Romulus Buckle and the Luminiferous Aether (The Chronicles of the Pneumatic Zeppelin #3)

by Richard Ellis Preston Jr.

  Welly nodded though he obviously did not quite understand. “Did you eat? They have yet to deliver any food at all here and I am famished.”

  “From the way they seem to adore their food I’m sure something is forthcoming.” Buckle said.

  “A word of advice, Welly,” Sabrina said. “Avoid the soup.”

  “You are speaking in riddles, Lieutenant,” Welly replied.

  “Starvation is certainly preferable to consuming the highlights of the Atlantean menu,” Sabrina continued, grinning.

  “It’s that bad?” Welly asked.

  “Not if you like your food still moving,” Sabrina sighed.

  “Is that what you mean by things were ‘bloody’? Welly asked.

  “A hoard of brutal buggers,” Sabrina said. “They’re no better than the Founders. I’d be loath to ally us to them.”

  “They would be dangerous friends, aye,” Buckle added. He was glad to have Welly and Penny back in his field of vision—he had become profoundly concerned for their wellbeing once he had seen Atlantean diplomacy in action.

  “The Atlanteans have provided a second chamber for Lieutenant Serafim, just across the hall,” Welly said.

  Buckle shook his head. “They mentioned that.” He didn’t like the idea of his command being separated in the night, not with conspirators loose in Atlantis. “I think we should all sleep in here tonight.”

  “I agree,” Sabrina said.

  “They did bring us tea,” Welly said, offering the elaborate teapot. “Anyone for a cup? Captain? Chief Navigator?”

  “I’ll gladly take one as long as there isn’t a skull floating in it,” Sabrina said, taking a seat at the table and crossing her legs.

  “A skull?” Welly asked as he poured the tea.

  “Don’t ask,” Sabrina replied.

  “Captain?” Welly inquired again, the teapot spout poised over a second cup.

  “Certainly, and thanks,” Buckle said.

  Welly poured the tea and handed it to Buckle.

  “You sit, Welly,” Buckle said.

  “But there are only two chairs, sir,” Welly replied.

  “I am in the mood for standing,” Buckle said. “Take advantage.”

  “Yes, sir.” Welly took a seat beside Sabrina as he poured himself the third cup. “Thank you, sir.”

  Buckle nursed the strange Atlantean tea which, after a lip-stinging first sip, he strongly suspected was brewed from seaweed.

  “So we are staying the night, Captain?” Welly asked. “Does that mean the Atlanteans are still considering our offer?”

  Buckle stirred his tea. “No. They gave us our walking papers, I’m afraid. We are confined here only as long as it takes them to salvage and repair the Dart. After that we shall be sent on our way.”

  Welly nodded. They fell into a comfortable silence, looking out into the ancient depths. It seemed a shame to speak and break such a pleasant interlude, especially after all the awfulness they had been through in the morning. Buckle smelled ambergris, the lingering effect of a cold incense burner on the table.

  “May I say, Lieutenant,” Welly offered tentatively, though in a fashion which hinted he could not stop himself from speaking. “That you do look particularly lovely in the aetherlight.” Welly lifted his teacup to his mouth and it lingered there, as if he was trying to hide as much of himself behind it as he possibly could.

  Sabrina shot Welly a glare that would have made a centaur shiver.

  Buckle felt like laughing but held his tongue. The enamored Welly always confounded Sabrina despite her superior rank—and absolute rejection—and he still managed, undeterred, to ball-up the occasional compliment.

  “The Ensign does make a point,” Buckle said. “You do look lovely.”

  “The next man to compliment me, I’ll spill his intestines on this table,” Sabrina grumbled.

  “Reading from the Atlantean book of etiquette, are we?” Buckle mused.

  “How about a little bit of silence?” Sabrina asked. “I could use some of that, especially from the junior officer at the table.”

  “Grand idea,” Buckle said. He strolled to the window and stood alongside Penny Dreadful. Penny’s eyes glowed with a softness Buckle always noticed before it shut down at nighttime. In the quiet, Buckle heard the tiny rumble of the steam engine inside its torso. It was an incredible feat of engineering, even measured by its brain alone. Buckle wondered what malfunctions had caused the Atlanteans to destroy their own automatons and if it had anything to do with the robot’s considerable killing ability, a talent he had witnessed in full display in the battle against the Guardians.

  Buckle had to admit—he did worry about the robot. But Penny had acted to save his life when they fought the gagool. It would appear that his death was not an item on its mechanical agenda. Damn it—the little robot was the least of his worries. Instead of rushing home after the Muscovy sky battle and joining his clan at the outbreak of war he had spent the better part of a week searching for Atlantis. Now he had left the Pneumatic Zeppelin hovering in the sea fogs northeast of Vera Cruz while thrusting himself and two of his officers into the safekeeping of the mysterious and apparently bloodthirsty Atlanteans in the midst of a Founders blockade.

  Yet his search for Elizabeth was everything. She was alone. He was her only chance and here, somehow, deep in the ocean he knew she was close. All of his life he had known when she was close. The old moonchild named Shadrack had been right when he said that Elizabeth would be in Atlantis. So was the First Consul lying about her presence here? But why would they do that? It was unsettling, to say the least, to find the Founders already in the wings and applying pressure. The Vicar was bad company.

  And now there was Odessa.

  Buckle trusted Sabrina Serafim. Dark pasts were common in the Snow World and she had hers and she was the one who had to deal with it. The appearance of Odessa had visibly shaken her but she had said not a word about it.

  Buckle gazed up at the surface of the sea. Somewhere out there the Pneumatic Zeppelin lurked, waiting for the passage of night and the arrival of the morning sea mists to steam to the first rendezvous point. If Buckle and his officers never made it home, Ivan and Valkyrie would become the new commanders of the Pneumatic Zeppelin, at least until Max returned. Promotion in the Snow World was often of the quick variety, through senior ranks killed in action or disappearing on missions, never to return.

  There were many of those zeppelineers, the disappeared.

  Buckle knew that he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. He figured the others wouldn’t get much either.

  “If I may speak now,” Welly said, “I would very much like to know what happened in your meeting with the Atlanteans.”

  “Oh, bother,” Sabrina replied. “It’s a fine mess, Welly. It seems there are many conspiracies afoot, and, well, and the Founders have envoys here—they beat us to it, I think—oh, and a Senator’s head was severed and consumed by eel-beasties in a kettle.”

  Welly’s eyes widened.

  “Kettlecrab?” Penny asked softly.

  “Yes,” Buckle said.

  “Most unpleasant,” Penny said. “What was the name of the Senator?”

  “Titus,” Buckle said. “Titus Septillus, if memory serves.”

  “Septillus,” Penny repeated. “The family Septillus was a grand and powerful gens when I was last here.”

  “Gens?” Buckle asked.

  “A chain of families connected by daughters, referred to as a ‘house’,” Penny Dreadful replied. “All the patrician families in Aventine Atlantis are descended from the head of the first family, that being the rogue Founders inventress, Cassandra Lombard. Such matters of bloodline and lineage are all important to the Atlanteans.”

  Buckle felt as if he could sense sadness emanating from Penny, but that would be impossible for a machine. “Penny, tell me about Atlantis if you don’t mind,” he asked.

  “I shall try, though it seems many things have changed since I was last here,”
Penny replied. “When I knew this place it was a tight alliance of seven separate houses in seven separate domes. This one, the Aventinus dome, appears to still be the main seat of government for the coalition, containing the primary senate and the dwelling of the First Consul, who is always Aventine. The Palantine and Capitolium are also large and powerful houses while the remaining four, Caelius, Esquilinus, Quirnalis and Viminalis are much smaller and possess lesser degrees of influence, though the Esquiline submarine force was once unmatched.”

  Buckle nodded. “From what I saw, it seems the First Consul is facing a rebellion from the Capitolines who may have allied themselves secretly to the Founders, but it is difficult to tell how realistic Octavian is being about everything.”

  “There is no doubt in my mind,” Sabrina added, “that the First Consul is beset by paranoid delusions, or is at least being debased by them.”

  “The Atlantis I once knew was the realm of great statesmen and citizen merchants, of rigorous debates and open votes on the Senate floor,” Penny Dreadful whispered, gazing out of the sea.

  “Well,” Buckle replied, “it appears that things have changed.”

  XXVIII

  FAR FROM HOME

  Romulus Buckle found himself once again at the sea window, watching the twilit ocean creep from the last shades of purple-blue into darkness. Everything shifted in form, changed in color. Bubbles streamed up from below, rattling as they leapfrogged up the surface of the window glass. Twice Buckle had heard the distant churn of propellers from the patrolling Founders submarines, now obscured by the depths and their descending darkness.

  The guest quarters were quiet and dark, the aether lights reduced to a bare glimmer for nighttime. Welly lay sound asleep on the divan. Penny Dreadful stood near him, eyes glimmering gold, her boiler metals pinging occasionally as they cooled, shutting down for the night.

  At least they had been properly fed. The Atlanteans had brought food earlier in the evening, something that looked, smelled, and tasted like peppered lamb. Buckle, Sabrina and Welly had eaten ravenously without worrying about what the meat might actually be.

  Sabrina arrived alongside Buckle and looked out at the ocean with him.

  “We are far from home,” Sabrina whispered.

  “And in a viper’s nest,” Buckle replied.

  “What troubles you so sorely, Romulus?” Sabrina asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first.”

  Buckle smiled. “Many things.”

  Sabrina crossed her arms. “I am impressed that you have been able to contain yourself from inquiring about my sister.”

  Buckle nodded. “Your old family is your business, just as it is with every one of Balthazar’s orphans.”

  “It is lovely to be trusted so implicitly,” Sabrina said.

  “I can stand beside you in no other way, sister,” Buckle replied. He gazed at Sabrina. Ready for bed, her hair was down though not brushed, hanging in a cascade of half-curled crimson locks. Buckle rarely saw Sabrina’s hair loose and he was surprised at how long it was, nearly halfway down her back. He had never seen anyone with hair as vibrantly red as Sabrina’s except for her mysterious sister.

  “Ask a question if you’d like,” Sabrina said. “About Odessa.”

  “How long has it been since you saw her?”

  “Twelve years, in all,” Sabrina said, “or very near to it.”

  “She is a Fawkes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are a Fawkes,” Buckle said. A Fawkes. Somewhere in a corner of his being that knowledge rattled him.

  “We are nieces of Isambard Fawkes, the children of his younger brother. But blood means everything and nothing to Isambard. He murdered our mother and father and perhaps many of our relatives—I don’t know much of what happened and who died, really—in the great purge. I was carried out of the city by a family servant, a tutor who had once been a soldier, a man named Marter, but my sister did not escape. She has done well since, apparently, judging from the lace on her sleeve.”

  “I saw her, once,” Buckle said. “She was among the steampipers who attacked us over the city of the Founders when we rescued Balthazar.”

  Sabrina nodded. “She was always more capable than I—at least, in my memories of her. She was serious. I was flighty.” She smiled a little, forcing a light rush of air out of her nose in the way a vaguely self-amused person did.

  “You were raised inside the city, then,” Buckle asked.

  “Until the night of the purge, yes. I left when I was seven years old.”

  “And you left via the route we used to enter the city when we rescued Balthazar.”

  “Yes,” Sabrina replied. “Marter had gas masks. I don’t remember it well at all.”

  “If I may ask, where did you and Marter go after your escape?”

  “Up the north coast,” Sabrina said. “Refugio. Marter was killed when the Founders eventually hunted us down. I became a vagabond after Marter’s death, at least until Balthazar adopted me and gave me a new home and a new family.” She turned to Buckle and looked at him, her green eyes reflecting the glint of aether light on the window. “You are my family, now, Romulus. The Crankshafts are my family, my clan, to the death. You need not worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” Buckle said quickly. “I’m not.”

  Sabrina returned her gaze to the window and took a sip of her tea. “Vile stuff,” she muttered. “This would be an idyllic view, restful, if not for the sharks.”

  “I fear the Founders are applying far more pressure than the Atlanteans would care to admit,” Buckle said. “And if the Atlanteans are forced to fall into line with the Founders they will control the eastern sea and all of the trade which comes with it.”

  “The Atlanteans are arrogant, far too proud, and they have descended into internecine viciousness,” Sabrina said slowly. “They long have had many trade deals with the Founders, and even as a child I saw many precious items which came from them: sea grass, fish delicacies, pearls. But we were always aware of their arrogance. And it was a sticking point for the Founders that they would never give up their secret of the luminiferous aether.”

  “Does it provide power as well as light?”

  “It is electricity, Romulus,” Sabrina answered, blowing on her tea. “Somehow the liquid allows the Atlanteans to generate and harness electricity, at least under the sea.”

  “Electricity,” Buckle repeated softly. That magical word. Electricity. “It would go badly for us if the Atlanteans ally themselves with the Founders.”

  “I had always believed that Atlantis was one of the few clans strong enough to resist Founders aggression,” Sabrina said. “But now they are frightened, on their heels. Whatever the Vicar is coercing them with I think it is working.”

  “I agree,” Buckle said. “Octavian could have dispatched the senator in a far less brutal and public way if hadn’t wanted to make a show for both the Vicar. It was the act of a desperate man, a man brandishing a sword in front of a firing squad. We have offered the First Consul his salvation in the form of the Grand Alliance. There is little more we can do.”

  “The Atlanteans must come to us. They must reach out to us.”

  Buckle suddenly felt a bit lightheaded. He stared into the ocean to straighten out his senses. It was an odd feeling and he had experienced it several times within the last half hour or so. Perhaps the depths were affecting him. But it was more than mere dizziness. It was as if he were ever so slightly slipping out of one state of consciousness and into another, or almost falling asleep where he stood before snapping back into full consciousness.

  Sabrina asked: “How is your neck? Where the kraken sucker ripped you?”

  “Stings, then itches, then stings,” Romulus said. “The bandage chafes between the sorry flesh and my collar.

  “Do you wish for me to look at it? I can change the bandage.”

  “It is fine for now, thank you.”

  “You don’t w
ant infection.”

  “It’s fine for now.”

  “Sometimes you are exasperating, Romulus,” Sabrina sighed.

  “That I am,” Buckle replied.

  Buckle heard the rustle of Sabrina’s shirt as she turned to look at Welly. “That boy sure can sleep,” she said.

  “Yes, he can.”

  “I’m certain you brought him along simply to enjoy him torturing me with his poorly expressed affections,” Sabrina said. “I cannot thank you enough for all of those awkward moments.”

  “You’re welcome,” Buckle said with a smile.

  Sabrina took a deep breath and exhaled. “I think that I would like to speak with my sister.”

  Buckle nodded. There it was. “Difficult under the circumstances,” he said. “But even if it can be arranged you shouldn’t expect too much.”

  “I would anticipate nothing pleasant,” Sabrina replied. “It could only prove painful in every imaginable way. But perhaps I could open an avenue of negotiation.” She paused. “Well, that is a ridiculous lie. I want to see what Odessa has become. That is the long and short of it.”

  “We’ll frame the request as a negotiation tactic anyway,” Buckle said. “The Vicar is game enough to let her bite, I think. But the Atlanteans have to agree to it and that might prove the tricky part.”

  Sabrina laughed. “I trust the Atlanteans less than I trust her.”

  Buckle placed his hand on Sabrina’s shoulder and she gave him a wistful smile. He felt immensely protective of her in that moment, the way he felt about Elizabeth. “I’ll send a request through the officer of the watch,” Buckle said. “Now go and get some sleep. I have a feeling things are going to be crazy in the morning.”

  “You should sleep as well,” Sabrina replied. “You take the bed.”

  “No, I’m fine with the chair. Look at the cushions. It’s sumptuously appointed.” As he spoke, Buckle became aware of a light thumping sound on his left, emanating from the bulkhead.

  “Do you hear that?” Sabrina asked, turning her head to listen.