Airship Nation (Darkworld Chronicles Book 2)

by Tom DeMarco

  Twenty minutes later he was alone on the hillside, watching the pavilion gather way over the water. It disappeared to the south. He adjusted his pack and started walking. Before the drop, he had memorized his route so as not to have a sophisticated topo map in his possession. It was simple enough: southeast along the fire road into the town of Dellwood; from Dellwood he would follow the state road away from the mountains toward Canton and Enka and on to Asheville. That might take him two days. From there he would have to play it by ear.

  On his previous opportunities to observe life on the mainland first hand, he had seen little enough change from the old era. Except for the absence of motorized vehicles, the towns he’d passed through had seemed like normal American places, peaceful and fairly prosperous. But the scouts had been bringing back a different view. They reported that there was an increasingly feudal feel to the countryside, as though there were no central identity to the country or state at all, as though there were only the tiny hamlet nations, each one unique. Near Canton, where he stopped at a farmhouse for the night, he began to hear some of that.

  The couple in the farmhouse gave him a friendly reception. They were just sitting down to corn on the cob with fresh butter and Brussels sprouts for dinner when Loren arrived, asking for a place to sleep, perhaps in their barn. They insisted on giving him a hot meal. There was even a pitcher of murky beer. “Eat up, young fella. Can’t tell when you’re gonna see so much food in one place again. We Cavanaughs set a good table.”

  “Thank you sir. You’re very kind.” He was hungry. They were waiting for him to begin, so he did.

  “We have been given a lot,” the man said, “and with our good luck we got to look out for others. You’re all god’s children, all the wanderers are. The missus and I want to do our part, to spread some of our bounty.”

  Loren swallowed a mouthful of corn. “You’re very kind.”

  “This is home-made bread.” Then he laughed. “Well, all bread is home-made now, I guess. But this is good home-made bread.”

  “It is.”

  The man looked at him quizzically. “You must be Mexican, I guess.”

  “Close enough. Another wetback,” Loren said, “walking north, looking for work.”

  “Well there’s plenty of work to be had.”

  “Could I do something for you? I mean to make up for all this?”

  “Well, you could lend a shoulder on the produce cart tomorrow, that is if you’re carrying on towards the market at Asheville. And if not, don’t you worry. You’ll pass on the favor to someone else, and it will all come out even in the end.”

  “I am going toward Asheville. And I would be happy to help with the cart. Happy for the company, too.”

  “Well then, it’s lucky for both of us you came through.”

  “Certainly lucky for me.” Loren took another piece of the warm bread. “Tell me, what’s it like to live in these parts? I mean since the big change.”

  “Better than Durham, that’s for sure,” the woman spat the words out.

  Mr. Cavanaugh reached over to pat her hand. “My missus has family in Durham,” he said to Loren. “Some of them come through here this summer. Said there was a power group there, and they had levied a tax. A big tax. That’s how it works sometimes. Some sheriff or mayor or preacher or police chief takes it in his head to throw his weight around. Hires up a gang of rowdies to run things proper. And then there’s always a tax. Sometimes it’s enough to break your back. They try to set it just shy of that. So it hurts less to pay up than to resist or move on. Only in Durham they set it real high. And her family came up afoul of the boss. He run them off.”

  “We had that here,” the woman nodded. “Had our own little problem in Canton, our ex-mayor. He was getting ideas from elsewhere. Came on with a tax, he did, just like those city bosses. Only the black coats came and had a little talk with him, and he pushed on. Took his mischief somewheres else.”

  “The black coats?”

  “From Asheville, they are. Jansenists. We don’t hold with their teaching exactly, Missus and I. But we can’t fault their good works.”

  “And they have flying machines!” the woman said. “Sailing airships that go whooshing over. Almost like jets only not so fast. Some here say the airships are magic.”

  “There’s a lot of magic in the world,” the man said to his wife, his voice patient. “And almost all of it is good magic. Only when we come to understand it, we see it’s not really magic at all. Just regular common sense, or god’s bounty. We’re just not sure yet which is which.”

  “Some say it’s black magic, you know they do. Because when the airships are moving, they’re just like airplanes, but when they stop, I’ve heard this, they just hang up in the air, suspended like. And that’s not normal.”

  “Who’s to say what’s normal? Not me. I’ve seen too much that seemed strange, and then we got used to it and it was good. I don’t think there is any black magic in the airships, probably only science. I don’t think there is any black magic in these parts at all, maybe not anywhere.”

  “Don’t you be too sure. I wouldn’t put it beyond her, not at all.”

  He laughed. “You have to forgive my Missus, young man. She doesn’t take much with the one who is in charge of the black coats.” He turned back to his wife. “She has her beliefs and her ways, all her own, just as we do. And I will say that her ways may seem unusual. But she has done so much good, the Lady has.”

  His wife’s chin was stubbornly set. Mr. Cavanaugh pressed on, “I can’t think of who hasn’t benefited from her good works. Well, maybe the ex-mayor of Canton didn’t exactly benefit, but then he was benefiting too much before she stepped in. But you just think of all the poor people she has helped. Think of my cousin’s husband, who broke his leg and the Lady sent an airship full of black coats to help bring in his wheat. And then they took it to market for him, loaded it up on the flying wagon of theirs and took it in to Asheville, and brought the money back to him, every bit of it. They’re good neighbors, that’s what they are, and I respect that.”

  “This is all new to me,” Loren encouraged the man.

  “Her good works have touched all of us in some way. Our two sons are followers of hers, maybe that’s why my missus is put off. They’ve gone off to follow the Lady and do her bidding. But what she tells them to do is always good works. That’s what’s important.”

  “But the things she says — it’s creepy what she says.”

  “She goes on the radio, Saturday evenings, that’s what my wife is getting to. And she does say some things that are what you might call surprising.”

  “She says there is terrible evil in the world, ‘unholiness,’ she calls it. There are two nations of unholiness, one to the east of here, and another to the south, maybe in South America. And they are terrible evil. That’s what she says.”

  “But there has been evil in different times.” He reached out for her again. “Your father didn’t go to war in Europe to fight against good folk gone temporarily wrong, you know he didn’t. He went to fight evil. And maybe, as she says, there is more of it.”

  Mrs. Cavanaugh wasn’t listening, only waiting her turn to speak again. She had more to tell their guest: “She says the power should never have run out of our cars and our machines, that it wasn’t intended. That it was the will of the evil nations. And when she says it, her voice gets all crazy. She sounds like she is going over the edge, a loony. At least that’s what I think. And then she has some other strange notions as well. Goes on, she does, about errors of the flesh. Everything is errors of the flesh.” Mrs. Cavanaugh looked down steadfastly at her plate. “Everything between men and women, you see. We don’t hold with that. Not entirely.”

  “On the radio, she does sound extreme.” Mr. Cavanaugh turned back to Loren. “But I been to Asheville, to the Mansion where she is. And I heard her talk in person. People go there on Saturdays to listen from the lawn. So I went too. And when you’re there, she doesn’t sound crazy at al
l. Only she is all lit up with what she’s saying, like there is a light coming out from inside her, not crazy but passionate. And she is so beautiful…”

  “That’s it, then, isn’t it?” The woman pounced on the word. “That’s what’s got my David and my Seth all riled up. She is beautiful, like a Jezebel. Full of crazy notions, but they got no notice for that. Only for her black eyes and black hair and her long legs, and her graceful motions. ‘Oh, mama, you should see her graceful motions,’ my Seth says. Like a snake, I suspect.”

  “Really, Missus, there is no call to say those things. The Lady has to be judged by her works. ‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’ The fruits of her labors have been all good. We will respect her for that. The Lady and hers have been good neighbors to us, and we must return the compliment. Even if we don’t agree with everything she says.”

  The next morning, Loren left with Mr. Cavanaugh for Asheville. The produce cart he had mentioned came with a small burro, so there wasn’t much pulling work required. They assisted on the hills and for the rest of the time it was just a stroll. Loren had made a mental list of questions the night before and got all his answers during the trip without seeming more than normally curious. They put up that night with friends of the Cavanaughs.

  The next day was a Saturday. Loren had decided to show up at the Mansion to hear for himself what the Lady had to say.

  Monterreal Castle: “Tell me, what is your name, my friend?”

  “John Nehemiah, Ma’am.”

  “Well, John, I think you have wandered off your course. These are Captain Martine’s apartments.”

  His heart was fluttering, not from being discovered — he’d half expected that — but because of who had discovered him. He hoped she wouldn’t notice his arousal. “A thousand pardons, Ma’am. I am off my course, as you say. I was looking for the Captain, but didn’t mean to intrude. There’s a message for Captain Martine from the Chancellor.” He held up a sealed envelope with the Chancellor’s emblem on its outside.

  “But the Captain is away. He’ll be gone for…. He’s away. I would have thought Chancellor Brill would remember that.”

  “Oh, it’s a message from the Chancellor’s office, I mean,” he lied naturally. “Not from the Chancellor himself.”

  “Well, you must leave it with me. I will see that it gets to my husband.”

  “No urgency at all…” It was unfortunate that there was only a blank piece of paper in the envelope. If he gave it to her and she happened to open it… “If the Captain is away, we can profit from the extra time to refine this message. It’s a report on the…on the immigration. Something he asked for in particular. But I’ll take it back and work on it some more while he’s gone. There is always more data coming in.”

  She walked him back to the door and pointed him down the stairs. As he left, he noticed that she had stopped to talk to the two guards who had been off their station, idling near the window at the end of the hall. Too bad to put her on warning like that. He might have need to come in here again.

  Outside, Nehemiah waited for his pulse to stop racing, but it went on and on. He could still see her grey eyes looking down on him, looking through him. It was most disturbing. He had to calm himself to be able to ride his bicycle. He was too erect even to climb onto it. He walked the bike out of the palace grounds and then stood leaning against the trunk of one of the plane trees that lined the approach, thinking of nothing. Finally he got on and headed back toward town.

  Part way along, he decided not to go back to the office. No one would miss him. He was much too disturbed to do anything useful, anyway.

  He knew that he was going to commit a sin, and that he should be ashamed. But in the state he was in, it was necessary. There could be no success for his mission without the full concentration of which he was now incapable. The mission required that he restore that concentration. If sin was thus indicated, it was half forgiven in advance. He turned his bike onto the road that led along the bluffs over the coast, down toward the Compton’s horse farm. He had been there on several occasions before, always on account of the teams of horses that drew the Chancellor’s carriage. When he arrived at the complex, he steered right past the house and up to the saddle stables behind. In the training ring in back, he found the object of his trip.

  “Well, if it isn’t John, the Chancellor’s man. Hello John.” The girl was running one of the foals around the ring on a long line. She was perhaps eighteen, full figured and exotic looking. He thought she might have some oriental blood in her. He had noticed her before. “Hello,” he said. He didn’t know her name. “Any chance of a ride? I thought we might try out some of the saddle horses. We may be needing some for parades, you know.”

  She glanced at him appraisingly. It seemed likely he had come looking for something more than horse flesh, but she was not uninterested. He was an attractive man, mysterious, somehow. A ride up into the hills with him might be an adventure. “Can you ride?” She grinned at him.

  “Watch me. You’ll have to hold tight to keep up.”

  “Oh ho. A cowboy. We shall see.” She decided to put him on Gallimare to put him to the test. She headed into the stable to see to the saddles.

  They galloped along the coast and up a narrow path to the second set of bluffs. He was a beautiful horseman. She was a sucker for men who could ride, it put her defenses down. It was hard to keep up with him.

  At the top of the path was a little hut. It had been home for a shepherd and his family. Nehemiah had his horse tethered at the rail by the time she caught up. He reached for her reins without saying anything. In fact he had not spoken since the ring. Not much of a one for small talk, she decided. He held up his hand and helped her down.

  Inside, he got her clothes off without much preliminary. His fingers were itchy and rough on her body. She wasn’t minding, at least not yet. She liked a man to be a little rough. He opened his pants, not taking his boots off, and threw himself down on her.

  “Well take it easy,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She was dry. It was hard for him to enter her, though he thrust hungrily at her. He spit as copiously as he could into his hand and worked the spittle up into her forcefully.

  “Ow,” she said. “Wait.”

  A moment later he was in. He pushed down on her, bouncing in as hard as he could. The little bed underneath them shook, their hip bones banged painfully from his thrusts. He was oblivious to the pain. “Hey…” she said. He pushed his hand over her mouth. What interest could he have in what she might say now? His other hand was on her breast, kneading. He pushed his cheek up over the hand on her mouth to be able to look down on the captured breast. It’s aureole was wide and brown. He was going to come. He needed to. And now he was. He shot his fluids with a long shudder. A groan escaped from his lips. He pumped and pumped into her. He kept coming and groaning.

  When it was over, he was filled with loathing. For a moment, it was disgust at himself for his weakness, and then it was all turned on the girl. He lifted himself off her, pulling his pants up. It made him sick that she should see his nakedness. It made him sick that he should see hers. She stared up at him, shocked, not even trying to cover herself.

  “You thought I was coming,” he spoke in barely contained tones. “I wasn’t. I was pissing. Do you hear that? I was pissing into you!”

  “Jesus,” she said. “You’re a nice one.”

  The longer she flaunted her nakedness at him, the more unhinged he became. “Get out!” he shrieked. “Get out!” There was a little table beside the bed with a kerosene lamp on it. He upset the table onto her, breaking the glass lamp and spilling its fuel over her body. She leapt up, suddenly more afraid. He yelled at her again. His words were barely coherent.

  Her clothes were in a pile near the door. She slipped in her urgency get to them, and pulled herself up against the door jamb in an awkward pose. As he looked down on her, he caught a glimpse of her anus. It filled him with fury. The affront! The scream came
out of his throat without his volition. He aimed a kick at her buttock, but lost his footing in the urgency of his attack. His booted foot landed heavily on her hip as he fell, propelling her forward and into the frame of the door, cutting her cheek and shoulder. Blood was running down over her chin. The girl felt he was coming up behind her, and she twisted her body to avoid the blow she expected. But he was still on his knees, tangled in the bedding and struggling to get up. The force of her twist had rolled her out the door. She had her shirt in one hand. The rest of her clothes were back in the hut but she didn’t give a damn. She jumped to her feet and ran off into the adjacent woods. There was a soft pine needle path under her and she ran like the wind, naked, unrestrained. She was not going to stop running until he was miles behind her. She knew she was running for her life.

  Back at the hut, Nehemiah pounded his fist against the door frame. There was a nail there to hang something on, and it cut him. His own blood was dripping down in the dust where hers had dripped only seconds before. His own blood! He saw his life’s blood merge in the dirt with that of the filthy girl and it drew yet another moan from his anguished lips.

  He should go after her. She would tell everything, go blabbing to anyone who would listen. They would come after him when they heard her story, big men with hammer fists. They would beat him. He was suddenly afraid, haunted by the specter of pain. And that was only a part of it: The mission, his holy mission was undone by the damn girl. This was all her fault. He should have run after her and clubbed her, hit her again and again until she was dead. He imagined himself crushing her skull with a boulder. It was only what she deserved, and more important, it was what the mission required. Only she was gone. He couldn’t catch her now, he was sure. She had run off, so fast, so young and healthy. He could never keep up, never run that fast, never again, not with the force of his manhood, spilled and wasted. He slumped down on dirt floor of the doorway. All was lost. He would have to flee. He would have to abandon his place in the Administrative Office, his access to all the information that was needed for the mission. And all because of the fucking girl. The bitch! How could she have done him so much harm? What had he ever done to deserve such an ill turn? He could feel the misery working his way through his whole body. He put his head down into his hands and sobbed.