Gideon Smith and the Brass Dragon

by David Barnett

The Nameless looked at the glowing tip of his cigar. “I can’t really explain it. It was like … like the land was in pain, and I could hear its scream, and that forced everything else out of my head. It was like something had happened that shouldn’t have happened, that things weren’t supposed to happen the way they did.”

  “The land was in pain?” asked Gideon. “What do you mean?”

  “America,” said the Nameless. “America was in pain. Like it was just about to be birthed, and … then it wasn’t. Like something was lost that shouldn’t have been. And in its pain, it chose me. Chose me to live forever, to find what was lost. So I started looking.”

  “Did you find it?” asked Bent.

  “Didn’t know what I was looking for. So I started traveling around America, to see if I could chance upon it. And all I saw was British at one end, Spanish at the other, then the Japanese, the Indians caught in the middle. And people were fighting over this bit and trying to buy or sell the other, and gaining a mile here for their own borders, losing ten miles there.” He paused, looking out into the night and, thought Gideon, beyond the darkness, down the years. “And all the while, America kept screaming in my head.”

  Gideon caught Bent staring at the Nameless, and the journalist said, “That’s possibly the biggest load of codswallop I’ve heard in my life.” The Nameless raised an eyebrow. “But I say that every time I hear a new load of codswallop, and since I started hanging around with Smith here, it all turns out to be effing true.” He shook his head. “So America thought something was wrong, and picked you to put it right. What now?”

  The Nameless smiled thinly. “Since I came here, the screaming’s stopped.”

  “You’re free?” asked Gideon.

  “I’m free.” The Nameless nodded. “And as he journeyed, it came to pass that he drew nigh unto Damascus: and suddenly there shone round about him a light out of heaven.”

  “Then this is what you’ve been looking for. This is what you wanted,” said Gideon.

  “I think maybe this is what America wanted. Maybe it doesn’t mind people from all over the world coming here, so long as they can get on, work together. Maybe that’s what America is all about, should be all about. Maybe that’s its destiny after all.”

  Bent looked around, at the campfires. “This? They’ve got skyscrapers in New York, Nameless. They’ve got the heads of rebels in pickle jars in Boston. You think a few runaway slaves and some cowpokes are going to challenge that?”

  “Everything has to have a beginning; ’tis the order of things,” said the Nameless.

  Bent shook his head. “You sure talk funny, you know.”

  The Nameless smiled. “Hark at yourself, Mr. Bent, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Bent sniffed. “I do, as a matter of fact. And you’ve got to have a name. That’s the order of things. Man’s got to have a name.”

  The Nameless shrugged. Bent said, “That bollocks from earlier, all this light out of heaven. Acts 9:3, if my schooling serves.”

  “I have read the Bible. I have read many books in my time. I do not aspire to holiness, but it seemed to have a certain fit.”

  “Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus,” said Bent thoughtfully. “Paul’s as good a name as any.”

  The Nameless smiled again. “If it be your will.”

  Bent put out his hand. “It does, Paul. Everybody’s got to have an effing name, after all. Stick it there.”

  The Nameless shook his hand. “Paul it is, then, Mr. Bent, at least to you.” He paused thoughtfully. “I don’t find it displeasing.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Rowena announced that she’d pumped more helium into the cells of the Skylady III and made the necessary repairs. “She should get us back to London.”

  Bent, yawning and scratching his crotch and enjoying a breakfast whisky, glared at her through one eye. “Should? Can’t you be a bit more positive than that?”

  Rowena laughed. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Aloysius?”

  “Think I crapped it out when Lyle had that gun to my head,” he said. “What about you, Gideon? You flying in the airship or cozying up in the dragon?”

  Gideon glanced at Maria. “With Maria, I think. It’s taken me so long to find her, I’m not letting her out of my sight again.”

  “Just you and me then, Rowena,” said Bent, belching and putting an arm around her. “Unless we’re taking any waifs and strays back to London. What about you, Paul? Now your work here is done and all that?”

  The Nameless was watching the liquefaction engine as it sucked the raw helium out of the mine shaft and transformed the element in its bowels into working lifting gas. “No,” he said. “There’s plenty to do. Steamtown is gone, but there are plenty of warlords like Thaddeus Pinch. Freedom will need my guns.”

  A horse approached, ridden by Inez with Chantico clinging to her waist. She brought it to a halt and slid from the saddle. “And the sword of La Chupacabras,” she said.

  “You’re staying, then?” asked Gideon.

  “Of course! We found it first!” said Inez.

  Maria embraced the Spanish girl. “Thank you for looking after me while I was … unconscious,” she said.

  “It is good to see you back in the land of the living,” said Inez. She looked around at the work progressing in the morning sun, the cabins rising from their foundations. “So much to do. But we have secured a treaty with Chantico’s tribe—they will trade with us, and help protect us should we come to the attention of aggressors.” She turned back to the others. “Tomorrow we ride to Uvalde, and I will secure a similar treaty with my stepfather.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all sorted out,” said Bent. “But at the end of the day, Paul, you’re just a big farm. If you want to grow, you’re going to need some effing money. Steamtown had the coal and the whores. What have you got?”

  “Perhaps something better,” said Inez slowly, her eyes narrow. “This gas … this helium … it is the only thing that makes your airships fly?”

  “Well, there are other gases,” said Rowena. “Hydrogen, for one. But that’s highly flammable.” She paused. “My God.”

  “What?” asked Gideon.

  “They’re sitting on a huge source of helium,” said Rowena excitedly. “Do you know how rare that is and expensive it is to extract?”

  “They could make their own airships?” asked Bent.

  “Or maybe we could sell it to others,” said Inez. “The British, the Spanish, the Japanese … they will pay good money for helium, yes?”

  “You’ll need to extract and bottle it,” said Rowena with a frown.

  The Nameless coughed. “This gadget of yours…”

  “The liquefaction engine?” said Rowena. She paused then smiled. “It’s yours.”

  “Then I guess we got something better than coal or whores, Mr. Bent,” said the Nameless. “It looks like Freedom is in business.”

  “Coal I can take or leave,” muttered Bent. “But I’ll have nothing said about whores.” Then he let loose a long fart.

  * * *

  “Ready?” asked Maria.

  Gideon waved once more from the snout of Apep and slid through the broken window. He had assembled a makeshift chair of cushions behind Maria’s seat and stocked the cockpit with provisions. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable journey back to London, but he didn’t care as long as he was with Maria.

  They had decided that London wasn’t ready to see Apep in all its glory again, so soon after the Battle of London, so they had timed their arrival to coincide with night in England. They planned to make landfall on the Cornish coast and await word from Whitehall.

  “Ready,” Gideon said.

  Maria turned to him as the vast wings of Apep began to flap and the dragon started to rise from the dust. “Thank you for coming for me, Gideon.”

  “I could do nothing less.” He paused. Louis Cockayne’s words came back to him. Sometimes bravery’s just about having the gonads to stick yo
ur head above the parapet and say, “Hey, I’m different. And I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

  “But what happens when we get back to London?” she asked.

  Yes, indeed. What was to happen when they returned to London? He had spent so long hoping against hope that he would find Maria, but he had never given much thought to what would happen when they were finally reunited. Where was she to live? She had nowhere, save for Einstein’s tumbledown house, and she was not going back there. What would Mr. Walsingham be expecting with regards to the dragon? Would he be expecting to spirit Maria away to have his scientists and engineers conduct experiments, turn her into the weapon he evidently wanted her to be? And what of Gideon, and his feelings for her? Were they even allowed?

  Hey, I’m different, he said deep inside. His words spiraled out into the brilliant blue sky, where he fervently hoped Louis Cockayne would, somewhere, somehow, reach out and snatch them off the warm summer breeze like dandelion clocks.

  And I don’t give a rat’s ass.

  Seize the day.

  Carpe di-effing-em.

  “I love you, Maria,” he said out loud. “With all my heart, and forever.”

  “And I love you, too, Gideon, with whatever is inside me that passes for a heart. But also with my head, for that is truly human, and it is there that I know I will love you forever.”

  “Then let’s make for London,” said Gideon, “and hope that forever doesn’t come too soon.”

  They kissed, and the dragon rose into the blue sky, the sun bouncing off its brass hide as they headed east.

  * * *

  “Follow that dragon!” said Bent, waving at the gathered population of Freedom below as the untethered Skylady III began to ascend, Rowena wrestling the wheel to point the ’stat toward home. He couldn’t wait to see London again; he could almost smell the stink of the Thames and feel the polluted air washing over his face. Gin, sausages, and the love of a good woman who didn’t charge too much money. Never let it be said that Aloysius Bent didn’t learn from his experiences; now, as before, he knew that slavery in all its forms, whether that of men forced down mines or women made to work in brothels, was villainy incarnate. But things were different in London. The whores there were happy, and well fed, and earned their money through honest (well, honest-ish) toil. And wasn’t he Aloysius Bent, official chronicler of the adventures of the Hero of the Empire? He was practically doing them a favor, bestowing his presence upon them.

  He waved until Freedom disappeared in the haze then joined Rowena on the bridge, the outline of Apep ahead of them in the blue sky. He didn’t fancy that much, living in a pioneer town, not knowing where your next bottle of gin or comfortable crap was coming from. He liked his home comforts, did Aloysius Bent.

  “Think they’ll make a success of it?” he asked.

  Rowena gazed at the distant horizon for a while then said, “Of course they will. They’re in love.”

  Bent had been talking about Freedom, but looking at Rowena’s glistening eyes he thought it best, against everything right and natural, to keep his trap shut. Just this once.

  * * *

  London was enjoying a late bloom of summer, the final burst of clear skies, warm sunshine, and a pleasant breeze blowing off the Thames, just the faintest nip in the air to herald the onset of the coming autumn. Gideon looked at the pleasure boats on the river and the ’stats nosing lazily across the blue sky, wishing he were out there drinking in the rays of the sun.

  Mr. Walsingham coughed, and Gideon returned his attention to him. It was cool in Walsingham’s office, the smell of beeswax almost overpowering. At least he had Maria at his side, and Bent at the other, picking his nose and inspecting the booty on the end of his quick-bitten fingernail.

  Walsingham placed the sheet of paper he had been reading on the blotter of his neat and ordered mahogany desk. He steepled his fingers and looked from one person to another, his gaze eventually settling on Gideon.

  “Well,” he said.

  Gideon waited.

  “Welcome home, all of you. And you have succeeded in your mission. You have recovered Maria and the brass dragon. Well done.”

  “And where is the dragon now?” asked Gideon. They had landed in Cornwall in the dead of night after circling high above the clouds while the Skylady III signaled to the Fleet Air Arm base at Falmouth with the codes that Walsingham had given her before they departed.

  “Safe,” said Walsingham. “Our scientists are examining it as we speak.”

  “Safe where?” asked Maria.

  Walsingham raised an eyebrow. “Just safe. But fear not, Miss Maria. Your work with the dragon is far from over. By your own admission, changes occurred within you during your American sojourn. You have become more independent. Whether that is because of your continued association with the dragon or despite it, we need to find out. As Gideon’s old friend Charles Darwin would have it, you are evolving, Maria. Tests must be carried out. We shall be requiring your presence…”

  “Maria goes nowhere without me!” said Gideon.

  Walsingham sighed. “Oh, Mr. Smith, do not be tiresome. You think we allowed you to embark upon this enterprise purely so that you could be reunited with your true love? The brass dragon is a weapon, Mr. Smith. Miss Maria is, whether you like it or not, inextricably a part of that. Tests must be carried out. Miss Maria must be a part of that. No harm will come to her, you can be assured of that.”

  “We can be assured of nothing,” said Gideon. “Perhaps I am tiresome because what you do not overtly lie about, you omit. For example, why didn’t you tell us about Jeb Hart? Why let us believe we were the only ones responsible for the rescue?”

  Walsingham raised an eyebrow at Gideon’s tone but said nothing, simply spreading his hands. “It is always wise to have a contingency plan, should things go wrong.”

  “Nothing went wrong,” said Gideon.

  Walsingham’s already thin lips tightened. “I wouldn’t be quite so … positive, Mr. Smith.” He picked up the sheet of typed paper again. “Edward Lyle, the Governor of New York, dead. Louis Cockayne, whom I have employed in the past, dead. San Antonio destroyed in a flagrant act of aggression. Orders to engage with the enemy in Nyu Edo blatantly disregarded.” He looked up at them. “Aiding and abetting the creation of a breakaway community whose interests are in direct competition with those of British America.”

  Gideon began to count off on his fingers. “Louis Cockayne died a hero, protecting Maria and me and enabling us to secure the dragon. We did, in fact, engage with the Japanese, but the reason for attacking them was proved to be utterly fraudulent. San Antonio, or Steamtown, was a viper pit of villainy where men and women were enslaved in the basest manner imaginable. The town of Freedom would have been established whether we were there or not. And Edward Lyle…”

  “Edward Lyle died when he was hit by a stray bullet fired by the mechanical man created by the Japanese,” finished Walsingham, laying down the paper. “Yes, I have read Mr. Hart’s report.”

  Gideon breathed a silent thank you to Jeb Hart. Walsingham sat back in his leather chair. “Still, as I said, you have succeeded in your mission. You have returned our assets to British soil.”

  “Maria is not an asset,” said Gideon, taking her hand in his. “She is my—” He looked at her, then back at Walsingham, defiantly. “She is my sweetheart.”

  “How terribly Bohemian,” said Walsingham. He looked at Gideon for a long moment. “You, too, have … changed, Mr. Smith. Could it be that Maria is not the only one evolving? Not the only one experiencing increasing independence?”

  “Perhaps I’m becoming my own man at last, Mr. Walsingham.”

  Walsingham frowned. “But I thought you were our man, Mr. Smith. By royal appointment.”

  Gideon leaned forward. “Mr. Walsingham, God knows just how many fingers you have in how many pies, but please let me clear one thing up: You pay our wages, but you don’t own us.”

  He heard Bent snort in surprise beside him but didn�
��t look over. He continued, “We have done as we were instructed, Mr. Walsingham. Now we are going to take a rest, have some time to recuperate. I trust that sits well with you.”

  Walsingham seemed faintly amused. He inclined his head. “Of course. If you do decide to leave the country for any reason at all, Mr. Smith, you will keep me informed, won’t you?”

  “Naturally,” said Gideon, standing. Bent and Maria rose beside him.

  “The Empire will call upon you when it needs you,” said Walsingham. “Good day, Mr. Smith, and once again … well done. All of you.”

  * * *

  Across London, in the Union Hall of the Esteemed Brethren of International Airshipmen, located in an ornate stone building on the edge of Highgate Aerodrome, court was in session. Or had been for some hours; Rowena waited impatiently in the wood-paneled corridor outside a closed wooden door, wondering if Gideon’s debriefing had been more convivial than hers.

  As soon as she had returned to London, a message was sent to the offices of Fanshawe Aeronautical Endeavors. Miss Fanshawe had been commissioned to take one cargo to San Antonio and bring back another; the brief had not been fulfilled. There might be a case of maladministration to answer.

  The panel of Brethren officials had heard her evidence—or as much as she’d dared give them, given the nature of the last few days—and had retired to consider their verdict. She had been waiting in the corridor for an hour, aching to get out into the sun, desperate to fly, even if it was just to take the Skylady III on a test flight to make sure the repairs to the balloon she had effected before her return were holding.

  The door opened, and the clerk, a young man with a serious face and greased-down hair, nodded at her to enter.

  She took her position before the panel of three men, all former airmen. Her peers. Her people. Her Brethren.

  The chairman peered over his half-moon spectacles at her. “Miss Fanshawe. The panel has come to a decision.”

  She smiled at them and nodded. It was all a formality. Even the Belle of the Airways had to show she was accountable.

  The chairman said, “We have heard your evidence about the job that was assigned to you at North Beach in New York. We consider that there were severe lapses in Brethren rules in even allowing this cargo to be taken. Accepting cargos for transport without allowing the captain of any vessel full disclosure is simply not acceptable according to the Brethren code. We accept that you had a desire to travel to San Antonio for your own reasons related to your, ah, extracurricular work on behalf of the British Crown. You ultimately proved pivotal in bringing to the fore a hidden and illegal trade in human beings. For that you are to be commended.”