This smaller grove of trees didn’t seem like a suitable access point. It was close to intersecting streets at the edge of the park and afforded scant coverage to conceal the beasts coming and going. Yet, matted grass led into the grove, trampled by something heavy.
Kevin postulated that Rhino-pards had worn the grass down. However, he began to consider that it could merely be a shortcut through the park.
“What is it, son?” Cunningham snapped, as the basket rocked. “I can’t hold this position steady much longer.”
“We can move on,” Kevin replied. Then, he knelt down and pulled out the blueprints, marking the location as a possibility. Cunningham maneuvered the airship through the sky, cutting back and forth. Kevin shifted from side to side, holding the basket tightly to keep from being tossed about, as the Great Hunter cackled with joy at Kevin’s discomfort.
Finally, the airship lowered to a landing field. Cunningham carefully brought it to rest near a mast protruding from the ground. He nodded to Kevin, who alighted from the basket and tethered the ship to the wooden support.
“That was a fine bit of intelligence we gathered,” Cunningham said, pulling his goggles on top of his head.
Kevin reached into the basket and grabbed the marked-up drawings. “Hopefully, we’ve got their habitat pinned down.”
“Most likely have all of the access points identified,” Cunningham offered. “Just hope the plan works out. Mighty dangerous. Mighty dangerous, indeed.”
A sinking feeling overcame Kevin’s spirits. He’d seen the resolve of the Rhino-pards and wondered if the plan could be carried out without further carnage. He dreaded the thought of dying in this strange world.
****
After reconnoitering the potential access points from the sky, Kevin and Cunningham took to the ground and carefully inspected the sundry locations that he’d marked on the blueprints.
The 10th Hussars set up a barricade on the far side of the park, just beyond the plain where hunters planned for a skirmish with the beasts. Workers busied themselves welding grates over the access pipes. They secured the new welds by installing timbers to brace the grating.
“The beasts will be quite angry when they happen upon the sealed access points,” Cunningham chuckled. “Mighty angry indeed. I expect that when you come upon them, they’ll want to take it out on your hide.”
Kevin gulped. “Suppose they will. Best double-check the grates to make sure they’re secure. Don’t want the Rhino-pards to break free somewhere unexpected, and have them circle around on us.”
“Nonsense,” Cunningham waved him off. “These workers have been supplied by The Corps of Royal Engineers. Not a slacker in the bunch.”
“Then, we can head back to the quarters and start on the next step in our plan,” Kevin suggested.
“After we replenish our appetite,” Cunningham chuckled, elbowing Kevin. “Alice sure makes a decent sandwich.”
Chapter Sixteen
After devouring more sandwiches and a bit of whiskey, Cunningham glanced at Sarah and raised an unbitten half of turkey sandwich. “This bird you have in the New World is excellent. I’m afraid our activities will take us into the night, and so it will have to suffice for dinner.”
She feigned a pout. “Missing the opportunity to dine with you all at the Union Oyster House is most disappointing.”
“We’re sorry as well,” Cunningham said, peering toward Kevin. “Some of us are sorrier than others, though.”
They all laughed except Kevin. It seemed to take him a moment to get the joke, then he looked uncomfortable. Sarah watched him glance to Niles for help.
“Let’s get a move on,” Niles said. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“Right you are, my friend.” Cunningham stood up and munched down the rest of the sandwich in his hand. “Let’s get going, lad.”
Kevin and Cunningham hoisted Niles into an oak wheelchair, with rattan seating and backing. Then, the young man wheeled Niles out to the Rover, and stopped at the curb by the front passenger seat. Cunningham barreled past Sarah and assisted in loading the injured hunter into the vehicle. They strapped the wheelchair to the roof and climbed into the back.
Sarah slid behind the wheel. The steam boiler was heated, and the engine rumbled, vibrating the Rover. As soon as the last door closed, she tore down cobblestone roads. Sarah headed toward the outskirts of the financial district, and then drove over the bridge with the plaque commemorating the Boston Tea Party.
They drove across the channel into the rough and tumble of South Boston. Sarah knew her way around the city. She smiled working the levers that controlled the amount of steam chugging from the boiler.
She noticed the terrain unfolding into a vast plain. To the left lay docks and the pipe that the hunters had entered along the shoreline. A few work trucks were parked near the crest of the embankment; all of the trucks were flatbeds with steam pipes jutting from the hoods, and coal bins were fastened to the cabs. The engineers were shoring up the grating, pounding lumber sawed into points, and setting stakes deep into the earth, then pegging beams into the stakes to brace the grates.
Ahead on their right, an immense brick factory stood in grand splendor. Sarah rumbled over cobblestones and pulled onto an expansive brick courtyard.
****
The building reminded Kevin of the mills along the Merrimack River, running from New Hampshire into northern Massachusetts. A prodigious clock tower stood in the center of the building. Wings extended from the tower, standing a few stories tall, with windows running across each floor.
A similar wing extended from the rear of the building, except it had a gable roof with slate shingles, while the side wings had flat rooftops. The rear wing abutted five gigantic smoke stacks set in a row. All of them were brick and each one stood slightly taller than the next.
Sarah brought the Rover to a halt in front of the building. Alighting from the vehicle, Kevin stepped onto a parking lot paved in brick. Something about the building made it appear grand compared to those along the Merrimack Valley in Kevin’s world. The clock on the tower seemed similar, Roman numerals and antiquated iron hands, except for a second hand that slowly turned around the immense dial. A smooth circumlocution, it didn’t pause with each tick, as though the clock mechanisms were highly refined.
He unstrapped the wheelchair and then Cunningham single-handedly lowered it from the roof. Together, they transferred Niles to the chair. Once Niles settled in, they all gazed upon the factory building in awe.
“Definitely a fine cogeneration steam facility,” Niles commented.
“Surely ‘tis a nice building,” Cunningham muttered. “Now let’s get on with it!”
Kevin slowly pushed Niles over the bumpy bricks, while Cunningham made for the front door in haste. Sarah walked alongside the wheelchair, holding up the hem of her skirt to avoid tripping.
The clay bricks on the building looked pristine and the window frames were freshly painted hunter green; the windows that reflected the setting sunlight encompassed a multiple pane technology that hadn’t been developed during the industrial revolution of Kevin’s world.
Heading to the main door beneath the clock tower, Kevin noticed a sign reading: Bank of England Mills. Somehow, he’d expected the name of a New England manufacturer from industrial days to mark the doorway. A company like Amoskeag Mills or Boott Cotton Mills above the door would have been reassuring. It might have reflected a connection with a past that Kevin understood.
There wasn’t a handicap ramp, so Kevin spun the wheelchair around and then jockeyed Niles up the granite steps. He strained to heave the hunter over the stairs. When they reached the landing, Kevin gasped to catch his breath.
Cunningham didn’t wait. The Great Hunter bounded over plank flooring, his boots reverberating on the hardwood. “Hurry along now,” Cunningham called back.
Kevin exchanged glances with Sarah.
“Why, I’m perfectly willing to lend a hand,” said Sarah.
; Kevin got behind Niles and pushed off with his legs to get the chair rolling. “That’s okay,” he replied, “I can handle it.”
“Well, I’m surely capable of assisting.”
“He knows that,” Niles interjected. “We all know that, but the lad feels obligated to carry out his charge. No insult meant to you.”
“Thank you,” Kevin goaded him. “I couldn’t have spoken it better.”
“Indeed,” Niles agreed. “You colonists are no longer at war with Britain, but you’re surely at odds with the Queen’s English.”
“Some things don’t change, no matter where you are,” Kevin muttered.
“What’s that you say, lad?” Niles tilted his head, looking up at Kevin. “I dare say that you’ve struck a chord of truth there.”
They headed down a long corridor with ceilings five meters high. Cunningham had already disappeared through a doorway at the end of the hall. When they reached the threshold, Kevin stepped into an enormous well-lit room.
Open for three stories, the room had vaulted ceilings with skylights emitting the early evening sun. Rows of windows lined the exterior walls, and much of the floor remained clear, except for a large mechanical device in the center.
Huge columns towered over the room with beams attached at various angles. The framing resembled a medieval siege tower. Inside the timber, giant cogwheels of brass and platinum turned in unison, as though operating a precise machine. The teeth of each gear churned slowly together, a systematic transmission of intricate clockwork.
A disheveled man stood by the mechanism. He wore a tattered top hat, and dusty overcoat. The hat seemed to engulf his small head; sunk down to his ears, the hat was suspended merely by the frames of his spectacles and curly shoulder-length hair. He busied himself reading charts, and didn’t seem to notice them approach, despite the pounding of Cunningham’s boots.
The Great Hunter cleared his throat, and the man turned to face them. A sardonic grin momentarily flashed on his face. Beady eyes peered through coke-bottle glasses at them.
“You must be my guests,” he said, turning kind. “Sent over by The Royal Corps of Engineers. Please do come in and make yourselves comfortable.” He forced a smile. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here at the plant.”
They moved closer. Everyone seemed in awe of the mechanisms, churning behind the man in the large tattered top hat.
“Barney Runge,” he said, bowing while tipping his hat. “I’m the Plant Operator.”
Cunningham stepped closer. “I’m Silas Cunningham, and this is Niles Barton with our gun bearer, Kevin,” he said, pointing. “And we have with us our fair lady friend, Sarah.”
Runge looked them all over wide-eyed, a little too enthusiastic. He shuffled toward Niles, glancing with delight. “Niles Barton, the British Architect?”
Niles nodded, smiling modestly. “More of a hunter nowadays.”
“Your work on the Royal Palace is legendary. My pleasure to meet you.”
A lull in the conversation allowed Kevin to observe the room. Cogs worked in unison, turning a sprocket at the bottom of the gear cluster. Then, a roller chain attached to the sprocket leading to a drive-shaft running through a gap in an interior brick wall.
High on the wall, a magnificent clock ticked with large hands circling an ornate face. It connected to brass cogs that churned gear-teeth together, affixed to platinum arms, joined by smaller cogs; they attached to larger gears, forming a cluster that worked in orderly unison.
Runge clapped his hands together and trundled toward Kevin. “I see you’re mystified by our extraordinary clockwork.”
“It’s most impressive,” Kevin replied. “What does it all do?”
“Why, this clockwork serves to run the steam line through the entire city at a constant two-hundred and fifty pounds per square inch,” Runge said, turning to face everyone. “The larger apparatus controls the steam pressure. And the clock on the wall sets precise timing for starting up the line, and shutting the system down.”
Niles rolled his wheelchair over, getting a better look at the system.
“I’m told that you want to use our line in a most peculiar way,” Runge said, feigning a smile. “The very thought of it caused me consternation, but now that I understand Mr. Barton is in your company, perhaps my concerns can be placated.”
“We’d like you to slowly shut down the system,” Niles explained. “And keep the drip-legs closed at Vault C, located in the common.”
“That would allow condensate to collect in the line!” Runge replied, alarmed.
“Precisely the point.” Niles grinned. “We plan to loosen a flange attached to connecting steam pipes inside the vault. Then, we’ll open the topside doors wide, and cover the vault over with bamboo rods, twigs and brush.”
“Why in heavens would you do such a thing? The loose flange, and built up condensate, will be dangerous.”
“We’re going to drive the beasts toward the vault,” said Niles. “The Rhino-pards will drop inside, trapped. Then our boy, here, will fire off a Very pistol. I’ll remain at the facility with you, Mr. Runge, looking for the flare. Once it goes off, we’ll turn the system back on-line as quickly as possible—”
“A fast start up?” Runge interrupted, shaking his head. “The steam rushing through the line will collide with trapped condensate at Vault C and cause a water-hammer. This is a most dangerous proposition.”
“The beasts have thick hides, making them almost impervious to bullets,” Niles explained, nodding kindly. “The water-hammer will explode at the loose flange, and scorch them with hot steam flooding the vault.”
Runge stood before them with an odd smirk on his face. The countenance didn’t reveal whether the Plant Operator thought their plan foolhardy, or ingenious. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the prospect of the steam line being damaged by the plan.
Then, Runge crossed his arms and stared at Niles deprecatingly.
Niles must have been thinking the same as Kevin. “We anticipate the only damage to the steam line would occur within the vault. The piping in Vault C will have to be reworked, but that would only take the system off-line for a couple of days.”
“Thankfully,” said Cunningham, “it’s only early fall.”
“You could just use a Rocket-Powered Recoilless Weapon,” Runge replied, flashing a sardonic grin. “They were developed toward the end of the Great War.”
“But they’ve never been put to use in the field,” Cunningham retorted, stepping closer to Runge. “Blazes, the thought of using an untested weapon in an urban setting, jam-packed with civilians, is unprecedented.”
“The havoc caused in the city today was likely more dreadful.”
“You’ve heard about that?” Cunningham sounded chagrinned. “Most unpleasant business, most unpleasant indeed.”
“Have you thought about evacuating part of the city?” Runge inquired.
“There just isn’t time,” Niles pled. “We need to implement this plan, or more people are going to get killed and maimed.”
Runge glanced upward at the clock mechanism mounted in the center of the wall. A smile crept across his face. It seemed as though he’d begun warming up to the idea; his facility would be instrumental in bringing about the demise of the beasts.
“Very well, then.” Runge beamed at the hunters. “I’m at your service.”
“Great to have you aboard!” Cunningham said, shaking Runge’s hand.
As the moment passed, Kevin was drawn to the immense clockwork in the center of the room. He watched the intricate cogs turn and interplay with precision. Runge shuffled a little closer. The Plant Operator rubbed his hands together, interested in an intellectual conundrum. His eyes widened.
“Tell me, lad,” Runge whispered. “What intrigues you so?”
Kevin shrugged. “This clockwork stands three stories high. It seems rather overbuilt for the purposes that you’ve described.”
“The entire universe runs on clockwork,” Runge snickered.
Kevin glanced at the Plant Operator blankly. He pondered his situation and wondered what powers Runge had over time and space, the cosmos. There seemed to be something deliberate that brought Kevin to this world, something beyond mere chance and happenstance.
Niles turned to Kevin, snapping him from deep thought. “Remember once you have the beasts trapped, you fire off the Very pistol. Leave the rest to me and Mr. Runge.”
“Got it right here,” Kevin said. He patted the flare gun, snug in a shoulder holster.
“Then we’re ready to shove off!” Cunningham bellowed. “And face the peril that awaits us.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah got behind the wheel again and drove them across town. They stopped at the quarters to retrieve rifles and equipment, and then headed to the common. By the time they arrived at the public park, the day had settled into evening dusk. A shimmer of reddish orange caught in the clouds from the setting sun.
She felt the brisk air as she alighted from the Rover. The clouds would block out moonlight, making it harder to see during the hunt.
Tightening up his leather jacket, Kevin ran a hand through his purple hair, and then began checking over the equipment like a professional.
Cunningham glanced at him curiously. “Wearing that thing again?”
“Just figured that if I die today, it would be better to check out wearing my favorite jacket.”
The Great Hunter nodded with a gentle smile.
Sarah grinned, but Kevin didn’t seem to notice her approval of his outfit. He was absorbed in getting ready for the excursion.
Kevin tucked the Ray-gun into a holster that Cunningham had devised. Then, he checked over the Very pistol, loading a flare. It clicked open like a shotgun, receiving the flare in a tubular chamber. The handle was polished mahogany, but the rest of it was brass, including the hammer.
Finally, he examined both rifles, making sure the barrels were clear, and the weapons fully loaded. Then he checked to make sure the safeties were flipped on.
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