by Sadie Swift
She rests her head upon my shoulder and takes a breath, knowing I’m right. “Thank you, Miss Lovelady.”
“Alice,” I whisper.
Her head comes up and I see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. She smiles at me, “Alice.” With a sniff and quick wipe of her eyes, she composes herself and our eyes meet again at feeling our mutual reluctance at having to release each other from our arms.
She turns to face the assembled ladies and, like some charismatic leader of old, begins to speak forcefully at them. I can see they’re responding and when she finishes they give her resounding cheers.
Francesca turns to Elisabetta and gives her instructions, whereupon she rushes back out of the door.
“I’ve told her to get the rest of the group ready and to meet us at the docks from where the boats for San Michele leave. We shall wrest the island from their bloody hands!” I resolve to believe that she used the term figuratively and did not decide to enter the gutter with her vernacular.
She then addresses the ladies who seem quite excited at fighting back against those who’d hurt them so much. I feel slightly worried for Sir Percival, what with him being one of the enemy as it were, and resolve to do my best to protect him from any shenanigans the ladies might try on him. I could already tell that the elderly grandmother-type was one to keep my eye on - she was a sure bet to be a dab-hand with a sharpened knitting needle.
Fifteen
The ladies, Sir Percival, and I follow the still disguised Francesca along narrow streets on our journey to the boats. Our numbers are swelled by many ladies who weren’t at the meeting. I glance behind me and it looks rather like almost the whole female population of Venice has come together to fight back against those who’d caused so much fear and heartbreak. The noise of our shoes on the stone sounds like a continuous rumble of thunder left over from the storm we flew through. The pedestrians we pass press themselves as much as possible against the side walls to avoid being trampled by the sheer number of determined ladies heading in one direction.
We emerge onto yet more docks. Directly ahead of us is a dark stretch of water larger than the Grand Canal leading up to an island. Lights on it show that it’s surrounded by a wall with trees poking out over the top. I assume this is San Michele, the cemetery island.
The gondoliers and boat wranglers look with surprise at one of their number leading a mass of women, myself, and Sir Percival, suddenly into their midst.
Looking out over the water I notice that a glow similar to the one we saw earlier shows in the water to our left, but also to our right, with both parts heading past the island. It looks rather like a strange triangle with San Michele at the top.
Voices from the ladies spreading out along the dock indicate that quite a few of them haven’t seen this before now. Suddenly the glow brightens considerably on the right hand side and a bright purple pulse heads out from the island. Cries of surprise meet the sight and Francesca shouts in Italian above the confused voices. Her hand points to the island in front of us and then the boats along the dock.
Finishing her exhortation she says to myself and Sir Percival, “Wait here.” Whereupon she heads into the mass of ladies to give further orders.
The ladies then split up and swarm determinedly onto the boats, the few men who voice their outrage at such an action are given short shrift and find themselves thrown overboard. Thankfully many others decide that the best place for them to be is anywhere else. I wasn’t too sure about ladies piloting boats and so forth but realise that they’ve been doing it most of their lives, perhaps even having to do it to collect their daily bread.
In what can only be less than a minute my eye catches the sight of a bright purple pulse racing from our left-hand side back towards San Michele, as if forming some sort of loop.
But there isn’t time to ponder what is happening as Francesca indicates to Sir Percival and I to follow her and several other ladies onto a boat she’s decided to appropriate. Luckily the hapless owner has decided to vacate it. Quickly she heads to the pilot’s cabin while another lady feeds coal into the steam engine at the rear and brings the boiler pressure up. With a loud burst of a steam whistle we cast off.
Around us the water is filled with boats all heading in one direction – the cemetery island.
Sixteen
With a double-sound of the whistle I see Francesca’s orders being followed - some boats continue their course heading straight towards what appears to be an entrance with a docking platform in the middle of the wall ahead of us, while others split off to the right to go around the island, and we and two others head to the left of the island passing round its corner.
Sir Percival turns from looking out of the window (I presume a similar reaction whilst in a boat full of ladies to that in a room full of ladies) and leans over to me. The noise of the steam engine prevents normal conversation from being possible so I have the unfortunate sensation of his hairy face close to my ear.
“I believe our approach has not gone unnoticed, Miss Lovelady!”
“Why?”
As an answer he indicates the walls of the island. I notice that the lights seem to be dimming for some reason.
Looking closer I see white coils of mist flowing over the walls and in among our fellow boats. Was this the same sort that we encountered earlier in our visit? I tap Francesca’s arm and point it out to her.
An angry Italian word escapes from her lips and she indicates a swinging lantern hanging to one side to me. “Light it and go outside and hold it up so the others know where I am!”
I quickly do as asked and stand on the side of the boat, holding on to a metal rail atop the pilot’s cabin with one hand and holding up the lantern with my other, rather like the American Statue of Liberty. After a few moments I see the others have decided to follow my lead and lights appear above the boats.
While I’m outside I also see the mist change shockingly quickly into a thick fog, wrapping us all in a humid white blanket, dangerously foreshortening Francesca’s view of what is ahead of her.
Just then another purple pulse speeds past the boat on the starboard side and turn sharp right, its light illuminating the fog surrounding us and making me feel like I’m inside an enormous boiled sweet.
I feel the boat turn to the right following its path, and I surmise that Francesca is using it as a direction indicator. I’d probably do the same in her place what with the fog now so thick I can barely see my outstretched hand in front of me. For some reason my special dark sight doesn’t work in fog. I turn my head to look back to see if I can make out any of the other lanterns but merely feel beads of moisture forming on my face and hair. I can only hope that the other ladies have a similar thought to Francesca’s and also decide to follow the purple trail, but also that the aether enters San Michele into a harbour and not directly through a wall.
After a few more minutes I see a purple glow ahead of us, but this time its light fades away. Initially I’m puzzled, but then realise it must have been the other side of the aether conduit – the one heading away from the island to loop around the Grand Canal and then back again. We must be close to their point of origin, but possibly also to the boats Francesca sent to flank San Michele.
Francesca makes the steam whistle blast out again, startling me. Mere moments later come the sounds of other horns, but there is no way to tell where the other boats are, or even how close they are to us in the thick fog.
Yet another aetheric purple light appears, but something is different about it. Then I realise why – it’s up in the air ahead of us, and my sense of danger is yelling at me.
Seventeen
A deafening sound blares out like a thousand steam whistles, but with a deeper tone to it. It’s so loud I have to let go of the railing and drop the lantern to cover my ears against it. Luckily the lantern only bounces onto the pilot’s cabin roof and is stopped from rolling off into the water by the railing.
Mercifully the loud noise only lasts a few seconds.
Francesca knocks on the window and shouts, “What was that?”
“I don’t know! But there’s aether in the sky! Sir Percival!” I cry out, wanting to get his experience on the matter, and why I’m getting the feeling of danger from it.
His hairy face appears, startling me. He looks even more dishevelled than normal, possibly due to the extreme humidity playing havoc with his facial hair. I pick up the lantern again and hold it up hoping some of its light will be seen by those in the other boats. “There’s aether in the sky!”
His eyebrows rise up in perplexity and he quickly heads to the cabin door to exit and have a look for himself.
The sound of loud thuds and then splashes, come to me through the fog. What is going on?
While we’ve been talking I get the feeling that the purple light has somehow moved closer to us, setting off even more danger warnings in me.
“It looks like it’s getting closer, Sir Percival.”
“Does it look like it’s moving erratically, or with purpose, Miss Lovelady?”
“I only saw it a few seconds ago. I don’t know.”
We stand silently looking up at the purple light. Francesca sounds the whistle again, trying to let the other boats know where we are, but it only causes a cacophony of other whistles to be sound, with no indication of their positions in relation to us.
“I concur that it’s heading our way, Miss Lovelady.”
“Should we be concerned?”
“Very.”
I bang on the window to gain Francesca’s attention. She looks at me and I yell, “Can we move away from the light?”
“No! We don’t know where the other boats are!”
“I feared as much,” said Sir Percival.
The deafening steam scream sounds again. I clap my hands over my ears against the noise. But this time when I let go of the lantern it bounces over the railing and before I can catch it it falls overboard.
How will the other boats see us now? After the noise ends I quickly bang on the window to get Francesca’s attention. When she looks at me I cry, “Do you have another lantern?”
“No!”
I look around hoping to see any lanterns on any boats near to us, but can’t see anything through the thick fog except the strange aetheric purple light in the air.
The boat slows down and I can only guess that Francesca is using her knowledge of San Michele to bring us in to a dock.
The sounds of splashes reach me. What is it?
“The light is moving away,” Sir Percival informs me.
My feeling of danger seems to have decreased slightly, but not disappeared altogether. “Do you think it was attracted to the lantern light?”
He ponders the question while smoothing water droplets off his moustache and beard. “If it was then it’s something I’ve never heard of before.”
Well, considering we never knew about the aether conduit underneath the Grand Canal I’d say that was currently par for the course.
I see the purple light growing fainter. Then the horrible noise sounds again, only slightly less deafening. But then we hear the sounds of wood being smashed and women screaming.
Eighteen
Frustration burns within me. With all my heart I want to go and help whoever it is that’s screaming but have no idea where they are in the thick fog.
The smashing sounds end, but I let loose an angry sob at hearing the screams of pain continuing, and then slowly cease. I pray that they are fine and someone is looking after them.
What horror have the Men of the Cog created?
The boat turns sharply to the right almost throwing me off the side.
“Hold on!” Francesca cries out to us.
Sir Percival and I do as she says and grip hold of the metal railing. The boat judders and a high-pitched shriek sounds as the side of the boat scrapes against something. Then, with a loud BANG!, we’re almost knocked off our feet as it stops suddenly with the sound of splintering wood. I don’t think it’s owner is going to be very pleased at the state it’s now in, especially as the deck is listing at an angle.
Francesca hurries back to the steam engine and disengages it before ushering the other ladies out, saying something in Italian to them. They all look slightly shell-shocked at what’s been going on. I bet this wasn’t something they’d expected even in their worst nightmares.
A call in Italian comes from one of them behind us and the rest of the ladies begin to head in that direction along the sloping deck.
“Come, we need to get off the boat,” Francesca says to Sir Percival and I, taking my hand in hers.
“Do you have any idea what was going on out there?” I ask.
“No. I can only guess. I think one of the boats was sunk. But how? I don’t know,” she shrugs.
I stop walking and grasp her hand tightly, holding her back from joining the others. Puzzled she looks at me. When I see Sir Percival’s back disappear into the fog I quickly reach for her moustache and take it off, then hastily put my arm round her waist pulling her closer, and press my lips against hers, feeling her body against mine. My heart thumps at what I’m doing, and thumps again at feeling her eagerly respond. But then she pulls away, “We have a job to do, Alice,” she whispers, giving me a quick kiss in reply. “Later,” she adds, her eyes smouldering, and pulls me after the others.
I know I really shouldn’t have, it’s just that I’ve not felt this way about another girl since Katherine was taken from me.
I am, of course, most determined to hold her to her word.
Nineteen
Helped by some faint white lights to our left we walk along the sloping deck in the direction the others took, to find Sir Percival waiting for us. Or, more likely, waiting for me, being the only female he’s even possibly remotely comfortable with. We step off the bashed and battered side of the boat onto a bashed and battered splintered wooden dock, and then onto firm flagstones. Or as firm as they can be in the middle of a coastal lagoon. The white lights seem to be atop wooden poles. Probably there to help guide boats to the dock.
We’re now among the enemy, along with something large enough to smash boats.
Thick fog surrounds us. Where has everyone gone?
Francesca whispers something in Italian. Moments later one of the other ladies appears and a hasty conversation begins.
“Do you have any idea what that was, Sir Percival?” I ask quietly, while Francesca is busy.
“No, Miss Lovelady. But now we’re here we need to get to the machinery.”
Did that mean I’d have to leave Francesca so she can look after the other ladies?
Francesca stops talking and turns back to us. She looks much nicer without the moustache, which is still in my hand.
“We need to get to the aetheric machinery,” I whisper, not wanting to call any more attention to ourselves. “Is there a likely place it will be?”
Just then more loud splashes and the sounds of wood being smashed come to us. I can’t make out any screams, but even then can’t be sure that no other ladies have been injured.
Francesca hurriedly whispers something to the ladies and more hasty whispers ensue between them, culminating in the one we can see turning her back on Francesca. Initially I feel this is slightly unwarranted, what with all she’s done for them but then Francesca places her hand on the lady’s shoulder.
“Hand on my… shoulder, Miss Lovelady,” she whispers, with a teasing look.
Then it comes to me – we’re going to play Follow my Leader through the fog, hopefully with the Leader knowing where she’s going.
One of the lights atop the wooden poles moves downwards and then towards us. One of the younger ladies must have removed it and looks to use it to light our way.
I place my hand on Francesca’s shoulder and then look at Sir Percival, knowing exactly what is going through his mind. Thinking quickly I hold up Francesca’s moustache that I purloined previously to show it to him and place it on my shoulder. Perhaps he’ll feel slight
ly less uncomfortable with his hand upon a very hairy moustache?
While Sir Percival grips my shoulder, and does something with a finger to the moustache (I feel it best to decline asking why), I nod to Francesca. She whispers something to the lady in front and I hear the Italian words slowly fade as they’re passed down the line.
A few moments later, Francesca whispers, “We go.”
The faint glow leads our way. And not a moment too soon as the loud thuds sound again, but this time I feel them vibrating up into my boots through the flagstones.
Twenty
With our hands on the shoulders of the person in front we slowly pass through what appears to be a tall arched stone gateway, or as much as I can guess is one in the fog and faint light. Trees and bushes appear out of the darkness in different shades of grey and then fade away as we pass them.
The thudding vibrations decrease in intensity. I still have no clue what causes them, but feel better that they seem to be going away from me.
One thought keeps crossing my mind – when will we meet the Men of the Cog?
A strange sound, like crackling, sparkler fireworks, reaches me. I glance round, making sure not to let go of Francesca’s shoulder in front of me (not that I‘d want to do that anyway, especially for a… certain reason), and see a purple glow moving down behind me and to my left. Several times it’s brightness dims and then returns to normal a moment later.
