by Rebecca Diem
“Trick?” she asked finally.
He acknowledged her with a slow nod.
“I wish we had the crew with us. I know it was my plan, but I don’t like this—all of us split up like this.”
He turned his face to her, and Clara could see the pain shadowing his eyes. Heart shattered, she came to kneel by his side, taking his good hand.
“Pay me no mind, I worry about such silly things. And now I’ve gone and upset you.”
He shook his head, “No, not at all. Don’t fret—it helps to keep my mind from darker thoughts.”
“Then mine will be of little help. I just—I think I worry that I could wake up tomorrow and have it all be a dream. Even on the raids, it still felt as though we had our own little world. I fear we may never have that again.”
“You will always be a child of two worlds. You and the Captain have that in common. But he’ll not be giving up his crew. He’ll bring us all back together ere long. Besides, he has a soft spot for ye, aye?”
A half smile, but a real one. Clara felt a blush growing on her cheeks.
“Perhaps, but—,” she started, before realizing she did not yet have the words.
“But you thought he’d want you by his side.”
She struggled to express herself as she felt the flush rising on her cheeks, “I wanted to be asked. It’s not that I didn’t want to accompany you, or spend more time with my brother, it’s just…”
Trick sighed, “You’ve the soul of an adventurer, Miss Clara. I’ve seen it since the first time ye saved our skins. But you’re a woman of action, and the Captain is a thinker. It’s how we’ve managed to stay ahead of the Tradists all this time. They never expected someone as clever as the Captain Duke to get in their way. And between the two of ye, we’ll know soon what kind of scheme they’re cooking. They’re well outmatched.”
“So we figure out their plan and stop them.” She shook her head, “Then what?”
“You want a fortune teller? I know of a decent one near Galway.”
Clara narrowed her eyes, but Trick gave a bitter laugh.
“The future holds no certainty at all, Miss Clara. I know that better than most,” he said, gesturing with the stump of his arm. The humour faded, the pain returned. “The measure of a person is in how they face their circumstances, or change them, like you did.”
“Like you will,” she replied.
Trick took a deep breath, “I will see Archie’s professor, but I make no promises. I’m not a young man any more. I’m willing to accept my fate.”
“But you told the Captain—,”
“I told the Captain what he needed to hear so he could do his duty by the crew. I will not be a burden.”
“You are no burden at all,” she protested. “Trick, we need you. We rely on your counsel. You speak of the Captain’s cleverness, but you say nothing of your own. He would not have come this far without you, none of us would. Nessa may well have dropped me at the nearest hamlet had it not been for you.”
“Aye. Which is why I know the Captain will be back. He’ll need you now, Clara.”
“I—pardon?”
“You inspire him to be a better man. And you, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve gone from a headstrong debutante to a respected leader among the crew. But the both of ye need to finish growing before you can know where your story leads.”
Clara mulled over Trick’s words. Below, shadows moved in great sweeps over the countryside from the clouds that dotted the sky. The sun had painted a silhouette of the airship too, steadily tacking their progress over forest and field. Villages started to dot the landscape, growing closer together as they neared their destination. It was a tranquil scene, but for Clara it felt like the calm before the storm. She took a deep breath, her mind no clearer than before, but tranquil at last. When it came time for her to return above deck to assist with the landing, she squeezed Trick’s hand, wishing some of her strength into her friend.
“There will be a future for us—all of us—and you will be a part of it,” she said.
The words came out with an unexpected intensity, surprising both of them. But Clara swallowed the lump in her throat and waited for Trick to nod in affirmation before going above.
Reading was an interesting cluster of shops and houses—larger than Clara had expected, but still carrying a sense of quaint charm amidst the more obvious signs of its position at the forefront of the recent wave of invention. There were turbine generators on all the houses, and some of the public buildings even bore clusters of the photovoltaic cells which had become the latest darling of the scientific community. There was a quadruple tallport by the docks, but one of more recent design stretched above the new university. Three matching tiers stretched out to them in welcome.
“Oh you needn’t bother with the ropes,” Archie called, as she began to prepare for the docking.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The Professor is expecting us. We’re going to test our new gangplank.”
Clara looked at Cat, who had climbed down from her perch, and shrugged. They stood together at the rail to watch as Mouse steered them toward the highest tier, following her brother’s instructions. A lone figure stood at the end of one of the spokes. Around half of the ports were taken up by all manner of vessels, a mix of the sleek and elegant Skyflyer-class hybrids with older, wooden vessels. There was one of such bright trappings and ornate design that it must have come all the way from India. The new campus must draw students from across the empire, Clara thought, as a flash of light caught her eye. A sunbeam had broken through the clouds to illuminate the tallport and the young woman who stood before them, skirts tied back to drape neatly around a bright, mechanical leg.
Their attention was quickly stolen by the strange trappings of the port. As Archie manoeuvred the airship into position, the Professor pulled a lever and a metallic gangplank unfurled toward them, piece by piece, until it had latched onto the hull, stabilizing the airship before expanding into a small stairway. It was an odd sight, and struck a chord of discomfort in Clara. She regarded it with apprehension, but after checking the fastenings she took a breath and stepped onto the solid platform. By all rights, it should have been Trick greeting their new host as the highest ranking officer. But for the moment it was Clara’s responsibility, and she held her head high as she walked down the gangway.
“Welcome to Lovelace University, Lady Whittington,” said the woman, reaching out a hand in assistance.
“Please, call me Clara. And you must be the professor my brother has told me so much about,” she replied.
Archie cleared his throat loudly from the platform behind her, and she stepped aside to make room for him.
“Professor,” he said, with a slight bow and a smile before turning to their party. “May I introduce you to Professor Georgina Jameson Sewell, the finest scholar of biomechanical apparatus and manipulations.”
She was younger than Clara had expected. Her raven black hair was pulled back into a twist, and a pair of magnifying spectacles rested on top of her head.
“The original scholar, if I’ve heard correctly. My brother raves about your genius,” Clara said, amused by the faint blush that crossed both of their cheeks. “I am ever so grateful for your offer to help our friend.”
“A friend of the Whittingtons is a friend of mine. I will certainly do everything in my power to ensure he receives the best treatment.”
Introductions were made as the others crossed over. Trick came next, a heavy coat draped over his shoulders to hide his injury, and he cradled his arm close to his body. Mouse stayed by his side, with a look of concern, but he gave the first officer his space. Cat followed behind, shoulders thrown back as she took in the professor and the campus below.
“Professor, this is our dear friend, Trick Kilarney, and his niece and nephew, Catherine and Morris. They’ll be joining us for the duration of his treatment.”
“Come, come. We’ll send the porter for your thin
gs,” said Professor Sewell. “You must join me for tea before you continue home. Mr. Kilarney, I’m particularly interested in learning more of your situation.”
Trick mumbled something in response, but it came out as more of a grunt. The weathered pirate was looking distinctly ill at ease. Clara stepped in to thank their host and accept the Professor’s invitation. Then their little band made their way down the elevator and towards a grand building at the end of a manicured path.
Clara stayed by Trick’s side as they walked, hoping that his mood would improve as he became more familiar with his surroundings. She took in the gardens and the students strolling between the buildings. A small group was playing with some number of small, complex gadgets as they sat on the grass. She smiled at the camaraderie on display as they tested their inventions against one another. But her notice was drawn to Professor Sewell and her brother, walking before them. Her gait was brisk and natural, no obvious signs of impact from the mechanical nature of her limb. They could see the delicate gears as they worked to create the fluid movement. She stole a quick glance at Trick to see if he was watching too, but his eyes were fixed on the ground before him.
“The modifications to the upper level gangplank worked beautifully. You’ve improved on my designs,” said Archie, keeping up the flow of conversation.
“For the most part, but just last week the docking system on the second tier took a chip out of Lady Palmer’s favourite coach. The interns did their best but I would be in your debt if you would review their work.”
“Of course, Professor,” he answered, and Clara could hear the smile in his voice as they entered the building.
They settled into an elegant drawing room as the college’s staff set out a tea service laden with biscuits. They were still in their travel clothes, Clara realized, but the Professor did not seem to mind. She herself had the appearance of one for whom clothing was an afterthought, giving little care for propriety or the expectations of her gender in favour of more pressing concerns. Clara approved. She had almost forgotten the habit in polite society of changing one’s clothes thrice or more in a day, a ritual she did not miss.
“Please, take a biscuit. We have an abundance of them,” said Professor Sewell with a gentle smile, offering the children a plate of the treats. Cat and Mouse were sitting ramrod straight, feet tucked beneath the chairs, hands folded in their laps. But at her offer, Mouse relaxed a little, taking one from the plate before passing it to his sister.
“You know, I actually missed these,” said Archie, taking three and stuffing one in his mouth, whole. Clara smirked. Swallowing, he licked his lips and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Huntley and Palmers, the town is quite famous for them.”
“Oh, like the tins?” asked Cat, her interest peaked.
Professor Sewell brightened, “Yes! We have a collection of them on display in the Founder’s Hall. Mrs. Eddie Poulton—formerly Miss Emily Palmer—was a student here. One of my classmates, actually. Her family donated the land for the campus. I’d be more than happy to have one of my assistants give you a tour once you’ve settled in.”
“Thank you, I would like that.”
“Excellent!”
The Professor was beaming, but the smile and manners did not quite suit her. She did not seem false, only very eager to make a good impression. Clara looked around the room, taking in the varying degrees of discomfort. Cat was warming to their host, but her guard was up. She was being ever so polite and distant, far from her usual self. Mouse bore a guilty look as he tried to sip his tea but ended up slurping it noisily. He kept glancing at the nearby shelves and Clara knew he was resisting the urge to inspect all the artefacts and knickknacks on display. Trick was too quiet, too reserved, and rather out of his element. She wondered if they had made a mistake taking him from the Haven and the impact it might have on his recovery. She was glad, in the end, that the Captain had sent her and the children to stay by Trick’s side. It looked as though he would need them. Only Archie seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, munching on biscuits without a care, and teasing his supervisor in a rather unprofessional manner. However, as Clara watched, she saw Professor Sewell begin to relax, even daring to make a few jests as they caught up on the events of the previous weeks. Clara hid a smile behind her teacup as she realised her brother’s leisurely affectations were his way of helping her to feel more comfortable.
“And then Jenny—bless her soul—she mixed up the hydraulics and sent Davis tumbling backwards as soon as he tried to take a step. Honestly, that girl is a genius wrencher but she cannot tell her left from her right. I’ve sent her back to practicing on the autobaubles.”
“I have an idea,” Archie replied. “I met a charming gentleman inventor on my trip—Master Tims, he runs the general store in Keswick—and he had the most ingenious solution while teaching his young daughter to assist him. He tied a red ribbon around one of her wrists—red for her right hand. I think Jenny might excel with a bit of accommodation in her training.”
“What a charming solution, how old is the girl?”
“I can’t be sure. Clara, do you know?”
“Lottie Tims? No more than four, I’d say.”
“Lottie will be four in the spring. She’s quite a smart ‘un though,” offered Cat.
“And already getting into mechanical manipulations, just darling! I should very much like to meet her, perhaps she will study here one day. It’s wonderful to see them start so young,” said Professor Sewell.
“You were one of the first students here, if Archie’s told me correctly,” Clara smiled.
“I had to beg for it, but Mrs. Somerville allowed me to join the first class. There were only six of us at the time, and I was barely 12 years old. But I had been in regular correspondence with her since I was eight, so it didn’t take much convincing. All of the first classes were young women she had mentored in some capacity, or their daughters. Ada Lovelace was once a pupil of hers, you know? It’s how the Lovelace family was compelled to give such a generous donation to the school.”
It was Clara’s interest that peaked now, “I’ve heard stories of her work with Charles Babbage.”
“We have a collection of her papers in the library. The Department of Analytics is still in its early stages, but we have an arrangement between Lovelace and Oxford to share our resources in the advancement of its work. Similar to the arrangement with Archie’s department, though he was the first visiting scholar to come our way.”
“How do you mean?” Clara asked, intrigued by the colour rising in her brother’s cheeks.
“Well, usually our students complete their studies here, and seek further education at Oxford, Cambridge or abroad. When we first received his request we were not quite sure how to proceed.”
“What she means is they doubted my scholarly intentions,” he said, laughing at her protestations. “Now, now, Professor. I know I caused a bit of a disruption. Let’s just say that it became clear through my studies that I would forever be playing catch-up unless I could receive tutelage from the best in the world. And all of the papers on the subject were authored by a G. J. Sewell.”
“He started sending me letters, you see. My published papers are always some months behind our current innovations. We’re able to adapt the technology much faster than in the initial stages of development.”
“And then you did the lecture in London that I attended.”
“You thought I was my own wife!”
“And you quickly disabused me of such a horrid notion. I spent the next six months apologizing.”
“He did no such thing. But he did send along an original Arabic text on algebraic calculations that was of particular value in developing a new theorem on the hydraulic systems.”
“Well, would you have ever spoken to me again—let alone accepted my application as a visiting scholar—if I’d sent flowers?”
Clara felt a small kick on her chair from Trick, and quickly closed her gaping mouth, covering her amusement by se
eking out another biscuit.
The Professor flushed as she recalled their company.
“Of course, you must all be tired from your travels. Do take the rest of the day to settle in. I have some work to finish, but I hope you will join me for dinner this evening.”
Clara accepted the invitation and their little group boarded a small mechanicab to take them around the corner to Archie’s home, a respectable house on Kendrick Road. The household staff collected their belongings and showed them to their rooms. The children were bemused by the offers of assistance to set out their clothes for the evening. Thankfully, they each had a set of fine clothing, courtesy of Mrs. Cottingham, rarely used and usually worn as part of some scheme. It would serve their needs just fine.
Clara settled in for an afternoon nap, vowing to quiz her brother on his friendship with the Professor that evening. If she could not act on her intentions towards the Captain Duke, she could at least meddle a little in her brother’s life. She would make sure her brother did not make the same mistake she did, leaving important things unsaid. She closed her eyes and dreamed of blue eyes framed by tangled red locks.
Chapter 9: In which our hero meets an ally in the sky
Their departure had been uneventful. Before, the Captain Duke had always been eager to leave the Haven in search of adventure with nary a glance behind. This time, he had stood with Nessa at the stern as they watched their home disappear into the trees, half-destroyed, blackened by smoke and streaked by rain. The grand old manor bore its wounds with dignity, but the Captain was struck by the frailty of it all. More, he was stunned by his own need for the Haven to be solid, secure. As a man who lived most of his life in the skies, he had thought himself immune to the pull of permanence. In truth, he needed that anchor, and was wondering if his adventures had been made possible in part because he always had it to return to.
