Fires of Hell: The Alchemystic

by Maureen L. Mills

  How I longed to accept! I felt more than a little frustrated and angry at both Captain Rollinses at the moment.

  But my promise to Obadiah still bound me. “I’m afraid, Mr. Fairlane, I can’t accept your kind offer—”

  “No, no!” he said, cutting off my denial before I could finish. “I don’t require your answer tonight, but wished to reassure you that the position is still open. For an engineer of your caliber, I am willing to make many concessions.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the airfield’s gaslights as if he had made a slightly naughty suggestion.

  I could not help smiling back. His obvious respect for my professional skills came as a balm after the sting of Josiah’s distrust and Maman’s desire for me to become a “proper lady.” Really, I ought to tell the man I could not leave Winged Goods. Tell him of the promise that bound me to the company.

  But, if Mr. Fairlane were willing to wait a month, perhaps that would be long enough to satisfy honor. Somehow, I could not see myself working under Josiah Rollins for long. From what little I’d seen of the man, he appeared stiff and unbending, not the sort of person to accept a woman as his chief engineer—or in any other position outside those traditional for my sex.

  True, Josiah was pleasant to look upon—extremely so. However, I knew I was deceiving myself to think I had a chance of capturing the attention of a man of his social standing and upbringing even if I stayed under his command. He had the advantage of having Captain Rollins as a father, with all the opportunities for education and advancement that came with it.

  I had nothing of the sort.

  If only I hadn’t made that promise to Obadiah!

  “I don’t suppose you could extend your offer for a month?” I asked. “Or perhaps two? I shall be in a better position to accept by then.”

  Surely, that was long enough to allow Josiah to settle into his captaincy.

  “Ah,” Fairlane said. “Do I detect a hint of trouble in Winged Goods’ paradise?”

  I shrugged a shoulder in the French manner Maman had mastered so easily. “There is always a transition period with a new captain.”

  “Does he even know what you are?” he asked, his eyes flicking over me from cap to boot-tip.

  I froze. Did he mean, did Josiah know I was a woman? Surely he did not mean to imply he knew of my pyromancy. No one beyond Maman, Obadiah, and Captain Rollins knew of that. Well, only Maman and Obadiah, now. “And what am I?”

  “That is the question, is it not?” He changed the subject before I could analyze his odd tone. “He respects your skill, though, I am certain.”

  I should have politely agreed, and ended the conversation. But the last confrontation with Josiah Rollins stung too much, still. “No, he does not. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Oh? Do tell!” He leaned closer, conspiratorially, and I found his friendly manner irresistible, despite his previous mysterious comment.

  “He insists on ordering more coal than is needed, not trusting that my charts and calculations are correct.”

  “How annoying!”

  I nodded. “Indeed. And costly, over time.”

  “So true. Not many people can understand the finer points of fuel efficiency calculations. I must admit, I tend to leave those to my engineers, myself. I find it works better that way.”

  “You have no idea how refreshing that attitude appears to me at this moment, Mr. Fairlane. My captain seems to have trouble trusting me to do more than shovel coal.” Now that I’d begun to tell of my grievances with Josiah, I found it extremely difficult to stop. “In fact, he has even changed our standard route. Instead of stopping at Saint-Etienne for cheaper coal, he has us pushing straight for Marseille.”

  “But Winged Goods ships always stop at Saint-Etienne!”

  “Not anymore, I suppose. We’ll have to raise our rates if Captain Rollins persists in his foolishness. We’ll lose business.”

  Mr. Fairlane clicked his tongue in sympathetic dismay, and scooped up my hand from where I’d been toying with my watch chain. “Not to worry, my dear. If ever you find yourself wanting a new position, don’t hesitate to contact me. I shall be devastated at having to wait to enjoy the advantages of your skills aboard my ship. But your words give me hope that my wait will not be prolonged.” He pressed my fingers, soot-darkened as they were, to his lips in a smooth, gallant kiss.

  My cheeks went hot with pleasure. Fairlane treated me as if I were both an attractive woman and an intelligent human being. A singular experience for me.

  As a result, I reacted as brainlessly as any schoolgirl on her first presentation to society. All language fled from me under the onslaught of his dazzling smile and captivating charm. I tried to stammer some sort of response—perhaps a thank you, although I could not be certain that was what came out—and turned to flee through the gates leading onto the airfield.

  However, Mr. Fairlane did not let go of my hand, bringing me up short after a single step. “As consolation, you would, perhaps, grant me the favor of your presence at a small dinner gathering at my lodgings tonight? Nothing in the least formal, you understand. Only me and a few of my crewmen. No one will mind your current attire. In fact, I find it quite charming.”

  I stared back at him over my frock-coated shoulder, my astonishment at his invitation—to me, with my unfashionably mussed hair, sooty face, and trousers—apparent. He laughed, and repeated, “Quite charming.”

  His laughter was contagious. I could not help joining in.

  But I shook my head, anyway. “I’m afraid I must decline, sir. I’m due back at my post.”

  “Ah!” he cried. “I am doomed to constant disappointment this night!” He pressed my hand warmly once more before releasing me. “I look forward to hearing from you shortly about my offer of employment. Good night, Miss Everley.”

  “Good night, Mr. Fairlane,” I managed to say before I moved off, fairly reeling from the pleasant shock of his gentle flirtation.

  * * *

  The line I’d slid down to sneak off the Mercury still dangled near the stern screw. The climb to where the access rungs began looked much farther than it had on the way down.

  I reeled from an entirely different cause than astonishment at Mr. Fairlane’s agreeable attitude by the time I grasped the edge of the engine room porthole and began squeezing myself inside.

  I’d climbed plenty of ropes before. The activity came with the territory when you worked aboard an airship. When a gasbag tore, or lines frayed, or sensors needed replacing, I was the one to carry out the repairs, and ropes were lighter than ladders.

  This climb, however, had to be carried out in comparative silence, a more difficult prospect than one might imagine. Thank goodness we were securely moored, and I had no more than a handful of yards to climb before reaching the darkened porthole.

  I went through the porthole head-first and wriggled until my hips popped through the tight opening. I caught myself with my hands on the engine room’s decking, tucking my head and rolling forward to my feet.

  Safe.

  “I thought I told you to stay on board,” said Captain Josiah’s quietly furious voice from the darkness near the engines.

  Drat. Just how many men could I come across lurking in the shadows tonight?

  Chapter Nine

  Cursing under my breath, I swung to face Josiah.

  “Captain Rollins,” I said, attempting not to sound overly flustered. “What are you doing in my engine room?”

  “Chief Engineer Everley,” he began. “I am aware Winged Goods is not a military organization. If it were, I would have you thrown into the brig for dereliction of duty and mutiny.”

  God, he was such a prig! Almost as bad as Whitcomb. “It was not mutiny,” I protested. “Mutiny implies I tried to incite others against you, and I did no such thing.”

  “As we are not,” he continued, ice dripping from every word, “I am sorely tempted to dock your pay. I am certainly including this incident in my daily log, and shall remember it when I consider who r
eceives the permanent post of chief engineer when we return from this mission.”

  It would serve him right if I accepted Mr. Fairlane’s offer of employment this very night. Why couldn’t Josiah Rollins recognize the worth of his own crewman or even respect his father’s judgment of my capabilities?

  I glared at Josiah, although I am certain much of the impact dissipated in the gloom. He hadn’t lit the lantern; merely lain in wait in the dark. Probably rehearsing his little speech.

  I put all the venom of my glare into my voice as I replied. “I would not have had to sneak off the airship if you had been reasonable about granting leave earlier. As you can see, I am back in plenty of time to be ready when Mr. Jones returns.”

  “This is my ship, Mr. Everley, and I shall fly it as I see fit. If you desire to keep your position, you would do well to remember that.” His snapped “Mr. Everley” brought my masquerade back to mind.

  Had my voice been too high? Or, worse, had I given that squeak peculiar to females when startled? Either of those would be a dead giveaway. Thank goodness near-inky darkness shrouded the engine room, in case Maman had cleaned away too much of my disguising layer of dirt.

  I lowered and roughened both my voice and my accent. “You’ll fly her, all right. You’ll fly her right into the ground, along with the entire company.”

  “That’s enough, Everley,” he snapped. “I have made allowances for the strain you are under due to your tender years and the death of your captain. But do not try my patience too far.”

  I pressed my lips together, recognizing that I’d pushed him as far as I could without repercussions I would not enjoy.

  “Now,” he continued, after taking in a deep breath. I all but felt him put aside my interruptions and resume his script. “While I have not had the time to go over your charts thoroughly, I did notice a few personal papers of yours among the rest.”

  I went cold, despite the heat of the banked fires. I guessed I knew now where my missing notes had gone. I could not remember, however, exactly what I’d written on the sheets, beyond the sketch of the mysterious brass button. I had poured out my feelings on some of the papers, confiding my sorrow and anger to the silent page. The idea of being laid so bare in front of a virtual stranger, and a hostile one at that, made my stomach churn.

  “If I understand correctly,” Josiah said, “you have been making inquiries into my father’s death.”

  His voice held nothing of how he felt about that. I wished I could see his face, but without lamplight, he appeared as another shadow among the many in the room—a tall and attractively-scented one. Chamomile and sandalwood, and good, clean man. What kind of soap did he use, anyway? I’d never smelled anything like it before. Sort of like a combination of cozy home and adventure, all in one. I wanted to curl up against him and wrap that scent around myself.

  What an inappropriate reaction, under the circumstances.

  Josiah had paused, apparently waiting for my response. Belatedly, I answered, “Yes, sir!”

  “Your concern is appreciated, but I must insist you cease such nonsense at once.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Nonsense, sir? What is nonsense is the idea that he was killed by footpads who wanted to rob him when he had all his money and possessions still on him.”

  “Regardless of the validity of the official enquiry, the matter is none of your business. That responsibility lies with his son and heir. With me,” he added, as if I needed a reminder of that unsavory fact.

  “And what, exactly, are you doing about ‘the matter’, as you put it? It appears to me that you are too absorbed playing the great captain to take care of that particular responsibility.” I shouldn’t have challenged him again, but the words burst out before I could recall the wisdom of silence.

  He stepped nearer, looming out of the shadows as he moved into a slash of moonlight from the open porthole, accentuating his high cheekbones and firm chin. “I must repeat, that is none of your business, Everley. I want your word that you will stop your foolish investigation and concentrate on running your engines.”

  I gave a bitter laugh to cover my heart’s foolish leap at his close proximity. “My engines will run smoothly, sir, but you cannot force me to give up my search for my captain’s killer. That I will carry out on my own time, upon which you have no claim.”

  The moonlight softened his scowl not at all. “Your engines had better run perfectly, boy,” he growled.

  I lifted my chin, refusing to back down. Josiah could not dictate my actions when I was off duty, no matter how they angered the man. After a very small moment, he seemed to come to that same conclusion.

  With a visible effort, he wrestled the scowl off his face, leaving his visage as blank as his voice had been at the start. “Prepare the ship for flight. Mr. Jones indicated he wished to lift off on a moment’s notice. Then report on deck to sign for the coal stores.”

  He spun on his heel and marched from my engine room. I restrained myself, with difficulty, from hurling a handy pair of calipers at his head. I grabbed the shovel and thrust a load of pellets into the hopper and opened wide the control valve for the feeder.

  The flames, sensing my temper, responded eagerly to the slightest breath of wind, the least addition of fuel, and my little nudges to bring the coals into better alignment. While the flame leaped, I seethed. Why had I allowed Obadiah to manipulate me into making that stupid promise? I was trapped by my own words. I could be the chief engineer for the mysterious Mr. Fairlane, making enough money to give my mother the life she deserved, outside the confines of a courtesan’s lifestyle. She could return to polite society, somewhere in Italy, perhaps.

  Mr. Fairlane also considered me lady enough to invite to his dinner party. An idea I found intriguing, much to my surprise.

  Whereas now I was stuck with Captain Josiah, the acknowledged heir of Edmund Rollins, the man who had acted as my father for as long as I could remember. Josiah, who had the respect and recognition I should have had.

  A man who had no consideration for me or my abilities and who would surely ground me the second he found out who I really was—not only a woman, but the daughter of his father’s mistress. Oh, and a phlogistologist. Would he turn me in to the government to be sold to the highest bidder if he found out that secret? I would not put it past him.

  The fire flared, and I saw my own frustration and anger in the way the flames danced in the iron confines of the furnace.

  * * *

  I counted cartloads of pellets as they rumbled up the gangway, noting the weight of each. As the poundage grew and the carts did not stop coming, a headache began to grind behind my temples.

  Captain Josiah had ignored my recommendations for how much coal we’d need. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet somehow I’d believed my charts and notes would be enough to convince him.

  If I let all the coal on board that he had ordered, we’d have to increase the amount of fuel used to produce the extra lift we’d need to offset the coal’s weight. Plus, it would reduce our maneuverability and our top speed. And we’d be less able to take on secondary paying cargo—not a large concern for this trip, as we’d be moving too fast to spend much time picking up extra cargo, but when we moved at a normal pace, we could almost double our net take through extra portage income.

  Even without taking extra cargo into account, we’d not be making the profit we should if we spent all that money on unnecessary fuel.

  Captain Josiah was being an idiot.

  It would serve him right if I obeyed his directives, and left him to wonder, in six months, why the company’s earnings had fallen off so far. I was tempted to do just that, unwilling to risk another confrontation with the infuriating man—but for that pestilential promise to Obadiah.

  I stepped in front of the gangway, blocking the stream of handcarts. “C’est tout ce que nous avons besoin. Reprendre le reste,” I said, directing the man to return the rest of the coal.

  The ground crewman pushed back his battered bo
wler and peered up at me from his position a few steps down the gangway. “Captain said to load all this lot,” he said in rough French, jerking his chin toward the carts waiting for him to move and clear the way.

  Folding my arms, I lowered my chin to stare the man down. His face looked familiar, although I couldn’t recall his name. All the ground crew became familiar when you docked at their airfields three or four times a month.

  “The captain is new to the Mercury and doesn’t know her proper capacity. I’m chief engineer, and I’ll take responsibility if we run out of coal mid-flight.”

  He gave a Gallic shrug. “It’s not my problem, yes? The order says fifteen cartloads, so I deliver fifteen cartloads.” He shoved past me, waving for the rest of the carts to follow.

  I’d have to appeal to Lieutenant Whitcomb. Maybe he’d have better luck convincing Captain Josiah my numbers were correct. If Captain Josiah didn’t start paying attention to the people who knew his airship better than he did, I intended to wash my hands of the business as soon as we hit London once more, promise or no promise.

  I’d heard Fairlane’s vessel, the Merlin, was a fast ship. Imagine how much faster she’d go when I got my hands on her engines.

  I caught Reuben’s sleeve as he coiled line on the deck. “Reuben, where’s Lieutenant Whitcomb?” With luck, I could find Whitcomb without running into Josiah.

  Reuben jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward the galley as he continued to run the thick rope through his calloused palms, checking for weak spots. “Gettin’ ‘imself a cuppa.”

  Dodging between two of the offending cartloads, I ducked into the short passage leading to the galley, with my engine room doorway open and glowing red at the far end.

  Whitcomb sat at the minute wicker officer’s table, a cup of Henry McDonnell’s signature airman’s tea—so strong a mouse could run across it—in his hand.

  “Lieutenant, can you do nothing to change the captain’s mind about how much fuel we need? We won’t be able to store it all at this rate!” I slid onto the stool next to the skeletal Whitcomb.