“But would a groom be able to take care of that engine?” Evangeline argued. “I’m the only one you have with both the expertise and the physical ability.”
“My dear, you can’t be serious,” Dr. Abrams protested.
“Completely serious,” she replied.
Lord Hilden opened his mouth to object once more, and his wife touched his sleeve. She whispered something in his ear, and he deflated.
“I concede the point,” he muttered. “The places of MacTaggert and Corby will be taken by Bell and Wright.”
She lifted her chin triumphantly.
The group dispersed, turning in early for the night to be rested for the next day. She paused next to Lady Hilden.
“What did you say to him?” she asked.
The lady tilted her head. “I asked him whether I had ever failed to get my way in the end, and noted you seem to be every bit as headstrong as I was your age. And I merely suggested that he would do best to save the time and energy and pointless shenanigans, and just allow you to do as you willed in the first place.”
She looked at her hostess, impressed. Clearly, the woman must have cut quite the figure when she was young for Hilden to have folded so quickly. Lady Hilden smiled slightly, and slipped out of the room.
Jeremy waited for her at the exit of the laboratory. The room had cleared, everyone seeking their well-earned beds.
“Was that really necessary?” he asked.
She grasped what she had done. “Oh, Jeremy. I’m sorry. I signed you up for a floating death trap, and I never even asked you. We can still catch up with Lord Hilden, I’m sure he can supply a man to feed the boiler, it needn’t be you.”
She moved to hurry after the departing scientists, and he grabbed her wrist.
“That’s nothing,” he said. “I wouldn’t let you go up there on your own, regardless. But why are you going up at all?”
“Because I’ve dreamed for years of this,” she replied. “And in the last few days, I’ve earned it. I won’t let Ravenswood win, I won’t lose all my research, and I’m the only one who can do this job.”
She realized her voice had risen, and brought it down again. “MacTaggert can’t, we both know that. I know that engine inside and out. If anything goes wrong, I’m the one to fix it. They can’t risk doing this without me, and I can’t risk letting them try.”
“And did it occur to you that I can’t risk you?” he demanded, stepping closer.
“I don’t understand.”
He growled, exasperated. “How do you think I’d feel if you get killed in this mad adventure?”
“I-I don’t know,” she faltered. Could this really be going where she thought it was?
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked. “I know I can’t stop you.”
She thought of Lady Hilden. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Then promise me you’ll be safe.” He was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off of him.
“Or you’ll what?” she asked, daring him.
“Or I’ll lock you in the broom closet.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“You’d never be able to sleep again, knowing I was just waiting for you to let down your guard.”
“I’d never sleep again if something happened to you, either,” he confessed.
And then he leaned down and kissed her.
She slapped him.
They stared at each other in shock.
And as she had when bewildered at the dinner party, she fled.
Evangeline sprinted out the door, and didn’t stop running until she had reached her room. She felt faint. Was it the kiss? No one had ever kissed her before. Then she realized how quickly she was breathing. She loosened her corset laces, nearly falling over as the air rushed into her lungs. Her head swam, and she sank with her back against the inside of her door.
The slap had been completely automatic. Now she wondered if it had been entirely the wrong move. Her lips still tingled. The rational part of her mind reminded her that that was most likely the result of the blood still rushing to her head. But she could not deny that she had enjoyed the sensation. And it was not as if she had a reputation to ruin—she’d known perfectly well when she took up science that she was condemning herself to a life as a spinster.
But how dare he? A puffed-up farmer, reaching way above his station? Even as she sneered at the notion, she felt the injustice of it. Only a few days ago, she had bristled at others lording their social position over her. And he was the closest thing to a partner she had ever had. If he hadn’t intervened, would she and MacTaggart still be arguing over smoking wreckage even now? He brought out the best in her. Intellectually, of course.
Her heart raced for far longer than she would have thought it would take to recover from the run.
His first impulse was to run after her. But his hand rose unconsciously to his cheek. She had slapped him.
What had he been thinking? Perhaps that they were quite likely to die in the morning, and that he would never get another chance. He couldn’t remember how long he had wanted to kiss her. He had trouble remembering a time that he hadn’t. More than kiss her. Throw himself at her feet and proclaim his adoration for her.
Maybe he should have tried that. Maybe it would have gone over better.
And now they would go to their dooms with her angry at him, he mused glumly. Still, at least she knew.
He brooded on his way to the kitchen, and all through dinner. Perhaps sensing his dark mood, the rest of the assistants and servants gave him a wide berth. He went back and forth, again and again. Forgiving her. Raging at her. And back.
He truly must love her, he realized. Otherwise, he would not be so tempted to wring her neck.
After dinner, he stomped up to his room. He flung himself on the bed, knowing he was being melodramatic. He felt he had earned a little melodrama. He watched the light from the moon crawl across the ceiling. He still hadn’t reached a decision by the time it set.
The day dawned bright and clear. Evangeline rubbed her eyes. They felt swollen and gummy. She would swear she could feel every individual vein scraping against her eyelids every time her eyes moved. She dressed carefully, tied up her hair carefully, avoided thinking about Jeremy carefully.
She stopped fretting as soon as she stepped into the hangar. Already, they had pulled back the roof. The airship floated a few feet off the ground, unsupported. A thin line tethered her. She had been patched together quickly, and it showed. But the elegance of her lines shone through.
“What shall we call her?” MacTaggert asked.
“The Eagle,” Dr. Abrams suggested.
“Chained Lightning,” von Karloff declared.
Lord Hilden turned to Evangeline, who still had not taken her eyes off the graceful vessel. “And what would you recommend, Miss Bell?”
“Hope,” she breathed. Then, to be diplomatic, she added, “Hilden’s Hope.”
“Score one for pandering,” Lord Hilden chuckled. “Hilden’s Hope it is. All aboard?”
She levered herself over the rail only to find Jeremy already aboard. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but merely went on stoking the furnace for the boiler.
Matching his indifference, she picked up the giant wrench they had used to bolt the engine to the deck and checked that the bolts were secure. Nearly as long as her leg, the tool felt unwieldy in her hands. She refused to show effort, though. She had won her spot, she did not intend to admit weakness now.
“If you’re done,” Lord Hilden called, “we’re jettisoning any unnecessary ballast now.”
“Keep it,” Jeremy advised, when she tried to toss the wrench overboard.
“What’s it good for, with the bolts tightened?” she asked. His nonchalant attitude had begun to grate.
He shrugged. “Hitting things.”
She nearly threw it overboard to spite him, but thought better of it. In the event that they went down, someone might ve
ry well need to hit things. She stored it out from underfoot.
Lord Hilden took his place at the fore. Since the airship had no rudder, there was no need for the captain to stand aft. He sang out. “Armament?”
“Ready,” called Edmund. With assigned stations, she could tell them apart for the first time. His bombs rested in a cradle next to him. The deck had a hatch he could open aloft. With no worries of water currents, they had built the ship with a flat bottomed hull, which was the underside of the deck itself.
“Navigation?”
“Starboard ready,” Dr. Abrams replied. The ropes controlling the sails that would help steer them had be connected into a traditional ship’s wheel. He had a rod for his side that could trigger steam jet bursts for emergency maneuvers.
“Port ready,” echoed Beckett from his rod. They would have to coordinate very carefully; they had not had time to link the two sides.
“Balloon?”
“Throttle open,” Bertrand answered. The whoosh of gases confirmed his statement.
“Furnace?”
“Fired,” Jeremy answered, closing and latching the door on the flames.
“Engine?”
“Power to full,” Evangeline said, throwing the switch.
“Cast off,” Hilden cried.
Von Karloff flung the lines to the ground below, where Lord Hilden’s men scrambled to stow them.
Hilden’s Hope floated gently upward. As they cleared the roof, their rise accelerated. Evangeline felt her heart leap in her chest. She was flying.
Just as quickly as her elation had risen, it died. From above the house, she could see Ravenswood’s forces. And the estate was indeed surrounded.
The mechanicals looked, from up here, kind of like pill boxes with ant legs. If pill boxes had cannons protruding from them, that is. There were six in total, each advancing on the house. Their legs moved separately, balancing the body no matter the terrain. She winced as one heavy foot smashed a chicken coop to smithereens.
“Hard to port,” called Lord Hilden.
They veered left, heading over the mechanical closest to the house. Surely they had seen the airship. There was no way anyone within sight of the house could have missed the vessel rising straight through the roof. But Ravenswood certainly could not know what exactly to expect.
Edmund Woolsey balanced the first bomb in its cradle. Von Karloff muttered to himself as he made hurried calculations, trying to gauge the speed of the wind.
“Now!” he said, suddenly. The bomb tipped away. They all held their breath, save Edmund and von Karloff, who struggled to get another bomb into position.
The tiny airship shuddered with the force of the explosion.
“You knocked it over, but missed the bug itself,” Beckett called from the rail.
Von Karloff muttered darkly. “Two degrees starboard,” he finally said.
“Two degrees starboard, aye,” Dr. Abrams replied, having far too much fun with the nautical jargon.
“Now.”
The second bomb fell away, whistling in the wind.
The muffled crump shook the ship once more.
“That’ll do!” crowed Beckett.
“Jolly good show, old chap!” Lord Hilden beamed. “Now on to the next!”
“Why aren’t they firing back yet?” Jeremy fretted.
“Eh,” Beckett scoffed. “They’re built for ground fighting, see? They probably can’t even crank those guns up high enough to try to hit us.”
That didn’t seem quite right, somehow.
An explosion to their left tore apart the sky.
“I thought you said they were built for ground fighting!” Bertrand yelled as he fought to keep control of the balloon.
“But how could they know we would try an aerial defense?” Dr. Abrams cried, spinning the wheel hard.
“I don’t know—maybe he read our papers?” Evangeline retorted, not bothering to rein in the sarcasm. She risked a glance over the rail. The guns of the remaining four mechanicals that she could see rose to track them across the sky. Where was the fifth?
“Now,” von Karloff said quietly, under the confusion. She couldn’t see the fifth because it lay directly below them.
Edmund nodded, released the bomb, and watched through the bay. The airship bobbed again.
“Got it,” he said. “Next?”
“This is going to get bumpy,” Dr. Abrams warned as he steered toward the next target.
Another explosion rocked the deck. Evangeline examined the engines. Still doing fine. Then she glanced at the balloon.
The guide ropes were on fire. She frantically shrugged out of her jacket. The flames licked the rope. She could see individual strands curl back and blacken. She beat at the flames with the fabric as hard as she dared, afraid to use too much pressure or risk snapping the ropes themselves. The fire finally died.
Another shell burst near them, and another. Bertrand went down with a cry, his blood spraying the deck. She rushed to his side. Shrapnel protruded from his leg. She tried to staunch the bleeding with her jacket. It had missed the artery, but he still bled heavily.
She could barely see, with the smoke from the shells. Von Karloff kept count, though, in a steady voice. The ship shuddered again, and she tipped over the rail.
She had time to stare at the ground below. A panicked herd of tiny sheep milled in confusion. She wondered if she landed on one, if it would break her fall or just reduce them both to strawberry jam. A strong hand grabbed her shirt and hauled her back on board. “Stay put,” Jeremy said firmly, and turned back to his furnace.
She made her way shakily across the deck to the engine. Her governor spun merrily, oblivious to the carnage. The bass thrum of the engine, so steady when they first unmoored, rose in pitch. It had acquired a slight hiccup she did not like.
From behind her, Dr. Abrams cursed as another near-miss shook the ship. There was much here she did not like.
“More fuel?” Jeremy had to yell to be heard.
“We’re already overloading,” she yelled back.
“I thought the engine was designed to take this!” Lord Hilden fought his way across the heaving deck.
“It’s not like we had time to test anything,” she replied, frustrated.
“They’re down to three mechanicals.” Edmund looked up briefly.
Von Karloff peered down through the smoke. “Make that two.”
Lord Hilden grinned, despite the danger. “Just two more, we can certainly—”
The deck exploded as a mortar connected. It flung Hilden into Evangeline, who collided with Jeremy. He wrapped his legs around the base of the railing, holding tight to them both as the deck slowly tilted toward its side. Above them, the whistling confirmed their worst fears. The balloon had been hit, and spewed its gases into the sky.
“We’re losing altitude,” Beckett cried.
“Aim for a mechanical and let’s take one of the bastards with us!” Lord Hilden tried to fight free of Jeremy’s restraint.
“Everyone brace for impact!” Dr. Abrams let go of the wheel, following his own advice. The wheel spun crazily and the deck veered in the other direction. For a brief moment they were level, and then gravity pulled them back toward the other side of the deck. Jeremy kept his tight grip on both Hilden and Evangeline.
An explosion behind them confirmed that the enemy’s guns still worked. It didn’t seem quite sporting to shoot a plummeting airship out of the sky, but Ravenswood apparently did not care about sportsmanship.
“Impact in approximately five seconds,” von Karloff rumbled. “Four, three—”
His count was off. The deck slammed into the ground, spraying dirt into the air. Terrified sheep fled, bleating, some on fire. The ship skipped up again, then crunched back down, its forward momentum tearing a gash in the pasture behind it. Evangeline glanced ahead, saw the trees, and then they crashed headlong into them. Her head hit the railing and the world went dark.
Nearby, somebody groaned. Jeremy twitche
d, then pried his eyelids open. Around him, bits of burning sailcloth fluttered to the ground. Someone’s boot rested an inch from his nose. No sign of Miss Bell.
The boot’s owner groaned again. Jeremy levered himself up on an elbow to see better. He tried to twist over and realized that he couldn’t. A chunk of the engine had tipped over on top of him, and he couldn’t see anything below his waist.
For a moment he panicked. Had he broken his back? What if his legs had been completely crushed? Searing pain began to filter through the shock. Futilely, he beat at the machine with his bare hands. The heavy wreckage refused to budge an inch. He would never walk again. He would spend the rest of his days as a cripple, assuming that he didn’t burn to death here first. He dug in his right heel, straining to push his way out. What if his legs had been completely severed? His right toes curled in sympathy.
He blinked. Heel. Toes. He could still move his heel and his toes, at least on the right side. Which did imply they were all still attached. He swallowed, took a breath, and tried to take stock of the situation, this time with less panic.
He could tense each of the individual muscle groups on the right side. They felt sore, and cramped, but that limited the amount of damage that he could have taken. All the pain came from the left. He tried to concentrate. The upper thigh seemed all right. Then came the searing white pain. And somewhere below that, he could just twitch his toes. So they, too, seemed to be still attached. Which meant that the bone was probably broken. He had no idea how badly. And he knew very well that if a limb was broken badly enough, he could still lose it. But, assuming that he could escape the immediate situation, he might manage to keep at least a leg and a half. This didn’t seem like such a bad bargain, all things considered.
He suspected he would be more upset if he could think more clearly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He didn’t know if the fuzziness was from shock or a head injury. Either way, he should not stay here.
“Lord Hilden?” He shook the boot. “Lord Hilden!”
The man groaned again, but did not come to full consciousness.
Jeremy felt distinctly ridiculous. What did one do, in this situation? Somehow, Miss Bell’s rudimentary etiquette lessons failed to cover this.
Clockwork Chaos Page 11