“It is well known that Mars’s gravity is less burdensome than that of Earth,” Fox countered.
“Reflect upon your own experiences, Captain,” Arabella said. “Would you not rather, upon arrival in port, be able to disport yourself as you please, rather than take to your bed?” That argument clearly had influence, and she pressed it. “And upon arrival at Venus, immediate action may be required to free Captain Singh from prison … and wreak the desired havoc upon Napoleon. Would you not rather retain your full physical powers for that eventuality?”
As Arabella spoke, Fox’s face showed that he was giving her point some consideration. But when she finished, he paused, firmed his jaw, and took a breath to deliver a stern and final rebuke.
At that moment, to Arabella’s astonishment, Lady Corey spoke up. “I should like to take a turn at the pedals myself.”
“My lady?” Fox sputtered.
“I insist upon it,” she said, raising her chin. “Although it has been many years since I have undertaken an aerial journey myself, I have frequently observed the debilitation wreaked upon the limbs of recent arrivals by the long voyage from Earth to Mars. Indeed, some … some women of a certain age find that they never completely recover their powers.” Her gaze upon Fox’s face was firm and unyielding. “If I am to serve as a proper chaperone to this … headstrong young woman, I must take any step, however distasteful, to retain my capacities.”
Fox, nonplussed, glanced from Lady Corey to Arabella to Liddon. “Miss Ashby may have a point, sir,” Liddon said. “I wouldn’t mind being able to, ah, disport myself in port, the way I did when I was a foremast jack.” He shook off an apparently pleasant memory and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s worth a try, sir.”
Fox gritted his teeth and blew out a breath through his nose. “I suppose I must defer to my betters in this,” he growled, nodding to Lady Corey, who returned the acknowledgement with more grace than it deserved. “But the course, Liddon. What think you of the course?”
Liddon paged through the sailing-plan. “It is unusual, as you said, sir. I’ve never seen the like. And these transfers could be tricky.” He tapped the page. “But with every man, and woman I suppose, pedaling, and the help of the greenwood box”—he gestured to Arabella’s device—“I don’t see that we can’t do it.”
“And would it save as much time as she theorizes?”
Again Liddon shrugged. “Hard to say, sir, but it might. It’s certainly no worse than our current course.” To Fox’s hurt expression he added, “The box did get us past the whales, sir.”
Fox rolled his eyes upward, spread his hands, and said, “Very well. Bound as I am by my own sense of honor, I assent to this course, and to the use of the”—he cast a disparaging glance at Arabella’s mechanism—“greenwood box, in its execution.” Arabella suppressed a smile of triumph. “But I must state my skepticism as to its success.”
Arabella gave Fox a properly deferential and appreciative curtsey. “You have my thanks, Captain,” she said, “and Mr. Liddon. I assure you that you will not regret this decision.”
There followed some discussion of the details of the course, at the conclusion of which they all took their leave of each other. But as Arabella approached the door, Fox murmured to her, “I shall enjoy our dinner.”
She gave him a predatory grin. “You had best begin preparing that certificate now, sir.”
* * *
As they prepared for bed that night, Arabella cleared her throat. “I … I would like to thank you for your support this afternoon,” she managed at last. “I am certain that it made all the difference in Mr. Fox’s decision.”
In response, Lady Corey fixed her with a cold gray eye. “It was only that I could not bear the thought of that man’s smug face if he bested you in that argument.” Then she sighed, and for a time she seemed to be studying the gently whirring clockwork mechanism that kept the lamp alight in free descent. “I will grant you this, child,” she said at last. “Though your judgement, perhaps, leaves something to be desired, your strength of will is admirable. It will serve you well in later life … especially if you learn to moderate it when the dictates of propriety demand.”
Arabella chose to accept this statement as a grudging compliment. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night, dear,” Lady Corey replied, and extinguished the lamp.
* * *
Grimly, Arabella pedaled on.
Her view this day, as it had been nearly every waking hour for the last five days, was limited: a rather shabby dressing-screen, the wooden handle before her, and the drawers straining across Lady Corey’s substantial fundament. The smell, too, was the same—the still, stale funk of sixty perspiring privateersmen, overlaid with that of Touchstone’s aged timbers, generations of boiled salt beef, and the sting of gunpowder and slow-match. And the sound: the unceasing beat of the drum, the grunt and wheeze of the airmen as they labored, and the creak and slap of the wooden chain that transmitted their efforts to the whirling pulsers abaft. She ached every where, from her callused hands to the bruised arches of her feet.
At the moment, when she thought back on that meeting with Captain Fox, it was with more regret than triumph. But with every painful stroke of her legs she helped to drive the ship more rapidly toward Venus, and toward her beloved captain. Even a single day, she reminded herself, might make a difference.
And so she pedaled, and pedaled, and strove to ignore the perspiration that, in this blighted state of free descent, clung tenaciously to every part of her skin rather than running down as God intended.
Suddenly there came a snap and a clatter, and Arabella’s legs whirled against an unexpected lack of resistance, sending her upper body lurching forward so that she nearly struck her nose against the handle. Shouts and curses accompanied the event, along with a low grinding and scraping that echoed through the old ship’s timbers.
The chain had broken, again.
Arabella’s feelings at the event were mixed. Annoyance was uppermost—annoyance at Touchstone’s poor state of repair, at the repeated failures and delays, and most especially at anticipation of Fox’s smug grin. For it seemed that in Fox’s mind every problem, difficulty, or unanticipated occurrence in their voyage could now be laid at Arabella’s feet. We would not be facing the necessity of repairing the chain so frequently, he would surely say, did this course not call for such extravagant quantities of pedaling. But beneath the annoyance lay a strong undertone of worry, that he might in fact be correct—that she should have tempered her sailing-plan with greater consideration to the ship’s and the men’s capabilities, and that her lack of consideration might in fact cause the trip to take more time rather than less. And beneath that, undeniably, lay a feeling of relief, at the respite she would have while the chain was repaired.
“Oh, dear,” gasped Lady Corey. “My … my drawers, they seem to be caught again.”
Arabella drew one last sip from her leather water-bag, then left the empty bag rotating in the air as she drifted over to help the older woman. One Venusian silk flounce was, indeed, caught in the pedal mechanism. “If you would, please, pedal backward a bit,” she said.
After they had freed the garment from the gears, Lady Corey bent one leg to inspect the grimy and tattered flounce. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she repeated. “Ruined, simply ruined. And this was my last good pair.” Her traveling cases, though enormous and filled to capacity, had included only three pair of underdrawers, and those only at Arabella’s very stern insistence. Arabella herself had brought fourteen pantalettes of sturdy Egyptian cotton.
“Perhaps the sailmaker can repair them,” Arabella offered. Aboard Diana the sailmaker’s stores had included quantities of fine Venusian silk, in case repairs were required to the ship’s balloon envelope.
“Oh no, I could not!” Lady Corey replied, pressing her hands to her cheeks in shock at the very suggestion. “I would absolutely die of embarrassment.”
From the other side of th
e screen—it had been looted from a French merchantman, but, being too worn for resale, had served various purposes aboard Touchstone before being pressed into this service—came a decorous clearing of a throat. “Begging the ladies’ pardon,” came Liddon’s voice, “but the carpenter says the chain is jammed in the channel and it may be some hours.”
Arabella’s mixed feelings of annoyance, worry, and relief all rose higher, but she strove to keep her voice level and polite. “Thank you, sir. We shall make ourselves presentable and be out shortly.”
Dressing in the close confines of the screened enclosure was even more difficult than in the cabin, especially as they were both attempting to do so at the same time, and was complicated by Lady Corey’s vain attempt to hide the damage to her drawers. The short length of her shift and the near-transparency of her dress made that task nearly impossible. “I suppose I must cut the flounce off,” she muttered.
“The men will take no notice!” Arabella protested. “Leave it as it is. The stain may wash out, and I can take a needle to the tears.”
Lady Corey seemed to be about to protest, but then caught herself. “Thank you, child. It is just so difficult to survive without proper servants.”
Eventually they clothed themselves and the screens were taken away, revealing a hold already nearly empty of men. “You see?” Arabella said. “There was in any case nothing to fear.”
But Lady Corey, still clutching at the fabric of her dress in an attempt to obscure the damage, was not comforted. “A lady must always comport herself properly, even in private.”
“I must confess myself amazed,” Arabella said as they floated up the ladder toward their cabin, “that you persist in pedaling despite the hardships it engenders. And I thank you once again for your support in this area.”
“You are most welcome,” Lady Corey said. “A chaperone’s task is to defend her charge as well as advise her. And, though I am ignorant as regards the art of aerial navigation, it seemed to me that you had the right of it and the captain’s objections should not go unchallenged. Also, as I said, it seems that my own well-being may depend upon this … exertion.” She fanned herself fruitlessly with one hand. “Though I often question my own judgement in this.”
“You will be thankful when we arrive at Venus and you are able to walk from the ship, rather than being carried in a sedan chair.”
Lady Corey smiled ruefully. “I suppose. Though a sedan chair does sound wonderful just now.”
* * *
The long days of pedaling to reach the Edmonds Current were followed by many weeks of serene sailing therein, then another stretch of pedaling to achieve the northern trades. The transfer to the trade wind was an occasion of some excitement, and certainly trepidation upon Arabella’s part, but with the help of the greenwood box and the skill of Fox and his men the tricky insertion into the faster current was achieved with little more than a shudder and rattle of the sails. After that Arabella’s days consisted of little more than reading, conversation, and increasing discomfort as they drew ever nearer the Sun. The stars and planets continued in their eternal courses, each day’s observations confirming the ship’s rapid progress, and the endless round of meals emphasized the sameness of the days.
In the middle of one such day Arabella was relaxing—as best she could in the sodden heat—on the poop-deck, when a sudden commotion of happy voices drew her attention. She closed her book, stowed it in her reticule, and drifted aft to discover the source of the sound.
She found a scene of hilarious gaiety, a stream of airmen emerging from belowdecks with broad smiles, clapping of hands, and rowdy cheers. Many of them wore colorful ribbons in their hair—the effect reminded her of the ribbons with which the warriors of Sor Khoresh adorned their helmets—and some played upon tambourines, bells, and even a concertina, adding up to a great profusion of happy noise. As they emerged from the companionway, they formed up in two ragged lines along the deck, continuing to clap and shout as their fellows paraded out to join them. Even those on duty in the rigging above participated in the hilarity, waving and hooting and turning somersaults in the air.
Of Captain Fox there was no sign, which struck Arabella as odd.
Soon nearly the entire watch below had paraded up the companion ladder and assembled themselves in line, continuing to applaud and to jest with one another as they gazed toward the hatch with apparent rapt anticipation. Several of them, she noted, also cast frequent glances toward herself, and toward Lady Corey, who had also been drawn out on deck by the clamor—but the meaning of these glances she could not discern.
After some moments of comparative quiet, the tumult rose up again, first with happy shouts from belowdecks, then with laughter and applause from those closest to the hatch. Then the cause of this laughter appeared: it was Gowse, captain of the afterguard, yet costumed and caparisoned as she had never seen him before.
Gowse was bare-chested, but the sun-darkened skin of his chest and arms was painted with some green substance so that he appeared as some ancient statue encrusted in verdigris. His trousers, too, were dyed green. His face was obscured by a great spade-like artificial beard, crafted of oakum and likewise stained green, and his head and waist were festooned with plaited vines of brown cordage with green paper leaves. In one hand he carried a baton of khoresh-wood, crudely carved into the shape of a lightning bolt.
“I am Uranus!” Gowse called, waving his lightning bolt. The crew laughed heartily at this, but Arabella merely rolled her eyes at the tired, vulgar joke of pronouncing the god’s name as “your a—s” rather than the correct “yoor-a-noos.” When the laughter subsided, he continued. “I am Uranus,” he repeated, “god of the sky! Bow unto me!” The men all did so, though with much laughter and no real respect. “But more important, this day, is that I am husband to Gaia, goddess of the Earth!” Applause at this. “And why is this day so important?” To this men shouted back “Why? Why?” and “Tell us, Your A—s!” and such like. Gowse smiled widely, clearly relishing the occasion and his role in it, and replied, “This is the day our ship—I mean, your ship, crosses the orbit of the planet Earth! This line in the sky, invisible though it may be, is sacred to Gaia, and here we, the gods, have installed a sort of turn-pike gate, which none may cross without paying a toll!” Somewhat to Arabella’s surprise, vigorous applause greeted this announcement.
“Each of you,” Gowse-as-Uranus continued, pointing around at the gathered men, “must pay according to your station. From the airmen, a penny. From the officers and idlers, a shilling. And from the passengers, half a crown!” At this announcement many men turned with broad grins to Arabella and Lady Corey, the only passengers, who looked at each other with some concern. “Failure to pay the toll risks incurring … the wrath of the gods!” This last he bellowed with considerable enthusiasm, brandishing his lightning bolt and shaking his head so that the oakum beard and paper leaves rattled—so vigorously, indeed, that he nearly lost both beard and garland, engendering still more laughter.
The whole situation was so ludicrous that, despite the unanticipated demand for payment, Arabella was quite caught up in the gaiety and laughed and applauded along with the men.
As the laughter died down, some of the men began to call “Gaia!” Others took up the call, and it soon became a rhythmic chant: “Gai-a! Gai-a! Gai-a!” They clapped their hands and rattled their tambourines, and such was their enthusiasm and clear anticipation that even Lady Corey smiled and clapped in genteel fashion.
“Very well!” Gowse cried out, raising both hands to silence the chant. “Because of your fond entreaties, the lady Gaia—our own Mother Earth—will deign to board your puny ship and accept the toll herself!” The men clapped and cheered, with many hoots and still more vigorous rattling of tambourines. “Lady Gaia!” Gowse called down the companion hatch. “Come aboard!”
The figure that sailed up from the hatch, to a mighty roar of laughter and applause, was just as green as Gowse and even more fantastical. A long, flowing dress of
green-stained Venusian silk … even more plaits and garlands of artificial vines and laurels than Gowse bore … an enormous frizzled wig of green-dyed oakum … two enormous breadfruits stuffed into the front of the dress, bobbing and wobbling in free descent …
… and atop it all, green-painted and split with a broad white grin, the face of Captain Fox!
“Gaia! Gaia!” cried the men, laughing hysterically and casting themselves down in mock supplication.
“Gentle mortals!” Fox cried in a broad falsetto. “I welcome you to My domain! All are welcome within the orbit of Earth … yet the toll must be paid to ensure My favor!” From between his breadfruits, with a great grunting effort that caused much hilarity, he drew a burlap sack. “Pay now, or endure My wrath!”
Fox went from man to man to man, holding forth his rattling sack like a mendicant on Guy Fawkes Night, and each man put in his penny or shilling, with which they had plainly equipped themselves in anticipation of this moment. A few men, with downcast eyes, merely pantomimed payment, drawing an empty hand from a pocket and gesturing at the sack’s mouth, and with these Fox dropped the Gaia pretense, making clear with his eyes that he understood their situation and bore them no ill will.
At last Fox-as-Gaia came to Arabella, smelling of sweat and tarry oakum and the coppery scent of the green paint, and his wide grin relaxed into a more serious expression. “It is a longstanding custom,” he murmured low, in his own voice. “The money goes to buy drinks for the men.”
“I quite understand,” said Arabella, and from her reticule she drew a half crown and put it in the sack. Lady Corey paid as well, though not quite so happily.
Arabella and the Battle of Venus Page 10