“One could say it certainly devoured Professor Wren.”
“And nearly the doctor himself.”
“Perhaps I’ll mention this to Doctor van den Bosch when I see him. Do you think he would appreciate the observations of a mere guard and an enslaved scientist?”
Jasperse chuckled. “Is it almost that time again?”
“Soon enough, Mister Hague will come by and collect me. Last night, Doctor van den Bosch yelled at me, calling me an incompetent. I wonder what we’ll talk about tonight. Perhaps he’ll accuse me of espionage.” Nathanial toyed with his whiskers. “Jasperse, if I did want to enter Professor Wren’s old laboratory, how would I get inside?”
The old soldier shrugged. “Easy enough, I would imagine. No one ever guards it, but it’s locked. You’d need a set of keys.”
“And these keys; they wouldn’t just be lying about somewhere that any old chap could pinch them, eh?”
“The doctor’s private study is where you’ll find those.”
“But if it was unlocked for some reason?”
“Then a chap could waltz right in, pretty as you please.”
“And you would stop me if I were to go waltzing one night?” Nathanial gave Jasperse a careful look to say he was serious.
“I wouldn’t be averse to helping you answer a nagging question or two, if that’s what you mean, sir.”
Nathanial smiled. “You’re a good man, Jasperse.”
“I try to be, sir.”
Chapter Ten
“The Austrian Manhunt”
1.
The station operated on a twenty-eight hour cycle rather than twenty-four, as one would see on Earth. However, the men worked in four shifts, fourteen hours at a time, which made for odd overlaps. Thus, the galley had to operate ’round-the-clock to meet the demands of a near-constant influx of workers wandering in for any of their daily three meals.
Annabelle hid inside the kitchen, watching the men sitting at the tables. Sweat and steam soaked her clothes. Currently, there were thirty-four men taking one meal or the other. None of them was her man.
The galley, usually a place for boisterous talk and good cheer, was silent, save for the occasional clatter of silverware on plates. Word had gotten around about the mad bomber. The men were trying to keep in good spirits, but they were becoming nervous. She had been with Dolan last evening when one of the men, witless with fear, was caught trying to steal one of the cutters. It was lucky for him it was Fullbright’s men who had gotten him and not one of the security force; for van den Bosch had given orders to shoot on sight anyone attempting to leave the station. The man was now in sickbay and received regular doses of ether to render him unconscious. To do otherwise was to have the man screaming and senseless. Annabelle’s guts squirmed with the mere thought of it.
The man had good reason to be afraid. The investigation was going poorly. Guards had already made a thorough search of Heaven, and they were posted at entrances to both British and Austrian to watch for anything out of the ordinary. Even now, they scoured Hell for any trace for either the bomber or further sabotage, but there was little hope of finding either. Hell was a labyrinth of twisting pipes, narrow passageways, and sweltering boiler rooms, all obscured by dim, red lighting and steam. The fellow need only pick a nice, dark corner, and an entire team of guards could pass him by none the wiser.
And anyway, no one knew the bomber’s description. Perhaps that was Annabelle’s fault, having seen the man she believed was responsible. Yet, she did not want to voice her theory without some kind of proof. She only had seen the man walking about the station, seemingly doing nothing, and then disappearing suddenly, as if through the walls themselves, with the only real piece of slightly damning evidence being that he was slovenly of dress, with sawdust on his uniform. That was hardly evidence, and van den Bosch would not react kindly to it. So far, he had been overlooking her repeatedly flummoxing Loaves to slip out of his company unnoticed so that she might go searching, but that would likely change if it was known that she was harassing workers with unfounded theories.
Dolan, meanwhile, had Doctor Holmes calling each man into his office under the auspices of a physical, but really they were using the station rolls as a checklist. Dolan believed that the bomber would recognise what was being done and fail to show up for his physical. If that was the case, they would have their man. What Dolan had failed to understand, and what Annabelle had tried and failed to explain, was that the plan assumed the bomber was on the rolls. What if he had been smuggled aboard somehow? Dolan, so far, seemed oblivious to such possibilities, or it could be that he did not care.
Already Annabelle was fed up with the man. Dolan was more interested in having his job than actually doing it, as if status was the most important thing to him. He strutted around, like the cock of the walk, talking to his friends, drinking whiskey, and gaming down in the workers’ dorms. More than once, she had thought of telling him what she knew. Maybe it would motivate him to find the bomber, if she gave him a clue to the man’s identity. She had not, though; there seemed little point, given his attitude. Sad. She really liked the man, but he was useless.
“’Ello, miss. Fancy findin’ you ’ere.”
Annabelle sighed and stood up. The day’s search was over. “Hello, Loaves. What can I do for you?”
“Anythin’ good on the menu, this evenin’?”
“Nothing. How goes the search of Hell?”
“In progress at the moment, miss. Still no sign of ’im. It’s like ’e…”
“Disappeared?”
“I was going to say, like ’e stepped outside the place, miss.”
“Did Mister Dolan send you to find me?”
“’E has at that, miss, after ’e gave me a boxing for losin’ you again. Could you stop doin’ that, miss? Please? I’m startin’ to look bad.”
“I’m sorry, Loaves. I don’t mean for you to lose me. I just wander off. My mother had the same problem as you when I was a girl. I just wander…” Annabelle paused for a moment, a rogue memory of the Chiricahua Mountains coming to the forefront of her mind. She shook it away with effort, and continued on. “So where is Mister Dolan, anyway?”
“Some crates have come up missing at the quartermaster.”
“Does this have anything to do with the bomber?”
Loaves looked confused. “Can’t say that I know, miss. Probably not, judgin’ by ’is annoyance. Normally, ’e’d assign one of us to the problem, but every man is spread out over ’ell.”
“So where does that leave us, then?”
“’E said come find you and bring you to ’im.” Loaves chuckled good-naturedly. “Maybe if ’e puts you to work, it’ll solve your wanderin’ problem.”
Annabelle sighed. “That it will.”
2.
Loaves led her through the kitchen and into the pantry. There, he opened a portal behind the staple goods, pulling the shelf inward like one might open a door. The hallway behind the secret door went left and right. To the left, Loaves explained, was a dumbwaiter that went into Hell. For what purpose, Loaves didn’t know. Next to the dumbwaiter was an airlock for the purposes of dumping refuse into the aether. Loaves told the story with the excitement of someone who’d just overheard an extraordinary tale at the pub.
To the right was a long hallway, given a sterile whitewash, that came to an abrupt end. A palm plate near the dead end opened a wall panel with a hiss of compressed steam, revealing the passageway that ran alongside the galley.
“Are there many secret passages like this throughout the station?”
Loaves shrugged. “None else that I know of, miss, but I haven’t been everywhere. There’s a rumour of a lift that goes straight from Mister Provost’s quarters into the green house, but that’s all I know.”
The quartermaster was an Austrian. Annabelle and Loaves passed Nathanial’s quarters, as it was just off the basilica. She wondered what he was doing. She really needed to speak with him soon. Someone else had to hear
her theory, even as mad as it sounded. Of course, he would likely scoff, too, given her lack of evidence, yet not as harshly as she was likely to get from van den Bosch or one of his cronies. And, he made a good sounding board for her thoughts. A simple conversation with him might illuminate some avenues of inquiry she had missed. The secret passage problem, for instance. Air ducts! It was all so maddeningly simple, yet she had never thought of it.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but you seem upset about summat.”
Annabelle caught Loaves staring at her, brow furrowed. He was genuinely concerned with her safety and well-being. It made her feel guilty that she had repeatedly been forced to abandon him to search for the bomber. “It’s nothing, Loaves, but thank you.”
“If there’s anything I can do, of course.”
“Of course. But no, really, there’s nothing for you to—ˮ
Annabelle’s heart lurched in her chest. Her eyes jerked toward a familiar movement. The stocky man with the sandy-coloured hair was visible only for a moment, and then he was gone around a corner. Annabelle left Loaves standing in the middle of the hall to investigate.
3.
As she turned the corner she saw him at once, strolling down the hall, hands in the pockets of his coverall. At the end of the hall, he turned left. It looked like he was heading toward the stairs that would take him below, to the workers’ dorms, but she couldn’t tell.
“Miss, is summat wrong? I really need to get you to Mister Dolan before he gets too angry with me.”
Annabelle turned and faced the big man. “Of course. Loaves, I must see Professor Stone at once about a private matter. Be a dear and tell Mister Dolan I’ll meet with him soon.”
Loaves shook his head. “No, miss. I can’t do that. You see, Mister Dolan’s sent me to find you, and ’e won’t like it at all if I should arrive without you.”
“Loaves, please. This is important.”
“I’ll come along, then.”
A panic rose in Annabelle’s chest. She could trick Loaves and hide from him again. It wasn’t at all difficult, but it would take longer than she had if she was going to find the bomber before he had the chance to disappear again.
“All right, Loaves. Listen to me. I believe I know who placed the bomb in Professor Stone’s quarters four cycles ago.”
Loaves’ eyes widened. “You do? We should tell Mister Dolan at once, miss!”
“No. We have no time for that. I’ve just spotted my man again, and we mustn’t lose him. Do you understand? We must find him so he can be questioned.”
“Of course, miss.” Loaves swelled with importance. “I won’t fail you.”
“Good man.” She took the big man’s thick, hairy arm and pulled him along, giving a brief description of her suspect as they went. Loaves nodded his head as she spoke, though she could not be sure if he truly understood what she said.
At the intersection, she directed Loaves right, and she went left, in the direction she had seen the bomber go. Dolan will simply have to wait, she decided. With any luck, she would have her man soon enough.
Chapter Eleven
“Bloody Savages”
1.
Tonight there was a choice of wine or brandy. Provost had brought a nice Riesling from his private stock, and Nathanial chose that instead, pouring a snifter of the brandy for Jasperse, which he took to the guard, who was sitting cross-legged outside Holmes’ quarters, carbine across his lap. Nathanial handed Jasperse the glass, who took it with great relish.
“Ah, the good stuff,” he whispered, as though he cradled a sleeping babe in his hands. He sniffed of its bouquet with his eyes closed, savouring it. “Nerves are settled, then?”
“Quite,” Nathanial said. “Thank you.”
Jasperse nodded. “What you’re doing in there, it’s the best way to stave off the darkness, short of a woman. That’s a trust you must make with your body, Mister Stone. It’s told you what it needs, which is good company and drink, and you’ve listened. Good for you, I say. You’ll find your way through your fears and uncertainty, sure enough.”
Nathanial found the wall and slid to the floor, sitting next to Jasperse. “Been in many difficulties yourself?” he asked.
The man nodded. It was a hard gesture. “Saw a bit of the stuff in Africa. The Zulu were advancing on us in waves. Had one clear the wall and come right at me, howling like a banshee on the moors. Had no weapon on him, but I was so frightened just to look at him all I could do when he charged was fall backwards onto my duff. Luckily, in falling I brought up my bayonet just as he leapt on me. Took him right through the gullet, it did, and the Devil take me if that stopped him. Pulled himself down my blade, trying to inch close enough to get those big, dark hands around my throat, and when he couldn’t go no further and knew his life was slipping away, what did he do? Vomited his blood in my face. There was so much of it, the surgeons were sure I’d go blind.” Jasperse nodded, half to himself. “He was the finest man I ever killed. Bully damned tough one at that. Later, when I was convalescing, I began to hallucinate. They had these bandages over my eyes, you see, and so all I had was my imagination to keep me company at night. I began to see the fellow coming at me out the darkness, over and over again. I’d wake out of sleep and hear him screaming my name as he charged me. It was a miracle I didn’t catch a death from fright.”
“But you did overcome it, yes?”
Jasperse shrugged. “Got a gun in my hands and went back into it. Traded one horror for another until Her Majesty saw fit to send me home, and then I forgot about it.”
Nathanial furrowed his brow. “As easy as all that?”
Jasperse shook his head. “No, but you shouldn’t keep your friends waiting, not with a half-blind old fellow who spins grisly war stories to keep himself awake.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, so Nathanial went back inside.
2.
They were deep in some discussion as he entered. Fullbright turned his head around at Nathanial. “Ah, Stone,” he said. “Good fellow. I was just telling the lads that the Juggernaut has commanded me to have your flyer repaired.”
“It’s not my flyer. It’s Annabelle’s,” Nathanial said, taking up his spot on the settee and grabbing his wine. “And I suppose that’s good news.”
“Oh, but tell him why,” Provost said, an amused glint in his eye.
“Well, as you might know, we have more men than we can safely fit in the cutters, should we be forced to evacuate. Your flyer alleviates that burden somewhat, so the Juggernaut wants it seen to. I sent men out in the previous cycle to begin preliminary reports.”
“Sent men out? To where?”
“Well, out to your flyer, of course.” Fullbright laughed. “We certainly couldn’t fit the bugger in our docking bay, if that’s what you were wondering. It’s too big, Stone. We’ve got it tethered outside of Sunward Observation, just below the viewport, so the men don’t have to travel across the station’s length just to have a look at her.”
Provost could no longer contain himself. “Isn’t that a glowing vote of confidence, Stone?” he said with glee. “The Juggernaut has such faith in you he is preparing to escape this place should it become an inferno.”
Provost and Holmes had a good chuckle over this, but Nathanial failed to see the humour in it. “I’ve been meaning to ask, just what is the plan should we evacuate?”
“Don’t think in those terms, lad,” Holmes said. “You’ll get us back in order soon enough.”
An evacuation plan was prudent at this point. Nathanial, after yet another frustrating day of poring over woefully inadequate reports, regretted his bravado from the other night, when he had pontificated to Dolan on the inherent virtue of the scientific method. “Suppose I don’t. What, then?”
“Something best not to say,” Fullbright said.
“But I want to hear it.”
“Oh, come now, Stone,” Provost said. “I, for one, don’t want to hear this dreary bit of nonsense.”
“We
ll, I do,” Nathanial said. “Please, Fullbright. Tell me.”
The engineer was annoyed, but he set down his brandy and fixed Nathanial with a serious look. “It’s all really quite simple. If an evacuation is called, the men will be assembled in the galley. The cutters are already loaded with emergency rations and a supply of potable water. More supplies will be added to accommodate additional men. Hague will then address the workers, telling them that we will begin sending men in an orderly fashion to the cutters below.”
“But even with Annabelle’s flyer, there won’t be enough room to carry all of the men,” Nathanial protested.
“Just so,” Holmes said. “Nor can we accommodate any sick or wounded.”
“Department heads will go first, of course,” Fullbright said. “Preference will be given to Crown citizens and the Austrians, and if there is any room left, we will take as many others as we can.”
“And then?” Nathanial asked.
“Oh, don’t be so obtuse, Stone,” Provost said, rolling his eyes.
“And then, we leave,” Fullbright said, with a sigh. “That’s to be it.” Nathanial’s uneasiness must have been evident on his features, for Fullbright added, “Well, I’m sure accommodations for you and Miss Somerset have been made as well.”
“And if not?”
“Well, I’m sure they have been.”
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”
“Now see here, Stone, you can’t possibly—ˮ
Nathanial arched an eyebrow. “Can’t I?” he asked. He told the others what van den Bosch had told him during their first meeting. When he was done, there was silence. No one replied because there was nothing to say. Eventually, they moved away from the subject entirely.
“So, what did you and the Juggernaut have to say tonight, Stone?” Fullbright asked.
“Yes. The old boy was very quiet at dinner tonight,” Provost said. “Hardly heard a roar out of him.”
Nathanial shrugged. His eyes were turned toward the floor, his mind a swirling quagmire of the stabiliser problems, Annabelle’s face, and the imagined screams of dying men.
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