Of Steel and Steam

by Pauline Creeden et al.

  We each bundled up in our over-clothes and then Margret and I helped push the giant contraption out the double doors and into the street. Once outside, Mr. Cog handed both Edward and I a pair of googles and fastened his own upon his face. Then he helped belt both of us into seats upon the sledge. "Now, the wind is going to be at our backs for this part of the journey, so it won't be so rough going. The return home will be another story, but I can handle that pressure alone."

  "What about us?" I asked. "Won't we be with you for the return?"

  "Not at all, young lady," he said with a smile. "Our destination is your home in Cumberland. I estimate the trip would take us no more than an hour."

  "Amazing." I blinked up at him. "That's nearly as fast as a train."

  "Every bit as fast as a train."

  Margret handed him a small package which he dropped into a compartment near the front of the sledge. Then Mr. Cog turned back to us. "Now, say your farewells to Margret, as we are ready to begin!"

  I barely had time to wave farewell before Mr. Cog hoisted the sail with a sharp pull of rope and pulley. The moment the sail reached full height, we were off. The wind blew against our faces from the thrust forward, and I was glad for the goggles. I pulled my jacket up further around my cheeks so to battle the sting against my skin. We were out of the city and in the countryside in little more than a moment. Horses spooked in a pasture nearby. Behind us the two wedges of the sledge made tracks in the snow, but it felt as though we barely touched the ground. When there was a bend in the road, Mr. Cog would shout back for us to lean to the left or to the right as necessary. We glided along the streets upon the snow as though it were waves on the sea, except even smoother. Each mile flew past with amazing speed, and soon we found the familiar sight of our hometown ahead of us.

  Because of the weather and the time of night, we made it there without seeing a single soul upon the streets.

  "Edward, help guide me directly to your home."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The two of them navigated their way, and when we were a half-mile out, Mr. Cog pulled upon the lever, collapsing the sail. He then dropped an anchor which made it so that we stopped almost upon the doorstep before our home.

  "Mother!" Edward shouted as soon as he released himself from the safety belt on the sledge. He ran toward the front door of our home.

  Both mother and father rushed outside when they heard Edward's shouts. When he reached the top doorstep, Edward tackled mother in a crushing hug. Then he grabbed our parents’ hands and brought them over to the sledge.

  "It was an amazing trip, Mr. Cog." I gave him a slight curtsy as I returned his goggles.

  He beamed.

  But not as brightly as my brother as he told my parents about our incredible journey and the contraption upon which we rode.

  "Would you like to come inside for a hot toddy, Mr. Cog, before you go?" Mother asked.

  He shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, but it's getting late, and I don't want my daughter to worry overmuch."

  "Thank you for returning our children home safely," Father said, shaking the man's hand again.

  "No trouble at all." Then Mr. Cog lifted a quick finger. "Oh! I almost forgot."

  He reached into the front compartment and pulled out the box he'd stored there. "This is from our family to yours. Happy Christmas."

  "Happy Christmas to you, too." My father said as he took the box from his hands.

  "If you're ever in the city again, please come by ‘Odds and Ends’ for a visit. I know Margaret would be happy for the company."

  "We promise. We will." Edward continued to beam.

  "Excellent. Give me a hand, Edward?"

  "Of course!" The two of them began pushing on the sledge to turn it about. I jumped forward and gave them help as well.

  Once the contraption was turned around, Mr. Cog buckled himself in at the pilot's position. "Have a wonderful evening, and holiday."

  "Thank you," was all we were able to say before Mr. Cog yanked on the rope and pulley. The sail snapped up into position and swooshed away in the wind. It wasn't more than two blinks before he was more than a mile down the road once more.

  "That truly was an amazing contraption." My father continued to stare after Mr. Cog until he was completely out of sight.

  "What's in the box?" Edward asked, peering up at him.

  Father blinked and looked down at the red box that sat in his hands. He pulled the butcher's string that was tied around it and the sides of the box fell to the sides. Within was a music box that began to sing Joy to the World when opened. It was similar to the one we'd bought for our mother before it was stolen, but better as it was clear and every gear inside was visible. Edward and I smiled together, happy to be home at Christmas, and thankful to have met such a generous man.

  "If that thief hadn't snatched your bag today," Edward said, "We'd never have met Mr. Cog, or Margret, or had such an amazing adventure."

  I blinked and nodded down at him, my words caught in my throat.

  "Everything happens for a reason," Mother said, patting us both upon the shoulder. "I'm just glad you both are safe."

  We headed inside, blanketed by the warmth of home. Mother was right... Edward was right. Everything did happen for a reason, and something good came out of a horrible situation. Perhaps it was the spirit of Christmas that made it significant. Either way, it was a day I'd never forget.

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  Pauline Creeden is an award-winning, USA Today Bestselling Author of contemporary fantasy, apocalyptic thrillers, and steampunk. She tries to keep her stories bright and inspirational, but reflective of the dark world surrounding us.

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  For King and Country

  Chaos of Souls Novella

  R.M. Garino

  For King and Country © 2020 R.M. Garino

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Layover

  The late afternoon sun cast the tops of the gray clouds in a golden glow, which imparted an impression of solidity. His Majesty's airship, the battlecruiser Dreadnaut, pulled the vapor into a wake behind its mass. It vented steam, and its altitude bled away. Two smaller airships, the destroyers H.M. Trepidation and H.M. Hellion, held position to either side, and as one unit they dropped beneath the clouds.

  Crews rushed along the surfaces and adjusted the broad canvas pinions to account for the change in elevation. The steam powered engines hummed with a rhythmic clanking that drove its pistons and created the pressure in the inner balloons. Gunners withdrew the Cannons from the galleries, and the wide steel shutters closed.

  Lieutenant Robert Raen'dalle gripped a rigging line and hung far off the side. He gave the empty space beneath him a cursory glance, and refocused on the fore topgallant wing. A slight flutter of the canvas held his attention, and he consulted the compass secured to his wrist. The dial shifted by a degree in response to the airship's starboard turn. The flutter increased.

  "Correct fore
topgallant by two turns," he bellowed into the mouthpiece attached to his chest rig. Several seconds passed. The rear guideline shifted, and the pinion pulled taught.

  Robert allowed himself a private smile for the efficiency of his crew. Captain Stockbridge expected her airship to respond to her every whim the moment she uttered it. Robert's saw to it the crew followed her orders without incident. Thankfully, the riggers and haulers who toiled under his command today took as much pride in their work as he did.

  He enjoyed the art of flying. With the intense focus and concentration it required, he fell into the rhythm of the machine. How unlike the toil of commanding his usual gunnery unit?

  His gaze shifted between the rest of the canvas wings, and he noted the most minute shift in the performance of the fabric. Each needed to hold the correct degree of deflection to maintain lift and altitude.

  He called in three more adjustments before the clouds closed in about him, and the deck vanished from view. With the helm's directional corrections completed, he waited. They would slam into the Agerian mountains if the navigator miscalculated. With the amount of helium the engines generated, not to mention the munitions and gunnery charges, the resulting explosion would be spectacular.

  Robert held his breath and counted. One-King-De'veldrin. Two-King-De'veldrin. Three-King-De'veldrin. Four-King-De'veldrin. Five-King-De'veldrin. His grip tightened on the guide ropes.

  The airship broke through the cloud cover before he reached a count of six, and the land opened before him. The lush forests of the west thinned and gave way to the Barrens of the north, where the terrain grew more inhospitable. Jagged peaks and deep canyons broke up the landscape. A single river carved a path through the mountains, but it struggled to flow during high summer. The banks bore a riot of vegetation, and blooming plots of tilled acreage gave evidence to the benefits of irrigation. A single outpost rested across the floodplain, which spread for almost a mile from peak to peak.

  Sharil's Forde; the last vestige of civilization, and the nation of Patheran's northernmost border.

  Robert kissed his two fingertips at the success of the crew, and cast it into the ether. After another visual check of the wings, he hauled himself back to the deck. The petty officer and two aeronauts assigned to his unit rushed forward to assist with him with stripping off his safety harness and gear. They saluted with a tap of the fist to their heart, and gave the same two-fingered gesture. Robert held his arms out to the sides. They fell to the carabiner clips on the ends of the ropes that attached him to the deck's safety rail and unscrewed the locks. The harness came off him next, and then the communications rig.

  "Is it true, Sir?" A young aeronaut popped the spring clips which secure the unit to his neck.

  "You'll have to be a little more specific, Marius," Robert said. The aeronaut's teen aged face still bore the light and excitement of boyhood. Robert held his own in a habitual, stoic mask.

  "Sorry, Sir." Marius kept his focus on the clips, which tended to nip the wearer when they released, especially so close to the upper neck and jaw. "I meant the layover. Is it true we'll get some time on the ground?"

  "Not likely," Robert said. The sharp bite of metal nipped his chin, but he ignored it for the moment. "This is only a routine stop at the garrison. A few minor repairs, a quick resupply, and we'll be back in the air by morning. I doubt you'll be on the ground long enough to find a tree to piss on."

  He glanced at the crestfallen look on the young man's face, mirrored on the young woman who detached the communication tubes from his chest. The truth is not always the best medicine, he reminded himself.

  "Then again," he said. "Stranger things have happened. Ensign Kendrick. Remind me. Is it the coolant pump or the isolator pump which needs tending?"

  "The isolator, Sir," Kendrick said. He coiled the canvas and copper tubing around a pair of pinons on the deck wall. "It started leaking when we passed over the highlands yesterday."

  "Now that could take a while." Robert pursed his lips and dipped his head. "Separating the gasses is a tricky thing. We don't want to devalue the mixtures. Why is that, Chanik?"

  The female aeronaut he directed the question to waved it away.

  "If the mix is too pure, the ballonets ignite, and we crash and burn, Sir," she said. "If it is contaminated, we lose lift and spend more fuel staying aloft."

  "How do we isolate the problem, Marius?" Robert worked the dual row of buttons on his leather over jacket while the crew arranged the equipment for storage.

  "Umm... Ahhh..." Marius stuttered. A look of panic descended over him, and he glanced at Kendrick for help.

  Robert shrugged out of his jacket and bunched it in his grip. He clapped the aeronaut on the shoulder and gave him a grin. "You call engineering and sound 'all quarters'," he said. "Last thing we need is a straphauler messing with the dials and gauges."

  The aeronauts laughed, and Marius shook his head to hide his blush.

  "Aye Sir," he said.

  The communications horn sounded a whistling note, which cut through the laughter.

  "First Lieutenant Beckett. Second Lieutenant Raen'dalle. Report to the bridge," the intercom blared. Robert handed his gear to the ensign. They saluted when he stepped off to answer the summons, and continued to stow the safety gear.

  The bridge rotunda sat in the center of the ship, and occupied the lowest decks. Robert needed to drop four levels, from the upper Gunnery deck to the Orlop. The metal floors rang with each strike of his hard-soled, black leather boots. He climbed through several hatches, designed to secure the various sections in the event of an emergency. Crafted for average height, Robert ducked beneath each one. His six-foot three frame put him a good head above average.

  He reached the top of the last hatch, and clipped his safety belt to the handrail.

  "Down ladder," he called, wrapped his hands on the rails, and jumped into the shaft. With the soles of his boots pressed to either rail, he slid down the ladder to the middle deck. The intercom implied haste, and he never tired of the ride down. He unhooked his belt and walked the dozen yards to the next ladder, where he repeated the procedure.

  On the Orlop deck, he moved toward the bow, and stopped before the hatch to the bridge, where he rapped three times. A one by two cuff port slid open to reveal an armored Zephyr, the military expression of the airships landing forces. The faceplate of the Zephyr's helmet consisted of two blackened eye slits, with a pair of breathing tubes running from the lower portion.

  "Second Lieutenant Robert Raen'dalle reporting to the bridge," he said into the silence. The port slid shut, and he waited.

  The hatch opened, and the armed Zephyr stepped back.

  "Permission to enter the Bridge." Robert stood at attention and awaited the response.

  "Enter the bridge," the officer of the watch responded.

  "Entering the bridge," Robert said before he moved.

  The Zephyr closed and sealed the hatch behind him. A glance around the rotunda showed him guards at each of the hatches on all three of the levels. The conn, where the command crew and navigators worked, dominated the center of the spiderwebbed steel girders. Deep mahogany wood panels coated the walls and floor, and floor to ceiling windows offered a full range view.

  In the center of the dais stood Captain Stockbridge, her red hair tied into a tight and efficient braid. Wings of white hair at her temples signified for all to see that she, like Robert and most of the crew aboard, as an initiate of the Sharikeen order. The first Lieutenant, Beckett stood to her right, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Took you long enough," Stockbridge said. She did not move her gaze from the compass mounted to her station. A hint of a smile played at the edges of her mouth.

  "Your pardon, Ma'am," he said, though he offered no excuse. She offered a curt nod in response. Robert took his position to her left and appraised the gauges at his station.

  "Vent steam: two pounds," Stockbridge ordered while she watched the approaching docks.

  "Vent
ing steam: two pounds," the mechanical ensign repeated.

  "Helium concentration is three degrees above optimum for docking," Robert said. "Recommend a diffusion of two parts."

  "Noted," Beckett said. "Maintain current levels."

  "Aye, Sir." Robert repeated the command. "Maintaining current levels."

  They came in hot and fast. In wartime, such a maneuver was not unheard-of. The increased concentrations in the ballonets allowed them sufficient lift if needed.

  The fortress of Sharil's Forde loomed closer through the windows.

  "Signal flags, Ma'am," the communications ensign called. "Coded pattern: all is well, but command compromised."

  "Respond," Stockbridge said. "Understood. Aware of situation."

  "Aye, Ma'am," the ensign said. "Responding; Understood. Aware of situation."

  "Vent ballast," Stockbridge said. "Reduce speed to two knots."

  "Aye, Ma'am." Robert adjusted the dials to accommodate the order. "Venting ballast and reducing speed to two knots." Still fast for a docking procedure, but life in the air fleet revolved around practice and drill .

  "Steering: adjust to port four degrees," Stockbridge said.

  "Adjusting to port four degrees," the navigational ensign repeated.

  The raised dock floated rapidly into view, and Robert grasped the leather wrapped guide bar above his station in anticipation of the next order. To the other side of the Captain, Beckett imitated the action.

  "Full stop," Stockbridge said. "Blow forward tanks and reverse engines."

  "Aye, Ma'am," the mechanical ensign said. "Full stop. Blowing forward tanks and reversing engines."

  The airship shuddered and pitched forward. Robert's grip kept him upright. Stockbridge, however, did not grab for the guide bar, but kept her balance nevertheless.

  I have to learn how to do that, Robert thought.