Aether Spirit

by Cecilia Dominic

  Finally after what seemed like hours, they arrived at their destination. The horseman rode through a set of open doors, which were closed after them with a clang. She was handed down to rough hands in what looked like a courtyard, at least from what she could tell without her glasses. She thought about screaming for help and took a breath to do so, but a low chuckle stopped her.

  “Screaming won’t do you any good here, darlin’. Welcome to Fort Temperance. We heard you were right helpful to Mister O’Connell and want you to do the same magic for us.”

  “Never.” But it was difficult to sound intimidating when all she could see were people-shaped blobs. “Where is he?”

  “He’s dining with General Lee. I’ll bring you to him. The general’s been wanting to meet you. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the sight of you in those trousers. I sure am.”

  Claire’s cheeks burned, but she held her head high as they marched her through the dark broken up by glowing blurs. She could just hear Chad scolding her for giving herself up to the Confederates through her stubborn, stupid actions.

  But how had they known what she looked like, or picked her out in the dark?

  Her captor steered her into some sort of building, and the first thing she noticed was the smell of food. Then, as she approached the table, she saw people-sized blurs.

  “Now you be sure to speak to General Lee respectfully, Miss. He doesn’t have much patience for Yankee prisoners who’re too big for their britches.”

  Claire could make out that the general had a full head of white hair and a white beard, and his quavering voice confirmed his age. “And who have we here?”

  “Claire!”

  “Patrick?” The hue of his hair and beard were unmistakable. His hands took hers and guided her to a chair.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked, and she quailed from the quiet fury in his tone even though she knew he was defending her.

  “No, but I lost my glasses.” She resisted the urge to giggle at the irony—they wanted her to help build another aether weapon, but she couldn’t see a damn thing.

  The general spoke. “Sergeant Beaker, see if you can find some glasses for the young lady. How strong are they, Miss McPhee?”

  She thought about telling him she was Doctor—not Miss—McPhee, but she didn’t want to give them any more information than they already had, especially if it would up the ransom amount. “Moderately strong.”

  “All right, we’ll see what we can do. Meanwhile, I was just discussing the terms of my proposition with Mister O’Connell.”

  “Proposition?” Claire narrowed her eyes at the general. Well, in his direction.

  “Yes, you see, in exchange for his and your release back to the Union, you will build us a duplicate of the marvelous weapon you’ve given them, help us even the playing field.”

  “You stole the specifications,” Patrick said. “What do you need us for?”

  “Our research team couldn’t stabilize the aether at the right frequency for the weapon, and then when they got close, they couldn’t make it work with the lens configuration you specified.”

  Claire kept her expression neutral as though she was listening to a patient’s particularly horrific story. She hadn’t told Patrick, but she had communicated with the aether to make it cooperate. She also expected that if there was another battle, the gun wouldn’t work because of the bargain she’d struck with it.

  General Morley had been right—the Confederates had gotten desperate—and she swallowed her disgust at how General Lee had sacrificed his own men to draw out the Union weapon…and her and Patrick.

  Although old, he was still as ballsy as his reputation painted him.

  “Eat something, Miss McPhee. Our fare is humble here, but we have enough to share.”

  She hesitated, but the food smelled delicious, simple and homey. Plus, if they were going to poison her, how would she help make the weapon for them? She took a bite and soon finished what was on her plate, at least from what she could see.

  A dark-haired shape moved into view beside the general. Even without her glasses, Claire could see the woman’s hourglass shape, and she felt a familiar contempt.

  “Nanette,” she said.

  “Yes, dear. It’s me. I delivered Mister O’Connell to the general and told them what you looked like. Your charming Irishman tried to convince me the weapon was all him, but I knew better.”

  Claire kept her mouth shut over the retort she wanted to make. Let these people keep talking so she could figure out a way out of the situation.

  “You see,” Nanette continued, “I found the model when I went through his things, and his plans, but he hadn’t finished the specifications on how the aether would actually be concentrated and discharged from the weapon. But then I found these and recognized your last name. You’re the daughter of the famous tinkerer Allen McPhee. Why didn’t you say you and Doctor Radcliffe had been an item?”

  “Here you go, Miss.” Someone handed Claire a pair of glasses, and she put them on. The prescription wasn’t quite right, but she could see if she squinted. Now she looked at the two objects in front of her, a ring and a letter that looked like it had been read a thousand times. She picked up the letter and held it close to her face.

  “This is my father’s handwriting.” Now tears of grief joined the stinging eye strain. Dear Chadwick, Claire’s mother and I are very sorry to have to tell you this… She rubbed her temple. Her fingers found the ring, and she picked it up.

  “Claire, don’t,” Patrick said. Now she could see how his hands were tied together, and whoever held the long end of the rope kept him from reaching for her.

  “This is the answer to my question from earlier, isn’t it?” The small ruby winked at her in the candle-light. It sparked red, and Claire imagined that Snow White must have felt the same way she did when gazing at the apple held by the queen witch—it was too tempting.

  She studied it more closely, and a roaring sound filled her ears, not so much blank sound as a mixture of noises, of which she could catch fragments.

  “Brycie curls, Brycie curls, he’s got hair just like a girl’s.”

  “A ruby? Is that it?”

  “Hush, it’s beautiful.”

  “Claire McPhee, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

  “He proposed on my eighteenth birthday. My father made him wait two years from when we fell in love because he wanted me to be an adult and make my own decisions.”

  She slid the ring on her finger, and with a white-hot sword that split her head in two, the world went black.

  * * * * *

  Chad stood in Major Longchamp’s office and did his best to withstand General Morley’s berating. Whatever the man said to him, Chad had been twice as cruel to himself, accepting all the blame for not listening to Claire and allowing her to go into the battle zone and be captured. He nodded while his mind already made plans as to how he was going to get her back.

  “Trust me, Doctor Radcliffe, I know how difficult it is to let the women you love do what they need to do, but it’s better to agree and have them do it under your supervision than have them try it themselves.”

  Chad nodded. He wasn’t going to bring up the general’s daughter and her forbidden love. Perhaps General Morley wasn’t even thinking of Emma and Thaddeus, who now lay next to each other behind the ruins of his house. Major Longchamp had allowed the burial over the protests of those who didn’t want a Confederate soldier to have a place of honor with the family. Chad had asked for it so the girl would stop bothering Claire. He hoped that she was at peace, although he wasn’t sure if it would be helpful to have a ghost on his side.

  Now he rubbed his eyes. If he even believed in such things. Had he really allowed himself to be drawn so far into the delusions of ghosts and spiritual travel to other places, if he recalled what had happened during his nap the
day after the attack?

  “We’ll have to attack Fort Temperance in the morning,” General Morley said. “Use La Reine to destroy it.”

  Panic jolted through Chad. “But sir, if you do that, you’ll kill Claire and Patrick.”

  “And keep the Confederacy from torturing them or otherwise coercing them into making a weapon that will cause the war to go on or, even worse, force the government to negotiate for peace with the rebels. Think of your people.”

  Chad resented the reminder, but he acknowledged his divided loyalties. Of course he wanted slavery to end, but he couldn’t fathom not trying to rescue Patrick and Claire. He had some notion that she’d find happiness somewhere with another man.

  “I can see you’re torn,” the general said. “Wouldn’t they make the noble sacrifice of their lives to end the war, free millions of people?”

  “I cannot speak for them.” And he couldn’t. If he hadn’t tried to tell Claire what she felt and thought, she would still be here, safely on base, and they’d have more time.

  “Think about it for the night, but if I don’t hear from you, I’ll attack at dawn.” That decided, he turned to Major Longchamp. “Dennis, do you want to have a late dinner?”

  Longchamp shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t eat on a tragic stomach.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  General Morley walked out, leaving Chad feeling numb.

  No, numb wasn’t the right word. It was more a sense of despair so deep he would stay lost in it. To lose Patrick and Claire? He would mourn them, but he would also mourn his lack of foresight. How could he have possibly prevented this terrible moment?

  “I’m sorry,” Major Longchamp said. “I know you’re attached to the girl, and I’ll miss the Irishman. He was always good for a laugh over a pint or two.”

  Chad nodded. He didn’t drink much alcohol, but he’d go along with Patrick to town, where they’d stop at the one pub and have a good time flirting and arguing over what exactly had happened in Paris and Rome. Patrick had always maintained there was something supernatural going on. Chad had always argued for science, but now he would have to allow for the possibility of otherworldly interference.

  He put his face in his hands. He could admit when he was wrong, but he wanted the chance to tell Patrick he was right. As usual.

  “He knew something like this might happen,” Longchamp said after the door closed. “He left you something.”

  “He what?”

  “He wasn’t stupid. He may not have been a trained soldier, but he knew the risks.” He took a key from his pocket and opened the drawer in front of him. “He made me swear I wouldn’t give this to anyone but you.” He handed Chad a letter.

  Chadwick—

  If you’re reading this, the worst has happened, and I’ve been captured, hopefully not with La Reine. If it’s just me, don’t bother coming for me. But if they’ve taken Claire—and I know they’ll want to, for I couldn’t have fashioned the weapon without her, and her father’s work is well-known—I’ve put together some things to increase your chances of getting her back. Clever girl, she almost caught me at them, but luckily she needed to sleep sometimes. They’ve all got their uses, and Major Longchamp will show you how to work them. Good luck, and I hope to see you again, happy and whole with Claire.

  P

  “He’s not heavy-handed at all, is he?” Chad asked.

  “Sadly, I wouldn’t know,” Longchamp told him. “Now, for the gadgets. You’ll be well-equipped.” He walked around the office and pulled various items from cupboards and drawers, assembling them on the desk. Chad looked at the motley assortment of devices and clothing and couldn’t help but be reminded of how he and the others had come together in Europe. Claire would have made a fine addition to the team.

  He wondered how Iris and the others fared in the Ottoman Empire and if all was as he’d dreamt it.

  “Focus, Doctor Radcliffe,” Longchamp said. “You need to get to Fort Temperance and back before dawn, or all is lost.”

  “I’m paying attention.”

  “Good. Let’s start with these.” He handed Chad a pair of goggles attached to a hat. “They’re tinted yellow to help with vision at night.”

  “Ah, right. Clever Patrick.”

  “Oh, that’s just the beginning. Take the gloves, for example.”

  Chad slid them on his hands and noticed they buckled and had some sort of support in them. The fingertips felt hard, and when Chad curled his fingers, metal claws came out of the end.

  “They’re to help you climb vertical surfaces if needed. The thing with the rope is a hook and grapple. It’s steam-powered. Go ahead and start it now so the chamber can pressurize.”

  “Would you mind?” Chad asked and handed it back to him. “I’m no good with these things.”

  Longchamp obliged, and the device made a hissing noise.

  “Oh, and don’t forget these.” He handed Chad a fuse and a traditional pistol with an extension on the end.

  “Okay, this is a flare, but what’s the extra bit on the gun?”

  “Mister O’Connell was working on a silencing mechanism. It’s not perfect, but it will muffle the sound of the shot. The cloak is slightly reflective like the grass in this area, so if you stay low and stick to the shadows, it will reduce your visibility to others. Finally, as I said, the goggles will help you see at night.”

  “Why are they attached to a helmet?” Clever Patrick. Chad wondered what sort of special properties the head covering had.

  Longchamp cocked an eyebrow. “To keep your head warm. It’s chilly out.”

  “Right. Thank you.”

  Longchamp helped him to suit up. Chad felt ridiculous, but he knew he’d be happy for all the gear before long.

  “You know to head due south. If you go at a good pace, the fort will be about an hour away. Just try not to get lost. Remember what’s at stake.”

  “I won’t forget, don’t worry.” He shook Longchamp’s hand. “And thank you for everything.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Mister O’Connell when you see him. And God speed.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Fort Temperance, 3 March 1871

  When Claire slumped forward, Patrick caught her as best he could with his bound hands.

  “Hold her so she doesn’t fall,” he told Nanette. The nurse-traitor rolled her eyes but complied.

  “What’s wrong with the girl? Is she ill?” Lee waved a hand in front of his face. “We don’t need anyone bringing more sickness into Fort Temperance. The season’s already rough as it is.”

  “No, it was seeing the ring,” Patrick said. “It’s a long story. What were you thinking?” he asked Nanette.

  “That she was manipulating Doctor Radcliffe’s sympathies with all her swooning and fainting.” She placed the back of one hand on her forehead and looked up while saying in a falsetto voice. “Oh, help me, Doctor, I cannot control my mind.”

  “Well, she canna. And you’ve just eliminated any chance we’ll help you build your own aether gun. Not that there was any to begin with.”

  “Heroic words, Mister O’Connell, but are you willing to stand by them?” Lee asked. He slumped back, and his mouth twisted like he hated to ask, “What would you say if I told you that the girl’s life will depend on your cooperation?”

  Patrick felt sorry for the old general, who seemed to be play-acting the villain to get his way, but he wouldn’t let Claire be threatened. “I would say you’re a daft old man because I need her sane and conscious to calibrate part of the weapon.”

  He shut his mouth before he told them any more. He’d almost slipped and told them about the lens. He reminded himself to focus, that he’d left enough tools with Longchamp for just such an emergency.

  “And what part would that be?”

  Patrick deliberately didn’t open his mou
th.

  The general and Nanette exchanged looks.

  “Have some of the boys put them in the prison. Perhaps if they go long enough without food and water, they’ll start to work for their supper.”

  “I can only warn you that General Morley will not take this lightly,” Patrick said. “And by keeping us here, you’re risking your fort and your men. I know that one of the walls was damaged by La Reine. It will only take one or two more hits to crumble it and that entire side of the base.”

  “And what do you think he’ll be destroying, boy? This is a dying military installation in a dying cause. I’m not gonna lie, you’re our last hope. But if General Morley wants to take me out, he’s going to take you and the young lady too. Then the Union will only have one of those fancy light guns.”

  Patrick stood when one of the guards tugged on the rope that bound his hands. “One is all they need.”

  Lee turned a mottled shade of red and looked at the guards. “Put him and the young lady in the prison. Let them await their doom with the rest of the Union slime.”

  One of the guards picked up Claire, and Patrick was relieved he handled her carefully. He moved closer to Patrick once they stepped into the chill air and whispered such that Patrick had to strain to hear him.

  “I’m loyal to the Confederacy, but I can see the writing on the wall, and I can’t cotton a young lady being mistreated. I’ll put her with you so you can watch over her. Just remember me when the time comes.”

  “Aye, I’ll do my best.”

  The soldier did as promised, but he didn’t untie Patrick’s hands. That would have been too obvious help, Patrick supposed. Meanwhile, Patrick stood over Claire where she lay on the rough bench. He didn’t think she was aware of what was happening, but tears ran down her cheeks.

  “They could have at least given you sweet dreams, lass. Don’t worry. Your love will come for you.”

  And I hope he makes it, or we’re all lost.

  * * * * *

  The almost full moon illuminated the high clouds, which cast strange shadows that scudded over the bluffs. The landscape looked alive, and Chad hoped he could mimic the motion so he seemed part of it. He stayed away from the few trees left because they could hold snipers that would take a shot at anything that looked suspicious. By the time he crossed the border, he was sweating under the helmet and cape, but he dared not remove them.