Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03]

by Skies of Gold

  He glanced at her hand, inhaled long and slow, then finally said, “Let’s go.”

  They climbed down the ladder. A gust of wind coming off the bay lifted her skirts slightly, but she didn’t care if any of the townsfolk caught a glimpse of her prosthetic leg. It was part of her, more evidence that she’d endured.

  The curious citizens of Lochboisdale quieted as Kali and Fletcher approached. No one spoke at all. Even when Fletcher asked, “Telegraph office?” a man only pointed the way, his eyes round as sand dollars. The crowd parted to let them pass. Yet as she and Fletcher walked down the street, the people followed them—at a safe distance.

  “An airship, a Man O’ War, and an East Indian half-blood with a mechanical leg,” Kali murmured. “Likely the most excitement they’ve had in generations.”

  “They’ll write songs about it,” he answered, “and tell tales around the fire. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Like gods, they were. Disheveled gods.”

  She fought a slightly hysterical giggle. Being in a town, even one as small as this, tightened all her nerves like wires around a battery terminal. They passed homes and shops—including a pastry shop, which nearly made her stop. The lure of fresh-cooked food, that she hadn’t needed to skin or gut, made her stomach take notice.

  Fletcher caught her longing glance at the pies and cakes displayed in the window. A similar look of hunger crossed his face. “After we’ve sent this message, I’ll buy us so many pies they’ll need a tetrol-powered wheelbarrow to roll us back to the ship.”

  “I’ll hold you to that plan.” She distracted herself from her tempest of thoughts by cataloguing all the different kinds of pastries she’d eat. Chicken and mushroom. Smoked trout. No steak and kidney, though—she kept her mother’s belief, and ate no beef. And Kali wouldn’t eat any rabbit or pheasant any time soon. She’d had enough of both.

  Her thoughts kept her uneasiness at bay, until they reached the telegraph office. A man stood in front, his hands knotted together. The little cap he wore marked him as the telegraph operator. He looked both excited and terrified by Fletcher’s appearance outside his workplace. She barely drew the man’s notice.

  “We need your telegraph wires,” Fletcher said without preamble.

  The operator coughed in surprise. “I assure you, ah, sir, that I can send any message you request.”

  “Can’t use your machine,” Fletcher answered.

  “We’ve brought our own,” Kali added.

  “B-but . . .” the operator stammered.

  “This concerns the safety of our nation.” Fletcher sounded exactly like a captain in Her Majesty’s Aerial Navy, a man who would brook no foolishness nor have his time wasted.

  Without taking his eyes off of Fletcher, the telegraph operator pushed open the door to the office. As he took a step backward, inside, Fletcher said, “Absent yourself for the next half hour.”

  “They’ll s-sack me if I leave my p-post,” the man stuttered.

  “The safety of our nation,” Kali reminded him, and followed Fletcher inside. She shut the door and turned the key. As the operator and other townsfolk gathered on the sidewalk, staring in through the window, she drew the shades. The people outside cast shadows onto the fabric, like a puppet show.

  She turned to find Fletcher waiting beside the telegraph with the typing device. “This won’t take but moments,” she said, stepping forward. Carefully, she began disconnecting the wires that led to the telegraph. Once the wires were disengaged, she motioned for Fletcher to put the typing machine on a table and drag it close enough for her to join the leads. The process of connecting these wires went a little slower, since she wasn’t as familiar with the technology.

  “Normally,” she said, splicing wires, “an airship has a port attached to its hull, and this port connects to specially engineered telegraph poles situated around the globe, enabling the ship to communicate with the Admiralty. In code, of course,” she added, glancing at the typing device.

  Fletcher, watching her intently, nodded. “All airships are required to regularly dock at telegraph poles to send reports and receive orders.” His lips quirked. “But the Persephone’s port was pulverized when we crashed. Bringing us to this fine town, and giving you yet another opportunity to dazzle me with your engineering skills.”

  She threw him a quick look. “Have I not dazzled you enough? There’s an airship, not a mile from here, that’s testament to my ability.”

  He held up his hands. “Consider me well and truly awed.”

  They volleyed light words in an attempt to lacquer over their apprehension. But within minutes, she had the coding device connected. She stepped back as Fletcher turned the mechanism’s crank, creating a charge. The machine hummed to life.

  Here it was. Their link back to the world.

  He pulled a chair over to the table and sat, then drew a deep breath. The moment his fingers pressed the keys, he would be resurrected. For a second, he only rested his fingertips on the keys. She thought perhaps he might tremble slightly at the prospect of returning from the dead. But no. There was an enforced stillness in him, as if he were gathering himself.

  Then he began to type. His fingers slipped a few times on the keys. “These damn things aren’t meant for oversized Man O’ War hands,” he muttered. But he kept on typing, punching in a message as she looked on, trying to decipher the code.

  “It’s done.” He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, the chair creaking beneath him. “Now we wait.”

  Minutes passed. She paced the length of the small office. There were advertisements pinned to a board—rooms to let, fishing nets repaired, an amateur theatrical performance—but none of these held her interest for long. She kept waiting for that moment, that one, fraught moment, when the answer would come, and everything changed. Not even a newspaper trumpeting the plans for rebuilding Liverpool could distract her.

  She jumped when the machine clacked to life. A thin ribbon of paper spooled out of a slot in the side. Fletcher held the paper as it emerged, scanning it. She peered over his shoulder. The strange shapes punched into the ribbon made no sense to her.

  But they did to Fletcher. He cursed as he continued to read the message.

  Once the ribbon stopped moving, he sent another message. Fraught silence fell as he waited for a response, too strained for her to break it with questions. This went on for several more exchanges. Until the machine went silent, and he didn’t reply.

  Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, his brows lowered. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the glass in the window at the back of the telegraph office shook from the force of his brooding.

  “What?” she demanded. “What did they say?”

  He glanced up from beneath his dark brows, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “A good deal of shock that I wasn’t dead. Relief and gratification, too. They want me to report to headquarters as soon as possible.”

  She knew it was coming, but the inevitable loss hit her like a wrench to the stomach. Swallowing around her hurt, she pressed, “What of Mayhew and Redmond?”

  “Redmond’s in Greenland to investigate enemy incursions close to the Americas, including building supply stations. The Hapsburgs had been beaten in California by some audacious upstarts—local law and an Upland Ranger—and gone quiet.” Judging by Fletcher’s grim expression, the news wasn’t comforting. “Intelligence thinks that might be the Huns gathering strength to try something new. So they sent Redmond to look into it. He has his wife on his ship—one of the best intelligence agents there is.”

  “If it’s an espionage operation,” Kali mused, “then Mayhew wouldn’t know about Redmond’s whereabouts.”

  “That’s the goddamn twist,” he growled. “Mayhew had been on leave, looking for us. Then he’d been reassigned to the Circe. Except he jumped ship two weeks ago. Just the same time that the Circe received a communication about Redmond’s assignment.”

  She felt her own frown knot between her brows. “Mayhew must’
ve seen the communiqué. He knew he had his target, and needed the mechanical heart to make the final transition. So he found us. And his damn strongbox.” She paced in a small circle. “They’ll warn Redmond, though, about Mayhew.”

  “No telegraph poles in Greenland to get the word out. And no goddamn ships close to his location.”

  She continued, striving for optimism, “Redmond will be able to defend himself, certainly.”

  Fletcher shoved back from the table, dark as a massing storm. “Mayhew will fight dirty. Maybe try to pass himself off as a sanctioned Man O’ War and get close enough to strike a killing blow. No way to know.”

  She couldn’t abandon hope. “The other British airships—”

  “Won’t arrive in time,” he growled.

  “There has to be a British Man O’ War that’s close enough to intercept Mayhew.”

  He held her gaze. “I am.”

  Kali looked at him as if he’d suggested taking on the Devil armed only with a rusty paring knife.

  “No.” She stepped close and grabbed handfuls of his coat. “He’ll be further along in his transformation. He’ll have an airship that isn’t half-wrecked and armed with just one ether cannon and one Gatling gun. Plus he’s mad as a bloody mortician.”

  “I won’t sit here with my thumb up my damn arse and do nothing.” He cupped her head. “You said that I don’t just bring destruction—I bring safety, too. But if I don’t go after Mayhew, the world becomes a hell of a lot less safe. It’s down to me.”

  As he spoke, a sense of rightness filled him, like cold winter sun. It was time to fight again.

  Her jaw hardened. “When will you leave?” she asked tightly.

  “Soon as I get word of my plans to the Admiralty.” Goodbye would come so fast. Too fast. But he had no choice. He could only hope to survive the battle, and maybe, just maybe, they’d see each other again.

  She released her hold on his coat. Ran her hands over the fabric to smooth it. Then nodded.

  “We’re not leaving without buying some of those pies,” she said.

  “We,” he said. “Damn it—no.”

  She only stared up at him, completely immune to the anger and authority in his voice. “This territory’s already been gone over. You need an engineer. Someone to man those two guns.”

  He gripped her shoulders, holding her away from him. “That was just for the flight here. I’m not taking you into sodding battle. If you’re hurt, or worse—there’d be no coming back for me.”

  “I’m not sending you after Mayhew on your own.” Her eyes gleamed brightly. “This is our fight, Fletcher. Yours and mine. Together.”

  He felt certain that his heart would have burst from his chest, if the telumium plate hadn’t held it in place.

  “Battle is rough,” he said, his voice a jagged rumble. “Bullets. Blood.”

  She raised a brow. “I’ve seen all of that. Lived through it.”

  “But,” he asked gently, “can you face it again?” He hated to think of her fear. “All men going into battle are afraid, but I’ve seen crewmen freeze in the middle of a fight. Those are the men who don’t survive.”

  Her face paled. But she lifted her chin. “I won’t live my life afraid of my fear. And I won’t let you face Mayhew alone.”

  “I’ll have the local law throw you behind bars to keep you from coming with me.”

  She shook her head. “We’re beyond that, you and I. We trust each other to make our own decisions. Honor my choice to fight beside you.”

  His throat felt raw, his eyes hot. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Goddamn you. The minute I saw you on that island, I should’ve known.”

  Her own arms came up to hold him tightly. “Known what?”

  “That I could live through an airship crash, but I’d have nothing to protect myself from you.”

  From his position in the pilot house, Fletcher kept one eye on the shrinking land beneath the airship, and the other on Kali, standing at the railing. She wore goggles and a cloak as protection again the wind. Her stance was looser than it had been when they’d first taken to the sky. She grew more comfortable with each minute they flew. Comfortable with flying, maybe, but she had her back straight as a level, a sign he’d come to recognize. She was afraid of what lay ahead.

  Fear rimed his veins, too. Not for himself. Death was an old friend, one he’d met too many times to reckon. His body, too, thrummed in preparation for battle. As if he’d been waiting for a real fight. That’s what he’d been built for—war.

  No, not just war. Protection.

  He couldn’t fail. Mayhew was too dangerous, and Redmond too valuable.

  And yet none of that meant anything compared to keeping Kali safe. If there had been any way to leave her behind, he’d have done so, and gladly. But he did need her for the upcoming clash with Mayhew. A fact that both tore him into scrap and gleamed through him like the biggest, brightest electrical lamp, rivaling the sun.

  Once they’d put South Uist far behind them, Kali began examining their two weapons. The ether cannon was mounted portside, and they’d taken the Gatling gun from the bow and positioned it starboard. No side would go undefended. But if there was any ship-to-ship combat, Kali would be the one firing the weapons while he piloted the Persephone.

  Before they’d departed South Uist, he’d shown her how to use both guns, and cautioned her about spending too much ammunition. Their supply was limited. Every shot had to count.

  She’d been pale as ash as he’d instructed her on loading, aiming, and firing the weapons. Pale, but resolute.

  Goddamn it if there wasn’t a way to replicate himself, so she wouldn’t be in the line of fire. There’d been wild rumors that a scientist in China had been experimenting with something called bio-emulation, creating perfect duplicates of living matter—plants, animals, even, possibly people. Why couldn’t that sodding scientist have made good on his promises?

  Fletcher leaned out of the pilot house. “Kali!”

  She made her way back to him. As she crossed the deck, her cloak and skirts clung to her, revealing the curve of her waist, the line of her legs. A long while would pass before he’d get the chance to touch those curves once more. He might never again get the chance, in truth. The thought made his hands ache.

  “It’s about a thousand miles to the easternmost edge of Greenland,” he said once she’d returned to the pilot house. “I’m going to push the Persephone to her limits so we can get there before Mayhew, or at least intercept him.”

  She nodded. “How long will it take us to get there?”

  “At top speed, six and a half, seven hours.”

  Behind her goggles, her eyes widened. “The force of the wind topside . . .”

  “A brutal place for anyone, even the strongest crewman. Only safe spot is the pilot house.” He held her gaze. “You’ll have to stay below.”

  “Or in the pilot house,” she countered.

  He made a show of looking around the small space. No place to sit, nowhere comfortable to rest. It was meant for one thing only: steering the ship. “Seven hours is the minimum,” he said, turning back to her. “I checked the maps and charts before we shoved off. Most of the inhabited places in Greenland are on the coast—the middle’s just a huge field of ice and glaciers.”

  “The enemy won’t build their bases near habitations,” she murmured.

  “Inland won’t work, either. Those bases, if they exist, would need to be resupplied, and they can’t always use airships. Too noticeable. They’ll use seafaring vessels.”

  She frowned. “So if there are enemy bases on Greenland, they’d be on the coast, too.”

  “Redmond’s going to know that,” Fletcher said. “He’ll be covering the coastline, traveling counterclockwise since the east is closest to England. But he’s been on this mission for at least a week—”

  “So he’ll probably have made it around the northernmost tip of the island,” she deduced. “He could already be on the west c
oast by now.”

  “Mayhew’s not stupid. He’ll have figured this out, too. Either we stop him or we intercept and warn Redmond.” Fletcher clenched his jaw. “Either way, we’ll get there faster if we cross the center of the island. That’s hundreds more miles. At top speed.”

  She leaned against the back of the pilot house, eyeing him. “Seven more hours, then. A total of fourteen.”

  “Cold, long hours.” He nodded toward the deck beneath his boots. “Stay below. Rest. Keep warm.”

  “And leave you alone up here?” She scowled.

  “I’ve got food”—they’d purchased a mountain of pies and other provisions in Lochboisdale, and half of it was heaped in the pilot house—“I don’t need much sleep, and the cold doesn’t trouble me.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he added, “Three months I was alone on that tiny island. Fourteen hours on my own is a speck of time.”

  For a while, she said nothing. Only stared out the glass, at the empty deck, and the sea and sky that surrounded them.

  She spoke in a voice so low that a normal man wouldn’t have heard her above the wind and drone of the turbines. “Perhaps I want to spend those specks of time with you.”

  Kali, with him as he flew. It filled him with a strange sense of being opened, as if some interior cabinet was thrown wide and sunlight poured in, illuminating all the places inside that had been dark and hidden.

  “Stay, then,” he answered. “But I’m sending you below the minute I see you start to nod off or shiver.”

  She gave him a clipped nod, and tucked her arms beneath her cloak.

  “I’m giving her full throttle,” he said. “Brace yourself.”

  She planted her feet. “Ready.”

  He pushed on the throttle, opening up the engines, urging the airship as fast as she could go without venting the ether tanks. The Persephone shuddered, as if throwing off a long sleep. Then, she raced forward.

  Kali caught her breath. Even he could feel it, that subtle, wondrous pressure against his body. The pilot house protected them, but didn’t shield them from the sensation of racing like a levanter wind through the sky. He’d only undertaken this kind of speed in times of great emergency, the crew ordered to remain below until the ship had slowed. But it was a marvelous thing, letting his ship unleash the fullness of her power, him at the wheel.