by Karen Kincy
Konstantin laughed, then disguised it by clearing his throat.
“Do I need to drop to my knees and grovel?” Wendel said. “Because I can.”
Ardis sighed. “Don’t.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Himmel shrugged on his jacket and stole his hat back from Konstantin. When Himmel opened the door, Ardis glimpsed an officer with an impressive handlebar mustache.
“Captain,” the officer said. “You might want to come see this.”
Himmel frowned. “Explain.”
“We spotted an airship off our starboard bow. It appears to be American.”
Ardis felt a jolt of surprise. “American?”
“Have they hailed us?” Himmel said.
“No, sir,” the officer said. “Though I would suggest hurrying to the Control Room. The airship should still be within sight.”
Himmel glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here.”
Konstantin stepped forward, his eyes bright, but the captain frowned.
“You, too,” Himmel said. “Until you aren’t so tipsy.”
Himmel exited the cabin and shut the door behind him. Konstantin stared at the door, his hands curling into fists at his hips.
“I want to see this airship for myself,” Konstantin said.
“Same here,” Ardis said.
Konstantin waved her onward. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Head to the balcony at the nose of the zeppelin?”
Ardis grinned. “After you.”
“Wait for me.” Wendel yanked on his boots. “I’m almost decent.”
He didn’t seem too drunk to walk, though he staggered when wind jostled the airship. Ardis caught his elbow and straightened him.
“If anyone should stay,” she said, “it should be you.”
Wendel tossed his hand. “I’ll live.”
Konstantin peeked out of the cabin, then cracked open the door and slipped through. Ardis crept after him, Wendel following last. They ran to the bow of the zeppelin. Konstantin stopped outside a door labeled Navigation and Meteorological. He rubbed his beard and searched the area, then spotted a ladder.
“This way,” Konstantin said in a stage whisper.
Wendel snickered. “You aren’t even slightly stealthy, archmage.”
Konstantin shushed Wendel and climbed the ladder. Ardis clambered after him. Schnapps still blurred her eyesight, so she paid careful attention to the placement of her feet. Konstantin bumped his head, rubbed the bruise, and flung open a hatch. Glacial wind gusted into the airship. The archmage scrambled up and out.
Ardis climbed higher and clasped Konstantin’s hand. He helped her to her feet.
“It should be off our starboard bow,” Konstantin said.
Clouds like mountains of cream drifted through the cold morning. No airship in sight.
“Christ almighty,” Wendel said.
Ardis discovered Wendel sitting with his hands on the deck. He had climbed through the hatch, but hadn’t climbed to his feet. He scooted away from the railing. She wondered if he was having another spell of vertigo.
“There!” Konstantin said.
Ardis looked back to the sky in time to see an airship of titanic proportions plow through the clouds. It looked twice the size of their zeppelin, with a rigid skeleton and a triple-decker gondola armored in metal.
Suddenly Ardis felt considerably more sober.
“Good God,” Konstantin breathed. “She should be on the other side of the Atlantic.”
“You recognize the ship?” Ardis said.
“The USS Jupiter.” Konstantin said the name with hushed reverence.
As the Jupiter sailed nearer, its shadow reached out and dwarfed the Wanderfalke. Awestruck, Ardis stared at the airship. An American flag had been painted on each of its immense tail fins. On the lowest deck, a bank of portholes ran the length of the Jupiter, similar to cannons on an old galleon ship. Ardis didn’t recognize the technology, but she thought she knew something made to kill when she saw it.
“Oh my God,” Konstantin stammered. “Tesla.”
“Who?” Ardis said.
“Nikola Tesla.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Konstantin gawked at her with eyes like saucers.
“How can you not know of Nikola Tesla?” he said. “He has been living in New York City for years. His work on steampowered mechanical oscillators should have made the newspapers, at the very least, and then there are his experiments with atmospheric electricity and the wireless transmission of energy.”
“What are you babbling about?” Wendel said.
“Tesla!” Konstantin said. “The man is an absolute genius.”
Still sitting on the deck, Wendel leaned back on his elbows and laughed.
“Ah,” he said, “one of your idols.”
Dreamily, Konstantin drifted to the edge of the balcony. He leaned over the railing to wave at the airship. His boot lifted from the deck. He teetered on the brink until Ardis grabbed him by his scarf and reeled him in.
“Himmel was right about you being tipsy,” Ardis said.
Konstantin straightened his scarf. “Ardis, we have to tell Himmel,” he said. “Rumors have been flying for years, but I’m not sure how much he knows.”
“Tell him what?” Wendel said. “That you adore Tesla?”
Konstantin ignored him. “We may be witness to one of Tesla’s greatest works to date.” He looked skyward. “The USS Jupiter.”
SEVEN
“To the Control Room!” Konstantin said.
The archmage jumped down the hatch and descended the ladder. Ardis followed after him, her heartbeat hammering in her throat. On the upper deck, they walked to the nose of the Wanderfalke and entered the Control Room. Ardis scarcely had time to stare at the intricate instruments before Himmel halted them.
Himmel saluted. “Archmage Konstantin.”
“Captain,” Konstantin said, a bit breathlessly. “I know that airship.”
“Who are they?”
“The USS Jupiter.”
Himmel furrowed his brow. “I haven’t heard of them.”
“Have they hailed us?” Konstantin said.
“Not yet.”
Konstantin paced by the windows. “Send them a wireless telegram.”
Himmel hesitated as if unsure the archmage was sober enough to dictate.
“What should we say, sir?” Himmel said.
“Identify ourselves as a zeppelin under the command of the Archmages of Vienna, and request information on their current course.” Konstantin squared his shoulders. “Remind them they are flying over Austria-Hungary.”
Himmel nodded. “Right away, sir.”
The telegraph operator began to tap out the message in Morse code.
Ardis stood by the windows and pressed her hands to the cold glass. She peered at the immensity of the USS Jupiter.
“What’s America’s stance on the war?” she said.
“Neutral, ma’am,” Himmel said. “Though I question why they would send such an enormous airship across the Atlantic.”
“Why would they build the USS Jupiter?” Ardis said.
Konstantin raised his hand like a schoolboy. “Nikola Tesla.”
“Pardon?” Himmel said.
“Hasn’t anybody heard of Tesla?”
Himmel shook his head. “Enlighten me.”
Konstantin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “There has been speculation for as long as I can remember. Tesla was commissioned by the Americans to build a magnificent electric airship. A marvel of technomancy.”
“Electric how?” Ardis said.
“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Konstantin said, “which is why this is all so thrilling.”
“Captain,” said the telegraph operator. “The USS Jupiter informs us that they are on an observation mission, and that they are aware of their current coordinates over Austria-Hungary. They request our destination.”
“Archmage K
onstantin,” Himmel said. “Your orders?”
“Tell them Vienna,” Konstantin said. “We will stop there to refuel.”
The telegraph operator sent the message, then received the reply.
“They report that Vienna is also their destination,” said the telegraph operator. “They have offered to escort us there.”
“Excellent!” Konstantin said.
Himmel looked less than convinced, but he was interrupted. Wendel walked into the room with his head tilted back, pinching his nose between his fingers. Blood leaked from his nose and trickled over his mouth.
“Excuse me,” Wendel said stuffily, “but does my nose look broken?”
“Wendel!” Ardis gawked at him. “What happened to you?”
“The wall.”
Himmel’s eyes flashed. “Get him out of here. See that he doesn’t bleed everywhere.”
A burly officer grabbed Wendel by the elbow. Wendel tried to shrug him off, but he couldn’t manage it while holding his nose. The officer escorted Wendel from the Control Room. Ardis backed away from the window as the USS Jupiter powered above the clouds. Then she turned and ran after Wendel.
“You have been an idiot this time,” Ardis said.
“Agreed,” Wendel said.
The officer hauled Wendel to the dining room and dumped him in a chair. Wendel leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Do you need medical assistance, sir?” the officer said gruffly.
Wendel nodded, and blood gushed from his nose. He cursed, grabbed a napkin, and wadded it under his nose.
“Please,” Wendel said.
He sounded so miserable Ardis couldn’t be angry at him. She nudged a chair closer and sat. The officer left without ceremony.
“How did you walk into a wall?” Ardis said.
“I didn’t,” Wendel said. “I jumped off the ladder and the wall was there.”
She sighed. “Stay away from schnapps.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Nice try.”
They sat in silence. Ardis inspected the blood staining Wendel’s knuckles.
“Wendel?” she said.
“Yes?”
“Are you afraid of heights?”
“Yes.”
Wendel didn’t even scoff. Ardis considered the truth-telling properties of alcohol.
“Have you been sleeping?” she said.
He paused. “No.”
“At all?”
Wendel met her gaze. Pain glittered in his eyes, perhaps from his wound, perhaps from something that cut much deeper.
“I can’t sleep,” he said. “I can’t stop dreaming of it, Ardis.”
“Of what?”
“Of falling.”
And she knew he meant dying. Hurt burned in her throat like an ember.
“What do you remember?” she whispered.
Wendel laughed, and blood spilled from his nose. He dabbed himself with the napkin.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m making this conversation gratuitously gory. Though I suppose a little blood doesn’t bother you.”
Ardis inhaled. “Blood isn’t what scares me.”
“I’m an idiot.” Wendel met her gaze. “I never meant to hurt you.”
She stared at the scars on her palms and tried to remember the pain of the broken glass. She barely could. The pain of Wendel’s death eclipsed everything else. He reached across and touched her wrist with his fingertips.
“Ardis,” he said. “I’m alive. I’m here.”
She blinked away the threat of tears. “Please don’t joke about dying.”
“I won’t.”
The door to the dining room swung open. A woman swept inside hauling a black bag. She wore an immaculately white apron over a gingham dress. She scrutinized Wendel through silver-rimmed spectacles.
“What happened?” the woman said.
“Wendel walked into a wall,” Ardis said. “Drunkenly.”
The woman sniffed. “I smell the alcohol.”
Wendel straightened in his seat and bunched his eyebrows in a pitiful expression. He lowered the napkin from his nose.
“Please tell me my nose isn’t broken,” he said.
The woman arched an eyebrow. “It could be.”
Wendel groaned. “Not my face. I have scars on almost every square centimeter of my body, but not my beautiful face.”
Ardis slapped her hand to her forehead. “God, Wendel.”
“Nurse,” Wendel said. “Can you save my nose?”
The woman dropped her bag on the table and unlocked the clasp.
“I’m a doctor, not a nurse,” she said. “And you should be glad for your good fortune that I was travelling aboard this airship.”
Wendel’s eyebrows shot skyward. “A doctor!”
“Dr. Ursula Lowe. And don’t move.”
The doctor lowered Wendel’s hand. She examined his nose, prodding it gently with her fingers, and he flinched.
“Your nose isn’t broken,” Ursula said.
“Oh, thank God,” Wendel said.
“Bend over.”
“And bleed on the floor?”
“You don’t want blood to travel down the nose to the stomach. It can cause gastrointestinal upset and vomiting.”
Wendel bent over. He held the napkin under his nose.
“Now I feel sick,” he said.
“Likely the alcohol,” Ursula said. “Avoid drinking for several days.”
Wendel groaned. Blood dripped from his nose and pattered onto the napkin.
“Isn’t this punishment enough?” he said.
Ardis squeezed Wendel’s shoulder. Her stomach hurt just looking at him.
“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” she said.
“Laudanum,” Ursula said.
Wendel brightened. “Yes, please.”
Ursula rummaged in her doctor’s bag and withdrew a tiny green bottle marked with the words LAUDANUM and POISON.
“Bring me a glass of water,” Ursula said.
Ardis fetched a glass and a pitcher from a nearby table. Ursula poured water to the halfway mark, then unscrewed the laudanum and squeezed drops into the glass. The dark syrup swirled and dissolved in the water.
“Take this,” Ursula said.
Wendel knocked back the dose of laudanum. He clanked the glass on the table and twisted his face in a grimace.
“Laudanum and blood taste quite repulsive together,” Wendel said hoarsely.
“The nosebleed should resolve soon,” Ursula said. “You should sleep.”
Wendel’s shoulders stiffened as he stared into the empty glass.
Ardis swallowed. “He hasn’t been sleeping.”
When Ursula looked to Ardis, her spectacles flashed in the sunlight.
“Insomnia?” Ursula said. “For how long?”
“I don’t know,” Ardis said.
Wendel folded the bloodstained napkin neatly on his knee.
“Days,” he said.
“Why?” said the doctor.
Wendel narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Ardis didn’t know how to help him if he wouldn’t help himself.
“Nightmares,” Ardis said.
Ursula stared at Wendel for a long moment.
“Laudanum will help,” she said. “Return to me if he worsens.”
The doctor sterilized her hands with alcohol, returned the laudanum to its place, and locked the clasp on her doctor’s bag.
“Thank you,” Ardis said.
“Don’t thank me,” Ursula said. “It’s my duty.”
Ardis thought she saw a flicker of a smile before the doctor left the room.
“Impressive bedside manner,” Wendel said.
He climbed to his feet, still clutching the napkin to his nose, though the bleeding had slowed. He looked pale, and Ardis hoped the laudanum would start working soon. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
“Wendel,” she said. “Let’s wash that blood off you.”
He smirked. “Bef
ore I’m accused of murder.”
Ardis walked with Wendel to the bathroom, where she helped him by cleaning his face with a wet washcloth. He winced as she touched his nose, but made no complaint. He looked everywhere but her eyes.
“It stopped bleeding,” Ardis said.
“Finally,” Wendel said.
“Come along.” She washed and dried her hands. “Bed.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I love it when you say that.”
She sighed. He was flirtatious even while drunk, wounded, and dosed with laudanum.
“You aren’t in any shape for that,” she said.
Wendel allowed her to escort him from the bathroom to the cabin. He sprawled on the berth and closed his eyes.
“Feeling a bit better,” he murmured. “I love laudanum.”
This hardly surprised Ardis. Wendel had scars from so many wounds.
“Try to sleep,” she said.
“I will,” he said.
She kissed him on his forehead. “I’m worried about you.”
He made a quiet murmur in his throat, but nothing articulate. When she drew back, his fingers closed around her hand.
“Ardis,” Wendel said. “I remember…”
She waited for him to speak. His hand slipped from hers.
“I remember everything,” he whispered.
She stared at him, her heart pounding. His breathing slowed to the gentle rhythm of sleep, and she didn’t want to wake him.
Not even to hear the truth.
~
As Ardis walked down the corridor by the cabins, a sharp ache panged where she had been stung. She clutched her arm. The jagged pain throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Anxiety crawled like ants in her stomach.
Was Wendel right? Was this the poison?
Damn it, and the doctor had left only minutes before.
Ardis broke into a run and rounded the corner. She almost collided with a crewman, who apologized and backed away.
“Excuse me,” Ardis said. “I need the doctor.”
“Right this way.”
The crewman backtracked and brought her to a cabin. Still clutching her arm, Ardis rapped on the door. Ursula answered it right away. The doctor adjusted her spectacles, her lips pursed, and stared at Ardis.
“Dr. Lowe,” Ardis said. “Can you take a look at this?”
Her arm panged with an even sharper stab of pain, and she gritted her teeth.
