Authors: Jay Lake
Mainspring (18 page)
Lines one, four, and five had similar symbols that might have been the name of God. As that thought occurred to
him, Hethor for a moment heard the clattering of the world, as if midnight had come upon him in the navigator's rest.
him, Hethor for a moment heard the clattering of the world, as if midnight had come upon him in the navigator's rest.
He slipped the tablet into a drawer in Malgus' tiny map table, covering it with charts of the Orleans and Texian coastlines. Then despite his orders he lay down on Malgus' bunk and thought about Gabriel, God, and the Key Perilous. Eventually Dr. Firkin startled him awake by banging open the door and saying, “Best get on deck, son.”
IT WAS
near sundown, judging from the view to the north off the port rail. The bay of the vertical city was already deep in shadow. Between the obscuring gasbag and the rising walls of the cliff city, Hethor could not see the heavenly brass in the eastern and western skies. Still, he could almost feel it.
near sundown, judging from the view to the north off the port rail. The bay of the vertical city was already deep in shadow. Between the obscuring gasbag and the rising walls of the cliff city, Hethor could not see the heavenly brass in the eastern and western skies. Still, he could almost feel it.
Absent a body, there was no funeral for the loblolly boy. Captain Smallwood had elected to have a crew muster nevertheless. Hethor scuttled out of the hatch from officers' country and slunk to the back of the assembled divisions, praying Smallwood did not take note of his tardiness.
“ ⦠and so we hope that young Mister Davies found a safe landing and path to the Atlantic shore, that he might someday make his way home,” Smallwood said. “May God grant us all that grace.” The captain stared around at his ship's company. “Dismissed.”
Hethor started to turn away with the rush of sailors eager for the mess, or perhaps their bunks, only to have Dr. Firkin grab his arm. “Wait.”
A few moments later Smallwood was surrounded by his remaining officers: Wollers; Lieutenant Prine, the third mate; Lieutenant Commander Cocini, the aeronautical engineer who commanded the gasbag division and oversaw the engines; Ensign Mayhew, the pilot and master of the tillermen; and Marine Lieutenant San Lorenzo. Only
the middies were missing, standing watch on the poop or elsewhere, and Dr. Firkin himself, still to one side of the group with his hand on Hethor's elbow.
the middies were missing, standing watch on the poop or elsewhere, and Dr. Firkin himself, still to one side of the group with his hand on Hethor's elbow.
“Let's go,” Firkin said in a low voice. “Officer or no, you're the navigator. You need to hear this.” He steered Hethor into the officers' conference.
“There you are,” said Smallwood, noticing Hethor. The captain stared him up and down. “Are you fully recovered, Seaman Jacques?”
Hethor almost blurted, “From what?” Instead he simply nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” Smallwood marched to the midmast, removed his buckled shoes and belt, dropped his dagger, and climbed to the trapdoor set in the gasbag. The other officers likewise began divesting themselves of their accumulated metal.
Hethor was astonished. It had never occurred to him that the captain might be willing or able to climb where the tars went.
Then Smallwood was through, crawling up into the gasbag. Wollers followed the captain with a backward glance at Hethor. The rest of his officers climbed after.
Hethor went last, waved on by Dr. Firkin. “With all respect to Captain Smallwood,” Firkin said, “I'm not cut of the right stuff to stride the catwalk.” Hethor nodded, not sure what to say. He climbed into the hot, billowing darkness of the gas cells. The worn heels of Lieutenant San Lorenzo's stockings bobbed above him.
When Hethor arrived at the navigator's rest, Smallwood had walked perhaps twenty paces forward along the catwalk. There the captain stood with his hands folded behind him to stare up at the Wall, as unconcerned for the exposed height as though he were in his own cabin. The canvas surface of the gasbag sloped gently away to both sides to form the predatory curves that Hethor had admired from a distance. Up here, he felt far too close to the edge and the fate of the loblolly boy.
They had not even parachutes to break their fall.
Though that might actually be a blessing, Hethor supposed.
Though that might actually be a blessing, Hethor supposed.
The other officers were strung out behind the captain. Cocini was as unconcerned as Smallwood. The rest displayed varying degrees of nervousness. Hethor was just as happy to stay in the navigator's rest with its useless railings. They at least kept his mind calm and defined the space on which he stood.
Smallwood pointed up at the Wall. Hethor followed the line of his hand. It was like looking across at a horizon, except this horizon was straight up. Through some trick of the light, the distance glowed, a sort of sunrise from the south. This made Hethor think of the brass gear teeth sparkling atop the Equatorial Wall. The gleaming horns of Earth's orbital track were clearly visible directly overhead, extending to the east and west. Though they stood in deep shadow, there was still sufficient sunlight to make out features on the Wall in the many miles it towered above them.
Between here and the upward horizon, Hethor saw more forests, meadows, scree fields, the pale glow of ice or snow, what might be cities sparkling in the distance, drifting banks of cloud or mistâa world's worth of land hung over his head, all clinging to the near-vertical.
“Gordon's notes indicate that he was trying for the Diamond Palace,” said Smallwood. “At one time Emperor Hadrianus caused a fort to be built there for the Fourth Massalia Legion. Gordon hopes to establish his command therein for a long-term occupation of this portion of the Wall.”
You could no more occupy the Wall,
Hethor thought,
than you could occupy the Atlantic Ocean.
Hethor thought,
than you could occupy the Atlantic Ocean.
“General Gordon's notes further indicate he hopes to find some sign of the Roman presence yet lingering in the fort.”
After all the many centuries since the Empire's collapse? Hethor could hear the smile in Smallwood's voice.
“Our best interpretation of what we have discovered
thus far is that Gordon's forces decamped about two weeks past. With great reluctance, I am detaching Lieutenant San Lorenzo and half his force to follow the general's line of march to search for more direction from him, and perhaps catch his rearguard. San Lorenzo will also take a party of seamen to be chosen by Lieutenant Wollers subject to my approval.
Bassett
will rise to the Diamond Palace with the expectation of arriving prior to Gordon's force. There we will perform an aerial reconnaissance, then rendezvous with the good general if that is at all possible. Do I hear any discussion?”
thus far is that Gordon's forces decamped about two weeks past. With great reluctance, I am detaching Lieutenant San Lorenzo and half his force to follow the general's line of march to search for more direction from him, and perhaps catch his rearguard. San Lorenzo will also take a party of seamen to be chosen by Lieutenant Wollers subject to my approval.
Bassett
will rise to the Diamond Palace with the expectation of arriving prior to Gordon's force. There we will perform an aerial reconnaissance, then rendezvous with the good general if that is at all possible. Do I hear any discussion?”
By no means was Hethor going to say anything here, where he really had no business being. Still, he was certain that Smallwood's plan was foolhardy. The entire company of
Bassett
's marines had barely sufficed to drive off the winged savages in their last attack. He dreaded a reprise.
Bassett
's marines had barely sufficed to drive off the winged savages in their last attack. He dreaded a reprise.
Ensign Mayhew spoke up. “My pardon, sir. I know we are short of officers to stand watch, so it might be difficult for one of us to volunteer and still keep the ship in good order. Perhaps you could send a division chief, al-Wazir or Lombardo, to keep the tars in line.” He added hastily, “Sir!”
Smallwood nodded. “I will take that under advisement. Now, before it falls fully dark, look at that great col there.” He pointed upward toward a bare cliff of rock amid the endless wooden buildings. “See how it rises out of a split in this vertical city? According to Gordon, a trail rises there that cuts east beneath the galleries of the city before heading upward. Lieutenant San Lorenzo, does that seem to you a reasonable path? Should
Bassett
rise to discharge you there? Or would you prefer to set out from our current moorage?”
Bassett
rise to discharge you there? Or would you prefer to set out from our current moorage?”
The discussion spun off into a lengthy argument about routes, supplies, and support. All of what was said had only the basis of pure opinion, since as far as Hethor could see, none of the officers knew any more than he did about the rigors of marching up the Wall. He remained
silent, watching the stars come out. He spotted the thin tracery of the orbital track of Venus. It was the faintest counterpoint to the moon's circumterran thread, a sight rarely seen from New Haven, which filled its sky with constant smokes and fogs of industry as well as electrick glares overwhelming the lamps of night. He also saw faint ghostly colors that seemed to pass back and forth high above him on the Wall. Like faerie fires in a swamp, save that they might be miles wide for all he could determine.
silent, watching the stars come out. He spotted the thin tracery of the orbital track of Venus. It was the faintest counterpoint to the moon's circumterran thread, a sight rarely seen from New Haven, which filled its sky with constant smokes and fogs of industry as well as electrick glares overwhelming the lamps of night. He also saw faint ghostly colors that seemed to pass back and forth high above him on the Wall. Like faerie fires in a swamp, save that they might be miles wide for all he could determine.
Then it was time to go down. As last man up Hethor led the way back to the deck.
SOMEHOW SAN
Lorenzo's party was organized and ready to cross the rope bridge at dawn. Hethor had slept in Malgus' cabin, improper as that was, because he was afraid to be too far away from the gold tablet. The fact that he'd held in his hand something that might carry God's very words made his skin crawl and prickled the hairs on his head. Though the tablet had seemed almost ordinary the day before, separated by a night's memory and the wearing of time, the event seemed a miracle. Much as with his original encounter with Gabriel.
Lorenzo's party was organized and ready to cross the rope bridge at dawn. Hethor had slept in Malgus' cabin, improper as that was, because he was afraid to be too far away from the gold tablet. The fact that he'd held in his hand something that might carry God's very words made his skin crawl and prickled the hairs on his head. Though the tablet had seemed almost ordinary the day before, separated by a night's memory and the wearing of time, the event seemed a miracle. Much as with his original encounter with Gabriel.
He was on deck, standing uneasily with his division to watch the proceedings. The Welshman stood to one side of Hethor while Dairy sat on the other, resting his wounded ankles. The two dug their elbows into him and ribbed him about his “promotion” to officer country.
The marines went across one by one. As they landed, they secured the gallery once more. After them a mixed group of sailors from ropes and deck, along with a few from gunnery, followed. Hethor wondered if they were volunteers. Lombardo followed, favoring Hethor with a final glare as he wiggled out onto the rope bridge.
After the men were landed, the rigging of the rope bridge was changed and supplies were sent overâmostly ammunition and tools, along with some canvas.
Apparently the party would be expected to forage on its way up. As there was little to eat in the vertical city except the bamboo and wicker of its walls, Hethor hoped their march would be quick and successful.
Apparently the party would be expected to forage on its way up. As there was little to eat in the vertical city except the bamboo and wicker of its walls, Hethor hoped their march would be quick and successful.
The bosun piped them away, followed by a salute from Smallwood. With a casting off of the mooring and bridge ropes, the shore party was gone, so many flickering shadows among the galleries and balconies. Under al-Wazir, sailors from both the ropes division and the deck division reeled in the bridge lines and broke down the winches. At the same time
Bassett
's engines beat her away from the wood-encased cliff face and back to the comparative safety of the open air at the center of the bay.
Bassett
's engines beat her away from the wood-encased cliff face and back to the comparative safety of the open air at the center of the bay.
Hethor set to working with his division at the stowage of the ropes and reshifting the deck cargo and equipment that had been disrupted by the staging of the shore party's departure. A shake of the head from al-Wazir quickly warned him off. He returned to Malgus' cabin instead, deep in contemplation of the gold tablet.
Though the writing was not Hebrew, Hethor was increasingly convinced that the four letters he saw were in fact the Tetragrammaton, God's name, inserted in the text just as a scholar at Yale might insert a word or passage of Greek in an English text.
Which left the rest of the language to be deciphered. He had some Latin from his studies at school, but this was a different order of problem entirely. One he was clearly not competent to solve. Simply staring at the tablet did nothing. He only cramped his hand attempting a precise copy of the shaky loops and swirls of the writing.
Chinese didn't loop
,
did it?
,
did it?
Somehow Hethor had trouble believing that God would speak Chinese, at least to him. Or maybe at all. So surely if this was a message from God, Hethor was meant to be able to read it.
There were other repeated symbols. One appeared in both the first and second lines. Another one in the third,
fourth, fifth, and sixth lines. A devotional term? But God wouldn't pray to Himself.
fourth, fifth, and sixth lines. A devotional term? But God wouldn't pray to Himself.
He thought about the Eastern alphabet that the Constantine heretics used. That didn't make sense as an explanationâas he understood it, the Eastern lettering resembled both the Latin and Greek. This decidedly did not.
Hethor returned to considering Hebrew.
Bassett
carried no chaplain, and as far as he knew, none of the officers or crew were secret Jews. Would anyone else on the ship have a Hebrew dictionary or grammar? Dr. Firkin, perhaps.
Bassett
carried no chaplain, and as far as he knew, none of the officers or crew were secret Jews. Would anyone else on the ship have a Hebrew dictionary or grammar? Dr. Firkin, perhaps.
Concealing the golden tablet in the map chest once more, Hethor went up on deck. Firkin was unlikely to be in his cabin now. Since the loss of the loblolly boy the doctor spent most of his time in his surgery under the fo'c'sle or out on the deck, though he assiduously avoided the rail. As Hethor stepped out the hatch, he noted
Bassett
was rising, still within the vertical city.
Bassett
was rising, still within the vertical city.
Walking across the deck, Hethor wondered how he would explain his request for a Hebrew text. Then he heard the faint bell of the sky watch and looked around in panic as the swivel gun popped again. The noise echoed faintly from the front of the gasbag.
This time,
Bassett
was better prepared. Marines poured onto the deck. Each soldier carried two carbines, which they shared out to eager sailors. Within moments the rails were lined with excited marksmen of varying skill.
Bassett
was better prepared. Marines poured onto the deck. Each soldier carried two carbines, which they shared out to eager sailors. Within moments the rails were lined with excited marksmen of varying skill.
Winged savages fell past the ship, flying through a storm of fire that sent the smoke and reek of powder across the deck like a fog bank. Hethor didn't see any of them tumble from the sky. They would be back in moments, all of the fliers, to stalk the decks in their hideous glory.
These were a true mockery of God's angels.
Then the mockery was over the rails in a wave of a dozen or more. They whirled like fire dancers, brass swords gleaming in the morning light, and passed among
the lines and shrouds like so many great moths drawn to slam into the ship's company. They swung their blades, and some drew bows to send arrows into the row of sailors and marines still firing upon them.
the lines and shrouds like so many great moths drawn to slam into the ship's company. They swung their blades, and some drew bows to send arrows into the row of sailors and marines still firing upon them.
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