Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl (43 page)

“I’m working on it,” said Gideon through gritted teeth. “You just concentrate on keeping up with them.”

Cockayne gave him an amused look and winked at Fanshawe. “Aye aye, captain.”

Near Biggin Hill a fleet of five beefy Albert-class ’stats, bristling with firepower and the best maneuverability the Fleet Air Arm could boast, blockaded the sky in their famous “five of clubs” formation, while a crowd of cheering civilians gathered below, waving Union flags.

“No one knows what we are,” said Reed. “All they know is that we are a threat. But this empire has grown so corpulent, so arrogant, that it does not fear threats anymore. It merely expects they shall fail.”

The Fleet Air Arm enjoyed moderate success that surprised Reed. The first volley of bullets managed to shatter one of the glass “eye” windows of Apep, to a suddenly audible rousing cheer from the crowd below. But Apep’s retaliation was swift and terrible. With five well-aimed fireballs, Apep sent each of the Albert-class ’stats hurtling in flames to the fields, the last plunging into the crowd of fleeing onlookers. A pall of smoke and a terrible silence hung over Biggin Hill, and a satisfied Reed had Apep move on.

“At last,” said Reed, looking out over Bexleyheath at the line of carts and people flowing northwest along the Watling Street Road, to what they must have believed was the relative safety of London Town. “Word of our presence precedes us.”

As Apep scooted low along the wide avenue, Reed experimented with a series of short bursts of fireballs, laying a sustained carpet of flame that took hold of the ancient wooden houses to either side and roasted the fleeing refugees where they stood. Reed had Maria turn a victory roll and swiftly ascend high into the sky, as the charnel stench of blackened flesh rose in a hellish cloud from burning Bexleyheath below.

In the
Yellow Rose,
Gideon hung his head as they passed the slaughter in the blazing streets. Cockayne had given the ’stat all the power he could muster, and with a following wind they had finally made up the time in pursuit of the dragon. Gideon almost wished they hadn’t. Too late to halt the destruction, but in time to witness the aftermath of the carnage. The wreckage of the Albert-class ’stats had been bad enough, especially the one that had hurtled into the hill and claimed the lives of the cheering crowd. But the deliberate murders of the unfortunates fleeing Apep’s arrival . . . that was almost too much to bear witness to.

“I could have stopped this,” said Gideon, quiet and fierce. “I should never have taken Maria into the pyramid.”

Seething, he grabbed a horrified Trigger by the front of his shirt. “How many are dead down there, Trigger? Reed can’t be allowed to get away with this. You’ve got to
do
something.”

“No,” mumbled Trigger, refusing to meet Gideon’s stare. “No. You are right. John is gone from me. He might as well be dead already.” Finally, Trigger looked up at Gideon. There were tears in the old man’s eyes. “As might I.”

Disgusted, Gideon pushed him away. To Cockayne he said, “Give her all you’ve got. We need to catch Apep, before there is more slaughter.”

“You got a plan at last?”

Gideon grimly said again, “I’m working on it.”

The wind whistled in through the window, caressing Reed’s face. “Ah, London,” he said. “How I have missed you. How you will beg for mercy.”

Maria watched impassively from the pilot seat. She said, “Is this the empire that threatens the world? I see no ranks of soldiers. No armies. I see only . . . innocents.”

“There are no innocents in London, Maria. Every man, woman, and child is complicit in the crimes of the British Empire; they are all cogs that move forward the inexorable machine that crushes the human spirit, subsumes it into the single entity that is Britannia. Victoria will not rest until she has remade the entire world in her image, until there are no corners of any foreign fields that are not forever England.”

He leaned forward to peer through the windows. “Ah. Greenwich approaches. Look, Maria, the Lady of Liberty flood barrier! Shall we show them what we think of their liberty, their freedom to do whatever they like, so long as the Crown approves? Take off its head, Maria.”

Her hands hovered above the instrument panel, but she hesitated. Reed laughed. “You cannot deny me, Maria. You are merely a passenger in your own body. Apep is the dominant force. Obey me!”

She banked Apep sharply, and it circled the tall verdigris- covered statue flanking the Thames, its feet mired in the mud of the river, ready to hold hard against sudden rushes of water from upstream. When Reed was sure he had enough of an audience below, he ordered her to let loose Apep’s dragon roar. The impassive face of Lady Liberty blackened and began to melt, then the head toppled from the shoulders of the huge metal statue and crashed into the river.

“Now for the climax!” cried Reed. “Let us strike the Empire at its very heart. Maria, to Buckingham Palace!”

“The Empire does not appear to be beaten yet,” observed Maria, reporting a flotilla of dirigibles converging on the city, gunships of all sizes from the Fleet Air Arm’s bases, every ’stat the Crown could muster. It was as though she saw across the city with Apep’s vast glass eyes, as though she were plugged into not just the dragon’s workings but a greater network of chattering telephone calls and telegraphic communications. He watched those on London’s packed streets seek out the parks for sanctuary, and space to move should more conflagration fall from the sky. Apep banked and wheeled above Hyde Park, performing yet smoother and more daring feats of aerobatics as Maria settled into her control of the great brass dragon.

“You are enjoying this, are you not?” asked Reed.

Maria said nothing, but a small smile played around her lips.
Yes,
thought Reed
, you’re enjoying this almost as much as I am
.

He looked down at the chanting, jeering mass of humanity gathered below. He told Maria to launch a series of fireballs at the Serpentine, and the lake hissed and steamed. Reed nodded appreciatively. “A sense of theater is called for on occasions such as this,” he said. “People must remember where they were when the Empire died.” He held up a finger. “But first! There is business to take care of. Maria, have Apep hover at a fair altitude, so we can see Buckingham Palace. Before we can lay waste to Victoria’s nest, we must first deal with those who have harried us since Egypt.”

“Gideon Smith,” she said, a little uncertainly.

“You sense them following us?” asked Reed. “You hope your paramour comes to rescue us?” Reed cocked his head. “You are mine now, Maria. You belong to Amasis.”

Apep hovered on its beating wings, stately and otherwise motionless, facing Buckingham Palace. On the streets Gideon could see panic and the massing of the Iron Guard outside the palace gates. There were other ’stats in the sky, but they were far away and moving slowly. It was up to them.

“Well?” said Cockayne.

Gideon ignored him and looked at Trigger. “Come on,” Gideon said. “Think. What can I do?”

Trigger shook his head wretchedly. Gideon swore. There must be
something,
something in all the
World Marvels & Wonders
adventures he’d read. Gideon closed his eyes, breathing deeply. There was nothing he could count on, no episode he could recreate. There was no blueprint for this. It was not a Lucian Trigger adventure. And if Trigger, and Cockayne, and Fanshawe and all the others, if they couldn’t come up with a plan, with all their experience and greatness, what chance did he have? He had blundered from one happening to another, trying to do the right thing but barely surviving. He wasn’t an adventurer, he wasn’t a hero. He was just a fisherman.

Gideon opened his eyes. He was just a fisherman. This wasn’t a Lucian Trigger adventure.

He was just a fisherman.

It was a Gideon Smith adventure
.

He looked at Cockayne. “I’ve got a plan,” he said. “We’re going fishing.”

32
The Battle of London

“You intend to do
what
?” asked Bent.

“Harpoon the dragon,” said Gideon again. “It worked when Cockayne reeled in the
Skylady II
.”

“But the
Skylady II
was a lot smaller, lighter, and slower than the
Yellow Rose,
” said Fanshawe. “Apep is powerful and fast and nippy in the air. Oh, and there’s the small matter of those fireballs. . . .”

“And that thing’s brass,” said Bent. “You’ll never get a harpoon through that hide.”

“Not necessarily,” said Cockayne thoughtfully. “What’s the dragon doing now?”

“Hovering above Hyde Park,” said Fanshawe. “About six hundred feet up.” She looked at Gideon. “And facing Buckingham Palace.”

“I need to get above Apep,” said Gideon. “Can we do that?”

“Sure,” said Cockayne. “Let’s get out on the observation deck, via the armory. Rowena, you think you can fly the
Yellow Rose
?”

She smiled. “I’ve handled bigger.” Then she frowned. “But . . . Gideon? What are you planning to do?”

“Board the dragon,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s impossible. Reed will murder you.” Gideon shrugged. “Who else is there? Bent’s got a broken arm, Trigger . . .” He pointed to where the old man stood by the windows of the bridge, staring listlessly out. “The Countess is too weak. You need to fly the
Yellow Rose
.”

They both looked at Cockayne. “And Louis is just along for the ride. But I’ll do this for you, Smith. I’ll harpoon your damned dragon. Come on.”

Cockayne and Gideon dragged a harpoon gun mounted on a thick iron pillar out on to the windswept observation deck and planted it near the railings.

Breathing hard, Cockayne held up a long harpoon shaft, but with a flat round head instead of a sharp point. “Magnetic harpoon,” he said with a grin.

Bent frowned. “Is brass magnetic?”

“It is if there’s iron or nickel in the alloy,” said Cockayne, loading the harpoon into the gun and fastening the end of a coiled steel cable to it. “So here’s hoping.”

They waited while Fanshawe banked the
Yellow Rose
up and around until the observation deck was looking down on the dragon, a hundred feet away. Gideon said, “God bless the Fleet Air Arm for breaking that window. That should make getting inside easier.”

“Yeah, if you live that long,” said Cockayne. He got behind the harpoon gun and sighted the dragon in the cross hairs. “You ready, Gideon?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let her go.”

Cockayne squeezed the trigger and the harpoon ripped out with a violent crack, the thin steel cable unspooling with a zipping whisper. It hit the head of Apep with a clanking sound, and Cockayne slapped a brake on the coil, holding it fast.

“Release the cable as soon as I’m down,” said Gideon.

“And give me your gun belts.”

Cockayne unbuckled the studded belt and handed it over.

“Finest cowhide.”

“That’s what I was banking on,” said Gideon. He wrapped the belt around one hand, passed it over the taut cable, and gripped the other end tightly. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, you need this,” said Cockayne, taking a pearl-handled six-gun from inside his long black coat.

He stuffed it into the waistband of Gideon’s trousers. “And remember rule number five: Heroism is for chumps. Valor? Britain and America can’t even agree on how to spell it. Just get in there and finish the job.” He paused. “But good luck anyway.”

“Hear effing hear!” called out Bent. “Best of British to you, Gideon.”

“Mr. Smith?” said Trigger softly. “I was wondering . . . when you confront John . . .”

Gideon, the wind whipping his hair about his face, looked at him. “Don’t ask, Captain Trigger. Please. Don’t ask.” Trigger nodded and averted his eyes. Gideon looked down, at the people crawling over the green grass of Hyde Park like insects, at the steaming pond of the Serpentine. Trigger was going to ask him to spare Reed. No botched jobs, no half measures, not anymore. He took one more look at the panic below, then threw himself over the railings.

“How interesting,” said Reed. “It appears the young man is coming to rescue you, by quite ingenious means. Maria, burn their ship to cinders.”

Maria considered this. The greater part of her that was Apep moved to follow the orders, but the tiny core of her that was still Maria hesitated.