by K. G. McAbee
He waited, his heart in his mouth, to see the result of his words.
Kurt dropped his handkerchief and turned to face Sheridan, his eyes blazing. “The greatest country is Germany, sir, as all men know! And this,” he waved his hand about, “this, sir, is the result of Germany allowing England to exist!”
“Allowing, Herr Oberst?” Sheridan began, but before he could go on, a piteous moan pierced the dank air.
Now, at long last, Kurt drew his pistol. “It came from that hut,” he said, and suddenly the oberst sounded worried. “Come, Mister Sheridan. That was no sound a lizard-man could make. Come and you shall have your proof, incontrovertible proof! Proof that anyone on any planet will accept, must accept.”
He headed for the hut, Sheridan on his heels. They burst through the open door at the same time.
Inside, a tall, dark-haired man lay on the dirt floor, his arms and legs tightly bound.
“You see, Mister Sheridan?” Kurt pointed his revolver at the man’s head. “This is an Englishman.”
The bound man shook his head. “I’m no…bloody Englishman. I’m Irish.” He gasped and blinked his eyes, and Sheridan saw calculation, calculation and fear in their bright blue depths. “Two Englishmen…I tried to stop them…they got away…vicious, savage…gone now, long gone…murderers. Murderers!”
“The poor fellow,” said Kurt, holstering his weapon. “He tried to stop this carnage, only to be taken down by the British.”
Sheridan dropped to his knees and began sawing through the man’s bonds with his pocketknife. “There, there, poor fellow, you’re safe now.”
The ropes fell way, and the man sat up. He gingerly laid a finger to the back of his head and winced.
“I thank you both indeed,” he said. “My name’s Simon O’Rourke. I tried to stop the slaughter, but they were too strong, too well-armed for me.”
“Who was it, Mister…O’Rourke, is it?” asked Kurt.
“British soldiers,” said O’Rourke. “Without a doubt. If you hurry, you may be able to capture them. But have a care. They will shoot first, and ask questions later.”
Sheridan was examining the back of O’Rourke’s head. He stood up, dusting his hands off. “No time for that now, I’m afraid. This man needs medical attention.”
“Of course,” Kurt said smoothly. “We shall take him back with us, and you can interview him for your paper. I’m sure he will confirm my worst suspicions, that the British were behind this dastardly attack.”
“Oh, never you fear, sir,” said the Irishman as Sheridan helped him back to his feet. “But if I were you, I’d send someone out after the fiends who did this.”
“Only two, you said, O’Rourke?” Sheridan asked as two of the crewmen took the burden of the wounded man, an arm over each shoulder. “That seems odd to me. Even in such a small village, surely they would suspect some sort of resistance. Two seems hardly enough.”
“Well, sir,” he said weakly as he was half dragged, half carried out of the hut, “that’s just like them. Arrogance is the middle name of the British.” Then O’Rourke went on hurriedly, “And perhaps there may have been more. All I can say is, shoot first if you see them, for they won’t hesitate to do the same.”
“Let’s get back to the ship,” Kurt ordered.
Sheridan asked nothing better. “I just hope we don’t run into danger on the way.”
20.
Acrobatic Ability
Nathanial crouched behind a squat tree covered in leathery leaves.
“What do you see, Nathanial?” hissed Jericho, who lay flat behind him.
“No guards on this side,” Nathanial whispered as he ducked back down. “And there were none on the port side either.”
“It’s almost as if they know there’s nothing to fear, isn’t it?” asked Annabelle grimly.
She had strung her bow, attached the twine to the back of an arrow and tied the other end of it to the rope, which lay in a coil at her feet. She studied her target. Nathanial watched as her breathing slowed and an intense look came into her lovely eyes.
“Can you do this, Annabelle?” he asked, suddenly overcome with the thought of what they were getting themselves into. “Perhaps it would be better if we simply give ourselves up after all?”
She glared at him. “Oh, certainly. With the two of you wearing British uniforms, armed with British weapons, and all those poor dead lizard-men in the camp. We’d be shot on sight. Now stop bothering me, Nathanial. I’ve got to get us onboard that airship.”
Annabelle scrambled up the side of a pile of boulders, squatted and took aim.
Nathanial held his breath.
With a twang which seemed far too loud, her arrow arced skyward, trailing the rope behind it. An instant later, it had entangled itself in the nest of rigging on the starboard side.
Annabelle gave a gentle pull.
The arrow pulled loose, caught for a heart-rending second…then came loose and fell.
“Never mind,” Annabelle said as she gathered the rope up and reset her arrow. “I see what I need to do now.”
With hardly a pause for consideration this time, she pulled her bow and sent her arrow at a less abrupt arc. It flew higher, higher, and shot over a heavy line, then began to fall.
“Hold onto the rope, Giles, while we fetch my arrow,” she said calmly. “I believe I’ve managed it.”
“You’re wonderful,” breathed Giles.
Nathanial scrambled out and grabbed the arrow after it fell to the ground. He pulled the twine until he had the rope in hand and gave it a tug.
It held, it held!
“Now, Nathanial,” Annabelle said with a grin as she put her bow carefully down beside Jericho, “we’re almost there. Let’s see how good I am at shinnying up a rope.”
“Absolutely not.” Nathanial was already climbing up higher on the rock pile. “Stand by.”
He looped the rope loosely about his waist and began climbing, hand over hand. He amazed himself at his ability.
In only a few moments—though he was gasping for air and his shoulders had fire running through them and all the skin seemed to be gone from his palms—Nathanial was able to boost himself over the edge of the deck. He took a quick look around.
His luck seemed to be in, for a change. A rope ladder was secured to a bulkhead almost directly in front of him.
In less than five minutes, he had assisted Jericho, Annabelle and the hulking Thymon onboard the zeppelin.
“Now,” said Annabelle, an arrow knocked in her bowstring, “shall we see what’s what?”
21.
The Truth, At Last
For the third time, Kurt shouted, “Lower the cage!”
Silence from above. No sign of movement. No sign of anyone onboard. The Rheingold floated serenely in the intense blue sky, like some enormous child’s toy balloon. It was obviously manned. Gentle puffs of steam flowed from the engine room exhausts at the stern, following the outward curves of the massive air bags.
But why did no one reply to their hails? Why could no one be seen on the deck, the bridge?
Sheridan looked around nervously. Suddenly, the encroaching jungle felt like some great threatening beast, crouched and ready to spring.
Then, just as he was opening his mouth to speak—though he was not sure afterwards what he had planned to say—the creak of the winch came down below. Quite the loveliest sound he’d ever heard, he thought.
The cage reached the bottom, then slid a bit as a gust of wind shoved it.
“I think we should send this poor wounded man up first,” Sheridan said. “I’ll wait below, if you wish to go with him.”
“I would not dream of it,” Kurt said. “You and I shall both ride up with him.”
With the help of the crewmen—who did not, Sheridan noticed, look happy to be remaining below—they got O’Rourke into the small cage and crowded in beside him.
“It won’t be long now,” Sheridan reassured the man. “We’ll get a bandage on you and somethin
g to lessen the pain.”
“Irish whiskey would be the very thing,” said O’Rourke jovially, then winced as the cage swung in the freshening breeze. “Though I doubt if such a thing could be found.”
“Well,” Sheridan said, “perhaps not anywhere near here…except in my luggage.”
“You, sir, are a prince among men.” O’Rourke smiled weakly.
The winch drew the cage ever higher until at last it slid home into the bracket which held it in place on the deck.
Sheridan helped O’Rourke out of the cage. Kurt followed, not deigning to offer his own assistance.
“Hands up!” said a voice.
“Bloody hell!” snapped O’Rourke. He crumpled to the deck, his hands raised over his head.
Kurt grabbed for the revolver in his belt, and Sheridan scrambled for his own Colt. But before he could draw his weapon, Sheridan felt the cold barrel of a gun at the back of his head.
He raised his hands over his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kurt being roughly relieved of his gun.
Then, the very last voice he expected to hear said, “Why, Joseph Lewis Sheridan, whatever are you doing here on Venus?” It was Annabelle Somerset.
* * *
Sheridan took another sip of his whiskey. “I still can’t believe it, Miss Annabelle. Why, it’s as good as one of Mister Senarens’ stories in a dime novel!”
Annabelle laughed. “It’s better by far, you must admit. Why, even Luis Senarens, the American Jules Verne, would never have been able to come up with such a tale!”
A distant pounding echoed from the cabins.
“Our friends sound a bit angry, do they not?” asked Jericho.
“They will have plenty of time to calm down once they are all in a British prison,” laughed Nathanial from behind the wheel of the airship. “No doubt, Herr Kurt will spend some time in one, unless he’s hanged first. Still, Mr. Forbes-Hamilton will enjoy spending time examining this rather stunning zeppelin, will he not? I see no reason to hurry it back to the Germans, after all.”
The five of them were on the bridge of the Rheingold heading towards the Victoria plateau. Kurt, O’Rourke and all the crew were locked in three separate staterooms, with Thymon, armed with his heavy war club and a selection of other weapons, on guard outside.
“He will indeed,” said Jericho as he poured more of Kurt’s best brandy into his glass. He stood at the controls of the zeppelin and had proved to be quite a competent pilot.
“And don’t try to fool me, Nathanial,” Annabelle laughed. “You’re looking forward to a good look round the engine room yourself. Why, I’m surprised you’re not down there this minute!”
Nathanial nodded as Jericho made a slight correction to their course. “I confess, I should enjoy it a great deal. Only one thing I insist upon, Annabelle. The rest of our time on Venus must be spent on the Victoria plateau. No more gallivanting off into the jungles for me.”
“Nathanial, for once, I agree.” Annabelle turned to Sheridan. “Now, my dear Joseph, you have all the information you need to send back home, I take it?”
Sheridan had set his drink down and was busily scribbling in his notebook. He finished a line, shut it with a snap and looked up. “I have the story of the perfidious Germans all straight, I believe. And it’s a deucedly good thing they weren’t able to carry it through, or something really bad could have been stirred up back home. I was their dupe; I admit it freely. Their bad luck was involving quite the bravest and most amazing woman in the System in their plans.” He turned to Jericho. “I was the first newspaperman to interview Miss Somerset when she appeared from nowhere after her time lost in the deserts, and my opinion of her was set in stone that very day. She is without peer.”
“Oh, she’s the most marvellous creature!” Jericho agreed.
“Oh, dear,” said Annabelle in confusion.
Good Lord, Nathanial thought in irritation. What will the girl get into next?
Epilogue
The gardens at the Governor’s Mansion at Fort Collingwood glowed like a fairyland. Lanterns in the tall kalsa trees shed shimmering light on the crowds as they ate, drank and talked.
Nathanial wandered through the sweet smells from the night-blooming plants as he nodded and spoke to various members of the party. It was both a celebratory and a farewell affair, for he and Annabelle were leaving soon.
He passed a small group of lizard-men servants near the long buffet table. They were gathered around Thymon, who displayed his new medal on a wide red ribbon about his neck. The others were looking at it admiringly; when one reached out to touch it, Thymon growled warningly.
Nathanial smiled and moved on, greeting the many who spoke to him but not pausing in his quest. He was looking for Annabelle.
Their arrival in the Rheingold at Fort David a week ago had caused quite a sensation there, and a flurry of telegraphs and heliographs had sent their story rocketing across the plateau. Mr Forbes-Hamilton had examined the zeppelin to his heart’s delight while Kurt had complained loudly about the insult and threatened all sorts of horrible results. After a talk with Sheridan, however, and many discussions with the Governor of the British colony, Kurt had subsided. Finally, the oberst and his ship had been allowed to depart for the German territory, their collective tails between their collective legs.
Simon O’Rourke, Nathanial was happy to know, was securely ensconced in the most secure prison on the plateau. No one believed his ridiculous tale of a dastardly German conspiracy to run the British off of Venus, and Kurt had disavowed all knowledge of the man and his stories.
“There you are, old man!” Jericho hurried up, his face nearly back to its normal healthy ruddiness, but his arm in a sling. After all their adventures, Jericho had taken a tumble coming down a gangplank on their first day back at Fort Collingwood and broken it. “I want to thank you one last time before you leave.” He thrust out his hand and Nathanial gave it a hearty shake.
“I take it you no longer fear for your position here?” Stone asked with a smile.
“Fear for it?” Jericho shook his head. “Why, I’m the fair-haired boy about here.”
“So you will no longer have to be nanny to Mister Forbes-Hamilton, I take it?” Nathanial asked.
“Well, about that, my dear fellow.” Jericho looked embarrassed. “I believe I’ve seen a bit more in the gentleman than I did at first. He’s really rather brilliant, you know—oh, not anywhere near your league, of course—and I’ve been asked to stay with him and help him with his new designs. With a promotion, mind you,” he pointed out cheerfully, “and a few other bits and bobs to go on with. After your suggestions, and the things he learned from examining the zeppelin, dear old F-H has some smashing new ideas. Really, I believe I shall quite enjoy it.”
“Excellent,” Nathanial said, pleased for his friend. “Though I cannot say I was all that much help. In fact, I feel I have learned more than I have taught.”
Annabelle came up just then, appearing out of a crowd of admiring gentlemen and dressed in a rather stunning gown. Nathanial hid a smile when he detected her usual serviceable boots peeking out below the hem.
“Giles! Nathanial! You will never guess what has happened!” She seized Nathanial’s hand and smiled happily at Jericho.
“What is that, Annabelle?” Jericho’s happy look had disappeared as if it had been wiped away.
Was the lad actually going to miss Annabelle? Nathanial could not conceive of such a thing, especially after all the trouble she’d gotten them both into. But he was aware that Jericho harboured tender feelings for her, and more than a bit of jealousy towards him.
“Not more gifts?” Nathanial asked cheerfully. “Really, if you are given anything else, we shall not be able to get it all onboard the next ship.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Annabelle said, waving her hand airily. “I shall simply leave everything here for a while, at least until we return from our little pleasure jaunt.”
Nathanial felt his h
eart sink, and his cheerful mood dissipated like fog on a windy morning.
“Do you not think we have seen quite enough of Venus, Annabelle?” he asked.
“Oh, I do, Nathanial,” she said earnestly. “I do indeed, lovely though I find it here.”
Nathanial let out a sigh of relief. “Well, then. Good.” Then he remembered what she’d just said. “But what do you mean, a little pleasure jaunt? We are leaving for Earth in a few days, as soon as the next aether liner arrives.”
“Oh, that,” said Annabelle with a happy sigh. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back in plenty of time for that. No, my dear boy. Just imagine! We’re off to Mercury in the morning!”
The End
Coming October 2011
“The Ghosts of Mercury” by Mark Michalowski
