Fires of Hell: The Alchemystic

by Maureen L. Mills

  Reuben shrugged, shifting the coal bag on his shoulder into a more comfortable position. “It’s gone now. Briggs and Son. Went out of business when Captain Briggs died a few years back. We crewmen were known as Briggs’ Brigadiers.” He sighed, lost in the memory. “Great uniforms. Lots of flash.”

  “How… nice,” I replied, quite certain flashy uniforms were not on my list of must-haves for employment.

  “I’m sure other airships will take you on, if only to pick your brains for Chief Butterfield’s innovations.”

  “A good percentage of them are mine!” I exclaimed, stung by his off-hand comment.

  “And you’ll show them that,” he said. “Think about it.” He shouldered me aside as he hauled the coal bag out onto the deck and off the ship.

  He could not have known with what mixed emotions I currently considered Mr. Fairlane’s offer. Damn my stupid promise to help Josiah. Damn Obadiah’s weak heart, for forcing the man to exact that promise from me. And damn Captain Rollins, too, for not telling his own son about me. I suppose that showed the lack of import he placed upon our friendship.

  The biggest damn of all went to Josiah. Damn him for forcing me away from the beloved home I’d known for most of my life, plus many who I considered family—for I could not stay with the Mercury if that man was aboard.

  Damn, damn, damn! The oaths echoed in my mind to the rhythm of my footsteps across the pine planks and rungs as I swarmed up the superstructure to mend the hot air gasbag. One trip. That’s all I’d give Josiah. Just one trip for him to get acquainted with the Mercury. Then I’d leave. I would grow to love another ship in time, surely.

  But I still had to get through our present mission—a task someone might be trying to sabotage. The slash in the silk bag had been put there on purpose. How else to explain the neat, unfrayed edges? Why else seal the cut with pitch so it would fail under the temperatures and stresses of flight? Too, what about the metal pellet that had nearly caused the tow horse to bolt the day we’d landed back in London carrying Captain Rollins’ body?

  I had to tell Josiah—as soon as we’d both had time to calm down and be reasonable. Although reason had very little to do with any of our interactions so far.

  I donned the safety harness and clipped it to the upper frame around the bag. Preparing a curved needle with strong, silk thread and leaning far out over the silver-gray bag, I stitched the patch in place.

  Could it be one of the crew? Who else would have access to Wormwood Airfield, the Mercury’s airbag, and our flight schedule?

  The ground crews, for one. Well, scores, more like. We had men stationed at airfields all over the Continent to pump water to the ship, haul coal, care for the tow horses, and load necessary supplies of foodstuffs and other conveniences. We also had a man at every field to coordinate the various crews.

  Not to mention the factions that might be stalking Mr. Jones, our important government passenger. True, the horse had been injured well before I, or the rest of the crew, had known of his mission. But everyone knew we were the preferred company to handle these sorts of hush-and-rush flights. Perhaps someone in the know about such clandestine operations could have staged a preemptive strike.

  A bit of a stretch, perhaps, as theories go, but I found it more palatable than to believe one of my own crewmembers had betrayed us. Who among us would I suspect? Henry McDonnell? He’d been with Captain Rollins for longer than I had been. He would never betray the company. Benjamin Tibbett? The boy desperately desired a career in the air corps. He would not risk his future by sabotaging the first ship he ever worked on. Lieutenant Whitcomb? He was far too starched and upright for a task so underhanded. Reuben? I could not imagine my friend taking anything so seriously, he would risk our safety to achieve his goal.

  No, the culprit had to be someone from the outside.

  I stifled a yawn on my shoulder, my hands busy with needle and thread, and gave my head a brisk shake in order to clear away the cobwebs. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bunk and sleep for twelve hours straight.

  But sleep would have to wait. As soon as I finished the patch, I intended to begin a series of patrols designed to keep as much of the ship as possible under my direct supervision until the Mercury was safely in the air. Nothing and no one would disrupt the remainder of our journey.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I worked as fast as I could, but the repairs to the envelope still took longer than I would have liked; over an hour—an hour that would have been better spent in the air on our way to Rome. Finally, satisfied my patch would hold until we returned to England where I could replace the entire panel, I descended to find that Mr. Jones had left on unspecified business, perhaps in some narrow, disreputable backstreet. Or in a governmental office, which was nearly as distasteful, to my mind.

  I would not have sewn so frantically if I’d known our passenger had extended business here. How like Whitcomb to neglect to inform me of the fact. Annoying man.

  On the bright side, Josiah had disappeared as well, either into the airfield’s tower or into town on business of his own. I didn’t know and didn’t care. It gave me a legitimate reason to avoid the confrontation that would surely come from trying to convince the man someone had deliberately cut the Mercury’s airbag.

  I dashed off a concise note detailing the evidence of sabotage, slid it under the door of Josiah’s cabin and, having done all in my power to warn him, I nipped into the galley for a mug of tea. I found a pile of onions, garlic, and other spices and leafy herbs beside Henry’s largest stockpot, but no Henry.

  Benjamin ran in as I filled the kettle. His hair stuck straight up on one side as if he’d fallen asleep leaning against a bulkhead. Dark circles underscored his eyes. “Mister McDonnell’s out to buy some fish for the boo-la-base.” He took the kettle from me and set it on the stove. “He left me in charge of the kitchen until he gets back. I’ll bring your cuppa directly.”

  “I’ll be out inspecting the ship. Could you come find me when the tea’s ready? And make it strong, please.” I stifled a yawn, triggering an echoing yawn from Benjamin as I left to tend my engines.

  Within ten minutes, fires stoked, mug in hand, I began to patrol the ship.

  * * *

  Mr. Jones returned shortly before noon, and we were aloft by the time the pealing of cathedral bells floated over the city, announcing the hour. The stomach-rumbling scent of sautéing onions, garlic, fennel, thyme, and fresh fish drifted into the engine room as we powered away from the port and over the stretch of ocean separating Marseille from Italy’s shore.

  My eyes burned from lack of sleep, and I was staggering despite the airmen’s tea I had gulped during my perambulations about the deck, checking and re-checking every possible problem area of the ship. Grateful the ocean winds were calm, I called for Benjamin to stoke the fires for a few hours, and climbed into my berth for a nap.

  We were well away from shore when the dinner bell rang, rousing me from unconsciousness. I rolled groggily upright, yawning as I dismissed Benjamin, and hastened to check the fires and the engine before I stepped out into the corridor.

  Reuben passed me in the corridor, a bowl of the iconic Marseille bouillabaisse in hand. He gave me a cheerful, if a bit weary, smile. “Got the helm while the cap’n sups with our important passenger,” he said, and moved out onto the deck, taking the stairs to the bridge two at a time. Weary he might be, but not a drop of broth slopped over the edge of his tin bowl.

  I sat at the counter beside Benjamin and dug into the rich fish stew, the savory broth ladled over thick slabs of country bread slathered with spicy mayonnaise, the fish heaped on a platter in the center of the wooden countertop. Henry hefted another platter and rounded the counter, carrying it to the table where Mr. Jones and Lieutenant Whitcomb already sat. Josiah entered, as pressed, polished, and handsome as ever despite the harrowing night. He took the chair not two feet from my back, but never so much as glanced in my direction. He leaned over the table to greet Mr. Jones.r />
  I resolved not look at him, either, although it felt as if his presence created its own gravity that held my attention as the earth held the moon in its orbit. I fastened my gaze on Henry, instead. He rubbed his gnarled, veiny hands as he moved behind the counter to his own meal.

  “Your arthritis acting up again, Henry?” I asked, concerned enough for the old man to tear myself from Josiah’s gravitational influence.

  Henry shrugged, transferring his rubbing to his stomach. “Hands goin’ a bit numb. Imagine it’s a spot of indigestion.”

  I was not aware of a form of indigestion that caused the hands to go numb. “Are you sure?”

  “Dinna fash yourself, lass,” he grumped back. “Eat yer luncheon.” He let loose a bit of breeze not calculated to improve my appetite.

  I pretended not to notice either the sound or the foul odor, although Benjamin nearly fell off his stool with chortling. Determinedly, I applied myself to enjoying Henry’s excellent cooking.

  * * *

  The first stomach pangs hit me not half an hour later, as I checked the water tank levels. The lining of my stomach burned like it was on fire and someone was trying to smother it by twisting my guts closed. I barely made it to the coal scuttle before my body forcefully rejected every last bit of bouillabaisse. The remnants of that morning’s scones came next, followed by everything I had eaten in the last week, it seemed. Perhaps in the last month.

  I collapsed onto the decking beside the scuttle, head whirling. Surely, after such a violent expulsion of all its contents, my stomach would settle.

  But it did not. In fact, my intestines soon made me aware they fully intended to follow my stomach’s example. I managed to stagger the short distance out of the engine room to the head in time, although it was a close-run thing. The brisk air in the corridor chilled the sweat that covered my body, setting off an uncontrollable bout of shivers.

  What in the name of all the saints and magi was wrong with me? Had I been exposed to cholera? Typhus? Some other virulent plague? I did not feel as if I had a fever. No, I felt as if a stick of dynamite had gone off inside my guts.

  Some miserable time later, during a lull in my insides’ rebellion, I heard low moaning from outside the door. Perhaps not only I had taken ill.

  I wiped my sweating brow with a shaking hand and straightened my clothes, wishing I had remembered to grab my coat from its hook beside the engine room door. I needed to see if anyone else were afflicted with these horrible symptoms. The engines needed stoking. We were in the middle of a trans-oceanic flight; I had no more time to waste on physical weakness.

  My feet felt numb, and my legs would barely hold me. My heart raced, stuttered, raced again. I drew in great draughts of air with lungs that felt weighted with lead shot. The air in the stuffy closet of a ship’s head stank so much my stomach nearly rebelled once more. The corridor, as I exited, smelled only marginally better.

  I wobbled across to the galley, where Benjamin crouched over one of Henry’s stewpots as an improvised chamber pot, face whiter than the clouds outside the porthole behind him. Tears streamed down his face, and he did not bother to wipe them away as I entered. Henry’s scuffed and worn boots behind the counter were all I could see of the old man. His labored breathing filled the cabin.

  I went first to Benjamin. Even in my wretched condition, I could probably lift him into his berth. “Come, now, lad. Let’s get you into bed.” I pulled my kerchief from my pocket and wiped the sweat and a dribble of vomit from Benjamin’s face and hauled him to his feet.

  “Am I going to die, Chief Everley?” he asked, his voice faint.

  “Of course not!” I wrapped his arm around my neck and grasped him firmly about the middle. “Not from a bit of the collywobbles. You’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

  “You sound like me mum, Chief.” He sniffled and dragged his sleeve across his face. “I wish she was here,” he added in an even lower tone.

  “No, I sound like my Maman,” I told him. “Only without the accent.”

  I urged him forward across the corridor and into the crew quarters. His was the topmost of the three narrow berths. “Up you go. You don’t have to sick up any more, do you?”

  He moaned again in answer, which I took to mean “maybe.” He fumbled for the edge of the berth, but he was too weak to climb up. I would have to lift him. Unfortunately, my arms felt as limp as if I had been loading coal nonstop for days. I did not know how long I would be able to stay on my own feet, let alone boost Benjamin high enough to get him into bed.

  I sucked in a deep breath, and choked from the vile fumes given off by the bucket Benjamin had been using across the way. I swallowed, and clamped my teeth against the bile that threatened to rise in my throat. Bending, I scooped Benjamin up, blessing the fact that he was such a slight youth.

  Even so, I staggered from the weight, catching myself on the bulkhead to keep from pitching us both head over heels. Benjamin’s berth seemed a very long way up.

  “I’ve got him, Everley.” Josiah’s voice drifted woozily past my ears as he lifted Benjamin from my arms and deposited him briskly into his bunk.

  I had not even noticed that Josiah had entered the cabin. I should have been annoyed with him still, but at the moment all I could think was, Thank God.

  He looked a little less polished, certainly less pressed than I had last seen him. He wore no cravat, and his coat flapped open. The sharp creases in his trousers had melted, becoming crisscrossed with lesser, irregular wrinkles. His dark hair tumbled about his pale, sweat-dewed forehead.

  Even obviously unwell, he looked unfairly striking.

  Benjamin choked, and other tasks became more urgent than my own musings. Rushing to the stewpot Benjamin had been using, I carried it to the galley’s porthole, opened the hinged glass, and tossed the contents overboard. With the empty Mediterranean below, I had no qualms about dumping the vile stuff. I stepped around the counter to get water to rinse the pot.

  Henry lay curled on the floor in the narrow space, his long, gray elflocks dragging in the vomit and worse puddled on the floor around him. His face, usually as dark as ancient maple, resembled clay and a faint blue tinged his lips. His eyes were closed.

  “Henry!” I dropped to my knees beside him, abandoning the pot. If I hadn’t seen his chest rise and heard his breath whistling unevenly, I would have thought him dead.

  He blinked slowly, focusing on me with difficulty. “Won’t get ta kill me in a crash after all, lass.”

  “No,” I told him firmly. “You are going to be fine.” My voice cracked. I pulled his head onto my lap, brushing away as much of the mess from his face as I could with bare hands and the corner of my vest. My kerchief was too soiled from Benjamin to do any good here.

  He sighed, gasped to draw in another breath. “Can’t feel m’ arms nor legs.”

  “Just stay still and breath, you hear? You keep breathing!”

  He grunted, but his chest rose again, if shallowly.

  Josiah appeared from around the counter and crouched on the other side of Henry. “Hold fast, Mister McDonnell. We’ll get you into a bunk and comfortable in a trice.”

  “No use, sir,” Henry gasped. “Devil’s helmet.”

  Devil’s helmet? I’d never heard of that. Was the old man raving?

  Josiah looked grim. “Aconite, do you mean? Poison? Who would want to poison us?” he asked.

  Aconite. I knew of the substance, also called wolf’s bane or the queen of poisons, due to its effectiveness and ready availability. The plant carried pretty blue flowers, and grew in many gardens. It must have been introduced into Henry’s bouillabaisse. We would have noticed the taste if it had been in the tea.

  The mysterious saboteur had struck again. Despite my precautions, I had missed something once more.

  The poison in wolf’s bane could be absorbed through the skin as well as ingested, so it came as no surprise that Henry had been hit so hard. He would have had a lengthy exposure to the toxin as he prepared
our dinner. I could only hope, for the rest of the crew’s sake, that the action of boiling lowered the poison’s efficacy.

  Or perhaps Henry had been mistaken. Maybe it had been bad fish. Not that I truly believed so innocent an explanation.

  “Are you sure, Henry? What is the antidote?” I lifted him higher, trying to ease his breathing. The blue of his lips grew darker.

  “There is no antidote,” Josiah said. “You either ride it out… Or not.”

  I glared up at Josiah’s set, stern face. My arms shook from the strain of holding Henry upright. “There must be something we can do! We can’t just let him die!”

  I felt the rattle in Henry’s chest as his heart fell silent and he let out a final breath. The gruff old African with the Scottish accent and magic way with a saucepan passed away in my arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Henry!” I shook the old cook, shouting in his slack face, trying to get him to take one more breath.

  Josiah laid a hand on my shoulder. “It is too late, Miss Everley. Leave him be.”

  I stilled, startled at his gentle tones. He had never spoken quite so softly to me before. Only then did I realize tears slicked my cheeks, dripping from my chin and nose as if from a leaky pipe.

  I looked down, gathering myself. Henry lay heavy and limp in my lap, eyes staring unseeing at his cook stove, the fire gone as dead as he. I had nearly resigned myself to leaving him, and the rest of the crew, behind when I joined another ship or company. At least I would have had the comfort of knowing he was safe and happy, along with the possibility of running into him on an airfield or at a public house.

  No chance of that now.

  Who had done this? Who was wicked enough to murder first Captain Rollins, and now Henry McDonnell? And what of the rest of us? If we had all been poisoned, would time prove me a liar when I told Benjamin he would be fine tomorrow?