Dawn's Early Light

by Pip Ballantine

  Her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep, though. Wellington, glancing around at the rest of them, wondered if any of them had got real rest since Detroit. His own night had been frustrating. He had slept quite soundly, even though it had been in bed. With Eliza Braun. Hardly in the manner he had pictured, though.

  The priority of Flagstaff had been dousing the fire at Edison’s Illuminating Company. True to his word, Edison had created a bomb that not only turned his workshop into a gigantic torch, but also began a dangerous chain reaction with the surrounding buildings. Many had been lost in the conflagration. What the inventor had underestimated was the tenacity of those men and women living in the Arizona Territories. The fire would not claim Flagstaff once the townspeople rallied and began working to stop it from spreading. The sun had begun to set when the last of it had been extinguished.

  Wellington remembered returning to the suite, Eliza gently guiding him to the bed, and wrapping his arms around her as they fell asleep on top of the blankets, still in their day clothes. It was a strange combination of sweat, dust, smoke, gunpowder, and perfume that tickled his nose; and it was the last thing he remembered before falling asleep. He had awakened three times before the morning’s dawn, but never left her side. That, he thought, would be most improper.

  The next morning, he and Eliza repeated their morning routine as per usual, saying very little to one another. They descended down the staircase to meet Bill, Felicity, Nikola, and the priest, whom they found over a light breakfast to be Van Sommerset of Virginia.

  Wellington had already sent for a specific case from his luggage, but there was another matter needing his attention. He sat down next to Van. “Thank you.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” Van chuckled, with a slight wince. “I’m the one you dragged off the street.”

  “You at least wanted me alive,” he reminded her.

  “Edison wants us dead,” Eliza pointed out.

  Wellington nodded. “So I am thankful for the House of Usher’s tenacity, for once.”

  “Not only are they tenacious, but they know when to make the most of an opportunity,” Bill said. “I heard some folks talkin’. Seems that while the town was fightin’ the fire, there was a break-in at that fancy telescope.”

  “They got the optics,” Felicity said.

  “Speaking of Usher,” Eliza began, looking down at Van, “exactly how were you able to keep a track on us?”

  Van gave a little snort. “I would love to say it’s because I’m part Indian, but I’ve got a soft spot for gadgets.” With her good hand, she pulled up what appeared to be a square pocket watch. Flipping up its cover, Wellington and Eliza looked not at a clock face but a map of Flagstaff. It was something similar to the Ministry’s ETS.

  “We’ve got a tracker on us?” Eliza asked.

  “Your rings.” Van looked to each of them. “Usher apparently had a man tinker with your rings while on your trip over here.”

  Wellington’s eyes went to Eliza’s. She too had reached the same deduction. “That bloke on Apollo’s Chariot. That’s why he had no valuables in his haul,” she said.

  Wellington motioned to Eliza’s Ministry ring. “Looks like I have a new project to complete before I can return to the car, yes?”

  “Actually, Welly,” she said, removing the Ministry ring from his finger, “I can take care of them.” She took her own ring off and placed them together on the floor. Her heel came down on them once, then twice. Eliza narrowed her eyes on them and then struck their remains once more. “There,” she said with a quick gasp. “Fixed.”

  A tall, black case landed with a dull thud in front of Wellington. “Your luggage, sir,” the young porter huffed.

  “Excellent, thank you,” Wellington said, sliding it at an angle for he, Van, and Tesla to see what he would be presenting. “I suggest you all come around here.”

  He pulled a footrest closer to him and flipped back the latches on the black case. From its top section, he pulled out what would have appeared to passersby to be a large book completely constructed of gears, mechanics, and glass, and not paper and leathers as books usually were. Wellington turned the odd contraption one way, then the other, feeling a bit embarrassed that he could not find the valve straightaway. When he finally found the round, blue handle, he gave it three twists, then disengaged a tiny latch. This unlocking parted the device’s “covers,” instantly changing the mechanical book’s appearance to a large central hub of machinery attached by a hinge to a small screen. Sliding out from the front of the hub was a keypad of letters, numbers, and symbols. Wellington then stretched out from the array two coiled cables that hung from the back of the monitor.

  “Now let me think,” he muttered as he began pulling out the smooth, black bricks that were housed deeper inside the case. “Memory Block Gamma should be it.”

  The plugs at the end of the coiled cables fit neatly within Gamma’s sockets. He then checked the hub’s tiny pressure gauge, flipped two switches, and with a puff of steam, the screen flickered to life with a soft amber glow, one word coming into focus for the group.

  COMMAND?

  Wellington cracked his knuckles and typed.

  DISPLAY MAP OF UNITED STATES.

  Gears and cogs turned while small puffs and hisses of steam sounded angrily as they waited.

  REGION? TYPE “A” FOR “ALL.”

  His fingertips danced across the letters in reply.

  SOUTHWEST REGION AND WESTERN COASTLINE.

  “What’s that about?” Eliza asked.

  Wellington spoke as he typed. “It was Edison’s message to us. Remember what he said?”

  “Not particularly, as someone had charged me to disarm a rather nasty incendiary device.”

  “He said that we all have our gates to pass through. If ours was to be the Pearly Gates, then what exactly could his gate be?”

  Eliza gave a slight gasp. “San Francisco. That’s why you mentioned San Francisco. Edison’s heading there?” she asked, turning her eyes to the screen.

  Wellington held up a single finger and then added to the screen a new command.

  OVERLAY RAILROAD NETWORK.

  A few clicks and whistles later. “And there you are,” he said, motioning to the lines appearing almost as cracks in the screen’s glass. “As you can see, there is a direct line from Flagstaff to Sausalito, where a ferry picks up passengers and takes you off to San Francisco. That’s where his endgame will take place.”

  “It has to be,” Tesla replied. “There must be lighthouses in the vicinity, yes?”

  “Oh, there are, partner,” Bill interjected. “Lighthouses and fog signals aplenty. Can’t spit without hitting one.”

  “Do you have that information in here?” asked Eliza.

  Wellington tapped a quick command into the engine and several small dots now appeared on the screen.

  Bill gave a slight whistle. “This ain’t looking easy, folks.”

  “How are we going to narrow down which one is Edison’s?” Felicity asked.

  “Wellington,” Eliza said, staring at the dots decorating the West Coast, “can your analytical engine narrow down the signals to those within a thirty mile radius?”

  “I believe I can.”

  With a few punches of keys, the image winked away from view and then vertical lines of light gradually rendered with each pass a map of northern California, the bay city at its centre with smaller dots representing remaining signals. Wellington pulled at his bottom lip with his top teeth during this sequence and then glanced at the array of finger-sized boilers to the left of the monitor. Already, two of them were empty while Tank Three was almost at half-full.

  Wellington looked up from the back of the display to his partner. “Why thirty miles?”

  “Don’t you remember Edison’s test back in the Carolinas? The target buoy Bill and I saw was rough
ly twenty-five miles offshore.”

  He nodded. “So we are working with a range of thirty miles in either direction, and the further he is away from San Francisco, the better of a lead he will have from the mayhem.” He tapped in another command and the list of signals on the display whittled down to two:

  POINT REYES, CA, USA

  MONTARA, CA, USA

  “Well now, ain’t that something? Cute little contraption there, Johnny Shakespeare.” Bill guffawed. “Time to saddle up, head to San Francisco, and shut down Edison’s anarchist agenda.”

  Wellington and Eliza blinked, then looked over to Felicity.

  “I think he’s been sneaking peeks at some of my political science volumes,” Felicity quipped.

  Tesla cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. “It might help you to know that this isn’t an anarchist’s agenda we’re disrupting. Edison would never intentionally ally himself with the House of Usher unless he had something to gain from it. To Edison, Usher is a resource. An end to a means.”

  “Excuse me,” the priest spoke suddenly.

  Wellington had forgotten that Van was sitting there, in the midst of this. She looked wide-eyed and perhaps a touch overwhelmed, but her eyes went to each and every one of them for a moment. “From what I gather, you all serve at the behest of the United States or British government, so maybe you can tell me, why would anyone do something so terrible?”

  A very valid question, Wellington realised. “The House of Usher, from our previous interactions with them, has but one desire. They are bent on plunging the world into—”

  “Chaos and disorder, yeah, I know that,” Van interrupted. “I have worked with them on two other occasions, so I understand them to an extent. It’s Edison himself that has me pondering. You all are smart people, especially you,” Van said, motioning to Tesla, “but no one here has asked or answered a simple question: why is he wanting to destroy San Francisco?”

  They all looked at one another. They still didn’t know the “why” behind this grand plot of Edison’s.

  “How long have you all been working on this case again?” Van asked.

  “Hold on a second,” Bill said, reaching for his pockets. His right hand landed on a folded-up paper and he unfurled it. He let out a hearty laugh and slapped the newspaper. “I’ve been reading up this morning on what’s been going on out west.”

  Everyone looked at him blankly.

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” he said, turning the San Francisco Chronicle to face everyone:

  CLANKERTONS COLLIDE

  San Francisco to Host Scientific Exposition

  “Seems there’s a clankerton convention in San Francisco and it’s a pretty big shindig from what I’ve been readin’.”

  Felicity’s hand flew to her mouth. “The leading minds of innovation, all in one place!”

  “He’s intending to wipe out potential threats. Then he’ll offer this device to the highest bidder.” Eliza looked at the image on Wellington’s screen. “It’s not mad at all. It’s simply business.”

  “That’s okay.” Bill shrugged. “We got him dead to rights. Just send out a wireless, and we’ll have him—”

  “No, we won’t,” Felicity insisted. “Bill, this is Thomas Edison.”

  “I think I see Miss Lovelace’s reasoning,” Tesla chimed in. “Edison will have considered a number of variables that could affect this experiment. One of those variables, I would speculate, is discovery. He will have a plan for just that contingency.”

  For a moment, no one moved. Wellington felt as if there needed to be a rallying cry of some sort that would get everyone moving; but they all just sat there. Edison was on a train. Had been since last night. Even if they were to stock Wellington’s motorcar with enough water to keep its boilers at full, their speed, while faster than a stagecoach, would never close the gap between them and Edison.

  “You all have to get there.”

  All heads turned to Van, their unexpected ally in all this.

  “Look, Padre—” Bill began.

  “If Edison is going to destroy San Francisco, you all need to get out there.” She held up a finger at Bill, who looked ready to say something. “There are always options.”

  Bill’s mouth shut. Wellington looked at Van, mulling over her words. He looked at his engine, the amber-coloured map of California beginning to fade in front of him.

  “Fort Huachuca,” Bill said suddenly. “If I can get to a wireless, we can get in the air in an hour, two at the most.” He did not seem, however, comforted in any of this good news. “But if I recall, Huachuca is more like a supply base now. The only airships they may be able to spare won’t be battleship class. Maybe cargo transports, but they’re the fast kinds designed to ship equipment coast-to-coast.”

  “That’s just what we need, Bill, and a transport means we can take the car,” Wellington said, glancing at Eliza. “I suggest also getting in contact with a base in San Francisco.”

  “Fair enough,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, Felicity. I need that whip-smart brain of yours for clearance codes and such.”

  The two of them headed for the front desk, producing for the desk clerk credentials that acted as his call to action. They watched in silence as Felicity and Bill were hastily led behind the hotel desk into a back room.

  “And what of me?” Tesla asked.

  “It will be a tight fit,” Wellington said, sizing up Tesla, “but you will be coming with us. If the death ray is in a final firing sequence, we will need you to deactivate it.”

  “You will be able to add ‘field agent’ to your repertoire,” Eliza quipped.

  Tesla nodded, albeit, rather timidly. “I’ll return to the workshop meanwhile. Fetch any tools I may need.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “In my youth, I avoided a life in the military. It seems fate has brought me back around to it. If I believed in fate that is . . .”

  The analytical engine collapsed on itself as Wellington gently brought the monitor down. Once again, the device resembled a huge book of gears, cogs, and mechanics. He turned to the priest, Eliza taking a seat next to him.

  “And then there was one,” Van said with a crooked smile.

  “Thank you,” Eliza began, “with coming forward about Usher. Knowing that there are two agendas at work here provided plenty of insight with Edison.”

  “And thank you for not taking me into custody after our tussle with Edison’s men,” Wellington added. Van looked at him incredulously. The archivist shrugged. “Well, it needed to be said. You could have remained committed to your bounty, even after we had saved your life.”

  Van chuckled. “When I took this job, I had a bad feeling about it.” She reclined her head and rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think that maybe I have been at this for too long.”

  “Won’t the House of Usher come after you?” Eliza asked.

  “No, they are much smarter than that. I heard they tried something like that with a hunter they felt left her job incomplete. They lost six of their order that night.” Van paused and then asked, “If I may be so bold to ask, exactly why have they made you such a priority?”

  Wellington cleared his throat, hoping his skin was not turning scarlet. He could feel a sudden sweat on the back of his neck. “It’s a long story.”

  “I know I’d like to hear it as well,” Eliza said brightly, shooting him a look.

  “It is also very complicated,” he retorted. Wellington rapped his fingertips lightly against his analytical engine and added, “I have certain skills that the House of Usher deem invaluable.”

  “You’re a crack shot, I’ll give you that,” Van attested.

  “It goes a bit deeper than that,” Wellington replied gently.

  The priest nodded. “I won’t say I understand because quite frankly I don’t. The things I’ve heard and seen since being around y’all has provide
d quite the yarn. I’m thinking I should just retire with the notion that San Francisco is going to be okay.”

  “But,” Eliza said, “we haven’t done anything yet.”

  “No, but you will,” Van said with a warm smile. She then took up Wellington’s hands with her good hand, and the squeeze she gave surprised him with its strength, as well as with warmth and sincerity. “I have faith.”

  The archivist smiled. The plan unfolding in his mind offered so many variables for failure, but it was all they had. However, when he looked at Van, felt her grip on his, something—no, he was not certain of what it was, but something—assured him that this was the right path to follow.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Wherein Wellington Books, Eliza Braun, and New Friends Drop in to Say “Hello”

  Wellington awoke to a poke in his sides. The engines of the USAA Sherman that droned in Wellington’s ears had lulled him into a deep sleep. His motorcar’s tumble seat, it seemed, was more comfortable than he had realised.

  The waking jab had been dealt by Felicity, and her expression was not nearly as friendly as it had once been. Mending fences with Eliza had in turn broken them with the librarian.

  “Thought you might like to watch the birds launch,” she said in a cool tone, before marching off. Despite that lackluster offer, Wellington was interested, stretched himself awake, and moved further aft towards the loading ramp. He checked his pocket watch. They had been in the air for several hours.

  His eyes immediately fell on the row of gleaming brass eagles perched inside the hangar bay. Each was an immaculate example of craftsmanship. Bill was watching him examine them with a grin on his face, and Wellington was well aware he liked having one over on him.

  “Elegant design,” Wellington conceded. “Some kind of aerial surveillance I believe?”

  Felicity was the one that answered however. “Indeed, Wellington. Our R&D department has spent quite some time on them.”

  “If there’s something within thirty miles of San Francisco that isn’t supposed to be there,” Bill said, “they’ll find it.” He threw a lever, making a huge lamp to one side of Wellington switch from green to red, and tilted his hat down over his eyes as sunlight and wind poured into the bay.