Grunel’s machine towered over us by twenty feet. A catwalk encircled its upper reaches, with spiral metal stairs leading up from the workshop floor. Its base resembled an enormous steam boiler, bristling with a confusion of copper piping and red taps and gauges. Slanting up from the top was a great cylindrical shaft that met the ship’s hull and fused with a specially built window there. The machine seemed to be gazing out, but it was not sharing its view with anyone, for I could see no eyepiece anywhere.
Unlike the other machines, this one bore no brass label.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Kate said.
“Nor I,” remarked Dorje.
“Don’t know what it is, and don’t care,” said Hal.
“He was a great inventor, you know, “Kate told him. “This could be something remarkable.”
“Fifty dollars at a scrap dealer,” said Hal, already turning away.
I hoped Kate was noticing Hal’s oafish behavior. Surely she must have realized by now that, despite all his suavity, Hal did not share her enthusiasm for higher learning. In his current mood he was likely to say the Mona Lisa would make a nice dartboard.
But I also knew he was right. We could not take the machine with us, so there was little point wasting time puzzling over it. We were searching for something cold and unimaginative: gold. I turned to follow him, then stopped, peering back at the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Now that I was so close to them, I realized they were not flush with the ship’s hull, but built back from it by several feet. I stepped to the glass and scratched at the thick frost. I pressed my eyes to the peephole.
My view was a small one, but I could see a chamber was definitely built between this glass wall and the ship’s hull, which was itself fitted with floor-to-ceiling reinforced windows. The chamber was not deep, maybe six feet at most, but it extended out of sight on both sides, and I could not see the ceiling. It was difficult to tell what was on the floor, it was so thickly matted with frost and ice. I caught sight of several long strands of what looked like decaying corn stalks, or maybe sloughed snake skins, it was hard to tell. Then my eyes fixed on a small white object frozen into the ice. It looked distinctly like a beak.
Something drifted past, not an inch from the glass, and I snapped my head back in shock.
Tentacles, just the tips of them, trailed slowly out of sight.
“Hal!” I called.
Everyone was at the glass within seconds, clearing away ice. Between us we quickly opened up a wide viewing window. We stared.
“It’s a vivarium,” Kate breathed.
“A what?” Nadira asked.
“Like a terrarium. Any place where you keep live specimens in their natural state.”
“Good God,” said Hal.
Hanging in the air were four aerozoans. It took me a moment to realize they were all dead. Their tentacles were inert; their diaphanous aprons did not ripple and contract. Their squid-shaped floating sacs were shriveled, and yet they still held enough lifting gas to keep the corpses aloft. While three of them drifted about aimlessly, the fourth and biggest had been tethered from the ceiling in a kind of harness. Two of its tentacles were encased in thick rubber sleeves, trailing wires that disappeared into the vivarium’s icy floor.
“He must have been studying them,” Kate said. “They are fascinating creatures.”
“They’re killers,” Hal snapped. “And if I ever catch sight of a live one I’ll put a bullet through its heart.”
“I don’t think it has a heart,” Kate said, peering intently at the aerozoans. “It’s really quite primitive. But I’d have to dissect it to make sure.”
“Typical of Grunel to make pets of these freaks,” Hal said.
“I want one,” said Kate.
“You’re not bringing one aboard my ship,” he told her.
“What harm can it do, it’s dead!”
“Look at those,” I said, pointing. Floating high in the air was a cluster of small translucent spheres, no bigger than golf balls. As they drifted closer, I caught a glimpse inside one, and saw a tight bundle of tentacles and wrinkly membrane.
“They’re eggs!” said Kate in astonishment. “They must be filled with enough hydrium to keep them afloat. Ingenious! The eggs are laid in mid-air and float until they’re ready to hatch. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll bring back an egg or two. I’ve a specimen jar with me right now.”
“Eggs tend to hatch,” I said.
“Not these. They’re long dead. You can’t object to that, Hal.”
“Fine. You go in and get them.”
“Agreed,” she said boldly.
She walked along the glass wall until she found the outlines of a small doorway. She began scraping at the ice around the hinges.
“You’re sure you want to go in there?” I asked her.
“Quite.”
“Be quick about it,” said Hal impatiently.
Hanging from a peg beside the hatch was what looked like a diving suit, including a helmet with a large glass porthole in the center. The entire affair appeared to be made of thick rubber. Several long, rubber-tipped poles hung next to it. I could not imagine willingly putting myself within striking distance of the aerozoans, even so armored and insulated. I did not know if Grunel was a courageous man, or just foolhardy.
Kate pulled at the handle. The door was not locked. She gave a sharp tug, and it snapped open in a shower of ice crystals. A faint, sickly odor of mangoes oozed out over us.
“Smell that?” I asked.
“Hydrium?”
I nodded. “They make their own, I’m sure of it.”
I wanted her to see that I’d been right all along, whatever Hal thought. But she just reached into her rucksack and produced a small glass jar. She stepped inside.
I could not let her go alone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said as I came in after her.
“I thought you might like a hand.”
“I don’t need a hand, thank you.”
“Here,” I said, passing her one of the poles. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“There’s still life in them.”
“They’ve been dead forty years. I doubt they’re very sparky by now.”
She was being haughty with me, but she took the pole. I took one too. Hal, I noticed, had closed the door behind us. My boots crunched against the icy floor. Looking down I realized what I’d seen earlier were the husks of countless dead aerozoans, their gelatinous shells now thin and wispy. Here and there a sharp beak poked up through the membranous debris.
I turned my attention back to the floating ones, drifting listlessly about the vivarium. There was nothing between us and them now. I knew they were dead but still did not like being so close to their tentacles. I remembered how a mere brush with them had sent electricity and flame exploding through Mr. Dalkey.
One of them was wandering a bit too close to us for my liking. I raised my pole and gave it a sharp poke. The tip of the pole dented its soft body, and the aerozoan sailed away from me. Its tentacles made no move, its gelatinous apron not even a flutter. Still, we gave them a wide berth.
It was much colder inside the vivarium, and the whistle of wind drew my eye up to grilled vents all along the outer wall.
“Fresh air—and food too,” Kate said, following my gaze. “See those funnels outside? They would’ve channeled all sorts of airborne insect life into the vivarium as the ship sailed.”
“I’m wondering if that’s all they ate,” I said, glancing at the corpses underfoot. “Some of these look like they’ve been gnawed at.”
“Possibly,” said Kate. “Cannibalism is amazingly common. Even humans have been known to have a bash at it.”
We stopped and stared up at the floating cluster of eggs.
The ends of our poles were curved, like a hoe. Kate raised hers high and tried to catch one of the eggs, but she couldn’t quite reach. She persisted.
“I�
�ll have a try,” I said.
“I’m not tall enough,” she grumbled.
I managed to claw one of the eggs down through the air. The shell glinted with frost. Inside was a baby aerozoan, frozen forever in sleep. With her gloved hands, Kate gently guided the egg into her specimen jar and screwed on the lid.
“There you are,” she whispered. She stared at the egg, enraptured. I would have liked to receive such a look.
There was a sharp knock on the glass, and I looked up to see Hal, gesturing for us to hurry up. I was eager to leave. The sound of my boots treading on all these frozen aerozoan corpses made my skin crawl. We closed the door of the vivarium firmly behind us.
Hal checked his timepiece. “We’ll be heading back to the Saga in an hour. Dorje, can you assist Kate with hauling her taxidermy up onto the ship’s back? Nadira, you’ll lend a hand with that. Cruse, you’re coming with me.” He was already walking toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To pay a visit to old man Grunel.”
GRUNEL
We headed forward along the keel catwalk to the passenger quarters, climbed the stairs, and stopped at an ornate oak door.
“I’m thinking,” said Hal, “that maybe Grunel kept his goodies a bit closer at hand.”
The doorknob would not turn. Hal put his pistol against the keyhole and fired. The door opened. It was terribly dark. Our two torch beams united to form one giant spotlight. We stepped inside, and it was like entering the lobby of a grand house, except that it had no sweeping staircase. But everything else spoke of painstaking craftsmanship, luxury, and, above all, the money to buy it. Persian carpets glittered on the hardwood floor, oil paintings in gilt frames hung from the high corniced walls. Grand archways led to lounges on both port and starboard sides of the ship, and I could see the faint glimmer of light filtered through frosted windows and drawn curtains. Our torches picked out elegant wing-back armchairs and a pianola. I remembered Kate saying the Hyperion had been custom built for Grunel, and since he was the only passenger, these elegant apartments must have been for his use alone.
Hal led us down one corridor, with several doors opening off it. One led to a serving pantry, with a dumbwaiter that carried Grunel’s meals up from the kitchen directly below. Through another door was an enormous linen cupboard and laundry room. A third room, much smaller than the linen cupboard, was obviously the bedroom of Grunel’s manservant. The bed was neatly made, and there was no sign of the fellow. I wondered glumly where he’d turn up. Perhaps we could look forward to him lurching frozen from a closet.
We retraced our steps to the lobby and set off down the second corridor. A single closed door stood at the end, with a lion’s-head knocker so imposing I felt as though I should consult it before entering.
“Getting tired?” Hal asked me.
“No, I feel fine.”
“You sure?” He shone the light in my face to examine me, and I turned away, squinting.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I was not lying.
“Take some oxygen if you need it.”
“I don’t, thanks.”
Hal pushed the door wide and entered Theodore Grunel’s bedroom. My torch beam skittered over the silk-covered walls, the chairs and settees upholstered in leather and velvet. I saw a grand four-poster bed, the sheets thrown back. The sight of that empty bed did give me a shiver. It meant Grunel was elsewhere. But where? One side of the room was given over to huge bookshelves, their frozen leather spines sparkling. Along the starboard wall, the curtains were drawn. Then my torch beam glanced off a hand. I stopped and prodded the darkness with my beam.
Dressed in red silk pajamas, and wrapped in a burgundy dressing gown, Theodore Grunel reclined on his chaise longue. His feet were slippered. His chin rested against his chest. His eyes were open, though one eyelid drooped. He appeared to be looking over the room rather disapprovingly. He was not a tall man, but stocky and powerfully built. He had a great block of a head, with long, flared sideburns and a high forehead. His nose was broad and squashed looking. Unlike the lookout in the crow’s nest, his skin had not been discolored by the sun. Instead it was sallow and waxy, stubbled with frost, and only slightly shrunken. He looked pugnacious, even in death. I felt he might get up and shake a fist at us.
“There he is, the old toad,” Hal muttered.
He walked across to the curtains and pulled them wide, allowing pale sunlight to flood the room. It was spacious, with an adjoining dressing room. Through the open doorway I could see it was lined with closets and drawers and shelves for top hats, of which he seemed to have many.
“Let’s get to work,” said Hal. “Look behind and under things. I’m after a safe or a vault.”
He started on the book shelf, sweeping row after row of leather-bound volumes to the floor. It shocked me to see books treated so, but I dared not say anything, for I could see in Hal’s high good cheer a fierce impatience and simmering anger.
I started on a cabinet on the other side of the room, delicately pulling out drawers, trying to disturb as little as possible, probing at the back for hidden compartments. Finding nothing, I began putting the drawers back. All the time I felt Grunel’s half-closed eye staring at me.
“This isn’t maid service,” Hal said, coming over. “Even Howard Carter had to break some walls to get at Tut’s tomb! And we don’t have all the time in the world. Get behind the other side. Now, push!”
Together we heaved over the entire cabinet. It crashed to the floor. There was no vault hidden behind it.
“It feels like thieving,” I couldn’t help saying.
“You should have left your fine conscience behind in Paris,” he said. “But let me tell you something. This ship doesn’t even exist. It was declared lost at sea forty years ago, after it went missing. Know what that means? Grunel’s family was paid off handsomely by the insurers, and at that moment they surrendered all further claim to the ship. The Hyperion belongs to no one but us. Take it, Cruse. Anything here is ours. It can’t do anything for the dead. But it might do a lot for the living.”
He had pull, I could not deny. He was like a bright shining sun and I was a little planet, whirling around and around him, half wanting to break away and be free, half liking the ride. From across the room, Grunel stared at me balefully.
“Frozen Oldie over there’s not helping,” I said.
Hal gave a laugh. He ripped a sheet off the bed and made to throw it over the rigid body.
“What’s this?” he said, squinting at Grunel’s right hand.
Between the dead man’s clenched fingers I saw the dull flash of gold.
Hal tried to open Grunel’s fist, but the fingers were like tongs of steel. There was something indecent about it, seeing him struggle with the dead man.
“Leave it, Hal,” I said.
From his rucksack he took his pry bar and brought it down sharply on Grunel’s fist. I winced as ice and frozen bone shattered. Grunel was left with a jagged stub. A gold pocket watch fell into his lap. Hal snatched it up and gave it a cursory look. He pried it open.
Inside the cover was a photograph, spider-webbed with wrinkles, of a young woman.
“Looks like old Grunel had a sweetheart,” said Hal with a coarse laugh. “I was hoping for something a bit more helpful, but this is a nice enough bauble.” He dug out the photograph with his fingers and let it fall to the frosted carpet.
I picked up the photograph and slid it into my rucksack. It didn’t seem right to leave it lying around on the floor. I didn’t like to look at Grunel’s shattered hand. Hal picked up the bedsheet and threw it over him.
“Better?” he said.
I nodded.
“Our first spoils, Cruse. There’s more to come. Let’s get to work.”
Side by side Hal and I searched the stateroom. Plumes of steam rose from our mouths. I went through more chests of drawers and cabinets, pulled back carpets, yanked paintings from the walls. Hal’s words had stirred me, and for the first time I
felt the excitement of being on an abandoned ship, knowing that somewhere on it was enough gold to make me rich. My mother would have her house, and I might buy my own apartment on a nice Paris street. And an airship, one that was just a little bigger than Hal’s. I would no longer be a boy, but a man.
A faint whisper reached my ears, and I stopped working. Hal and I looked at each other. It grew louder. It became the sound of someone hissing, finger pointed, spittle flying from his mouth. My neck hair lifted in terror. Hal fumbled for his pistol, and I whirled about, seeking out this banshee, wishing my torch beam were a blade. The hissing grew louder until I found myself shouting as if to keep it at bay. Abruptly it stopped with a loud thud.
The sound came from within the wall, and our torch beams jostled frantically as we sought out the place.
“There!” I said.
Protruding from the plaster were a pair of copper pneumatic message tubes that I’d not noticed before. The ends of both were sealed with ornamented hinged hatches. From one of them a little green flag had sprung up, and was still vibrating slightly.
“Good Lord,” said Hal, “it’s just a message capsule.”
Most airships, especially passenger liners, had a complicated network of pneumatic tubes for shuttling messages. I was so relieved there was no shrieking ghoul afoot that it was several seconds before the dreadful question occurred to me.
Who exactly had sent us a message?
My heart suddenly was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I wanted some tanked oxygen, but wouldn’t take any unless Hal did.
“Must’ve been one of the others,” Hal said.
“Right,” I agreed. “Amazing it still works.”
“There’s probably an air turbine outside powering it,” Hal said. “As long the ship moves, it works.”
We nodded appreciatively at this feat of engineering.
“I suppose we should read it,” I said.
Neither of us, I noticed, seemed to be in any hurry. I took a deep breath and unclasped the hatch. A streamlined rubber capsule slid out of the tube into my hand. I unscrewed the top.
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