Lady X's Cowboy (37 page)

He had to time this just right. At any moment, they could be fired upon.

A few seconds more, and then—

“Now!”

The venters threw the levers. Three things happened simultaneously. The
Demeter
dropped lower, a fast plunge of twenty feet. Enemy ships fired, blasting the area where his ship had just been. And the ship rocketed forward, pushed faster by the rearward release of ether from the tanks. Christopher was grateful for his goggles, as brittle wind scoured his face. That had been one of the first adjustments: speed. Even at its slowest, an airship was damned faster than any seafaring vessel, including a clipper. He allowed himself a smile. There was something deeply thrilling about racing through the sky with the velocity and view of a god.

The forest below became a green blur, smeared with gray from rocky outcroppings.

Gravitational force shoved at him as the
Demeter
sped forward, but he kept himself from falling, his legs wide-braced, his grip secure on the rope.

The ship raced forward, right toward the two Hapsburg frigates. Between the two enemy craft was a distance of barely a hundred feet, making for a tight squeeze. If the
Demeter
cleared the narrow space, it would be a feat worthy of a dance-hall ballad.

“Hold straight and steady, Mr. Dawes,” Christopher shouted at the helmsman.

Though Dawes had turned chalk-white, his eyes wide behind his goggles, he did as he was ordered, keeping the
Demeter
on course. Some of the crewmen on deck crossed themselves, and a few took out lockets that held photographs of wives and children.

Christopher had no locket with a sweetheart’s photograph. As a member of Naval Intelligence, Louisa had been protective of her image, not wanting any record of her face that could possibly fall into enemy hands. When she left him, all that had remained behind were memories and anger. And one kidskin glove. She had a habit of misplacing gloves.

As the
Demeter
sped toward the enemy ships, the spiky mountains just beyond them, Christopher wondered if Louisa would learn about his death in the papers. No—she abjured newspapers.

If there’s information I need to know,
she had said one afternoon over tea,
I’ll ferret it out.

Do you know what I’m thinking right now?
he had asked.

She had smiled, her slow, wicked smile.
I’m a very good spy. And I do enjoy a thorough interrogation.

An extremely pleasant afternoon had followed. More than a few long, lonely nights patrolling the air had been spent in contemplation of that afternoon. Anger had always been quick to follow his memories. He couldn’t think of the times they’d shared without recalling the way it had ended. The empty bed when he’d awakened. No letter, not even a note. She was just…gone. 

One way or the other, if he didn’t survive, she would know. Was it petty of him to hope she’d be saddened by the news? He was a Man O’ War—not inhuman.

The ship gained speed, getting closer and closer to the two Hapsburg frigates. Christopher could see the astounded enemy crewmen scurrying across the decks, and the captains—Man O’ Wars like him—bellowing orders. They were making the guns ready to fire on the
Demeter.

“Prepare to return fire,” Christopher roared.

The gunners acknowledged the order, and, fighting the force of the speeding ship, readied the cannons. They all stared at him, waiting for the command.

He waited, too. Everything needed to be timed perfectly. Closer. Closer. The
Demeter
was almost between the enemy ships.

“Fire!”

Guns from both sides boomed. The
Demeter
shuddered as some of the enemy fire slammed into the hull, but the ship held strong. The enemy ships also took hits, and Christopher noted with satisfaction that several of their ether tanks and guns were damaged.

The
Demeter
sped through the narrow passage between the frigates. As it raced past, a wake of air knocked into one of the enemy ships. It listed, then thudded into the mountain just behind it. Crewmen scrambled out of the way of rocks tumbling free from the mountainside. One sizeable rock slammed through the deck, scattering men and splinters of wood.

There was no time for celebration, however. The mountain was just ahead. If Christopher’s ship couldn’t make the crest, it would smash into the massive pile of rock.

Here was one of the times Christopher wished airships were built of metal, like their seafaring ironclad brethren, but wood was far lighter. Airships sacrificed hull strength for the ability to fly.

Christopher raced to the wheel. “No offense, Mr. Dawes,” he said, taking the wheel from the helmsman.

“None taken, sir.” In truth, Dawes looked relieved that Christopher would assume responsibility for guiding the ship over the dangerous peak.

The wheel in one hand, Christopher grabbed the shipboard auditory device. “Give ’em everything,” he ordered the engine crew. “Flank speed!” He hoped that, between the turbines and the venting ether, they’d have enough power to make it over the mountain. Switching the auditory device to shipwide, he shouted, “Everyone, hold tight!”

Just before the
Demeter
crashed into the rocks, he pulled back hard on the lever that controlled the vanes behind the turbines. Gritting his teeth with effort, he fought to keep the airship climbing. The jagged face of the mountain sped past. Cold blue sky gleamed beyond the prow. Crewmen shouted as the ship rose up, almost completely vertical. Every muscle in Christopher’s body strained with effort. Even strong as he was, he still had to fight gravity.

Heat sizzled through him as the implants drew on his energy, both feeding off of and building his power. He hadn’t liked the sensation at first, the strange symbiosis between him and machinery, but now he reveled in it, knowing he needed as much strength as he could muster in order to ensure this ship and crew’s survival.

It might not be enough. They weren’t going to make it. The top of the mountain rose too high up. They’d lose power and careen into tons of stone, raining wood, brass, and canvas down onto the valley below.

No. By God, if he had to die, it would be in combat against the enemy, not smashed against unfeeling rock. Louisa might claim to value cunning over valor, but his values were different.

Groaning, he pulled harder on the wheel, turning to correct the sudden tilting of the ship. Then—the
Demeter
just crested the peak. Rocks scraped against the keel. The ship juddered. Suddenly, they were over.

And plunging downward. As tough as the climb upward had been, now the ship took that force and rushed down the other side of the mountain. They plummeted into a valley.

Wind tore at Christopher’s face and clothes, his coat flapping behind him, as he steered the ship down the face of the mountain and into the heavily wooded valley. With another groan of effort, he pulled back on the vane-controlling lever right before the
Demeter
crashed into the ground. The ship shot forward. Into the forest. He piloted the ship between huge, ancient trees, their massive trunks stretching toward the sky. With the ether tanks vented, the ship didn’t have its normal height. Flying low was the cost of their speed.

Had the woods been any younger, there would have been no room to fly the ship. But the forest—what he could see of it past the green, shadowed blur—seemed older than time itself, exactly the place where giants roamed. Christopher zigzagged through the woods, whipping around trees, keeping the ship racing onward.

Even with his precise piloting, tree limbs snapped against the speeding hull, and the crew shielded themselves from falling branches.

“Throttle back,” Christopher shouted to the engine crew.

Details of the forest emerged from the blur as the ship slowed. The wooded valley appeared uninhabited, no sign of chimney smoke or a clearing. Wherever the
Demeter
was, the known world—and friendly territory—was far behind.

“All stop,” Christopher ordered.

He brought the ship to a hover just beneath the heavy forest canopy.

“No one move,” he hissed. “No one speak. Not even a scratch or sneeze.”

“Aye—”

“Quiet!”

 Everyone, Christopher included, kept still and silent. The shadows of the Hapsburg ships passed overhead. Breath held, he watched the frigates lingering just above. Searching for the
Demeter
. With any luck, the Hapsburgs would think they had crashed, and move on.

Christopher didn’t believe in luck. If a body wanted something to happen, only effort would make it come to pass. That’s how he rose from a midshipman to a captain in such a short period of time. He worked his bollocks off for it.

Yet he wouldn’t mind a dram of luck right now. As he kept his gaze upward, a drop of sweat worked its way down his back.

Hours passed. Or minutes. But after what felt like hundreds of years, the enemy ships flew on.

He didn’t permit himself a sigh of relief. Several more minutes passed as he made sure that the frigates did not return. At last, reasonably certain that they were in the clear, Christopher gave the order to power up the engines.

After guiding the ship toward an open patch of sky, he brought the ship up above the tree line. More mountains lay all around them. Aft of the ship was the battle they had just fled, and presumably the remaining Hapsburg ships. Retracing their route meant the possibility of finding themselves back in combat, and being vastly outgunned and outnumbered. Doubtless the two British ships were already hightailing it back to friendly airspace.

Which meant that the
Demeter
was deep in enemy territory. Alone.

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Night of Fire: The Ether Chronicles

by Nico Rosso

Sierra Madre Mountains, California

He wore his gun.  And hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.  The war was behind him.  Tom Knox headed West.

His saddle creaked.  The ends of the leather reins slapped lightly against the body of his steed.  The wind whistled in his ears.  Six hundred feet below him, smaller hills gathered into a larger mountain range.

Instead of being filled with screaming ether-charged bullets and explosive cannon shells, the sky here was peaceful.  A red tailed hawk skimmed below him, head twitching from side to side, tracking prey.  In the distance, three turkey vultures spun wide circles over a shady hill.  Tom was part of the calm.  His Sky Charger kept a steady pace, pushed by the high whispering whir of the tetrol-powered fan at the back.

Weeks ago, the skies to the east and behind him had burned. Enemy airships and friendly Sky Trains had blazed brighter than the sun as they crashed toward the vast soya fields of the Great Plains.  Men had fought and died.

As an Upland Ranger in the US Army, he’d seen it all.  He’d smelled the gunpowder and felt the recoil of his Gatling rifle as he fought to turn the Hapsburgs away from American soil.  A couple of searing hot bullets had found their way into his flesh, but he’d healed fast enough to get back onto his ether-borne Sky Charger and fly into war.  

Tom leaned forward, patting the cool zinc metal neck of the charger.  Strange modern times he was living in.  When he left this territory three years ago, it was on a real horse.

Adjusting the levers at his stirrups, he took the charger higher into the air.  Tall pines whisked beneath him, then thinned as the rocky peaks took over.  White patches of snow clung to the shaded angles of the mountains like forgotten sun-bleached bones.

Just at the top of the range, Tom stopped his charger and turned to look behind him.  The battlefields and scarred skies were hundreds of miles away.  The fighting wasn’t over.  The war waited. 

He stared into the distance, remembering all the Hapsburg soldiers alive and dead who’d aimed their guns at him. 

Keep your pants on
, he thought. 
You’ll have plenty of chances to put me in a grave later.  Until then, I’m heading home.

Kicking the charger’s levers, he powered the one-main ether airship over the mountain ridge, leaving the flat expanse of the east at his back.  The mountains spread out into hills that bunched and gathered like an unmade bed.  The green foliage of winter still lasted, revealing the fertile farms and orchards that took advantage of any flat land. 

Tom squinted behind his goggles and pulled the brim of his black cavalry hat low.  The far horizon was a bright silver knife’s edge.  The Pacific Ocean.  He could already smell the salt, even this far inland.  A few more miles and he’d hear the gulping squawk of the seagulls that rode the high wind currents.  It felt like home.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up, same as if he and other Upland Rangers were flying out for a dawn raid on a Hapsburg artillery camp.  There was plenty of danger at the front lines of the war.  And battles to be fought at the home front.

The Sky Charger picked up speed.  Tom felt himself pulled into the inevitable.

He reined back on the mechanical steed and wound over the hills.  Twisted oaks dotted the land.  Through the lenses of his goggles, they almost looked like their branches were outstretched arms, warning him.   But there was no turning back. 

The war had stopped to take a breath.  Tom and other front-line soldiers were allowed some time of their own.  Without a fight in front of him, his compass spun.  There was no answer other than West.  Home to Thornville.

And Rosa.

A needling voice in his head sounded a lot like his younger self, mean with an edge of whiskey on his breath. 
Surely seeing her again will go smooth as silk
.  It mocked him.

He tugged at the knot of the black bandanna around his neck.  The charger dipped closer to the ground, heading toward a shady notch running between the hills.  The mechanical flying horse didn’t shiver or twitch its muscles in response to coming closer to home.