The Affinity Bridge (41 page)

“Use your feet to gain purchase. Come on!”

He hauled her bodily through the hatch, sliding her onto the foyer floor beside him. Then, before the vessel began to list again, he clambered to his knees and pulled the door shut behind her. The rain drummed noisily against the wooden panels.

Newbury slumped against the sideboard behind him, drawing ragged breaths. He looked down at Veronica. She lay still on her stomach, dripping with rainwater, her hair plastered across her face. Her left arm was bruised from where Newbury had held on to her and her dress was torn, exposing a large expanse of her milky white thigh. Newbury looked away.

“Are you hurt?” He glanced along the passageway as he talked, nervous that Chapman may happen upon them at any moment.

Veronica’s voice was a soft, quiet murmur. “No. Not hurt.”

Newbury sighed. “Thank goodness for that.” He shook his head. “That was a rare situation you put yourself in, Miss Hobbes. I—”

“I’m sorry.” She pushed herself up from the floor, getting herself into a sitting position, her legs tucked away underneath her. “You needn’t go on. But now’s not the time to discuss it.”

He turned to meet her gaze. “You’re right. I’ll get after Chapman.” He climbed to his feet. “You stay here.”

Veronica nodded. She was still gasping for breath. “I won’t move a muscle.”

Newbury turned without saying another word and set off down the passageway, towards the cockpit, Chapman, and—he hoped—the end of the affair.

_{Chapter Twenty-Eight}

The door to the cockpit was shut when Newbury finally made his way along the passageway to confront Chapman. The engines hummed noisily and the vessel had righted itself, even though it still shuddered disconcertingly with the to-and-fro of the wind. Now it was climbing in altitude, rising high above the factory and the city below.

Newbury was near exhaustion and anxious to get Chapman into custody. He knew the man had lost his firearm back at the factory, and suspected that he would not have hidden a replacement aboard a brand new airship, a vessel that could have only been completed by his factory a handful of days before this, its maiden voyage. Nevertheless, it was a gamble. Newbury knew that he was far from his physical peak, and whilst Chapman was a dilettante and a fop, he was also unscrupulous and cunning. Newbury only hoped that he still had surprise on his side. Readying himself, he reached out, took the door handle and gave it a sharp twist. He stepped back and allowed the door to swing open towards him. It clattered against the wall of the passage.

Chapman sat at the controls inside the small cockpit, his hands dancing over the vast array of levers, buttons and cranks that adorned the panels before him. Above, dials were set into a polished wooden dashboard, showing altitude, speed and fuel levels. Beyond that was the viewing port; a series of large, reinforced glass windows that offered a vast panoramic view of the city below, a kind of surreal birds-eye perspective of the landscape that Newbury had never been granted before. The Thames wound away into the distance, whilst nearby the factories and industrial buildings of Battersea pumped ribbons of steam into the air. Further afield, the City of Westminster was like a jewel amongst the rows of closely-built houses; proud buildings and public parks, museums and parliament. The city glittered in all its majesty, whilst all the while, the storm clouds formed a dark, brooding vault across the sky.

“Pretty, isn’t it, Sir Maurice?” Chapman laughed gently underneath his breath as he spoke. “I often like to come up here—when the weather is better, admittedly—to take in the view of the city. London really is an amazing place to call home. The hub of the modern world. I shall be sorry to have to leave.”

Newbury stood in the doorway. “Why don’t you take the ship down, Chapman? There’s nowhere left to flee. If you come quietly now we can make it easier on you.”

Chapman laughed, louder this time, and shook his head. He turned in his seat to eye Newbury. “You know it never works like that, Newbury. Villiers was a fool, for all his genius. He would have walked willingly to the noose. Not me.”

Newbury clenched his fist by his side, knowing well what was likely to come next. “Then I’m afraid we find ourselves at an impasse.” He crept forward, ready to make a move.

Chapman got to his feet, careful to keep his pilot’s chair safely between the two of them. He smiled slyly. “Indeed we do.” He lashed out as he spoke, sending his fist flying towards Newbury’s face. Newbury ducked quickly out of the way, feeling the fist brush his cheek, ever-so-narrowly missing its target. He thrashed back at the other man, connecting hard with his sternum and causing him to stagger backwards, banging against the control panel. It wasn’t a graceful move, but it was certainly functional. Chapman shook his head, disoriented, and then quickly regained his composure. He straightened himself and stepped away from the controls. The airship juddered, and both men realised at the same time that Chapman’s fall had in some way knocked the controls out of line. Chapman glanced at the panel, and Newbury took the opportunity to pounce, coming at him hard, his fist slamming brutally into Chapman’s abdomen. Chapman buckled, gasping, but sent a blow of his own into Newbury’s gut as he doubled over. Newbury fell back against the doorframe, jarring his shoulder painfully. He wrenched himself about to face Chapman, and the sharp movement finally proved too much for the Fixer’s handiwork. He felt his stitches giving out and blood began to gush from the long wound in his side. His vision swam, and the world was momentarily limned in blackness. He sank to the floor, clutching his abdomen in agony.

It only took Chapman a moment to realise what had happened, and he swept in on Newbury, taking full advantage of the other man’s wretched condition. He struck the Crown investigator with a brutal backhand across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor, his cheek smarting from the impact.

Newbury coughed blood onto the floorboards in a sickly stream. Chapman laughed. He drove a booted foot hard into Newbury’s stomach, taking the wind out of him and leaving him gasping in pain and shock. Newbury tried to roll away, to find a means to get himself upright again, but the passageway was too tight and his body protested. He simply couldn’t muster the energy to move, no matter how much his mind screamed at his legs and arms to react. He was trapped in the narrow passage, with nowhere left to escape the other man’s assault.

Chapman circled him, taking the opportunity to gloat. He stepped over Newbury’s prone form, turning him over with his boot like some common animal found dead by the roadside. He spat at Newbury, and then set about pummelling him with a series of vicious kicks, punctuating his words with powerful outbursts of violence. “You insolent bastard! Did you really think that you’d be able to stop me? What you need to understand is that the sort of people who would benefit from the work Villiers and I were doing couldn’t give a hoot about the loss of a few peasant lives, especially if it ends up making their own lives more comfortable. There’ll be no public outcry. There’ll be no noose. Her Majesty herself will probably give me a medal for my services to the Empire!”

Newbury groaned, but couldn’t find enough of a pause in the beating to emit a response. He brought his knees up to his chest in an effort to protect himself from the constant rain of blows. His side felt warm with spilling blood.

“I suppose I’d better throw you—”

There was a dull thud, followed by a loud clanging sound, and the kicking ceased. Newbury peeled open his eyes to see Chapman crumple to the floor. He banged his head against the wall as he fell, landing in a pile beside Newbury on the floorboards. Newbury looked up through one bruised eyelid.

Veronica stood in the passageway, a large copper fire extinguisher clutched in her hands. She looked bedraggled, her dress torn and wet, her hair flung back messily over one shoulder. To Newbury, however, she looked like a vision of Heaven itself.

“Thank you.” His voice was a wet, warbling croak. He coughed and vomited more blood onto the floor beside him.

“Don’t thank me, Maurice. Just get up and help me fly this thing. If you hadn’t realised, we’re tumbling out of the sky like a dead weight. If we can’t find a way to land the ship, all of this will have been in vain anyway.” She dropped the fire extinguisher noisily to the floor. Newbury groaned and put his hand against the wall in an effort to raise himself up. His hand slipped, leaving a dark smear of blood across its pristine white surface.

“I’m going to need a little help getting up.”

Veronica looked pained, but her resolve was steely. She bent low over Chapman’s unconscious body and grasped hold of Newbury’s hands. Placing her feet against the far wall, she heaved him up into a sitting position. From there he was able to use the doorframe as leverage to pull himself upright. He staggered to the controls, unsteady on his feet.

Veronica followed behind him. “Where do we start?”

“I have no idea.” He slumped into the chair and grabbed hold of two levers that he hoped controlled the steering paddles on the underside of the vessel. He looked out through the viewing port.

The city was coming up fast to meet them. They were set into a dangerous spiral, blown from side to side by the sharp winds, and he wondered if he was already too late to make a difference. The best option he could see at this stage was to try to steer the vessel towards the dark smear of the Thames. At least that way they’d be able to ditch it in the water without turning the whole ship into a blazing inferno. At least he hoped that would be the case. He’d never even
been
on an airship before, let alone tried to land one in a river.

Driven on by the image of the burnt cadavers he had seen in the wreck of
The Lady Armitage,
Newbury tugged hard on the levers, throwing his weight behind them as he attempted to right the vessel from its dangerous collision course. The engines coughed with the strain and the dials on the dashboard were all flickering in the red. If the engines were to get too hot they would run the risk of explosion, which in turn would ignite the balloon of hydrogen above them. He glanced out of the viewing port to see the city screaming towards them. He knew the engines would be no good to them now anyway. He reached over and flicked the switch on his right, cutting the engines. Immediately, the whine from below them ceased.

Veronica rushed forward. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me.” He stood, leaning as hard as he could on the steering levers. Through the viewing port he could see the nose of the vessel edging up against the harsh wind, but his ministrations were having little effect on the terrifying rate of their descent. He hoped beyond hope that the water would help to cushion the blow.

The airship dove into the Thames, spinning onto its side as it came down, first glancing off the surface like a skipping stone and then dipping down into the water, sending a vast wave ahead of itself as it slowed to a halt. The balloon bobbed on the surface of the river, whilst the gondola, not designed with any buoyancy in mind, quickly began to take on water, pulling slowly towards the bottom of the river.