Mainspring (16 page)
Authors: Jay Lake
He put the papers away as seven bells of the evening rang. Time for the box clock, and the long climb to the navigator's rest.
For a moment, Hethor's heart skipped again at the
thought of the winged savages coming by night, swooping silent over the spine of the airship like sharp-shinned hawks over a stubbled field, to carry him off as handy as any squeaking mouse. He shook the image away. There was a job at hand, and a need, as well as a chance to make more of himself than any he had had since being expelled from New Haven.
thought of the winged savages coming by night, swooping silent over the spine of the airship like sharp-shinned hawks over a stubbled field, to carry him off as handy as any squeaking mouse. He shook the image away. There was a job at hand, and a need, as well as a chance to make more of himself than any he had had since being expelled from New Haven.
THE NEXT
morning he sat with Wollers and reviewed the charts that Malgus had left behind, as well as the crude sketch recovered from the ground.
morning he sat with Wollers and reviewed the charts that Malgus had left behind, as well as the crude sketch recovered from the ground.
“The bay is here on the drawing,” Wollers said, “with a warning, âNot easily spied.' I do not see anything like it on Malgus' chart.”
“We are somewhere in this area.” Hethor stabbed his finger east of the great knee where the battle had taken place, marked on the chart as Sepulchrum Caii.
Grave of Caius.
“If the distances are correct, unless we meet a storm we shall be within a few knots of the bay tomorrow shortly after dawn. I do fear we shall have to climb quite a bit higher to reach it. I recommend we slow during this coming night so as not to overshoot our mark.”
Grave of Caius.
“If the distances are correct, unless we meet a storm we shall be within a few knots of the bay tomorrow shortly after dawn. I do fear we shall have to climb quite a bit higher to reach it. I recommend we slow during this coming night so as not to overshoot our mark.”
“Agreed.” Wollers turned the chart as if he could find wisdom in another lay of the land. “I will pass that order. During this day, see if you can establish the possible location of this high bay. There may be some pattern in the knees and columns of the Wall here that lend themselves to such concealment.”
They
all
lend themselves to such concealment
, thought Hethor as Wollers left the cabin. Nonetheless, except for his noontime measurements, he sat and sketched possible configurations of the land, trying to imagine the complex topography of the Wall in terms of the ways that clockwork fit together. There were always many solutions to a problem of horological design, but usually only one that truly made sense, made art of the mechanical soul of the thing.
all
lend themselves to such concealment
, thought Hethor as Wollers left the cabin. Nonetheless, except for his noontime measurements, he sat and sketched possible configurations of the land, trying to imagine the complex topography of the Wall in terms of the ways that clockwork fit together. There were always many solutions to a problem of horological design, but usually only one that truly made sense, made art of the mechanical soul of the thing.
He thought the Wall might yield to the same logic.
Working as he did, Hethor also had time to listen: to his breathing, feet pounding the deck overhead, and more distantly within the hull, occasional groans and shudders from the gasbag, the wind playing in the rigging.
And, as always, the rattle of the Earth's turning, the springs deep within the planet's shell powering the days and seasons of the life of man. Here in the air, so close to the Equatorial Wall, whatever the reason, Hethor could not hear the dissonance he had detected previously. The world's windings sounded normal once more.
WOLLERS AWOKE
Hethor just after dawn. “Come, now, to the poop.”
Hethor just after dawn. “Come, now, to the poop.”
Hethor rolled out of his hammock, dragged his fingers through his hair, and trotted after Wollers across the main deck and up the ladder to the poop deck. He'd never been there before.
Midshipman Fine seemed to have the deck watch. He glared at Hethor with undifferentiated malice. Captain Smallwood stood near the tillermen, staring off the starboard side at the face of the Wall. It was forested here, insofar as Hethor could tell in the orange glare of the morning sunânarrow, tall trees of a light green and passing strange canopy. Nothing like the stout forests of New England, nor even the tropical hardwood riot of Georgetown. This forest swayed in the wind, as though the trees were no more than giant reeds.
“What do you see, sailor?” Smallwood handed Hethor the spyglass.
Almost shaking with pride, Hethor put the glass to his eye. He knew something of optics from his work with Master Bodean, and had made use of a glass in his duties as navigator, but this was the first time he had been called upon to render intelligence from the view. And by the captain at that. Hethor hoped not to disgrace himself. After a few moments of confusion, he found the shaking forest and scanned it.
“What is our altitude, please, sir?”
“Just over six thousand feet,” said Smallwood.
The correct part of the Wall then, for all that it loomed ever higher over their heads like the edge of God's Creation. Hethor wondered why his breathing did not labor, as he had been told it would at higher altitudes.
He studied the shadows creeping away from the dawn. “According to what I understand of our charts,” he said, “there is a knee in this rock face. It would seem that this forest hides that cliff, folding it away in a blanket of green. If we make ten degrees east of south, dead slow, and watch our marks, I believe a narrow valley will open up. Cool, dark, and hidden.”
“Good.” Smallwood took the spyglass from Hethor and snapped it shut. “Remain here with Lieutenant Wollers, and send a runner soonest you are certain. I must go forward and prepare for a shore party.”
Hethor stood as the airship slowly eased toward the blanket of forest, marveling at how the green seemed to part as they approached the edge of the knee. Once he knew to look for it, he could see in perspective that the more distant forest past the gap boasted a smaller appearance. The narrow, shake-shouldered trees made that hard to find and focus his attention on.
“Bamboo,” said Wollers suddenly. “A Chinese tree, like elms for the devils.”
They entered a valley not as narrow as it had seemed, sort of a tall fjord cut from the stone-bordered sky. The tillermen slowly eased
Bassett
around a great bend to reveal a giant harbor of the air. Its contours were approximately the shape sketched in General Gordon's map. A city stood there, rising high into the morning sun and plunging to the shadowed depths of the harbor. It was all of wood and wicker, vertical towers and ladders and bridges and cunning battlements balanced on ropes and poles. There was a scent of morning mist, and damp wood, but he smelled no cookfires, no brawny reek of bodies, no oiled scent of commerce.
Bassett
around a great bend to reveal a giant harbor of the air. Its contours were approximately the shape sketched in General Gordon's map. A city stood there, rising high into the morning sun and plunging to the shadowed depths of the harbor. It was all of wood and wicker, vertical towers and ladders and bridges and cunning battlements balanced on ropes and poles. There was a scent of morning mist, and damp wood, but he smelled no cookfires, no brawny reek of bodies, no oiled scent of commerce.
The city was quiet as a churchyard.
“It rises for miles.” Hethor stared upward, wondering where the folk who had built the place had gone.
“A vertical, wooden London,” agreed Wollers.
“I wonder if we are at the proper altitude,” Hethor said. “Gordon's column could have passed through this great maze anywhere. It would be like looking for a single man in downtown New Haven.”
Together, he and Wollers scanned the vertical face, looking for some sign or clue indicating the passing of a British force.
“There.” Hethor pointed at a spot a few hundred feet above their present altitude. “Those dark streaks against that pale palisade. Someone has lit cooking fires here, and recently. We should send a runner to the captain.”
Librarian Childress could have done no better a job of observation
, he thought with a swell of quiet pride.
Librarian Childress could have done no better a job of observation
, he thought with a swell of quiet pride.
Wollers moved to pass the word, while Hethor watched his mark. The ship rose carefully, as pained and cautious in her movements as any arthritic matron.
The architecture was impressive. Entire forests had died to make this city. Hethor realized this was a place where a race such as the winged savages could dwell in comfort. His awe quickly collapsed to fear. A thousand savages could tumble upon
Bassett
and worry them all to their deaths in the shadows far below.
Bassett
and worry them all to their deaths in the shadows far below.
A signal gun went off, the sharp report startling flocks of birds and bats. They rose in thick clouds from the forest that grew throughout the city.
Hethor bit his tongue to hold in his shout of fear as fluttering wings in their millions met the sky all around
Bassett
, like dogs that would run before hunters of the air.
Bassett
, like dogs that would run before hunters of the air.
THE MARINES
already assembled in the waist of the ship ran to the rail. Their carbines crackled as they shot wildly into the mass of birds and bats that darkened the air around
Bassett
like smoke from a burning city.
already assembled in the waist of the ship ran to the rail. Their carbines crackled as they shot wildly into the mass of birds and bats that darkened the air around
Bassett
like smoke from a burning city.
“Belay that firing immediately,” shouted Captain Smallwood as he returned to the poop deck.
Officers and petty officers about the ship took up the order. The marines quickly stood down. Their lieutenant ran up and down the ranks berating his men. The clouds of winged creatures surrounding
Bassett
dissipated, seeking higher ground and more peaceful roosts.
Bassett
dissipated, seeking higher ground and more peaceful roosts.
Wollers barked a series of steering orders to the tillermen and the ropes division, lest the airship drift into the walls of the city that now surrounded them. Hethor glanced backward, over the stern rail, to see blue sky beyond, ocean sparkling below. The Guinea Coast was a dark and distant line looming on the horizon.
Honest terrestrial soil, so comfortingly horizontal, had traded places with the ever-vertical Wall, which itself had once been the foreboding shadow in the distance.
He turned back to the city. Seen from such a short range the place was more ornate than he had originally
thought. Ladders and stairs led up, galleries and bridges leapt across, while a whole nation of men could be hidden behind wooden walls and reed-mat screens, living like chimney swifts in this upsweep of wood.
thought. Ladders and stairs led up, galleries and bridges leapt across, while a whole nation of men could be hidden behind wooden walls and reed-mat screens, living like chimney swifts in this upsweep of wood.
“Bamboo.” Captain Smallwood stared at the immensity of the city, lost in thought. “The Chinaman's steel.”
Hethor bit back a question. The captain had not been talking to him. But then Smallwood turned and stared at Hethor as if he were some ape hauled aboard by a foraging party. “You're no Malgus,” Smallwood said, “nor even de Troyes, God rest his soul, but you're who we have. Are you able to come ashore with the party?”
A captain asking a crewman for his preferences. Hethor would have been no more surprised had Smallwood grown wings and leapt from the deck to join the flying savages. “I ⦠sir ⦠,” he began, then stopped. Did he want to leave
Bassett?
He was afraid of those bronze weapons and the long, sinewy arms of the winged savages, but something in this place stirred both his inner artistry and his sense of the mission entrusted to him by the archangel Gabriel.
Bassett?
He was afraid of those bronze weapons and the long, sinewy arms of the winged savages, but something in this place stirred both his inner artistry and his sense of the mission entrusted to him by the archangel Gabriel.
“It is a matter of the safety of the ship,” Smallwood said. “If you are lost, then one of my officers will need to perform your duties. I am already rather understrength there. But I expect to find maps, logs from Gordon's expedition, somewhere in that city. There may possibly be specialized instruments for navigating the Wall as well. Your aid may prove invaluable.”
“Permission, sir,” Hethor said, then gulped. “Permission to accompany the shore party, please?”
“Granted.” Smallwood turned away to the logistics of safely tethering his ship in this environment and subsequently landing the party.
Apparently forgotten, Hethor stood at the stern rail and craned his neck, trying to stare up past the gasbag. This close in to the aerial harbor it blocked most of his view, but he saw great legs of dark woodâteak, perhaps?âsupporting some of the buildings above them. The legs
looked to be milled from single logs. If so, the trees from which they had been cut would have been giants almost beyond Hethor's imaginings.
looked to be milled from single logs. If so, the trees from which they had been cut would have been giants almost beyond Hethor's imaginings.
He looked onward, at the balconies and battlements and buildings. They were as ornately layered as any German clock, hinting at architectures within architectures like Christmas crackers. He wondered if each building could be shredded to reveal a smaller one within. After a while, two facts came to his attention.
There was no glass, anywhere.
And there were no clock towers.
A people with clement weather and no commitment to time, perhaps. Or primitives, savants of bamboo and wood, with no metallurgy. Though the winged savages had wielded bronze weapons to deadly effectiveness.
ONCE THEY
reached the altitude of the fire scars Hethor had spotted, al-Wazir got
Bassett
warped to a reasonable anchorage by an expedient Hethor had never before witnessed. The ropes chief harnessed two volunteers to what looked like oversized parachutes coated with gum-elastic. These he stretched over the rail. He then had the gas division inflate them with hydrogen via a hose dropped down from the gasbag.
reached the altitude of the fire scars Hethor had spotted, al-Wazir got
Bassett
warped to a reasonable anchorage by an expedient Hethor had never before witnessed. The ropes chief harnessed two volunteers to what looked like oversized parachutes coated with gum-elastic. These he stretched over the rail. He then had the gas division inflate them with hydrogen via a hose dropped down from the gasbag.
The faux-parachutes quickly rose to become mediumsized copies of the great cells that crowded the bag overhead. Each was close to twenty feet across its fat belly, already crowding hard against the ropes restraining them. The sailors were put overboard, secured by narrow ropes wound on winches. With much shouting and encouragement, they bobbed out into the open air to fly upward as though driven by springs.
Al-Wazir winched them back down close to the ship. The ropes chief then had deckhands toss out a secondary line that was used to pass weights to the flying sailors until, while they still strained at their tethers, they no longer sought to rocket heavenward. The flyers then each
deployed two canvas sweeps, handheld sailsâoars of the airâwith which they each slowly made way, beating across the wind toward the structures of the city.
deployed two canvas sweeps, handheld sailsâoars of the airâwith which they each slowly made way, beating across the wind toward the structures of the city.
Hethor could not decide whether to be fascinated or appalled. Both sensations warred within him. He longed to soar as those sailors did, yet their lives were bound so close in hand by the strength of their harnesses and the integrity of their little gas cells.
The two made it to shore, perhaps a hundred yards apart. Each secured himself to a pillar. Heavier lines were passed across to be secured in turn. Finally
Bassett
was warped in toward the cliff. She turned her stern to the land as she went so her steam-driven propellers could push her toward the bay's mouth at need.
Bassett
was warped in toward the cliff. She turned her stern to the land as she went so her steam-driven propellers could push her toward the bay's mouth at need.
The whole operation took perhaps three hours. Hethor stayed on the poop, hanging back by the stern rail in order to remain unnoticed. Or perhaps Captain Smallwood was merely keeping a convenient eye on him there.
Once the ship was brought to rest, al-Wazir had his division run additional ropes across from the aft anchor point until a three-rope bridge was made. He then piled a number of parachutes on deck next to the stepping-off point, saluted the poop, and shouted, “All's ready for shore detail, Captain sir!”
Smallwood returned al-Wazir's salute, then ordered the marines across. Their lieutenant split his force in half. One squad remained stationed on the ship's rails, carbines locked and loaded, while the other squad shouldered the parachute harnesses and crossed to secure the landward side.
Or cliffward side
, Hethor thought, depending on how one chose to view the deployment.
, Hethor thought, depending on how one chose to view the deployment.
The marines took up positions in the galleries and walkways opposite
Bassett
with much kicking of wicker doors and poking of carbines through windows. Eventually the all-clear was shouted.
Bassett
with much kicking of wicker doors and poking of carbines through windows. Eventually the all-clear was shouted.
“Seaman Jacques,” Smallwood said. “Stay close to Lieutenant Wollers. If I need you, you will be called upon.
You are specifically not permitted within areas the marines or I myself have not yet checked.”
You are specifically not permitted within areas the marines or I myself have not yet checked.”
“Aye, sir.” Hethor glanced at Wollers, who favored him with a sympathetic grin.
He followed the second mate down to the waist to gather a leather water bottle from Cook and strap on a parachuteâwhich despite Hethor's experience in Bermuda he had never done since of his own sober will. Once prepared, they stood on line for the rope bridge.
It was then, waiting on deck behind Wollers and in front of the loblolly boy, that Hethor became afraid.
THE ROPE
bridge was about a hundred feet from the braces at the ship's rail to its endpoint against a teak-pillared galleria that could have come straight out of Venice or Constantinople. The two lines Hethor grasped were no thicker than his thumb, each bristly with hand-scarring hemp.
bridge was about a hundred feet from the braces at the ship's rail to its endpoint against a teak-pillared galleria that could have come straight out of Venice or Constantinople. The two lines Hethor grasped were no thicker than his thumb, each bristly with hand-scarring hemp.
He wished he'd brought gloves.
Hethor glanced down at his feet. That line was the same insufficient diameter as the other two, curled under his leather shoes just before the heel, bending and swaying with his weight. All of that was alarming enough. Worse, he was nearly paralyzed by a gut-wrenching view of thousands of feet of wooden city and stone cliffs below, vanishing into a very distant perspective of mists and shadows.
It was as if he stood atop a shaft leading straight downward to a cold, dark hell.
“You knew this,” Hethor said to the air around him. “You worked the charts; you knew the altitude.” His hands wanted to let go, his arms to spread so that he could fly like a bird, soar into the misty depths with all the freedom of a falling leaf. He could feel the pull of the distance. The depths almost had a voice of their own.
“Hey,” said the loblolly boy, coming up behind Hethor. “Move it along, Clocks.”
After the marines had crossed individually, al-Wazir had ordered tighter spacing in the interests of time. Hethor glanced back at the ship's doctor's assistantâwhat was his name? The loblolly boy was literally a boy, perhaps eleven years of age, sent on this mission because Dr. Firkin would not cross. Up in the fo'c'sle the common sailors said Firkin had no head for heights. That seemed to Hethor an odd thing in an airship officer, even the ship's surgeon, who might be excused some failings due to the nature of his appointment.
“I'm moving,” Hethor grumbled. He was glad for the interruption from his contemplation of the awful depths below. He narrowed his eyes, looking only at the ropes in his hand, and continued crab walking toward the anchoring galleria. Behind him, the loblolly boy cursed and grumbled out his own fear, using Hethor as a target.
For once Hethor didn't mind such treatment.
Then he was being helped onto the galleria. The wooden affair seemed much less solid as he set his weight upon it, creaking beneath the bulk of so many beefy Royal Navy tars. Wollers, who had stepped off the rope bridge well before Hethor, grasped his shoulder with a firm hand as they stood at the arches that opened out toward
Bassett
floating at anchor in the empty air.
Bassett
floating at anchor in the empty air.
Hethor had never before experienced a level view of the airship. From below, approaching a mooring mast for example, she was just a large, dark shape in the sky, resembling the outline of a snail or slug. From the top of a mast, she was too close to be anything but an immensity of gasbag and wooden hull.
From the galleria of the vertical city, though, she was beautiful. The hull was narrow and graceful in proportion. The lines seemed too sharp for an oceangoing vessel, though Hethor supposed she could land on water at needâat least until the pitch-sealed traps and hatches along her keel line flooded.
From the side, the gasbag took on a more imposing appearance as well. The catwalk he had seen from the
navigator's cupola ranged almost level from fore to aft with just the gentlest of curves until the nose dropped sharply like a beak. Aft, the gasbag ended in a more rounded arc, with a sort of fold at the top.
navigator's cupola ranged almost level from fore to aft with just the gentlest of curves until the nose dropped sharply like a beak. Aft, the gasbag ended in a more rounded arc, with a sort of fold at the top.
Bassett
was beautiful indeed, a veritable raptor hunting the airways of the Empire for Chinese intruders. And now, chasing down the ghosts of history.
was beautiful indeed, a veritable raptor hunting the airways of the Empire for Chinese intruders. And now, chasing down the ghosts of history.
Wollers said, “Come on, we've got to start looking in these rooms. The marines found trash in there. It's up to us to determine if that's good English trash or something left behind by wogs or those damned flying horrors.”
Hethor would have wagered on good English trash. The vertical city gave an impression of absolute desertion. Who would be here to make such a mess, now that the original inhabitants had fled, or died, or whatever had become of them?
So they stepped into wooden-floored rooms with wicker walls. Clever shafts let the sun in from above, though the light wells seemed to be baffled against glare and rain. As a result the illumination was indistinct, filling the rooms with a gentle, shadowless glow. The floors popped and creaked as Hethor and Wollers walked, but not with the noises of decay and collapse. It was almost like music.
Hethor had a vision of dancing in a room like this, the rhythms rising from the very feet of the partners. The buildings seemed tuned to the movements of those who dwelled within. Perhaps this is what the builders had intended as well.
But the true glory of the inner rooms was the weaving of the wicker walls. Many shades and textures of the narrow laths had been used, so that the walls were each a work of art, depicting landscapes, people at their work, great festivals, the brassy gearing of the heavens, and so forth. Hethor could have simply stared at the woven panels for some time, but Wollers tugged him on.
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