The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  “Grimm!” Boots yelled.

  Captain Grimm spun, as did the sootys, all weapons leveled in Boots’ direction. “Steady, Grimm, it is I.”

  “Ahh, Monsieur, we came from the old factory, blood was found and we feared the worst. Joseph tracked your animals to this place and I was preparing to rescue your skin.”

  “Well done to you both, to you all,” Boots said, making eye contact with the two young men. “I am fine and ready to return to the ship. Is Ms. Shuttleworth in good health? Is Cook attending her?”

  “She is in the good health, but only a wound of the flesh. Alas, Cook was not onboard, having said she would gather a few supplies before departing, but the Steward, Monsieur Griggs is assisting. He has some knowledge of healing, as you know since you have been his instructor, so I tell you she is in good hands.”

  “Excellent. I shall leave my horse with Mrs. Brown here,” he said to Grimm, then looked at the newswoman, who had just walked to the door. “Please take the horse, keep it, sell it, it is yours. On our way back to the airship I will stop at the smith and have him send someone to collect our other horse that is currently tied at our landing site. She is yours also. Unfortunately, we cannot stay, and we have no authority to intervene in any criminal prosecution, though we can stop at the Sherriff’s Office if you would like. Regardless, I believe Mr. Haskins will heal well, especially if he also gets some nutrition.”

  Mel nodded. “No need to bother the Sheriff. Don’t believe he’s in town anyway. At some point I will turn him over to authorities.” Her smile broadened. “After I get a story from him of course.”

  Boots nodded and strode to the Icarus and jumped into the back seat, while Grimm and Joseph mounted the front seats. In another minute, they were moving quickly away from the house and back to town. Stopping briefly at the blacksmiths, a man named Stephenson, Boots laid a silver dollar on a worktable and asked him to send someone to retrieve the other Pinto and take it to Mrs. Brown at the newspaper office. Agreement made, he returned to the vehicle and looked at Grimm. “Captain, I am in sincere need to see how Ms. Shuttleworth is recovering, and I may regret it later, but please return us to the ship as soon as safely possible.”

  The Captain’s driving, though rambunctious and frequently straddled the line of safety, piloted them back to their landing site. Once they reached the Daedalus, Grimm stopped at the bottom of the ramp and allowed him to run ahead. Up the ramp and approaching the stairwell, he hesitated at the first step seeing the two-wheeled Michaux velocipede lying on the deck, mud on the wheels and drying weeds lodged in the pedals and spokes of the front wheel. That particular wheel appeared to be slightly out of round.

  At the top of the stairs, he pulled up sharp as Cook walked directly into his path apparently focused on removing a leaf from her hair. She stifled a sniffle and a scream, nearly dropping her basket filled with small packages, including a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey.

  “Oh, so sorry sir, you startled me,” Misses Jones said.

  “Cook, have you been crying? What is wrong?” He glanced towards Persi’s stateroom, “Is Miss Shuttle ...”

  “Oh no, sir, all is well, Mister Griggs is a fine doctor. No sir, I am still dealing with anger and frustration. You see, I peddled into town on the velocipede. I wanted to buy a few things, including eggs. On my way back, I lost control of that infernal contraption and took a spill into a ditch. I broke the eggs of course,” she began to tear up, “and I had planned a soufflé for tonight and ...”

  “Now there, Misses Jones,” Boots said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “There is nothing to be upset about, as long as you are uninjured.” He searched her face and she shook her head. “Then all is well. We shall pick up more eggs at our first stop, do not fret.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for your understanding, sir. I will put these groceries away and begin preparing dinner.”

  “That’s the spirit, carry on then,” Boots said, moving past and down the hall to Persi’s room.

  “She is not there, sir.” Boots turned to see a ginger haired man step into the hallway from his stateroom. “She said she preferred the bed in your stateroom, sir ... your bed that is.”

  The steward kept his face composed, but Boots thought he could see a bit of mischief in his eyes.

  Boots sighed, “I see, well ... damn.”

  He strode to the door and slipped past the steward and into his room. Persi was dressed in her sleeping gown, and a quilt lay across her feet. “I know, I know, what will the staff think?” Persi said immediately upon seeing consternation on her husband’s face. “I predict they will say, ‘Oh look, Mr. and Mrs. Beacon are in residence in the main stateroom.’ and all will be fine.”

  He approached, relieved to see she was in her normal humor, sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “And why would they say that?”

  “Because Mr. Griggs said that is what they would say.”

  “And how would they know we are wed?” Boots asked, lifting a brow.

  “Well, interestingly enough, you left your blue gloves at the chapel in Bolivia where we took our vows and Father Perez found where we had moored the airship and returned them.”

  Boots rolled his eyes.

  She smiled, “Yes, and apparently your last cook asked him to come aboard then stuffed him full of those cannoli pastries you are so fond of. The priest told of the ‘beauty of the bride,’ and of the ‘handsome and noble groom,’ the exchange of rings, and how I immediately hung mine on the necklace.” She pulled a chain from her nightgown on which hung a small golden ring.

  Boots patted his chest where his ring hung in secret, though not nearly as secret as he supposed.

  “Hmm, well ...” he sighed.

  Persi patted his hand. “Yes, I believe that sums it up.”

  There was a knock on the door, Boots tried to pull his hand away, and stand but Persi took hold of it and refused to let him rise. “Yes?” she called.

  Griggs entered, carrying bandages and a bottle. “Apparently Cook has just purchased some whiskey so we can now bandage your leg properly.”

  Boots stood. “Well, since I am here now, and at least as medically qualified as you, I will take care of Ms. Shuttleworth.”

  “Yes, please do,” Griggs said, handing the supplies to Boots.

  “And I am unsure as to why you could not find the whiskey, I put a new bottle in the liquor stocks in the ship’s hold not more than three weeks ago,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Griggs said. “I remember, and I checked it when Ms. Shuttleworth arrived. It was gone. Perhaps the Captain needed it for something ... or someone, as he frequently depends on bribes to ‘grease the skids’ as they say.”

  “Perhaps,” Boots agreed. “You may leave, and please tell the Captain that as soon as he is ready I would like to float. Tell him to plot a course for Denver, Colorado.”

  “Colorado? Outstanding, it will be a much needed relief from this heat,” Griggs agreed. “I will be in the hold, taking stock of our supplies if you need me.”

  Boots and Persi both nodded and he left, shutting the door.

  “Will we not wait to question, Mister Haskins?” Persi asked.

  Boots looked thoughtful, “I think not. At no time did I get the impression Haskins was as intelligent, nor driven enough as to escape his cell, arrange a trip to Florida, then set up an ambush. And how would he know we would be at that location?”

  Persi considered. “Yes, I agree, but there is a story here. And you are correct, that Haskins appeared at the Ammunitions factory while we were poking around is not coincidence.”

  “I think we have a friend in Widow Brown.” Boots said. “Perhaps we will send an aethergram and ask her to keep us informed.”

  “Splendid idea. Now perhaps you could switch hats and doctor my leg?” Boots smiled, nodded and squeezed her hand.

  Chapter 15 – Denver Bound, while a Saboteur is Uncovered

  The skies were clear as the Daedalus soared above northern Texas, a da
y and a half later. Persi stood atop the ship, her hood pulled up around her hair and her goggles securely in place against the force of the wind. Her leg was stiff but there was no infection and only the smallest scar would be evident.

  Hands wrapped around her waist and she jumped. “Captain, I’ve told you I will not succumb to your charms.”

  The hands froze. “Oh, lord, Persi,” Boots said, “Don’t even kid like that. I see absolutely no humor in ...”

  She turned in his arms, stood on her toes and kissed him. “Put aside your worry, at least on that front. Should that have been our dashing captain, he would have needed to immediately initiated that ‘evolution’ to which Mr. Darwin has written, and quickly grow a pair of wings.”

  He returned the kiss and his embrace tightened. “Though I knew this in my heart, it is good to hear,” Boots said.

  “What has our captain calculated to be our arrival time?” Persi asked.

  “He said we should arrive in Denver by tomorrow’s eve, possibly sooner if the winds stay with us, however, he received a weather aethergram indicating the wind around the Denver area is volatile.”

  Persi snuggled into Boots. “Oh well, I have good food, good company, and a mystery ahead. I am content.”

  “Speaking of mysteries. The captain also received an aethergram from Mrs. Brown.”

  Persi pulled back slightly so she could see his face. “Yes?”

  Boots smiled, “It seems our Mr. Haskins is somewhat of a Casanova.”

  “More like a cad,” Persi interrupted.

  Boots pursed his lips then continued. “And Mrs. Brown has been swept up by his charms. She has not contacted the sheriff, quite the opposite, she has moved him from the barn to the house.”

  “Oh, no, scandalous,” Persi said, placing her hand over her mouth.

  “Yes, however, she also says that he has been working from sun-up to sun-down making repairs around her small farm – even with his wound still healing. Apparently he is also quite the handyman.”

  “My word, perhaps we should contact the authorities, for her safety.”

  “Yes, or perhaps he is not the man we thought him,” Boots suggested.

  “Boots, we know at the very least he is a train robber,” Persi said.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, my dear, but all we know is he ‘attempted’ train robbery,” Boots countered.

  Persi stepped back and gave him the look she gave when he said something she thought was utter folly.

  “My dear, there is another part of the message that I think is in more need of our energies.”

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Mr. Haskins said that he did not shoot at us. In fact, he shot at the person shooting at us.”

  “No, this cannot be correct.”

  “She writes that after you …” Boots looked up from the letter. “beat him?”

  Persi shrugged off the accusation. “This is merely deflection of his attempt on our lives and to further allow access to Mrs. Brown’s -- good graces,” Persi said.

  “I think not. Apparently he remembered hearing the robbers use the name Orlando in conjunction with Florida, and once he escaped, headed south. Mel apparently returned to the scene and found the bullet that hit your hat. It had marked the soil and was retrieved by our industrious newswoman. She compared it to one in Haskin’s gun, which I apparently forgot to pick up.” He made eye contact with Persi, “She says they are not the same caliber. She said the bullet shot at us was a larger round, which she suspects came from a rifle. She also believes, because of the angle at which it entered the soil, it was fired from an elevated position. Which leads me to believe the fiend knew we would be there, and had positioned himself so as to have an unobstructed view.”

  “Darling,” Persi said, “does not this speak to you of the planning of a ...”

  “Professional assassin?” Boots finished. “Yes. Yes, it does. So then if this is true, it begs the question of who and why?”

  “The false Pinkertons perhaps?” she offered.

  “Perhaps but I suspect not. They headed west upon their departure from the train station, and then there is the question of why. To my knowledge, we have nothing anyone could want. True, we gained some leads concerning our present case in Orlando but how then could it be premeditated?”

  “It is a mystery to be certain,” Persi said.

  Suddenly, a gunshot sounded from below. Persi and Boots were both in motion in the next second. “Go ahead, go forward and check the bridge. I’ll go aft, then to the ships hold,” Persi yelled.

  “Do you have a weapon?” Boots yelled back.

  She hesitated, reaching down and up under her dress to the small revolver strapped to one calf. She flashed it at Boots, who nodded and disappeared down the stairs ahead of her.

  Persi was only a step behind when an explosion threw her against the stairwell and sending her pistol flying. She half slid, half stumbled down the stairs hitting the bottom in time to see Boots bounce back and forth off the passageway walls, then continue heading forward.

  The ship was leaning slightly to port and Persi heard only the starboard engine humming. Taking a quick look around, she found where her pistol slid under the stairwell and retrieved it, but more importantly, she found the unconscious form of their Chief Steward, Griggs.

  She instinctively reached for his neck to see if she could feel a pulse, then cursed herself for not removing her gloves first. Griggs suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand. “Cook, she is not...” He let go and his chin fell to his chest.

  She returned to removing her gloves and no sooner had both gloves landed on the deck when she heard the words float up from the deck below, “Fire!”

  Raising herself from the floor, she was glad she had worn a simple day dress topside. She slipped out of her coat and descended the stairs to the first deck. The first wisps of smoke began to drift from the engine compartment. Joseph ran by her carrying a large canister connected to a harness.

  “Ms. Shuttleworth, no place for you,” he said, putting the harness around his chest where the canister rested on his back. She now noticed a brass tube attached to a rubber tube that connected to the canister. The tube had what appeared to be a pistol trigger at one end. “Nick and I can get this, as well as Mr. Parry.”

  “What is the problem, Joseph?”

  “The port nacelle blew apart, shot parts all over the place. Nick and Mr. Parry both got hit with rivets, I think they’re okay now, though. I gotta get this,” he nodded over his shoulder, “to the fire.” He gave a curt bow and ran through the engine room door, grabbed the brass rod and placed his finger on the trigger. A mere second later, there was a noticeable difference in the quality of the smoke. It had mixed with steam and become a lighter shade of gray.

  Persi heard the roaring of wind while simultaneously feeling a chill as the wind rushed around the room. She surmised that someone had lowered the cargo door and ramp. She gathered her skirt in one hand and held her pistol forward with the other. Heading aft down a narrow passageway, it suddenly opened up into the large compartment that was the ship’s cargo hold.

  Persi strode to the open bay door and felt the tug of the wind as she drew nearer. On the ramp, someone had assembled a machine that looked like a cross between a goose, and her father’s steam driven washing machine. Wide wings covered in canvas, nearly as wide as the door, lay on the ramp, along with an assembly comprised of a leather seat and long chains that reminded her of a child’s swing. Steam trailed from a brass pipe leading to what she guessed was a brass boiler.

  Between the roar of the wind, and the yelling of the men fighting the fire, it was no wonder Persi failed to hear the woman approach until a scuff caused her to turn. The woman brought a steel pipe down across Persi’s hand but hit the gun instead. Either way, the result was the same, the gun flew from her hand and tumbled down the ramp and into sky.

  “Why, Mary, how nice of you to come and help,” Persi said.

  Mary Jones, the Co
ok, smiled and spoke. Her accent had changed but Persi was not the language half of their team so it was difficult to place. “Though my name is not Mary, I am happy to oblige.”

  Persi thought initially her speech had the accent and timing of one of the northeastern states, she now realized Mary was from the United Kingdom speaking American English. “You are British?” Persi asked.

  Mary nodded, “Just so. I have a problem picking up accents from the places I’ve lived. It can be irritating at times.”

  Persi noted that their ‘plain Jane’ cook, now had a presence about her. Her hair braided tightly and lay down the back of a slick leather coat. A pair of goggles dangled from her neck.

  “You are responsible for ...” Persi moved her hand around in the air, “this?”

  Cook nodded and smiled, “Correct again.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my orders. You have become a nuisance. I was sent to remove you. You the fly, and me, the proverbial fly-swatter.”

  Persi looked around and shrugged. “I believe you have failed.”

  “I have failed at one level but by the time you have made repairs and are back on your way, my master and I will have accomplished our goal and will have moved on, so ...” It was her turn to shrug.

  Persi had failed to notice that while they were speaking, Mary Jones had moved closer so when Boots burst into the room and took aim at their adversary, she was able grab Persi and roll her in front, making her a shield. A small derringer slid from her sleeve on a mechanical rig, and she held it to the Persi’s right temple.

  Boots rolled his eyes. “My dear, you have allowed her to make this quite troublesome.”

  Persi smiled. “I don’t think so. You may take the shot when you are ready.”

  The arm around Persi tightened and Mary spoke. “You will leave this cargo room and I will let your woman live. Otherwise ...” She never finished, the bullet from Boots gun knocked the small gun from Mary’s hand, breaking a finger and creasing her cheek as it tumbled past.