Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] (28 page)

The curious citizens of Lochboisdale quieted as Kali and Fletcher approached. No one spoke at all. Even when Fletcher asked, “Telegraph office?” a man only pointed the way, his eyes round as sand dollars. The crowd parted to let them pass. Yet as she and Fletcher walked down the street, the people followed them—at a safe distance.

“An airship, a Man O’ War, and an East Indian half-blood with a mechanical leg,” Kali murmured. “Likely the most excitement they’ve had in generations.”

“They’ll write songs about it,” he answered, “and tell tales around the fire.
I remember it as if it were yesterday. Like gods
,
they were. Disheveled gods.
”

She fought a slightly hysterical giggle. Being in a town, even one as small as this, tightened all her nerves like wires around a battery terminal. They passed homes and shops—including a pastry shop, which nearly made her stop. The lure of fresh-cooked food, that she hadn’t needed to skin or gut, made her stomach take notice.

Fletcher caught her longing glance at the pies and cakes displayed in the window. A similar look of hunger crossed his face. “After we’ve sent this message, I’ll buy us so many pies they’ll need a tetrol-powered wheelbarrow to roll us back to the ship.”

“I’ll hold you to that plan.” She distracted herself from her tempest of thoughts by cataloguing all the different kinds of pastries she’d eat. Chicken and mushroom. Smoked trout. No steak and kidney, though—she kept her mother’s belief, and ate no beef. And Kali wouldn’t eat any rabbit or pheasant any time soon. She’d had enough of both.

Her thoughts kept her uneasiness at bay, until they reached the telegraph office. A man stood in front, his hands knotted together. The little cap he wore marked him as the telegraph operator. He looked both excited and terrified by Fletcher’s appearance outside his workplace. She barely drew the man’s notice.

“We need your telegraph wires,” Fletcher said without preamble.

The operator coughed in surprise. “I assure you, ah, sir, that I can send any message you request.”

“Can’t use your machine,” Fletcher answered.

“We’ve brought our own,” Kali added.

“B-but . . .” the operator stammered.

“This concerns the safety of our nation.” Fletcher sounded exactly like a captain in Her Majesty’s Aerial Navy, a man who would brook no foolishness nor have his time wasted.

Without taking his eyes off of Fletcher, the telegraph operator pushed open the door to the office. As he took a step backward, inside, Fletcher said, “Absent yourself for the next half hour.”

“They’ll s-sack me if I leave my p-post,” the man stuttered.

“The safety of our nation,” Kali reminded him, and followed Fletcher inside. She shut the door and turned the key. As the operator and other townsfolk gathered on the sidewalk, staring in through the window, she drew the shades. The people outside cast shadows onto the fabric, like a puppet show.

She turned to find Fletcher waiting beside the telegraph with the typing device. “This won’t take but moments,” she said, stepping forward. Carefully, she began disconnecting the wires that led to the telegraph. Once the wires were disengaged, she motioned for Fletcher to put the typing machine on a table and drag it close enough for her to join the leads. The process of connecting these wires went a little slower, since she wasn’t as familiar with the technology.

“Normally,” she said, splicing wires, “an airship has a port attached to its hull, and this port connects to specially engineered telegraph poles situated around the globe, enabling the ship to communicate with the Admiralty. In code, of course,” she added, glancing at the typing device.

Fletcher, watching her intently, nodded. “All airships are required to regularly dock at telegraph poles to send reports and receive orders.” His lips quirked. “But the
Persephone
’s port was pulverized when we crashed. Bringing us to this fine town, and giving you yet another opportunity to dazzle me with your engineering skills.”

She threw him a quick look. “Have I not dazzled you enough? There’s an airship, not a mile from here, that’s testament to my ability.”

He held up his hands. “Consider me well and truly awed.”

They volleyed light words in an attempt to lacquer over their apprehension. But within minutes, she had the coding device connected. She stepped back as Fletcher turned the mechanism’s crank, creating a charge. The machine hummed to life.

Here it was. Their link back to the world.

He pulled a chair over to the table and sat, then drew a deep breath. The moment his fingers pressed the keys, he would be resurrected. For a second, he only rested his fingertips on the keys. She thought perhaps he might tremble slightly at the prospect of returning from the dead. But no. There was an enforced stillness in him, as if he were gathering himself.

Then he began to type. His fingers slipped a few times on the keys. “These damn things aren’t meant for oversized Man O’ War hands,” he muttered. But he kept on typing, punching in a message as she looked on, trying to decipher the code.

“It’s done.” He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, the chair creaking beneath him. “Now we wait.”

Minutes passed. She paced the length of the small office. There were advertisements pinned to a board—rooms to let, fishing nets repaired, an amateur theatrical performance—but none of these held her interest for long. She kept waiting for that moment, that one, fraught moment, when the answer would come, and everything changed. Not even a newspaper trumpeting the plans for rebuilding Liverpool could distract her.

She jumped when the machine clacked to life. A thin ribbon of paper spooled out of a slot in the side. Fletcher held the paper as it emerged, scanning it. She peered over his shoulder. The strange shapes punched into the ribbon made no sense to her.

But they did to Fletcher. He cursed as he continued to read the message.

Once the ribbon stopped moving, he sent another message. Fraught silence fell as he waited for a response, too strained for her to break it with questions. This went on for several more exchanges. Until the machine went silent, and he didn’t reply.

Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, his brows lowered. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the glass in the window at the back of the telegraph office shook from the force of his brooding.

“What?” she demanded. “What did they say?”

He glanced up from beneath his dark brows, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “A good deal of shock that I wasn’t dead. Relief and gratification, too. They want me to report to headquarters as soon as possible.”

She knew it was coming, but the inevitable loss hit her like a wrench to the stomach. Swallowing around her hurt, she pressed, “What of Mayhew and Redmond?”

“Redmond’s in Greenland to investigate enemy incursions close to the Americas, including building supply stations. The Hapsburgs had been beaten in California by some audacious upstarts—local law and an Upland Ranger—and gone quiet.” Judging by Fletcher’s grim expression, the news wasn’t comforting. “Intelligence thinks that might be the Huns gathering strength to try something new. So they sent Redmond to look into it. He has his wife on his ship—one of the best intelligence agents there is.”

“If it’s an espionage operation,” Kali mused, “then Mayhew wouldn’t know about Redmond’s whereabouts.”

“That’s the goddamn twist,” he growled. “Mayhew had been on leave, looking for us. Then he’d been reassigned to the
Circe
. Except he jumped ship two weeks ago. Just the same time that the
Circe
received a communication about Redmond’s assignment.”

She felt her own frown knot between her brows. “Mayhew must’ve seen the communiqué. He knew he had his target, and needed the mechanical heart to make the final transition. So he found us. And his damn strongbox.” She paced in a small circle. “They’ll warn Redmond, though, about Mayhew.”

“No telegraph poles in Greenland to get the word out. And no goddamn ships close to his location.”

She continued, striving for optimism, “Redmond will be able to defend himself, certainly.”

Fletcher shoved back from the table, dark as a massing storm. “Mayhew will fight dirty. Maybe try to pass himself off as a sanctioned Man O’ War and get close enough to strike a killing blow. No way to know.”

She couldn’t abandon hope. “The other British airships—”

“Won’t arrive in time,” he growled.

“There
has
to be a British Man O’ War that’s close enough to intercept Mayhew.”

He held her gaze. “I am.”

K
ali looked at him as if he’d suggested taking on the Devil armed only with a rusty paring knife.

“No.” She stepped close and grabbed handfuls of his coat. “He’ll be further along in his transformation. He’ll have an airship that isn’t half-wrecked and armed with just one ether cannon and one Gatling gun. Plus he’s mad as a bloody mortician.”

“I won’t sit here with my thumb up my damn arse and do nothing.” He cupped her head. “You said that I don’t just bring destruction—I bring safety, too. But if I don’t go after Mayhew, the world becomes a hell of a lot less safe. It’s down to me.”

As he spoke, a sense of rightness filled him, like cold winter sun. It was time to fight again.

Her jaw hardened. “When will you leave?” she asked tightly.

“Soon as I get word of my plans to the Admiralty.” Goodbye would come so fast. Too fast. But he had no choice. He could only hope to survive the battle, and maybe, just maybe, they’d see each other again.

She released her hold on his coat. Ran her hands over the fabric to smooth it. Then nodded.

“We’re not leaving without buying some of those pies,” she said.

“
We
,” he said. “Damn it—no.”

She only stared up at him, completely immune to the anger and authority in his voice. “This territory’s already been gone over. You need an engineer. Someone to man those two guns.”

He gripped her shoulders, holding her away from him. “That was just for the flight here. I’m not taking you into sodding battle. If you’re hurt, or worse—there’d be no coming back for me.”

“I’m not sending you after Mayhew on your own.” Her eyes gleamed brightly. “This is
our
fight, Fletcher. Yours and mine. Together.”

He felt certain that his heart would have burst from his chest, if the telumium plate hadn’t held it in place.

“Battle is rough,” he said, his voice a jagged rumble. “Bullets. Blood.”

She raised a brow. “I’ve seen all of that. Lived through it.”

“But,” he asked gently, “can you face it again?” He hated to think of her fear. “All men going into battle are afraid, but I’ve seen crewmen freeze in the middle of a fight. Those are the men who don’t survive.”

Her face paled. But she lifted her chin. “I won’t live my life afraid of my fear. And I won’t let you face Mayhew alone.”

“I’ll have the local law throw you behind bars to keep you from coming with me.”

She shook her head. “We’re beyond that, you and I. We trust each other to make our own decisions. Honor my choice to fight beside you.”

His throat felt raw, his eyes hot. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Goddamn you. The minute I saw you on that island, I should’ve known.”

Her own arms came up to hold him tightly. “Known what?”

“That I could live through an airship crash, but I’d have nothing to protect myself from you.”

F
rom his position in the pilot house, Fletcher kept one eye on the shrinking land beneath the airship, and the other on Kali, standing at the railing. She wore goggles and a cloak as protection again the wind. Her stance was looser than it had been when they’d first taken to the sky. She grew more comfortable with each minute they flew. Comfortable with flying, maybe, but she had her back straight as a level, a sign he’d come to recognize. She was afraid of what lay ahead.

Fear rimed his veins, too. Not for himself. Death was an old friend, one he’d met too many times to reckon. His body, too, thrummed in preparation for battle. As if he’d been waiting for a real fight. That’s what he’d been built for—war.

No, not just war. Protection.

He couldn’t fail. Mayhew was too dangerous, and Redmond too valuable.

And yet none of that meant anything compared to keeping Kali safe. If there had been any way to leave her behind, he’d have done so, and gladly. But he did need her for the upcoming clash with Mayhew. A fact that both tore him into scrap and gleamed through him like the biggest, brightest electrical lamp, rivaling the sun.

Once they’d put South Uist far behind them, Kali began examining their two weapons. The ether cannon was mounted portside, and they’d taken the Gatling gun from the bow and positioned it starboard. No side would go undefended. But if there was any ship-to-ship combat, Kali would be the one firing the weapons while he piloted the
Persephone
.

Before they’d departed South Uist, he’d shown her how to use both guns, and cautioned her about spending too much ammunition. Their supply was limited. Every shot had to count.

She’d been pale as ash as he’d instructed her on loading, aiming, and firing the weapons. Pale, but resolute.

Goddamn it if there wasn’t a way to replicate himself, so she wouldn’t be in the line of fire. There’d been wild rumors that a scientist in China had been experimenting with something called
bio-emulation
, creating perfect duplicates of living matter—plants, animals, even, possibly people. Why couldn’t that sodding scientist have made good on his promises?

Fletcher leaned out of the pilot house. “Kali!”

She made her way back to him. As she crossed the deck, her cloak and skirts clung to her, revealing the curve of her waist, the line of her legs. A long while would pass before he’d get the chance to touch those curves once more. He might never again get the chance, in truth. The thought made his hands ache.

“It’s about a thousand miles to the easternmost edge of Greenland,” he said once she’d returned to the pilot house. “I’m going to push the
Persephone
to her limits so we can get there before Mayhew, or at least intercept him.”