A Fistful of Dust (3 page)

“I do believe you attempt to alarm me.” Elizabeth raised her head defiantly. “I will not be quelled.”

“Pity then that you were
quelled
in front of Sir Henry. All we requested was intelligence pertinent to this journey.”

“And my brother shall answer your questions, I am sure.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her. “Can we not begin again? When I heard another woman would be present I had hoped to find a companion with a like-minded heart.”

“Perhaps if you cease that wretched hand-wringing we will be more like-minded.”

Undeterred or covering it well, Elizabeth continued. “I admit I have never understood the desire for adventuring until now. It quite fires the blood.”

“You wish an adventure? While your fiancé is missing?” It was difficult to tell what laced her voice with more venom, sarcasm or incredulity.

“My Henry is an adventurer at heart and I hope this trip will help me understand him.”

Annabelle took a step in what she hoped was an imperious manner. “I would not be marrying a man I did not understand. And have you not heard the phrase to be careful what you wish for?”

Turning, Annabelle left Elizabeth where she stood. She was not heartless and on some level wanted to offer comfort, but really, the woman had crossed space to the Red Planet and acted as if they were out on a picnic. Experience had taught Annabelle that to be in the aether was no Sunday afternoon outing. The girl showed spirit but that would only help her so far. She had better learn quickly. For her own sake.

2.

ARNAUD PRACTICED THE British stiff-upper lip. He was not agitated with the prospect of unexpected adventure, inhospitable landscapes, or impossible creatures, but of entertaining an interloper.

“One more hand to the plough,” Annabelle had said, though with some sarcasm. Then, more subdued, “You concern yourself too greatly with inconsequence.”

She had sounded troubled, but he’d been too preoccupied with her phrasing to consider her feelings. Being bullied wasn’t of little consequence in Arnaud’s book. Pulling strings just… Well, it wasn’t done in polite circles…or so he could imagine Nathaniel saying, although after voicing his initial doubts, Nathaniel had remained silent on the subject. Lately, life contained too many shades of grey. Arnaud could forgive Sir Henry for a controversial act of kindness. Nevertheless, they were all as unhappy with this arrangement as he was, with the possible exception of Folkard.

The man still hadn’t fully explained his sudden insistence that they visit Phobos, although he didn’t entirely need to. He clearly linked the orbit of Phobos with some fluctuation in his sensing of the minerals, and besides had they not headed towards Mars at the urging of the Heart? Had not Nathaniel suggested to Folkard at the time that perhaps their destination may have been Phobos, and not Mars as would seem the obvious option? When one was not privilege to the feeling, it was difficult to question the man who had become nothing short of their divining rod. More worrisome than that, Arnaud wagered, something troubled Folkard to a greater extent than usual, although being plagued with intermittent signals should be enough to explain anyone’s tight-lipped silence. Still, if Folkard felt unwell or distressed they needed to know.

“You may wait within, Doctor. There’s no need for us all to be pacing the gangway.”

Folkard’s dismissal annoyed him, but not much. Arnaud cleared his throat. “I would not be so ungallant as not to attend.”

“For sure.” The unexpected sound of Annabelle’s voice to his right almost made him jump, her remark striking him as a jibe. Steeling his resolve, Arnaud took a breath. Emotions fluctuating, he allowed a questionable sentiment to stir within. Although Annabelle’s outspoken ways often frustrated Nathaniel, Arnaud could not recall personally feeling this annoyed with her. What was wrong with him?

“My brother is overdue?”

Elizabeth Highmore was so slight she moved into the gap separating Arnaud and Annabelle with ease.

“That he is, Miss Highmore,” Folkard replied after giving her an assessing and sympathetic glance as they all moved into the common room.

“The…Highlands? They are…dangerous?”

“Astusapes Highlands. A series of abrupt mesas, what the Martians call kraags, usually inhabited by High Martians.” Arnaud supplied a simplified explanation.

“What are High Martians?”

“Think apes,” Folkard injected. “With grasping hands and feet.”

“Oh! They sound intelligent and important.”

“With wings. The title is not one of respect.”

“Wings?” This time she looked up at the ceiling as if she could see right through the ship. “They can fly?”

“That they can, Miss Highmore,” Folkard replied.

“How wonderful! Will we meet one of these beasts?”

“Not if we are fortunate. I fear you would not find them the most pleasant to gaze upon, and their behaviour can be nothing more than barbaric, although they are not beasts in the manner you mean.”

“So they are bad?”

Arnaud caught himself about to shake his head. Had any of them ever been so innocent? To hear Elizabeth talk was almost painful. Sharing a glance with Annabelle, he saw that she had noticed. When Annabelle spoke, she sounded mournful.

“Good. Bad. These things can often be subjective, especially on Mars.”

A frown creased that fair and dainty brow. “I shall have to take your word for it.”

“Indeed.” For an instant, Arnaud believed Annabelle teased the unfortunate girl, but the expression on her face did not match her tone.

Of course, if Highmore did not make it back it would solve some of their problems.

Arnaud felt himself grow pale. If anyone were privy to his thoughts, he dare not consider what they would rightly think of him. What was wrong with him? It was not like him to contemplate harm to another. To do so for the mere misdemeanour of causing an inconvenience was more than criminal. If to err were human, he would atone for such heinous thoughts, be they entirely too human.

3.

“CORPORAL WINSTON WHITLOCK
, Royal Marine Light Infantry, at your service, ma’am.” The young man saluted the gathering. For Elizabeth, he bowed.

“Nice to see you again, Whitlock,” Elizabeth said. Addressing the others, she explained. “The Whitlocks have served our family for several generations. His father looks after our horses. Winston is the first to join the army. When I and my brother came to Mars, we made a request to the right departments that Whitlock attend us.”

A polite silence ensued, one in which everyone but Elizabeth was clearly thinking how that type of behaviour fitted what they had heard of Joseph Highmore. Even Whitlock seemed to understand as his gaze flicked over the assembly, his expression a little apologetic, but grey eyes twinkling. “My family have always had the honour of serving the Highmores, and I naturally jumped at the chance to come to Mars, sirs.” Whitlock pronounced it,
sahs
.

“Of course.” Annabelle decided she would be gracious. His being here was hardly his fault and, indeed, she would have “jumped” at the chance in his position.

“So you are the instigator of this venture?” Nathaniel nodded to Whitlock.

“Not so, Profess-
sah
.” This time Annabelle almost shuddered. “More like the mediator.”
Mead-de-hate-tah
.

Nathaniel blinked, maybe at the way the corporal spoke. His inflections did take some getting used to. As for his doing as he was told, yes, that would be right. A wave of tiredness swept over Annabelle at the way everything…worked. A chain of command was necessary but too many seemed to take advantage of it. If the smile on Whitlock’s face was anything to go by, he was very happy to be here, but it didn’t sit entirely well with her. From what other important duties had the Highmore’s taken him? True, they hoped to save two men’s lives. Henry Barnsdale-Stevens had been travelling with his valet, but what if owing to Whitlock’s absence one such as her precious George died instead? Yet if it were George in need of rescue… A sudden wave of insight as to how Elizabeth must be feeling made Annabelle feel ashamed of her earlier snappishness. Sir Henry was right. At the very least, one always tried not to leave a man behind.

When Whitlock last saw him, Joseph Highmore had been in heavy discussion with one Hat’Kaashteek at one of the mesas known in the Koline language as kraggs. Laboriously excavated internal shafts etched out by slaves provided living quarters and storage as well as numerous secret passages. This particular one had been captured by the Canal Martians and Highmore had followed his friend’s trail there many days ago.

Whitlock had returned in advance of Highmore to Syrtis Major with instructions to procure
Esmeralda 2
, which Highmore had known was en route owing to conversations with Sir Henry. To expedite matters, the Highmores had signed the Official Secrets Act owing to Routledge predetermining Folkard’s requirements, and circumventing his understandable objections. In addition, Sir Henry had provided another couple of men.

If, as the British suspected, the kragg contained a horde of treasure, even Annabelle would not have liked to remain behind, and she said so now. “We are on good terms with the Canal Martians, but many still wonder if we are nothing more than invaders. After all, this is not our world. They were here first.”

“Excellent sentiment,” Arnaud rejoined. “Rather another man than me.”

“A brave man,
sah
. That is, I mean…I didn’t mean you’re not…Forgive me,
sah
.” The corporal seemed to realise his blunder or
faux pas
.

“
Ne pas s’inquiéter
,” Arnaud chuckled. “You are allowed to.” He waved a hand. “
Louange
. Praise virtues of a friend.”

4.

ARNAUD’S FIRST IMPRESSION
was a man of sartorial elegance. He arrived intact, complete with well-pressed waistcoat, immaculate suit, top hat and cane. His features were a little too sharp to be conventionally handsome, a fact emphasised by pale green eyes.

“He looks as if he’s going to church.”

Although they spoke in whispers disapproval leaked from Annabelle’s words and contempt from Arnaud when he commented that Highmore was, “dressed for his own funeral.”

“Arnaud!” Annabelle kept her voice low but turned her wide, shocked gaze upon him.

“Give the blighter a chance,” Folkard said, then stepped forward, hand extended. “Welcome…” he began, but got no further.

“My good Captain, may we be off? We can exchange the appropriate niceties once in flight.”

“As soon as it suits our schedule, sir.”

To Arnaud’s delight, the newcomer blinked and stood silent. Highmore completely ignored his sister; however, he touched the rim of his hat and dipped his head to Annabelle. “Allow me to introduce myself. Joseph.”

“Highmore. Yes. We’ve been expecting you. Your sister you are acquainted with. I am Annabelle Somerset.” Her sarcasm could hardly have gone unnoticed.

The man took hold of her fingers, bowed. He still made no reference to Elizabeth, but said instead, “forgive my rudeness to a lady.” Highmore’s tone seemed to belie his expression of good will, and whether he included Elizabeth in that statement was indecipherable.

“Nothing to forgive. I never worry about rudeness when it’s so easy to fight back by being polite.”

If Joseph Highmore had been startled by Captain Folkard, Annabelle’s rejoinder left him with a crimson hue.

With another nod, Joseph Highmore followed Folkard, Elizabeth and Annabelle further inside, his shoulder catching Arnaud’s in passing. Either out of ill manners or embarrassment, no apology was forthcoming, making Arnaud pull back as if stung.

As Nathaniel and Arnaud trailed in the wake of the others, their shoulders collided, but there was no pulling away by either man, which surprised Arnaud. As of late Nathaniel had seemed distant, making even this slight intimacy most welcome.

Chapter Three

“In Which the Crew Take New Steps, and Utter New Words”

1.

“AS YOU URGE EXPEDIENCY
, I hope you will reciprocate.” Folkard stood gazing down at the new arrival. They had gathered in the most comfortable part of the common room. Annabelle shared the sofa with Elizabeth. Absent were the two crewmen Routledge had provided—Burton and Carter—and Whitlock, all overseeing the taking on of supplies.

“A friend and colleague have gone missing. I believed Sir Henry would have explained that my investigations indicate he took transport to Phobos.”

“Indeed, but that is all Sir Henry was able or willing to tell. Our questions are how, and why.”

“It’s a family matter.” Highmore sniffed but might as well have snorted.

“One that may lead us into danger,” Elizabeth added.

Highmore stared at her before turning his gaze on the captain. “Folkard, is it?”

Folkard answered affirmative, without drawing attention to the disuse of his title.

Joseph Highmore shifted in his chair, briefly touching the silver-topped cane he had resting alongside his leg. One leg was bent; the other struck straight out, forcing others to step over the offending limb.

Nathaniel’s perception of Mister Highmore had been less than exemplarily. If his assessment of the man proved right, Annabelle would take his hand and firmly shake it in acknowledgement of his perspicacity. It would be a sign that he continued to grow as a person. Once, Nathaniel had read nothing but books. Reading people was a skill everyone needed at times.

“May the ladies adjourn? Perhaps we can discuss this as civilised men, over tea and a drop of brandy?”

“Will there be cake?” Annabelle asked. The remark brought colour to Elizabeth’s face; she visibly had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. When her brother glared at her, she turned her head away, but continued to fight a smile.