Captain Fenna's Dirigible Valentine

by Heather Hiestand

  Thomas nodded.

  “Good, always do that to extinguish any embers left from previous firings. Then load in the gunpowder cartridge, then the wad, and use this to ram it all home.” He picked up the rammer to demonstrate. “Then the shot, and another wad.”

  “Why?” asked Thomas.

  “So the shot doesn’t fall out, right?” asked Mr. Sellers.

  “Exactly. Now you’re ready to push the carronade to the gun port. When the barrel is sticking out, fill the breech with gunpowder and pull the rope. When our smasher fires, it will recoil, so stay out of the way. We can’t afford to lose either of you.”

  “Understood,” said Mr. Sellers, squinting at the squat metal device. “Think two of us can get it to the gun port?”

  “Let’s give it a try,” Ian said. “And hope we’re rolling in the right direction at the important moment to give you some momentum.”

  The two men heaved, sweat breaking out on their foreheads, but they couldn’t move it more than an inch or two.

  “And I thought the automaton would be the tough part of this for me,” Ian muttered.

  “What are you talking about?” Mr. Sellers gasped.

  “Dr. Castle’s Man Management Automaton,” Ian said, adding his strength to Mr. Sellers’ side, since he was clearly weaker than Thomas. “That’s what the Blockaders use to control the Brass Hands. But it’s not as impregnable as I thought before the Valentine’s Day battle.”

  “How’s that?” asked Mr. Sellers, mopping his face with a graying handkerchief.

  “You can destroy it by shooting it through the eye with a heater. The Red Kites told me that, and it works. But I’m hypothesizing that it has a switch somewhere too.”

  “I don’t know what ‘hypothesize’ means, but how would you ever get to the switch if it can control you?” Thomas asked.

  “I don’t know if I could, but someone without a brass hand might. Besides, it was only the small, portable unit that took control of my body. I don’t know if the larger, shipboard unit can do that.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Mr. Sellers. “We need all the manpower we have, and then some. This is a fool’s mission, but we have to try to save the baby.”

  “Agreed,” Ian said. “Especially since I’m responsible in the first place.”

  “The captain is as responsible as you are,” Mr. Sellers said. “Noelle is her child. But the sheriff is still wrong to take a baby from its mother so we’ll do what we can and that’s the end of it.”

  Thomas nodded. “Or die trying. The Blockaders have no right to the air. We breathe it just like them.”

  Thomas had the makings of a free trader in him. Ian hoped he survived long enough to sign on with Terrwyn’s crew permanently. He heard a cry from above and rushed up the ladder and back to the deck. Below the Valentine, he could see the beautifully green, rolling downs of Berkshire. The River Kennet bisected Newbury east-west, but they were still outside the town.

  Just east of them, he saw a large estate with an iron gate surrounding vast property. He patted his side, looking for the spyglass he’d surrendered to Luke.

  “I see her!” Terrwyn cried from the platform holding the engine. “The Defender is moored behind the mansion!”

  Ian leapt up and caught a ratline with his human hand, then climbed to Luke and took back his spyglass. He could see three airships tethered below, though his spyglass wasn’t puffing smoke. Whatever element reacted to the silver band of this technology wasn’t present for now.

  “Where do you want us to go?” Owen asked.

  Terrwyn trained her spyglass on the territory surrounding the gated estate.

  “Do you see that church to the north? Looks medieval. There must be an old graveyard we can settle in.”

  Owen nodded and turned the airship north.

  Fifteen minutes later they had settled behind the old stone church. At the edge of the graveyard was a cattle pasture with sheds and warehouses surrounding it. They had seen people around the sheds from the air and Terrwyn had her heater hidden in the folds of her long coat as two men hopped the fence between the pasture and the graveyard and approached. Ian stood at her right, with Thomas and Lucas to her left and slightly behind.

  “That’s not a Blockader airship,” said one of the men, dressed casually in a brown suit, stained with mud, and work boots.

  “What is your interest?” Terrwyn said with her nose tilted up arrogantly.

  “You’re the captain?” the man asked.

  Terrwyn narrowed her eyes. “Aye. It would be best if you minded your affairs and left me to mine.”

  “Can’t leave a lady in distress,” said the second man. He had an easy, open face and was young enough to still show traces of baby fat in his cheeks.

  “I’m not alone,” she said.

  “Captain?” Ian said, and she nodded to him. “You work for the dairy?”

  “My father owns it,” said the older man. “This here is my son.”

  “Do you supply the estate down the way?” Ian pointed.

  The man nodded. “You have business with the sheriff?”

  “He stole something from us and we want it back,” Ian said. “Any way you could get us in?”

  “You’re free traders, aren’t you? No one else would dare to be in the skies these days if it wasn’t their living.”

  “The sheriff stole this lady’s child,” Ian said, ignoring the question. “We’re doing what we have to.”

  “We saw a Blockader airship touch down early this morning,” the younger man offered.

  “The sheriff had help from the BAE. Two officers are involved in the kidnapping.”

  “One would be Ethan Everard, I expect,” said the younger man. He rubbed his nose. “He’s the sheriff’s cousin.”

  Ian heard Terrwyn inhale. “I’m not surprised. They look a lot alike.”

  “They are related through their mothers. One married up and one down.”

  “You’re a Blockader yourself, aren’t you, son?” said the older man.

  Ian wished he’d hidden his hand. “I was. Under Everard’s command.”

  The man kicked at a clot of dusty dirt with his boot. “Poor lad. I had another son, apprenticed up in Liverpool. He was impressed, I heard. We’ve never seen him again.”

  “Then you might know what a Brass Hand is,” Ian said.

  The man nodded. “We’ll get you inside. My son’s name is Howard Warren. You hear of him?”

  “I wish I had, Mr. Warren.”

  “Jacob,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Stephen here does the Hardcastle Manor deliveries. You can hide under a tarp in our wagon. No one will be surprised to see him drive to the kitchens.”

  They followed the Warrens to the outbuildings of the mid-sized dairy. The eldest Warren daughter settled them on barrels with glasses of fresh, creamy milk while Stephen went to load the wagon.

  “What is the plan when we’re at the manor kitchen?” Ian asked Terrwyn. He was concerned by the signs of exhaustion and strain on her face. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she’d aged five years since that carefree stroll in Brighton.

  “No matter what, we have to get back to the Valentine in the end,” Terrwyn said, setting down her empty mug. “Mr. Sellers and Owen may be able to hold off a curious visitor or two, but they can’t help us from there.”

  Ian leaned forward and wiped a spot of grease from her cheek. She smiled wanly, a sure sign of exhaustion. She’d have snarled at him for insubordinate behavior any other time. “So we know the end of our dangerous game, but what is the middle?”

  “We’ll have to talk a kitchen maid into telling us what she knows,” Terrwyn said. “I brought Luke along in the hopes he could pass as a messenger or some such, maybe get into the house.”

  “We should send him back to the Valentine for now then so he’s not seen at the manor.”

  Terrwyn made a face. “He’s a good lad, but I hate to rely on him.”

  “Let us h
ope this first plan is a success then.”

  Terrwyn winced and Ian wondered at the pain she was in. He understood the source of her strength but still found it admirable.

  Stephen had no trouble driving his wagon, the back flanked with clinking milk cans, into the estate. No one stood guard, though he’d needed the dairy key to open the gates. Ian wished he could get a look at the gates and the layout of the estate but he was forced to lay flat on the wooden planks of the wagon.

  As the wagon rattled down the raked dirt driveway, he, Thomas and Terrwyn were continually jostled. Eventually, Terrwn’s hip was securely pressed against his. He dared to slide his arm under her slender shoulders, which helped them both remain steady. She turned her head to him and tilted so that her head leaned against his too. He smelled the dirty wool of the cap she’d donned, but underneath was a hint of lemon and her own exotic spice. Without realizing it, he breathed deeply and smiled.

  When the wagon stopped, Ian’s head hit one of the cans. He pulled Terrwyn closer, hoping to prevent her from bumping it too. Her hand went to his chest and pressed, then she was kneeling at his side, tenting the tarp, and peering between the cans.

  Stephen had pulled his wagon right up to the back door and jumped down from his perch. Ian felt his weight leave the wagon. Unable to resist his curiosity, he leaned next to Terrwyn and peeked through.

  Stephen went to the back door and rapped sharply. When the door opened, showing a stout woman in middle years and a long, white apron, he said, “Delivery for you, Mrs. Snell. I’ve help to bring it in so no need to call the footmen.”

  “I think not, Stephen Warren.”

  Stephen put his hands on his hips.

  Mrs. Snell chuckled in a surprisingly deep tone. “I know you’re sweet on that silly parlor maid and I won’t have you in here distracting her.”

  “Won’t take more than a minute.”

  “We don’t need a thing. No one is taking meals here.”

  “But you have visitors. I thought we had word you needed more from our dairy.”

  “Not a thing more today,” the servant repeated. “Just the usual delivery early tomorrow morning. Take yourself off. You know when Mattie has her half day. You can see her then.”

  She shut the door in Stephen’s face. Ian swore softly. He touched Terrwyn’s cheek and felt the chill of her skin. She pulled his hand away from her cheek but kept his fingers encased in her grip as she turned to face him.

  “Let’s steal the Defender and tear up the mansion with the BAE’s own cannons,” she said. “That will tell bloody Rand I mean business.”

  “We aren’t going to risk Noelle like that,” Ian said.

  “Besides we don’t know where she is,” Thomas whispered behind them.

  Terrwyn dropped Ian’s hand like a hot coal.

  Ian grinned to himself. She might be growing more attached to him, but she wasn’t ready to share that fact with her crew.

  “Thomas, slide off the back of the wagon, see if you can peer in a window or two,” she said. “You’re tall enough. Don’t be seen.”

  “Aye, captain,” he said, then rolled under the tarp. His boots made no sound as they hit the dirt. He crept away. With Mrs. Snell still distracted by Stephen’s imprecations, he wasn’t noticed.

  “Maybe she’s still aboard the Defender,” Ian suggested. “They weren’t that far ahead of us, half a day at most. Maybe the sheriff doesn’t have a plan yet.”

  Terrwyn turned back to him. Ian could see her eyes were red, but from fear or the dusty tarp he didn’t know. “Then who is feeding her? Do they have a wet nurse on board?” She shivered.

  He couldn’t stand to see her distress. Instinctively, he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. She allowed him to do it, even lowered her head to his shoulder. He pulled off her cap, his lips tracing the soft skin at her hair line, gentle as a breath.

  She tugged the cap away from him and placed it back on her head then moved back, rubbing her eyes. “This tarp is filthy,” she muttered. “And you’re getting ideas.”

  “We’ll get her back,” Ian insisted. “I just wanted a moment’s comfort for us both.”

  Before she could respond, Stephen returned to the wagon and they rattled back through the gates and to the dairy. Thomas had seen no sign of activity at the manor, though he’d only been able to check the windows at the back of the house before he’d had to rejoin them. After returning to the cemetery, they’d attempted to send Luke in with a message to see if he could get a look inside but no one had even come to the gate when he rang the bell. The Warrens had no more suggestions to offer, though they did feed the crew.

  By nightfall, more than two hours after Luke returned, everything was still motionless at the Hardcastle estate. Terrwyn was increasingly agitated as she paced the cemetery grounds. Ian noticed her clutching her chest from time to time, though whether from physical or emotional pain he couldn’t say. At one point she went into the cabin for a while and seemed calmer when she returned to the cemetery. The Valentine was camouflaged as a fishing boat again, though it was very out of place behind the church.

  The crew took turns walking the fence between the cemetery and the estate so they could keep an eye on the situation, sharing Ian’s spyglass between them. The three airships had remained tethered, though the Defender’s balloon was still inflated. This bothered Ian most of all. What if they lifted off suddenly?

  Terrwyn had paced all through twilight, muttering about using the cannon or flying the airship over the walls and attacking. Each time, Ian reminded her of Noelle and she came closer to real tears, or so he thought. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, but knew he couldn’t approach her in a romantic way while Noelle was in danger. So instead of thinking about a possible future with her, he made plans of a more prosaic nature.

  When the moon was fully up, he said he needed the bushes and climbed down from the airship into the cemetery. Before the crew or his captain knew what he had planned, he’d be on the estate. Someone needed to board the Defender and see who was there. He was the obvious choice since as former crew, he knew the airship well. Terrwyn would never let him go if she knew, so he didn’t tell anyone what he was doing.

  He’d thought he was moving quietly enough, but when he reached the corner of the church closest to the estate, a firm hand grasped him and pulled him against the damp stone.

  Ian wrested his arm away and reached for his heater.

  “It’s Stephen Warren. What’s your plan, Cavill?” The young man lit a match and held it under his chin so he could be identified.

  Ian swore softly. “Put it out. Can’t you see that I’m skulking?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about that little baby,” the other man said. “I played with Rand Hardcastle as a child, here among the stones.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He didn’t have anyone else and I always let him beat me at marbles. My brothers and I had a good time playing Bloody Murder with him.”

  Ian could see the cemetery would be a good place for children to play hiding games. “So he was your friend?”

  “No, he was a foul little beast but he always had a pocket full of candy. I’d have expected him to be as broad as a cow by now, but no.”

  “What about Everard?”

  “He appeared around these parts when he was about thirteen, I guess. We Warrens were too old to be playing games with our betters by then. His mother was widowed and came to be housekeeper to her sister, but she died a couple years back.”

  “Are any of the Hardcastles inventor types? I can’t help but notice that Everard has what seems to be a prototype Man Management Automaton, and that the inventor calls himself Dr. Castle.”

  “It is an odd family, but we haven’t mixed with them in years. Rand only has sisters though, and Everard is an only child, but maybe there’s a mad uncle in the attic or some such.”

  “Will you come with me?” Ian asked. “I’ve got to get a look at those airships and see if the baby is th
ere. If the kidnappers are onboard they could leave at any time and I don’t want to risk an air battle with a child’s life at stake.”

  “I thought Captain Fenna was in charge.”

  “I used to be crew on that airship. The men won’t betray me.”

  “What about your brass hand?”

  The man was wasting time, asking questions. “I’m not likely to be able to leave again, but if you can take word to the captain at least they’ll know. I’ll do what I can to protect her baby until she can formulate a plan.”

  Stephen nodded. Ian could see his silhouette under the moon.

  “There is a good climbing tree just to the left. We can use it to get over the fence.”

  Ian clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  Stephen growled. “You won’t thank me when you’re being beaten and forced back into service, but for the baby’s sake I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want Hardcastle in charge of a dog and the Blockaders owe me a brother.”

  Half an hour later, Stephen was positioned in the shadow of a shed while Ian climbed a ladder at the bow of the airship. They had decided if Ian cawed like a crow Stephen would know he’d found nothing, but if he hooted like an owl Noelle was on board. Either way, he had promised to go back to the Valentine and tell Terrwyn what had happened.

  Lanterns fluttered in a light breeze as Ian walked softly across the deck. He heard boot falls a few yards away and knew he’d been lucky to board when the night watch was at the opposite end of the airship. Grabbing rails, he slid down a ladder into a lower level of the airship. Larger than any free trader vessel, most Blockader airships had armory and stores levels, a level for the guns, a crew level and then the galley just below the deck. He entered it, passing through a pantry, and found a collection of banana bottles and flesh-colored teats, the latest baby feeder design he’d seen in magazines at the Fennas’ house, drying on a rack. In the light of a lantern, he saw droplets still present inside one of the bottles. Noelle had been fed nearby recently.

  He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, the brass chilling his flesh hand. The baby was likely to be in the captain’s cabin, as it was the nicest space on the airship, assuming it had been repaired since February. He’d have to climb back to the deck since the cabin was located there. But then what? He couldn’t leave the airship if the automaton was active. Could he somehow get Noelle to Stephen without his brass hand disabling him?