Cogs in Time Volume Three (The Steamworks Series Book 3)

by Catherine Stovall

  The ship's first officer saluted.

  “The captain is on the bridge, sir. This way.”

  They climbed the gangway to the bridge, where a crewman pulled open the hatch for them to enter. The captain, a stocky man with gray close-cropped hair under his hat and a graying beard over his chin, tore his eyes from the forward ports to reach out his hand toward Pierce.

  “To what do I owe this honor, Captain? Is something wrong?” His accent was American. “You really are from the British Navy? Since when did the Brits start building ships that sail the skies?”

  “Our airships are new,” Pierce said. “Only to be employed in emergencies.”

  “Then what brings you here? Do you think we're smuggling contraband? Looking for spies, then?”

  “It's a bit complicated,” Pierce said. “We have information that there might be some undesirable characters on board your ship that are keen on fomenting a mutiny among your crew.”

  “A mutiny? Ridiculous. I admit that I have signed on some unsavory characters, but that's always the case.”

  “Any that signed on at Liverpool?” Pierce asked.

  The captain thought for a moment. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “I'd like to speak with them, one at a time,” Pierce said.

  “You realize you have no authority here, Captain Pierce,” the ship's captain said.

  Pierce nodded. “Very well. Deal with it as you will. I'm sure the owners of the steamship will understand when you explain that you didn't want us interfering. Provided, of course, you survive to reach port.” He headed for the exit.

  “Wait! All right. I'll have them brought up. You may use my office to interview them. How long do you think this will take? I must keep my schedule.”

  Pierce made no guarantees. He followed the captain from the bridge to a small office with a metal desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. The captain dug out a book that listed the crew and instructed one of his sailors to go down to the engine room and bring back a man named Sweeny.

  The South Londoner was covered in coal dust and hesitated to enter the office.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” he said at the threshold. “I'm filthy, sir. Ain't right for me to mess up the cap'n's room.”

  “It'll only take a moment, Sweeny,” Pierce said. “You signed on board at Liverpool?”

  “Aye, sir. They needed a stoker, and I needed a job. City o' Richmond was the first ship heading out.”

  “Ever hear of a man named Tesla?” Pierced asked, watching his every expression under the stain of coal.

  “Can't say I have, sir. Odd name, though. Foreigner?”

  “Serbian.”

  “What the bloody hell's a Serbian? Oh, pardon my language, sir.”

  “It's all right, Sweeny. Tell me, have you heard anything among the crew. Grumbling. Complaints.”

  “Every crew complains. But I can't hear much of anything while I'm stokin' the boilers, and when I hit my birth, I'm out for the night. I did hear something strange on the way topside, though. Something about a flying ship. Can't be true, can it, sir?”

  Pierce smiled and motioned to a porthole. Sweeny stepped up to it, pressed his face against the glass to see forward, then staggered back, leaving a black smudge on the port.

  “My God! I've never seen such a thing. It ain't no balloon. How does it stay up? And she ain't giving off steam. How do her engines run?”

  “All top secret, I'm afraid,” Pierce said.

  Sweeny nodded. “Beggin' your pardon, sir, but what is the British Army's interest in an American ship. This Serbian, he a spy or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. But if you hear anything concerning disgruntled crew, come straight away to the captain.”

  “Aye, sir. But like I said, can't hear much while stoking the boilers.”

  When Sweeny left, the ship's captain entered, frowned at the sooty footprints, and said, “I've sent for Bates. He's the other man we signed on in Liverpool. He's a cook. Should be up any minute.”

  The captain stepped out when Bates entered. He was a big man in greasy whites and a stained apron. He gave Pierce a confused look, and his hand reached under his apron.

  Pierce dove behind the desk before the shots rang out.

  Three bullets pinged off the metal desk. Pierce drew his Webley and rolled clear, taking quick aim at the hatchway, but Bates was already gone.

  When Pierce reached the gangway, he found the captain, laying in a pool of blood. His breathing was shallow, but he was still alive. Billings was scrambling to his feet, blood streaming from a gash on his brow.

  “Sorry, sir, he got away. Surprised us.” Billings stood unsteadily.

  “See what you can do for the captain,” Pierce said.

  There were shouts all over the ship and more gunshots.

  “Mutiny!” someone cried, and the shout carried throughout the ship.

  Pierce ran down a gangway to the deck, where several officers were struggling with crew. One officer lay dead, and two crewmen were mortally wounded. Passengers were screaming and running across the deck. Sweeny stood his ground against the mutineers, swinging a shovel at a crewman brandishing a knife.

  He spotted Bates and raced toward him, barreling into one mutineer who tried to stop him with a large knife. Pierce knocked the man's teeth in with the butt of his Webley and left him on his knees, spitting out blood and teeth.

  Murunga stood with Tesla near the rail on the port side. Bates fired his revolver but missed, unable to aim with the deck rolling. Murunga intercepted the cook, catching him around the neck with one huge hand, the other encircling Bates' wrist, keeping the gun at bay.

  Bates was no match for the Maasai, but he was big and brawny, struggling like a wild animal. Before Pierce could reach them, Murunga and Bates bumped into Tesla, sending the young man over the railing toward the ocean below.

  Tesla's long fingers caught hold of the rail as he dangled off the side of the ship.

  Pierce dropped his revolver and dove, catching the Serb's hand just as he lost his grip, and Tesla's weight nearly pulled them both over.

  With a scream, Bates flew over the railing and into the ocean below. Then Pierce felt Murunga's strong hands pulling him and Tesla onto the deck.

  “Once again, you have saved my life!” Tesla said. “I am in your debt.”

  He bent down to retrieve his notebook from the deck, wiping off the leather binding. One page revealed hasty sketches of the Independence.

  “That marvelous ship, you came in that? What brings you here? It surely cannot be coincidence. I feel I know you, sir. And your huge friend, though we have met only the once. And that ship of the air. I have seen it, here, in my head. Please, can you explain?”

  Around them, the loyal crew quelled the mutiny, bringing down the mutineers in quick order.

  “The man that Murunga threw overboard was sent here to kill you,” Pierce said. “You should be safe now.”

  “And when I reach New York,” Tesla said, “how am I to meet with Mr. Edison? I have lost my letter of introduction.”

  “Why would you want to meet Edison?” Pierce asked.

  “To work for him, of course. He is a brilliant inventor.”

  Pierce shook his head. “No, give me your notebook and pencil.” As he jotted down a message, he said, “Take this to the man I've addressed. He won't know me, but he will see that I am an officer in Her Majesty's service. Do not go to Edison.”

  Tesla took back his notebook, read over the message, and stared back at Pierce.

  “Will we meet again?” Tesla asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Pierce said.

  He and Murunga found Billings seeing to the captain, who was being carried to the infirmary. His wound was not life threatening, but he would be in hospital for some time. They signaled to the Independence to approach and lower the ladder.

  Once back on board the airship, they related their adventure, the mutiny, and how Tesla had been saved once again.

  “Ma'am,”
Gridley said, interrupting.

  When they turned to him, they each saw the airship peeling into existence just ahead of them. It was identical in design to their ship.

  “Who are they?” Tesla asked. His voice was uncharacteristically faint, haunted.

  “Let's find out,” Liz said. “If they have our design, they should have similar equipment.”

  She pulled free the microphone, threw some switches on the wireless, and spoke. “Ahoy, airship. This is the Independence. Please state your name and intention.”

  The speakers cracked. “Independence,” said an accented voice, as though savoring the word. “Tell me, Miss Fletcher, is Nikola Tesla on board?”

  Tesla's face grew pale. “Surely it cannot be,” he whispered.

  “You know in your heart that it is true, Nikola,” said the voice from the sister ship.

  Pierce looked from Tesla to the ship as it turned, angling away from them. “Who? Who is it?”

  “It is me,” Tesla said. “From a different timeline.”

  “This is getting even more confusing,” Pierce said. “Are they the ones who fired on us and blew up your tower?”

  “Yes,” Tesla said.

  Pierce took the microphone from Liz. “Listen, Nikola. We repaired the timeline. If we return to our own times, everything should be back to normal.”

  “You do not understand, do you? I do not want to repair history. I want to rewrite it. I have seen what destruction my weapons have created. My inventions! Millions have died. Will die. Because of weapons I have made. Even my portal has been turned into a weapon. I cannot allow that to happen. I tried to save the world by the death of one person, now I must sacrifice a few hundred in order to make a better future.”

  “He's charging his portal weapon,” Gridley said.

  Blue lightning surged over the airship's Faraday coils.

  “They are aiming for the steamship,” Murunga said.

  “Full speed!” Pierce yelled. “Take us between them.”

  Gridley pushed up the throttles for the propellers. The airship jerked forward, just as the other craft spat out a bolt of energy. The lightning flashed over the hull of the Independence, sparking across instruments and dissipating through the Faraday coils.

  “Fools!” came the other Tesla's cry. “The only way to save the future is for me to die.”

  “What shall we do?” Tesla said. “He is me from another universe, one of endless war. We saw his future when we jumped to the desolated London. I can see flashes of his universe in my mind. His memories are part of mine.”

  “Well, we can't let him kill you,” Liz said. “Any version of you. Oh, this is so weird.”

  “We can't stop him,” Tesla said. “That ship is also the Independence. It will dissipate the portal weapon charge as our ship did.”

  “Then we'll ram her,” Pierce said. “Gridley, bring us about and aim us right at her.”

  Gridley turned wide eyes to him, gulped, then nodded.

  “Ready the portal,” Pierce told Liz.

  “The portal weapon won't do any good,” she said as the Independence turned and headed toward the other airship.

  “Not the weapon,” Pierce said. “The portal. Set it for half a mile away. Ready? Gridley, take us in. Ram her.”

  The Independence drew closer to her doppelgänger, the coils on the other ship sparking as it prepared to fire its weapon on the defenseless steamship once more. Its hull grew large in the forward windows. Sky and ocean vanished from view.

  “Now!” Pierce shouted.

  Liz threw the lever for the portal. Their coils sparked, and the portal opened in front of them, right in the side of the other ship. The doppelgänger’s hull shrank, ripping open as the spatial portal manifested itself and the Independence passed through.

  Blue sky met them on the other side.

  Gridley spun the wheel, bringing the airship about.

  City of Richmond steamed peacefully on its way to New York.

  In the skies above, a flare burned bright where the second airship had floated. Half the ship had vanished in the hole created by the passage of the Independence. Fuel tanks exploded and bits of fabric and metal rained down on the ocean waves.

  “How did you know that would work?” Tesla asked.

  “I didn’t,” Pierce said. “But the portal displaces the air, so why not the hull of a ship.”

  Independence circled the wreckage, but no survivors were found.

  When the batteries recharged, the ship passed once more through the portal, back to their own time.

  Instead of London, they went directly to Fletcher Industries’ facilities in New Jersey, where the airships were constructed and overhauled. Liz threw switches on the wireless with shaking hands. Beside her, Pierce took her hand in his and held tight.

  “This is Independence,” she announced and held her breath.

  “Independence, this is Lakehurst Field,” came the reply. “Welcome home. Has Mr. Tesla completed his exploration of the new planet?”

  Her breath burst out. “Yes. We’re coming in for a landing.”

  “So,” Tesla said, “our young Nikola must have made it safely to New York.”

  “Do you still have visions of the other Teslas?” Murunga asked.

  Tesla shook his head. “They seem to be fading. My own memories are strengthening. I keep having visions of Thomas Edison, though, for some reason.”

  “Oh,” Liz said, taking from her coveralls the letter that she had stolen from the younger Tesla. “Here’s the letter you asked me to get. I’m afraid I picked his pocket.”

  “Ah, yes,” Tesla said. “My letter of introduction to Edison. For some reason, my impression was that if I had met with Edison, I would have had a difficult time, considering the problems he tried to cause later. Fortunately, I met your father instead, Miss Fletcher. You know, I remember leaving Europe with a letter for Mr. Edison, but I arrived in New York with a note for Mr. Fletcher. How curious.”

  “Yeah,” Pierce said. “Your memories are probably still jumbled. I wrote a message in your notebook, the one you had on the steamship. I gave you Liz’s father’s name and a note for him.”

  “What did you write?” Liz asked. “You wouldn’t have met him yet.”

  “No, but I said I was an agent of Her Majesty.” He gave her a wink. “I wrote: Dear Mr. Elias Fletcher. I know two great men and you are one of them. The other is this young man! Together you will change the future.”

  The cogs turned, and the steam whistled as the sweat dripped down my brow

  Sputtering, I ignored it and focused on my prize

  Time was running short—the king’s competition nearly done

  My windup spider play toy was no closer than when I had begun

  Thirty shillings, to the person who could make

  Metal walk like humans and bring joy to someone’s face

  Was all that kept me going as my hands cracked and bled from effort, but despite my brawn

  No matter how I turned the tiny gears, the engine would not turn on

  My tool clattered to the counter, as once more I failed to make the spider walk.

  This process could not happen; metal could not be brought to life.

  The ticking of the nearby clock grew louder in my ear.

  Urging me, pushing me and forcing me to persevere.

  Picking up my metal rod, I jammed it into the socket once more.

  Groaning, I steadied my hand and forced the metal to turn.

  The steam blew in my face, my eyes nearly shut.

  But what I saw astounded me, as one metal leg moved . . . somewhat.

  Sitting back, I stared in awe at the channel I had opened.

  Steam blew from the scaled-down engine and forced the cogs to turn.

  Small step by small step, the metal spider moved.

  A smile spread upon my lips. At long last, my work had improved.

  One would think that maps are mundane, ordinary things to hang on walls or shove aside
to gather more dust than not. But what good are maps with nothing useful on them, and no one caring to use one even if it was useful? That was the downside, since our home, Sky Harbour, hadn't changed enough in decades to be worthy of needing new maps.

  “Hey, Pa, why is Sky Harbour so small on this one?”

  I shot Winna a quick frown over the edge of the long scroll I was carefully re-rolling. My sister ignored me, though, and twisted her skinny frame to peer behind her at Pa. Pa sat hunched over a small pile of maps, his goggles gone foggy as he pressed his nearly blind eyes close to the fragile papers in an effort to make out the handwritten words and carefully crafted landmarks.

  “Sky Harbour isn't small. The sea is just too big, Winna.” Pa sighed and let the sheath of pages fall from his fingers. He shoved the goggles onto his forehead, bunching his graying brown hair about the worn leather band until it stuck up in sweaty, frizzy clumps. The lines of his face sagged, and his blue eyes were vague in the dim light thrown by the two candles we could barely afford.

  “Winna, can you bring me that one then?” I asked. I sighed and tied the faded ribbon on the map and jammed it into the small cubbyhole desk, careful not the shake it and topple the candle.

  “Really, Callia, why does it look like the moon?”

  Winna was determined to get answers, and if you could follow her train of thoughts, you were far more clever than half the town. Her blue eyes, so like Pa's before they'd faded and grown dim, stared up at me expectantly.

  “Sky Harbour is plenty big, Winna. And, yes, it's like the moon. The Council says it's because we should revere what is unchanging,” I said. I dragged the enormous map from the dusty floorboards and noted the fist sized crescent shape that was Sky Harbour. True enough, on the flat field of blue that was the sea, it looked very small and alone.

  “But where do the Sky Trains go?” Winna asked. She scrambled to her feet, her mouth moving faster than her body. She all but danced in a circle, making her dark red curls bounce down her back. Luckily, her long hair hid the numerous clumsy stitches I had to put in to keep the threadbare dress together over the years. It had been Ma's dress, then mine, and now it was Winna's.