Brilliant Devices: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices)

by Shelley Adina

  Claire put down the screwdriver and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Count, if you and Andrew would begin the ignition sequence, we will lift.”

  “Aren’t you going to test it?” Andrew asked with a final turn of his wrench.

  “How? We can ask Nine to move the rudder, but we cannot see a result until we have air flow with which to change direction.”

  “Claire, we can’t just lift and hope to heaven that this works. We’ll be shot out of the sky as soon as they see us hovering here like a big brown cloud.”

  “We have no choice. And we have only one chance,” she told him tersely. “If we cannot trust our own abilities, then we deserve to be shot out of the sky.”

  “She is right,” the count said. “Come, Mr. Malvern. Let us put some fire in the ship’s belly and hope she listens.”

  “She is the cat’s grandmother,” Maggie said to no one in particular as the men ran down the coaxial catwalk to the stern. “Can’t just call ’er ‘cargo ship’ all the time, poor old thing.”

  “An excellent point,” Claire said. Across the airfield, a second contingent of men poured out of Lady Lucy and began to run, lamps bobbing, toward Meriwether-Astor’s ship not thirty feet away. “Athena was the goddess of mathematics, and if it were not for adding together Seven, Eight, and Nine, we would not have our chance to escape.”

  She hoped desperately they would have a chance to escape.

  “Athena.” Lizzie tried out the syllables on her tongue. “I like it. Could she fly?”

  “Of course she could, silly,” Maggie told her. “She were a goddess, innit?”

  “Even the goddess whales could fly, if you remember the story Malina told you,” Claire reminded them. “And so can we.” She tilted her head as she felt the thrumming of the engine through the soles of her boots. “Seven, Eight, Nine, prepare for lift. Seven, vanes full vertical. Nine, stand by for course. Eight, engine full ahead.”

  But nothing happened.

  Or rather, the stern rose obediently, pressing up against their feet and causing their knees to bend to compensate, but the bow remained stubbornly attached—

  “Lady, the mooring mast!” Lizzie shouted. “We’re still tied down!”

  And now the teeming mass of men had seen the ship do its odd bobble in the air, and had swerved in their direction.

  “Seven, lift!” Claire shouted, and plunged down the gangway.

  She leaped for the ladder of the mooring mast, scrabbling up the rungs like a frantic spider. The seething crowd of men, angry at being denied their quarry, set up a roar as they caught sight of her. Her fingers had turned to rubber as she worked the knot. Finally she bit it with her teeth and gave a mighty pull, and the rope loosened. She felt the strain on her arms as the airship lifted ten feet off the ground.

  I won’t get aboard—they won’t wait—the count must be saved—

  The first of their pursuers leaped for the mooring mast and it shook with the fury of his ascent.

  Not a prisoner! No, never again—

  Claire flung herself off the mast, clinging like a monkey to the mooring rope, just as the man screamed in fury and lunged for her.

  He grabbed, and caught only empty air as Athena fell straight up into the stars.

  *

  Cold.

  The wind howled and snatched with icy fury, blowing her skirts up around her waist and her hair into her face, while freezing her hands to the rope. Claire had managed to twist a foot in it to give her arms a tiny bit of relief, but there was no way she would manage to hang on for more than a few minutes.

  Had anyone seen her? Did Andrew and the girls even know she was out here, freezing to death and likely to plunge a thousand feet through the air at any moment?

  A sound like the cry of a bird needled through the howl of the wind, and she managed to turn her head enough to see that she was nearly on a level with the navigation gondola, swinging like a pendulum about ten feet in front of it.

  Three people crowded the gangway port. One of them—Andrew—held something long and gleaming.

  “—end—rope!”

  What?

  “Claire, slide to the end of the rope!” the count’s much louder voice boomed upon the wind.

  Oh, no, she didn’t dare do that. What if she slipped right off the end of it and fell to earth like Icarus, doomed to death because she chose to fly?

  “Claire, you must give us some slack in the rope! Slide to the end!”

  Something tugged at the holster on her back in which the lightning rifle was secured.

  Suddenly terrified, Claire threw a glance over her shoulder. Her hands were freezing. Had some giant creature landed? She could not use her hands—

  Tug. Tug.

  The rifle. The rifle was being drawn backward, back toward the gondola, as if under a magnetic compulsion.

  Something bronze flashed in the running lamps.

  Nine’s leg, with its magnetic foot.

  With a gasp, Claire loosened her death grip on the rope by the smallest margin and clutched it between her legs, inching like a caterpillar toward the end. With every foot, the rifle on her back was drawn closer to the gondola by the power of Nine’s feet, both of which were now being employed to bring her in.

  Thank God she had not removed the rifle.

  Thank God she had not left the automatons behind.

  Thank you, God, for watching over us. Oh, please, protect Tigg and Willie and Alice and all of us who love them—

  “I’ve got you!” Andrew grabbed her, and while the count used Nine’s legs to draw her further into the port, the Mopsies pulled on the tails of his dinner jacket to make sure he did not lose his footing.

  Andrew rolled her into the loading area, Lizzie and Maggie sprang to close the port, and Claire curled herself into Andrew’s warm, blessed arms and burst into tears.

  Chapter 27

  Cargo ship she might be, but Athena was exceedingly well stocked with provisions as well as more munitions than any of them—with the possible exception of the count—had ever seen in one place. Much to Claire’s surprise, the count informed them that he enjoyed turning his hand to cooking now and again, tied an apron about the remains of his evening clothes, and fell to work. As Athena flew steadily south, they decided against eating in the crew’s quarters away at the stern, opting instead to clear the charts from the navigation table and remain where Nine could hear them.

  “I’m very glad you ent dead again, Lady,” Maggie observed, spooning stew into her mouth at a terrific rate. Both the girls had not left her side since her rescue, as if they feared the wind would blow her out of the gondola and they would not be able to fetch her back, with or without the assistance of Nine’s magnetic feet.

  “I am very glad I am not, as well. When do you suppose we shall land in Edmonton?”

  “I do not think we should go to Edmonton.” The count put down his spoon and indulged himself in a stiff tot of what appeared to be very fine brandy. He offered one to Andrew, who accepted with alacrity. “I suggest that we make straight for Charlottetown and inform the authorities in the new government at once.”

  “Charlottetown! But that is at the other end of the continent!” Claire objected.

  Thousands of miles from Tigg, and Willie, and the Dunsmuirs, and everything she cared about on this side of the wide world.

  “What do you suppose are the odds that a pigeon was launched long before we lifted?” the count asked. “Whether to report my death or the supposed perfidy of Frederick Chalmers, I think it very likely that any ship coming from points north that is not Lady Lucy or Meriwether-Astor’s ship will be treated as suspect. The Canadas have only the very beginnings of a fleet of law enforcement, but from what I have seen of the Royal Canadian Airborne Police, they will not suffer us merely to take on fuel and be on our way.”

  “And it is not likely that a pigeon or a telegraph message will be heading for Charlottetown,” Andrew added. “We are the only ones who can help the Dunsmuirs now. The s
ooner orders come from the Viceroy to the Airborne Police, the better.”

  Their logic was sound, and in light of the greater good, Claire swallowed her distress at being separated by so many miles of land and air from the ones she loved.

  By the third day in the air, they had not only covered a great many of those miles, but they had fine tuned the operation of what Maggie had taken to calling “our Athena’s brains.” Claire had explained to her the properties of the engines that Alice had created—that they were capable of obedience only, not thought—but Maggie airily dismissed such details. Claire suspected that she regarded the airship as something of a pet, like a spaniel. She could only hope that the girls did not try to make poor Athena do tricks.

  By the fourth day, they could see a wide blue vastness on the farthest curve of the horizon. Claire stood at the viewing window, Rosie the chicken in her arms, stroking the bird’s feathers. Count von Zeppelin had never quite accustomed himself to Rosie’s release from the hatbox, nor to her being a member of their company, and looked askance at her each time she shared a meal with them.

  He joined Claire at the viewing window, slightly out of range of Rosie’s beak. “The Atlantic,” he said. “Our journey is nearly over.”

  “I confess I shall be glad to step on the ground again. Have you been to the new capital?”

  “Nein. To be on the safe side, I have dispatched a pigeon to the Viceroy’s house announcing our arrival and including my letters of passage from His Majesty the Kaiser of Prussia.”

  “Let us hope the Viceroy appreciates engineers as well as representatives of foreign governments.”

  The count smiled under his handlebar moustache, whose jaunty curl had now been restored. “I have heard a rumor that it is so. Lady Claire, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” She turned to him, curious.

  “Please forgive me if I am too personal, but I was a soldier and am a man of blunt speech. What are your plans for the future?”

  Rosie protested as the familiar arms about her feathery body tightened, and Claire forced herself to relax. “I am not certain. Return to London, I suppose, and take up my life where I left it.”

  “Which was what? Do you plan to marry young Malvern?”

  Claire nearly dropped poor Rosie on the gondola’s polished deck. “Gracious! No indeed. I mean … that is to say …” She controlled her babbling mouth with difficulty, settled Rosie once again, and wondered where Andrew was at this moment. She devoutly hoped he was nowhere within hearing. “I had planned to begin at the university in September, but I suppose that opportunity is now lost until next year. I—my plans are unsettled at the moment.”

  Going home seemed monumental enough that she could not see past it. And in some ways, she did not want to.

  “I wonder … Lady Claire, forgive me, but a mind such as yours comes along so rarely that I must speak. I admired you before, but only in a general sense. Now my admiration is tinged with ambition. For myself, and for the Zeppelin Airship Works.”

  Puzzled, she gazed at him. “Sir?”

  “Would you consider attending the university in Munich, and upon your graduation, coming to work for me?”

  This time she did drop poor Rosie. The bird landed on the deck in a flutter of wings and claws, and stalked off toward the dining salon, where the Mopsies could be counted upon to have a treat at hand and make a much more reliable cushion.

  Claire, bereft of speech, could only stare open-mouthed at the count.

  “I realize that this is wholly unexpected, and you must not give me an answer this moment. All I ask is that you consider it. The University of Bavaria, as you know, is second only to the University of Edinburgh for scientific achievement.”

  “I—yes, I did know,” Claire managed.

  She felt as if the floor had opened under her feet and left her suspended in air. Her stomach dipped and plunged while her mind flew ahead, across the Atlantic, to the little cottage by the river and the children who lived there.

  “I have responsibilities—the children—”

  “Ja, I realize this is so, and I admire you for considering their welfare before your own. I also admire these young ladies. Not every little girl in ruffled pantaloons can sabotage an airship quite so effectively.”

  With a trembling smile, Claire nodded in agreement. “They are my wards, count. I cannot leave them, even in the face of an offer as attractive as yours.”

  “And I should not expect you to. They ought to go to school as well. There are many fine lycees in Munich, some not a stone’s throw from the gates of Schloss Schwanenstein.”

  “Is that an hotel?”

  He laughed. “Nein, my dear young lady. The schloss is my family estate in Munich. You might call it a castle or a palace, but it has become much more than that. It is—permit me to say—the center of advanced thinking in Europe, much as the salons of London were a hundred years ago. You and the girls might live there as my guests, until your career is launched and you are able to provide a home for them on your own.”

  Again Claire lost her breath. “But, sir … How is it possible? What have I done to deserve such generosity at your hands?”

  The count rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, keeping a keen eye on the slowly approaching horizon. “It is not what you have done, though saving my life is a not inconsiderable part of it. It is what you are capable of doing, my dear. I have faith in you. Perhaps it is time for you to have faith in yourself.”

  “But—there are other children—at the cottage. In London. Not Munich.”

  “How are they being supported?”

  “They earn their living gambling at the moment. And I have certain investments. The cottage is paid for, and Granny Protheroe sees to their immediate needs.”

  “Then you must certainly visit during holidays. It is not far, you know. A Zeppelin airship makes the journey from Munich to London in—”

  “—three hours. Yes, I know. I should like to see a Meriwether-Astor ship attempt such a feat.” She must deflect this conversation, even for a moment, to more prosaic subjects so that her staggering mind could recover.

  “After our interview with the Viceroy, I very much doubt you will see a Meriwether-Astor ship at all in English skies. He will be marooned on his own continent and will have to content himself with ferrying groceries and livestock up and down the eastern seaboard.” The count looked exceedingly pleased at this prospect.

  Then he gave her a little bow.

  “As I have said, I do not require an answer immediately. We have work to do first. But when you have consulted with your wards and with your friends, and you know your own mind, I hope you will inform me of it.”

  “I will, sir. And … thank you. You do not know what this means to me.” Her voice trembled as she struggled with tears.

  He smiled, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if it were the future. “You would be surprised.”

  And then he walked off in the direction of the galley, humming a jaunty tune that Claire recognized as one of the polkas the orchestra had played on the Margrethe.

  She turned to the viewing window, hardly able to believe that the mighty Count von Zeppelin, one of the finest engineers of the modern age, considered her so valuable that he was willing to give her and the girls a home for the next four years, in hopes that Claire would add her mind to the storehouse of intellect his firm already possessed.

  Ahead, the horizon widened, encompassing the vast oceans of water and air through which Athena steamed steadily, doing brilliantly what she had been designed to do.

  It was an amazing offer—one that had been prompted by affection as well as appreciation and faith.

  Faith, the substance of things hoped for.

  Claire could not remember anyone—save perhaps Polgarth the poultryman—ever having faith in her. And now look. She was rich in people who possessed it. The Mopsies. Andrew. The count. Alice. Perhaps even the Dunsmuirs, whom she hoped would regain t
heir faith in her once the Meriwether-Astor affair was settled for good.

  She had been through some perilous times, it was true. She had learned and grown and was no longer that shy, unsure, untried girl she had been when Snouts had pulled her from her landau outside Aldgate station.

  She was a woman now. A lady of resources, of intellect—and of faith in herself and the ones she loved.

  Maggie and Lizzie crept into the navigation gondola and joined her at the window, passing their arms about her waist and snuggling against her, one on either side. Rosie perched on Maggie’s other shoulder, settling there as comfortably as if she were in her own garden.

  “All right, then, Lady?” Lizzie asked, peering ahead into the vast sky that enfolded them and beckoned, even as they sailed majestically on.

  “Yes, Lizzie.” She hugged them both close. “It’s more than all right. In fact … I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

  Chapter 28

  Palace of the Viceroy

  Charlottetown

  All Souls’ Day

  My dear Claire,

  I hope you will allow me to apologize for slipping this missive under your door in this clandestine fashion, but it seems to be my last resort. Amid the joy of Tigg’s arrival with the Dunsmuirs here in Charlottetown and the latter’s subsequent rapprochement with you, then the meeting with the Viceroy for your testimony in the case—to say nothing of the pigeon from Her Majesty herself!—it has been a mad several days in which I have found it utterly impossible to contrive a moment alone to speak.

  Hence, a letter.

  I must confess that I share both your excitement and your apprehension over this new stage in your life. But I know also that you will manage famously, and so will the girls. Count von Zeppelin has offered you a marvelous opportunity and you must let nothing stand in the way of making it everything it can be. Have no fear as to the welfare of the children remaining in London. I shall visit often and make sure that they want for nothing.