Stone turned and looked directly at Bedford. “You see, that’s what had me puzzled about HMAS Sovereign. If you just had a deck made of some super-dense substance, it would not attract everyone up and down to it as if it were a floor on Earth. It would attract everyone to the very centre of its mass, you see? And the tidal effects, due to its irregular shape, you’d suffer moving around on or near it! Why, I can hardly sort them out in my own mind, but they would not be pleasant.”
Bedford admitted that had never occurred to him, but now it was obvious. Men at the extremes of the centre deck should not be attracted to the deck beneath their feet, but to the very centre of the deck mass itself, and yet the deck remained a steady and constant down.
“So Great Britain and the Austro-Hungarian Empire embarked upon this joint secret project, a project founded on Mercury but which we touched first on HMAS Sovereign, and then entirely by accident on Peregrine Station,” Nathanial went on.
“But why?” Annabelle asked, speaking for the first time since Nathanial sat. “What is its purpose, aside from convenience?” She directed the question to Dumba, but his eyes turned to Nathanial, inviting him to continue.
“Health is the simple answer. People suffer marked deterioration in their health by prolonged times in an environment without gravity, particularly to their muscles, bones, and heart. Voyages between the worlds are short enough that the effects are not felt, and even frequent trips seem to have little long-term effects if a reasonable time is spent between them in gravity. But crews of the two orbital heliograph stations have to be rotated frequently. A deep-space station carrying out long-term research posed a special challenge to which gravitar provided the immediate answer, hence its use on Peregrine Station.” Nathanial paused, his eyes distant. “Why was it kept such a secret? As to that I can only speculate, but as a scientist I can easily come up with a dozen possible military applications, and that is not my normal field of endeavour. But there are more secrets here than simply the existence of gravitar, aren’t there? There is also the special nature of HMAS Sovereign, which was a secret even from you, was it not, Doctor?”
Bedford watched as Dumba returned Nathanial’s gaze for a moment and then nodded. That admission must have cost him something, Bedford thought. Dumba looked like the sort of man who was never comfortable unless he knew more than those he faced across a desk.
“Yes, Lord Chillingham arranged this conspiracy,” Nathanial continued, “this conspiracy of silence, and then he betrayed you. He took the gravitar laboriously assembled for the Venusian heliograph station and diverted it to the construction of HMAS Sovereign, so Great Britain would have not only the most powerful aether battleship aloft, but one capable of unlimited deployments away from Earth. He could only keep this move secret for so long, of course. Sooner or later your government would wonder why the Venusian heliograph station had not yet been built. The destruction of Peregrine actually helped him, I think, by providing a distraction as well as a reason to postpone further work on the Venusian station until the fate of Peregrine could be sorted out.”
Was this all true, Bedford wondered? It certainly fit what little he knew of Sovereign’s construction and the cloud of secrecy which surrounded centre deck and its effect. Everything else was entirely new to him, aside from the obvious reality that there had been a secret research facility called Peregrine and that first Stone and then Annabelle had been implicated in its destruction.
Doctor Dumba again studied the landscape painting on the wall in silence for some time and then shook his head.
“Interesting, but my principal concern at the moment is the threat to my country’s new ambassador. Miss Somerset and Commander Bedford have evidence of another gunpowder plot to assassinate His Excellence Hengelmüller von Hengervár. If it succeeds, Austria will lose a gifted and valued diplomat, but it will also lead to a rupture in relations with Great Britain, perhaps even war.”
“A French saboteur was behind the attack on Peregrine Station,” Annabelle said. “Could France be behind this as well? War between Austria and Britain might serve their purposes.”
Dumba thought for a moment before answering. “Anything is possible, of course, Miss Somerset. But my understanding of France’s policy lies in dividing the continental resistance to her. She has been particularly interested in separating Austrian interests from those of Bismarck and the Kaiser to the north. For all that the current British government blusters and postures, Mister Gladstone’s party advocates a more conciliatory policy and who knows what surprises your next election will produce? It makes diplomacy with your government so…eventful. Germany is the more deadly and constant foe of France. A rupture between my country and Britain would, by necessity, drive us into Bismarck’s steely embrace. No, I do not think France would desire that result.
“I also do not believe Lord Chillingham is behind this. In the event of an open breech in relations there is little my country can do in a material sense to punish Britain, but my government would certainly make public the discovery of gravitar. Your government’s clandestine violation of the Luna Treaty would then come to light as well, and shatter Britain’s system of European alliances. Yes, we know about Luna as well. I read your dispatches in the Gazette, Commander Bedford. They make for exciting reading, but it is easy to read between the lines when the other information is available as well. Tell me, are the rumours of an alien intelligence embedded deep in Luna true as well?”
“The Heart? Yes, quite true,” Annabelle answered. “Contact with that mind has rendered my uncle… Well, no longer himself.”
“But for all that,” Nathanial said, “it promises an extraordinary advance in our knowledge of the Solar System. It has even suggested travel beyond the asteroids as a possibility.”
Bedford saw Annabelle stiffen beside him and small wonder. Stone had as much as written off Annabelle’s uncle, who was also Stone’s own scientific mentor, in the name of progress toward some absurd vision of travel beyond the asteroids. To what? Bedford wondered. Worlds of frozen ice?
“Intriguing,” Dumba said, “but beside the point for the moment. What is clear is that Lord Chillingham has an interest in maintaining the secrecy of his various projects and is therefore unlikely to undertake action which will inevitably lead to their exposure. What does he gain?”
Bedford knew a possible answer to that although he was reluctant to give it voice. Still, someone had to. “The elimination of the Prince of Wales as a political rival,” he said. The others stared at him.
“I cannot dismiss it out of hand,” Dumba said at length. “I have a hard time believing even Lord Chillingham would involve himself in such a scheme, however. The risks are enormous, the rewards uncertain. In my experience he is a more careful man than that, and it still does not explain the assassination of Ambassador Deym. Clearly we are not yet at the bottom of this mystery and we are all but out of time.
“I can cable my government and delay the arrival of the ambassador, but knowing Hengelmüller that will not suit him. I am here to smooth the way for his arrival, not keep him away, but my resources are limited to a half-dozen clerks. I have no police power, no authority, but I still have a number of contacts from my previous posting here. I will put these at your disposal if you will undertake to uncover and thwart this bomb plot. Given your actions to date, I hardly think this beyond your capacities, nor will it compromise your other loyalties given the hazard to your own high government officials.”
“And in return?” Bedford asked.
“Ah. I am constrained with respect to rewards, but I am singularly well-placed to insure that all hint of public blame for the Peregrine incident will be shifted away from Professor Stone and Miss Somerset. Your names will be cleared, and the heroic nature of your efforts to thwart the true villains will be known. That much my government can offer in return for this service.”
“My objective is simply to understand what has transpired,” Annabelle said, “to discover what was so important that respec
ted men would conduct themselves so shamefully. What we do with that knowledge is our responsibility, I believe.”
Bedford looked at her and wondered what she intended to do with such knowledge, but sensed she had no fixed intention yet. What she had said was simply a statement of truth as she understood it: her future course was hers to chart. Then she looked at him and smiled softly, as if to say that did not mean charting it alone. The smile warmed him.
“Will Chillingham’s duplicity be exposed?” Nathanial asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“That I cannot promise. The knowledge of his secret is the only real leverage my government has over him. To expose it throws away our only chip. You must decide, Professor Stone, which is more important to you: personal revenge or removing the stain upon your reputation, and by association your family’s as well.” Then he sneezed again.
Chapter Thirteen
“By Water, Air, and Fire”
1.
GEORGE BEDFORD LISTENED to the soft put-put-put of the steam launch’s engine, the slap of waves against the bow, and the muted sounds of London’s late night waterfront drifting across the choppy waters of the Thames. The vile smell of raw sewage and human waste rose from the river, London’s sewer. He looked to his two companions: Nathanial Stone sitting across from him and absorbed in his own dark thoughts, Captain Folkard holding the launch’s wheel steady with his knee as he checked the two bullets in his derringer for the fourth or fifth time. Folkard was not usually nervous before a fight, or perhaps he usually concealed it better, but their experiences on Luna had changed him. Bedford had not thought they had changed him so much as to leave him unmanned in the face of danger, but other men had been ruined by experiences less traumatic. Time would tell—and not much more time now.
“You’ll wear that out, Captain,” he said.
Folkard looked up at him and smiled crookedly as he snapped the derringer closed. “You’ve got your revolver, I know. What about you, Stone? Are you armed? These are rough fellows we’re come to call on.”
Nathanial looked at the captain for a moment through narrowed eyes. It was a new habit he’d acquired, this long appraising look before speaking. Folkard had told Bedford about the death of Stone’s brother in the fire, about how it had changed him. Well, there was nothing surprising in that, he supposed, but the nature of the change—that was a different matter. Bedford no longer knew what emotion lurked behind those long, silent stares, but he suspected something dark and violent, not at all like the man he had come to know this last year.
“I have a knife,” Nathanial answered at length.
Folkard shook his head. “You’d be better off with a firearm. A knife’s difficult for someone who’s inexperienced with it. It’s hard to actually plunge it home when the moment demands it. Everyone thinks they can, of course, until they actually face the prospect for the first time.”
Nathanial drew a knife from his pocket and examined it. It looked to be a boning knife and the long blade gleamed dully in the faint light. “I plunged a knife not unlike this into a man on Mars, a worm priest—felt it scrape between his ribs. I listened to him scream in pain and terror, and then I watched the blood bubble up from between his lips.” He looked up at Folkard. “I daresay I can do it again.”
Bedford shivered; he was not sure if it was from the cold and damp or from the lifelessness in Stone’s eyes when he gazed at the captain. He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and touched the reassuring metallic bulk of his own Enfield. “How much further, Captain?”
“My guttersnipe say he’s anchored just past this next dredging tower, bow and stern hooks out to keep from swinging with the tide. It’s a long, low-slung river barge painted green, but faded and peeling. I’m not sure we’ll be able to make out the colour in this light. There’s a cabin added amidships, so keep an eye out for that.”
“I wish your so-called guttersnipe had got this information to us sooner,” Nathanial said. “The ambassador arrives tomorrow and so far we are no closer to the plot than we were two days ago. God help us if this is another false lead.”
Folkard said nothing in reply. Stone was right. Time was quickly running out, and if they did not gain a clear lead from this encounter…well, he wasn’t sure what to try next. The launch carried them on past the massive steel girder tripod that supported the steam-powered river dredging pumps, parked for the night in the shallows. Folkard suddenly pulled the throttle back and the motor died, leaving the launch to carry forward under its own momentum and the river’s current. “There!” Folkard whispered harshly, “two points off the starboard bow, and showing a light.”
Bedford made it out fifty yards ahead, a swaying lantern casting the barge’s upper works into sharp relief, and he saw flickering movement, heard the creak of mooring lines and the scrape of wood gunwales on cloth bumpers. “Small boat alongside,” he whispered to Folkard who nodded. Bedford drew out his Enfield revolver and checked to see that the lanyard cord around his neck was secured to the ring on the pistol butt. He trembled with fear and excitement. It wouldn’t do to drop his pistol and have it sink to the bottom of the Thames.
Light flickered from beside the barge for a moment and then vanished—a firebox opened for another shovelful of coal. A few sparks burst from a smokestack and briefly illuminated a low steam launch similar to their own moored to the side of the barge. An engine came to life and the launch moved away, light flickering from its bow wave and stern wake.
“Follow it!” Stone hissed.
“It’s too fast for us and besides, it’s the Devil himself we’re after,” Folkard said. “He’ll still be on the barge.” He waited until the hand lantern disappeared from the deck of the large vessel and then gave the launch power, quickly closing the distance to the looming shape. Bedford made his way forward and found the end of the bow painter floating in the dirty bilge water. Folkard cut the engine again and the launch coasted for a second or two, coming up alongside the barge with a solid thunk.
With his revolver in his right hand and the end of the bow painter in his left, Bedford leaped up at the barge’s hull and managed to get both elbows over the gunwale, then a leg, before tumbling over onto the deck two feet below. As he searched for a cleat to secure the line to, the door to the cabin opened and light flooded out.
“Back again, Billy? You got engine trouble? Hey, who the bloody hell―?”
The man ducked back inside the cabin and Bedford sprang after him, dropping the painter on the deck. He ducked through the hatchway, cracking his brow on the overhead; his feet slipped off the stair step, causing him to lose his footing and slide down the companionway to the cabin deck seven feet below. He landed on his bum, stars from the crack on his head clouding his vision. Across the cabin a man dug frantically in a locker. He turned back, a marlin spike in his hand. Through everything Bedford still had his Enfield revolver clenched in his right fist; he raised it and fired a shot into the wood beam above the fellow’s head.
Hands up!” he shouted.
His opponent immediately dropped the marlin spike and threw his hands up. “Don’t shoot again, you fool! You’ll blow us all to hell and gone!”
From outside Bedford heard a sharp cry of distress and then a loud splash.
2.
NATHANIAL VOMITTED AGAIN and Bedford patted him on the shoulder—although gingerly, as if trying to do so on a spot which bore no obvious trace of the scientist’s immersion in the Thames. Nathanial shrugged the hand away.
“You were supposed to tie the boat up,” he hissed, gagging, although this time nothing came out but a trickle of spit.
“He had other things to do,” Folkard said. The captain covered the gunpowder merchant with his derringer, despite the fellow’s insistence that a single shot might blow them all to kingdom come. “You should have kept your mouth closed, Professor. No telling what sort of poison you swallowed.”
Nathanial gagged again, trying to empty his stomach. He shuddered with the cold as well as in reactio
n to the violent nausea which had overcome him as soon as Folkard pulled him from the river. When Bedford had let go of the painter, Nathanial had his hands on the barge’s gunwale and his feet in the launch. The two had immediately separated and Nathanial struggled for ten or fifteen seconds, trying to hold the two together with his leg muscles, but despite all the exercise he had had in the past year, his muscles simply weren’t strong enough. He had plunged into the filth. It was hard to imagine this was the same river on which he and Josiah Hawksworth had boated only two or three years before. It had not been like this then.
Bedford turned away from him and took a step toward their prisoner. “So this is ‘Devil’ Devlin, London’s least reputable purveyor of gunpowder. He’s not as impressive in person as I had expected.”
“Hook it, crusher,” the man answered with a sneer.
“He thinks we are the police,” Bedford said to Folkard and then turned back to Devlin. “No, we are not. We will probably turn you over to the police when we are done with you, and they will be very grateful to know who supplied the powder used to kill the Austrian ambassador. That’s all they seem to care about these days.” Bedford saw this take effect; saw Devlin colour slightly and lick his lips.
“If you ain’t crushers, what are you after?”
“Billy Snide,” Folkard said.
“And don’t waste our time saying you don’t know what we’re talking about,” Bedford added. “That was him leaving as we pulled up. That’s why you called me Billy at first. You thought it was your friend coming back.”
“Billy Snide ain’t no friend o’ mine,” Devlin said and then spat on the floor for emphasis. When Folkard lifted his left hand as if to strike him, Devlin continued quickly; “Don’t mean he weren’t a customer.”
“What is your price for gunpowder, Mister Devlin?” Nathanial asked through chattering teeth. Bedford looked at him curiously, Folkard with irritation at this seemingly irrelevant question.
series 02 01 Conspiracy of Silence Page 20
