The Dead Gentleman

by Matthew Cody

  But far from laughing at her, Bernie just sighed. “Whatever you say, little miss. Whatever you say.” Then he unlatched the cage, forcing the bent door open, and Merlin hopped out, resting lightly on the man’s wrist. “Go on, then,” Bernie said to the little bird. “Go to Jezebel.”

  Merlin cocked his head at Jezebel but didn’t budge.

  “Sorry, he’s a bit shy with strangers.”

  “Your full name’s Bernard Billingsworth, isn’t it?” Jez said. “You were Tommy Learner’s partner. Tommy told me about you, Bernie. He told me you betrayed him.”

  Bernie groaned as he struggled to his knees. “Give me a minute, will you? When someone my age takes a fall like that, you’re not always sure if you’ll be able to get back up.”

  “Bernie, tell me the truth.”

  “I am Bernard Billingsworth. Junior.”

  “You’re … his son?”

  Bernie nodded. “My father was Tommy’s partner. An Explorer, like him, though he never made it past apprentice. After Tommy disappeared my father went into hiding. I inherited his equipment, his books and his stories.”

  Bernie straightened up and adjusted his glasses. “But he was no traitor. Bernard Billingsworth Senior may not have been a brave man, but he was no traitor. It was the Gentleman who trapped Tommy in the basement of this very hotel. To hear my dad tell it, the two of them were exploring an attercop web—Tommy, of course, had gone first. But Tommy was ambushed and, when he fell to the bottom, the tunnel began to close in on itself. It must have been part of the Gentleman’s trap, so that if the attercop didn’t finish Tommy, the closing tunnel would.”

  Merlin sang a quiet song while Bernie went on. “My father failed him. We Billingsworths are not natural heroes, I’m afraid. And with the attercop and the tunnel collapsing, well, my father just didn’t move fast enough, I guess. He froze. He never forgave himself.”

  Bernie shrugged. “He tried to put the Explorer’s life behind him after that, but he couldn’t forget. It haunted him for years and he ended up here, partly, I think, as a kind of penance for a crime he didn’t commit. But he never lost the faith—he kept an eye on this place, just in case Tommy ever made it back out. And most importantly, he kept Merlin here, safe. First him, then me. This bird’s been in the family for two generations.”

  Merlin cocked his head and flapped his wings, taking to the air. He fluttered in circles around their heads and landed with a squawk on Jez’s arm.

  “Ah,” said Bernie. “Now see there? He does like you.”

  Jez petted Merlin’s head with her finger. His feathers were rough and felt like wrinkly tinfoil.

  “When my father finally passed away, I took over as the building’s super,” said Bernie. “I honestly thought of all this Explorer stuff as ancient history. I cared for Merlin, kept him well oiled and such, but I was content just to look after the old Percy and change the occasional blown fuse. Never gave much thought to anything else.

  “When they uncovered the basement during the renovations, well, I just didn’t have the courage to go down there. Too much history, you know? Then you came along and you saw … what you saw.”

  “Tommy,” Jez said.

  Bernie nodded. “So is it true? Does Tommy’s ghost haunt this place?”

  “No, Bernie, he’s alive. And he’s here to stop the Dead Gentleman. You were right when you said before that the Gentleman was trying to get into this world. We haven’t figured out exactly why, but Merlin is the key to his plan.”

  Bernie glanced at the hallway window and the dark storm blowing outside. “Doesn’t look like he’s waiting for the bird.”

  “He knows he’s close,” said Jez. “I guess he’s so sure of himself that he’s starting the invasion a little early.”

  “So what now, little miss?” asked Bernie. “Do we hide away with Merlin and hope for the best?”

  His question went unanswered as the windows suddenly shook with an ear-splitting crash. It sounded like an explosion.

  “The river!” Jez said.

  Several doors down, a frightened face peeked out. Jez’s once-friend, Sasha, looked fearfully around and, spying Jezebel, let out a heaving sob.

  “Jez! What’s happening? Is the world ending?”

  Jez bit back the urge to tell her to call Max and ask him.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Sasha,” Jez said. “It’s just a storm. Go back inside and stay away from the windows. Get into the bathtub like they tell you to.”

  “I can hear things … moving around in my closet,” Sasha said.

  “Close your bedroom door and block it with something. Grab flashlights, anything with batteries, go to your parents’ room and stay there.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Jez, then turned and went back into her apartment.

  Through her window she could see that the sky over the Hudson was now totally obscured by the massive, swirling cyclone. Flashes of lightning were going off, rapid-fire, inside the cloud, and the air seemed to vibrate with the sound of crashing explosions. The prow of a ship was just visible at the edges of the portal—a great black ship was coming through from the storm.

  “That doesn’t look like any storm I’ve ever seen,” said Bernie, coming into the room.

  “It’s not,” answered Jez, pointing to the mural on her wall.

  The mural was gone and in its place was a portal. On the other side was the deck of the Charnel House, but it had changed with the times. The great wooden prow was gone, replaced with a sleek metal hull. Heavy gun turrets lined the side where cannons once stood. Though it had been no more than a few hours to Jez, a hundred years had passed since the twisted airship had left the Hollow World. In its place was a modern, armored zeppelin, as black as midnight.

  As they watched, the Charnel House was rocked by an explosion that had nothing to do with the thundering storm around them—a shining, strangely ornate submarine had broken past the waves of the Hudson and placed itself between the Gentleman’s black ship and the city. Grave Walkers scrambled here and there along the zeppelin’s hull, some manning the guns and some struggling to put out fires. All around the two vessels was a great wall of dark clouds.

  “It’s him,” Jez said, and she knew in her heart that she was right. “It’s Tommy. He’s fighting the Gentleman.”

  “My god,” whispered Bernie.

  At the mention of Tommy’s name, Merlin began to squawk and wind his little head back and forth.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Bernie.

  “I don’t know,” answered Jez. “I think he’s worried about … NO!”

  Jez reached for Merlin, but she was too slow. The little clockwork bird leapt off her shoulder and flew straight for the portal, singing all the way. In an instant he was gone.

  “They’ll get him,” Jez said, her voice cracking. “He thinks he’s going to save Tommy, but he’s running straight into the Gentleman’s hands.…”

  Jez turned away. Her fists were balled so tight that her fingernails were cutting into her palm, but the pain didn’t matter.

  “Find Merlin and keep him safe,” she said. “That’s all he asked me to do, and I couldn’t even do that right.”

  Jez looked at the portal. She watched as the Charnel House’s one hundred guns wheeled around, slowly taking aim at the ship below, the ship that was standing between it and the city.

  Jez took a step toward the portal. The Gentleman wouldn’t kill Tommy. Not while she was still able to do something. Not while she could still fight back. They wouldn’t lose this easily.

  “Wait,” said Bernie, grabbing Jez by the shoulder.

  “Let go, Bernie,” she said. “I’m going. I’ve got to get Merlin back or we’ll all die.”

  “I know,” said Bernie. “I wish I could …” He stared at the portal—the swirling clouds, the deathly black ship—and leaned heavily on his cane, shaking his head.

  “It’s not your fault, Bernie. And fo
r the record, I don’t think there’s a cowardly bone in your body.”

  Bernie nodded. “But you shouldn’t go unarmed. I can do this much at least,” he said as he took the knapsack from his shoulder and opened it on the floor. He pulled out a long leather jacket. A symbol was stitched across the breast—a clockwork gear with wings.

  “Slip it on,” he said. “It might be a bit big, but it’s padded—it should give you some protection.”

  As Jez put on the jacket—it was big; she practically swam in it—Bernie pulled out an odd-looking gun.

  “Netgun,” he said. “Just point and shoot. It’s only got four loads left, so try not to miss.”

  “Netgun?” asked Jez. “Really?”

  Bernie just shrugged. “But this is a real weapon. And by that I mean it’s dangerous, so be careful.”

  He handed her a solid, tennis ball–sized orb of metal.

  “It’s called a mayfly,” said Bernie. “Give it a crank like this.” He made a twisting motion. “And throw it. It’s a portal closer—very destructive—and only to be used in an emergency.”

  Jez very carefully stowed the mayfly in her jacket pocket. She adjusted the paragoggles on her forehead and hefted the gun, which was lighter than it looked. She felt ridiculous, but Bernie was right—it was better than nothing.

  “I have to have a talk with Tommy about updating the Explorers’ equipment. This stuff is nuts.” Jezebel looked at the portal again. The ship’s cannons were nearly in place.

  “No more time to lose,” she said. “If you see my dad again, Bernie, tell him … oh, I don’t know …”

  “I’ll tell him, Jezebel. And good luck.”

  Jez nodded, then she stepped up to the portal, took a breath and jumped through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TOMMY AND JEZEBEL

  NEW YORK, TODAY

  The Nautilus heaved to starboard just as an alarm began to whistle somewhere overhead. I’d asked too much of the old girl with that last maneuver, firing up the engines to full throttle too quickly and banking right despite a twisted propeller blade and a hundred years’ worth of silt that had built up on her hull. She was a wonder of engineering, but she was old and uncared for.

  What a mess I’d gotten myself into this time. It was a miracle that the Nautilus had remained undisturbed for all these years, buried at the bottom of New York Bay. But it was even more miraculous that she was still seaworthy, and that she’d answered the compass’s call. I felt more than a little sad for her, knowing as I did that this would be her last mission—that I’d summoned her only to be destroyed.

  I could practically hear Scott’s voice shouting at me from somewhere far off, scolding me for my foolhardiness. But I could also picture the glint in his eye and the man’s barely suppressed smile, and I knew, deep down, he’d be proud of me. The Gentleman wasn’t going to take our world without a struggle. Tommy Learner and the Nautilus would be the first to fight back. We’d show the rest how it was done.

  A warning light blinked at me. I tried to remember—that one had something to do with the steam power intake/outtake flow. Or was it air quality? It didn’t matter. I didn’t have the time to do anything other than pilot; repairs were useless now.

  Light artillery bounced off the armored hull like raindrops on a tin roof. The Grave Walkers were firing down on me with whatever small arms they had handy, but I knew there wasn’t anything to fear from them. That ship’s heavy guns, on the other hand …

  Opening up the forward porthole, I got a good look at the Charnel House. It was a risk—the porthole window was a full six inches of glass, though it was still just glass—but I needed a view of the battlefield with my own eyes. The Charnel House’s underside was already torn in two different areas, both places pockmarked and riddled with holes from my surprise attack. We’d broken surface underneath it, getting off a clear shot with the Nautilus’s guns at the ship’s exposed belly.

  I wouldn’t get that advantage again. And though the giant zeppelin was badly damaged and the venting black smoke meant fire on several decks, it was still aloft. A wound like that would have sunk any normal sea vessel. But the Charnel House’s heart was its air engine; even this newer, armored version relied on the great gas-filled bag at its top—and the ship wouldn’t fall until that was destroyed.

  Through the spray of river water and drifting fog I could see that the Charnel House was pulling around, bringing its guns to bear.

  “Emergency dive!” I shouted. “All hands brace for incoming!”

  Wresting the wheel again to starboard, I cranked the dive-shaft. Every single remaining warning light went off, blinking and beeping in rhythm with the screeching sirens. As I shouted orders to the imaginary crew, I heard the Captain’s voice in my ears, telling me to give her all I’ve got.

  Just as crazy as the old man.

  The Charnel House’s guns fired overheard.

  The first thing Jezebel heard was the din of gunfire, the first thing she saw was a cloud of smoke that made her eyes sting and the first thing she felt was the scrape of metal against her cheek as the portal deposited her face-first onto a catwalk some forty feet above the main gunner’s deck. Directly below her, black uniformed Grave Walkers ran back and forth between the many gun turrets, some firing automatic weapons into the waters below, others tending to repairs. Above her roared the ship’s engine as it pumped superheated gas into the giant armored airbag. The whole contraption was bound together on a grid of thick, steel-wrought rigging.

  Though she couldn’t see him past the smoke, Jez knew that Tommy was somewhere below them in the Hudson, piloting that strange submarine. But he didn’t know that Jezebel was above him, in the very ship he was trying to shoot down from the sky.

  She needed to get Merlin back and then get off this zeppelin, and that meant getting belowdecks and finding where they’d taken the bird. She could shimmy down one of the steel cables, but that would just leave her out in the open, surrounded by Grave Walkers. Above her was nothing but the airbag. She didn’t know what to do next, and she could barely hear herself think above the roar of the propeller, fueled by the churning engine.

  The engine …

  She began to climb. If she could shut down the engine and bring the Charnel House out of the sky, then she could use the resulting chaos to find Merlin. Plus she didn’t like the look of those guns that were taking aim at Tommy below.

  She took hold of the nearest wire and hauled herself up into the rigging, eyes fixed on each span of cable ahead of her, climbing just a few inches at a time. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and the netgun slung on her back got snagged more than a few times, but all in all she made steady progress as she pulled herself along, hand over hand, toward the rear of the ship, where the great engine roared.

  She shinnied up and through a doorway into the engine platform, a monstrous compartment near the back, and found herself face to face with a grease-stained, pallid engineer. He looked half dead like the rest of the crew. Seeing Jezebel, he pulled out a long monkey wrench and grinned with rotten yellow teeth as he approached. Jez didn’t know which way to go—the engine was there behind him, a massive wall of dials and pressure gauges—but the engineer was nearly upon her. She held her ground and drew her netgun.

  I managed to get the aft under the surface just as the first volley of gunfire hit the waves. Cushioned by the churning water, most of the shots rang off the Nautilus’s hull with a loud echo. But enough of them had found their mark that the ship was taking on water as the engines screamed at me in protest. A three-foot tear in the Captain’s quarters had swamped the bridge with a foot of river water before I’d managed to get the flood hatch closed. I imagined the Captain’s many priceless treasures disappearing out the hole and into the muddy river.

  The Nautilus was a durable vessel, but she was also, in some ways, delicate. She wasn’t built for broadside naval combat, not like the steel-reinforced zeppelin. The Charnel House could outlast a frontal assault far better
than Captain Scott’s old underwater ship. If I took her up again to the surface, away from the protection of the deep Hudson, we’d have maybe one chance to shoot before taking another full round of gunfire, and one more round would do us in. Our small guns just didn’t have the firepower to take down a hulk like the Charnel House, and the Nautilus’s torpedoes didn’t have the angle to hit an airborne target.

  At that point the best I was hoping for was to distract the Gentleman long enough to give Jezebel a head start. She was still back at the Percy, and perhaps she’d even had enough time to find Merlin. Regardless, the bird was someone else’s responsibility now.…

  You will save the life of this girl you will meet, you will catch her before she falls into darkness and you will die as a result. First you, then the world.

  This is precisely why I don’t put much stock in prophecies—I’d saved Jezebel, and if the High Father was right, my own life was now forfeit. But here I was, alive and fighting still. Perhaps the High Father had been wrong, or perhaps my death was just waiting for me. Perhaps this next volley.

  So be it. I’d made my choice and the world would live or die because of it. When it had come down to it, there was no way I would let Jezebel die.

  For what it’s worth, I’d grab her every time, even if it meant the world dying. Even if it meant a hundred worlds dying.

  I cranked the wheel to port and dove deeper into the murky river. I had one last idea and I needed depth if it had any hope of working—a crazy, dangerous plan—but one that might just bring down the Charnel House. The water in the cabin had already risen to my knees. This wasn’t the plan of a seasoned Explorer; this was the plan of a cornered street thief—desperate and dirty.

  I found myself whistling as I angled the ship’s nose upward. Just as it should be.

  The engineer moved faster than Jez would have thought possible, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the net. With a pressurized thunk the net wrapped the engineer up tight, and the force of the shot sent him reeling backward and through a window, falling to the gunner’s deck below. Jez cringed at the thought of his body hitting the boards—she hadn’t meant to kill him. But when she looked down, she saw that he was still moving and she wondered if he’d actually ever been truly alive. What had Tommy called them? Near-dead?