Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (10 page)

Good news! I'm no longer a hostage. Don't worry! My imprisonment was chaperoned, and the Colonel who took me hostage was as much a gentleman as a traitor and a cad is capable of being. I had so hoped he was a tragic figure who just needed a little fixing up – until he tried to extort Jillian into marriage with her brother's life in the balance. Well, being wrong is how we learn, right, Daddy? And I made a point to learn a lot.

The ladies he set to guarding over me are a study in contrasts. One appears, at first glance, to be a lady of some good family. She might well be, but if she is, she only had further to fall. She is their seductress, and, when that fails, as it did with dear Cousin James, she is their poisoner. In enforced downtime, she has the very unladylike pursuit of knife sharpening to keep her hands from being idle. Her knives are long daggers in length, but tiny in breadth. She might have sharpened them to nothing if we were there longer.

The other lady was of a certain age, and dressed so as to be mistaken for the first's governess when they were about. In private, there was certainly no governing of Miss Larkin (there still isn't, not even now that she gets to be the prisoner). This older lady spent all of our confinement writing: reports, letters, and I even saw ledgers. She appears to be their Gregory.

Her cat tried to tempt her into knitting, but she was not to be distracted from her inks until Col. York came to talk business. The cat would have liked me knitting, but they only had metal pins and were not willing to let me
so much as hold them, let alone make a few rounds on the socks. Perhaps, knowing what can be done with tiny little knives, and not knowing me, they felt it was safer. It was certainly safer, if only for the socks. I still can't manage it, Mother. Mrs. Fisher shakes her head, steals back the wool, and sets me to embroidering handkerchiefs that will only be ruined in a week.

More good news, your letters have arrived here in New Orleans. I was quite surprised to hear that our photographs and descriptions have started a fashion for coal-dust gray dresses for travel (Mrs. Fisher insists we refer to this as dove gray. I've yet to meet a dove this color). They are practical, when aboard, to be sure, and Jillian is ever setting trends. Perhaps, next, we can together start a trend for ink- and-machine-grease gray, which would an even more practical color to become fashionable.

Unfortunately, all that good news is followed by bad news. It appears some of our orders were forged. With the assistance of Col. Wolf-in-Gentleman's-Clothing, this led to us starting a war we were not supposed to start.

We have been politely asked to go find proof that this was not really all our sneaky plot – and to not show ourselves in civilized company until we do so.

Some of the local boys were talking about the lack of farm slaves, when I was about. I asked what they had done as far as farm mechanization. This led to a rather involved discussion. One of the volunteers was the third son of Mr. Henry Talbot, whom I believe you know, Daddy. If he sends a letter about tractors, that's why. I explained how we'd divested from the whole slaveholding business soon as we could get those wonderful threshers. I told him how we were managing just fine with freed housemaids, the mechanicals, and Irish sharecroppers. Young Mr. Wm. Talbot (who is even younger than me) was interested. You might brag it about at your clubs, Daddy, since it appears people are nervous about England’s abolitionists.

I've told you of Miss Julietta Penn, who travels with us. (And yes, Mother, she behaves up to Mrs. Fisher's standards. Her backstitch flowers are superb. I envy her blackwork.) She reads cards, but not like the charlatan types you normally huff at, Mother. She tells no happy tales for tips. I once saw her read her own future and faint back in her chair – and nearly fall, for our chairs have no arms. Conservation of weight on board ship and all, but really, chair arms?

Finally, on the long stretch back from the coast, I asked her to read my marriage prospects for me. The cards told her I’d marry a gentleman of rank. I'll admit I was still holding out hope at the time it would be York. Aunty Sally said any rank over Captain was eligible, and he's an unmarried Colonel. That's out of the question now, of course. Whatever his hate-filled little daydreams think marriage is like, I want no part of it.

I asked Julietta whom the cards said she would marry. She just got flustered and said they'd had no comment on her being legally wed. Then she got more flustered as someone came over, even though it was just Samantha Bowe, not anyone who frowns at the cards and such.

Following letters should be not be sent. But do save me any more clippings like the one about the traveling dresses. I'll send an address when I can.

Your loving Daughter,

Harriet Wright

From the letters of Giovanni Franzini,

February 12th, 1816

Sir,

I can understand your frustrations regarding the ongoing peace process with Spain, but the failure is hardly mine. You were made well aware of Julietta's predictions of a year of darkness, which she also, unhelpfully, relayed accurately to this crew. You manage to have the finest whore in Oxfordshire maintaining your puppet-strings, but you can't do anything to pry Bowe off my associate?

I should also inform you that your favorite pawn misplayed his hand. It seems his infatuation with Miss Coltrane has continued well into business. I can confirm that he almost botched everything to try to force her hand. While that catastrophe was avoided, he did allow her cousin a look at his maps. Between her memory for detail and Bowe, they're already headed the right direction. I do hope that York will be suitably prepared for an arrival well ahead of schedule. Shame that you sent him well out of reach of any post service. I'm certain you'd love to be able to warn him about now.

I will continue to do my part in seeing that the correct pieces are played where they ought to be, but I warn you, you've entrusted critical parts of your plan to the wrong people. When I'm your most trustworthy and faithful servant, you have a larger problem than simply failing to start a war between England and Spain. At least our "daring escape" should keep Spain on edge and slow the peace process.

Your servant, reluctantly,

Giovanni Franzini

February 13th, 1816

New Orleans

29º57'N 090º04'W

My Dearest Cordelia,

What must you think of all the arriving news? To hear that we are wanted for attacking New Spain without orders or backing of England? That we have lost Sir James to kidnappers? That Lord Donovan has died when we were about on his errand? While I cannot say that all was going well, certainly, there was such hope that I might finish this errand and end up enough of a hero that we could marry and live well. Now, I am not certain what to think. I am a loyal son of England. All that we have done is follow the orders we were given, with full belief we were serving the wishes of the Crown. We already are so far away from the news from home, politics,
and all the rest. It is simply maddening, preparing to leave New Orleans, to travel even further afield, further away from any kind of security or news.

I wish I could give you some comfort now, assure you that all will be well. And perhaps it will be still. We are still enough of England's favored sons that we have been given an opportunity to carry on and make up for our mistakes, instead of being haul
ed home like common criminals. Indeed, if we are criminals, we are most uncommon ones, for I cannot even understand how such a thing could be done. Those with a grudge against Spain and influence enough to help orchestrate the forgeries must have made contact with York and offered him enough to sway his loyalties and use him as their agent. Lord Montague has to be suspect, but if York turned traitor on the nation, he may well have turned on his employer while keeping his true allies secret.

I long for something to make sense amidst all of this chaos. We are now leaderless, going into a world apart from anything I know. There is no calm guidance now, just a sense of urgency that no one voices, but everyone seems to feel.

Everyone, that is, save for our newest passenger, whose accommodation has further delayed us. Miss Larkin has been entrusted to our care after we captured her in New Orleans, and ever since, she has been taking every opportunity to try to get under the skin of all of the crew whenever she has the chance, or else trying her womanly charms to convince someone to release her, as unlikely as that may be. All are well aware of the dangers, even were anyone of the sort to be tempted. We are discussing other options for her transport that might give the rest of us some peace, but so far have not come up with any clear options.

Of all of us, Miss Penn has so far seemed the most capable of dealing with her barbs; she returns them without losing her temper or sharing the slattern's unladylike vocabulary. Forgive me my own colorful language, dearest; it seems she has gotten to my ner
ves as well, though not so much as Eddy's. He seems to be quite set upon finding a means by which to muzzle her. Thankfully, Mr. Franzini has shown himself quite capable of ignoring her. Normally, she would seem just his type of associate, but he seems to have as little patience for her as any of us.

For all that the situation seems quite complicated now, the one thing that may ease almost everyone's nerves may be getting underway. At least it will feel like we are making some progress then when we are airborne and in pursuit. Dr. Mitchell's modifications allow us long enough travel that we should not need to make a stop to resupply until we are near our target, though we are planning to be particularly cautious when we near Peru. Our enemies have a significant lead on us and now must know we will be coming. They are certainly not above putting men on the ground to firing upon us, though it is possible that York will attempt not to harm Miss Coltrane. After all, he put a great deal at risk in exchange for her hand in marriage. Even had he intended to renege on that deal, he would have risked losing everything in attempting to make appearances. Thankfully, she retained her good virtues and good sense and turned him down.

In the meanwhile, we have an advantage of which I had been unaware. Miss Wright, during her time in captivity, had some occasions to glance at notes by Mr. Wyndham, the inventor of the trackless rail engine. Though she is not certain how the mechanisms work, she has been hard at work reproducing the information from memory and detailing the pieces she does understand with her gift for nuts and bolts. When we rescue Sir James, this may well give us a considerable advantage when we must face that monster again.

In additional news, the relationship between Miss Penn and Mr. Franzini has soured much further. All they seem to do is fight now, without ever quite making it clear what they are arguing about. Everyone has the good grace not to ask, but she has taken to simply avoiding him as often as she is able to, while he seems to pressure her whenever he gets the chance. Among the rest of us, he remains reasonably sociable, and his information has been quite helpful. He has also strongly suggested that Miss Larkin, no matter how quickly she turned on the others, seems to be giving incomplete information on their contingencies. As such,
he is sure that York must have known about her character, and kept more information from her than she believes. I suppose it would take a criminal to know a criminal.

Miss Coltrane has also kept to herself a great deal. I am sure it is mostly concern for her brother, but she must be troubling herself thinking there was something more she could have done, with York so clearly interested in her. I respect her for keeping her wits and virtue intact, and certainly it was the proper thing to do.
In the situation we find ourselves in, with so many lives on the line, I worry that she is being too hard on herself for making the right, if difficult, decision.

Though I am not certain how, my love, somehow this will all turn out for the best. We must keep our faith and optimism. Though it seems a long way off and confused now, I will be with you eventually. And in the meanwhile, you are eternally my comfort and guiding light.

My love, always,

Gregory Conan Watts

Peru's Cities of No Gold

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

February 17th, 1816

13º42'N 089º10'W

That we are making efforts at peace with Spain now does not seem to be well circulated throughout New Spain as of yet. We have had a difficult journey so far, but we must make up time and travel as directly as we might towards Peru. This has included a great deal of time flying as high above New Spain as we are able. That this travel has been beyond the conventional range of most rockets also does not seem to matter to them, as we have been fired on regularly. Though mostly this is an inconvenience and an interesting sight, a few rockets have quite exceeded their typical range, and while none have yet struck the balloon, we have had to put out two fires so far in the body of our craft.
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