by Rebecca Diem
“Something must have happened to have them off in such a hurry. How did you discover us?” asked Clara.
“We came across that one by accident, actually. We thought we were on track to intercept a shipment of spices coming from Morocco when the ship you were on appeared. It seemed heavily laden, so we took the chance.”
“How fortunate for me then. So there was no prior information on its movements? Nothing from your sources?” Clara asked.
“Not that I heard. We need more details. I need to share this with Marie. She may know some of these other shipments.”
“Where is she now?” asked Clara.
“Her crew is in London. She’s waiting on some Tradist summit.”
“Perhaps you should pay her a visit. It’s no more than a day’s journey, and we can combine our resources.”
“It’s been some time since our paths crossed,” Nessa said with a nervous laugh.
“Oh? She spoke so highly of you when we met in Whitehaven.”
Nessa busied herself with tidying the logbooks, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.
“At any rate, it’s a good idea. I’ll ask the Captain, see what he thinks.”
Clara thought her reaction curious, but she recalled a similar attentiveness from Captain Buchanan whenever Nessa was mentioned. Her mischievous side rose up as she resolved to ensure that her friend was sent to liaise with the renowned Captain Buchanan.
Nessa pulled out a new map from the shelves that lined the room, “We’ll be leaving the Haven soon. I’ve been working on some initial plans I’d like to hear your input on.”
Clara looked over Nessa’s shoulder as Cat helped to lay the map flat on the table, and scanned the list she’d drawn up.
“This could work, but we’d need to delegate by regions. If you are to be in London, we’ll need to find someone for the north.”
Nessa grinned, “I’ve been watching the crews, and checking Cat’s books. I’ve a few pilots in mind to be regional liaisons. I’ll need to pass it by the Captain and Trick, but they’ll agree, I’m sure.”
“With this, our central base could be anywhere as long as we keep in touch through the wireless. I’ve been planning to have the crews travel further afield, and this is the perfect opportunity,” said Clara, chewing her bottom lip as she considered the plan. “We’ll need to coordinate with Master Tims, but the scheme was developed to be decentralized. It should work…as long as we can trust the independent crews.”
“Only the best and most trustworthy. And we’ll have regular check-ins. I will not let Robbie’s actions poison our crew further; I think this will work as a sign of our good faith. They fought for the Haven as we did. They adopted our new scheme with relish. They have more than earned our trust.”
Clara nodded in agreement. The system they had developed was quite effective. They focused on targeting a series of regular ports, but had stuck to the outliers so far. They’d even had a successful run in Edinburgh. The ships’ captains had come to accept these quality checks; there was hardly any resistance now. Still, they exercised caution, playing on the overstuffed bureaucracy of the Tradist association to avoid detection of their scheme. An official-looking document carried a great deal of weight, and their forgeries were now the standard by which the true papers were judged.
“Alright then. We’ll have good people in place, and we’ll set a meeting point for all to gather before the Hunter’s Moon festivals next month. That should give us enough time.”
Clara set out to coordinate the afternoon crews while Nessa and Cat plotted next week’s raids. She ran her fingers over the intricate panelling as she walked through the hall, but her fingers came away grey from the fine ash that had settled into the grooves. She brushed the soot from her hands, determined to remember the Haven as it was. It was time to say goodbye to this home.
Chapter 7: In which our hero decides on a new course
The Captain Duke was walking about the grounds of the Haven with Trick, an afternoon exercise mandated by Archie to encourage his first mate’s recovery. They walked in silence amidst the turning leaves, some already fallen to crunch beneath their feet. The two men stuck to the southern end of the island, the part untouched by fire. Trick’s pace was slow, and the Captain matched it. His injury had impacts beyond the loss of limb. His strength was diminished by the prolonged bed rest. His balance was altered, though he had begun to compensate for it. Clara’s brother had crafted a weighted armband for Trick to wear, to prevent the muscles from further atrophy. The wound still needed time to properly heal before they could move forward with a biomechanical prosthetic.
They walked until they found a fallen log that looked sturdy enough to hold them, and sat down to rest. They could see the waves of the Derwentwater lapping upon the rocky shore beyond the treeline, and the quiet rhythm filled the silence between them until Trick gave a shuddering sigh.
“Just say it, Captain.”
“Say what, precisely?”
“You need to leave the Haven. We’ve overstayed as it is, and don't pretend it was nae for my benefit. There’s too much at stake. It’s time for you to leave this place behind.”
The Irish always came out in his first mate when he was either extremely happy or distressed. Usually it was the former. Clearly that was not the case today. There was a heavy note in Trick’s voice. He was hugging his arm close to his body in a defensive gesture, as though trying to protect himself from the world. He was not only asking the Captain to leave the Haven. He was asking to be left behind as well. The Captain stood up from the makeshift bench and turned to his friend.
“No. No, I will not hear of it. Trick Kilarney, I will have no other first mate. You’ve been at my side form the start. No one could replace you. Even with one good arm you’re the best pilot here. The crew looks to you. I look to you.” His voice cracked, “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Trick stared into the trees, blinking forcefully. He was the kind of man who seemed larger than he really was by sheer force of personality. But now he sat hunched on the rotting tree, and the Captain could see the toll of age and injury. The thick, dark waves of his hair were streaked with silver at the temples. Deep lines were etched around his eyes. Still, they had only celebrated his fortieth year the summer before last, and he was by no means an old man. The wound had spread to his mind, and that was a far more difficult battle to wage. The Captain sighed and knelt before his friend.
“Trick, you will be well again. I swear it. Do not worry about the crew. Clara and Nessa have our operation well in hand, and plans, good plans, ways to expand our network beyond anything we could have dreamed a decade ago. Look at what we’ve built together. You saw how Keswick rallied around us in our hour of need. This is not the end. This is not over. We will regroup and come back stronger.”
Trick struggled to speak, but swallowed hard and met his eyes with a nod. The Captain put his hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. He held his mentor until the moment passed, willing his strength to him, feeling crushed by the inexpressible emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
They rose and brushed the dirt and soot from their clothes before making their way back towards the Haven. The Captain Duke carried the conversation with anecdotes of the crew’s activities in recent weeks. His tale of Cat’s new predilection for wearing an old chatelaine she’d found elicited a genuine smile, and he told of the various bits of weaponry she’d added to the keys and trinkets that hung from it.
“Little Cat is growing up too quickly, she’ll want a ship of her own soon enough,” said Trick.
“Cat and Mouse both, they’ll never let me forget they managed the entire airship by themselves.”
“Brave little ones. You’re lucky they brought it back.”
The Captain laughed, and earned an even broader grin from Trick. It was a small step, but an improvement nonetheless.
That evening, a table was set for an officers’ dinner in the Captain Duk
e’s study. Trick had decided to attend after all, taking his place at the Captain Duke’s right hand, with Nessa seated on his left. He’d asked Clara to join them, and Archie as well. Nessa had chosen three trusted pilots to lead the regional crews: Peg, a respected and resourceful fighter; Madge, with her cleverness and chemist’s tricks; and Himmat Singh, a courageous and honourable young man. All had proven themselves in the new scheme, with sound judgement and cunning ploys.
They ate their supper and told of the days’ activities. Peg had been to Keswick to meet with Master Tims and drop off a shipment of new textiles for Mrs. Cottingham. She brought news of the town’s activities, now a hub for the thriving underground economy fueled by their acquisitions. They waited until their meal was finished for Nessa to bring them all up to speed on the plans to leave the Haven.
“…we’ll need to sort out the assignments in the next day or so, but then the regional crews should have some flexibility in choosing their targets as long as they report their movements so that Clara can ensure the tallports are selected in good rotation,” she said, looking to Clara. “They can target the ports in a cycle, regular visits appear to be well received. They’ll offload their cargo in one of the four points to the black market. Master Tims has offered to set up contacts for us. And we’ll continue in this fashion until the storm season, which gives us two months to find another Hav—another hideout.”
“I think it best that we scatter. They’ll be looking for one ship, not eleven,” Clara spoke up.
The Captain Duke nodded, “It gives us more time to figure out what other forces are in play, and it will be harder to strike against us if they cannot find us. Trick? What are your thoughts?”
“Disparate groups striking in smaller factions. Robbie never knew of this, he won’t be able to give us away. And any who search here will find nought but ruins. They’ll think we’ve moved on.”
The Captain Duke took in the mood of the room, “So we are agreed then? This is the best course of action?”
There was a series of nods ands and affirmations, as each gave their consent to the plan.
“Good. Then, Peg, you’ll have everything north of Derbyshire. Madge, you take the Midlands and Wales. Himmat, you’ll have the southwest. Nessa, you said you’d traced your leads to London?”
“Yes, and then the threads are lost. I think it best if I liaise with Captain Buchanan and her crew. If we combine our resources, we may be able to discover the source of the gunpowder. She has far greater reach than I.”
“Good. I will accompany you. I feel our London ‘friend’ may be needed. His connections could be of use to us. We’ll cover the southeast.”
“Captain Duke, if I may, I have a home close to the campus in Reading,” piped in Archie “It would be ideal if we were to continue Trick’s treatment without significant interruption. And I’ll have greater access to the tools and resources needed for his recovery. I believe Professor Sewell would welcome the idea. If you wish, of course, Mr. Kilarney.”
Trick nodded, “It’s a kind invitation, Archie, and I thank ye for it. If it’s no imposition…”
“Not at all! I’ve a large house on Kendrick Road, a stone’s throw from Lovelace. Far too much for a bachelor scholar such as myself. The staff will be pleased to have someone to appreciate their efforts.”
“Then perhaps you won’t mind greater company,” said the Captain Duke. “Trick, Clara will accompany you. Cat and Mouse too. They’ll be able to run the scheme from there, and a respectable family visit is the perfect cover for our enterprise. It will raise fewer questions than sending you alone.”
Archie’s mouth gaped, and he turned to Clara. There was a strange look in her eyes, but it faded to a stony expression. Lifting her chin, she met the Captain’s gaze.
“If that’s what you think best.”
“In that case,” began Archie, with an appropriate degree of caution. “I would be pleased to welcome all of you into my home.”
The Captain Duke could feel Clara’s displeasure as a palpable thing. Surely she must understand. It was the perfect solution. Trick would not feel abandoned, and she and the children would be safe to pursue their work in her brother’s home.
“Good, if that is settled, there’s one more matter to be addressed. Clara, I have spoken with the crew and all are in agreement. I name you our new Quartermaster.”
He raised a glass, and all followed. Clara wore an expression of surprise, but reached for her glass and raised it with a tight smile.
“I accept.”
They drank deeply, and more toasts followed; to the Haven, to the new regional officers, to Trick’s recovery. But there was a melancholy that weighed on their attempts at merriment. Even when their group joined the pilots in the hall to announce their impending departure. They opened every keg they had ‘liberated’ in recent months and would not be taking with them. The ballroom rang with raucous laughter as the crews received their appointments and said farewell to friends they might not see until the Harvest Moon.
The Captain Duke left the festivities before the drink could get to him. He wanted a clear head for what was to come. He roamed the halls, crossing the span of neglected corridors until he came to the ruins. A full moon cast the ashy remains in an eerie light, where shadows tugged at furtive memories and intrinsic fears. The island was tranquil, and the night was dark. Over the sounds of the party behind him, he could just make out the faint lapping of waves. And then… steps. They sounded faint behind him as they drew near. He did not move, but she took up the space beside him in the doorframe.
“A Quartermaster,” said Clara. “You honour me.”
She did not make it sound like a distinction of great respect.
“You earned it. The crew holds you in reverence.”
“The crew.”
“Yes, of course. Do you doubt them?”
“Them? No.”
He risked a glance in her direction. Her face was a mask of stone.
“What?” she demanded, still looking out to the jagged silhouette of the charred forest.
“I thought you’d be happier.”
“I’m happy.”
“That… does not sound happy.”
He watched as her chest rose and fell in a great sigh before she turned to meet his eyes.
“I’m pleased you find value in my little stratagems.” She paused, then made to leave, “Excuse me, I have a great deal of packing to do if we are to move our operations tomorrow.”
The Captain Duke reached out to place a hand on her arm.
“Clara— “
“Yes?”
His words failed him. He searched for something to set things right between them. A means of expressing how much she had come to mean to him, why it was so critical that she go to Reading, safe and sound and far from any who would wish revenge upon her. He cupped her face in his hands and tried to memorize the curve of her cheek and the way her lashes framed her eyes. But what right did he have to prolong this farewell? Instead, he dropped his hands, and stepped back. There was an unmet challenge in her gaze as she curtsied and turned into the Haven.
“Good bye, Captain.”
Too many good byes for a too uncertain future. They knew, all of them, that the end of their easygoing days had come and gone, long before they had realized. The Captain Duke leaned his head back against the frame and slid down to rest on the threshold.
Chapter 8: In which our heroine finds a genius solution
Clara paced back and forth across the deck of the airship. She’d been restless all day; the further they flew from the Haven, the more agitated she became. Not even the sensation of gliding through the clean, sharp air could still her nerves, and the day was cloudy so there was no sunshine to cheer her. She was tempted to engage in busywork, rechecking the lines and altitude or such, but she did not wish to cause offence with Mouse at the wheel. Besides, Archie was glued to the young pilot’s side, and if he noticed her state of bother he would want to discuss it. Both Ca
t and Trick were sulking in their own way – Cat taking up residence in the lookout, Trick declaring exhaustion and retreating to the cabin.
Clara went to the rail of the foredeck and tried to calm herself with deep breaths. Her mind was racing, but she was not yet ready to dig deeper into the source of her irritation. She picked at the paint until she could see the light ash of the airship’s hull beneath. It was a slower model with bulky airbags and propellers that steered its lazy journey through the skies, painted a cheerful shade of blue with bright purple trim.
When they’d found that they needed to expand their fleet in order to carry out their scheme, they had canvassed the local dealers first. Flutterby Hum had been a bonus to the other seven ships they had selected, a gift that their contact had insisted they accept as a token of his favour. Clara suspected the aircraft had been sitting in the lot for some time. It was rather…bold, and not at all suited to their desire to be as bland and un-noteworthy as possible. Still, it was a solid little ship, quite steady with comfortable furnishings below. And so, the Captain had taken it on and repurposed it as a shuttle. A surplus ship, but one that would not be out of place in a town such as Reading.
Clara frowned and flicked a chip of paint into the aether. The River Thames wound its way through the landscape below, guiding their path. She let out her breath in a huff and turned away from the view. Archie and Mouse were staring. She gave a smile and small wave to the two at the helm, and after a glance up at Cat, decided she’d rather risk Trick’s ire than stay on deck.
The plush furnishings had somewhat survived the previous owner’s attempt to repurpose the craft as a common aircab. There were large windows lining the main galley at the aft of the ship, complete with overstuffed armchairs bolted to the floor and an area set up to hold a tea service. Trick was sitting in a great blue wingback that faced the stern, looking back to his former home as he clutched his arm. Clara curled up on a nearby settee of a shocking orange hue, and the two of them sat in silence for a long while. They watched as the trees turned to field, then forest again, divided by the river and its tributaries.