by Rebecca Diem
“My father hated the thing; he worried that I would fall. But my mother understood why I wanted it, why I needed it so badly, and supervised a number of improvements herself. And I learned there was no such thing as barriers, only possibilities that had not yet been realized. So I set about reshaping the world to suit my needs.”
The Professor paused to sip her tea, “I suppose that is why I react so strongly to being labelled by such terms. They have never defined my reality, nor the reality I have worked all my life to help others achieve.”
Clara spoke up, “I never knew the story behind your inventions. But, I understand now.”
“Georgie?” Archie asked, leaning forward.
“Yes?”
“When the accident happened, you were very young. Trick, however, has not had the benefit of time to adjust to his new circumstances, nor the advantage of your outlook.”
Professor Sewell sighed, “I suppose you are correct.”
“So, perhaps it might be necessary to treat the symptoms before the cause. We must lift his mood if we are to convince him to embrace your methods.”
“Well, for me it was the library,” she said, after considering his words. “But for Trick?”
“Music,” Clara offered.
“Music… Music! His violin! Oh! Archie, my notes!” Professor Sewell shoved her tea aside and ran to the large desk at the centre of the room, pulling a quill from the half-packed satchel and dipping it in an old inkwell, blotting on a soiled handkerchief while Archie scrambled to assist. Clara was stunned by the flurry of it all. The two worked in concert, as Archie seemed to have an inhuman prescience for what Professor Sewell required.
Clara smiled and slowly backed out of the room to leave the two geniuses to their work, lost to a world of their own invention.
Chapter 11: In which our hero receives uncommonly good advice
The Captain Duke ducked into a doorway as his quarry cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder. The streets of London were filled with people rushing home for the evening meal. The sun, obscured by omnipresent clouds, was setting earlier and earlier as autumn took hold and the city was now cast in desaturated tones of grey. A cool wind sent dead leaves swirling around his feet. He had traded his long blue coat for a slate jacket that blended into the crowds and his bright hair was tucked beneath a respectable black hat. He did his best to escape notice as the man he was following paused to look over his shoulder once more before continuing down an alleyway.
The Captain proceeded to stroll at a regular pace down the street. He entered a glove shop across the way as he spied on the alley, positioning himself to see down its length as the shop girl made her pitch. A few well-placed questions and the young woman was off to the back of the store to fetch more samples as he browsed the wares at the front window. The man had disappeared. There was an unmarked door about halfway down, with no handle on the outside. Deciding it best not to prod the situation further than necessary, he made note of the location before slipping out of the shop and turning back toward the port. He needed to advise Nessa of this development.
They had found little in the way of leads on the origin of the gunpowder, but there were signs of something more sinister in play. For one, no one seemed to know of the mystery airship or its crew. Admittedly, after he and his crew had taken the airship, he had given orders for the captain to be thrown overboard and the hostage pilots to be sent off with gliders, but he now questioned if Robbie had followed his instruction to spare them. Then again, there was no word of missing men either. It was a mystery that grew greater with each discovery. What had Robbie learned to inspire his mutiny? It must have been quite the offer.
He chose the stairs once he reached the base of the tallport. Thieves had taken to stalking the elevators at some of the less guarded docks, and he was in no mood to teach them a lesson today. The London airbours were a proper mess. Tallports had popped up across the sprawling city, and the Crown was only beginning to impose regulations on them.
They had chosen this dock as their temporary home in the east docklands through Tims’ connections. It was sturdily built with good traffic, but not in the most lucrative area of town. The owner had longstanding arrangements with the local Tradist officials to be left to his own devices. His crew had stuck to targeting the outlying ports for their scheme, thinking it better to avoid the Tradist posts, but Clara would be pleased to learn of the ripe potential of the London docks if one knew whose palm to grease. He smiled to himself and made a mental note to ask Nessa to send the information along. The pilots who had journeyed to London with them had been busy, quietly picking up tithes from the less favoured merchants, befriending the local crews, right under the Tradists’ noses with hardly any trouble.
The Captain Duke passed layer upon layer of airships until he came to his own, nodding to the pilot on watch and heading straight for his quarters. Nessa was in the office, looking over the latest missives and logbooks. He glanced at the built-in shelves that took up the corner. The books were neatly arranged, just as Clara had left them. He felt a pang of nostalgia and frowned. It had been hardly a fortnight since they left the Haven. And yet it seemed her presence in his thoughts grew with each day.
“Captain? You’re earlier than I expected.”
Startled, he shook his head to clear his mind and took a chair across from Nessa. The blonde pilot had ink smudged across her nose and her braid was uncharacteristically untidy.
“You look like you could use a break.”
“Soon. Did you find the contact?”
“I was able to follow the man Alice spoke of, but I lost him in an alley off Brick St. It could be a meeting spot. Was Marie able to provide any assistance with the logs?”
“Yes, a great deal. In fact, I was about to leave a note. I’m joining her for dinner this evening and I was thinking we’d take another look together afterward.”
“Ah, I see. You know, I hear most women prefer flowers to dusty old books.”
“Marie is not most women,” Nessa grinned. “I’ll need to wash up before I leave. Could you take care of the latest missive to Reading?”
Her overly casual tone betrayed her intentions, and the Captain scowled. His narrowed eyes said she ought to leave the matter alone if she knew what was best. Naturally, she pressed the issue.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Really.”
“She’s quite busy I’m sure, there’s no need to bother Clara with every little thing. There’s nothing substantial to report. It can wait until your return.”
“This is hardly some trivial thing. The crew is scattered to the four winds, it’s crucial that we stay in contact with them.”
“I am aware.”
“So what is the real matter?”
The Captain shifted in his chair, his gaze fixed on the table, “We have not spoken since the Haven. She was… not pleased at being sent to Reading.”
“Captain, the longer you wait, the greater the rift. A woman like Clara will not wait forever.”
“Well, you’re one to talk. How many years did it take for you and Marie to stop dancing around the issue?”
“That had its own complications, not to mention the fact she was still grieving her husband when I first met her. But look at us now. A proper courtship is what she deserves and it’s what I plan to give her.”
He sighed, “Fine. What advice would you give then? After all, we seem to share a taste for uncommon women.”
“Tell her how you feel—or better yet, show her.”
“And if she’s decided she prefers a life in respectable society?”
“Doubtful. You and Clara both display an impressive obstinacy when it comes to such things.”
The Captain Duke rolled his eyes, “Clara is a lady of honour.”
“Aye, and she fancies you. The honourable thing would be to take her at her word instead of making silly assumptions. Flowers, really.” Nessa stood and stretched, gathering the books o
n the table.
Resigned, he took up position by the wireless. It was good to see Nessa so happy. She was positively humming as she took her leave. He read through the neatly composed notes and progress updates. Cat and Mouse seemed to be adjusting well to life in Reading, though there were scant details about Trick’s recovery. The other crews were in fine form, and the black market network was holding strong thanks to Tims’ careful machinations. The thought rose in his mind, as it had been wont to of late, that he had transformed into a figurehead. The work could likely continue with or without him, giving him an unfamiliar sense of liberation.
I could walk away from all of this.
But, just as quickly as it came to mind, the feeling was chased away by thoughts of his crew. He would not lightly give up the camaraderie and loyalty they had built together over the years. Still, their way of life was changing. They were adapting. And he dreamed his secret dreams of a future where their particular talents were not needed.
Nessa had waited for Marie. But it was less about the waiting and more that they each grew. They had grown into the people they needed to be for each other. Their strengths complemented each other. Together, they could be their true selves.
And perhaps that was the root of it. He had faint idea of who his true self was, and Clara too was caught between worlds. His commitment had been to his work and crew, and he had pushed concerns for his own happiness aside for so long that he hardly recognized it for what it was. Happiness. He had a chance to be happy and he was moping instead of reaching for it with both hands.
He preferred to let the rumours and legends define him, but it was not as though he lacked options. He had worn the guise of the Captain Duke for so long it felt odd to consider what might happen were he to take it off for more than a brief sojourn. With the seeds of an idea taking root in his mind, the Captain Duke bent to his task, transcribing Nessa’s notes and adding his own for the missive to Reading. He would be ready, when they met again. He would be the man she needed him to be.
Chapter 12: In which our heroine remembers better days
The next evening, they were gathered for dinner at the house once again. Professor Sewell was nowhere to be seen, but Archie arrived with a note of apology, saying she was tied up with work but would join their party later. Clara gave him a curious look – he had been away all day and was still wearing the previous night’s clothes – but he placed a finger to his lips before dashing up the stairs to shave and wash before the meal. He soon rejoined them wearing fresh clothing, though the dark circles beneath his eyes still spoke of a sleepless night.
Dinner proceeded at a snail’s pace. Trick was quiet, though whatever the children had said to him the night before seemed to have lifted his spirits somewhat. And Archie’s chef had outdone herself once more, with savoury soup followed by roast turkey and fingerling potatoes, warm rolls baked fresh that day with rosemary-infused butter, vegetables picked from the university’s garden, and even some citrus on ice before the jellied desserts. Clara made a note to thank the kitchen staff. One could manage a dinner that lacked in either conversation or quality, but never both.
It was not until they had left the dining hall for coffee and tea that, as promised, the Professor arrived. She too had changed. Her dark hair was tossed back into a messy chignon, and there was yet a tell-tale smudge of grease highlighting her left cheekbone. She was followed closely by an assistant carrying a sizeable package. Any fears that the previous evening’s events had caused irreparable offence were alleviated by her beaming smile as she went to Trick.
“Mr. Kilarney, I must beg your forgiveness.”
“No, Professor, I am the one who must apologize. You have done nothing but try to help a sorry old man and I have been the most ungrateful wretch.”
“No, please! It has been so long since my own injury, I had forgotten how unhappy it was. They told me I would never walk or run or dance again. As you can see, I proved them all wrong.”
Professor Sewell gave a small pirouette before retrieving the package.
“I shall accept your apology only if you will do me the greatest honour and assist me in testing my latest piece.”
With that, she lay the package in his lap. They gathered to watch as he removed the tissue wrapping, revealing a small case. As he opened it, a look of confusion crossed his face.
“I don’t understand, what is it?”
“Another chance,” she said softly. “May I show you?”
Archie came forward to help Trick remove his jacket. Professor Sewell fastened padding over the stump of his right arm, tucking in the seamed edge of the shortened sleeve, and buckled a harness around his shoulder. Finally, she attached the device, showing Trick how to fasten the clips as she worked. It was an unusual design, with straps that wrapped around his upper arm and a cone-shaped mechanism in place of his forearm, but no hand. Finally, she attached the final component to the delicate configuration of gears: a bow of the finest Pernambuco wood.
“Is that a Tourte?” he asked, in a tone of pure wonder.
“From our collection. But it deserves better than a dusty shelf, don’t you think? There. Is that comfortable? Now you must try it.”
Archie came forward bearing a violin, and after a moment’s hesitation, Trick reached for it with his good hand. He stared at the instrument, and then looked about the room. Clara held her breath. She had never seen the veteran pirate so anxious, and wondered if he might run from the parlour. Then, Cat pulled a silver bracelet from her wrist, laying it on the small table beside him.
“I won’t ask for Tammany’s Jig just yet, but you’ll owe me for next time.”
And with that, Trick broke into a beaming smile, breaking the tension. Clara recalled her first feast aboard the airship, Trick with his accordion, accepting small favours in exchange for songs. She bit her lip to keep from laughing and pulled a ring from her finger to set it beside the bracelet. Mouse added a delicate autobauble from his pocket. Archie and Professor Sewell caught on quickly, adding their own tokens – a silk handkerchief, a small wrench. Trick stared at the growing pile, shaking his head. The room was silent as he touched the instrument, running the fingers of his left hand over the inlaid design. Then, he looked to Cat.
“Well, I can hardly refuse such a request.”
Trick stood, flexing his arm as he tested the movement of the bow. The rest of them quickly found seats and watched with bated breath as he settled the violin against his shoulder. He placed the bow against the strings and drew it back, filling the room with a low hum. His next draw was not as successful; the bow slipped out of key and produced a jarring shriek. Trick winced, and paused, but took a breath and tried again.
Within minutes he had mastered the basic movements to place the bow as he wished, and the familiar opening bars of Tammany’s came out, halting but recognizable. Clara could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. Mouse was clenching his sister’s hand tightly, and she had put an arm around the boy. But the Professor’s face was pure delight, and Archie was beaming beside her. Trick finished the song with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before opening them.
“Well. This will do.”
He looked to Professor Sewell, and she ran to envelop him in a hug.
“I cannot thank you enough,” he said.
“That was the greatest thanks I could receive. Now, how was the tension? This is only a prototype, we wanted your input before we modified it further. I think we could shorten the bearing to improve the reach and still maintain the precision of the draw…”
Trick recovered his composure and soon was deep in conversation with the Professor over technical details and proper form. Archie came to stand by Clara, and she reached up to touch his arm.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for the idea. I should have thought of this long ago. His recovery will proceed nicely now, I think.”
“I hope so. I fear our brief peace may not last long.”
Her brother frowned.
“Clara, you know you may stay as long as you wish.”
“It isn’t quite so simple as that. I will not risk your safety and the security of this institution. There is important work being done here; you must not test the wrath of whatever or whomever is behind this intrigue.”
“The university is not so vulnerable. There are powerful allies here, bound by a common vision to change the world for the better. I only ask you to consider what might be accomplished through more… legitimate means.”
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but, not wanting to impede the goodwill of the evening, thought better of it. She took a breath and placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder,
“I will consider it, though I make no promises.”
Archie beamed, his smile growing as Professor Sewell came to join them, rattling off a list of alterations and enhancements she wished to make.
“I only hope I’ll have enough time before I leave. Archie, you must help me with the blueprints; you have far more patience with the figures. I plan to stop by the London factory and I want to include this in the new designs.”
“You’re going to London?” asked Clara.
“Unfortunately, yes. Duty calls, and I expect it will be a dry affair. The Tradists have no sense of humour and I have no patience for their silly speeches, but they do have deep pockets.”
“The Professor has a number of patents in production for the Association of Merchant Traders; they’re having a summit at the moment.”
“And are calling me away from my work to attend the silly thing. I do wish you could join me, Archie.”
“As do I, but I have lectures and I’ve already taken enough leave from my duties here. Clara, you have some… associates in London, perhaps you could provide some company.”
“Yes!” said Cat, appearing at his elbow. “That sounds like a fine idea. Clara?”
“Cat, we must attend to Trick. I’m afraid the timing is simply not right.”
