Authors: Zoe Archer
It was a vast storage room. Racks soared up, stretching beyond the quartz lantern’s minimal illumination. On the racks were countless wooden crates. He strode to one and pried up its lid. Inside, packed in straw, munitions lay like sleeping animals.
He pushed the lid back into place. They walked further into the storage chamber, passing more racks. Suddenly, several of the racks began to shake.
His ether pistol was out in an instant, as was Louisa’s. It might have been some kind of alarm system; they needed to be prepared if anyone came running.
Cautiously, he neared one of the shuddering racks. Its shaking increased the closer he came. Instead of crates on the rack, there were sheets of metal stored upright. Pegs held them in place. The metal trembled at his approach.
He pressed his hand flat against one of the sheets. “Telumium.” He felt it resonating through his shoulder and his body.
“It’s responding to you.” She stepped closer and frowned. “I heard no intelligence that they were making Man O’ Wars here. What purpose could all this telumium serve?”
He resisted the urge to rub at his shoulder, though it began to throb in the presence of so much telumium.
Louisa’s eyes widened with a sudden understanding. “They’re adding it to the munitions to make them even more devastating.”
He swore, imagining the whole Hapsburg army equipped with powerful incendiary devices. Anyone who opposed them would be destroyed. The British Fleet would be wiped from the sky, and ground forces would be leveled.
“Time to plant our own explosives,” he growled.
She moved to his back and removed one of the bombs from the improvised pack. After unscrewing the top of the shell, she set the timing device. She set her stopwatch, as well. Once she was satisfied, she replaced the shell’s top and hid the whole object between two racks.
“Takes care of one,” she said.
“Two left.”
“And a ticking clock.”
After shutting off her quartz lantern, they hurriedly left the storage room. Louisa continued to lead the way, darting up a staircase. He took the steps four at a time, and met her at the top of the stairs. She threw him a glance that tried to look unimpressed by his athletic display, but she couldn’t quite hide the appreciation in her gaze.
A thick door stood on the landing. Even with this barrier, it couldn’t dampen the sound of clanging metal on the other side. He cautiously opened the door, and they both stepped out onto a catwalk.
The catwalk ran around the perimeter of a huge chamber. Hissing steam pipes and heavy girders traversed the ceiling. Below was a scene out of an industrial fantasia. Giant sheets of metal were being run through enormous machines, where they were stamped into different-sized shells. Men and women operated the machines, everyone wearing canvas clothing, their shoes soled with felt to keep from generating dangerous sparks, the women tucking their long hair into caps so it wouldn’t be caught in the machinery.
All along the plant floor were munitions in states of manufacture, from their raw components to final assembly. At the farthest end of the assembly room, workers mixed chemicals to form the explosive charges. Next to them, more workers packed the explosive materials into the formed shells. Close to where Christopher and Louisa stood, workers racked completed munitions into more crates, which were loaded onto wheeled platforms and carted away by clanking automatons.
Even with the mechanized workers, the munitions plant employed hundreds, if not a thousand, men and women.
“We can’t kill these people,” he said to Louisa. They might build weapons to be used against the British, but they were only trying to earn a living.
“Never my intent,” she answered. “I’ve a plan that will not only spare their lives, but will help get us out undetected. But we have more work to do before then.”
They hurried along the catwalk, careful to keep out of sight of anyone on the factory floor. Armed guards were stationed below at intervals, but the sentries looked bored, one even yawning into the cuff of his jacket.
Heavy support girders crossed the width of the factory, supporting many of the machines that handled the dangerous materials. Louisa stopped beneath a central girder.
“We bring this one down, the whole chamber will collapse.” She took another bomb from his pack, cradling it in her arms. “Give us a boost.” She eyed the girder overhead.
“I’ll go,” he said at once.
“Who do you think they’ll notice less? A big Man O’ War in his naval uniform or a thoroughly nondescript woman?” Before he could answer, she said, “Either help me up, or I’ll find a way up on my own. And the more time you argue, the more time we lose.” She locked her gaze with his. “Trust me, Kit.”
He exhaled, then interlaced his fingers, forming a stirrup.
She gave him a brief nod and set her foot into the cradle of his hands. In one motion, he hoisted her up. She set the bomb on the metal beam and then climbed onto the girder on her hands and knees. Once she had gained her position, she slowly stood, her arms wrapped around the bomb. For a moment, she swayed, adjusting her equilibrium to accommodate carrying the explosive device. Satisfied with her balance, she began to walk out on the girder.
His breath refused to leave his body as he watched her progress. With a delicate, acrobatic grace, she walked along the support beam. Her steps took her over the factory floor, some forty feet below. If she fell, not only would she be detected, but she’d go crashing into brutal machinery that would crush her.
Though her steps were careful and slow, she showed no fear or reluctance. Only walked on, her gaze downcast to track her progress.
Somehow, a loose bolt had wound up on the girder. She might step on it and stumble, or else kick it and send it clattering down, attracting disastrous attention.
Damn it. He had to warn her. But if he shouted, he’d be heard by the people below.
But Louisa was no amateur. She stepped carefully over the bolt. Her skirts didn’t even brush against it as she passed.
He still couldn’t exhale. Staying back in the less-illuminated part of the catwalk, he watched as she set the bomb down at the very center of the support beam, opened it and set the timer, replaced the top, then started her return journey. Again she avoided knocking the loose bolt to the ground, and headed quickly toward the catwalk. Without the burden of the bomb, she went much faster, moving with an elegant agility.
He took a breath only when her steps took her back over the catwalk. He reached up to assist her in dismounting, but she swung down on her own, dropping lightly to her feet.
“Prettier than any waltz I’ve ever seen,” he said.
Her eyes seemed to glow, and he couldn’t fault her for looking pleased with herself. He couldn’t have been more impressed. Grinning, she said, “A hell of a lot more useful, too.”
Neither of them wanted to test their luck by lingering. They hurried along the catwalk until they reached the other end of the manufacturing room. Hastening through another door, they came to a stairwell leading four stories down. She ran down them quickly, but he decided he would move faster.
He leapt over the railing to the stairs just below, then vaulted over the next railing to the stairs beneath that. Two more times he repeated the process, swiftly making short work of the staircase and passing Louisa along the way.
They reconvened at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Now you’re just showing off,” she said with a shake of her head.
“It’s working. Look how dazzled you are.”
Their brief humor vanished, however, as they continued on their mission. He was conscious of time slipping away and the continual presence of danger all around. As they crept through more corridors, several times they had to duck into alcoves or behind support beams to avoid being spotted by sentries. Hiding his considerable size wasn’t easy, and it went against his very nature to shrink away from a threat, but the last thing he wanted was a firefight inside a munitions plant. Especially with Louisa by his side.
They slipped down a passageway, then stopped outside another closed door. She tried the handle.
“Damn. Locked.” From her pack, she produced a small velvet case. A series of picks were lined up inside—the tools of a thief. Or spy.
It would be so easy for him to kick the door down. Easy, and satisfying. All the exertions of the mission had barely burned the energy seething within him. But he forced himself to stand and wait patiently as she worked the lock with her picks.
She gave him a wink as the lock tumbled into place, and the door swung open.
Within this chamber were stacked countless barrels and glass jars. He inhaled and caught the sour odors of saltpeter and sulfur, and sharp chemical scents.
“The raw ingredients for the explosives are stored in this series of rooms,” she said. “Components for gunpowder and trinitrotoluene.”
Making it an ideal location for the third and final bomb.
He pulled off his pack and removed the bomb himself before handing it to Louisa. She placed it against one of the walls and set the timing device.
“The blast will knock out the walls,” she said as she worked, “mixing the components.”
“They’ll combine,” he deduced, “and then all of these chambers turn into one giant bomb.”
After she replaced the top of the bomb’s shell casing, she checked her pocket watch once more. “Thirty minutes, then all three detonate.”
“It’ll take us more than half an hour to get out of here without being seen.” They might have made a full-out run for it, but that would have meant drawing the attention of the guards and likely winding up in a firefight—a consequence to be avoided.
“That’s already been considered.”
She strode out to the corridor, Christopher following, and hurried over to a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall, the word
Incendiu
painted on it. A lever was behind the glass. Picking up the little brass hammer hanging by a chain, she smashed it into the glass. Then pulled the lever.
A tremendous ringing filled the corridor.
At once, people poured out of rooms wearing looks of panic. They shouted and shoved as they barreled in one direction. None of them noticed the English Man O’ War in their midst, nor looked twice at Louisa’s unfamiliar face. They were too concerned with getting out of the munitions plant.
His arm around Louisa’s shoulders, he allowed himself to go with the throng, pushed along as though being propelled by a surging tide. They bustled through the main assembly room, past half-completed munitions and unthinking automatons still pushing loaded pallets. More and more workers joined the fleeing crowd. Even the armed guards had abandoned their posts and ran for the exit.
Though chaotic, he had to admit this was a damn sight faster way to leave the plant. And it gave him and Louisa ample camouflage.
Up ahead shone daylight. The front entrance doors had been flung open, and workers poured out, running for safety. He’d never been so glad to see the sun as when he and Louisa crossed the threshold, emerging into open air. The workers must have been drilled for the possibility of a fire, for they all crossed the open expanse outside the factory and headed toward the right, in the direction of the train tracks.
Exultation flared in his chest, but he beat it back. The mission was ongoing. Nothing was certain.
Not true. One thing
was
certain. They needed to reach the woods, where the jolly boat would meet them. Which meant that they had to separate themselves from the evacuating workers, undoubtedly drawing the guards’ attention. And they needed to do it at once. Minutes were slipping by, and the bombs would explode soon.
He took Louisa’s hand. Together, they ran across the cleared plain surrounding the plant and sped toward the forest. As they ran, he pulled the flare gun from his belt and fired it into the air. The flare arced up with a whine and a streak of light.
Shouts sounded behind them. Then came the pop of gunfire and shriek of bullets piercing the air. Chunks of dirt and rock flew up from the ground as bullets hit the ground. No time to stop and return fire.
Louisa gasped as he scooped her up in his arms, never breaking stride. Confident that he had her in a secure hold, he unleashed his fullest speed, tearing toward the shelter of the woods.
He darted between the trees with her in his arms. Bullets slammed into tree trunks, the force of the ether rifles’ ammunition turning them into splinters. Louisa pulled her ether pistol and shifted in his arms, bracing her forearms on his shoulders and firing back at the guards. The pursuing men yelled to one another, and he could hear them fall back slightly, held off by her covering fire.
They stopped at the edge of a clearing, and he set her down. Using the trees for cover, they continued to return fire, keeping the advancing soldiers at bay as they waited for the jolly boat.
A hum sounded overhead, and a shadow crossed the clearing. The jolly boat descended into the glade. Josephson manned the swivel gun at the prow, holding back the guards as Christopher and Louisa ran for the boat.
Both he and Louisa leapt into the vessel.
“Go!” he shouted to Farnley.
The words had barely left his mouth when the jolly boat rose up, heading for the safety of the sky. More bullets tore through the air around them.
As the jolly boat flew higher, Louisa was already out of his arms and returning fire, with Josephson on the mounted swivel gun. Christopher hefted a rifle from the boat’s supply and lay down a barrage of bullets. He made certain to wing the enemy shooters, ensuring they couldn’t use their weapons.
Farnley shouted above the tumult, “Bad news, sir. Hun patrol ships found us.
Demeter
’s been ducking and weaving as much as she can, but it’s only a matter of time till it’s a full engagement.”
Lowering his rifle, Christopher glanced up and swore. He’d been preoccupied with getting away from the munitions plant—too distracted to notice that his airship barely stayed out of the sights of the enemy’s fire. A pitched battle was about to be fought just over his head, the
Demeter
on the verge of taking a beating from Hapsburg ether cannons.