by Adam Millard
“I’m a detective,” Alcorn said before the man had time to tell him what he thought of perverts. “One of our inspectors just headed off to Mother Russia on a dirigible with some modern-day Hercules, and I need to know why.” Even as he’d spoke the words, Alcorn wondered, Is he though? Is he one of us?
“Oh, the big fella with the bronze-plated dog?” the man said. “Yeah, they walked right past here. I thought they were an odd couple, and there was something wrong with that dog of theirs.”
He took a step forward and wiped his hand on the front of his coveralls before pushing it toward Alcorn. “Clem O’Connell’s the name. Dirigibles is my game. Though nothing as big as the one that just left. I’m a cargo man. Less aggro if I fall into the sea, if you know what I mean.” He realised that the detective wasn’t going to accept the offer of a handshake and lowered it.
Alcorn was too busy scrutinising the smaller dirigible behind O’Connell for niceties. “That’s yours?”
“Yeah.” O’Connell admired his skyship across his shoulder. “Ain’t she a beaut? The Mad Knave. Named her after my Granddad.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about that,” Alcorn said, curtly. “You’re taking me after the big ship.” It wasn’t a request.
O’Connell’s mouth opened and shut a few times before anything came out. “The Mad Knave? No, Sir, I don’t think so. She’s being repaired. There’s no way she could make a sea journey, not in her current state.”
Well, this is just getting better and better.
Alcorn felt the sudden urge to hit something—anything—and O’Connell must have sensed it, for he took a few steps back, wincing like a reprimanded child.
“How long until she’s fixed?” Alcorn asked. Poseidon’s Gale was no longer visible in the sky, and all of a sudden, Alcorn knew time was of the essence.
“She’s got a busted rudder on the right side, and I’m pretty sure there’s a small hole in the balloon on the aft. She’s been dragging a little.”
“How long?” Patience was something Alcorn had never had much of, and the guy was testing it more than he knew.
“Couple of hours if I have an extra pair of hands, but even then, I don’t think we’ll catch up with the Gale. She does forty an hour, which is nippy for a ship of her size and…well, it’s not a route I’m familiar with, and there’s a storm coming in from the Baltic which could get messy and….” he trailed off and stepped aside.
Alcorn was already removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “How soon will they dock in Rus’?” At forty-miles-per-hour, it wouldn’t take long.
“My guess? Less than two days. Around forty hours, give or take. There ain’t many places to set down on the way unless they don’t mind getting wet. The storm might slow them down a little, but she’s a feisty ship. Should be able to battle through it without too much trouble.”
“And yours?” Alcorn gestured to The Mad Knave. “What are the chances of it getting through a storm in one piece?”
O’Connell pondered it for a second as if a series of difficult sums were running through his mind. Alcorn could practically hear the clockwork.
“We get her fixed up nice and good, sort that rudder out, fix the hole in her balloon, I’d say there’s a good chance she’ll push through it…like, fifty-fifty. Well, maybe forty-sixty. But hey, she’s been through worse.”
Alcorn didn’t doubt it. “Okay,” he said, despite the short odds. “Let’s get to work.”
14
The cabin surpassed Abigale’s expectations tenfold. In fact, she hadn’t been expecting such hospitality, but it turned out that Mordecai Pick had a lot more money than sense. Despite forcing her into the caper with heavy hands, it was clear he wanted her to be as safe as possible until she’d upheld her side of the deal.
First Class. She hadn’t even seen it on the ticket, right there at the bottom in small, semi-legible print. It must have cost a small fortune. From what she’d seen, the majority of the passengers had been siphoned into shared rooms, where they would have just enough room to stretch their legs if they were very careful.
“This is unreal,” Abigale said, slipping the satchel from her shoulder and absorbing her surroundings with acute wonderment.
At the far side of the cabin was a bed. Red satin sheets had been neatly folded at the corners, ready for a tired passenger to simply slip beneath. There was a single porthole, through which she could see the clouds whipping past. The room was almost exclusively dark wood, and it smelt of fresh varnish as if it had only recently been completed. To her left was a tall cabinet, and when she opened it, she discovered a plethora of bottles and glasses— beverages for the journey. Even though she seldom drank, part of her knew she wouldn’t be able to resist temptation for too long. She closed the cabinet and made her way over to the porthole.
Down there, beyond the wispy clouds that looked as if they were made wholly of pleasant dreams, the ground slowly edged away. Poseidon’s Gale was such a huge ship that it didn’t feel as if they were moving at all, more like they were simply suspended up there in the heavens, going against all laws of physics known to man. The slow thrum of her engines was the only sound Abigale could make out, and it was a soothing noise, liable to put her into a deep sleep before she’d even had time to finish exploring.
“Well, thank you, Mordecai.” As much as she hated him—perhaps more than she’d hated another human being before—she knew he hadn’t been obligated to offer her such generous quarters. He could have stuffed her back in the crowded den with all the other passengers, but no. There was something about it that didn’t make sense.
He wants me to steal for him, and he’s planted a device in my head that could kill me if he so wishes. Yet he’s pulled out all the stops to make my journey as comfortable as possible…
Maybe he wasn’t such a ruthless arsehole after all.
After pouring a large glass of something golden, Abigale made sure the door to her cabin was locked, headed across to the bed, and emptied the contents of her satchel, spreading them out. If there was anything missing, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it, but at least she’d have time to figure out how to improvise.
She removed Big Daddy from its holster and placed that onto the bed, after checking how many rounds remained in the chamber. Five. Of course, it was five. She’d only shot one man, and deservedly so. She hoped he was okay, though. Just because he’d come on a little strong didn’t mean she’d had the right to execute him on the spot. There had been no news of a death on the radio that morning, and Octavius would have told her if he’d heard anything through the proverbial grapevine. Pushing thoughts of the fallen banker aside, she focused on the items laid out before her.
The monovision eyeglass was very important, especially for the Saint Petersburg job. The automaton fly in its box, even though she hadn’t had time to test it, she knew would be very useful. She checked off the lock picks, glass cutter, apple, rope-gun, and a small box containing twenty-four darts for Big Daddy. No swinging from tall buildings, girl. Octavius’ warning about the rope-gun left her smiling as she continued to go over her belongings.
She had her notebook containing basic information such as the addresses of the two museums, locomotive timetable from Saint Petersburg to Paris, possible security measures that Mordecai might have overlooked in his initial plans. There was also the money bag, which she counted out once again, just to be sure she wasn’t going to be left stranded in Russia. She smiled, sure that wasn’t going to happen, not with the amount of money Mordecai had furnished her with.
“All present and correct,” she said, stuffing it all back into the satchel. She took a huge bite from the apple, not knowing what time dinner would be, or how she would go about ordering one to her cabin.
She placed the satchel up near the pillows and stood, arching her back until it audibly cracked. No matter how comfortable her quarters, she was loath to undress and make herself entirely at home. She was on a job, removing her corset or even her hat for t
hat matter, was a big no-no. She needed to remain focused. At least I’m not tired, she thought. She’d had a good night’s sleep at Octavius’s, and he’d left her snoozing even while he’d worked.
She glanced down at the three charms wrapped around her wrist. She’d almost forgotten about those, which just wouldn’t do. What if she’d subconsciously removed them, the way she did with most of her jewellery. A woman seldom paid attention when taking things out of their ears or slipping bracelets from their wrists, the action was almost like second nature. Since it was only her body heat preventing the charms from detonating, it seemed more than a little important that she remembered what they were and what they were capable of—if they worked.
After staring from the porthole, mesmerised, for ten whole minutes, Abigale knew she needed to explore the rest of the ship. She wasn’t the type of girl to spend forty hours locked away like some captive maiden, and since there was no prince coming to rescue her—not that she needed or wanted one—it was down to her to escape the confines of her large and eloquently decorated cell.
She re-holstered Big Daddy, making sure he wasn’t visible beneath her coat and slipped the satchel over her head, being careful not to knock her hat askew. With a rumbling stomach and everything she possessed on her person, she unlocked the cabin door and slipped out onto the main deck.
*
“I mean, really, how many people are you going to kill?” Thorneye asked, watching the necromancer lower the woman to the ground, his chainsword slipping out of her back with incredible ease.
For a brief moment, the woman stood motionless, half-leaning against the side of the ship. She was dead, but not for long. The necromancer did something with his hand, and a glowing orange light trickled along his fingertips and shot into the dead woman’s back.
She perked up, as if rousing from a bad dream, and glanced around, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.
“That’s some trick,” Thorneye said. “Have you ever thought about not killing them, that way you wouldn’t have to penetrate them with your orange mist, or whatever the hell it is?”
Dorian grunted, turned the woman bodily around to face him. She looked intoxicated, but it quickly passed, and then she smiled a sweet smile meant only for the man who had resurrected her. The fact that he’d been the one to put her there in the first place didn’t seem to bother her.
“Thank you, Dorian,” she said with her eyes rolling up into her head so that only the whites were visible. “I serve you and only you.”
Thorneye sighed. “How is this helping? I mean, surely this is only exacerbating this whole mess.” He couldn’t understand how making zombies would lead them to Abigale Egars. The brass-wolf had lost the scent, it didn’t seem to be a big deal. They had her cornered. She was on the skyship somewhere. All they had to do was walk around, knock on a few doors, and they’d find her.
Instead, the necromancer was raising an army of undead, and none of them seemed to be sentient enough to actually help. The ticket master had been sent to search for Abigale an hour before. Thorneye had visions of the insensate buffoon toppling over the side of the ship. All the powers the necromancer possessed, and he wasn’t able to revive a genius, someone that could actually assist them.
Dorian mumbled something into the newly dead woman’s ear, and her eyes burned a sharp blue. At their heels, Kai growled, clearly annoyed with himself for losing the girl’s scent when they were so close.
“I understand,” the woman said. Her voice was groggy as if she’d recently imbibed something hard.
Dorian grunted and stepped away from his fresh subordinate. Her corset was drenched with blood, but apart from that and the strange coloration of her eyes, she looked alive. She sidestepped Dorian and bounced off Thorneye, who was unable to move out of her way. Then she took a few unsteady steps forward and left her cabin through the open door.
“No more,” Thorneye said. “Seriously. This is getting out of hand, and there’s absolutely no need for it. We will find her.”
The necromancer scowled. He had a face only a mother could love. Thorneye didn’t know what the Sorceress, Blithe, saw in him.
“Right, I’m going to ask around, see if anyone’s seen a young girl with red hair. We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way, necromancer. No more zombies.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring the brass-wolf’s low growl as he went.
*
“Wow, I can have anything off this menu?” Abigale said, glancing down at the list of expensive meals in her hand.
Her server nodded. She was only a little older than Abigale, and she had the face of an angel.
How do you end up working on a skyship, anyway? That was the stuff of Abigale’s dreams.
“Anything you like,” the girl said. “You have a first-class ticket, which means that you’re entitled to eat, drink, and be merry to your heart’s content. Didn’t you know that when you purchased the ticket?” She sniggered, the way an adolescent girl might snigger after holding hands with a boy for the very first time.
“I didn’t purchase the ticket,” Abigale said.
The girl frowned.
“I mean, my uncle, he was the one who got the ticket. This is a gift. It’s my birthday, and he’s a very rich man…”
The girl’s smile returned. “Sounds like a very generous man, too,” she said. She held out her hand. “I’m Cornelia Maddern. Most people just call me Corny, which used to offend me, but nowadays, not so much.”
Abigale shook her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cornelia,” she said, ignoring the fact that she’d been given permission to use the impertinent short version. “I’m…Octavia.” Phew, that was close. She needed to concentrate more, or risk giving herself away.
“What a wonderful name,” Cornelia said.
She had an infectious smile, one that Abigale found herself envious of. Two perfect dimples dotted her cheeks. Her long, auburn hair was fine as if it never required combing. Simply put, Cornelia Maddern was the kind of girl that Abigale would have, under other circumstances, given the time of day to.
She turned her attention back to the list. “And if all this is paid for, I’m going to make the most of it.” She ran her finger down the menu, not paying much attention to the dish because it was the price that mattered. “Lobster,” she said, turning her head.
Cornelia nodded and wrote something upon a small piece of paper. “Good choice. You’re going to love it. I’ll be back in a few moments with the wine list.” She did an eloquent about turn and strode off across the restaurant deck, past the otherwise empty seats.
Abigale wondered why she was the only one eating, but the clock hanging upon the wall answered her question. It was only two in the afternoon. Most people had either eaten already or were waiting for a later hour. Still, she couldn’t starve her stomach, not when it was ready to eat. Abigale could have, in that moment, eaten a rotten horse between two slices of mouldy bread.
Suddenly her brain went haywire with questions. Lobster? What if she didn’t like it? What if poor Cornelia Maddern went and fetched her lobster and had to return it untouched? What on Earth had possessed her to order something she wasn’t sure would agree with her? It came down to one thing and one thing only. It was the most expensive thing on the menu. That didn’t mean it was going to be delicious. She’d made that mistake same with caviar some years before.
Suddenly she found herself yearning for a bowl of squashed potatoes. Too late now, though.
The restaurant was wonderfully quiet. It afforded her time to get her bearings and figure out exactly what was going on. It was still a dream, all of it. Had to be. Through the eight porthole windows on either side of the restaurant, the clouds drifted slowly by. There was no noise down there, either, which meant the restaurant was at the opposite end to the engines. Abigale was glad of the peace and quiet as she tried to fathom just how she’d ended up on a skyship, travelling across the ocean to Russia. Surreal didn’t even begin to cut it
. If someone would have told her the week prior that she would be doing such a thing, she would have laughed in their face and told them to go fool some other monkey.
“Octavia?” Cornelia Maddern said it as if it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get her attention.
Abigale snapped out of her reverie. “Sorry. I was miles away.” She smiled.
“We soon will be. We’re already miles away from England. It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it? Relieving?”
She clutched a piece of paper with another list upon it, and Abigale remembered that Cornelia had promised to return with a wine menu.
“I suppose it is. Nice, I mean. I’ve never been away from England before. This is all very new to me.”
Cornelia handed her the list. Abigale had no intention of ordering wine, but she gave it a cursory glance anyway, so as not to appear rude.
“You won’t want to go back,” she said. “Trust me. It’s a big world out there, and all of it is more beautiful than London.”
Now, that’s just rude, Abigale thought. London had a certain charm that had always fascinated her. As much as she was intrigued by the foreign lands she was about to set foot upon, she felt hollow inside as if a part of her had been temporarily removed. As soon as she returned to London, she knew that feeling would wane. It was home, and if a person got past the stench of polluted rivers and the rat epidemic, they’d struggle to find a more accommodating city—no matter how far a skyship could carry them.
Just then, the door at the end of the restaurant opened and a woman stepped over the threshold. Abigale and Cornelia both turned. Even though there was perhaps twenty feet between the woman and where Abigale sat, the blood saturating the front of her clothes was clearly visible. Cornelia let out a little whimper, and Abigale climbed to her feet. There were suddenly far more important things to worry about than wine lists.
The woman staggered forward, her hip connecting with a table. If it hurt, the she did a good job of keeping it to herself. She seemed to be staring straight at, or rather through, Abigale and hissing.