8
SEV AND Rat disembarked their auto-hansom at the Liverpool docks. Sev was a little surprised to see Silas in a tailored suit without his Kettlebent disguise. “Sir,” Silas said very formally.
Sev opened his mouth but stopped himself. He wasn’t sure Silas would be calling himself Kettlebent. “Hello, my friend,” he said, diplomatically.
“Mr. Stephens,” Silas answered. “Your passage to Victorica is secured and your luggage and cargo are stowed aboard.”
“Excellent,” Sev answered. “My invention?”
“Stored and secreted as per your orders, sir.”
“Good. Good,” Sev answered, playing his part. “Show me to my cabin.”
“Very well, sir.” Silas bowed slightly. He turned his attention to Rat. “Mr. Kildeggan, please gather Mr. Stephens’s bags.”
Rat nodded, obviously assuming Silas had assigned him Heph’s surname, and picked up his and Sev’s luggage. They walked onto the docks toward the biggest ship Sev had ever seen. This had to be the Iron Arrow. It truly resembled its namesake, long with a sharply pointed bow. The behemoth had three main smokestacks with secondary masts and sails. Sev assumed they were backup just in case. The trio walked up the gangplank among the other passengers. Sev caught a knowing glance between Silas and two men he assumed were the other agents.
“Sorry, Ratty,” Silas whispered out the side of his mouth. “I didn’t know your surname, and I thought you’d be our inventor. It seemed appropriate.”
“No worries, mate,” Rat whispered back. “I don’t know me family name either. It’s as good as any other.” Without further discussion, the trio boarded the ship and settled in to their quarters.
As the crew made their final preparations for departure, Sev, Rat, and Silas sat around the small table in Sev’s cabin. Silas handed Sev an envelope of documents. He pulled the papers out and looked over them.
“You’re Steven Stephens,” Silas explained to Sev, then handed Rat his envelope. “And you’re Ratham Kildeggan.”
Rat ignored the envelope but repeated his name, testing it. “Ratham.”
“Yes. I figured if I gave you names similar to your own, we could still call you Rat and Sev without drawing too much attention.”
“Makes sense,” Sev said. “And what’re we callin’ you?”
“I’m Brandon Jameson, Esquire of the prestigious firm of Kendon, Arle, and Marleybone of Upper King Street. But I should only need to use that name when we’re actually talking to these Southern industrialists,” he told them, holding up his own collection of documentation.
“Is it real?” Sev asked, snatching the envelope and peeking inside.
“The firm exists, but there’s no Brandon Jameson employed there. We have a girl in their office to run interference if anyone checks my credentials. She’s prepared to falsify whatever needs falsifying. Anything else, Wrathsbury can take care of as Prime Minister.”
“That’s dead handy,” Rat stated.
“Aye,” Sev agreed. His gaze drifted around the cabin. “I take it Rat is kippin’ in with me.”
“It is customary,” Silas explained.
“And you have your own cabin?”
“Just across the hall.”
“Ah,” Sev said with a nod. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Yes he was. He thought this little trip across the ocean would afford him and Silas a holiday of sorts, that they’d be sharing a room and spending all their time together, at least until they reached their destination and took up the mission. He couldn’t believe he’d been so silly, so naïve. Of course they wouldn’t be able to treat this like some holiday cruise. He looked longingly across the table and forced himself to shake off his disappointment.
“Shall we head above deck and witness castoff?” Silas asked. Sev nodded. The three traveling companions left the cabin to join the rest of the passengers on the main deck. Sev once again marveled at the giant vessel, polished metal and wood. It was truly a testament to England’s wealth and ingenuity. He could feel the pulsing engines through the planks of the deck. He could hear them rumbling, the chains on the anchors grinding as they were pulled from the water.
“This is bloody brilliant.” Rat gaped toward the enormous billowing smokestacks. They leaned upon the railing and regarded the sailors on the docks, looking like little dolls. Those on the deck with them were dashing to and fro, tying off ropes, turning cranks, and checking the riggings.
“Aye, Ratty, that’s exactly what it is.” Sev’s heart was racing, but it jumped just a bit faster when Silas slid closer to him, resting his arm on Sev’s.
The other passengers gathered at the railing were calling or waving to family and friends on the docks, who bid them farewell. Sev stared into the grimy little town of Liverpool. It reminded him a bit of Blackside without the cloak of filthy clouds. Sev wondered how long it would take, now that Blackside was no longer cut off from the rest of London, for them to shut off the blasted fans keeping that waste in their air. His thoughts were suddenly drawn back to the ship as it began to slowly pull away from the dock.
“This is it,” Sev said with more than a little trepidation.
“Scared?” Silas asked.
Sev squinted out over the railing. He could smell the salty scent of the ocean. “Aye. If I’m bein’ honest. I’m terrified.”
Rat gulped near Sev’s elbow. “Really, mate?”
“Oh, aye. We’re about t’do somethin’ that’s nigh on impossible, undoubtedly dangerous, and in a place farther from anywhere that I’ve ever been in me entire life. I’d be a fool not t’be scared.”
“Fair point,” Silas stated. The ship, now aimed toward open ocean, steadily gained speed as the turbines carried them on their way to the New World. “There’s no turning back now, fellows,” he said.
None of them spoke as the ship continued its departure from England, the weight of their newest task pressing heavily upon their shoulders.
THE IRON Arrow offered many distractions for its civilian passengers, though Sev and Rat were completely enamored with the very act of traveling by the amazing vessel and spent their time strolling the decks examining the machinery. Three days into their journey, Silas managed to get them a tour of the engine room.
If one were to observe them out of context, one would think they were children in a candy store rather than jaded street urchins, disguised as an inventor and his servant, touring the bowels of an enormous steamship. An ensign guided them, explaining the recent innovations applied to the ship’s inner workings. “We’ve abandoned propellers for accelerators that look more like giant screws. They’re much more reliable,” he told them as they walked.
“That’s fascinatin’. Are they as fast as propellers? They seem like they wouldn’t displace as much water,” Sev commented.
“You aren’t wrong, Mr. Stephens,” the man answered.
“Please, Ensign Carter, call me Sev.”
“All right,” the ensign said with a big smile. “Sev. The screws aren’t as fast initially, but they can reach the same speeds as propellers and sustain them for longer.”
“I see.”
“Should they fail, which I’ve yet to experience, we have the sails to keep us moving while we affect repairs.”
“Have ye thought about switchin’ over to an alternate source o’fuel?” Rat asked.
The ensign shot him a dark look. Sev frowned. Apparently the man didn’t like being addressed by a servant. “Mr. Rat isn’t just my valet, he is also my assistant, Ensign Carter, and he has been invaluable to my work.”
Carter seemed to realize his faux pas. “My apologies, Mr. Rat, I hadn’t realized. Most manservants have little knowledge of such things.”
“Don’t underestimate me, mate.”
“Certainly not. In answer to your question, no. We’re confident of the reliability of coal and have more than enough space to store it. Gas is too dangerous and unpredictable, and I shouldn’t think the rumors flying around about lightning power are anything more than the f
anciful musings of some of your more imaginative brothers in the field.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sev mumbled.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Nothin’, Carter.”
“What about a self-winding clockwork engine?” Rat asked.
Carter barked loud laughter at that. “Mr. Rat.” His tone sounded admonishing. “That’s farcical. There’s absolutely no possible way a clockwork engine could be made that was powerful enough to propel this vessel.”
“Not with that attitude,” Rat grumbled.
“This has all been very educational. Thank you, Ensign Carter,” Sev said.
“Not at all, Sev. It’s my pleasure and certainly more interesting than fetching drinks for the Lady Benson-Wickersham.”
“Well, glad t’be o’service, then,” he answered with a smile. “Ratty and I are due t’meet with my lawyer. We should have a drink sometime, when ye’re off duty.”
“I can think of nothing more pleasant, sir. Consider it an appointment.” Carter led them from the bowels of the giant steamship.
SILAS SAT sipping tea at one of the ship’s café tables when Sev and Rat finally joined him. “Good morning, gentlemen.” Silas rose, dabbing at his mouth with a silk napkin and shaking each of his companions’ hands. Sev noticed that even in the warm sun, Silas wore his gloves. Attempting not to draw attention to his prosthetic limb, Sev guessed. He wondered if Silas could maintain that for the entire trip.
“Mr. Jameson,” Sev said, taking a seat.
“How did you find the tour?”
“It was quite interestin’. Wasn’t it, Ratty?”
“Oh, aye.” He nodded, perusing the menu.
“I’ve spoken to some of the other passengers,” Silas said, fixing Sev with a serious stare. He took it to mean Silas spoke with the other two agents.
“Oh?” Sev motioned to a waiter. “Tea, please.”
“And for you, sir?” he asked Rat.
“I’ll have the lot,” he said.
“The—?” The waiter’s eyes grew wide.
“Just bring him a little bit of everything,” Sev said, unfazed.
“Very good, sir.” The young man hurried off.
“I have to tell you, Si—Jameson,” Sev hurried to correct himself. “Bein’ trapped on this boat is makin’ me feel a tad useless.”
“I understand your frustration, Sev,” Silas said. “I think I can alleviate some of that frustration. I’ve set up a card game with our new friends.”
“Card game,” Sev repeated. He could tell by the way Silas said it that he was covering. It must have something to do with the mission. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Indeed. I’m sure Mr. Rat won’t find it very stimulating, but I think it’s necessary to keep ourselves occupied on this journey.”
“When’s this happenin’, then?” Rat asked as his food arrived.
“This evening after dinner,” Silas answered. “We shall meet in my cabin for drinks and gaming.”
“That sounds acceptable.” Sev tried to seem indifferent. He dropped sugar cubes into his tea and stirred it.
“I have some papers for you to review and sign before we reach Victorica,” Silas said without looking at Sev. “Would you stop by my cabin before the evening meal?”
Sev studied Silas for a moment. Was he serious or was this part of the Jameson disguise? Did he really have papers or was he just hoping to spend a few moments alone with Sev? “Aye, Jameson. What time should I call on ye?”
“Shall we say, four o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.” Sev had an idea. “Should I bring Mr. Rat to witness the signatures?”
Rat and Silas both looked at Sev, wearing identical expressions of confusion, then Silas said, “I don’t think that will be necessary. The documents only require your signature.”
“Very good,” Sev answered with the hint of a smirk on his lips. “You’ll have to entertain yerself fer a bit, Mr. Rat.”
He glanced at them both before he said, “Aye. S’pose I can manage fer a bit.”
“That’s settled,” Silas stated, drained the last of his tea, and stood. “I shall see you then. Good afternoon, sirs.” Silas nodded, tipped Sev the subtlest of winks, and was off.
“I reckon this little trip is lookin’ a tad brighter fer you, mate,” Rat said with a knowing smile.
Sev couldn’t help but return it. “I reckon ye might be right, Ratty.”
SEV WAS anxious to find out what Silas had in mind for their evening as he cleaned himself up in his cabin’s water closet. He dressed and double-checked himself in the mirror. He’d been wearing his red hair long enough for a while that it tended to do what it wanted, and he’d stopped trying to tame it. He opted to tuck his hair behind his ears and plopped his newsboy hat on.
Sev walked across the corridor and knocked on Silas’s door. “Come in.” His heart fluttered as he entered to the low lighting, encouraged that things between Silas and him weren’t as strained as he might have thought. “Champagne?” Silas asked. Sev nodded. “Have a seat.” Silas poured bright golden liquid into each of their glasses and handed one over.
“Thanks.” Sev accepted the flute, mesmerized by the tiny bubbles. “I was worried ye might have forgotten about me.” He sipped his drink. It was crisp, dry, and just a little yeasty. “At least romantically speakin’.”
“Never,” Silas answered, taking a seat. “This mission has been a bear to organize. It’s taken a great deal of time and not a little bit of personal anxiety.”
“I can tell that ye’ve been extremely tense lately.” Sev put his glass down and walked over behind Silas’s chair. He gripped Silas’s shoulders and squeezed, massaging them. He wanted to chase away Silas’s anxiety.
“That feels so good.” Silas closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the chair, and just enjoyed Sev’s attention.
Sev dipped down and pressed his lips to Silas’s forehead. “I know of other things that feel just as good and can relax ye even more,” Sev whispered.
“That sounds splendid.” Silas reached up and pulled Sev around onto his lap.
“I was hopin’ ye’d say that.” He leaned in and kissed Silas, deeply, slowly. The familiar feel of Silas’s mouth, his lips, his tongue melted Sev’s doubt. Everything that had worried Sev fell away in the heat of that kiss. His doubts and fears evaporated, and all that remained was the love they felt.
There were a lot of things Sev wanted to ask. He had many questions regarding their plan, the mission. The importance of those concerns diminished in the face of their growing mutual passion. He was elated when Silas snaked his hands under Sev’s thighs and hoisted him. Without interrupting the kiss, Silas managed to carry Sev over to the bunk, and he instantly knew what Silas had in mind. He was not just willing but eager to find out what the rest of the night had in store. He thought he had a pretty fair idea.
9
SEV AWOKE to thumping. He was warm and cradled in Silas’s arms, but it still took him a few moments to remember where they were. His mind slowly fired, making connections. Why would someone be knocking on their door? He squinted. Not their door, Silas’s door or more accurately, the door of Brandon Jameson’s cabin. Sev shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have let himself fall asleep here.
The thumping renewed, causing Silas to stir slightly. Sev searched the cabin for a place to hide. He had just decided to dash into the tiny wardrobe when a familiar voice penetrated the door. “Sev. Silas—er—Jameson.” It was Rat. “Ye got t’get up. There’s a bit of a situation. Fellas?”
Sev rubbed at his eyes. Bloody hell, he thought. “Hold up, Ratty. We’ll be right with ye.” He shook Silas to rouse him.
“Mrrrm. Whuzzat?” Silas didn’t open his eyes.
“Wake up, Silas. Rat’s outside. There’s somethin’ amiss.” Sev extracted himself from Silas’s embrace and rose to dress.
“No. What?” Silas rolled over, seemingly refusing to acknowledge the problem.
“R
at sounds serious, Silas. Ye better get yerself out o’that bunk.” Sev was very nearly fully dressed.
“Bugger,” Silas growled and hoisted himself from the bed. “What’s the commotion, then?”
“I’m lettin’ Rat in. Are ye decent?”
Silas pulled his pants on. “Fine. Fine. Let him in.” He grabbed his shirt as Sev unlatched the door to the cabin. Rat rushed in.
“What’s the problem, Ratty?” Sev asked, shutting the door behind his friend.
“There’s a thief on board, mates.”
“And?” Silas asked, buttoning up his shirt.
“And, they think it’s me,” Rat answered.
“Is it?” Sev asked.
“No.” Rat looked offended.
“Are you certain?” Silas asked unconvinced.
“Bloody hell. O’course I’m certain. I ain’t stealin’ anythin’. We’re on a mission.”
“Then we have t’find out who it is, before the people on board start takin’ a closer look at us.” Sev paced the small cabin.
“I’ll have a word with the captain,” Silas offered. “I know we can trust him with this, and he knows we aren’t here to steal from his passengers.”
“How d’ye know they suspect ye, Ratty?”
“I saw one o’them old ladies run up t’one o’the crew, and then she pointed at me.”
“Sounds like someone tipped ’er off it was Ratty,” Sev said to Silas.
“So you talk to her and find out who pointed her in Rat’s direction,” Silas said.
“Right. And that’s probably our thief.”
“Exactly.” Silas put his hand on Rat’s shoulder. “Rat, you wait here. Stay out of sight until we get this straightened out.”
Rat scowled but nodded.
“All right, let’s go.” Silas had just pulled on his coat and shoes. He exited the cabin. Sev followed but stopped.
“Which old lady was it, Ratty?” Sev asked, turning back.
“That round one who wears the big hats and the fancy jewelry.”
Lady Whitston-Reidey. “I know exactly who ye mean. I’ll be back in a tic.” Sev dashed out to solve this little mystery, all thoughts of sleep gone from his head. It seemed a little adventure was better at waking him up than a strong cup of Midnight’s coffee.
The 7th of Victorica Page 8