Inconvenient Magic 01 - Potatoes, Come Forth! Read online

  “It will have to be someone on the Zherian side,” Harold spoke up. “Any of the allies of the Kingdom would be almost certain to turn us over to the Alarsarians.”

  “Why not the Republic itself?” Algis, standing with his wife, suggested.

  “They are said to be quite friendly to technology,” Ellen added.

  Several others spoke in agreement.

  “Then a show of hands, please,” the Baronet requested, once again demonstrating his democratic eccentricities, “to indicate that we shall voyage to Mrysberg, the capital of the Republic of Zheria.’

  Everyone except Tekle and the esne, who would simply follow where Rorche led, and Everett, who did not care and made that feeling evident, raised his or her hands. Sarah, though Everett knew she had good reason to not wish to travel to the Republic, also raised her hand.

  Preparations for the voyage were begun immediately, with Aldo, Bennett, and Millicent charting a course and the others finding assigned compartments, storing gear, or discussing watch rotations, technical matters, or, in the case of those with no clear duties, the trauma of their arrest in Eriis.

  The remainder of the day passed without incident as the air carriage crossed the Edze at two thousand feet and continued flying on into the night and early morning. Rather than face possible attack and capture by mooring, the synthesists had made the decision to take the risk of running the engines continuously. Contending with crosswinds and headwinds, Bennett and Aldo, who rotated four hour shifts as steersman, could only manage an average of some twenty miles per hour, but by dawn they had passed above the smaller neighboring demesnes of (according to Rorche’s maps) the Castilian of Shywd, the Countess Ethel Mac Toogln, and the Independent Oligarchy of Pshyun. Well into the High Shadowed Hills, Millicent proudly announced that the air ship had covered some four hundred and forty-six miles, plus or minus twenty-three miles.

  Everett endeavored to stay out of the way, idling in the corridors chatting with Tekle, lounging on the upper deck (now labeled the Observation Deck by common consensus), or napping in the tiny room with two stacked bunks and little else that he now shared with Mitchell.

  Around midday, when he chanced to catch Sarah in a private moment as they passed in the starboard corridor, he pressed without preamble, “Don’t you think that you’ll be arrested in Zheria?”

  “Obviously. But we are going to leave the air carriage at the border and then make our way to Kleinsvench.”

  “I thought as much.”

  As she barged by him to continue on to the bow, she threw over her shoulder, “I pay you for magic, not for thinking.”

  He shrugged to her retreating back and walked to the dead end of the corridor to access the Observation Deck. Now that the air carriage flew under power, there was a steady cold wind across the deck, but he preferred the open air to the sometimes-claustrophobic interior and had resolved to spend most of the voyage there.

  Several people were already present, most bundled in heavy jackets and scarves against the wind. At a fold-out table fastened to the deck, Aldo, Harold, Josline and Suzette played some sort of bidding card game, interestingly holding down won tricks with pistols. Mitchell, Will, and Beatrice, hunkered on low stools behind a tarp draped as a windbreak over the rail at the bow, good-naturedly argued the validity of some effervescent and perhaps unfathomable point of an unfamiliar branch of existential philosophy.

  Everett loosened the rope holding another stool to the rail and carried it to the card players, who greeted him with nods and smiles.

  As he studied his cards, Aldo grinned. He showed the others the three of diamonds, tucked it face up under a pistol. “Three spades, four hearts.”

  Harold, to Aldo’s left, grimaced. “You always seem to get the cards, Aldo.” He showed a queen of spades and likewise burned it. “Four spades, seven diamonds.”

  Josline, Aldo’s partner, folded her cards in a pass, leaving Suzette to declare, with some glee, “Thirteen no trumps!”

  As the hand played out in an incomprehensible flurry of taking and refunding of tricks, Everett unobtrusively studied Aldo. As far as he had been able to discover by simple observation, the Alarsarian spy had as yet no inkling that he and Sarah knew his secret. It had occurred to Everett that it was almost certain that Aldo’s flushing of the original ballast had been an intentional act of sabotage instead of the panicked error that he had claimed. This was also likewise the case when he had stumbled and fallen at the first landing of the craft. It had further occurred to Everett that there could be no doubt that the Royal Intelligence Corps officer would attempt other sabotage to prevent the air carriage from reaching Republican territory. Everett had considered that Aldo might seek to capture the air carriage, but had concluded that the Alarsarian could not expect to overpower the entire company, especially now that all of the esne and many of the passengers, at Tekle’s urging, were constantly armed. Everett thought the man’s only viable course of action would be to make an effort to disable permanently the flying mechanism.

  He had originally thought to inform Sarah of his conclusions, but had decided that it would be a waste of time to do so. Either she had already considered the spy’s probable perfidy herself and planned accordingly, or she would be surprised with the rest. As she had just told him, she was not paying him to think for her.

  As to when Aldo might carry out his treachery, Everett had no clue. Having no desire to experience the first ever crash of an air carriage, he had resolved to make every effort to forestall the spy’s efforts. Thus, as now, he had begun to shadow the steersman, hoping that the undeniably compact space of the vessel would explain his frequent presence.

  Suzette laid her last card, the jack of clubs, and raked in the final trick. “That’s a double and a triple!”

  With a melodramatic groan of defeat, Aldo pushed back from the table, glancing at his watch. “We'll have to finish the game later. I'm off to relieve Bennett.” He picked up his pistol, slid it into the regulation Alarsarian holster, and snapped the flap, all with a practiced single-handed motion.

  Everett thought the maneuver a bit too casual in its accomplishment, but none of the others seemed to notice.

  He stood up and offered the imposter a friendly smile. “Hey, Aldo? Might I come along? I’ve wanted to learn how the air carriage is operated.”

  “Sure!” Aldo agreed with no discernable trace of guile. “I was just telling Bennett that we should train more steersmen. We'll need to eventually. The other air carriages will require dozens.” He looked at his tablemates. “How about you all? Anyone interested?”

  Josline shook her head. “Not me. I’ll stick with the engines.”

  Harold rolled his shoulders. “I’ll give it a go.”

  “Me too!” Suzette enthused.

  “Great! Come along then.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “These rotary switches control a series of electrically driven valves on the main vapor trunk,” Aldo explained. “It is important to release vapor in moderate stages and to balance the release through all sections of the cells.”

  Though there was constant sighing of background sound in the air carriage while it was under power -- air crossing the hull, vagrant vibrations in the structure, the muffled burr of the engines – the interior had the acoustics of a monastery library and Aldo spoke in a conversational tone.

  “How do you know how much vapor to release?” Suzette queried.

  “We have yet to install mechanisms to measure the flow of the vapor exiting the cells, so calculations are necessary to determine this. Luckily, we have Millicent, who has prepared charts based on our current load, ambient temperature, and so forth.” He pointed to a sheaf of papers on a clipboard next to the control board. “We simply cross reference to find a number of seconds of release per one hundred foot of altitude. Likewise, when discharging ballast in order to gain altitude, it is vitally important to do so according to the outlined tank balancing procedure in order to maintain the equilibrium or trim of the
air carriage. Failing to do so might place stresses on the air carriage that exceed design parameters. Now, these switches…”

  Everett listened to the remainder of the lecture with half an ear. Bennett had made it clear that none of the three potential trainees would be permitted to actually steer the air carriage until they understood the entirety of the control mechanisms with absolute and unshakable certainty. However, Everett already knew that, even if he had been truthfully inclined to become a steersman, his remaining time aboard would not be sufficient to reach that level of competence.

  “I understand,” Harold asked, “that the air carriage is steered by throttling the engines?”

  “Yes,” Aldo confirmed, and then walked to a position at the center of the forward console. He placed his hands on two large knobbed levers that extended from slots at the center of a flat wooden panel.

  “These control one engine each by means of a braded steel wire that feeds back through a conduit to the engines. There are return springs on the throttles, so moving a lever back will reduce the speed and consequently the thrust of that engine. You will notice that the engines are slightly off balance now to compensate for a slight crosswind. Such adjustments are constantly necessary to maintain our heading on due west.”

  The technician continued for over an hour, naming all the controls and giving a brief overview of their use and function. Not once did he betray any hint that he was anything less than completely committed to the air carriage and his duties as a steersman.

  By dawn of the next day, the vessel had crossed the gray and black stony prominences of the High Shadowed Hills and entered the easternmost territory of the Kingdom of Alarsaria, a densely forested province with scattered villages.

  Everett rolled out of his bunk when the first weak light of day crept under the compartment door, flipped on the dim battery light, used the built-in basin to wash quickly while Mitchell grumbled and pulled his blanket over his head, and then scurried forward to the control compartment. He remained there for the greater part of the morning with Aldo, who was on shift monitoring the air carriage’s progress, and Bennett, who had interpreted his continual attendance as zealous dedication and had cheerfully assumed the role of instructor.

  He had not spoken to Sarah again. As she moved about the air carriage, she acknowledged his presence, but gave no indication that her ire had eased. His own anger had dissipated somewhat, but he did not feel any desire to make any attempt whatsoever to insinuate himself again into her good graces.

  As noon approached and the air carriage began to pass over agricultural terrain, Aldo had as yet done nothing that might reveal his plan, but whatever the man had in mind must clearly be done soon. Bennett had already informed Everett he would apply a course change at one o’clock to turn slightly to the north. Millicent’s plot would take them across the Alarsarian allied County of Llaele, avoiding the larger cities and towns, and then beyond the border to the state of East Lystra, a member of the Republic. There, Rorche planned to moor in an isolated spot and dispatch an expedition to explore the possibilities for negotiations with Zherian commercial interests.

  Currently drilling him on the battery circuits, Bennett prompted, “And this?”

  “The main starboard ballast pump,” Everett droned.

  “This?”

  “The auxiliary starboard ballast pump.”

  Bennett pointed at a smaller knife switch.

  “The starboard corridor lights.”

  Bennett raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry. Port corridor lights.”

  Suzette entered from the port side, energetic and smiling, carrying a silver tea service on a tray. “We finally managed a fire in the stove using some packing crate lumber and we have tea! Ellen said to tell you that lunch – sandwiches again -- will be ready in a bit.”

  “I’ll take a cup,” Bennett welcomed.

  “Everett?”

  “No, thank you.” He liked tea fine, but preferred the iced variety, which only could be had in winter. Welcoming the break, though, he took a seat on a stool beside the vapor manifold.

  “Aldo?”

  “Sure. Any chance of a teacake?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’ll be glad to go check.” She set the tray on a small shelf next to the vapor controls, carefully filled two steaming cups, and then handed them to the two steersmen. “I’ll be right back.”

  Aldo’s eyes trailed her as she departed and Everett assumed, with a certain amount of condescension, that the steersman’s interest was a simple admiration of the way her trousers fit her backside. Distractedly, the mechanic set his cup on the chart table that Tekle had had made just that morning from a modified packing crate.

  Moving toward the table, Bennett sipped his tea, then took a long draught. “I wonder if they’ll have as good a blend in the Republic?”

  “Once we are settled, you might be able to import some from New Zindersberg. It seems to me that they will stay neutral.”

  Bennett took another sip. “You sound sure that the war will come.”

  “Not sure, no, but I cannot see any hope that the diplomatic conferences will resolve anything.”

  “You’re probably right. I heard a story in a tavern just last week that they spent a full three weeks at the last one just trying to agree on whether the tables should be oriented on a north-south or east-west axis.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Bennett set his cup down and caught the edge of the table. “Huh. Woozy there for a…”

  Then, without further warning, he folded slowly as if his knees had given way and fainted over onto his back.

  Before Everett could do more than be startled, Suzette appeared again from the head of the port corridor. Her expression more one of disappointment than of alarm, she glanced at Aldo’s cup sitting on the chart table, and then shrugged.

  “A pity,” she said tonelessly. “I sort of liked you, Aldo.”

  Everett saw the steersman’s hand flash toward his pistol, but Suzette was almost incredibly faster. Her gun roared, ear-smashingly loud in the confined space with an answering rattle from the clear material of the forward window. The blow of the bullet flung Aldo backwards into the pipes of the ballast manifold only inches from Everett, bright red spewing from a gaping wound in his chest. When the Alarsarian sagged to the floor in a spreading puddle of his own blood, it was clear that he was dead.

  Then Everett heard the unmistakable metallic sound of Suzette’s pistol snapping shut. She had reloaded! Panicked, he dodged toward the starboard corridor. The pistol’s hammer cracked, but there was no discharge. Suzette began cursing. Her weapon had misfired!

  Everett fled. He reached the end of the corridor in seconds and swarmed up the Observation Deck ladder, expecting the hammer blow of a pistol shot to his back, but burst out of the hatch unharmed.

  He ran toward the bow. Maybe he could climb up into the vapor cell webbing?

  Steps heard pounding behind, he took a leap to one of the supporting lanyards and grabbed onto the cable. As he began to haul himself up, hand over hand, he again heard the crack of a pistol hammer but no corresponding bark of fire. Then he reached the bottom webbing and realized that he could only climb outward around the cell envelope. He reached out, upside down, to grab a hold on the netting, then hooked his feet and started to ease outward.

  “Stop, Everett!” Edwin called.

  In consternation, Everett jerked his head around to see the chemist climbing from the hatch to join Suzette. Mitchell, gun drawn, came immediately after.

  “I shot at him twice but both cartridges misfired,” the young woman told the two of them, her former persona of a harmless ingénue replaced by one comfortable with the business of killing. “I think he is using magic.”

  The young woman’s lips curled in disgust as she pronounced the last word.

  Edwin tapped his chin with a finger. “He is a wizard. While I have never read or been notified of the existence of such a spell, I also know of no magical
postulate that could contravene the manifestation of one. Mitchell, you shoot him. That will establish another data point to allow us to build a hypothesis.”

  Everett lunged toward another hold, sure that he was about to die. He did not stop moving when Mitchell’s pistol also clicked and failed to fire. He now dangled twenty feet out from the Observation Deck, nothing below him but empty air and the earth, two thousand feet below.

  Above the wind, Edwin said, “Try the same cartridge off in another direction. Then we will know whether the shell itself has been made faulty.”

  The gun banged, not as loud as the shots fired inside the air carriage, but Everett jumped all the same and then spidered further away from the deck, focusing on the webbing in front of him. The strain of holding nearly all of his weight had begun to make his arms shake and he had to stop to rest, fists clenched on a main cross weave. Belatedly, he remembered his ninth spell and cast it to gain relief.

  “Try this, the both of you,” Edwin suggested as if discussing a recipe for cake. “Aim at his boot, rather than him.”

  Two ineffectual and almost cotemporaneous clicks replied.

  “What if we shoot away the ropes that he is holding?” Suzette pondered.

  “You may try,” Edwin conceded, “as long as you do not puncture a vapor cell. The vapor is highly flammable.”

  “I think it can be done if we climb up to get a good angle,” Mitchell stated matter-of-factly. “His weight distends the webbing downward.”

  Everett, knowing that the three would not stop until he was dead, made a decision.

  He let go.

  EIGHTEEN

  Everett had fallen for only a few seconds when the words of a spell sprang from his lips.

  “Take ye flight!”