by Chris Paton
“My name,” the engineer let the head of the wrench wobble to the tabletop between them, “is Oksana...”
“Zhidkova,” Stepan smiled and stepped around the table to embrace the old woman.
“Careful now, Kapitan,” Lena chuckled. “Remember we might need her.”
“Stepan Skuratov,” Oksana gripped Stepan’s arms as he hugged her. “Your father was a dear friend.” She stepped back as Stepan let go. “What are you doing here? And what is going on outside? There has been no end of crashing and banging all day.”
“You have not been out?” Stepan moved the wrench to sit on the table.
“No,” Oksana gestured at the untidy cot at the rear of the office. “I slept late, and when the banging began I decided I could stay here. I am getting too old to investigate every little thing. If it was important, I knew someone would come and find me.” She patted Stepan on the thigh. “And now here you are. Alexander’s little boy.”
“Yes,” Stepan took Oksana’s hand in his own. “And now we must tell you about the important things going on outside. But before I begin, I need to ask you, Oksana, if you can drive one of these locomotives?”
“Drive one of them?”
“Yes,” Stepan nodded in the direction of the locomotives in the maintenance shed. “Are these serviceable?”
“The big one, The Voskhod, she is ready. I have not had time to shunt her outside, and nobody else showed up for work this morning.”
“Then you can drive them?” Lena stepped around the table, spots of blood dripping from her hand to the floor.
Oksana squinted at her. Crossing the floor to her cot, she picked up a towel, thrusting it into Lena’s hands as she returned. “This,” Oksana pointed a curled finger at Lena, “is not Anna Skuratova.”
“No,” Stepan helped bind Lena’s hand with the thin towel. “Lena is a friend of mine.”
“She looks like a Cossack,” Oksana folded her arms across her chest, wrinkling her long, grey woollen coat at her generous hips.
“Because I...”
“Yes,” Stepan patted Lena on the arm. “She is Lena Timofeyevich, and she is helping me to save the city.”
“Save Arkhangelsk?” Oksana pressed her arms even tighter to her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“If you will help us, Oksana Zhidkova, then I will tell you once we begin our journey.”
“And just where are we going?”
“We are going to Moscow,” Lena tightened the knot in the towel with her teeth.
“Moscow? Whatever for?”
“So that we may turn around and come back,” Stepan sighed. “I need your help Oksana, so that I can help Anna and Nikolas.”
“Well,” Oksana turned and looked at her cot. Shuffling toward it, she fiddled with a belt of leather pouches hanging from a rusty nail in the wooden wall at the foot of the bed. Oksana turned, her hand fingering the belt. “Anna and Nikolas, you say?”
Stepan nodded. “The sooner you help me, the sooner I can help them.”
“Well then,” Oksana lifted the belt from the nail and cinched it around her waist. “It is time we fired up The Voskhod. This should be fun,” she cackled past Lena and Stepan. Pointing at Stepan she said, “You will be my stoker, and the Cossack,” Oksana paused.
“What?” Lena stared at the old woman.
“I don’t know, but we have seven hundred and sixty miles to find out.” Oksana stopped at the door. “That’s two days, provided we can get more coal and water on the way.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stepan pushed himself off the table. “As far as we know, Arkhangelsk is the only city to have been invaded.”
“Invaded?” Oksana tightened the buckle on her belt. “Why didn’t you say so? We had better get moving.”
Fingering the wrench on the table, Stepan tossed it onto the cot before following Lena and Oksana through the maintenance shed to where The Voskhod towered, the engine facing forward, at the base of the incline. At the top of the incline, clanking side by side, two emissaries honed their giant swords on the iron tracks in a blaze of orange sparks.
҉
Noonan ducked beneath the web of pipes crossing and obstructing the narrow metal grille walkway leading from the hatch and deep into the airship. Pushing himself against the bulkhead, he flinched as he leaned back against a wall of pipes to make room for The Amphitrite’s crew as they stowed the baggage.
“All right there, Major?” Perkins held out his hand, pulling Noonan back onto the walkway. “Those pipes can get mighty hot.”
“Yes,” Noonan smoothed his palm over his uniform jacket around his kidneys. “There is not a lot of space.”
“No, sir,” Perkins gestured at Noonan’s rifle case. “Let me help you, sir. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“Very well, Perkins,” Noonan removed the rifle case strap from his shoulder. “Lead on.”
“She’s a bit of a tangled mess is our Amphitrite,” Perkins called over his shoulder as he scuttled along the walkway. “Did you know she was one of the first airships to be built by Dendridge Aeronautical?”
“No, Perkins, I did not,” Noonan ducked his head beneath a set of pipes bolted between the bulkheads, holding his hand up as a shield to ward off the exhaust of steam piffing at head height.
“Oh, yes. Quite the beauty she was, sir. She was fast back then,” Perkins stopped by the side of a tiny hatch set into the metal grille. “Of course, she’s even faster now,” he pointed at the surrounding tangle of brass pipes. “What with all the modifications the Captain has made.”
“How’s that?” Noonan cricked his neck as he found a gap in the pipes for his head.
“Well, she has hydrogen for lift, but the guts of The Amphitrite is all about the propellers. All these pipes, they get narrower and narrower, taking steam from the boiler and forcing it into smaller and smaller diameter pipes to get the maximum force. When all that pressure is released over the blades of the propellers, old Amphy gets a hell of a kick. That and seeing as how she is so streamlined like,” Perkins grinned. “There is nothing so fast as The Amphitrite.”
“Nothing? Not even the Scotsman?”
“The Flying Scotsman? Pah,” Perkins kicked open the dogs on the hatch at his feet. “That old windbag is nothing more than a glorified steamcarriage. Is that what you are trying to catch? Shouldn’t be a problem. Not once the Captain gets free of the tether.” Perkins bent down to open the hatch and slid the rifle case inside. “This is you, Major.”
Noonan peered down inside the hatch. “But there’s barely enough room for a cot?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Where’s your cabin, Perkins? Are the crew quarters as small as this?” Noonan crouched down and stuck his head inside the cabin. “I’ll have to climb over my luggage to even find the bed.”
“These are the crew quarters, sir,” Perkins helped Noonan to his feet.
“I don’t understand. Where will the crew be sleeping?”
“We won’t sir. Our orders were to make the ship ready. After that, we are all to go home. There’s no room on The Amphitrite for dead weight. I expect you will all be expert at handling an airship before you reach the coast of Denmark.” Perkins tugged at the hem of his jacket. “The Captain is furious good at whipping folk into shape. Landlubbers and all. Of course, he doesn’t usually have such an old crew. That might present some challenges.”
“Are you saying we are the crew?” Noonan paused at sound of another hatch opening behind Perkins. “Admiral?”
Grumbling his body out of the hatch, Egmont placed his hands either side of the opening and heaved himself onto the walkway. “Ah, Noonan,” Egmont slid backward, tucking the loose flap of his trousers beneath the stump of his right leg. “Just getting the good news, eh?”
“You knew, Admiral?”
“Can’t say that I did, but,” Egmont waved a hand around the walkway. “On a ship this size, I am not surprised.”
“And your leg?
Was there no room for that?” Noonan shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous, Major, is me pulling the stump of my old yard arm out of every square hole on this ship,” he slapped the metal grille with the palm of his hand. “Better to hop around than get stuck every other step. Besides,” Egmont grinned, “I feel younger already. Now then, Major,” he pointed at Perkins, “I suggest you glean as much information about life aboard Her Majesty’s Airship before he has to leave in,” Egmont tugged the fob watch from his pocket, “about three minutes. Help me up, lads.”
“Admiral,” Noonan ducked beneath the pipes to take hold of Egmont’s left arm as Perkins lifted him from the right. “I am not sure I am cut out to be crew on an airship.” Cursing, Noonan banged his head on a pipe valve. “I’m too tall for a start. Perhaps I should...”
“Not another word, Major,” Egmont found his balance and shrugged free of the two men. “You are on active service on a mission of utmost importance. I suggest you stow the rest of your gear and begin acting accordingly. I will be on the bridge.” Egmont chuckled. “More of a laboratory than a bridge, eh Perkins?”
“Yes, sir,” Perkins grinned. “Best of luck, sirs. See you on your return.”
“If we return,” Egmont patted Perkins on the back. “Glad to see you picked up the slack after that little hiccup on the elevator. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with the Captain.”
“Very good, sir.” Tapping two fingers to his forehead, Perkins turned around and scurried down the walkway toward the main hatch.
“You’ll enjoy this, Noonan,” Egmont swayed as the pipes gurgled and The Amphitrite strained at her mooring lines. “We’re in for a bit of a ride, I’ll wager.”
҉
Hannah waited, fingers tapping upon her handbag, until the other guests had promised their commitment and made their farewells. She watched as Aether and Khaos sealed the agreements made with short bursts of blue light tentacling around the hands of each guest, and lighting their faces with a buzz of delight. Aether sat down as Khaos gently encouraged the Captain on his way with a last display of slow energy. He clutched at his hand as he swayed across the deck to the staircase. Her lips tight, Hannah watched Khaos return to Aether’s side.
“Will there be anything more, Herr Bremen?” Hannah pushed back her chair and straightened the hem of her dress, preparing to leave.
“Hannah,” Aether pulled back the chair next to him at the head of the table. “Come and join us for a glass of...” he looked at Khaos. “What was it called?”
“Absinthe,” Khaos licked her lips and sat down on Aether’s left. Catching a waiter as he walked past, she ordered three double measures of Absinthe. “So clichéd,” Khaos laughed. “But if we are to fit in,” she raised her eyebrows and flicked her tongue at Hannah, “we must do what society does.”
Hannah stood, smoothing her dress as she walked the short distance to the empty chair. Catching Blaidd’s eye at the adjacent table, she sat down beside Aether.
“What did you think of the evening, Fräulein von Ense?” Aether turned his gaze upon Hannah as Khaos plucked at his fingers.
“You seem to have curried a lot of support for your cause,” Hannah looked down at her lap. “Though I am not sure I understand to what purpose.”
“Currying support, as you put it,” Aether began, “is something Khaos and I are well-versed in. In the passage of time, where we languished in purgatory before this,” Aether ran his hand along his chest, “opportunity presented itself, Khaos and I fought for prominence among thousands of timeless souls. If we did not know the currency of support and how to earn it, well,” Aether paused as the waiter arrived with their drinks, “We would not have been next in line to escape, and I am not sure we would be celebrating today. Cheers,” he raised his glass.
“What exactly are we celebrating?” Hannah turned the glass on the tabletop within her fingers.
“Why, the formation of the Order of Impedimenta of course.” Aether drained his glass. “This collection of genteel folk we have entertained tonight...”
“At the expense of Herr Wallendorf,” Hannah muttered.
“...is but a drop in the ocean. The Captain, the bankers, judges and their wives, they are positively bursting at the thought of something different, something arcane, something,” Aether leaned closer to Hannah, “unexplainable.”
“And dangerous,” Khaos smiled. “Exotic, sensuous...” she stared at Hannah.
“Now that we have sufficiently enticed the more prominent of the passengers onboard, it is only a matter of time before others will seek us out.” Aether plucked Hannah’s glass from her fingers. “Then it is only a matter of time before we can release more of our lost souls from the passage and out of Khronos’ clutches.”
“Tell me more about Khronos,” Hannah looked at Khaos as Aether finished her drink.
“Old father time,” Aether set the glass on the table. “The god of time – if you believe in such things. It was Khronos that wrote the first khronoglyphics that Fräulein Hanover is so curious to translate. Khronos that effectively locked the time portal trapping us, his disciples, in that timeless existence.” Aether took Khaos’ hand in his. “You have nothing to fear,” he lowered his voice. “He cannot reach us here.”
“You do not know that,” Khaos trembled.
“I do,” Aether smiled. “I will not let him take us back to the passage.”
“You promise?”
“On my life, I will do everything I can to stop him. But we must have our friends come through first.”
“But how will you get others through the portal without Hanover’s machine?” Hannah checked herself as she leaned forward, subduing her interest as she pushed herself back in her chair.
“We don’t need Hanover’s machine,” Aether explained. “But we will need a replacement. When we have found suitable components on this ship we will inscribe the required khronoglyphs and free our people.”
“It was agreed that the first to leave the passage should be those best versed in the language of time – khronoglyphs. Khaos is particularly adept at reading and drawing khronoglyphs, despite Khronos’ attempts to quash such studies. However,” Aether looked at Hannah, “the true master of the language was the very first to leave. It is him we must find.” Hannah caught a flicker of doubt as it flashed in Khaos emerald eyes. “With the correct sequence of khronoglyphs inscribed on the wheels of the machine, we can be very selective in who we allow out of the passage.”
Hannah pushed back her chair as Aether took Khaos in his arms. Leaving the table without a glance from Aether or Khaos, Hannah walked toward the staircase, catching Blaidd’s eye as she passed his table. At the top of the stairs, she leaned against the veneered bulkhead and waited for the Welshman.
“An interesting night, eh?” Blaidd slipped quietly around Hannah and leaned against the wall. “Did you learn anything I might find useful?”
“I learned enough,” Hannah pushed away from the wall and began walking down the stairs. “Meet me in my cabin in an hour.” Ignoring Blaidd, Hannah pulled off her heels. “I will need another bath to wash this dinner out of my mind.” She descended the stairs two at a time, slowing only when she reached the door of her cabin.
Chapter 11
The Flying Scotsman
The West Coast of Denmark
May, 1851
The Captain’s table, nestled at the back of the bridge of The Flying Scotsman, bristled with thin metal skewers of roasted meats and vegetables. Like mountain ranges at dusk, the potatoes in bowls and the breads in baskets were dark and angular, casting shadows in the light above the clouds as the airship drifted over the west coast of Denmark.
Luise picked through the breads, selecting one, replacing it in favour of another. Cairn watched her, the scars around his eyes wrinkling. Luise cut a nub of butter from the dish as Whyte set it on the table. She watched the orderly leave while spreading the butter on her roll, the white bread inside almost as whit
e as the creamy butter. “This is the best we have eaten in days.”
“You have had a difficult time of it,” Cairn put down his fork. “More Germans, I presume?”
“Yes, plenty of Germans,” Luise took a bite of her roll, catching the crumbs with her fingers. “They can be quite tenacious.”
“This I know to be a fact,” Cairn picked up his fork and jabbed another potato, looking at Luise, his eyes lingered over the satchel hanging around her shoulder. “I have had plenty of scrapes with them in the air. They have, although I hate to admit it, rather superior airships.”
“Is that how you lost your arm?” Hari reached for a bread roll. At a glance from Luise he put it down again.
“No,” Cairn sighed. “That sad affair is another story altogether. I was assigned to an experimental airship, one built for speed and speed alone. The captain of that particular craft was, and likely still is, obsessed with performance and eking out every last ounce of energy from craft and crew. I lost this,” Cairn waggled the stump below his right shoulder, “when trying to increase the output of a particularly stubborn propeller. The captain, such as he was, was loathe to lose even the slightest forward momentum, and instructed me to work on the propeller without stopping or even slowing it. You can clearly see the result.”
“Truly,” Hari nodded. “What about your eyes?”
“Hari,” Luise place her hand on Hari’s arm.
“It’s all right, Miss Hanover. I appreciate directness,” Cairn looked at Hari. “Your friend strikes me as a man that is as honest as he is bold. I have what Bärensprung, another tenacious German, helped identify as herpes zoster, an unfortunate virus that gives me these scars and blisters,” Cairn pointed at his eyes. “Of course, my viral friend was not content to stop there. No,” he jabbed a square of meat with his fork, “I have it in the nerves, and have had for some years now.” Cairn chewed in silence. When he was finished, he placed his fork on his plate and rang the bell. “We will have tea.” Cairn pushed back his chair and met Whyte at the door.
