Authors: Sharon Joss
Arvel faced his engineer Gregorio across the engine housing, each
of them up to their elbows in grease. At this hour of the night, the hangar was
eerily quiet. They were alone on the ship. Simon was off scouting somewhere,
and the rest of the crew were off duty at one of the surprisingly plentiful and
varied pubs on the Island, with instructions to be back by midnight. The French
crews had also gone off for supper, and the German Captain had confined his
crew to quarters an hour earlier. Outside somewhere, a night watchman patrolled
the airfield, keeping the curious and light-fingered at bay.
“One more time, please.” Arvel wiped his sweaty forehead against
his shoulder. This time, when Gregorio fired up the engine, it turned over with
a rumble instead of a roar. He cocked his head, listening for the sounds of
metal on metal on metal clacking.
Better
.
Across from him, Gregorio gave a nod of satisfaction and wiped his hands on a
filthy rag.
“An adjustment only, Captain. She runs as well as ever now. Only
thing that remains is the gondola, eh?” He had to shout to be heard over the
engine. Gregorio let the engine run for a while, making fine adjustments,
before shutting it off.
In the sudden silence, a dog began to bark. Gregorio cocked his
head to listen. “Is that Vectis?”
“I don’t know. It’s coming from outside. I’ll go see.” Arvel slid
down the ladder into the main cabin then swung down the line to the floor of
the hangar. The barking stopped. The doors on both ends of the barn had been propped
open a few inches in the hopes that Vectis would find his way back to them. He
whistled softly.
Silence.
The hangar was illuminated only by the muted glow of the
Il Colibri’s
glowing, glass-encased
hydrogen egg capsules, her cabin lights, and the reflected glow of a pair of
gaslight lamps hanging from posts outside the hangar doors. Arvel glanced
across the hangar toward the cigar-shaped hulk of the German ship, but there
were no lights on inside.
From outside the hangar, a low growl rumbled.
Vectis?
He’d never heard the little fellow growl before. This
sounded much louder and deeper than he would have expected.
He moved cautiously toward the open door. Something large banged
against the outside hangar wall, near the German ship. A man’s voice cried out
and was silenced, mid-shout.
Arvel returned to the ship and grabbed the cudgel strapped to the
inside of the cabin door for emergencies. The weight of the heavy mahogany in
his hand reassured him.
Gregorio slid down the ladder into the cabin, a heavy wrench in
his hand.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Arvel answered. For a brief second, he wondered if
it was Simon. He snatched one of the cabin lanterns off its gimbal and hurried outside.
“Come on.”
The growling had stopped. Cautiously, they slipped out the door
and rounded the corner of the hangar, but there was nothing to see except a large
splash of blood and dark matter against the side of the building. The rusty
scent sent a shiver up Arvel’s spine.
Gregorio muttered, “
Dio
caro!
” and made the sign of the cross.
John Raikes liked the dark.
He’d been a seaman, once. He missed the shipboard nights on watch,
with only the fey lights of the deep for company. Or the nights when the storms
blew up and it was every man for ‘imself, and it seemed as if he were to only
man aboard who gloried in the thrill of it. But Captain Bender had put an end
to that, quick enough, hadn’t he? Made sure he lost his papers, too.
He clucked to the horses as they trotted up Ferry road, on his way
home from the floating ferry dock, where Hamm Foine kept the
Hound of the Mist
. Living on an island
was now the closest he could get to the life he once dreamed of.
On nights like this, the scent of the river and marshes carried a
hint of that sea tang, and every so often, he spied fey lights dancing over the
marsh grasses at dusk. Some folks said the island was home to more ghosts than
anywhere else in England, but he didn’t believe any such thing. No spirits,
shades, or the souls of dead pirates called to
him
from the gibbets.
He still had a half-f nipper of rye tucked into his coat. His
favorite place on the island was out on Ferry Road at midnight, with only the
sounds of the horses cloppin’ along in front of the carriage and the two draugs
huffing and trotting along behind, happy as a pair of puppies.
Those two had been a real gift, they had.
“These are different than the others,” Sir Magnus had hold him. “They’ll
obey you and you alone. As long as you keep them in fresh meat, that is.” He’d
used a different kind of magick on them. They had their own wits, but the
obeyed his every thought. He didn’t have to say a word, but they just knew what
he wanted and did it, better than any living dog he’d ever had.
Up ahead, a single lantern bobbed along the road.
A constable’s lantern. Probably on his way back to the station. Bad
luck, that.
Instinctively, his hand went to the pistol tucked into his belt. He
felt the question in his mind from the beasties and shook his head. He’d been forbidden
to let them run loose anymore. Sir Magnus insisted they be fed at the rendering
plant. He couldn’t risk attracting the wrong sort of attention. Not now.
John Raikes closed his eyes and took a deep, centered breath like
the wizard had taught him. Sir Magnus had given him a bit of earth magick--a
clarity spell, he called it. A cold tingle coursed through his veins. His night
vision became sharper. Clearer. Almost as good as daylight. He recognized that
no-nonsense Peeler, Billings. Not one to let him pass without inspecting the
carriage.
And that could not be allowed. He grinned, and the draugs panted
louder. Eager.
A quarter mile ahead, Billings waved his lantern, signaling for
him to halt.
He sent a silent command to the draugs, sending them off the road
and home, then reached for the buggy whip. He lashed at the horses with gleeful
venom. They screamed and leapt forward in unison, racing directly toward the
constable and his lantern.
Welsie Foine prided herself on knowing everyone who frequented the
Steam Dog, save the occasional grockle from Wapping or the East End, or some
bloke popping in to wait for the ferry. But neither Welsie nor anyone else
seemed to know the handsome blonde stranger who arrived an hour before closing
and asked about the schedule to Greenwich.
He had an odd accent, and when she asked him where he was from, he
told her he was English, of all things!
“Simon Atters at your service, Madam.” And he kissed her hand,
just like they did in Paris. A bit high-mannered, but an impish grin, to be
sure. Her heart went all aflutter over him and his fine clothes. A bit silly,
really.
He explained his accent was mostly Italian, corrupted by a big
dose of French, German, and a bit of Flemish. With a twinkle in his eye, he
explained that he’d lived on the Isle of Wight as a boy. When he said he was
with the air show, everyone in the pub sat up and took notice.
“What’s the name of your ship?” Mr. Ainsley asked.
“She’s called the
Il Colibri
—The
Hummingbird. And she's as beautiful as her namesake—a jewel of a ship!”
He had a good laugh.
“She’s steam-powered,” he’d told them. “Fast and agile. Able to
hover with pinpoint accuracy and pick up or drop off passengers without landing.”
Gordie Bligh scoffed.
“I’d like to see that.”
“Oh It’s true. She’s got a retractable gondola shaped like a
golden egg.”
He had the ear of every codger in the place by this time. Robb
Ruxton asked him about the engine, and Gordie Bligh peppered him with all sorts
of questions about the payload. Mrs. Ainsley wanted to know about all the
places he’d flown to.
And the way he spoke--he may have been born a Brit, but everything
about him shouted foreigner. His shoes looked like nothing she’d ever seen
before. Sleek and shiny, the leather as thin as goatskin. She was certain his
shirt was silk. And he wore a lovely blue-green scarf at his neck that brought
out the color in his eyes.
And when he spoke, his hands fascinated her. He used them to
punctuate his words—perhaps it was an Italian thing. She couldn’t resist
asking about his gloves; knowing as she did that everyone else wanted to know
too.
He took them off and handed them to her. The warm suede felt soft
as velvet; light as down.
Chamois
, he called it. From an
antelope which lived high in the alps. His long slender fingers were clean,
right down to the neatly manicured nails. Cor, everything about him seemed
light and easygoing. Like he hadn’t a care in the world. She wondered if all
airmen were like him.
It didn’t hurt that his eyes seemed to hold her every glance, or
that his smile seemed to broaden when she brought him a pint and a dish of rabbit
stew.
She blushed when his hand brushed hers, and again when he said her
rabbit was the best he’d ever tasted. Her hands shook as she fussed around the
pub, wiping tables, and re-filling glasses only half-empty, while Mr. Ainsley
peppered him with questions about his ship and travels. She’d never been shy
about asking strangers about their business before. But something about this
foreigner had her feeling out of her depth.
“Please,” he said. “You must call me Simon.”
“All right. Welsie, then.” She blushed again as she said it, mentally
chiding herself for acting the fool. It had been so long since she’d been
flustered by a man, she’d simply forgotten how to behave. Even old Mrs. Ainsley
seemed charmed by the outsider, insisting he call her Charlotta; which no one
with their wits about them would dare to say to her face.
He asked about the ferry to Greenwich, saying his father had taken
him to the observatory as a boy. He wanted to see it again. “Oh yes,” answered
Mr. Ainsley. He and the Missus were already getting up to leave. “Hamm leaves
at seven o‘clock, ten, one, and four. Return trip is an hour later.”
“Unless the weather’s bad,” chimed in Crowley.
“It’s not bad this
time of year,” added Mrs. Ainsley. “’He’s very prompt, Hamm is.”
“But you’ll be standin’ in sheep shite, so I wouldn’t be wearin’ those
fancy clothes if I was you,” Gordie cautioned.
Embarrassment warmed Welsie’s cheeks. Hamm used to take pride in
the ferry. Kept it nice for the human passengers. But not lately. He didn’t
care anymore. Gordie was right. For the first time in her life, Welsie felt
embarrassed to be married to the ferryman.
As regulars followed the Ainsleys out the door, Simon seemed in no
hurry to leave. He smiled at her, his teeth were straight and pearly. His hair,
while a bit longer than the fashion, was neatly trimmed, and free of pomade. Must
be soft…
She realized he’d just asked her a question. “I’m sorry?”
He held a half-dozen silver and copper coins in the palm of his
hand. “Will the ferryman will take Italian coins? Or Flemish? I’m afraid I
haven’t had a chance to change these.”
She picked out a silver florin. “This will do,” and gave him two
pounds six from her cash box. “The launch is at the end of the street.” She
handed him a coin-shaped wooden token and wrote his name in the entry book. “This
is all you’ll need.”
He held up the token and green flames emerged from his fingertips.
She gasped; quickly glancing around the room to see if anyone else
had seen it. They were alone. “Is that magick?”
He slipped the token into his vest pocket, and held up a silver
coin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Observe.”
The coin became two, then three coins flickered between his
fingers, surrounded by green flames. The movement of his fingers flickered too
quickly to follow as the coins appeared and disappeared.
She clapped her hands. “Do it again!”
As if from thin air, four rubber balls appeared. He tossed them
effortlessly, his grin never faltering. Without warning, they all blazed with
the green flames.
She gasped. He was showing off for her. She watched, transfixed,
as one by one, the flames went out until there was only one left. The green
fire jumped from one ball to the next, with no apparent effort on his part.
She applauded, “That’s amazing,” and pointed to the embers in the
fireplace. Can you make the fire green?”
“Ah. Sorry, no. But I can do this,”
In an instant, he had taken her by the hand and she was engulfed
in green flames. “Oh!” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “There’s
no heat,” she marveled, only a halo of flickering light. It made her nervous,
but excited, too. “Are you a wizard?”
He gave her a bitter smile and the light subsided. “Not at all.
It’s mock greenfire. An affliction I was born with. Had I been apprenticed, I
might have become one, but my parents died before I could receive my legacy.” He
shrugged, as if it didn’t bother him.
“Besides, I’m a much better juggler than magician.” He gave her a
lascivious wink. “Right now, I’d do anything in my power to amuse
you
, dear lady.”
His gaze held hers for what seemed like forever.
Good heavens, I’ve
encouraged, him.
Flustered, she hurried down to the farthest end of the bar and
began wiping down the surface with no little vigor. Her cheeks burned. Whatever
he was thinking, she couldn’t let him think
that
.
“I’m a married woman, Mr. Atters. I think you’ve misunderstood my friendly
attention as an invitation. The pub is closed. I’ll thank you to leave now
His impish expression faded.
“Be at the dock a few minutes before departure. My husband doesn’t
wait for stragglers.”
She kept her head down and held her breath until she heard the
door shut behind him, then hurried to slide the bolt, her heart pounding.
Good heavens!