Arabella’s duty was to monitor the winds, the better to direct Aadim when his navigation would be required, but in this madness—the ship turning, diving, and lurching upward seemingly at random, with Edmonds calling out commands faster than she could follow and the sky an impenetrable murk—she barely knew which direction was skyward.
But then she realized the howl and crash of incoming shot had been replaced by howls alone—the English cannon were no longer finding their target. How was this possible? Even with her hydrogen balloons, Diana could not have risen so rapidly through the deadly stratum of English fire, and the English were too experienced to simply miss their target due to the smoke.
Then a stray breeze blew a momentary hole in the smoke and the answer became clear: the English were not below, but above! Diana had ascended to their level only briefly, then descended again—hidden by the fog of war. “Fox and hounds,” muttered Arabella to herself.
“Pulsers double time!” shouted Edmonds, and the drumbeats from belowdecks increased their pace. Diana surged forward, leaving the English ships above and behind. But the English reacted quickly, turning and descending still more rapidly in pursuit. Diana’s lead was not large and they would soon catch her up.
“Five hundred feet, sir,” Edmonds muttered to Captain Singh—referring, Arabella inferred, to the difference in altitude between Diana and the pursuing first-rates.
“A moment longer, Mr. Edmonds.” Captain Singh raised his glass and carefully inspected the oncoming English ships. “Davies…” he muttered to himself, “Mason … and Scott.”
“Three hundred feet,” Edmonds said, visibly growing nervous.
“Maintain course. Those three captains will not be easily fooled.”
“Two hundred feet, sir!”
“Steady.”
Indeed, Arabella now found herself barely raising her gaze at all to take in the looming English ships, which were falling swiftly toward her, closing the distance both horizontally and vertically with distressing rapidity. In just a few moments she would be looking directly down the barrels of their large and very numerous cannon. Already the crack of small arms fire could be heard, so close had they drawn.
“One hundred feet!”
But even in the face of the rapidly-approaching English men-of-war and Edmonds’s near-panic Captain Singh remained imperturbable. “Now, Mr. Edmonds,” he said in a quite normal voice.
“Start the water!” Edmonds howled. “And ease off on the hydrogen!” The unanticipated command startled Arabella nearly as much as the sudden upward thrust of the deck below her.
With a rumbling rush, a fountain of clear water burst from the hull below Arabella, arcing off in an elegant stream to disperse on the desert below. Three more such streams of water appeared at the same moment … jettisoning the drinking water Diana’s people would need to survive a long journey, but also lightening the ship suddenly and substantially. At the same time, at Edmonds’s command the Venusians belowdecks were working the hydrogen pumps, slightly reducing the pressure in the balloons. This operation would only increase the ship’s buoyancy if they had been run at a slight overpressure for the entire battle up until now … which meant that Captain Singh had been holding that additional lift in reserve for just such an occasion as this. The overall effect of the two commands was to send Diana flying upward still more precipitously than her original departure from the surface.
The English, meanwhile, remained committed to their swift descent toward Diana … the inescapable facts of physics and their construction preventing them from matching her rapid reversal in altitude. They fired upon Diana as soon as they noted her maneuver, but nearly every ball passed harmlessly below her. One shot did strike her hull with a splintering crack that made the whole ship jerk, but damage to the lower hull or keel would cause little problem unless and until they next landed upon a planet. Within minutes Arabella found herself looking down upon the English ships, their hulls eclipsed by the numerous white moons of their balloons.
“They will have to shovel coal for a long time to match our rise,” Captain Singh remarked to Arabella. “They may be compelled to call off the pursuit, due to lack of coal. But even if they do not, by the time they catch us up we shall be well embedded in the Horn.” He peered upward, and Arabella matched his gaze.
The first khebek to escape had already reached the falling-line and were collapsing their envelopes, drawing the precious hydrogen—irreplaceable now, with the loss of the manufactory—back into the tanks in their hulls and relying on the winds of the Horn to carry them further upward. “Where are they bound?” Arabella asked.
“Phobos,” he replied, returning to inspecting the English through his telescope.
“Phobos!” Arabella gasped. “But it lies in plain sight!” She gestured upward, to where the moon did, indeed, stand visible to all of the sky and half the planet. “We cannot hide there!”
“We cannot hide there,” he acknowledged, “but we can fight there. And your work on the automaton pilot may prove critical to this effort.” He collapsed the glass and tucked it into his tail-coat pocket. “Phobos’s winds make it very difficult to approach safely. But with the help of the automaton pilots, I believe our khebek can overcome this natural barrier, take Phobos, and hold it. Once we have done this, the moon’s natural defenses will become an advantage rather than an obstacle for us. Therefore, before departing Tekhmet I signaled the khebek fleet to make their way there by any means possible, relying on Diana to draw the English away to Tekh Shetekta.”
“But that subterfuge failed, and now the English are in pursuit.”
“Exactly. Our work this day is not yet done.”
13
IN THE HORN
As the smoke of the battle began to dissipate, Arabella assessed the situation. The khebek, being smaller, lighter, and lifted by hydrogen, had a substantial advantage in maneuverability and ascent speed over the English, and furthermore they were more numerous—she counted over twenty, versus nine English ships of various sizes—and had nearly an hour’s lead in their escape. But not all of them had their cannon mounted, and most of their crews lacked any experience in gunnery; furthermore, the English with their much larger complements of able airmen could easily out-pedal them. All in all, she thought, the English held the decidedly-stronger position.
But within the Horn’s unpredictable winds … who could say?
In all of Arabella’s studies of aerial combat she had never read of a battle taking place within a planet’s Horn. The tempestuous winds were challenge enough to navigation that engaging an enemy at the same time was a thing no sane captain would attempt. But aerial battle in the midst of ascent was also nearly unheard-of, and Diana had just performed that feat admirably.
Of course, that had been against three ships, not nine, and the men at the pulsers were growing more weary by the minute.
She stepped forward to share her observations with the captain, who stood at the rail peering forward through his glass. “I agree with your concerns,” he replied, “but with our automaton pilots we may yet be able to carry the day. How many of the khebek are thus equipped?”
“Sixteen, out of about thirty capable of ascent.”
He considered this intelligence for a moment. “I anticipate that the English will attempt to drive the khebek into the comparative calm of the interplanetary atmosphere, where with their superior ship-handling skills they can make short work of them. Once we are within signal range, I will instruct the khebek that those whose cannon and automaton pilots are installed and in operation are to harry the English within the Horn, engaging them closely and keeping them mired therein, while those less fortunate escape to Phobos. We will assist as soon as we are able.”
“This strategy places our most valuable ships at the gravest risk.”
Captain Singh nodded grimly. “It does. But they are also the most capable, and the most likely to survive the encounter.”
A distressing thought occurred to Arabella
then. “But how are those khebek lacking automaton pilots to land safely upon Phobos?”
“They will have to do their best with their native skills.” The captain’s expression, already dour, darkened still further. “Though Phobos may be deadly, it is less so than the English.”
Arabella looked out upon the rising ships, Martian and English, and the pale rocky moon sailing rapidly by above them … and left her misgivings unspoken.
* * *
Arabella was on the lower deck, assisting Lady Corey in carrying skins of precious water to the men laboring at the pedals—and worrying how long the few gallons remaining on board would last—when the sound of distant cannon reached her ears, followed by shouts from abovedecks. Immediately she excused herself and ran up the companion ladder, her steps high and floating in the reduced gravity.
The sight she beheld was splendid, chaotic, and deadly. Nearly every ship in view had risen above the falling-line and collapsed her balloons. The English had all swayed-out their lower masts for navigation within the Horn, or were in the process of doing so; the khebek they pursued lacked any requirement to do so, their two horizontal masts being no different above the falling-line than below. Now beyond the influence of Mars’s gravity, they tumbled this way and that in the chaotic winds of the Horn, with only a slight preference among them as to which direction was “up.”
Cannon fired frequently and at unpredictable intervals, but the winds were so strong and erratic that the sound of each shot was often far dimmer and more tardy than would ordinarily be expected given the distance, and sometimes lost completely. Furthermore, the cloud of smoke produced by each broadside was quickly shredded by the capricious winds, sending dense black tendrils streaming across the battle in every direction and rendering the scene extremely difficult to comprehend.
Arabella wondered whether there were any point at all to a ship firing her great guns in such a shambles of air—both ships moving rapidly and erratically, the target barely visible, and the winds so fierce that not even cannon-balls could be depended upon to fly straight. But then she saw one of the khebek struck by a full English broadside at close range. The little ship flew completely into splinters, and a moment later even the splinters were burnt up and scattered by a rapidly expanding globe of pale hydrogen flame.
But the khebek were not completely outmatched. Here she saw two of them assaulting an English frigate, their tiny guns harassing the officers on the quarterdeck like a pair of spirited tokoleth scratching at the eyes of a much larger and fiercer shorosh; there she saw another ducking and dodging, seemingly bending the wild winds of the Horn to her will, while an English second-rate blundered ineffectually in pursuit. This agility, she knew, was the work of the ship’s automaton pilot, and for a moment her spirits rose. But then the khebek and her pursuer dashed through a cloud of smoke and debris, and Arabella realized that cloud was all that remained of another destroyed Martian vessel. Indeed, the number of such ragged clouds of wreckage was dispiritingly large, while all nine English vessels were still largely intact.
Dismayed, Arabella looked to Diana’s quarterdeck, where she saw Captain Singh spinning a gold sovereign in the air. Carefully his eyes followed it as it rose, glinting in the filthy sunlight, and then fell ever so slowly toward the deck. He snatched it from the air at waist level, returned it to his pocket, and spoke firmly to Edmonds, who immediately called, “All hands prepare to sway out!”
Clearly there would be no falling-line ceremony on this voyage.
The men leapt into action, experienced hands moving with swift precision while those who had just joined—including, Arabella noted, all of her Martian technicians from the Institute—made their best efforts to assist, despite the exhaustion many of them must be feeling after hours at the pedals. Arabella herself longed to haul on a line, the better to bring Diana into battle swiftly, but she knew her skills were better employed elsewhere. Pausing to let a gang of men rush by on their way to sway out the larboard mast, she ascended to the quarterdeck.
Captain Singh was fully engaged in the swaying-out, but during a brief lull he addressed her, though his gaze remained fixed on the rising main-sail. “If you please, Mrs. Singh,” he said—she was surprised he had not called her Ashby—“ask Aadim for a course to intercept Marlborough, there.” He pointed to the largest and least damaged of the English fleet, which lay in the very midst of the roiling chaos of battle.
“Permission to remain on deck until we enter the Horn?” she requested in return. “I wish to observe the winds.”
“Granted.” Still not looking at her, he drew his telescope from a pocket. “You may use my glass.” Once she had taken it from his hand, she plainly ceased to exist to him, as he devoted his full attention to the fitting-out of the lower masts and stowing of the balloon envelopes.
As the topmen scuttled about, leaping from mast to mast with lines in their teeth, Arabella fastened herself into her restraining belt and trained Captain Singh’s telescope upon the distant battle. Marlborough was beset by khebek, four or five of them harassing her from every side, and though fire and smoke lanced at intervals from her great guns they repeatedly evaded destruction. But the khebek, in turn, were too lightly armed to do Marlborough any great damage, leading to a near-stalemate … a stalemate in which the larger vessel, due to the stamina of her more numerous crew and the great destructive power of her cannon, must eventually prevail. But if that one English ship could be taken out of action, freeing the khebek harrying her to attack other ships, the tide of the overall battle might turn.
Next Arabella turned her attention to the winds. Between the smoke and detritus of the battle and the many ships involved therein, they were very clearly visible, and she swiftly wrote down the major currents in a note-book drawn from her reticule. But the winds between here and there would determine Diana’s critical initial course, and those were less easily discernible. Here she wished she had her husband’s experienced eye—it seemed that he could make out a current from a mere shimmer of distortion or fleck of dust. Alternating naked-eye observation with close examination through the telescope, she soon managed to pick out a substantial and, she hoped, durable breeze which might bear them swiftly toward the battle. This, too, she noted down.
Once, she thought, this little note-book had been intended to record her dance partners at some ball at Marlowe Hall. How her life had changed since those days!
But there was one last bit of information she required, which only contact with the Horn itself could provide. So she waited, continuing to observe the ever-changing breezes and watching with considerable trepidation the progress of the battle. Diana must join soon or the battle would surely be lost. Even as she watched, another khebek was dismasted by English cannon, spiraling away in an uncontrolled tumble. A moment later, the faint victorious cheers of the English airmen reached her ears, and she cursed beneath her breath. She looked to Captain Singh for some reassurance, but his attentions were entirely devoted to the running of the ship.
And then the deck surged beneath her, bending her knees and bringing a faint metallic ping from the mechanisms of her artificial foot. Diana had entered the winds of the Horn.
Swiftly Arabella noted the direction and force of the initial thrust, then unbuckled herself and hurried below. Mars’s attraction was now so faint that she barely touched the deck, skipping lightly across the khoresh-wood planks and sliding down the ladder without touching its treads. Soon she entered the great cabin, where Aadim waited, ticking rhythmically. “We need you as we have never needed you before,” she said, gazing into his sightless green glass eyes, then set to work.
The chart of Mars’s northern sunward Horn was already spread out on Aadim’s desk, though of course no chart of any Horn could be any thing more than a general suggestion. Quickly she bent and added to this her observations from the deck, placing special emphasis upon the last—the most recent and most directly relevant—before positioning Aadim’s finger upon the destination: Marlborough’s
projected position. Finally she swung the large, crude wooden lever which released the catches on the lead weight at the center of the box now bolted to the side of his desk. The weight floated free, the wires which held it in place creaking gently as the Horn’s winds pushed the ship this way and that.
She paused a moment, carefully inspecting the settings of all Aadim’s levers and dials. Many of these were worn from years of use. Several others, the most critical to-day, were fresh and new, and generally carved from khoresh-wood rather than machined from English brass and steel. None of these had ever before been tested in battle.
“Make us proud,” she said, and depressed Aadim’s finger on the chart.
The whirr and chatter of Aadim’s gears sounded different now, louder and more insistent, the new mechanisms being mounted externally to his wooden desk. The wires and levers which detected the motions of the lead block had their own distinctive sounds, as well, which echoed the creaks and moans of Diana’s timbers as the tempests of the Horn began to take hold in earnest.
A moment later came a click, and the bell announcing a result. But unlike Aadim’s previous configuration, after this the gears continued to turn … navigation within the Horn was a continuing process. Arabella bent and studied the dials on the side of Aadim’s desk. “Two points a-starboard,” she called up through the open scuttle to the quarterdeck above. Aboard the khebek, the automaton pilot was mounted on the quarterdeck and controlled the sails directly, but Aadim’s mechanisms were so deeply embedded in Diana’s structure that he could not be moved from the great cabin.
“Two points a-starboard,” came the acknowledgement from Edmonds. The ship veered gently to the left—the motion was nearly lost in the greater tumult of the Horn’s winds—but before Arabella could wonder whether it was enough the bell sounded again.
Arabella the Traitor of Mars Page 20
