“Sorry there, mate,” the barkeep went on, “There’s been no one come through this way by the name of Priest, that’s for sure. Type a name a bloke’s not likely to forget none too quick.”
“That’s the truth! Well thanks, anyway,” Burd replied in a deliberate off-hand manner. “It was a long shot, best to keep looking.”
Burd left his drink unfinished, the tenth in the last few hours, and paid his tab. He had ordered one in each of the increasingly seedy establishments he investigated as people were always more helpful to paying customers. The drinks remained all but untouched as Burd wanted to keep his wits about him. Normally, he would not waste such fine Jameson whiskey, but something about this whole business did not sit well with the ex-special forces operative. Making his way to the door, Burd noticed two working class men get up and follow him out, the same way they had followed him in. Though their movements had been discrete enough, Cornelius had enough well trained senses to see through their subterfuge. They had been following him for the last hour and a half. Had they been ordinary cutpurses or thugs, they would have accosted him in one of several alleys and shadowed areas that Burd had purposefully sought out. They weren’t much of a threat to the small, agile man, and their continued interest in pursuing him confirmed to Cornelius that these men were looking for Degory Priest as well, and had overheard his inquiries.
Burd stopped in the middle of the cobblestone street that was all but buried in the mud brought in by the wagon and carriage wheels from the forest beyond. People were darting to and fro, the business of the afternoon in full swing. The whistle in a nearby textile factory signaled a shift change. Within a few minutes the streets would be even more crowded. While he could think of several ways to dispose of his followers, the soldier turned toymaker figured he could use these hired ruffians to do much of his work for him. Besides, he was always a little more cautious when back within the reaches of the British Empire. Though Vance’s extensive contacts had kept him out of prison thus far, an eight year old warrant for desertion was not something to be taken lightly.
Timing would be important when dealing with these thugs, and Burd was a master of it. Surreptitiously, he drew and concealed a small two-shot plasmatic derringer in the palm of his hand, just in case something went awry. Self preservation trumped the concern over his warrant, at least that was the excuse he allowed himself. In truth, the thrill of action was imbued in his blood so deeply his now more sedate life would never be able to fully expunge it. As he had predicted, large numbers of tired, beleaguered workers were pouring out of the nearby mill. It was time.
Turning around he looked directly at the two men, and with a deliberate, confident stride, closed the gap until he was within arm’s reach. “Hey, gentlemen!” Burd called out. “I say, you two fine chaps wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a Dr. Degory Priest, would you?”
Both of his pursuers stopped in their tracks, clearly taken aback at the audacity and boldness of the man they were stalking. Burd had the edge he was hoping for. The two men were both much larger than him, and men who relied on brute strength to get by in the world were often at a loss when the one arrow in their quiver failed to intimidate. It appeared Burd’s small build only added to their confusion. He pressed his apparent advantage with a large goofy smile on his boyish face, “I mean, you’ve been following me for nearly an hour and a half. Obviously you know what I’m up to. So, can you help me out here?”
It took a few seconds for the minds of the thugs to adjust to this topsy-turvy game of cat and mouse. Finally, probably because nothing more clever or original could come to mind, one of them puffed himself up and stated, “I think you’d better come with us, if you don’t want any trouble.”
“That’s the best you’ve got?” Burd said laughing out loud. “You really don’t do this very well at all, do you?”
Emboldened by the first, the second drew a knife. Before he could vocalize his obvious threat, Cornelius lashed out, striking with the empty wine bottle at the back of the hand that held the blade, causing the weapon to land almost silently in the mud. Grasping at what was probably a broken bone or two in that hand, the thug stepped back a pace, his face showing pain and uncertainty. The whole incident happened so fast nary a person on the increasingly crowded street noticed.
“I really think it’d be best for all of us if you stopped following me,” Burd stated with an almost familiar casualness. “Though it’s been fun, really!”
Before the conversation could progress any further, Cornelius turned on his heel and began to quickly move through the crowd. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the two men continue to try to follow him, the first impatiently urging his injured companion along. Although Burd’s training would have allowed him to lose these pursuers almost instantly, he wanted them to follow. It was all part of his newly formed plan to find Degory Priest. Rather than continue his heretofore futile efforts, he would allow these men to lead him to the missing scientist. Burd was certain these were not the only two searching the upland for Degory, just as certain as he was that they meant to do the scientist harm, when and if they finally located him. So for the next twenty minutes, he led them on a merry chase through crowded streets and back alleys, always eluding them, but staying in sight so they would keep up the pursuit. Eventually, the man whose hand he injured began to lag behind, much to the aggravation of the first. Burd finally figured he had made them chase him enough. Concealing himself in the shadows behind several barrels of pickled herring, he watched them pass, and listened as they breathlessly berated each other for losing him.
“What should we do?” the injured one panted.
“We need instructions. Mr. Corbin will want to know about this one.”
As they walked away, it became Burd’s turn to become the hunter. He followed them for nearly a half hour, as they made their way to the Worker's Quarter docks. Located at the very edge of Sherwood Isle, it was loaded with various aetherships, mostly being loaded or unloaded with various cargos. It was busy and congested here as well. While local police patrolled the area, it was clear much escaped their notice, intentionally or otherwise. The congestion coupled with his training allowed Burd to remain unnoticed by the two men who had joined up with another, much nicer dressed older man waiting near a personnel transport that was in the process of disembarking its passengers. Cornelius positioned himself behind a hastily grabbed newspaper where he could overhear the conversation but remain undiscovered. The two thugs recapped the little adventure they had, attempting, badly, to paint themselves in a better light. The man known as Mr. Corbin was clearly displeased at their failure to capture someone who was looking for Degory Priest.
Before he could chastise them further, his attention was drawn to an attractive, well dressed woman in her twenties who had just gotten off of the transport with enough luggage for what Burd considered a lifetime of holiday. She was looking around, with an air of fearful uncertainty, as her transport was already pulling away from the dock, gaining altitude and passing over the upland on its way back to wherever its journey originated. Burd sized her up quickly. Her luggage had several inconsistencies and curiosities for a woman on simple holiday. The covered birdcage, medical bag, and gentleman’s walking stick, most likely a sword cane by the style of the collar, though Burd couldn’t tell at this distance, all bespoke much more to him than would meet an untrained eye. What aroused his suspicions even more, however, was the way Mr. Corbin directly sought her out, walking over to her, his face showing none of the malice that had been directed at his two underlings. Burd did not want to risk getting any closer and only overheard scraps of their conversation over the hustle and bustle of the area. One of the several words he did specifically overhear was Kingship. It was enough to make Burd rethink his search for Degory Priest to include this new development. He was certain there was a connection between the two. Apparently it was the same for Mr. Corbin as he took the young woman’s arm and directed her to a first class ca
r of a steam powered trolley. His two companions loaded all of the young woman’s luggage, the one whom Cornelius struck wincing noticeably with the effort. Once it was stowed, they took their place in a worker class car, separate from Mr. Corbin and his unwitting companion. Smiling, Burd realized a great opportunity had presented itself, as neither the young woman nor the older man would recognize him. As the steam trolley began to slowly pull away, he stripped off his stolen topcoat and hat revealing his much nicer clothing beneath. With a pocket handkerchief he wiped away much of the dirt on his face; enough, he surmised, to pass in the dim light of the steam trolley. A quick jog of a few paces caught him up to the car in which his newly found interest sat, and he boarded with only a cursory glance from a conductor. As fortune would have it, a seat was open directly across from Mr. Corbin and the girl. He sat down in the plush red velvet bench seat, gave them a polite greeting, and relaxed for what was sure to be an interesting and informative ride across the railways of Sherwood Isle.
Chapter XVIII
Vance wiped his hands on his napkin and crumpled up the greasy newsprint that had held his order of Guinness battered fish and chips. Always a slow eater, Afa, Winston, and Wingnut had already finished theirs, and had begun to dip into the ample supply of delicious assorted chocolates they had picked up en route back to the Kingship. They sat at the table in the spacious common room under the warm glow of the vessel’s electric lights to counter the dark gray rainclouds that had constantly threatened, but never delivered a torrential downpour. The prediction that Wingnut would appreciate the Irish styled fish had been an understatement, and the small girl had consumed a substantial amount, her portions surpassing even those of the monolithic Afa. While the traditional tarter sauce had been sufficient for everyone else, the large Polynesian had used a pepper sauce of his own creation so hot and spicy, even the smell of it made Vance’s eyes water if he got too close or inhaled too deeply. Burd had often sardonically suggested to Wingnut she could use it as an engine degreaser, a joke that had just been recapped in his absence.
“What’s takin’ that boy so long?” Winston mused as he reached for yet another chocolate. “I canna guarantee they’ll be any dessert left for the lad.”
Vance smiled, “Yeah, I told Afa earlier I didn’t expect to see him till after dark, though I held out hope. Fish and chips doesn’t always reheat well.”
“I’m certain I can heat it to Cornelius’s liking when he returns,” Afa promised.
“And his will probably taste all the better for it, my friend.”
“Or we could mix some o’ that blazin’ hell juice with his tarter sauce,” Wingnut suggested. “That might be fun to watch for a bit. It’s not like we’re doin’ much else except wastin’ our bloody time parked here on this rock!”
“The past few days have not been unproductive, Wingnut,” Afa calmly stated. “We have all been able to catch up on some things.”
Despite his own frustrations, Vance agreed with Afa. His crew were not the kind of people to let the grass grow beneath their feet. Degory Priest’s mysterious failure to meet them at the appointed time and location had given the crew ample time to see to other tasks. Wingnut had been able to do a full cleaning of one of the boilers. Surprisingly, Afa had offered his assistance. It seemed he was making a conscious effort to deal with his claustrophobia. They had offloaded the shipment of curry powder to a high end restaurant supply vendor, bound for London, and Winston had polished every bit of brass on the bridge. After, he went to meet some old friends over at a tavern known as the Cloven Barrel where he bought several rounds and reminisced about days gone by. No one there had heard about Degory Priest, either. Though the time spent was well worth it, Vance had received his five hundred pounds for transporting the scientific equipment and parts here, and that cargo still remained in his hold. He didn’t like being responsible for someone else’s property any longer than he had to, especially property as expensive and important as this clearly was to Dr. Priest, wherever he was. He realized his crew was looking to him, if not for answers, at least a plan.
“Afa’s right,” Vance began. “We got paid well so far for this trip. I’m not thrilled about the circumstances either. When Burd gets back, we can decide what to do then. Who knows, he may have found out something useful.”
“How long ya plannin’ on keepin’ us here though, Cap’n?” Wingnut asked. “It’s not exactly cheap to stay moored here day after day. King’s Port is the most expensive spot to dock an aethership in Sherwood, don’t ya know? Not to mention we need to burn coal just to keep the bloody lights on!”
Winston chimed in, “She’s right, lad. We vacation here long enough, and we’ll all be in the poor house, mark my words!”
“Well, we could always leave now and forget about Burd. More fish and chips for us that way,” Vance smiled. It was not as if any of them really had to worry about money. Winston and Wingnut liked to bluster more than anything, but they were clearly frustrated with the situation as well. He stroked his chin for a few seconds before replying, “Like I said, let’s see what Burd has learned. If we need to, I can wire Heinrich tomorrow and see if he can go down to the warehouse and talk to Mr. Fassbinder for us. This may be nothing more than a simple delay. Scientists can be somewhat flighty sometimes, in my experience.”
“It seems like a wise course of action, Fekitoa,” Afa offered. The other two nodded and stood up from the table as Wingnut placed the remaining dinner into one of the large refrigerators in the galley. Vance left the common room and walked down the main corridor, intent on retiring to the library until Burd’s return. While simple delay might well be the reason for Degory Priest’s absence, a lifetime of experience told him something much more nefarious could just as easily be the underlying cause. He hoped he was wrong.
Chapter XIX
The steam trolley ride across Sherwood had passed quickly. Cordelia opened a window when they boarded, correctly assuming the fresh moving air would help with her mild headache. The smell of the sea was less prominent here amongst the dark, ancient trees, now that they had made their way out of the Worker's Quarter. The trolley was cutting through Sherwood Forest proper, its wheels sounding with the characteristic click of the rails. The small framed gentleman seated across from them had exchanged no more than a few pleasantries before disappearing behind a newspaper. Once they had gotten underway, she had excused herself to see to Mr. Corbin’s worker’s injured hand back in the working class compartments. These, she had noted, offered a considerably less comfortable ride than she, as a lady, was accustomed to. As she examined the man’s hand, she had come to learn his name was Mathias, Cordelia found two small fractures. After applying some ointment for the pain she rewrapped his hand, much more professionally than he previously had done. Leaving him with instructions, the young doctor returned to her first class car where she passed the time cordially with her escort. Mr. Corbin proved to be a thoroughly engaging conversationalist who listened with the calm patience of a fatherly figure as she recounted her many adventures over the past week. She had revealed perhaps a little more to him than Uncle Degory would have felt prudent, but it had felt so good to be able to confide in someone not involved in her quest in any way.
“That is quite the adventure you’ve had there, Ms. Cady,” Mr. Corbin said, finally. “And I must say, you are none the worse for wear after all of this excitement.”
Cordelia laughed, “I must disagree Mr. Corbin.”
“I have already told you, Ms. Cady, call me John.”
“If you insist, John, but only if you stop referring to me as Ms. Cady.”
“Agreed,” he said with a smile.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “I must look atrocious. I’m not at all suited to flying, it seems, and my hair is an absolute disaster.” With that statement she flipped back an errant lock of hair which had come loose in the constant breeze of the open window. Mr. Corbin generously held her diminutive, ladies top hat for her while she atte
mpted to fix it.
“What is so important about this Kingship?” he asked.
Cordelia spoke with a fair number of hair pins in her teeth, “I’m not entirely sure. My uncle wants to run some experiments and seems to think the Kingship is the perfect vessel to do them upon.”
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