Iron Horsemen

by Brad R. Cook

  Scrapping, sheering sounds cut through the air as the metal and wood hull raked across branches, stone and grass. We finally skidded to a stop and I looked around, surprised to still be alive. I checked Genevieve and knew from her smile she was okay. We both looked over Rodin who wiggled out from between us. His grunts, snarls, and growls signaled his displeasure, but he was uninjured.

  “Not my best landing,” Baldarich said, pulling himself free of the wheel. “Everyone all right?”

  An “Aye, captain,” came from my father who gripped his forearm as he pulled himself to his feet.

  I untied the leather strap. “We’re okay.”

  “Good to hear it. Now if I can walk I’m going below to see who else made it out of that storm and survey the damage,” Baldarich headed off the bridge, favoring his right leg.

  Left on the bridge with my father, I said, “Your arm, are you hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He looked me over and turned to Genevieve. “I’m just glad you two are safe.”

  “Now what are we going to do? How do we get to London?” I asked.

  Genevieve shook her head. “Getting to London isn’t the problem. It’s what we do once we’re there. Lord Kannard will get there long before we do, and he’ll have already put his plan into action.”

  “Then how do we stop him?”

  My father clutched harder at his arm and winced. “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 27

  THE CITY OF LOVE

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Looks like the Champ du Mars,” Genevieve whispered. “Father and I stayed nearby on our last holiday.”

  We were on solid ground, trailing Captain Baldarich as he surveyed The Sparrowhawk assessing the external damage. The underside had crumpled like a piece of paper, but most of the upper structure remained intact.

  “Ignatius, head out with Gears. He’ll know what we need, but you do the negotiating. I know it’s late, but bang on a few doors if you have to. We have to get back in the sky.”

  Ignatius tipped his Stetson and asked, “What will you be doing, Cap’n?”

  “I have to grease some palms to make sure we don’t get hauled off to the Bastille for landing in a city park. Should be back by morning.” Mr. Singh walked past the door and Baldarich said, “Indihar, come here, while I’m gone, you’re in charge. If the Gendarmes show—afer all, how could they miss us—tell ’em to speak with their superiors before they arrest the whole lot. Just don’t mention my name.”

  “Aye, captain,” Mr. Singh said with a smile.

  “You’re a good man Mr. Singh. Repair what you can. Ignatius and Gears will return with supplies as soon as possible.” Baldarich turned and pointed at Genevieve and me. “You two stay out of trouble, and don’t get in the way of my crew. Your father busted his arm; Hunter’s setting it.”

  I nodded. “Yes, captain. Thank you.”

  Everyone set about their tasks leaving Genevieve and me standing awkwardly in the center of the city park.

  Genevieve’s face was shining with excitement. She leaned in and whispered. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

  “No.”

  “You should see the city, it’s beautiful. I could give you a tour.”

  I looked across the skyline. Then back at the ship where my father was getting his arm set. What would I rather do? Sit with him and listen to him lecture me about how irresponsible I’d been or see the sights of Paris with a beautiful girl? “I’d like that.”

  “Let me secure Rodin.” Genevieve and I climbed back inside the vessel, and she made certain the little bronze dragon would remain tucked up in the nest he’d created in our quarters. “I’ll bring you a treat if you’re good,” she promised with a kiss on his head.

  We left the Sparrowhawk and made our way down to the stone walls lining the Seine. The flickering lights of the gas streetlamps made the water sparkle, and the rain soaked streets reflected the star-filled sky above. It was magical.

  I leaned against the stone railing and watched the city go by. Carriages rumbled by, people laughed and carried on, voices filled the night with joy. The vibrant, infectious, nightlife was unlike anything I’d ever seen. “Hardly seems real that we were just in a fire fight with a sky pirate armada.” I said.

  Genevieve was quiet for a while, and we stood side by side without saying—or needing to say—a single word. Then she brushed her hair behind her ear and took my hand, her soft, cool skin shooting a tingle of electricity through me. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “I am at your command, Milady,” I teased, happy to have her hand clasped in mine.

  She led me down a few streets to an open square. A large obelisk stood in the center with statues all around the plaza. “My father brought me here. It’s the Place de la Concorde, I love the fountains.”

  “Wow, it’s beautiful.”

  “The obelisk is—”

  “Egyptian,” I squinted to read the hieroglyphs across the street. “Created for Ramses II.”

  Genevieve glanced my way with a coy smile. “Show off.”

  “Where is the Louvre? I’ve always wanted to see the museum.”

  Genevieve pointed. “It’s not far; maybe we can see it tomorrow.”

  “That’d be nice. They’ll be fixing the Sparrowhawk for days.”

  “We should get back,” she said.

  “What? It’s too early, look at this place.”

  “But, we should—”

  “See more Paris!” I smiled and slipped my fingers through hers again. “Come on, I saw some theaters this way.”

  “But Parisian theaters—”

  “Will be fun.”

  We ran through the streets until music filled the air. A long line of well-dressed men waited to enter one of the theaters. One of several tucked away along a narrow cobblestone street.

  Genevieve clung to my arm. “We’ll never make it inside.”

  “Please, you’re with me.” I pointed toward the alley. “Come on, I used to do this in New York all the time.”

  “Did your father know you frequented the theater?”

  “Hah! Hardly. He wouldn’t approve. Of course, he doesn’t approve of anything I do.”

  She hesitated, but stepped forward before our fingers pulled apart. “I’m not sure about this.”

  We approached the side door, and I pulled it open cautiously. The bright sound of up-tempo music poured into the alley, and the smell of sweat and perfume drew us in.

  “Do we dare?” Genevieve whispered, her breath warm on my ear.

  “Absolutely,” I said. We slipped inside and hid behind a thick black curtain at the back of the stage. A line of women danced onstage, kicking up their skirts and flashing their black lingerie to the rousing cheers of the audience.

  Genevieve covered her mouth with her hand. “Is that the can-can?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s so … scandalous.”

  I smiled. “Yeah.”

  The women rushed off stage, and I pulled Genevieve further behind the curtain. The announcer was saying something as the audience cheered wildly. Then another woman walked past where we were peeking through the curtain and took her place onstage.

  Genevieve gasped. “She’s only wearing feathers!”

  “Really? Let me see.” I pulled the curtain wider and there she was, bare butt and all. “Woah.” I could barely breathe.

  Slower music began and the woman started to dance, her body undulating to the rhythm like nothing I’d ever seen before. The sweet aroma of Genevieve’s hair intoxicated me and I wanted to touch it. But I dared not move a muscle.

  A man in black suit with a bushy moustache saw us from the other side of the stage. He stood and, with a stubby fat cigar, pointed at us. “Time to go,” he mouthed with a glowering look as he made his way around props and backstage equipment.

  With a flurry, we ran out the alley door just as he reached our side of the stage, and kept running until we entered the chaos o
f the main street as Gendarmes raided one of the other theaters. People ran in every direction.

  “This way!” We darted down another alley, slipping through the missing slats of overturned shipping pallets.

  We emerged in a small corner park, and I pulled her behind a cluster of trees as the Gendarmes whistled and called for order.

  “It’s crazy out there!” Genevieve said. Her face was flushed with excitement and she leaned in to quickly kiss my cheek just as I turned toward her. Our lips met and, emboldened by the wild night, I pressed forward. Electricity shot through me as if I’d been hit by Baldarich’s lightning canon.

  She pushed away and bit her bottom lip. “I … I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I did.” I couldn’t help the goofy smile painting itself across my face. “For a first kiss, that was amazing.”

  I held her gaze, then slid my arm around her and kissed her again.

  She pulled me closer, our bodies pressed together, and an eternity passed.

  When I pulled back from Genevieve, the smile wouldn’t leave my face no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to keep kissing her, to lose myself in the sweet aroma of roses that always seemed to surround her.

  She brushed back my hair. “You’re certainly bolder than we first met.”

  I blushed. “I feel more like myself than I ever did at Eton.”

  “I can tell.”

  I ran my finger across the soft porcelain skin of her cheek. “You however, are just a bold as when we met. I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing you in pants.”

  “And I’ll never forget the look on your face.”

  Several distant whistles signaled more Gendarmes on the way. “We should get out of here,” I said.

  “I agree, but I have to find something for Rodin. You don’t want to see the mood he’ll be in if we don’t come back with the treat I promised.”

  We ran down a street lined with bakeshops and cafés. We stopped at a street vendor closing up his cart and I asked in French if he had any leftover food. With a friendly smile he opened his cart and handed each of us some bread and the remaining slice of a wheel of cheese.

  “Merci,” she said.

  We both thanked him several times and then he leaned forward and winked at me before trundling off, pushing his cart before him. His parting comment made my cheeks flush and heart pound against my chest. I handed the bread to Genevieve, who twirled off under the lamplight. “Comment est-ce que je peux refuser deux jeunes amants?’ How could I deny two young lovers? That’s what he said, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” My voice was barely a pathetic squeak.

  She bit her lip and said, “Thank you, and Rodin thanks you.”

  I wanted to kiss her again, but blurted out, “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

  “Of course, it is the diplomatic language.”

  “Let’s head back,” I said, not daring to look at her.

  “Good idea.” She started walking and I quickened to catch up. “But you have to tell me how many languages you speak?” She pulled a soft tuft of bread from the middle of the loaf and popped it in her mouth.

  I looked at my feet. “I’ve never actually counted.” My stomach twisted up in knots; this was the question that always brought me ridicule. “Some I can figure out, like Spanish and Portuguese. I don’t know it, but I can get by because I know French, Italian, and Latin. The romance languages are funny like that.”

  “The romance languages. I always liked the sound of that.”

  The blood rushed from my head, and I thought my knees might actually buckle. I distracted myself by stuffing a piece of bread the size of France in my face.

  “What about ancient languages?”

  I held up a finger while I struggled to chew and then swallow. “My father taught me all the Biblical languages. He thinks you should read the Bible in its original form. But he made certain I also studied hieroglyphics, too. And Arabic, and he’s been threatening to teach me Cuneiform and Sanskrit. You probably want to run away now.”

  She giggled. “How do you remember them all?”

  “Must be a family gift.” A tense chuckle escaped. “I just sort of understand them.” I looked up; we’d arrived back at the Champ du Mars.

  The Sparrowhawk remained exactly where it had landed and the crew was hard at work on the repairs. We slipped inside and went to our room. My father was asleep in a hammock but Rodin emerged from his nest. The little dragon rushed over and circled us, studying our hands as he sniffed with his nose.

  He landed on Genevieve’s shoulder and began rooting around to find the food he could smell but couldn’t see. She smiled and held the cheese on her palm. Rodin craned his neck to reach it and she held her hand a little farther away so that he had to stand on his hind legs. He looked adorable standing on her shoulder. She brought her palm down. Rodin sniffed the cheese and greedily snatched it up in his jaws. Too big for one mouthful, he bit off a chunk and held the rest in his front claws.

  The dragon cooed as he ate the cheese. Happy and content, Rodin flew back to his nest and curled up for the night. I dropped into my own hammock but wasn’t eager to put this day behind me. It had started off as one of the worst of my life, and ended as the best.

  CHAPTER 28

  UNEXPECTED MEETING

  I woke to the sound of workers pounding metal and driving nails. I dropped out of my hammock, ran my fingers through my unruly hair, and stepped out to see if I could help. A flurry of activity buzzed around the Sparrowhawk as the crew lowered the hull plating into place and stretched new canvas to fix the wingsails.

  I found Mr. Singh who supervised the wingsail’s repair. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nothing right now, ask the captain.”

  I nodded, and found Baldarich in the engine room with Gears working on engine three. The captain pulled his head out of the engine. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Need me?”

  “No, this is skilled work. It will take days to get her up in the air again. Try Indihar.”

  I sighed. I saw my father pouring over a map and avoided him, then went looking for Genevieve. She and Rodin were walking the main deck, and I couldn’t hide the smile she brought.

  “Want to get out of here? No one needs me today. You could show me more of Paris.”

  “We can go to the Louvre. I think you’ll love it, and it’s not that far.”

  I raised my arm. “To the Louvre.”

  We placed Rodin back in our room and disembarked from the Sparrowhawk. As we crossed the Seine, Genevieve stared at the ladies passing by, and I realized she stuck out in her pants. “We should get you something else to wear, just while we’re here in Paris.”

  “I’m fine in pants.”

  “We are in the silk capital of Europe.”

  Genevieve smiled. “Well … maybe we could just look.”

  We found a dress shop with the latest fashions displayed in the window. Stepping inside, I asked in French, “Excuse me, could you help this lovely woman find a dress?”

  Within moments she’d selected a light blue dress with a high collar, when she emerged from the dressing room, my mouth dropped open.

  “What’s wrong, is it the color?”

  “No, you look amazing,” I rubbed my hand over my face and smiled.

  In the window behind her I saw the bronze plated face of Col. Hendrix. I froze, but didn’t know if we’d been spotted. “Come on we have to go.”

  “Why?”

  I grabbed her arm. “Hendrix is outside.” Her body stiffened.

  “What do we do?”

  I leaned in and whispered, “We run.” I went to the dressing room; gathered her pants, corset, and jacket, then stuffed them in my leather bag.

  Taking her hand, I led her out the back door of the shop and down the alley before finally stopping in the shadow of a building.

  She snatched her hand away and held her chest. “What have you done? We just stole this dress?”

  As I c
aught my breath, I said, “I guess we really are Sky Raiders.”

  “In all of Paris, we run right into him! Do you think he’s still back there?”

  I peered around the corner. “I don’t know. Maybe, we should find a place to hide.”

  Genevieve pointed. “The Louvre is right there.”

  We ran toward the old castle just north of the river and darted inside. I stopped and looked around in amazement. My father had taken me to the Metropolitan Museum in New York, which I thought was wonderful, but it wasn’t in a former French castle. Paintings and sculptures by all the great masters filled the immense halls. Looking up at the ceiling and everything around me, I almost fell over. “It’s so overwhelming.”

  “I want to show you something.” Genevieve led me toward one of the galleries.

  “Here it is.” Genevieve pointed to a painting on the wall. “It’s Ferdinand Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading Her People.’ I think it’s beautiful.”

  “It is.” Looking around, I noticed what hung on the opposite wall. A grand painting with three Templar Knights dressed in white tunics with a large red cross over their chests.

  “Alexander, thank you for being here. You make it easier to deal with my father being poisoned.”

  “I haven’t given up on finding a cure for your father.”

  “Lord Kannard smashed the vial. I think I’m out of options. I just hope we make it back before he…”

  “Don’t say it. Chances are that wasn’t the only batch of antidote.” I took her hand in mine. “We’ll find a way, Genevieve. We have to.”

  The sound of footsteps on the marble floor yanked us away from each other. A man in a long blue coat trimmed with white stitching strode toward us. He looked to be in his middle thirties and was handsome in a studious way. He stopped, bowed, and asked, “Pardon, but you are Baron Kensington’s Daughter, are you not?”

  I pulled her behind me. “Who are you?”

  “I am the Chevalier Eustache de Moley, Nobelsse d’épé.”

  I noticed his ring; it bore the same cross as the painting behind me.

  “My father met with you when we came here,” Genevieve said. “In this museum.”