Mainspring (15 page)
Authors: Jay Lake
“Walking dead,” said Swine.
Wine: “Ya. Like saints but different, ya.”
Hethor wanted to protest that it was not so, that the world worked on a more rational basisâthe Creator would not have built so mechanical a sky, then set uncanny ghosts to bedevil them all. But the evidence of his own experience had put the lie to that idea already. “The Southern Earth cannot be so different from our own, can it?”
“Oh, my boy ⦔ The Welshman actually smiled. “Fleets of golden ships sailing oceans of spice.”
“Gold doesn't float,” Hethor said.
Swine and Wine chuckled until the Welshman gave them both a dirty look.
“'Tis the magic, you fewking whelp.” A boiled egg crushed in his hand. “Beyond the Wall there's great men like graven images waking from their dusty sleeps to cast glamers upon us all. Be glad you're of the north, where Her Imperial Majesty watches over good honest sailors everywhere.”
SMALLWOOD STOOD
beneath his awning once more. Marines lined the rails with carbines in their hands. Hethor had not seen such a show of force since joining
Bassett
's crew. The captain was angry, though this was cold anger like the edge of a sword, in contrast to his hot rage in the moment of the attack.
beneath his awning once more. Marines lined the rails with carbines in their hands. Hethor had not seen such a show of force since joining
Bassett
's crew. The captain was angry, though this was cold anger like the edge of a sword, in contrast to his hot rage in the moment of the attack.
No man among the ship's company had whispered against Captain Smallwood for coming aboard during the fighting. It was understood that his first duty was to HIMS
Bassett,
to the ship and her company and her mission. The Articles of War, naval tradition, English law, and the custom of sailors all required him to do so. That the captain had fled the field of honor, leaving five dead and one missing in his wake, was a tragedy worthy of a Greek hero. In staying where he was, he would have betrayed his command. In leaving the fight upon the ground, he betrayed his brother officers.
Bassett,
to the ship and her company and her mission. The Articles of War, naval tradition, English law, and the custom of sailors all required him to do so. That the captain had fled the field of honor, leaving five dead and one missing in his wake, was a tragedy worthy of a Greek hero. In staying where he was, he would have betrayed his command. In leaving the fight upon the ground, he betrayed his brother officers.
Anger mixed with pity throughout the ship's people.
Now there were five corpses sewn into stained canvas, doubled thick because so many of their parts and pieces were loose. Captain Smallwood stared down at them as he slapped his thigh with the ship's Bible.
“Our Brass Christ,” he said suddenly, in a sharp, low voice much unlike his usual firm tones. “Our Lord, He suffered on the Roman horofix. The gears ground closer to His hands and feet. The spike sprang forward by moments toward His heart.
“Yet even in His hurt, our Lord prevailed, taking the sin of the world into him. In time, his tormentors were struck down. Rome ⦔ Smallwood seemed to lose his thought for a moment, then collected himself. “Rome
burned.
”
burned.
”
The captain stared around at the ship's company, the continued slapping of the Bible slowing in tempo to a dirge. The air had turned foetid, the ever-present wind suddenly silent as any distant family members at a funeral. The thick scent of blood and rank death curdled the air of the deck. Hethor's neck tingled as Smallwood's gaze swept past him, lit on Lombardoâthey were arranged by divisionsâthen back a moment to Hethor. The captain's eyes burned hotter than the day, a bright fever in their brown depths.
Vengeance, Hethor hoped, rather than the fires of madness.
Smallwood continued to slap the Bible. Then, as if noticing for the first time that he held it, he looked down at the book before opening his hand and letting the leather-bound volume tumble to the deck. It fell open, pages fluttering for a moment before it settled as limp as the wind.
“Rome burned, men,” Smallwood continued, “for her sins. Lieutenant Malgus awaits rescue, having been carried off by these vicious savages. Five of our ship's company lie dead on an altar of pagan treachery. As we have been ordered to do, we will find General Gordon. With his men and our own stout crew, these savages will pay for their insult to our lives, our honor, and our gracious queen.”
A horn began to play, off-key, and the company sang “God Save the Queen.” Hethor thought it an odd choice for a funeral hymn. As the last flat notes trailed off, Smallwood said in his usual command voice, “We will bury our dead over honest water when next we find it, that those winged savages shall not pick among the bones of honest Englishmen. Ship's muster is dismissed.”
The crew scuttled to their stations, those off-watch back to their hammocks and hidey-holes. Hethor stood before the canvas lumps that had so recently been men.
Though none were his particular friends, de Troyes had been kind and thoughtful to Hethor when no such consideration had been warranted.
Though none were his particular friends, de Troyes had been kind and thoughtful to Hethor when no such consideration had been warranted.
The ship's Bible still lay there, one page folded over, the other with a penciled highlight glittering in the late-afternoon sun.
Curious, Hethor picked it up.
It was open to the Book of Job, Chapter 41. He read the underlined verses aloud softly. It was as close as he could come to saying a benediction to the dead and a prayer for the missing.
“âCanst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put an hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn? Will he make many supplications unto thee? will he speak soft words unto thee? Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant for ever? Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?'”
“Seaman Hethor.” It was the second mate, Lieutenant Wollers. “Captain Smallwood will see you at the second bell of the evening watch.” He looked Hethor up and down. “Come clean and fresh as you can make yourself, boy.”
Hethor nodded. He handed the Bible to Wollers with an abortive pass at the sign of the horofix. “Aye-aye, sir.”
“Thank you.”
If Captain Smallwood had been angry in defeat, Wollers was simply defeated. The officer walked away slope-shouldered and tired.
Hethor moved among the watchful marines to the water butt, the better to clean his hair and ears.
EXCEPT FOR
his trips to and from Lieutenant Malgus' cabin during his stint as the navigator's assistant, Hethor had spent no time among the ship's officers. In the quiet of the evening, he made his way aft, down the narrow
companionway, past Malgus' cabin and several others before presenting himself to a marine who stood guard outside Smallwood's hatch. The entrance to the captain's cabin was an ornate thing, carved with classical motifs of nereids and sirens. So far as Hethor knew, it was the only such hatch on the ship.
his trips to and from Lieutenant Malgus' cabin during his stint as the navigator's assistant, Hethor had spent no time among the ship's officers. In the quiet of the evening, he made his way aft, down the narrow
companionway, past Malgus' cabin and several others before presenting himself to a marine who stood guard outside Smallwood's hatch. The entrance to the captain's cabin was an ornate thing, carved with classical motifs of nereids and sirens. So far as Hethor knew, it was the only such hatch on the ship.
“Seaman Jacques reporting to Captain Smallwood as ordered.”
The marine was an older man with a ruddy face lined as a plowed field. He frowned, then reached over to knock without taking his eyes off Hethor.
The hatch cracked immediately. Wollers peered out. “Seaman Hethor. You are timely.” He tugged it all the way open, ushering Hethor into the cabin beyond.
It was the stern cabin. Three narrow windows glinted in the flickering light of electrick lanterns. The ports showed muted colors of stained glass, which would likely be glorious when the ship sailed away from the sun. Other than the carven door and the colored windows, the captain's accommodations were austereâtwo sea chests, a bed folded up to become a writing desk, two chairs and a bench and a chart table.
The only luxury was the sheer size of the cabin. In no other respect did the place resemble the carpeted expanse of silver ornaments that deck rumor attributed to Smallwood. Hethor had never thought the captain a man of excess. He was glad to see himself proven correct.
“Thank you for coming.” Smallwood was seated, Dr. Firkin standing behind him. The captain waved Hethor to the bench. A signal breach of naval etiquette. “We must speak with you on matters of grave concern to the ship.”
Had the viceroy somehow sent a message?
Hethor thought in panic. Was he to be turned out, or clapped in irons? Surely not, if they had asked him to come astern, cleaned and dressed. Would Smallwood take him farther from Gabriel's charge?
Hethor thought in panic. Was he to be turned out, or clapped in irons? Surely not, if they had asked him to come astern, cleaned and dressed. Would Smallwood take him farther from Gabriel's charge?
“I am ready to serve, sir.” Hethor tried to press the nerves out of his voice.
“The loss of both Lieutenant Malgus and Midshipman de Troyes is a terrible blow to
Bassett,
” Smallwood said. “Especially with Dalworthy dead as well. We are shorthanded now for watch-standing, with no one to fill in for our navigators. It is my understanding that Lieutenant Malgus trained you in the instruments of his craft before dismissing you back to Chief Lombardo's service.”
Bassett,
” Smallwood said. “Especially with Dalworthy dead as well. We are shorthanded now for watch-standing, with no one to fill in for our navigators. It is my understanding that Lieutenant Malgus trained you in the instruments of his craft before dismissing you back to Chief Lombardo's service.”
“Yes, sir.” Hethor paused, uncertain. “I have some talent and experience with fine mechanisms.”
“So you can take readings, and establish position?”
“He had not time to teach me to plot charts, sir, but I can set the clocks and take our latitude, calculate present speed, and such tasks.”
Wollers, in the other chair, exchanged glances with Smallwood, who nodded and cleared his throat before continuing. “But you could take the measurements, and consult with Lieutenant Wollers with regard to the charts?”
This was not how he had wished to be restored to his work. Though Hethor felt a rush of excitement, it was nearly balanced by a parallel rush of shame. Excitement won through thoughâhe would be free of the petty tyrannies of the deck, working again with the instruments and the mathematical precision that he had loved under Master Bodean and again under Lieutenant Malgus.
“Sir ⦠I would be pleased to aid the ship as you command.” The captain had to be desperate, to be asking him with such politeness.
“It is for England, son,” said Smallwood, forcing a smile. “We have a crude map with rough directions, left by General Gordon's expedition. It was recovered from the site of the massacre.
Bassett
is to bear east another ninety or so knots, and look for a certain bay in a cliff, about six thousand feet above the level of the sea. That is rather above our normal cruising altitude. It is my understanding that this bay may be hard to locate by eye, due to a tricky lay of the land. Sadly, our charts of the Wall are necessarily incomplete.
Bassett
is to bear east another ninety or so knots, and look for a certain bay in a cliff, about six thousand feet above the level of the sea. That is rather above our normal cruising altitude. It is my understanding that this bay may be hard to locate by eye, due to a tricky lay of the land. Sadly, our charts of the Wall are necessarily incomplete.
“You, Seaman Jacques, must guide us there, with Lieutenant Wollers' leadership. The entire ship's company, and the noble memory of our dead, shall depend upon your skill.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hethor, his elation melting to misery. He wanted freedom, not responsibility. Captain Smallwood might as well have kept him in chains as set him to this task.
But it wasn't just Smallwood, it was al-Wazir and Dairy and Lombardo and the Welshman and all the men of the decks and ropes and gasbag who needed him. Perhaps most of all, Lieutenant Malgus, in spite of his strange behaviors and secretive ways, needed Hethor's help.
Wollers showed him out and walked him to Malgus' cabin. “It would not be seemly for a common seaman to bunk here,” the second mate said, “but as this is also the chart room, you may use this as your workplace. Keep your hammock on the deck and mess with your division and watch. You will need to take the midnight hour each evening. Do not fall prey to sleep when you return here with the box clock.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The officer departed, and Hethor dropped to a seat on the low stool at Malgus' chart table that he had originally mistaken for a desk. He looked about the tiny cabin. No windows, just two cupboards for the instruments, a sea chest, and a narrow bunk that looked far less desirable than his own hammock. And the chart table. There were sheets upon sheets of charts stored in the drawers that made up its pedestal.
Nothing here spoke of the life of Simeon Malgus, lieutenant, RN. Hethor studied the chest. There was a fresh wax blob over the latch. It was marked with the captain's signet, or possibly the purser's seal. Despite Smallwood's words of rescue, the officers had written Malgus off for dead, then.
Hethor tugged open the chart drawers. The maps lay
within. They were densely packed, printed on a fine paper almost as thin as onionskin, the better to stuff them in so that there would be a sufficiency for
Bassett
's long voyage.
within. They were densely packed, printed on a fine paper almost as thin as onionskin, the better to stuff them in so that there would be a sufficiency for
Bassett
's long voyage.
“I seek the Wall,” Hethor told the empty room and, perhaps, Malgus' ghost looking on.
He flipped through charts of England's water and sky lanes, penciled notes of trans-Atlantic navigation, down the drawers to New England and the Virginia Country and Georgia, down again to the Caribbean.
Malgus had been particular in his organization.
Hethor looked through another pair of drawers. These charts were more like sketches, not the printed and tinted sheets from the higher tiers. The papers were covered with rough coastlines and altitudinal cross-sections, notes on bays and harbors and plateaus along the Wall's Atlantic coast, right to where it met Guinea.
Carefully turning those fine sheets, he found a different chart, of Earth's track around the sun. It was edged with notes on the cycles and epicycles of the balancing system. SomeoneâMalgus?âhad sketched in the hand of God, a key held within His fingers.
Hethor's heart fluttered.
The Key Perilous.
On the back was an elevation of a temple, in the Eastern style like something the Middle Kingdom would have builtâhe had been told that Jerusalem and Constantinople were full of them, from the days of the Horde before Spanish steel and English leadership had driven the Chinese and their pony warriors back almost all the way to the Indus. The temple seemed to stand against a cliff face, if Hethor could trust the artist. In lettering that was definitely Malgus' hand, the caption on the sketch read, “Return, reconsider, rebuild. No heart.”
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