Star Veil

by E J Kitchens

  Philip stared out the window a moment. “Do you think maybe we aren’t dreaming—praying—big enough?”

  Davy huffed. “I think a clock to challenge the Rí Am and his automatons is pretty bold, and likely to get us killed.”

  And the people in those areas are in great need of what we can get through. A pit formed in his stomach. If they took down the Star Veil—the bigger dream—and the navigators ceased to function, who would feed those people until they re-established navigation? If they dreamed bigger, the cost would be bigger as well. But what good was half a dream? Was their dream itself, whole or half, worse than none?

  “Yes, but—”

  “I know,” Davy said hastily. “The Star Veil itself should be our target—remove the barrier so we can see the truth for ourselves and break the curse that befuddles us. But, Philip, if we tore down the Veil, even if we could, we’d lose all the navigation we have now. How long would it take us to set it up again? Who would starve before then? We’re copying books, making designs and replicates for the compass, sextant, and chronometer, but we have so few charts. Are those even accurate now? What good is knowing where we are if we don’t know where we’re going? We’d be just as lost. We have to have charts, and we can’t make those because of the curse.” They couldn’t even make a sun dial like the ancients. Their shadows were dull and unmoving under the sky crystals. Would they even understand the things they’d see?

  “With the curse in place, maps and clocks and knowledge won’t help, Davy. It’s still a three-mile limit.”

  “If we left the Veil, maybe we could use the knowledge and instruments to create our own automatons—”

  “Freedom always comes at a price, lad. Remember Sheffield-on-the-Sea. Your own and your sister’s trouble for wanting iron to protect crops from the faeries and for trying to tell time for yourself. The slaves in that crystal mine. I don’t say ignore the cost, but remember what’s to be gained. And the lostness would only be until we could make new maps. We’ll plan ahead and work together for that. And I have a suspicion there are charts around, hidden purposefully or hidden by the curse. They’ll turn up or we’ll make new ones when the time comes.” Philip smiled broadly. “When time comes, Davy. Think about that!”

  Davy held his gaze for a moment, then sighed and raked his hands through his hair again before smoothing it out. “Thanks, Philip,” he said ruefully. “I guess I’m just on edge, not knowing what to do about the girl.”

  “She—” Philip hushed as the door to the officers’ mess opened, Prism and the servers on the other side.

  Davy and Philip rose as Prism strolled in, looking perfectly composed. Excellent self-control or the confidence of a spy?

  Smiling in welcome despite his torn thoughts, Davy seated Prism, noting how she adjusted a rotating dial on her goggles with the same habitual air as she smoothed her napkin over her lap, protecting her elegant dress. Perhaps the goggles had some special photographic capacity and she was to make a facsimile of the Star Clock’s design? Or was it simply to compensate for the difference in lighting between the hallway and the dining room?

  They sat silently until the first course was served. He’d banished the rest of the officers from the officers’ dining room for the night, allowing more time for the lady to adjust and for them to talk freely.

  “Miss Andrews—” he began.

  “I’ve searched all my belongings and found no part or hidden message from my father about mechanics or inventions of any kind. The parts my father sent me to get were nothing out of the ordinary, and I lost them during our hasty exit.” She smoothed the napkin in her lap once more, then met his gaze, her shoulders straight and stiff. “I’m sorry, Captain Bowditch. I’m afraid we were both deceived.”

  Davy clenched his jaw against the sympathy for her apparent pain trying to derail his critical thinking abilities. “I’m sorry as well. But you’re sure there’s nothing? My sister spoke very highly of you and your father and seemed to think you two held some great something, but a vow of secrecy to your father kept her from saying what. She did say she hoped your father would change his mind about keeping it a secret.”

  An expression of surprise flitted over Prism’s face but was quickly swallowed by a determined frown. She shook her head. “That’s kind of her, but I know of nothing.” She turned her attention to her soup, and Davy felt an odd sense of relief. A spy would seek more information.

  “Perhaps,” Prism said a few minutes later, “if you tell me more about this invention of yours and its purpose, it might help me figure out what my father meant.”

  Davy laid his spoon aside, the soup turning sour in his stomach. She’d only been waiting to ask. “I’m afraid not, Miss Andrews. You were right earlier. Your father wanted a solution to a problem of his own and called in a favor to my sister.”

  Prism’s spoon stilled halfway to her mouth. Davy just managed to ignore her rapid blinking, barely visible through the darkened goggles. He pushed on, not really liking the heavy feeling in his chest but determined not to give in to it.

  “Have no fear, I’ll carry out my part of the bargain. However, since I don’t imagine you wish to be carted around on an airship through pirate-swarmed cloud paths, I’ll see to it that you’re taken to my parents’ country house. It’s not far from our next stop. You can spend the remainder of your year quite comfortably there.” And away from his priceless work.

  “You may drop me wherever you find convenient, Captain. I’ll find another circus or some other work. I don’t like to be idle. I doubt anyone will come for me in a year.”

  Miss Andrews’ obvious hurt at learning of her father’s bargain gnawed at Davy. She was attractive and, in a sense, in trouble. Two things calculated to make him let down his guard and trust her. He couldn’t afford the risk, but nor could he afford to be distracted by an unnecessary level of distrust.

  He glanced up from the GunPoof he was tinkering with to Philip and the group of young men they had been mentoring the last few years, all cloistered with them in his workroom reading or tinkering with other inventions. He trusted Colin, Nick, and Will with his life, and his inventions and the Star Clock.

  “Colin,” he addressed his second mate, the former pirate who’d become a close friend, a brother to make up for the one he’d lost. “You have a set of throwing knives, don’t you?”

  Miss Andrews had knives and guns of a high quality. Not suspicious if she were who she claimed to be—a sharpshooter and knife thrower, among other things, for a circus. He could test her in both but didn’t care to send bullets flying around on his ship. Knives didn’t worry him so much. The book with its blank pages was suspicious, however. He had a hunch those empty pages weren’t empty, if one knew how to look at them. He was pretty sure he knew now how to look at them. Would he find a copy of that stolen page there? He had to get her out of her room to find out though.

  “Yes,” Colin said. As if recognizing that Davy didn’t ask the question idly, he put aside the book on force distribution he was reading—research for a bulletproof suit they were working on.

  “Good. You, Nick, and Will take Miss Andrews on an uninformative tour of the ship. End up at the gymnasium. If she plans on joining another circus after leaving us, she’ll need to keep fit and limber. Offer to set it up for her to practice her acrobatics and schedule her a daily private time to do so. Then challenge her to a knife throwing competition. We’ll see what she can do. I don’t recommend being terribly friendly, by the way. Not rude, but not too friendly, at least not until we know more about her. If she’s overly friendly with you, make note of that. No one is going to charm information out of us. While she’s out of her room with you three, Philip and I will investigate something in her chambers.”

  Colin nodded, and the three young men left. Davy grabbed his manual on steganography, and after a brief doublecheck, he and Philip set off for the infirmary to grab a Wood’s lamp, iodine and a few other chemicals, and a candle.

  Some minutes later, a
fter ascertaining Miss Andrews was absent, they snuck into Philip’s former quarters, found the book in the trunk, and removed it to the desk. While Philip gathered a few personal items he’d forgotten earlier, Davy opened the book to a fifth page, feeling more than a bit ashamed. If Miss Andrews were a good spy, he’d recognized belatedly on his walk there, any secret messages she had would be hidden within another message or image. So a blank page needn’t be suspect. But that was if she were a good spy.

  “What is it?” Philip asked as he pulled up a chair beside him and sat.

  “Nothing.” Davy glanced between the chemicals, the candle that could be used as a heat source, and the Wood’s lamp. The ultra-violet lamp could reveal without destroying anything or leaving evidence of their intrusion. Best to start with that. Davy pulled his goggles down and switched on the lamp and held it over the book. Lines of light blue stretched and curved across a page of darker blue.

  His eyebrows rose. Not a diary and not a blueprint. At least he didn’t think it was a blueprint. She’d used fluorescent ink, applying it lightly with a brush to avoid pressure marks, which could imply the pages were intended to be looked at more than once, since the light could be applied multiple times without harming the paper. He skimmed the pages, but they were all similar, until the three-quarters mark, at which point the pages appeared to be truly empty. But on the rest, there were lots of curving lines, groups of triangles, and some small circles and rectangles with words next to them. A sketch of something with a radiating design and many color words and arrows next to it was often featured on the pages.

  “You know how I was just grousing about a lack of maps?” Davy said as he leaned back to give Philip a better view of the pages. “Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say these were maps. But that’s impossible. I’ve tried making maps. Every captain has, and they look like a child’s attempt at a tree.” He studied the pages again. If he could draw a map, this is what he’d expect it to look like. “I don’t recognize many of the names either. Granted, except for when I’m home at Calandra, I spend my time traveling between cities large enough for airship ports, but still.”

  Philip scooted his chair closer and flipped a few pages. “I’ve tried making maps too. They were about as clear as a flooded river. I doubt these are maps.”

  Starting at the beginning, they ran over each page with greater care, looking for anything they might have missed. About halfway through, Philip traced his finger from one word to the next over a winding line. “Maybe it’s an odd design for a family tree? Many of the names sound a bit like family names. Or maybe it is a map, but of an imaginary land? She could be an author. I don’t think the curse would interfere with that.”

  “Of that many worlds? I doubt it. It could be a family tree though. But that’s a lot of families.” The book wasn’t long or wide—he could hide it under his hand—but it was thick. “Do you think—”

  The intercom came on with a click and a brush of air, then Will’s voice. “Captain Bowditch, you’re wanted on the bridge.” He finished the message with a clearing of his throat, which meant and be quick about it.

  Time to go.

  Davy slammed the book shut, slipped it back in the trunk, gathered up the supplies he’d brought, and sprinted for the door.

  “Any time you want a rematch, Miss Andrews, you just let us know.” Colin’s voice boomed through the wall, and Davy winced on behalf of Miss Andrews and any others close to him. For himself and Philip as well. He and Philip spun around and bolted for the windows.

  “You go out first,” Philip hissed at him when he opened the window and waved at him to go through it. “I at least have a reason to be sneaking about in my own room.”

  Accepting the wisdom of that, Davy, grateful he always wore his PullLine, leaned out the window and sent an attachment line out to the ship’s hull near his own window. He pushed out and let the retracting line haul him to his room. Since Philip followed and no sound of a lady’s complaint chased them, he assumed they’d gotten away with their intrusion.

  Colin joined them not long after they’d collapsed into their chairs in Davy’s workroom.

  “Well?” Davy asked as Colin reclaimed his book and sat. Nick and Will were back on duty.

  “Seems okay to me,” Colin said with a confidence that eased Davy’s concern. “I wondered at first if she’d actually go with us. But once she looked us over, she lost that bit of initial wariness. I got the feeling she’s met a lot of people, some better than others, and knows how to read people. She seemed comfortable with us, not talkative though. Didn’t try to charm us either,” he finished with a bit of a smile. He hesitated, then said quickly as he lifted his book in front of his face and settled deeper into his chair, “She’s definitely a knife thrower.”

  Davy quirked a smile. “Good then?”

  “If I still bet, I wouldn’t bet against her.”

  Davy considered everything they’d learned about their passenger, then let out a long breath. He wasn’t going to be taking Miss Andrews into his confidence any time soon, but he didn’t feel a need to keep her under lock and key.

  6

  “We’ve just gotten a ping, Captain.” The airman rushed into the dining room, disturbing their breakfast, which, like the last two weeks, had been quiet. The captain and Philip had been pleasant, though distant, companions. Or rather she and the captain had been distant. Philip tended to be gregarious when he could get either to talk.

  The young airman held a hand-sized metal box topped with a horn similar to that on a phonograph. Prism’s stomach tightened, something about his manner, a mixture of eagerness and fear, alarming her. Just what was a ping?

  “How long do we have?” Davy tossed his napkin onto the table as he rose, Philip doing likewise.

  “Not long, sir, but not imminent.”

  “Miss Andrews.” Davy turned to her. “I suggest you change into something more suitable for a pirate attack. Philip, please see that the cargo is secured, and stay with it.”

  “What’s a ping?” Prism asked as she rose, Philip pulling her chair out for her. “What has that to do with pirates?” Prism barely stopped a gasp as Philip slipped the handle of a throwing knife into her palm. He winked at her, then followed the captain to the door.

  “Look after yourself, Davy,” Philip said, clapping the captain on the shoulder, distracting him while Prism stowed the knife in her skirt pocket. “And don’t neglect our guest.” He grinned at her, then left.

  Davy turned back to her, and Prism forced a bright smile. His brow furrowed. She toned down the smile. “A ping, Captain?”

  He raised an eyebrow, shot a look after Philip, then held out his arm to her. “We send signals through the air; they bounce back to us when they hit something. It’s how bats fly and find food. It tells us another ship is hiding in the clouds.”

  A ping meant pirates.

  Where was the closest parachute?

  Stiffening her spine, she tossed the idea overboard. She had offered to help, and she would. She took Davy’s arm.

  Feeling the captain’s eyes on her as he escorted her to her quarters, Prism wondered if he was regretting his bargain with her father. She lifted her chin. She was not going to get in the way or faint or go into hysterics. She hoped.

  As they reached the door to her quarters, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then released her. “We’ve not lost a fight yet, Miss Andrews. We’ll see that you’re kept safe, even if in an unconventional manner.”

  Prism glared up at him, wondering vaguely if her glares would be as effective without the threat of her father to back them up. “You are not locking me in my room.”

  They’d obviously lost their effect, for one corner of the captain’s mouth curved. “I wouldn’t dream of it. There’s a window that opens.” He winked at her, a charming twinkle in his brown eyes. Prism’s mouth dropped open. He bowed, then strode away, a confidence in his manner that soothed her concerns despite herself. He disappeared around a corner.

&n
bsp; Belatedly, Prism huffed. A window that opens, indeed.

  “Wear something that allows for freedom of movement,” he called back to her, making Prism jump. Huffing again, she hurried inside, butterflies of two different kinds swarming in her stomach.

  Prism changed into an appropriate costume, collected her small pistol and belted on the knife. It was one of hers. The captain and his men hadn’t searched her, but they’d apparently searched her trunks. Had they returned everything to her?

  A few minutes later, dressed in boots, loose trousers, a vest and blouse, and a jacket, Prism stepped onto the deck and adjusted her goggles to match the outdoor lighting, dim though it was through the clouds. Down the deck a ways, Davy and his men stood in conference beside a long, cylindrical weapon of some sort. Its horizontally elongated arm was partly covered by a tarp and mounted on a swivel base. A giant coil of rope lay in a bucket beside it. A modified harpoon gun? What did they hope to spear in the air?

  “What say you, men?” The captain’s cheerful question arrested her attention. “Colin? Shall we employ Chance today?”

  While the majority of sailors whooped, Colin, the tall blond with the wrist tattoo and passable knife throwing skills, nodded, a strangely earnest look on his face. At least three others shared that look.

  A man’s whistle captured the airmen’s attention and flung it to Prism, where it stayed. Her jaw tightened. The stares always took a while to get used to, even after a lifetime of performances and wearing goggles everywhere. Despite having been on board two weeks, she hadn’t mingled with the crew; they were strangers to each other. She ate with Davy and Philip, sometimes being joined by the three men who’d given her a tour; took her scheduled exercise alone; and occasionally joined Davy and Philip in the evenings. The crew’s stares were friendly and kind, but she didn’t particularly like being the center of attention, unless it was during her act.