Captain Albion Clemens and The Future that Never Was: A Steampunk Novel! (Lands Beyond Book 1) (31 page)

             
“Yes. You want to pull me out of this… thing,” Cezette said haltingly.

             
“Someone did a very bad thing to you,” Hargreaves supplied. “Don’t… no, don’t look down.”

             
“I know about my legs,” Cezette said more confidently. “The gray man said I spent too long in the grass and dirt with my feet cut open. I got an in… infa…”

             
“Infection?” Rosa guessed.

             
“Infection,” Cezette agreed. She seemed to say the word like she had read it, but had never formed the sounds herself.

             
“Barbaric, cutting off a girl’s legs,” Hargreaves hissed. Rosa felt an argument on, but decided against it.

             
“I think I will be all right,” Cezette said now. She reached, and before any of them could stop her, uncorked one of the cables from her back. One of the abomination’s fingers twitched, but otherwise all was well.

             
“Grand. Let’s do this carefully,” Rosa said. She looked again at the rat’s nest of bleeding-edge steamcrafts.

             
Rosa was acutely aware of the situation in the Red Square itself- just then there had been a din suspiciously reminiscent of the explosion from Albion’s Red Special.

             
With Cezette’s help, the two women managed to undo all the various cables and lines from Cezette’s back. Whatever mechanism kept her warm, it continued to do so, even when they unscrewed the last thick bundle from Cezette’s tailbone. They could only wince at the various ports and nodules left embedded in the flesh, but Rosa managed to wrap the little girl up in Hargreaves’ coat. Rosa groaned, once, when the weight opened up a fresh cut, but soon she was carrying Cezette alongside the limping Hargreaves, making for Red Square. Cezette seemed to like the feel of being carried, and she often turned to touch the weakened Hargreaves, who smiled and held her hand.

             
Inside the Square, Rosa was beginning to wonder which of their merry mates had gotten the worst of the deal. Hargreaves was visibly injured, Rosa was plumb out of every barb and shank in her arsenal. Yet, it seemed the battle was still being waged here, in the Red Square. Rosa hastily motioned them behind one of the abandoned sandbag barriers.

The Square had been turned into a war zone, but the worst of it was centered round the beautiful cathedral, rendered an ominous warlock’s keep by the coming darkness. There were man-shapes sprawled all around it, baptizing the Square the color of its namesake. The familiar debris cloud of the recently fired Red Special hung over them. Gunshots could still be heard, followed by the shattering sounds of bullets gone off their mark.

“Hand it over, Sam! You don’t know what Mordemere intends to do with it!” Albion’s voice suddenly rang out, faint across the square.

“I know what I intend to do with it, sonny!” A scratchy smoker’s voice answered him. It was thick with the sound of the South.

“That’s Captain Samuel!” Hargreaves exclaimed, but when she tried to get up she fell onto one knee. “He has the crystal!”

“Stay down, Inspector,” Rosa cautioned.

“What do you want, stop the Ottomans from starting another Great War?” Albion answered once again. “Bring arclight to deep Africa?  Feed every starving mouth in the Commonwealth? It won’t make up for what you’ve done, you old hypocrite!”

Another shot rang, and Rosa pinpointed Albion behind a red cabriolet, steaming from bullet holes in its side.

She made out Captain Samuel hidden in an amazingly intact newsstand, wielding a large silver Colt.
              “I thought Mordemore’d done you in, boy,” Captain Sam began, but he was interrupted by another shot. “Whats the meaning of shootin’ at your own Paw?” 

“You were no father to me!” Albion answered. “You’re likely up to your own tricks again. Maybe I need to shoot you to show you how to take me seriously!”

“Americans…” Hargreaves shook her head.

Whatever happened aboard the Berry long ago, Albion was still sore about it. Now the two were together again, and Albion would give no quarter. Cezette wriggled in Rosa’s arms.

Hargreaves prodded Rosa, and the two peeked out over the barricade to find a shadow approaching. Hargreaves’ .22 was out, in her left hand, but she quickly dropped it when they saw it was Elric Blair, a bit shaken up but seemingly unhurt.

“The hell happened?” Rosa demanded.

“Long story. I’m not sure how to stop them,” Blair said.

“I’m not sure you can,” Hargreaves answered bemusedly. “Their marksmanship is horrific, at any rate.” Rosa nodded agreement. Pirates had to settle their scores like pirates. Just as Rosa was resigned to the duel happening until both idiots ran out of ammunition, a light winked into existence far above them, like some untimely sun.

“The Gray Man,” Cezette murmured in Rosa’s arms.

The column of fire was a surprise to none, but it was startling. Everyone but Cezette stopped to stare at the line of light streaming from the cloud into the ground.

It dove straight for the river, sending up a plume of steam. Then it began to cut, swiftly, through the necropolis and the red walls of the Kremlin.

As they watched, it circled round the beautiful Kremlin fortress gates and the Tsar’s residence. It lit up the Cathedral, sending planes of illumination coursing over the onion domes like some festive attraction. Then it moved on, returning to the river to join the first cut.

“Everyone hold on!”

Even Albion and Captain Samuel grabbed hold of anything they could reach. There was a rumbling like an earthquake, and the taste of iron in the air; then everything unanchored left the ground, hanging about a foot over any and every surface. 

“We’re rising…. There, I see the
Gwain
and the
Dinadan
. The
Percival
looks like its in retreat,” the Inspector said. She was peering over the lip of the Square, where the remains of the bridge hung out over empty air.

Beyond it, the titanic forms of airships slowly drifted down towards them, lit by an eerie blue glow.
It was like seeing whales, harpooned, dying.

The
Percival
was easiest to spot, dipping low and lit by multiple deck fires. Rosa realized the blue glow was all around them. They were the ones lit by it.

Slowly, all the flotsam drifted back down to the piece of land floating resolutely upward. Another second later and the gunshots resumed.

“We have to stop Albion,” Hargreaves was saying. It was difficult to hear her, as if the air was denser between them. “And accomplish the mission!”

“We have no obligation to finish your mission. Captain Samuel is right there!” Rosa found herself saying. No, that wasn’t quite right. Albion might be out of his mind, but Rosa was not.

She knew, without a doubt, if Mordemere’s hand reached out and procured the crystal in Captain Sam’s possession, the alchemist would be free to indulge in his every megalomaniac psychosis. Rosa wasn’t no damn do-gooder, but she didn’t like the prospect of a man looking to own her skies. When Albion calmed down, he would undoubtedly agree.

Besides, Cezette Louissaint was looking at her expectantly.

“All right, hold on,” Rosa said. She set Cezette leaning on the sandbags, where she looked quite comfortable. Then she leaned over and grabbed the Inspector’s arm.

“Wait, what are you- ARGHGHH!” Hargreaves screamed hoarsely. Rosa had
her bicep at a nauseating angle.

“Dislocation. I’ve popped it back in, but we really ought to get a poultice on that,” Rosa recommended to an Inspector writhing in pain. She looked about to go into hysterics, but the arm was moving and clawing, no longer hanging uselessly.

“Just who are you?” Elric Blair murmured, wide-eyed.

“Ehh… spent a few months in the Kowloon Walled City.
Picked up a few tricks from a nice bonesetter there. Too bad he got hacked up by the syndicate for his gambling debts.”

“Does Albion know you can do this?” Hargreaves wheezed, feeling her newly mobile appendage.

“Know? He was there, hiding under a mahjong table,” Rosa answered. “Now pip-pip, let’s move. Blair, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh… um
.. who is this, and where are her legs?”

“Is that supposed to be an insult? Pip-pip indeed.”

The trio managed to get up, with Rosa leading the way. They worked their way across Red Square, now desolate save for the isolated pops of gunshots. Keeping the abandoned engines between them and any friendly fire, they found their way towards Albion. Rosa hooted a few times, tried a couple different species of birdcall, before Albion finally responded.

“He’s really out of it,” Rosa said. It was far too dangerous still to cross to where Albion was hunkered down behind a sedan engine.

Besides, the air was rapidly thickening into an overdone pea soup. They were now in the cloud layer surrounding the
Nidhogg
. Remembering Jonah Moore’s schematics, Rosa looked up to see a darker shape begin to emerge from the cloud. In a moment, the yellow stripes of an enormous gantry, like an airship all on its own, emerged from the layers of murk. It was lit by arclight bulbs Tesla would have given his right toe to claim his own.

Immediately following the dramatic appearance, other familiar shapes began to emerge out of the mist: the Inspector’s good old Big Ben, intact and chiming away the hour. A square, Romanesque construction in the near distance was the Brandenburg Gate. They could just make out the rounded dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, there in the stolen streets of the Vatican. On the other side-

“
La Tour
!” Cezette Louissaint cried, almost spilling out of Blair’s grasp.

“No wonder it could not be harmed. The ship and all the landmarks are protected by gantries on all sides,” Hargreaves observed.

“We saw something similar in the underground of Leyland,” Elric Blair said. “The rounded apparatus provide the lift.”

Rosa saw where the Inspector was looking: at the intricate cage of strong beams wrapping over and around each piece of stolen architecture. There were recognizable
airship trappings, such as the familiar anchor launchers and lift lines. But there were also the rounded machines indicated by Blair, as well as other more sinister devices. The scale of it was so large, it reminded Rosa of nothing more than Mordemere’s own atelier back at Leyland. Only, instead of a toad, this was a monstrous squid, holding the jewels of Europe in its tentacles.

“In the middle!” Blair pointed.

The gantries were arranged like spokes on a wheel. In the center, higher than everything else, rose a single spire. It soared high up over the ‘city.’ Undoubtedly, this was where Mordemere was based, and where they would have to go to destroy what Jonah Moore had called the Core.

“First we have to wrangle Albion,” Rosa said. “Otherwise he’s going to put killing Captain Samuel over stopping Mordemere. He still has the Moore crystals!”

“He’s already used two of the crystals Moore gave us,” Blair said. When both of the ladies gave him a hard stare, he added, “One was to save my life.”

Blair quickly filled them in on what happened to the Clanker sniper.

              “Right. There is still one shard remaining, there is still hope,” the Inspector declared.

             
“What are we waiting for?” Rosa Marija agreed. “All right. I’m the ranking officer on the
Huckleberry
, whatever that counts for. According to Moore, whatever Mordemere wants is dependent on this ship reaching the Laputian Leviathan. I say we split up. We’ll tackle the gantry release for each of the landmarks. Hopefully, without his prizes, this ship will never make it to the Leviathan.”

             
“What about Captain Clemens?” A shot rocketing over their heads punctuated Hargreaves’ concern. Albion’s vindictive voice echoed over the square.

             
“Why can’t I hit you? Why don’t you die already?”

             
“I don’t think he particularly cares right now,” Rosa said bitterly. She didn’t like seeing Albion like this, but it was an Alby she had never handled. Besides, Albion could hit a nail in a door at five hundred paces. He was fighting the man who had taught him to shoot. They were well above her league, at least with firearms. “We’ll tackle the Red Square gantry first, then split up to handle the others.”

             
With a thud, everything shook around them. It seemed as if the Square had settled where Mordemere wanted it. Far overhead, a thin arm of metal hung suspended, studded with little round apparatus. Where the bridge had led onto a sheer drop, now it was a web of catwalks, as if they had been built to accommodate Red Square.

             
Thankfully, Blair was holding on to Cid’s schematic diagrams, scribbled on butcher paper. He was able to direct them into the labyrinth of catwalks. Cezette obligingly held the impromptu map up for him as he carried her over paths hanging over the gloom. The way led around the piece of stolen Moscow, and on the other side, strangely, hung the lush garden path that would lead to the Eiffel Tower, a soaring edifice that seemed to be bolted on to a specialized gantry. There were lift lines running from it, Rosa could not help but notice. What thoughts and memories were providing Mordemere succor?