“But why didn’t he tell me?”
“Ah can’t say, miss. But ‘e’s ‘ere on board and we’re ready to leave when ye are.”
The thin man turned and shuffled into the gondola. She remained standing for a moment longer, struggling to keep her chin from rising. Here. Sebastien was here, on the airship. She didn’t know what to think, even less what to feel but she suddenly understood Christien much better. Living with the Mad Lord was like walking along a tight rope – stepping off to either side would result in fury or madness. The skill was in keeping the balance.
Christien, she realized, had simply given up the walk.
“Bad form, Laury,” she growled to herself. “Very bad form.”
And she followed Castlewaite into the gondola as the automatons sealed the door behind her.
***
Sebastien sat on the floor under a porthole of the airship, waiting for the call of the bosun’s pipe. He needed to leave the city, needed to get home as soon as possible. Bad things had happened last night, bad things were continuing to happen. The white horse was an omen and somehow he knew life was going to get worse before it ever got better.
He looked down at his hands, the stars circling between his palms. Ghostlight. Just the thought of her caused the stars to become snowflakes and he watched them dance and spin. She had been his teacher, his mistress, his opiate. He had learned so much from her, could feel her singing still in a glass and iron case in London. The last he’d seen, she’d been sucked into the rushing waters of the Thames along with the rest of St. Katharine’s Docks but he knew that somehow the Ghost Club had found her. Didn’t matter. He could call her anytime. She would come like a shot, despite the iron or the glass.
He had called her sister last night. He had called her name and she had leapt at the touch of his mind. She had opened doors last night, invited him in and he had followed into wonder and terror and death. Always death. Damn the Habsburgs and their petty soldiers and swords. Arclight was his by right. She belonged with him, with the stars and the snow and the dead.
He wondered what they might do if reunited, Ghostlight and Arclight. If together, they might destroy the world, or remake it.
Suddenly, the stars caught fire and a ring of flames leapt to life within his palms. He snatched his hands away and the flames disappeared, leaving the faint scent of gun smoke and sulphur in the air.
“The red horse is next,” Sophie had said. “He will come with fire and a sword, taking peace from the world.”
Fire and brimstone, smoke and mirror. It would all end in fire and madness. A single bullet had changed everything.
There was a pounding and his cabin door rolled aside.
“Miss Savage,” he asked from the floor. “I thought you were staying?”
“How dare you?” she snapped. “How dare you leave me in the carriage after what happened last night? How dare you just walk away without a thought of what I might need or what I might want or how I might feel?”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t. I’m quite convinced of that. I was terrified for you last night, Sebastien. For all of us. What were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?”
“I was thinking, Miss Savage.” He struggled to his feet. “A great deal, in fact, and about you. About how you don’t know what you want—”
“Oh, I know now, Sebastien. What I want is to be returned to English soil so I might figure it out for myself.”
Castlewaite’s whistle called down through the pipes.
“Tower’s given us the all-clear. We’ll be pullin’ out in five, God willin’.”
The Chevalier shuddered as the mooring hooks fell away and they could hear the thunder of the gas in the drums.
“Miss Savage?”
“English soil and that’ll be the end of it. Perhaps you don’t need me at all in your investigations. Perhaps, all you need is another dog.”
And she rolled the door shut behind her.
He stood for a moment, wishing he could have told her any of what had happened last night but he knew it was impossible. She would never kiss him if she knew how utterly unnatural he was.
He reached into a trouser pocket for a slip of folded paper. 1 Rue Victor Cousin, Paris, written in Castlewaite’s scrawled hand. Rupert had telegraphed it last night.
He slipped it back into his pocket as the airship groaned and heaved, leaving the Südbahnhof’s docking tower and the monochrome of Vienna behind.
***
January 30, 1889
Dear Fanny and Franny,
I’m afraid my first foray outside the Empire has been rushed on account of a locket. Yes, another of the accursed things has shewn up in Vienna, at the Emperor’s very party! I won’t go into detail about the scene that was made, just rest assured that it’s be unlikely any of us will be allowed back into the Gilded Empire ever again.
Dear friends, I must ask you both a very serious question. Is it wrong for me to want both a career and a man? I struggle with wanting the one over the other and I never rest on either side. I would be perfectly happy to devote my life to writing and crime solving and I can think of no better way to do this than working with Sebastien de Lacey and his house-full at Seventh. But then, when I am near to him, I find my heart racing, my tongue stammering and I long to steal more than a kiss. It makes me furious to lose so much of what I have fought for, all because of a man!
Is it a betrayal of suffrage or is it simply biology? Must it always be war – heart against head, mind versus emotion? Is it at all possible to have both, or am I simply a greedy girl, as Miss Lizzie Borden has insisted. I wish I knew, for I fear that poor Sebastien will bear the brunt of this battle. And yet, I will be nineteen all of in three weeks, and still never been truly kissed! I wish I could put it out of my mind, but every time I see him, that is my very first thought! Even my own thinking betrays me.
I’m sure I’ll see you both to deliver this in person, as we’re on the airship bound for home at this very moment.
Love to you both, with much confusion,
Ivy
***
She stood on the bridge with Castlewaite, waiting for the ink to dry and watching the Black Forest of Blood and Iron drift below them. The flight had been smooth, the iron pot discarded in a corner, and she was fascinated by the technology required to keep the ship afloat. A large captain’s wheel with three massive brass gears — one controlling the rudder of the main canvas and the others the secondary sails; a series of pedals to angle the propellers; a wall of levers to direct the fins. Compasses, clocks and steam gauges could be monitored from this very room and the large window offered a panoramic view of the forecastle, masts and main deck. He had assured her that an automaton could just as easily pilot the ship and that a helmsman was required purely for the comfort of the passengers. People, it seemed, still needed a human face from time to time.
She was dressed and ready for Lasingstoke. Breeches, red corset over a loose white blouse and of course, very fine boots. Her brother’s peacoat and Rupert’s bowler warmed her as the bridge was rather cold. Even a cup of hot tea couldn’t stop the chills from shaking her to her toes.
“So the wheel controls the rudder, just like in a sailing ship, correct?”
“Much the same, Miss Ivy,” he said. “But in an airship, we ‘ave a rudder, fins, props, sails, jigs, furnaces, trip-masts and o’course, the balloon.”
“Trip-masts?”
“Aw, ye’ll never need ‘em.”
“But what are they?”
“A set o’ masts that crank out of the sides o’ the gondola. They’re canvased and work a bit like wings on a bird, only fer glidin’. Great fer catchin’ an updraft if ye’re a mite too low.” He grinned at her. “It’s summat complicated.”
“Everything is summat complicated, Jerry.”
“Aw, Miss Ivy. ‘is Lordship’s givin’ you a turn, ain’t he?”
“He is, indeed.” She sighed and leaned against a tarn
ished banister, cupping the tea in her hands. “Is it wrong for me to be angry, then? I’m not certain he can help himself. Those lockets are so bloody powerful.”
“We can all ‘elp ourselves, miss,” he said. “But ‘is Lordship’s ‘is own man. ‘e ain’t yers t’fix.”
He pulled down a reticulating hose, attaching it to his eyepiece.
“M’wife Flora tried t’fix me fer years. Drove her nigh mad, Ah did. But Ah knew she loved me, despite it all. And she knew Ah loved ‘er. Ye can forgive much when ye know ye’re loved.”
Both eyepiece and hose clicked once, twice and she grinned.
“So you believe in love, then, Jerry?”
“Ah do, Miss Ivy. Don’t ye?”
“I suppose I do. It’s just well…”
She lifted the cup to her lips, but stopped before it reached.
“Well, things change, don’t they? People change. The world is full of possibilities and you’re going to take them all on together and then, he gives you a ring…and everything changes.”
She shrugged.
“A woman may have a career but if she’s bound for the altar, well, I suppose she is well and truly bound.”
“Yer young t’be so cynical, Miss Ivy.”
“I know. Sad, isn’t it?”
Through the helm window, she could see the entire main deck and forecastle, the furnaces that heated the steam and the cables that held the balloon. She could also see Christien, leaning out over the railing, hair whipping in the fierce winds. She wondered what he was thinking, if he regretted leaving so soon. It was good that she had not married him. The Archduchess was a beautiful, complex woman. There would have been no way of escaping her shadow.
“Are we in France, yet, Jerry?”
“Almost, miss. We’re over Reichsland. A prized bit o’ land, Ah suppose. French and Germans always fightin’ over it, though Ah can’t see why.”
She grinned.
Castlewaite disconnected the hose and slid it her way.
“Now then, take a look ‘ere…”
She peered through as lens upon lens moved across each other like a kaleidoscope. Something began to take shape in the clouds.
“What is it?”
“An airship, miss. Been followin’ us since the Südbahnhof. Ah reckoned it were a sort of escort and also Ah reckoned it would stop once we passed out of Gilded airspace, which we ‘ave indeed done…”
She could make out the balloon, large and easily identified by the twin eagles on the canvas. She swallowed, remembering the Hussars and their sabres and swords.
“Now, move the scope up ten degrees,” he said.
She did, and this time she could have sworn her heart stopped dead in her chest.
“Guess Ah reckoned wrongly, didn’t Ah…”
Above the shape and behind it, there was an entire fleet of airships bearing down on them.
***
Christien flicked his cigarette over the side and leaned over, watching as it whipped away into the clouds. It was damnably cold out here on the main deck even as he stood near one of the three furnaces, the fans blowing heat up into the double canvas. The inner balloon was filled with hydrogen and he’d often wondered at the combination of open flame and combustible gas. But then again, he was a physician, not an engineer and he trusted that some measure of sound design had gone into the engineering. Surely, more of them would have gone up in flames had the combination been even remotely dangerous.
Dangerous. Even the word made him think of her. She had tasted like peaches in brandy. He couldn’t help but smile.
Marie Valerie von Habsburg. She was a loaded pistol, a game of Russian Roulette. She was intoxicating and he was addicted, altogether a new experience for him. Women had never made much of an impression. For the most part, they fawned or they preened, desperate to attract his attention. He had never really cared until Ivy. She had ignored him into curiosity, then captured his imagination with the macabre. He still didn’t understand how. Didn’t matter. She’d moved on to stranger pastures. He’d moved on to wilder ones.
He pulled the glove from his clockwork hand, popped another cigarette when the door from the sterncastle swung open and Sebastien rushed out onto the main. Looking like a mad man, he grabbed the railing and bolted up the steps to the aft deck.
It was impossible to see him from the main, so he lit the cigarette and slowly followed up the narrow stair. Last night, he had hated his brother more than he had ever thought possible. Now, he merely studied him as he leaned over the railing, greatcoat open and whipping in the winds. They were very high up and snow was swirling in the drafts of the propellers but Christien doubted whether his brother could even feel the cold, given his companions were ice, frost and the dead.
He shook his head. Their lives could not have been stranger.
Sebastien was staring over the railing and Christien lowered the cigarette, narrowing his eyes. There were a great many airships on their tail.
“Are those Habsburg ships?”
“They’re flying the twin eagles so yes, I’d wager,” said Sebastien. “I was afraid of this.”
“Of what?”
His brother turned a sideways glance at him. “Can Castlewaite go any faster?”
“Answer my question.”
“There’s been an incident.”
“An incident?”
“Yes. Crown Prince Rudolf is dead.”
Christien slowly exhaled the smoke, stared flatly.
“What did you say?”
“Rudolf is dead.”
Cold swept from his ears to his toes, threatening to sink into his bones, pushing all thoughts of Valerie aside.
“Bastien…?”
“Damnation. They’re gaining.”
“How do you know this, Bastien? He was very much alive when we saw him last night.”
“Arclight shewed me.”
“Arclight.” He crushed the cigarette with his mechanical fingers. “How did Arclight show you when Arclight was with the girl?”
Sebastien looked at him, eyes cycling from brown to blue. Christien felt sick.
“Where did you go last night?”
“We need to go faster…”
And the Mad Lord pushed off from the railing and leapt down the stairs to the deck. Christien looked back at the fleet, shocked to see cannon-fire flash from the largest ship. He could hear the boom over the roar of the propellers, the shrieking whistle as a black object hurtled past, narrowly missing the Chevalier’s port fin before disappearing through the clouds below.
A warning shot, he realized. They’d fired a warning shot.
He tossed his cigarette and bolted after his brother.
***
“Crew of the Chevalier, heave to and prepare to be boarded.”
Ivy skidded onto the main deck as the huge gondola of the Imperial Warship SMAS Stahl Mädchen lowered from the skies. The double canvas and many sails were white, black and gold, the twin-eagled flag of the Gilded Empire whipping from the mizzenmast. She could see gun ports and cannons open like angry mouths. But the thing that made her breath catch in her throat was the fact that the gondola was a charcoal grey and studded with bolts.
“Oh my stars,” she whispered as she fell in between the brothers. “Is that an Ironclad?”
“A dreadnought,” said Christien. “Nothing will pierce that hull.”
“An Ironclad airship? Does Victoria have anything like that?”
“Does it matter?” Christien grunted. “We have two cannons and Sebastien’s pistol. We’re dead in the air.”
Barely visible on the Stahl Mädchen’s deck, three women dressed in funeral black stood in the company of airshipsmen. Gisela in military coat and boots, her blonde hair pulled back severely, twin sabres at her hips. Next to her, Marie Valerie in leather corset, boots, leggings and split skirt, goggles perched on her elegant forehead. Behind them both, the ghost in steel, furs and porcelain mask.
“Surrender the criminal and the ship wi
ll be spared,” boomed Gisela, through a loud-hailer. “If not, prepare to be blown from the skies. You have one minute.”
“The criminal?” asked Ivy. “What is she talking about?”
“Crown Prince Rudolf is dead,” said Christien, clutching the railing with both hands.
“What?”
“Ask Bastien.”
“Sebastien? What is he talking about?”
“The dead and I are on intimate terms, Miss Savage,” said the Mad Lord. “And there were many dead last night.”
“But surely they can’t suspect you. You were…you were…”
“Thirty seconds!” boomed Gisela over the roar of the Stahl Mädchen’s engines.
“Sebastien?”
“Not to worry, Miss Savage. I can stop the cannons.”
“How the hell can you stop the cannons, Bastien?” growled Christien.
“Arclight is on the dreadnought.”
“So? What does that mean?”
“Sebastien?” Ivy looked up at him. “Where did you go?”
“To Hell, Miss Savage,” he said as he raised his hands, eyes beginning to cycle from blue to silver. “I went to Hell.”
And just like in the ballroom of the Hofburg, orbs of silver sprang into life in the space between his palms. Mirrors twisted, folded, circled through the expanse of sky between the airships toward the Stahl Mädchen until they met the dreadnought’s deck like a swarm of wasps. Swords drawn, airshipsmen surrounded the Habsburg princesses but with every slice of a sabre, the orbs split and multiplied like soap bubbles.
A cannon was wheeled onto the dreadnought’s iron deck. In it’s mouth was a hook the size of a calf.
“Damnation,” said Christien. “It’s a grappling hook. They intend to draw us close enough for their corvus.”
“A corvus?” repeated Ivy. “Is that a boarding ramp?”
She could see it, a metal bridge pulled taut on an hydraulic spring, with spikes like the fangs of an iron adder.
“Chevalier! Prepare to be boarded!”
“I can stop the cannons,” said Sebastien.
“Then, you’d bloody well better do it now!”
Cold Stone & Ivy Book 2: The Crown Prince (The Empire of Steam) Page 8
