by George Mann
—— Chapter Twenty-Seven ——
Newbury was the first out of the door. He charged after Chapman, throwing himself around the edge of Villiers's workbench and out into the main automaton production facility. The presses were pounding noisily, pistons firing in quick succession and clouds of steam hissing into the air, obscuring large swathes of the factory floor from view. It was obvious the men working the machines had not heard the gunshot over the racket of the production line, and none of them showed any signs of having noticed Chapman racing through the facility, either. If Newbury didn't find him quickly, the industrialist would be able to lose himself in the factory with ease.
Glancing frantically from side to side, Newbury finally caught sight of the man darting out through a side door in the far wall, which led out of the factory and towards the river. He followed swiftly behind Chapman, his entire body protesting at the strain as he dodged around the machines, nearly slamming into a man who was lifting a partially assembled automaton frame from a conveyor belt. The worker cried out as he ducked out of the way, sending an array of components clattering to the floor. Newbury kept chasing Chapman towards the exit on the other side of the factory floor.
The door was still swinging to and fro as Newbury burst through, skidding to a halt on the other side just in time to prevent himself from careening forward into the river. He planted his feet in the muddy bank. The water churned furiously a few feet from where he had come to a stop. Outlet pipes jutted rudely from the factory wall, spewing brown sludge into the river.
The weather had deteriorated even further since their arrival at the manufactory, and rain lashed at Newbury's face in the driving wind. He cupped his hand to his eyes, trying to work' out what had happened to Chapman. Surely he couldn't have thrown himself into the river? There was no sign of the man in the water, nor of any boat that he may have kept berthed here for such an occasion. Of course, if Chapman had gone in, he might have already drowned, given the fierce weather.
There was a scuffing sound from behind him. Newbury felt his hackles rising. He spun around to see Veronica pushing her way out of the factory through the door he had just used himself. He offered her a slight shrug, but the gesture was lost as he hunched against the wind and the rain. He glanced along the length of the building, trying to work out where the other man had managed to flee. It was then that he noticed a cast iron ladder had been bolted to the wall, just to the left of the exit, beside one of the main outlet pipes. He looked up, turning his face towards the grey sky as he tried to make out where it led. The ladder ran all the way up to the top of the building, disappearing from view where it curved over the Up of the factory roof. Joseph Chapman was edging his way up the wet rungs, clambering up the metal frame towards the roof, where, Newbury realised, an array of newly-built airships awaited him. Clearly that was how Chapman intended to effect his escape. He was already about halfway towards his salvation. The wind was blowing him awkwardly from side to side as he climbed, his hands slipping on the slick rungs, but despite the obvious danger Newbury knew that he couldn't risk letting the man get away. If he made it to one of the airships, he could be halfway to the Continent within a couple of hours. It wouldn't take much for him to lose himself from there, disappearing into one of the darker corners of the Empire, or worse, to Asia and beyond.
Newbury turned to Veronica, trying to make himself heard over the rattling wind. "Get back inside. Wait for me in there." He pointed towards the door, where Bainbridge was standing, framed like a silhouette in the doorway. Then, without waiting to hear or acknowledge her response, he leapt up onto the bottom rung of the ladder and began to climb.
The going was treacherous. The wind dragged at him as if it were trying its very best to prise him free of the ladder. The rain had caused the metal rungs to become wet and slick, and the downpour continued to needle at his face, stinging his eyes and making it difficult to see. Within minutes his clothes had soaked through, and he shivered as he hauled himself upwards, clattering after Chapman on the ladder as fast as his damaged, aching body would carry him. The side of the factory was terribly exposed, and Newbury tried not to think what would become of him if the wind did manage to throw him from the ladder. In all likelihood, he would be dashed on the ground below, or else blown out into the river and a watery grave.
It was clear from the way in which Chapman had slowed that he was tiring as he approached the top of the building. Trying to ignore the burning pain in both shoulders, Newbury pressed on. He was closing on the other man, slowly but surely. He knew he couldn't allow his ailing body to slow him now.
He watched through squinting eyes as the industrialist reached the lip of the roof and threw himself bodily over the top of the ladder, disappearing temporarily from view. A moment later Newbury did the same, hauling himself over the top of the ladder, swinging his legs around underneath him and landing heavily on his rear atop the tiled roof of the factory. He gasped for breath. The wind was howling amongst the chimney stacks, and a confusing web of ropes strained against the pull of the bobbing airships, which filled the sky overhead like a blanket of glittering clouds. He searched the rooftop for a sign of Chapman. About thirty feet away, the industrialist, soaked to the bone, his long hair now lank and slicked to his face, had just finished loosening the tether on one of the airships, and was busy clambering aboard. Newbury watched him mount the short flight of wooden steps beside the iron berthing ring and step across to the gondola, watching his footing as the airship listed dangerously from side to side in the wind. He closed the door behind him.
Newbury was unsure whether Chapman had even realised that he had been followed this far; he appeared to have an almost casual, nonchalant air about him. Newbury hoped that it would be this that would prove to be his undoing, allowing the Crown investigator to gain the element of surprise.
Not hesitating for a moment longer, Newbury got to his feet and charged after the other man. He scrambled up the wooden steps and flung the door to the gondola open. He hopped across, just as the vessel banked awkwardly to the left and the ground seemed to give way beneath him. With the door still open behind him, Newbury managed to steady himself by catching hold of a sideboard that had been anchored to the deck just inside the foyer of the vessel. He found his footing as the airship righted itself once again. Chapman was nowhere to be seen. Newbury brushed water away from his eyes. The vessel began to drift away from its berth, rocking slowly back and forth in the harsh wind. Newbury turned to close the door. There was a shout from the rooftop. Catching hold of the doorframe, Newbury peered out.
Veronica was standing at the top of the wooden steps, her hair whipping around her face in the wild gusts, her dress soaked through and clinging to her body, revealing the outline of her figure through the layers of fine fabric. She had obviously followed Newbury up the ladder, and he'd been so engrossed in chasing after Chapman that he hadn't even noticed she had joined the pursuit. He cursed himself.
He leaned out of the gondola as far as he dare. "Veronica! Get yourself to safety. I'll take care of Chapman."
She cupped her hands to her face and shouted something in return, but he couldn't make it out over the howl of the wind and the rain. He watched as she readied herself for a jump.
"No! It's too risky!" He banged his fist against the doorframe in frustration. Veronica shook her head, either to indicate that she hadn't heard him or that she was choosing to ignore his words of warning. She coiled herself into a spring, leaping forward towards the open doorway of the gondola, flinging her arms out in an effort to catch hold of the vessel as it pitched and groaned in the wind. She slammed into the gondola, her hands questing frantically for purchase, one of them catching hold of the threshold at the base of the door, the other slipping dangerously free of the wet doorframe. She hung there by the tips of her fingers, buffeted by the wind as she tried desperately not to fall.
Newbury acted immediately. He threw himself to the floor, reaching out to take hold of her free arm and bra
cing his legs against the furniture so that he wouldn't slide forward if the vessel pitched again. His fingers cut into the soft flesh of her forearm, but it was all he could do to hang on. He could feel her wet arm slipping as he tried to get a better hold.
Beneath them, the vessel swung around haphazardly at the mercy of the driving wind while Chapman worked on starting the engines and getting the ship under some semblance of control. Newbury stared down at Veronica as the vessel edged out over the river, leaving the relative safety of the factory roof behind them. Veronica kicked frantically as she realised the drop beneath her was now more than a hundred feet. The water below looked like shimmering glass.
"Hold still! I'll try to pull you in."
Newbury heaved with all of his might, feeling more of the stitches along his abdomen tearing open as he took all of Veronica's weight, pulling her up into the gondola by her left arm. His face was a grimace of pain. Rain thrashed over his back as it blew in through the open door, causing them both to splutter and spattering the interior of the foyer with water. Newbury felt Veronica's arm slip in his fingers. She screamed as she slid back an inch or more, before Newbury managed to tighten his grip on her wet arm.
"Use your other hand to lever yourself up!"
Veronica clawed at the threshold of the doorway as she tried to pull herself up, helping Newbury to gain leverage. Suddenly, the airship bucked wildly as the engines kicked in with a high-pitched whine, and Veronica swung out as the vessel banked, causing her to lose her grip on the threshold and leaving her clinging to nothing but Newbury's arm. Newbury cried out as she pulled heavily on his damaged shoulder, trying to prevent herself from falling to her death. Then, just as suddenly, the airship banked about in the other direction and Veronica swung closer again, her body smacking loudly against the side of the gondola. Newbury took the opportunity to get her inside as quickly as possible.
"Use your feet to gain purchase. Come on!"
He hauled her bodily through the hatch, sliding her onto the foyer floor beside him. Then, before the vessel began to list again, he clambered to his knees and pulled the door shut behind her. The rain drummed noisily against the wooden panels.
Newbury slumped against the sideboard behind him, drawing ragged breaths. He looked down at Veronica. She lay still on her stomach, dripping with rainwater, her hair plastered across her face. Her left arm was bruised from where Newbury had held on to her and her dress was torn, exposing a large expanse of her milky white thigh. Newbury looked away.
"Are you hurt?" He glanced along the passageway as he talked, nervous that Chapman may happen upon them at any moment.
Veronica's voice was a soft, quiet murmur. "No. Not hurt."
Newbury sighed. "Thank goodness for that." He shook his head. "That was a rare situation you put yourself in, Miss Hobbes. I—"
"I'm sorry." She pushed herself up from the floor, getting herself into a sitting position, her legs tucked away underneath her. "You needn't go on. But now's not the time to discuss it."
He turned to meet her gaze. "You're right. I'll get after Chapman." He climbed to his feet. "You stay here."
Veronica nodded. She was still gasping for breath. "I won't move a muscle."
Newbury turned without saying another word and set off down the passageway, towards the cockpit, Chapman, and—he hoped—the end of the affair.
—— Chapter Twenty-Eight ——
The door to the cockpit was shut when Newbury finally made his way along the passageway to confront Chapman. The engines hummed noisily and the vessel had righted itself, even though it still shuddered disconcertingly with the to-and-fro of the wind. Now it was climbing in altitude, rising high above the factory and the city below.
Newbury was near exhaustion and anxious to get Chapman into custody. He knew the man had lost his firearm back at the factory, and suspected that he would not have hidden a replacement aboard a brand new airship, a vessel that could have only been completed by his factory a handful of days before this, its maiden voyage. Nevertheless, it was a gamble. Newbury knew that he was far from his physical peak, and whilst Chapman was a dilettante and a fop, he was also unscrupulous and cunning. Newbury only hoped that he still had surprise on his side. Readying himself, he reached out, took the door handle and gave it a sharp twist. He stepped back and allowed the door to swing open towards him. It clattered against the wall of the passage.
Chapman sat at the controls inside the small cockpit, his hands dancing over the vast array of levers, buttons and cranks that adorned the panels before him. Above, dials were set into a polished wooden dashboard, showing altitude, speed and fuel levels. Beyond that was the viewing port; a series of large, reinforced glass windows that offered a vast panoramic view of the city below, a kind of surreal birds-eye perspective of the landscape that Newbury had never been granted before. The Thames wound away into the distance, whilst nearby the factories and industrial buildings of Battersea pumped ribbons of steam into the air. Further afield, the City of Westminster was like a jewel amongst the rows of closely-built houses; proud buildings and public parks, museums and parliament. The city glittered in all its majesty, whilst all the while, the storm clouds formed a dark, brooding vault across the sky.
"Pretty, isn't it, Sir Maurice?" Chapman laughed gently underneath his breath as he spoke. "I often like to come up here—when the weather is better, admittedly—to take in the view of the city. London really is an amazing place to call home. The hub of the modern world. I shall be sorry to have to leave."
Newbury stood in the doorway. "Why don't you take the ship down, Chapman? There's nowhere left to flee. If you come quietly now we can make it easier on you."
Chapman laughed, louder this time, and shook his head. He turned in his seat to eye Newbury. "You know it never works like that, Newbury. Villiers was a fool, for all his genius. He would have walked willingly to the noose. Not me."
Newbury clenched his fist by his side, knowing well what was likely to come next. "Then I'm afraid we find ourselves at an impasse." He crept forward, ready to make a move.
Chapman got to his feet, careful to keep his pilot's chair safely between the two of them. He smiled slyly. "Indeed we do." He lashed out as he spoke, sending his fist flying towards Newbury's face. Newbury ducked quickly out of the way, feeling the fist brush his cheek, ever-so-narrowly missing its target. He thrashed back at the other man, connecting hard with his sternum and causing him to stagger backwards, banging against the control panel. It wasn't a graceful move, but it was certainly functional. Chapman shook his head, disoriented, and then quickly regained his composure. He straightened himself and stepped away from the controls. The airship juddered, and both men realised at the same time that Chapman's fall had in some way knocked the controls out of line. Chapman glanced at the panel, and Newbury took the opportunity to pounce, coming at him hard, his fist slamming brutally into Chapman's abdomen. Chapman buckled, gasping, but sent a blow of his own into Newbury's gut as he doubled over. Newbury fell back against the doorframe, jarring his shoulder painfully. He wrenched himself about to face Chapman, and the sharp movement finally proved too much for the Fixer's handiwork. He felt his stitches giving out and blood began to gush from the long wound in his side. His vision swam, and the world was momentarily limned in blackness. He sank to the floor, clutching his abdomen in agony.
It only took Chapman a moment to realise what had happened, and he swept in on Newbury, taking full advantage of the other man's wretched condition. He struck the Crown investigator with a brutal backhand across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor, his cheek smarting from the impact.
Newbury coughed blood onto the floorboards in a sickly stream. Chapman laughed. He drove a booted foot hard into Newbury's stomach, taking the wind out of him and leaving him gasping in pain and shock. Newbury tried to roll away, to find a means to get himself upright again, but the passageway was too tight and his body protested. He simply couldn't muster the energy to move, no matter how much his mind
screamed at his legs and arms to react. He was trapped in the narrow passage, with nowhere left to escape the other man's assault.
Chapman circled him, taking the opportunity to gloat. He stepped over Newbury's prone form, turning him over with his boot like some common animal found dead by the roadside. He spat at Newbury, and then set about pummelling him with a series of vicious kicks, punctuating his words with powerful outbursts of violence. "You insolent bastard! Did you really think that you'd be able to stop me? What you need to understand is that the sort of people who would benefit from the work Villiers and I were doing couldn't give a hoot about the loss of a few peasant lives, especially if it ends up making their own lives more comfortable. There'll be no public outcry. There'll be no noose. Her Majesty herself will probably give me a medal for my services to the Empire!"
Newbury groaned, but couldn't find enough of a pause in the beating to emit a response. He brought his knees up to his chest in an effort to protect himself from the constant rain of blows. His side felt warm with spilling blood.
"I suppose I'd better throw you—"
There was a dull thud, followed by a loud clanging sound, and the kicking ceased. Newbury peeled open his eyes to see Chapman crumple to the floor. He banged his head against the wall as he fell, landing in a pile beside Newbury on the floorboards. Newbury looked up through one bruised eyelid.
Veronica stood in the passageway, a large copper fire extinguisher clutched in her hands. She looked bedraggled, her dress torn and wet, her hair flung back messily over one shoulder. To Newbury, however, she looked like a vision of Heaven itself.
"Thank you." His voice was a wet, warbling croak. He coughed and vomited more blood onto the floor beside him.
"Don't thank me, Maurice. Just get up and help me fly this thing. If you hadn't realised, we're tumbling out of the sky like a dead weight. If we can't find a way to land the ship, all of this will have been in vain anyway." She dropped the fire extinguisher noisily to the floor. Newbury groaned and put his hand against the wall in an effort to raise himself up. His hand slipped, leaving a dark smear of blood across its pristine white surface.