Clockwork Chaos (2 page)

When she handed the glass back to the captain, Kassandra walked behind him to come up next to Cobham. Leaning close she whispered, “He’s also a pompous ass as well.” Then she hesitated and added, “And a friend of my father’s,” as her eyes drifted away from his gaze.

The twitchy sensation in his nerves wouldn’t abate, so Cobham took a moment to retrieve his three-barrel revolver from his travel case tucking it into one of the deep pockets of his parka. He felt a slight bit guilty doing it out of Kassandra’s view, but it calmed his nerves. At the edge of the cargo area Cobham confronted Kassandra. “This is no place for a lady.”

“Be that as it may, I am here and I will go where I please. Besides Moore’s familiarity with my father may serve our purpose.”

“Kassandra, be reasonable.”

“Constable, my father did all of his adventuring from an armchair with a glass of sherry in a half-drunken stupor. He was one of the brightest lights in the scientific pantheon. When he stopped ‘doing’ he became trapped in his brick manse. All of his brilliance spilled out into lax dreaming. I’ll do my work on my feet if you please.”

Cobham stared at her back as Kassandra moved away to converse with the captain. In a mere moment he’d learned more about what drove her than in all of their acquaintance.

Once again they descended in the cargo lift.

“I’m surprised the captain isn’t joining us,” Kassandra said, watching the ground approach.

“Don’t be,” was Sparrowknife’s answer. He looked up at the airship above them, shading grey eyes with a hand. “He doesn’t leave the ship.”

Cobham turned to the first mate, “Ever?”

“Not unless ordered to. The
Sharpshin
is a ship in His Majesty’s Aerofleet. As Captain, he can do as he likes.” Sparrowknife hesitated, “Bornesun says the ground doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Not finding any adequate response, Cobham considered their destination. There were a number of long buildings with rounded roofs. He could count more than a dozen men walking about the complex. A well-worn path led down to the beach below and its unusual contents. He watched four men carrying a crate each to the farthest building, moving along at a steady pace. Suddenly, the lead man pitched forward, missing his footing. This fellow’s crate flew from his hands, landing in the snow next to the path. The reactions of the men were what caught Cobham’s attention. Each turned away from the impact, crouching over their own crate. They all froze in place. As the ground grew closer, Cobham watched the three men with the crates edge their way around their fallen comrade, hurrying toward the out building. Only when they were gone did the remaining bearer regain his burden and walk slowly off. Turning to his companions, Cobham realized he was the sole witness of the incident. Grasping his chin, Cobham wondered,
just what was that about
?

Learning from last time, Cobham took the impact of landing by flexing his knees. He offered Kassandra an arm as Sparrowknife led them off of the cargo lift. As Sir Sante Moore hustled up to them, the lift began its return to the airship. Cobham looked up at it a moment. Even though they were on solid ground, he still had the feeling that things were moving out of his control.

“Welcome to my little corner of the world,” bellowed Moore, smiling expansively. Moore was a big man and the fur of the bear skin parka he wore rustled in the wind as it tore sparks from the edge of the pipe in his outstretched hand. He flipped the silver damper down, settling it once more between large, yellowed teeth as he leaned forward to greet each one of them. Sparrowknife and Cobham each received a wringing handshake and Kassandra a bow over her proffered hand.

As Kassandra made their introductions, Cobham took the moment to review Moore’s companions. There were several British fellows present in the front ranks, one even carrying the perennial tri-lion banner. Of course, thought Cobham, glancing at the sight of the
Sharpshin
hanging overhead. With its blazons as one of His Majesty’s Airships, there was little doubt as to from whence Moore’s visitors hailed. He wasn’t surprised that Moore was flying the colors as well. But behind these good fellows were several others whose darker complexions and beetling black brows belied a different lineage.

Sparrowknife caught his glance, stepping closer whispering, “Antelaunders, they live close to the arctic to the west of New Britain and hunt the seal and white bears. As to why they’re here, besides their familiarity with this cold, that’s a fine question.”

Cobham caught Moore’s eyes turning toward them. He clapped a hand to Sparrowknife’s back and led the airman forward. He gave the airman a sharp look and pasted a false smile on his face. “You’ll have to forgive us, Sir Moore; we’re still not quite as used to the rigors of this land as you are. Is there somewhere out of the weather where we might converse?”

“Weather? My dear sir, this is a fine and pleasant day. You should see it when Mother Nature becomes unruly. In reality, you can’t. Everything becomes as white and as thick as cream.” Moore laughed, a hand over his heart. “First I would like to show you our fabulous discovery, the leviathan graveyard.”

Their host turned back to Kassandra, “So you father was Casimir Leyden? He would have loved this expedition, and he would have been astounded by what we’ve found. Please come with me, my dear. As his daughter you will have special insight into the wonders we’ve discovered.”

Kassandra’s eyes sparkled with interest as she took Moore’s proffered arm. Wheeling about, the large man led the party down the pathway toward the beach. As a constable, Cobham was comfortable asking questions of others and himself until he had a clear view of the circumstances. He wasn’t about to stop now. “It’s a bit odd given our destination that we weren’t told of your expedition before we left, Sir Moore.”

“I do believe you are mistaking the nature of our venture, good sir,” Moore tossed over his shoulder as they walked on. “We are a private expedition, not one of His Majesty’s. Funded by a concerned group of dedicated individuals, we are able to practice pure scientific investigation. We can explore without proving that there are practical applications to our discoveries or being hedged by puritanical views.”

Cobham turned back for a moment, looking at the rest of the group. Now that they were on the decline toward the beach, he could see more of the rest of their contingent. His suspicions were confirmed. The men in the rear had small blunderbusses strapped to their backs, their brass bells glinting in the harsh arctic light.
Were they for the white bears or the visitors
? he mused.

As they approached the leviathans, the reality of the beast’s size was brought home. In cross section the creatures were as tall as the first story of a building. Their bulk stretched away in either direction. There was a faint, unusual musk in the air. Cobham’s lips pursed. He’d been expected something more pungent perhaps. Then the obvious struck him. The leviathans must have frozen the whole way through. That was when Moore led them up to the side of the nearest cetacean. Grasping at a cord, he drew up the oilskin door flap which concealed a tunnel running into the purplish marbled interior of the beast. Kassandra stood there a moment, her eyes wide like a child’s, full of wonder. She stepped forward into the golden light of a hanging lantern. Cobham spared a glance backward, then followed Moore and Sparrowknife into the belly of the beast.

Surrounded by layers of blubber and muscle, Cobham did have to admit that the shelter from the perpetual wind was better than before. However, the small lanterns did nothing for the chill. Rather their flickering light cast a haze of smoke and pungent musk. Cobham looked down discovering the walkway was covered in a layer of gravel from the beach tinted crimson by leviathan blood. His introspection cost him a moment and it allowed the others to continue further along the tunnel. Taking advantage of the opportunity and giving in to his curious nature, he looked about further.

A few steps forward found another tunnel opening on the right that led toward the leviathan’s head. Stepping inside, Cobham walked along until he found another canvas flap door covering the entrance to a wide room carved into the beast’s flesh. There was something different about the floor here. While still bearing some of the gravel, it was smooth with a metallic sheen in that flickered in the light. Cobham stepped close to the wall to pry at the edge of the odd material. It bent and flexed in his hand. Finding a corner, he worked it back and forth until a piece broke off.

The dim lighting gave him a poor view of the mysterious substance, so he placed it into his side pocket for further investigation. Standing up, Cobham noticed stacks of material projecting from the sides of the room. These were so coated in ice; he couldn’t discern their contents. He brushed off some of the rime, finding a projection. Cobham struck the piece a quick blow and it fell to the ground. Stooping down to pick up his discovery, he heard approaching footsteps. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he quickly wrapped up the second piece of evidence stowing it in his breast pocket. Two of the Antelaunders stood in the doorway. This time the blunderbusses were no longer shouldered, but pointed in his direction.

Cobham raised his hands, pasting a smile on his face. Their dark eyes searched both him and the room until Sante Moore shouldered his way between them, putting a hand on each of the brass bells of the guns to tip their aim toward the floor.

“Constable, we lost you. I understand that it maybe in your nature to investigate, but perhaps you should stay with us. My associates here have some odd beliefs. Since they’ve been subsisting on leviathan meat since our arrival, they can be somewhat protective of their victuals.” Moore gestured Cobham forward, taking his arm to lead him between the Antelaunders. Cobham hadn’t missed the furtive glance the man made about the room to see if its contents were disturbed.

Cobham was led off to rejoin the others. He noticed that none of the British had joined their party. Rather there were two more Antelaunders in addition to the ones following Moore and himself. A glance over his shoulder found their guards once more shouldering the blunderbusses. Moore led them into what Cobham imagined was the leviathan’s stomach. Kassandra and Sparrowknife were clustered around a piece of canvas tacked to a wall. The top half was a series of inked in lines that must represent the tunnels carved through the beast. Down below there were sketches of the leviathan’s internal organs. Kassandra drew her fingers back and forth across the image, her lips pursed in thought. For a moment Cobham could imagine a younger version of her, fascinated by one of her father’s experiments.

Moore shattered Cobham’s reverie by clapping his gloved hands together. “So what do you think of my discovery so far?”

When Sparrowknife cast Cobham a guarded glance, Kassandra stepped into the conversational void, “What you’ve accomplished here is truly amazing, Sir Moore. You’ve laid out more about the physiology of these nearly mythical beasts than anyone before. You methods are very inventive, crossing mining with dissection to deal with such a large subject.” She hesitated a moment, then turned and continued with a tilt of her head, “What surprises me is with all of the leviathan blubber here, you’ve chosen something else to fuel your lamps.”

Moore’s head jerked slightly. He broke into a laugh, “I should have known that Casmir’s daughter would notice the subtleties. It is true we could burn leviathan oil, but why go through the trouble of rendering that when we discovered a tar pit a short distance in land? With less work we are able to treat the oil there so that it burns for our purposes. Now I think I’ve subjected you to enough of the chill, let us retire to somewhere warmer.” The large man spun on his heel, leading them out of the frozen tunnels into the wan sunlight.

Their exit was on the opposite side of the leviathan. Cobham spotted another flap door on the next remains in line. Moore’s party must be exploring several of the beast’s innards. Sparrowknife stopped, looking about in the open, his nose wrinkling. “Storm’s coming,” he stated, settling his parka’s hood about his head.

“That’s very perceptive of you, Airman. We’ll probably have to reel in the weather balloon soon so it doesn’t get damaged.” Turning to the others he continued, “The storms here are abrupt and always dangerous. It would be best for us to retire to the main camp as soon as possible.”

The skyline behind them had grown hazy and vague. Cobham thought back to stories of cold so bad that spittle froze before hitting the ground. Now he really wanted to be inside. As they turned back toward the buildings, Cobham noticed a repetitive thumping sound that he’s missed before. Perhaps between the leviathans, with the wind damped down it was more audible. As they trudged up from the beach, the noise grew closer.

Suddenly, a group of four men came scrambling down the path. This time two of them were carrying their blunderbusses in hand. Cobham felt little doubt as to the direction of their aim. The others carried between them the remains of the aforementioned weather balloon. Cobham cast a quick glance about; the
Sharpshin
was nowhere to be seen. Sparrowknife gave him a pointed look, having just come to the same conclusion.

“I’m worried Mr. Cobham. The Captain wouldn’t just leave us behind. He’d have a solid reason to go. We just don’t know what it is. “ Sparrowknife said quietly.

As the men drew nearer, Cobham could see a long line of holes in the balloon. Something that one of the repeaters mentioned by Sparrowknife would be capable accomplishing. He also noted that along with an aerometer and barometer, the balloon’s payload included a heliograph.
Just who was the expedition signaling
? he wondered.

Sante Moore let out a long sigh, turning back to his guests, the expression on his features rearranging into annoyance. “I had hoped it would not come to this. But it can’t be helped. Your airship captain has taken things into his own hands. He was a bit more resourceful than I expected and escaped leaving you behind. Gentlemen, hand over your weapons please. Come let’s not make this any more disagreeable than it need be. I’m afraid my associates are not fluent in British. They may simply fire first since their only regard is for my safety.”