Jake was peering out the port side while Rick scanned the starboard skies. “I’ll hand it to Cullan,” Rick said. “He shook off our uninvited guests.”
Jake gazed down at the gray water that rolled far beneath them. “If that big bang was the mothership, then I doubt any of the mini-craft could have made it back to land, even if the drones didn’t knock them out. I’m guessing Cullan had us too far over the ocean by then for them to turn back.”
A hard glint lit Rick’s eyes. “All the better. Let whoever sent them wonder.”
Jake collapsed into a chair. “But why? If it’s the urn they want, they’re remarkably persistent. And if it’s related to Father’s murder, then why are they after us? Whoever sent that airship after us has resources, and I’m betting we haven’t seen the last of them.”
“Maybe they don’t want the urn,” Nicki replied, staring at the ruined window. “Maybe they just wanted to make sure that we don’t make it back to New Pittsburgh.”
That sobering thought left them silently weighing the repercussions, until the door flew open and Cullan stepped inside, wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “Mighty fine flying, if I do say so myself!”
“You nearly killed us!” Nicki retorted.
Cullan feigned a hurt look. “Did our maneuvering scare you?”
“Out of a year of my life!” Nicki replied, then grinned. “But it’ll make an amazing story someday for my grandchildren.”
Jake and Rick congratulated Cullan with hearty backslapping, and Nicki favored him with a kiss on the cheek. Cullan was playing the daredevil, but Jake knew him well enough to see that the battle had given the pilot a run for his money.
“Any casualties?” Jake asked. It was exactly what his father would have done, worrying about the crew over the hardware.
Cullan shook his head. “Nothing worse than some bruises and cuts. Mueller’s got a nice shiner from where he rapped himself on a speaking tube. It could have been worse.”
“What were those... things you launched? The hovering metal disks with the guns?” Jake asked.
Cullan leaned against a walnut-paneled pillar and crossed his arms. “Another illicit invention, courtesy of Adam Farber and Tesla-Westinghouse labs. With some input from you as well, I hear,” Cullan said, giving Rick a grin.
“Just another mechanical nightmare Adam and I cooked up in his lab,” Rick replied. “Didn’t even tell me they were ready,” he muttered, still annoyed.
Cullan shook his head. “The real beauty of it is, those things don’t need pilots. Whoever was after us had men in their mini-dirigibles; I’m quite certain of it. Made for nasty business. Farber’s flying automatons let us even the score without putting any of our crew at risk.”
“How did you make sure they were shooting in the right direction?” Jake asked. “They’re too small to have a difference engine aboard.”
Cullan laughed. “I don’t think even Adam Farber would try putting a difference engine into one of those things—although,” he mused, “it might not be a bad idea. I’ll have to mention that next time I see him, if Rick doesn’t beat me to it.”
“Actually, it’s ingenious,” Rick jumped in. “Adam’s been toying with the idea of a radio telegraph—a telegraph that can transmit through thin air, without wires. Cullan can control the disks from the bridge, with Adam’s new contraption. He said it sends Morse code signals through aetheric waves.”
“Adam’s been burning the midnight oil again.” Cullan shook his head. “That boy is brilliant. I’m glad he’s on our side.”
Cullan glanced around the lounge, seeming to notice the damage for the first time. “Damn,” he muttered, then his gaze slid sideways to Nicki. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Those windows cost a small fortune apiece. On top of losing a couple of the drones, this is shaping up to be an expensive flight.”
The fact that they could have ended up as flaming debris in the Atlantic went unsaid, but Jake could see the knowledge in his friends’ eyes. “What about Long Island?” Focusing on the details of the trip kept Jake from dwelling on what awaited them when they arrived.
“We’ll use the beacon when we get close enough for a visual signal,” Cullan replied. “With luck, whoever our ‘friends’ were who sent the other airship won’t also have men on the ground in Long Island waiting for us; but if they do, we’ll handle it.”
Prior to being in the employ of Brand and Desmet, Cullan Adair had been a supply pilot for the U.S. Army’s airship corps, with a flair for side dealings that had earned him a questionable discharge, dealings he described as being a ‘naval redistribution specialist’. Today’s flight, Jake knew, was not Cullan’s first close call.
“I don’t know about the two of you,” Rick said, “But I’m all in. I think I’ll go back to my cabin and clean up before dinner—and maybe get my stomach out of my throat,” he said with a sideways glance at Cullan.
“Go ahead,” Cullan replied. “I dare say the galley is going to need some time to pull itself back together after that ride. We might not get more than tea and sandwiches, depending on how much the cook got bounced around. And we’ve got to make sure we didn’t miss any holes from all those bullets flying. That would make our trip real short.”
Rick paused by Jake and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m here for you Jake… and we’ll get through this, just like we always do.”
Jake could only nod in response. He turned to Nicki and lent her his arm as they followed Rick down the narrow passageway to the airship’s sleeping quarters. The Allegheny Princess was outfitted like a small cruise ship, with the ability to sleep a large number of guests comfortably in addition to the crew. Jake saw Nicki to her quarters, and she threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.
“If you need to talk, I’m here to listen,” she said.
“I can’t—not yet,” Jake said, feeling his throat tighten. “Later. But thanks.” Nicki nodded and disappeared into her cabin.
Jake feared the wild ride might have tossed the contents of his cabin around the room, but he was pleased to see the clasps on his drawers and cabinets had done their job. He tried to lie down, but he was too restless. After putting his things in order, Jake crossed the hall to his father’s private cabin.
The first thing that struck Jake was the faint smell of his father’s cologne. The cabin bore the unmistakable mark of Thomas Desmet’s presence. The built-in furnishings were finished in the dark wood Thomas favored, and the paintings on the walls were of England and Scotland. Jake was quite certain that the cabinet held his father’s favorite after-dinner brandy, and that the desk held a supply of monogrammed stationery.
Jake sank into the tufted leather of the desk chair and opened the desk drawer. His father had taken the airship up to New York just the week before, had sat in this chair, working on ledgers and correspondence. There was a loose square of paper, the kind his father liked to carry in a shirt pocket for making notes. On it was a list of names, written in his father’s handwriting: Nocnitsa, Nowak, Dabrowski, Jasinski, Kozlowski, Bajek, Chomicki, Kubiak, Radwanski, Alekanovo, Marcin.
Curiosity won out over grief. Jake took the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Who knows how long it’s been in the drawer? Jake thought. It could have nothing to do with this job—or his murder. But just in case, he decided that he would show it to George, and maybe to Andreas. Someone had killed Thomas Desmet and been willing to stop at nothing to kill them. As soon as he got back to New Pittsburgh, it was time to figure out why.
Alone for the first time since he had received the news of his father’s death, Jake covered his face with his hands. He was glad that the cabins were nearly soundproof, muffling his sobs, though he was certain his friends would not begrudge him his mourning. Thomas Desmet had been a good father, a family man. His marriage to Catherine had been a love match, and even after decades, the affection between the two was obvious. Quiet and unassuming, content to work in the background, Thomas’s genius lay in his ability to see opportunities others overloo
ked and build a network of sources unrivaled by competitors. Where Rick often butted heads with George, Jake and Thomas usually got along. Life—and business—without him was unthinkable.
I’ve got to be strong for Mother, Jake told himself, shaking with the effort to slow his shuddering breaths. I’m going to be the one she’ll need to rely on. Henry’s got the empathy of a rhinoceros, so he won’t be any good helping Mother pull things together. And besides, George and Henry will be focused on the business. Henry, Jake’s officious older brother, ran the New York office.
Oh dear Lord, if this means Henry is going to move back to New Pittsburgh, maybe I should have just let those assassins put me out of my misery. Jake sighed. Henry won’t want to travel—or get shot at. He’ll still need me for acquisition trips. Mother won’t let him fire me, and I won’t strangle him for her sake.
Jake sat in Thomas’s cabin for a long while, unwilling to let go of the last vestige of his father’s presence. Finally, he pulled himself together enough to return to his own cabin. He splashed cold water on his face to hide the tears, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, and even the polite fiction of a smile did not reach his gaze. Jake felt disoriented, as if he had failed to wake from a bad dream. The smothering loss and grief would only get worse when he arrived home and Thomas’s death became undeniably real.
Jake drew in another ragged breath. I have some time to think, time to figure out what to do next. And I’ll need every moment of it.
At top speed, it would take three days to cross the Atlantic, if weather was on their side. Once they arrived in New Pittsburgh, there would be the funeral, and after that, business issues would have to be handled. Grief was a luxury that would have to wait until vengeance and justice were served.
Jake’s thoughts strayed to the attack in London. The wild carriage chase and desperate aerial pursuit made it clear that someone had a big stake in either killing Jake and his friends or acquiring the urn by whatever means necessary. Neither reason made any sense to Jake. We’ve hunted down priceless relics from all over the world, and no one’s sent this much firepower after us before. There’s something we’re missing, something we don’t know. And until we figure it out, we are sitting ducks.
Jake felt as if he had aged a decade in a few hours. He doubted that either sleep or scotch would give him a reprieve. Mother is probably beside herself with grief, he thought. And Henry will make it in from New York before I can get there. That can only make things worse. Henry was five years older and insufferably by-the-book. No matter that I’m twenty-six years old, Jake thought. Henry will treat me like I’m still in knickers. The business will go on. That was a good thing, though the thought was tinged with sorrow. George could run Brand and Desmet single-handedly. But it was more likely that Thomas Desmet had left his share of the business to his eldest son.
Bloody hell. Do I want to work for Henry? He’s such a martinet. Maybe I can get George to assign me to the London office.
He took another deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Time to prioritize. The first challenge was to get home alive, and then, assuming he succeeded, the next was to find a murderer. Scuffles with Henry could wait.
A tentative knock sounded at his door. “Jake? It’s me, Nicki. Please let me in.”
Jake opened the door and his cousin stood before him, a look of concern on her face. She swept past him without a by-your-leave and sat down in the chair by the desk. “First things first,” she said, and withdrew a silver flask from somewhere within her voluminous skirts.
“Drink this.” Nicki thrust the flask at Jake. He unscrewed the cap and complied, knocking back a mouthful and letting it burn down his throat. He capped the flask and tried to hand it back to her, but Nicki waved him off.
“Keep it. At least until we get back to New Pittsburgh. You need it more than I do.” She winked at him. “And I’ve got another one in my trunk.
“You know Rick is really hurting for you too,” she added. “He just doesn’t have a clue what to say. So expect to do a lot of manly drinking over the next couple days.” She sat up primly and placed both palms on her knees. “Now. Talk to me.”
Jake sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Nicki gave him her craftiest smile, the look that had launched one ill-advised adventure after another in their childhood. “Come on, Jakey. No secrets. Remember? We pinky-swore.”
Jake was forced into a half-smile. “No one has called me ‘Jakey’ since I stopped wearing knickers. And we pinky-swore when we were eight.”
Nicki raised her chin. “A pinky-swear is forever. Everyone knows that. Now—spill.”
Jake slumped onto his bunk. “I guess I haven’t quite let it all sink in yet.” His voice lacked its usual gusto. “I just can’t imagine going back to New Pittsburgh and Father not being there. Not ever being there again.” Despite himself, his voice broke.
Nicki came over to sit next to him and draped an arm around his shoulder. “Do you remember the time Uncle Thomas caught us digging up maman’s rosebushes?”
Jake chuckled sadly. “And he listened without even cracking a smile when we showed him the treasure map we had ‘found’ and why we had to dig up the ‘gold’ to rescue the Prince.”
“He might have been willing to hear us out to find out where Rick was,” Nicki said. “Since he got stuck being the Prince and we left him tied up all day in the garden shed pretending to sleep.”
“It wasn’t all day,” Jake countered. “Just all morning. And you’re the one who said he had to be a sleeping prince to be rescued.”
“He got to be the hero the time before,” Nicki sniffed. “And you were the pirate. Besides, I did ‘kiss’ him awake and we shared our cookies with him. Even if we were sent to our rooms for the afternoon.”
“Yeah, it was worth it for the look on Rick’s face. You’re the only one who can stun him speechless. Father thought it was hysterical. But that’s just it.” Jake took another nip from the flask. “Father is—was—so reasonable. So level-headed. He and Mother are such a good team. And he even takes Henry in stride.” He shook his head and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t even use the past tense to describe him. I don’t want to admit he’s gone.”
“Tell me a good story. Any story.”
Jake sighed. “Do you remember the time Rick and I borrowed the carriage to set off fireworks down along the river, and the horses got loose?”
Nicki chuckled. “How could I forget? Especially when the horses bolted after the fireworks all went off at once because you weren’t too good at that sort of thing, and the harbor patrol thought it was a signal flare from a sinking barge and a couple of vagrants thought it was the river pirates, and by the time your father got there you and Rick were hunkered down in a shoot-out between the homeless guys and the patrol, and they were both looking for a missing boat that didn’t exist.”
“We were grounded for a long time,” Jake said wistfully. “But you know, even when he was giving us a talking-to about that, I had the feeling that, secretly, Father thought it was a grand romp.” He fell silent, lost in memories.
Nicki regarded him sympathetically for a moment, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you remember when your dog Spratt got hit by a wagon?” she asked. Jake nodded.
“Your father never faulted you or Rick—or any of us—for crying about it,” Nicki recalled quietly. “He told you that feeling sad meant we really loved Spratt, and it was okay to miss him.”
“I remember,” Jake said in a muffled voice.
“And do you remember how your father came home early from the office, and he helped us hold a proper funeral, and then he made us each talk about our favorite memories of Spratt? And then he told us that was what really mattered, those memories, and never forgetting him,” she said, giving Jake a gentle nudge in the ribs.
When he said nothing, she continued. “I know there’s a big difference between Spratt and your father. But Uncle Thomas was
right about the memories. We’ll get to the bottom of the murder, Jake, I promise you,” Nicki swore. “But your father is more than his murder. Remember all of that, not just the end.” She met his gaze. “And believe me—we will find the people who did this and make them pay. Count on it.”
“IT’S A BLOODY mess, that’s what it is.” The police sergeant said with a grimace. “Barely enough left to tell it was a person, God rest his soul.”
Drostan Fletcher looked down at what remained of the corpse. He had seen worse in Burma, when he had served with Her Majesty’s Army, before coming to America. Those were not memories he wanted to recall.
Just a few feet away, the swift currents of the Allegheny River slipped by, swollen with the runoff from snows upstream. The namesake city of Allegheny was just across the river from New Pittsburgh, its larger and more prosperous neighbor. The air smelled of glue and pickles, a combination Fletcher no longer found odd given the number of factories that clustered along the riverbanks.
“D’ya think it mighta been a wight?” Sergeant Finian was still staring at the remains. His voice carried a heavy Irish brogue, just as Drostan was sure people heard the traces of Scotland in his own burr, though it had been years since he had left his native land.
“What on earth would make you think that?” Drostan replied.
Finian shrugged. “I heard tell the Indians called these parts the ‘dark places’, back in George Washington’s day. They thought there was something evil here, and steered clear.” He nodded toward the body. “Maybe they were on to something.”
It was so like the English to ignore the cautions of those who knew the land best, Drostan thought with a sigh. That was a lesson the Brits didn’t seem to learn, no matter where they roamed. Scotland, Ireland, the Colonies, India… so many warnings unheeded, and so many needless deaths.
“Hardly something you can put in your report, now, is it?” Drostan remarked.
Finian flushed. “Can’t imagine the Captain going for it, no, that’s God’s honest truth for you,” he said. “So what’s your take, Fletcher? You don’t have to report to the likes of Captain Boyle.”
Iron and Blood Page 3
