The Doomsday Vault (25 page)

There were six of us in the class—four men and two women. We were all wearing something like black swim outfits. The women's had skirts attached. P wore a plain version of her uniform—no medals or epaulets to grab. I was the newest student, but I'd be fine—I knew how to fight.
, I'd survived an attack by
ing pirates.

The class took place in an echoing gymnasium with mattresses on the floor. Everyone stood in a circle, and P. called me into the middle to face her.

“Show me what you can do, Gavin,” P. said.

I eyed her right arm, the
one.

“Don't worry about that,” she said. “I won't cheat. Though eventually you'll have to learn how to fight me—or someone like me.”

“Are we fighting fair or are we fighting to win?” I asked.

“Good question,” she said with approval. “In
, we fight to win. In this class, though, we don't want anyone to get hurt. Even our doctors can only do so much.”

“Got it. Then let's—” I faked a swing at her face, then punched her stomach. Or tried to. She blocked me, and then I was flat on a mattress with her fist an inch from my nose.

“Good,” she said, and hauled me to my feet with easy strength. The other students were grinning. “Nice attempt at distraction, decent reflexes. Try again.”

“How did you do that?” I asked instead. “Show me.”

“Try again, Gavin.”

“Sorry.” I punched; she swept my hand aside. I tried again and again and again, but I couldn't touch her. Soon I was panting and sweaty, but she was unruffled.

“Not bad,” she said. “You fight like a pirate and have some bad habits, but we can work on that. What weapons can you use?”

“Uh...cutlass, belaying pin, flechette pistol.”

“Handy. Rifle?”

I shook my head. “You don't use anything that sparks on an airship unless you're deadly stupid.”

“Right. Bernard, I want you to take Gavin through some basics of self-defense, better than what a pirate learns. Everyone else, pair off for sparring.”

Bernard, a brown-haired man about ten years older than me, came forward, but I turned back to P. “Ma'am,” I said. She raised an eyebrow at me. “I'm not a pirate. I'm an airman. There's a difference.”

She gave me a long look, then said, “Noted. Now learn, Gavin.”

And I did. I thought I knew something about fighting, but it turns out I didn't know anything.
uses boxing techniques from China, and they're nothing like anything you learn on an airship. It was an entirely different way to move. A different way to think. And you have to shout every time you do something. It's strange, but it works.

After that, I changed clothes and met Mr. D. and Dr. C. down in Dr. C. 's laboratory. He's a
, and he has a special alloy that can
if you pump
through it. He also discovered that sound travels in waves like ripples across a pond. He's even figured out how to measure sound waves—and change them. So he's supposed to train me in music.

At first, I didn't think there'd be much he could teach me, but after that fight class, I wasn't so sure. Turned out I was right. I know a lot about “practical application,” as Dr. Clef calls it, but I don't know much about music theory, and that's what he's teaching me. A lot of it is giving names and numbers to what I know by instinct. Dr. C. says we're taming my music.

But I really miss flying, Gramps. It's been weeks, but I jerk awake mornings, and my back aches and I can hear the sky calling like a song I can only half hear, and it hurts. On those mornings, gravity pulls down every note I play, and I swear they shatter on the floor. Dr. C. throws up his hands. “Ach!” he shouts. “You have the hands of a brick! Go away before you break my ears!”

This letter is getting long. Tell everyone I love them. I don't know when I'll be able to visit again, but remember that I'm safe and I'm doing fine.

Love to all,

Gavin

T
he music box clinked through another uniform round of music. Alice put down her teacup and smiled across the breakfast tray at Norbert, who was skimming the
Times
, freshly ironed by one of the automaton maids. “Anything interesting?” she asked.

“The uprising in India has finally been put down,” he said. “Maybe now Lord Elgin will get enough men to put the coolies in their place. Some are wondering if this will be another war over opium.”

“One can hardly blame the Chinese for their anger,” Alice said as Kemp refilled her cup. “As I recall, the Treaty of Nanking forced them to pay enormous sums of money to England and make a number of trade concessions while England gave virtually nothing in return.”

“It only means one thing.” Norbert set the paper aside and picked up his own cup. “More demand for weapons. I might expand the factory in that direction. Good news for us, eh?”

They were sitting in the morning room in Norbert's enormous house in London eleven months after their engagement. The windows were shut against a dreary April sky, but a shared breakfast tray on a small table between them sent up smells of fresh bread, butter, sausage, tea, and chocolate. Norbert sipped the latter. The breakfast menu always remained the same. The one day when Alice had suggested they have something besides bread and sausage, Norbert's face had turned bright red and his hands had shaken. Alice quickly retracted her suggestion, and he returned to normal.

In the last several months, Alice had learned that all of Norbert's habits were exact and regular. Every morning when she arrived at his house for their customary breakfast together, she found him bathed and fully dressed in the same cut of business suit. He greeted her with the same “Good morning, my darling,” gave her the same kiss on the cheek, and seated her at the same chair at the same table in the morning room. The music box she had pretended to admire on the day he had more or less proposed to her played the same songs quietly through the meal. He read the front page and business sections of the
London Times
while they ate, commented on one or two stories, and was ready for the day at 7:20. He would return by eight o'clock, when supper was to be served.