by Chris Paton
The walkway, pinched on either side with rubbery reserve sponsons of gas, led straight to the bridge, closed to the rest of the ship with a thick metal door. Flaked with a brittle layer of rust, the door made a smacking sound as the rubber gaskets were parted and the door swung open. Egmont stood to one side, leaning against the railing.
“In you go?”
“You’re not going to introduce me?” Noonan’s brow furrowed as he looked at the Admiral.
Egmont shook his head. “The bridge is cramped enough as it is, Major. There’s room for only one, plus the Captain.”
Noonan sniffed the air escaping from the bridge. “It smells of whale oil.”
“A lubricant,” Smith slipped his hand onto Noonan’s shoulder. “Amongst other things. You’ll find your answer inside, Major. Go on. It is quite safe.”
“Wait a moment, Major,” Smith pushed past Egmont. “You are perhaps expecting something or someone quite different from the Captain you are about to meet. I suggest you prepare yourself...”
“For anything?” Noonan scoffed. “That would seem to be the motto of the last few hours. Do you have anything more specific to add?” He waited.
“No, Major,” Smith shook his head. “That is all.”
“Well, I had better go and meet the Captain then.” Noonan took a breath of air from outside the bridge, leaned inside the door and clambered down a long, thin ladder.
“The secret’s out then, Smith.” Egmont smoothed his hand over his beard.
“It’s not such a terribly important secret is it now, Admiral?”
“We’ll see.” Egmont nodded toward Noonan’s head as the Major reached the bottom of the ladder. “Including the two of us, the crew and the queen, Noonan is the ninth person outside of The Factory to know about the Captain of The Amphitrite. It wouldn’t do for the German Confederation to know just how far we have come in the years since Trafalgar.”
“The Amphitrite is a prototype. How many are in production?”
“I don’t know,” Egmont peered into the gloom of the bridge. “Ten? Perhaps more.” He turned to Smith. “Germany isn’t the only country preparing for war, old friend. If the Wallendorfs ever got wind of this...” Egmont turned and smiled at a sudden gasp from Noonan. “I think the Major has been formally introduced.” Reaching past Smith, Egmont gripped the side of the door and pulled it closed. “We’ll let them get acquainted.”
҉
The moonlight rippled across the surface of the coastal waters slipping past The Regal Giant and surfing onto the beach. Hannah swung her legs over the side of the bed in her cabin and stood up. She crossed to the porthole, tapping the glass as she stared out.
“Aether and Khaos are recruiting for their order.” Hannah turned to the desk and removed the telegram from a drawer. “Luther Wallendorf is waiting for us to dock in Hamburg. I don’t know how much the old man understands, but these demons have possessed his daughter and the German Confederation’s Foreign Office Minister. That should be enough to gain his full support, and attract the attention of his more intelligent assistants.”
“You know this Wallendorf?” Blaidd picked at his knuckles.
“Ja,” the telegram wrinkled in Hannah’s grasp. “When I was a little younger and more easily impressed.” She thrust the telegram into Blaidd’s hands. “Forget about Luise Hanover. Accept this new mission and I will see that you are rewarded.”
Blaidd unfolded the telegram, his eyes flicked back and forth across the page as he read it. He looked up at Hannah. “What are you proposing, eh?”
“To stop Aether. To get the demon out of Romney’s body...”
“That will require some powerful magic,” Blaidd folded the telegram.
“And you have magic inside of you,” Hannah stepped forward, turning Blaidd’s palm upwards in her hand. “I propose to stop them, to stop Aether from releasing more of his kind into our world. If I can just avenge what he did to Herr Bremen, If I can just...” Hannah sighed. She looked up at Blaidd. “Help me.”
“And what are you paying?”
“Double the amount the British are paying for Hanover.”
“Double, eh?” Blaidd removed his hand from Hannah’s grip and pushed the telegram into her palm. “It won’t be enough,” he tapped the telegram with his finger. “All those walkers and, what are they called? Emissaries?”
“They are armed automotive machines, controlled by humans. They have been in the field for a few years. Tried and tested...”
“Against humans. Demons are different, eh?”
“Ja, but perhaps they cannot be affected by the demons slowing powers.”
“Didn’t you just say the emissaries were controlled by humans?”
“Ja, but...” Hannah’s hands shook as she gestured at Blaidd. “We can try.”
“We can try, eh?” Blaidd turned his back on Hannah. He walked to the cabin door and opened it. Stepping into the corridor, he turned to face Hannah. “I will help you,” Blaidd’s eyes glistened as he stared at her. “For reasons of my own.” Hannah looked away. “Do we have a deal? Eh?”
Hannah forced her head up. Looking into Blaidd’s eyes she nodded. “Ja, we have a deal.”
“Good,” Blaidd reached for the handle of the door. “Get dressed Fräulein. I will meet you in the lounge at dawn.” He nodded toward the porthole. “We will be in German waters soon. I hope your friend Mr. Wallendorf is ready to fight. It won’t be long now, eh?” Blaidd closed the door.
Hannah stuffed the telegram back inside the drawer, closing it with her hip. Crossing the floor of the cabin, she reached under the bed and pulled out the dirty clothes she had worn before boarding The Regal Giant. Dusting off the dirt, she hung the corset jacket and trousers on a hanger next to her gown. She tossed the boots into the corner of the cabin. With the bladed-knuckles from beneath her pillow and the sewing kit from the bathroom, Hannah began modifying the emerald evening gown, removing excess ruffles and making practical use of the bands, ribbons and belts.
Sewing well into the night, Hannah crawled into her bed a few hours before the dawn. Closing her eyes as the steamjammer swept past the coastline as the sand and heath of Holland merged with the islands bordering the Wadden Sea of her homeland.
҉
Noonan twisted to look up at the door as it closed with a dull clang. Flicking his head to follow the click and tick of movement in the brass conduits, Noonan ducked beneath a row of pipes, moving deeper into the bridge. Globes of sodium crystals lit Noonan’s way as he wound his way up, over and between a web of pipes, ticking with steam here, cooling with beads of condensation there, weaving their way into a nest of pipes at the centre, the heart of The Amphitrite. Noonan crouched beside the dense web of pipes, shifting his head back and forth for the best angle. He peered inside.
The ticking and clicking increased, illuminating the bridge with a burst of energy directed at the lighting globes, revealing a hunched form deep inside the nest. Noonan pressed his head against the cooler pipes in front of him.
“Captain?” Noonan strained to see clearly. “I am Major Noonan.”
The form within the nest of brass pipes turned to the rhythm of the throbbing in Noonan’s fingers. Pulsing, beating, turning, the form took the shape of the head and upper body of a human punctured with rubber tubes, fused with brass fittings screwed into its clavicle and sternum. The clicking and ticking increased. The head, devoid of hair and encased in white porcelain traced with thin red veins, turned. Noonan held his breath as the eyes, two ceramic balls with crystal irises set in separate brass gimbals, swivelled to stare at the Major. A whistle blew, increasing in intensity until Noonan, covering his ears with his wrists, staggered backward, away from the nest.
Noonan paused as the whistle faded. Looking around the nest of pipes, he spotted several glass pipes, following them with his eyes as they pumped blood into and out of the Captain’s body. A sallow viscous fluid glooped into the centre of the nest from a thick glass tube directly above the Captai
n, drops of the liquid sticking to the inside of the tube before gaining sufficient weight to continue their journey. Noonan moved around the nest, searching the bridge for more clues to the Captain’s condition.
Stooping beneath a glass display the colour of a bluebottle’s thorax, Noonan reached out to trace the symbols glowing beneath the surface of the glass. He flinched at the cool glass beneath his touch, the symbols dancing away from his finger. A piff of steam blew warm air across the surface of the display. Noonan traced a greeting in the beads of condensation. The whistle blew a short, gentle blast in reply.
“Ah,” Noonan smiled. “So this is how Egmont communicates with you, Captain.” Settling his hand into a more comfortable position, Noonan traced simple questions in the condensation with every new piff of steam covering the display. “I suppose questions to which one can answer yes and no are preferred.” Noonan smiled as the Captain whistled confirmation.
As the whistle of the Captain’s final answer slowed to a thin exhale, Noonan worked his way back to the ladder. Gripping a rung with his good hand, he took another look at the Captain’s nest. Between the pipes, the crystal irises shone gold, once, and then they were gone. Noonan climbed the ladder, clambering out onto the deck as Egmont swung the door open.
“Well, Major,” Egmont waited for Noonan to pass him before closing the door to the bridge. “Did you meet the Captain?”
“Yes,” Noonan nodded. “At least, I am pretty sure that thing is or was the Captain?”
“Yes,” Egmont shifted upon his foot.
“Was he alive when they...”
“Very much so.”
“And he consented to having these things done to him?” Noonan glanced at Smith before turning back to face the Admiral.
“Yes,” Egmont his weight upon his foot. “Prior to his accident, the Captain lived a vigorous life. Considering that he was about to die, following a terrible crash and fire, he opted for a fate a little less than death.”
“Was his name,” Noonan pointed at the door, “Cairn?”
“Cairn?” Egmont shook his head. “No. The Captain’s name was Price. Now he is known only as The Amphitrite. Smith and I were given a dossier to read on boarding. While you were stowing your gear, we were learning about our Captain and his ship.”
“Airship, Admiral. I must insist.” Smith interrupted. “Cairn, the man you are referring to, was indeed a part of the crew of The Amphitrite. He too suffered an accident, on this very airship. He was given his own command on his recovery. I believe he may have left the service to captain The Scotsman.”
“Are we in such demand for Captains of airships that we must reincarnate them? Clutching them from the jaws of death, or vicious injury?” Noonan leaned back against the railing. He raised his bandaged hand. “This then could be a promotion,” he shook his head.
“You never know, Major. Sometimes one’s sacrifices speak louder than one’s actions, and the rewards can be greater than the obvious impairments.” Egmont lifted the stump of his right leg. “Point in fact.” Grinning, Egmont reached up to grab the guideline running the length of the walkway. “Speaking of sacrifices, we must make ourselves ready to come alongside our quarry. Come, Major. It is time for action.” Egmont gripped the guideline and hopped past him. Pausing for a moment, he prodded Noonan’s chest with a pudgy finger. “Can you still shoot, Major?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes he can, Admiral. I will help him.” Smith gripped Noonan’s elbow. “Come Major. We need to collect your jezail and get on top of the gasbag.”
“I will go aft and stand ready at the stern hatch. If Luise and Hari Singh are onboard The Scotsman, then we shall have to be ready to help them off. Good luck, men.” Egmont swung his way along the walkway, tugging at the guideline as he pushed off with his foot.
“To your cabin, Major,” Smith guided Noonan along the walkway. “We will have to move a little faster than this if we are to keep up with the Admiral. Don’t you think?”
Noonan let Smith guide him along the walkway. Pausing at the hatch, he waited as Smith spun the dogs open and lifted it.
“After you, Major,” Smith gestured at the ladder.
“Mr. Smith,” Noonan pursed his lips.
“Yes?”
“The Captain is capable of thought...”
“Yes, of course,” Smith nodded. “It said so in the dossier.”
“I know,” Noonan took a deep breath. “I communicated with him,” he turned to point toward the bridge. “Using the communication device on the bridge, at the rear of the Captain’s,” he paused, “nest.”
“Quite an appropriate description,” Smith nodded. “I have not had the pleasure of actually meeting the Captain, but the drawings in the dossier were superbly detailed.” He paused. “What is on your mind, Major?”
Looking Smith in the eye, Noonan clutched his bandaged hand. “I just wondered if anyone had ever thought to ask the Captain how he feels now,” he shrugged. “If they have thought to ask him if he wishes to continue as he is?”
“Well, Major,” Smith placed his hand on Noonan’s shoulder. “Perhaps, when this is all over, you should be the one to ask him?”
“I think I will,” Noonan smiled at Smith as dropped though the hatch and stood on the top rung of the ladder. Hooking his arm around the rung, Noonan descended until he could reach the Lightning Jezail with his good hand. Pulling it out of the cabin by the barrel, he handed it to Smith.
“Now then,” Smith’s eyes gleamed in the sodium light as he pulled the rifle out of Noonan’s grasp. Holding it before him in one hand, Smith smoothed his fingers over the stock and the charging handle. “This,” he grinned at Noonan as the Major clambered through the hatch and onto the walkway, “this takes me back to my campaigning days.” Gripping the rifle, Smith tugged the stock into his shoulder and sighted down the barrel toward the stern hatch at the end of the walkway. Pinching one eye closed, Smith tickled his finger around the trigger guard.
“It doesn’t look like you will be helping me to shoot, Mr. Smith. On the contrary,” Noonan opened a flap in the stock of the rifle and removed a handful of copper-infused lead musket balls, “I think I will be assisting you.”
Chapter 15
The Flying Scotsman
In the skies above Denmark
June, 1851
Cairn paced around the bridge of The Flying Scotsman, clawing at the scars creasing his skin with irritating red lines. His eyes, speckled red and puffy, stared at Luise as she sat, tight-lipped, between two German soldiers. The bustling whisper of passengers entering the dining lounge crept through the Captain’s galley, tickling the air with chatter. Cairn stopped in front of Luise.
“The cranking handle for the machine,” Cairn flexed the fingers of his left hand. “Where is it?”
“In my satchel,” Luise flicked her eyes at Oberleutnant Blom. She clutched her stomach. “Where I told you it was.” Turning back to Cairn, she focused on a spot in the distance, beyond his right ear.
“Then you have a secret compartment, or you have hidden it somewhere. Jacques,” Cairn wheeled around to face his nephew. “Did she stop on the way up to the bridge?”
Jacques cast a quick glance at Luise. The guards pinched the shoulders of her jacket, tightening their grip. “Yes,” Jacques nodded. “She stopped to make some notes.”
“Notes? What do I care about notes?” Cairn turned back to Luise. “You must have hidden the handle when you wrote your notes.” A pale liquid welled upon the Captain’s eyelashes as he narrowed his eyes, dripping through the tiny hairs as he pressed his face close to Luise’s. “If you have the handle hidden upon your body,” Cairn paused. He flicked his eyes at the two soldiers. “I am sure these men will enjoy searching for it.”
Luise ignored Cairn. Her fingers turned white as she clasped her hands over her stomach, staring toward the balcony. “The handle,” Luise breathed, “is inside the satchel.”
“Clearly,” Cairn thrust his arm in Blom’s d
irection, “it is not.”
Luise flicked her head toward Cairn. She looked him in the eye. “Your German friend is not looking hard enough. Or perhaps he has found it, and wishes to keep it for himself.”
“Oh,” Cairn laughed. “Very clever, Miss Hanover.” Taking a step backward, he wagged his finger in the air between them. “You wish to incite distrust and to create tension. Tell me,” he jabbed his finger in front of Luise’s face, “is there not tension enough in this room?”
“My notes,” Luise whispered.
“What?”
She looked up at Cairn. “Jacques mentioned my taking notes. Let me tell you about them.”
“Why am I interested in these notes?” Cairn pointed at Blom. “When all I need,” he smiled as Blom pulled the handle from deep within the satchel, “is that.”
“A secret compartment,” Blom grinned. “A canvas flap sewn into the bottom of the satchel.”
“There,” Cairn strode over to the German. Holding out his hand, he nodded as Blom placed the cranking handle into his palm. “We can begin.”
“You can,” Luise’s knees shook as she fidgeted her feet up and down. “But let me have my notes.” She stilled her knees with her left hand. “I think, maybe, I can help you.”
“You didn’t believe so before?” Cairn frowned. “Why the change of heart?” He looked around the bridge. “Was it really that simple? Why, I should have thrown Mr. Singh from the airship earlier.” The Germans laughed together with Cairn.
“No,” Luise wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “That would not have helped.”
“Then why will you help now?” Cairn held out his hand for the satchel.
“Because,” Luise closed her fingers tight around her knees. “Because I am curious,” she looked at the balcony. “I am sorry, Hari,” she mouthed. Turning to Cairn, Luise took a deep breath. “Since London, I have been communicating with,” she paused, “a demon. A powerful one, I presume.”
