by Tee Morris
“Do you have to destroy everything you touch?” The accent was Italian, and the voice burned into Eliza’s brain. Pushing aside her dark tangled hair, she looked up into the icy glare of Sophia del Morte. The assassin looked a little dishevelled—which was satisfying—but she also appeared as deadly and beautiful as the last time they had met.
It was such a surprise to find her here that Eliza was distracted from greeting the other standing just behind her. Wellington Books was looking less than dapper. His coif was rumpled, his glasses chipped, and his face smeared with dirt. He appeared hale and hearty, and for that Eliza could only be deeply grateful. Still, she knew her priorities—keeping an eye on Sophia.
“That was my lococycle,” the assassin went on coolly, her hand slipping down her thigh, to probably what was a concealed weapon
Eliza flexed her fist in the plures. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Her lips twisted. “If I had, I might have set fire to it on the way down.”
She had not forgotten or forgiven the Italian for her slaying of Harrison Thorne. The man might have been mad and confined to Bedlam, but he had still been her partner in the Ministry. Sophia del Morte was a cowardly killer who had escaped justice for too long.
Both women drew their pistols in a heartbeat and pointed them at each other with unwavering aims.
Wellington cleared his throat, and gestured down the deck in the direction of the ship’s bow. “Ladies, may I be so bold as to ask of you to come to some sort of truce considering our current circumstances?”
Sophia locked her gaze with Eliza’s. “Those traitorous Culpeppers have a machine that both your employer and mine want destroyed.”
“Update, Wellington?” Eliza growled to her partner, not believing a word that came out of the Italian trollop’s mouth.
“Long version, or short?” he asked.
She looked at Sophia, and then back to Wellington. “Short.”
“Mad twins. Teleportation device. Plans of a Holy Crusade.” He paused, nodded, and then added, “And they have Mrs. Sheppard.”
Eliza took a deep breath, filing all that information away. “Ducky.”
“As for any resistance, you need not worry,” Sophia began. “When Wellington and I snuck aboard, we noted the only crew apart from the twins themselves are automatons. The same ones she had tending to her manor and townhouse.”
She then turned to face Sophia. The urge to smash that look right off the assassin’s face was powerful, but this was not the first time Eliza had been forced to make uncomfortable bedfellows. “I think I can put aside history for that long with the understanding once we are off this airship we can settle our scores.”
Sophia tilted her head, and smiled prettily. “I agree.”
“Now that we have that settled for the time being,” Wellington said, “perhaps we should move onto the bridge and find the device, and Mrs. Sheppard.”
Mention of Kate made Eliza’s rage at Sophia gain focus; she had more important things.
“Come on then,” she said, flexing her arm in the plures, “Let’s get this over with!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In Which Confrontations Occur, Hearts Are Broken, and Eliza Takes Flight
This was hardly déjà vu for Wellington Thornhill Books. On the contrary, this was quickly becoming all in a day’s work. Once again, he found himself on the heels of Eliza D. Braun, running deeper into the belly of chaos and calamity. This time, that belly was inside a leviathan soaring above the clouds. They reached what was apparently an observation deck and were stopped mid-stride by a brilliant flash. They watched as guns from underneath their gondola fired again on the now-abandoned Culpepper estate. The mansion struggled to stand, but a third and final volley brought the once-grand country home to its foundation.
“They are covering their tracks,” Wellington said to them. “So no one will ever discover the truth.”
“We will make sure people will know about this,” Eliza growled, flexing her fingers in her massive sidearm. “Come on. We must be close.”
They reached a heavy iron hatch that would have done any underground lair proud. Sophia grunted as she tugged vainly at it.
“Stand back,” Eliza snapped and wrapped her metal-encased fingers around the wheel mechanism.
The gears and pistons along the plures ornamentum began to spin. Faster. Faster. Eliza planted her feet wider as her mouth twitched slightly and a low groan shuddered underneath Wellington’s feet. Then came a hard, sharp crack that knocked both Wellington and Sophia back. The door flew open and slammed against the wall.
He didn’t bother to call out to Eliza to wait for him. It was pointless. Wellington heard Eliza scream “Kate!” as he raced up the staircase, and his heart made a leap for his throat. He emerged onto the bridge of the airship, eyes wide and palms slightly sweaty.
At the captain’s wheel stood an automaton, keeping the airship on a steady, straight course. Wellington recognised it as a model used for housework. Before them stretched a brilliant blue sky with only the odd cloud marring the expanse. It was a beauty that Wellington didn’t have long to admire.
A pair of arms wrapped around him and knocked him sideways behind the stout oak and brass of the navigator’s station. As he crashed into the floor, he heard the distinct crack of a gunshot.
Wellington peered around the corner of his cover. Two more household automatons had appeared, however these mechanised servants were brandishing pistols. The third, piloting the ship, now turned and joined its compatriots as their ocular devices scanned the bridge.
“The Culpeppers are not receiving guests at present,” spoke the middle servant in Chandi’s calm voice. Hearing it delivered thus made Wellington cold all over.
“Welly?” called Eliza from her hiding spot. “Are you all right?”
“A little winded at the current time,” he moaned in reply, “but otherwise unharmed.”
Sophia wiggled her hips against him and giggled lightly. “I can certainly vouch for that, Signore.”
Wellington looked over his shoulder at the Italian, her smile dark and wicked. This woman was something rather incredible—more frightening than Eliza D. Braun. Still she had saved his life.
With a nod of gratitude, Wellington peeled himself free of the Italian’s embrace and crawled to the corner of the podium. He attempted to peer past the wood in order to get a more accurate count of automatons, but another gunshot caused him to withdraw his head quickly.
“Miss Culpepper,” Wellington called, “is there any possibility we can convince you to surrender?”
“That is most kind of you, Mr. Books, but I am afraid that is out of the question seeing as my house staff has the arsenal, and I have Mrs. Sheppard and the electroporter.”
Good, Wellington thought. It has a name. Now I need to know how to dismantle it.
“Eliza,” called Mrs. Sheppard, her voice level but stained with anger, “stay where you are! This bitch is as mad as a hatter! She’s pushed back the movement twenty years at least!”
He screwed his eyes shut, pushing his spectacles up as he pinched his nose. Don’t antagonise the Mad Hatter. She has a small arsenal on command.
“Kate, I’m not going to leave you,” his colleague yelled back.
“You have to get out of here,” the suffragist implored. “Tell the movement what has happened; stiffen their spines!”
“And therein lies a puzzle,” Wellington called out. “It is most difficult to negotiate while the reasons of Miss Culpepper remain unspoken.”
“Mr. Books, your being a learned man, a cultured man, I would assume this would not be hard for you to grasp.” He heard their opponent move across the chamber. She was adjusting something. Dials, perhaps? That couldn’t be good.
Then a low hum joined the rumble of the airship, and it grew louder with each passing second. No doubting it: Chandi was bringing the electroporter to life.
“The Queen does not believe in this movement!” Miss Culpepper’s reply was h
igh-pitched and rapid. Extremely disconcerting. “My country does not believe in this movement, and yet this cheek—this effrontery—is tolerated! Had it stayed in the isolated southern corners of the world, there would be no need for this sort of discipline, but this is a sickness that must be purged!”
Sophia looked at Wellington and shook her head. “A sickness?”
“Now it is here on the shores of England, and this woman is its eternal flame!” Wellington could hear something large being rolled into place as Chandi continued, “Well, I intend to put out this flame once and for all.”
“Kate—” Eliza called again.
“Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Sheppard barked. Wellington, had he not already been impressed with the suffragist, now understood how she could rally so many to her cause. “Go on, Chandi. Make me disappear. Do what you will, and the movement will make me a martyr. A banner that will always fly high and proud.”
“Will I?” Chandi’s laugh was cracked and terrifying. Then came the sound of a lever being pushed forward, immediately followed by a soft crackling of power. The machine was rapidly reaching its critical point. “I think Mrs. Sheppard’s body impaled atop the clock tower might send an entirely different message. So will the deaths that follow.”
“Most ambitious of you,” Wellington shot his comment over the top of their cover. “We saw the map.”
Sophia gave a flick of her wrist and a small, silver blade dropped into her waiting palm.
“No!” whispered Wellington, grabbing her arm. “We have no idea where the twin is. She could be in hiding. She could be elsewhere on the ship.”
Chandi’s diatribe rattled on. “You see how the sickness has spread, even in my own home country where women begin to gather. They watch. They plan. And they will rise. One day, they all will. This is not the mother’s will. This is not the son’s will. It was Eve who cast humanity out of Paradise. We must have order! We must—”
The airship rocked suddenly to one side, and in the corner of Wellington’s eye he caught sight of another approaching craft. He recognised the banner of the Blythe Spirit. The cavalry had arrived.
Just a heartbeat after that realisation, there came a distant thud, followed by a heavy jolt that caused the airship to bounce. Wellington watched the captain’s wheel compensate and the massive craft continued on.
He placed a palm against the bridge floor and shot a look at Sophia. “Chandi’s twin is in Engineering.”
The assassin arched an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?”
“We’re picking up speed.” The Archivist rolled to one side, switching places with Sophia in their cramped, shared space. “Even without a porthole down there, she must know we are under attack and be starting evasive manoeuvres.” He pointed to the wheel as it spun towards the right. “I need to get to the controls.”
“Wellington,” Sophia whispered tersely, “should we not try to communicate with your comrades?”
“No time,” Wellington said. “Finding such a device would take too long.”
“But why are they trying to—”
“Kill us?” He gave a sharp laugh. “If you were piloting an airship with rescue in mind, and saw the stronghold where you knew your people were being held suddenly go up in flames, what would you think?”
“I could take her with one of these,” Sophia said holding up the blade.
“Provided her rather hostile house staff didn’t shoot you first. I have an idea of how to disable them, but I need cover.”
Their eyes held one another for a long moment. It was a gamble. Once more his fate was in the hands of a skilled, ruthless assassin. Still, what were his options? As it was in the pit, they had only one chance; and Wellington knew that Eliza would not miss her own cue to rescue Kate Shep—
The feel of Sophia’s strong, hungry kiss completely shattered any and all thoughts Wellington was piecing together. He only tasted her mouth, her tongue. She continued the sentiment in a most European fashion, delicious, soft moans escaping her.
With a final gasp, she stepped back and then glanced over to the controls. “You will have your moment. Do not look over your shoulder. That would be the hesitation her automatons will take full advantage of.”
Who will? Wellington’s mind was a complete blank. My God, I think I’m sweating.
“Do not worry.” She held the throwing blade between them. “I won’t miss.”
“I know you won’t,” he replied dryly. He then rolled onto his stomach and fixed his eyes on Chandi at the electroporter controls. He could smell the building electricity in the air. He only had moments remaining.
Wellington tucked his leg underneath him, and whispered, “Now!”
He launched himself out from the hiding place and felt his shoulder connect with Chandi, knocking her free of the controls. His eyes immediately looked at the gauges, all indicating the device was at full power. Finding a control knob that appeared to control power output, Wellington turned the knob to its highest setting.
Behind him, Wellington heard the sound of mechanised feet advancing, followed immediately by the sound of a whip, the sharp clang of something striking metal, and the grinding of metal against metal. He swore he could have heard Chandi mutter “That is most inappropriate behaviour for this household, miss. I must ask you to leave.” He then had to brace himself against the control panel as the ship listed sharply. Then it lurched upwards as it began to gain altitude. The Archivist heard two women exchange quick words followed by the sound of running. A scream of pain. He could not afford to pay them any mind. As Sophia said, he couldn’t hesitate. He had to make sure this worked. The electroporter suddenly flashed, blinding him and no doubt those around them.
When he heard the automaton fall he dared to steal a glance. There was one mechanised servant still standing and its pistol was aimed directly at Wellington’s temple. His timing was impeccable; the pulse had reached it first. Maxwell’s paper, it seemed, has some really interesting applications.
A small explosion and the smell of electricity filled his nostrils, but instead of being blinded by another brilliant flash, he flew over to the captain’s wheel and hit something hard. He fell against the floor, next to an unconscious Sophia del Morte.
A crackle of energy took his eyes away from the assassin. Slowly stepping forward towards him, wielding what appeared at first glance to be a swagger stick as found in the care of a sea or airship captain, was Chandi Culpepper. He still found her quite striking, even as her staff’s tip sparked with dangerous, fatal energy. She made the Italian appear as demure as a country girl.
“Poor thing,” she said, wielding her simple weapon awkwardly. Wellington could only glance at her other arm. She was bleeding. Sophia had obviously kept her promise to him. “I think that will leave a bit of a bruise.”
“Miss Culpepper,” Wellington grunted, feeling the airship shudder as another salvo struck the gondola. He scrambled back as the lethal tip slowly came down before him, sending sparks in all directions, some disappearing in the air while others bounced against the floor and faded away. “Miss Culpepper, please . . .”
“Mr. Books,” she chided softly, shaking her head, “don’t beg. It’s hardly befitting from a gentleman.” Chandi pulled back her weapon as if it were a spear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be certain to make the pain last.”
Chandi didn’t get the chance. Arising from beside her, Eliza backhanded Chandi with the plures ornamentum. Her body was abruptly lifted off the bridge floor when the gauntlet struck her hard in the chest. Her swagger stick clattered to the ground as she was tossed into the double archway of the electroporter. Wellington watched silently as Eliza glanced over the controls and reset the power dial. With a flip of a switch, lights flicked on and small generators within the metallic lace and webwork hummed to life.
“We trusted you.” Kate now stood over Chandi, the one human eye visible to Wellington hard and cold. He could only imagine how the other with its eerie emerald radiance would look like from
the Culpeppers’ point of view. “You were embraced by the movement.” Kate might be battered and bruised, yet she held herself erect as a queen. “You broke your the oath to the cause. For what? Some antiquated religious ideal?”
“Kate,” Eliza said, slowly bringing the electroporter up. The machine’s hum turned into a crackle. “Stand back.”
His colleague’s gauntlet must have hit her far harder than he initially thought. Chandi was having a rough go at catching her breath, let alone looking up. She did manage to do so, and her dusky skin went pale at seeing Eliza raise the final lever and stop at its halfway point.
“Her name was Ihita Pujari,” Eliza spoke evenly, her voice icy cold. “She was a dear friend of mine.”
Chandi’s lips moved, but any sound she made was drowned out by the electroporter after Eliza completed the final circuit.
Bolts danced across the arches and crawled like angry, anxious insects up along the frame. The space around the array rippled and pulsed, causing the air to stir. The smell of electricity overwhelmed them and made Wellington’s eyes water. Louder and louder the hum grew, and then the bridge disappeared in a great flash of white.
Blinking back tears, Wellington pulled himself to his feet, his eyes still looking at where Chandi Culpepper had once been. The air was settling as the generators within the device spun down.
He turned to congratulate Eliza; but instead her name rose to his lips as a warning shout.
It couldn’t have been Chandi appearing behind his colleague; it did, however, look exactly like her. Eliza spun about and barely managed to evade the doppelgänger’s knife Chandi’s twin brandished; but even still, the blade dug deep into her shoulder. With a backhand motion, Eliza used the plures ornamentum to slap away her assailant. Then the agent slumped into Mrs. Sheppard’s arms.
Wellington bolted for the two women, as Eliza’s blood seeped onto her fellow New Zealander’s dress. He tore off his lab frock and nicked the hem against one of the plures ornamentum’s sharper edges. Once he had torn the fabric, he began binding Eliza’s arm. As he continued wrapping the wound, his mind whispered, Where is she? The sister. She should have attacked again by now.
