Iron Horsemen (4 page)

I gripped the seat and tried not to slide as the steamcarriage tore through the streets. Genevieve and her father both sat perfectly. How did they do it? Was there some secret technique that I'd be taught at Eton in the coming years?

The legendary London docks stretched for miles downriver. The bound masts looked like a forest of trees in winter. I stared with awe through the window of the steamcarriage at the four masts of a large Windjammer.

When my father and I crossed the Atlantic, we traveled in a wooden-hulled vessel that felt ancient compared to the steel-hulled Windjammer and like a dinosaur when I saw the airships nestled in a web of iron at the end of the pier.

I pulled myself closer to the window. “Are we going to the airdocks?”

The baron nodded. “I have to meet an airship.”

“Can I get on?”

Genevieve blurted out, “I want to get on, too.”

“No, that is not why you both are here. This was supposed to be finished this afternoon, but the airship was late.”

I pressed against the window to get a better view of the airdocks. Metal planking formed a gantry around the ships while large iron moorings clamped and secured the airships. People milled about as towering cranes hoisted cargo into their holds.

The steamcarriage stopped in front of an aero-dirigible.
An actual aero-dirigible!

I gasped. I had read about the cross between an airplane and a Zeppelin in the newspaper, but never imagined I'd see one up close.

Its outstretched wings—canvas pulled taut with yardarms running through them like the sail of a Chinese Junk—billowed with the wind. The gun-metal gray underside contrasted with the darkened blue top. A small set of fixed winglets stuck out of the nose. Its smooth, curved lines gave the vessel the look of a giant bird.

I saw three gun ports running along the side and other mysterious hatches on the hull. What could they be hiding? I wanted to burst from the carriage and study every part of the majestic vessel but a firm hand on my shoulder kept me still.

“I want both of you to stay put.” The baron stepped out of the carriage. “Finn, keep them here. I'll be fine.”

“Of course, Baron.”

I watched the baron approach the aero-dirigible's gangplank. Genevieve slid over to peer out the window, too. I wondered what she thought of all this—the airdocks, the aero-dirigible, and this quest her father would undertake to find my father.

I turned to her. “I've read about the aero-dirigibles in the newspaper.”

“It is impressive.” Her attention returned to her father.

She didn't look interested. How could that be? There was an aero-dirigible just sitting in front of us and she was more focused on the people walking around. She stared at her father and the man who walked down the gangplank to join him.

He had a swish in his step like he owned the dock—a pirate's swagger. A long burgundy leather jacket whipped about and revealed a hand cannon strapped to his hip. “Who do you think he's meeting?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The captain, I would
imagine.”

“He doesn't look military.”

“Maybe he's just a merchant captain.”

“That's a big pistol for a simple merchant.”

“What else could he be?”

I pulled back from the window. “A Sky Raider! The scourge of the four winds. My father says they're like Caribbean pirates only they prowl through the air.”

“He does look like rough stock.”

I wondered what that meant, rough stock. Sure this guy's scraggly moustache connected to his sideburns and his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, but that didn't mean he was a bad person. To prove my point I pointed to the man. “He's smiling.”

“That could just be from knowing he's double crossing a baron.”

All I saw was a jovial man with a cautious demeanor. “The baron is smiling, too. I think it's going well.”

The two men grabbed each other's forearms and their hands went to each other's shoulders.

I smiled. “Yep, definitely a success. Think he'd let me go, too?”

“No.”

She was right. The baron would never let me go, but it was
my
father. I wanted to help. I had to help. Maybe it would lessen the pain building in the empty cavity of my chest.

The baron walked back to the carriage and I noticed the Sky Raider watched his every step. The baron seemed to know. He kept his focus on Finn, whose eyes never left the Sky Raider.

Finn opened the door and the baron climbed inside.

Genevieve asked. “Who was that?”

“The captain of the Sparrowhawk.” He turned to me. “I'll be heading after your father soon.”

“Thank you, Baron Kensington. I want to go, I can help.”

The baron smiled. “No, you'll return to Eton.” He pointed at Genevieve. “Don't you get any ideas, either.”

Genevieve slumped back against the carriage.

I crossed my arms over my chest. I knew they'd never let me help. I was just a kid, I wasn't even a noble, but Genevieve's lineage didn't seem to be helping her. Apparently being a teenager meant no one got to do anything fun—no matter their station.

The steamcarriage stopped outside the baron's house. Finn hopped down, opened the door and we all filed out. As I followed Genevieve into the house, the baron paused to speak with Finn.

Slowing my steps, I couldn't hear their whispered voices. Finn climbed back atop his perch and the baron waved him off with his cane.

Finn adjusted his floppy cap, and said, “No worries, Baron. See you before the witchin' hour.”

“Just drive carefully, and Finn, no rides for strange ladies.”

With a large smile and short laugh Finn grabbed the reins. “Only on me off days.”

The baron chuckled as the steamcarriage chugged down the street. I waited by the front door, but rushed inside before the baron turned around. I ran into Mrs. Hinderman.

Startled, she shooed me along. “Up to your room, young man. I want you washed and changed for dinner.”

I ran up the stairs but as I reached the top, I felt a gaze upon my back. I turned and saw the baron watching me with a keen eye. I didn't know why, but I quickly ran into the Blue Room to get ready for dinner.

After dinner, I plopped in a blue chair, and stared out the window. A light knock on the door, made me sit up straight. “Come in.”

The door opened and a cautious Genevieve slipped inside. “Can I ask you about America?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I want to know everything about your country.”

The steamcarriage belched and chugged just outside. I leapt up, looked out the window and saw Finn open the door. A figure tightly bound in a black cloak quickly slipped into the house.

“Who could that be?” Genevieve asked as she crossed the room to the door.

“Wait, you're not going to lurk without me!”

Genevieve and I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Lord Marbury and the baron stood in the foyer. The figure dropped his black cloak to the floor and flung his top hat, revealing thick gray hair and matching beard.

“His cane, I've seen something like that before,” I whispered, staring at the elaborately decorated gold handle.

Genevieve put her finger to her lips and gave me a stern look.

As the three men stepped into the dining room,
Genevieve and I crept along the wall to the doorway.

The ease of her movement surprised me; she was well practiced at parental defiance. I'd slipped past my father many times. It had been easy at the universities, but at Eton, not only would my father find out, but there was the House Master, the House Captain, and the Praepostors who logged every infraction. After my first caning, I stopped, worried that Eton might not keep a professor's son who was labeled a troublemaker.

I heard the baron's voice. “I depart soon. I have contacted a group of Sky Raiders. Their aero-dirigible will get me into the Med.”

A trembling voice said, “Sky Raiders, but they're the cutthroats of the four winds.”

I smiled and nodded at Genevieve, delighted that I was right about the Sky Raiders. I leaned closer and cupped my ear, not wanting to miss a word.

The baron's voice was calm. “No need for alarm; I know one of the crew. I saved his life in India.”

“We need to be careful,” Lord Marbury said. “Look what's already happened.”

A Scottish accent from within the dining room joked, “I think I'm insulted they went after the professor, but it makes the most sense.”

How could they not be serious about this tragedy? An angry fire ignited deep within me. I shrugged off Genevieve and stormed into the dining room. “He took my father and had a mechanical arsenal for an arm.”

The three men narrowed their gaze at my interruption.

Baron Kensington walked over to me. “No one is making light of your father, but this is bigger than him and he knew that. We will find him, but charging in is foolhardy.”

The gray-haired man had a large belly that matched his frame. “The lad has fire, I like that. But he's an insolent pup.”

I eyed the older man who spoke with a Scottish accent.

“Genevieve.” Baron Kensington sounded annoyed.

She stepped into the room.

The gray-haired man stopped the baron. “There are a few things both of them should know.” He placed his large hand over my entire shoulder, pulling me closer. “I came here, lad, to talk about your father. He was doing good work for the cause.”

I noticed a medieval signet ring on his hand. The emblem, a large red cross on a plain gold background, was familiar. The shape. The Templar Cross.

The baron wore the same symbol on his cufflinks, and it adorned the cover of Lord Marbury's pocket watch. Tension seized my spine. These men were more than they appeared, and I kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.

“You've noticed our crosses.” The gray-haired man removed his hand and walked over to the table. “It's good to have a keen eye. It'll keep you alive.”

“Alexander, we are Templars.” The baron motioned toward the gray-haired man. “This is Sir Archibald Sinclair, Grand Master of the Order. He's brought something we all should see.”

Excitement sparked my imagination. I'd read tales of the Templars, the poor knights who had ridden two to a horse. Did my father belong to their order?

Finn carried a wood and bronze chest decorated with elaborate symbols that I couldn't decipher. Setting it down on the table, he nodded and returned to his carriage.

Grand Master Sinclair made a fist, and pushed his signet ring into the chest's lock. “Alexander, your father is the latest in a line of scholars stretching centuries who've studied these Horsemen.”

He turned his hand a quarter to the right and then a half turn to the left. Instead of popping open like the treasure chests of my favorite adventure novels, the lid
folded backward as the front and sides opened. Inside, nestled in velvet, were various artifacts and scrolls arranged on shelves.

The gray-haired Grand Master pulled a few items from the chest: a charred parchment, a tattered piece of tapestry, an etching with the lines carved deeply into the block of wood, and a salt-encrusted clay seal. I noticed the old man's gaze never left the artifacts, as if guarding them even from the people in this room.

Baron Kensington looked at Genevieve and me. “You may examine them, but if I ever catch you speaking about them, you'll be locked away in the Tower of London.”

I wondered if my father had seen them. He'd be lost in their history for weeks. Feeling the pain of his loss shudder inside, I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I found a common thread, as my father had taught me to look for. The woodcut, the tapestry, and the clay seal all depicted a comet crossing the sun with four Horsemen below it. I looked up. “What do they mean?”

The baron replied, “A month ago, Lord Marbury investigated some rebels who turned out to be members of a secret society searching for the four Horsemen.”

I asked, “What secret society?”

Grand Master Sinclair's knuckles turned white around his cane. “The Knights of the Golden Circle are determined to re-forge the chains of slavery and oppression.”

A haunted look overtook Lord Marbury, who remained silent. The chill between them told me he had seen something that deeply disturbed him.

“What is this comet?” Genevieve asked.

“The Sungrazer Comet,” Grand Master Sinclair said. “Aristotle named it in 372 B.C. when he prevented the Horsemen from appearing by stopping it from passing over the sun.”

I couldn't believe my ears. Aristotle had taught Alexander
the Great. My father had made me read the philosopher's writings in their original Greek, and he was smashing comets. I forced myself to listen so I wouldn't miss a word.

The gray-haired man continued. “Aristotle's teacher, Plato, had gone to the Pillars of Hercules seeking the wisdom of an ancient civilization.”

I tensed thinking the legend might be true. My father had spent countless sleepless nights over the last semester poring over old manuscripts, and now I understood why.

Genevieve stepped forward. “How old is the legend?”

Grand Master Sinclair removed a small stone seal decorated with hieroglyphs. “The first account we have is from the reign of Pharaoh Hatshepsut in 1581 B.C. Her army fought and defeated them.” He leaned on his cane. “But the account the professor discovered is even older. More than five thousand years.

Lord Marbury quivered. “So they're going after the oldest known source of the Horsemen's power.”

I glanced at Genevieve. Her brows knitted together in worry.

Baron Kensington tugged at the cross on his cuff. “And they want Plato's and Aristotle's papers on the comet, but we don't know why.” He walked up to his daughter and me. “That's enough mystery for one night. You two should get some rest.”