by Chris Paton
“Tea, Captain?” Whyte held the door open.
“Yes,” Cairn gestured at Luise’s plate. “Perhaps you can find some biscuits to go with our tea. Pinch some from the guests’ table, Whyte.” He smiled at Luise. “Finish what you can of your meal. I will return shortly.”
Hari waited until Cairn had left the bridge, the sound of water being poured into a kettle for boiling trickling in around the door as it swung closed.
“It is strange,” Luise leaned her elbows on the table. “The Captain seems to have suffered quite a bit. He is very open about it, and yet he holds no grudge.”
“Not visibly, perhaps,” Hari paused. “But he has no love for the Germans.”
“It’s more than that. It’s like he wants us to think that, as if he is hiding some true intent.”
“Jacques thinks the world of him.”
“And who wouldn’t?” Luise rested her chin on her hands. “He has overcome great trials and difficulties with ingenuity. He wrestled this airship through a storm, with just one arm, Hari,” Luise took a breath. “I find it difficult to imagine that the Captain could not find a means of ridding himself of the Germans without our help.”
“What are you saying?”
“Jacques said that the Germans were eager to speak with us, and yet we have just enjoyed an uninterrupted meal. He wants something, Hari.” Luise clutched her satchel hanging over her shoulder.
“You think so?”
“Dieter is locked up, under guard. Jacques was instructed to bring us to the Captain. You saw how he looked at me during the meal?”
“Looked at you? How?”
“I thought it was me, but he was looking at this,” Luise lifted her satchel. “He knows what is inside.”
“Truly?” Hari placed his fork on his plate. “Jacques could have given it to him, if the Captain knew what was inside. You left it in the lifeboat bay when you came after me.”
“But Jacques doesn’t do things like that, not without orders. If Cairn did not know where to look...”
“Or what to look for,” Hari suggested.
“...then Jacques would not know to take the chance.”
“Then the Germans must have since told Cairn what to look for.”
“And we are being entertained in order for the Captain to discover what it might be.” Luise leaned back in her chair. “We have to get off this airship, Hari. We have to get on the ground. We are trapped up here.”
“But if we play along, perhaps we can persuade Cairn to take us all the way north, to Arkhangelsk, where you can find the answers to the khronoglyphs.”
“We can’t risk it, Hari. No,” Luise pushed back her chair. Pausing, she closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples in concentration.
“Miss Luise?” Hari leaned forward. “More khronoglyphs?”
“Yes,” Luise nodded. “A star...”
Hari reached for Luise’s satchel, removed her notebook and pencil and turned to a blank page. He started drawing as Luise spoke aloud.
“Drops of rain, or spots of sand in a lozenge-shaped box.” Luise held her breath for a moment. “A ring around a moon, or the moon, and...”
“And?” Hari pressed the point of the pencil onto the page. The lead crumbled.
Luise shook her head. She opened her eyes. “I am not sure, Hari.”
“It is all right, Miss Luise,” Hari closed the notebook. Slipping the pencil into the space stitched into the spine, Hari returned the notebook to Luise’s satchel.
Luise stood up. “Hari, we have to retrieve my machine and leave the airship.” She walked around the table and peered out through the bridge window. “We are over land. We have just have to get down somehow.”
“That is the difficult part, Miss Hanover,” Cairn, a leather strap in his hand, slipped past Whyte as the orderly held open the door. “Although I am sure the two of you could find some ingenious method of doing so.” He threw the leather strap onto the table. “Of course, I have just ordered my crew to cut the straps from the lifeboats. Getting on the ground, as you put it, just became that bit more difficult.”
҉
Noonan squeezed between the pipes in the stern of the airship and into the crawl space leading to the first of The Amphitrite’s three boilers. Reaching out with his right hand, Noonan pressed his palm upon the skin, the juddering of the air streaming along the outside of the gasbag vibrating through his hand and shaking his shoulder. Pulling back his hand, he shifted onto his side and looked back along the way he had crawled, searching for Smith’s tiny head at the entrance to the crawlspace.
“Is this even safe?” Noonan shouted above the juddering beat knocking through the frame of the airship.
“Safe?” Smith squinted into the crawlspace. “The hydrogen is in a bladder above you. Of course it is safe.”
Noonan wiped his brow on the upper arm on his shirtsleeve. “Do you want to switch places?”
“No, no, Major. I think you are doing an exemplary job.” Smith gave Noonan his most gratifying smile.
“The Captain said it should be me?”
“Oh, yes,” Smith leaned into the crawlspace. “He said you were the man for the job.”
“How does he know? We haven’t even met.” Noonan rested his head against the metal grille on which he lay. He looked up at the brass pipes glowing pink above him. “Stoke the boiler, the Captain says. Those are my orders.” He glanced down the crawlspace at Smith. “And what are his orders, I wonder?”
“Are you all right, Major?”
“Yes,” Noonan sighed. He wiped another palm-full of sweat from his brow. “Just taking a breather.”
“Very well, Major. Only,” Smith paused, “the Captain asked that you get a move on. We are making good time, with favourable winds, and he wants to reach the coast of Denmark before midnight.”
“Really?” Noonan wriggled onto his belly. “I’ll just keep going then.” He grumbled forward.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” Noonan pushed on beneath the pipes, sweat running down his neck, pooling in the small of his back. At an intersection, Noonan shifted position, lifting his legs beneath the knees, one at a time, and lowering them into a short shaft leading into the first boiler room. Insulated on all side with a thin wall of light wood, the boiler room was fitted with rungs bolted into the wood. Noonan scrambled down the rungs, stumbling over the sacks of coal as he dropped the last few feet onto the deck.
The firelight seeping around the edges of the boiler door lit the walls with enough light that Noonan could see scratch marks and etchings carved into the wood. He leaned closer to the longest of the epitaphs. Tracing the words with his finger, Noonan read aloud, “Death comes this day, the eighteenth of February, 1844,” shifting his feet upon the coal, Noonan let the light fall on the latter half of the inscription. “Cairn.” Noonan fingered the signature carved with rough, angular letters. “Who is Cairn?”
The light flickered over the wall, disguising the letters with shadow and gloom. Noonan picked his way over to the boiler as a whistle shrilled in the crawlspace above him. Opening the boiler door, Noonan searched for a shovel in the light of the embers, emptying shovel load after load into the stove until The Amphitrite lurched forward and the whistle stopped.
Noonan slumped onto the coal sacks beneath him. He looked up at Cairn’s inscription. “This would be a miserable place to die,” he shook his head.
҉
The leather lifeboat harness slipped off the table top on the bridge of The Flying Scotsman. Luise stared at it, following its descent to the floor before lifting her head and looking at Cairn. She watched as he slipped his left hand inside his loose-fitting jacket, tugging a compact flechette pistol from a holster strapped around his ribs. Luise stifled a gasp and reached for Hari’s hand.
“You’ve seen one of these before?” Cairn turned the pistol in his hand. Luise reached for her side. “I see,” the captain checked the priming pan and pulled back the hammer. He pointed the pi
stol at Luise. “Then you know what damage it can do.”
“Yes,” Luise took a deep breath. “Would you care to explain what is going on, Captain?”
“The Germans grow impatient. As do I, quite frankly. We have played this charade out for as long as I can endure.” Cairn waved the barrel of the pistol at Luise, pointing it at the satchel hanging around her shoulder. “We never did talk about your research into khronoglyphics, but I from what I understand, your notes are here, in your satchel.” Hooking his foot around the chair leg, Cairn pulled it away from the table and sat down opposite Luise, the pistol levelled at her chest. The Germans described some strange goings on at a mill in the London Dockyards – something about demons and the slowing of time.”
Hari fidgeted in his seat. Clasping Luise’s fingers with his left hand, he slipped his right hand under the table.
“Just a moment, Mr. Singh,” Cairn turned the pistol toward Hari. “I know what you have strapped to your belt. The kukri is a vicious blade. For that reason I would like to see both of your hands.”
“I understand,” Hari lifted his right hand, palm up, and placed it on the table top. “Truly, I do.”
“Whatever did you do to your hand, Mr. Singh?” Cairn frowned. “It looks painful.”
“It was,” Hari turned his hand to look at his the scar on his burned palm.
“Did it happen recently?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“And yet, a burn like that, I imagine it is a burn, would take much longer to heal, surely?”
“I am most fortunate,” Hari squeezed Luise’s fingers. “to have had the very best of care.”
“Really?” Cairn laughed. “Forgive me, Mr. Singh, but I do not think that was the case, not entirely. You see our German friends...”
“Friends?” Luise leaned forward. “During our meal they were tenacious enemies.”
“Times change, as do allegiances. You understand, Miss Hanover, I am sure. If I may continue,” Cairn rested the pistol upon the surface of the table. “I have learned that you,” he dipped his head in Luise’s direction, “we’re wounded by a projectile from one of these wicked pistols, and you were in need of help. Something about your condition that necessitates a slowing of the blood to heal?”
“You are well informed?” Luise picked at a loose thread twisting out of the stitching of her chiffon skirt.
“So well informed, as it happens, that I know you were able to slow time using a device, a slowing machine you might call it.” Cairn stared at Luise’s face. “I would very much like to see this machine. I assume you have brought it with you? Something so valuable would not be so carelessly discarded.”
“And if we did have it?” Luise tugged the thread free of her skirt. “What would you do with it?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Cairn’s shoulder stump shook as he laughed. “If your machine can heal projectile wounds and salve burns merely by slowing time, what might it do for me?”
“It will not grow your arm back,” Luise snickered.
“Callous, Miss Hanover, and quite unbecoming of you.” Cairn raised the pistol and pointed it at Luise’s head. “I believe you can be more cooperative and far more understanding if you were given the proper motivation. I have found that my condition, the rash and scars upon my body and the pain in my nerves, is often benefitted by rest. And yet, I struggle to rest sufficiently, a single night is not enough, and I cannot sleep the whole night through for the pain.”
“And you think by slowing time,” Luise let go of Hari and clasped her hands in her lap, “that you will cure your disease? Forgive me, Captain, but there is a difference between a wound and a virus.”
“Is haemophilia not a disease?”
“A genetic disorder, with physical symptoms. My machine can physically slow the blood allowing it to clot. Given sufficient time, my body is able to perform functions that normal bodies can.” Luise looked at Cairn. “A virus...”
“Can be slowed, just like your blood. Perhaps,” Cairn smiled, “given enough time the virus might die?”
“Or lie dormant to rise again.” Luise stood up. “You cannot know the outcome of the slowing, Captain.”
“Where are you going, Miss Hanover?”
“I am going to fetch my machine. That is what you want, isn’t it, Captain?”
“You have it here? Aboard The Scotsman?”
“In the cargo hold.” Luise pushed back her chair. She smoothed her palm on Hari’s beard. “It’s all right, Hari. The Captain wants to slow time, and I think we should help him. Perhaps others might agree?” Luise patted her satchel.
“If you think so,” Hari took Luise’s hand. “I trust you, Luise. Truly, I do.”
“I know, Hari,” the corners of Luise’s eyes glistened. She squeezed his hand. “I will go now.” She turned to Cairn. “I suggest you keep everyone out of my way. Everyone except for Jacques. I think I will need his help.” Luise walked to the door. Pausing, she turned to look back at Cairn. “Did the Germans tell you everything, Captain? Did they mention the demons?”
“They did,” Cairn lifted the pistol in his grip. “I intend to be prepared.”
“Of course,” Luise glanced at Hari. “You know best.” The door swung shut behind her as Luise left the bridge and made her way to the cargo hold. The last light failed beneath the horizon and the bridge was plunged into darkness.
Chapter 12
The Regal Giant
The North Sea
May, 1851
Steam misted the glass and condensed upon the brass taps as Hannah slid under the water, beneath the soap scumming the surface, blistering and popping against the surface of the bathtub. A thin stream of bubbles escaping from her nose, Hannah opened her eyes, flicking them from one side of the bath to the other. She paused to focus on a shape looming above her. A face. Hannah burst out of the water, clenching and pulling back the fist of her right hand as she breached the surface.
“Easy now, eh?” Blaidd grasped Hannah’s wrist, his eyes wandering over her body. “I just want to talk.”
“Let go of my wrist,” Hannah tugged at it.
“Or you will do what, exactly?” Blaidd hooked his foot around the bath stool and pulled it closer to the bathtub. He sat down, bending Hannah’s wrist as he made himself comfortable on the cushioned seat. “Scream? I’d like that.”
“Let me go and we can talk.” Hannah made no move to cover her chest, beads of water running down her skin as she stared at Blaidd.
“You’re a pretty girl.” Blaidd let go of Hannah. Flicking his finger at a wet lock of Hannah’s hair curling around her cheek he sighed. “Time was I had a pretty girl, much like yourself.” Blaidd leaned back on the stool and rested his hands on his thighs.
“I said an hour.” Hannah reached for the towel, tugging it from beneath her clothes by the side of the bathtub. The corners of the towel soaked up bathwater as Hannah covered her chest.
“What are you doing with Bremen?” Blaidd picked at a thread on his trousers. “Aether, as he calls himself now.”
“Herr Bremen is my master,” Hannah frowned. “I mean he is my employer. I work for the German Confederation as his assistant.”
“But he doesn’t work for them anymore. He has his own agenda now, eh?”
Hannah pressed the towel to her skin. “Yes.” She looked up. “How did you get in?”
“Ah,” Blaidd smiled. “I have a talent for that kind of thing. Something I picked up on the streets of Abergavenny, Cardiff,” he scratched at his cheek with a long hairy finger. “London, Leeds, Coventry...”
“Everywhere you lived?” Hannah’s skin squeaked along the bathtub as she shifted position.
“Watch it now,” Blaidd reached inside his jacket and removed the butterfly knife with the tips of his fingers. Flicking it into the palm of his hand he opened it with a quick twist of his wrist. He pointed the tip of the blade toward Hannah’s face. “Just sit tight and we can finish our little chat.”
�
��There is nothing more to talk about. You were at dinner. You heard and saw everything, as I did.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the knife flickered in Blaidd’s grasp. “But you haven’t told me anything useful, anything that might help me find the scientist. That was our agreement.”
“This is bigger than her, Blaidd.”
“What is?”
“Herr Bremen, Aether, and that witch, Khaos.”
“The redhead? Ah,” Blaidd nodded and lowered the knife. “Now she does have a fine body, much like yourself.”
“She...” Hannah paused at the sound of the cabin door opening. “You didn’t lock the door. Did you?”
“I like to have an easy way out.” The fabric of Blaidd’s trousers whispered against his skin as he stood and crossed the floor of the bathroom. He glanced at Hannah before sliding behind the door. The soft glow of the sodium crystal light caught the tip of the knife as Blaidd changed his grip, holding it in his left hand by his hip.
“Hannah? Are you in here?”
Hannah stiffened at the sound of Aether’s voice in the cabin beyond the bathroom.
“It’s just me, Hannah. Romney is entertaining Mr. Roland and Mr. Percy. Aether knocked on the bathroom door before entering. “Ah, there you are. Didn’t you hear me?”
Hannah shook her head. “Water in the ear.” She clutched the towel closer to her body.
“Well,” Aether reached for the bathrobe hanging on the wall opposite the door. “No harm done. I just thought we could have a little talk. So much was said at the dinner table,” he took a step forward, averting his eyes as Hannah stepped out of the bathtub and slid her arms inside the robe, “and yet nothing at all.” Aether looked at Hannah and smiled as she tightened the robe around her waist. “I feel as though you require an explanation. The truth be told, Khaos and I would not have been able to get as far as this, as easily as we have done, had it not been for you smoothing the way. You must have been a remarkable assistant for Herr Bremen. He was lucky to have you.” Aether stepped out of the bathroom and into the cabin. Hannah glanced in Blaidd’s direction before following Aether.
