That was when Nathanial noticed something was terribly, terribly wrong. He smelled it first, but then noticed a thick, noxious gas, tinged slightly green, billowing out of the broken wreckage. Van den Bosch gagged, and, gripping his throat, fell backwards into his chair.
“Poison!” Nathanial cried, and leapt across the desk. Van den Bosch slid from his chair, limp as a rag doll. Nathanial held his breath and began trying to drag the doctor away, but the man’s bulk was too great. “Jasperse! Come quickly!” he yelled with what oxygen he had in his lungs.
The gas cloud continued to spread, filling the room. Nathanial pulled hard on van den Bosch’s jacket sleeves. He still held his breath, and had squeezed his eyes shut for good measure, but his exertions were starting to wear at him. Already his lungs felt like they were on fire, and he’d barely moved the man a foot.
Jasperse burst into the room, carbine at ready. He saw the rapidly expanding green gas and pulled a kerchief from his coverall pocket, quickly tying it over his mouth and nose, and dashed forward to assist Nathanial in dragging the administrator to safety.
2.
Outside, they shut and locked the door. Nathanial fell onto the floor, gulping air.
Jasperse called down the hall. “We have a gas leak on British side, Doctor van den Bosch’s office. We need ventilations systems sealed in this area. Hurry!”
A voice from somewhere replied with an affirmative, but Jasperse was already at Nathanial’s side. “Are you all right, lad?” he asked.
Nathanial could only nod. Jasperse went then to van den Bosch’s prone form. He rolled the man over and placed an ear his chest. Nathanial could see a slight rise and fall in the chest.
“Did he get a snoot full of the stuff?” Jasperse asked.
“I believe so. He certainly choked on some of it,” Nathanial replied.
Men armed with carbines arrived in a few minutes, led by a grim-faced Hague. Salt was with them, but he looked lost, as though he had been caught up in the undertow of men and pulled along with it. Holmes arrived on their heels, black medical bag in hand. He moved to help Nathanial, who waved him off.
“I’m fine. It’s van den Bosch,” he said.
A quick examination confirmed Nathanial’s fear. “Frantic heart rate, and his breathing is laboured. We must get him to sickbay at once.”
“Will he live?” Nathanial asked.
“We won’t know for sure until I can observe him further.”
A litter was arranged, and six men laboured under van den Bosch’s bulk as they carried him away, Mister Salt with them. Hague and two armed men remained. Jasperse was nearby, eyeing everything and everyone. His gun had been left behind in the room, which was now sealed, but Nathanial had no doubt the man remained dangerous.
“How did this happen?” Hague asked.
Nathanial explained what had happened. My God, the steward! Nathanial wanted to scream. Sarp usually served the wine, but tonight, it had been a new man. He had tried to poison us. Van den Bosch had gotten a good look at him, though. If he survived, perhaps he could provide a clue.
“Who delivered the wine?” Hague asked.
“A steward. I’ve never seen him before.”
“A large gentleman? Turkish?”
“I know Sarp, Mister Hague. This was a tall chap, thin.” Nathanial thought hard. “Prussian!”
Hague squinted behind his small, prim spectacles. “Are you sure of this?”
“Yes.”
“That is unfortunate,” Hague replied. “Unfortunate, for there is no one on this station matching your description.” Hague nodded at his men, and they left. He turned back to Nathanial. “Return to your quarters at once. I’ll send word when it is safe.” Hague turned on his heel marched away.
Jasperse, ever dutiful, took Nathanial by the arm and started to lead him away. “Come now, Professor,” he said. “Mister Hague may be right about this. We need to get you somewhere safe.”
Nathanial pulled away. “No,” he said. “We’re not returning to my quarters. We’re going down into Hell.”
“Whatever for, sir?” Jasperse asked.
“I had wanted to confer with the others first, but we may not have a chance like this again. We’ve been speaking to the wrong side in this, Jasperse. Van den Bosch had the stabilisers disabled. He won’t help us.”
“So who will?”
Nathanial clapped the man on the back. “Get yourself armed and go find Provost. We’ll need all the help we can get. We’re about to go in search of Professor Wren’s ghost.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Into the Depths of Hell!”
1.
Hell was blood red and choked with steam. At every turn a shadow moved, as though it were some murderer, ready to spring from the dark and claim a new victim with the flash of a knife’s blade. Moreover, most of the main floor, which was actually three split levels, was all twisting pipes and rumbling machinery. It wasn’t until one emerged into the docking bay where decent lighting or air that wasn’t thick as cotton could be had.
“I say, Stone,” said Provost, who jumped at every disturbance. “I don’t see the logic in all of this. Why bring me along at all?”
“Steady on, Provost,” Nathanial said. Already his head pounded with the tension he felt. Heaven was in an uproar. News of the attack had swept like wildfire among the crew. Security was now guarding the armoury, sickbay, and both Observation Decks. The men wanted answers, or they wanted weapons to protect themselves. Dolan had been removed from his command, and he was nowhere to be found. When Nathanial had questioned Salt, whom he found walking the halls as if in a daze, the man had replied that Hague was now in complete control of all operations, including security.
“Have we any idea in hell where this bloody thing might be?” Provost asked. “Assuming it exists, of course, which I am certain it does not.”
Nathanial ignored him. Let him whine, he thought. Fullbright would be busy in Operations, Holmes was trying to save van den Bosch’s life, and Nathanial needed people he could trust to help him find Le Boeuf. That left only Jasperse, Annabelle, and Provost, and Nathanial could not find Annabelle, either.
A groan passed through the hull, reverberating throughout the station’s iron skeleton. Another warning from the aether vortex.
To answer Provost’s question, one had only to pay attention to the rumours. Professor Wren’s ghost had been seen near a number of airlocks. The most recent sighting had actually been in Heaven, near the airlock by the kitchen, the one used to dispose of refuse. Nathanial could not tell if these sightings were random, or if they were part of some larger message. He could only take the data he had and apply it critically. Sightings of Professor Wren were most recently near airlocks, and so he would check each of the seven in Hell, starting with the one nearest engineering.
The hull groaned again.
“Come on, dear,” Jasperse said, patting a nearby wall. The armoury’s closure had lost him a new carbine, but Jasperse had improvised. Now armed with a pry-bar, a claw hammer, and a knife, he was as prepared as he could be. “Just give us a moment to do our work, and we’ll have you fixed in no time.”
“Don’t make promises we cannot keep, Jasperse,” Provost said.
“I’ve my faith in Professor Stone, here. He’ll see us through.”
“Thank you, Jasperse,” Nathanial said. “We should be passing under Austrian momentarily, gentlemen. That’s where we’ll find what we’re looking for.”
“Good, then,” Jasperse said. “I must say, the heat here reminds me of—ˮ
“Bloody hell!”
Nathanial leapt a foot in the air as Provost cried out in horror. A shower of ice poured down his spine. “What is it, man?” Nathanial hissed. “I nearly caught my death!”
“I saw something!” Provost said. Nathanial found the man in the gloom and searched out his face. Provost was pale, bloodless, like he had seen a ghost.
“How did you see anything in all this steam?” Jasperse asked
.
Provost pointed to his right. “I saw him as clear as day. He’s headed toward British. What’s more, Stone, I believe it was that man Miss Somerset was on about.”
Nathanial jerked his head in the direction Provost was pointing. “The bomber?” he asked.
“The same. Short, sandy-haired fellow. He was running like the Devil was chasing him!”
“Running? Why?”
There came a grumbling overhead. The air itself seemed to shimmer as the entire station shook, and then a groan as if the hull itself was being torn asunder.
“That wasn’t the vortex,” Jasperse said.
“It sounded more like an explosion,” Nathanial replied.
“Good Lord,” Provost whispered.
Nathanial grabbed Provost without thinking and twisted him toward the direction the botanist had been pointing a moment earlier.
“Wait! What are you doing?” Provost cried.
“After that man!” Nathanial shouted. “We can’t let him escape a third time!”
Chapter Eighteen
“Doom Under Glass”
1.
“Miss Somerset! Annabelle! Where are you?”
Annabelle scrambled out of the air duct and replaced the grate. Dolan’s voice was near, but it was clear he had not discovered her yet. She didn’t want him coming about when she had so soon made her discovery.
“I’m here! Where are you?”
“Where you’re supposed to be, woman! Come a-running!”
Annabelle made her way back to where she had been working. Dolan was there waiting for her, face stricken.
“We’ve run into something, girl.”
Annabelle was worried. Dolan wasn’t a man who took anything too seriously. Whatever had him so frightened, she could not help but worry. “What is it?” she asked.
“Doctor van den Bosch. Someone tried to poison him and your man, Stone, in the good doctor’s study, no less.”
“Poison?”
“Yes.”
“Is Nathanial―?” It was the bomber, it had to be. If that monster had harmed Nathanial, she would tear him apart.
“Stone’s fine.”
Relief flooded her.
“Then you’ve got to get your men together and start a search! Check the air ducts, Dolan! That’s how he moves about!”
Dolan became rigid. His concern vanished; he stared hard at her for a moment. “How do you know that?” he asked.
“That’s irrelevant. Get your men, Dolan!”
The Irishman shook his head. “They ain’t me men anymore. Hague’s in charge, now.”
“Then we have to talk to him!”
Dolan caught her arm as she tried to push past him. “It won’t do you any good. If you thought Doctor van den Bosch was a son-of-a-bitch, wait until you’ve dealt with Hague. The Devil and the Devil’s misbegotten nephew, that’s them two.”
“Well, what do we do, Dolan? Surely you don’t expect me to sit here and count cans of peaches with you?”
“I should get you somewhere safe,” he said.
“Perish the thought!”
“They just found van den Bosch’s steward in a broom closet with his throat cut! Are you daft? Do you think he won’t come for you, as well? You’ve seen his face, after all!”
Annabelle stabbed an accusatory finger into Dolan’s chest. “So you do believe me!”
Dolan looked away, clearly ashamed. “On my life, woman, I do.”
“Then you also know I can find him. The air ducts, Dolan.”
“I need to get you safe, Miss Annabelle. You don’t know what this fellow is capable of.”
“I know better than you—ˮ
A roaring explosion stopped their conversation dead.
“What was that?” Annabelle asked, already knowing the answer. “An explosion…?”
But Dolan wasn’t hearing her. He stared upward, as if the answer to everything were written on the ceiling. “My God,” he whispered, breath blowing out the wispy strands of his moustache. “We’re under siege.”
Chapter Nineteen
“The Ghost of Professor Wren”
1.
“You there! In the name of the Queen, stop!” Jasperse cried.
The bomber threw a brief glance over his shoulder, crying out in alarm, but that was all the respite he took before breaking into a mad dash. Jasperse sprinted after him, bellowing at him some formal, yet wildly unintelligible speech about duty before the Crown. There was an oath in it for Queen Victoria, but it, too, could not be deciphered. Spittle flew from the soldier’s lips as he charged past Nathanial.
“Come on!” Nathanial said, grabbing a dumbfounded and winded Provost and pulling him along a side path. With any luck, he thought, the man will get lost in this maze, or his path will cross ours. Then, we shall have him!
The light was terrible, and the steam made negotiating abrupt turns difficult. He was glad for the inexplicable gravity on the station; it made the chase all the more easy on his long legs. Thoughts of the gravity reminded Nathanial remembered of his first day aboard Sovereign, when he had thoughtlessly burned his hand on the boiler. He was careful now, more so than perhaps was necessary, but doing so mostly because he had Provost in tow, as well, and the man seemed so helpless, of a sudden.
“Come now, Provost!” he yelled at the botanist. “Do keep up. We’ve got to have this man, and have him now!”
Their path made a sharp turn left, and Nathanial nearly collided with a piece of pipe jutting outwards. He stopped mere inches before it struck his forehead. If he had not noticed it in time, surely it would have given him a grievous injury.
“Careful of that,” he said to Provost needlessly, as the man was a good head shorter than he, and they were off again.
The way twisted and turned until they ended up with a wall before them. A hallway ran left and right. They chose right, as that would take them in the direction where they had last seen the bomber running. Jasperse’s bellows were far away, but becoming closer.
“There he is!” Provost cried.
Directly ahead, the bomber broke from the maze and dashed down a hallway. He did not even stop to look when the botanist yelled at him. Nathanial wished he had something just then, a knife, a pistol, anything. It was looking to be close quarters with this man if they caught up with him, and Jasperse was the only one who was armed.
2.
They met Jasperse at the junction. Nathanial dodged aside at the last instant, just as the soldier was about to dash him with the pry-bar.
“This way!” Nathanial ordered, and the soldier tore off down the hall.
The hallway was a short one, which ended in another two-way turn. Directly in front of them was a stout metal door, standing slightly ajar.
“The cold storage!” Nathanial cried, realising now where they were. “He’s gone in there, Jasperse.”
“I’ll have him, sir!”
Jasperse came thundering to a stop, tossing the pry-bar into his right hand so his left might grab the cold storage door and pull it open. The room beyond was dark. Nathanial was still twenty paces behind and could see nothing with Jasperse filling the doorway.
A shadow near Jasperse flickered, coming from the hallway to the right.
“Look out!” Provost cried before Nathanial could, but it was too late.
Events slowed to a crawl. The bomber came out in a dash, grabbed Jasperse from the doorway and spun him about. It was then that Nathanial noticed the blade in the bomber’s hand, probably the same one that had done in Loaves. The light was too poor for the blade to flash, but there seemed to Nathanial a quality to it that seemed brighter and shinier than anything else he had ever seen before. But see it he did only for an instant, for, a blink later, the knife was embedded hilt-deep in Jasperse’s chest.
“Villain!” Nathanial cried, and charged.
The bomber peered in their direction and, seeing two men bearing down on him, turned to his right and fled in the opposite direction he had come.
Nathanial reached Jasperse and fell to his knees beside the man. Jasperse was still awake, his face scrunched in agony.
“A beauty of a wound, this,” he grunted.
The blade had entered slightly to the side of him, just above the stomach. It must have passed between the ribs and into the chest, for it now rested somewhere near the heart, so close, in fact, that the handle jumped with each of heartbeat.
“My God, Jasperse. Here let me—ˮ
“No!” Provost cried. “If you pull that blade, Stone, he’s surely a dead man.”
“’S true, lad,” Jasperse whispered. “I’ll be fine here, for a while, anyway. Get that bastard before he gets away. I want a chance to reciprocate his gift.”
Behind them came the far away cacophony of a dozen rifles firing at one time.
“What was that?” Provost asked.
“No time to consider it now,” Nathanial said. He grabbed the pry-bar, handing the hammer to Provost, who took the weapon like he had been given a badger. They raced after the bomber.
3.
They’d taken no more than a few steps before they heard a bloodcurdling scream ahead. The narrow hallway led to a custodial room. Across the way, the pneumatic dumbwaiter sat. Clearly, the bomber had been trying to use it to return to Heaven so he could find a proper hiding place. However, that plan had been cut short. Now, he lay crumpled on the floor, arms and legs akimbo.
Crouched over him, in his ghostly rags, was Professor Wren.
Provost stopped in his tracks, jaw slack. “Professor Wren!” he whispered. “Stone, it’s his ghost!”
The chalk white face turned in their direction. Bloodshot eyes watched them, yellowing teeth smiled like a child playing at a devilish game.
“Wait! I need to speak with you.” Nathanial said.
Wren stood and danced a pirouette in answer. Then a slow, raspy laugh issued from him, and without further ado, he leapt atop a nearby crate and disappeared into the darkness overhead.
“After him, Provost,” Nathanial said, dropping to the bomber’s side.
“Surely you jest,” Provost said. “I’ll live the rest of my days in infamy before I chase after a bloody ghost.”
series 01 04 Abattoir in the Aether Page 11
