The greenery burned reluctantly, sending thick black smoke pirouetting into the unbroken blue sky. Rubicon nodded with satisfaction. Three more beacons to light, then perhaps he might scoot by that tyrannosaur nest and see if he could scavenge a few lumps of coal for Darwin’s furnace. Dusk was the safest time, when the beasts had eaten and lolled with full bellies around their nest—though “safety” in this place was a relative concept. He took a few sips of water from his canteen and prepared for the descent, scanning the horizon one last time with his hand shielding his eyes.
There was a ship.
Rubicon swore and rubbed his eyes. Surely it was a breaching whale, perhaps, or piece of driftwood. It was so very distant, merely a speck on the glittering blue waves. But as he peered and squinted he was sure he could make out an almost invisible thread of exhaust steam. It was a ship. And it was heading for the island, coming up from the south and the east.
Rubicon gathered up all the kindling and leaves he had and thrust them onto the bonfire, then turned and let himself over the edge. Slowly, slowly, he commanded. It would not do for you to fall to your death just as salvation is at hand.
* * *
“Charles! Charles!”
Darwin had been napping, and at the insistent calls from the unseen Rubicon he awoke sharply and stretched, his exoskeleton creaking and hissing at the joints. “Stanford?”
Darwin peered out beyond the lip of the cave. He could see the pillars of smoke from the eastern and southern walls of their prison, but not from the other walls. Had something terrible occurred to stop Rubicon lighting the other beacons? The professor, his face red from exertion, appeared over the ledge, clambering madly into the cave.
“Stanford? Are you quite well?”
“A ship, Charles! A ship! We are saved!”
Darwin pursed his lips. “You are quite sure? Not a mirage, or—?”
“Quite sure!” said Rubicon happily. “I saw it from the east and then again from the south. It is closing in at a fair lick.”
“British?” said Darwin, not daring to hope.
“I cannot tell,” said Rubicon, shaking his head. “But it could be the Flying Dutchman itself for all that I care! Come on. I calculate it is heading for the place where the Beagle II was lost. We must make our way there at once.”
Darwin frowned. “But the tunnels collapsed. And is that not close to the nest of those tyrannosaurs…?”
Rubicon was filling his knapsack with their remaining dried meat and lumps of coal. “Pack just what you can carry,” he said. “We must away directly.”
Darwin nodded and tucked his journal into his own leather satchel. That was all he required: his notes, drawings, and observations of the fantastical flora and fauna on this lost island. Could it really be true? Was rescue really at hand?
Darwin staggered as the ground beneath his feet shook violently. He looked at Rubicon, who frowned and stared out to the jungle as another tremor rattled the cave.
“An earthquake?” asked Darwin.
Then there was another tremor, and another, and a column of smoke and dust rose from the mountainous caldera between the eastern and southern beacons. Rubicon shook his head. “No. A bombardment. They’re shelling the rock face.”
2
THE HERO OF THE EFFING EMPIRE
Along one of the paths that Rubicon had cleared with stick and machete during their six-month incarceration on the island, the pair of them hurried toward the booming bombardment. The shelling had disturbed the island’s occupants; the long necks of brontosaurs peeped inquisitively above the tree line, and pterosaurs shrieked and wheeled on the thermals rising from the hot jungle. On the periphery of his vision, Darwin, beset by buzzing flies that nipped at the beads of sweat on his forehead, saw shapes flit between the trees and bushes: raptors, no doubt. The carnivores were sufficiently startled by this incursion of the modern world to put their hunger to one side for the moment and let the two humans pass unmolested. Rubicon grabbed Darwin’s arm and dragged him behind a thick tree trunk as three lumbering triceratops, their yellow eyes wide with uncomprehending panic, crossed the path and crashed into the jungle, flattening a copse of gigantic magnolia.
“We’re coming up to the tyrannosaur nest,” whispered Rubicon. “I suggest we give it a wide berth. I’m going to lead us through the undergrowth.”
Darwin nodded. His legs felt heavy and unresponsive, a sure sign that his exoskeleton was seizing up again. He needed coal for the furnace, water for the pumps, and oil for the joints, none of which was in handy supply. Should this rescue of Rubicon’s not occur, Darwin was suddenly sure that he would simply give up the ghost there and then. He could not bear this existence a moment longer.
They crept around the perimeter of the nest, a clearing in the forest that stank of ordure. Darwin could make out the shuffling shapes of the tyrannosaurs, disquieted by the bombardment but remaining fiercely territorial. Rubicon put a forefinger to his lips, met Darwin’s gaze with a look that said Don’t ruin it now, and led him quietly through the fig trees, palms, and unruly plane trees. Finally the nest was behind them and the trees thinned out to reveal the sheer rock face, the labyrinthine tunnels where the two men had entered the volcano lost beneath the mounds of massive rocks.
Another shell exploded on the far side of the wall, and there was a pregnant pause, then the rock face seemed to move like liquid, sliding in on itself and then rumbling down in an avalanche of huge boulders. Darwin and Rubicon stepped back to the jungle as the rock collapsed with a bellow, opening up a wedge of blue sky beyond. The wall was still sixty feet high, but Darwin could see the drifting steam of the ship that lay beyond, and he heard a roaring sound he at first thought was an attacking dinosaur … then realized was the first human voices apart from Rubicon’s he had heard in months. It was men, and they were cheering.
Rubicon broke free of their cover and began to clamber up the rocks, Darwin struggling behind him. Before they had gotten halfway up, three figures appeared from the other side, then a phalanx of sailors carrying rifles. Darwin felt tears begin to fall uncontrollably down his face.
There was a broad man with a beard, wearing a white shirt and with the bearing of a sea captain. Beside him was a younger man, thin and tall with dark curls cascading down his shoulders. The third was a corpulent, huffing, pasty-faced figure, frowning into the sunlight and coughing with displeasure.
“Professors Stanford Rubicon and Charles Darwin, I presume?” called the younger man as the sailor began to descend to help the pair. Darwin sank to his knees on the rocks, all his strength having deserted him.
Rubicon called back, “You are most correct, sir! To whom do we have the utmost pleasure of addressing?”
The young man gestured to his right. “This is Captain James Palmer, whose fine ship the Lady Jane has brought us to your aid. My companion is Mr. Aloysius Bent, a journalist currently attached to the periodical World Marvels & Wonders.”
Even as Darwin’s strength fled, Rubicon’s seemed to return with renewed vigor. He closed the gap and grasped the young man’s hands firmly. “And you, sir?”
The fat journalist who had been introduced as Bent spoke up. “This is Mr. Gideon Smith. He’s only the Hero of the effing Empire.”
“We are saved!” gasped Darwin, and collapsed in a faint on the piles of gently smoking rubble.
* * *
Darwin came to as one of the sailors put a canteen of glorious fresh water to his parched lips. He feared that when he opened his eyes it would all have been a dream, but there was Rubicon, talking to Captain Palmer, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Bent, as the crewmen with the rifles fanned out around them, their guns trained on the jungle.
“But how did you find us?” Rubicon was asking.
“A survivor from the wreck of the Beagle II,” said Palmer. “He drifted for many days, clinging to a piece of timber. He was picked up by a Japanese whaler and languished in a prison near Osaka, accused of spying, for four months. He was freed as part of a dip
lomatic exchange with the British government, and when he returned to England he was able to pinpoint the Beagle II’s last position, give or take a couple of hundred miles. We sailed out of Tijuana at the bidding of the Spanish government two weeks ago. If it hadn’t been for your beacon, I think we would have missed you completely.”
“And did you find your lost world before you were wrecked, Rubicon?” asked Bent.
Darwin sat up with some effort. “You are standing in it, sir.”
Gideon Smith looked around at the jungle rearing up before them. “You don’t mean … prehistoric beasts? Here?”
Rubicon nodded. “Such as you have never imagined, Mr. Smith. And half of ’em would have you for breakfast … some of ’em with one gulp!”
“But how did you survive?” asked Smith.
Darwin tapped his head. “With that which separates us from the monsters, sir. Intellect. Invention. The will to live. Survival of the fittest, you see.”
The fat one, Bent, surveyed the jungle. “These beasts…”
“All around us,” said Darwin. “Your ship is just over these rocks…?”
Captain Palmer nodded. “Aye. We should be away.” He turned to address one of the sailors. “Mr. Wilson, please go back to the Lady Jane and have the mate prepare us for sailing.”
He turned to address Rubicon. “Sir, I understand your mission was to bring samples of these monsters back to London. I can tell you now that I will have no such business on my ship. We are here to rescue you, not transport a menagerie from under the noses of the Japanese.”
“Understood,” said Rubicon. He cast a glance back to the jungle. “Before we go … I would just like to collect something.…”
Darwin looked at him quizzically, but Rubicon promised he would be back within five minutes and jogged back into the dark trees.
“But how are they still alive, these dinosaurs?” asked Bent.
Darwin shook his head. “Whatever evolutionary occurrence or, perhaps, natural disaster that occurred toward the end of the Late Cretaceous epoch did not, seemingly, affect this island. It has remained untouched ever since, apart from the world, out of time. The creatures have thrived for more than sixty-five million years. It is a living museum!”
“And one we shan’t be returning to,” said Palmer, frowning. “We are right in Japanese waters here, gentlemen. If we get back to Tijuana without being seen it shall be a miracle. This could cause a major diplomatic incident.”
Smith looked at the jungle. “Where is Professor Rubicon?”
Darwin tried to stand but fell again as the earth shook. He looked at Captain Palmer. “Your bombardment continues?”
Palmer narrowed his eyes. “No…”
The ground shook again, and again. There was a shout and Rubicon broke through the trees, running as fast as he could, waving at them. “Go!” he yelled. “Get out of here!”
“What the eff…” said Bent, and then there was a roar that made Darwin feel as though his eardrums had burst. The trees behind Rubicon splintered like matches and from the dark greenery burst a fluid brown streak, all yellow eyes and teeth like kitchen knives.
“Oh Lord,” said Darwin. “A Tyrannosaurus rex!”
Smith and Palmer took hold of Darwin and hauled him up the rocks, as Bent scrabbled after them and Rubicon joined the climb. Darwin glanced at him but Rubicon kept his mind on scrambling over the blasted boulders as the seamen behind stood their ground and let loose a volley of bullets at the beast, forty feet from nose to whipping tail. It bent its head low and roared at them again. Darwin heard a scream, and Palmer cursed. He looked over his shoulder as they crested the boulders to see the beast shaking one of the sailors in its vast jaws.
“Pull back, men!” cried Palmer, leading them down the shale to a rowboat bobbing in the shallows. Ahead of them, anchored a hundred yards offshore, was the steamship the Lady Jane.
As they bundled into the rowboat, Darwin noticed the sun-bleached, seawater-bloated timbers of the wreck of the Beagle II, still caught in the savage rocks that surrounded the island. There was another scream: another lost sailor. After a further volley of shots the remaining crewmen skidded down to the small beach and piled into the boat, immediately pulling on the oars to take the men, painfully slowly, away from the island.
Then the tyrannosaur loomed into the jagged gap between the high walls, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the loose boulders. It sniffed at the unfamiliarly salty air, swiveling its blazing eyes to fix upon the frantically rowing sailors. Its brown tail, crested with black, whipped back and forth as it seemed to consider the vast, oceanic world that lay beyond its hidden lair.
“We are safe,” said Darwin, as they closed half the gap to the Lady Jane. “I do not think the beasts can swim.”
Bent puffed alarmingly beside him. “You don’t think? Can’t you be surer than that, Darwin? What the eff is that thing, anyway?”
“I told you,” said Darwin. “Tyrannosaurus rex. The tyrant lizard. Dark master of the Cretaceous.” He paused and glanced at Rubicon. “I wonder what made it attack us like that. What alerted it to our presence?”
* * *
The beast remained on the beach, stalking up and down and staring out at the Lady Jane as the crew helped the men aboard. Rubicon graciously declined help with his satchel, which he kept close to him as he climbed onto the deck.
“We’ll make steam for Tijuana,” said Captain Palmer. “As far away from that thing as humanly possible. We’ll need to go swiftly and quietly, avoiding the shipping lanes until we get to Spanish-controlled waters.” He looked at Darwin and Rubicon. “I dare say you gentlemen would like a bath and some good food, and a soft bed to sleep in.”
Darwin began to weep. “I thought we would never be rescued. Thank you, kind sirs.”
Palmer nodded toward Gideon Smith. “He’s the one you want to thank. He’s led the mission. Like our Mr. Bent said, Mr. Smith’s the Hero of the Empire.”
“I thought that particular appellation belonged to Captain Lucian Trigger,” said Rubicon, “though I do not doubt that Mr. Smith is fully deserving of the title also.”
“A lot has happened in the six months you have been missing,” said Smith. “Let’s go to Captain Palmer’s quarters and I’ll fill you both in.”
“A favor, first, Captain,” said Rubicon. “Could I put my bag in the furnace room, do you think? There’s something in here that I would awfully like to keep warm.”
Palmer narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and had one of the sailors take Rubicon into the bowels of the Lady Jane. Rubicon dismissed the sailor with his profuse thanks, and when he was alone he gingerly took his satchel and placed it securely between two crates, up against the hot steam boiler. Before he departed he opened the leather flap and glanced inside. There was an egg, as big as a man’s head, mottled in purple and pale blue. Rubicon smiled and went to join the others for the promised food, bathing, and news, past the shadowy alcove where he failed to notice the figure of Aloysius Bent watching with interest.
* * *
As the ship began to disappear from view, she continued to stalk up and down the beach. She had been aware of them, of course, dimly, in her tiny brain. Creatures like none she had ever seen, like none that had ever lived in her world. They scurried around and hid in caves, nursing flames and harvesting fruits. They were food. Her mate had tasted one, many months ago, but the surviving two had always managed to evade her and her family.
But this was not about food. Food was plentiful, and were not she and her mate the rulers of all they surveyed? All they had surveyed, perhaps, until today. Until this jagged doorway was opened up and this strange, huge, wet world that stretched in all directions came into view. No, this was not about food.
This was about family.
Whatever they were, they were gone with others of their kind.
And they had stolen from her, stolen that which was most precious.
She raised her head to the dull sky and roared, and this time her
roar was not reflected back at her by the rock walls of her home, but traveled out for who knew how long and how far? Out into infinity. Out where they had taken what was not theirs.
She dipped a claw into the lapping cold water and recoiled. She grunted, angry with herself. Then she stamped, hard, in the shallows, and left her huge foot there, in the water.
It wasn’t so bad.
Taking a step, and then another, she waded out until she could no longer feel the rocky ground. Panicking, she thrashed her tail and reached her head up to the sky, her useless forearms paddling frantically. She pumped her legs and felt herself move forward. Her forearms, perhaps not so useless after all, allowed her to keep her head out of the water. And her tail, as it thrashed, steered her course between the tall, cruel rocks.
Out to the open sea. Out to where those who had stolen her unborn baby had gone.
With the single-minded ferocity of a wronged mother, she howled at the sky again and began to claw her way through the water, heading, though she didn’t know it, south and east, in the all but dispersed wake of the Lady Jane.
3
THE NEW WORLD
More than two and a half thousand miles stretched between San Francisco and New York, and Jebediah Hart was going to have to cover every damn one of them, somehow. ’Course, they didn’t call it San Fran anymore, not since the Japs had taken over back in ’sixty-eight. Nyu Edo, it was now. But Jeb was old enough to remember San Francisco, old enough to know this place where he sheltered from the sun near the South Fork River as Coloma, not Shinzui Hiru. Jeb had only been young when the Californian Meiji was founded, and he’d pulled up stakes with his family and headed back east. But while the British had taken a step back and allowed the Japs to take California without a fight—hell, it was the Spanish who rolled over in the first place, after all—the governors in Boston and New York were only keeping their powder dry. America was a big place, and there was a lot of it to civilize before the Japanese problem had to be dealt with head-on. In the meantime, folks like Jeb who knew California like the backs of their hands were something of a commodity, especially those who didn’t mind trekking back and forth into the Meiji under cover of darkness, hiding in orange groves and sneaking through the deserts to keep an eye on what Emperor Mutsuhito was up to in Nyu Edo.
Gideon Smith and the Brass Dragon Page 2