Do not worry. I will be gone only a few days, and then return to England to plan our wedding with a glad heart.
Your loving
Alice
* * *
Evan Douglas was used to being disregarded, derided, and occasionally mistaken for a servant, despite the fact that he was one of the foremost scientists in the land in the fledgling field of mnemography, the study of dreams and the processes of the mind. Since escaping the sheer hell of school and finding university a little quieter, though just as lonely, he had graduated with honors and found a measure of comfort in using a small inheritance to open a private laboratory in Exeter. There, he had been quite content to spend his days in research experiments, writing papers, and occasionally accepting a post with a wealthy patron who required his particular expertise.
Life had been peaceful, if one counted the absence of mocking and unkindness as peace, and he discounted loneliness as merely the price one paid for independence.
Until the day his cousins Elizabeth Seacombe and Maggie Polgarth had exploded into his life, and his plans, his direction, and his innermost convictions about himself had irrevocably changed.
He had been some months at the home of Charles Seacombe, who had later been unmasked as the republican traitor Charles de Maupassant, attempted murderer of the Prince of Wales and his younger brother. But before this discovery, Evan had met the girls, whom the entire family believed to be dead, through his patron, whom he had come to respect and even trust. Evan’s grandmother and theirs had been sisters, which made them his second cousins … or was it cousins once removed? He could never remember which. The important part was that the days of their first acquaintance had been stained forever by his blind faith in his employer.
Even now, Evan woke sweating and gasping from nightmares about how close he had come to being the instrument of Lizzie’s death. His study of dreams did not need to tell him that his mind still staggered under the horror of it—remembering again and again the moment when he had held up the syringe full of chemicals intended to render Lizzie’s body in temporary paralysis, to aid in the recording of her dreams by the mnemosomniograph. De Maupassant had funded the invention of Evan’s greatest triumph—his only intention being to use it to discover how much his daughter remembered of his murder of her mother.
Once de Maupassant had his answer, he had attempted to murder her and her cousin, his intent to silence forever the only witnesses to his crimes.
Evan stood at the viewing port in the main saloon of Swan, the ship on which he had practically commandeered passage, wondering how in heaven’s name he was to live with himself now. Rationally, he understood that one could not live in a state of permanent penance. On the other hand, existing in the hell of the mind in which he had been trapped was unbearable. Deprived of rest, unable to concentrate, he could no longer work with any efficacy, and the rent for his laboratory could not be paid with dreams—only the scientific exploration of them.
His only recourse was to make such an enormous change in his life that he would not be able to slip back into his previous modes of thought. His mind, shaken permanently out of the slough of despond into which it had fallen, would seize upon new vistas, new experiences, and bring him back to equilibrium again.
An excellent plan, by any estimation. He had not thought it would include the robbing of trains, however.
Gloria Meriwether-Astor rustled into the saloon, the sound of her silk skirts like a finger drawn down the back of his neck. In her presence, he never knew what to do with himself. His feet seemed to grow twice their size and trip him up. His hands, instead of behaving, couldn’t decide whether to hang by his sides, plunge into his pockets, or do something sensible, like hold a book. And as for his eyes … well, she was so beautiful that he still had not plucked up the courage to admire her openly. Instead, he stole glimpses the way little boys stole apples from a forbidden tree—snatching one and running off to treasure it, turning it this way and that before tucking it into memory.
“Have you any fear of heights, Mr. Douglas?” she inquired cheerfully, standing beside him and turning his knees to rubber.
“N-no,” he managed. “But I have not had much opportunity to discover whether I have or not. This is my first flight in an airship.”
“Truly?” Her brows, fine as the feelers of a butterfly, rose over eyes so blue that whether he fell into their depths or fell into the sky outside, the result could only be the same. “Well, you could not have chosen a better vessel for it, or a better captain. I would trust Alice with my life. Have done, in fact.”
“In Venice.”
“You are familiar with the circumstances?”
We are having a conversation, some distant voice marveled in his mind. It is nothing short of a miracle.
“Mr. Douglas?”
Hastily, he brought his concentration back, and was rocked once again by her scent—lilies and clean cotton—and the glimmer of light upon her golden hair.
“Yes, I am. My cousins have regaled me with the story. If you will permit me to say so, you were enormously brave—commandeering that undersea dirigible and then being kidnapped and held hostage for your pains.”
She waved a slender hand as though to disclaim any credit for her part in the adventure, and with a superhuman effort of will, Evan restrained himself from seizing it and kissing it. If he did such a thing, she would either run from the room, or turn upon him that look of disdain that was so often his portion when dealing with young ladies who were not related to him. He did not think he could bear either result.
“For nearly getting Claire and Andrew—to say nothing of Jake and Captain Hollys—killed, you mean. There was no bravery there, I am afraid. Oh, speaking of Jake, he bids me to inform you that we have crossed the eastern borders of the Texican Territory, and will be approaching Resolution within the hour. We may expect to be accosted by sky pirates at any time.”
She said it in the same tone in which Lizzie might have said they were expecting orange chiffon cake for tea.
“You are not afraid?”
“Of pirates? Goodness me, at least they are honest about it. It is the kind that hide themselves behind brocade waistcoats, multi-faced pocket watches, and lunches in expensive hotels that I cannot stand.”
Evan had a moment to thank his lucky stars that his waistcoat was a rather uninteresting brown herringbone, and held an even plainer single-faced watch that had belonged to his father.
“And you do not mind the pirates taking possession of these mechanicals?” he persisted. “It seems to me that you might want them back, your factories having gone to some effort to make them.”
“Alice asked the same question when we talked it over,” she said cheerfully. “But really, what does one do with mechanical horses? Pull a landau down the street? No, I do not want them, and if the possession of them convinces this pirate to help us, then he is welcome to them.”
“Alice does not really believe the pirates will attack, does she?” he asked. “For I must tell you that I have next to no experience with firearms.”
“Oh, that part is easy. With the lightning pistols, one simply thumbs the switch forward, allows the charge to build, and pulls the trigger. Though I would beg you not to fire in the direction of the fuselage unless there is a body in the way to absorb the bolt. I would not want to put holes in Swan, after all the effort Alice has devoted to her restoration.”
“I will endeavor not to do so, Miss Meriwether-Astor.”
“Goodness.” She actually smiled at him, dazzling him with such a close sight of the dimple that pressed into her cheek. “If we are to be attacked by Texican outlaws, you must call me Gloria.”
He grew dizzy at the enormity of such a privilege. “Then you must call me Evan. I must say, it will save time if we are to communicate during a firefight.”
To his astonishment, she laughed as though he had made a joke, though he had meant it seriously. “You are quite right, Evan. I do like a man of sense. Come
. Let us go raid the sideboard. Our friend Lady Claire herself would agree that a person ought not to face a firefight on an empty stomach.”
He followed her into the dining saloon, hoping he would not faint, for he had quite forgotten how to breathe.
By common consent, once Swan’s captain and crew had eaten the beef pies, carrots, and potatoes with which Mrs. Polk had made sure to stock the galley, everyone gathered in the navigation gondola to watch for the first signs of attack.
“We don’t want to kill anyone, mind,” Alice reminded them. “I’ve sent a pigeon to Ned telling him that I’m coming, but it’s not likely that will net us much of a welcoming committee.”
“If someone shoots at me, he’ll get as good as he gives,” Jake said grimly.
“But from what you’ve told us,” Evan put in with some diffidence, having no expertise along these lines at all, “Swan will greatly outmaneuver any ship they can muster. Since they are made from wreckage and scrap, I gather.”
“Don’t let that fool you.” Alice’s gaze did not leave the skies outside the viewing ports, and neither did those of her crew. Evan found such focus a little alarming. “While I’m a pretty good inventor, Ned taught me a trick or two. You might find that the rustiest bucket of bolts hides the biggest gun, or that the one with the patched-up fuselage is the fastest.” She paused to ascertain that an eagle balancing in the air currents was not in fact a distant ship. “One thing I know for sure is that Swan is probably the prettiest prize they’ll have seen since I left. She’ll be enough to make Ned lift, even if he had to do it without gasbags.”
Evan was about to correct her—a ship could not lift without gasbags—when he realized just in time that she was using exaggerated language. He had been cut adrift from conversational circles for so long that it was taking him some effort to catch up, and he often found himself deciphering the more decorative phrases of English as though he were parsing chemical formulas or a cipher.
Jake had not taken his gaze from the eagle. “Captain,” he said, “that bird is not behaving properly.”
Alice snapped out a brass telescope. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, but this is better than both of us.” After a moment, she located the bird. “Right you are. It seems to be a kind of pigeon, but instead of a container for a belly, it’s got great big lenses for eyes. I suspect we’re being watched. Mr. Stringfellow, are you armed?”
“Aye, Captain.” The boy pulled away his coat to reveal two lightning pistols in his belt, as well as a knife. Around his neck hung a leather thong with an iron ball affixed to each end.
In comparison, Evan felt as naked and vulnerable as a baby bird.
“Arm our guests, if you please,” Alice ordered. “I have a feeling it won’t be long now.”
Minutes later, Evan and Gloria were in possession of a lightning pistol each, and a short knife whose sheath affixed to the inside of the boot.
“I do wish we’d had a little more time,” Gloria fretted. “This dress is most unsuitable for a fight, and I have to wear my knife on the outside of my boot.” She lifted her skirts to peer at her feet, and Evan swallowed and looked away. “These kidskin ones are more fashion than function, though at the time they seemed terribly practical.”
“If it comes to a fight, I won’t have done my job,” Alice told her. “But still, here’s a thought … any chance you learned archery in school?”
“I did, in fact,” Gloria told her. “The headmistress at St. Cecilia’s was a strong believer in out-of-doors pursuits. But arrows in the fuselage…?”
“How were your scores?”
“Ninety percent in the inner circle,” Gloria said proudly.
“Then we don’t have to worry about the fuselage, do we?” Alice grinned at her. “Mr. Stringfellow, hunt up that ancient crossbow in the crew’s arms locker, will you? It’s old and out of date, but we must use the gifts we’re given. Evan, what about you? Any skills we might use?”
He was still recovering first from the sight of Gloria’s trim ankles, covered in kidskin though they were, and second from the idea that his idol was to be armed instead of remaining safely in her cabin like a sensible woman.
“I—I—none,” he finally got out. “Though I did repair a mother’s helper with the parts from a pigeon once.”
“That’s a start.” Alice’s eyes gleamed. “I can sacrifice a pigeon if you can take the parts and update that bow. Have you ever seen an articulated crossbow?”
“Once. At Colliford Castle there were a number affixed to the wall of the study as conversation pieces—and, I suspect, to intimidate tenants late with their rent.”
“You might have thirty minutes. Do you think you can do it well enough to give Gloria a better chance at defending herself?”
She could not have phrased her request better. He straightened his shoulders. “I do. Lead the way, Mr. Stringfellow.”
Twenty-eight and one-half minutes later, he presented the articulated crossbow to Gloria. She took it, sliding her hand into the brass arm bracer, her finger settling naturally on the trigger he had liberated from an ancient flintlock pistol in the cabinet.
“I was not able to test its accuracy,” he said a little anxiously, “but I shall be close at hand to make adjustments to the cogs and gears once you loose the first bolt.”
Gloria’s eyes danced. “I shall look forward to the sight of you with a screwdriver in one hand and a pistol in the other. It will be most exhilarating.”
Exaggerated language. It must be, for her to look forward to the sight of him doing anything at all. But still, warmth cascaded through him at the thought of doing something for her that no one else—with the possible exception of Alice, who was an exceedingly talented individual—could do.
“Canvas, ho!” Jake called from the window. “We have company, Captain.”
“They are nothing if not predictable. Stations, everyone. Mr. McTavish, our position, if you please?”
“Five miles directly east of Resolution, at the toe of the mesa where Lady Lucy was moored,” he said promptly.
Jake, Evan had observed, was endowed with extraordinary gifts as well. Over a game of cowboy poker on the first night of the flight, he had told Evan what it was like. “I see the navigation chart in my head,” he explained, laying down an eight of diamonds, “and lay it over the land forms below in my imagination. The two become one in my mind, so that the land becomes a map. I don’t forget how it lies, once I’ve been to a place. And Resolution is a place I’ll remember for the rest of my life.”
When Evan had asked him privately, later, what he’d meant by that last remark, he’d learned a thing or two about Ned Mose. “Flung me out of the hatch at three hundred feet, he did,” Jake said grimly. “I deserved to be keelhauled for betraying the Lady and the Dunsmuirs to him and his miscreants, but not killed outright. Lucky for me the season was early and the lake hadn’t dried up yet.”
Now Alice said, “Since it’s not yet noon, they won’t attempt a wreck. They’ll be looking to harry us down by getting on top of us, so I’m going to do my level best to keep that from happening. All of which means, it would be best if we all wore lines. Things could get a little bumpy.”
As it turned out, Mr. Stringfellow, Jake, and Alice weren’t wearing belts at all, but leather corselets to which both weapons and a safety line could be attached.
“Are you expecting us to fall out of the hatch, Alice?” Gloria asked as Alice fitted the corselet around her waist.
“It could happen, but mostly I’m concerned about sudden changes in altitude, and maybe some tilt if I take her into a good steep turn,” Alice said with far more cheer than Evan felt such a prospect warranted. “Swan came equipped with lines, so I figure they’re here for a good reason, even if I haven’t had the opportunity to test them yet.”
“A quarter mile and closing, Captain,” Jake said. “They appear to be running out a gun.”
Alice snapped the telescope to her eye once more, and nodded. “How very rude,�
� she remarked. “Haven’t seen that ship before, but no matter. If they haven’t the manners to return a pigeon or even give me a flag, I can only assume the worst, can’t I?”
“A flag?” Evan said, buckling his own corselet with fingers that had gone cold.
“Signal flags,” Jake explained succinctly. “Certain colors mean certain things—white for peaceful intent, red for emergency or man down, purple for diplomatic personnel aboard, blue for the law.”
“It is illogical to signal one’s intent to attack,” Evan pointed out.
“But they are,” Jake told him. “They’re flying a black flag.”
“What does that mean?”
“A number of things,” Alice answered. “It could mean a ship is bearing a body back to the family, or there is plague aboard. But in these skies it means your family will be wearing that color in short order.”
Through the viewing port, Evan saw the oncoming airship emit a huge puff of steam, as though it had thrown some engine into action. Alice threw the wheel over at the same time as Jake called, “Vanes vertical!”
Swan, with her automaton intelligence system co-invented by Alice and Lady Claire, rolled lazily and something heavy howled past the keel of the gondola mere yards beneath their feet.
Gloria swore so creatively that Jake took his attention from the ports for a moment of sheer admiration. “Was that a cannonball?” she demanded.
“They must have wrecked a ship carrying antiques for a museum,” Alice remarked. “I guess Ned hasn’t forgiven me for letting Claire slip out of his grip five years ago. I bet I won’t be getting a nice sasparilla and a handshake when we land, either.”
The other ship appeared to be taking a moment to rethink its strategy.
“Orders, Captain?” Jake asked.
“I suppose we’ll have to return fire,” she said reluctantly. “I was hoping they’d just chase us for a while.”
“Alice, there’s another ship—there, off the—oh, bother, what’s it called?” Gloria’s nose was pressed to the isinglass.
Fields of Air: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices Book 10) Page 5
