Fires of Hell: The Alchemystic

by Maureen L. Mills

  “I think not. My company may be new, but I, myself, have been involved in airshipping for most of my life. It is a family interest.”

  “Oh? I don’t recall hearing of any Fairlanes in airshipping other than you. I suppose your family invested. They are your primary backers, I assume.”

  “No. My father died eight years ago, last week. I have been working to recover our fortunes since I left school.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Captain Fairlane, but I am glad you seem to be doing well now.”

  “And we will do even better with you aboard. I have no doubt I shall outdo my father’s company in no time.”

  “He owned an airshipping business?”

  “Briggs and Company. You may have heard of it.”

  “I have.” Vaguely. From Reuben? I seemed to remember the firm had closed its doors shortly after Captain Rollins brought me on as apprentice engineer. I had paid little attention to anything other than what went on aboard the Mercury at the time.

  Fairlane took my elbow and steered me toward the right side of the hangar doors. “My father was a good man. Perhaps too good. He was never willing to do what was necessary to make his business succeed.”

  “But you are willing to do whatever is necessary? That sounds a little disturbing.”

  “Now I have given you the wrong impression. I merely wished to let you know I have no intention of letting Falcon’s Flight fail. Your position is secure, have no fear.” He tried another of his charming expressions on me, but his previous words dimmed the effect.

  My reciprocal smile lacked conviction. I appeared to be swamped with people’s personal history today. I had learned too much of Josiah’s and his mother’s, and now I had received hints of Captain Fairlane’s, as well. I was still trying to deal with my own history. My own failures and losses.

  Each of us struggled to live with the repercussions of choices made long ago, and not by us. Captain Rollins appeared to be the linchpin whose failure caused the cascade of circumstances bringing me to this very point.

  Because Captain Rollins hadn’t had the courage to marry the woman he loved and who loved him, Maman had bowed to her family’s wishes and agreed to marry an untrustworthy man—my father. When she had ended up pregnant and alone, Captain Rollins had taken her to Paris, paving the way for her to begin her new profession, and keeping me safe from England’s persecution of my kind.

  He had provided me with an education and a home, of sorts, but had not trusted his son and heir with knowledge of my existence. Captain Rollins had married a bitter woman for her money and left his son with her to be warped by her manipulation.

  Now here was another man whose existence had been irrevocably altered by his father. Silas Fairlane seemed determined to succeed in a business in which his father had already failed and was working at a disadvantage because the man had had the bad judgment to die without making sufficient provisions for his son.

  We all had to live with our parents’ choices.

  Odd, the similarities in some of histories with which I had been burdened lately. Too many people dying suddenly, too many businesses failing. Even Reuben came to Winged Goods from a failed business, as I recalled. Eight years ago.

  Mr. Fairlane’s father died eight years ago.

  I became an apprentice engineer a little over eight years ago. Well, ten years, but that was close enough for my suspicious mind.

  Mrs. Rollins had mentioned Captain Rollins had helped out the family of a man who had committed suicide several years ago. Eight years ago, perhaps? Captain Rollins’ private ledger held eight years of payments to MB and YS. Not any initials I recognized, but Captain Rollins frequently used pet names, such as Dearest Phoebe for Maman.

  However, if all this had happened eight years ago, why had Captain Rollins been killed now? And if Captain Rollins had been paying Fairlane, why would Fairlane kill him? Except, thanks to Mrs. Rollins’ poisonous nagging, the payments had stopped, hadn’t they?

  “You mentioned you recently lost an expected influx of funds.” I studied Fairlane’s expression.

  His eyes flickered hot with some strong emotion before he damped the flames and shrugged. “It is of no importance. I have dealt with it, and Falcon’s Flight continues. If you will come this way, Miss Everley.” He laid a hand at the back of my waist.

  We had arrived at the access door to the hangar that loomed like a crouching giant behind the Falcon’s Flight office hut. The main bay doors, at least fifty-feet high to accommodate the towering bulk of the gasbags, were closed, concealing any ship the hangar might contain. The company’s symbol, the stooping falcon, was painted above both the bay doors and the more human-sized side door Fairlane had guided me to.

  I glanced up at the unsettling image, and noticed the checking in the wooden placard upon which the new paint had been applied. The placard was old, dented and split.

  No, not dented. Carved. And not in the same pattern that the paint described.

  I shifted to the side, the better to see. The slanting rays of the sunset gilded the tops of the carved lines on the placard. A circle. A series of swooping lines. The curved outline of a ship’s hull.

  A winged sailing ship, swooping through the skies above the planet Earth.

  The same image that graced the bloodstained brass button I had found clutched in Captain Rollins’ dead hand. The button I strongly suspected of belonging to the mysterious gentleman who had met with Captain Rollins minutes before his murder. The same mysterious fair-haired English gentleman who had then met with the probable assassin who had committed that murder.

  I froze, hand outstretched to touch the incriminating placard. I looked over at Fairlane’s pale hair and fine clothes. No uniform for him. His coat could very well have come from one of the best tailors on the Continent. If Falcon’s Flight was having difficulties, where had he gotten the money for such fine clothing?

  He could easily have made his way to Constantinople in time to meet with Captain Rollins. But what reason would he have had to meet there, and not in London?

  And how did all these facts lead him to desire Captain Rollins’ death?

  I stared at the symbol above the door and back at Fairlane. He did not seem to notice, absorbed with unlocking the warehouse’s door.

  “It’s a bit untidy at the moment, but I am certain you will be able to see the possibilities.” He pushed the door open and turned to me.

  His face changed, hardening into an expression I had a difficult time reconciling with the man’s previous pleasing manner. “I see you’ve figured it out. It took you long enough.”

  I spun to make a hasty retreat, remembering the warning Maman had given me that a person who could kill Captain Rollins so easily would not hesitate to do the same to me. My dratted skirts did not turn as fast as I did, and I stumbled. Fairlane laid hold of me by the convenient handle my bustle provided.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but only got out a single squeak before Fairlane’s large hand clamped over my mouth and he dragged me into the dark hangar.

  His glove tasted of salt and tannin, and I bit down, catching a bit of flesh along with the fine leather.

  Fairlane cursed and thrust me forward so roughly I tumbled to the packed earth floor.

  I caught myself on hands and elbows before my face contacted the hard ground. Pain shot through my palms and up to my shoulders. A tide of silk and ruffles cascaded around me, shrouding me in my own skirts.

  The door slammed shut behind me. I was trapped with a murderer.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Shadows engulfed the corners of the enormous space, disguising the hulks of strange machinery, storage tanks, stacks of lumber, piles of coal, and rows of metal shelving. The gleaming red hull of an airship with Roziere-type hydrogen/hot-air hybrid gasbags shone under a pair of electric arc lights, the bags accessible from the wooden catwalk ringing the space. A heavy layer of coal dust coated nearly every surface I could see, other than the ship—including most
of me, now.

  Reuben hurried out from behind a scaffolding surrounding an enormous steam engine.

  What was he doing here? Did it matter? I was saved!

  “‘Mel!” he exclaimed. His hard hands slid beneath my armpits and he lifted me, depositing me on my feet.

  “Reuben! Thank God you’re here!” I grabbed his arm with urgent haste. “Fairlane is responsible for Captain Rollins’ death! Probably Henry’s, as well. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Reuben ducked his head, flushing guiltily.

  Fairlane stalked forward, shaking his bitten fingers. He gave a nasty laugh that sent chills down my spine. “I didn’t kill Mr. McDonnell. Your friend Reuben killed him.”

  “I didn’t mean to!”

  “Reuben!” I transferred my shocked gaze to him, and he hastily backed away.

  “It was only supposed to cause a bellyache! Maybe a case of the squirts or some’at. Just enough to annoy Mr. Jones and slow us down. Lose us some business. And the thing with the compass wasn’t my fault. That fool Josiah should have figured it out earlier, and sacked you for sabotaging the mission.”

  “How could you, Reuben? You betrayed your own friends! Your captain! You killed Henry!”

  Reuben winced, pain showing clearly in his eyes. But then it disappeared, and he shrugged far too casually. “I told you before, Mel. People like you and me? We can’t afford loyalty. We have to look out for our own interests. The good Lord knows, no one else will.”

  Fairlane chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying my distress. “A refreshing sentiment, and useful to my purposes. A few extra shillings here and there, and I had an agent in my rival’s camp. And now that I have you, Winged Goods is as good as finished.” He turned to my erstwhile friend. “Reuben, go start the coal pelletizer, and put the poker in the furnace to heat.”

  My mind spun. Why did we need coal pellets? Were we taking his ship somewhere? And why the hot poker? Now was not the time for a hot toddy.

  Reuben scurried to the back of the hangar, disappearing from view amidst the piles of crates and rusted machinery.

  I narrowed my eyes at Fairlane. “This is not about succeeding in business. This is about revenge. About destroying Captain Rollins and all he achieved in his life.”

  “Yes,” Fairlane replied. He did not even attempt to claim any higher motives. “Edmund Rollins drove my father to destroy himself, robbing me of both parent and position in society. Do you know how hard public opinion is on the son of a suicide?”

  Actually, I did. I was the daughter of a courtesan, a worse handicap in most social circles.

  Fairlane continued his rant. “I had to move away, leave everything behind, change my name, and start my life over from nothing. I achieved my present success entirely through my own industry and efforts.”

  “Not entirely. Captain Rollins gave you plenty of support over the years.”

  The chuff and thump of a steam engine’s pistons filled the air, followed by the thunder of grinding coal. And I realized why Fairlane had ordered Reuben to start up the machinery.

  I’d had little chance of a passing crewman hearing any screams over the normal airfield rumble. Now, little chance fell to no chance at all.

  Fairlane stepped closer, but even so, he had to raise his voice so I could hear him over the racket. “He owed me at least the pittance he provided.”

  “It was more than a pittance. I’ve seen the numbers.”

  “And less than I would have received from my father had Rollins taken up another profession,” Fairlane snapped.

  “And when he stopped paying you, you had him killed? That’s cold.”

  “I prefer to think of it as practical.”

  The term, used in such a way, struck deep. I liked to use the same word to describe myself. “I think your definitions are confused. The word you are looking for is ‘evil’.”

  “Why? It is justice. Edmund Rollins caused my father’s death, so I caused his.”

  “Captain Rollins was not responsible for your father’s poor management of his company. He didn’t force your father to do anything.”

  “There, we’ll have to disagree. And you, my dear, have nearly as great a reason to desire revenge on Rollins as I.”

  “I don’t. I respected the man.” But… I had been so angry with him, hadn’t I? Felt I had been overlooked, taken for granted, placed far behind his odious wife and irritating son in his regard.

  “Of course, Miss Everley. However, I’m sure you would have respected him more if he had had the courage to marry your mother, giving you his name and his protection.”

  “Edmund Rollins was not my father!” How many times did I have to say it? Did everyone in the airshipping community believe I was the captain’s by-blow?

  “Of that fact I am well aware. Still, despite his cowardice, Rollins received both your loyalty and your skills. You appear to be easily bought, Miss Everley.”

  “Not so easily, Fairlane. If you think I will ever work for the man who had Captain Rollins murdered, you are insane!”

  “I don’t believe you fully comprehend your position, my dear. You see, the reason I am certain Edmund Rollins is not your father is because I know who—and what—truly sired you.”

  Although the evening was mild, and, due to the steam engine’s emissions, the atmosphere in the enclosed hangar came perilously close to that of my engine room under full power, I went cold at his words. Not even I knew the name of the man who had planted me in Maman’s womb. I did know what he’d been, though. A phlog; a pyromancer. An arsonist who had burned buildings for enjoyment and profit, causing uncounted deaths.

  “H-how?” I stammered. “How did you find out?” And did he also know about my own alchemical abilities?

  Probably.

  “Plenty of people knew of the scandal twenty-three years ago. Your mother’s fiancé, hauled off in chains. Her over-hasty marriage to that repellent baronet. Her disappearance. Oh, her family put it about that she’d died in childbirth and the babe with her, but I saw through that story quickly enough. Just as I had no trouble finding where Rollins had stashed his lady-love—and the child she bore.”

  Although cold still froze my limbs, sweat began to bead on my forehead. I must have gone pale. My head certainly swam enough for that to be true. Fairlane nodded sagely. “By your reaction, I can tell I have guessed your parentage aright. And which of your mother’s multitude of suitors begat you and what that heritage means for you.” He clucked his tongue. “You, my dear, are in violation of several of Her Majesty’s strictest edicts.”

  “No,” I whispered through numb lips. “No, I’m not.”

  But I’ve never been a very good liar.

  “Where are your registration papers, Amelia?” He stepped closer, snatched my wrist and turned it upward, exposing the unmarked flesh of my forearm. “Where is your identification number?” He dropped my arm and laid hold of the collar of my bodice, ripping it open at the neck. Buttons went flying. “Where is your testing brand?” His finger stroked along the upper edge of my chemise, over the top curve of my breast, where the evidence of a phlog’s strength-testing would be placed, had I submitted myself to Her Majesty’s “mercy.” “Who owns you, girl?”

  I slapped Fairlane’s hand away. “No one owns me, and no one shall. I am a free citizen of the Empire!”

  “There’s where you are wrong, my dear little phlog. The correct answer to my question is, I own you.”

  He gave me a self-satisfied smirk that sent quivers of trepidation and disgust down my spine. “I would have been happy to have you as my employee, if you had only signed the contract and kept your suspicious mind in check. But this will save me money—and trouble—in the long run. You will live aboard ship or any apartments in which I see fit to install you.” His gaze transformed into a leer as he eyed the gaping front of my bodice. “The apartments will come when you have been very, very good.”

  My hand rose automatically and clutched my bodice closed. This could not be happen
ing. It could not! Where was Reuben? Hiding like a coward, I’d wager.

  Perhaps that was for the best. I had no confidence he’d choose my part should a melee ensue.

  “You are mistaken, sir. I am not what you think I am. My maman may be a courtesan, but I am not. As to my father—I never knew the man. I cannot be a… a…” I could not bring myself to say the word. Why had I so insisted on disclaiming the rumor that Captain Rollins was my father? It would have been a handy excuse at the moment. “Fairlane, I’m an engineer!”

  He moved uncomfortably close to me, herding me deeper into the hangar’s shadowy interior. “You had better be exactly what I expect, everything that I expect, or I shall have no choice but to turn you in to the proper authorities. I assure you, your treatment at my hands will be much superior to what you’ll receive as a fugitive phlog.”

  I shuddered, and nearly tripped over a coil of electrical cable lying at the base of the bright red airship. The unyielding hull cut off my retreat.

  I thought of the pyromancer I’d seen on the day of the funeral, his binding collar, the tattooed identification number, the brand on his breast. I remembered whispers of breeding programs in order to improve stocks for military use. I remembered newspaper accounts of phlogistologists on the front lines, slaughtered by the enemy if they stood their ground; slaughtered by their handlers if they broke and ran.

  Given the choice between that sort of slavery and working for a slightly unstable murderer, I decided to go with the least objectionable option. “I don’t suppose your offer of employment is still open?”

  He gave an unpleasant laugh. “No, Amelia, it is not. Not after you guessed my involvement with Edmund Rollins’ and Mr. McDonnell’s deaths. What can I say? I have no desire to hang.”

  “How about if we agree to keep each other’s secrets? Surely you can see the sense in that arrangement.”

  “Why should I trust you with so much power over me, when I can hold all the power in this relationship myself?” He turned slightly to address the dim pool of yellow light spilling from behind the steam engine where Reuben had disappeared. “Reuben! Bring the…”