Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun

by Jeffrey Cook

July 8th, 1816

  33º51' S 151º12

  We have settled in well here, showing the first real signs of recovery. Sir James is able to sit up again. He feeds himself most of the time, though he still has bouts of weakness and fatigue that can come upon him without warning. His constitution has been most sorely taxed, so I cannot fault him for this. He has said a few words, mostly in thanks, and he has listened to the accounts of our travels. As of yet, he has not volunteered to speak of his own ordeals or what he may have learned of York and his future, and until he is willing to speak of that, I will not ask.

  Likewise, we have not spoken about the plans for the future. Unavoidably, however, he did make certain that we knew the truth of the matter. He clearly worries for what the others will think or say now. After his sister's explanation and our answers to his brief questions, he sat in silence and thought for a long period of time. I wonder what will come of it, and currently in seeing him, my mind cycles through hope and dread alike.

  My own injuries are healing well. My ribs have healed almost entirely. With another couple of weeks, they should be almost fully mended, if a bit vulnerable. Thankfully, we have not had any trouble while here. Apparently York and his fellows were either able to travel further afield than Australia, landed in the wilderness (may they be eaten by something), or have found themselves in one of the settlements far enough away that we do not receive regular news of them here.

  Mr. Franzini has left this specific colony with a group of men. I do not know if he intends to be away long. He may seek to find enough fortune among the settlements that he might not need to return with us at all. For now, it is simply a matter of time. At the very least, some of the men of this town seem more comfortable speaking with us now that he is no longer counting himself among our number, for he seems to have given many of them much the same impression he left upon me in our earliest meetings. Despite this, he has proven his worth many times over, and I have some small hope he might return for those times when we travel to places he has contacts enough to work with us.

  If he mourns, it is also possible that he must come to terms with his own failure to predict that the harlot had somehow armed herself. He was unable to save Mrs. Fisher, which would certainly greatly trouble me. For all the time I have traveled with him, Mr. Franzini has been inconsistent, but fairly often presented himself as a gentleman and may fancy himself such. Certainly inability to protect a woman, which is part of a man's duty, is difficult enough alone. That he allowed himself to be overcome by a harlot and prisoner is further shame he must find peace for in himself.

  So far, though he has been questioned, he was not certain how Larkin had armed herself with the small knife she used, or how she caught them by surprise. She had moved quickly, striking when he had briefly turned his back to begin escorting her along her way to the facilities. Then, when he had been struck over the back of the head, obviously, Mrs. Fisher had been attacked before she could scream. Certainly the Captain still blames Mr. Franzini for some part, and he may not be the only one. For now, it is probably best he has left us, and for all his use, in reflection, I am not certain if it would be better if he returned or not for the peace of our company.

  Of Miss Penn and Miss Bowe we have not heard a word. The day after the funeral, they simply left. My best clue to their whereabouts was that Miss Bowe said something about the Koori. Even having read Dr. Bowe's The Friendliest People on Earth, describing a great variety of Australian peoples, I am still not certain if this refers to an individual tribe or a wider part of the natives of the land. There remains a great deal unknown, and I certainly have no interest in going searching for them.

  I do not pretend to know the mind of either woman. Miss Penn seems to have resolved her early issues with Miss Bowe, even if she was inspired to hurry this transition along by staying close to the one person Mr. Franzini avoided religiously. No matter the inspiration, the pair seem to be close friends now. They share an interest in the people here, as with the Maori. Miss Penn seems more interested from a scholar's perspective, fascinated by the mysticism of these native cultures, while Miss Bowe, of course, seems more at home among them than she often does in polite society. Despite this, she always returns to the latter. Perhaps she is just the devout explorer her father obviously was.

  I do not know how it is possible, but in all the ground we have covered, the writings have been proven true and with great breadth of knowledge. I have no more doubt that Dr. Bowe has traveled most of the world at one time or another. In fact, he seemed to have done so during his child's earliest days. I cannot quite say the woman's age, but it would take at least all of her life before we met her to encounter as many civilizations as she has. That she claims to know something of Africa and Asia yet is all the more amazing.

  That last may soon be put to the test, for our critical diplomatic errand in the forbidden land of Japan will take us to Asia even if we forget all other assignments there. Africa is a long time away yet, and the legends of its dark interiors and thick jungles make it perhaps the most mysterious of all.

  For all the dark emotions I have felt in these days, were York and his treachery removed from consideration, I should imagine I would be quite honored to have been included in this trip, to see and document sights of fascination and share that knowledge and the images with my home. Likewise, I remain, when I think on it, filled with a sense of wonder at how large the world is and how many corners remain yet unknown to us.

  From the journals of Jillian Coltrane (translated from the original ancient Greek),

  July 9th, 1816

  For all its insufficiencies, Australia is at least relaxing. We have no appointments, nor visitors other than the Reverend and the Doctor. Both I can greet without a full wardrobe change, twelve minutes restyling my hair, and an entire bottle of degreasing lemon juice – or fear of causing a scandal.

  I am sure that somewhere in this little port, there is a fifth son who knows the difference between what I should be wearing and what I am wearing fresh from work. However, the rules seem to be minding one's own business. Everyone is busy minding their own lands and counting their cows and sheep. There are no bored society girls here to cause problems. There is Harriet, and with the new influx of parts or things that can be made into parts, she's easily distracted from being bored. Imagine what straits we'd be in if we had only appropriately 'accomplished' young ladies in the family.

  Speaking of accomplishment, you can sit up! Be proud, James. I'm so glad that you're doing well enough to read this now. And you, no doubt, are glad that you can find out what has happened through your usual means. Well, mostly glad. After what you did to the page in question, despite your usual respect for all things written and recorded, we can simply do without my full account of York's offer.

  The Doctor is in much higher spirits now that you can eat and talk a little. This is more his speed of things.

  You've seen what parts of the party that are here to check in, such as Mr. Watts. Eddy, with whom matters are quite complicated at the moment, is near in location, if not socially. After everything that has happened and everything discovered, he is not quite ready to talk with you yet. But we all will soon. It's important. But I know you can understand that. It's Eddy, and there have been not only lies, but things left unsaid.

  I trust Miss Bowe will wander back, and bring Miss Penn along with her. She had yet to lose any of our people, for all she wanders into the wilds.

  The Italian is off, somewhere, which is an ominous relief.

  Mostly, with the party scattered, and your strength gaining by the day, all I can do is wait and fix what can be fixed. I will repeat what I started: Australia is relaxing.

  I will also note, for as many sheep as there are here, the fabric selection is wanting. I think they ship it all home to be milled. The shopping opportunities are most disappointing.

  July 11th, 1816

  33º51' S 151º12' E

  My Dearest Cordelia,

  I would wish to
write you more of romance, wonders, and scenic splendor, though Australia has only so much of that. Certainly it might be viewed as very beautiful in its own rugged fashion, but not the kind of beauty that has previously led me to photograph landscapes just for you. For the most part, the land I see now is warm and dry, particularly for winter, which the colonists swear this time should be. The lands not far from here are said to be mostly flat, warmer and drier still, and fraught with perils.

  Currently, as before, I find I write you most when my mind is troubled. I would never wish to burden you too much with my difficulties. Your health and situation in near exile at times at home gives you plenty of your own concerns, but I find it eases my mind in the fashion of talking to a friend. Certainly you are not only the love of my life, but also my oldest and dearest companion from our childhood days. Remembering your lifelong curiosity about almost everything, whether expressly forbidden a young lady's ears or not, I can only hope that this new trouble of mine does not so much trouble as intrigue you.

  We have received a strange letter. It came to us without a signature and without explanation. It bade those of us able to travel to come first to one of the settlements a day's travel from the colony here in Australia, then to a specific address within it. It did not say why. It simply assures us that the trip is not a difficult or dangerous one, so long as we travel with the traders en route between settlements. This relative safety is the only verifiable matter involved. The letter was dropped off anonymously, so we could not even determine anything from some note of the person's description.

  Miss Coltrane was particularly intrigued by the letter, claiming she thought there was something familiar to the handwriting. Certainly it bears the wording and marks of a highly educated man, and the phrasing is in perfect King's English, rather than the variant they have found themselves speaking in this remote corner of the world. Miss Coltrane apparently passed the news onto Eddy once I had told her of its arrival, for he showed some interest as well.

  Curiosity is winning out. We have been here long enough that some small and easy degree of travel should not be too difficult or injure my ribs too much. We have made arrangements for travel, Miss Coltrane, Miss Wright, Eddy, and myself. It is unlikely that York could have arrived unannounced to be behind this, but we intend to take care. I hope to provide you with answers in my next letter, though as no ships have yet arrived, it will likely be sent together with this.

  With love, always,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  July 19th, 1816

  33º51' S 151º12' E

  The one-day trip turned into two, for reasons of difficult conditions and poor roads. We were able to stay at a tiny settlement, mostly just a trading depot surrounded by a few residences. More of these are growing up as a few of the small settlements beyond the colony grow. The arrival of more skilled craftsmen and adventurous souls, combined with disputes that cause people to venture out from the colony, lead to slow but steady growth. Waypoints and depots are built along the most traveled trails, which may be destined to become actual roads in time.

  When we arrived at this new destination, we first found ourselves accommodations in the new town, knowing that if something was important enough to have drawn us that distance in whatever degree of anonymity was apparently deemed necessary, then we might well be staying for a while. Once we had settled into two rooms, we familiarized ourselves with the town and did some scouting about, just to make certain there were no signs of York or his men.

  No one had seen any sign of anyone matching any of the more notable descriptions. We couldn't have been sure of every mercenary, but by this point, I would be almost certain that York must have found himself new men, or those still about are those who have proven extremely loyal, for otherwise, being in York's employ seems a very certain way to end up exposed to new and interesting dangers. Certainly he has shown no great loyalty to his men.

  When the supper hour came about, we headed for the address we were given with some aid from the locals. Eddy kept back, rifle and pistol at the ready, until we came to an unusual house. We had noted it with some curiosity previous to that point, but had not quite placed it as the location we were looking for. We were quite surprised in particular once we reached the door – and were greeted by Agnes, Dr. Mitchell's housekeeper. She bade us enter quickly.

  For all that the outside of the home was unusually large and stately, constructed to resemble an English gentleman's country home, the inside was a different matter entirely. Things of all descriptions were scattered about. Some of them were what we had previously associated with the mad Dr. Mitchell: gears, cogs, pinwheels, and metal scraps of all sorts – and in all sorts of ruin. One row was dedicated entirely to a series of crafted items of wood and metal, made, perhaps by some mad fancy of the doctor's, into animal shapes, upon which he conducted further experimentation. I was particularly struck by the duck figures, floating within windowed boxes filled with water in some apparent test of moisture-proofed materials.

  Aside from these, there were papers tacked up about the walls with designs and ideas and scribble too packed-together to be read. There were also signs of more identifiable items, such as more of the pepper-boxes, pieces of a rifle like Eddy's, miniature scale models of an airship similar to our own, and then crates upon crates.

  In fact, there was no furniture about the place, only crates moved into position to serve the purpose. Agnes bade us come in, and while she could not promise us a more comfortable place to sit, she was working on convincing the doctor to add at least some degree of comfort to the place, since it seemed they were going to stay for a time. She also offered us tea for the moment, promising that supper would be arriving soon, but was not quite done yet. Likely as not, she had made preparations to have everything prepared just on time, for she showed every sign of being quite skilled at tending a home, other than whatever madness possessed her to the loyalty she held for the doctor and his deceased wife. Equally likely as not, she had needed to put out some fire or otherwise tend to the doctor in some way that slowed it all down.

  We managed to make ourselves comfortable, at least as best we could, upon crates stacked around larger crates, which she had made sure were meticulously clean that it might be eaten off of.

  I was concerned at how the ladies among us would deal with facing these conditions in a home which looked so proper and achingly familiar. As it happened, that was not precisely what occupied them. Miss Wright immediately began fitting various broken pieces back together – without even thinking to remove her gloves. I hope that the stains come out when she notices them. Miss Coltrane first set about methodically getting her bearings in terms of the room. After that, she was far too absorbed in reading some page of the doctor's manic scribbles to even notice any amount of discomfort and impropriety.

  I had to imagine then that this was much how it was at home. Miss Wright's anxious slovenliness may well be partially born of her constant need to repair or assist. Miss Coltrane's perfect propriety is based on her analysis of her environment. When away from polite company or the need for deception, she likely spent most of her time delving into her brother's schoolbooks and notes – and the pages upon pages of her own designs and ideas as well.

  It was almost an hour before the doctor himself would join us, by which time Agnes was about serving dinner, dishing out a portion for the doctor. Unsurprisingly, the dinner served was rack of lamb, for parts of this land serve well for raising sheep. Certainly it was familiar to her.

  I expressed surprise that we should see the doctor here, while he regarded us more or less with disdain. He went on some ranting diatribe about how we had led lesser minds directly to his research. He continued, saying that if we were going to be rid of him, he would at least appreciate if we had the courtesy to finish him off ourselves, so that at least his stolen discoveries would fall into the hands of minds capable of appreciating them. He did not seem so much distresse
d, once more, at the idea that we somehow bore him some malice, instead of the simple pity which is certainly my feeling towards the man. Instead, he insisted that if we were out, with our imaginary allies, to steal his work and ideas, we should not allow them to go to Oxford or to the army, where they would be simply discoveries for production. He demanded the Coltrane family treat them as merely the beginnings of something new, bearing further work and tinkering.

  We finally reassured him that we not only were, again, not there to end his life, but had no idea what he was going on about. He finally explained, after calming somewhat, slicking his hair back, and sitting up straighter, that his workshops were raided by the British military. They had come in ships, by the route we had laid out and reported, though in small numbers, for the one passage did not allow for a great many vessels to pass through. He met them at first, and they demanded to know the way into the lower laboratories.

  He was certain we had given all of his secrets away. He was equally certain that they were there not to put them to proper use, but to seize them all and arrest him. When he overheard them discussing returning him to Oxford under watch, he managed to evade them for long enough to gather his supplies and Agnes, loading all of his notes into some sort of submersible craft, by which they would eventually escape. The craft did not supply them with air for long, but once far enough from the hidden cove, he had little difficulty managing to find himself a place from which he could book passage, so long as he reported his religion as Catholic.

  By this means, the pair of them, along with almost all of the more useful portions and notes of Dr. Mitchell's laboratory, were transported to these remote colonies. When he heard we had arrived, he thought that perhaps we were there to complete the job, but had invited us to do so, for he trusted that we, at least, would put his devices to use in new ways and expand the science, not simply let it sit stagnant and, as he calls it, “so-called-finished” as it is until new uses are forced upon it. He also demonstrated his continued fondness for Miss Wright, though not in any romantic sense that I could discern. He simply maintained a fatherly interest in her talent and suggested she should further develop her skill.