by Mick Farren
“So tell me what you know.”
“You’ve been dreaming about two young men. One’s a Virginia boy, brown hair, snub nose, kinda goofy-looking. The other’s a boy from Hispania, a good-looking kid with big, dark eyes. The two of them are walking like parallel with each other, but with a high wall between them.”
Jesamine could only nod. T’saya had described exactly the two young men who had appeared in her recurrent dreams.
“Well, those boys are real, Jesamine, girl. And they’re coming closer. Very soon they’ll be here.”
Jesamine was really frightened now. She wanted to see if Kahfla was still back at the pavilion, or if she had been taken and the information tortured out her. She was the only one to whom Jesamine had told her dreams. If the story had not come from Jesamine, T’saya was exactly what she claimed to be, and that was equally scary. Despite herself, Jesamine had to ask. “And when those boys get here? What then?”
T’saya shook her head. “That’s yet to be revealed, but I figure it won’t be long in coming.”
Jesamine looked furtively round and saw to her horror that two Mamaluke cavalrymen were standing some distance away, apparently looking at her and T’saya. Had she been set up after all? T’saya followed her eyes and sensed her fear. “You better go, girl. Come back when you’ve thought about what I said. I know I spooked you by calling out like that, but there’s something going on around you that I sense is important.”
“But I don’t want to be important.”
“That’s a choice none of us gets to make.”
“I have to go.”
“You go, girl. Sashay a little as you walk away. That’ll be enough to throw off them Mamalukes. They’re more likely to be looking at the goats, anyway.”
Jesamine took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was so suspicious.”
T’saya put a hand on her arm. “You be careful, Jesamine.”
“I always try to be careful.”
“A storm’s going to come tonight.”
Jesamine looked up. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“You believe T’saya. A storm’s coming, and coming fast, and that storm’s going to bring changes.”
“Changes for the better, or changes for the worse?”
“That depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?”
CORDELIA
Cordelia could hardly believe what had happened. She felt like she’d been hijacked by these bloody airmen. Manhattan was one thing. That she could accept. “But Baltimore?”
Phelan Mallory frowned. “What’s wrong with Baltimore?”
“What happens when we get there?”
“We rendezvous with the cruiser Cromwell. I think I can tell you that much.”
“The Cromwell is already sailing into Baltimore? It was only just announced at the meeting.”
“The navy doesn’t wait for a public announcement to deploy its ships. The Cromwell has been on what’s euphemistically called a training exercise in the Northern Ocean for almost three weeks now.”
“I suppose I’m still a little naive.”
“You are, my dear.”
The NU98 was running due south, parallel to a red sunset over the American interior. The view from the windows of the gondola was spectacular, but right at that moment Cordelia was hardly interested in views. She was starting to feel completely out of her depth. “What’s going to happen to me? If I show up in Baltimore, I’m likely to be court-martialed.”
“How can that be? You’re attached to our delegation.”
“In Albany. Maybe I could have gotten away with a quick jaunt to Manhattan, but I wasn’t supposed to be flying all over the country.”
Phelan looked regretful but stern. “There are more important issues here, Cordelia.”
She was about to become angrily abusive, but then she realized he was right. At the same time, Hamilton code began spluttering from the wireless. The operator looked up at Mallory. “We have contact with the Cromwell, Skipper.”
“Where is she?”
“Laying off Kent Island and ready to steam on into Baltimore harbor.”
Phelan turned to the navigator. “And what’s our position?”
“We should see the Susquehanna River below us at any minute, and, after that, it’s a bare half hour until we touch down at Dundalk Field.”
Phelan smiled round at the crew. “So we’re looking good, lads.”
Looking good continued for all of five minutes, right to when the wireless operator spoke again. “I’m getting another flash from the Cromwell, Skipper.”
“There’s a change of plan already?”
“No, sir. It’s a storm warning.”
Cordelia did not like the sound of this. “This thing can’t fly through a storm, can it?”
Phelan ignored her. “Where’s this storm coming from?”
The operator looked confused. “That’s the problem, Skipper. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s supposed to be blowing down from the northeast, but when we left Grover’s Mill, we had a promise of clear air all the way, and we haven’t seen a sign of anything.”
“Send a request for confirmation to the Cromwell.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
He tapped urgently on his send key and then waited. In little under a minute, a response came back in Hamilton code. The wireless operator didn’t look any happier. “Storm confirmation, Skipper. They’re getting their information on ship-to-ship from an Albany destroyer, the HMS Bounty, that’s off Long Island and already riding it out. It’s like it suddenly conjured itself out of nowhere. It’s big, and, just for good measure, it seems to be exactly following us.”
Cordelia peered out of the nearest window but could see nothing except the same sunset that had been there earlier, only now further advanced. Phelan had done the same and seemed equally mystified. Cordelia was even less happy now. She did not think an airship captain had any right to be mystified and still hold his command, particularly of an airship on which she was a passenger, but for the moment she did not say anything. She might be scared, but that was no reason to panic or behave like a lily-livered dunce. She was the Lady Cordelia Blakeney, and although the Lady Cordelia Blakeney had never taken her role in the Royal Women’s Auxiliary very seriously up to that point, it was only because seriousness had so far not been demanded. How serious could one be when only required to run errands that a ten-year-old could do and, beyond that, just look decorative and sexy for the amusement of powerful men? She had not been called on to display courage, fortitude, or intelligence around Albany Castle and the War Office, but that did not mean that she could not summon these resources if she needed them. She was a soldier of Albany and the descendant of a fine family. The one was a position and the other a heritage that insisted she rise to the occasion, and it hardly mattered if the occasion happened to be her own misguided presence on an airship being threatened by a critically dangerous storm. She would straighten her spine, stiffen her upper lip, and neither whimper nor cry.
Phelan moved up to the steersman. “Make a smooth ninety-degree turn, Lars, so we can see what’s immediately astern.”
The steersman nodded and spun the wheel. Everyone except him moved the windows that would look to the north when the turn was completed, and even before the NU98 had swung the full ninety degrees, everyone except the steersman let out a low-voiced reaction. The bombardier, who had done nothing all flight, was the loudest, and he voiced what everyone else was thinking. “Holy shit! Where did that come from?”
Where indeed had it come from? Cordelia had no idea how to judge distances in the air, but the huge mass of dark and menacing thunderheads looked perilously close.
The bombardier did his best to sound calm and serious. “How soon will all that hit us, Skipper?”
Phelan shook his head. “It’s impossible to tell. We have no idea how fast that mass is moving. I suspect fast, from the way that it seems to have appeared out of nowhere.”
Cordelia continued to star
e at the storm. It looked like some huge vaporous fortress in the sky, and unfortunately the fortress was capable of movement, perhaps swifter movement than the NU98. Cordelia noticed spasmodic flickering at the base of the cloud formation. “What are those flashes?”
The bombardier answered. “That’s lightning, miss. It looks like a bad one.”
Mallory looked a warning at him. “Put a cover on that, Sam.”
“Sorry, Skipper.”
He faced the crew. “We’re going to have to try and outrun it, lads.” He turned to the steersman. “Set a course south and east, Lars.”
“South and east, Skipper. Does that mean we’re abandoning Baltimore?”
“We can’t moor under those conditions.”
“South and east it is, Skipper.”
Now Phelan turned to the engineer. “Fuel?”
“We’re okay at the moment, but we were only fueled for Manhattan. It depends how far we are going to have to run and how fast the storm’s chasing us.”
“Let’s concentrate on outrunning the storm and see what happens after that.”
The engineer shrugged, and Cordelia sensed a growing fatalism among the crew. Maybe it was what made this brand-new breed of aviators able to do what they did. The navigator was looking worried. “If we run south, we don’t have too much running room before we’re over enemy territory or heading out to sea.”
Phelan Mallory looked resigned. “If the storm catches us, we won’t care what territory we’re over. Let’s concentrate on dodging those thunderclouds and work our way back as best we can when we’re clear of it. Unless anyone has a better idea.”
None of the crew seemed to disagree. Phelan nodded. “Okay, so nose down, full power, and hope for the best.”
The engineer leaned on his twin throttle levers, and the noise of the engines noticeably increased. Phelan turned to the wireless operator. “Try to raise Baltimore, and send our position and intentions. You better warn them that we might be going into enemy airspace.”
ARGO
Slide marched ahead, a half-dozen paces in front of Argo and Bonnie, plotting their course by some means that Argo was completely unable to fathom. He did not make use of a compass, or any kind of map or chart, and, even when they were once again moving through woodland, he never stopped to look around or check his bearings. He simply walked quickly on, like a man on a familiar street, assuming that his two companions would automatically follow. Yancey Slide was proving to be such a mystery, and posed so many questions for Argo, that he could not help quizzing Bonnie about the man, if indeed Slide was a man at all. He knew it was probably a mistake, but he was unable to curb his curiosity. He quickly learned, however, that his original assumption had been correct. To ask was a mistake, and Bonnie was more than capable of curbing his curiosity for him. Each time he asked, in a semiwhisper, so their strange leader and guide supposedly could not hear, she either rebuffed him or treated his query as if it were a joke. With nothing else to do but tramp through the rapidly darkening woods, Argo had become more and more frustrated. Finally, unable to stand not knowing any longer, he blurted out the question that had been on his mind from the start.
“Did you ever sleep with Slide?”
Bonnie’s first response was a combination of impatience and exasperation. “Fuck, Argo, don’t you ever stop?”
“Well, did you?”
At that point she turned oblique. “I don’t think Yancey ever sleeps.”
“You know what I mean.”
Suddenly Bonnie was angry and spoke loud enough for Slide to clearly overhear. “If you’re wanting to know if I ever fucked him, Argo Weaver, the answer is no, I never did. So you can put a cover on your teenage jealousy. The truth is that I probably would have done if he’d ever asked or given me so much as a sign that he was interested, but I’ve never seen Yancey Slide show any interest in sex. Not what you’d call normal sex.”
Slide also showed no interest in the conversation behind, so Argo continued to press the point. “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Not what you’d call normal sex’?”
“It means you can go on wondering about him, because that’s as much as I’m going to tell you. If you want to know more, ask him yourself.”
For the first time in what had to be at least two hours, Slide recognized the presence of the pair behind him. “What are you two chattering about?”
Bonnie, who had clearly had more than enough of Argo’s interrogation, replied with the maliciousness of a petulant schoolgirl. “He wants to know all about you. What you do, what you are, what your preferences might be.”
“Preferences?”
“That’s right, preferences.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing, except that he should ask you.”
Slide halted and turned. His eyes seemed to gleam in the fading remains of the woodland light. “So you want to know about me, do you, Argo Weaver?”
For one horrific moment, Argo felt as though Slide was about to do something fierce and inhuman, like angrily revealing all in a single and terrifying visionary assault that would sear Argo’s mind and leave him twitching and brain dead. At the same time, though, a deeply buried instinct told Argo to stand his ground. His voice faltered, but he looked directly into the depths of Slide’s infinite and frightening eyes. “Do you blame me?”
“This is not the time, boy. Right now we need to avoid the Mosul and reach a refuge from the coming storm. The questions and answers must wait until a later time.”
The moment was suddenly past. Argo would never dare boast that he had faced down Yancey Slide, but he did continue to look right at him. “You assume I’ll follow you, but I’m allowed to know nothing about you?”
“I’m simply telling you that this is not the time for explanations. We are nearing the agreed rendezvous with my Albany Rangers. If we come in chattering like three monkeys, they are quite likely to take us for a band of Mosul and open fire. They will be expecting me to arrive in silence.”
Argo knew he was being told to keep quiet, but he could not resist a rebellious final shot. “The silence of the grave?”
Slide’s eyes glowed briefly, but then he smiled. “Perhaps. If that’s the way you care to think of it.”
Before Argo could say any more, Slide turned on his heel and resumed walking on as before. Argo and Bonnie had no option but to follow, although, as they fell into step, Bonnie treated Argo to a sidelong grin. “You did alright there. Yancey, with all his magic tricks and the eye business, has it far too much his own way. It’s not often that someone stands up to him.”
“I thought for a few seconds there he was going to blast me.”
“One word of warning, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Wait a good long time before you try anything like that again, okay?”
Ten minutes passed, and the woods became quite dark. Slide moved unerringly, but Bonnie and Argo had to pick their way carefully to avoid tripping on roots and fallen branches or stumbling blindly into undergrowth. Slide entered a small clearing and suddenly halted, raising a silent hand for the others to do the same. He stood for a moment, and, although Argo was too far away to tell for sure, he seemed to be sniffing the air. Then he let out a strange, hardly human sound, somewhere between a whistle and a whisper. A much more mortal voice immediately responded. “Is that you, Yancey?”
“It certainly is.”
“And how was your day?”
“It was uneventful.”
“Are you alone?”
Slide glanced briefly back at Argo and Bonnie. “No, I’m not alone. I picked up a couple of strays along the way, but they come from the right bloodline.”
The exchange might have sounded like oddly pointless conversation, but Argo was certain that it was a prearranged set of questions and responses that would tell whoever lay in wait, presumably one or more of Slide’s Rangers standing sentry, that he was coming in of his own free will and not under any kind of dures
s. Had the answers been any different, the area would most likely have come under withering fire. Slide gestured to what looked like an outcrop of rock at one end of the clearing, indicating that Argo and Bonnie should move in that direction. As they came closer, three figures suddenly rose from the rocks where no figures had been visible before. They seemed to detach themselves from the very landscape, and Argo knew that these must be the legendary Albany Rangers, and it did not take a genius to instantly appreciate that they were very good at what they did, and their reputation was well deserved. Each of the three held a lever-action repeating shotgun of a kind that Argo had never seen before, but he knew that, in a firefight, they had to be more than a match for any Mosul with their muskets or breechloaders. The Rangers carried their weapons pointed to the sky but in a way that left no doubt they were ready for immediate use if anything untoward might occur. The middle man of the three advanced to greet Slide. “Hey, Yance.”
“Hey, Jeb Hooker.”
“Any problems?”
“Not a one. You guys?”
“Everything’s as it should be with us.”
Slide and the Ranger clasped hands and quickly embraced, clapping each other on the back. When they separated, the Ranger looked at Bonnie and Argo. “Who have you brought back with you?”
“I found Bonnie in a stream. You remember Bonnie, right?”
“Is that you in the dark there, Bonnie Appleford?”
“It sure is, Jeb.”
Now Bonnie and Jeb embraced. “How the hell are you, Bonnie?”
“I’m fucking fine, and even better for seeing you, Captain Jeb.”
Now the Ranger Bonnie called Captain Jeb looked in Argo’s direction. “And who’s your young friend?”
Slide answered this question. “He’s Argo Weaver, recently out of Thakenham, and it could be he’s one of the Four, only it’s too early to be sure.”
Argo did not know what Slide was talking about. The “Four?” So far Bonnie had said that he might be “significant,” Slide had asked him about the “other three,” and now it turned out that he might be one of the “Four.” Slide spoke the word as though, when written, it would be capitalized. Argo was confused as hell and more than a little scared, but right there and then hardly seemed the place to ask questions, especially after his earlier confrontation with Slide. The Ranger captain moved towards him, extending a hand. “Glad to meet you, kid.”