Chasm Walkers

by Raquel Byrnes

  She shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.” She backed up. “Someone has to keep the submersible steady.”

  “Then we do this together.” Ashton wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me close. “Whatever happens, Charlie, you are one of the good guys.”

  33

  Doña Christina

  The morning sun shone bright and cheerful on the armada ships waiting for launch on the grasses inside the fortified walls of her father, the King’s, military installation. Ten in all, their burnished wood hulls and immense white sails reminded her of the depictions of war with the English done in oils on the walls of the castle. Were it not for the attached air bladders glistening with dew, she might have thought she were back in history standing next to the Duke of Medina himself, sending out the fleet.

  The klaxons sounded their signal to board. They drowned out the stomping boots of the approaching soldiers. Christina pulled the hood of the cloak down further over her face, careful to turn away as she passed one of her father’s captains. Men marched into the waiting air ships, their rifles in hand. Row upon row of Spanish warriors ready for battle.

  Backlit by the sun, the entirety of her father’s armada hovered just above the ground. The air crew readied the lighter-than-air ballasts. They crawled over the nettings and cables, securing the crafts to their balloons. Cannon wheels squealed as the massive metal guns rolled into place behind the wood doors on the sides of the helms.

  The scent of gunpowder and pitch filled her nostrils, and she smiled. The naval prowess of her heritage was truly a sight to behold. Christina felt for Arecibo’s missive in her pocket, his words at once igniting anticipation and fear in her heart. It was beginning. She walked the perimeter of each hull, checking and rechecking that her devices had not been discovered or disturbed.

  Her father’s most trusted General strode past her, stopped, and called after her. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing.

  “General Espinoza,” she said and motioned for him to rise.

  “To what do these men owe the pleasure of your presence?”

  Though his words and demeanor were deferential, Christina could not discount the suspicion in his gaze. “I offer prayers for the brave men of Spain,” she answered. “They are an honor to the throne.”

  “Yes, of course,” Espinoza bowed. “You are too kind, Your Highness. Shall I…”

  “No,” Christina waved him off. “These matters are not to be done in public.”

  “As you wish.” Espinoza bowed once more and strode off, glancing back.

  Christina clasped her hands in supplication, wandering off with her eyes downcast. Once sure she was out of his line of sight, she went back to her inspection. Almost done, she paused in the aft section of the furthest ship. Squinting, she chanced a glance around before ducking down to better see the device. Adjusting the intricate coils and cogs with her small fingers, she stepped back, satisfied.

  The klaxon ceased and the thrum of the air ship engines filled the air. One by one the war craft rose. Slowly at first, then faster, forming the tactical formation they had once performed on the sea. Crimson heralds flared out, snapping in the wind. Four horn blasts signaled the start of the journey.

  Christina stood on the grass, head tilted up, watching them fly off into a blue, cloudless sky.

  Cheers from those watching the launch sounded on the breeze. Men and women waving kerchiefs and flags shouted for the men aboard to return home safe.

  She pulled the cloak of her sleeve back revealing a chronometer, a gift from Arecibo during one of their clandestine meetings. Smile pulling at her red lips, she counted out the hours until midnight. In less than a day’s time, the world would be forever changed. Christina took one last look at the retreating ships.

  A man watching her from inside the courtyard caught her attention. He motioned for her to follow.

  Raising a delicate brow at the audacity, Christina did as he asked. She strode towards the dark corner in which he waited, turning the large ring on her middle finger with nervousness. When she approached, she smiled with relief. Red hair thinning, nose veined from years of drinking, the Master of Science stood with his back against the stone wall. “Rodrigo,” she said and nodded for him to rise.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his gaze jumping to the crowd wandering the courtyard. “I must speak with you.”

  “So speak,” she said calmly, fiddling with the band of her ring as she glanced around. Though others readied the market tables and animal stalls for morning trade in the marketplace, no one recognized her. She wondered how Rodrigo had. Had he been following her? “What is it?”

  “There have been questions,” he licked his lips. “Some workers are curious about what I had them construct in the waters.”

  Her heart rate shot up, but she smiled warmly. “Did you explain about the weather?”

  “I did, but…I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” he pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his tunic and unfurled it for her.

  Heat rose to her face. The uncanny rendering of her creation in broad daylight sent her heart thumping so loud she would not be surprised if the whole of the crowed turned at its sound. “Who have you shown this to?” She asked, taking it in her delicate hands and forcing a smile. “It is quite good, Rodrigo. You have another calling as an artist.”

  “I have made inquiries,” he continued. “There are many of these. All over the coast. Massive and equipped with—”

  “Who have you spoken with about this?” she asked, glancing around.

  “I thought that the King ordered this, but nothing came from the royal foundries or stores. Where did the materials come from?”

  “Rodrigo,” Christina said evenly. “That is not your concern.”

  “It is both mine and your father’s concern.” He shook his head. “To keep this quiet…it is treason against my King.” He pointed to the parchment with a dry, cracked finger. “The others may not know, but I do. I have discovered what you are hiding.”

  “I see,” Christina pursed her lips, noting the sweat beading on Rodrigo’s forehead and upper lip. She regarded him with as bored an expression as she could manage given her utter panic. “Hiding, you say?”

  “Yes,” he adjusted his belt and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I have seen you with that pale snake. That demon of The Order your father loathes. I should tell him that you conspire with him. Show him this.” He tugged on the edge of the sketch.

  Christina yanked it to her bosom, half turning to keep her face away from the milling shoppers. Hand closing in a fist, she felt the large stone of her ring cradled in her palm. Its edges dug into her flesh, and she used the pain to focus her fearful thoughts. She laughed lightly, as if speaking with a forward suitor. “Truly, Rodrigo, you must be careful with your words.”

  Not swayed, he leaned closer, his breath sour with drink. “You know my troubles. You used them against me. Surely you know my silence will cost you.”

  Anger burned in her gut, and she pressed her lips together and fought the urge to slap his smug face. “I understand,” Christina said and twisted the stone of the ring. “Of course. Just please, do not involve my father. I will get you your silver.” A minute needle, no thicker than a hair’s breadth, protruded from the center. She patted Rodrigo on the shoulder, making sure to inject the poison deep into the muscle.

  He flinched, waving his hand as if shooing an insect, before nodding resolutely at her. “By tonight or I go to the King,” he said.

  “Most definitely by tonight,” Christina said and wandered off. Pulling the cloak tighter around her small frame, she glanced over her shoulder just as Rodrigo collapsed to the ground. She melted into the crowd as the first cries for a physician sounded from behind.

  34

  Ashton climbed into the capsule first, adjusting the padding and fighting with the cable.

  Hunley stood, gnawing her pinky nail, watching.

  I glanced at Ashton and then motioned for her to lean in.

&n
bsp; She did so, eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “If there is a choice,” I whispered. “Ashton would never bring himself to…what I meant to say is, if something must be done to keep others safe…”

  “I will keep my word,” Hunley said. She looked at me, her resolve apparent. “Of that, you can be sure.”

  “Ready?” Ashton extended his hand and helped me up into the capsule with him.

  Catching her eye one last time, I mouthed, “Promise me.”

  She nodded and glanced away, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  I huddled atop Ashton’s chest in the confines of the capsule. Sweaty and tired from maneuvering its weight in the heat of the engine room, I shifted and tried to get comfortable in the utter darkness.

  “Are you all right?” Ashton’s deep voice rumbled from his chest. “Charlie?”

  I felt for his face and found it. Then I kissed his jaw. “Yes.”

  Hunley’s nervous chatter outside the large chute kept me from going mad. She fought with the hoses and levers, cranking the controls of the chute, all while telling us we were insane to try this.

  The Chasm Walker rolled in the tumultuous seas and the tight quarters did little to quell the feeling of queasiness that hit me in waves. I held my breath at every knock and bang on the hull, sure we would sink to our deaths at any moment.

  “I think Hunley may pass out before she manages to launch us,” Ashton whispered.

  “Well, it is a stressful moment,” I commented, blowing an errant lock of hair from my eyes. “For her, I mean.” I clutched my chest, hoping Ashton could not hear the terrified thudding of my heart.

  “This reminds me of Tesla’s rocket,” Ashton murmured. “Remember barreling through the bowels of the city with me?”

  “Do you realize I haven’t used a normal mode of transportation since the moment I met you?” I tried to sound lighthearted and yet the surrounding metal seemed to squeeze the breath from me. “Power cycles and rafts…I would never have dreamt of the adventures I had with you.”

  “We’ll live to see more,” Ashton whispered and pulled me closer. “You can count on that, Charlie.”

  Hunley knocked on the outside of the capsule, and Ashton lifted the hinged lid to peer out.

  “I think you’re set. Tighten the seal, and I’ll close the metal door out here.”

  “Keep her steady, Pru,” Ashton warned. “We’ll be attached to both this ship and Outer City in this storm. You have to man the helm best you can.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hunley said, her eye twitching minutely. “I will do my best to steer the ship.”

  Ashton and I nodded, and she stepped away. We closed the lid to the capsule, securing it tightly with the clasps that lined the seam. Our breaths echoed in the closed space. We shifted, metal scraping metal as Hunley pushed us further into the chute and closed the door. My heart raced in my ears. I clung to Ashton.

  “Cover your ears,” he said.

  My hands flew to the side of my head. A moment later a tremendous clattering erupted around us as Hunley released the launching mechanism. The grappling hook and cable whipped out, clanging in the chute as it shot out of the side of the submersible’s hull, flying toward the support beams of Outer City’s port slips. The force of its propulsion yanked us up the metal tube slowly at first and then with greater speed. A final blast from Hunley and we rocketed across the expanse, sliding along the cable, soaring upward to the floating city.

  “Hang on, Charlie,” Ashton yelled, as the speed of our ascension flattened us against each other.

  “How do we stop?” I shouted, trying to hear over the zipping sound of the cable scraping along the capsule’s outer skin.

  “We crash into something, I think.” Ashton wrapped his body around mine, cradling my head in his hands, bowing over me.

  For an eternity we shot upwards, air so hot I couldn’t breathe, limbs heavy and pinned down. A bone-jarring crash crushed the wind from me. My teeth snapped together so hard I tasted blood. If not for the padded interior, I surely would have broken bone.

  “It worked,” Ashton said, his voice full of surprise. He felt for my face, down my arms, along my lips. “Charlie?”

  “I’m still breathing.” I winced at the pain in my sides and shoulders. I felt as if I had tumbled down a hill of boulders. But I was alive.

  Tapping on the outer surface, spurred me to move. Rain. We rocked back and forth, the metal capsule creaking as it rolled along a solid surface. A whimper of relief escaped my lips. We were not in the ocean. We had landed on something hard.

  Ashton disengaged the clasps, pushed the door open, and stuck his head out. Rain flew into our faces, icy, needling drops, that stung my skin. He climbed out, reached in and pulled me onto the planks of the port. I staggered, the walkway swinging in the torrential winds and sheets of rain. The grappling hook was embedded in the center of a large pylon. The cable creaked and twanged as the Chasm Walker fifty feet below bobbed on the roiling waves.

  “Oh, look.” Ashton pointed to a red-painted lever inside near the seat. “There is a brake after all.”

  I looked around. Despite the crash, not one person stopped to notice. Instead they ran every which way in the driving deluge. Men tried to lash what was left of buildings to each other to strengthen them against the storm winds.

  I felt a faint call. A gentle summoning that tugged at my core and drove me to search frantically for Jack. Where were they?

  The platforms dipped precariously, the floor falling from underneath my feet suddenly. I fell with it, gazing up at the dark form in the distance.

  “Oh, help us,” I cried, trembling.

  A swell rose from the depths of the sea like a dark wall of writhing matter. It rippled as it grew, rising to the height of the city before crashing down in a deafening thunder. Rushing water poured over the walkways and tore buildings from their ballasts, hurling them into the Atlantic.

  I shook, terror gripping me.

  “Is that Riley?” Ashton shouted over the storm. He pointed at a tangle of men near the jailhouse.

  Ashton grabbed my hand and we ran towards them. Rain in my face blurred my vision, and I tripped on broken planks and toppled shacks.

  Riley fought to free his arm from one of his deputies, aiming his gun at Mr. Percy. His men grappled with him, crowding the sheriff until all I could make out was his brown duster flapping in the winds.

  Ms. Timble stood by, her hands to her cheeks, sobbing, white hair blowing across her face.

  “What is he doing?” I yelled as we ran toward them. Staggering to a stop, I held onto Ashton and rode another wave flooding across the surface of the port.

  “Trying to shoot someone it seems.” Ashton stepped in front of me, his arm holding me back. “Riley!”

  Everyone looked over.

  Riley registered shock and yanked himself free of his deputies. His gaze snapped to me, and then behind us at the churning sea.

  Percy remained on the planks, curled in a ball.

  Ms. Timble went to him, dabbing his bloody lip.

  “How?” Riley took two quick steps to me, fighting for a foothold against the jolting city. Shaking his head, he holstered his weapon and looked at Ashton. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Rescuing people,” Ashton said and shrugged. He stood on the shifting surface as if he had been born to the sea and raised a brow. “Fifty feet above a storming ocean? Whose idea was that?”

  “Mine, and it would have saved us except Percy here turned yellow!” Riley yelled down at the prone man. “He tried to bargain his way out of things. Gave the Coalition our location.”

  “The old and infirm are no good in a fight,” Percy said, rising to his feet with great difficulty.

  “But all this is for nothing now!” Riley waved his arms around, his eyes wild. “Look at this! We’re ripping to pieces! For what? For what, Percy?”

  Ashton shot a sideways glance at me.

  I bit my lip.

  Riley was nearly mad
with anger and worry.

  Ms. Timble stood next to Percy, steadying his sway and nodding. “A surrender was the logical thing to do,” she said, wiping the rain from her face and eyes. “He was only trying help Lilah and Jack—”

  “Yeah, or have you forgotten about that boy?” Percy said and spit blood. “They’ll as soon kill the strange tot if they lay eyes on him in the fray.”

  Riley lunged for Percy.

  Ashton stepped in between, holding him off. “Whoa, Sheriff, stop.”

  “He’s right,” I said over the growing thunderclaps. The mechanica in my legs fired, the shocks stabilizing my stance. “About Jack. Arecibo wants him, I think. It’s why I risked coming back. He’ll suffer worse than I did, Riley. We have to get him and Lilah off this port now.”

  Riley stared at me. Sea water and rain dripped from his chin. His hair plastered to his forehead, he blinked. He looked past me to the tattered capsule we climbed out of and then over at a steel, reinforced armory shed lashed with cables to a pylon nearby. Finally, he nodded. “She’s in there, hurry,” Riley said and ran off.

  We hurried to the structure, Jack’s call strengthening until all I felt was panic and choking fear.

  Riley flung open the door, and my gaze snapped to the bundle of soft skin and black eyes huddled next to his mother. His arms swung up and his little mouth turned down. Then his whole face crumpled into sobs.

  Betrayal, abandonment, and relief flooded my mind and I choked up. “I came back,” I said scooping him into my arms. “I’m sorry…so sorry.” Glancing at Lilah, I sucked in a gasp. She was in bad shape. Her fever at full bore, her skin was red and hot to the touch. Sweat or rain or the sea had soaked her to the bone.

  Jack buried his face in my neck, tiny fingers tangling in my hair, shaking.

  I pulled back, looking into his deep gaze. “You feel that?” I held his face in mine, willing all my strength to calm his frantic thoughts. “Steady, Jack.”

  He stopped crying and turned to face Ashton and Riley with quiet resolve.

  Ms. Timble ran over, her face panicked. “Sheriff, there are people trapped. A shack collapsed. Please, help!”