by Morris, Tee
He looked up from his dressing to find Chandi’s sister working the controls frantically. She turned dials, threw switches, and wept as she hammered her palm against button after button.
Wellington could just make out the frantic whispers in between her sobs. “Trajectory. Time. Distance. Reverse polarity. Designate point of origin as destination . . .” she rambled, her voice trailing off as she connected the circuits. The thrumming generators that were now decelerating gave a sharp clack of protest, and then began to rise in volume. “Yes, destination is point of origin . . .”
“She’s . . .” Wellington began, but his voice caught in his throat. He swallowed, and finally looked over to Eliza. “She’s trying to bring her back whilst in transit.”
Eliza understood immediately. “Oh my God.”
Light filled the bridge and clogged their ears with a thick, unnatural silence, the one similar to before . . .
Wellington yanked Mrs. Sheppard down between the two of them as the shock wave passed over. It destroyed glass panels around them and threw everything loose all over the place. The flash subsided, while sparks arced in the machine.
Someone, in amongst the dying generators and odd pops of overloaded instruments, was laughing. Wellington and the ladies looked up to see the two identical, exotic sisters, one still standing at the now useless electroporter controls and the other standing silent under the arcs.
“Chandi,” the twin said, her breath catching in her throat as she cleared the control panel.
The sister in the machine appeared disoriented. No doubt, she would have been confused as she had been transported in a lying position and now she was standing upright. She opened her mouth, and her sister’s name came out with a stream of blood and flesh. “Chandankika . . .”
Wellington swallowed back a bitter taste in his mouth on hearing the wail that came out of her. Chandi vomited up blood as her shoulders suddenly went slack. The knees failed next, collapsing in the opposite direction knees would normally bend. When Chandi hit the deck, Wellington, Eliza, and Kate flinched as one. It did not crumple as a complete body ought to.
Chandankika screamed, and it would be the last sound she would make. The twin’s lament was cut short when a throwing blade embedded itself into her fine, smooth neck.
They turned to see Sophia massaging life into what had been, apparently, a throwing arm.
“Now I know I am sore,” Sophia scoffed. “I was aiming for her skull.”
“You can rest up,” Eliza began, lifting up the plures ornamentum in the direction of the Italian, “at the Ministry headquarters. You have a few things to answer for, you bitch.”
Sophia flicked her wrist and a blade appeared in her hand. “A sharp tongue you have there. Perhaps I should remove it?”
“I dare you to try.”
“Ladies!” Wellington snapped. “Might we come up with a more amicable resolution to our differences once we are on God’s green earth?”
The two ladies held their gaze, and to Wellington’s surprise it was Sophia who relented as she lowered her blade. “Before Wellington knocked me out at the wheel, I managed to get us above your comrades for the time being. Perhaps that will avoid any of their artillery.”
“Well done,” Wellington said. “Now let’s see if we can find that communica—”
A wet, thick cough cut him off and made them all turn. Sophia’s aim, it seemed, had indeed been off. Chandi’s double was dying, but not as fast as hoped. Draped over the electroporter’s control panel, Chandankika was unlocking a small black box in the top corner. The housing popped up to reveal a large red button. Sophia threw her knife, sinking the steel into the woman’s eye . . .
. . . after her hand slapped hard against the red button.
The crippled automatons flickered back to life, but remained stationary as Chandi’s voice spoke softly, in unison, from all three, “Auto destruct sequence initiated. Please proceed to the nearest exit.”
“We have to move.” Eliza grunted, her stance not as sure or steady as Wellington was accustomed to. “Now.”
“Quite thorough, those Culpepper girls,” remarked Wellington.
“Then let us not waste time!” Sophia went to the electroporter, removed what appeared to be a transformer from the point where the arcs met, and headed for the closest hatch. “We must get to Engineering. That is where the escape hatches will be.”
Wellington glanced at Eliza who was still a bit weak from the blood loss. She was not happy in following Sophia’s lead.
“I can say without hesitation that I know exactly how you feel, Miss Braun,” Wellington said. “Mrs. Sheppard, follow us.”
“Gladly,” she said.
Sophia, not hindered by a New Zealander draped across her shoulders, was making good speed along the dimly lit footpath between the bridge and the engine room. Occasionally, they would pass an automaton softly counting down. The fact it was Chandi’s voice counting down Wellington found most unsettling.
Not as unsettling, though, as Sophia del Morte who was now closing the heavy iron door between them and Engineering.
“Sophia!” his voice boomed with echo, only to be drowned out by the door latching shut.
“Well, that tears it,” Eliza grunted, pushing Wellington away. Her metallic hand wrapped around the hatch’s wheel. “Welly, you get Kate to safety. This bitch is all mine once we get across this threshold.”
Gears and cogs clicked and whined as Eliza put in whatever remaining strength she had in making the latch give. This time, however, the effort was much greater. Her groan matched the door’s—until it became for her a primal scream. The plures ornamentum popped, puffed, and shrieked until finally the locking mechanism failed and the door swung open. With a cry of delight, Eliza led the charge into Engineering.
There were four automatons in sight, all of them standing still.
Over the rumbling of the engines, Chandi’s voice announced through her house servants, “You now have fifteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.”
Wellington noted the Culpeppers’ house servants were placed at strategic points. The automatons would ignite the boilers and make certain nothing of the airship would remain for salvage of any kind.
Yes, the Culpeppers had been very thorough indeed.
“There!” She pointed to a shaft of white light off to their left.
They only just caught sight of Sophia’s boots clearing the landing before jumping into the vastness of aerospace. An envelope of silk opened into a parachute a moment before she slipped beneath the clouds.
“Bugger!” Eliza swore.
He felt his shoulders drop. Whatever was Sophia thinking?
When he went for the other parachutes, he soon found out.
Sophia’s blade had made quick work of the remaining parachutes. The lifesaving haversacks, all save two, were brandishing gaping holes and deep tears. She had provided an escape—but not for all of them.
“Oh, she wants to make this personal, does she?” Eliza sneered.
“Go.”
Eliza and Wellington turned to Kate. Had she just ordered them to leave her behind?
“Mrs. Sheppard,” Wellington said, “have you forgotten we were here to rescue you?”
“I am well aware of that, Mr. Books, but you need to see the larger picture here.” She dropped a hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Eliza, you have to carry on the fight for me, as you did back home. You can do this.”
“Kate, no.”
“Child, if today is my turn to die, I would rather do so as a martyr for the movement than as a freakish clockwork doll in need of oiling!” She laughed, in spite of herself. “I need to pass on the torch, and as God as my witness, I need to pass that torch to you. Douglas can make the proper arrangements, and back home you will carry on my legacy.” She placed a hand on her cheek. “Don’t let me die in vain. Promise me that?”
Her friend blinked, her eyes welling up with tears. “I promise you won’t die in vain.”
“Thank you.”
With a grunt, the agent brought her free arm up, clocking Kate soundly in a vulnerable point between her brass jaw and fair New Zealand flesh. The leader of her home’s suffrage movement fell to the deck, unconscious.
“You won’t die, because you’re not staying, Kate. Welly, dress her up.” Eliza winced as she flexed her fingers back and forth. “Dammit, that hurt.”
“That was your wounded arm,” Wellington scolded her as he slipped the parachute on Kate. “So, of course it did!”
“Well I couldn’t punch her with this bloody plures ornamentum, now could I?” Eliza said, moving the massive weapon back and forth. “I wanted to knock her out, not break her jaw.” She paused, looking at her unconscious mentor. “Or dent it, as in this case.”
“Does that thing have any sort of quick release, perhaps?” he asked, slipping goggles over Kate’s closed eyes.
“Blackwell says she’s working on it.”
Always the bloody clankertons, Wellington thought bitterly.
With a final tug, the parachute was secure.
“Right then,” she started, “your tu—”
“Hardly.” Wellington raised a warning finger up to her, then tossing her a pair of aviator goggles. “I’m not leaving here without you.”
He dragged Kate to the open port, grabbed ahold of the rip cord, and let her body fall into the void, her parachute opening mere moments later, clear of the Ministry’s airship. The chute unfurled and Kate’s descent slowed to a safe drift.
Wellington looked around them. If the parachutes were here, there had to be other gear, survival or otherwise, in this section of the ship.
“We really don’t have time to debate the matter.”
“Then I suppose,” Wellington replied, his eyes still looking back and forth between cabinets and crates, “I will finally have the last word with you.”
Where was it? It was standard on airships. The Culpepper sisters were industrious, but they certainly could not have built this airship. Therefore, standards would be in place.
“Wellington Thornhill Books, you bullheaded twit, look at me! I’m worse than a deadweight,” she said, hefting her brass-encased arm.
“That is one thing I would never call you.” His gaze fell on a long crate labeled “Emergency Rescue”—something very familiar from his military days. Opening it, he found a modified rifle loaded with a grappling hook and rope. Quite a bit of rope. “We will manage.”
He glanced out the hatch. The Blythe Spirit was closing. He looked at the coil. He would have to make his angle of descent in freefall precise. There was no margin for error.
“Wellington, even if I could make that shot—which I could if I had an arm that wasn’t wounded or heavily armoured—we don’t have enough rope.”
“We have enough rope if we get closer.”
Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t make that shot.”
“I know you can’t.” Wellington splayed his fingers around the rifle, and then took a step closer. “Do you trust me?”
She went to protest but stopped. He watched her eyes soften, a touch of blush rise in her cheeks. “I—”
Chandi’s voice interrupted her. “You now have five minutes to reach minimum safe distance.”
“I will take that as a yes,” Wellington said, throwing the final parachute on her. He then grabbed a smaller coil of rope and secured Eliza to his back. “When we go, angle us towards the Blythe Spirit. When I shoulder the grappling hook, pull the cord.”
Eliza nodded. She took in a deep breath while Wellington worked between them the accompanying belt where excess rope fed the rescue rifle. Both of them lowered their goggles even as the automatons announced that one minute remained. Underneath them was the Blythe Spirit. Exactly where Wellington wanted her. He looked over the rifle one more time, the feed line to confirm it would feed without fault, and finally the rope belt that bound Eliza to him.
“Twenty,” came Chandi’s voice again. “Ninteen . . . eighteen . . . seventeen . . . sixteen . . . fifteen . . .”
Wellington with his Braun-enhanced parachute leapt out in the open air, their bodies angling towards the Blythe Spirit. They were falling. Fast. He knew their collected weight was going to be too much for the parachute, but all he needed was a moment—a single, solitary moment—for the shot. The goggles pressed against his face, hard enough to make his eyes narrow; and in his vision he saw the Spirit draw closer. Closer. A few more feet . . .
Angle of descent . . .
Speed of descent . . .
Acceleration decay . . .
Now.
Wellington shouldered the weapon, and he felt Eliza tug between them. He waited a few more heartbeats, felt a sudden stop, and—compensating for the force of resistance—pulled the trigger.
The hook was away. Reaching. Reaching. The rope from the rifle continued to unwind and then the hook disappeared into the cabin. He was certain it had shattered a window.
Their parachute failed, and the world began to fall away once more. Something far above him thundered, and he caught a flash in the corner of his eye. Wellington’s arm snaked around the rifle and pulled up in anticipation for the coil to catch. Now, they were swinging forward, flying underneath the Blythe Spirit’s cabin, and then arching upward. Like a pendulum, the archivist and his skilled assistant swung to and fro for a time.
It must have hurt, but Eliza’s bloody arm reached around and pulled Wellington closer to her. All he heard was the wind in his ears, but Eliza was doing something against him. Crying with joy? Laughing? Hard to be certain.
Wellington Thornhill Books, Esquire was most certain of one thing though: once back in the Archives, he would have a lot of explaining to do.
Chapter Thirty
In Which Friends Return Home and Nearly All Is Forgiven
“I am quite sure this will be impossible to explain to the committee.” Kate smiled as Eliza helped her down from the airship gangplank. She was trying to make light of it, but her friend could feel the tremble in her hand.
“All they need to know is that the disappearances will not happen again.” Eliza looked back to the deck, where Doctor Sound was talking to Shillingworth. The Director’s gaze flicked to her, and it was not exactly kindly. Consequences, she had a feeling, were about to fall on her once more. She’d expected as much.
Kate leaned in. “I wish our sisters could be told what you did.”
“Now that would get me into trouble!” Eliza squeezed her hand. “I am happy they know I work in the government, but that’s all we can really share. Besides”—she smiled wryly—“who would believe it?”
The suffragist looked up at the clouds. “I know, Miss Eliza D. Braun, that if I were told it rather than having seen it, I certainly would not.” Then she touched the brass-covered half of her face. “We have a lot to thank you for—myself most especially.”
“Mother!” Douglas was pushing dockworkers out of the way and causing quite a commotion as he raced towards them. Eliza’s heart sank as he began to get near.
“I am glad of one other thing,” Kate whispered to her. “I am ever so glad you didn’t start your relationship with my son up again.”
Such a pronouncement made Eliza straighten. Never in all their time together in New Zealand had Mrs. Sheppard ever mentioned any opinion on the matter. “Really?” she stammered, “I suppose I’m not your class, or not—”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” her friend replied, as she gave Douglas a reassuring wave. She let out a long sigh, one that spoke of maternal love and unending patience. “I adore my son as a mother should, but he can be a bit . . .” Her words disappeared as she considered the world-renowned adventurer. “Douglas is like one of his mountains—set, immovable in many ways, and just difficult to understand.” She smiled and nodded in his direction. “You, my dear, would most likely kill him eventually.”
Kate winked with her mechanical eye, and Eliza could not stop a snort of laughter escaping. “Very pos
sibly,” she choked out. “Yes, indeed, most probably.”
“That does not mean,” Kate began turning to her, “I still do not look upon you with a great amount of pride. Eliza, while the history books will not know of your contributions to the movement, I will. Never forget that.”
Eliza swallowed back a growing lump in her throat. “That means a great deal to me.”
They walked the rest of the way to meet him. Douglas abandoned all protocol and snatched Kate up in an embrace. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I was in town when I heard and I—”
“Now, now, please don’t fuss. It was quite the adventure, but I am wholly safe and well.” She turned and grinned at Eliza. “Though I do think I am feeling far too old for such high-jinks, and quite ready for a cup of tea before we set off for home.”
In all the commotion Eliza had completely forgotten that the Sheppards were leaving by their own, much more sedate, airship this very evening. Before she could say anything Kate was hugging her, and planting a kiss on her cheek. “I shall send word to your family that you are safe and well—though I may leave out the bit about parachuting from a burning airship.” She laid a hand on the agent’s cheek. “It has been lovely to see you again, Eliza. I know now you have made yourself a good home here. When you return to Aotearoa, call on me. Until then, look after yourself and that delightful Mr. Books too.” Then before she could be questioned further, she moved off so that Douglas and Eliza could say their farewells.
It was more than awkward, but it had to be done. “Goodbye, then.” Douglas cleared his throat. “I hoped perhaps you might reconsider . . .”
“When have you ever known me to do that?” she replied as gently as she could, but when he stepped in to kiss her, she offered only her cheek. “Thank you for the past, Douglas. You really did help make some things clear to me.” When he stepped back, Eliza could see he was struggling to maintain a veneer of control over genuine annoyance. Still, he had been her first love, and she didn’t want this goodbye to end badly.
“Go find a girl more suited to you than I.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You’re a fine man—just not the man for me anymore.” She pressed her lips lightly on his cheek, and then turned away, setting her sights elsewhere.