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KARLA SPRANG TO THE doorway, looking back in alarm. Von Heulenstein had hit the platform like a sack of sticks but had already clambered to his feet and was even now racing back the way they had come. Another door sprang open further back. Out of it tumbled the four young soldiers, quickly making a tangle of themselves on the well-worn marble of the platform. The quickest of them was up and looking about for the rest of Von Heulenstein’s group. Rodney was about to give him a cheerful wave when his companion suddenly hauled him backwards with considerable force. He landed on her lap just as the train dived into its first tunnel. She had just saved him from a severe braining!
He leapt off her. “Sorry!”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, “I wasn’t hurt.” He got the feeling she would’ve been fine with him remaining right there. Even, perhaps, that it had been planned that way. After all, she was still gripping his clothing! Reluctantly, she let him go.
“I say, that was a close call! Thank you ever so much!”
“No need to fuss.” She stood up, tugged her clothing back to order and sat again.
“Shouldn’t we get the door?” he asked. It was frightfully noisy with it open.
“No! It’ll be torn right off. We must wait for the next station.”
How very sensible she was. He liked that in a woman. In fact, he was astonished by her calm confidence. “Does he do that often?” he shouted above the noise, taking the seat opposite her, “Your father, I mean.”
“Well, not usually from moving trains. That’s a first.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Oh, he’s probably just had another one of his brain-flips. He’ll be racing back to the lab to write it down, or try it out, or blow something to pieces.”
“No, it sounded like more than that. Something about Doctor Frankly’s work?”
“Possibly, yes.” She sounded somewhat fatigued by the whole subject.
“Cloud-silver? Do you know what it is?”
“Honestly, I’ve never heard of it. And what does it matter anyway?” She stretched back as if enjoying this sudden forced holiday. “Looks like it’s just you and me.” She sounded pleased about this, but Rodney was feeling otherwise. They rode in silence for a few moments while he reassembled his thoughts and tried not to look at her figure.
He began again. “You, ah, I mean I suppose you’ve been around the laboratory since you were a child?”
“No, mother kept me well away.”
“Was it not safe?” (He had already guessed the answer.)
“She just wanted the best for me,” was all Karla said. Now that her father was suddenly not in her care, her whole manner seemed to have changed. Rodney gazed at her as if through fresh eyes. Here was a young woman whose life had been dominated by her crazy father. Now, even married, she was not free of him.
Damn, this was embarrassing. Trapped on a speeding train with a married woman. What to say? What to say?
“Um ...”
And the tunnel ended. Daylight poured in as the train rolled across a viaduct over a valley filled with what appeared to be factories and storage yards.
“Waterwheel Valley,” she said, as it slowed uphill into a station. A brief squeal of brakes and already people were getting off. She showed no signs of alighting, so he took the opportunity to close their door. Shortly after that the bell sounded and they were moving again, this time with their door closed, across a well-tamed river where draught-horses pulled long narrow barges loaded with goods. On every side, Rod saw waterwheels turning under overshot chutes. Smoke rose here and there from various industrial processes. He pressed himself to the window and gazed at it all with interest. Then the track tilted further downward, the train accelerated and suddenly plunged into another long tunnel.
Karla was still gazing at him in that odd way.
He asked, “So how far have we come?”
“Three miles already,” she replied, the slight rocking of the train giving her bust a unique motion of its own.
“Fantastic. And how far to the airship fields?”
“Another five.”
Conversation. Must make conversation...
“You know I came in last night by royal coach. What a jolly bore! Didn’t get a chance to see any of this.” He waved at the tunnel wall flickering past just outside. Ironically at that moment the train lurched through two quick directional corrections and surged momentarily uphill. Another ingenious bridge leaping the same Gap he had crossed the night before. After the swaying had settled she leaned towards him.
“Tell me, Captain Hoverrim, are you married?”
A tiny noise escaped him for a moment, then he recovered his composure.
“I, ah, no, actually, um, I’m quite, ah, unmarried at the moment.”
Much to his alarm, a flicker of hope passed across her face. He quickly added, “Which is a shame, because you are.”
“I am what?”
“Married.”
“Am I?”
“Isn’t there a Mister Cluely waiting for you at home, or something?”
She began to laugh, which caused her bust to vibrate to yet another happy rhythm. On and on she went, as if, perhaps, she had been long overdue for a good laugh. And this eventually set him off too. There they were, like two children, sitting on a train and laughing about almost nothing.
Finally she got a little control, “You have jumped to a false conclusion, dear sir - as my father would say. No, I’m not particularly married in any very definite way at the moment, either. Nor have I ever been. Why, I am barely twenty years old, sir!”
“Oh,” said Rodney, revealing far more hope than he had intended.
“Oh?” she repeated.
“Yes, um, as in ‘Oh well I have to say, Miss Cluely, that I quite had it wrong’. Please accept my apologies.”
“Ah!” she said, as if a revelation had just struck her.
“Ah?” he repeated.
“Sorry, I realize now, you are like Father: from the Outside. Funny ideas.”
“We are funny?”
“No, I mean, you have funny ideas about things being proper. How people are named, and marriage and such. My mother never changed her name. Cluely has a long history; a very famous history, and she was the last one. So when she knew she was with child, she decided to pass on her famous name to me. Some thought I should have been a boy, but as you can see, I am not.” She squirmed as if all of this was a jolly lark. “And you know what?” she added with child-like delight, “I’m one of a kind: being half of your world and half of mine.”
“Yes, but we’re all ... human,” he managed to say, once again allowing himself to be enchanted by her beauty, now that his marriage panic was over.
“Yes,” she agreed with a kind of growl in her voice, “all too human.”
Rod told himself sternly, No more of this careless falling-in-love, Rodney!
#
SOON THE TRAIN ONCE again burst into daylight, this time rolling across a pretty green valley dotted with white stone villages and picturesque farms featuring hedgerows all across the slopes. He had seen this place before, at dusk the night before.
“They call this ‘The Pantry’,” Karla said, jumping to the window to gaze at it, “I do so love it! Wouldn’t it be lovely to live here without a care in the world?”
The train was running up-slope, losing speed before the next station. Rodney marvelled at the engineering, and longed to be able to talk to someone about it. He glanced at her, and sighed. Women were never much interested in machinery.
The brakes eased on and they came to an easy stop. Here the platform was crowded. People burdened with great baskets of produce peered into their compartment, didn’t see enough room and moved on. Suddenly their door opened and a large woman got in carrying a huge basket. She was talking before she’d even closed the door.
“Sorry, loves. Train’s a bit full. So, yous going to work then, or home? Which?”
Rodney realised that he must have looked like some sort of industrial worker.
“To work,” he said, merely to simplify things.
“You work on them dirigibles then? Can’t stand them, I can’t. Lost my brother to the Deeping I did, twenty years ago it was, and I’ve feared them ever since. If anyone wants to go up to the heavens well I say wait until you’re an angel then the Great Spirit’ll give you wings anyways. But I don’t know, people’ve got to eat and there’s plenty of honest men who keep their bums on a horse and they’ll all be needing bread and cheese for supper,” she heaved at her huge cheesy basket as if to inform them of its contents, “And speaking of which; did you hear what went on just last night?”
Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but never got a chance.
“...That Invader fellow from beyond the Stormwall, he flew in he did, in a dirigible without a proper windstone and all. Some horrible device that burns rock-oil, can you believe? Madness, I say. Never should be allowed. There’ll be airships burning down all across the sky, mark my words. The King should put a stop to it! And did you hear what else? They say he’s been in with that Firetail, they say. Saucy wench she is and all. By gum there’ll be hell to pay if they ever catch her, and I hope they never do. It ain’t proper hanging a lady, no matter what she’s done.”
“So...” Rodney dared ask, “what has she done?”
“Oh now ... plenty enough I’m sure.”
Rod began to feel quite outraged by the attitude of his old bag. “But how do you know?” he challenged her boldly, “Does anyone really know what she does?”
“Well now that’s for the authorities to decide, in’t it?” The old lady was peering at him now, trying perhaps to get his measure.
He shrugged, tried to seem as if none of this was new to him, then put on a grin. “Perhaps they just don’t like a smart lady.”
The old bag snorted, “Mores like they don’t like a lady who fancies herself to be too smart to marry an honest man and flounces off instead in her red britches!”
He laughed, hoping it was the right response. She looked at him as if he were retarded.
“It’s no laughing matter, Sonny Jim!”
She then turned on Miss Cluely, “And don’t you go getting silly ideas like that yerself, lass. I see you’re wearing trousers and I know your type, but at the end of the day it’s us girls that stay behind who get to have the last laugh. I got three grand-children now, and I wouldn’a trade places with that Firetail lady for the world and a half!”
Rodney nearly said ‘Thank goodness for that’, but wisely bit his tongue.
“Here!” Cheese-woman dug into her basket and pulled out two tiny waxed cheeses, “I always put a few extras in. See, that’s my family crest right there: the Cheese-Nest we call ourselves. Call in any time you want. Always glad to have company we are.”
Rodney peered at the elaborately stamped impression in the red wax. It showed a bird with raised wings standing in a woven nest.
“Thank you, but ...”
“Oh no, love, that’s for you. Specially for you.”
Rodney glanced at Karla with bemusement, sighed, and nodded his compliance. He pocketed the cheese.
The train had been rolling steadily through its final tunnel and was now coming to a smooth stop in an underground chamber much like the one under Haven Towers. Cheese-woman heaved herself up and banged open the door. “Deliveries, deliveries, must be orf.”
And she was, but puffing and plodding so slowly that she quite blocked the doorway for some moments. Karla gave Rodney a mischievous smile and held him back a moment longer. “Wait,” she advised, “that trunk is a beast of a thing in a crowd.”
He was glad of the advice. Standing so close that he could feel her warmth, so he let the hustle and bustle die down, then they got out at their leisure. At once a group of four soldiers stepped smartly towards them. Their livery was different to the Palace guards, but familiar enough to Rodney from last night. He groaned.
“Capt’n Hov’rim?”
“Yes.”
“King sends his apologies for you getting lost and requests we now accompany you forthwith to your ship, sir!”
Rodney wondered how they had been so quickly informed. Did they also have a system of metaphones? So many mysteries to this place.
“Rightio. Well, let’s get on with it then.”
The soldiers did a smart about-face and with a bit of fancy sliding and shuffling took up as an escort about them. “This way, sir!”
Karla had the barrow, and Rodney saw she was handling it with ease. She nodded him on. He led, and she followed, and the soldiers stamped and jingled all around. From the platform, they entered a long concourse: a continuous arch carved directly through the stone. But it was not a bare hole. Rather it was like a city street with stalls and shop-fronts all along it, just as he had seen before. There were goods on display, food cooking, people and chatter and commerce. It seemed the airship works of Havencliffs was almost a city in its own right.
They turned a corner, entering a zone that seemed entirely devoted to the trades. The way was wide enough for carts. Side-alleys led off into deeper realms – warehouses perhaps, or factories. In these side-chambers he glimpsed workmen wheeling barrows stacked high with all sort of raw materials and finished parts. He could smell glue, leather and wood-shavings. Light airs wafted in from narrower side tunnels, cool but with hints of the outdoors. Despite the industry and sound of blacksmiths nearby, there was no smell of smoke anywhere. Rodney guessed it was all lofted upwards via chimneys or shafts. And, of course, they would have ensured by now that any source of flame or spark was kept well clear of hydrogen production and the airships.
Then he realised it was the same street where he boarded the coach last night, and with that his mind darkened a moment, remembering that sinister chap Henche. Then wham – he remembered Mennase and yesterday’s horrid adventure. To head off this darkness he glanced aside at his delightful companion, currently beaming like a child as she strode though this wonderland, and his spirits lifted again.
The soldiers steered them into yet another turn and into a new gallery, one that sloped uphill. There were signposts at each intersection and numbers above the entrances. It was like a vast and elaborate beehive, and the bees knew their way about. As a newcomer, Rodney was becoming increasingly bewildered. Finally, they came to a guarded entrance. Yes, this was the exact place he had caught the coach.
There was heel-clicking and saluting and the usual sort of military dog-greets-dog that is part of their business no matter where in the world one is, and finally the top dog spoke. “Sir! Your craft is secure within. By order of the King, artisans are already at work!”
“Thank you, sergeant. Very good... ah, marching. Yes, quite.”
“My unit is at your disposal, sir!”
“Right, ah, well any chance of some refreshments?”
The fellow hesitated. Catering was probably not what he had expected. But to his credit he snapped, “I’ll see to it at once, sir!”
“Excellent. So, ah, may we go in?”
“Yes sir!” More heel-clicking and turning and jingling, then they were off. Rod gestured Miss Cluely ahead, and they went along the short connecting tunnel. Soon the chamber opened out, as Rod expected. Yes, it was the same place, and now that he was not under such intense pressure, he had time to take in more of the details.
As always, any carved space within a skyland held rigid, and so the immense volume of the cavern did not surprise or alarm him. Timber walkways ran lengthwise at a dozen different levels, and in three places cunningly crafted cranes were tucked aside while awaiting for their grand work to resume. It was clear that this was one of the places where they built their improbably immense airships. In the flagstone floor ran two widely placed rails the length of the cavity and then out into the brightness of day beyond. Rodney perceived tall latticed towers out there on the green field, one of which supported a huge airship at its nose cone end, and another at the tail. They were taking it out right at this moment, perhaps for trials.
He turned. At the back of this chamber, right overhead, was a similar tower, and he could see that it was designed to run the rails. Entirely too big for his own little airship, which was still there and roped down to its anchor wagon. Already the shiny new canvas on the gondola had been stripped off along one side. (He guessed that Jollie had done it as soon as he could.) Inside he spied the cunning cavity in which Romarny had ridden just yesterday. Already there was some kind of flabby bag laid out in there, and Master Aerosmith Jollie was right there, with his head inside, talking to himself. His tools were tidily arranged upon a wheeled worktable that was drawn up alongside.
Rod walked over. “Good morning, Mr Jollie!”
There was a thump as the man startled and bumped his head. He emerged.
“Ah! Rodney! And who is this?”
“Miss Karla Cluely, sir. Miss Cluely, this is Master Aerosmith Jollie.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Miss Cluely did her cute curtsey.
“Cluely? Cluely?” mused Jollie as he gave her a hearty handshake.
“Jocelyn Cluely was my grandmother.”
“Oh my goodness! Right! And how is the old trooper? She is still alive I hope!”
“Oh yes, still full of beans, though of course she is retired now.”
“Of course, of course.” Jollie hung onto her hand a long time, and peered at her with peculiar intensity, before letting go.
“Well now,” he said, turning back to Rodney and his vessel, “Your little boat here did just fine yesterday, and, ah, we’ll have her looking perfect again before long.” He had glanced at Miss Cluely, and Rod suddenly realised that having her here was going to put a considerable cramp on what they could discuss.
“This is one of your new ballast bladders.” Jollied tugged at the loose bag. “Still got to fit the valves and control linkages, mind. Few days’ work in it.”
“Any chance of rushing it?” Rod asked with faint hope. Jollie caught the hint.
“I’ll be doing it all quite standard, but there’ll be a few fiddly bits nonetheless. You Brittelish do things a funny way.”
“British.”
“Ah, right. Sorry. Anyway...” Jollie looked again at Miss Cluely, perhaps wondering why she was there. “... we’ll have you back in the skies in no time, eh!”
“Splendid.”
Miss Cluely, on her part, had quietly and without invitation gone three rungs up the ladder and was peering inside Rod’s gondola, with special attention on his motor.
“How does it work?” she asked.
“Um, it burns the fuel inside. Quite safe.”
“Yes. But how exactly? Does it reciprocate as a steam engine does?”
“Yes. How did you...”
“It could not drive on each stroke, though? Correct?”
“Ah, no. I mean yes, correct.”
“There would be exhaust gases to dissipate. Ah! They go out there,” she gestured at the exhaust pipe, even as she climbed higher in her excitement, “then you would have to recharge the cylinder ... oh but the valving would be entirely different to a steam engine!”
“Ah, correct again.”
“I’d love to see inside!”
Rod glanced at Jollie, who was glancing at Rod. The fellow raised his bushy eyebrows in astonishment. “Um, well, we are scheduled to get it off soon. Perhaps you could watch.”
She turned and gazed down at him in delight. “Oh, would you? Please!”
Jollie turned to Rod. He smiled and nodded, “I see no good reason why not.”
“ Thank you!” she fair shouted. He was alarmed to think that she might plunge into his arms and kiss him right then, but instead she went further, clambering right into the gondola. It settled a little, of course.
“Oh, this is fabulous!”
“Glad you like it.”
“Would you take me up in her one day?”
“Um, yes, sure!” He recalled that his sponsors wanted him to do exactly that.
“You’re a wonderful man! Unlike my father.” This last remark revealed some bitterness, he noted. But he imagined that life with Von Heulenstein would be a trial, to say the least.
Her attention was back on his motor. “So, do you pressurise the ingoing air?”
“Ah, no. Basically it just sucks.”
“How does it perform at higher altitudes?”
“Rather badly.” It occurred to him right then that she had just identified the device’s worst failing, and his mind promptly leapt forwards and invented the perfect answer – one of those windstones!
Right then she said, “If you could rig it with a small windstone tube – that might do the trick. And it would be lightweight too.”
Once again, the men glanced at each other. Mr Jollie raised his eyebrows, and Rod could almost see the cogs spinning inside the fellow’s brain.
“Ah, yes,” Rod answered belatedly, “Good idea.” At once his mind spun away on another path – his Aunt Hettie’s Charm, a windstone in its own right, could create light, but curiously needed external light when it was merely a windstone. How odd. So, what was it, exactly? And why had he felt so free to pass it into The Firetail’s care? Not for the first time he felt some regret about that decision. And where was the fiery woman anyway? This was maddening – not being able to talk to Mr Jollie freely!
#
AT THAT MOMENT, THE woman in question was some three leagues away at a country estate located on the rich rural land to the southeast. The room, a modestly appointed gentlemen's pool room (with the table removed). Attending the meeting were seven of the nine members of the Council, and they were all looking rather grim. Romarny had just finished her tale, two hours in the telling and even then she had been as brief as she knew how. There was quite a silence in the room. The members of the Council glanced around at each other, suspiciously, until the Chairman cleared his throat and began.
“So, it seems that someone ordered Friennie Vorkers to be activated. But who?”
The others murmured and all shook their heads in denial.
“Where is Sunderbury?” asked one of them, “It’s the sort of thing he would do.”
“None of the council would act alone,” said another.
“Well someone did it!”
“I’ve always advocated for that anyway,” said a fourth with some vigour, “not that it was me, but sending Miss Romarny off on that fool’s errand –”
“It succeeded!”
“It was still foolish! It put her out of our range, and we had no idea if or when she would return. We could have had another Firetail operational during her absence –”
“We only ever have one at a time.”
“History has shown huge gaps,” said the protestor testily, “I have advocated this change to our policy, and I continue to do so! When can we have the vote?!”
The chairman answered, but without much warmth, “Well, it seems that someone agreed with you this time, Mr Thomas. Although why Miss Vorkers we shall never know!”
Romarny interrupted, “Miss Vorkers was not known for being particularly bright. Out of all the Prospects, she alone would be easily persuaded to believe she was The One. In fact, she would be quite capable of getting the idea almost by herself.” By the tone of her voice it was quite apparent that Romarny held the other woman in contempt.
“Somebody still gave her the Package,” said the Chairman, “she had the darts. Someone activated her!” Once again that suspicious glancing about, and once again the bickering began. Again, the Chairman called them to order.
“Did you have any opportunity of asking her about it, Firetail?”
“No. She had disappeared by the time I got back from rescuing Lady Maybee.”
The Chairman scowled, “The odd thing is, she was on Lady Radiata’s staff for two years prior to showing up like this.”
One of the Council shuffled uncomfortably. Everyone’s attention swung onto him.
“I, ah, I persuaded my staff to organise it internally, sir.” admitted the gentleman – the only one amongst them that Rodney would have recognised: Mr Jyves, “Of course they didn’t know of her true identity. Besides, Prospects need a meaningful placement, and she was not otherwise progressing. As we say, ‘The Training Never Ends’.”
The Chairman glowered. “But why that placement? Weren’t you risking a great deal?”
“Lady Radiata needed protection, and there was much to learn about Truncasia.”
“We had other operatives there,” muttered someone, “better girls than her.”
“Rather there than here.” muttered someone else.
“This is what we get for taking bribes!” growled another.
“It was not a bribe! It was funding!” snapped the Chairman.
“Politic, politics,” muttered the first to mutter.
“It wasn’t always like that!” said a third, “Why, even our present Firetail ...”
“Let us not debate how we have always operated,” growled the Chairman dangerously, “let us turn our attention to the most remarkable aspect of this story. Miss Romarny, you do have the item with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“Well then perhaps it is time we all saw it.”
Now that it had come to it, Romarny suddenly felt a tinge of fear and regret. What if she had been wrong about this? Had it been right and proper to take it from Rod Hoverrim, to persuade and persuade as she had done, then hand it over to this lot?
Reluctantly she unstrapped her tote-bag and eased out the tube and associated parchments – still reeking of Rodney’s airship fuel despite her every effort to air them.
Everyone leaned forward, and their disappointed murmuring quickly grew to a clamour.
“That’s not it! Too small.”
“Wasn’t it meant to be covered in gold?”
“Oh, that’s just a Royal Jet, nothing more!”
“Hand me those parchments! Come on, girl!”
“Was it made in Britain? Is that typical?”
“It’s entirely too small!”
“Failure! All that money wasted!”
She felt like putting it away and walking right out again. Instead she gripped it firmly and did the action that caused it to extend.
“Ahhh!”
Then she opened the front.
“Ahhhh!”
They advanced. Peered at it. Peered into it. Passed it around. The gem inside gleamed strangely in the available light.
“So, do you know how to open the other end?” asked the Chairman.
“Yes.”
“Well that’s pointless,” said one of them, glancing at the lighting in the room, “surely we don’t have kicklight in here.”
“If it really is one of Them, it won’t need kicklight.”
“Open it!”
She opened it. It began to blow immediately, and she held it firmly, turning herself about so they all took a face-full of its tight but vigorous breeze. There was a collective gasp. Then she snapped both ends closed in one smooth action.
“It’s still not proof,” said the doubtful one, “Everything we know about the Three Stones is pure hearsay. This needs rigorous testing.”
“We have not run this organisation for two hundred years so we might test these things.” said the eldest and frailest of them, “We exist to keep the world safe from them. Let’s just lock it away at once and move on to the next one!”
“And what if we’re wrong?” growled The Chairman, “What if someone else finds all the Stones because we’re here resting on our laurels thinking our work is done? It is a risk we cannot take. We have to know!” He had been examining the parchments, having had to wrestle them away from one of the others. He turned to Romarny, “What language is this?”
Romarny leaned in, “I think that page is Old British.”
“And this one?”
“Ummm, Older British?”
“Didn’t you learn their language?”
“It was easy enough to speak ...”
“Then what does it say?”
She peered at it. “Sooth... pewer... dram... clotch... la-thook. Which, um, means...”
“Do you have any idea what it actually means?”
She gave up with an angry sigh. “I’m no scholar!”
“What about Von Heulenstein?” suggested one of them, “He could ...”
“No!” shouted six other voices, including Romarny’s.
“So, what about these three rings?” asked the Councillor who now held the tube, “They appear to rotate.” He tried it. Nothing. “Or did.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “they’re jammed, or rusted shut or something.”
She had tried them many times, but somehow, after that long night where the thing had burned unattended for hours, the inner workings had become jammed after Captain Hoverrim had finally forced it off. Besides, she had never learned exactly how to set it. In fact she was glad it was jammed, because she did not want anyone triggering some new and terrible effect right here in the room. She was suddenly quite fearful of what this thing might do, left in their hands for too long.
Well, except for Mr Jyves, of course, and Mr Karakuri. They were the two she knew and trusted entirely. The rest of the Council she barely knew. None of them were scientists as such. A few were minor scholars. One a doctor. Another a reputable printer. The chairman was the Bishop of Havencliffs in his more normal guise. And so on. All respectable citizens, all well enough versed in their secret purpose and the rituals and methods handed down for over two hundred years. But could they handle this thing, now that it had finally arrived?
The Chairman laid the parchments aside. “We need someone who reads British.”
“No!” interjected Romarny, “We just need someone to study it directly!”
They all looked at her, surprised by the vigour of her conviction. She realised that she had spoken purely to protect Rodney from getting dragged into this once again.
“Miss Romarny!” spoke a stern woman’s voice, the only other woman there. Romarny shrank inside and looked around at her former school mistress, Mrs Hanarrahar.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
Hanarrahar sounded exactly the same as she had done ten years ago, and made the same kind of speech too, “Stand down, young lady! You have done your duty, but you have no right to be getting above you station in this matter. It is not yours! It is time to just hand this over to the Council, and then you may have two days leave. But stay hidden, of course. You have been informed you're now Public Enemy Number One?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m fully aware.”
“It was Mennase!” added someone from the side, “He influenced the King.”
“And that’s another thing,” said the usual interjector, “If Mennase is still alive...”
The hubbub immediately increased.
“That is neither here nor there!” bellowed the Chairman.
“Yes it is! If he comes back, or gets word back to the Greycoats...”
“We are secure! Miss Romarny will be fine.”
“I might be,” Romarny interrupted hotly, “but Mennase will target the Britisher. Again and again if we allow it! He will use Rod to set a trap. It’s our duty to ... ”
“Miss Romarny!” It was Mrs Hanarrahar again. “As I said before, these matters are no longer your concern. Stand down, retreat to the safe house, and we will brief you on a new mission later.”
Romarny rounded on her angrily, “Don’t you even care about him?”
“You must dissociate yourself from him, Miss Romarny. That is an order!”
The younger woman simmered, but said nothing. She looked around the room, but saw little sympathy amongst them. The Chairman held the Charm of Sissifreya, firmly.
“Thank you, Miss Sijypzee,” he said coldly.
She clamped onto her emotions, took up her empty bag, and made for the door. Mr Jyves glided after her, perhaps to offer some comfort.
“Jyves!” called the Chairman firmly, “No! You are too much in the middle.”
Mr Jyves stopped, caught her eye momentarily, grimaced, and turned back.
Moments later she was gone, closing the door with considerable force. As the bang echoed in the chamber, the murmuring began again. The Chairman just glared at them for silence then held the Charm high.
“Gentlemen, we finally have success!”
There was a round of applause, mixed with a few of them murmuring, “I still can’t quite believe it,” and “Surely it can’t be one of Them, can it?”
“And...” boomed The Chairman, “...I have decided our next step. Mr Karakuri?” He turned to the quietest man in the room. The only man amongst them, in fact, who had not spoken a word during the entire two hours. “Take it apart, sir, with utmost care. Analyse it, fix it, and return it to us intact and functional. You have two days.”
Karakuri bowed and took the offering in both hands. “I am deeply honoured, sir. Thank you.”
#
ROMARNY LEFT THE BUILDING, hitched her skirts and secured them using the straps she wore underneath for just that purpose, then untethered the nearest saddled horse, turned it around and mounted. By the colours on its trim she guessed it belonged to the Chairman – who preferred to ride rather than go by coach – but she decided he could spare it just this once.
She rode it out of the estate at a goodly gallop, already wondering where Rodney would be at this hour. And more to the point, where was Mennase? Was it possible that he was still alive? She had discussed this at length as she had huddled by the fire at the Cheese Nest late last night, talking with the only person she really trusted in the world.
#
THE OLD LADY LISTENED quietly to her entire tale, only interrupting twice with questions. Once Romarny was done with the scene where Mennase and his merry men had all been variously tossed upon the King’s Hunt she said the very thing Romarny had been fearing to think, “He survived the first time, so it’s possible he’ll do it again. He’s a tough nut is our boy Percy.”
“But that was in summer, remember? This time he’ll freeze. And he’s injured; I made damn sure of that!”
“Where did he fall? What height. Was it thick snow?”
“There was a clearing below, so there was snow cover, but I’ve no idea how deep.”
“He had no leg injuries prior to the fall. Just to the hands?”
“Yes.”
“And you never saw him again?”
“No.”
The old lady sat back and paused in her knitting. “I hate to tell you this, Roamy, but the Greycoats now have a training facility on King’s Hunt. Established it about four years ago, but we only learned about it this year.”
Romarny had sat up then, worried. “Where?”
“No idea. But we ran a couple of student groups out there this autumn, supposedly just yachting. We didn’t see anything obvious from the air, but there are a number of places where it is possible to descend into the Gaps. If they have used any of the natural caves ...”
“But there are dozens of them!”
“I know. I’ve been to a few of them – oh years ago now – but they were well filled with dog-bears. Any well-armed sortie could soon clear them out, though. Anyway, we now know that the Greycoats go across there on a regular basis. They must have quite a base, because sometimes they don’t return for a fortnight or more.”
Romarny had leaned forward and eased a little more coal into the stove, then sat back, thinking this over. “But Mennase would still have to get to it.”
“He’s a tough nut,” repeated the old lady.
“He’d have to get warm and dry. He’d need fire, food, clothing, medicines and dressings. If it’s only set up for summer then there’s still a chance he’ll succumb.”
“Roamy, we really don’t know enough. We cannot assume anything.”
“Damn it! I wish I had aimed for his throat!”
“You had to save the Britisher.”
“I did not have to!”
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Roamy. We all make mistakes. Francesca ... ”
“Francesca fell in love. I haven’t!”
Silence. The old lady had not answered Romarny’s outburst, just set down her knitting, leaned forward and opened the oven door. “Cheese scones. Your favourite, I believe?”
Romarny had smiled, tears just visible in her eyes, and whisked one of the hot scones onto her plate. “Gods,” she sighed, relaxing back into her chair, “You know: asides from everything else it’s good to be home!”
“You count this as home?” the old lass grunted as she eased the baking tray onto the rack above the hot plates.
“You’re here. That’s enough for me.”
“What about Jypzee Chase? Surely you pine for it?”
Romarny had turned away with a sigh and gazed at the fire though the air vents on the firebox for a good half-minute before answering. “Since Father died...” Then she said no more except, “Let’s eat! I’ll get the butter...”
#
BUT THAT HAD BEEN LAST night, and already her life had become more complicated. Stand down?! She’d never been stood down before. She always had a mission. To learn; to grow tough; and to serve the Council. That had been her father’s wish. Yes, the world had always theoretically been in danger, but was the Charm of Sissifreya really it?
She urged the horse to go faster. Where was Mennase? This was maddening!
#
MAJOR PERCY MENNASE was at that moment sitting in the sunlight that shafted down between the clifftops some fifty feet above him, to fall neatly into the entrance of his temporary home. The pain in his wrist and hand was constant. He focused upon it, bending it to serve his will, as he once again pressed his wound into the available snow. It had stemmed the bleeding yesterday, and now it helped with the pain. And the pain told him he was alive. But how to get a message out? No-one was scheduled to return here until the spring. And besides, signal flags were never hoisted. There was no flagpole or any other clue to his hideout. He had few options.
“I will find you,” he muttered, shifting his swollen wrist in the thin snowdrift, “and I will bring you here and the hunt will begin. You will be naked, and I will catch you and humiliate you until you beg me for death.”
He chuckled then, an awful sound.
“And that will come too slow for your liking, you bitch, entirely too slow.”
He eased sideways to stay in the warmth, thinking, always thinking. There was one way he could get back, once these mangled hands could do more than push things around painfully. And there was still hope that his men would come. Some of them were smart enough to deduce what must have happened. Sure – there was little hope of Gauche ever figuring anything out, but Mennace didn’t need Gauche.
“Come on, Mr Henche,” he whispered again, “You can work it out!”
#
GERALD GAUCHE STROKED his goatee and gazed at the single piece of paper in his hand, then lifted his eyes to Agent Henche. Damn that man! It was impossible to know what he was thinking.
“What do you think, Mr Henche?”
“I think Major Mennase had a different plan, and it was in his interests not to advise us of it. We cannot know if he intends us to undertake investigations – if that was anticipated by his plan, or if he wants you to wait without acting.”
Gauche took several breaths, trying to work out if that last remark was intended as some sort of goad. Henche was very good at his job, but sometimes he was a curse to deal with.
“And what if you are wrong? What if the Major fell foul of unexpected trouble?”
“Then it must have happened after he left the Britisher to his own devices.”
“You’re quite sure you detected no deceit in the Britisher?”
“I think we have no other option but to act upon his story.”
Gauche did not entirely take this in. There was something disturbing about this mystery and he tried to place his finger right on it. Maddening!
“It’s just not like him to let a suspect off the hook,” he finally mused.
“The Britisher is very important to the King. Perhaps ...” Henche did not finish.
Gauche felt the pressure mount. This was a circumstance he had never anticipated. He glanced around at his other stony-faced underlings, all too aware that he had to take command now. Mennase seldom ever informed him of everything he was planning, but this really did feel like an emergency. Finally, and with a show of decisiveness, he spoke. “I’m sending a ship.”
Henche nodded, but whether it was a nod of approval, or simply acceptance, Gauche could not tell. Then Henche stood to go, but paused to speak, “Is there any other service I might render you, sir, at this time?”
Gauche at least had an answer for that. “Go and talk to that Jollie fellow. Put the wind up him. I’m sure you have something on him? Some dirty little secret he does not want the world to know of?”
“Every man has one of those.” Henche murmured as he turned to depart.
Gauche let him go, glad to see his back, then fetched his topcoat, gloves and flying helmet from his hatstand and hurried to the EPTOCK room. His underlings tagged along.
“Any reply from the Fields?” Gauche asked the EPTOCK operator.
“This just in from Field Five, sir.” The clerk hunched over the strip of punched tape, carefully transcribing the message onto his pad. “NO ARRIVAL OF SHIP IN QUESTION.”
Gauche swore. “Alright, signal the Naval Office. Request a fast scout be readied and placed at our disposal. The fastest available. Liftaway within the hour if at all possible.”
“Yes sir.”
The signaller began tapping on his Electro-Pulsive Transfer-of-Code key while Gauche paced impatiently, still in a turmoil. Was this a drill? What was Mennase up to? Damn him!
The reply came back a good ten minutes later. The clerk hastily transcribed it.
“SHIP AVAILABLE DAWN TOMORROW.”
Gauche sighed. “Very well. Confirm the details. See that it all reaches my desk.”
He retreated to his office and took out his maps, then sat studying them for the remainder of the day. Why did Mennase transfer ships? Where was he?
#
IT HAD BEEN A WHILE since she had stolen a horse, and it was rather liberating to be riding again. But of course there was a downside. Horses were only for the aristocracy, so wherever she went she turned heads and set tongues wagging. However at this moment she did not much care. Ascending at a walk to the top of Knuckleridge Pass, already thick with snow, she let the beast trot the length of Pantry Valley until she reached the Fiveways. Leaving it tied at the inn and with water, she went around the side, doubled back to the lane she wanted, and walked the last quarter mile to the Cheese Nest. Alone in the lane for a short stretch she hitched her skirts and went over the stone wall, slunk along the other side and let herself in via the garden gate.
The old cheese lady was bent amongst her winter vegetables.
“I’m back.” Romarny announced quietly.
“Ah.” The old crone straightened slowly, “How did it go?”
“Well, they have it now.”
“You sound somewhat aggrieved.”
“Hanarrahar! She is an even greater bitch than she used to be!”
The old lady said nothing, just banged her tubers on her boots, shaking all the dirt onto the ground.
“Big pie tonight. You need building up, girl.”
“No! I need appreciating! I risked my life getting through the Stormwall. I spent two years in Britain – the food is terrible – and then all that drama on the way back! And what do they do?” She made a snatching gesture, “See ya’ round, girl.”
The old lady looked at her hard. “You’re right. You do need appreciating. And some decent food. Come and have lunch.”
Romarny growled, glanced around out of habit, and sighed. “I’m sorry, I...”
“Don’t apologise! You’re quite right to be aggrieved.” The old lady leaned her spade against the stone wall and stamped her boots, then went in under the low door frame. The kitchen was hot compared to outside. “Got some good scones on, I have.”
“You’re a marvel.”
“A woman’s work is never done. And nor is a Firetail’s.” She settled into her favourite chair. “Saw your fellow this morning. Seems a decent enough chap.”
“Who? Rodney?”
“Got an aetherwave just after you left. Jyves said your chap was going to be on the train to the Fields, so I thought I’d try an intercept; see if I could sound him out.”
“And?”
“He clearly has your interests at heart.”
Romarny gave this a moment of thought, said nothing, and resumed putting away the plates from the drying rack by the copper tub.
“Anyway I gave him a cheese. I think he’ll be fine ...”
“You what?”
“Gave him a cheese.”
“But he’ll have no idea what it means!” Then Romarny had a worse idea. “What if they find it on him?”
“Well, they would have no idea, either.”
Romarny stopped her housework, glanced towards the door. “But Mennase would. He’d leave no stone unturned.” She paced the small kitchen and glanced outside again, “I know it’s a tiny risk, but while Rod has that cheese we’re not secure!”
The old lady slumped and covered he face with her hands. “Damn! Oh, how stupid of me! I just thought... for you... that you’d like to see him again. I know you’ve told me you’re not in love, but...” She looked up. “Roamy? Roamy?!”
The kitchen was empty. Outside, she heard the sound of the delivery bicycle being pedalled swiftly away.
The old lady sprang up, cursing softly to herself, and went straight into the pantry. Tugging aside several fat sacks of grains and dried peas on the floor she folded down two boards, stood upon them, cleared the highest shelf and slid aside the back wall after releasing the secret catch. She had exposed a cabinet housing a strange machine – a complex cluster of electrical parts surrounding a double brass wheel, vaguely like the face of a clock. Confidently she connected the circuits to the battery of charging cells built along one side then took out the code book while the electrical components warmed up.
This was not going to be the usual simple message. How to phrase it? ‘FIND AND DESTROY HIS CHEESE’? A bit vague. She could imagine Jyves panicking. No. This was going to take at least five resets of the code wheel.
Deciding on her wording she began setting the pins. The inner ring remained unchanged – her own code to indicate the origin of the message – but the outer ring, twenty four pins in all, had to be done correctly. Once every pin was set she locked the wheel into the spinner, checked that the clockwork was fully wound and that the readiness indicator was suitable hot, and eased off the lock. It would run for about five minutes, first sending her location code and then, if the correct reply came, it would switch the wiring to allow the main message to go via the aether.
She shut the hidden cupboard least the pinging was heard and returned to the kitchen where her scones were merrily burning in the oven. She swore lustily.
#
ROD WAS VERY HAPPY. He was gazing at a thing of beauty and it pleased him greatly. No, it was not Miss Karla Cluely, although she did come a close second. What in fact pleased him was the inside of his motor. The lady in question, however, was almost delirious with delight as each cover came away to reveal deeper and deeper cast-iron cavities caressing complex oil-coated components. She made little noises, “Oh!” and “Ahhh!” and often leaned close, panting in her pleasure.
“It’s beautiful!” she even squealed at one point.
Rod repeatedly glanced at Mr Jollie over her head, as if to express his astonishment at the woman’s exuberance. Jollie grinned back over the head of the V-lines specialist who was the one actually undertaking this mechanical dissection, “You’ve got to understand, mate, that these things are not my cup of tea. I bolt ‘em on, I bolt ‘em off. That’s all.”
“But you have seen one before?” Rod asked.
“Aye. We captured one a few years back. King had it brought here for testing.”
“Captured?”
Jollie suddenly became uncomfortable, and gestured vaguely, “Ah, just a figure of speech, mate. You’ve got to understand that these things are of great interest.”
Rod answered drily, “Yes, I know.”
The V-lines mechanic, Mr Woodbind, interrupted with a murmur of discovery, “Ah-aaa!”
“What is it?”
“I needed to check how well this oil seal survived.” Woodbind had eased out the soggy seal with his fine-tipped pliers and held it up for them to see. “And it hasn’t done well. Petroline is very harsh on these. It seeps into everything. Your other oil was what, exactly?”
“Walnut oil. So – this seal? Is it easily repaired?”
“Looking at this now, I fear you’ll be having to replace it every five days of actual operation, to be safe. You ran it for how long, yesterday?”
Rod suddenly felt on the spot. “Ah, about ten hours.”
Woodbind shredded the material, still inspecting it. “I could try something different, but we’ll need to open it again every day to check its progress. Meanwhile I’ll replace it now.”
Rod’s heart sank. “And will it involve removing the motor every time?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Karla suddenly leaned in, pointing a finger. “If you machined this out here...” her finger slid around the curve in the split casing where the driveshaft came out, then pulled away suddenly, “... and added a ring-flange that slides fine to the shaft and the newly machined housing, then the seal could be replaced right on the ship, without disassembly.” She glanced at Rod, suddenly seeming to doubt his ability. “As long as the sealing cord is wound correctly and the bolts tightened sequentially.”
Rod nodded. “I’d be happy to learn. Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Oh this? Just a cut. I’ll be fine.”
Woodbind and Jollie were still looking at her, astonished by her apparent knowledge of motors, bearings, and ‘ring-flanges’ (whatever they were).
Woodbind peered at the spot she indicated. “I don’t know...”
“There is enough meat in the casting,” she interrupted impatiently, “and we can drill and tap for the bolts here, here and here.” Rod saw the blood swell at her fingertip, which this time she wisely kept clear. She re-wrapped it in her other hand. Rod quickly dug out a clean handkerchief as she continued her exposition, “The flange ring would need a slight taper to press the seal firmly to the shaft. Also it could be progressively tightened as the seal wears, extending its working life considerably.”
“I don’t know...” repeated Woodbind.
She sighed impatiently. “It’s entirely workable!”
Mr Jollie suddenly took her side. “I believe it is achievable, sir.”
“You are not an expert, sir,” Woodbind said defensively.
“But I am,” interrupted Rodney suddenly. They both turned to him, surprised. “I was involved in the development of this model, and I think it is entirely feasible. Why, I have even seen such things used in other motors.” It was an entire pack of lies, but somehow he wanted to side with her. After a few days in the company of Romarny Skijypzee, he had a new respect for confident women.
“I don’t know,” began Woodbind for the third time, “Mr Krarvatt specifically ...”
“Mr Krarvatt would be pleased by any improvement, Mr Woodbind,” said Rod firmly, “Especially one that improved my vessel’s running time. They do want to conduct a mail service you know.”
Woodbind pouted. Seemed the fellow was now on the spot. “I’ll still need his approval.”
“Tell him it is my idea,” ordered Jollie, almost menacingly, “And that Captain Hoverrim approves of it.”
“Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.”
And that was that. Woodbind proceeded to lay bare the entire works and carefully measured the wear and ‘float’ of all the important parts, then lay them aside.
“This is a secure facility?” he asked, glancing to the door.
“Guarded day and night.”
“Good. Well, I shall measure for this proposed modification now, then see if our local metal shop can be employed for the change-over.”
“I can see to it at the Science Works.” offered Miss Cluely unexpectedly. “We have an excellent turner on staff.”
Once again the men glanced at each other. Rod felt suddenly reluctant, realising that her offer might put him squarely back into Von Heulenstein’s domain – a place he would rather avoid. He was quietly relieved when Woodbind rather stiffly said, “I’m quite able, ma’am, to take care of the matter myself. V-lines employs perfectly competent fitters.”
It seemed to slide right off her. “Alright. Anyway it’s quite apparent to any intelligent man how it can best be done.” It was a remark that Rod was sure meant no specific malice, but he noted that Woodbind still took umbrage.
Anyway, they soon returned to the hangar where the Lizzie waited. Rod felt that enough time had been wasted and was keen to see Jollie getting back to his bladders, so had already planned how he might bring the visit to an end, but it was not to be. They had barely arrived when they heard the rattle of a tea trolley behind them, and in came a maid and her wagon.
Having had a near-death encounter with a tea-lady once before, Rod peered at her suspiciously as she came closer, and thus nearly gave the game away when he realised that under the curly blond hair and thick spectacles it was in fact Romarny the Firetail. He actually gasped, but fortunately Jollie acted less surprised.
“Bess! And how’s my Bessy today, eh?”
“Very well, thankee, sir.” said ‘Bess’ as she arrived, “Cup of tea, sir?” The voice was girlish and gave the impression that ‘Bess’ was rather dim. She waved her hands nervously as she spoke, but Rod had seen those gestures once before. Sign language.
Could Jollie read it too? Rod watched, but the big fellow just nodded and chuckled, “Perfect timing, lass, perfect timing!”
Bess got busy, barely glancing at Miss Cluely. “Here you are, sir. As you like it. And you, sir. And ma’am, what’d ye be having?” Efficiently she distributed cups and presented a tray of buns. They all proceeded to take tea, Miss Cluely none the wiser.
“Miss Cluely,” began Jollie, as soon as he had put away his bun (and Rod had already seen how efficient the man was at this), “Have you seen my rudder mechanism? It’s very ingenious.”
Miss Cluely was easily lead away, and as soon as Jollie began loudly explaining its workings just ten paces away, Romarny came close to whisper.
“Who is she?”
Rod scowled, resenting her intrusion that apparently had no other purpose than to quiz him on his companion. “Miss Karla Cluely. Heulenstein’s daughter.”
“By jove she’s grown! A bit too close for comfort, though, isn’t she, Rod?”
“I’m sure ...” But he got no further.
“Have you encountered Heulenstein, then?”
“Yes, but ...” Once again he got no further.
“Just be on your guard, Rod. And do not mention the Charm!”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
“Now give me the cheese.”
“Huh?”
“Small red-waxed cheese. About this size. You got it by mistake.”
“How did you...?”
“Shush. Just hand it over.”
He growled, but did her bidding. She seemed immensely relieved to get it. “Do you want hers too?” he asked, glancing over to where Miss Cluely was at that moment exhibiting her generous derriere as she leaned inside Rod’s gondola – into the very place, in fact, where Romarny had lurked for most of yesterday.
Romarny’s eyes flicked towards the other woman. “Where is it now?”
“In her pocket, I presume!” He was becoming increasingly annoyed by this intrusion, and that this dangerous woman was once again back in his life. “Why don’t you just go over there and pick it?”
“Rod! That is not helping. It’s important that you get it from her, and destroy it.”
“Why? Is it poisonous?”
“No.” She was getting tetchy too, and flustered. “It is just cheese. There was a mix-up, that’s all. Just get it back and either destroy it or ditch it. But don’t be seen doing it! Otherwise... well, she could be in danger.”
Rod saw red. “Damn it, woman!” he began, then realised how loud he had become. Miss Cluely looked around, perplexed. He grinned at her and shrugged apologetically, gesturing with his cup. “Sorry. Um, tea’s all gone.”
Fortunately Miss Cluely was more interested in Jollie’s mechanism and paid Rod little heed. She turned away and Rod resumed his furtive conversation with ‘Bess’.
“Look, I know that you and I have had some ... history together, but really, I feel that it’s best we do not continue to meet.”
Gad. That had been so hard to say.
But she nodded, and seemed to understand. “Rod, just trust me. Get that cheese off her as soon as you can, and everything will be fine. We’re doing everything we can to keep you away from Mennase’s nasty crew.”
“Alright. Um, thanks. I appreciate it.”
And that was all they had time for. Miss Cluely returned, picked up her cup, then the teapot, shook it, and looked at him askance.
“Oh, there it is.” he said lamely.