Dead Air (26 page)

Hunter nodded. "Indeed. I must admit, he's become quite a valuable addition to my crew. I'd hate to lose him as well." The captain half-turned to look at the archeologist. "That does bring one thing to mind. That journal. If anything needs to be disposed of, those designs should be."

Dr. Von Patterson reached into his coat pocket. "We discussed that. Yes, much of it needs to be destroyed most likely, but there are some medical theories there, that if applied differently, could be of some later use. Improved artificial limbs, better medical techniques. In any case, we felt this journal would be best in your care." He held out the worn, coal-stained journal.

Captain Hunter carefully accepted the small book, then slowly leafed through its worn pages. "I'm surprised. This is the most dangerous part of the entire macabre collection."

"With the parts scattered, any attempt to follow those instructions would be hampered." Dr. Von Patterson explained. "Also, you travel, my good man, and quite a bit. If the journal were locked away, it might be found, and by the wrong hands. Constantly on the move? That means when it comes to light, it will be done so at the right time."

Hunter frowned at the journal and the manic scrawls within it. "One appropriate use will be some select copies of certain pages. Just enough for the Belgian Navy to be encouraged to arrest RiBeld and his men for their foul work."

"Just select pages?" The archeologist asked with a hint of concern.

"Yes, the more gruesome ones with the least amount of rational explanation." The captain explained. "Not enough to create anything, save a conviction of murder which they so truly, and obviously, deserve." He sighed heavily. "Though, I've no illusions. Only a handful will face the consequences for now."

Dr. Von Patterson frowned at the captain's last comment. "What of the ship that crashed below? You had sent out a longskiff to look earlier ..."

"I had." Hunter replied in a flat tone. "They found the frigate, or what was left of her. It seems the ship was abandoned well before the crash. Of the bodies that were found, RiBeld's was not among them. Given that the longskiffs were missing, I can only assume that the rat abandoned his ship at the earliest opportunity presented him. I've marked the coordinates to give to the Belgians. I've no doubt they'll find something useful within the wreck." The captain frowned. "All in all, I'd have felt better if he'd been caught. From what I've learned of him so far, it would be foolish to think he doesn't have at least a working knowledge of what is in this book." For emphasis, Hunter gestured with the worn journal. "Or how to assemble these particular horrors."

Dr. Von Patterson turned to look at the heavily damaged Thulian schooner in the next berth over from the
Brass Griffin.
Already her crew, dressed in loose tunics, trousers and work boots were hard at work repairing the craters and blackened timbers. He sighed as a man with a great weight settled upon
his shoulders. "Can we really do this? You, myself, Thorias, your crew?"

Hunter dropped the journal into his coat pocket and gave the archeologist a reassuring smile. "Rest assured, we can. It may seem a large burden at first, but over time it will be easier to bear."

"That's what worries me," the archeologist said with a sound of concern. After a moment, the doctor put out his hand. "However, my deepest thanks, Captain. That is twice you've done me a great service."

Hunter smiled and shook the man's hand firmly. "Thank my crew, not me. But I understand. You were in trouble and we could help. In the end of it all, I'm simply glad you'll be returning to your wife and family in one solid piece."

Dr. Von Patterson laughed then put his hands in his pockets. "True enough! On that note, where are you bound for from here? More importantly, might there be a room for a passenger?"

"There might indeed be room, doctor." Hunter replied. "So long as the passengers are not zombies. My preference would be anyplace where my crew will not be shot, stabbed or clawed. Although, it will probably be Edinburgh. We'll need supplies and a brief respite from travel. There's some work waiting for us there, also."

"Most excellent!" The archeologist exclaimed. "There will be no zombies, I can assure you of that, just myself and Adonia. Once there, I can send word to my wife and family so I can meet them."

At the name of the Charybdian woman, Hunter paused, his mouth in a thin line. He stared off at the clouds in silence.

Dr. Von Patterson's smile evolved into a smirk. "Had to think that one out, eh? The history must run deep there."

Captain Hunter sighed heavily the moment he made his decision. "Oh, very well." He said in a brittle voice. "At least she's presumably among the living."
 

A
gentle wind blew to the east-southeast and brought with it a cool, fresh taste to the air. Countless stars shone overhead, like so many diamonds scattered across a soft blanket of black velvet. Occasional gray clouds drifted lazily in the far distance, where a pair of young lightning drakes swooped and dove between the stars and the waves. The wind stirred through the clouds and raced towards the weathered form of the
Brass Griffin
, twirled among her rigging, the canvas of her sails and gas bags, then ruffled the feathers of a pair of firehawks that had stubbornly settled in for the night among the crosstrees for the gaff topsail.

Below, on the deck, the usual bustle of activity was missing. At this late hour, it was more sedate. Only a few of the crew were on duty to check the rigging or make sure the steam engine kept the right amount of pressure in the gas bag and ensure the proper speed of the propellers. The ship sailed the air currents steadily, her bow pointed across the water to the distant shore of Scotland. Far ahead, the yellowish twinkle of lights from Edinburgh blinked along the shore, warm and inviting.

Tonks and O'Fallon leaned on the railing at the starboard side of the
Griffin,
watching the lightning drakes in the distance. Behind them, they heard the approach of footsteps, which resolved themselves into the familiar form of Moira in her usual leather vest with tinker tools, cotton trousers and loose shirt. Soot scrubbed away to leave only healing bruises and scrapes, Moira looked more whole and healthy than she had in days. She grinned at the two men.

"Nice ta have a night where we're not bein' chased by somethin' violent." She said brightly. Moira then shuddered slightly at the all too fresh memories before leaning against the railing next to the two men. "Zombies. Ugh. Not ever though I'd be seein' that. Don't ever want ta again, either."

"Or that bugger, Carlos." O'Fallon said with a dark undertone. "Be he even a zombie? Ah've na doubt he died, but afore Ah knew it, there he be, beatin' on me head. The dead are na supposed ta be doin' that. When a bugger's dead, leave 'im be."

Moira looked past her friends at the shore lights of Edinburgh. "Carlos be at least one of 'em that shoulda stayed dead." She said softly. "I could be hearin' him in my head when I was' usin' them goggles. What he be thinkin' and such." Moira shuddered again. "I'm still havin' the nightmares." She glanced at both Tonks and O'Fallon a moment before she looked out to watch the lightning drakes play in the distance. "I don' think he be gone. Don' know why, I just don' think a fall like he took would do him in."

O'Fallon shook his head slightly. "RiBeld be havin' himself a right do-it-yeself army. Though, who'd want 'em? Walkin' dead defendin' ye home? Na me, Ah say. What could he be thinkin'?"

Tonks sighed. "Money? Some advantage over somethin'? I seem ta have trouble sussin' out what RiBeld's after. The cap'n seems ta get in the vile man's head more'n anyone. My hat's off ta him for that. No matter, though. What RiBeld was doin' was surely wrong. Ya leave the dead at rest. Most times they've earned it."

O'Fallon stretched with a yawn. "Aye ta that. Though the cap'n seems ta have plenty ta be thinkin' over right now 'asides RiBeld. Hopefully it'll be a pleasant distraction from what's usually causin' him pain."

Tonks glanced between the other two. "Speakin' of that, what is it between the cap'n and Miss Salgado?"

O'Fallon raised an eyebrow with a small smirk. "Adonia? Ah na be knowin' the full story, but Ah know some. Do ye really be wantin' ta know?"

The pilot thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll take me ..." his words tapered off when a figure moved, ghost-like, across the deck. Adonia Maria Ricalde Salgado emerged from the ladder that led from Thorias' private, small hospice, stopping to adjust the ruffles along the front of her pale blue dress with white trim. Just behind her, the moonlight peeked from where it had hidden behind a cloud to catch her form in silhouette. The light danced off the subtle lace hem of the dress and played across the white oakleaf print that dotted the dress' length.

Adonia experimentally ran a hand through the tendrils that served as Charybdian hair to smooth them out. Once satisfied, she started walking slowly across the deck towards the officers' cabins. While she walked, what little activity there was aboard the
Griffin
slowed, then came to a stop. A reverent silence descended, accented only by the gentle sounds of the
Griffin,
speaking softly, reassuringly in her own way through the soft creak of wood and rustle of canvas.

After a moment, Tonks recovered the use of his voice. "Well, that's a sure a lovely sight ta see."

Moira turned around and leaned back on the railing with a smile. "Quite the vision, I say. Told her that me dress would fit her."

The two men glanced in shock at Moira. Tonks spoke up first. "Ya own a dress like that?"

"Why?" O'Fallon asked in confusion. "It'd just be gettin' in the way with all the ... the ... floofy things."

Tonks looked back at Adonia who had just stopped in front of the door. "Where ya keepin' it? I mean, I don't see one 'a those pillow things on it and such but that's a lot of cloth ta carry about."

Moira shot a hard look at the two men. "Na everyone be keepin' Scotch whiskey, spare ammunition, books 'a Shakespeare or plants or what-have-ya in their duffle. I own one nice thing. It be mine. True, I don' have a bustle or any o' that. But I got just enough room ta keep that dress, an I think it be lookin' quite nice without all them extras."

The young woman remained at the door, her eyes fixed on the door handle. With a deep breath, she reached over, then hesitated once more. Her nerves showed in every manner of movement. Finally, with another deep breath, she turned the latch and vanished below.

The quartermaster chuckled with a small grin. "Well, the cap'n na be seein' that comin'. Ah be wonderin' if we'll be hearin' the broadside fire from here?"

Below in his cabin, Captain Hunter had settled down in one of two small chairs to read one of the few worn books he owned. It was a feeble attempt to drive the visions of recent events from his mind. No matter how much he tried to concentrate, his mind still wandered away from the words on the page. Finally, he set the book down on the small table next to him and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He looked up at the soft knock on his door.

"Come," Hunter said in a tired, flat tone.

Adonia opened the door slowly, and offered a small smile. "You always did have a way with words." She said with her customary soft Portuguese accent. "Especially the single words that are as much a command as anything else." Carefully she entered and shut the door behind her.

"Well-chosen words can be staunch allies." Hunter said with a cold undertone. "Trustworthy and dependable."

Adonia nodded slightly with a sigh. "I do suppose I deserve some of that." She glanced at the book on the table. "
Coriolanus
. You always did like that play."

The captain's unblinking, hard eyes never left hers. "Sometimes, I find it soothing. What is that you need?"

She watched Hunter carefully a moment, then took a hesitant step forward. "Some company? If it would not be a bother?"

Hunter shifted in his chair uncomfortably, while he wrestled with a decision. Finally, he rose from his chair and indicated the one opposite him. "It's ... not a bother." The captain said at last. "Please, if you would."

Adonia smiled pleasantly at the invitation and sat, then smoothed a stray ruffle on her dress. "Obrigado, meu guerreiro. It has been a long time since we've had a visit."

"I would think the amount of personal risk that it entails would explain why." Hunter said in another chilly tone. "And don't call me that."

"Once, you didn't mind so much." She replied with a faint sadness. "Anthony, it's been many years between us and what happened. I don't ever expect it to be what it was, but I am here offering you an olive branch. The past is done, we did what we both had to. I didn't want any harm to come to you, or your shipmates."

The captain looked away. "What's done is done. The past cannot be undone."

Adonia traced a line of the table's wood inlay with a finger. She watched the line a moment, considering it, then looked back at Anthony. "Yes, that is true. But the future has yet to be made. Wouldn't it be easier to carry less baggage into it?"

Hunter's eyes flicked back to hers. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he let out a rough sigh. "Logically, yes. It would. I ... cannot change immediately. I despise what you did, what I had to do. Being dishonorably discharged, publicly shamed, all to protect the Crown was my duty, but a vile one. However ... I'm tired of the anger. You remind me of all that, that's all."

Adonia nodded sadly, then looked around the room. Her eyes settled on the soot-covered and blood-stained journal recovered from the bowels of the High Fens Relay Station. The journal sat innocently on a small shelf, next to a copy of
Hamlet
 and a thin, leather-bound book by renowned Scottish surgeon, Dr. Joseph Bell. Her eyes settled on the journal, however.

"Ghastly thing." She said with a slight shudder from the memories that stirred. "I cannot understand why you are willing to keep that journal. After all the death that surrounds it, I would've destroyed the thing." She paused a moment. "Although, while I do understand some of what happened, there is one thing I do not. Carlos. O'Fallon mentioned the way and means he died. How did he come back so quickly? This 'process' they saw took some time to manage. Yet Carlos apparently returned from the grave so much faster."