Arabella and the Battle of Venus

by David D. Levine

  * * *

  Captain Singh was, as Arabella had expected, not at all pleased that she had included Fox in the conspiracy without his counsel. But what had been revealed could no longer be concealed, and eventually, grudgingly, even he was forced to admit that Fox was a worthy addition to their small company.

  Fox, as an officer, was free to come and go where he pleased—within limits, of course—and as Brindle’s commanding officer and employer was naturally able to meet with him frequently without raising any suspicions. Thus communications with Mills became far easier than they had expected. Furthermore, Fox had accumulated knowledge of the French guards’ and officers’ movements, which he now shared with Arabella and her captain, and was willing and able to essay some rather risky excursions, such as into the swamps beyond the barracks, in order to obtain more information.

  Despite this, their meetings—infrequent and irregular, due to the necessity for secrecy—often grew quietly heated, as the two captains differed so greatly in their ideas of what should take precedence. Captain Fox was still centered upon escape for himself and his people, a concentration which he now extended to the Dianas, while Captain Singh continued to emphasize espionage, refusing to consider escape until further critical details of the armored airship could be discerned. For her part, Arabella felt compelled to take Singh’s side when the three of them were together. When she was alone with her own captain, though, she continued to press him to at least begin laying plans for escape, which could then be put in motion once the necessary information had been obtained.

  But even if they could all agree to attempt escape, the success of such an enterprise was far from guaranteed.

  The most difficult part of escape was not leaving the plantation, but remaining free while traversing the vast distances to English-controlled territory. Even if the difficulties of food, water, and transport could be overcome, the unavoidable fact was that the least astute passer-by could tell at a single glance that they were not Venusians. And, as every Venusian and Frenchman for a hundred miles would immediately be informed of any escape by the sound of the cannon, if the fleeing Englishmen were observed at all recapture would inevitably follow. Despite the best efforts of the three of them, they had been unable to arrive at a solution to this thorny problem.

  Arabella, thinking back to her several conversations with Mills on the topic of slavery, reflected that this same situation was faced by African slaves in America and Brazil. How horrible it was to be so easily identified, and judged as less than human, simply by one’s appearance.

  But the same, of course, was true of one’s sex, and yet she knew from her own experience that that could be overcome. So she continued to worry at the problem whenever she found herself with a moment for contemplation.

  * * *

  Arabella and Captain Singh had just sat down to breakfast—the butter, she noted, was rancid again—when, to every one’s surprise, Fox came clattering in the door, sweating and out of breath, his collar undone. Two Venusian waiters protested his untoward appearance, but he brushed them off and strode directly to Arabella’s table.

  “I have urgent news,” he said, sketching a bow to Captain Singh and Arabella. “Please, you must both accompany me to the barracks immediately.”

  “Of course,” the captain said, rising and folding his napkin. “Shall we bring the surgeon?”

  “No. This is … personal. I shall explain on the way.”

  Arabella, anxious though she was to hear this news, took a moment to wrap several bread rolls and some cheese in a napkin and stow them in her reticule. Whatever the situation might be, none of them would be in a good position to take it in hand without sustenance. She swallowed a gulp of coffee and hurried to follow the two captains, who were already out the door.

  All eyes followed her as she swept out of the dining-room.

  Conversation was impossible as the three of them dashed through the Marieville streets, Arabella scurrying to keep up with Fox’s mad rush and her captain’s smooth long-legged gait. Soon they reached the gate, presented their papers, and hurried down the well-trodden path to the barracks.

  But after just a few minutes on the path Fox slowed, looked around, then stopped. He stood panting, hands on knees, for a moment before straightening and looking around again. No one else was about at this early hour, and the gates with their guards were well behind them. “Forgive me … for this intrusion,” he puffed. “But I have just had the most extraordinary news from Mills, by way of Brindle, and I knew you would want to know immediately. This was the most expedient means I could contrive to extricate you from the guards’ attentions.” His expression mingled pleasure and anxiety.

  “Go on,” Captain Singh replied. He had already regained his usual calm demeanor, though Arabella’s breast still heaved from the exertion and the day’s already-rising heat.

  “The news concerns Diana,” Fox said.

  At that single word Arabella’s rapid breath caught in her throat, and Captain Singh’s tranquility completely shattered. His eyes widened and he took a half-step forward, as though about to grasp Fox by his lapels. “Out with it, man!” he spat.

  “Mills,” Fox continued, “has just been assigned to work on Diana at the ship-yard. She is in the process of being refitted into a French warship!”

  This news forced the words “What of Aadim?” from Arabella’s lips, almost without her volition. The name Diana had brought to her mind a rush of emotion and memories, foremost among which were thoughts of the ship’s automaton navigator—a beloved figure whose finely crafted wooden face she had not expected ever to see again.

  The captain glanced to her at that, then fixed his gaze on Fox’s face. “Yes, have you any news of him?”

  Fox shook his head. “I have heard nothing about any one of that name. Is he a member of your crew?”

  “After a fashion,” Captain Singh replied, betraying nothing.

  “In any case…” Fox raised his hands, fingers spread. “Though I knew that news of your ship would be of great interest to you, I do not believe it is the most important item in Mills’s report—that would be the status of Victoire, the armored airship. His intelligence of her is less detailed as of yet, but he has been able to ascertain that she is far from complete, lacking landing-furnace, cook-stoves, and lanterns among other necessities; nor is there any sign of the launch-furnaces you asked him to look for. So it seems we have some weeks at least, perhaps months, before she is ready to launch.”

  Captain Singh breathed deeply, stroking his chin, as he absorbed this news. “Although I greatly appreciate your zeal in bringing us this intelligence so quickly, I wish that you had not created such a scene in doing so. Now every one, including the French, will be keen to know what the matter was.”

  “Ah,” Fox replied, his face falling. “I had not considered that.”

  This reaction did not soothe the captain at all. “We will think of some story,” Arabella said, placatingly.

  Captain Singh nodded. “I suppose we shall. And we must also consider how best to make use of Diana’s presence at the ship-yard.” He proffered his arm to Arabella. “Let us continue to the barracks. It will, if nothing else, correspond with our supposed destination, and will provide us some time for private conversation.”

  * * *

  On the way to the barracks they concocted a tale of misunderstanding about a personal matter, which seemed implausible to Arabella but proved sufficient to satisfy any queries they received regarding Fox’s sudden appearance at breakfast, and began sketching plans to make use of Diana’s proximity. Over the following few days Arabella and her captain mulled over these plans, together and separately, until the three of them could again meet together in private. This opportunity was provided by a mushroom-hunt in the forested hills above Marieville.

  “The distance to the ship-yard is only a few miles,” Captain Singh summarized as he strolled along with his mushroom-basket swinging at his hip. “It would not be difficult for a small
group to depart the barracks by night and make their way thence. But in order for this scheme to succeed, we require a sufficient crew of able airmen to seize Diana from her captors, launch her, fly her, and fight her. How can we possibly assemble so many men in one place without arousing suspicion?”

  “I have been considering this very issue,” Fox replied. “I propose that we gather, in secret, large quantities of the native foliage. At the appointed moment, each man shrouds himself in leafy branches, and makes his way to some rendezvous in the forest thus disguised.” He permitted himself a satisfied smirk. “Rather like Birnam Wood in the Scottish play, if I do say so myself.”

  This idea seemed to Arabella entirely ridiculous, and Captain Singh’s face showed that he was just about to make some scornful comment upon it. But something in Fox’s words connected with her memories of him painted and caparisoned as the goddess Gaia at the ceremony of crossing the line. “I saw your performance of Macbeth at the barracks,” she put in quickly, before Captain Singh could speak, “and it was very good, particularly your turn as the Scottish Lord.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “It seems to me,” Arabella said, continuing to interrupt her captain, “that you and your company deserve a larger audience.”

  Fox inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Do go on.”

  Arabella turned to Captain Singh, whose brows were lowered in an expression of confusion and stern rebuke. “If we were to stage a play,” she explained, even as the idea was continuing to form itself in her mind, “a very popular play, perhaps Romeo and Juliet … we would be compelled by the size of the audience to perform outside the palisade. This would provide us a ready excuse to gather the Dianas and Touchstones together in one place … in a convenient position for a mass break! And the … the production of the play—the gathering of properties, manufacture of set-pieces, and so forth—would provide a pretext for our escape preparations. Once every one is gathered together for the performance, at some prearranged signal we dash across country to the ship-yard, take Diana by surprise, and escape in her.”

  “I like this plan!” Fox said.

  “I am not surprised that you do,” Captain Singh said, “especially as I imagine you view yourself as Romeo.”

  “Of course,” Fox replied, as though astonished at the very concept of any alternative. “A part which, indeed, I have played several times before.”

  “In more than one way, I am certain,” Captain Singh murmured.

  But Fox, not hearing the other captain’s comment, turned his attention to Arabella. “And naturally, our Juliet must be—”

  “We can put off questions of casting until later,” Arabella interrupted. “Our most immediate concern is to obtain permission from the authorities for the production. I will approach Lady Corey, proposing it as a humanitarian project; her influence with Fulton, the architect of Marieville, will surely carry some weight even with the demon Fouché.”

  “We will require food and water for the escape,” Fox said. “These can still be obtained, for a sufficient fee, and I will begin assembling those supplies immediately.”

  Captain Singh did not seem entirely convinced. Nonetheless he nodded slowly. “This plan may succeed … if we can arrange it so that the performance is lightly guarded, and if we can obtain some small arms.” He stroked his chin. “I have been cultivating connections for some time with the sort of men who can provide pistols and boarding-axes, and I believe that now is the time to exploit those connections. However, I am afraid that their price may be more than I can pay.” His eyes met Arabella’s. “I believe you retain some portion of the four hundred and eighty livres in gold we obtained earlier?”

  “I do. Nearly seventy livres remain.”

  “Fifty livres of that should, I think, procure sufficient arms for our escape.”

  Arabella hesitated; she had been saving that money in case of some unforeseen crisis. But if this plan failed, for want of pistols or any thing else, they would likely all be shot.

  “Of course,” she said, though her mouth suddenly went quite dry.

  “Well then,” Fox said, rubbing his hands, “it is settled. Now let us discuss casting.”

  * * *

  That evening Arabella trudged wearily up the auberge steps and collapsed on the bed. “Why must it be so impossibly hot on this planet,” she said, fanning herself uselessly with one hand, “even after sunset?” She and Captain Singh were alone, Stross and Richardson having not yet returned from their club.

  “It is the proximity of the sun,” he replied mildly. “As you well know.”

  She fixed him with a baleful glare. “Help me with my shoes.”

  Without a word the captain knelt and began unlacing Arabella’s shoes—the very same sturdy Martian-made half-boots which had accompanied her from Mars to Earth and back, and now from Mars to Venus. They were in remarkably good shape, for all their tens of thousands of miles, and fitted her like gloves. “What news from Lady Corey?” he asked.

  “She was quite keen on the idea, and seemed certain that Fulton would be able to convince Fouché to permit the performance, on the grounds of encouraging morale and greater productivity among the prisoners. So keen was she, in fact, that she insists that she must play the Nurse. ‘I was very active in the amateur theatricals in my younger days, you know,’”—Arabella’s accurate imitation of Lady Corey’s haughty tones brought a smile to even the usually staid Captain Singh’s face—“‘and I welcome the opportunity to tread the boards again.’ Of course, I am certain her true aim is to keep close watch on me, to prevent any impropriety.” Arabella sighed and shook her head. “I begin to fear that the theatrical production itself may be more vexing to arrange than the escape.”

  “Her involvement will be all to the good,” the captain said, setting Arabella’s shoes neatly aside at the foot of the bed and rubbing her feet. “It will make the theatricals more believable to the French. And we may be able to devolve some of your tasks regarding the play to her, thus freeing up your time and attention for the escape attempt.”

  “I had also thought that it would put her in a position to escape along with us. I should not like to leave her behind.”

  Captain Singh frowned. “Indeed. Especially as Fouché’s treatment of any one thought involved in a successful escape, after the fact, will be quite harsh.” He tapped his chin with one long finger. “Let us not inform her of the escape plan until the last moment, though. What she does not know, she cannot let slip.”

  “I quite agree. And what of yourself? Have you made any progress in arranging for a reduced guard on the performance?”

  “Some progress. As you may be aware, Lefevre has been rather nettled by his loss of command. And, though he and I have never seen eye to eye, after the amount of time we have spent together in his office we do have an … entente, shall we say, and a certain shared dislike of Fouché. I think that I understand his priorities and motivations…”

  “Money,” Arabella put in.

  “Indeed. And though his price for co-operation is high, I suspect that he looks forward to the black eye a mass escape would give to Fouché. I hope to be able to negotiate him down to an amount we can actually afford.” But though this news was promising, he still seemed troubled.

  “Is something the matter?”

  The captain sighed. “Though plans for the escape itself are proceeding apace, I am concerned that they may all come to naught.”

  “I am sure that all will be well,” she said. Though she was, in fact, far from certain.

  He nodded in acknowledgement of her reassurance, but paused before continuing. “We have had some very bad news to-day, which I have been reluctant to share with you. You recall John Bannatyne, one of Diana’s young gentlemen?”

  “Of course.” She had shared navigation lessons with him when she had been captain’s boy. He was a rather thin and spotty young man, and quite reticent because of a severe stutter, but always cheerful and affable for all that.<
br />
  The captain hesitated still further, looking down into his folded hands. “He collapsed from exhaustion to-day, in the midst of cutting down a tree for charcoal. The other men, defying the guards, rushed him back to the barracks, but despite the surgeon’s best attentions he could not be roused. He was buried immediately; you know how quickly every thing goes to rot on this horrible planet.”

  Arabella, appalled, put a hand onto her captain’s shoulder. “Oh dear.”

  “Diana requires a full complement of able airmen to launch and fly her,” he continued, “never mind to fight, and after the depredations the people have suffered in their months of imprisonment I fear we may not have a sufficient crew.”

  “We will have the Touchstones as well.”

  “We will. Yet they, too, have suffered … and I do not know how many of us will succeed in escaping and reach the ship.”

  Arabella was taken aback by his pessimism. “Surely all, or nearly all.”

  The captain’s expression as he returned her gaze was solemn. “Let us hope so. But even a reduced guard will take a toll, the swamps between here and the ship-yard are treacherous, and we will certainly suffer some casualties in taking the ship back. We are merchant airmen, after all, not men of war.”

  Arabella reached down and took his hands. “Diana’s crew are the finest in the Honorable Mars Company, and they have the bravest and most capable captain. With the help of the Touchstones, I have no doubt that we will win through.”

  “Your confidence is an inspiration.”

  * * *

  The next morning Arabella and the two captains were promenading the bustling high street of Marieville, quietly discussing amongst themselves the import of the latest communication from Mills. The street was, as it happened, far more heavily peopled than usual, and they found themselves forced to dodge hurtling carts and rushing platoons of French soldiers. But Arabella had no attention to spare to the origins of this tumult, because of the news they had just received.