Authors: Kin Law
There were also people- Clankers, their hoods drawn back to reveal matte black helmets and bug-like masks. Their purring arrival in the Chapman seemed not to draw any attention. Blair realized the space was deceptively large- both sound and light dwindled to nothing. The men were several tracks away, and unless they were looking, wouldn’t pay Blair and Clemens any mind.
Captain Clemens took the engine out of gear, drifting in neutral along the path until they found a convenient stack of cargo crates to park behind. It seemed the paths were actually more platforms, designed for the loading and unloading of material with the same type of floating gantries in the vehicle room. The Captain unfurled his pocket glass, took a look, emitted a thoughtful ‘hurmph’ sound and handed it to Blair.
“It appears,”
Blair mumbled thoughtfully, “they are unloading more of the steam engines, and loading something else aboard.” He busied himself with his photogram machine.
“Look at the way the suspensions sit,” Clemens added.
Blair did, and noticed the expensive fenders were riding about an inch off the ground. So the flashy conveyances weren’t the real treasure- something else had been loaded into every boot, something heavy.
Blair turned again towards the cargo bound for the innards of the gigantic Ottoman ship. The platforms were barely floating, loaded down with heavy cargo containers in a dull olive color. Just as Blair was about to give up on learning the contents, another platform appeared with cargo strapped down with tarpaulin. Even from several tracks away, the form of Mordemere’s Kobolds could be mistaken for nothing else.
“They’re selling arms to the enemy!” Blair said, outraged.
“Your enemy, yes,” Clemens remarked, retrieving his glass. Behind the first airship, a second Balaenopteron was edging into view, like two titanic monsters converging in the abyss. This one hung off the ground at about man height, the vents retching gas laced blue with lift compound. Her masthead was a dragon with crossed sabers, and along her flank ran a scythe-like marking, in aristocratic Ottoman Turkish script.
“Blast, that’s the flagship
Orhan
,” Clemens cursed.
“Why is this bad?” Blair asked bluntly.
“It’s bad because I know her damn name,” Clemens explained curtly. “It means they’re not afraid someone will see it. Either Mordemere’s dug a tunnel clear to the sea, or the entire city of Leyland is in on the job. It means if we’re found, we’re dead.”
It was, of course, the very moment the cargo crates before them suddenly lifted away, revealing the two men leaning on their roadster like dumb toffs on a country holiday.
Moore was turni
ng out to be a proper gentleman. Not only did he offer his seat to the ladies in the nearly deserted car, but he proceeded to point out the city’s sights as the train wound up and out of the ground, running on some kind of elevated track until it joined up with one of the signature aqueducts running all about the city.
“Mordemere is a great fan of conquerors,” Moore was explaining. “The Romans captured his imagination some years ago, at the beginning of Leyland’s special development. Of course, they carry steam, telegraph and Teslaic power, as well as water.”
“Mister Moore,” Rosa Marija said. “I appreciate the tour, but-“
Moore held up a finger, indicating where the aqueduct ran ahead of them. The train clanked onto the aqueduct, and a sudden racket flooded the
car: not enough to deafen, but certainly enough so their conversation would be inaudible outside a three-foot circle. Moore dropped the finger.
“I am sorry. It should be safe to speak now,” Moore said. “It is his city, you see. The tracks here are magnetized by the Teslaic arcs, they ought to disable any listening devices as well.”
“You… do not approve of Valima Mordemere?” Hargreaves said, surprised.
“As one of his inner circle? I despise him,” Moore admitted, an instant of hatred shredding through his polite demeanor. His voice was not aristocratic, or gentrified. It was the practical, matter-of-fact tone Cid used fairly often, of a man more comfortable w
ith grease and wrenches than greatcoats and shiny canes.
“But he has enabled your livelihood, your art, your everything,” Hargreaves replied.
“A cage of gold is a cage still,” Moore answered. “I hold his secret. He would not let me go so easily. Only now, when he has left the city, do I dare take advantage of this opportunity. I assume you are from one government or another? Perhaps the Queen herself?” He looked to Rosa, bemused, then to Hargreaves, where he found recognition. “So it is. Victoria III is in Leyland, by proxy.”
“So my guess was true,” Rosa Marija said. “Valima Mordemere is behind the theft of Europe’s landmarks.”
“What? How…?” Hargreaves gaped, not following.
“Yes. Let us not mince words; we have perhaps fifteen minutes remaining before the train leaves the aqueduct,” said Moore
“How has he done it?” Rosa asked.
Jonah Moore smiled his ineffable smile once again.
“Imagine, if you will, a great mountain,” Moore said. “The mountain is tall, tall enough to pierce the heavens, where Mordemere believes his dream lies. The mountain does not exist, just yet, not where he wants to reach. The Leviathan is the source of all aeon stones, the stuff of lift- it is naturally, in a very high place.”
“All right…” Hargreaves said, uncomprehending. The train rumbled on, irreverent. She was beginning to become suspicious of the other passengers, but her Inspector’s instincts told her they were not being watched. Moore simply went on.
“But a mountain isn’t simply tall, it is also very large. A mountain is tall
because
it is large- the peak is supported by a vast bulk of smaller stones, each one insignificantly small, but together! Together, they are…”
“Leviathan,” Rosa said. “You’re referencing Hobbes. He’s building a mountain from the energies of those poor urchins filling his factories.”
“Yes,” Hargreaves said, catching the thread of the conversation. “Mister Moore, the Cross, the factory, the statue?”
“It was a very simple procedure,” Moore sighed, his face suddenly distraught. All his muscles sagged, as if it was a heavy weight he had borne a long time. It was visibly difficult for him to speak. “The aeons react to human feelings.
Happiness, courage, sadness… especially sadness. By building our atelier city around the old landmarks of Leyland, I channeled that energy for Mordemere’s purposes.”
“Blast!” Rosa said, with a sudden certainty.
“Excuse me,” Hargreaves said, offended. “Can one of you please explain it to me?”
“Leyland was a bustling industrial center before Mordemere, but it was not equipped to handle the massive war machines Mordemere intended to build. Mostly, the city was in the business of lorries, buses and other types of engines,” Rosa explained.
The aqueduct was curving very gently outside. The misty sun was setting behind Mordemere’s atelier. The resemblance to a plague frog squatting on the city was stronger than ever.
“So Mordemere did the most economical and efficient thing he could. He built his arms laboratories over the existing ones. But laboratories and workplaces aren’t just mortar and stone- they’re people, and peoples’ memories, their feelings, their souls. It just so happens the one thing airships with lift compound need, absolutely need, to fly is people.”
“So when we were in the desperate struggle with
the Lovelorn
-“
“That’s right,” Rosa acknowledged. “It was my feelings for Nessie Drake, and the crew’s feelings for me, that gave the Huckleberry the winning edge. It’s why those exploding rivets couldn’t touch you- you were filled with the aeon energy of all those hopeful people being rescued. Lift compound is essentially atomized aeon particles, running through and through the ship. They are agitated when we are passionate, they flow faster when we are happy, and gorgeous, when we are truly alive-”
“They fly,” Hargreaves filled in, awed. Rosa nodded, as did Moore.
“Mordemere not only bought out the land, and the machines, and the businesses of Leyland,” said Jonah Moore. “He also set into place an array of aeon stones in key landmarks of the city- places people would remember, places people still frequented fondly, and places he would build for them to glorify. Then he did what any ambitious person must do- he made them suffer.”
Moore put his grizzled face into his hands, overcome.
“Aeons not only react to positive feelings,” Rosa continued. “They react to negative ones as well. By filling his factories with people like Hassim, or Swarney, or any of those people living and dying below, he is making enough emotional power to lift mountains.”
“Enough power to reach the Leviathan…” Hargreaves whispered.
“Not quite.”
This last came from their left- with a start, the three suddenly realized the aqueduct’s racket was gone. They were gliding down another elevated track, and the gunman staring them down over the barrel of a large blunderbuss had heard everything.
“Bloody hell! Oh fuck me!” Blair found himself cursing like an American into the wind whipping past. It seemed the only thing to do- he was in the passenger seat, strapped in like an infant, and he couldn’t reach anything. The most sensible thing would have been a cup of tea- lacking one, the next was to curse roundly, like a sailor. Like a sailor treading shark-infested waters.
“Relax, at this range they couldn’t hit the broad side of a fat sow,” Clemens said soothingly. He wrenched the wheel of the Chapman hard to the right, avoiding an enormous crater suddenly developing in the road. Pulverized concrete showered into the cabin of the engine, which was open due to their previous accident.
Bits of debris pinged alarmingly against the exposed steering mechanisms, a complicated-looking tangle of steel armature completely defeating Elric Blair’s ability to comprehend mechanics.
All he could do was hang on and trust to Captain Clemens’ steering, which seemed unerringly good. Even when a particularly exuberant cannonball rent the platform ahead into rubble, Clemens simply drove along a larger, flat piece of it, shooting off the end and onto the tracks. They were fortunate: the little engine had excellent acceleration, brakes, and best of all, steering.
As far as Blair could figure, the Balaenopteron closest was firing with its forward batteries, but the little Chapman soon outpaced the furthest of the shots.
“We can’t relax quite yet,” Clemens cautioned, and Blair agreed. They could both see the gated nooks opening on the platforms ahead, and passing one, the gleam of claws seemed all too close.
Sure enough, as they rounded another gargantuan cavern pillar, a phalanx of six Kobolds emerged to hound them. Their bipedal motion was awkward at first, but they soon gathered into a smooth mechanical run.
“Bollocks!” Blair cried. Something struck sparks off the rear of the roadster.
“Whoa doggy!” Clemens exclaimed, as his leftmost mirror exploded into silver shards. The Kobolds were loping along quite a bit slower than the quick little Chapman, but their riders had rifles to hand.
“Head for the right tunnel!”
Blair yelled.
He had spotted something in the darkness- a slight gleam of tracks, indicating an upward slope. Upward meant outward.
“Hang on!” Captain Clemens cried, and spotting a loading ramp coming off a platform, took advantage of it to launch them onto the correct track. Another straight stretch, and suddenly the closeness of walls cut off their view.
“They obviously do not want someone to see what they are up to!” Blair cried, his voice suddenly deafening in the closeness. The Chapman was making quite a racket herself, but a healthy racket of pistons churning the way to freedom.
“We had best leave this track then. There will be more of them ahead!” Clemens said.
Easier said than done- the track sloped straight up, with no obvious exit in sight. Unless an option appeared soon, their capture was a matter of time. Clemens toggled something in front of him, and suddenly the tunnel lit up as the
engine’s own arc bulbs bathed the tunnel in light.
“There’s no way out!” Blair cried, desperately peering into the distance.
“There’s always a way out, friend,” Clemens said, as if soothing a star footballer who had lost his gumption.
“How can you be so bloody calm
?!” Blair screamed.
“And there we are,” Clemens said, performing another of his trademark course corrections. Blair’s scream turned into a wail as his neck jerked to the left. The cry was appropriate. Clemens was headed into a solid wall.
“Ahhhh!!” Blair said.
“Yee-Haw!” Clemens cried.
There was a splintering noise, and some activity Blair was not privy to- he had screwed his eyes shut against certain doom. When he opened them, he found they were still on a track, but the tunnel had gone. Where the concrete used to be, there was now clear night sky.
“Where the
blazes is this?” Blair asked, a little less distraught than before. His pale skin, grown paler by ordeal, savored the relatively fresh night air.
“By my guess?
Somewhere over Eastern Leyland. This is one of the aqueducts running over the mines and such,” Clemens answered. He had, while Blair had his eyes shut, tugged his goggles over his face.