by Archer, Zoe
But Louisa was no amateur. She stepped carefully over the bolt. Her skirts didn’t even brush against it as she passed.
He still couldn’t exhale. Staying back in the less-illuminated part of the catwalk, he watched as she set the bomb down at the very center of the support beam, opened it and set the timer, replaced the top, then started her return journey. Again she avoided knocking the loose bolt to the ground, and headed quickly toward the catwalk. Without the burden of the bomb, she went much faster, moving with an elegant agility.
He took a breath only when her steps took her back over the catwalk. He reached up to assist her in dismounting, but she swung down on her own, dropping lightly to her feet.
“Prettier than any waltz I’ve ever seen,” he said.
Her eyes seemed to glow, and he couldn’t fault her for looking pleased with herself. He couldn’t have been more impressed. Grinning, she said, “A hell of a lot more useful, too.”
Neither of them wanted to test their luck by lingering. They hurried along the catwalk until they reached the other end of the manufacturing room. Hastening through another door, they came to a stairwell leading four stories down. She ran down them quickly, but he decided he would move faster.
He leapt over the railing to the stairs just below, then vaulted over the next railing to the stairs beneath that. Two more times he repeated the process, swiftly making short work of the staircase and passing Louisa along the way.
They reconvened at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Now you’re just showing off,” she said with a shake of her head.
“It’s working. Look how dazzled you are.”
Their brief humor vanished, however, as they continued on their mission. He was conscious of time slipping away and the continual presence of danger all around. As they crept through more corridors, several times they had to duck into alcoves or behind support beams to avoid being spotted by sentries. Hiding his considerable size wasn’t easy, and it went against his very nature to shrink away from a threat, but the last thing he wanted was a firefight inside a munitions plant. Especially with Louisa by his side.
They slipped down a passageway, then stopped outside another closed door. She tried the handle.
“Damn. Locked.” From her pack, she produced a small velvet case. A series of picks were lined up inside—the tools of a thief. Or spy.
It would be so easy for him to kick the door down. Easy, and satisfying. All the exertions of the mission had barely burned the energy seething within him. But he forced himself to stand and wait patiently as she worked the lock with her picks.
She gave him a wink as the lock tumbled into place, and the door swung open.
Within this chamber were stacked countless barrels and glass jars. He inhaled and caught the sour odors of saltpeter and sulfur, and sharp chemical scents.
“The raw ingredients for the explosives are stored in this series of rooms,” she said. “Components for gunpowder and trinitrotoluene.”
Making it an ideal location for the third and final bomb.
He pulled off his pack and removed the bomb himself before handing it to Louisa. She placed it against one of the walls and set the timing device.
“The blast will knock out the walls,” she said as she worked, “mixing the components.”
“They’ll combine,” he deduced, “and then all of these chambers turn into one giant bomb.”
After she replaced the top of the bomb’s shell casing, she checked her pocket watch once more. “Thirty minutes, then all three detonate.”
“It’ll take us more than half an hour to get out of here without being seen.” They might have made a full-out run for it, but that would have meant drawing the attention of the guards and likely winding up in a firefight—a consequence to be avoided.
“That’s already been considered.”
She strode out to the corridor, Christopher following, and hurried over to a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall, the word Incendiu painted on it. A lever was behind the glass. Picking up the little brass hammer hanging by a chain, she smashed it into the glass. Then pulled the lever.
A tremendous ringing filled the corridor.
At once, people poured out of rooms wearing looks of panic. They shouted and shoved as they barreled in one direction. None of them noticed the English Man O’ War in their midst, nor looked twice at Louisa’s unfamiliar face. They were too concerned with getting out of the munitions plant.
His arm around Louisa’s shoulders, he allowed himself to go with the throng, pushed along as though being propelled by a surging tide. They bustled through the main assembly room, past half-completed munitions and unthinking automatons still pushing loaded pallets. More and more workers joined the fleeing crowd. Even the armed guards had abandoned their posts and ran for the exit.
Though chaotic, he had to admit this was a damn sight faster way to leave the plant. And it gave him and Louisa ample camouflage.
Up ahead shone daylight. The front entrance doors had been flung open, and workers poured out, running for safety. He’d never been so glad to see the sun as when he and Louisa crossed the threshold, emerging into open air. The workers must have been drilled for the possibility of a fire, for they all crossed the open expanse outside the factory and headed toward the right, in the direction of the train tracks.
Exultation flared in his chest, but he beat it back. The mission was ongoing. Nothing was certain.
Not true. One thing was certain. They needed to reach the woods, where the jolly boat would meet them. Which meant that they had to separate themselves from the evacuating workers, undoubtedly drawing the guards’ attention. And they needed to do it at once. Minutes were slipping by, and the bombs would explode soon.
He took Louisa’s hand. Together, they ran across the cleared plain surrounding the plant and sped toward the forest. As they ran, he pulled the flare gun from his belt and fired it into the air. The flare arced up with a whine and a streak of light.
Shouts sounded behind them. Then came the pop of gunfire and shriek of bullets piercing the air. Chunks of dirt and rock flew up from the ground as bullets hit the ground. No time to stop and return fire.
Louisa gasped as he scooped her up in his arms, never breaking stride. Confident that he had her in a secure hold, he unleashed his fullest speed, tearing toward the shelter of the woods.
He darted between the trees with her in his arms. Bullets slammed into tree trunks, the force of the ether rifles’ ammunition turning them into splinters. Louisa pulled her ether pistol and shifted in his arms, bracing her forearms on his shoulders and firing back at the guards. The pursuing men yelled to one another, and he could hear them fall back slightly, held off by her covering fire.
They stopped at the edge of a clearing, and he set her down. Using the trees for cover, they continued to return fire, keeping the advancing soldiers at bay as they waited for the jolly boat.
A hum sounded overhead, and a shadow crossed the clearing. The jolly boat descended into the glade. Josephson manned the swivel gun at the prow, holding back the guards as Christopher and Louisa ran for the boat.
Both he and Louisa leapt into the vessel.
“Go!” he shouted to Farnley.
The words had barely left his mouth when the jolly boat rose up, heading for the safety of the sky. More bullets tore through the air around them.
As the jolly boat flew higher, Louisa was already out of his arms and returning fire, with Josephson on the mounted swivel gun. Christopher hefted a rifle from the boat’s supply and lay down a barrage of bullets. He made certain to wing the enemy shooters, ensuring they couldn’t use their weapons.
Farnley shouted above the tumult, “Bad news, sir. Hun patrol ships found us. Demeter’s been ducking and weaving as much as she can, but it’s only a matter of time till it’s a full engagement.”
Lowering his rifle, Christopher glanced up and swore. He’d been preoccupied with getting away from the munitions plant—too dis
tracted to notice that his airship barely stayed out of the sights of the enemy’s fire. A pitched battle was about to be fought just over his head, the Demeter on the verge of taking a beating from Hapsburg ether cannons.
The jolly boat found itself navigating the dangerous air between the Demeter and the pursuing Hapsburg ships. Taking the tiller away from a grateful Farnley, Christopher guided the small boat through the hail of cannon and gunfire. They’d left the forest, and firing guards, far below.
The jolly boat dipped and wove as he avoided the volley of gunfire. A bullet slammed into the hull. Another whizzed dangerously close to Josephson’s head.
The Demeter’s cargo doors were open, ready to receive the jolly boat. He fought to position the boat while also avoiding enemy fire, the process like threading a needle in the middle of a battlefield. But he needed to be on his ship. He must command his crew.
He brought the jolly boat up through the cargo doors. The moment the doors closed, he was out of the boat, Louisa beside him.
The ship quaked from the force of a narrowly avoided broadside. Pullman’s yelled orders rose above all this.
Christopher leapt up the stairs, shouldering past crew. He heard Louisa behind him, following as quickly as she could.
He reached topside. Though the Demeter had managed to avoid most of the enemy’s barrage, cannon smoke hung thickly in the air. Hapsburg Gatling guns made a continual chop-chop-chop above shouts and gunfire.
Pullman hurried over the moment Christopher emerged on deck. “Thank God you made it, sir.”
“Just in time to get torn from the sky,” he answered, grim. Several crewmen lay on the deck. One wasn’t moving. The others groaned and writhed from their wounds. With an open bag of tools and supplies beside him, Dr. Singh and his assistant attended to the injured men.
Three Hun airships attempted to surround them—the Kühnheit and two others. He could see their Man O’ War captains—men as large as Christopher, wearing Hapsburg crimson and blue—pacing back and forth across their decks, issuing commands. Each of the enemy ships had turned its guns on the Demeter, and only her evasive maneuvering had kept them safe. But she couldn’t dance forever.
“Awaiting your orders, sir,” said Pullman. “Shall I tell the venters to make ready? We can try to outrun the enemy.”
“Not yet.”
“Sir?” The ship gave another shudder.
“We’re not running. We’re fighting. Fighting back.”
The nearby crew heard this and grinned, eager to spill Hapsburg blood after the enemy had wounded fellow crewmen.
“Engage with that ship,” Christopher ordered, nodding toward the Kühnheit. “We’ll use their own ship as a barrier. If we keep it between us and the other Hapsburg airships, they won’t be able to fire on us, not without the possibility of hitting one of their own.”
He turned to the men manning the ship’s armaments. “Four-inch guns, soften up the enemy’s sides. Same with the Gatling guns. Fourteen inchers, I want you aiming for their ether tanks.”
“The central tank is the most critical,” Louisa added. “The other two tanks are back-up, but they don’t have as much buoyancy.”
“You heard the lady,” he shouted to his crew. “Shoot for the central tank.”
“Do we hold our position, sir?” asked Pullman.
“Have Mr. Dawes back us toward the munitions plant.”
“Back, sir?”
Christopher fixed the first mate with a look. Immediately, Pullman ran to relay the command to the helmsman.
The Demeter finally unleashed her firepower, guns booming. For a moment, the enemy ships didn’t return fire, as if stunned that their prey was putting up a fight.
That stunned moment didn’t last. Hapsburg guns roared back to life.
Christopher turned to Louisa. “How much time until the bombs detonate?”
She pulled out her watch. “Five minutes.”
He nodded. That should give them enough time.
“Keep using that Hun ship as a blockade,” he shouted to Dawes.
He and Louisa stood at the rail, giving them a view of the Hapsburg airships firing on the Demeter. The enemy strove to avoid her guns and breach the distance between the airships. He knew the ships’ captains believed that they stalked their quarry. Heavy smoke clotted the air, and the lowering sun turned the smoke bright orange and gold, as though the sky itself burned.
Once the Demeter was above the plant, he shouted to the helmsman, “Lower, Mr. Dawes. I want us no more than a thousand feet over that factory. And venters, stand by for my command.”
“Aye, sir,” came the responses.
The airship sank, getting closer to the munitions plant. The enemy ships followed, maintaining their bombardment as the Demeter slid from side to side, firing when she could and avoiding taking direct hits. Far below, the workers from the plant had abandoned the factory and picked their way across the train bridge to collect at the edge of the distant forest.
Louisa studied the munitions plant through her spyglass. “Guards are going back into the factory. We hid the bombs well, but the guards might find them.”
“Not in time, they won’t.”
“Kit,” Louisa said warningly. “We have to go.”
“Quiet. We played your game down there. We’re in the sky now, and it’s my rules.” He plucked the watch from her hand.
One minute to go.
With Christopher continuing to issue orders, telling which guns when and where to fire, the Demeter fought like a tigress, her crew refusing to back down as they threw back salvo after salvo. All the while, Dawes ensured that the Kühnheit blocked the other enemy ships. The helmsman also continued to back the Demeter up toward the mountain. Christopher would be sure that Dawes got a special commendation. If they survived.
Forty-five seconds. Thirty.
The mountain was at the Demeter’s aft. Three Hapsburg ships closed in.
“We’re cornered,” Louisa said darkly.
“I need you to be my timekeeper,” he said, handing her back her watch. Then, louder he called, “Venters, on my command.” He grabbed the nearby shipboard auditory device. “Brace yourself and grip your bollocks tight, men.”
“Twenty seconds,” Louisa said. “And I don’t have bollocks.”
“You can hold onto mine.”
The enemy ships fired again, narrowly missing the Demeter. Pieces of the mountain behind them shattered.
There was nowhere else to run. The next barrage wouldn’t miss its mark.
“Ten,” said Louisa.
“Venters, now!”
“Five. Four.”
There was a shudder and hiss, and then the Demeter shot forward. Her keel scraped against the top of the Kühnheit. Glancing down, Christopher saw the captain of the enemy ship watching the Demeter speed past. The Hapsburg Man O’ War cursed and shouted orders at his men.
The enemy ships began to turn to pursue.
“Three,” Louisa called above the rushing wind. “Two. One.”
The ship quaked. Christopher looked back to see a massive fireball tearing through the munitions plant as thousands of pounds of explosives detonated, tearing through solid stone. He could feel its heat, its percussive force, in the very marrow of his bones. Louisa raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the glare. The giant explosion barely missed the Demeter’s stern.
A huge black cloud billowed up into the sky, obscuring the enemy ships.
The cloud thinned, revealing the Hapsburg airships. They moved slowly, listing and spinning.
They hadn’t been as fortunate as the Demeter. Debris from the explosion had torn through their keels. One ship had her main ether tank shattered. Giant holes gaped in their hulls. All three limped away from the still burning munitions plant, then, one by one, they sank down, slowly, inexorably snapping trees as they lowered to the ground.
Throngs of factory workers began to gather around the downed ships. There would be no pursuit.
The Demete
r wheeled quickly in the sky and disappeared over the mountain ridge, hiding their fleeing path. No one would be able to report their course to higher authorities.
Relief and triumph surged through him, as though currents of built-up energy within had finally been released.
“It worked.” Louisa sounded shocked.
He pulled her close and kissed her. Hard. They were still alive, and he held her in his arms—he couldn’t figure which was the greatest miracle.
Neither, he decided, as he tasted her—gunpowder and jasmine. Miracles were for the passive, the helpless. Two words he’d never use to describe himself, or her. Together, they had fought every step of the way.
Chapter Twelve
LOUISA STOOD AT the window of Christopher’s quarters. The night sky over Greenwich bloomed with fireworks, a profusion of fiery color to herald the victorious return of the Demeter. Faintly, Louisa heard the blare of a marching band comprising both people and automatons. A full-scale celebration in honor of the Demeter’s service and the destruction of the enemy’s key munitions plant.
Christopher was down there. So was most of the crew. Accepting their commendation, as was their due.
As a member of Naval Intelligence, she couldn’t join them. The press would be there, with their cameras and illustrators. Besides, the work of a spy was never given public acclaim. Nor even private approbation. At best, she might receive a handshake and quiet, gruff words of praise. No medals. No honors. It didn’t bother her. Her motivations had never been about glory.
Still, it felt a little lonely, all the way up in the ship, everyone else below. The Demeter was quiet as the skies around her filled with cheerful mock explosions. She’d dimmed the lamps in his quarters to see the fireworks better, and the cabin turned crimson, gold, and blue in turns.
Where was Christopher down there? Surrounded by the Admiralty, shaking hands, or taking thumps on the back from the most senior-ranking officers? The fireworks offered intermittent light, and she hadn’t his extraordinary eyesight. So she could only assume he was milling through the crowd, giving his statement to the press. Receiving the acclaim that was justly his.
