Fires of Hell: The Alchemystic

by Maureen L. Mills

  “Miss Everley?”

  Exhaustion and illness made it impossible for me to do anything to slow the waterworks that seemed to be flowing without regard to my wishes. Ah, well. I would have to ignore them. “We will have to stow him in the storage cabin,” I said. “He will keep better in the cooler temperatures there. Can you take his feet?”

  “Miss Everley, you do not have to do this.”

  “Chief. Chief Everley,” I snapped. “If not me, then who? You cannot carry him on your own, and as you came alone to check on your crew, I assume Reuben, Lieutenant Whitcomb, and our Mr. Jones are too ill to help. Unless Lieutenant Whitcomb is at the helm?”

  Josiah nodded, still eyeing me with some concern. “With the aid of a chair.”

  I shifted to get my boots under me, grasping Henry’s earthly remains under the shoulders. “Then let us get to it.”

  He insisted on taking Henry’s upper half, carrying most of the man’s weight himself. To be honest, I appreciated the help. Even so, I had to stop once on the short journey to fight off dry heaves.

  We laid Henry in the narrow aisle at the back of the storage cabin, beyond the coal rack. I hated that anyone coming in to fetch supplies or the tools kept in the back would have to straddle him to reach the shelves, but it could not be helped. I could not tolerate the idea of Henry being left on deck, with no protection from the elements. I knew Henry would not mind the weather; after all, he was dead. But the disrespect such cavalier disregard implied would surely break my heart.

  I backed out of the storage cabin into the corridor. “I shall wrap him in his blanket as soon as I check the engines. Is that acceptable, sir?”

  “Make it fast, Everley. We began this voyage short-handed, and now… We cannot spare you for long.”

  Startled, I looked up at him as he used the doorjamb to steady himself. Had he admitted, to my face, that I had some value aboard ship? Of course, he was comparing my usefulness to a crew laid low by a virulent poison—and a dead man.

  “Are we continuing onward, sir?” I enquired, certain he would decide to turn the Mercury around and make for Marseille, a mere few hours away, or perhaps land in Corsica, even closer to the fore, instead of completing the leg to Italy.

  “We make for Rome in as good a time as possible. Mr. Jones says his mission cannot wait. Winged Goods cannot afford to lose these government contracts. I pray Mr. Jones does not succumb to the poison before we land.” His face, tinged green from the effects of the poison, set in determined lines.

  I could not argue with such logic and determination; however, I knew the next fifteen hours would be a hellish trial-by-fire of the crew’s endurance—and our captain’s. I hoped Mr. Jones’ mission was worth the effort. “Yes, sir,” I replied, and snapped as sharp a salute as my weakened state would allow.

  Josiah turned to leave the corridor, but paused before he passed onto the open deck. “I have been hard on you, Everley. You used deception to gain your place aboard ship. I do not appreciate deception. But I am relying on you now to be as competent as you claim.”

  “I shall not disappoint you, sir.”

  * * *

  My first concern, after stoking the engines, was to tend to Benjamin. The poor boy retched every few minutes, and the floor beside his berth acquired quite a puddle.

  I cleaned up as best I could while struggling gamely to avoid adding to the mess. I left the porthole wide open in an attempt to freshen the foul air. Benjamin kept down the weak tea I hastily brewed, and fell into a deep sleep. I hoped he would wake feeling stronger; and I prayed it would be soon.

  I had had approximately four hours of sleep in the last thirty, most snatched in catnaps between stoking the engines, with another fifteen hours to go before any serious respite. Without Benjamin spelling me on occasion, I didn’t know how long my strength would hold out. One thing I did know—after Josiah’s statement about relying on me, nothing short of unconsciousness or death would stop me from hauling the Mercury to her destination.

  Reuben shuffled in as I finished cleaning up the tea things, clutching his belly, the sparkle in his eyes dim, but still present. “Wonder what sort of fish Henry put in that soup.” He looked around the galley. “I say, where is the old lubber?”

  No way to soften the news. I had no energy to try. “He is dead.”

  Reuben straightened, and his face went so pale I worried he would faint or cast up his accounts. I lunged forward with the bucket I had been using for Benjamin.

  “Not on the floor!” I cried, but Reuben did not seem to notice the bucket I thrust at him.

  “Dead? How could that be? This is only a bit of a belly ache.” He sounded dazed.

  I took his arm and urged him to a seat on one of the stools. “Henry said it was poison. Something called devil’s helmet.”

  “A vicious name, indeed.”

  I shrugged. “The captain called it aconite.”

  Reuben paled further. “Aconite?” he whispered with horror. “We were given aconite?”

  I nodded grimly. “Apparently someone is trying to sabotage either Mr. Jones’ mission, or the Mercury.”

  “And it killed Henry? I don’t believe you,” he said, with a touch of anger. “You’re lying, or… it’s a joke. He’s hiding somewhere, ready to leap out and frighten us all.”

  “No. I am sorry, Reuben. Henry is truly dead.”

  His anger seemed to fade, replaced by stunned sadness. “Where is he?”

  Reuben appeared to have missed the significance of the existence of a saboteur. In his shocked state, I didn’t want to press the issue.

  “Captain Rollins and I laid him in the storage cabin. I need to go take care of him.” I took the blanket from Henry’s bottom berth, and then fetched a mug from the galley, filling it with the remains of the tea I had made for Benjamin. I handed it to Reuben as he stared blankly at Henry’s berth. “Drink that. Then come help me with Henry.” I imagined it would comfort Reuben to be of some use to his old friend, even in such a small way.

  He did not answer. He simply blinked down into the mug in front of him.

  I squeezed his hand and left to cover Henry with the makeshift shroud.

  * * *

  The hours passed in a blur. Stoking the engines, emptying slop buckets for the crew and our passenger, serving up what sustenance I could produce and we were able to keep down, adjusting the sails we used for steering and an occasional speed-boost—normally Reuben’s responsibility, but he had retired to the storage cabin to hold vigil at Henry’s side and could not be pried away.

  In everything I did, Josiah was right there, also. No task was too menial for the captain, from scrubbing effluvia from the decks to hauling bags of coal. He traded off with Lieutenant Whitcomb at the helm in order to give Whitcomb—who had been hit particularly hard—a few hours’ rest. I might have suspected Josiah of escaping the scourge entirely, but for the two or three times I spied him leaning over the railings, making his own contributions to the sea far below.

  If I had had the energy, I might have been impressed. Under the circumstances, I felt naught but a vague sense of gratitude. I was on the verge of collapse. My head whirled at every movement, and when I was still, it buzzed with exhaustion. I could only concentrate on my current task, and even that proved a battle.

  Night fell, and it took some time before I realized that the darkness enveloping the engine room came from an external cause and not my eyes ceasing to function. I slumped to the floor, despairing at the thought of the long hours to go before morning and landfall ended my labor. Even the engines seemed weary.

  I leaned over and peered into the firebox. The flames wavered sluggishly, instead of flickering with their accustomed sprightly energy. The airflow needed to be adjusted, but I could not find the strength to climb the ladder to the adjustment wheels. I could not even find the strength to stand. I feared I had reached my utter limits.

  As I lay huddled on the floor, orange and black dots dancing before my eyes, I heard Josiah’
s voice from the crew’s quarters, murmuring quietly to Benjamin as he urged the boy to eat. “Nothing to worry about, my lad,” he said. “If it has not killed us yet, I expect it will not ever.”

  The man would not quit. Stubborn fool.

  Well, if Josiah could keep going, so could I. Using my workbench as a support, I dragged myself to my feet and dug for lucifers to light the lantern.

  I had fires to tend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Even the longest night must, eventually, end. I had little experience with praying, or religion in general, considering how and where I was raised. But the sight of Italy’s coast glimmering in the palest light of dawn filled me with the desire to sink to my knees and give thanks.

  Of course, sinking to my knees for any reason sounded miraculous at this point. The intense stomach cramps had eased somewhere in the darkest reaches of the night, but fatigue weighted my limbs like sandbags. My head felt as if it had been stuffed with pointed lead sticks, each one trying its best to dig its way to freedom through my skull. I watched the approach of the Fiumicino airfield with the focus once accorded Rome, the city the airfield serviced, as the center of the civilized world.

  The aerologists who guided us in wore purple trim on their white robes; Papal colors, because Pope Leo XIII had appropriated all alchemystics in Rome to the church’s service. The pope was fascinated by what he considered the evidence of God’s power on earth, be it alchemystical, religious, or scientific. Always excepting, of course, those whose power was over the element of flame. They were considered of the devil.

  You can imagine the treatment phlogistologists received from the Papists, with their legacy of inquisitions and witch hunts. I doubted a single individual of phlog descent could be found alive and free inside Italy’s borders. Pope Leo may have been confined to the Holy See since Italy won its independence a few years back, but the church’s influence remained strong throughout the country.

  I tended to stay aboard ship during landfalls here, despite my general skill at hiding my pyromancy.

  Josiah sent Benjamin scurrying to the airfield’s tower for assistance as soon as the gangway touched Italian soil. The boy had recovered better than any of us. His youth and the hours of rest gave him an advantage over the remaining crew. He dashed off down the gangway, and I returned to the engine room to finish banking the fires.

  By the time I’d finished my task, the airfield’s wagon, usually used for transporting mail, coal, and supplies to waiting airships, had pulled up to the Mercury. Several ground crewmen piled out to help carry off Henry’s earthly remains.

  Would I make it back to England in time for his funeral? I longed to say a final farewell to my friend… and yet, I detested the necessity of having to say good-bye at all.

  The extra hands were greatly needed. With all of our remaining crew combined, we didn’t have the energy to lift Henry without stumbling and dropping him. Reuben looked terrible as he trailed behind the four crewman carrying Henry’s body on a collapsible stretcher, white as steam except for the black circles under his eyes. I had not seen him since I told him of Henry’s death. I supposed the poison had hit him hard. I should have been more attentive to him last night.

  As the crewmen loaded Henry in the wagon to be taken home on the next ship headed for London, Mr. Jones exited his cabin, satchel clutched in his pale and shaky hand. I heard his murmured conversation with Whitcomb, explaining that he would be gone for mere minutes and watched as he wavered off to a waiting carriage. He climbed into the plain black conveyance, but they did not drive off, choosing to conduct whatever business they had in situ.

  I took up a position a few feet from where the gangway let onto the deck. This time, no one would get past me to work their mischief on the ship and her crew.

  “Why are you on deck, Everley?” Josiah’s voice, rough-edged from exhaustion, cut into my thoughts. “Go to your cabin and get some sleep. You will have little enough of it, as it is.”

  I swung to face him, disturbed to note how the deck continued to swoop, even after I had ceased to move. I leaned against the railing to recover my balance. “Wish I could, sir, but I need to see to the coal stores.”

  “Reuben can handle that. Go to bed.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. I was about to disobey a direct order and needed a clear head to explain my reasons. Unfortunately, my head was far from clear. I suspected Josiah’s felt equally clouded. With how badly most of our conversations turned out when we were both rested, I dreaded the outcome now we were so worn down. “Someone needs to stay on watch, sir. I need to stay on watch.”

  Josiah frowned. I could see him gather himself, straightening his shoulders to bring his authority to bear.

  “Please, Captain,” I said before he could speak. “I promised Obadiah I would look out for you. Someone is trying to sabotage this voyage, and I have to keep you safe.”

  His cheeks, formerly pale and lightly slicked with sweat, flushed an angry red. “That someone has been working mischief has been clear to me for quite some time. I have no need of a nursemaid, Everley. And, may I point out how wretched a job you have done, if protecting me was the point? My ship nearly went down, and my crew has been poisoned!”

  I felt my own face go hot. “None of that was my fault.” It was. I should have been watching more closely. “I have worked as long and hard as any to salvage the mission.” He knew the truth of that statement. I had felt his eyes on me many times this last, hideous night, as we split between us the chores normally undertaken by a full crew of seven.

  Josiah’s stiff stance melted. He passed a hand wearily over his face and hair, making his dark curls spring up as if they had a life of their own. “True. You have done well this night. But we will be off again shortly, and I need you alert until we are well underway.”

  I shrugged, surprised at how much energy even that small gesture took. The very air seemed to press down on me as if it were stone. “A quarter of an hour’s catnap will make little difference at this point. I intend to have Benjamin or Reuben take over the engines for a few hours after we reach cruising altitude.”

  “Yes. They, at least, got a bit of sleep last night,” Josiah agreed. “I wish I could see my way clear to taking on another crewman here.”

  I tensed. We ought not to risk an unknown person on board; not now, when we did not know who was responsible for the mishaps on the ship. I trusted the Mercury’s crew. I was not sure about the ground crews along our path. “Sir, I do not think…”

  Josiah raised a hand. “Yes, I know, Everley. Sabotage. Tight schedule. Quite impossible. You win.” He yawned hugely, using his raised hand to cover his gaping mouth. “Well, I’m for my bunk. Whitcomb can take us up and out. I will spell him on a four-hour rotation after that, but I must get an hour down first. Carry on, Everley.”

  “Aye, sir.” I smothered a flicker of jealousy that Josiah would see his bed before me. I had no call to complain. I could sleep a good four to six hours (oh, what luxury! Six straight hours!) once we were on our way to Greece.

  A smile twitched the corner of my mouth as I watched Josiah make his way forward to the captain’s cabin. He had left me to watch the ship. We had had a discussion—and a disagreement—and had not descended into anger or argument. Perhaps we had been too tired to make the effort. Or, perhaps, Josiah was beginning to trust me.

  I intended to deserve that trust. I watched with narrowed gaze and uneasy stomach as dark haired and rough-coated ground crewmen hauled oranges, salamis, bread, eggs, olive oil, coffee beans, and tea to the galley and coal bags to the storage cabin. Not one seemed to have any interest in going anywhere he should not. Nevertheless, I wondered if I dared eat any of the food supplied by the airfield. The eggs, I decided, and the oranges. Those, I would risk. How could an egg in its shell be poisoned?

  After a very few minutes of moving nothing but my eyes, I resorted to pinching the skin of my wrists to stay awake. Bruises formed, but even that would not keep me alert much longer. I w
atched for Mr. Jones’ arrival as for the second coming of Christ. I could not help the religious tone of my mental similes. Not here in the capital of the Roman Catholic church.

  Mr. Jones exited the carriage at last, striding quickly up the gangway. He went straight to Lieutenant Whitcomb on the bridge. I heard his urgent tone, and Whitcomb’s crisp reply, although I could not make out exact words.

  Lieutenant Whitcomb came out and gave the orders necessary to cast off, the snap of the familiar words loud in the early dawn hush. I hurried to the engine room and worked the valves and wheels as if I were an automaton until—at last—we reached stable flight altitude.

  I had no energy to peer out the porthole to watch the Coliseum pass beneath our hull, or to trace the path of the Tiber. I summoned Benjamin, shoved the coal shovel into his hand, hauled myself into my berth, and plummeted into unconsciousness, hoping my next waking would be more peaceful than the last.

  * * *

  Alas, my hope was in vain. For the second time in as many days, I woke to the sound of the tocsin.

  Startled, I tumbled, literally, from my berth. Heart racing, I scrambled to my feet, brushed past Benjamin, who was shoveling pellets into the hopper, and snatched the speaking tube from its hook.

  “Sir?” I asked, gulping back a gasp.

  “Everley,” Josiah snapped. “Report to the bridge at once.”

  “What has happened now, sir?” I said, scanning my dials and gauges. All seemed to be in order.

  “At once!” Josiah repeated, and he slammed down his end of the speaking tube before I got out my “Yes, sir.”

  I snatched my coat from its hook by the door and rushed out onto the deck, passing the cold and dark galley, bereft of the odors of roasting meats and brewing coffee.

  Bereft of Henry.

  I had no time to brood. Thrusting my arms into my coat sleeves, I pelted for the stairs to the bridge. Halfway up, I glanced over the railing and came to an abrupt halt.