The Ruby Airship

by Sharon Gosling

  Flowing down from an outcrop jutting out above the highest of these spires was the waterfall. It splashed and thundered, running beside the castle and down a chasm cut by centuries of snowmelt and rainfall. It bypassed the second tier and flowed into the lake. From the lake flowed a river that shot deep and fast through a grilled archway that had been constructed in the lower wall. On either side burned another two of those great torches, the smoke from which smudged the night air with ash.

  “Mon dieu,” Rémy whispered, standing beside him as she took in the immense sight. “Whoever built this place is either a genius or a madman.”

  Thaddeus felt a shadow pass across his mind. “I’ve known men who were both,” he said.

  “What we going to do?” J asked, leaning over his seat and staring out at the sight before them. “I didn’t fink they’d see us coming in the airship at night, like — but with those torches, now I ain’t so sure. They could see a fly comin’ at fifty paces.”

  “Go around,” Dita suggested with a twirl of her finger to indicate what she meant.

  Thaddeus nodded. “I think Dita’s got the right idea. Let’s keep our distance for the moment and do a circuit of the mountain before the sun comes up. See what’s on the opposite side.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement, hushed as if those sleeping below in that fearsome city might somehow hear and look up, despite the distance. Thaddeus flew the silent airship in a wide circle, keeping Mont Cantal on his right. It soon became clear that the huge torches they had seen burned only on the south side of the mountain, where the city stood. Once the ship had drawn level with the north face, it became clear why — here Cantal was nothing but a sheer rock cliff, almost entirely smooth from the tip of its height to where it met the plain at its base. There was no path, nor even any way of climbing the expanse of stone by hand. It was as if, some time in pre-history, the mountain had been smote in two, leaving one side smooth and featureless.

  “Cripes,” muttered J. “There ain’t no army going to make it up and over that way, that’s for sure.”

  “Not unless they’ve got an airship,” said Thaddeus, with a hint of grim triumph. He flew them closer and then rose up the sheer sheet rock until they crested the very top of Mont Cantal. Doing so made it evident that the great line of torches did not actually reach the mountain’s highest point, but began their burning beneath a small plateau that jutted out just below the summit.

  “Well, well, well,” said Thaddeus, looking down at the narrow space. “I believe we’ve just found one advantage we have over the Comte de Cantal.”

  No one spoke during the landing. For all that the little plateau seemed flat, in reality it was as stony and uneven as any other part of the south face. Audible sighs of relief echoed through the cabin as the airship touched down safely. Everyone inside sat quietly for a moment afterward, looking out at the orange glow that rose over the edge of the plateau and hinted at what was waiting below.

  “We have to try to climb down, into the city,” Rémy said.

  Thaddeus nodded. “We’ll have to do it now, before the sun comes up,” he said. “Anything moving during daylight risks being seen. Rémy, you and I will go. J and Dita should stay here, with the airship.”

  “Wait a mo,” said J. “You’ll never get down there, find the lady, and get back up here before sunrise. The sky’s already getting pink over yonder.”

  “We’ll have to stay in the city all day, until the sun sets again,” said Rémy. “It’ll probably take us that long to work out where Claudette is, anyway.”

  “If they see you, you’ll be trapped,” Dita exclaimed.

  “We’ll be fine,” Thaddeus reassured her. “They don’t know who we are. We’ll blend in with the locals. Don’t worry. As soon as it gets dark again, we’ll head back.”

  “What about the ship?” J asked. “What ’appens if someone comes lookin’ up ’ere in the meantime? I dunno — a patrol, or sumfin’? We’ll be sitting ’ere in broad daylight for hours!”

  “You’ll have to keep a sharp eye out, J. But why would they send a patrol this high? If they were worried, the torches would be burning all the way up here, too, but they’re not. Like you said, there’s no way anyone’s coming up the north face. They’ve no reason to think anyone would be up here. This is probably the safest place you could be.”

  “But what if —”

  Thaddeus cut the boy off, laying a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re worried, at all, for any reason, then you take off, straightaway.”

  “We can’t just leave you two behind!”

  “We can look after ourselves, J,” Rémy said. “Anyway, it’s not going to come to that. Trust us.”

  J looked doubtful, but eventually he nodded. “You’d best get going then, ain’t yer?” he said. “No sense hanging about waiting for trouble.”

  {Chapter 34}

  THE DEVIL’S LAIR

  Outside the airship, the night air was chilled. Rémy and Thaddeus made their way toward the plateau’s edge, stepping carefully over the uneven ground. Several times stones skittered away from their feet, the noise seeming to clatter as loudly as thunder in the silence. But there were no shouts; there came no stampede of booted feet. Up here, near the roof of the world, they were as invisible as ghosts.

  The most difficult part of the passage down was getting over the plateau. They had no guide ropes, no safety net. Pausing at the edge, they looked over at the drop below. The ground disappeared, curving in below the outcrop’s lip and only jutting out again many feet lower. Here was where the line of ever-burning torches stood, perpetual sentries standing testament to Mont Cantal’s might.

  Thaddeus leaned close to Rémy, until his lips were almost brushing her ear. “Are you ready?” he asked, voice barely louder than a breath. “What about your shoulder?”

  “Let’s go,” she whispered back, ignoring the question just as she was ignoring the pain from her injury.

  He nodded, and a moment later they were on the rock face, searching for handholds and scrambling down as quietly as they could. Rémy was faster, of course, but Thaddeus impressed her. He was not used to heights as she was, but he didn’t hesitate. He was different, she realized; different than the ‘little policeman’ she had met all those months ago. He was more confident, stronger. She was glad he was there. Rémy couldn’t imagine wanting to take on this monstrous mountain with anyone else.

  By the time they reached the line of torches, the sky at the distant horizon was a deep rose color as the sun edged toward it. They were running out of time, but neither of them could stop themselves pausing beside one of the burning plumes, staring at it in amazement. The base was a metal cylinder as thick and as tall as a tree trunk. It had been plunged directly into the rock face, as if some giant tool had gouged a hole in the mountain itself. The fire that burned atop was so fierce that it shot several feet into the air like a fountain, its constancy never fading for a moment. Just one of these would be a wonder, but Mont Cantal had too many to count.

  “What fuels them?” Thaddeus murmured, holding out his hand to the metal cylinder. “I can feel the heat from a foot away. It’s as if the fire is shooting directly out of the mountain.”

  “I don’t think I want to know,” Rémy shuddered.

  Sound rose up from below them. It echoed from the narrow track that connected each of the torches. Rémy grabbed Thaddeus’s arm and pulled him behind a boulder. Two men were making their way up the track, their heavy boots scattering dust and stones from the path as they walked. Both bore the uniform and helmets of the Comte de Cantal.

  “A patrol,” Thaddeus mouthed, silently. Rémy nodded. They held their breath as the men drew ever nearer.

  Neither soldier spoke. Apart from the heavy tread of their feet, they were utterly silent. They must have climbed all the way from the city itself — a long way, even for the fittest of folk. Yet there was no
hint of them puffing breath into the cool dawn air.

  Rémy looked at Thaddeus with a frown, unsettled, and knew from his expression that he was feeling the same anxiety. There was something off about these two, something strange. She risked peeking out from their hiding place long enough to see that they had solid visors beneath their helmets. Their faces were completely covered by a rounded gold plate. Looking at one of these soldiers was like looking at the blank curve of a goblet. Despite herself, Rémy shivered. Thaddeus gripped her arm, silently reminding her to keep quiet.

  They stayed huddled behind the rock until the soldiers’ footfalls had faded.

  “How do they see?” Rémy whispered, her mind full of the disturbing sight of the men’s blank faces. “Why are they covered so?”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve got to hurry, though — there may be more of them.”

  Rémy nodded. “We’ll stay off the path. Come on.”

  They slipped from boulder to boulder, pausing every time they heard a sound. Another patrol passed, as silent and as strange as the first, but they were not detected. As Rémy and Thaddeus got lower down the mountain, they began to pass caves. There seemed to be hundreds of them — some were tiny, little more than mouse holes in the rock, but others were larger, snaking away into the unknown. Rémy was relieved to see them — they would make excellent hiding places, a useful thing in such a hostile place. But they also reminded her of Abernathy’s lair, and she never wanted to find herself anywhere like that ever again.

  The roar of the waterfall reached them long before they got to its birthplace. The path passed directly beside where it gushed from the mountain, but Rémy and Thaddeus detoured around it, still anxious to avoid any patrols coming the other way. There was no way across the river until it reached the second tier, though, so they gave up on the idea of trying to get directly into the castle. They stared up at its turrets as they passed, instead, Rémy wondering which one of them, if any, held Claudette.

  The sun was up by the time they reached the middle city. They hid outside the main wall, waiting for a gaggle of market traders and their carts to pass, before slipping inside behind them. Once there, they both breathed a little more easily.

  “So far, so good,” said Thaddeus with a slight smile.

  Rémy didn’t smile back. “What do you English say about famous last words?”

  Thaddeus nodded, acknowledging the point. He was about to say something else when a bell began to ring.

  “Ah, there we go,” said one of the market traders to another. “It’s time for the Comte’s proclamation. Better get up there before all the best places are taken, eh?”

  There was a general murmuring as everyone around them left their carts and began to head for the road that led up to the castle. One by one, the doors of the white-washed houses opened, and people poured out onto the street. Young and old, rich and poor, servant and master — it seemed that all were destined for the same place.

  “Come on,” said Thaddeus. “We’d better find out what’s going on.”

  They fell into step with the masses, carried along by the crowds heading up the mountain.

  {Chapter 35}

  THE COMTESSE’S RETURN

  Thaddeus looked around uneasily as they slowly followed the crowds. It seemed as if every road, path, and stairway around them was now clogged with people. There were soldiers everywhere, too, though these soldiers had their faces uncovered as they scanned the throngs for signs of trouble with cold eyes. Thaddeus felt hemmed in. He kept trying to calculate how swiftly they’d be able to get out if they needed a quick escape. The answer did nothing to quell his anxiety.

  They had finally reached the wall of the castle when a fanfare sounded. Thaddeus looked up, shielding his eyes from the morning sun, to see a quad of trumpeters, dressed in what he had come to recognize as the Comte’s colors — royal blue, gold and white — standing in a tight line above the castle’s gates. The crowd surged forward. Thaddeus passed through the gates in a flurry of arms and legs that were not his own, carried along by the press of eager bodies around him. Together, they all spilled into the courtyard beyond, and found themselves standing beneath a stone tower that dominated all the rest. Huge white steps led to another great wooden door at its base, but what drew the crowd’s attention was the balcony halfway up its crowning spire. On it, two more trumpeters stood at attention, and from its balustrade hung another large flag, fluttering slightly in the wind. The fanfare sounded again, shorter this time, and a soldier stepped forward onto the balcony from within. He wore an elaborate helmet, plumed with white feathers designed to mark him out as more than a common soldier.

  Thaddeus felt Rémy grip his hand, her angry gaze fixed on the balcony.

  “That’s the one,” she whispered in his ear. “He’s the one who led the attack on the circus. He took Claudette.”

  “People of this great city,” boomed the officer. “Pray silence for Comte Cantal de Saint-Cernin.”

  The soldier retreated as another, longer fanfare played out across the castle keep. Despite the numbers of those gathered in the courtyard, there was absolute silence, as if everyone assembled was holding their breath.

  The fanfare went on as a new figure stepped onto the balcony. Thaddeus felt his breath leave him. There stood the Comte de Cantal, the man who had mocked Thaddeus across Sir Henry’s dinner table, the man he’d seen negotiating for the purchase of one of Abernathy’s infernal submarines. The man who had been convinced that in just one month, he would have enough money to buy the wretched war machine outright. And why?

  Because he knew, Thaddeus told himself. He knew, thanks to Yannick, that after that night it was only a matter of time before he found Claudette and her fortune.

  Rémy pulled on his hand. He bent down so that she could whisper in his ear.

  “I’ve seen him before,” she said. “On the train from Calais. He spoke to Yannick.”

  The Comte wore yet another well-cut suit over his broad shoulders and stood with an air of assurance that radiated from the balcony like heat. He stepped to the balustrade and regarded the subjects below with a smile, but even from this distance, Thaddeus could see this genial look was deliberate and calculated. The Comte de Cantal, Thaddeus decided, was a man made sharp by nature, and cruel by spirit.

  When at last the fanfare died away, the Comte raised his hands.

  “Valued subjects,” he began. “We all know that this, our beloved city, is the greatest in all the land.”

  The silence shattered in a cheering roar that threatened to shake the very foundations of Mont Cantal. Around them, the gathered multitude exploded in applause and yelled in whoops of delight. After taking a few moments to soak up the adoration, the Comte raised his hands for silence. The applause echoed away.

  “As you know,” the Comte went on, “I have made it my mission to locate the lost daughter of my great family, my second cousin who has been known since she was a child as the Lost Comtesse. For too many years, we have been bereft of her presence. It was a difficult task, for we knew not where to look, or even if she still lived. But I would not be deterred.”

  There came more adoring cheers. Thaddeus looked at Rémy to see her jaw clenched, her eyes hard.

  “And so,” the Comte continued, as the sound of the crowd subsided, “it is my very great delight today to announce that the Lost Comtesse is lost no more.” The rest of his words had to carry over a storm of clapping and whooping that not even the Comte could quell, nor did he seem to want to. With a broad grin on his handsome face, he announced, “My lords and ladies, people of France, I present Arriete, Comtesse Cantal de Saint-Cernin.”

  Thaddeus felt Rémy grip his hand tighter as the Comte turned back to someone farther inside the tower. Rémy’s lips were moving, as if she were trying to tell him something, but the words were lost beneath the thunder of the crowd. The noise reached
a crescendo as a new figure stepped out onto the balcony, reaching for the proffered hand of the Comte.

  Thaddeus had only seen Claudette Anjou twice before. The first time was a fleeting encounter when he had been in pursuit of Rémy as the thief of the Ocean of Light. The second had been when Rémy had brought her friend to see her new lodgings at the Professor’s workshop before Claudette and the circus had returned to France. He remembered her as beautiful, yes, but even so the woman he saw now was as far removed from the one he recalled meeting as a peacock was from a sparrow. Her chestnut hair had been swept up into a complicated knot that glittered as if studded with jewels. She wore a dress of light blue silk, patterned with flowers and leaves in pale green and pink and edged with intricate lace, both at the open neck and at the sleeves, which tapered at her elbows. It was her face, though, that etched itself into Thaddeus’s memory and made his heart clench in sympathy. Claudette’s eyes were blank, as if they had been hollowed out. Her mouth was set in a line so emotionless that it seemed impossible she would ever smile again. She stared ahead, expressionless as a porcelain sculpture, as if entirely ignorant of everything that was happening around her.

  “Arriete!” shouted someone in the crowd, and then another shouted, and another, and another, until the entire multitude was chanting a name the woman herself appeared not to recognize — “Arriete! Arriete! Arriete!”

  The Comte stepped toward Claudette, who was as motionless as stone. He touched one hand to her back and leaned to whisper something in her ear. She blinked once, as if waking from a deep sleep, and then raised an arm to wave at the crowd, smiling widely and nodding. Her eyes, though, remained as blank as a painter’s primed canvas.