by Archer, Zoe
At her nod of readiness, he grasped the bars of the trestle and began to climb the inside of the bridge supports. She felt the flex and give of his muscles, the incredible strength of his body. Pressed this close, she also saw the fire of determination in his gaze as he ascended, his focus trained entirely on this task.
“If we weren’t so damned expensive to create,” he said, “we could replace all the locomotives and tetrol-powered engines.” He didn’t sound out of breath at all, despite the fact that he climbed up a huge trestle with a full grown woman and a complement of weaponry clinging to him.
She helped where she could, using her heels to push against the metal bars to propel them upward. The ground shrank away as they climbed higher, the river diminishing. If Christopher let go, or something knocked him off the trestle, the shallow water would provide no cushioning for their fall. They’d dash their brains out on the rocky river bottom, and the water would turn red then pink with their blood. If the bombs didn’t blow them to ashes.
“Not just a matter of expense.” She talked to distract herself. “Only a few men have the aurora vires ratings high enough to become Man O’ Wars.”
“No need to limit it to just half the populace.”
Her brows rose. “Women, too?”
“Everyone’s got an aurora vires. There could be women who rank Gimmel or higher. Maybe even you.” He grabbed the next higher bar, pulling them upward.
“Female Man O’ Wars. Interesting thought.” She pushed against the bars for more propulsion. “And if we turned rogue, like some Man O’ Wars do, we could become a tribe of Amazons.”
“Don’t.” He paused for a brief moment, his gaze holding hers. “Even if they offer you the choice, don’t become like me.”
The gravity in his eyes surprised her. “You’ve so many advantages.” Strength, for one.
“The cost is damned high.” He resumed climbing.
She wondered what that cost might be, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers.
A train whistle sounded, and the trestle rumbled with the locomotive’s approach.
Christopher climbed faster, until they were just below the tracks. The ground was very far below, so she kept her attention on the bridge. It was supported by vertical posts, with angled sway braces shoring up the posts and providing additional stability. If she and Christopher attempted to climb the outside of the trestle and then clamber onto the oncoming train, they’d be spotted by the patrol gliders or the sentries.
“The best way on is from below,” he said.
“Below?” That would entail him swinging from the post and grabbing hold of the beam running down the middle of the track. Even without the additional burden of Louisa and the bombs, it was a feat no normal man could accomplish.
But Christopher wasn’t a normal man.
He heard the doubt in her voice and grinned. “Climbing the rigging was always one of my favorite things to do on a ship. Used to swing from them like a damned monkey. This won’t be much different.”
She had to trust his confidence. After drawing a breath, she nodded.
The trestle shook even harder as the train reached it. It moved slowly, yet the whole bridge shuddered with its movement. Many tons of machinery hissed and growled overhead, metal wheels turning, and through the gaps in the support slats, she saw the underside of the cargo carriages, and its network of struts and rails.
He drew in a breath, readying himself. She felt his body coil, like a predator about to strike, and then—
They flew through the air. A moment’s weightlessness.
His hands closed around the central support bar. Jolted, she fought to keep her own grip. Her arms ached. Yet she hung on.
And so did he. She watched with amazement as he pulled them both up using the strength only of his arms. A sudden flash of remembrance from the night before, when he’d held her effortlessly against the bulkhead of his cabin and thrust into her.
She shook her head to clear it. Good god, what a thoroughly inappropriate thought to have at this moment. Yet a deep, feminine part of her thrilled to witness again his colossal strength. As if he read her mind, he gave her a wicked smile.
His smile faded, however, when they contemplated their next task. They hung from the central support beam, and while there was enough room between the cross ties to slip through, they’d have to move very quickly to grab the undercarriage. A false move could cause them to slip and fall across the tracks.
“On my count,” he said through gritted teeth. “One, two, three—now!”
She moved upward between the ties. Then wrapped her hands around one of the metal struts running beneath the carriage. She swung her legs up at almost the same time and hooked her heels into another strut. Her arms, already tired from holding on to Christopher, shook. She wasn’t going to be able to hang on long enough.
Suddenly, he was beside her. He used the side of his chest and one arm to keep her up, and his boots found purchase on the same strut where she’d positioned her feet.
“It’s all right,” he spoke above the clatter of the train. “I’ve got you.”
Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of the track scrolling beneath them—his pack containing incredibly potent explosives was mere inches from the ground. Within a moment, they’d crossed the bridge and were on solid ground. She recognized the rocky terrain that surrounded the munitions plant’s exterior. Though the train was moving very slowly, its din was terrific, filling her head with the clatter of wheels and the hiss of its breaks.
Good lord, they had done it! More to the point, Christopher had done it. Without his Man O’ War abilities, they never could have succeeded in this outrageous scheme.
They were on the train, but could they get inside the munitions plant? She saw sentries’ boots moving close to the train. The guards examined every carriage as they rolled past, sliding open the doors on the freight cars and checking inside to make certain no one was infiltrating the plant.
A sentry approached the car to which she and Christopher clung. The guard pulled open the door and peered into it. She held her breath, waiting. Any moment now, and the sentry would look under the car and find them there. She’d no doubt that they would be shot first, long before an interrogation.
The guard moved on. They hadn’t been seen.
Her breath released in a rush, and she saw Christopher’s brief smile.
The train rolled on. It passed through the open doors. Sunlight vanished, replaced by the yellow glare of sodium lights. They rolled deeper into the factory, freight platforms on either side of the tracks.
Finally, the train stopped. Christopher didn’t let go, not for several minutes. Workers shouted to one another, but only to call out instructions or complain about the frequency with which they had to fill up the ever-demanding trains. No one came to drag her and Christopher out from under the train. No ether rifles poked their muzzles below to unleash a torrent of bullets.
They had done it. They were inside the munitions plant.
She whispered to Christopher, “Now comes the challenging part.”
Chapter Eleven
CHRISTOPHER THOUGHT IT a miracle that they’d made it this far. But he wasn’t about to let Louisa know that.
Carefully, he released his grip on the undercarriage struts. It might take more than a jolt from some train tracks to detonate the bombs he carried, but he didn’t want to test that theory. So he gently lowered himself and Louisa to the ground, protecting both her and the explosives.
The space between the underside of the car and the tracks wasn’t quite big enough to allow him to crouch. Both he and Louisa remained on their hands and knees, waiting to be certain no sentries or other factory workers appeared. It would be damned ludicrous if he and Louisa made it this far, only to be caught by a laborer ambling around in search of his tea.
When it appeared safe, he gave her a nod. But not before pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She’d impressed the hell out of him with her coura
ge. Even if he’d done the heavy lifting, not many women and hardly any men would have been able to endure the rigors of jumping from an airship, a three-mile run through the forest, scrambling down a gorge, hanging on for a rigorous climb up a trestle bridge, and then clinging to a moving train. All while evading the enemy.
She seemed to understand the significance of his kiss, for her eyes gleamed with pleasure.
Then it was time to move. They crept out from beneath the train and crouched next to the loading platform. Empty wooden pallets awaited munitions to be loaded onto the train. A typewriter sat upon a battered wooden desk, with a quartz lamp providing minimal light.
“Looks deserted,” he whispered.
“For now.”
“Let’s not wait for the evening rush.” He pulled himself up onto the platform, and she followed. They both hunkered low, alert to any sign of someone approaching.
He nodded toward an open doorway leading off of the cargo loading area. “That was on your plans.”
“It’ll take us where we need to go.”
Straightening, they both hurried toward the door and then found themselves in a long, door-lined corridor. Overhead, sodium lights buzzed, giving everything a jaundiced, sickly look.
“This way.” Louisa hurried ahead.
He followed, continually glancing over his shoulder to be certain no one saw them or pursued. Though the munitions plant was filled mostly with workers, any of them might sound an alarm to summon armed guards, or else try to play hero and attempt to subdue him and Louisa.
She reached the end of the corridor and flattened herself against the wall, peering around the corner to see if anyone was there. He stood close to the wall, as well, careful not to rattle the bombs strapped to his back.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, they both pressed back, keeping hidden.
A group of six plant workers walked down a perpendicular hallway. They wore heavy waxed canvas aprons. Though Christopher didn’t know the language they spoke, the tired chatter of factory employees complaining of long hours or supervisors never varied. Too immersed in their own dissatisfaction, none of the workers cast a glance toward him or Louisa. Someone made what must have been a joke, for the others chuckled ruefully, and they walked on.
She waited several moments before moving on.
Impatience seethed within him, both as a Man O’ War and as a man more comfortable with action than subterfuge. “Not used to this kind of skullduggery,” he muttered.
She cast him a rueful smile and whispered, “A straight up fight in the sky is what you do best. But sneaking around down here is what I do best.” She patted him on the hand. “Buck up, Captain. We may yet get a nice brawl.”
“A cheering thought.”
Seeing that they were in the clear, she slid into the next corridor. He was right behind her. Though he’d looked at the plans for the munitions plant many times, she clearly had memorized them, for she moved quickly and with precision. The factory was a maze of hallways, sodium lights, and doors.
Clear glass tubes ran along the ceiling. They spread out in a network, running into different rooms, and they emitted a faint hissing sound. Periodically, brass cylinders shot through them, heading in sundry directions.
“Pneumatic tubes,” Louisa whispered. “Sending messages throughout the factory. Much faster than sending a courier.”
“And they keep the hallways clear.” Which was good for him and Louisa. Fewer messengers meant fewer people in the corridors, and less chances of being spotted.
Flaking metallic numerals had been painted upon the doorways. Louisa seemed to be searching for one in particular, for she rejected several doors before finally opening one.
They stepped inside and shut the door behind them. The room was dark and echoing. She fumbled in her pack for a moment. A small circle of green light bloomed as she held up a quartz lantern. They both cursed softly as they beheld the contents of the chamber.
It was a vast storage room. Racks soared up, stretching beyond the quartz lantern’s minimal illumination. On the racks were countless wooden crates. He strode to one and pried up its lid. Inside, packed in straw, munitions lay like sleeping animals.
He pushed the lid back into place. They walked further into the storage chamber, passing more racks. Suddenly, several of the racks began to shake.
His ether pistol was out in an instant, as was Louisa’s. It might have been some kind of alarm system; they needed to be prepared if anyone came running.
Cautiously, he neared one of the shuddering racks. Its shaking increased the closer he came. Instead of crates on the rack, there were sheets of metal stored upright. Pegs held them in place. The metal trembled at his approach.
He pressed his hand flat against one of the sheets. “Telumium.” He felt it resonating through his shoulder and his body.
“It’s responding to you.” She stepped closer and frowned. “I heard no intelligence that they were making Man O’ Wars here. What purpose could all this telumium serve?”
He resisted the urge to rub at his shoulder, though it began to throb in the presence of so much telumium.
Louisa’s eyes widened with a sudden understanding. “They’re adding it to the munitions to make them even more devastating.”
He swore, imagining the whole Hapsburg army equipped with powerful incendiary devices. Anyone who opposed them would be destroyed. The British Fleet would be wiped from the sky, and ground forces would be leveled.
“Time to plant our own explosives,” he growled.
She moved to his back and removed one of the bombs from the improvised pack. After unscrewing the top of the shell, she set the timing device. She set her stopwatch, as well. Once she was satisfied, she replaced the shell’s top and hid the whole object between two racks.
“Takes care of one,” she said.
“Two left.”
“And a ticking clock.”
After shutting off her quartz lantern, they hurriedly left the storage room. Louisa continued to lead the way, darting up a staircase. He took the steps four at a time, and met her at the top of the stairs. She threw him a glance that tried to look unimpressed by his athletic display, but she couldn’t quite hide the appreciation in her gaze.
A thick door stood on the landing. Even with this barrier, it couldn’t dampen the sound of clanging metal on the other side. He cautiously opened the door, and they both stepped out onto a catwalk.
The catwalk ran around the perimeter of a huge chamber. Hissing steam pipes and heavy girders traversed the ceiling. Below was a scene out of an industrial fantasia. Giant sheets of metal were being run through enormous machines, where they were stamped into different-sized shells. Men and women operated the machines, everyone wearing canvas clothing, their shoes soled with felt to keep from generating dangerous sparks, the women tucking their long hair into caps so it wouldn’t be caught in the machinery.
All along the plant floor were munitions in states of manufacture, from their raw components to final assembly. At the farthest end of the assembly room, workers mixed chemicals to form the explosive charges. Next to them, more workers packed the explosive materials into the formed shells. Close to where Christopher and Louisa stood, workers racked completed munitions into more crates, which were loaded onto wheeled platforms and carted away by clanking automatons.
Even with the mechanized workers, the munitions plant employed hundreds, if not a thousand, men and women.
“We can’t kill these people,” he said to Louisa. They might build weapons to be used against the British, but they were only trying to earn a living.
“Never my intent,” she answered. “I’ve a plan that will not only spare their lives, but will help get us out undetected. But we have more work to do before then.”
They hurried along the catwalk, careful to keep out of sight of anyone on the factory floor. Armed guards were stationed below at intervals, but the sentries looked bored, one even yawning into the cuff of his jacket.
> Heavy support girders crossed the width of the factory, supporting many of the machines that handled the dangerous materials. Louisa stopped beneath a central girder.
“We bring this one down, the whole chamber will collapse.” She took another bomb from his pack, cradling it in her arms. “Give us a boost.” She eyed the girder overhead.
“I’ll go,” he said at once.
“Who do you think they’ll notice less? A big Man O’ War in his naval uniform or a thoroughly nondescript woman?” Before he could answer, she said, “Either help me up, or I’ll find a way up on my own. And the more time you argue, the more time we lose.” She locked her gaze with his. “Trust me, Kit.”
He exhaled, then interlaced his fingers, forming a stirrup.
She gave him a brief nod and set her foot into the cradle of his hands. In one motion, he hoisted her up. She set the bomb on the metal beam and then climbed onto the girder on her hands and knees. Once she had gained her position, she slowly stood, her arms wrapped around the bomb. For a moment, she swayed, adjusting her equilibrium to accommodate carrying the explosive device. Satisfied with her balance, she began to walk out on the girder.
His breath refused to leave his body as he watched her progress. With a delicate, acrobatic grace, she walked along the support beam. Her steps took her over the factory floor, some forty feet below. If she fell, not only would she be detected, but she’d go crashing into brutal machinery that would crush her.
Though her steps were careful and slow, she showed no fear or reluctance. Only walked on, her gaze downcast to track her progress.
Somehow, a loose bolt had wound up on the girder. She might step on it and stumble, or else kick it and send it clattering down, attracting disastrous attention.
Damn it. He had to warn her. But if he shouted, he’d be heard by the people below.