“It appears the Ministry has discovered the abandoned bell and seen Athena where she should not be,” Andrew said.
Crack! Two holes appeared magically in either side of the basket’s corner above Lizzie’s head.
The Lady flung herself over Lizzie’s body, which made her see stars of pain. “Can he go no faster?” she moaned into Lizzie’s hair.
Crack! Ping!
“That went off the gondola,” Jake said grimly. “They’re getting closer.”
Twenty feet to go. Now Lizzie could see Claude and Mr. Stringfellow at the winch, cranking like fiends, even as Athena’s engines changed pitch and she began to make way. Dear Tigg was taking an awful risk, sailing when the basket was not secure, but given the choice, she would have done the same. Better to dock the basket in flight than be shot down.
Crack! Crack!
Crrrraaaackle—boom!
“What on earth—” Captain Hollys stared, gripping the woven rim of the basket so hard it creaked.
“Now there are two of them,” Mr. Andrew moaned. “Ten feet. Why did no one tell those boys the automatons will run the winch!”
“Malvern, that is a B2 military transport,” Captain Hollys said suddenly.
“I don’t care if it’s a flying squid! We are outnumbered. Why isn’t Tigg pouring on the steam and getting us out of here?”
“Because he cannot until we are docked,” the Lady moaned. “We are so heavy that it is a wonder the ropes have not broken already.”
“But—”
Crrraaaaaackle!
“That is not a rifle!” The Lady leaped to her feet, leaving Lizzie staring upward at poor Claude, whose body had probably never been called to such a degree of physical labor in all his life. And now she realized, belatedly, that it was she who had not told either of them it was not a manual winch.
Oh, dear. She hoped he would not hurt himself.
Neither could she lie here like a broken doll. If she were going to die for the second time today, it would be on her feet, beside the Lady, staring death in the face.
Lizzie rolled to her knees, holding in the groan of pain even as tears spurted from her eyes. She grasped the woven edge of the basket with her good hand, and pulled herself upright. And then she saw what had silenced the others.
The sleek military ship with the blue fuselage designed to make it nearly invisible against the sky was firing—not upon Athena, but upon the Ministry ship sailing to intercept them.
Firing with … lightning!
“They’ve got a lightning rifle,” she said, nearly delirious with pain and wonder, to the Lady.
“Not a rifle,” the Lady said. “The bolt is finer—more delicate—the range shorter. Like a—”
“It’s Maggie!” Lizzie shrieked, and clutched the edge of the basket as it rocked into the dock. Mr. Stringfellow looped its ropes around the stanchion, and Claude slammed the winch handle into the closed position. “It’s Maggie’s lightning pistol!”
“Jake, get Lizzie and yourself into a cabin at once.” The Lady leaped from the basket and ran, dripping water all over the decks and down the corridor. But Lizzie did not want to go, and made a terrible production of pain that was three-quarters truth—just enough to delay him until they got to the navigation gondola, where the Lady was stationed at the viewing port with the lightning rifle.
“I’ll show them not to fire on unarmed women and children,” she said grimly. “Tigg, bring her around and flank them. I want a clear shot at their engines.”
The Duchy ship was a quarter mile off their stern, the B2 flanking it with tendrils of lightning crossing the gap and leaving smoking holes in her fuselage wherever they touched. Athena made the turn in short order, giving them all enough time to lower the viewing glass.
Lizzie got a clear view of the pandemonium on the bridge of the Duchy ship as they realized they were under attack on two fronts—they got off a few shots that went wide—until the Lady brought the lightning rifle up and sighted down its deadly barrel.
The bolt arced across the air space between them, catching the Duchy ship’s starboard engine dead in the center. Tendrils of blue light flickered joyously all over it before the boiler detonated, blowing a hole in the side of the gondola. Two aeronauts fell out, screaming, to land with a splash in the canal below.
The Lady took aim again, this time at the fuselage.
The bolt passed through canvas and iron substructure, burning as it went, and thence into the gas bag. With a sound like a feather pillow striking one’s head, the gas ignited, and within seconds the entire fuselage was engulfed in flame. The ship fell out of the sky in a burning fireball and landed with a crash in the canal, bits of its structure falling on it in a rain of destruction.
Shadows moved deep below the surface, as the kraken came in to finish what the lightning rifle had begun.
Lizzie said something—she was not sure what—as the swarm of black spots moved into her vision, buzzing like bees.
Tigg leaped from the helm and caught her just in time.
27
While her own small airfield in Vauxhall Gardens still remained Claire’s favorite, there was something to be said for the broad, sunny field in Geneva built by the Swiss, whose attention to the finer things in life extended to the installation of a lovely fountain in the central water holding tank. Flowers lined the broad avenues between the ships, and poplar and lime trees made splotches of brilliant gold upon the green of the field and the gray of the gravel.
Lizzie, whose fall from the basket had resulted in a dislocated shoulder, had her arm in a sling thanks to the field doctor who had attended her. Claude had not yet made up to her for his mistake with the winch, and catered to her every whim to the point where Maggie had determined to take him aside and inform him that being served so assiduously was every bit as bad for one’s character as neglect.
The gentlemen had brought some of the chairs out into the sunny area between the moorages of Athena and Swan, and they were presently relaxing after an excellent lunch. Tigg lay at Lizzie’s feet, entertaining Holly, who was not convinced that everything that could be eaten had been eaten. Ivy sunned herself in Maggie’s lap in the chair next to Claire’s, while Jake lay on the blanket on the grass with his eyes closed. In this position, of course, he could not tell either Claire or Maggie not to look at him as though he were about to die then and there, which he had already done at least twice.
Both of them had made sure that he had not only seconds of lunch, but thirds, too. It was no wonder he was half asleep. He had borrowed one of Andrew’s shirts and had found a pair of breeches that fit in the crew’s quarters aboard Swan. Claire had wasted no time in cutting up his prison rags for polishing cloths—a much more profitable use of cotton.
Voices proceeded from within Swan’s engine compartment, where Captain Hollys believed himself to be assisting Alice in repairs.
“Dadburn it, Ian, be careful with that wrench! These Daimlers are calibrated as fine as a Swiss clock, and I won’t have you banging around in there as though they were clunky old Crocketts!”
Claire did not hear Ian’s reply, but she had no doubt that Alice was enjoying bossing him around. Turnabout, after all, was fair play. She could not say that he was a changed man after his experience in the prison, but how could anyone be unchanged after such fear and hopelessness? They had only been here a day. Perhaps banging about in an engine compartment was more therapeutic for him than Alice, and that was why she had consented to it at all.
A whirring sound in the air made them look up, and Maggie said, “There’s the pigeon. But I can’t get up.”
“I’ll get it.” Claude unfolded himself from his chair and loped up Athena’s gangway, reappearing a few minutes later with a letter in his hand. Claire took it, broke the count’s seal, and read it aloud.
My dear Claire,
Words cannot express the relief of the baroness and myself to hear of your safe departure from the Duchy and subsequent return to civilized par
ts. It would almost balance my dismay at learning you had gone, if not for the realization that the journey was only to be expected of a woman of your character.
Have no fear—your position awaits you when you choose to take it up. While the baroness smiles at the thought of my swallowing my pride, I look upon it as good business. I do not let go of my investments so easily.
And now to the subject of your inquiry. The B2 airship you describe was built in 1889, as Captain Chalmers surmised from the serial number, and completed three transoceanic voyages before inexplicably disappearing on its return from Cape Town in 1890. I cannot believe that any members of its crew still survive—in fact, services for those lost at storm were held, and all the families compensated … as much as such a loss ever can be.
You may assure Captain Chalmers that I do not wish the ship returned to my fleet. If she and Maggie were brave and resourceful enough to liberate her, then they deserve to fly her with my blessing.
We look forward to your safe return.
With affection and regard,
Ferdinand von Zeppelin
Claire folded up the letter and handed it back to Claude. “Run this over to Alice. She will be glad of the news.”
“Does this mean I own half a ship?” Maggie asked from under the brim of her straw hat.
“You would need to take that up with Alice, darling,” Claire suggested, “but it rather sounds as though the count thinks so, and I cannot imagine Alice would disagree.”
“Then I give Jake my half,” Maggie said, her hand slow and gentle on Ivy’s feathers.
“What’s that?” Jake’s eyes opened, and he sat up. “What ship?”
“Swan, of course. What am I going to do with half a ship? You’re the one flying her—though she’s awfully big. You’re going to need Mr. Stringfellow’s help for certain.”
That individual had already nearly come to blows with Jake the evening before over the privilege of who ought to wear an aeronaut’s colors. Since Jake was the larger and more experienced—and had not a stitch to call his own—he had appropriated a lieutenant’s britches more out of expediency than expectations of rank. This had offended Mr. Stringfellow deeply, and he was not over it yet.
“Silly blighter,” Jake said affectionately. “Ship hasn’t even been commissioned into the Royal Aeronautic Corps and already he’s putting on airs.”
“And may never be,” Mr. Malvern said on Claire’s other side. “The Stalwart Lass was registered in Charlottetown. But Alice is a Texican citizen. Swan may fly the Lone Star and Snake yet.”
“Not on my watch,” Jake muttered under his breath. Then, more loudly, “Anyhow, Mags, you ought not to give away your half so easily. You and the captain might want to go into business together.”
“I doubt it,” Maggie said. “The Seacombe shipping empire will be enough for Lizzie and Claude and me. No, I’ve made up my mind, so I’ll thank you to take me seriously.”
“Better talk it over with Alice before you go giving ships away hither and yon,” Claire advised. Then she shaded her eyes. “There’s another pigeon. It can’t be Snouts, not so soon. Perhaps the Dunsmuirs have finally received Ian’s ransom demand.”
Once again Claude fetched a letter and handed it to her. Claire turned it over, unable to place the masculine hand. Finally she slit the seal.
Lady Claire,
While our acquaintance has been brief, I hope you will forgive my trespassing upon it and importuning you in this peremptory manner.
I will come straight to the point. My daughter is missing, and despite the assistance of the Duchy’s finest officers in the last twenty-four hours, all attempts to locate her have been unsuccessful. It is my understanding from the concierge at your hotel that you were the last person in whose company she was seen, the day before yesterday.
I am informed by that same individual that you have quitted Venice. I hope that this letter finds you and that you are willing to vouchsafe any information you possess on the matter. Though we have been estranged from one another of late, she is still my only child and heir.
I remain,
Your servant,
Gerald Meriwether-Astor
THE END
Author's note
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoy reading the adventures of Lady Claire and the gang in the Magnificent Devices world as much as I enjoy writing them. It is your support and enthusiasm that is like the steam in an airship’s boiler, keeping the entire enterprise afloat and ready for the next adventure.
You might leave a review on your favorite retailer’s site to tell others about the books. And you can find the print editions of the entire series online, as well as audiobooks. I’ll see you over at www.shelleyadina.com, where you can sign up for my newsletter and be the first to know of new releases and special promotions.
And now, read on for an excerpt from Immortal Faith, a novel of vampires and unholy love …
Excerpt
While you’re waiting for book eight in the Magnificent Devices series, I hope you will enjoy the following excerpt from Immortal Faith, a paranormal YA novel.
Summary
In the small, Old Order Mennonite community of Mitternacht, Iowa, the people pray that God will deliver them from evil.
They should have been more specific.
Sophia Brucker is on the threshold of womanhood, standing in the door between her religion’s way of life and the possibilities of the world outside. She is also torn between two young men: David Fischer, whom she has known since childhood, and Gabriel Langford, the new arrival. In a community that only grows when people are born into it, a convert—young, single, and male—is the most exciting thing that has happened in years.
When Sophia’s uncle is found dead in the barn with his throat slashed and bitten, the community grieves—except Sophia, who has been abused by him for years. And when the local mean girl is killed the same way, Sophia hardly dares to voice what she suspects: that only the worst among them are being weeded out. Under the elders’ approving eyes, it seems Gabriel is dedicated to worshipping God. But his methods may not stand up to too close a scrutiny . . . and Sophia is getting very close indeed . . .
Immortal Faith: A novel of vampires and unholy love
by Shelley Adina
Copyright 2011. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
The baby chick, hatched just yesterday and half the size of my palm, peeped as I stroked its downy yellow back with one finger. The two halves of its tiny beak crossed at the tips, which was why it had been peeping. It couldn’t pick up the feed and it was hungry.
Mamm would be out any moment, but I couldn’t help myself—I had to do something for it, even if all I had to offer was the warmth of my hands. I knew it had to be culled; if it managed to grow up and have chicks of its own, it would pass on the defect. On an Old Order Mennonite farm, even a tiny scrap of life such as this still had to do its best and pull its weight, and my mother had no tolerance for things that didn’t pull their weight.
Unless we were speaking of my youngest brother, Jonah.
Sometimes you didn’t know until a creature was half grown that it would need to be culled. When one of the young roosters decided it was going to challenge Dat for the rule of the farmyard, and attacked his leg in a fury of male aggression, Dat simply pulled it off his boot and ended that discussion with a quick twist. “I’ll not have that bird passing on his bad seed,” was all he’d said, and we had chicken and dumplings for dinner that night.
Jonah and Caleb laughed and called me softheaded as well as softhearted because I couldn’t bring myself to do some of the things that were necessary on a working farm. And while I knew God had a purpose for every animal and human here—even Jonah—and we all had to fill our places . . . I gazed down at the defenseless fluffball in my hand. We were taught to strive after perfection, but couldn’t there be a little room for mercy, too?
But questioning was a sure path to a bad spirit, which led to di
scontent and pride. Father, forgive me for my resentful thoughts.
“Sophia, are you out here?”
“Ja, Mamm.”
The sunlight streaming in the barn door darkened briefly, throwing my mother’s body into silhouette and shining through her kapp to show the smooth braided bun beneath it. “You’re not mooning over those chicks, are you? You know we can’t keep the ones that aren’t up to standard.”
“I know.”
“You’ll have to learn to do this some day.” Her tone softened as she joined me at the pen where the broody hens lived until the chicks were big enough to go out into the barn. “When you’re married and have a fine farm of your own, you’ll be overrun with rickety, good-for-nothing birds if you don’t cull the bad ones.”
No one I knew kept chickens as pets, but in the rare moments that I sat down on the back steps and one would jump into my lap, I would swear that, like my baby sister, they wanted to be cuddled. I wished I could keep this one as a pet.
“She’s not bad,” I said softly. The chick had settled in my palm, and I covered it with my other hand. “It isn’t her fault she’s not perfect.”
“And would you have a yard full of cross-beaks that can’t eat their food? That grow up spindly and thin and won’t fill the stomachs of your family?”
“No.” I sighed. We had this same conversation every spring, and every spring I hated it just as much. The part about getting married and having my own farm hadn’t come up before, though. I wondered what had brought that on.
“Sophia.” Mamm held out her hand. Gently, I put the chick into it and turned away. With no sound but a sudden rustle of the dark blue cotton of her sleeves, it was over. “Are there any more?”
“The one with the yellow spot on its head can’t walk. There, by the Wyandotte mama.” Another rustle of movement. “I’ll bury them, Mamm.”
“Don’t be long bringing in the eggs. I want to speak to you.”
A Lady of Integrity Page 21
