by K. G. McAbee
Kurt rose, a steward leaping out to pull his chair away. He pulled his pocket watch out and snapped it open. “Excellent timing; it has just gone ten. Let us descend to the mining camp. Remember, it is to be a flying trip; we do not dare stay too long, for fear of damage. We should be back in time for a late luncheon.”
Sheridan followed his host out of the Rheingold’s lounge and onto the deck. Even in the short time since they’d sat down to breakfast, the zeppelin had dropped quite near the ground. It currently hovered, he could see, very near the heaped outcropping of bare rock, mingled grey and brown, so strange for such a verdant planet.
“If you will follow me?” Kurt led Sheridan to the port side, where several crewmembers were belaying grappling hooks at the ends of long lines.
The men, Sheridan could see, were excellent at their work, well practiced and precise. One caught a convenient tree, but the hook pulled through the branches and broke free. Before the leathery leaves fell quite away, however, the other hook grabbed a heavier branch and the hook held tight.
A third crewman buckled himself into a harness and slid down the rope. He made several ropes fast below, and as Sheridan watched in interest, a sort of small cage, made of sturdy yet slender wood and webbing and big enough for three or four men to stand in comfortably, was pulled out to the edge of the deck and securely fastened to a rope webbing.
“Shall we descend, Mister Sheridan?” asked Kurt politely.
Sheridan had ridden in such contraptions before, but he thought it politic to look a little concerned. “Are you sure it is quite safe? It appears somewhat…forgive me, but flimsy.”
Kurt strode across the deck and climbed with agility into the cage. “It is as safe as can be, sir,” he called cheerfully. “Would you like to hand me your camera apparatus and pack, so that you might have both your hands free?”
Sheridan handed his gear over and carefully climbed in.
In another instant, the cage was sliding down the ropes to the ground below.
“Aren’t we going…rather fast?” Sheridan asked, continuing to appear uneasy. Before the last word was even out of his mouth, the little cage sat down lightly on a bit of flat ground some distance from the rocky outcropping.
Sheridan let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. “Ah, that was… quite exhilarating, to be honest, Herr Oberst,” he said gaily. He watched as the cage ascended on its series of pulleys, then shot back down; three well-armed crewmen stepped out.
The cage ascended for the third time, and one of the crewmen detached the original hooks; the heavy cables anchoring the Rheingold were hauled up.
“Is that…quite safe?” Sheridan asked. “Won’t the wind blow the airship away from us or some such?”
“The usual security procedure, that is all. The zeppelin will hover here until we return, keeping close to the ground so as not to miss our signal. But not too close.” Kurt motioned towards the village, perhaps half a mile away. “Come, Mister Sheridan. It appears to be an easy walk, sir. A pleasing constitutional. Just what we need after breakfast.”
Sheridan reached to take his gear, but Kurt handed it to a crewman.
“I’ll just take my camera,” Sheridan said. When he had it safely in hand, he said, “Well, sir, I am in your hands.”
16.
Frying Pan and Fire
Annabelle felt her heart pounding within her like a drum. She gazed into the barrel of the rifle and held her breath. Even in her days as captive of the Chiricahua, she had never faced danger like this. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her breathing, then offered up a brief prayer and squeezed Jericho’s hand—icy cold—and dropped it.
Simon O’Rourke shook his head. “What a pity, to lose such bravery and such loveliness,” he said sadly. “But no one lives forever. Goodbye, Miss Somerset.”
Annabelle tried, but she could not help it; she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She could not bear to see her own death racing towards her. She held her breath.
She heard an odd clunk, solid, as if a rock had fallen onto a log, followed by a clatter.
Wait a minute! That was not the sound of a rifle.
She opened her eyes.
The Irishman was crumpled in a heap on the ground.
Jericho dashed forward and seized his rifle, yanked his revolver from its holster.
“What in God’s name happened?” asked Nathanial, his voice cracking in fear.
A tall figure, its face seamed with scars, one eye swollen shut, its mouth open to display dozens of pointed teeth, stepped inside.
“Thymon!” shouted Annabelle, flinging herself into his arms.
The lizard-man patted Annabelle hesitantly on her back as, laughing and crying at the same time, she hugged him.
“I say, Thymon old chap, how lovely to see you,” she heard Jericho burbling behind her.
Then the lizard-man pushed her gently away. She looked up into his battered face.
“I knew you would not desert us,” she whispered, smiling up at him. She put a hesitant finger on a huge lump beside his eye. “Though I cannot imagine how you found us.”
“When Thymon came back from sstream, he sssaw the bad one loading you all in floating bird.” The lizard-man shook his head sadly. “You all look sick or ready for cook pot, so Thymon ran to help. The bad one hit me with his little fire stick.” He touched his swollen head. “Thymon sleep, but just for a little. Saw direction little floating bird went, so followed through jungle.”
Nathanial stepped forward and held out his hand. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty.”
Annabelle turned and glared at Nathanial. “See,” she said, “I told you so. I told you dear Thymon would never betray us. Oh ye of little faith!” Then she turned back to the lizard-man. “What now?” she asked briskly.
“You follow Thymon. We need weaponsss. I have gathered some. And there is a big, a very big, floating bird coming.”
“The Aeronaut, huzzah!” shouted Jericho.
“No,” Thymon shook his head. “Very much bigger.”
“It is the zeppelin, then, the one this bounder mentioned,” said Nathanial. “The one bringing the reporter.”
“And we can’t simply leave,” Jericho said stoutly. “Why, even if our bodies aren’t here for corroboration, O’Rourke and his people have left dead lizard-men about and littered the place with British gear. He’s set the stage beautifully, and we don’t dare allow his plan to come to fruition.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Annabelle as her heart sank within her. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”
“Weaponsss,” hissed Thymon. “Come!”
17.
Massacre!
Sheridan puffed and panted in the thick air. He took occasional shots with his Kodak as they approached the outskirts of the small village.
Then he stopped. He had no choice; Kurt threw up a rigid arm and he ran into it.
“I don’t like this,” Kurt said. “Some of the natives should have been out to greet us by now.”
“Perhaps they’re busy doing, uh, mining things,” Sheridan suggested. Then he smelled the unmistakable noxious reek of death. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
The three crewmen who had accompanied them had rifles at the ready. Kurt drew his sidearm. They approached more carefully.
The first hut they came to was empty. The second, however, was not. Sheridan glanced inside, then turned away, sickened at the sight of a heap of lizard-men piled one atop the other. Small insects circled around the bodies, iridescent wings glistening with the blood they’d dipped into.
“Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt calmly, “would you be so kind as to document this with your camera device?”
“With pleasure,” said Sheridan grimly. He took several shots of the interior of the hut. “Who could have done this horrible thing?” he asked when he was done. “Some sort of tribal warfare, is it?”
“No, indeed.” Kurt motioned further towards the pathway leading int
o the rest of the village. “Look at this.” He strode forward and picked up a rifle lying discarded, as if it had been tossed away in flight. “This is a .577 Snider-Enfield. The British use this rifle. On this planet, only the British.” He handed the weapon to one of the crewman.
“But surely you cannot be suggesting…”
Kurt turned and glared at Sheridan. “I am suggesting nothing, Mister Sheridan. You have eyes. See for yourself. Come. We will investigate.”
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Sheridan as he followed the oberst. He knows more than he’s saying. He picks up a rifle and ignores the fact that there may well be more? He’s not even worried about our safety. This whole thing smells to high heaven.
18.
Plans and Supplies
Jericho turned over the heap of rubbish inside the second hut they’d inspected, then stood up and dusted his hands together. Thymon was not about to give up so easily; he continued sifting through the pile for a bit, then went on to the next hut for a look around. It was the very last one. They’d investigated all the rest and found, just as O’Rourke had said, nothing but murdered lizard-men.
All about—O’Rourke had indeed been busy during their captivity—signs, unmistakable signs, of British involvement in the massacre.
“Nothing useful, I’m afraid, but the odd knife. So it looks as if all we have are O’Rourke’s rifle and revolver and a few rounds of ammunition. Hardly enough to storm a fully armed zeppelin and explain ourselves, or demand an explanation.”
Just outside the door, careful to stay in the shadow of the hut, Nathanial was keeping a close watch on the slowly descending airship. It was very near the ground; soon they would drop lines, though thankfully the ship was perhaps a mile away. For some reason, it was mooring near that odd rocky outcrop instead of closer to the village.
Thymon came hurrying back and burst into the tent. The lizard-man was burdened with several valises and bags that looked very familiar.
Annabelle stood up with a cry of satisfaction. “Oh, do look! It’s our luggage, and that,” she took one long narrow case from Thymon with a smile of thanks, “if I am not mistaken, is my bow. Good thing, too! I’ve only found one of the native bows, and they’re not quite the kind I’m used to, of course. But I think I shall be able to cause a bit of damage with mine, don’t you agree, Nathanial?”
Nathanial cast his eyes skyward and shook his head. Good Lord; Annabelle never ceased to amaze him. He asked Jericho, “What kind of shot are you?”
Jericho shrugged. “I know which end of the gun is which, and I’ve shot the odd bird or two back home at country houses, but I’ve never shot a man.”
Nathanial shook his head ruefully. “I am the same, I fear. Of the three of us—four of us,” he corrected hastily when Annabelle glared at him, “I believe Annabelle is the best, at least with her bow.”
“I’m an excellent shot with nearly any kind of weapon,” Annabelle said absently as she strung her bow. “Or have you so quickly forgot my rescue of you on Luna?”
“How wonderful!” Jericho said. “Really, Annabelle, I must say, if I had to be marooned in the middle of the Venusian jungles, I could not imagine anyone I’d rather be, uh, marooned with!”
Nathanial sighed and shook his head. “That is all very well, you two. But do consider. We certainly cannot take over an entire zeppelin with these weapons, and I sincerely doubt if the Germans are willing to see reason. Perhaps we should simply set out for the plateau instead.”
“If you recall, it is several days’ march away,” Annabelle reminded them, “and Giles’ poor head is hurt, and so is dear Thymon. It’s wonderful that he made it here, the brave, loyal dear; I’m not sure he can make it back on foot.”
“Then, consider this: why do we not simply drag O’Rourke to the zeppelin and force him to disclose all?” Nathanial asked.
“And get shot for our pains, you mean?” Annabelle did not look at him; she didn’t have to. Nathanial could imagine quite well what her expression must be.
Damn it all! He was not an adventurer, nothing like a hero! He was a scientist, an engineer, an inventor! He had tried to be an adventurer on Luna, but a month back on Earth had shown him the truth. Annabelle was never going to understand that. She was never going to admire him.
“If we’re not going to take the airship by force, then we have no other choice but to set out through the jungle,” Annabelle said flatly.
Nathanial was looking at her bow and did not answer. Ideas were whirling through his mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, being able to work with his brain instead of his brawn might impress Annabelle yet!
Finally, she snapped, “Stop woolgathering, Nathanial, and show some initiative! Do you have any other ideas? Preferably one that might get us out of this mess? Tell us, pray!”
Nathanial let a slow smile spread across his face. “Annabelle, give me one minute.” He turned to Jericho. “How many crewmembers on a zepp that size?”
Jericho shrugged and began counting off on his fingers. “Captain, executive officer, engineer, navigator cum heliograph operator, and perhaps three or four more. A steward/cook. Plus whatever passengers are onboard. Why?”
“And doubtless some of them will land; they would not be anchoring now if that was not their plan, so we may well be dealing with just a few still onboard.”
“But getting onboard, my dear chap!” Jericho waved his hands wildly in the direction of the zeppelin, now floating majestically still, so close the imperial eagle was clearly visible on her side. “You can see they’re mooring at those rocks to discharge someone, and they’re quite forty feet or more high. Besides, if they follow normal German procedure, they’ll cast off and hover while they await the return of those below. It’s hopeless. We’ll never be able to get onboard.”
Nathanial strode over to the back of the hut, to fetch the coil of rope they’d found earlier. Part of the coil was now wrapped securely around their former guide, but there was a good deal left. Would there be enough? He took it back down from the protruding branch where he’d hung it and ran it through his hands. Yes! And the loop of thin yet strong twine hanging beside it was even longer, perhaps a hundred feet or more.
“This rope is at least fifty feet long,” he said. “With this twine attached to the end, with the other end tied to an arrow, I believe we may have a way onboard.”
Jericho shook his head in confusion. “My dear fellow, I certainly can’t shoot a bow with any sort of accuracy. Can you?”
Nathaniel smiled. “Have you ever seen Annabelle shoot a bow?”
“Nathanial, you are brilliant!” Annabelle smiled at him for the first time in what seemed like days. “Come along, Thymon, my dear fellow. Get us out of this village and over to that outcropping! We have a zeppelin to board!”
“Oh, now, see here,” said Jericho weakly. The right side of his head, where O’Rourke had struck him with the revolver, was several interesting shades of blue and green, and his eye was very nearly swollen shut. “I think we should reconsider all this Boys’ Own Paper adventure rubbish and think about what we are proposing. Even if we could get onboard that zepp—and that is a remarkably big ‘if’—what will we do when we get there?”
Nathanial waved the revolver about, then hastily tucked it back into the holster he’d confiscated from O’Rourke when even Annabelle blanched. “We shall hold, uh, someone or other at gunpoint and insist they listen to our story, then take us back to the Victoria plateau, of course!” He was filled with the oddest sense of confidence and determination and…was it bravery?
“Bravo, Nathanial!” Annabelle said as she took the coil of rope from him and tucked it over her shoulder. Then, throwing her arms around him, she gave him two resounding kisses, one on each cheek. “And we have nothing to worry about, once we’re onboard. If needs be, I am quite sure you can soon discover how to pilot the ship, for this I know: there is nothing on Heaven or Earth which you cannot decipher.”
Nathanial felt a blazing heat rising to his
face. “Thank you indeed, Annabelle. Well, now; shall we go become airship pirates?”
19.
A Dastardly Attack by the British!
The more he saw, the more sickened Sheridan became. Such bloodshed! Such senseless, monstrous taking of innocent life!
He would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes. He took picture after picture as they proceeded slowly through the outskirts of the small village. Each hut held some further horror, and the smell, the smell!
“You see, Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt, holding a handkerchief to his nose, “what we Germans have to deal with in this inhospitable place. Not only the dangers of the planet, but the danger from those who should be our brothers, our friends, our allies.”
“I’m shocked indeed, and even more surprised.” Sheridan had run out of film and was busily scribbling in his notebook. “And to be perfectly honest, even with the evidence of the Enfield rifles and other things we’ve found, I am not convinced this is an act of the British. When I toured the colonies on the plateau, I saw no signs of such inhumanity. Why would they, why would anyone do such a horrible thing?”
“Greed, Mister Sheridan. Nothing but greed. You know the British as well as I do. They put on the image, the false façade of honourable, noble men, but in secret, in secret!” Kurt shook his head sadly and put his handkerchief back to his nose.
In the instant before the snowy linen covered his mouth, Sheridan thought he detected a slight smile. Surely he must be mistaken. Even Kurt could not smile at such destruction.
Could he? Yes. Of course he could. From all he’d seen of Kurt, that was exactly what the oberst could do. This was a dangerous, a deadly man.
What truly amazed him, what angered Sheridan the most, was that Kurt would think he’d believe such idiocy. Even with a hundred discarded British rifles, even with the poor slaughtered lizard-men, this was nothing more than a scene set for him, and him alone. Why?
They had entered the village proper now, and the three armed crewmen were alert. Kurt, Sheridan noticed, had not even drawn his own sidearm.