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

by Richard Ellis Preston Jr.

  “That same darkness threatens us all equally,” Buckle said.

  “Yes,” Cicero answered. “And I do not wish for things to change. I like my life the way it is.” He flicked his eyes to Penny Dreadful. “Can you send that monstrosity out of the room? I don’t like it watching me.”

  “No,” Buckle said pleasantly. He said it to gall Cicero but he also didn’t want Penny unprotected too far from the group. If they got the chance he was certain the Atlanteans would incinerate her and apologize without meaning it later.

  Cicero sniffed. “As you wish. But when the last shred of her brain matter fails inside that metal skull case, when the last strands of what she is unravels and her machine is suddenly at the mercy of the raving mad beast of what is left in the decayed cerebral cortex, I will find some satisfaction in that she will most certainly draw and quarter you first.”

  “You are colorful, I shall give you that,” Buckle said with a grin.

  Cicero’s eyes flashed mean but in the next instant he fired up a big smile. “I am the Keeper of the Aether,” he said, pointing at the glowing tubes overhead. “I am electric and I am eclectic.”

  The green-bordered hatch to the right of the Neptune gate swung open, revealing a narrow but ornate passageway lined with green velvet carpet. Cressida emerged and waved. “Come with me, Keeper and Captain Buckle of the Crankshafts,” she said. “The First Consul is ready for you.”

  Buckle started for the hatch. Cicero cut in front of him with surprising agility for someone so round, though he was relatively young as well, perhaps in his late twenties. “I shall lead,” Cicero said, following Cressida as she turned back into the corridor. “Captain, you shall remain silent until the First Consul invites you to take the floor. The rest of you remain here—and that monstrosity stays out of sight!”

  “Keep an eye out,” Buckle said to Sabrina.

  “Hurry up,” Sabrina sighed. “I’m growing tired of being underwater.”

  “Be careful, Captain,” Penny Dreadful said, her eyes brightening as she spoke.

  “I’ll be fine,” Buckle replied.

  “Yes, be careful, Captain,” Cicero chimed in, narrowing his eyes at Penny before he swung into the green hatchway. “Be very, very careful.”

  XXXVIII

  THE ROSTRUM

  Buckle emerged from the small hatchway into the huge Atlantean senate chamber, a seven-story-high amphitheater. Its soaring glass walls undulated with the early morning light as it flowed through the turquoise currents of the sea. High above, the surface of the ocean glittered pink and white. A long silver cable soared down from the apex of the ceiling dome to swing a gigantic copper pendulum mere inches above the grand mosaic on the Senate floor. The chamber was bright, for along with the sunlight, huge tubes of luminiferous aether ran up the walls to illuminate fantastical glass sculptures installed into the dome ceiling, a breathtaking array of coral outcroppings, fish, seahorses, leaping pods of dolphins, mermaids, Roman Gods and octopi, all part of a masterpiece of glass and light.

  Two Praetorian guardsmen eyed Buckle as Cressida led him and Cicero up the rear stairway of the main podium, an ornate platform decorated with Doric pillars and purple curtains. At the top Buckle saw Octavian and Julia whispering together with Marius and Horatus close at hand. Julia motioned for Buckle and Cicero to stand beside her.

  From the podium Buckle had a full view of the amphitheater: fronted by porticoes and balustrades, the long rows of polished wooden pews rose steep and high against the glass walls. Thin aether tubes laced every handrail and pew, making the red curtains and banners glow and throwing hundreds of small marble statues into high relief. Men and women in purple-laced togas packed the seats, their hundreds of murmuring voices haunting the space like a purring of a great beast.

  “I have advised the Senate of the proposed alliance.” Octavian said. “Make a good case, Captain.” Buckle noticed that Octavian looked agitated, working his fingers against each other in a nervous, uncoordinated fashion.

  “Cicero, introduce the Captain on the rostrum,” Lady Julia said. She leaned close to Buckle as he passed her. “They will be contentious, but it is only for show. The First Consul has already garnered the votes necessary to approve our entry into your Grand Alliance. It would be good to impress the gallery, however.”

  “Do not mess this up,” Cicero hissed as he led Buckle onto the low stage at the front and center of the platform. Cicero threw his arms wide. “Good members of the Aventine Senate,” he boomed. “I, Cicero, the Keeper of the Aether, present to you the worthy representative of the Crankshaft clan, Captain Romulus Buckle, son of Admiral Balthazar Crankshaft. He now has permission to address the Senate.”

  Buckle stepped to the front of the rostrum as Cicero moved aside. The chamber gallery fell dead silent, a sea of unkind faces. Floating in the void beyond the glass walls Buckle glimpsed the small white and gold Atlantean submarines, their ports bright with the glow of luminiferous aether, patrolling the depths of the bright blue sea. He also noticed that the rostrum platform was sitting atop two large, irregular cones of metal, both pointing out toward the senate floor. The metal plates were rusted and dinged but Buckle realized they were the noses of old submarines, both adorned with the half-faded symbol of a fire-breathing sea serpent. Old enemies who succumbed to the might of Atlantis, Buckle assumed.

  Buckle cleared his throat. “Senators, I come from the northeast, from the Crankshaft clan, and I act as an ambassador for Admiral Balthazar Crankshaft and all of my people. I also represent the Grand Alliance, a coalition of clans who at this very moment are assembling a Grand Armada to meet the Founders invasion, an invasion which also poses a threat to you at this very moment.”

  “They do not threaten us!” someone shouted from the gallery.

  “Let them try!” another voice echoed, supported by hundreds of cheers.

  “Not one clan can stand alone against the Founders,” Buckle said. “Not one.”

  A female senator stood. “How do you know that Atlantis is alone? You know nothing of our situation. You know nothing of who we have relations with or not.”

  “Please,” Lady Julia yelled above the cacophony. “All of you. Let him speak.”

  “Foreigners do not belong on the senate rostrum!” someone shouted, though Buckle could not make out which face it was.

  Much of the room assented with cheers.

  “Let him speak! I command you!” Lady Julia shouted, and the chamber fell silent.

  Buckle pressed his tongue into the inside of his bottom lip, took a deep breath and bellowed. “Shout me down, if so you choose, proud Senators of Atlantis. But beware your pride. And if you choose to hear me, hear me well! There is no disgrace in a collective defense! Join us in the Grand Alliance! Together we can end the tyranny of the Founders, the blockades and coercions, once and for all!”

  A long silence followed Buckle’s words. Oh, if only Elizabeth, with her immense charisma and eloquence, her exacting logic and instinct for which strings of the human heart to pluck, could be on the rostrum instead of he! Whether the deal was sealed or not she would have won over many hearts in the same space of time. Buckle experienced a brief but vivid sensation that Elizabeth was there in the chamber, standing near him.

  “We are quite familiar with the Founders and their strong-arm tactics,” another male senator yelled, a man with a hoarse, failing voice. “Atlantis shall remain neutral as she always has and we shall bring anyone who tries to force our hand to ruin.”

  More cheers.

  “Just what ‘alliance’ do you speak for, Captain?” a woman asked. “What is this great confederacy of clans you speak of?”

  Buckle looked at the woman. Though the Grand Alliance had attempted to keep its nature secret the spies had immediately found them out. Even the Vicar knew of the Alliance. There was no more need to try to hide its existence or who was a part of it. “We have assembled a sky fleet capable of defeating what the Founders can muster in the air and on the ground.
It includes the Crankshafts, Imperials, Gallowglasses, Alchemists, Brineboilers, Spartak and the Tinskins, with more to come.”

  “You have the Tinskins with you?” the female senator said, her face softer, looking somewhat impressed.

  “Yes,” Buckle replied, though in that moment he felt a pang of worry for the safety of his brother, Ryder, perhaps still among them.

  “And for their resistance the Brineboilers are overrun,” a male senator shouted. “And Spartak has a city burning and the remainder hard pressed.”

  “I fought alongside the Russians at Muscovy,” Buckle said. “Spartak has plenty of airships and cannon, and stands resolute. The Founders now face our armada in the east, Spartak in the north and the Tinskins to the south, and with Atlantis pressing their backs from the western sea, the Founders shall find themselves fighting at every point of the compass. We must strike now, before the Founders can apply their maximum strength to each of us in turn, and, in all honesty, we need Atlantis. Do not fight for me. Do not fight for Spartak. Fight to defend all you hold dear. Fight to keep your children from slavery. Think upon that and join us!”

  “Enough,” Cicero hissed from where he stood on the right edge of the podium.

  “It is an honor to speak before the Atlantean Senate,” Buckle said. “I am most grateful to be heard. Thank you.”

  Buckle stepped off the rostrum, feeling the solemn eyes of the five hundred watching him, hearing their rumbling murmurs rise as they weighed his words, as they weighed their own fates.

  “You have been heard!” Octavian bellowed, almost colliding with Buckle in his hurry to take the rostrum and address the gallery. “As First Consul, you all understand that I, in times of great import, must make decisions for the clan. The fate of Atlantis now hangs in the balance. Do you hear me? We are strong, yes, but we can no longer afford this dithering around. We must control our own destiny. I have chosen for all of us. I have chosen to join with the Founders.”

  Buckle looked at Octavian, stunned. He saw Julia stare at her father, her mouth gaping.

  A roar rose in the Senate, a roar of angry, dissenting voices.

  “There has been no debate!” someone raged.

  “There has been no approval from the Senate!” another voice howled.

  “We have the votes to approve!” a woman shouted.

  “I have done what must be done!” Octavian roared. “There is no choice! I have allied Atlantis with the strongest clan who, despite their once mighty armaments, need us. We have been offered an agreement which advantages our position as the most powerful gens in Atlantis and I have accepted the deal!”

  The roar from the senate chamber grew louder. Cries of betrayal!, tyrant!, and traitor! rang out.

  “There is no secret agreement, father!” Julia spun to Buckle. “Captain, I assure you—there have been no clandestine negotiations with the Founders.”

  “Then what the hell is he talking about?” Buckle asked.

  “I don’t know … I don’t know!” Julia replied.

  Buckle felt the thudding concussion of an underwater explosion—it wasn’t close but the entire dome shook. The five hundred Senators jumped to their feet as one.

  A great bell, sequestered in a balcony high above the Senate gallery, began to ring, loud and deep, its peal echoing back and forth between the walls of glass.

  Horatus, one hand pressed to his scabbard, purple cloak flowing, dashed to a communications station on the left of the speaker’s platform where dozens of pneumatic tubes, aether-lit gauges and chattertubes were affixed. He threw out his arm and pointed high up into the sea windows. “We are under attack! We are under attack!”

  PART THREE

  UNDER SEIGE

  XXXIX

  THE UNDOING OF THE FIRST CONSUL

  Five hundred Atlantean Senators turned, togas and stolas rustling, to look up into the sea. Four massive, cylindrical shadows approached, descending in the gloom over the approaches.

  Dozens of voices rang out from the voice tubes at Horatus’ communications station.

  “The fleet has been dispatched, First Consul,” Horatus shouted.

  “No!” Octavian screamed. “Recall the fleet! We must not resist!”

  “We must not resist?” Marius gasped. “What kind of devil’s pact have you cut, Octavian? They are attacking us!”

  “Submit, my friends, my fellows!” Octavian bellowed. “We must submit!” He strode to the forefront of the rostrum, arms thrown wide open. “Fear not, good Senators of Atlantis! All we do is bend one knee in a show of good faith!”

  “Traitor!” a Senator screamed.

  “We stand with the First Consul!” another Senator countered.

  Marius spun to Horatus. “Do not recall the fleet!”

  “Never,” Horatus replied.

  Do not defy me, my Generals!” Octavian said. “Your stupidity shall kill us all!”

  Julia rushed alongside Octavian, clutching him by the arm. “We cannot surrender, father. What have you done?”

  “I am saving your life, child,” Octavian replied, taking Julia’s hand in a nervous thrashing of fingers, “I am saving all of our lives. I am aligning us with the sharks of the seas, not the carrion birds of the surface.”

  Buckle recognized a strange shining in Octavian’s eyes, a wild, shocked unwillingness, and he realized it was the same look he’d seen in the eyes of the Founders sailor who had opened the submersible hatch for him. It was the look of a man who had lost control. No—it was the look of a man who’d had his control taken from him.

  “As Master Equitum I shall never surrender Atlantis to the enemy,” Marius announced.

  “Then you shall die where you stand, old friend,” Octavian snarled. “Praetorians! Execute the Magister Equitum! Cut the dog down where he stands!”

  The purple-clad Praetorian guards, swords in sheaths, did not move. They looked to Horatus, who shook his head.

  “No!” Octavian roared. “Do not defy me, Horatus!” He whirled back to the Senate gallery. “Soldiers and citizens, the die is cast. I have done what it is I must, citizens. Do not mire your thinking in Plebian ideals of honor! I have negotiated what is best for our Aventine house. The Grand Alliance? Bah! No surface fleet can help us now. We are alone! Do we wish to be conquered by the Founders and displaced by the nefarious Capitolines? Do we wish to be made the servants of the Capitoline traitors? I say not. As partners of the Founders we escape the war, we remain the dominant house of Atlantis and our trade coffers shall be enriched beyond our wildest dreams. I have saved us all!”

  “This is folly, father,” Lady Julia said, trying to haul Octavian down from the rostrum. “You are unwell. Let Marius take command!”

  “We stand with the First Consul,” Belarius shouted, hurrying down from the senate rows, tall and beautiful with an imposing manner and deep voice, a man well accommodated to lead other men. Close to three dozen male and female senators, after a moment of uncertainty, came scurrying after him.

  “Protect the Keeper!” Horatus shouted. Two Praetorians grabbed Cicero and hauled him back toward the rear of the stage.

  “Thank you, Belarius!” Octavian rejoiced as the rogue senators crowded the podium around him. “You shall be amply rewarded for your loyalty!”

  Hundreds of senators hammered their fists on pews and benches, raising a thunder of disapproval. Amidst the howling, Buckle realized Elizabeth was there. He scanned the hundreds of faces in the gallery but there was no sign of her. How could she possibly be there?

  “Surrender!” Octavian screamed, shoving Lady Julia aside. “Horatus! Order your Praetorians to lay down their arms!”

  “Stand your ground, Horatus,” Marius ordered.

  “With all due respect, First Consul, the Praetorians shall not lay down their arms,” Horatus replied.

  “We shall stand our ground against the conspiracy,” a senator roared from the gallery. “We shall stand our ground!”

  “As First Consul I order the Praetorians to join m
e!” Octavian shrieked. “The Founders have been assured of our compliance. If you do not stand down, if we do not provide the secret of the aether, Atlantis shall be destroyed!”

  “Father,” Lady Julia stammered, “we shall never give up the secret of the aether.”

  “Have you not heard the First Consul, Horatus?” Belarius shouted, a man flush with a sense of momentum, of advantage. “Surrender!”

  “You have betrayed us, Octavian!” Marius roared, drawing his gladius. “You have betrayed Atlantis!”

  “Death to Octavian!” a senator in the gallery screamed.

  A chant rose in the senate chamber, growing rapidly in volume. “Death to Octavian. Death to Octavian!”

  Belarius and his thirty rogue senators backed into a defensive circle, cringing as if pressed down by the weight of the thousand voices hurled against them.

  “Defend the First Consul!” Belarius shouted. “In Octavian lies our only salvation!” Belarius and the rogue senators drew swords from beneath their robes.

  “Swords!” a burly Senator with a head of thick black curls shouted from a front bench. “Belarius and his snakes came into the Senate chamber armed. The conspirators have defiled the Senate! They must die!”

  “Slay the conspirators!” a female Senator screamed.

  The crowd of senators, set off by the appearance of the swords, transformed into a howling mob. They tore at their benches, ripping up heavy planks before streaming down upon Octavian in a tide of club-wielding rage.