elbows ‘er in the ribs.

  “And Parthena sent an Insectatron,” Livinea adds.

  “An Insectatron,” Mascheck says, his eyes settling on me. “‘Ow did Parthena get one of those?”

  I shrug. “Couldn’t very well leave them ‘ere without a comunicay device.”

  “Gaah…!” Masheck turns and slaps ‘is ‘head. “They can’t come with us. It’s far too dangerous.” He turns and throw ‘is arms out at ‘is sides. “Where we’s going is no place for ladies.”

  Livinea winces. “You don’t seriously think at this point you can win a battle without us?” She crosses ‘er arms over ‘er ample laced-up chest.

  Iris widens ‘er stance and flips ‘er chin.

  “Urlick and Eyelet mean just as much to us as they do you.” Livinea squirrels her big blue eyes.

  Masheck flashes me a stern look, imploring me to do somethin’.

  “Look, girls…” I start, movin’ awkwardly toward ‘em, a good bit of nerve spillin’ into me gut. “We understand your position. It’s just—”

  Iris daggers ‘er eyes. As long as I’ve known Iris, I ain’t never won an argument with ‘er. She whips out a pad of paper from ‘er pocket and starts furiously scribbling somethin’ down. She rips out the page and stuffs at me, glarin’.

  We had a deal.

  “I know we did, but—”

  More writing. Another rip.

  A deal’s a deal.

  I bite my lip and turn back to Masheck. “What can I say? She’s got a point.”

  “Gaah…!” Masheck shouts again.

  “You said yourself it was going to take an army,” Livinea slides her stern gaze onto Masheck.

  “When did I say tha-at?” Masheck’s ‘ead twists.

  “Last time I checked, four men doth not make an army.” She smirks and cocks ‘er ‘ead.

  “Oh, and I suppose the addition of four women does.” Masheck crosses ‘is arms.

  Iris turns to the wings and snaps ‘er fingers.

  “Gentlemen?” Livinea calls.

  Out of the shadows step the cook, the butler, a footman, and the groom… and a housemaid, in manly battle gear.

  “You’re not serious?” Masheck claws ‘is ‘ead.

  The butler shrugs. “There wasn’t anyone left to look after.”

  “Or cook for,” the cook chimes in.

  Masheck turns his gaze on the maid.

  “And I’ve made all the beds,” she says.

  “You brought the only ‘orse with yah,” the groom chirps up.

  “And you?” Masheck addresses the footman.

  “Since the Matriarch died, I’ve got nothin’.” He shrugs.

  Masheck growls again.

  “Well, at least now we got ourselves enough for cricket team.” I smile big at Masheck, who promptly squashes it.

  “Well isn’t this just grand?” He paces, burnin’ with frustration. “Now we can all go off and get ourselves killed.”

  “Aren’t yah bein’ a tad bit dramatic?” Livinea cocks her gun.

  “You do realize there could be hundreds, maybe thousands of Infirmed out there waitin’ for us.” Masheck shouts. “Not to mention the Vapours.”

  Livinea gins. “All in a day’s work.”

  The other girls say nothing, just cock their eyebrows.

  “Look,” Masheck says, clutchin’ his hands. He strides toward them, reason in his eyes. “Nobody’s doubting anybody’s loyalty ‘ere. It’s just that…” He works his gaze over the group. “What we’s about to do is about the most dangerous thing we’s ever done.”

  “All the more reason to have us with yah.” Livinea tips ‘er ‘ips. “Now, do you want to lead, or shall I?”

  The other girls sprout defiant smiles. The cook, the butler, footman and groom all follow suit.

  Masheck turns to the castle’s maid. “Do you really want to die this way?”

  “Yuh’s askin’ a woman oo makes beds for a livin’. This is the most excitement I’ve ‘ad in me life.”

  “Fine.” Masheck whips around. “Then I order you all back to the safety of the castle!” He slings a mighty arm.

  Iris scribbles something in ‘er note pad and flips it over.

  “Sod off?” Masheck looks to me shocked. “Did you see that? She just told me to sod off.”

  He turns, fumin’ and snatches a ring of keys from the wall, and marches deeper into the factory where ‘e throws open a second box-car door. It rattles back, revealing the same stockpile of flame-throwing, bayonet-wearing, cannon-launching steam-war elephants we discovered ‘ere before. Along with ‘em, a row of special forces air machines—mechanical bugs equipped with burly bombs and side cannons—we didn’t see the time before.

  Masheck strides around them, strippin’ their storage tarps off one by one then turns back to us, steam cannon in ‘and, and strikes a manly pose. “Don’t say I didn’t warn yahs.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Urlick

  “Give me your hand!” I shout to Eyelet hanging below me over the side of the ravine.

  “I can’t.”

  “You must.”

  I reach for her, my shoulder socket aching, having taken the brunt of both our falls. The pain is so staggering.

  Bertie J.’s undercarriage scaled the sidewall as he pulled around in a circle attempting to land, trying hard to not to tip over in the wind. He failed and we hit, and Eyelet and I tumbled off as Bertie J. skid to a precarious, rumpled stop, my legs still tangled in the cycle’s demise. I managed to snag hold of a root at the edge of the ravine, stopping me from sliding completely off, but Eyelet didn’t fare as well, and now here we are—my shoulder popping from its socket, as I hang face down, holding onto Eyelet who dangles over the edge of the cliff below me.

  Her worried eyes lock on mine. “Give me your hand!” I shout.

  She swings it up.

  “Now pull yourself up!”

  Eyelet’s gaze widens.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know you’re a swashbuckler. I saw your antics in that balloon.”

  She looks down, then quickly up, then swings back her legs and lunges. Grabbing onto my elbow, she digs in her fingers and climbs. My shoulder socket screams from the pain, as she shinnies up me. I grit my teeth and hang on.

  Below her, Smrt’s machine advances, metal legs unfurling toward the top, screeching, chafing, screaming.

  Its rumbling has taken over my heart. I feel nothing else.

  “Hurry, Eyelet,” I call to her. “Hurry up!”

  Once she’s on firm ground, she turns back for me, her eyes popping.

  Smrt stares up at us through the beast’s advancing glass bubble window, not far away. He breaks into a wry smile.

  With all t
he strength I have left, writhing and growling from the pain, I swing myself back up, and spring to my feet, grasping Eyelet by the hand. Together we sprint at lightning speed into the forest of the Follies.

  Eyelet falls, but I yank her back up, shoving on ahead of me. She collapses in front of me again, knees bleeding, gasping for air. She cannot breathe.

  Her eyes bulge with fear as she rasps and chokes. She falls into a spasm. The skin at the base of her throat tucks in. It’s never done that before. She gasps for air, but the spasm won’t let go.

  “Eyelet?”

  She looks to me. Her eyes are desperate. Behind us the machine peaks the ridge.

  “Shite!” I scramble to my feet, toss Eyelet over my back, and scramble headlong into the forest, hearing Smrt’s machine groaning up side of the ravine. I stumble, trip, and nearly fall, but then find my own stride again. Glancing behind me, I see the glass bubble face of the machine break the surface of the murky pit, its long accordion-legs extending up until it towers over the treetops.

  “Bloody hell!” I turn and pour on the speed, shooting glances back over my shoulder as I run., as the machine screeches and grinds, rising up, up, up, engine howling, straining like an animal being skinned. Inside a protective glass bubble, at the center of the legs, sits the crazed Hatter, manning a set of electronic controls. He yanks on a lever and the great glass and metal beast claws the ground at lip the ravine, shredding the earth beneath its raven-like talons, as it fully emerges from Embers once and for all.

  I gasp, as attached to the machine’s side it an egg-shaped metal container, with the Ringmaster peering out between the sidecar’s shattered glass window. He yanks back on a rudder and an array of guns protrude from the belly of the beast, all aimed at me. “Oh, good God!” I crank my head back and run.

  “And you thought you could win against me,” Smrt’s distorted, gramophonic voice shouts out into the forest, through a slatted speaker in his glass, bubble cage. “Not this time.”

  Two snub-nosed, rapid-fire steam-powered machine guns, capable of hitting long-range targets, growl as they rise. I gasp and trip over something, toppling to the ground in shock.