“Arnaud!” Annabelle kept her voice low but turned her wide, shocked gaze upon him.
“Give the blighter a chance,” Folkard said, then stepped forward, hand extended. “Welcome…” he began, but got no further.
“My good Captain, may we be off? We can exchange the appropriate niceties once in flight.”
“As soon as it suits our schedule, sir.”
To Arnaud’s delight, the newcomer blinked and stood silent. Highmore completely ignored his sister; however, he touched the rim of his hat and dipped his head to Annabelle. “Allow me to introduce myself. Joseph.”
“Highmore. Yes. We’ve been expecting you. Your sister you are acquainted with. I am Annabelle Somerset.” Her sarcasm could hardly have gone unnoticed.
The man took hold of her fingers, bowed. He still made no reference to Elizabeth, but said instead, “forgive my rudeness to a lady.” Highmore’s tone seemed to belie his expression of good will, and whether he included Elizabeth in that statement was indecipherable.
“Nothing to forgive. I never worry about rudeness when it’s so easy to fight back by being polite.”
If Joseph Highmore had been startled by Captain Folkard, Annabelle’s rejoinder left him with a crimson hue.
With another nod, Joseph Highmore followed Folkard, Elizabeth and Annabelle further inside, his shoulder catching Arnaud’s in passing. Either out of ill manners or embarrassment, no apology was forthcoming, making Arnaud pull back as if stung.
As Nathaniel and Arnaud trailed in the wake of the others, their shoulders collided, but there was no pulling away by either man, which surprised Arnaud. As of late Nathaniel had seemed distant, making even this slight intimacy most welcome.
Chapter Three
“In Which the Crew Take New Steps, and Utter New Words”
1.
“AS YOU URGE EXPEDIENCY, I hope you will reciprocate.” Folkard stood gazing down at the new arrival. They had gathered in the most comfortable part of the common room. Annabelle shared the sofa with Elizabeth. Absent were the two crewmen Routledge had provided—Burton and Carter—and Whitlock, all overseeing the taking on of supplies.
“A friend and colleague have gone missing. I believed Sir Henry would have explained that my investigations indicate he took transport to Phobos.”
“Indeed, but that is all Sir Henry was able or willing to tell. Our questions are how, and why.”
“It’s a family matter.” Highmore sniffed but might as well have snorted.
“One that may lead us into danger,” Elizabeth added.
Highmore stared at her before turning his gaze on the captain. “Folkard, is it?”
Folkard answered affirmative, without drawing attention to the disuse of his title.
Joseph Highmore shifted in his chair, briefly touching the silver-topped cane he had resting alongside his leg. One leg was bent; the other struck straight out, forcing others to step over the offending limb.
Nathaniel’s perception of Mister Highmore had been less than exemplarily. If his assessment of the man proved right, Annabelle would take his hand and firmly shake it in acknowledgement of his perspicacity. It would be a sign that he continued to grow as a person. Once, Nathaniel had read nothing but books. Reading people was a skill everyone needed at times.
“May the ladies adjourn? Perhaps we can discuss this as civilised men, over tea and a drop of brandy?”
“Will there be cake?” Annabelle asked. The remark brought colour to Elizabeth’s face; she visibly had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. When her brother glared at her, she turned her head away, but continued to fight a smile.
“Refreshments are on the way,” Folkard said. Even now, Arnaud moved about the galley as Highmore could well see.
“Excellent,” Annabelle continued, turning her gaze upon him. “And if there is brandy I think I should like a snifter, too.”
Highmore looked upon her as if he stared at the lowest example of a female, but Annabelle would not be…quelled. There was that word again and it served a fine purpose. If this was an example of the men Elizabeth had grown up with, then she owed her an apology. Owed her one, anyway. Whatever had affected Annabelle seemed to have eased, allowing her to see how unfair she had been, at least in part.
“We have…accommodations?”
A terse nod was Folkard’s only reply.
“Elizabeth, I suggest you retire. You know how exhausted all this travelling has made you.”
“Not in the slightest. I find good company quite refreshing.”
“My dear,” Highmore began, clearly exasperated. “For decorum’s sake we men needs must speak.”
“Are you about to tell us things your sister is not privileged to?” Nathaniel asked. “If so, surely she needs to hear them too, if they concern her fiancé.”
“Not everything is for delicate ears. I wish to discuss facts that may affect our strategy.” Highmore looked up at Folkard who remained on his feet, perhaps purposefully.
“Then I really must stay,” Elizabeth declared.
“It will only bore you.”
“I am not bored,” Annabelle chipped in.
“I neither,” Elizabeth added. “As to the rest, if you will not tell them, I will.”
“Really, Elizabeth. You have not exasperated me so since…well, for some time now. Possibly since you were small.”
“I know.” Elizabeth’s sounded quite young and girlish. “I had quite forgotten how. It is amazing how quickly it comes back to me, with the right encouragement.”
Annabelle carefully schooled her face to innocence.
The tea arrived just then and once served Highmore began.
2.
“FORGIVE ME, BUT you say you purchased land on a…rock in space? Land you had not seen or knew anything of?” Annabelle’s note of incredulity possibly echoed the thoughts of everyone in the room. Being of the feminine persuasion often allowed her to get away with certain…audacities. She could make outspoken questions sound as if they were asked in all innocence. If George were here, he would have struggled not to grin, being perfectly aware of what she was about. The fact that he would realise was one of the things that endeared him to her.
“In fact, I won it.” Highmore had the sense to look embarrassed, although he wouldn’t be the first “gentleman,” or the last, to indulge in such dubious pursuits. That didn’t mean Annabelle was in a mood to be understanding.
“Gambling?” She made sure she spoke with the air of a parson’s daughter.
“Quite.” Highmore dipped his head as if the gesture sufficed as an apology. “Men are often…weaker than the fairer sex in such things.”
Although he probably spoke in jest, Annabelle sniffed as if she understood this and did not need his telling. With luck, the sniff would also tell him he had not earned her approval. He had done much to damage her approbation the moment he had stepped aboard and continued to sabotage his own integrity by the minute. “Even so, to win a moon and such a small one…why would one want such a thing?”
Highmore’s gaze slid away. His right hand fiddled with the head of his cane as seemed to be his habit when he felt uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not the whole moon, just part of it…and the deeds are likely meaningless.”
“A con?” Arnaud lounged against the wall closest to where Nathaniel sat, beside a planter from which a vine grew up and wound around nearby pipes. For the first time, Highmore acknowledged his presence, although he seemed to find the plant more interesting to look at.
“It would seem so. From what I could glean from my friend’s apparent movements, he would have reached the same conclusion, which leaves more questions than it answers. But I will get to that.
“As for the bet, I was at odds with the man who wagered the stake. I wasn’t interested in the…spoils, just the act of winning. The only consolation is the idiot believed his purchase totally, and sincerely thought he was losing something of great worth. I had thought something might be salvaged, excavated, but after
consideration decided to drop the matter. Henry disagreed and, well, I naturally assumed Routledge would talk him out of it or aid him. Indubitably, if I had known it would result in a good friend going missing…” He let the sentence hang.
Annabelle mentally kicked herself. Yes, they shouldn’t forget that a man’s life might be in jeopardy or have even ended.
“If you weren’t overly interested in the moon, why did your friend set out to investigate?” Folkard asked.
A hint of a smile flickered across Highmore’s face. It transformed his hereto-stoic expression. “Henry has an explorer’s heart. It is one of the reasons I almost didn’t approve of his engagement to my sister.” One glance at Elizabeth said this was not fresh news. “You see, in the absence of our parents who died two years ago, her future happiness falls to me.”
Annabelle sat up straighter although the curve of her spine protested vertical adjustment. Although curiosity prodded her, she refused to question Highmore on how he had lost his parents, she understood the pain too well.
“Alas, the reasoning behind my…reluctance was equal to why I should allow the marriage to go ahead. I could wish for no better man for my sister. The wedding was all set and then Henry had a business matter to attend. This brought him to Mars and while there, he said he would look into this Phobos business. I thought nothing of it, considered the property worthless, but Henry joked. Said that I should add extraterrestrial real estate to the company’s portfolio. I saw no harm in it. I didn’t even imagine that Henry would carry out his plan…but when we lost word…” Highmore’s face lost some of its colour. “Phobos is my last attempt at finding him…and find him I must, alive and well or…” The words stopped almost at the same moment his hand reached out, feeling blindly for the table. The tea he had barely touched splashed into the saucer. The cup appeared to be perilously in danger. Arnaud swept in to save it.
“There are also…personal matters, and…” Mr Highmore seemed to want to express too many emotions in few words. Elizabeth stared at the floor, her hands clasped in her lap. Although no tears were evident, she gave the impression of feeling uneasy witnessing her brother overcome like this in front of strangers. “You see, quite possibly… No. I do, indeed, owe Henry my life, and I would save his in return for all the good things he has done for me, but also for the sake of my sister.”
His grip on the cane turned Highmore’s knuckles white as he leaned forward. Everyone in the room tensed as if they expected him to spill from the chair. His personage was suddenly so agitated that Annabelle would not have been surprised to see him fall at her feet in a fit of convulsions.
“On the one hand, my coming out here and not simply hiring others to find him is foolish. It is worse that I brought my sister, but as you now realise she has a mind of her own at times that does not always readily display itself. If something happens to any of us…” His gestures told them of a future he could not contemplate. “For those who are left their heartache will be tenfold, but Elizabeth loves him, and I owe him. I could do no less. I do not wish anything to happen to my sister, but if I die in exchange for saving Henry’s life then I am assured he will take care of her and give her all that her heart desires. I am certain that he is all that she desires, and she would be content living a poor life if she had him to share it with.”
Good sentiments if a little passé. Annabelle could not be so satisfied as to have a man be the only thing she wanted, but a man to share the things she wanted with her…that was indeed a different matter.
3.
“TO BUSINESS.” FOLKARD sounded quite his usual self again. They had finished one round of refreshments, and were partaking of another, this time with a little of the promised brandy, although Nathaniel was certain Folkard had ordered its employment in an attempt to mellow Highmore. Even Arnaud had finally taken a seat once the brandy appeared. “You travelled to the Astusapes Highlands. Why?”
“Henry’s trail…”
“Forgive me. It would be better to ask what you discovered. We understand he was seeking transport to Phobos, but what led him to believe such a thing could be found?”
“That…I am at something of a loss to explain, except in a circuitous way.”
“Mr Highmore, really we must.”
“Bear with me, Captain, please. When I followed Henry’s trail, the minutiae of which I won’t bore you, it led out to the Highlands, that is true, but initially I believed he was heading for the shipyards in Parhoon.” He paused, looking a little dreamy, and although Folkard was not the only one to want to hurry him, they held their tempers. “Ahh, would that I had found him there. I would have told him to forget this folly. Would that we had time for cricket at the Parhoon Oval and stayed awhile.”
Was Highmore waxing lyrical?
“My enquiries led me to a bar. Henry had…taken a room there.” He sounded rather perplexed over that. “Why he should choose to board in some cheap establishment was beyond me and I deduced there had to be a reason. I believe he had made a contact in the bar and he remained until he could make the arrangements he sought. As to what, at first I merely believed his actions led to the forbidden liftwood groves. The High Martians are not above making deals.”
“That’s as may be but they are at best pirates, at worse bestial, and not to be trusted. They are best dealt with through certain channels.”
“Quite,” Highmore replied to Folkard’s comment. “Leading me to surmise that he met someone who already had those connections. The man whom Henry set out to meet was not Martian. I hear tell the…human spoke with an accent similar to yours, Miss Somerset.”
“An American?” Annabelle expressed surprise.
“Since the British established a colony here, you can rest assured the other powers are unwilling to simply hand control over to one nation.”
“In as much as one can control a world or nation one does not ‘own’, or indeed a society one does. I am quite aware of that, Captain. While Mars remains the only source of liftwood, it will engender conflict. It is simply the British and the indigenous Martians I have mostly encountered make it all too easy to forget the others.”
“One can hardly forget the Germans or the Russians. I hear tell there is also Japanese on the planet. And apparently at least one Frenchman.” Highmore looked to Arnaud.
“Oui,” Arnaud said, smiling.
“Well, the French do not concern me.” Highmore took a moment as if to build tension. “The Germans and Russians may be another matter.”
“Germans and Russians?”
“That is what I said, Miss Somerset. Henry’s contact was American, but as I understand from Hat’Kaashteek, the group of men the American dealt with spoke several differing languages that Hat could not fathom, yet there was one thing he did detect.”
“And what is that?”
“No matter the linguistics and apparent difficulty faced by the necessity of cross-communication, according to old Hat they spoke the argot of the mercenary.”
“Hired soldiers?”
“I’m not so sure I would go so far as to call them soldiers. More like hired guns. Those who would follow others for a share of the…bounty.”
“And what bounty might that be?”
“Good question.” Highmore fished in his pocket, producing a chunk of…crystal or glass. “It’s not diamond,” he said, bouncing a rock small enough to sit in the palm of his hand, but clearly weighty. “I’m not sure what it is, but the men Henry has fallen in with, believe it valuable.”
“How then did it come to be in your possession?”
“They apparently tried to pay old Hat with these some weeks ago. When he refused, there was a…heated discussion. During the exchange, several stones went flying into the scrub. The men gathered them but apparently, one was overlooked. The Martians found it, but consider it worthless and so do I.” The misshaped lump caught the light and looked alternately clear and pale yellow. “This could be the most valuable find of the century and I wouldn’t care unless I
could exchange it for Henry’s life.”
The comment gained him points in their estimation.
“May I?” Nathaniel held out his hand. Highmore handed the stone over without further comment.
“What did the American want with Hat’Kaashteek’s people?” Annabelle stressed the Martian’s name, as though making a point of refusing to use Highmore’s condensed version of Hat.
“To trade. Supplies and liftwood.”
“This suggests they have a ship.” Annabelle’s mind was working several steps ahead. “Are you saying there are already men on Phobos?”
“Certainly. At least Henry that I’m sure of, his valet, and this American chap.”
The stone was suddenly a great deal more interesting. Annabelle turned her gaze on Nathaniel.
“You seem to have doubts,” Elizabeth said, her tone asking why.
“Phobos is a moon like any other as far as I am aware.” Annabelle spoke to the room, but her next sentence was aimed at Nathaniel. “The gravity will be low like Luna.”
“Indisputably. Maybe there is some degree of difference, but it is airless…on the surface. Perhaps it resembles Luna in other ways.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth leaned forward. “Airless? How then have we conquered Luna?”
“The moon is hardly conquered and quite simply we have pressured suits for walking about on the surface. Beneath the crust, there are pockets of oxygen. No, the problem comes with manoeuvring an aether flyer in low gravity, specifically with landing. For that one needs a propeller governor such as we have fitted.” Nathaniel hesitated. “If there are mixed nationalities in the party and one is Russian…” He looked at Annabelle. “Is it possible?”
“That even now Tereshkov haunts us? I can think of no other explanation, although it leaves many questions.”
“Although I am at a loss to the subtext of your conversation, I take it that you accept it is entirely possible another flyer equipped to land on Phobos has done just that?” Highmore asked.
A Fistful of Dust Page 3