He cleared his throat, and I observed that his voice had gone thick with emotion. “My daughter Asha has done naught to deserve a share in my exile, monsieur. She came with me when she was but a babe, for there was none to care for her save myself. Now she is a woman grown, and what will happen to her when I should pass on? I would wish to see her settled in life, in a place where she could choose her own path and flourish as she should. L’île Oubliée is not that place, I fear. Much as I love her and am loathe to lose her, I will not chain her heart to my own penance.”
A father’s care for his daughter. It touched my heart, and spoke to my own desires at the same time. I wondered, then, if he knew my feelings, or if there was another reason he asked to speak with me privately. Besides this, it provided a glimmer of hope that I might undo Traveaux’s dishonorable scheme to use Asha against de Lôme. In the end, it amounted to the same. “I would gladly convey your daughter to a place of safety and see her settled in life, Monsieur de Lôme. I will care for her as I would my own sister.”
He stared at me with those deep blue eyes for a long moment, and it felt as if he weighed my naked heart in that look. At length he stood, and extended his hand in silence. I took it the same way, and we shook solemnly, as men do when words cannot suffice for a thing.
De Lôme came with me down the stairs and informed Dalhgren and Traveaux of his willingness to aid in the repairs. Though the former burned with a fever of desire to learn from de Lôme, I knew the latter craved knowledge of a far different sort. Both were frustrated, for de Lôme merely inquired as to the specifics of the repairs to the Opelousa and then instructed us to wait for him at the longboat while he went and gathered tools and other materials of his Art. I suspected he would speak to Asha as well, but I said nothing of this aloud.
We returned to the longboat, and I fended off inquiries both subtle and explicit, preferring to think on what he had said until he joined us once more. In this state of distraction it was some minutes before Dahlgren noticed the obvious: “Where are Stephan and Bastian?”
I was able to feign surprise, and Traveaux swore softly. “I should have kept those two under my eyes. Though I had hoped against it, it seems they saw what we tried to hide from them on the ridge yesterday. The cunning swine are almost certainly beating the brush for gold even now.”
“Gold?” Dahlgren was confounded. I knew better. This was, no doubt, a cover story Traveaux had prepared against this moment. Dahlgren was about to ask more when de Lôme appeared out of the trees, accompanied by the rough and thoroughly disreputable-looking Calhoun. Dahlgren recoiled and de Lôme explained the Irishman was his assistant and a mechanic of no mean ability. I noted also how much of the burden of tools and materiéle the latter carried; his burden was enormous, yet he bore it without apparent effort save for a scowl of pure hatred in my direction. Without further reference to the two missing seamen we put to sea in the longboat, and indeed we should have been almost overburdened with two more men aboard.
Reaching the ship without conversation of note, I allowed Dahlgren to convey de Lôme and Calhoun below to begin repairs while I went to seek out Rakestraw. He was in his cabin, poring over charts and making nautical calculations of headings and distances. When I entered he smiled in relief.
“Ah, Delacroix, I’m glad you’ve returned—with your expert, unless I misjudge.” I confirmed this and he indicated I should sit. Doing so, I approached the subject from a tangent. “Captain, have you noticed anything odd about the two seamen who accompanied us yesterday?”
“Stephan and Bastian? Aye.” He looked a touch grim. “I’d heard scuttlebutt through Underwood of some manner of idle talk and tomfoolery they’d been about, and the hands seemed thrown to a bit of an uproar over it. We’ve a good crew aboard, in the main, but the hands before the mast are mixed timber, as the saying goes. I need no sparks thrown into that tinder. I’ve no idea what those two rogues might have been about, but I brook no such conduct aboard my ship. I’d sent them ashore in hopes to allay further discontent.”
Now was my only chance to intercept Traveaux’s scheme, and I seized it. “Captain, it seems Stephan and Bastian have gotten it into their heads there is gold to be found on the island. They abandoned the longboat while we conferred with de Lôme and were not to be found when we returned to the Opelousa.”
Rakestraw purpled. “Deserters! I’ll see them flogged if they return, and hanged if they don’t. Discipline must be maintained or no man of us will see the other side of the Atlantic. I’ll send Underwood and a few trusted men to go after them. Will you go with them, Delacroix?”
I agreed, having all but assured he would make the request of me in the first place. If we left the Opelousa before Traveaux caught wind of it, I might yet succeed; how I would explain myself to him later I knew not, but an accounting there would surely be.
In but a few minutes I found myself back on the longboat with the mate, Underwood, and three more seamen to whom I’d not been introduced but who were blessedly laconic. I had too much on my mind just then to spend it in conversation. Gaining the shore, it took but little searching to find the tracks we sought. The pair had followed the beach a short distance before turning inland, making their way south of de Lôme’s cove and further along the inner crescent of L’île Oubliée. We hurried, hoping to apprehend them before they could do more mischief. A flogging might be good for a crew’s discipline, but hangings bred discontent, even when they were necessary.
We followed the tracks through a natural archway of stone and immediately drew up short. Before us, another harbor stretched out, much larger than the small cove and, to my eye, much more navigable. It was not the large sea-cave gaping to our right that drew my attention; rather, all our eyes were riveted upon the wrecked galleon laying in magnificent rot on a shoal a few chains from shore. A relic of the glorious Age of Discovery, I thought her: a tall ship worthy of bold men who sailed Spanish gold from the New World back to the gilded courts of Madrid. That she lay in quiet ruination now did not detract in the least from the majesty of her original form.
The tracks we followed, however, led to the sea-cave, so it was thence we hied ourselves. Entering afoot, I saw Underwood did not fail to mark how deep and broad the channel was. A ship of no mean size could sail from the waiting sea into this rocky opening, were she first to unstep her masts so as not to lose them to a low ceiling. We clung to the shelf of rock along the near side of the cavern and made our way in, for the footsteps of Stephan and Bastian were clear in their approach to the cave.
Light was dim within, but reflected from the shimmering water enough to make our way. The cavern extended a good distance and was clearly enlarged by some human agency; surely no natural cave had walls so regular and symmetric. Were there any doubt, the lambent glow of some no doubt miraculous invention from far ahead was enough to dispel all doubt: this was de Lôme’s demesne. As we drew nearer there came to our ears at first indistinct, but rapidly growing: the sounds of a struggle.
I threw caution aside and broke into a headlong sprint, with Underwood and three sailors hard on my heels. Of what I encountered upon entering that room I shall not write here, save that a part of me wonders that there is yet anything remaining in human nature worthy of salvation. She had not been forced, not yet, but their wretched, barbarous intentions were as clear as the leather sacks that lay cast aside, leaking ruddy Spanish doubloons onto the ground.
Sailors with truncheons made quick work of the blackguards, and I took Mademoiselle de Lôme quickly aside and gave her a moment’s privacy to see to her clothing. She surprised me first by brushing my unshorn cheek with her rosebud lips almost as soon as she had replaced her torn chemise. I ducked my head and said something intended to be both comforting and self-effacing, but in truth I was entirely unable to concentrate on anything save the lingering sensation of her touch. Then she surprised me again by brushing aside the attack on her person. I would not have been capable of it in her place, but she possessed a spirit of almo
st infinite practicality.
“Monsieur Delacroix, you must take me to my father immediately. Something has happened that he must know of without delay.” She spoke urgently, with a tone of authority I had heard no few times before, but never from a woman.
I could deny her nothing, and perhaps she knew it. In other moments I would have urged her to another course, but given recent events I spoke only quiet words of my outrage and a promise of swift justice upon those who had attempted to force themselves upon her. This, too, she brushed away, yet I think it gave her reassurance on some level despite her pragmatic directions.
As Underwood paired up the men and had them take up the unconscious Stephan and Bastian between them, I assisted Asha with several strange objects she pressed upon me. Taking a large sack herself, she led the way from the room, which I had only just begun to observe. As we departed I saw over my shoulder it consisted of numerous odd machines and devices, the purpose for which I could not even begin to fathom. It mattered not; this was de Lôme’s laboratory, clearly, and such as I was as out of place here as my shipmates had been, if for differing reasons.
We set out as quickly as we could, the men bearing Stephan and Bastian between them. Asha led the way, and though almost as burdened as any of us she set a quick pace. Before I could believe it we had emerged from the cavern and made our way back up the beach to the longboat. Immediately she instructed us to put out to sea and spent the entirety of the journey at the bow; a proper figurehead she seemed, leaning out over the waves, her feminine form not detracted from in the least by the tooled leather apron she had donned, nor the inventor’s goggles holding down her dark tresses.
On gaining the ship she at once went below, seeming not to need direction or guide. While she went below I assisted Underwood in turning Stephan and Bastian over to Captain Rakestraw, ensconced up on the quarterdeck. He went pale at what I told him, then red with fury. Traveaux appeared on quarterdeck behind me as if from thin air, calling loudly for a rope. His two pawns had served him well, and now they were more liability than asset. I repressed a shudder at the coldness of the man’s blood.
It was then I saw both Henri de Lôme and his daughter emerging from below deck.
I excused myself, leaving Traveaux trapped on the quarterdeck to see to the hanging he had helped precipitate, and joined them on the main deck moments later. The old engineer wore a grave expression. “Monsieur Delacroix, I almost repent of my previous request.” Henri de Lôme spoke aloud, but for the moment we had as much privacy as was possible aboard the deck of a ship at anchor. “But the matter is now out of my hands. Your engine is repaired, with sufficient instruction passed to young Dahlgren as to see you safely across the sea. My daughter has brought something that should assist you in making a speedy departure from these waters, as you must now flee this island.”
I must have appeared incredulous, for he held up a hand in request for patience while with the other he drew Rakestraw to us. Rarely had I seen such presence; he commanded us with such quiet assurance as no general or statesman could have dreamt. “Capitaine Rakestraw,” he said forthrightly as the latter approached, “you must immediately order sail raised and engage your steam engine. My daughter brings word: two ironclad ships of war approach L’île Oubliée from the north. It seems likely they come for you.”
Rakestraw growled at this news, and Traveaux—who seemed to have materialized from the very air behind the captain, as was his way—swore softly. “How could they find us?” I asked. “Are not their compasses as confounded as ours by your machine?” Traveaux shot me a look of distilled fury at my indiscretion, but de Lôme merely shook his head. “The effect is weakened by hulls of metal, and I doubt not they are thicker by far than when I first came to this island. The damage is done, sirs. You must flee with all speed.”
“Will you not come with us, sir?” Rakestraw seemed appalled that any shipwrecked sailor—as he no doubt thought de Lôme—should wish to stay marooned. The older man simply smiled sadly and shook his head. “I will never leave this island, alas. I will remain, and do you what good I can ashore, my friends. Come, we must make haste. Godspeed and fair winds, Capitaine.”
Traveaux clearly regretted dispensing with his two pawns, and now expected me to aid him in retaining control of de Lôme through his daughter. I saw the moment of truth had come. Stepping between Traveaux and Asha, I spoke quietly. “You have our deepest thanks for your aid. Godspeed to you as well, Monsieur de Lôme.”
He saw at once he had been outplayed, but Traveaux was not fool enough to attack Asha or even me at that moment; his power had been nullified by the circumstances, and any violent act now would see him swinging from a yardarm alongside Stephan and Bastian. He retreated, no doubt biding his time.
Underwood being consumed with putting the ship under sail straightaway, I accompanied Henri and Asha in the longboat back to shore. He spent the short trip holding his daughter’s hand, speaking to her softly in French. I kept my back to them and gave my attention to my oars, not wishing to intrude upon their parting words. And if water appeared in many an eye at the ending of that brief, final sailing, it was only just.
We bade de Lôme farewell and he waved but once before hurrying ashore. Mademoiselle de Lôme sat quiet and restrained as we returned to the Opelousa, and I gave her the only gift I had in abundance: my respectful silence.
Back aboard the ship, anchor had already been weighed and the fore-rig raised with what I was told was called a spinnaker sail. Already it bellied out above the bow, filled with a wind that made fair to carry us from the island. Rakestraw gave the order and the helm began to turn us eastward. I took Mademoiselle de Lôme with me up to the quarterdeck where Rakestraw, Dahlgren and Traveaux stood, the latter with a brass spyglass held up to his eye. Dahlgren inclined his head, but Traveaux stood with glass fixed northwards, icily ignoring me. Long moments later, he lowered the instrument and turned to Rakestraw.
“Two ironclads. Just as de Lôme said. And making full speed toward us.” He shrugged. “The island shields us from the westerly winds. They will overhaul us before we clear the bay.”
Rakestraw bit off a curse, for there was a lady present, but that lady seemed to have more pressing concerns on her mind than the captain’s deportment. “Dahlgren, it is time,” she said meaningfully.
The engineer nodded and at once trotted off the quarterdeck, down to the main deck and from there out of sight below. I glanced at Asha and she told me simply, “You mentioned yesterday that your ship was low on coal. I brought something… better.” Her pause was enough; I knew her knowledge of her father’s Arts far outstripped my own meager supply. It was enough to know she and her father had foreseen this need and prepared for it. I inclined my head in thanks but before she could go on I felt a potent tremor run through the ship. Rakestraw almost stumbled, and then with a cough and a lurch the Opelousa’s engines pushed us forward at a pace so quick even the sails fell slack for a moment before the wind caught up with us.
“By heaven,” Rakestraw breathed, awestruck. “We’re making fifteen knots of headway without more than a breath of wind to drive us. I’d not have believed it, not without seeing it myself. By heaven...” He was almost shaken. Traveaux ground his teeth in silence and kept his spyglass to his eye as much not to see any of us as to keep abreast of the ironclads.
So we sailed, soon leaving the protective arc of the island and making even better speed as we came about windward of the enemy’s ships. Asha gazed with an inscrutable expression on her face as she studied the ironclads, but said nothing. For his part, Traveaux’s silence was even more eloquent. Dahlgren rejoined us after a time and those of us on the quarterdeck stared over the stern at the ships pursuing us. Each of us knew, I think, even before the first volley began: we had a lead, but not enough to be out of range of the ironclads’ seven-inch breach-loaders.
Nor were our grim expectations disappointed. Within minutes of leaving the shelter of the island our bow was rocked by the wake of a
heated shell that fell not a hundred yards to our port side. Another followed shortly, and yet another in rapid succession. Rakestraw grimaced and I forestalled to ask him what I had already begun to suspect. With two ships shelling us, not even our unbelievable speed would save us. The Opelousa was small and agile for a sloop, but nowhere near maneuverable enough to foil a skilled gunnery crew. With enough time to adjust their trajectories, they would see us sunk in flames to the bottom of the clear blue waters of the Caribbean.
It was Traveaux that saw it first.
He had never uttered such a sound in my presence ere then, and it took me several moments to decipher it as surprise. In disbelief I turned to look where he had directed his spyglass; anything capable of giving the lowborn Creole dog such a shock was no doubt worthy of my attention.
At first it seemed little more than a speck upon the horizon to my unaided vision, but it grew so rapidly that I soon understood my fellow agent’s consternation. Rakestraw’s mouth worked in silence, and Dahlgren was practically beside himself with excitement. Only Asha stood still as we four made our various reactions—but then, she must have known was her father intended when he set off down the beach toward his cavern. I heard her speak only a single word: “Ariéle...”
The ship was as unlike the ironclads as they were to the Opelousa. Its length was as sleek and forward-leaning as a greyhound at full gallop. Where the ironclads were dull and pitted where the sea-spray rusted their hulls, this ship gleamed in the sun like a sword fresh-drawn from the scabbard. It bore down upon the ironclads like a striking falcon, long clouds of steam trailing in its wake. The heated shells ceased to fall about us and soon sought a new target, yet de Lôme’s vessel moved too quickly for the Union gunners to adjust their trajectories accordingly. Shell after shell detonated on the surface between us, frequently obscuring the gleaming ship from our view in clouds of steam.
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