Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (29 page)

With love, always,

Gregory Conan Watts

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

July 19th, 1816

33º51' S 151º12' E

The one-
day trip turned into two, for reasons of difficult conditions and poor roads. We were able to stay at a tiny settlement, mostly just a trading depot surrounded by a few residences. More of these are growing up as a few of the small settlements beyond the colony grow. The arrival of more skilled craftsmen and adventurous souls, combined with disputes that cause people to venture out from the colony, lead to slow but steady growth. Waypoints and depots are built along the most traveled trails, which may be destined to become actual roads in time.

When we arrived at this new destination, we first found ourselves accommodations in the new town, knowing that if something was important enough to have drawn us that distance in whatever degree of anonymity was apparently deemed necessary, then we might well be staying for a while. Once we had settled into two rooms, we familiarized ourselves with the town and did some scouting about
, just to make certain there were no signs of York or his men.

No one had seen any sign of anyone matching any of the more notable descriptions. We couldn't have been sure of every mercenary, but by this point, I would be almost certain that York must have found himself new men, or those still about are those who have proven extremely loyal, for otherwise, being in York's employ seems a very certain way to end up exposed to new and interesting dangers. Certainly he has shown no great loyalty to his men.

When the supper hour came about, we headed for the address we were given with some aid from the locals. Eddy kept back, rifle and pistol at the ready, until we came to an unusual house. We had noted it with some curiosity previous to that point, but had not quite placed it as the location we were looking for. We were quite surprised in particular once we reached the door – and were greeted by Agnes, Dr. Mitchell's housekeeper. She bade us enter quickly.

For all that the outside of the home was unusually large and stately, constructed to resemble an English gentleman's country home, the inside was a different matter entirely. Things of all descriptions were scattered about. Some of them were what we had previously associated with the mad Dr. Mitchell: gears, cogs, pinwheels, and metal scraps of all sorts – and in all sorts of ruin. One row was dedicated
entirely to a series of crafted items of wood and metal, made, perhaps by some mad fancy of the doctor's, into animal shapes, upon which he conducted further experimentation. I was particularly struck by the duck figures, floating within windowed boxes filled with water in some apparent test of moisture-proofed materials.

Aside from these, there were papers tacked up about the walls with designs and ideas and scribble too packed-together to be read. There were also signs of more identifiable items, such as more of the pepper-boxes, pieces of a rifle like Eddy's, miniature scale models of an airship similar to our own, and then crates upon crates.

In fact, there was no furniture about the place, only crates moved into position to serve the purpose. Agnes bade us come in, and while she could not promise us a more comfortable place to sit, she was working on convincing the doctor to add at least some degree of comfort to the place, since it seemed they were going to stay for a time. She also offered us tea for the moment, promising that supper would be arriving soon, but was not quite done yet. Likely as not, she had made preparations to have everything prepared just on time, for she showed every sign of being quite skilled at tending a home, other than whatever madness possessed her to the loyalty she held for the doctor and his deceased wife. Equally likely as not, she had needed to put out some fire or otherwise tend to the doctor in some way that slowed it all down.

We managed to make ourselves comfortable, at least as best we could, upon crates stacked around larger crates, which she had made sure were meticulously clean that it might be eaten off of.

I was concerned at how the ladies among us would deal with facing these conditions in a home which looked so proper and achingly familiar. As it happened, that was not precisely what occupied them. Miss Wright immediately began fitting various broken pieces back together – without even thinking to remove her gloves. I hope that the stains come out when she notices them. Miss Coltrane first set about methodically getting her bearings in terms of the room. After that, she was far too absorbed in reading some page of the doctor's manic scribbles to even notice any amount of discomfort and impropriety.

I had to imagine then that this was much how it was at home. Miss Wright's anxious slovenliness may well be partially born of her constant need to
repair or assist. Miss Coltrane's perfect propriety is based on her analysis of her environment. When away from polite company or the need for deception, she likely spent most of her time delving into her brother's schoolbooks and notes – and the pages upon pages of her own designs and ideas as well.

It was almost an hour before the doctor himself would join us, by which time Agnes was about serving dinner, dishing out a portion for the doctor. Unsurprisingly, the dinner served was rack of lamb, for parts of this land serve well for raising sheep. Certainly it was familiar to her.

I expressed surprise that we should see the doctor here, while he regarded us more or less with disdain. He went on some ranting diatribe about how we had led lesser minds directly to his research. He continued, saying that if we were going to be rid of him, he would at least appreciate if we had the courtesy to finish him off ourselves, so that at least his stolen discoveries would fall into the hands of minds capable of appreciating them. He did not seem so much distressed, once more, at the idea that we somehow bore him some malice, instead of the simple pity which is certainly my feeling towards the man. Instead, he insisted that if we were out, with our imaginary allies, to steal his work and ideas, we should not allow them to go to Oxford or to the army, where they would be simply discoveries for production. He demanded the Coltrane family treat them as merely the beginnings of something new, bearing further work and tinkering.

We finally reassured him that we not only were, again, not there to end his life, but had no idea what he was going on about. He finally explained, after calming somewhat, slicking his hair back, and sitting up straighter, that his workshops were raided by the British military. They had come in ships, by the route we had laid out and reported, though in small numbers, for the one passage did not allow for a great many vessels to pass through. He met them at first, and they demanded to know the way into the lower laboratories.

He was certain we had given all of his secrets away. He was equally certain that they were there not to put them to proper use, but to seize them all and arrest him. When he overheard them discussing returning him to Oxford under watch, he managed to evade them for long enough to gather his supplies and Agnes, loading all of his notes into some sort of submersible craft, by which they would eventually escape. The craft did not supply them with air for long, but once far enough from the hidden cove, he had little difficulty managing to find himself a place from which he could book passage, so long as he reported his religion as Catholic.

By this means, the pair of them, along with almost all of the more useful portions and notes of Dr. Mitchell's laboratory, were transported to these remote colonies. When he heard we had arrived, he thought that perhaps we were there to complete the job, but had invited us to do so, for he trusted that we, at least, would put his devices to use in new ways and expand the science, not simply let it sit stagnant and, as he calls it, “so-called-finished” as it is until new uses are forced upon it. He also demonstrated his continued fondness for Miss Wright, though not in any romantic sense that I could discern. He simply maintained a fatherly interest in her talent and suggested she should further develop her skill.

Once we had finished the explanations and at last squared all accounts between us, he launched into conversation, asking how our journey had progressed and how his work had functioned. We reported the pistols we had lost to York, the damage to the dirigible, and Eddy's broken repeating rifle, among the other concerns and damages. He and Miss Coltrane, who was no longer keeping secrets from the lot of us, told him about the battle suit and the damage done to it as well. She seemed relieved to not only be able to speak openly about it in front of us, but to have someone who could follow the theories behind it. Each has their own specialties, but the Doctor clearly understood the theories enough to have some suggestions for repair for her, and ideas of where he might collect some helpful parts from his spares. While I suppose it’s possible that telling the unsettled Doctor about the suit and its creation could pose some risk, he seems very unlikely to say much to anyone likely to believe him, or even to communicate with the outside world beyond ourselves and Agnes when he doesn't have to.

By the end of the night, he had promised his aid in restoring the airship. In fact, he wanted to improve it further, for he had grown very interested in our progress whenever any news of our journey reached this shore, and he discovered we had met with some success after all. Additionally, he was able to offer us supplies in order to facilitate our repairs. Even with this, with all the damage we have sustained, especially the injuries, we will still be here for months, at the least. Still, we have a second place in which we can seek some refuge and be offered a degree of hospitality. While I am certainly not comfortable with his presence, he will also greatly speed up our readiness to take on any attack should danger come to us again. Given our history, this seems entirely likely.

We stayed three days with the doctor while he constructed new pistols for us to replace those lost and a pair extra besides. He built a new spare repeating rifle for Eddy as well, managing to slightly improve the transition from one shot to the next in the chambers to speed up firing. Only then did he start packing to accompany us – beginning with a steamer trunk full of new parts.

We spoke privately with Agnes before we left. She is very concerned for the doctor's health. The travel put great strain on him, and she said he was quickly becoming more and more forgetful, though he has shown no signs of losing his capacity for machinery. If anything, in his stages of manic activity, he is more frantic than ever, as if seeking to put everything he can onto paper or into a prototype before he finally meets the end of his life. She does not believe he has more than a couple of years left to him, if he continues to deteriorate, and might well have less than that. Even so, she said that she would appreciate if we kept in mind where she was, in case she ever wanted to return to her native Scotland, but she would look after the doctor for so long as he lived.

We returned to the colony we had settled in then, with Miss Coltrane and Dr. Mitchell insisting on going straight to work. For once, there is no particular lack of time for these efforts, for we shall be here for the health of our company well after our machines are restored. They, however, would not delay, having actual parts meant to work with her design, and a host of new ideas and inspirations. Eddy was similar, very much desiring to go out far enough that he might practice with the new rifle to get used to the new mechanism and the gun's particulars. Letting the three of them follow their passions, Miss Wright and I each went our own ways and retired for the night.

Now that I have my privacy to write once more, I wonder about our current employers. Certainly we had promised the doctor no anonymity, and Lord Donovan was certainly aware of his presence, but the other agencies that quickly followed us showed an entirely new interest in bringing the doctor back under heel. I am not certain I feel betrayed entirely, but I shall certainly be more careful with what I send to our complement of employing interests now. For all he has done, I will certainly not be sharing the doctor's new home with them.

July 25th, 1816

33º51' S 151º12' E

My Dearest Cordelia,

The mystery of my last letter has been solved. We have met Dr. Mitchell, who has abandoned his hidden cove and retreated to this land to settle for whatever remains of his life. His health has suffered greatly since we last encountered him, and now he is more pale and gaunt than previous. The lack of sun of the past year has certainly not done his health or his mania any good. He still has a vital mind when he is fully lucid, throwing himself into his works with great passion. The dirigible repairs are underway, and he and Miss Coltrane are both most hopeful that it will be worthy to fly as it once did in a matter of weeks, though the rest of us will not be nearly ready enough to travel yet.

Sir James's health is improving, but it is a slow thing. He sleeps a great deal of every day, though when awake, he is fully aware now and will respond to conversation. I have brought cards with me for my last few ventures to his temporary quarters in the back of the doctor's offices, there until he is healthy enough to move. This seemed to do his mind and spirit a great deal of good, and he has taken to his favorite pastime again quickly. While we play, he is more inclined to talk and listen than he is otherwise. Perhaps the games strike up old habits.

He has not answered many questions still, and I truly believe that he does not know which way he wishes to go next, when this ordeal is over and he is on his feet again. He asks constant questions instead, asking after one person and another – and asking me to read from whatever parts of my journal I am willing to share.