Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1)

by Symon A Sanderson

  Her eyes began to adjust, partly helped by the flames flickering through the opened trap door. She could hear a child sobbing and as she ran towards the sound Kate could just see a small figure sat in the corner of the room, partly covered by filthy, damp straw, which had been sparsely strewn across the floor. As she got closer the boy withdrew and twisted away from her. By now Kate could see it was a small boy, Lord Cargill’s son. In the desperation to find Grace they had both forgotten he was also missing. Kate’s heart sank as she looked. The boy was naked from the waist up and his back and side was smeared with blood.

  “It’s alright,” said Kate, “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m here to take you home.”

  The boy eyed Kate suspiciously, not trusting anyone he didn’t know. A loud crash above their heads made them both look up.

  “Kate?” Kate narrowed her eyes and peered into the gloom behind the young boy as she heard a girl’s voice.

  “Grace, is that you?”

  A small figure sat up behind the boy. Through the darkness and smoke Kate saw Grace trying to get to her feet. She rushed over and picked her up, holding her tightly.

  “We’ve been so worried. Are you alright. Have they done anything to you?

  “No,” said Grace, answering the last question first, “they just wouldn’t let us go. I’m just tired.” Grace looked towards the small boy, “This is Benjamin. What’s happening?”

  “This building is on fire,” said Kate wiping away a tear. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  The boy twisted further away from Kate and tried to get as far into the corner of the room as possible. Kate looked up again and saw the ceiling of the basement was now on fire. They didn’t have time for this. The boy would have to come with her whether he liked it or not. She reached down and grabbed the boy’s wrist. He put up almost no resistance as Kate pulled him to his feet. As she let go, the boy cowered and turned his back to Kate. She looked on, horrified at what she could see.

  Carved into the boy’s back was one word, ‘Silence’.

  Kate stared in disgust at what she assumed was Finch’s handiwork. She felt a lump in her throat and was unsure if she was going to cry or throw up. She lay the shotgun on the ground and knelt next to the boy, trying to comfort him.

  “Grace, did they do anything to you?” Kate stammered the words out.

  “No, really,” said Grace, “I’m fine.”

  The sound of the burning trap door crashing down the steps into the basement reminded Kate they had no time to waste. She looked around and saw the fire had spread rapidly. The remains of the trap door were now burning and flames were coming in through the door and were licking against the basement roof and the top of the steps. She looked back at the boy and noticed a wooden bucket, half hidden by the straw. She looked in and saw it was full of liquid.

  Kate sighed and closed her eyes. This is no time to be squeamish, she thought. Kate picked the bucket up and poured some of it over the boy, soaking his hair and his trousers. The boy screamed but didn’t move. Kate then doused Grace before pouring the rest of the water over herself. It was ice cold and Kate involuntarily gasped. It was then she realised why the boy had screamed. It was salt water, probably to be used to stop the bleeding, only Finch hadn’t had the time.

  Kate knew their wet clothes wouldn’t be much resistance to the fire but it was all they had.

  “Can you get up that ladder?” she asked Grace, motioning towards the hatch. Grace nodded and began climbing. Kate grabbed the shocked boy by the wrist and followed Grace to the steps. The fire had reached the top step. Kate could feel the heat about her head and looked up. The entrance had begun to burn and Kate knew they only had one chance. She pulled the boy onto the steps.

  “Run. Follow her,” she pointed to Grace who was already on the top rung of the ladder. The boy looked up and shrank back into Kate’s damp trousers. Kate grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers and shoved him forward up the first couple of steps, “Now,” she shouted almost into the boy’s ear. The boy started climbing and Kate followed, only one step behind. Kate saw the boy jump onto the floorboards of the hut and was about to push him towards the door when the steps gave way. She fell forwards and her stomach hit the edge of the floor. She bent double and threw her hands in front of her, forcing her elbows into the rotten floorboards. She braced against the floor and tried to force her way up.

  Inch by inch Kate managed to ease herself back into the room. Then she stopped. She was stuck. Her trousers had caught on the jagged edge of the top of the steps. She thrashed her legs around in a bid to free herself. It didn’t work. It only made matters worse. Kate could now feel her legs getting warm. She looked down and could see the pocket on the side of her trousers had caught fire. Kate managed to put the palm of her hands flat against the frame of the trap door and strained to push herself up. It didn’t work. She was stuck. Sweat rolled down her back as the burning material scorched into her legs.

  Kate closed her eyes and set herself for what she knew would be one last effort. She tensed her arms and pushed. She was still stuck. Kate gritted her teeth, her stomach knotted in fear, as she forced the last ounce of strength into her arms. Kate gasped as the flames from the floorboards wrapped around her arm. She opened her eyes and saw Grace standing over her. She had grabbed the shoulders of her shirt and had started to pull. Kate pushed again and leaned into the room, pushing as much of her weight forward as she could. She heard her trousers rip as her legs became free. Kate managed to get one knee onto the floorboards and finally was out of the basement. She looked at Grace who was kneeling in front of her and smiled.

  Despite what he had been told in the Anchor, Jacob was stunned at the mention of his wife. It had been four years since she had been murdered in her own house and in that time it had become one of the most notorious crimes of the age. The police, even with the driving force of her own brother, had not managed to reveal or apprehend a suspect. Now, in the last couple of hours, Jacob had not only learned the reason his wife had been killed but was now confronting her killer.

  “How did you know my wife?” the words stammered out.

  “My boss wasn’t always as rich as he is now,” said Finch, “he had to get the money to buy a goldmine from somewhere.”

  “He was blackmailing my wife.”

  “He was trying. Some letters had come into his possession, thanks, indirectly, to a member of your staff. All that was wanted was a sum from her to prevent them falling into the wrong hands,” Finch eyed the surrounding wall of husks as he moved around. “She refused to pay, said she was going to tell you everything and go to the police.”

  Jacob listened intently as he scrambled to the end of the wall of husks. He could tell from Finch’s voice that he was just the other side of the wall.

  “We couldn’t have that,” said Finch, “it would have ruined him. So he sent me to finish the job,” Finch laughed.

  It was more than Jacob could take. He aimed the last shell from his wrist gun into the air and fired. He rolled to the end of the wall as the shell only just cleared the top of the husks before falling down onto the other side. Moments later there was a small explosion. He was already on his feet and scrambling towards where the shell had detonated. He saw Finch sliding onto the dirt floor, his cane bobbling down the slope after him. Jacob ran at him, landing a kick squarely into his ribs. Finch grunted in pain but managed to roll onto his side and land a kick on the side of Jacob’s knee. His legs buckled and he fell forward, over the top of Finch, and landed on his wounded shoulder.

  Finch rolled away as Jacob lay motionless on the ground. He stood and picked his cane up from the floor. Walking back towards Jacob, Finch couldn’t resist finishing the story.

  “Two of us went to your house. We had strict instructions. Get the money or kill her.”

  Jacob managed to move onto his good side and looked up at Finch as he walked towards him. He tried to get to his feet to meet his assailant, but he wasn’t quick enough. Finch swun
g the cane in an arc towards Jacob’s head. It landed on his cheekbone and sent him sprawling backward.

  “She wasn’t going to give us any money,” said Finch. “She said she was going to tell you everything. She knew you’d understand she said. So I carried out my instructions.” Finch smiled, “I quite enjoyed it too.”

  Jacob pointed his arm at Finch.

  “I’m not going to kill you because I want to see you stand trial and hanged for the murder of my wife.”

  “No, Doctor, I saw how that last shell dropped out of the air. Your canisters are empty. If you fire that it’ll blow your arm off.”

  “Lord Ashbury is your paymaster, isn’t he?” said Jacob. “Why is he doing all of this?”

  “Ashbury?” Finch snorted the word out. “All he wanted was that governess out of the way. She told him she was pregnant, the scandal would have ruined him. A shame the boy died. Not that Ashbury cared. All he was interested in was controlling the government. Still, I took care of the two who were responsible. You did the post mortems on them I understand.”

  “So who is your paymaster?”

  A demented leer crashed onto Finch’s face, “Someone far more powerful than Lord Ashbury,” Finch twisted the mid-section of the staff of the cane and three razor-like metallic claws sprang out. Jacob watched Finch as his left hand raised the cane above his head.

  “And now, Doctor, you’re about to find out exactly how your beloved died.”

  Kate furiously slapped at her trousers with the palms of her hands, managing to put the flames out before putting her arms around Grace and Lord Cargill’s son. Then, making themselves as small as possible, they ran out into the open yard. As they emerged from under the wooden roof she heard the timbers of the hut’s floor crash down into the basement.

  Realising the imminent danger was over, the adrenaline subsided and Kate became aware of the pain in her hands and legs. She wanted to look at the scarring and inevitable blisters but tried to ignore the pain as she looked around for Jacob. She saw him twenty metres away lying on the floor with Finch standing over him. As she watched, Finch raised his cane. Kate went to pick up the shotgun before she realised she had left it in the basement of the burning hut. She looked back towards Jacob when a shot echoed around the yard. A small cloud of red sprayed from Finch’s head into the air as he fell backwards onto a pile of husks.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The skirmish was brief. The Valiant had cut down half-a-dozen jet packs from the sky before the remaining aeronauts had either retreated or crashed due to a lack of fuel. Amos watched as the airship continued on its way, ignoring him completely and headed towards the factory. The steamer was quite small compared to some Amos had been in charge of, but the River Lea was narrow and by the time he had re-housed the Gatling gun and turned the boat around the H.M.A. Valiant was already attacking the factory.

  Amos was close enough to see several lines being unrolled from the airship to the ground and troops sliding down while, covering fire was provided by the high powered guns of the Royal Aerial Fleet.

  An explosion seemed to rock the ground, followed in quick succession by two more. Amos knew they were not shells from the air but from within the building itself. They must have orders to destroy the building if they come under attack from Her Majesty’s forces, thought Amos. Three columns of impenetrable black smoke belched into the evening sky far above the hanging airship, before lazily drifting with the wind. Fire erupted through the windows and roof, the ferocious heat causing the glass and slate to crack. Even at this distance the acrid smell of burning rubber and metal forced Amos to breathe through his mouth.

  The airship’s Gatling guns continued to fire and now Amos could hear why. Sporadic shots were being fired in return. One soldier fell to the ground, then another. The rest kept running towards the building as a barrage of shellfire erupted from the Valiant’s forward guns, shattering the lower windows. The guns stopped as the soldiers reached the factory and crouched either side of several side doors.

  The guns started again and with unerring accuracy destroyed each door on the side of the building within moments of each other. The soldiers poured into the main hangar and the trickle of return fire soon ceased.

  As he approached the scene of the fighting, Amos was flagged down by soldiers either side of the river. He steered the port side to the river bank and threw a line to a waiting pair of hands. Five men boarded the steamer. The last man, a sergeant, was obviously in charge.

  “Who are you?” said the sergeant, “and what is your business here?”

  “Amos Coleman, sir,” said Amos trying to disguise his American accent, “I carry freight up and down this river and onto the Thames.”

  “What are you carrying?”

  A wave of trepidation washed over Amos as the remaining four men started searching the vessel. His escape and the ensuing fight had meant he had not looked in the cargo holds. Whatever was in there could mean his imminent arrest. There was only one thing for it, take a chance.

  “Machine parts sir. Nuts, bolts, spare parts for lathes, that sort of thing.”

  Two of the soldiers pulled the cargo hatch and went down. Sweat trickled down Amos’s back as he watched them descend.

  “Where are your papers?”

  “The cargo was delivered sir, they took the paperwork from me.”

  “You have a log book on board I take it?”

  “Yes sir,” said Amos, “it’s on the bridge.”

  Amos headed to the bridge followed closely by the sergeant. If Amos had learned one thing during his smuggling days in the Caribbean it was to keep a false set of log books on the bridge should he ever be stopped at port. His eyes darted around the steel bridge until he found what he was looking for. On the only shelf on the bridge next to an old oil lamp lay a cloth bound book. He picked it up and tried to hide a smile as the sergeant snatched it out of his hand and began to read.

  “Spare parts as you say,” he said as he lobbed the book to Amos. The sergeant looked onto the deck as one of the soldiers came up from the hold and shook his head.

  “Freight is usually taken from the docks on the Thames, Mr Coleman and brought up the River Lea, yet your hold is empty. You appear to be travelling in the wrong direction. Can you explain why?”

  Amos fought to control his relief, “I was attacked further down the river by the flying men. Look at the damage they caused. It was that airship that saved me. I…I just wanted to offer my thanks.”

  The sergeant mistook Amos’s relief for fear, “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Just turn this this miserable excuse for a boat around and head back to the docks. Your business here is finished.”

  “But what about my steamer?” said Amos, hoping the soldiers would just want to be rid of him, “look at the damage,” he pointed and the numerous bullet holes that peppered the deck. “Who’s going to pay for that?”

  “Turn this wreck around now, Mr Coleman, before we impound it and arrest you.”

  Happy that the look on Amos’s face was one of horrified compliance the sergeant led his men back onto the river bank where they nonchalantly talked among themselves, satisfied the small steamer had nothing to do with the factory or its employees.

  Amos resumed the automated boiler and swung the boat round as slowly as he could. In the powerful beam of the airships arc lights Amos could see a line of men with their heads in their hands trudging towards the source of the light. Judging by their clothing they had been working in the laboratories, thought Amos. He wondered how long it had been since they had seen the outside walls of the factory. Or would prison be a better term.

  His eyes went along the line to the end when he saw a familiar sight. Wooden packing crates, the same ones that had been taken from him. He couldn’t be certain of their contents of course, but a gas with the properties of Nydrolium would be sought after by any government. Realising his mission was over, Amos pushed the throttle lever fully forward and decided it was time to meet his contact
in London.

  Chapter Forty

  Kate had watched in horror as Finch had been knocked backwards by a single shot from an unknown assailant. She didn’t stop to look around for the source. She grabbed the young boy by the arm and ran to Jacob. Grace, despite her illness, was already a couple of yards in front of her. As she reached him, Kate was relieved to see Jacob lever himself up with his good arm. He looked around and Kate could see the blood on his swollen face. Grace jumped on him and Jacob held her tightly.

  “I thought I’d lost you. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” said Jacob.

  “They didn’t hurt me. I knew you’d come for me. I told them you would.”

  “What happened? Are you alright?” said Kate.

  “Just cuts and bruises,” said Jacob, carefully touching his cheek. “How are you? Is everything alright? How is the boy?”

  “Yes,” said Kate pulling Lord Cargill’s son to her side. “Don’t worry, we’re both fine.” Kate decided a full explanation could wait.

  “Good shot by the way,” said Jacob, as he looked over at Finch’s body.

  “That wasn’t me,” said Kate, ripping a strip from Finch’s shirt to stem the bleeding from Jacob’s shoulder.

  “Who was it…?” Jacob looked over to the wall of coconut husks to see a dark skinned woman holstering a pistol.

  “Doctor Jacob McKinley I presume?” she said with a wry smile beginning on her face.

  “I am,” said Jacob. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Mia Jennings. Amos Coleman sent me to find you,” her eyes glanced towards Finch’s body before she continued. “A good job for you I did.”

  “I’m grateful to you, Miss Jennings, but I think we need to talk.”

  Jacob winced as Kate padded his shoulder with the material, he turned his attention to her, gently taking hold of her hands and examining them.