Arabella and the Battle of Venus

by David D. Levine

  For a long moment he only stared at her, the light of the waning sun behind her reflecting in his eyes, and she was certain she had overstepped some boundary. He would call her bluff, treat her still more coldly … perhaps even break off their engagement.

  But then she noticed the twin sparks shimmering, and she realized that her brave captain was experiencing a storm of emotion as great as her own. “I…” he began, then stammered to a halt. He took a breath, sighed it out, then took another. “I had not known,” he said at last. “I had not understood how deeply you felt about this, and I apologize.”

  Not trusting herself to say any thing, she kept silent.

  “Please believe me when I say that my respect for you is completely undiminished. In point of fact, your impatience with my secrecy is entirely justified, and indeed I have been very impatient with myself. Many times in the past months I have come close to sharing every thing with you. However, a … greater responsibility has prevented me from doing so.” He sighed again, and took her hands in his. His fingers were lean and strong and warm. “I see now that this has been a mistake. The information you have just brought me, although not new to me, reinforces my understanding of your capability, courage, and discretion.”

  Wordlessly she embraced him, and in the darkness she felt his heart hammering in his breast.

  “I am an agent of His Majesty’s government,” he said, the words echoing deeply in his chest and thrumming against her cheek.

  Astonished, she backed away, holding him at arms’ length and looking into his face. But the darkness was now nearly complete, and she could not make out his expression. A thousand questions pressed against her lips, but after a time one pushed its way to the fore: “How long has this been going on?”

  “I was approached on Mars, shortly after the insurrection. My contact said that the authorities had been impressed by my handling of the situation, and that they had immediate need of a merchant captain who could keep his head in the direst of emergencies. I attempted to recount your part in the affair, but he dismissed my explanations.” A glint of light on his teeth showed that he was smiling. “However, let me assure you that I am keenly aware of how much you have done for every Englishman on Mars, even if the government is not.”

  “So that is why you postponed the wedding.”

  He nodded. “Which I regret most profoundly. But my love for my adopted country is such that I could not turn down the request.” He sighed. “I had thought it would be a delay of only a few months.”

  His assignment, he explained, had been to examine and report upon Napoleon’s activities on Venus. The tyrant’s unexpected departure for that planet, upon his escape from the Moon, had raised questions in the government which could not be answered by the Navy, as the French had quickly moved to control the Venusian airlanes. But, at the time, commercial vessels had still been allowed to approach the planet unmolested; hence the government’s need for Captain Singh.

  “Upon arrival at Venus,” he said, “with Aadim’s help I was able to evaluate the French aerial traffic and determine that this location was a center of unusual activity. I waited until no French ships were nearby, then briefly descended below the clouds to investigate the site. I could see from the air that the town and surrounding territory were far bigger, and far more active, than any one in England had known, but not what the object of the activity might be.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, my caution was insufficient. We were spotted, pursued, and captured.”

  Arabella moved in and held her captain tightly. “You could have been shot as a spy!”

  “It was a close-run thing,” he admitted. “But I was able to convince the French that we had suffered an error of navigation and seen nothing of import. Nonetheless, they impounded Diana and held us prisoner.” Again he sighed. “At first we were held at Thuguguruk, but I arranged through careful misbehavior to be transferred to Marieville, in hopes of learning more. Unfortunately Diana’s people were transferred to this dreadful place along with me.”

  Arabella’s mind whirled as she attempted to comprehend this new information. “This explains why you have bent all your efforts to the men’s comfort, and have not sought to escape.”

  “Exactly. I cannot depart until I have fulfilled my mission. Only when I have discovered the details of Napoleon’s secret project will I attempt escape—and, even then, I will not leave unless I can bring the entire crew with me.”

  “A difficult challenge.”

  “Indeed. But I have laid the groundwork, though many details remain to be worked out.”

  She blinked up into the shadow where his face lay. “Why did you not take me into your confidences before now?”

  His warm arms clasped her shoulders even more firmly. “It was for your own protection. Every time I seek more information, or take a step toward escape for the men, I risk discovery … and if discovered, I and any confederates would certainly be shot for espionage. I would not expose the least of my crew to that risk, never mind your dear self.”

  Arabella held her captain strongly in return. “You dear, sweet, brave, foolish man. I forgive you your caution on my behalf. But now that you have shared your secret with me—and I thank you for your trust—I must insist on being included in all future plans.”

  “You have no idea how much that thought cheers me. This has been such a lonely endeavor … but now you are with me, and I have great confidence in your abilities.”

  Despite the darkness and the peril of their situation, Arabella smiled. “I am certain that together we will be able to winkle out Napoleon’s last secret.”

  “And bring the Dianas safely home.”

  “I hope that we will be able to free the Touchstones as well.”

  A pause. “We shall see,” he said. Then, after another pause: “It has grown quite late. We should return to the auberge before we are noted as away without leave.”

  The sun had by now completely vanished, and of course Venus had no moon. But the wan light of the town’s glow-worms reflected from the clouds above to a sufficient extent that they could pick their way back to the gate.

  Much of Arabella’s attention was focused on her footing. But as she walked, grateful for the support of her captain’s arm, her thoughts were bent toward espionage … and escape.

  16

  ESPIONAGE

  Some days passed before Arabella and Captain Singh could again speak privately, days during which her existing, public duties of care and support for the men seemed a mere distraction from what she now thought of as her real mission. But without more information from the captain, there was little she could do in that direction, and so she found herself fidgeting in impatience.

  Fox, of course, noted Arabella’s anxiousness immediately. The man could be frightfully keen … except when he was utterly obtuse. “You seem distracted,” he observed one day at luncheon. “May I inquire what is the matter?”

  “It is … personal,” she replied.

  At once Fox’s expression became solicitous. “Has it to do with Captain Singh? I have sensed some tension between the two of you.”

  “I thank you for your concern,” she said, setting down her tea-cup with a definitive clink. “But, as I said, it is a personal matter.”

  “Please know that I am always at your service, in case you should require support or comfort.”

  It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes … and yet she was also flattered at the attention. “I shall keep your offer in mind.”

  * * *

  That evening, when she and her captain again went for an evening stroll, he too acknowledged her agitation. “I apologize for the delay,” he said, “but we must not change our behavior overmuch. Such a change would be noted, and would occasion suspicion. I am, to be honest, concerned that even this second outing in a week may raise questions.”

  “I understand,” she said, “but I ache to be useful. Please allow me to assist you in your mission, in some concrete manner!”

  Th
ey walked together in silence for a time, as he considered her request. “It has been so long since I have been able to share my concerns with any one else,” he said at last. “Permit me to explain what I do and do not know, and perhaps together we may determine some way in which you can help.”

  “Very well.”

  “Your news, from Lady Corey, of Napoleon’s project to build an armored aerial ship only confirmed what I have already suspected. The ship is named Victoire, by the way, and she is being constructed by Venusian labor to plans provided by the American, Fulton. But I do not feel that this is yet sufficient intelligence. The most important missing piece, which I must determine before I can depart this place, is how they intend to launch her. The weight of the iron would require enormous balloons, filled with prodigious quantities of air heated to unprecedented temperatures, to lift her above the falling-line. Yet there is no sign of the vast furnaces required for such an endeavor. The chimneys of such tremendous furnaces would certainly be visible from Marieville; even if Fulton has devised some means of avoiding the necessity of chimneys, the furnaces alone would be so extensive as to be beyond concealment. Indeed, I have been unable to discover evidence of any furnaces at all, or any indication that such are under construction.” He pursed his lips. “All my efforts to gather this intelligence from here have been unsuccessful. I must find some way to infiltrate the ship-yard.”

  “But it is only a few miles from here. I assume there is some reason you cannot make your way there overland? Perhaps by night?”

  “The swamps between here and there are prohibited, and difficult to traverse besides. And the ship-yard is protected by a high stockade wall.”

  She considered the problem from every angle, and an idea began to sprout at the back of her mind. “You have said that no one is ever transferred from the ship-yard to Marieville.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But prisoners are transferred to the ship-yard?”

  He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Occasionally.”

  “And the ship—Victoire, did you say?—is being constructed by Venusian laborers?”

  “Yes…” She had plainly piqued his interest.

  “Do you recall Mills? Fox’s captain of the mizzen-top, formerly a waister aboard Diana?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have recently learned that he has experience as a boat-builder, and speaks the Venusian languages.” The plural “languages” did not escape the captain’s notice, causing the eyebrow to rise again, but he did not interrupt her. “If we could persuade him to volunteer for a transfer to the ship-yard, he would be in a position to gather the necessary intelligence. I am certain that he would take this risk if you requested it. May I have your permission to approach him?”

  The captain considered for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “I could not countenance such a risk.”

  “I can personally vouch for his reliability. He was an invaluable ally during the mutiny.”

  Captain Singh’s lips pinched together and he blew out a long breath through his nose. He released her arm and paced up and down the path, head down. Finally he returned to Arabella and took her hands. “After so many months of solitary, secret work it is … difficult for me to extend my trust to any one else, even your own sweet self.” His chin firmed and he straightened. “But we must take this risk, and soon. Else the tyrant will dominate Europe.”

  “Or more,” Arabella put in.

  “Or more,” he confirmed. “You may approach Mills … but cautiously, very cautiously. We must be utterly certain of him before revealing any slightest thing of the mission we will ask him to undertake.”

  “I assure you my discretion will be absolute.”

  “Also, under no circumstances may any one know any thing but that which is absolutely necessary for them to know in order to perform their part of the action.” He hesitated before continuing. “This applies to yourself as well. Although it pains me to do so, I may continue to withhold certain details from you. This is for your own safety.”

  Arabella felt her shoulders stiffen at this statement; the idea of her fiancé concealing information from her was extremely discomfiting. But she recognized the necessity of secrecy, to protect the lives of every one involved. “I understand,” she said, and embraced him.

  Even as she breathed in his warm, familiar scent, she realized she was not entirely satisfied with the situation. But it was, she supposed, the best she could do for now.

  * * *

  Arabella approached Mills after supper the next day, first engaging him in superficial conversation and then gently turning the topic toward Napoleon and the war. She was not at all surprised to learn that he was as opposed to the tyrant as any other British airman, if not more so. Probing further, she discovered that he was, as she had hoped, firmly and personally committed to Napoleon’s defeat, and indeed expressed a willingness to put his life on the line if that could make the difference. At this juncture she suggested they take a stroll around the barracks ground, a suggestion to which he readily acceded.

  As they walked, she realized that she too was being questioned. Clearly Mills understood that his loyalties were being tested, and his intelligent responses also served to elicit her own. She strove to reassure him of her sincerity and good intentions, without revealing any thing of the captain’s secret plans.

  After an hour or so of this, they regarded each other with grave solemnity. Arabella’s heart pounded beneath her ribs, and despite the languid pace of their walk the usually stoic Mills was breathing hard. The scene reminded her greatly of the moment during the mutiny aboard Diana when she had revealed to Mills her allegiance to the captain, and he had reciprocated.

  “I am certain you realize that all of this questioning has a purpose,” she said at last.

  Mills nodded, his expression neutral.

  She paused, considering the words she had already composed and rehearsed in her mind for this moment. “Captain Singh has learned that Napoleon is constructing a secret weapon at the ship-yard some miles from here. For the sake of Great Britain and her allies, we feel that we must obtain as much intelligence on this weapon as we can and return it to England as soon as possible. But the ship-yard is held in great secrecy.” She swallowed, lowered her voice, and leaned in closer. “Would you be willing to accept a transfer to the ship-yard, to discern what you may of Napoleon’s secrets?”

  “Honored,” he replied, closing his eyes and inclining his head. “For England; for Captain Singh. Both so very kind to me.”

  “Oh, thank you!” she said, releasing a breath she had not known she was holding. “But I must warn you … no one is transferred from the ship-yard to Marieville. If you accept this transfer, you will likely be there for the duration of the war.”

  Mills shrugged. “No ship-yard hot as furnace-house.” His lips curved in a slight smile.

  “Indeed.” Arabella felt her own lips curling upward.

  But Mills’s face immediately returned to seriousness. “How to tell you what I learn there?”

  “Oh!” This was a question that she had overlooked, as had the captain—his mind perhaps preoccupied by considerations of secrecy. “I do not know. No person nor thing, other than the most highly placed French officers, travels hence from there.”

  Mills pursed his lips, considering the question. “My people, the Wolof, we talk by drum. Sometimes over great distance.”

  At this Arabella was rather taken aback. “Talk by drum? Employing some sort of cypher, or code?”

  He gave her another smile, and a shake of his head. “No code. Language. The beat of it, the high and low. If I want to say”—he spoke a phrase in some musical tongue—“I drum this”—he hummed a few notes—exactly matching the phrase’s intonation and rhythm, though lacking its vowels and consonants.

  “I see.” She considered the implications. “Can you teach me a few important phrases?”

  “No, miss. Years to learn the drum language, even if you know Wolof. It is
a kind of poetry.” He thought for a bit, then nodded thoughtfully. “Brindle. Fox’s steward. He knows the drums. He is Serer—not Wolof, but close. We can talk.”

  This intelligence made Arabella exceedingly anxious. She knew the captain would firmly resist incorporating even one more person into the conspiracy. “Do you trust him? Truly trust him, with your life? Is there any other person who understands the language of the drums whom you trust more?”

  Mills thought for a good long while about that, then again shook his head. “No other. Brindle … good man, reliable.” He held up a finger. “But … Fox’s man. What he knows, Fox knows.” He lowered the finger and gazed steadily into Arabella’s eyes. “You trust Fox?”

  That was a conundrum indeed. She blew out a breath. “I shall consult with Captain Singh. Do not discuss this with Brindle, or any one else, unless and until I give you leave to do so. Until then … I thank you, the captain thanks you, and England thanks you.”

  “Honored,” he repeated, and bowed.

  * * *

  “Absolutely not,” Captain Singh said. His dark eyes were as hard and serious as ever she had seen them.

  They stood at the side of a small pond on the outskirts of Marieville. Small creatures chirruped and splashed at the pond’s margins in the gathering dusk, and the breeze across the water was a tiny bit cooler than the sweltering air elsewhere. “We have no alternative,” she repeated. “No one other than Mills and Brindle knows the drumming language. In any case … would it be so bad to include Captain Fox in our scheme? He hates the French as much as any Englishman I have ever met, and he is intelligent, brave, and an experienced commander. I trust him completely.”

  Captain Singh scoffed. “He is impulsive, undisciplined, and shallow. And no privateer”—he placed a subtle but clear emphasis upon the word—“can withstand comparison even with a captain of His Majesty’s Aerial Navy, never mind one of the Honorable Mars Company.”

  “You would not say those things if you had seen his audacity in taking Fleur de Lys, or his steadfastness when the French pursued Touchstone. He is a gentleman and an excellent captain, and I am certain he would be an asset to us.”