Iron Horsemen

by Brad R. Cook

  “Zeppelins.” I saw seven silver-skinned dirigibles, with more airships behind them. “I’ll head for those clouds, maybe we can lose them.

  I handed the telescope to Mr. Singh. He nodded and then said, “We can’t get too high or we’ll freeze. This skiff is built for speed, not altitude.”

  He passed it to Genevieve. After looking she handed it to my father who took it and then looked up with a scowl on his face.

  “Alexander, this is my telescope! I told you to put it back.”

  “Just punish me when we get back to London.”

  I trimmed one of the sails and pulled the lever all the way back. The Mystic Wind soared upward into a large, fluffy cloud. I reached out and let my hand cut through the white mist. Water dampened my fingertips as the vapor danced in circles around the airship.

  Genevieve sat beside Indihar staring into the endless white world.

  I checked the fuel level, hoping we still had enough. I couldn’t tell, but hoped it would last until we crossed the Channel.

  I asked Mr. Singh. “Can we outrun the Zeppelins?”

  “So long as the winds remain at our back we’ll have no problem.”

  Genevieve looked to the stern, to the endless clouds behind them. “But why are they heading to England?”

  I had been thinking the same thing.

  Mr. Singh cast a glance over his shoulder. “That many airships, has to be the German Army. Perhaps part of the armada the Sparrowhawk tangled with.”

  Genevieve’s browed furrowed in concern. “An invasion? That’s foolish, we’ll blast them back across the Channel.”

  Professor Armitage shook his head. “Not if the British army is busy with the Four Horsemen.”

  Genevieve’s hair whipped about in the wind. “Do you think the Knights of the Golden Circle are in league with the Kaiser?”

  “I don’t know, but Europe is only bound together by a few shaky treaties.”

  Mr. Singh nodded. “It is what I have feared. In the chaos incited by the arrival of the Four Horsemen, the Kaiser will attack.”

  We all sat back against the sides of the boat and silence enveloped the Mystic Wind. I continued to fly, even when Mr. Singh offered to take over. I found it therapeutic, it kept my mind off the all the problems that would greet us when we landed.

  We crossed the English Channel under a star-filled night. The moon grew larger, and we all gazed at the tailed star, the Sungrazer Comet hanging on the western horizon. I had read many stories, from the Middle Ages to the Romans, Greeks and even Babylonians, that portrayed comets as harbingers of doom.

  However, I also remembered my science classes. The works of Isaac Newton, Copernicus, and Galileo said comets were just travelers through the cosmos, circling the sun in huge orbits, greater than even Jupiter and Saturn. I wondered what this one would bring, scientific enlightenment or death and destruction.

  Around midnight as I stretched and yawned, Mr. Singh took over. I slid next to Genevieve who had been quiet through much of the flight. We didn’t talk; I simply lay beside her and stared into the night’s sky. She looked up into the stars, but then her focus fell once again on the vial she carried. We drifted off to sleep, with Rodin curled up between us.

  I woke suddenly and grabbed the rail as the Mystic Wind shook and shuttered. I looked back at Mr. Singh who struggled with a sputtering engine and a deflating balloon. I slipped to the Sikh’s side and helped him with the controls. Below lay the city of London, an interconnected web of brick and cobblestone sprawling out from both banks of the winding Thames River and covered in a thick gray fog.

  Genevieve and the professor woke with the next shudder.

  I checked the fuel, but it was gone. I looked over the city for a good place to set down, but the crowded city afforded few open spaces.

  Genevieve rubbed her eyes and pointed toward the center of London. “There is my house. Can we make it? We can land in the garden.”

  I stood up, raised my hand to shield my eyes and followed her gaze. “Mr. Singh, think we can get another few miles out of her?”

  “Yes, but I would say a prayer that we survive the landing.”

  I pumped the lever to see if I could get any hot air into the balloon or the propeller. It didn’t help, but it made me feel better.

  Mr. Singh trimmed the sails to catch more of the tailwind. I opened the side door on the engine and called for Rodin. The little dragon crawled over and looked at me with its head cocked to one side. I pointed to the engine, puffed my cheeks and blew, trying to demonstrate. Rodin twisted his head to the other side and stepped forward. Wiggling his backside he breathed deeply and released a little roar and a thin column of fire. The heated air filled the balloon and caused the propeller to spin twice as fast, but the effect only lasted a moment. The Mystic Wind lifted, hopefully enough to land at the house.

  “One more time,” I said. Rodin cocked his head at Genevieve who nodded.

  “We’re depending on you, my friend,” she said. Rodin concentrated on the open door, repeated his little backside wiggle and let loose one more jet of flame. I patted him on the head and he looked up proudly, then flew back to sit on Genevieve’s shoulder.

  I took my hand off the lever, no use in worrying about something that didn’t work anymore, then slid over and helped Mr. Singh pull the rigging lines to keep the vessel under control. The Mystic Wind skirted the pointed roof of one stately home, and scraped a few tiles off another as it slid toward Genevieve’s house. The right keel-fin smashed into a weathervane decorated with an archer, decapitating the figure and shattering the wooden stabilizer. The vessel dropped suddenly as it leapt off the roof and slammed into the cobblestones below. The boat twisted and spun around, the sails caught on the lamp post and the deflated balloon smothered everyone aboard.

  I pushed the heavy fabric up creating a space underneath. Genevieve clutched Rodin, and to my side the young Sikh extended his hand with a large smile.

  “Not quite the garden, but a fine landing nonetheless, Master Armitage.”

  “Thank you Mr. Singh.” I pushed aside part of the balloon that covered the last of the vessel and my father. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Genevieve pushed the front of the balloon back and turned to see several men standing around the vessel. “Alexander, I think you should get out of there.”

  “Coming,” I struggled to climb out from underneath the balloon. The Mystic Wind was surrounded by determined men with puzzled expressions. They had rifles, pistols, and swords aimed at me as the other three people crawled out from below the balloon. I pointed up to the roof and said, “I’ll pay for that.”

  Lord Marbury and Grand Master Sinclair stepped out of the Kensington house. I waved and could tell from the puzzled looks on their faces that they weren’t expecting me. The two men scanned the scene and huge smiles came to their faces as they saw Genevieve climb out. Even brighter expressions emerged when they recognized my father.

  “Professor Armitage! Oh my, it is good to see all of you,” Grand Master Sinclair said as he hugged Genevieve. “We’ve been hearing all kinds of strange reports over the telegraph.”

  Lord Marbury shook my father’s hand. “John, we’re so glad that you’re back safe and sound.”

  “Thank you Lord Marbury. I believe I have my son to thank for that.”

  Mr. Singh bowed to the two men, and I stepped forward. “This is Indihar Singh. He is a friend of the baron’s and has helped us tremendously on our journey.”

  Grand Master Sinclair asked Genevieve in a hurried tone. “Did you find an antidote?”

  “No, but Lord de Moley gave me a vial of Four Thieves Potion.”

  “de Moley! I knew that old French aristocrat would come through.” Grand Master Sinclair grinned and clapped his hands. “Why didn’t he come with you? He was supposed to be here days ago.”

  “He won’t be coming,” I said, my voice tight with anger and pain. “He fought a duel with Colonel Hendrix, and gave his
life so we could escape.”

  Sinclair and Marbury looked at each other. Their faces betrayed their weariness and concern. “There is no greater sacrifice for one of our Order. May he rest in eternal peace.”

  Lord Marbury walked over to Genevieve. “Let us get that potion to your father, so Eustache’s sacrifice is not in vain.”

  “Yes, where he?” Genevieve asked.

  “He remains in bed, in his room.”

  We ran inside with Rodin fluttering above Genevieve’s head. She raced upstairs and found her father in his bedroom with Mrs. Hinderman checking on his fever. Genevieve ran over and threw her arms around him. I smiled, knowing she was probably breaking all the rules of decorum for nobility.

  The baron’s reddish skin tone came from the fever that racked his body. Bundled under thick blankets he shivered as his daughter pushed back a lock of hair from his face. Beside him on the nightstand a forest of glass bottles held the latest in medicine, chemistry, and home-made remedies.

  On a small table at the end of the bed, a microscope sat beside several slides lined up in a wooden stand. I looked at the scene and guilt hit me like a canon shot. I’d been running around with Genevieve having the time of my life while the baron and my father suffered at the hands of the Golden Circle. Sure, we had rescued my father and now had a cure for the venom slowly poisoning Baron Kensington, but that didn’t even out the score. I’d been having fun. Despite the danger. Or because of it?

  Genevieve poured the vial of Four Thieves Potion into a glass and with Ms. Hinderman’s help propped her father up and moved the pillows to support him. He winced from pain as they lifted him, but the baron, with a strong resolve and stoic demeanor, tried not to let it show. He drank the oily blue potion, and gagged on the bitter remedy. Ms. Hinderman then rubbed the potion on the bite marks. Genevieve encouraged him to drink the whole vial and the others came in as he finished.

  As we waited to see what the potion would do, I thought of Eustache and his courage. His sacrifice. I thought of everything he’d said to me while he fought Col. Hendrix. Stay true to yourself, Alexander, he’d said. But how, Eustache? How do I do that?

  After a while, the baron’s color began to return to normal and he threw off one of the blankets. Grand Master Sinclair, Lord Marbury, and my father appeared in the doorway.

  “Good to see you’ve risen from death’s door, Maximilian,” Sinclair said.

  “Only you would think so, Archibald.” The baron coughed and gripped his chest; his daughter put her hands on him to help ease his pain, brigning a smile to his strained face. “Thank you, my dear. I am so relieved you’ve returned.”

  Marbury and I pulled chairs around and we all sat with the baron while Mrs. Hinderman brought in tea. She arranged the tray on a table beside the bed.

  “So tell me about this adventure the two of you wandered off on.” The baron said.

  Genevieve hesitated. I knew our tale would have to be a slippery slope of half-truths if we were to stay out of trouble. Otherwise I was likely to be thrown in the Tower of London and Genevieve shipped off to a convent. I walked over, picked up a cup of the strong smelling black tea, and began.

  “It’s a crazy tale, really. But we joined the honorable band of Sky Raiders you were going to use, and they graciously helped us find my father.” Hardened jaws and narrowed glares told me no one believed me. “Okay, so we owe them money for taking us to Gibraltar, Malta, and Paris. Oh, and we also owe them for fighting with us, and for destroying their ship while trying to get us back to London. Indihar was the boatswain, he’s been amazingly helpful.”

  “Indihar Singh?” The baron’s face brightened. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is he?”

  “Waiting outside,” Sinclair said.

  “Well, bring him in! What are you waiting for?”

  I ran to the hallway and returned pushing Indihar before me. The baron studied the Sikh and then a large smile broke out across his face. “How are you? Look how much you’ve grown.”

  “I am well and very glad to see that god has been generous to you.”

  “Indihar Singh, a Sky Raider. Someday you’ll have to tell me that tale. To think you and my Genevieve joined up with that scoundrel Captain Baldarich. I suppose you could do worse—as scoundrels go, he’s a right honorable chap.” He chuckled and Genevieve’s face nearly glowed with joy. Her father’s laugh was surely music to her ears. “Please know that any debt you felt you owed me is repaid. My daughter’s safety is all I could ever ask for.”

  “No debt has been repaid. Your daughter and the professor’s son didn’t really need me. They faced battle bravely, sought wisdom wisely, and stood up to tyranny over and over again.”

  Lord Marbury and the baron looked at Genevieve and me as Grand Master Sinclair asked, “Battles?”

  I shifted, wringing my hands. “Little ones, more like disagreements really.”

  Lord Marbury and the baron shook their heads, but the Grand Master studied the two of us. I wondered what the old man’s lingering gaze meant. Was he angry, or sizing us up for the next part of this adventure?

  Lord Marbury sent for the doctor who checked the baron’s vitals, listened to his heart with his stethoscope, and felt his forehead for fever. Taking a sample of his blood he studied it under the microscope and then turned to the others. “His heart is stronger and his breathing has improved. He’s still very weak, that will take time to pass, but I believe the venom has been neutralized.”

  My heart soared, but I knew it wasn’t over. Somewhere in the city, Lord Kannard lay in wait. The comet hung in the sky, and the four Iron Horsemen waited to unleash their terror upon the world. Sinclair put his finger to the side of his nose and then pointed at me with a wink. I wondered what it meant, but was almost afraid to find out.

  CHAPTER 33

  BAD NEWS

  I stared at the walls of the Blue Room late into the night unable to stop thinking about Genevieve. She wouldn’t leave her father’s side. Every thought made me happier but filled me with a thousand questions. We were out of danger—for now—and I wanted to tell her how I felt. Maybe she already knew. Maybe me saying the words out loud would bring her the same happiness I felt whenever she looked at me.

  Tomorrow, I pledged. Tomorrow I would tell her. Tomorrow.

  I finally drifted off to sleep only to have happy dreams of kissing Genevieve turn into haunting images of a city consumed by fire, under siege by a hail of brimstone. A vision of the Iron Horsemen, four fiery bronze steeds ripping through London as the Sungrazer comet smashed into Parliament. An explosion, so large it punctured the clouds and tore every building from its foundation.

  Death beyond any scale I could imagine.

  I fought to lash out in my dreams. “You will never succeed!” But even my determined heart wavered as the black cloud engulfed me. Smoke blackened the sky and choked out the sun. London grew dark and then darker. The cloud that smothered me hardened to iron and formed manacles around my wrists and ankles.

  I snapped awake in the morning, shocked and confused by the blue blur surrounding me. A bedspread came into focus.

  Pushing back the haze, I rubbed my eyes and tried to sit up. I heard people in the hall and below me on the first floor; I looked at the window and then saw bright, quite unwanted sunlight. Morning was long gone.

  My school uniform was still in the armoire, but I dressed in the clothes that made me comfortable: khaki pants, white shirt, and dusty black vest. I wrapped the leather strap around me, uncertain if it brought me security or I just liked it. Either way, today I needed the confidence.

  I hopped down the stairs two-at-time and found several men in the dining room. I heard Grand Master Sinclair, Lord Marbury, my father, and several other men whose voices I didn’t recognize. They talked about Genevieve’s and my adventure. From their tone I knew they weren’t pleased, but this time I didn’t just charge in. This time, I crept toward the doorway, leaning closer to listen. But a noise from the second floor drew my attention,
and I turned to see Genevieve and her father approaching. Not wanting to be caught lurking, I ran for the front room and right into Finn, who stood inside the doorway eating an apple.

  “Finn, hi, I was just looking around.”

  “And I’m Saint Finn,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, kid, you can hang in here while they decide what to do.”

  Moments later, the men left the dining room to greet the baron and his daughter. Finn and I wandered closer to watch. I saw several people I didn’t know, but from their dress and stature I could tell they were nobles.

  One was certainly a Templar. He had the cross on his ring. The man was my father’s age with a short ponytail and long red coat just as I imagined the British of the revolutionary times would have worn. The baron shook the man’s hand.

  I turned to Finn. “Who is that?”

  “That’s the Duke. He’s the father of Genevieve’s betrothed.”

  The word pierced my chest like a sword. “Betrothed?”

  Of course, how could she not be? The nobles managed their lives just like their estates, with precision and exacting standards. Pain ripped through my chest. I struggled to breathe and leaned against the wall.

  Finn shook his head. “You like her. I understand, but lad, you’ll have to learn your place. These people live in a world you’ll only dream about. They’re blue bloods; her whole life was planned from day one. Sorry kid, find yourself a good American girl.” Finn smiled, his bright red eyebrows rose up and down in a gesture I didn’t quite understand.

  “What? Yes, of course, I knew that. Please, at school I’m surrounded by nobles. It’s nothing like that.” My face was hot and I tried to not clench my jaw. I wanted to put my fist through a wall.

  I turned back to the men in hall, trying to forget what the Irishman said. The baron was still weak so they shuffled him into the conservatory. I wanted to hear what was being said, so I slipped out of the room with Finn and crossed the hall. The men inside talked about the events of the past few months. I leaned against the wall and listened.