by Sadie Swift
Accompanied by the occasional yelp of pain as Sir Percival barks his shins against the sharp-edged containers I thread my way between two wooden crates and find that yes they are ours.
The great airship judders as another loud noise comes from outside. I really must remember to ask what Francesca is up to out there. And if she’s enjoying it rather too much.
Reaching our large luggage I’m pleased to see that the locks are easy to gain access to and, wonder of wonders, that the crew actually followed instructions and set them the correct way up.
“Where are you, Miss Lovelady?” the poor man whispers into the darkness behind me.
“Over here.”
“Ow!”
“There’s a gap between two wooden crates.”
Taking my set of keys out from a pocket I select one and slide it into the lock. It clicks open and I pull the sides of the large case apart. Now what would be the most use?
“Is there much room where you are, Miss Lovelady?”
I pause, momentarily confused by the question and the tone of voice in which it’s made, then look back towards him. I see what he means. In the darkness his hands feel the gap between the two crates, which is only enough for one person at a time. If he were to join me then he’d be in an almost pitch-black, claustrophobic space, next to a woman. Even though we’d worked together for several years now I could imagine his trepidation at the very thought.
“No, Sir Percival. If you give me your keys I shall open your case and pass what you request to you.”
I hear the relief in his next words, “Thank you.”
Another loud bang sounds from outside, accompanied by a juddering of the airship. If I’m correct in my surmising at what’s happening then that’s three of the four engines out of commission. A most enterprising young lady, that Francesca.
Quickly I pull open drawers and fill my pockets with as much as I can, whether I think it will be of use or not. I don’t though forget my customised gun. After closing my case back up I take Sir Percival’s proffered keys and pass over his requested items.
Now, how to get out and (my heart gave a little flutter at the thought) join up with Francesca?
Twelve
I look toward the entrance Sir Percival forced. Perhaps it would be best not to be seen by any crewmembers in suspicious proximity to it? Then the only other way would be the main cargo bay doors. But are we still in the air or back tethered safely on the ground?
Carefully I shuffle back between the crates, hoping none of the contents of my pockets decide to go off. Reaching Sir Percival I firmly grip his shoulder, rather like a man would, and guide him down the narrow aisle between cargo items to the main doors.
“Do you feel that we are still in the air, Sir Percival?” I whisper.
He is quiet for a moment, perhaps using his extreme hirsuteness as an altitude gauge?
“I do not believe so.”
It’s the best I can hope for.
I position him in front of the large cargo doors and, taking his right sleeve, guide his hand to the locking mechanism. “Can you open them?”
His fingers fumble around giving him a mental picture of the device. “Hmm, would speed or stealth be the better option, Miss Lovelady?”
“Speed?”
He reaches into a pocket and pulls out one of his personally designed guns. “If you would be so kind as to move me back and aim me?”
As I carefully guide him back as far as I can he straightens his right arm out, the strangely-shaped weapon currently points towards an innocent wooden crate. Peering along his arm I move it until it’s aiming at the locking mechanism. “There.”
“Close your eyes.”
He covers his eyes with his free hand and I close mine and use his body as a shield. The strange flump! noise sounds as his gun fires and a bright green light momentarily shows through my eyelids. I quickly open them and peer past him to see a hole where the mechanism used to be. Late afternoon light shines through illuminating highly disturbed dust motes. For some reason the air is now filled with the scent of liquorice.
Quickly I move closer, checking through the hole if we’re in the air or safely on the ground. The ground is the winner and I heave upon the lever that locks two metal bars into place at the top and bottom of the left-hand door. Luckily it is well greased and the bars retract. Still holding the lever I push the door slightly, cracking the doors open. Through the gap I check to see if anyone has noticed a strange green light and a highly suspicious hole.
There are ground crew outside but no-one appears to have noticed anything untoward. Perhaps they were too busy dealing with the engines.
Opening the door further I see we are but a few feet above the ground. “Time to go, Sir Percival.”
With that I open the door wide enough and let him jump out first, following quickly after and pushing the door back so it may not be so immediately noticeable.
Sir Percival is already heading to where the ground crew are sparsest, striding as if he has every right to be there. Thankfully he’s secreted the strange gun somewhere about his person.
I hurry to catch up with him and look around for a bushy-moustached gondolier. A crowd of people drawn by the excitement gather to one side of the large docking space.
My heart almost stops when he says, “You there!” pointing to the nearest dock worker. A look of confusion meets him, as well it should. “You,” he tries again, “They need you on the other side.” His arm indicates the airship. “Go.”
The man looks around and shrugs a query at his nearest colleague.
“Both of you, go!” His arm waves again.
Rather like they’re just moving to humour some madman the two walk away from Sir Percival in the general direction he indicated.
“Do you see her anywhere, Miss Lovelady?” he says quietly to me.
“No.”
A thought freezes my blood – has she been injured dealing with the engines? I quickly scan the crowd again. My eyes are caught by a figure waving to the side of the crowd at the back. I look closer and see they have a dark face and a quite extraordinarily hairy moustache. With a smile I take Sir Percival’s arm and head towards the figure.
Thirteen
Back aboard the Gondola Francesca hastens us to our destination. Where it is I’m none too sure, as when I enquired I just received a gentle hand on my arm helping me into the Gondola, a whispered “Shush,” and a warm smile.
Above the buildings the sun is setting and the tail-end of the storm clouds are bathed in a beautiful pink hue. I catch a glimpse of Francesca looking down at me and feel a glow inside.
Lights in the houses above us begin to be lit and we travel down a narrow canyon with warm yellow squares on either side lighting our way.
After passing under some bridges we enter into a far larger canal and Sir Percival whispers, “The Grand Canal,” to me. Far more boats, with many larger than the Gondola we’re in, cross our path and go from side to side.
Our destination is apparently a small canal leading off the main one. It rather looks like Francesca is trying to thread a needle as we head towards it.
Now darkness is falling I can’t but help notice that the water underneath us is glowing slightly.
I lean over slightly and say to Sir Percival, “Is it something to do with Venice that the water is doing this?”
“Hmm?” he says as I break his reverie. He looks down at the water, a very hairy frown growing upon his face. “No, I don’t recall anything like this happening.”
Puzzled, I look up at Francesca and ask, “Is the water meant to do this?”
She’s already overheard us and is looking about her. “I’ve not seen this before.”
The glow seems to increase, whether because it’s becoming night-time and more noticeable, or some other reason I don’t know. Confused voices surround us as more and more people in the boats and on the canal sides begin to notice it.
A thought occurs to me and I ask Sir Percival, �
��Was something like this mentioned in the planning meetings you overheard?”
His eyes are locked onto the water as if trying to see underneath the surface to the origin of the glow. “No, Miss Lovelady,” he absently replies.
Some commotion seemed to be going on in the distance to our left. The noises resolve themselves into surprised shouts and screams. I look along the Grand Canal to where they come from and see hundreds of birds flying into the air squawking their fright. What was going on?
A bright purple light emanates from the canal and shines off the surrounding buildings and low clouds above. Faster than I believe possible it speeds along the canal towards us, then, as fast as an eye-blink, under us and past to our right, following the canal. Screams and fearful cries follow its path. My pink hair stands on end at the unnatural sight. This has to be the work of the Men of the Cog. But what are they up to?
The colour is highly reminiscent of something and I look towards Sir Percival for confirmation. He meets my eyes and nods, quietly saying, “Aether.”
“But–?”
Francesca overheard us and says, “Aether?”
I look to Sir Percival for advice but he’s sat back, his eyes looking into nothing, and I know his brain is trying to puzzle something out.
“Yes,” I reply to her.
“But isn’t it highly dangerous?”
Having been working with Sir Percival with the substance I say in all honesty, “Yes, very.”
She holds the oar with one hand and waves the other indicating the canal water, “But how?”
I too would like to know but can only say, “We don’t know, but Sir Percival is one of the foremost authorities on aether in England. If anyone can figure it out he can.”
Her eyes glance over at him and I can tell she’s looking at him in a slightly different light.
“I suspect it’s likely the doing of the Men of the Cog,” I add.
She growls something under her breath and grabs the oar with both hands, thrashing the water behind the Gondola as if it’s somehow also responsible for what’s going on in the city. I can only imagine what she’s thinking - she knows about the dangers of the substance, and here it is flowing through the city of her birth.
When we’re but a stones-throw from the other side of the Grand Canal Francesca calls out, “Elisabetta!” startling me. Her target is a young dark-haired girl in a yellow dress seemingly waiting for someone on the bank. Initially she seems surprised at being called out to by a muscular looking, heavily moustached gondolier, but must have seen Francesca in disguise before.
Pointing along the canal in the direction the aether took Francesca tells her something in quick Italian. The girl gives Sir Percival and I a puzzled look (which is quite normal in Sir Percival’s case), but then quickly nods her understanding and hastens along the canal in the direction indicated.
“I have sent her to see where the aether ends,” Francesca says as we enter the side canal, the sounds of scared people echoing on ahead of us.
Fourteen
Our destination is yet another dock somewhere in the maze that is Venice. Francesca quickly hops off and ties the Gondola up before heading along the thin path to a pale blue door. Sir Percival is still deep in cogitation about the aether situation and I help him up and off the boat, following Francesca.
After quickly glancing about her she knocks rapid code upon the wood. The pale blue door opens and she checks we’re following before hurrying inside and holding the door open for us.
Sir Percival enters and makes a strange squeaking noise. I follow and notice he’s standing as still as a statue and looking (or at least the bit I could make out) as white as a sheet. The reason being that the room is full of women all looking at him in disgust, like he’s something the cat vomited up on the carpet. Their attention then moves to me and I get several looks at my hair and business-like boots and jodhpurs and receive a much friendlier response.
My eyes meet those of Francesca. Silently I plead Sir Percival’s case to her. She takes the hint and closes the door, before quietly and sternly telling the assembled women that he’s actually here to help. Or at least I think she does as I don’t understand Italian. A few querying words are spoken to her by some of the ladies. By their tone and hand gestures I can tell they’re none too pleased at his presence. But Francesca appears to successfully argue his case and their ire at him backs down. Quite what she said I don’t know but I heard a few light titters among the assembled ladies.
She looks back at me and says, “Now that is over, to business.”
While she speaks to the ladies again I turn to Sir Percival and give him a manly slap on the back. “Breathe, Sir Percival. In and out, in and out.”
He does as instructed and I know he’s recovering as he turns to face the wall and restarts his thought process concerning the aether.
What Francesca says seems to energize the ladies and they begin talking among themselves. I notice that there is a wide range of ages present from young debutante to elderly grandmotherly.
Francesca turns to me and says, “I’ve told them what Lucia discovered, and that we saw a strange purple light. I decided not to say what it was as I didn’t want to unduly alarm them.”
“The… ‘A’ word would alarm them?”
“There have been reports in the newspapers about accidents and how dangerous it is. If they knew it was flowing through Venice…?”
She let the sentence hang and my imagination fills her silence with the panic that would ensue if it became widely known. “Good idea. What do they say about Lucia’s information?”
“They agree with me that we must act tonight, especially after what we’ve just seen.”
I concur. It sounds like the Men of the Cog are getting bolder in their ambitions. “Where do you think we should strike? The Preservation Society?”
“We need to hear from Elisabetta, to see where it went.”
I got the feeling it was quite a little spy network Francesca had at her disposal. From the look of it wholly female, which was probably why Sir Percival’s appearance gained such a reaction.
My stomach took that moment to sound its empty distress and I felt my face grow warm. “I do so apologise.”
“No matter,” Francesca said, “We must fortify ourselves for what is to come. It will also help fill the time until Elisabetta comes back. Follow.”
While the ladies continued to speak among themselves she led the way out of the room and I, with a hand around Sir Percival’s arm, make sure we follow behind. I caught a few frowned looks cast in his direction, but gave them no mind - I knew which side he was playing for tonight. Along a short corridor we enter into a well-appointed kitchen. From the surrounding cupboards Francesca loads the table with bread, cheese, and hams, with a bottle of wine and glasses.
“Thank you for this,” I managed to say, hopefully masking the sound of my eager stomach at the sight of food. For her part Francesca took a bread roll and some cheese and went back to speak to the ladies.
“Best eat quickly, Miss Lovelady,” Sir Percival advised, startling me by waking from his cogitation and then stuffing a piece of cheese somewhere into his beard (which I sincerely hoped was his mouth). I agreed and set to with gusto, who knew when Elisabetta would be back and we’d be off?
“Your thoughts upon the aether, Sir Percival?” I prompted, around a mouthful of bread.
“They seem to have achieved something considered almost miraculous – a stable conduit for which to transport the aether. Or at least I assume its stable, this may but be a test. Perhaps they’re here because of the existing mechanism that the Preservation Society put in place? Somehow perverting it to their own ends?”
It sounded a rational reason.
“But why, Sir Percival?”
He ponders the question upon a sip of wine and a bite of a ham roll. “I’ve no idea. But it goes without saying that it is absolutely essential we discover the answer to that question.”
“I agre
e, Sir Percival.”
The food is delicious and it was just as well that we heard the voices in the entrance room go silent as any longer and I’d have stuffed myself silly and would need to have a lie-down to recover from eating so much. How long ago did we arrive in Venice?
Sir Percival eyed the remaining food, perhaps wondering how much he could hide in his beard. But we had a job to do.
“Our time is afoot, Sir Percival,” I inform him. He gave a sigh that I understood completely, and we left the remains behind, but not before being good houseguests by tidying up and putting our cutlery and crockery into the sink.
We re-enter the entrance room, Sir Percival making sure he’s behind me, to see Francesca and the girl in the yellow dress speaking. She sees us enter and gives a startled double-take that we’re here at this meeting. Francesca speaks quickly quelling her worries and one of the other ladies chips in, saying something in Italian to her, making her cough a short laugh. After that it appears plain-sailing.
Francesca turns to us and says, “She says the light ended at San Michele, but that it also came from there.”
Even without looking behind me at Sir Percival I know exactly what he’s thinking – it is vital that we get to the island and examine the aetheric machinery.
“What is San Michele?” I ask.
“It is the cemetery island.”
“Oh?”
“Many ancestors and relatives of those present are interred there.”
Just like the Men of the Cog to do something utterly despicable to gain their ends.
“Then it’s time to take the island back.”
Francesca looks down at the tiled floor. “I… know you are right. It’s…”
The island must mean a lot to her. My heart brimming over with compassion I walk over and wrap my arms around her. She responds to my touch and hugs me back. Her body feels so warm and alive, and if we weren’t in a room full of women (who very well may disapprove), and Sir Percival (possibly appreciating the paint upon the walls), and if she weren’t wearing a horrendously hairy moustache, then things might have been very different. But I knew no-one would be safe with the Men of the Cog terrorising the city, so I merely whisper, “They killed my lover. They’ve killed however many girls. They almost killed Lucia. It’s time to put an end to their reign of terror in this city.”