Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Charlotte E. English

  He was screaming his way through the tight turn halfway around the track when he lost it. Two bends in quick succession did it for him; he swung left and then tried to recover right, but the autocarriage was going far too fast. He slammed into the wall.

  Again.

  He sat still for a few moments, dazed, until he realised that the vehicle still hadn’t stopped. Half the front end was crushed, but the engine was still roaring, trying to carry the thing through the wall if it couldn’t go around it. The wheels were grinding against the track boundaries, slowly turning the car in the direction of the open track to the right.

  Cas swore a few times, suffering a moment’s blind panic. He hurt in several places and he could feel the warmth of blood on his forehead, but he couldn’t find a way to stop the car. The brake squealed in protest and was repeatedly overruled by the extreme ferocity of his engine. What had Hildy done to his autocarriage?!

  Voices shouted from somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t twist far enough around to see who approached. In the end it was Til’s voice that rose to a bellow that he could hear over the engine.

  ‘OUT OF THE CAR!’ Til bawled.

  Cas tried, but his shaking hands fumbled the straps and he couldn’t get the second one off. Sweating, he tried again, but then Til was there. The bigger man didn’t bother with the clasp: he just grabbed the thing in one huge hand and hauled. It snapped. Til dragged Cas out of the driver’s seat, heedless of injury, but Cas’s protests died before he’d uttered them. He was barely pulled clear before his autocarriage fought its way around the turn and went roaring off down the track.

  Nobody spoke.

  A few seconds later, the sound of another impact split the night air.

  Cas let out a long, shaky sigh. Til was still holding him up, and he was grateful because his legs felt like rubber.

  “You okay, lad?” Til said quietly.

  “Um,” said Cas.

  “Just sit down a minute,” Til advised, and guided him to the floor. Cas sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. He didn’t seem to have broken anything, but he hurt plenty anyway.

  Hildy caught up with them a moment later, trailed by Clara and two others he didn’t recognise. To his surprise, Clara went straight to him and dropped to her knees beside him. She wasn’t nearly so composed as she had been earlier in the day.

  “Cas,” she said breathlessly. “Are you hurt?”

  “My head,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

  Clara investigated. Her touch was gentle but it still stung horribly. “Twice in one day,” she sighed.

  “You have to admit,” he said, wincing, “this one was not my fault.”

  Clara didn’t reply to that. “Looks like something flew up and hit you here,” she reported, lightly touching his forehead above his left eye. “It isn’t deep, though it is bleeding quite a lot.”

  “Right,” he said faintly.

  Hildy had walked off in the direction his carriage had gone, but she was soon back. She looked white-faced and shaken, though not angry as he might have expected. His car had just been wrecked for the second time in one day; why wouldn’t she be angry?

  “Upgrade?” he asked, trying to look up at her without straining his neck. “That’s what you call an upgrade?”

  She gave a sudden, fierce grin and crouched on her haunches beside him. “A huge upgrade, I’d say. Any lasting damage?”

  “Clara says not.”

  Hildy glanced at Clara for confirmation of this, but Clara wouldn’t look at her or speak. She continued her self-appointed task of checking Cas for wounds, maintaining a tight-lipped silence as she did so.

  “You’re right,” Hildy said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have used Cas, but I honestly didn’t expect it to be this powerful.” Her voice was brimming with excitement, and in spite of her expressed regret, her eyes sparkled with glee. She managed to sober herself enough to offer a proper apology.

  He patted her hand. “You’re forgiven for almost killing me, of course, but can I ask why…?”

  “I expected that the carriage would be faster,” she admitted. “I was hoping for quite a lot faster, though nothing like that. Til offered to drive, but if I was right I knew I’d need an experienced autocarriage driver—you’ve got the reflexes to handle it. If I’d let Til do it he’d have crashed at the first corner.”

  Cas grunted. “Could you at least warn me next time?”

  Hildy had started grinning again, but she sobered at that and nodded. “You’re right, I should have involved you better.”

  “A thought, Hildy,” Clara said, standing up. “There are lots of autocarriages and, I daresay, a lot more of that fuel you’ve been using. But there is only one Caspar.”

  Hildegard looked shocked at this speech, and Cas was more than a little surprised himself. He’d never known Clara to be angry with his aunt before. In fact, he’d rarely seen her angry at anybody. Other than himself, anyway.

  “Hey,” he protested, trying to get his legs under him. “Let’s not fight. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Not perfectly,” Clara muttered, but she didn’t say anything else. She grabbed Cas’s left arm, and Hildy, looking stricken, rushed to take his right. Between them they got him on his feet again. Only then did he notice that Til and the other two of Hildy’s people weren’t there. Probably they had gone in search of his wayward autocarriage.

  “So, my good aunt,” Cas said once he was stable. “What exactly did you do to it?”

  Hildy was silent for a moment, obviously struggling with herself. She stared at him with troubled eyes, then looked to Clara.

  “I think he’s earned it,” Clara said coldly.

  Hildy nodded once. Digging in her trouser pockets, she produced a small vial and handed it to Cas.

  “I put that in the boiler,” she said softly. “We applied a few modifications to the carriage to adjust for the extra speed, or so we hoped. That’s really it.”

  Cas stared at the vial. A dark black liquid moved sluggishly when he tipped the container, and around the cork stopper his nose caught wisps of an acrid, unpleasant smell with a coppery tang.

  “What is it?”

  Hildy shrugged. “Nobody knows. Max gave it to me. He said he got it from Hans.”

  “Hans Diederich?”

  Hildy nodded, and Cas only felt more confused. Hans owned Diederich Enterprises, one of Eisenstadt’s biggest mining companies. Goldstein Industries bought a lot of their materials from him, and he and Cas’s father had been friends for years.

  “Hans has been running some new type of operation out at the lake,” she said. “I don’t know what’s involved, but somewhere along the way they dredged up some of this stuff.”

  That was stranger still. Lake Sherrat was an enormous body of water around which the city of Eisenstadt was built. It was easily a mile wide, and deep. And this remarkable fuel had been lurking beneath the waters all this time?

  Hildy’s ferocious grin escaped her control again. “You realise the possibilities, don’t you, Cas?”

  He did indeed. With speed like that, he could win any autocarriage race—assuming Hildy could modify the vehicle to handle it without careening out of control. “The possibilities are interesting,” he allowed. “But doesn’t this belong to Hans?”

  Hildy shrugged that problem away. “Max asked me to test it. They have no idea what it is or what it does.”

  Cas began to grin too. “You aren’t going to tell them, are you?”

  “Not a chance. But I’m thinking I will need a much bigger sample from Hans to make sure I’ve tested every possibility.”

  “Like several gallons?” Cas guessed.

  “At least five, maybe more. Hans thinks it’s just a waste product. He gave some to Max as a point of interest, and Max asked me to test it ‘just to make sure.’”

  Cas nodded soberly. “It’s a shame that you haven’t discovered a use for it.”

  Hildy chuckled. “Isn’t it? But I don’t think Max will be too
disappointed. He has plenty of other exciting new ventures to deal with. This one is going to be mine.”

  “If you’re finished,” Clara interrupted, “I think Cas needs to go home.”

  “Oh, right,” Hildy said, backing off. “Of course. I’m sorry about the new bruises, Cas, but don’t worry about the autocarriage. I’ll get it fixed up.”

  He hoped that ‘fixed up’ would include redesigning it to take the enhanced speed, but he didn’t push. Instead, he said, “Which part of the lake is Hans working on?”

  “North side,” Hildy said with a small smile. “Near the train station. You can’t miss it.”

  “Just asking,” he smiled.

  “Come on, Cas,” Clara interrupted again. “Stop thinking about driving and start thinking about resting.”

  “Ma’am.” He nodded to Hildy and allowed himself to be led away.

  This time, Clara didn’t abandon him to make the journey alone. She escorted him all the way back to his house, cleaned up the wound on his head, fed him, and made sure he was comfortable. Being fussed over was pleasant, he decided, and Clara was good at it. She tucked him up in bed with some new painkillers to ease the aches and sat down in a chair near his bed.

  He opened one eye to peer at her. “Staying?”

  “For a little while. Just to make sure you sleep.”

  “This is me sleeping,” he assured her. “You should go.”

  Clara just shook her head. He was about to drift off when she spoke again. “You live a charmed life, Caspar Goldstein.” This was uttered with a sigh. “Can you promise me something?”

  “Mmph?”

  “Take better care of yourself, please? You aren’t eighteen anymore. No more collisions, no more injuries. Promise.”

  “Anything for you, schatzi,” he muttered sleepily.

  She snorted faintly. “Good enough. Now sleep.”

  Chapter Four

  Hildy’s secret warehouse was buzzing with activity when Clara arrived there the next morning. Hildy herself was trying to be everywhere at once: overseeing Til’s finishing touches on the elevator project, directing a group who were apparently building a new autocarriage, and working on a separate project of her own. This last one was in too many pieces for Clara to tell what it was.

  “Is this a bad time?” Clara inquired as Hildy saw her and came over.

  “Not when it’s you,” Hildy smiled. “I could use your help, if you’ve time.”

  “Food!” bellowed Min, settling on Hildy’s shoulder with her sharp claws extended.

  Hildy winced. “You’d better not have drawn blood, miss,” she said sternly, shoving the pigeon off her shoulder. “For that you’ll have to wait another ten minutes.”

  Min muttered something and flew off to bother Til.

  “I often think I ought to have trained her better,” Clara said with an apologetic smile. “Then I remember how impossible she’s always been.”

  Hildy chuckled. “She livens up the day, no doubt about that.” She paused, and her face turned serious. “How’s Caspar?”

  “Alive. His sleep wasn’t particularly restful, and he tore open that head wound last night during a particularly violent nightmare. But he was peaceful enough when I left.”

  Hildy peered at her. “I thought those were dark circles under your eyes. You shouldn’t coddle him like that.”

  Clara bridled at that. “I know that, better than anyone! But last night’s events justified an exception, I thought.”

  “You’re still angry with me.” Hildy said it without rancour, her expression solemn.

  Clara sighed. “A bit. But no lasting harm was done, so…”

  Hildy nodded. “Not to Cas, anyway. The autocarriage is beyond help, though.”

  Clara lifted a brow.

  “It hit the track boundary head-on and at full speed. It just crumpled. I need to work on a way to strengthen the body, along with the other modifications.” Hildy’s tone was thoughtful and completely detached, but Clara couldn’t help imagining what would have happened to Cas if he’d still been in the vehicle when it hit the boundary. She must have turned pale, for Hildy’s thoughtfulness dissolved into guilt and she quickly changed the subject.

  “Why don’t I tell you about the new project? Perhaps we could work on it for an hour or two, or would you prefer to sleep a bit first?” Hildy ushered Clara over to the mess of machinery she’d been working on before.

  “I’ll be fine,” Clara said. “What’s this about?”

  “Flight, my dear girl,” said Hildy, beaming.

  Clara blinked. Flight? That indeed was a propeller blade lying on the floor, and three wheels lay nearby… “This is an autogyro?”

  “Yes. The autogyro, the most original waste of space I’ve ever come up with.”

  Hildy’s tone was bitter. The autogyro had been one of her most daring inventions, and she had been very excited about it when she’d first publicised it a few years ago. But the machine had severe limitations. Brilliant as it was, it couldn’t fly for very far or for very long, and so for all productive purposes it was useless. It had been greeted with polite applause from the engineering community and had been largely ignored by everyone else. Not even Max had wanted it. Hildy had dismantled it and thrown it into storage, and as far as Clara knew, she hadn’t looked at it since.

  “Hild…” said Clara slowly, feeling an uncomfortable foreboding sensation. “Just why are you putting it back together now?”

  Hildy gave one of her craziest smiles—the one that said she was doing something she knew was insane, but had every intention of proceeding with it anyway.

  “You saw what happened to Cas’s autocarriage,” Clara persisted. “You saw it, right? Total wreckage. Beyond saving, you just told me. And now you’re thinking of putting that black stuff into a flying machine?”

  “Of course I am! Wouldn’t you?”

  Clara stared at her. “Cas was seriously lucky not to be killed, Hildy. He probably would have been if Til hadn’t got him out of the autocarriage.”

  “Great work necessitates risks, Clarry dear. When have I ever shied away from a challenge?”

  Clara thought of the ongoing challenge of dealing with Max’s domination. Hildy had never dealt with that one properly, and it had damaged her prospects for years. But she didn’t say that.

  “You’re crazy,” she said instead. “All you Goldsteins are completely off your heads. I’ve said it before.”

  Hildy laughed. “You’re a Goldstein too.”

  “Distantly! Obviously this is a feature of the family bloodline which I missed out on.”

  Hildy sat down in the midst of her machinery and picked up her tools. “Crazy or not, I would appreciate your help on this one, Clarry. I don’t know how long I can keep the secret about the black mercury, and I want to test this before somebody stops me.”

  “Black mercury?”

  Hildy shrugged. “It isn’t mercury, of course, but it looks like it, doesn’t it?”

  Thinking of the strange, viscous black liquid Hild had shown her before, Clara had to agree. “It’s a better name than ‘that black stuff,’ anyway. What do you need me to do?”

  “Come down here, lovey, and we’ll get started.”

  Hildy drafted Til’s help as well, and he certainly facilitated the heavy lifting. It took a few long hours of hard work to get the pieces reassembled into a working machine, and Min grew bored long before they were finished. Clara took her outside halfway through and left her trading bawdy jokes with a small flock of pigeons that lived near Hildy’s warehouse. It was much quieter after that.

  At length the autogyro was complete, and the three of them stood back to admire it. It was a small contraption, with a single seat for the pilot. The metal frame was minimalistic, sporting two wheels at the sides and one at the front to allow the machine to taxi safely. A large piece of metal shaped like a fin was attached to the rear, and above all of it rose the three-bladed propeller wing. The tiny boiler was situated behind the p
ilot’s seat. So far, it remained empty.

  The machine was undeniably crude, but it also looked like it was probably functional. Once the black mercury was added, would it react as Cas’s autocarriage had, with a burst of phenomenal speed?

  Hildy couldn’t wait to find out. “Get the autocarriage going,” she shouted to Til. “Remember where we tested before?” Clara remembered the empty and fallow field Til had found a few years ago when Hildy had built her first autogyro. Til operated a massive autocarriage for haulage purposes, and they’d taken the gyro out on that and run several disappointing test flights out there.

  Til smiled slightly. “I remember, but we’re not going yet. When was the last time you ate?”

  Hildy blinked, surprised. “I can’t immediately remember, but there’s no time to linger on details! I can eat when I get back. Get the autocarriage, please.”

  “Eat first,” Til said stubbornly. “Rest a little. Then go.”

  Hildy attempted to stare him down, but the big man was inflexible. With a sigh, she stepped away from the gyro. “A quick sandwich, then.”

  “And coffee.”

  Hildy perked up at that. “You’ve got coffee? Give me some of that! Clara too.”

  Clara wrinkled her nose. Coffee was a relatively new import from Jero, and it was said to be a useful drink when one was tired. But it was also bitter, and she hadn’t got used to the strange taste. “Just tea for me, please,” she called after Til’s retreating back. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement without turning around and disappeared into the tiny boxlike kitchen that Hildy allowed space for in the back.

  “I can’t talk you out of this, I suppose?” Clara said. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t support Hildy’s venture, nor that she couldn’t understand Hildy’s reasons. She would, and she could. But this happened to be one of Hild’s most dangerous schemes yet. “I’m worried, Hild, I’ll admit that.”

  Hildy smiled at her with genuine warmth. “Aren’t you a dear. I’m afraid I must do it, though. I can’t help it: I need to know what will come of it.”

  Sighing, Clara could only nod. That answer had not been unexpected. “Just please be careful. What are you planning to do with it, anyway? If it works?”