Horizons of Deceit, Book 1 Page 13

  As if acting as some final, cruel appendix to the terror and discomfort they had endured all night, the opening was not quite large enough. Nathaniel gashed his waist as he struggled out, gasping, desperate, fearful he might get stuck. With an almighty yank he pulled himself free and tumbled from the hole, filthy, bleeding and soaking wet. Every part of him ached, and all of his senses seem unnaturally keen and alert. He turned around and helped tug Tally out, the two men falling together as Tally popped from the hole like a cork from a bottle of champagne. For a moment the two of them lay on their backs, breathing heavily.

  “Dublin air,” said Tally eventually. “Best in the feckin’ world.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Daughter of Yohana

  1.

  WHEN THE APACHE camp came in sight, Wapi deftly dismounted and began leading the horse, Annabelle still resting in the saddle. Once more she felt a curious mix of nostalgia and long-suppressed fears. It almost seemed as if nothing had changed for the Apaches—the tents, the smells, even the atmosphere in the settlement, simultaneously so serious and so happy, were all exactly the same. Only, she reasoned, things were not the same. Not for her, not any more. She had seen distant worlds, befriended aliens and battled tyranny and cruelty, suffered great hardship…she had even lost a leg. And yet all that seemed so trifling compared to the biggest change in her life, the one that had happened only days ago, even if it felt like weeks. She was married now, she and George professing their undying love and commitment to each other, the biggest and best change in her life so far.

  As they approached the outermost tepees of the camp, a pair of small figures causing a ruckus became discernible. Two children were fighting behind one of the tents. There was a clear winner, and as the combatants resolved themselves in the shimmering haze that rose from the arid desert floor, it was clear that that winner was a girl. She was perhaps eight years old and had striking ebony hair flowing to her waist, with thick, woven bands of leather wrapped around her chest and waist. She was mercilessly drubbing her opponent, a young boy, with a large stick. Though the blows were not so heavy as to break the skin, the boy had curled up into a foetal position and was wailing at her to stop. She did not seem overly keen on doing so, and it was only when she looked up and noticed the approach of Wapi’s party that she did, instantly dropping her bludgeon and pelting across the dusty floor towards them, her attack on the unfortunate boy forgotten.

  “Wapi!” she squealed. She did not decrease her speed or hesitate as she dashed towards them, and when she got within a foot of Wapi she leapt nimbly up to wrap herself around his chest, nuzzling her face into his poncho. “I was so worried about you!”

  “My journey was not without danger, little one, but I returned to you safely, just like I promised. But I see you have not kept your promise to me…”

  The girl looked up, coy and shame-faced.

  “What promise, Wapi?”

  “The promise you made to behave, Cactus Flower. Who was that? Nenko? Why were you beating him?”

  “It was his fault, Wapi! I swear! He said I’d never be a warrior. He said he was going to marry me and then I’d have to cook for him and wash his smelly trousers. And I don’t want to wash his smelly trousers so I had to teach him a lesson.”

  “Well I think he has learnt it, little one. And now you must apologise! Nenko is your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend, he’s stupid.”

  Wapi laughed and tousled her hair, setting her back down on the ground. It was only then that the girl noticed Annabelle, George and Bert. Beguiled by their strange dress, Annabelle’s beauty and George’s strong, handsome face, she looked down shyly at her bare feet. She beckoned for Wapi to lean down, and as he did so she reached up on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear. Once more, Wapi laughed warmly.

  “These are friends of the Apache, Kai. They have come to help us restore peace to our land. You will meet them properly soon, when the time is right. But it is far more important now that we speak with Geronimo, and start our fight against the evil men that would awaken spirits to destroy us. Go, run ahead! Tell him we are here.”

  The girl nodded dutifully and scampered off towards the camp. Wapi turned around to look at Annabelle.

  She was almost catatonic. Her eyes were wide and her face had blanched to a deathly white. She tried to swallow but her mouth was so dry she was incapable even of this simple, reflexive action. Delirious visions on Mars, memories stirred by an assault on Ceres, and the haunting face of a child stalking her cabin on Esmeralda… Her head felt light, her eyelids fluttered and her pupils shot up into her skull. She could just about feel her prosthetic leg unhook itself from the stirrup as she plunged towards the hard, hot ground.

  2.

  FOLKARD AND ENDERBY had scouted up closer to the Russian base, taking in its perimeter, the number of guards and the best route to get to the hangar undetected. Night had begun to crawl in like a living thing, and with it came the bright searchlights from the airships, swooping over the base like ominous eyes. A stealthy approach would be difficult, a point that Enderby and Folkard did not feel the necessity to share, both already knowing it far too keenly.

  They returned to the bridge to find the men waiting on full alert. Not wasting any time, Enderby briefed them on the situation. The length of fence at the northern side of the base seemed closer to the main hangar than the rest, and so it was decided this was the best point of entry. Speed was of the essence, and though it was unlikely that the base would be less guarded at night, at least the darkness outside the walls would help mask their approach. Once more, the fickle weather had turned its cold shoulder on the mission. The sky had cleared, and in the absence of snow-heavy clouds a plethora of stars stood out starkly against the absolute darkness of the sky.

  It took the men mere seconds to pack their supplies and ready themselves for the next stage of the expedition. They took the stairs inside the buttress, once more checking the horizon both ways to see if any Russian patrols were on the approach. All seemed clear, and keeping their heads down, the group of six skirted along the bridge and headed out into the deeper tundra. There was very little cover from trees and vegetation surrounding the Severnaya installation—there was no need for concealment so far away from civilization, and it made sense that all approaches to the base were clear. Expansionist and antagonistic they may be, but the Russians had lost nothing of their guile. To underestimate them would be a fatal mistake.

  They were a few hundred metres away from the walls, encroaching upon the west side, when an almighty clank reverberated around the landscape. Instantly the six men dropped to the floor, Enderby’s agents with their carbines instantly ready and primed. Shouts, rushed activity and an alarm bell sounded out from the base, ringing across the desolate white plains. This was followed momentarily by the long, ominous droning of machinery, vast gears grinding together, the screech of metal on metal. The beetle of the huge black hangar was extending its carapace. It was opening.

  Even from this distance, the scale of the engineering was awe-inspiring. The curved roof began to flower, pushed open by monstrous iron joists that hinged on an oil-black wheel halfway down their length. As they opened further, an intricate mechanism of flywheels and cogs the size of millstones was revealed, slowly cranking the roof apart. And yet even the noise they made was not loud enough to drown out another sound—an ungodly thundering that came from above their heads, throbbing like a heartbeat from the chest of a Titan. The men looked up.

  It moved at such speed that it was upon them before they had a chance to even comprehend the magnitude of the thing—and after the initial shock of the scale, there came to Folkard a greater terror…one of recognition.

  The entire body of the beast, from the plates bolted to its hull to the chimney stacks that stretched from bow to stern, was coloured a matt black, and so at first discerning its true shape against the night sky was difficult. And yet as it passed ever closer the light from the stars and the moon’s
bright glare picked out details, reflecting dully from surfaces and gun turrets…a shape Folkard knew only too well, down to the very last bulkhead.

  Sovereign!

  Only this was no sleek, majestic British airship. It was more like Sovereign’s warped, bastard twin. It was, Folkard estimated, perhaps twenty-five percent larger, and where Sovereign had been built with concessions to beauty and craft, this behemoth eschewed any pretence to grace. It had been built as nothing more than a weapon of war. Extra armour plates covered the entire body of the ship, giving a brutish, unstoppable look. Extra fins, struts and gantries criss-crossed the hull, seemingly grafted on at random, the design of a madman. Bulky protuberances emerged from the black behind the armour plates, their purpose mysterious and alarming, and Folkard counted at least a dozen extra guns at either side of the prow, sticking out like poisoned spines. Then there was the engine. It was easily twice the size of Sovereign’s, and was constructed with the same haphazard alchemy that characterised the rest of the ship, covered in exposed gears and a row of pistons beating in and out of the body with a terrifying precision. A faint green glow emanated from within its housing, and in its wake it left a thick cloud of choking black dust that gave the air a scent of sulphur and coal, and something else… Something not of this Earth.

  As it passed overhead the noise was overwhelming, forcing the men to cover their ears. The searchlights from the numerous dirigibles tethered to the hangar whipped up in unison to illuminate the warship and guide it in to dock, further showing the patchwork brutality of the Russian’s secret weapon—a truly awe-inspiring and terrifying sight.

  It let out a long, low hoot like a bellowing Kraken and, as it did so, a flash of hope leapt into Folkard’s heart. The ship was coming in too fast! He’d steered Sovereign long enough to know when an approach was miscalculated, and miscalculated this one surely was. At its current rate the bow would skew as it turned to descend into the hangar… The Tereshkov-patented propeller governor (Folkard had no doubt that this ship possessed one) would overcompensate, destabilizing the entire weight of the vessel and causing it to list uncontrollably. There was no doubt the ship would suffer a huge, catastrophic crash.

  His breath held, Folkard hoped against hope that this mission would be over before its most dangerous segment began, that this machine that could change the destiny of the world would be written off as just another failed Russian experiment. And yet his hope was all in vain. In an almost breathtaking display of helmsmanship, the Russian warship’s prow seemed to hang in the air as it hovered over the open hangar roof. The back end began to slide round with an ease and grace that belied the ship’s monstrous appearance, and deftly stopped dead when the length of the vessel hung over the open bay doors. As light as a feather, with its engines purring and cooling, the dreadnought gently sank into its nest, and once more the air was filled with the gigantic doors clanking shut.

  After that, there was nothing but silence. Even the wind, it seemed, held its breath in fear.

  3.

  THE DRIVER OF the cab had taken some persuading to take Nathaniel and Tally as fares. Considering their appearance and the lateness of the hour, this was hardly surprising, but it was nothing the promise of a few extra shillings couldn’t solve. When they returned to Rathgar and let themselves into the garret, the sight of his lumpy old mattress almost made Tally weep with gratitude.

  When Nathaniel awoke, late the following afternoon, every muscle in his body roared with strain. He stretched experimentally, and despite a few bruises and the cut on his side (which turned out to be not as deep as he had feared) everything seemed to be in good working order. Tally, fully clothed, lay face down on his ratty bed, snoring at such a volume that it rattled the windows. Nathaniel got the kettle on and, just as it was coming up to the boil, Tally eased himself up with a groan and rubbed his eyes.

  “Christ,” he moaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “When I first opened me eyes I thought, ‘Jayze, old Jenny must have put me through me paces last night’. Then you get to thinking it hurts a bit too much for that, and maybe I’ve gone a few rounds with Slugger O’Toole. It’s only when I sets eyes on you it all comes back, and bugger me blind how I wish it hadn’t.”

  “Well it hasn’t seemed to affect your blarney, Tally. Here, drink this.” Nathaniel handed him a steaming cup of tea.

  “Right!” said Tally eventually, draining the last of his mug and standing. “Shouldn’t take me long to get my stuff together and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Stuff?” said Nathaniel, nonplussed. “We?”

  Tally had turned his back to Nathaniel and was sorting through a pile of clothes heaped on the floor in the corner, occasionally tossing a choice article on the bed.

  “Aye, the ferry back to England. I needn’t pack much anyway, your boys have said they’ll sort me out when we reach London. Digs and togs, all that. Part of the deal, they said.”

  “Deal?” said Nathaniel, wondering if he’d somehow managed to doze off despite himself and wake in the middle of a totally different conversation. “I’m sorry Tally, I have to confess I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Well what d’ya think all that business yesterday with yer man Cormac was all about? Sorting out me papers.”

  “Papers? You mean, passports and such?”

  “Aye, that’s it.”

  “You mean to say you’re coming back to London with me?”

  Tally stopped his rummaging and turned around slowly.

  “You mean to say they didn’t tell you I was coming back to London with you?”

  “Now that you mention it…no.”

  “Why those slimy, double-crossing English sons o’ whores!” exclaimed Tally, before adding; “Present company excepted.”

  “Believe me, Tally, I’m tempted to echo the sentiment. What did the Bureau offer?”

  Tally sat back down on the edge of the bed and looked Nathaniel straight in the eyes.

  “Now you’re not foolin’ me about here, are you, Professor? All on the level?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I thought as much. You’re a stand up chap, sure y’are, and it makes sense they’d mess you about as much as they have me. Okay. So here’s the craic.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Yer’ a smart man, Professor, so you’ll probably picked up that my line of work here in Dear Old Dublin isn’t exactly what you’d call ‘blessed with legality’. And that sort of employment, if you aren’t careful, is wont to ruffle a few feathers here and there. And don’t get me wrong, I love my mother country an’ I want to see us free as much as the next man, but setting bombs and shooting soldiers ain’t the way to go about it, I reckon. That’s just gonna make things worse. And so, when I was given the chance, I may have, well…stopped a few bombs going off and a few soldiers getting shot. Needless to say, my countrymen weren’t best pleased. I needed a way out before I ended up floating in the Liffey, arse pointed at the sky.”

  “And that’s when the Bureau stepped in.”

  “Right so. They said they’d get it all sorted no bother, just had to help out one of their men with a job. That’d be you.”

  “As I gathered.”

  “Only it’s me who has to go chasing around to get me papers, and naturally the Bureau contact over here vanishes when you need him most. Guess they hoped the Fenians would catch up with me or I’d just cark it down in that feckin’ mine. God Bless England.”

  “Tally, I can only apologise…”

  “Sure, it ain’t your fault, Professor. But I’ve got a few choice words for your employers, and not all of them would please your maiden aunt.”

  “Rest assured, Tally, they’re not my employers. And it seems like I have a few choice words for them myself. I think it’ll be much more satisfying if we both air our grievances together, don’t you think?”

  “You mean you’ll help me?”

  “Tally, after everything that happened last night, I feel I’m duty bound to
.”

  Tally leapt up and pounced on Nathaniel, throwing his long arms around him and slapping him on the back. “Ah, Jaysus,” he said. “Long-live the decent and honourable subjects of Her Majesty!”

  “And God Bless Ireland,” said Nathaniel, gently pushing the smiling Irishman away.

  4.

  COYNE, HIS OWN pistol drawn, was taking the lead, with Arnaud keeping a skittering eye on the rear. They had slunk into the back streets, every sense alert, moving through the shadows with no real plan, or sense of where they were going. Arnaud was only too aware that Madame Moonsinge posed a serious threat, and the grip she held on the slums meant that a reckoning was due. The barman had seemed terrified of her power and influence, and Arnaud had been adventuring long enough to trust his instincts when it came to the greater dangers. Not only that, Coyne was a loose cannon, and he felt himself keeping as much of an eye on the unstable agent as he did their surroundings.

  They came to the corner of a derelict building and Coyne stopped. They had been lucky so far; with the exception of a few feral dogs and the odd pair of eyes peering suspiciously from the inside of ramshackle huts, the darkened byways had been deserted. Arnaud found little comfort in this, however, and the state of the back streets—littered with human waste and the stench of poverty and decay—made him all the more sickened and uneasy.

  He sidled up to Coyne, who had taken a quick peek around the corner.

  “What can you see?” he asked.

  “Trouble,” said Coyne, as he brought the butt of his pistol viciously down onto Arnaud’s temple.

  5.

  THERE WERE MURMURS, the crackling of wood spitting in a fire…then a soothing coolness on her forehead that seemed to gently coax her senses back to full consciousness. She tried to move her arms up to rub her eyes but they felt light and unresponsive; it was only when she moved her head and heard a groan that her body felt like it belonged to her once more, and she was able to open her eyes. Even this basic task felt an uncommonly strenuous thing to achieve.