Iron Horsemen (7 page)

“No, I believe my holy path lies elsewhere.”

We climbed the narrow stairs to the top deck, and Mr. Singh pointed to the crawl spaces on either side of the shortened corridor. “Those lead to the helium containers, the large humps on both sides of the Sparrowhawk's back. That will be your first duty in the morning, to inspect the tanks for leaks.”

I stared at the small hatches, wondering what lay behind them. Was it dangerous? Could I get hurt? Was it goopy? It sounded like more interesting work than polishing brass fixtures. Mr. Singh passed a ladder leading to a small, round space above. I stopped. “Where does this go?”

“The conning tower and out on top of the vessel.”

I wondered if I could stand on top while it was moving. That would be fun.

We passed two rooms on their way to the door at the end of the corridor. It opened onto the bridge of the Sparrowhawk.

My heart soared as we entered. My eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. I stood on the bridge of an aero-dirigible.
I wonder if they'd let me fly it?

Mr. Singh pointed to the man in the brass pilot's seat. “This is Coyote.”

With both hands Coyote gripped the large wooden wheel like any ship of the sea. He cast a glance over the shoulder of his long, dark gray coat that draped all the way down to wooden deck.

He looked thin but remained hidden beneath the bulky coat. I wondered if Coyote might be a gentleman, but his clothes weren't nice enough. “Are you from a western state?”

“I'm busy and you're distracting me.”

I cringed. “Sorry, it's just that your name is—”

“I know what my name is, kid. Have a seat and enjoy the ride.”

I watched the pilot adjust our flight path not only by turning the wheel from side to side, but pushing it forward and back as well. Three copper throttle controls rose up next to his seat, and Coyote kept moving his gaze from the clear skies to a panel with a lever, switches, and dials.

Several connected panels of glass allowed me to see the arcing blue horizon, and brass-ringed portholes gave me a view of what lay to either side.

On the port side of the bridge, large and small brass dials, shiny knobs, and switches displayed the engines' status and other gauges. On the starboard side, a map of Europe had been spread across a large flat table. Beside it, a wall of cubby holes each contained a different map.

In the center, raised on a small platform, the captain's chair sat behind a small brass railing. Four copper pipes rose up in front of the railing and bent toward the captain's chair.

As Mr. Singh, Genevieve, and I approached, the captain leaned forward, opened the hinge of the farthest left tube and called out, “Gears, this is the bridge. I want all three propellers by dinner.”

A voice echoed back through the tube. “Aye, aye captain!”

Captain Baldarich turned and welcomed us with a smile. “I see you got dry clothes. I didn't think we had anything for a lady.”

Genevieve smoothed out her jacket with her hand. “Ignatius said they were from the French crates you
borrowed
.”

“Ah yes, let us thank the French.” Captain Baldarich laughed and Genevieve smiled. “So tell me, why do you need my vessel?”

I walked around the bridge in awe. “My father and I moved to London last summer, he's teaching at Eton College. It turns out he was summoned by Queen Victoria to help translate some ancient texts about a great evil that
rises up every so often. A secret society, the Knights of the Golden Circle, kidnapped him so he'll help them unleash that evil.”

Captain Baldarich toyed with his moustache. “Sorry I asked. I hate to tell you, kid, but the world's full of ancient evils. Could you be a bit more specific?”

The smile drained from Genevieve's face. “According to my father and his colleagues, every time a certain comet appears it heralds the four horsemen.”

“You mean from the Bible? The four horsemen of the Apocalypse? From what Ignatius says they only come at the end.”

She glared at him with a cocked hip. “The four horsemen are older than that. Apparently they have sown destruction through every age. My father used to tell me tales of our family's heroes. I always thought they were just stories, until now.”

My family marked me as a commoner, especially with her bloodline's long history. I certainly would never know the queen or be able to make such a claim. She truly came from a different world. I'd often been made fun of at Eton by the boys with distinguished lineages, their two favorite lines, calling me a commoner among great men or a traitorous colonist.

Captain Baldarich stood and opened all four speaker pipes, “Well men, we're off on a great quest!”

Genevieve and I followed the smell of spiced potatoes, bread, and beef stew to the galley. A long table left only enough room for the crew to squeeze around with forks in hand. The sound of the chef rooting around the kitchen accompanied the delicious aroma.

My stomach grumbled and roared like Rodin. The little dragon looked down from Genevieve's shoulder and cocked his head to the side. Everyone laughed as my stomach rumbled again and the captain slapped my back.

“Don't worry lad, Gustav will take care of that for you.” Baldarich turned to the doorway and yelled. “Hurry, our guest might pass out soon.”

A thick German accent echoed from the kitchen, “Coming right up, captain!”

I stepped back as the dirtiest man I had ever seen walked in from the corridor. Black grease and soot covered everything except his teeth, which glowed like moonlight in the middle of his midnight-colored face. He started to sit as Gustav emerged from the kitchen. The portly man in a white apron speckled with stew broth yelled, “Don't you dare!”

Gears froze, his backside hovering inches above the
bench. In German he said, “You're worse than the Kaiser. I just want a quick meal before heading back to the engines.”

Mr. Singh stepped between them. “Gears, Gustav, no arguing. Many are hungry, including the captain.”

A vain bulged on Gustav's forehead. “Listen Donkeyman, I'll not have you getting grease all over my food!”

“Your food is already greasy.” Gears sat down and a cloud of soot rose up around him.

Gustav slammed down the pot of stew and handed out bowls to everyone but Gears. “You don't get any, you dirty wrench-rocker.”

Shaking his head, Captain Baldarich turned to Gears. “Go wash your hands; I don't want soot in my soup.”

Gears left behind a happy Gustav who turned his attention to the newest guests of the Sparrowhawk. His scowl vanished like a passing wind, replaced by a large smile as he filled our bowls. In broken English he said, “Good stew for growing bones.”

I drained my bowl and moaned in delight as the tender beef fell apart in my mouth. I savored the last of the squishy potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables in the salty broth and looked around the table to see what else I could eat.

Everyone filed out of the galley and made their way into a large open area on the main deck. The crew who weren't on duty sat around on crates and in a few hammocks hanging from the hull. One man played guitar, and another struck an empty barrel like a drum.

Captain Baldarich sat beside me and Genevieve. He ordered Coyote to the bridge as Gears continued past them, looking eager to get back to his engines. The captain leaned back against the wall.

I looked up at him and asked, “How did you become a Sky Raider?”

The crew laughed and clapped their hands, as Baldarich leaned in and gave me a long hard look. I started to think
I'd asked the wrong question until the captain slapped my shoulder, almost knocking me over. “It's a grand tale. I used to serve in the Kaiser's army.”

“You were in the army?”

“I was friends with the Kaiser! He'd arranged a promotion because I was going to marry a noblewoman. But her family found a better offer. You see, I'm Schwabish, from the Black Forest, and they wanted someone from a higher class.”

“Couldn't the Kaiser help you?”

The crew laughed again. It seemed to be a very funny story to them. Baldarich smiled and grabbed my shoulder. “It was the Kaiser who stabbed me in the back. A few of her family did the deed, but he sanctioned it. I've got three nice scars to remind me of the Kaiser's generosity. I'd show you, but there's a lady present.”

“I'm sorry.” I felt horrible for asking. “So how did you get this great ship? Did you win it in a card game?”

“Nah, I stole her from the Kaiser.”

“You stole her?”

“My last job was overseeing the aero-dirigible's construction. I call her my Kaiser compensation.” The captain slapped his knee and went to fill his goblet.

I looked around and saw Hunter leaning against an interior wall. Separate from the others, he watched everyone with a keen eye. I felt his gaze often, but when I would look over, he always turned away.

Across the vessel, Ignatius chuckled through the captain's story as if he'd heard it many times before. He sat with a barrel in front of him and his gun-cleaning tools arranged in perfect rows.

Ignatius pulled the first two Colt Peacemakers from the back of his belt and laid them on the barrel. The next two from the front, two more from holsters under his shoulders, one from each thigh, and even one from each boot, but I
didn't see where the last two came from. Twelve pistols in all; I had never seen a man carry more.

Mr. Singh sat on a bench beside Genevieve and asked, “Did you ever travel to India?”

“Yes, and I hope to return one day.”

Mr. Singh smiled. “If India is in your heart then I am certain she will call you back.”

Genevieve nodded. “My father told me much of the Sikhs. He admires your people—their skill as warriors, as craftsman, and particularly their zeal for life.”

Mr. Singh said, “Your father is a great man.”

Watching the two of them brought this weird feeling to the pit of my stomach, so I glanced over and watched the crew instead. Already, they had accepted me more than all my classmates at Eton. I'd made no friends since coming to London, but these men were more inviting than I ever imagined possible.

The captain started to sing in German. The others joined in, which led to a song that cursed the Kaiser. I joined in, singing in German, which delighted the crew and Genevieve, who smiled and nodded along with the beat.

Rodin perched on her shoulder.

Ignatius turned to me and asked, “So what can we expect from this bronze-plated bad guy and his secret order of knights?”

“He's mean—tough enough to spit nails—and has a wicked arm with hidden weapons.”

Ignatius shook his head. “And you think you're going to be able to defeat him?”

I wanted revenge more than anything, but I hadn't thought about what I'd do when I found the mechanical monster. “I'll make him tell me where my father is and then toss him overboard.”

Ignatius laughed and most of the crew joined in. At first, I wondered what was funny, but quickly realized they didn't
think I could do it. The more I thought about it, I wasn't too certain either, but their laughter made me want to test it on one of them.

“Good luck with that.” Ignatius picked up the Colt he'd just finished cleaning. “My advice, boy—shoot him and then ask your questions.”

Hunter turned to the captain. “What they need is training; it'll be suicide otherwise.”

Genevieve stood up, her hands firmly planted on her hips, “I've trained with sword and shot since I was a girl. My father insisted.”

Ignatius smiled. “Dad wanted a son?”

She eyed him with an icy stare, but before she could answer, Captain Baldarich stepped forward. “Hunter has a good point. If you're going to help your fathers, both of you will need some training. Not lessons from papa, but real fighting skills.” He turned to Ignatius and Hunter. “You two will start training them in firearms.” Baldarich smacked Mr. Singh's shoulder. “Then you'll work on their sword skills.”

I didn't know what to say, but it sounded exciting. Genevieve's gaze narrowed. Captain Baldarich said, “Now get to bed you two, you'll need your strength for tomorrow.”

Genevieve and I wandered down to the gun-deck. I opened the door for her and we drifted to opposite sides of the room.

Genevieve took the man's shirt she'd worn before and put that on as she removed the corset. Removing her boots, she climbed into her hammock.

She turned to me and asked, “Will you turn down the kerosene lamp?”

“Of course.” I walked over to the lamp and adjusted the knob so the flame barely glowed. I returned to my hammock and climbed in. “I have a good feeling. This feels right. Oh, and Genevieve, if it means anything, I saw your
father in action. If he trained you, then I bet you're a great swordsman. Swords-woman. Whichever.”

“Thank you, Alexander. That means a lot.”

The door flew open and slammed against the bulkhead. My hammock flipped and dumped me onto the deck. “That was a good dream,” I grumbled, struggling to my feet.

Genevieve chuckled from under her coat.

Mr. Singh glared. “Meet me on the top deck and do not make me wait or your duties will double. Training comes after lunch. If you want to eat, I would not suggest doing double duty.”

Mr. Singh left and Rodin stretched, arching his back and shaking off his sleepy haze from his head to the tip of his tail. Genevieve scratched behind the three bony horns protruding from his head. Rodin curled into her hand and what passes for a dragon's smile came across his snout.

I threw on my boots and wound the leather strap around me. I wasn't going to miss lunch or double my work.

Genevieve waited for me to go and then dressed, joining me minutes later on the top deck. Mr. Singh waited in front of the two crawl spaces he'd pointed out the day before.