by Rob J. Hayes
She glanced at him for a moment, her expression cold and unyielding and Jacques began to smile but she looked away in an instant, back to staring into the passing landscape.
“I finally get to board an airship today,” he said cheerily. It was not the first time he had mentioned the fact. “I know it won’t be in flight at all but at least I get to board one. That’s something at least.”
Silence.
“And you will be with me, of course. Just like we always dreamed.”
Her eyes flicked to his; an unimpressed, emotionless stare that held him in thrall for what seemed like forever before he tore his own gaze away to pay exceptional attention to his own feet.
The carriage slowed to a halt and Jacques heard voices outside. Moving over to the window he peered out to see armed soldiers speaking with the driver. “I suppose I should go see what they require,” he said cheerily to no response.
Opening the door, Jacques leapt out with ill-suppressed enthusiasm. Being away from the oppressive atmosphere that Isabel generated he found his spirits instantly lifted and only a little quashed by the ten armed soldiers who, at his sudden appearance, had all levelled military standard issue rifles at him. Some men may have thrown up their hands at such an unexpected welcome but Baron Bonvillain was not the type to flinch in the face of dangerous weaponry being pointed his way.
“What’s the meaning of this delay, driver?” Bastien asked in his most pompous tone as though the ten soldiers were invisible.
“Um,” the driver stammered. “They are.” He pointed at the soldiers.
Bastien shook his head. “Well I can see that, man,” he walked to the front of the carriage and stood within spitting distance of the soldiers who had yet to lower their weapons. “But why are we being delayed?” He gave each of the soldiers his sternest of stares and eventually one of them lowered his weapon and stepped forward.
“Sergeant Crevier,” the man said with a salute. “And your name, sir?”
“Baron Bastien Bonvillain,” Bastien said with a particular emphasis on his title so the man knew he was speaking to his better. “I assure you I am expected.”
The Sergeant nodded and his men put away their rifles. “I hope you understand, my lord. No disrespect was meant.”
Bastien nodded. “None taken, Sergeant. Can’t be too careful with the King’s airships.”
“Yes sir.”
“Are there any more of these checkpoints?” Bastien asked.
“Four more, sir.”
“Four?”
“Yes sir.”
Bastien sighed and mounted the carriage next to the driver. “I do believe I’ll ride up here with you. Just in case any more of these checkpoints decide to waylay us.”
Frenvale, surrounding lac Fren, was part military base and part airship construction yard. It was, in fact, the birth place of every airship built within the last eighty two years both military and mercantile and was easily the most heavily guarded fortification in the Kingdom. Patrols of soldiers walked the entire perimeter checking the fences for signs of attempted entry and two single-crystal naval airships floated low overhead watching.
As the carriage rumbled through the first checkpoint the path turned to paved road and on either side Bastien could see signs declaring the open area between the first and second fence to be a minefield. He could not see any of the mines but he had no doubt they were there and, if they were based on the alchemical design by Georges Hache, he also knew just how dangerous those mines would be.
The mine field was not overly large, it no doubt circumferenced the entirety of Frenvale but it was only about one hundred yards wide. One hundred yards packed full of deadly devices just waiting to explode. Bastien could see the muted forms of a wall and buildings above in the far distance but there was no sign of lac Fren yet.
At the second checkpoint, complete with an even sturdier-looking fence and even more suspicious-looking soldiers, Bastien had to again introduce himself and assure the new Sergeant that he was expected and the only passenger in the carriage was the Baroness. After the brief interview they were allowed to pass and the carriage started up again, the dual horses pulling it along giving only a slight whicker of annoyance at the second stop in quick succession.
Between the second and third fence was bare ground covered in neatly trimmed grass. Bastien counted six soldiers walking the land with grass cutting machinery and wondered whether they did so every day to keep it so short. As they approached the third fence Bastien could see watch towers set at regular intervals, every two hundred yards or so, leading in both directions around the fencing. The rifles carried by the soldiers in the watch towers distinguished them as sharp shooters. At the third checkpoint Bastien was subjected to an interview and the carriage was inspected. The insult that erupted from within left Bastien in no doubt that the Baroness did not appreciate the interruption.
As they were waved through the checkpoint one of the sharp shooters raised her rifle to the sky and fired. A moment later a gull dropped to the earth no more than twenty yards from the carriage and Bastien looked back to find the soldier smiling back. Whether they habitually kept the sky clear of the flying vermin or if the woman had done it simply to impress Bastien was a mystery.
The gap between the third and fourth checkpoint was smaller and lined with two bundles of barbed wire that Bastien suspected also ran the entire circumference of the base but while two soldiers guarded the checkpoint up ahead Bastien could see no others beyond only a large stretch of open land, almost two hundred yards, and then a wall beyond which he could see the tops of buildings.
They were stopped again at the fourth checkpoint and again the carriage was inspected, much to the Baroness’ annoyance, and Bastien was briefly interviewed. Not once in all its history had Sassaille been invaded by anything more than a handful of heathens from Arkland but still the security around Frenvale was astounding and, Bastien secretly admitted, more than a little overbearing. Airships were the country’s lifeblood and it had sole commodity on them, clearly the King was loathe to allow any threat to that status.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” the sergeant said waving them to proceed. He was a big man with a bald head and pockmarked face.
“We’re not moving,” Bastien pointed out.
The Sergeant let out a brief, humourless laugh. “Between here and the wall. Sudden moves excite them and they’re easily excitable.”
Bastien briefly considered asking the man what he meant but decided the question was beneath him and instead nudged the driver to proceed. One of the horses gave another whicker of annoyance and looked back for a moment and Bastien found himself feeling strangely sorry for the beast.
As they drove through the fourth checkpoint and into the final stretch Bastien caught a good look at the wall. It stood an impressive thirty feet high of stone blocks painted white. On either side of the great gate and indeed at regular, well-spaced intervals around the wall there were ornate carvings of twenty feet tall humanoid creatures though rather thick and blocky in design. There was something disquieting about the carvings and Bastien found himself peering at them as they drove closer and it was while he was doing so that the driver of the carriage let out a startling gasp.
“The eyes,” he whispered in a voice full of fear.
He noticed it at once. The eyes of the carvings were glowing a soft blue colour and worse yet they appeared to be following the carriage’s progress. “Keep going,” he said to the driver. “Steady.”
Upon arriving at the gate the driver, who was now nervous enough to be shaking in his seat, reined in the horses. With closer inspection Bastien could now see the carvings were not in fact carvings at all but were automatons standing motionless in alcoves cut directly into the wall. It was safe to say Bastien was now as terrified as the driver but he was also suitably impressed. A single automaton cost more to produce than a small airship and there appeared to be many of them guarding the base. He concluded it would take a master thief th
e likes of which the world had never seen to break into Frenvale, or possibly an army the likes of which the world had never seen.
“No sudden movements,” a soldier shouted down from atop the wall.
“Have you any idea how dangerous those things are?” Bastien asked in a shrill voice.
“That’s why we’re warning you about the sudden movements. They’re a horror to calm down once excited. Lost two men and a dog last time it happened.”
“Would you mind letting us in,” Bastien said. “I would very much like to be away from these things as quickly as possible. I am expected.”
“Baron Bonvillain is it?”
“Yes!”
“One moment, Baron.”
The mechanical whirring of cogs and gears filled the air and the gate began to slide slowly apart revealing the inside of Frenvale. It took almost a full minute for the gate to open wide enough for the carriage to roll through and Bastien urged the driver to take full opportunity of the opening. The man did not take much convincing, even the common populace were well acquainted with the danger associated with automatons.
Once inside Bastien relaxed a little, simply being out of sight of the metal and stone constructs made him feel more at ease but the knowledge that they were still there and so close left him feeling sour.
“You’ll have to leave the carriage over there, Baron,” a soldier pointed to a paved area already housing two carriages. “There’s a stable for the horses but driver and carriage will not be allowed to leave the designated area. Punishments in Frenvale are very severe.”
Bastien hopped down from the carriage and opened the door for Adeline to depart, she did so with a fluid grace taking Bastien’s hand and gliding to the ground. Isabel may be angry with Jacques but Adeline had no reason to be displeased with Bastien. She was wearing sturdy brown pantaloons and thigh-high boots that resembled those commonly used for riding, with a beige shirt and a long grey overcoat that made her look the very definition of regal.
“Automatons,” Adeline mused aloud.
“Yes, Baroness,” the soldier said with a formal bow.
“Are you not concerned of a repeat of the Pairing Day Massacre?”
The soldier coughed. “Precautions are in place. I assure you.”
Bastien looked at the man’s insignia, it identified him as a Captain of the Royal Navy, a lofty position. “Has Duc Lavouré arrived yet, Captain…”
“Cervantes,” the Captain said with a smile. “Duc Lavouré landed this morning and is awaiting your pleasure at the shipwrights. If you’ll follow me.”
Bastien held out his arm for Adeline which she took with a warm smile and not a trace of Isabel’s anger. Together they allowed Captain Cervantes to lead them across the compound.
“Frenvale houses three separate manufactorums for producing airship parts,” the Captain said as he walked. “Of course many of the parts are made elsewhere and shipped in but to ensure our technology does not fall into the hands of our enemies most of the important parts are manufactured on site.”
Bastien decided not to point out that Sassaille was currently at peace with all its neighbours and had no enemies. Instead he drank in the sight of the base and all its industry. Armed soldiers were in heavy presence everywhere but more important were the manufactorums. He could hear the sound of metal on metal and gears scraping against gears. A billow of steam blew out of the chimney of a nearby building and he heard a shout of warning.
The smell was the most wondrous thing for Jacques though; oil and hot metal with a tang of nearby lake. It was the smell Jacques had always associated with airships ever since that first time he witnessed Sassaille’s Hope lift off from lac Profonde back when he was still a child.
A hard squeeze on his hand brought Bastien back to the present day.
“There are three shipwrights here on lac Fren where we assemble the ships themselves. All are currently in use but the Duc’s airship is being built in the prime berth.” Captain Cervantes looked back with a wide grin. “She’s a marvellous sight to see.”
“You’re to be the Captain when she is ready,” Adeline said, it wasn’t a question.
The Captain nodded.
“For an honour like that, you must have distinguished yourself in the eyes of the King,” Bastien said.
Captain Cervantes cleared his throat. “I’ve had some experience over in the Frontier Lands. We’ve lost four ships over there to date, would have been a lot more if I hadn’t…” The Captain trailed off.
“How?” Adeline asked. “We’re led to believe the people over in the Frontier Lands are nothing but savages, how could they possibly bring down an airship.”
The Captain increased his pace. “Details of the conflict across the Brimstone Seas are classified. But I assure you they are anything but simple savages.”
They rounded the corner of a quiet, empty manufactorum and lac Fren burst into view. Bastien felt his jaw drop and quickly fought to regain composure. It was certainly not as large or gaudily lit as lac d’Allumer, nor did it berth anywhere near as many airships but it was the first time Jacques had ever seen the marvellous flying machines in the various stages of build.
On the furthest berth sat the bare bones of an airship. The wood and metal casing sitting on stilts jutting out of the water and a couple of workers hung over the sides welding metal plates into place.
“Alchemical welders?” Bastien asked peering at the workers.
“No, sir,” the Captain said. “Compressed gas. The latest thing from Turlain. Much more efficient than our alchemical counterparts. Those packs the workers wear on their backs can fuel the torches for close to an hour of non-stop welding.”
“An hour?” Bastien asked incredulous. “That’s five times the length of alchemical welding torches without a refill of the necessary formulae.”
Captain Cervantes nodded. “The gas is cheaper than the alchemical burner too.”
Bastien swept his gaze over the prime berth, wishing to save the sight for last. Captain Cervantes noticed and let out a jovial chuckle. “I feel much the same way,” he said from behind his smile. “Save the best for last.”
On the second berth sat a damaged Hummingbird class airship. A single crystal ship with light armaments and an enlarged crew quarters. The Hummingbird class ships were designed for fast and stealthy travel of low altitude, they dropped the shock troops off behind enemy lines and later picked them up for evacuation.
“Morning Mist,” the Captain said with a certain amount of pride. “My old ship and the fastest in the fleet. That bird has saved more lives than she’s taken.”
Bastien wondered if she was the airship he had seen during his last meeting with Duc Lavouré.
“How did she get that hole in the side?” Adeline asked.
The Captain’s eyes went suddenly distant and his face took on a grave look. “That’s classified.”
Bastien kept quiet as he watched a couple of engineers arguing near the ship, their wild hand gestures making their frustrations clear without the need for him to hear the words.
“They’ve been arguing like that for days,” Cervantes said. “In a few minutes one of them will storm off and they’ll pick it up again tomorrow. I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever get fixed.”
“What are they arguing about?” Bastien asked.
The Captain gave him an apologetic look.
“I’ll wager it is classified,” Bastien continued. “No matter. I do believe that is Gaston waving us over. Shall we go see your new ship, Captain Cervantes?”
As they approached the waving form of Gaston Lavouré, Bastien got a true sense of the size of The Northern Sunrise. She was truly a monster of an airship designed not for sleek movement or pleasant aesthetics but only for war and in that she would likely excel. She floated languidly at her berth, already low in the water despite, Bastien suspected, the lack of crew, cargo or ammunition stores. The ship dwarfed not only the people working in or around her but also the other two airship
s on lac Fren.
“Isn’t she beautiful!” Gaston exclaimed as he hurried towards them.
With a bulbous bottom hull, four Vinet crystals, two on the stern and two on the bow, jutting out on protractible stalks, multiple rows of cannons on both the starboard and larboard sides, and a bridge that rose up from the bow like a giant horn the last thing Bastien would have named The Northern Sunrise was beautiful. Despite his misgivings the ship did have a certain je ne sais quoi that drew him in like a particularly curious moth to a particularly hot flame.
After a short round of greetings Duc Lavouré stood aside to let Bastien look upon the airship. “So what do you think, Bastien?” he asked in a voice like that of an excited child. “I know you have a slight infatuation with airships.”
“The Vinet crystals sit upon variable struts,” Bastien mused.
“Mmmm,” agreed Gaston with a smug smile and bright eyes, all trace of the scatter-brained Duc they had come to know seemed gone. “A necessary design. Our calculations indicated that in order for a higher current and therefore higher altitude they would need to be variable in order to compensate for the increased anti-gravity field. At lower altitudes the struts retract to lessen the strain on the hull.”
Bastien gawped and quickly remembered he was not yet supposed to know about the capacity for higher altitude flight. “Is that even possible?” he asked.
“It wasn’t,” the Duc said proudly. “I myself designed the apparatus that will keep the Vinet crystal’s structural integrity while allowing for a higher current and therefore increased altitude.” The Duc paused clearly waiting for the awestruck reaction. He did not have to wait long.
“Very impressive, Gaston,” Adeline said with characteristic coolness. “I do find myself wondering why we would need to fly higher in the sky though.”
Gaston Lavouré spared Adeline a glance and the barest shell of a smile. “Oh there are hundreds of reasons but I won’t go into any of them right now. I’m afraid we won’t be taking her up today, despite it being the perfect day to test her flight.”
