The Lost Kingdom

by Matthew J. Kirby

  Mr. Kinnersley was already on deck.

  “Hello, Billy,” he said, his eyes red, his voice loud and energetic. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Neither did I,” he said.

  That was obvious, and I wondered what had him so agitated.

  I looked to the west, and found the storm still lurking there, a black mass that blotted out the stars in its hemisphere. Lightning flashed deep within the furnace at its heart, illuminating the countryside, turning the black vein of the Mississippi River to silver.

  “The storm seems to be keeping to a southerly course,” Mr. Kinnersley said.

  “Good,” I said.

  But I knew we would have to turn west, eventually, once we reached the confluence with the Ohio. I hoped by that time the storm would have weakened or broken up. At least for now, the high winds had abated, for which I was grateful.

  I settled into the routine of the watch. The changing of direction to follow the river, the adjusting and trimming of the sails. Before long, I felt exhaustion creeping in. My joints felt loose and weak, my eyelids rode low, and I found myself longing for the hammock in which I had just been tossing.

  “I hate the middle watch,” I said.

  “Are you fatigued?” Mr. Kinnersley asked.

  “I am.”

  “Take a rest. The river runs straight on for some distance. I should be able to manage.”

  His offer tempted me. “We’re not supposed to sleep on the watch.”

  “It won’t be for long. And I can wake you if I need you.”

  “Are you certain?” I asked. The lure of sleep beckoned to my whole body.

  “Quite certain.”

  I nodded. “Just for a few moments, then.”

  I went to Andrew and borrowed one of the blankets I had earlier lent him. Without ceremony or apology, I lay down on the deck near him and closed my eyes.

  Something splashed on my face, and I opened my eyes to rain. The storm clouds loomed above and around us, as though the ship were about to be swallowed. I sat up, gave the blanket back to Andrew, and hurried to the helm.

  The wind had returned and I had to shout over it to be heard. “The storm changed course?”

  He ignored me.

  I looked over the side of the ship, buffeted by rain, and couldn’t see the river. And we were higher. Much, much higher. I returned to the helm. “Mr. Kinnersley, where are we?”

  “I turned west!” he said.

  He had turned us into the storm. “Why?”

  “To hunt lightning!” His eyes bulged. He gripped the ship’s wheel, his knuckles white, and stared up into the rain.

  Hunting lightning? How had he planned to trap it? I ran below. I had to wake my father. But as my feet hit the Science Deck, the first peal of thunder shook the ship, louder than anything I had ever heard. Loud enough to fill my whole body. The sound of it tumbled the Society members from their hammocks and berths.

  My father charged from the sleeping quarters toward me. “All hands!” he shouted. “Billy, the storm?”

  “I was coming to wake you,” I said. “It’s Mr. Kinnersley.”

  “What about him?”

  “He steered us into it.”

  “What?” My father shot up the stairs toward the weather deck, and I raced after him.

  “Ebenezer!” he shouted, racing toward the helm. “What are you —”

  A blinding streak of lightning shot through the sky off the starboard side, searing my eyes, and the thunder knocked me off my feet. My father staggered to Mr. Kinnersley and wrested the ship’s wheel from his hands. The rest of the crew had come up behind me, including Jane, who helped me up.

  Mr. Kinnersley tried to take the wheel back from my father, but Phineas rushed up behind him and dragged him away.

  “No!” Mr. Kinnersley shouted over the deafening sound of the wind and rain. “Just a few minutes more!”

  “Mr. Faries!” my father shouted. “Take us down!”

  Mr. Faries scowled over the controls, his jaw set. “I can’t! He’s closed a valve somewhere!”

  “Find it!” my father ordered, and Mr. Faries began a hurried search through the tangle of pipes below the spheres.

  My father gave the wheel to Phineas and shook Mr. Kinnersley by the shoulders. “What have you done?”

  The ship started lurching in the wind, and we all struggled to keep on our feet. Lightning flashed again, overhead this time, lighting up the deck in a burst to rival the sun. Through the sheets of rain, I caught sight of Andrew still tied to the mainmast.

  The mast.

  I followed its ascent with my eyes to its pinnacle, where the lightning attractor stabbed the sky. I remembered the Leyden jars arranged below in Mr. Kinnersley’s cabin. That was how he planned to do it. Lightning would strike the attractor and be conducted down to the waiting jars. But Andrew was tied to the mast, right in the path of the electrical fire.

  “Father!” I shouted. “You must release Andrew!”

  He ignored me. “Ebenezer, tell me which valve!”

  Mr. Kinnersley shook his head. “A few seconds more, John! That’s all I ask.”

  “Father!” I shouted.

  “Not now, Billy!”

  I gave up and sprinted to Andrew. The knots in the rope were swollen and tight from the rain. I pulled and wrenched at them, but couldn’t get them loose.

  “Hurry, Billy,” Andrew said.

  “I’m trying!”

  Another bolt of lightning flared, casting fell shadows against the storm clouds, and the thunder rattled my gut.

  “I can’t untie it!” I shouted.

  But just then Jane appeared at my side with a knife. She sawed at the rope, and a moment later it snapped loose and fell to the deck. Andrew leaped away from the mast, rubbing his wrists.

  “Why don’t they land the ship?” he asked.

  “Mr. Kinnersley did something,” I said.

  He nodded and looked up at the spheres, then ran for the hatch and disappeared below.

  “Where’s he going?” Jane asked.

  I didn’t know.

  Mr. Faries had given up his search among the pipes around the foremast. “It must be one of the valves below!” he said, and followed Andrew down the hatch.

  My father laid a hand on my shoulder. “Billy! Take Jane and get below!” And he gave me a push. But just then Andrew emerged. He had his rifle. What was he doing?

  “Sir!” he shouted. “Mr. Bartram! We must shoot the spheres!”

  I felt a tingling rising through my legs, up my back, to my scalp. The image of the Leyden jar came into my mind.

  “Are you mad?” my father shouted.

  Andrew took aim. “It’s the only way to —”

  But in that moment, the sky above us ripped apart.

  When I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back. I saw fire. I heard nothing. My ears had ceased working. I rolled onto my side, and I saw Jane lying next to me on her stomach.

  “Jane!” I tried shouting, but didn’t know if anything had come out.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and a moment later she opened them. I forced myself into a sitting position and helped her do the same. The other men around me looked just as stunned, lying on the deck, sitting up, staggering to their feet.

  Mr. Faries rushed back and forth between them. He came to me and said something very close to my face. I saw his lips move. I nodded, even though I couldn’t hear him, and he moved on. Would my hearing return?

  Jane and I wobbled to our feet and we both looked up.

  The sails burned, stretching a sheet of fire over the ship. The mast burned. And the storm raged on around us, the rain insufficient to extinguish the flames.

  Muffled sounds began to find their way into my ears. Indistinguishable noise. I looked around for my father and saw him talking with Mr. Faries, pointing at the fire and the spheres. Mr. Faries gestured toward the deck, shaking his head. He had gone below to find the valve to land the de Terzi. It d
id not appear he had succeeded.

  My father scooped up Andrew’s rifle, and Mr. Faries went to the helm. My father aimed the gun upward and looked at Mr. Faries. Mr. Faries leaned against the helm and nodded. My father sighted along the barrel. He fired.

  I heard the shot, just a little pop, and the ship tipped, spilling us all sideways. Another pop, this one louder than the last, and the de Terzi righted herself. And she started to fall.

  A section of flaming sail tore loose, and the wind tumbled it over our heads, off into the clouds. I watched it flutter until it burned out.

  “Billy!”

  I heard someone calling my name as though from the kitchen door, while I worked in the orchard or fished by the river back home.

  “Billy!”

  Louder this time. Closer. I was in the lower garden, and they in the upper.

  “BILLY!” my father shouted. I snapped my head in his direction. “Lash yourself and Jane to the ship!”

  I cast about and spotted the rope that had bound Andrew. I took Jane by the arm and pulled her to the foremast, where I snaked the rope among the pipes. I reached one end around Jane’s waist and then wrapped it around my own, binding us to the mast. I could see my father watching me, making sure I did as he asked. The others around us were doing the same thing, attaching themselves to various fixtures around the ship.

  Our descent gained in speed. The bottom fell out of the storm clouds, and we hurtled through into open sky. Our fall was not straight downward but at an incline, the ground both sliding past and rushing toward us.

  “Hold tight!” I shouted to Jane. She released her grip on the pipes and took my hand, her nails digging into my skin. But I didn’t pull away.

  The wind soon put out the fires on the sail and the mainmast, but we were still going to crash. My father had punctured two of the spheres. That left two remaining, but I didn’t think they would be enough to stop our fall. Perhaps they could slow it.

  “Deploy the reserve sail!” My father shouted to the helm.

  The reserve sail! Mr. Colden had mentioned it as we’d left Philadelphia, hoping we wouldn’t ever need it.

  Mr. Faries shook his head. “Too soon!”

  The ground drew nearer, all mountains and valleys. Soon, we dipped below some of the topmost peaks. I was able to tell apart individual trees.

  “Now?” my father asked.

  “Now!” Mr. Faries shouted.

  Behind the de Terzi, a hidden square sail opened wide, tied at its four corners to the ship. The wind strained it tight, violently wrenching the ship and throwing Jane and me forward hard against the mast. I banged my nose on a pipe, and my eyes started watering.

  “It’s working!” my father shouted. And it was. We had slowed.

  I felt something hot and wet on my upper lip, and when I licked it I realized my nose was bleeding. I wiped at it with my sleeve, which sent a sharp pain shooting up right between my eyes. I blinked it back as the ship approached a hill, barely scraping its peak, and sailed into a valley.

  “John, look!” someone shouted.

  Then I heard a tearing sound behind us and glanced back, horrified, as one side of the reserve sail ripped free. The whole thing flapped and trailed uselessly behind us, and our fall quickened.

  “Hold fast!” my father shouted.

  I heard the sound of wood splintering before I felt it as the hull snapped the first few treetops. But then the splintering became a loud cracking as the ship broke branches on her way down. We jerked and shook, ramming tree trunks to either side. I lost Jane’s hand, or she lost mine. The cracking became a pained roar as the ship heaved and struck ground, throwing Jane and me forward again. But this time we were better prepared for it.

  The ship groaned and continued to slide along the ground, dragging the mast and spheres through the trees above us, branches and leaves raining down onto the deck. I closed my eyes tight, felt us slow and come to rest. When I opened them, the ship was leaning to one side.

  I looked at Jane. Her lip was bleeding, but she didn’t seem to be otherwise injured. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Billy!” my father shouted. “Jane!”

  “We’re here, Father!” I shouted.

  “I want verbal confirmation from everyone!” my father said. “William!”

  “Here!” Mr. Faries replied.

  “Francis!”

  “Here!”

  “Phineas!”

  “Here!”

  “Ebenezer!”

  “Here!”

  “Andrew!”

  Silence.

  “Andrew!” my father shouted again.

  No reply. What had happened to Andrew? I worked on the knots tying Jane and me to the mast. We had to find him.

  “Can everyone move to the helm?” my father asked, and we all affirmed that we could.

  Jane and I got free of our binding and made our way there across a deck that had buckled and lifted in places. My father was waiting, and when he saw us he gathered us both into his arms, one on each side, and kissed the tops of our heads. He embraced each of the men, too, as they reached us, though not Mr. Kinnersley.

  Almost everyone had sustained injury. Mostly cuts and bruises, but Mr. Faries had broken an arm. Only Mr. Godfrey seemed to have escaped any kind of wound.

  “Phineas,” my father said. “Would you please see to William’s arm?”

  “Yes, John.”

  “The rest of you,” my father said. “We need to find Andrew. Search in pairs. Billy, Jane, you will come with me.”

  “Yes, John,” came the reply from the others.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  We traversed the battered deck, saw no sign of him aboard, and climbed down the rope ladder. The storm had moved on, and the forest was silent save the drippings left behind, the ragged swath cut by the de Terzi as it fell, an open wound through the trees behind us. The stars shone through it, weak against the first pale light of dawn. This was the path my father had us follow in search of Andrew.

  “Spread out,” he said. “The sun will be up soon, but take care in the darkness.”

  We called to Andrew. We searched through the underbrush and the trees. Half an hour later, we reached the place where the de Terzi’s crash through the trees had begun, and we had found no trace of him. I began to panic. Had he fallen from the ship while we were still inside the storm? Perhaps when the lightning struck? He could not have survived a plummet from such a height.

  “Let’s return to the ship,” my father said. “We must survey the damage and determine our next course of action. I fear that Andrew is lost.”

  I refused to admit that. I could not admit that. But I obeyed the order, and we turned toward the de Terzi. Along the way, I noticed some of the sounds of the forest had returned. Morning birdsongs filled the trees, their melodies different than any I had ever heard, and the rain had released the smells of soil and vegetation into the air.

  As we drew near the ship, we approached the tangled trail of the useless reserve sail. In frustration, I kicked it on my way past. The sail groaned.

  “Wait!” I dropped to my knees and tugged at its folds.

  “What is it?” my father asked.

  I pulled away an edge and saw Andrew. He had a large gash on his head that had covered him in blood. But the wound appeared to have stopped bleeding.

  “Let’s get him to Phineas,” my father said. “Quickly.”

  Together we carried Andrew the rest of the way to the ship. We had no way of lifting him to the deck, so Phineas came down with some blankets and made his examination on the ground. He found a second injury on Andrew’s leg, a very deep puncture wound. He cleaned both, closing the cut on Andrew’s head with sutures, and bandaged them. Through it all, Andrew moaned but never opened his eyes, even as the first rays of sunlight fell upon them.

  “Will he live?” my father asked.

  I leaned in close, anxious for the answer.

  “The leg should heal
,” Phineas said. “And the skull is not fractured. But his head suffered a blow, the results of which are always unpredictable.”

  “Keep me apprised of his condition.” My father turned around and looked up at the de Terzi, and for the first time since we had landed, so did I.

  Her hull had collapsed in places and been torn away in others, exposing her ribs. Her sail hung in charred tatters, the mainmast a blackened spar. The abuse delivered to the spheres by our fall had deformed them with dents and cavities. She was a ruin, wrecked upon the mountainside as surely as a ship against a reef. The sight of it filled me with a terrible grief.

  “Good Lord,” my father whispered. “Come with me, Billy.”

  He climbed the rope ladder, and with one last glance at Andrew, I followed him. We found Mr. Faries on the weather deck, his arm in a splint and sling, standing at the helm. A branch three inches thick had fallen across it, bending the levers and controls into uselessness.

  “How is your arm?” my father asked.

  “It will heal,” he said, staring at the damaged helm.

  My father shook his head. “How is she below?”

  Mr. Faries looked up, his tears glistening in the dawn light. “She’s dead, John. The vacuum system is beyond repair. Her back’s broken.” His voice faltered and fell. “She’ll never fly again.”

  I felt a squeezing in my throat for him.

  “I’m so sorry, William,” my father said. “The world had never seen her like.”

  “And never will again,” Mr. Faries said.

  My father cocked his head in an unspoken question.

  “I just don’t have it in me, John.” Mr. Faries laid the palm of his good hand against the helm. “She was all there will ever be. At least, from my hands.”

  “Fair enough.” My father looked around. “Where is Ebenezer?”

  “Where else?” Mr. Faries said. “Below in his cabin.”

  “Of course.” My father’s voice descended into a growl. “It is time for a reckoning.”

  “Be merciful with him, John. He did not mean for this to happen.”

  “He has benefited far too long from the mercy of others. Billy, come with me. I will need your account of the events leading up to the storm.”