Chapter five
Amos Coleman looked at his pocket watch. In the soft yellow glow of the oil lamp hanging in the cabin, he could see it was half past midnight. He sighed as he put the watch back into his waistcoat pocket and looked to the bow of the steamer. Two soldiers were sat cross-legged, smoking cigarettes and talking quietly. It had been four hours since they had left Antingham, a small town on the Charles River in Massachusetts. It was the first time he had been so far down the river and he hadn’t realised there had been any significant manufacturing in the area. He didn’t know what was in the fifty wooden crates stored in his cargo hold but it must have been important. The documentation was innocuous enough, but he knew the address. He was delivering to the government armoury at Watertown. Besides, having timber or coal didn’t warrant having an escort of six fully armed soldiers on his steamer.
Amos smiled. For so long he had worked in the Caribbean avoiding the military. Now, here he was working for them. The irony didn’t escape him. Anyway, it didn’t matter. As long as he was getting paid he wasn’t too worried about the cargo. This may not be the Caribbean, but at least he wasn’t getting shot at by Queen Victoria’s airships.
It seemed as though the soldiers guarding the cargo, the two at the bow, two at the stern and two more in the hold with the crates, had orders not to talk to him. Despite his best efforts, conversation with them had been limited to the odd grunt of acknowledgement.
He looked through the cabin window, his eyes following the course of the river. He was back in familiar territory now and knew the next section of the river had to be navigated carefully. He had heard of more than one steamer captain who had been embarrassed on this section of the river by its treacherously shifting sand banks. Amos checked the pressure gauge before manoeuvring the steamer as close to the left bank of the river as he dared. The river was about to take the sharp ninety-degree bend to the right and Amos knew if he took the bend too tightly, a high sand bank was waiting to run him aground just around the upcoming bend on the right hand side of the river.
He looked up to see tall pine trees on both sides of the river highlighted by the moon behind him. He would have to follow the left bank of the river, turning hard starboard at the last possible moment to keep in the deepest water. He smiled to himself. Soldiers were not known for being the best sailors and he knew they would panic at the sight of the onrushing line of trees. The thought of running aground in the middle of nowhere and in the dead of this freezing night didn’t exactly appeal to him either, but he had sailed this part of the river often enough. He could probably do it blindfolded.
He checked the pressure gauges again. The automatic stoker was doing its job perfectly. Amos pulled down a toggle switch to the right of the wheel lighting up two powerful carbon-arc lights which illuminated the left-hand riverbank, which was now dead ahead. Amos suppressed a laugh as he saw the two soldiers at the bow of the steamer scramble to their feet in panic. The speed of the approach a little too quick for them he supposed. His amusement was short lived. It only took a couple of seconds before he realised they were not panicking about the oncoming riverbank or the speed of its approach, but about something further down the river itself.
Amos slowed the paddles down as he saw the river open up to the right. The sand bank was on the right of the river just as it should be, but hovering over the sand bank with its gondola almost sitting in the water was an airship that was, Amos estimated, nearly one hundred yards long.
Amos was about to shut the engines down when he heard a sound like a big cat purring loudly. His reflexes took over. Ignoring the engines he threw himself on the floor of the cabin just in time to hear the sound of his steamer being peppered by hundreds of rounds from an air pressured Gatling gun. He knew the sound well from his encounters with British airships in the Caribbean and was glad time hadn’t dulled his reactions. Amos pressed his face to the floor as glass from the cabin’s windows shattered above him. He felt something hit his shoulder and looked along the deck to see the oil lamp rolling away, spilling its contents all around. He watched helplessly as the oil ignited and the flames slowly took hold on the wooden deck of the steamer.
Without having to look, Amos knew the two soldiers at the bow were dead. He looked through the flames further down the deck and saw the two soldiers at the stern run towards the cabin and watched as they were instantly cut down by the torrent of fire coming from the airship. Four out of the six soldiers had been slaughtered in a matter of seconds and he would be too if he didn’t get off this steamer.
The flames had reached the cabin and were licking at his arm as the door to the hold opened, banging into his elbow. The first soldier came through the small door and into the cabin. Amos screamed a warning.
It was to no avail.
He watched as the head of the soldier exploded in a red mist which covered what was left of the inside of the cabin. The body fell across Amos’s legs and he instinctively drew them up and curled into a tight ball.
Amos looked at the last soldier who was now lying on the steps to the hold, his head nervously poking through the door. He hadn’t taken much notice of the two soldiers in the hold up to now and was shocked to see a boy who looked to only be in his mid-teens, not much older than the cabin boy he had been when he had run away from home and first taken to sea. He saw fear in the boy’s eyes. Not surprising if that was his first experience of violent death. Amos knew they only had one chance to get off the steamer alive. He also knew if he waited for the boy to get over the shock of his colleague’s death they would both end up the same way.
Without warning the Gatling gun stopped. He looked through the flames again to the stern and beyond onto the river and saw a small boat being rowed toward them. Without thinking, he growled, “Follow me.” Grabbing the boy by the shoulder he dragged him through the door and to his feet. Amos knew their only chance of staying alive was to get off the steamer and into the copse of trees that lined that side of the river. He heard the boy’s footsteps behind him as he ran through the flames in the hope they would act as a screen as he headed to the port side of the boat.
It didn’t work.
Amos heard the purring sound again almost immediately and as he jumped a searing pain in his left shoulder caused him to exhale with a loud gasp and twist in mid-air. He slapped down hard through the thin ice which was beginning to form on the river and started to sink. Amos opened his eyes and squinted through the freezing, filthy water. Above him, he could just see the water line of his steamer. The riverbank was behind him and that was his only chance of survival. His legs kicked out, but instead of water, they hit something solid. Amos twisted himself around and saw the mutilated face of the boy soldier illuminated by the refracted light of the moon. His body arched backwards in shock and disgust. The boy must have been right behind him and taken the full brunt of the Gatling gun’s barrage.
Amos shut his eyes and his legs lashed out furiously as he began to move slowly away from the steamer. If he had managed to get a lungful of air before going under things would be a lot easier. The shock of being hit by gunfire had caused him to lose most of the air he had in his lungs, and he had lost what was left when he had unceremoniously hit the ice and water. With his lungs now roaring for oxygen, Amos kicked his legs again and spread both arms wide to force the water behind him. The pain in his shoulder screamed at him to stop as his face contorted in agony. He opened his eyes again as far as he could, but could see little in the murky waters. He swung his arms out again, but his left arm had become numb and refused to obey. His legs were heavy and slow and he began to sink. Amos was almost out of time. He had to breathe or he would drown. He had to surface regardless of what was waiting for him. He thrust his right arm forward one last time and the water gave way to the soft, slimy mud of the riverbank.
Amos sank his fingers into the mud and tried to claw his way upwards. He started pumping his legs to gain traction, but the soft silt gave way. The urgency turned to desperation. As he was abo
ut to inhale a lungful of water he flailed his right arm upward and it smacked into something solid. A tree root. Amos grabbed it and pulled. He arched his back and forced his head toward the surface.
The cold night air was warm on his face compared to the icy water and he sucked as much of it into his lungs as he could before coughing most of it back out. He took another lungful and pulled himself closer to the muddy bank. He looked down the river towards his burning steamer. The rowing boat was now moored to the stern and four men were busy putting out the fire. With the noise they were making Amos was certain he hadn’t been heard, but theirs wasn’t the only noise Amos could hear. He looked in astonishment over the top of his stricken steamer as the airship slowly glided towards it. The airship was flatter and wider than other airships of the same size and reminded Amos of the manatees he had seen gliding so effortlessly in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of Florida. The gondola was almost as long and wide as the envelope above it.
Suddenly his steamer was illuminated by an arc light far more powerful than the ones he had shone onto the riverbank. The brightness caused him to look down momentarily, but within seconds the light had gone. Amos looked up and realised he was wrong. The light was still on, but was now sweeping the banks of the river. They were looking for survivors. Coleman gritted his teeth in anger and pain as he pulled his body behind the reeds and low lying branches. He settled into the mud and watched as the airship manoeuvred itself over his steamer as the doors to the cargo hold were ripped open.
Amos watched as a cable came down from the airship and was attached to the netting that surrounded the first of the crates. His stomach churned as he saw the bodies of the soldiers who had been ripped apart by the gunfire were still on the deck. He had encountered pirates more than once and while they were ruthless they always did abide by their own code. A dead enemy was always thrown into the water which would serve as their grave. A wave of disgust washed over Amos as he watched the corpses being dragged away from the cargo hold door.
It was then a memory flashed through Amos’s mind: Plans of attacking at night using a fast ship, powerful arc lights and the devastating new steam powered Gatling gun. The bitterness of betrayal. He dismissed the thought. It wasn’t possible. She must have been on the end of a rope months ago.
Amos heard a noise in the water and pushed himself further into the mud. He looked around and saw the shattered body of the boy soldier cracking the ice. The bile festered in Amos’s throat as he resisted an urge to vomit. This wasn’t his first violent encounter, far from it. But the sheer brutality of the boy soldier’s death sickened him. They didn’t have to kill anyone. Six soldiers were no match for an airship like that. He looked back toward the carnage on his steamer and despite the malevolence in his eyes, his lips lifted into a humourless smile. For most of his life he had been labelled a smuggler and a pirate and now here he was being boarded for whatever was in his cargo hold and possibly by one of his old crew. What the hell is in those crates that was worth slaughtering those soldiers and in particular that young boy?
He watched as the last of the containers were loaded onto the airship, followed by the boarding party. Amos pushed himself deeper still into the mud as the airships powerful arc light made one last sweep of the riverbank before it swiftly ascended into the moonlit sky.
Amos slammed his fist hard onto the thin ice as he watched the black smoke blowing out of the airships three short chimneys at the rear of the gondola as the vessel rose and was silhouetted against the moon. The throbbing of the airship’s engines had diminished to a low hum when he dragged himself out of the ice and mud and onto the grassy bank. He looked back towards the river and saw the wet clothes on the young soldier had already begun to freeze. He started to shake. Amos told himself it was the cold and shock from his wound. He didn’t convince himself. With the anger pounding in his head threatening to explode he silently vowed to find out who was responsible for the murder of the boy soldier.
Cradling his left arm Amos followed the river north, walking the half dozen miles to the next town. He just hoped they had a good doctor.
Chapter Six
Kate Lockwood stretched out and rolled onto her left side, opened her eyes and looked toward her alarm clock. It wasn't there. Her eyes narrowed attempting to focus in the dimly lit room. The clock definitely wasn’t there. In its place she could see a table covered with a lacy cloth on top of which was a blue and white bowl. In the bowl was a similarly patterned jug. Kate scowled at the combination for a few seconds before sitting up.
Her head pounded as she looked beyond the bottom of the bed; a fireplace with coals still glowing yellow and to the right of the fireplace a dark coloured wardrobe. “Where the hell am I?” she said to herself as she swung her legs out of the left side of the bed. Looking down she realised she was wearing a long cotton nightdress. Fear knotted her stomach, momentarily subduing the pain. She was in a strange room wearing someone else's clothing and had no idea where she was or how she had got there.
Panic started to replace the fear. Kate took several deep breaths and forced herself to think. Her trembling hands smoothed the nightdress against her thighs, her worst fears subsiding. She hadn’t been touched. She was sure of it. But that didn’t explain where she was or how she had got there.
Kate slid out of the high bed and walked toward the window. Pulling the heavy drapes apart she looked out to see if she could recognise anything. She couldn't. Through the darkness and the fog, she could see a low wall with railings on the other side of the street. Behind the railings, she could just make out several trees. Beyond them, old-fashioned street lamps, looking almost new, glowed yellow as they crisscrossed the street. She looked down to her right and saw two people getting out of a horse-drawn carriage.
It was this sight that caught her attention. Not the people themselves but their clothing, the woman in a Victorian style dress with a bustle and a hat, the man wearing a top hat and a frock coat.
“Must have been to a fancy dress party,” she said firmly to herself as she turned back toward the bed. Only then did the dizziness return. She stumbled forward as her legs give way. She tried to break her fall and her right hand reached out, but only managed to catch the edge of the bowl on the table. Table, bowl and jug all went crashing to the wooden floor. She continued forward, bounced off the edge of the bed and joined the broken pottery on the floor.
As she pushed herself to her knees, Kate could hear footsteps running towards the room. The bedroom door opened and in rushed a young woman, carrying a lit candle and dressed as a maid.
“Oh miss, what's happened? Are you all right? Let's get you back into bed,” fussed the woman as she took hold of Kate's arm and helped her onto the bed.
“Where am I? Who are you?” Kate’s voice sounded slurred even to her.
“You're in Doctor McKinley’s home miss. I'm Ivy, Doctor McKinley’s maid. You rest here and I'll go get the doctor.”
Kate sat up on the bed and began taking deep breaths, trying to concentrate on anything but the pounding in her head. It only took a few moments before the maid returned. Looking up she realised the maid wasn't alone. A tall, dark haired man was standing just inside the doorway. He smiled at her.
“I see my patient is awake at last. Tell me, how are you feeling?”
“Where am I? Who are you?”
“I'm Doctor Jacob McKinley and you're in the guest room of my home. May I ask your name?”
Kate ignored the question. “How did I get here? Where are my clothes?”
“I found you unconscious on the very wet grass inside the West of London Cemetery. It was quicker to bring you here than to take you to my surgery or the nearest hospital. Your clothes are downstairs and are drying in my study. Ivy here and Miss Wheaton my daughter’s governess, changed you into the nightclothes you are now wearing when you were brought upstairs by the cab driver and myself.”
The maid, having brought a brush back with her was sweeping up the broken pieces of pottery o
n the wooden floor when Jacob asked her to leave. When the door was closed he looked at Kate.
“That's a nasty swelling you have on the bridge of your nose, and a bump on the back of the head to complement it. If you don't mind me asking, how did you get those injuries?”
Kate pulled away and dragged the blankets up to her chin.
“I was sent to a job in the Limehouse Link. I detained someone for a 136 but he started fighting. I got the handcuffs on him but he caught me on the nose.”
“Limehouse? That's quite a long way from the West of London Cemetery. Do you remember how you got there?”
“Cemetery? What cemetery? I don't know. I had to go back to the Link. I went through one of the access doors and there was a blue light. I couldn't move. I heard a buzzing sound and next thing I knew I was here.”
Jacob recounted what he had seen and heard, the same blue light and buzzing and how she was brought back to the house in the Hansom. By the time he had finished, Kate was asleep. Jacob watched for several moments as the mysterious woman slept before drawing the blankets around her shoulders. He went downstairs, and after asking Ivy to clean up the remaining broken pottery and to be sure she didn’t wake the patient, went into his study and locked the door. Striking a match he lit the gas lamps on the wall and the oil lamp on his desk. Blowing the match out, he turned his attention to the items on his desk.
He had asked Ivy to bring them down when she had put the unconscious woman into a nightgown. He picked up a black vest. Jacob had never seen anything like it. There were no buttons, just a long fastening strip running the length from top to bottom. It only took him a few seconds to understand how it worked and he marvelled at the ingenuity. Turning it around, he looked at the reflective 'POLICE' sign on the back. He had worked with the police extensively in the last four years but had seen nothing like it.
Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1) Page 3
