by K. G. McAbee
Mr Thorne gave an odd ingratiating wiggle of his long thin body and a broad smile illuminated his plain features—or would have, if a few more teeth had been present. “How kind of Captain Perkins, how kind indeed. And so true! Here in my emporium,” he mouthed the word as if he himself had invented it, and waved his arm around in a regal fashion, “you will find any and everything you might need for a journey, whether it be for a few days to visit the highlands just south of here, or a full kit for a lowland safari.”
“Oh, just a short journey, sir, to be sure.” Nathanial thought it best to make that clear from the beginning. If he left it to Annabelle, she’d have them circumnavigating the planet.
“Of course, sir, of course.” Thorne gave another wiggle, his body seeming to bend in the oddest places. “The mountains—well, we call them mountains, but they’re really more like gentle hills—just south, as I said, are quite delightful to visit. The air, sir,” he paused and cast his eyes upward as if in rapture, “the air! So invigorating.”
“You have been many times, I perceive?” Annabelle asked.
“Well, no,” Thorne admitted. “The exigencies of business, don’t you know.”
A small lizard-man wandered from behind a high counter. Nathanial had not even suspected he was there, since he was barely five feet high.
“Shindo, there you are, you rascal!” Thorne said. “Did you get those packets all put away as I told you?”
The lizard Shindo’s mouth fell open and a long green tongue fell out. What he lacked in height, his tongue made up for in length. “All done, sssir.”
“Good, good.” Thorne waved the lizard away. “Now, Sir and Miss, exactly where would you like to go? Do you wish a guide or have you brought your own?”
“Oh, a guide, if you please,” said Annabelle. “One with a great deal of local knowledge, who can inform as well as lead. Do you have anyone of that calibre available?”
Thorne stroked his long chin. “Hmm. Let me see now.”
“Sure, and I’d be happy to take the lovely lady on a bit of an outing,” said a deep voice, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere as it echoed through the cavernous building.
A tall, heavily muscled man stepped from behind a series of shelves. He sauntered forward, his grin—Nathanial thought it looked rather impudent—showing white teeth. He took Annabelle’s hand and bowed over it.
“Are…are you a guide?” Annabelle asked, and Nathanial was amazed to detect a faint blush on her cheeks.
“The best in the colony. Isn’t that right, Thorney?” The man transferred his grin to Nathanial, though he did not drop Annabelle’s hand.
The shopkeeper looked somewhat concerned, Nathanial thought, but he nodded his head in agreement. “None better, to be sure. O…O’Ryan here knows the plateau like the back of his hand, and he’s spent a deal of time below on the escarpment. You cannot go far wrong if you take him on as a guide.”
Thorne seemed to have lost his pleasure at seeing them. His words sounded jerky and forced.
“I am all that, if you will spare my blushes,” O’Ryan said. “And I’ll be pleased to show you both about. Is it just the two of you? How many days would you like to be gone?”
“Oh, we arrived on the airship Aeronaut III just a few days ago,” Annabelle said. “We have to wait for some necessary parts before we can leave; they’re being sent from Fort Collingwood. So we’re not quite sure how long we’ll have. Do you have any idea, Mister Thorne, as to how long it might take for supplies to be shipped in?”
Thorne still looked uneasy, Nathanial thought, but replied readily enough. “Oh, depending on what’s needed, and whether or not it was marked urgent, I think you might well have to wait for the twice-monthly transport.” He turned to Nathanial. “The transport is not truly an airship, sir, but more along the lines of a great, wide wagon, flat as my hand, and all held up by balloons. They don’t break out the airships except for emergencies.”
“See, Nathanial, I told you so.” Annabelle sounded as if he’d been arguing with her. She didn’t even glance at him as she spoke; she hadn’t taken her eyes off the guide. “We’ve got lots of time and you know how bored you are. Oh, my manners! I’m Annabelle Somerset, and my friend is Professor Nathanial Stone, the famous co-inventor of the aether propeller governor.”
Nathanial felt himself turn red as the two men turned to stare at him.
“And I am Simon…Simon O’Ryan,” the guide said. “And may I say what a privilege, what an honour it will be for a humble son of Eire to show such a distinguished gentleman,” he bowed, “and such a lovely lady about. Now then; that’s all settled.” He grinned, displaying those overlarge white teeth again. “Let me take care of everything, everything at all. We can take the balloon shuttle down to the lower escarpment.”
“Is that not dangerous?” Nathanial asked, though he had a sinking feeling that it would not matter if they had to fight their way through ravening reptiles: Annabelle had made up her mind.
“No, no,” said Hezekiah Thorne, waving his flipper-like hands about as if to wipe the suggestion from the air. “Quite safe, quite safe indeed. Why, I’ve been down myself ever so many times. It’s simply a lower part of the plateau, sort of rings us about, don’t you see? Still high enough to protect from the larger lizards, but you can see a bit more of the, shall we say, unspoiled planet.”
“Yes, you can,” said O’Ryan, his dazzling teeth on display. “And comfortable? Why, we’ll take inflatable beds and all the comforts of home, that we will, for such a lovely lady should not have to live rough like we gentlemen, hey, Professor Stone? Now then, that’s settled…and we’ll be leaving…when?”
Annabelle turned to Nathanial, though she didn’t appear to see him; her eyes seemed somewhat glazed and he wondered if she were sickening for something. “Tomorrow, don’t you think? And if we’re gone for a week, that should give us plenty of time.”
Plenty of time for what, exactly, Nathanial wondered as Annabelle gave O’Ryan another wide and dazzling smile.
Really, he was liking the bounder less and less.
9.
The German Zeppelin Rheingold
Somewhere Over the Venusian Jungle South of Karlstadt
Joseph Lewis Sheridan was a sturdy man; his broad shoulders strained against the linen of his jacket, and his heavily muscled thighs were as big around as some men’s waists. His eyes were as dark brown as his hair, and his thick stubby fingers were permanently stained with ink. He leaned over and put his eye to the telescope mounted on the foredeck of the Rheingold. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at, as it seemed there was nothing below but endless miles of greenery. He had been on Venus for nearly two months, and he had still not got used to the climate, the creatures and the colonists.
Of the three, he considered the colonists by far the worst. He’d spent the first six weeks in the English colonies, touring, examining, questioning, writing up brief reports to heliograph back to his ostensible employers at the New York Tribune, taking more extensive and detailed notes for his actual employer: the Secret Service of the United States of America.
The United States had a couple of small colonies on Mars, and were branching out into a bit of mining in the Asteroid Belt; they also had cast what many citizens considered, and did not mind voicing concerns at the cost involved, a greedy eye towards Ganymede and Io in the Jovian system. But thus far, the United States had no colony on Venus, and the newly elected President Benjamin Harrison wanted that to change. Soon.
Thus, Sheridan’s trip to Venus, ostensibly as a newspaper reporter whose task was to send back descriptions to his countrymen, was in reality to see exactly how strong the three main colonial powers were, and precisely where the best places to set up potential American colonies might be. For, since the horrible business of the War Between the States, the northern part of the country had grown enormously. Industry, fuelled by the influx of immigrants from Europe and the East, was always looking for new ways to make money. Venu
s was not only an untapped market for American goods, but vast parts of it were undeveloped and unsettled.
So far, he had toured the major British forts on the Victoria plateau, a vast upland plain north of the equator. He had visited the thriving North Pole settlements set up by Italy; though small, they had the best climate he’d experienced thus far. While hardly cool, the temperature had actually been measured at a bracing seventy-five Fahrenheit on the occasional night. Now Sheridan was a guest of the German High Command on Venus. It was a pleasure to ride majestically over the dense swamplands below instead of slogging through them, but he couldn’t help but suspect the intent behind the German kindness.
Why were they keeping him so far above the majority of their settlements? What were they hiding? And how was he going to find out the truth, if he had to spend all his time floating around in an, admittedly, quite luxurious stateroom instead of getting his feet on the ground?
Sheridan stepped back from the telescope and gave it a spin; the shiny brass casing glittered from constant polishing, but he could already see a bloom of dampness on it from the constant wetness.
“I trust you are enjoying your journey, Mister Sheridan?” asked a voice behind him.
Sheridan turned. Damn these Germans! They wore the biggest, shiniest boots he’d ever seen, and yet crept about as silently as if they were barefoot.
“I am indeed, Colonel Kurt.” Sheridan beamed a smile so wide it hurt his mouth. “What a magnificent airship.”
Oberst Kurt snapped his heels together. “We prefer to call it a zeppelin, after its inventor, the German genius Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. No doubt your own county has many airships? I understand your industry is burgeoning since that rather unfortunate split in your ranks?”
“The Civil War was indeed unfortunate,” Sheridan said, gritting his teeth to keep from spitting. Damn the man, with his starched uniform and ice blue eyes! “But that was some time ago, and we of the United States of America have tried very hard to leave the pain, if not the memories, behind us. As, I am sure your own country has done since,” Sheridan cast his eyes skyward in a show of innocence, “that rather unpleasant Franco-Prussian affair.”
Kurt gave a knife-like smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nearly twenty years ago, Mister Sheridan. The new united German Confederacy looks to the future, not to the past. As, I am sure, your own relatively new country does. No doubt the acquisition of your colonies on Mars and your mining concerns in das Asteroidengürtel have offered your country much. Have you visited the Asteroid Belt mines in your journeys?”
Sheridan raised an eyebrow. This is one clever German, he thought in grudging admiration. “Not yet, though perhaps my paper will send me there next.” He turned and strolled across the deck to lean over the high railing.
Kurt joined him, though he did nothing so decadent as leaning, but stood straight as a ramrod beside the American.
“You learned a great deal about the British colonies, I am sure…and the Italian settlements in the north, no doubt.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but Sheridan decided to treat it as if it had been. He wasn’t sure where the German colonel was going with this, but Sheridan had always been insatiably curious; one of the many reasons he had landed up in the Secret Service after over a dozen years of wandering from place to place and job to job.
“I enjoyed seeing what they’ve accomplished, yes.” Sheridan took out his cigar case and offered it to Kurt, who shook his head. “The Italians are limited in their growth, I’m afraid. They settled the far north and don’t have the knowledge or equipment or experience yet to move further south. The British, on the other hand, took over quite the best spot on the planet, as far as I can see.”
Sheridan watched the colonel’s face from the corner of his eye, though he seemed to be entirely engrossed in rolling his cigar between his palms.
“It is interesting that you would think so, Mister Sheridan.” Kurt’s voice sounded tight, as if he was having trouble keeping it under control. “There are other plateaus on the planet, after all, but that is hardly the point. We Germans are not as delicate and effete as the British. We have taken on the challenge of the lowlands, and we have conquered, to the everlasting glory of our beloved Kaiser.”
Sheridan lit his cigar. “The challenge of the lowlands. That’s an excellent phrase; may I use it in my dispatches? I certainly will credit it to you.”
Kurt nodded. “You may have free use of it, Mister Sheridan, with my compliments. Anything which shines a light upon the excellence of Germany is ever at your service.”
Sheridan puffed thoughtfully as he eyed his host. “And anything which does not add to the glory of Germany is hidden away, I assume?”
Kurt looked down at the stocky American. “We are not the British, sir. We conduct all our business in the clear light of day. We do not hide things away, keep the knowledge of…certain actions from our friends. And enemies.”
“You are needlessly obscure, sir.” Sheridan’s dark eyes squinted to keep the smoke out. “Are you suggesting the British colonials have something to hide? You interest me indeed. Tell me more.”
Kurt turned to look out over the vast greenery below. “Look down there, sir,” he said, motioning with one hand. “Do you see the many villages belonging to the lizard-men of this planet?”
Sheridan looked below. The Rheingold was at that moment deep within the German territories, and he could see, in clearings here and there, many small villages. “I see them.”
“How many native villages did you see in the British territory?” Kurt asked. No doubt he hoped the American could not see that he was holding his breath in suspense, but to Sheridan it was more than obvious.
Sheridan’s dark eyes widened. “Well, now that you mention it, not many, not many at all.”
“And yet you see them scattered all about our own territories, do you not?” Kurt said, releasing his breath in a sigh.
“What’s your point?”
Kurt smiled at his shorter guest. “We Germans respect the lizard-men of Venus. We give them honest employment, we trade with them, we train them for honest labour, we study their culture. The British use them as little more than slaves. I am sure, when you spent time on the plateau, you saw many lizard-men used as servants, to pull the carriages, to plough the fields. You will not see such things in German colonies.”
Sheridan nodded enthusiastically. “You know, you’re correct. The Victoria plateau had really very few lizard-men villages. And I did see lizard-men pulling small carriages.” He puffed on his cigar to hide his smile. Did this German think him an idiot? Did the colonel truly believe he’d come to Venus without doing any reading or study of the place at all?
Of course there were few native villages on the plateau. The lizard-men lived in the lowlands; only a few were able to survive comfortably in the relatively cooler—very relatively, he thought wryly—higher regions. The few who did live on the plateau had been, in his consideration, gainfully employed and appeared quite content. Unlike, for instance, the few he’d been allowed to actually come in contact with in the German colonies thus far.
Sheridan wanted to know, more than anything, exactly where Kurt might be going with this.
“I’ll certainly put that in my next dispatch to New York,” he said. “My countrymen, as you know, do not take kindly to even the hint of slavery. The thought of these poor natives,” he waved his hand to take in two small villages they were at that moment flying over, “being enslaved by the British will not go well at home, I can tell you.”
10.
Somewhere on the Lower Escarpment
Nathanial Stone squatted down and poked a rather limp and spongy stick into the carcass of the dead lizard. The beast was as large as a cow and covered with spiny skin in a rainbow of colours. He rose to his feet and tossed the stick away, then headed for their nearby camp.
He pushed his way through the hanging fronds of vegetation, dodging a web woven by a tiny spider, sides
tepping the plants he now knew were poisonous. He kept his gloves on at all times, and he was careful to make sure Annabelle did the same.
When he emerged from the brush, he paused for a moment and surveyed their small camp. A large tent he shared with Jericho. A slightly smaller one belonged to Annabelle, with another small one on the opposite side used by their guide. Forbes-Hamilton had insisted they bring Thymon as a servant; the lizard-man was finishing preparations for supper over a camp stove—they had tried to start a fire with the wet spongy wood but, thus far, had had little success. He wondered often how the lizard-men tribes managed it, for he had seen thin trails of smoke rising from the swamps below on more than one occasion. He made a mental note to ask O’Ryan.
Then he strode forward and collapsed into a small chair with a sigh of relief.
“Oh, Nathanial, do stop complaining!” Annabelle Somerset folded her polishing rag and slid her tiny derringer into its holster, which lay on a small table between their chairs. “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying our trip, but you could at least pretend to be having a good time, after all the trouble dear Mister O’Ryan has gone to on our behalf.”
Nathanial sat back in his chair, and at once recalled why it was called collapsible, since it very nearly did. “Annabelle, I am not complaining! It was a sigh. However, I would like to inquire if you have had quite enough adventure and we can return to Fort David tomorrow. After all, we have been here nearly a week, and seen nothing but odd animals and the occasional balloon floating overhead. Mister Forbes-Hamilton has probably got the parts for the repair of the Aeronaut and I, for one, am ready for the trip back to Fort Collingwood. And surely Jericho is ready to return.”
Giles Jericho emerged from the dense jungle with his ruddy face wreathed in smiles. “I say, Stone, I had no idea the lower escarpment would be so fascinating! I am so glad you invited me along.” Though he was speaking to Nathanial, he was not looking at him.