Amidst Dark Satanic Mills (Folkestone & Hand Interplanetary Steampunk Adventures Book 2)

by Ralph E. Vaughan

“Ah, yes, pardon me, Captain Folkestone,” Swift murmured.

  “Sorry, sir,” Hand said sheepishly.

  Sir Hubert was a squat bluff man with a moustache that would have shamed a walrus. He shook hands with the two visitors and afforded the astronomer a curt nod.

  “I have been given very little information about your mission to Mercury,” Sir Hubert said. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

  “As much as I would like to, Sir Hubert, I cannot,” Folkestone replied keeping his tone easy and conversational.

  Sir Hubert grunted and chewed his moustache thoughtfully.

  “I’ve been advised by the Admiralty on Mars and Section 6 in London to keep all information confidential,” Folkestone explained. “To let as few people as possible know the details.”

  “Is that so?” Sir Hubert harrumphed. “I suppose they know what they are doing.”

  Folkestone shrugged. “I’m just a soldier, Sir Hubert. I have my orders, and I follow them.”

  “Just so,” Sir Hubert mumbled through the veil of moustache. “Ours is not to reason why and all that.” He glanced at their escort. “And the professor…”

  “Is helping us in our enquiries,” Folkestone explained. “There is an astronomical aspect involved.”

  “Yes, Sir Hubert,” Swift added. “I assure you I know no…”

  “Very well, and so we do the jobs we are tasked,” the official interrupted curtly. “I’ve been instructed…” He tapped a sheet of paper on his desk. “…to render you any and all assistance while you are on Mercury. Although it has been decided not to put any trust in me, I hope you still let me know of any way in which I may be of aide to you in your mission.”

  “As a matter of fact, there is some information we need which only your office can provide,” Folkestone said.

  Sir Hubert clasped his hands before him. “And that is?”

  “Does your office track the movements and tonnage of all aetherships making port on Mercury?” Folkestone asked.

  “Yes, and of all nations and shippers,” Sir Hubert replied. “Of course, they do their best to hide their numbers—to escape revenue assessment, you understand—but my staff is rather adept at getting around their obfuscations. Mustn’t keep a single farthing from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, must we?”

  “What about the movements of aetherships in the vicinity of Mercury?” Folkestone asked. “Freighters, passenger liners, private vessels, and other craft that don’t actually land?”

  “We track them as best as we can, watching for smuggling and other activities,” Sir Hubert said. “Understand, the nearness of the Sun and the many energy flares play havoc with our equipment, I feel we do a good job of keep track of travelers in our neighborhood of the Solar System, a damned good job, if I say so myself.”

  “Excellent, Sir Hubert,” Folkestone said. “How long would it take to assemble the information from the last six months?”

  “If I turn a couple of my clerks to the task, probably no more than two hours,” Sir Hubert replied. “Perhaps a little less.”

  “Very good, sir,” Folkestone commented. “The sooner, the better, but when it has been compiled please have it delivered to Twilight Observatory.” He paused and looked to Professor Swift. “Where we will be questioning this man.”

  Swift looked up sharply. “Me?”

  Sir Hubert frowned. “Him?”

  “Yes, Sir Hubert,” Folkestone said, keeping his gaze level upon the suddenly nervous scientist. “As I mentioned earlier, there is an astronomical angle to the enquiry with which we have been tasked.”

  Sergeant Hand moved to stand by Professor Swift. The Martian hardly towered over the seated man, but he did glower.

  “You do realize, Sir Hubert, this man is an American?”

  “Yes, but I…”

  “Our orders preclude taking you into our confidence, purely for security reasons you understand…”

  “Yes…yes, I understand.”

  “But you may rest assured, Sir Hubert, that your assistance and discretion are greatly appreciated by Her Majesty’s Government.”

  Sir Hubert nodded very slightly as he considered Folkestone’s words. After a moment, and behind the curtain of his moustache, his lips curved into a smile.

  “I will have the information delivered as soon as it is compiled, Captain Folkestone,” the official said. “You may count on me.”

  “Of that, Sir Hubert, there was never any doubt.”

  Sir Hubert gazed narrowly at the astronomer. “And should you run into any difficulties…”

  “Thank you for your offer, sir, but I am sure Professor Swift will help us all he is able.” Folkestone stood.

  Sergeant Hand grasped Swift’s shoulder. “Let’s go, you.”

  “Certainly, Sergeant,” the astronomer said, standing, looking about with no small measure of confusion. “I’ll tell you all I can.”

  Even before the trio were out the door of the office, Sir Hubert bellowed for his clerks. Folkestone looked at Swift and Hand and gave them a surreptitious wink. The astronomer started to protest, but Hand gestured to remain silent till they were away from the line of consulate offices.

  “Really, Captain Folkestone!” the astronomer said when it was safe to speak. “I am sure Sir Hubert thinks me a menace to the Empire after all that! A wolf in the fold! At the very least, I’m something of an undesirable now.”

  “Perhaps, but he’s less annoyed about not being included in our confidence,” Folkestone pointed out.

  “Now the old boy will work triple hard to get every bit of the information the Captain wanted,” Hand added. “And maybe even feel better about being posted to a rock like Mercury.”

  “But at what cost to me?” Professor Swift asked.

  “Nothing permanent, I assure you, we will see to that.”

  “I am totally confused,” Swift complained.

  “I apologize for using you in such a fashion, Professor Swift, but now we have Sir Hubert’s full cooperation, where before it would have been desultory and grudging,” Folkestone explained. “We will inform him before we leave that you have helped us very much in the completion of our mission.”

  “I hope that’s enough.” The astronomer grimaced. “Look, I do not mind being made the villain of your set-piece, especially to get the better of Sir Hubert. Lord knows I have never much liked the man, and there is no love lost between him and any staff member of the observatory, least of all me because of my national origin, but we do depend upon remaining in his good graces.”

  “Tomorrow, the next day at the latest, a communiqué from the Admiralty on Mars will be forwarded through his office over the signature of Lord Admiral Sir Barrington-Welles, thanking you for your help in this matter,” Folkestone said. “Once he sees the official commendation, I am sure you will be restored to his good graces, and perhaps a bit more.”

  “If he doesn’t choke after seeing it,” Swift mused.

  “Probably swallow that walrus-comb,” Hand quipped.

  “Very well, you are forgiven,” Swift said, allowing himself a smile. “I’ll be your sacrificial lamb…your scapegoat.”

  “I think you will find it a sacrifice worth making,” Folkestone said. “He may still not like Americans, but he will value you.”

  Swift gazed at the two men with a dubious expression.

  “Shall we be on our way then” Folkestone suggested.

  “A tour of the city before…”

  “I fear we do not have time, Professor,” Folkestone said. “It is imperative we speak to you as soon as possible.”

  Swift sighed. “Very well, as you wish, but you’ll still be able to see a great deal of Twilight on the way to the observatory. It will take more than an hour by steam-launch, so I can point out some sights to you, answer any general questions you have about why you came here, or Mercury in general.”

  “Steam-launch?” Hand queried.

  “Yes.”

  “On the river?”

  “Of co
urse.”

  “No aetherflier?” Hand demanded. “Not even an airship?”

  “No, airships are impractical on Mercury because of the upper air turbulence between the light and dark sides of the planet,” Swift explained. “The last thing you want to have happen is to get blown to either Brightside or Nightside in an airship—on one side you’d burst into flames, on the other the lifting gases would freeze. As for an aetherflier, those are used only for journeys to Nightside, to a mining site like Nix or Nocturne.”

  The streets grew more congested with foot, animal and steamer traffic as they put the aetherport and administrative offices behind them and neared the riverfront. The air thickened, more oxygen saturated, and moister, much to Sergeant Hand’s consternation, and a thick mist rose, adding to the heavy twilight which was the mark of all settlements in the habitable region of Mercury.

  “What about gas and mineral mines on Brightside?” Folkestone asked. “If you don’t use aetherfliers there, how are personnel and cargo transported to and from a place like Slagville?”

  “Mostly through artificial tunnels on high-speed rails using the new smokeless boilers,” Swift replied. “Occasionally Brightside crossings are made in refrigerated surface-crawlers, but it’s mostly visitors on Cook’s Tours, something to tell their friends when they return to their one-horse dorps.”

  “For an American, you speak English very well,” the Martian observed. “Except for the accent, one would hardly know.”

  Folkestone smiled inwardly at the instance of an American being complemented on his English by a Martian.

  They came to the riverfront district of Twilight, where the dim lights of fishing boats and traders moved slowly upon the mist-laden river. The waterfront sounds that drifted to their ears would have been familiar to any sailor upon any river or sea, no matter the planet or moon. Just as the gaslight was softened by flowing mist, so were the noises muted, the rhythmic slap of water against hull or quay, the sharp cries of the leather-winged scavengers that fulfilled their roles as Mercury’s seagulls, the clanging of ships’ bells and moans of warning horns, and the jittery strains of music from a hundred taverns and inns.

  Hand sighed heavily and wistfully, then coughed softly due to the thickness of the air.

  “What’s the matter, Sergeant?” Swift asked.

  “Segir, Professor, just thinking of segir.”

  “The Venusian whiskey?”

  “Used to love it.”

  “Oh, you don’t drink it anymore?”

  “Sergeant Hand drinks it like a fish,” Folkestone said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite…”

  “When I heard the music drifting from the taverns, it made me think of sailors, and sailors drink segir.”

  “Well, not exclusively, but certainly a lot of it,” Swift agreed.

  “Not long ago, I got hold of some segir on Venus, not the swill they export, but the real goods,” Hand explained. “Mostly ruined it for me, it did. Oh I still drink segir now and then…”

  Folkestone snorted derisively to hear Hand’s drinking habits described as ‘now and then.’

  “But now I’m just as likely to quaff a lager or a good local ale,” the Martian continued. “Occasionally I down a few glasses of segir hoping for the best, but…” He sighed heavily again. “It just ain’t the same. Once you’ve tasted the nectar of the gods, everything else is just dishwater.”

  “If that’s all it is,” Swift said, “I’ve got some bottles of segir at the observatory.”

  Hand stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the astronomer as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

  “Real segir?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not the stuff they make for export?”

  “Straight from a Venusian distillery in Yzankranda.”

  “But how…”

  “I know a spacer, nice chap named Gully Foyle, and he brings me a case of it whenever he’s in port, usually about three times in a standard year.”

  Hand’s jaw dropped. “A case?”

  “Yes, I did Gully a favor a few years back, and Gully is not the kind to ever forget a favor, no matter how small,” the professor explained. “Like me, he’s from the American Confederation. We were on Phobos, me as an advisor to a lens company, him working freight and such. We got talking one long night, and it came out he had always aspired for fame and respect, something to boast to about to his fellow spacers, yet recognition always eluded him. Since the ‘golden age of space exploration’ is all but over, how is a common spacer to distinguish himself? I suggested naming a comet after him…I did mention that I’ve named more comets than…”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “Well, I found one making its first visit to our Solar System, called in a few favors, named it Comet Gully-Foyle, and, well, there you are,” Swift said. “Of course, I didn’t tell Gully it’s next journey by the Sun would be in five thousand years, but I don’t think he would have really cared. It was in the journals, it was in the astro-tables, and it had his name.”

  “He brings you cases of segir?” Hand persisted.

  “Indeed,” Swift confirmed. “Whenever he’s crossing nearby on a cargo run, he always drops at Twilight and ships a case up to the observatory. It would break his heart if I told him I really don’t care for the stuff, so I don’t.”

  Hand gaped disbelievingly.

  “Well, the others like it,” Swift defended.

  “May we continue?” Folkestone suggested.

  “Certainly, Captain,” Swift said. “Sorry, but I do get caught up in a good story.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Hand said.

  Folkestone thought the Martian sounded less sorry than thirsty.

  Professor Swift led them through thronged streets, past taverns and warehouses, to a government boatyard. There they made their way to the last boat moored to a stone dock jutting into the wide river. The opposite shore was lost in mist and dusk.

  “Build up steam, Jittle,” Swift called as they approached the launch. “Aether-wave the other launch to start out. Chop-chop!”

  A small pink creature leapt from the deck. They might have thought it dozing except for a book that flew into the air. For the size of its body, it had a massive head, with black eyes as large as a squid’s, a slit of a mouth, ears like small conch shells, and two fleshy antennae over each glistening eye. It wore a gold and red one-piece suit, but its hands and feet were bare and webbed. To the two men it looked like an underfed urchin or a sad little monkey.

  “Mercurians,” Swift sighed. “They’re clever with machines and know the world river better than any outworlder ever could, but you have to keep an eye on them. Notorious slackers”

  The sounds of a boiler hissing and growling came to them, then the Mercurian popped up from below decks. He started to slip the hawse-ropes from their moorings.

  “Jittle, did you send that aether-message?”

  The little Mercurian jumped several feet into the air, and landed on the deck running. He vanished into the bridge projecting over the bow, then reappeared just as suddenly.

  “As I said you have to keep an eye on them.”

  “Why did you have him send a message for another launch?” Folkestone asked.

  “We always try to keep one launch at the observatory and another here near the research station,” Swift explained. “If they set out at the same time, they pass about midway.”

  “And you had him use aether-wave with something so close?” the Martian asked. “I would have thought…”

  “No, this close to the Sun, there’s too much electromagnetic interference,” Swift said. “It probably has something to do with the process behind the Sun’s combustion. It’s obviously not the ignition with which we are familiar, else the Sun would have burnt itself to a cinder ages ago. It’s one of the mysteries the observatory was built to solve, but we haven’t yet.”

  Suddenly, Jittle the Mercurian uttered a sharp scream, dropped a mooring rope and scampered towa
rd Sergeant Hand. The creature began poking at the Martian, pulling on the tabs and pockets of his uniform, chattering all the while in native tongue.

  “What in the blazes are you doing, you blasted monkey?”

  The Mercurian leaped into the air, landing on Hand’s shoulder. He tugged at the Martian’s hair and ears. Hand tried to grab Jittle but the animated little creature was too fast for him, moving from shoulder to shoulder and all around in advance of Hand’s grasp.

  “Jittle, stop that!” Professor Swift commanded. When the wee creature paid him no heed, the human spoke in the quick squeaking language of Mercury’s aboriginals.

  Seeing his sergeant flustered by the agility of Jittle, Folkestone could not help but laugh. After a moment, Swift joined in.

  “I don’t see what’s so damned funny!” Hand blustered.

  Hand grabbed for both shoulders, but Jittle dodged his efforts, seeking the summit of Hand’s head. The Martian finally grasped the Mercurian, but Jittle resisted all attempts to dislodge him, locking his ankles together under the sergeant’s chin, clinging tenaciously to his ears with strong prehensile fingers.

  Swift and Folkestone laughed all the harder.

  “Get this thing off me!” the Martian yelled, careening around the dock as he pulled and thrashed. “He ain’t no blooming hat!”

  “Now, Jittle, behave yourself,” Swift urged as he moved in and gently pried the Mercurian’s fingers from Hand’s smarting ears. “I am very sorry, Sergeant Hand.”

  Finally the astronomer had Jittle off and squirming in his own arms. The Mercurian continued to chatter excitedly, gesturing wildly. Eventually, Jittle calmed down enough Swift was able to put him back on the dock, but even then the words flowed nonstop.

  “What in blazes got into the little monkey?” Hand demanded, slicking back his mussed hair. “He gone stark barking mad?”

  “English, Jittle,” Swift advised. “You’re speaking so fast even I can’t follow you, and our visitors don’t understand at all.”

  “Wow!” the little fellow exclaimed, and then commenced to talk in his own language, but at a much slower rate.

  Swift chuckled. “It seems you’ve made quite an impression on Jittle, Sergeant Hand.”