The Clockill and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  “Stay where you are, or I’ll send up a distress signal.” Sin pointed the pistol skywards.

  In the distance, a series of multi-coloured starbursts exploded across the sky.

  Eldritch shrugged. “Do your worst. No one’s going to notice. Not tonight.”

  Sin lowered the pistol to the horizontal. “Reckon one person’s going to notice.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Steam exploded from the weapon’s muzzle and Eldritch staggered backwards, a smoking black hole in his flight suit. With a phutt the flare sparked to life and Eldritch roared with pain.

  Sin clambered onto the rail and hooked his safety line onto the hawser. He glanced back at Eldritch, who was jabbing at the brightly burning flare with the tip of his cutlass, trying to prise the slug of flaming chemicals free. What calibre was the pistol? Big enough to finish Eldritch? Probably not. Sin returned his eyes to the hawser, grabbed his safety line and jumped.

  Hawk slammed her foot down, crushing some late-flowering whiteclover beneath her rigair boot. “You are cowards and deserters and should be hung from the yard arm.” She held her chemlantern aloft, so a bright circle of shame illuminated Sin and Velvet in the dark of the night.

  “We couldn’t stop them, Captain,” said Sin. He stood to attention, Velvet at his side. Behind them, the abandoned harpoons protruding from the wildflower meadow were all that remained of the Swordfish. The other candidates milled about, apparently unsure of what to do now that their temporary home had been stolen.

  Hawk jabbed Sin in the chest with her finger. “You didn’t even try.”

  “We would have died,” said Velvet.

  “Then you would have died valiantly.”

  Behind Hawk, Jasper grinned, probably enjoying the irony of his rival being accused of cowardice. Sin ignored him. Whatever Hawk thought, it hadn’t been cowardly; there was nothing they could have done. They were lucky to have escaped with their lives. Velvet was right: by resisting they would have died and achieved nothing. If you were going to make a heroic sacrifice, there should be a reason for it.

  Hawk drew her cutlass. “Were you in on it? Are you traitors like Eldritch?”

  A clanking sound drifted across the meadow. Major C marched towards them, his brassanium mekaniks leaving divots in the soft earth. Beside him scurried Nimrod, trying to keep up.

  “Captain Hawk, you may stand down,” commanded the Major.

  “They let pirates steal my airship!” said Hawk, the point of her cutlass quivering near Sin’s cheek.

  The Major inhaled deeply; his chest plates expanded and his shoulders squared. An elongated hiss of steam spouted from his mekaniks. “Captain, you are to stand down.”

  Hawk lowered her blade and took a step back, making way for the Major. “Aye-aye, sir,” she said.

  The Major drew to a halt in front of Sin and Velvet. “Was it really Eldritch?”

  Surrounded by the candidates from both wings, Sin guessed their mission was no longer to be considered a secret. “Yes, sir.”

  “What a damn shame. I thought we’d put that little complication to bed.” The Major’s head turned with a series of minuscule clicks. He glanced at Nimrod, who puffed to a halt alongside Zonda.

  Sin couldn’t decipher the look that passed between the Major and his father. It was like when they’d been told of Eldritch’s escape – something wasn’t right. Their commander should have been more surprised about the traitor’s impossible resurrection. “You seem to have been expecting his return, sir?”

  “Eldritch is a survivor, always has been.” The Major surveyed the abandoned landing harpoons. “Although I certainly hadn’t anticipated this.”

  “Zonda shot him in the head. That’s not something you walk off with a hot cup of tea and the best of Britannia,” said Sin.

  “I got this on Teabreak Ridge during the Dilmah campaign when a steamshell landed on our company HQ.” The Major rapped his metal fingers against his brassanium half-helmet. “I should be dead. I was dead, but a very remarkable man brought me back from beyond the pale. Yan Shi, a Chinasian surgeon attached to our field hospital, was pioneering work in human-mekanik interfaces. He gave me a second chance. I owe him everything.”

  Sin frowned. “What’s that got to do with Eldritch, sir?”

  “Eldritch was my second-in-command at the time. Shrapnel from the steamshell gave him the scar through his eye and smashed the front of his skull. Yan Shi replaced the missing bone with a jigsaw of brassanium plates. His injuries were far less heinous than mine, and Yan Shi managed to graft the skin back. Zonda’s shot must have been blocked by the brassanium.”

  “I shot him again, on the Swordfish. Unfortunately it was only with a Very pistol.”

  “That’s going to leave a scar,” said the Major. “Although Eldritch collects scars like most people collect mementos.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s definitely going to need some patching up when he gets to the Rock,” said Sin.

  The Major’s mekaniks jerked and his head clicked up. “What do you mean, the Rock?”

  “One of the crew let it slip. That’s where they’re heading.”

  The Major turned to Hawk. “Captain, did you hear that? We know where they’re going. Are you ready to give pursuit and recapture your command?”

  Hawk kicked the toe of her boot into the soft turf. “With what? We have no airship, and we have no crew. Even if we did, no aerostat can outpace the Swordfish; she’s the fastest in the Empire.”

  “Actually, Captain, you’re wrong on all three counts.” Nimrod stepped from behind the Major and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “Captain, candidates, follow me.”

  As everyone followed Nimrod towards the lake, Major C held Sin and Zonda back, out of earshot.

  “We still want Eldritch taken alive. Do you fancy a second bite at the cherry?” asked the Major.

  “Yes, sir,” said Sin immediately.

  “Absolutamon,” agreed Zonda.

  “Top-Hole! I’ll brief Hawk on the operation.”

  “Sir, I don’t understand how we’re going to find him,” said Sin.

  “The Rock is naval slang for Gibraltar, a Britannian outpost of great importance in the Mediterranean. That’s where Eldritch is heading,” said the Major.

  “That still doesn’t explain how we’re to catch him,” said Zonda.

  “I believe Nimrod is about to reveal all.” The Major’s pace quickened and they joined the candidates and Hawk, who waited on a floating platform at the edge of the lake. Hunched over a control panel at the end of the platform, Nimrod adjusted dials and levers, his hands darting back and forth like a piano virtuoso.

  Zonda edged nearer to Sin and gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m so relieved you’re safe. Eldritch didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No danger. We never gave him a chance.” Sin didn’t mention about nearly getting stabbed by Mr Clark. Zonda had a soft spot for the servant, so he didn’t want to reveal it was Clark who had tried to drown them all.

  “What’s he doing?” Sin gestured to Nimrod, trying to change the subject.

  Zonda shook her head. “Not a clue-eroo. This is where we watched the fireworks from, and where Nimrod coordinated the display, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with recovering the Swordfish.”

  There was a loud ZING and a dazzling green flare shot from the platform across the lake. A plume of steam erupted where the flare hit the water, then the blazing green light drifted downwards into the murk. The glimmer of the flare disappeared, replaced by a much larger elliptical glow deep in the water. The lake seemed to fluoresce, something massive rising from the depths. An elongated litanium and ironglass hemisphere the size of a steam-carriage breached the surface. From the centre of its flattened base a litanium tube descended to a glowing metal envelope which rose from the lake, twice as big as the Swordfish. Rivulets of water cascaded down the envelope’s curved sides, sending waves dashing onto the banks and swaying the pontoon on which the students huddled. The vessel c
ontinued to rise until it floated on the lake, supported by two torpedo-shaped gondolas moulded into the base of the envelope.

  “I give you the Aether-Mare,” said Nimrod, proudly. “Equally at home above, on or under the ocean.”

  Lit by the envelope’s glow, Hawk’s face was a picture of awe. “She’s magnificent.”

  “That she is,” agreed Nimrod. “She’ll catch the Swordfish in a matter of days. If you promise to take good care of her, she’s all yours.”

  “And the crew?” Hawk asked.

  The Major gestured to the candidates. “Have been trained by the best Captain in the Empire.”

  Hawk nodded, drawing her cutlass and brandishing it in the air. “I need a crew. Are you ready to chase down some pirates?”

  “Aye-aye, Captain!” sounded the candidates’ cheer.

  The cabins on the Aether-Mare were bigger than those aboard the Swordfish. Set into the external bulkhead was an ironglass and brassanium porthole the size of a bathtub, which provided a source of natural light. Tucked below it, a writing desk was provisioned with pens, ink and paper. Sin stowed his small portmanteau under the bottom bunk. The majority of the candidates’ gear was still on the Swordfish, so Sergeant Stoneheart and Madame Mékanique, who were to be coming with them, had hastily issued new equipment and luggage. Everyone had also received new flight suits. Unlike the bulky leather ones they’d worn during training, their new suits were made of a stretchy rubber-like material that looked similar to the failed swatch Sin had helped Nimrod test in the lab.

  “I’m not sure about the new duds. Makes me feel like a deep-sea diver,” said Stanley, pulling at the iridescent turquoise collar on his suit. He’d already called bagsy on the top bunk and lazed, propped on a pillow, reading another penny dreadful, “The Cursed Emerald of Muttuk”.

  Sin drew his cutlass. “I didn’t like them either until Zonda showed me this.” He held his left arm out straight and smashed the flat of the blade onto his sleeve. Instantly, the material hardened beneath the impact of the sword, forming a tough metallic shell.

  “Whooah!” Stanley discarded the penny dreadful and leaned over the bunk. He pressed his fingers against Sin’s flight suit, but it had already morphed back to the rubber-like material. “How did you do that?”

  “It wasn’t me, it’s the suit. Nimrod calls it NB3O. He’s been developing it for years.”

  Stanley made a fist and thumped it into Sin’s shoulder. “Ow!” He recoiled his hand and kissed his knuckles. Again, the material had hardened, protecting Sin from the blow. “How does it know?” asked Stanley.

  “Zonda tried to explain it to me,” Sin said. “Something to do with Non-Newtonian Liquids, whatever they are.”

  The bunk bed rattled where Stanley smashed his own arm into the litanium frame. “I didn’t feel a thing.” He leaped from the bunk and jabbed his elbow into Sin’s ribs.

  “Leave it out,” said Sin, slamming his knee into Stanley’s leg.

  Several minutes of intense scrapping later, both boys collapsed onto the lower bunk, their suits well and truly tested. Their breathing was heavy, but surprisingly, they didn’t feel overly warm. Unlike the rubber diver’s suits they resembled, the NB3O suits appeared to be permeable, letting out heat and sweat. They were indeed a masterpiece of fabric engineering. The only problem Sin could see was that, being so snug-fitting, he could no longer wear his keeper.

  “What do you reckon about catching these pirates?” asked Stanley between breaths.

  “Catching them ain’t the problem. We’ve the best ship and the best captain. It’s what happens next that worries me.”

  “How d’you mean?” Stanley pulled at the reinforced cuff on his sleeve, still apparently perplexed by the material.

  “Eldritch’s crew are King’s Knights, soldiers hardened by war. People are going to get hurt.”

  “But we’ve got these suits now,” said Stanley, smacking his arm into the wall.

  “I don’t fancy finding out whether they’ll stop a blade or a nail.” NB3O certainly seemed like an improvement on the material Sin had shot a hole through in the lab. However, a sword swung in anger was a completely different proposition to his friend’s playful punches.

  “Stoneheart’s coming with us, and Madame Mékanique,” Stanley continued.

  The massive physical training instructor would certainly be handy in a fight; she’d been a fearsome Zulu warrior before joining COG, and by all accounts had proven herself in many battles. Sin wasn’t sure about the prowess of Madame Mékanique, and Nimrod was certainly no soldier.

  Stanley slapped Sin on the back. “You and me brother, we’ll be all right.” Lifting his boots from the locker, Stanley checked the winding gauges then hauled them on. “You coming? We’ve got first watch.”

  “I’ll meet you up there. I’ve got to rewind first.” Sin grabbed his own boots, hiding the glowing green gauges beneath his hands so Stanley didn’t see that they were already fully wound.

  After Stanley had left, Sin donned the boots and headed for the engineering decks. Finding Nimrod’s cabin, he knocked on the litanium door.

  There was a solid clank then the door opened a fraction to reveal Nimrod’s furtive face. “Good, it’s you. Come in.”

  The scientist ushered Sin inside and locked the door behind him. The cabin was bigger than the one Sin shared with Stanley, being designated for the Chief Engineering Officer, a role Nimrod was currently filling. An elaborate array of scientific apparatus covered the writing desk, which had been commandeered as a makeshift lab bench, along with several packing crates. Chemicals fizzed and bubbled noisily through the contorted glassware.

  Sin’s gaze was drawn to an open medical case resting on the desk. One half was taken up by a dated-looking medicament-chronograph and two empty syringes, while five glass vials of his medicine filled the other half. The sapphire solution sparkled beneath the chemlights, creating an unnatural longing in Sin. His hands trembled and he fought the urge to grab for the case. He yearned for the liquid rush, followed by the all-encompassing peace and tranquillity, that brief moment when everything was good with the world.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Nimrod, worrying at his glasses.

  “Great,” lied Sin. It was two days since his last fix and another day and a half until his next injection was due. A hunger panged his stomach that eating wouldn’t cure, and pins and needles sporadically troubled his limbs.

  Nimrod wiped his hand across his mouth. “Excellent. I think the changes I’ve made to the formula are starting to work.”

  Sin was certain they weren’t. The scientist really was a terrible fibber. “Shall I take those?” he said, reaching for the case, perhaps a little too eagerly.

  Stepping sideways, Nimrod barred the way. “You’re going to have to be sensible with these. I hadn’t expected to need more medicine so soon. The loss of your other doses with the Swordfish has put us on the back foot.”

  The urge to shove past Nimrod was nearly overwhelming. Sin clenched his fists, then released them. Fists weren’t good. Fists meant he might punch his father. “You’re making more though, right?”

  Nimrod glanced at the apparatus covering the desk. “It’s a complicated synthesis. It takes time, and this isn’t my lab.”

  “It’s a good job you’re a genius then.” Keeping his impulses in check, Sin reached leisurely for the case. This time, Nimrod didn’t block him. “I know you’re going to fix this,” Sin said, thankful that he was a better liar than the scientist.

  Having safely hidden the injection case in his portmanteau, Sin joined Stanley on watch. The Aether-Mare’s crow’s nest was a litanium and ironglass dome that sat atop the airship on a wide hollow pipe. Connected to a steam crank, the pipe could be raised to give those on watch an enhanced view beyond the envelope’s sides.

  A thousand feet above the ground, where no smog diminished the sun’s rays, the light was harsh and bright. Sin adjusted his smoked glass goggles and peered at the horizon.


  “Look sharp. Hawk’s on the warpath,” said Stanley, pointing to a cluster of figures perched on the airship’s Litanium Lattice Aerogel hull.

  Sin removed a set of binoculars from a rack and looped the leather strap around his neck. He pressed the eyepieces against his goggles and focused on the group. Since he began lessons with Nimrod, the science behind technology such as the binoculars was less of a mystery, but he still smiled as Trixie, Jasper, Jimmy and Velvet appeared magnified in the viewer. Their faces were sullen, a response to the dressing-down Hawk was obviously giving them. The brown-suited aviatrix bent down and untangled a clump of pondweed from the ratline at her feet. Tossed into the air, the weed flew backwards, taken by the wind. Hawk pointed to the forward stabilisers, then clapped her hands and marched off along the ratlines.

  Moving awkwardly, ensuring every step was secure, the candidates made their way to the stubby litanium wings that protruded from the upper front of the airship’s envelope.

  Sin swung his binoculars from the candidates to Hawk and watched her disappear through a hatch below decks.

  “You ain’t going to see any pirates that way,” said Stanley, walloping Sin in the back with his cutlass, the novelty of the suit’s abilities yet to wear off.

  “Give it a rest.” Sin raised his binoculars skywards and scanned the blue expanse for danger. Their job as overwatch was to spot other airships and to monitor the sky ahead for changes in the weather. It wasn’t strenuous work, the steam-heated dome having comfortable padded seats that swivelled and tilted in all directions. In fact, the biggest problem was trying not to fall asleep in the warm sunshine. Fortunately for Sin, this was not an issue thanks to Stanley’s constant chatter.

  An hour into the watch, after Stanley had held forth about girls, Lottie, climbing, girls, the Heroes Ball, Morticia Magnum – the feisty heroine of his penny dreadful – and more girls, Sin spied a mass of roiling grey clouds on the horizon. He picked up the speaking tube to the bridge and flipped open the brassanium cover. “Crow’s nest to bridge, we have a Category Four storm rapidly approaching. Over.”