Skies of Fire (21 page)

The jolly boat found itself navigating the dangerous air between the
Demeter
and the pursuing Hapsburg ships. Taking the tiller away from a grateful Farnley, Christopher guided the small boat through the hail of cannon and gunfire. They’d left the forest, and firing guards, far below.

The jolly boat dipped and wove as he avoided the volley of gunfire. A bullet slammed into the hull. Another whizzed dangerously close to Josephson’s head.

The
Demeter
’s cargo doors were open, ready to receive the jolly boat. He fought to position the boat while also avoiding enemy fire, the process like threading a needle in the middle of a battlefield. But he needed to be on his ship. He must command his crew.

He brought the jolly boat up through the cargo doors. The moment the doors closed, he was out of the boat, Louisa beside him.

The ship quaked from the force of a narrowly avoided broadside. Pullman’s yelled orders rose above all this.

Christopher leapt up the stairs, shouldering past crew. He heard Louisa behind him, following as quickly as she could.

He reached topside. Though the
Demeter
had managed to avoid most of the enemy’s barrage, cannon smoke hung thickly in the air. Hapsburg Gatling guns made a continual
chop-chop-chop
above shouts and gunfire.

Pullman hurried over the moment Christopher emerged on deck. “Thank God you made it, sir.”

“Just in time to get torn from the sky,” he answered, grim. Several crewmen lay on the deck. One wasn’t moving. The others groaned and writhed from their wounds. With an open bag of tools and supplies beside him, Dr. Singh and his assistant attended to the injured men.

Three Hun airships attempted to surround them—the
Kühnheit
and two others. He could see their Man O’ War captains—men as large as Christopher, wearing Hapsburg crimson and blue—pacing back and forth across their decks, issuing commands. Each of the enemy ships had turned its guns on the
Demeter
, and only her evasive maneuvering had kept them safe. But she couldn’t dance forever.

“Awaiting your orders, sir,” said Pullman. “Shall I tell the venters to make ready? We can try to outrun the enemy.”

“Not yet.”

“Sir?” The ship gave another shudder.

“We’re not running. We’re fighting. Fighting back.”

The nearby crew heard this and grinned, eager to spill Hapsburg blood after the enemy had wounded fellow crewmen.

“Engage with that ship,” Christopher ordered, nodding toward the
Kühnheit.
“We’ll use their own ship as a barrier. If we keep it between us and the other Hapsburg airships, they won’t be able to fire on us, not without the possibility of hitting one of their own.”

He turned to the men manning the ship’s armaments. “Four-inch guns, soften up the enemy’s sides. Same with the Gatling guns. Fourteen inchers, I want you aiming for their ether tanks.”

“The central tank is the most critical,” Louisa added. “The other two tanks are back-up, but they don’t have as much buoyancy.”

“You heard the lady,” he shouted to his crew. “Shoot for the central tank.”

“Do we hold our position, sir?” asked Pullman.

“Have Mr. Dawes back us toward the munitions plant.”

“Back, sir?”

Christopher fixed the first mate with a look. Immediately, Pullman ran to relay the command to the helmsman.

The
Demeter
finally unleashed her firepower, guns booming. For a moment, the enemy ships didn’t return fire, as if stunned that their prey was putting up a fight.

That stunned moment didn’t last. Hapsburg guns roared back to life.

Christopher turned to Louisa. “How much time until the bombs detonate?”

She pulled out her watch. “Five minutes.”

He nodded. That should give them enough time.

“Keep using that Hun ship as a blockade,” he shouted to Dawes.

He and Louisa stood at the rail, giving them a view of the Hapsburg airships firing on the
Demeter
. The enemy strove to avoid her guns and breach the distance between the airships. He knew the ships’ captains believed that they stalked their quarry. Heavy smoke clotted the air, and the lowering sun turned the smoke bright orange and gold, as though the sky itself burned.

Once the
Demeter
was above the plant, he shouted to the helmsman, “Lower, Mr. Dawes. I want us no more than a thousand feet over that factory. And venters, stand by for my command.”

“Aye, sir,” came the responses.

The airship sank, getting closer to the munitions plant. The enemy ships followed, maintaining their bombardment as the
Demeter
slid from side to side, firing when she could and avoiding taking direct hits. Far below, the workers from the plant had abandoned the factory and picked their way across the train bridge to collect at the edge of the distant forest.

Louisa studied the munitions plant through her spyglass. “Guards are going back into the factory. We hid the bombs well, but the guards might find them.”

“Not in time, they won’t.”

“Kit,” Louisa said warningly. “We have to go.”

“Quiet. We played your game down there. We’re in the sky now, and it’s my rules.” He plucked the watch from her hand.

One minute to go.

With Christopher continuing to issue orders, telling which guns when and where to fire, the
Demeter
fought like a tigress, her crew refusing to back down as they threw back salvo after salvo. All the while, Dawes ensured that the
Kühnheit
blocked the other enemy ships. The helmsman also continued to back the
Demeter
up toward the mountain. Christopher would be sure that Dawes got a special commendation. If they survived.

Forty-five seconds. Thirty.

The mountain was at the
Demeter
’s aft. Three Hapsburg ships closed in.

“We’re cornered,” Louisa said darkly.

“I need you to be my timekeeper,” he said, handing her back her watch. Then, louder he called, “Venters, on my command.” He grabbed the nearby shipboard auditory device. “Brace yourself and grip your bollocks tight, men.”

“Twenty seconds,” Louisa said. “And I don’t have bollocks.”

“You can hold onto mine.”

The enemy ships fired again, narrowly missing the
Demeter
. Pieces of the mountain behind them shattered.

There was nowhere else to run. The next barrage wouldn’t miss its mark.

“Ten,” said Louisa.

“Venters, now!”

“Five. Four.”

There was a shudder and hiss, and then the
Demeter
shot forward. Her keel scraped against the top of the
Kühnheit
. Glancing down, Christopher saw the captain of the enemy ship watching the
Demeter
speed past. The Hapsburg Man O’ War cursed and shouted orders at his men.

The enemy ships began to turn to pursue.

“Three,” Louisa called above the rushing wind. “Two. One.”

The ship quaked. Christopher looked back to see a massive fireball tearing through the munitions plant as thousands of pounds of explosives detonated, tearing through solid stone. He could feel its heat, its percussive force, in the very marrow of his bones. Louisa raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the glare. The giant explosion barely missed the
Demeter’s
stern.

A huge black cloud billowed up into the sky, obscuring the enemy ships.

The cloud thinned, revealing the Hapsburg airships. They moved slowly, listing and spinning.

They hadn’t been as fortunate as the
Demeter
. Debris from the explosion had torn through their keels. One ship had her main ether tank shattered. Giant holes gaped in their hulls. All three limped away from the still burning munitions plant, then, one by one, they sank down, slowly, inexorably snapping trees as they lowered to the ground.

Throngs of factory workers began to gather around the downed ships. There would be no pursuit.

The
Demeter
wheeled quickly in the sky and disappeared over the mountain ridge, hiding their fleeing path. No one would be able to report their course to higher authorities.

Relief and triumph surged through him, as though currents of built-up energy within had finally been released.

“It worked.” Louisa sounded shocked.

He pulled her close and kissed her. Hard. They were still alive, and he held her in his arms—he couldn’t figure which was the greatest miracle.

Neither, he decided, as he tasted her—gunpowder and jasmine. Miracles were for the passive, the helpless. Two words he’d never use to describe himself, or her. Together, they had fought every step of the way.

Chapter Twelve

L
OUISA STOOD AT the window of Christopher’s quarters. The night sky over Greenwich bloomed with fireworks, a profusion of fiery color to herald the victorious return of the
Demeter
. Faintly, Louisa heard the blare of a marching band comprising both people and automatons. A full-scale celebration in honor of the
Demeter
’s service and the destruction of the enemy’s key munitions plant.

Christopher was down there. So was most of the crew. Accepting their commendation, as was their due.

As a member of Naval Intelligence, she couldn’t join them. The press would be there, with their cameras and illustrators. Besides, the work of a spy was never given public acclaim. Nor even private approbation. At best, she might receive a handshake and quiet, gruff words of praise. No medals. No honors. It didn’t bother her. Her motivations had never been about glory.

Still, it felt a little lonely, all the way up in the ship, everyone else below. The
Demeter
was quiet as the skies around her filled with cheerful mock explosions. She’d dimmed the lamps in his quarters to see the fireworks better, and the cabin turned crimson, gold, and blue in turns.

Where was Christopher down there? Surrounded by the Admiralty, shaking hands, or taking thumps on the back from the most senior-ranking officers? The fireworks offered intermittent light, and she hadn’t his extraordinary eyesight. So she could only assume he was milling through the crowd, giving his statement to the press. Receiving the acclaim that was justly his.

She would wait until the celebration was over before heading to her flat in Knightsbridge. Safer, quieter that way. And . . . she wasn’t eager to leave the ship. To return to her life. There was too much unresolved between her and Christopher. And if she slipped away now, while he was busy at the festivities, he might think she was running again.

So she remained on the airship, watching the jubilation below. As she observed the fireworks display and the crowds milling around the airfield, she thought of the week that had passed as the
Demeter
had made her way back to England. It had taken over a day at top speed for the ship to reach neutral airspace. Not an easy feat with the amount of damage the
Demeter
had sustained.

Repairs had been hastily done. The four crewmen who’d lost their lives during the battle over the munitions plant were laid to rest. That had been a hard day. The ship had hovered inches above the Adriatic, and the caskets were lowered into the sea. The crew stood solemn in the face of death.

Christopher had read from the
Book of Common Prayer
and also a passage from Ada Lovelace.

“ ‘I never am really satisfied that I understand anything,’ ” he had read, “ ‘because, understand it well as I may, my comprehension can only be an infinitesimal fraction of all I want to understand.’ ”

With respect paid over the watery graves, the ship had then headed for home.

She’d spent her time typing her report on a compact typewriter borrowed from Dr. Singh and investigating every inch of the ship. Though Christopher had hoped she might take her leisure, she couldn’t be idle. She drew diagrams and made notes about the working of the airship, eager to learn all her secrets. Her days were full of information.

And her nights had been pleasant. More than pleasant. Wondrous. She and Christopher had made love for hours, rediscovering each other, learning new truths. Sometimes they were a tempest, other times a zephyr.

Even with the passion between them bright, there were questions, so many questions, all of them unasked and unanswered.

During a prowl of Christopher’s quarters, she had discovered a single glove tucked into the back of his toiletries kit. A woman’s glove, made of pale yellow kidskin, its buttons sparkling beads of jet. Jealousy flared, until she recognized it as one of her own. She hadn’t seen its mate in, what, three years?

The glove had looked far more worn, its leather even more supple, than she remembered. It had been a fairly new pair when she’d lost the left glove. Which meant he must have held it, run his thumb over the soft kidskin. In this very cabin, he’d done this.

That glove was now in her pocket. She felt its presence like a ghost of herself as she continued to watch the celebration.

Footsteps sounded in the passageway outside. The cabin door opened.

She turned, surprised, as Christopher stepped into his quarters, shutting the door behind him.

He wore his dress uniform, an acre of navy wool, gold epaulets and gleaming brass, dress sword buckled at his side. She’d seen many dress uniforms, but only his made her heart kick and her breath come faster.

“You’re supposed to be down there.”

“Didn’t care for the company.” He set his cap down on a table and strode across the cabin, straight to her. “The person I wanted beside me wasn’t there.”

Oh, there went her heart again. Thumping harder than the drum below.

She dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the yellow glove.

They both stared at it. He took the glove from her and ran his thumb over it, finger by finger, as though following familiar paths.

“All this time,” she murmured. “Even when you hated me. You kept it.”