No one saw the airship arrive. It emerged from the black as night ended, a grey shape suspended five miles to the northeast of the island. Seeing such things over the cities of England had always been a wonder. But over the wilderness of the ocean there was something alien about it: its vastness and symmetry, its stillness between the pale streaks of dawn and the churning waves. At such a distance it seemed silent, though the trail of smoke proved its engines were working, the propellers turning to keep it from drifting with the wind.
Then, three hours later, a Company steamer was sighted. It took up position below the airship and began to signal. Ekua scrawled out the sequence of long and short flashes as dashes and dots. She’d filled half a page before it stopped. When it started up again the sequence proved the same.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“We use the helio on the Iceland Queen,” Elizabeth said. “Return three long flashes. That’s what they do to show a message has been received.”
She ran then, following Ekua and Lena. Back across the island to the jetty. They found the helio in its box and hefted it up to the quarterdeck, fitting the gimballed mounting into its slot.
The signal had continued to flash from the Company steamer. Elizabeth angled the mirror to catch the sun then took aim through the telescope. When all was aligned she pulled the lever three times, opening and closing the shutter, repeating the signal at ten-second intervals. Over and over again until three long flashes came back.
“They’ve seen it,” she said.
Ekua was lying on her stomach on the deck, the helio’s instruction book open at the page of codes, a sheet of paper held down under her hand. The corner fluttered against the wind as she transcribed the letters of the message.
“Send negotiator,” she said, at last. “That’s what they’re saying!”
The surge of relief was so intense that Elizabeth felt her legs weaken under her. She held tighter to the railing. “They want to parley!”
“Should I ready the launch?” asked Lena.
“Will it reach so far?”
“Easy. And many miles more.”
“Then yes, get it ready!”
More women were approaching down the jetty; a group of armed warriors. Siân was the first of them up onto the Iceland Queen, her face set hard and resolute. Elizabeth had seen that expression before. But now, knowing the history of the queen’s daughters, its meaning seemed different.
“What are you doing?”
“They want to parley,” Elizabeth said.
Siân shook her head. “Make ready the submarines and the long gun.”
Lena turned to go, but Elizabeth caught her arm. “They want to negotiate!”
“Do it!” Siân snapped, pointing back down the jetty.
Lena twisted free of Elizabeth’s grip and ran.
Ekua still held the book and paper.
“Work out the code to tell them a negotiator’s coming,” Elizabeth said. Then to Siân: “If Mother Rebecca chooses war, then we go to war. But if she decides we parley, it’s not in your power to go against her!”
Anger flared in Siân’s eyes. The woman was a killer, sure enough. But she couldn’t do a thing once her grandmother’s name had been invoked. Elizabeth had positioned herself between the queen’s granddaughters; exactly what Julia had warned her against. But the ships of two navies were facing each other; tens of thousands of men and women, millions of tons of iron and wood, a floating island and the leviathan of the mother ship. One spark would set them all aflame.
Most of the lights were out and the throne was empty. At first it seemed that Mother Rebecca had gone, but then Elizabeth noticed Gwynedd kneeling at the top of the dais and a shape lying before her.
“Is she dead?” asked Siân, advancing.
“No,” said Gwynedd.
The queen was lying on her back, wrapped in furs, her head propped on pillows. Breath whispered in her throat as it ebbed and flowed. Siân knelt next to her cousin.
“Has she said anything?”
Gwynedd shook her head. “I found her like this.”
The guards hadn’t crossed the threshold, but were staring in from the open door, aghast. Elizabeth stopped halfway to the dais.
Siân shouted at her: “Get out!”
But Elizabeth couldn’t risk leaving them alone. “I’m staying.”
Gwynedd gestured dismissal to the guards, who backed out, closing the door behind them.
Siân stared at her cousin. “She’s no right to be here!”
If Siân became queen, war would be swift. With Gwynedd on the throne, there would be parley. Elizabeth couldn’t decide which path would be more dangerous. But worse than either would be ambiguity in the succession. If Julia was correct, if there was more to the rivalry than a clash of ideas, then Mother Rebecca would know it also.
“Has the queen written a will?” she asked.
Gwynedd shook her head. “I don’t know of one.”
“We’re at war!” snapped Siân. “She can’t lead us like this. It’s a fight, so it should be me.”
“It’s not yet a fight,” said Elizabeth.
“Tell that to the dead.”
“The Company wants to negotiate.”
“They’re playing for time!”
The queen took a deeper breath and opened one of her eyes. Half of her face hung slack. Freeing one hand from the furs she pointed to her own mouth. Siân reached for a cup. Raising her grandmother’s head, she tipped a few drops between the cracked lips. A rivulet of wine overflowed. The old woman swallowed and coughed.
Siân smoothed her grandmother’s hair back from the forehead. “Who’s to be queen after you?”
Elizabeth stepped closer for a better view of Mother Rebecca’s face. The cheeks were hollowed. The eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into the skull. Beads of spilled wine in the fur near her face caught the candlelight like garnets.
Siân bent closer. “Who should lead us?”
Mother Rebecca’s clawed hand struggled free of the furs again. It raised, and for a moment seemed to point towards Elizabeth. Siân’s expression changed from shock to disbelief and then fury. “It can’t be her!”
The queen’s arm fell back. She was still breathing but her eyes had closed.
“She can’t even see. She doesn’t know who’s in the room.”
Elizabeth said nothing. Her mind was reeling. Siân carried a brace of pistols at her belt. Two shots. She’d use the first on Elizabeth. Then she’d kill her cousin. The guards would come running. She’d try to make it seem that Elizabeth had shot Gwynedd.
Siân was staring directly at Elizabeth. Her right arm rested by her side. It seemed a casual position, but her fingers were only inches from one of the guns. Elizabeth took a step to the left, bringing herself closer to the throne. If she dived behind it there might be a chance. The throne was made of carved wood. Too thin to stop a bullet at close range. But there was beaten silver in the design, and semi-precious stones. It would give her a chance. She sidestepped again. Siân began to rise.
“There’s something in her hand,” Gwynedd said.
Siân was the first to break eye contact and look down at her grandmother. Gwynedd eased back the clawed fingers to reveal a crumpled sheet of paper. She flattened it on her knee and read: “Siân, Gwynedd and Elizabeth must agree.”
She passed it to her cousin, who read it, shaking her head all the while. “She means we’re to vote for the new queen.”
“Or she means we’re to vote on all decisions,” said Gwynedd.
At last Elizabeth found her voice. “Right now, you’ve one question to answer. Do you send someone to parley or do you start a war?”
Gwynedd regarded her. “And what do you say?”
“Parley.”
“She’s not one of us!” Siân spat the words. “We should fight! Strike them a blow before they know it’s coming. Speed and stealth – that’s always been our way. If we parley we cast off all that power.”
“But if we parley, there may be no need to fight.”
Gwynedd was frowning. “I agree with Elizabeth,” she said. “Make a boat ready.”
Siân stormed from the throne room, barking orders to the guards, drawing everyone’s gaze so that Elizabeth almost missed the moment when Gwynedd slipped the crumpled sheet of paper into her sleeve. Gwynedd caught her seeing it. For a second they looked at each other.
All the way to the edge of the island, Elizabeth was thinking about that moment of eye contact. It seemed to be an acknowledgment; a common threat shared between unfamiliar allies. But for a fraction of a second she’d thought it might be the other way around: that Gwynedd was sizing up a new enemy.
The jetty swarmed with movement. Crew ran past, and porters carrying kegs of oil. The boards bobbed under the passage of feet and cargo. Siân was shouting orders as they pushed a paddle launch clear of the moored fishing boats.
With the arrival of a Company steamer, the airship had moved closer to the island. Sightings from either end of the boardway triangulated the distance at one mile, seven furlongs. Perhaps they believed themselves to be safe at that range. The airship remained directly above the steamer, from which vantage point they might hope to see any danger that approached from under the surface. How quickly they were adapting to this new kind of warfare.
Standing at the edge of the island, overlooking the jetty with its cluster of fishing boats, Elizabeth pondered a new and disturbing thought. There’d not been time for Ajax to carry news of their location so that an airship could be dispatched to reach them so soon. Yet here it was.
There could have been a chance encounter; the airship happening to fly over the steamer, signals flashed up to it. But Elizabeth’s dislike of coincidence had made her search for another explanation. She had found one. It seemed fantastical at first, but the more she thought of it, the better sense it made. She was trying to decide whether to reveal her reasoning when a hand touched her shoulder.
“Are we to fight?” Julia asked, then kissed Elizabeth on the cheek.
“It might not come to that.”
Steam hissed from the paddle launch. Siân was directing an engineer and a pilot to climb aboard. Gwynedd joined her on the jetty.
“We’re still to choose our negotiator,” she said. Then she pointed at Julia. “I think it should be you.”
“No,” said Elizabeth, suddenly alarmed.
“You’re to find out what they want,” Gwynedd said. “And you’re to tell them to leave the Sargasso – ships and airships both. Tell them that for every one of our ships they sink, we’ll bring down two of theirs.”
“No!” said Elizabeth again. Whoever went to deliver such terms would be seen as a pirate. The punishment for piracy had always been hanging.
“Then have you changed your mind about the parley?” asked Gwynedd.
“Let me go instead.”
“Your friend will go under a flag of truce. She’ll be safe. Unless you know of some treachery?”
They both looked to Siân. “I agree with my cousin,” she said. “Julia can represent the Nation. She’ll be faithful – with you here on the island as a guarantee.”
The launch steamed away. Coming out of the lee of the island, it turned into the direction of the swell. The hull dipped into the first big trough, then climbed back up the other side and dipped again.
“The crossing will be easy,” Ekua said. “Don’t worry for your friend.”
Elizabeth put her eye to the helio telescope and watched the launch receding. Not once did Julia look back. She’d accepted the challenge without hesitation. Had another woman acted that way, Elizabeth might have thought her ignorant of the risk, or perhaps excessively brave. But with Julia there was something else – an unswerving sense of duty. This was the role she’d been allotted. She wouldn’t run from it. She would do whatever it took. Lowering the telescope, Elizabeth felt her eyes prickling with the threat of tears.
Whatever their feelings about the past, Gwynedd and Siân were each dedicated to the Sargassan Nation. Both understood their grandmother’s method. They would keep her and Julia and Tinker in different places, each a hostage for the others. And thus would obedience be guaranteed. If only she could find a time and place for the three of them to be together unwatched. They could steal a boat. They might be able to make it all the way back to the Company fleet. She would explain that Julia’s actions on behalf of the pirates had been under duress. The Patent Office would pull strings to make sure there was no retribution. After all, Julia had seen things in Patagonia that they’d be desperate to know.
Ekua was packing away the code book in the helio box. The others had gone. Elizabeth felt the sudden lurch of one who realises a mistake.
“Where’s Gwynedd?”
“She went with Siân. They were going back to the Unicorn.”
“Keep watch on that airship,” Elizabeth said. “The moment they signal, let me know!”
Then she ran. Gwynedd was in danger. And if Gwynedd died, everything would come to ruin.