Clockwork Chaos

Clockwork Chaos

Title Page

edited by Neal Levin | and Danielle Ackley-McPhail

Ambergris on Ice

King and Country

The Last Yong-Shi

The Power of Her Position

Bell, Cog, and Scandal

Deadly Imitation

Miss Winterdove and the Erupting Eulogist

The Foxglove Broadsides

The Curious Tale of Elizabeth Nigel

A Cat’s Cry in Pluto’s Kitchen

Deception

The Ghost of Løve VanMeek

S
parkito Press

Howell, NJ

Dark Quest Books Novels

by Clockwork Chaos Authors

James Chambers

The Dead Bear Witness

Tears of Blood

The Dead in Their Masses

The Word of the Dead

Three Chords of Chaos: A Bad-Ass Faerie Tale

C.J. Henderson

Where Angels Fear

The Best of Rocky and Noodles

A Bright and Shining World

Masters of Tarot

Patrick Thomas

Mystic Investigators

Bullets and Brimstone

Once More Upon a Time

From the Shadows

Dear Cthulhu: Have a Dark Day

Dear Cthulhu: Good Advice for Bad People

Dear Cthulhu: Cthulhu Knows Best

Dark Quest Books

featuring Clockwork Chaos Authors

Breach the Hull

So It Begins

By Other Means

Best Laid Plans

Dogs of War

In an Iron Cage:

The Magic of Steampunk

Gaslight and Grimm:

Steampunk Faerie Tales

Dragon’s Lure

PUBLISHED BY

Sparkito Pressan imprint of Dark Quest, LLC

Neal Levin, Publisher

23 Alec Drive, Howell, New Jersey 07731

www.darkquestbooks.com

Copyright ©2013 by Dark Quest Books.

Individual stories Copyright ©2013 by their respective authors.

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I
SBN (trade paper): 978-1-937051-56-3

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A
ll rights reserved. No part of the contents of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

All persons, places, and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

Cover Art: Chaz Kemp, www.ChazKemp.com

Interior Art: www.fotolia.com

Violet © Atelier Sommerland

steampunk installation © jro-grafik

Schmuckrahmen Steampunk2 © annekarenrasch

black cogwheel © Dasha Yurk

Vintage Skull background © lynea

Victorian workout (3) © Anja Kaiser

Early Submarine - Sous-Marin - U-Boot - 19th century, Aerostat - 18th century (1784 - Paris), Technician at Work - 19th century, Carridge - Fiacre - Motordroschke - end 19th century, Diver - Plongeur - Taucher - 19th century © Erica Guilane-Nachez

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I
nterior Design: Danielle McPhail, Sidhe na Daire Multimedia

www.sidhenadaire.com

Contents

Ambergris on Ice / Jeff Young

King and Country / Richard Marsden

The Last Yong-Shi / Matt Dinniman

The Power of Her Position / Bernie Mojzes

Bell, Cog, and Scandal /R. Rozakis

Deadly Imitation / Patrick Thomas

Miss Winterdove and the Erupting Eulogist / Angel Leigh McCoy

The Foxglove Broadsides / Gail Gray

The Curious Tale of Elizabeth Nigel / Patricia Puckett

A Cat’s Cry in Pluto’s Kitchen /James Chambers

The Gilded Wing / N.R. Brown

Deception / C.J. Henderson

The Ghost of Løve VanMeek / James Daniel Ross

AUTHOR BIOS

J
eff Young

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T
he incessant cold was almost worse than their descent to the wreckage of the dirigible. Whipping gusts in the early light of the dawn spun Constable Cobham Peckwith and the others about as they dangled over the ocean in the cargo drop. They struck the surface of the iceberg a solid blow tumbling Airman Sparrowknife and Madame Leyden against the lines. Cobham reached out a hand to the lady and Kassandra grasped at his thick gloves. Her deep blue eyes peered out from under the hood of her parka. She seemed out of place here in jodhpurs and thick mukluk boots having eschewed her perennial dress. But there was something in her gaze, a brightness that assured Cobham she was enjoying the adventure. He wished he could say the same for himself. As a constable, Cobham had had every expectation of pounding the streets of his home port city of Amphyra, keeping order and maintaining the safety of the inhabitants of His Majesty’s lands in the New World. But ever since he’d met the medium with her unusual talent for communing with the dead, his life became anything but typical.

The wind brought tiny shards of ice flying along the surface of the berg into any unguarded face. But that wasn’t the worst of it; Bornesun, the captain of their airship, had neglected to mention the way the iceberg would move. When Cobham peered out into the morning, he could watch the horizon tip back and forth. What looked like an island was a cork afloat on a frigid sea.
We don’t belong here
, he thought. Kassandra moved a few steps forward beside him and another thought crossed his mind,
Do I really want to keep doing this?
Working with her challenged what he accepted as real, everyday. Sure he’d seen plenty of the odd and strange out in the streets. In most cases though he’d found a sad, tawdry explanation more often than not linked to human stupidity or depravity. But there were always those circumstances that made no sense. Cobham waited for the airman to approach them, looking at Kassandra as she stared at the shifting horizon. As a medium who spoke to the dearly departed, Kassandra knew a great deal about those oddities, in fact she made it her business.

When Sparrowknife passed them, Cobham followed Kassandra toward the remains of the dirigible. A discovery such as this must have given the commanders of His Majesty’s Aerofleet the fits, he mused. After all, only New Britain, the South Islanders, and the Mexateca were capable of building such a vehicle. Cobham couldn’t quite fathom the arcane series of connections that the Directorate of Security followed to ascertain that he and Madam Leyden were the best suited to delve into this mystery, but it wasn’t his place to question. Perhaps if he had they would not now be drifting toward the arctic.

A tug on the line at his waist brought him from the brief reverie. The
Sharpshin’s
first mate Wil Sparrowknife strode ahead of them and was the anchor to the rope tied about their middles. Curving metal spars arched over their heads. The vehicle’s remnants were deceptive when seen from above. With its bulk strewn along the rugged, bluish-white surface of the iceberg, the dirigible stretched out longer than two of Amphyra’s city blocks. Sparrowknife had stopped to stare as well. With the wind the only sound, it came to Cobham just how removed from the world they were. The airman gestured them closer and they huddled together to talk.

“There’s something quite wrong here,” Sparrowknife started and then hesitated.

“Yes, I’d expected a great deal more wreckage,” Cobham said.

“No, what I mean is there something missing.” The airman turned once again to look at the wreckage.

“The bodies are gone.”

Cobham turned sharply to Kassandra. What she said was true. Where was the crew of at least forty needed to man such a dirigible? Cobham pondered.

“With all of this wind the remains might have been scoured off of the berg into the ocean,” Sparrowknife answered. “What I mean is, there’s no cladding on the structure. Even if the dirigible exploded, there should still be some of the exterior sheeting someplace attached to the framework. But everywhere I look I can’t see a shred.”

Cobham turned on his heel. The first mate was correct and so was Kassandra. “What’s so important about the cladding?”

“Well it would have had a huge blazon on it of the owner of the aircraft at least. Also each nation makes theirs a bit different, even the paint on the outside could tell me whose this is,” Sparrowknife responded crouching down to scuff at the snow in the hopes of finding anything more.

It almost felt to Cobham as if the clues to the cause had vanished. “Well, guess we won’t be asking any of the dead fellows anything then, Kassandra, will we?” he commented.

“Look over here,” Sparrowknife interrupted. He’d stepped under the arching support structure of the dirigible.

On the far side, in amongst the spans of the frame, was a large, gaping hole. As Cobham stared in the direction the airman indicated a pattern began to emerge. The supports were all bent and twisted away from the gap. Something had struck the dirigible a killing blow.

Tapping glove tips to his lip, Sparrowknife pondered. “It’s almost as if something exploded on contact with the surface of the craft.”

“Do you have a weapon like that, airman?” Kassandra asked.

“Not that I know of.
Sharpshin
is armed with two repeating cylinder guns. Larger military-class dirigibles will have mounted cannon which can be used to fire grapeshot or chain loads. But we have nothing that explodes on impact.”

“What could bring down an aircraft of this size?” Kassandra continued.

Sparrowknife hesitated a moment, thinking. “Fire, lightning strike, a tornado, and our mysterious explosion, too.” The airman’s words trailed off. He stopped and turned about in a circle.

Cobham felt the man’s unease as well, an animal instinct reacting to unknown danger. When he glanced at Kassandra, she’d crossed her arms, shoving her gloves under them. In her eyes he saw that she felt the same.

“I don’t know how much more we’re going to find here,” she offered in a grim tone.

At a loud crack of gunfire, they all turned back toward the airship. High above them the captain was waving his arms over his head. Sparrowknife didn’t hesitate, “All right, let’s get back to the ship. The captain wouldn’t signal us unless it was urgent.”

As the cargo lift swung back and forth, Cobham saw at the edge of his visibility a grey haze hanging over the waterline. After a moment he realized what he was seeing. They were approaching the northern shore of Aurora. The massive island lay close to the Arctic Circle and in the gap between the Old World and the New. Cobham shivered at the thought of the Old World. The abandoned seat of Edward’s empire lay there in ruins along with an entire series of lands long overgrown and filled with the bones of the victims of the ancient Black Death. A few brave traders pillaged the forgotten lands for treasure and paid the price in plague. This was the closest he’d ever been. Cobham hoped to never come nearer. Now he could even see the enormous pieces of ice as they calved away from a glacier on the shoreline and cascaded into the freezing water below. The iceberg carrying the remains of the dirigible was several leagues away from the shore. Their evidence was about to be lost, perhaps for forever.

“What’s that, Airman?” Kassandra asked, pointed farther along the shoreline at single flicker of reflection.

“I have no idea,” Sparrowknife responded staring at the spark along the shoreline at the edge of their vision. The cargo lift swung back and forth, causing them all to reach for the netting. “Seems like the captain’s noticed it as well. We’ll know soon enough.”

The closer they approached, the more trouble Cobham had discerning what lay below them. After turning the airship away from the iceberg, the captain was unable to reacquire the location of the mysterious flashes of light. Captain Bornesun brought the airship down the coastline, beyond the glacier to a large circular bay. All along the rubble lined beach were immense white cylinders with tapered ends. Cobham counted more than twenty before stopping. Whatever the objects were, they lay on the shoreline with their anteriors in the splashing surf.

“They’re leviathans,” Sparrowknife said in a quiet tone.

Cobham found that if he stared long enough he could see the fins on the sides of the carcasses. Here and there conjoined flippers of the beast’s tails bobbed in the surf.

“I’ve heard of them beaching themselves but I’ve never seen anything like this,” Bornesun added. “Look at that beast. It’s more than twice the size of our downed dirigible.” Bornesun’s words trailed off as he brought the spyglass to his eye once more. Wrinkles spread across his forehead. “Well that explains the flash. There’s a settlement inland from the beach. All the buildings are covered in ice rime, makes them hard to pick out, but for the glint of the sun. They appear to have some sort of balloon on a tether.”

He handed the spyglass to Kassandra who stood next to him. Cobham watched her stare intently for a moment or two. Then she inhaled; her breath catching.

“If I’m correct, the man walking down the beach toward the leviathans is Sir Sante Moore. He’s well known as an oceanographic biologist, historical chemist, and a Renaissance man of the sciences. He’s also waving us in. Looks as if we’ve been seen.”