by Karen Garvin
The New Zealand airship mooring tower was almost the same as the one in England. Edward took the lead so that Samuel wouldn’t be able to keep turning around to help him across the mooring platform and down the narrow tower stairs. Edward took the stairs slowly, with far more determination than courage. He gripped the handrail tightly and didn’t relax until his feet were on the ground. It felt spongy underfoot and he breathed deep, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on his face. It was good to be outside again.
They walked the mile to town rather than take a cab, enjoying the exercise. Samuel found an outfitter’s shop and they began picking out things from Samuel’s shopping list. Soon there was a huge pile of goods on the counter. Samuel paid for the merchandise and arranged to have the supplies delivered to the Nares. That night they stayed in the town’s only hotel, enjoying a hearty meal and the relative luxury of their accommodations, and spent the next day exploring the town before returning to the airship shortly before sundown.
With the Nares resupplied, they powered up the engines and cast off the mooring rope at the exact minute the mandatory stopover was up. They were heading south. Next stop: Antarctica.
* * *
Meade scanned the horizon behind them with his binoculars. “There’s the Lafayette.” He paused and adjusted the focus knob on the optics. “And the Garibaldi, too.”
Edward dutifully looked at where Meade was pointing, but there was little to see with the naked eye. “How long before we reach the Pole?”
“A matter of days,” said Meade. “We are sure to win, assuming that we can maintain our lead.”
“Why shouldn’t we win?” asked Edward.
“The race isn’t won until we arrived back at Portsmouth and cross the finish line. We know very little about the Antarctic, but we do know that there are some very strong winds. I can’t be sure we’ll be able to control the Nares in such extreme conditions. Up to now we’ve been flying high enough to avoid the worst of the weather, but we’ll be dropping altitude to do our surveying and I think that we’re going to be in for a rough ride.”
Edward rubbed the back of his head. His temple was throbbing and he felt nauseated again, but he didn’t want to miss out on seeing the South Pole.
Meade’s prediction came true sooner than he anticipated. Within hours the Nares was buffeted by a strong blast of wind, slewing sideways as her pilot fought to keep the ungainly airship on course. By night the wind had increased, screaming as it tore past the airship. Then for the next two days it snowed. They flew blindly, guided only by Meade’s reliance on the compass readings to guide them toward the Pole.
And then the clouds evaporated, and they were gliding over white ground, the snow scintillating in the bright sunshine. Edward blinked back tears, fighting to keep his eyes open. But then the first mate hung sheer panels of dark silk over the windows to reduce the intense glare, and he was able to look out without being blinded.
The view was incredible. They were approaching an inlet and the sunlight glittered off the water, sharp and hard and brilliant. The snow and ice stretched to the horizon before them, a featureless expanse unmarked by trees or any other vegetation that Edward could see. He had never seen such a forlorn landscape in his life, but the bleakness of the ice had a severe beauty all its own.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Samuel crowded close to his elbow, pressing his face against the silk sheers and peering out at Antarctica.
Struck dumb, Edward could only nod. They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as the Nares’ shadow slid across the water and up onto the ice, racing across the ground like some giant beast on the hunt.
“What are those?” asked Edward.
Dark blotches on the snow along the coast seemed to be changing shape as he watched. Samuel borrowed the binoculars from Meade and scanned the ground. “Penguins. Flightless birds.”
“They live in this?” Edward waved his hand toward the window. He was genuinely surprised. He’d heard about penguins, but seeing where they lived made them seem all the more exotic and unreal.
“Yes, they dive for fish, and they nest on the ice,” said Professor Meade, coming up behind them.
“You don’t say,” said Edward. “Incredible.”
* * *
For several days the airship continued south. The hum of activity in the control room increased the closer they drew to their destination. The tension became unbearable, and even the normally easy-going Samuel became irritable. Edward avoided him, remaining in engineering when he wasn’t sleeping. But by the fourth day his curiosity overcame his reluctance to deal with Samuel’s moodiness and he went back up to the control room.
Samuel was standing at the window, jotting down notes in a small leather journal.
“How much farther?” asked Edward.
“There.” Samuel pointed with his pencil, but there was nothing remarkable to see except more snow and ice.
Edward chewed at his lip. “It doesn’t look any different from any other patch of snow. How can you tell where it is?”
“Measurements, Mr. Gray.” Professor Meade came over and peered at Samuel’s calculations. “We should reach the Pole in about three hours.”
“What about them?” asked Edward. Off to their right was a dark speck in the sky. It was moving toward the Pole, too.
Meade muttered something under his breath and snatched the binoculars off the console. “It’s the Lafayette!”
“But she was two days behind us!” said Samuel. He snapped the journal shut and pocketed it. “How can they be here?”
“They’ve obviously found a strong tail wind,” said Meade. “And we’re flying into the wind. We can’t afford to lose the race. Not now, not when we’re this close. Mr. Gray, I need you in engineering. I need full power, as much as the Nares can give us, but make sure the men follow proper protocols handling the Hekatite. I don’t want any more accidents.”
As Edward scurried from the control room he could hear Meade barking out orders to the crew. He made his way aft to engineering and settled in a wicker chair to supervise the men. There was no use getting in their way.
Two young crew members, Foster and Kent, dressed in coveralls and equipped with heavy gloves, struggled to carry one of the filled crates of fuel into the room. They put the crate down and opened the lid. Foster pulled out four packages of Hekatite, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He handed two of them to Kent and began to unwrap his own parcels.
Foster tugged at the string and without warning the brown paper ripped apart. Chunks of purplish-black Hekatite scattered across the engineering room floor.
“Mr. Grey! You shouldn’t touch that!” shouted Kent.
Edward ignored his warning and picked up the pieces of Hekatite, handing them to Foster. “Hurry up! Just get the fuel loaded. Throw the paper in, too. We can clean up the mess later.”
Foster hesitated only a moment before he opened the boiler door and tossed the wrapped Hekatite into it. The brown paper crinkled and withered in the heat and quickly burned away, leaving only the mass of waxy fuel. Edward watched as the Hekatite blocks began to soften, the cubes losing their shape and turning bright purple as the fuel began to burn.
The sound of the engines changed pitch and the vibrations through the floor increased. Edward knew that their speed had increased. He wanted to rush to a window, but he knew there was little to see, and besides, his duties meant he should stay here. He settled restlessly back into the chair, watching the men stoke the boiler.
Belatedly, Edward realized that he still had Hekatite smeared on his palms. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hands, then dropped the cloth into the soiled rag hamper. Anything that touched Hekatite had to be washed in a special solution to remove the toxic fuel from the fabric.
A man leaned in to the room and shouted “We’re at the Pole!”
Edward pushed himself to his feet, grumbling as the others raced out of the room ahead of him. When they arrived at the control room it was in uproar. The
ship’s entire crew jockeyed for a place at the window, elbowing each other aside in mock aggression. Meade stepped back out of the way of the good-natured horseplay and continued to take latitude readings.
“Uncle!” Samuel waved him over to a choice vantage point. “We’re right over the Pole!”
Edward worked his way through the crowd and pressed his face against the glass. He was disappointed with the view. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the landscape here was just as bland as it was anywhere else. Snow, snow, and more snow.
“Great,” said Edward. “So now we can go home.” He rubbed his aching arms and frowned.
“Anything wrong?” asked Samuel.
“No, Samuel, you stay here and celebrate. I have some paperwork to catch up with.” Edward left his place at the window and made his way down the corridor. To his chagrin, he heard Samuel’s footsteps behind him.
“You’re not ill again, are you?”
“You’re like a mother hen, you know that?” snapped Edward. “I told you that I have duties to take care of. And I don’t need to be dressed up again in that mop.”
“That was just for crossing the Equator,” said Samuel, pushing Edward’s cabin door open for him.
Edward stepped over the threshold and turned to face his nephew. “I’m very busy, Samuel. If it means that much to you, I’ll come up later.” He closed the door and went to his bunk, where he fished out the half-empty flask from underneath the mattress. Edward breathed in the honeyed fragrance of the whisky and took a long draught, sighing as the heat of the alcohol spread from his stomach.
A sudden episode of vertigo made him clutch at the bunk for support, but as he lurched forward he knocked his head against the bulkhead. His sight faded, and as Edward slumped to the floor the flask fell from his hand and rolled away, clanging against the door.
* * *
Edward woke gradually. His head ached abominably and he drifted in and out of consciousness, fighting to stay awake a bit longer each time. He became aware of a warm patch to his right and realized that someone was sitting next to him. Edward forced his eyes open.
Samuel looked down at him, his brow furrowed with mock anger. “Well, you finally decide to wake up. How do you feel?”
Edward took a deep breath. It didn’t cause him any more pain, so he tried to lever himself up, but Samuel pushed him back against the pillows. “Don’t try to get up, Uncle. You’re very sick, you know that? You think you’ve been hiding it well, but I know you better than that.”
“I don’t want to just lie here,” protested Edward.
“You’ve been poisoned by the Hekatite and there isn’t very much the doctor can do for you aboard ship. I’ve asked Professor Meade if we can cut the trip short and head back immediately.”
“Samuel, you didn’t!” Edward struggled with the bedsheets until Samuel relented and helped him to sit up.
“Yes, I did. I’m worried about you.”
“Well, you fuss too much, Samuel. But you know we can’t go back early. All of the ships are required to remain at the South Pole for five days before turning back. If we break the rule, we’ll forfeit our chance to win the race.”
“To hell with the race! Someone has to take care of you, Uncle. You don’t exactly watch out for yourself.”
“Well…” In truth, Edward was touched that his nephew was so dedicated, but it wouldn’t do to spoil the moment by being maudlin. And he had to concede that Samuel was right. It wasn’t that he was reckless, but he did sometimes act impulsively. Like when he’d picked up the pieces of Hekatite. He’d learned the hard way not to touch them with his bare hands, but that hadn’t stopped him from doing it. And now he was paying the price. He just hoped that it wouldn’t affect Samuel too much if, well, the worst were to happen.
Edward left the thought unfinished and rubbed at his eyes, hoping that Samuel wasn’t watching too closely. But Samuel had turned his back and was pacing the small room.
“How long have I been here? Are we still at the Pole?”
“Two days, and no. The Lafayette arrived shortly after we did, but she went to the east and we’ve moved back to the coast. Professor Meade sent down a party of men to do some surveying and gave them orders to bring back some of the local wildlife.”
Edward raised his eyebrows. He had no idea what Samuel was talking about.
“Penguins,” said Samuel. “Those ridiculous-looking birds we spotted along the water. Meade has decided that he’s going to make the London Zoo a present of several pairs of them.”
“Ah. That’s nice.”
“Nice? Uncle, you’re sick, and we’re stuck here hunting birds. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Samuel, don’t get so upset. You knew this trip could be dangerous.”
Samuel halted his pacing. “Dangerous? Yes, I knew the risks, but we’ve done what we came to do …”
“No, we haven’t,” argued Edward. “Just because we reached the Pole first doesn’t mean that we’ve done all the things we need to do. Samuel, you’re just being difficult. Why don’t you go and help them catch the penguins so we can leave sooner?” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow, pretending to have fallen asleep. His nephew was getting too riled up and needed to find something to occupy his time.
“All right, Uncle, have it your way. But I know that you aren’t asleep.”
Edward heard Samuel walk away, heard the door creak open and click shut. He smiled to himself.
* * *
Edward woke up to find that the lights in the infirmary had been turned off. He shifted on the mattress and instantly regretted moving. Spots danced before his eyes and he groaned. He pressed his fingers against his temples and breathed slowly, willing himself to be steady.
Gradually he felt a bit less queasy and sat up. The ship was too quiet. The constant low rumble of the engines was absent. Either the engines were malfunctioning, or there was another problem with the fuel.
Cursing to himself, Edward fumbled at the bedclothes and made his way to the door. He staggered a few steps, gradually becoming steadier on his feet as he moved toward engineering.
When he got there, one of the crew was lying on the floor facedown, his hands tangled in his collar as though he’d been clawing at his throat. It was Foster. Edward grabbed his wrists and dragged him out into the corridor, shouting for help.
He remained with Foster until the doctor arrived, and then hurried back into the room. Purple haze blanketed the room. Edward tried not to breathe it in as he opened the windows, but he couldn’t hold his breath long enough. His lungs spasmed even as the fresh, frigid air blasted into his face, but he was oblivious to the discomfort. The only thing that mattered was to vent the poisonous smoke out of the airship before anyone else was overcome.
* * *
“You saved Foster’s life,” said Samuel. He smiled, but there were deep creases in his brow and he looked down at his hands, twining them restlessly.
“And you think I wasted mine,” croaked Edward. He coughed, long and hard, struggling to catch his breath, and lay back against the infirmary mattress.
Samuel winced. “You shouldn’t try to talk.”
Edward waved his hand. “I’ll do as I please. I’m dying, what difference does it matter?”
“Don’t say that!”
“What? That I’m dying?” Edward looked around the infirmary, looked everywhere except at Samuel’s face. He didn’t want to die. Fear surged through him, constricting his throat. Would he feel anything? Would it be like going to sleep?
“Please don’t say that,” begged Samuel. “You’re not going to die! I’ve convinced Professor Meade to stop over at Seacombe on the way back. It’s closer than England, and the medical facilities there are as good as those in London. They know about the Hekatite’s effects. They’ll be able to help you.”
“Back to Seacombe, eh? I was hoping to get back to London before … before the holidays, at any rate.” Edward cast a quick glance at his nephe
w and was relieved to see that he seemed clear-eyed. It made dealing with the illness a little easier.
“You know that I don’t like Seacombe,” said Samuel. “And stopping there might cost us the race—Professor Meade is being very gracious about it, but I know he’s not happy about the delay. In any case, it’s five days less travel for you, and that’s good news.”
“Very well, Seacombe it is,” agreed Edward. “But I’d better not have to deal with that Palmer, that’s all I have to say about the matter.”
* * *
Several days later they reached Seacombe Island. Despite Samuel’s protests, Edward wanted to get out of bed and see the island from the air. He demanded to be allowed up into the control room. Samuel hovered at his elbow until Edward grew agitated at his presence, but he only moved a couple of feet away, ready to assist his uncle if needed.
The Nares was approaching the harbor. The collection of buildings that made up Seacombe Village appeared dusty tan, contrasting sharply with the vibrant green vegetation on the hillside. The airship was dropping altitude in order to land, but they were a thousand feet high. Two ships were docked at the harbor and Edward could see the men aboard wave as the Nares glided overhead.
Ahead, the island’s volcanic crater poked out of the treetops at the northern end of the island. A wooden tower had been constructed in the caldera for airships. The natural volcanic bowl was large enough to accommodate the aircraft, and the rim of the crater would provide shelter from the worst of the wind. It was an ideal place for a mooring tower.
The pilot headed west, back out over the water, and used the prevailing wind to push the Nares north. As they reached the northern end of the island, the pilot turned the ship east again and adjusted its speed. They were approaching the tower from the northwest, where the lowest lip of the crater was located. The pilot did not want to chance dropping altitude too fast and tangling the mooring ropes in the island’s vegetation.
Edward watched the trees as they flowed under the Nares, hidden by the belly of the airship. As the ship dropped lower he could see bright spots in the trees. “Samuel, would you get me the binoculars, please?”