Khronos (Hanover and Singh Book 3) (16 page)

“What exactly are we celebrating?” Hannah turned the glass on the tabletop within her fingers.

“Why, the formation of the
Order of Impedimenta
of course.” Aether drained his glass. “This collection of genteel folk we have entertained tonight...”

“At the expense of Herr Wallendorf,” Hannah muttered.

“...is but a drop in the ocean. The Captain, the bankers, judges and their wives, they are positively bursting at the thought of something different, something arcane, something,” Aether leaned closer to Hannah, “unexplainable.”

“And dangerous,” Khaos smiled. “Exotic, sensuous...” she stared at Hannah.

“Now that we have sufficiently enticed the more prominent of the passengers onboard, it is only a matter of time before others will seek us out.” Aether plucked Hannah’s glass from her fingers. “Then it is only a matter of time before we can release more of our lost souls from the passage and out of Khronos’ clutches.”

“Tell me more about Khronos,” Hannah looked at Khaos as Aether finished her drink.

“Old father time,” Aether set the glass on the table. “The god of time – if you believe in such things. It was Khronos that wrote the first khronoglyphics that Fräulein Hanover is so curious to translate. Khronos that effectively locked the time portal trapping us, his disciples, in that timeless existence.” Aether took Khaos’ hand in his. “You have nothing to fear,” he lowered his voice. “He cannot reach us here.”

“You do not know that,” Khaos trembled.

“I do,” Aether smiled. “I will not let him take us back to the passage.”

“You promise?”

“On my life, I will do everything I can to stop him. But we must have our friends come through first.”

“But how will you get others through the portal without Hanover’s machine?” Hannah checked herself as she leaned forward, subduing her interest as she pushed herself back in her chair.

“We don’t
need
Hanover’s machine,” Aether explained. “But we will need a replacement. When we have found suitable components on this ship we will inscribe the required khronoglyphs and free our people.”

“It was agreed that the first to leave the passage should be those best versed in the language of time – khronoglyphs. Khaos is particularly adept at reading and drawing khronoglyphs, despite Khronos’ attempts to quash such studies. However,” Aether looked at Hannah, “the true master of the language was the very first to leave. It is him we must find.” Hannah caught a flicker of doubt as it flashed in Khaos emerald eyes. “With the correct sequence of khronoglyphs inscribed on the wheels of the machine, we can be very selective in who we allow out of the passage.”

Hannah pushed back her chair as Aether took Khaos in his arms. Leaving the table without a glance from Aether or Khaos, Hannah walked toward the staircase, catching Blaidd’s eye as she passed his table. At the top of the stairs, she leaned against the veneered bulkhead and waited for the Welshman.

“An interesting night, eh?” Blaidd slipped quietly around Hannah and leaned against the wall. “Did you learn anything I might find useful?”

“I learned enough,” Hannah pushed away from the wall and began walking down the stairs. “Meet me in my cabin in an hour.” Ignoring Blaidd, Hannah pulled off her heels. “I will need another bath to wash this dinner out of my mind.” She descended the stairs two at a time, slowing only when she reached the door of her cabin.

Chapter 11

The Flying Scotsman

The West Coast of Denmark

May, 1851

The Captain’s table, nestled at the back of the bridge of
The Flying Scotsman
, bristled with thin metal skewers of roasted meats and vegetables. Like mountain ranges at dusk, the potatoes in bowls and the breads in baskets were dark and angular, casting shadows in the light above the clouds as the airship drifted over the west coast of Denmark.

Luise picked through the breads, selecting one, replacing it in favour of another. Cairn watched her, the scars around his eyes wrinkling. Luise cut a nub of butter from the dish as Whyte set it on the table. She watched the orderly leave while spreading the butter on her roll, the white bread inside almost as white as the creamy butter. “This is the best we have eaten in days.”

“You have had a difficult time of it,” Cairn put down his fork. “More Germans, I presume?”

“Yes, plenty of Germans,” Luise took a bite of her roll, catching the crumbs with her fingers. “They can be quite tenacious.”

“This I know to be a fact,” Cairn picked up his fork and jabbed another potato, looking at Luise, his eyes lingered over the satchel hanging around her shoulder. “I have had plenty of scrapes with them in the air. They have, although I hate to admit it, rather superior airships.”

“Is that how you lost your arm?” Hari reached for a bread roll. At a glance from Luise he put it down again.

“No,” Cairn sighed. “That sad affair is another story altogether. I was assigned to an experimental airship, one built for speed and speed alone. The captain of that particular craft was, and likely still is, obsessed with performance and eking out every last ounce of energy from craft and crew. I lost this,” Cairn waggled the stump below his right shoulder, “when trying to increase the output of a particularly stubborn propeller. The captain, such as he was, was loathe to lose even the slightest forward momentum, and instructed me to work on the propeller without stopping or even slowing it. You can clearly see the result.”

“Truly,” Hari nodded. “What about your eyes?”

“Hari,” Luise place her hand on Hari’s arm.

“It’s all right, Miss Hanover. I appreciate directness,” Cairn looked at Hari. “Your friend strikes me as a man that is as honest as he is bold. I have what Bärensprung, another tenacious German, helped identify as herpes zoster, an unfortunate virus that gives me these scars and blisters,” Cairn pointed at his eyes. “Of course, my viral friend was not content to stop there. No,” he jabbed a square of meat with his fork, “I have it in the nerves, and have had for some years now.” Cairn chewed in silence. When he was finished, he placed his fork on his plate and rang the bell. “We will have tea.” Cairn pushed back his chair and met Whyte at the door.

“Tea, Captain?” Whyte held the door open.

“Yes,” Cairn gestured at Luise’s plate. “Perhaps you can find some biscuits to go with our tea. Pinch some from the guests’ table, Whyte.” He smiled at Luise. “Finish what you can of your meal. I will return shortly.”

Hari waited until Cairn had left the bridge, the sound of water being poured into a kettle for boiling trickling in around the door as it swung closed.

“It is strange,” Luise leaned her elbows on the table. “The Captain seems to have suffered quite a bit. He is very open about it, and yet he holds no grudge.”

“Not visibly, perhaps,” Hari paused. “But he has no love for the Germans.”

“It’s more than that. It’s like he
wants
us to think that, as if he is hiding some true intent.”

“Jacques thinks the world of him.”

“And who wouldn’t?” Luise rested her chin on her hands. “He has overcome great trials and difficulties with ingenuity. He wrestled this airship through a storm, with just one arm, Hari,” Luise took a breath. “I find it difficult to imagine that the Captain could not find a means of ridding himself of the Germans without our help.”

“What are you saying?”

“Jacques said that the Germans were eager to speak with us, and yet we have just enjoyed an uninterrupted meal. He wants something, Hari.” Luise clutched her satchel hanging over her shoulder.

“You think so?”

“Dieter is locked up, under guard. Jacques was instructed to bring us to the Captain. You saw how he looked at me during the meal?”

“Looked at you? How?”

“I thought it was me, but he was looking at this,” Luise lifted her satchel. “He knows what is inside.”

“Truly?” Hari placed his fork on his plate. “Jacques could have given it to him, if the Captain knew what was inside. You left it in the lifeboat bay when you came after me.”

“But Jacques doesn’t do things like that, not without orders. If Cairn did not know where to look...”

“Or what to look for,” Hari suggested.

“...then Jacques would not know to take the chance.”

“Then the Germans must have since told Cairn what to look for.”

“And we are being entertained in order for the Captain to discover what it might be.” Luise leaned back in her chair. “We have to get off this airship, Hari. We have to get on the ground. We are trapped up here.”

“But if we play along, perhaps we can persuade Cairn to take us all the way north, to Arkhangelsk, where you can find the answers to the khronoglyphs.”

“We can’t risk it, Hari. No,” Luise pushed back her chair. Pausing, she closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples in concentration.

“Miss Luise?” Hari leaned forward. “More khronoglyphs?”

“Yes,” Luise nodded. “A star...”

Hari reached for Luise’s satchel, removed her notebook and pencil and turned to a blank page. He started drawing as Luise spoke aloud.

“Drops of rain, or spots of sand in a lozenge-shaped box.” Luise held her breath for a moment. “A ring around a moon, or
the
moon, and...”

“And?” Hari pressed the point of the pencil onto the page. The lead crumbled.

Luise shook her head. She opened her eyes. “I am not sure, Hari.”

“It is all right, Miss Luise,” Hari closed the notebook. Slipping the pencil into the space stitched into the spine, Hari returned the notebook to Luise’s satchel.

Luise stood up. “Hari, we have to retrieve my machine and leave the airship.” She walked around the table and peered out through the bridge window. “We are over land. We have just have to get down somehow.”

“That is the difficult part, Miss Hanover,” Cairn, a leather strap in his hand, slipped past Whyte as the orderly held open the door. “Although I am sure the two of you could find some ingenious method of doing so.” He threw the leather strap onto the table. “Of course, I have just ordered my crew to cut the straps from the lifeboats. Getting on the ground, as you put it, just became that bit more difficult.”

҉

Noonan squeezed between the pipes in the stern of the airship and into the crawl space leading to the first of
The Amphitrite
’s
three boilers. Reaching out with his right hand, Noonan pressed his palm upon the skin, the juddering of the air streaming along the outside of the gasbag vibrating through his hand and shaking his shoulder. Pulling back his hand, he shifted onto his side and looked back along the way he had crawled, searching for Smith’s tiny head at the entrance to the crawlspace.

“Is this even safe?” Noonan shouted above the juddering beat knocking through the frame of the airship.

“Safe?” Smith squinted into the crawlspace. “The hydrogen is in a bladder above you. Of course it is safe.”

Noonan wiped his brow on the upper arm on his shirtsleeve. “Do you want to switch places?”

“No, no, Major. I think you are doing an exemplary job.” Smith gave Noonan his most gratifying smile.

“The Captain said it should be me?”

“Oh, yes,” Smith leaned into the crawlspace. “He said you were
the
man for the job.”

“How does he know? We haven’t even met.” Noonan rested his head against the metal grille on which he lay. He looked up at the brass pipes glowing pink above him. “Stoke the boiler, the Captain says. Those are my orders.” He glanced down the crawlspace at Smith. “And what are
his
orders, I wonder?”

“Are you all right, Major?”

“Yes,” Noonan sighed. He wiped another palm-full of sweat from his brow. “Just taking a breather.”

“Very well, Major. Only,” Smith paused, “the Captain asked that you get a move on. We are making good time, with favourable winds, and he wants to reach the coast of Denmark before midnight.”

“Really?” Noonan wriggled onto his belly. “I’ll just keep going then.” He grumbled forward.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Noonan pushed on beneath the pipes, sweat running down his neck, pooling in the small of his back. At an intersection, Noonan shifted position, lifting his legs beneath the knees, one at a time, and lowering them into a short shaft leading into the first boiler room. Insulated on all side with a thin wall of light wood, the boiler room was fitted with rungs bolted into the wood. Noonan scrambled down the rungs, stumbling over the sacks of coal as he dropped the last few feet onto the deck.

The firelight seeping around the edges of the boiler door lit the walls with enough light that Noonan could see scratch marks and etchings carved into the wood. He leaned closer to the longest of the epitaphs. Tracing the words with his finger, Noonan read aloud,
“Death comes this day, the eighteenth of February, 1844,”
shifting his feet upon the coal, Noonan let the light fall on the latter half of the inscription.
“Cairn.”
Noonan fingered the signature carved with rough, angular letters. “Who is Cairn?”