Lands Beyond Box Set: Books 1 - 3

by Kin S. Law

  “Hang on!” I cried.

  Spotting a loading ramp coming off a platform, I took advantage of it to launch off it, and onto the correct track. Another straight stretch, and suddenly the closeness of walls cut off the view.

  “They obviously do not want someone to see what they are up to!” Blair cried, his voice suddenly deafening in the closeness. The Chapman was making quite a racket herself, but a healthy racket, of well-lubricated, pressurized pistons.

  “We had best leave this track then. There will be more of them ahead!” I said.

  Easier said than done. The track sloped straight up, with no obvious exit in sight. Unless an option appeared soon, their capture was a matter of time. I toggled something in front of him, and suddenly the tunnel lit up as the engine’s own Edison bulbs bathed the tunnel in light. I had a strange feeling as the Chapman’s vents spewed more steam, and I pressed the throttle open further.

  “There’s no way out!” Blair cried, desperately peering into the distance. “Why do we have to go so fast?”

  “There’s always a way out, friend,” I said, as if soothing a star footballer who had lost his gumption. The walls blurred with speed.

  “How can you be so bloody calm?!” Blair screamed.

  “And there we are,” I said, performing another of my trademark course corrections.

  Blair’s scream turned into a wail as his neck jerked to the left. The cry was appropriate, I had to admit, seeing as we were headed into a solid wall.

  “Ahhhh!” Blair said.

  “Yee-haw!” I cried.

  There was a splintering noise, and Blair screwed his eyes shut. I laughed with boyish delight that even I have to admit sounded totally maniacal and probably convinced Blair I was a madman. The wall opened up and we left the tunnel behind. We were still on a track, but where the concrete used to be, there was now clear night sky. Teslaic and Edison lighting obscured the stars. While a bit smoky, the cool air was refreshing. I tugged my goggles down over my eyes. “Where the blazes is this?” Blair asked, sounding a little less distraught than before.

  “By my guess? Somewhere over the eastern side of Leyland. This is one of the aqueducts running over the mines and such,” I answered. “They had boarded it up.”

  “Did you know?”

  “Sure,” I said, and pressed the roadster faster.

  Two sets of tracks stretched out before us. On either side empty space yawned, falling straight down into one of the many hovel-lined quarries pockmarking Leyland like open sores. Up so high, it was easy to see the extent of the mines, and the way the black smoke vomited from stovepipes, even worse than London ton.

  “What happened to this place?” I wondered. We were in the North. The country should be green and pleasant, like Blake always said. Without the dreadful kobolds chasing us, the ride seemed almost lackadaisical, a pleasure drive over some distinctly unpleasant terrain.

  As Blair answered, he pulled his photogram machine out of his coat and began to take images of what he saw. “Mordemere. We have few actual photograms, but the few witness accounts all say the same thing. This is the cost of our militarism, Captain. All the special administrative regions are like this,” Blair recited from memory.

  “From your article. I remember. It’s just hard to accept, seen in the altogether like this,” I amended. “By the way, that would be a train.”

  Blair fell back into his seat just in time for a steaming locomotive took his place on the other track with a deafening roar. I was contributing to the din as well, with laughter born of relief, not malice.

  “At least you didn’t scream this time!” I declared, and Blair joined me in my mirth.

  “Hey, aren’t those our cohorts, Captain?”

  “Well, by Davy Jones’ gym shorts, they are!” I said, my neck twisting to follow the sudden appearance of Miss Rosa Marija and Inspector Hargreaves. They weren’t easy to miss; the flurry of Miss Marija’s ribbons took up the entire window of a train car.

  Rosa

  On the train, I used my long waist ribbons like a bullfighter’s cape—fooling the gunman’s eyes into shooting where I wasn’t. With each somersault or cartwheel, I moved behind a train seat or compartment division, slowly advancing on the gunman.

  “There’s one of him, but with this narrow train I can’t get a fix,” Hargreaves said, her .22 Tranter warm in her hand.

  “I can try to get within knife distance,” I replied. “Keep Jonah Moore safe!”

  Meanwhile, I eyed the next bit of cover, a conductor’s cabin for opening and closing the doors. I measured the distance, then somersaulted.

  The train lurched, hard, and my leg fell onto a bar between the cabin and the rest of the train.

  “Fuck!” I cursed, clutching the spot where the bar hit.

  Nothing broken, but I wouldn’t be doing any more cartwheels. I estimated I was about two seats from accurate throwing distance. Sparks erupted from the accursed bar, as a bullet winged it.

  “Rosa! Are you hurt?” Hargreaves called from further back in the train.

  Some gibberish came from the moaning Moore, something about a carriage on the tracks. Probably panic, I thought. Now to get an angle on this gunman…

  “I’m fine!” I called back.

  One chance, I thought.

  I would create a distraction and, in the one moment of opportunity, throw three knives in succession. Hopefully the number of missiles would make up for the low accuracy. If not, I would have to think of something else, though with this leg, there weren’t many options.

  “Moore says there’s something on the track!” Hargreaves relayed.

  Again with this nonsense!

  “Likely a train!” I responded.

  I did not need this right now. Instead, I looked about. Mirror, mirror, never more did I miss my vanity mirror, tucked away in my locker aboard the ’Berry. Finally, I found a reflective bit of glass in which the gunman’s hunched figure appeared quite clearly. He wore ordinary clothes, a three-piece suit, no armor. He even had a top hat.

  For a moment, the glass showed a glimpse of a brown buccaneer coat, and a flash of British racing green. I shook it off as a mirage. Battle fever, yes, that was it. There was no way Albion Clemens would come to my rescue, no matter how much I wished it. He always was an insensitive, untimely lout.

  “Oy!” I called instead to the gunman. “You, twat!”

  It was now or never. I waited until the gunman straightened, having located me with all the yelling. Then, in a flash, I threw one sliver of metal away with my left hand, spun, and launched three more with the momentum out of my right hand. The left knife struck first, and the flintlock sliver in the core slipped back, setting the gun cotton in the handle aflame. It was my especially flashy mixture, designed to provide an instant spotlight for particularly glamorous outfits as the incendiary set the metal powder alight, creating a fall of white-hot sparks.

  The gunman’s aim shifted infinitesimally away from me as he turned to look at the fireworks. The train seemed to slow. The scenery came back from a blur into cohesion.

  I sighted the three knives as they left my fingers. The leftmost would never make it. It had been a Hail Mary, anyway. The other two were promising. My bet was on the middle, on a straight trajectory for the man’s jugular. My focus was so intent that I nearly didn’t see the 1890’s Chapman Eight in British racing green, filling one of the train’s windows with its charming, oblong-shaped grille.

  To my chagrin, I never found out which of the knives made it into the man’s neck. The neck, and everything attached, were lost when the roadster entered the train at speed and pushed the gunman out the opposite window. His screams could be heard all the way down into the quarry below.

  21

  For Little Old Ladies, It Ain’t

  “How was the crawl?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The pub, the pub crawl, how was it? Any good stouts up here?”

  Captain Albion Clemens stared wide-eyed at me, looking
like an owl from the circles where his goggles shielded his eyes from the soot of the road. Lacking any coherent answer, I brushed my blonde hair out of my eyes and examined the situation as an Inspector would. It was, technically, an automotive accident. I had taken a seminar for it, though I didn’t think I would have a chance to calm any crying victims.

  Clemens stood before me, just beside Rosa, who examined her shin where a red welt was beginning to form. The captain had offered to look at it for her, but Rosa seemed to be annoyed, perhaps at the method of the Clemens’ entry. Elric Blair was still extracting himself from the straps of what looked to be a very long, narrow vehicle, of the wealthy, young pleasure-seeking persuasion, in a pleasing shade of green. Behind me, the elderly Jonah Moore approached, having followed forward through the cars. All the while, the train was still moving, trundling along as if nothing had happened. I supposed the engine tenders hadn’t heard the crash over the routine operation of the train.

  “Um...fine, I guess. Ale was a bit light for my taste,” I managed, if only to get rid of Captain Clemens’ weird, wide-eyed stare. He was clearly inebriated on some aftershock effect.

  “Ah. A shame, I guess,” Clemens said, but at least he turned away. Seeing Jonah Moore, he looked him up and down. “Well, now! Old-timer, how have you been? Please, sit; it’s a little dicey up in the front here, though; the chairs are all messed up. You know the engines today, so fragile, not safe at all.” Clemens seemed to think it was natural for doddering old men to approach vehicular collisions. If he had a canister of tea he might have shared it, pulled hot from the wreckage of the roadster. He had no idea why Moore was here or who he was.

  One wheel fell off the front of the Chapman, rolling to a stop near Clemens’ feet. Clearly, the crash had been enjoyable for the captain.

  I walked over to Rosa, and knelt. “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “I lost three good knives. Damn,” Rosa replied.

  “Are all pirates thrill-seeking madmen?” I asked.

  To my surprise, both Rosa and Clemens laughed.

  “Right, then. We had better leave immediately. Old-timer, you never saw us!” Clemens declared.

  “Wait, he’s with us,” I protested. I took a moment to explain, and the captain related the journey underground as well.

  “The Jonah Moore? Holy crap, I was just reading about you,” Clemens exclaimed once he had it straight.

  “The honor is mine,” Moore replied, finally able to get a word in edgewise. “A real-life aeronaut, and a pirate to boot. I feel our work was not all for nothing, after all.”

  Clemens grasped the old gentleman’s hand and began pumping it like he was filling a tire. “Oh, wow. I suppose you had better come with us, then!” Clemens said, and began to stride away from the Chapman.

  Seeing little choice, I looked around, shrugged, and followed the swish of Clemens’s buccaneer coat.

  As they pulled into the station, we were able to sneak off the rearmost car, walking up another set of stairs until we were once more on the surface. Knots of clankers trod heavily toward the now chaotic station. As we passed the worst of the crowd, I saw a brace of kobolds arrive at the stairway, as well as a shadow pass overhead, some kind of agile dirigible adapted for the tall buildings. All of Leyland seemed up in arms.

  As well they should. It would only be a matter of time before our little band of insurgents were discovered. Captain Clemens cautioned everyone to be like a rock before a waterfall; serene and placid in the face of a maelstrom. To my relief, everyone looked just as confused. Save for Rosa, that was, who nodded.

  “How about it, Jonah Moore? Would you like to leave Leyland with us?” Clemens asked once we were retired to a relatively deserted alley.

  We had actually come up not too far from the parked Fjord. Between us and it there lay five or six busy thoroughfares full of blind corners and tall factories. There were certainly more clankers, and more kobolds patrolling the main streets.

  Moore looked a little taken aback, as if the thought of leaving had never once crossed his mind. Still, he took a moment to think about it.

  “There were probably a lot of people who saw you with us. You wouldn’t be safe here anymore, once Mordemere finds out,” Rosa pointed out.

  “There’s always room on The Huckleberry,” Clemens said.

  Moore looked around to see me and Blair both nodding agreeably.

  “I don’t see why not. I can help you dismantle Mordemere’s plans. My word, I haven’t seen London in years, think of the photogram opportunities!” Moore proclaimed. “A real airship! Yes, yes; I think I will.”

  “We had just gotten round to what exactly Mordemere was planning,” said Rosa, getting into the swing of things. “You’ll have to explain further once we get to our transport. It might get a little rough.”

  “Imagine! Stealing whole landmarks!” I agreed, thinking on Westminster.

  The Houses of Parliament, not to mention Big Ben, were the focal points of the devotion and faith of the entire Commonwealth, not simply the Pax Brittania. If Rosa had been telling the truth, then so far Mordemere had three such symbols on his hands: The Houses, Paris’ Eiffel Tower, and the most part of the Vatican. He must have a veritable island fortress floating in the sky by now, positively brimming over with aeon power.

  The group marched off as one, headed roughly toward the old Fjord. Following Clemens’ lead, we took cover before squads of clankers. Thankfully, the racket we had made drew enforcers to the station from all directions. The kobolds with their tons of metal were even louder, crunching the pavement into gravel.

  As the pirate gang snuck past street after street, however, I noticed the ever-observant Elric Blair with a far-off look in his eye.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” I whispered, drawing up level with the journalist.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Blair answered.

  The clankers had an unnerving effect on most, but on Blair most of all. It came as no surprise to me. The man carried no real defenses, save his quick thinking. Even Jonah Moore was calmer. After all, they would simply detain and return him if caught.

  Blair swallowed hard before going on. “When we ran into the Ottoman Balaenopteron warship below Leyland, they were transporting something heavy into Mordemere’s stores.”

  “Most likely some currency not likely to depreciate during an armed conflict, like gold,” I replied. “The Ottomans are pushing outward every day, and their raiders threaten all dirigible traffic on the Eastern Mediterranean. War might be the only option in a few months.”

  When it came to pirating, clandestine investigating and wanton acts of civil vandalism, I was an amateur. But as to the tactics of common criminals, even those working on a global stage, I was positively a pundit.

  “Or aeon stones,” Blair continued. “Think of it, how many stones would it take for Mordemere to lift one building? Let alone several city blocks? Is it even possible?”

  “And unless he’s setting it down very near to its original destination, he would have to keep the piece of real estate hovering in the air long enough to work on it with his alchemy somehow,” I agreed.

  It was certainly an interesting problem, but I knew little about lift compound. I made a note to look into it with the pirates, perhaps Cid Tanner, at a later date. We had been exchanging blows on his knackered chess board while The ’Berry sailed, and the Oxfordian knew a lot about metallurgy and aeon mechanics.

  Clemens drew up to a halt behind some old rubbish bins, and peeked over the edge while everyone else held a painful crouch. My form-fitting outfit pulled and pinched. Perhaps Rosa had the right of it with her more liberal dress sense. Extra exposure also meant extra wiggle room.

  “All right,” Clemens said. “The Fjord is across the street, but they’re trying to commandeer it as we speak.”

  “Have they made the connection to us?” I asked, already scouting an escape route.

  “No. I think I may have parked in an illegal zone,” Clemens admitted
with a sheepish look. The look went away as soon as he drew his Victoria. The big black gun made both Blair and Moore cringe. “Anyway it’s two clankers. I say we take them.”

  “Captain Albion Clemens, shame on you!” I hissed.

  “We agreed, nothing too pirate…sort of. I intend to follow the spirit of our agreement. We will shoot to wound, and aim for any exposed mechanical components. I think I can put a leak in the tank from here, and Rosa can gum up any steamworks. I’ve seen her throw more than one propulsion screw out of alignment.”

  Rosa blew a silent raspberry.

  “All right. I will endeavor to do the same,” I agreed, pulling my Trantor. The little gun was small caliber, and very unlikely to penetrate armor. But I felt better having it in hand.

  “Wait, wait!” Blair whispered, just before the three armed members of the party launched an all-out attack. “We might draw others. Just, just wait here!”

  Before anyone could stop him, Blair ran around the corner. Everyone held their breath. Through a gap in the vehicles on the street, we saw Blair gesticulate wildly and talk quickly to the hooded peacekeepers huddled near the bonnet of the Fjord. Then, miraculously, the two clankers looked to one another and ran off away from our vehicle.

  “What did you tell them?” Clemens asked as the group ran up to Blair.

  “I said I saw Jonah Moore, running from pirates in the other direction. We should probably hurry, they won’t have to go far before they realize there are more clankers over by the station.”

  “Flavoring a lie with the truth. I like you more every day, gorgeous,” Rosa said. She planted a kiss on Blair’s cheek before climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “Aw, Rosa!” Clemens protested.

  “You had your fun with the Chapman, Alby. Now I get to drive!”

  Winking at the blushing Blair, I also climbed aboard, helping Jonah Moore with his cane. His sure movement made it clear he was perfectly able to ascend into the Fjord on his own. It was something I had noticed since the Leyland Cross, and except for having oddly cool hands, Moore seemed a hale old man. It struck me as strange that he even carried the cane.