Chapter Four

“A Strange Visitor”

1.

“Well, what could I do, after all?” Nathanial said some time later.

He was fresh from his bath, his hair still damp and stuck to his scalp. A fresh toilet kit had been made available, with a razor so sharp it had glided across his cheeks and left them as smooth as they had been since he was twelve. The whiskers he had kept to counteract his youthful face. A blue coverall like the ones worn by all the men had been given him, and he luxuriated in being clean for the first time in weeks. A certain euphoria had swept over him, in fact, the moment he first lowered himself into one of the great, brass tubs in the common bathhouse. Nearly all systems were powered by steam, from the lights to the operational shutters on the heliograph mirror itself, or so he had been told in his brief introduction to the place, called Peregrine Station in some reference to the Egyptian god, Horus. Hot water could be had at the mere opening of a spigot, and in whatever quantities Nathanial desired.

Annabelle, also freshly bathed, dressed behind a screen. Her room was Spartan, but clean. In fact, everything he had seen of the station had reflected a fastidious ethic. Even the workers, who went about in pristine coveralls and shiny black boots, seemed perpetually clean, quite unlike Boswell’s team of engineers on Sovereign. Additionally, there had been no catcalls, jokes, or otherwise indecent talk or action from the men when guards had brought Annabelle up from the docking bay. That, too, was something seldom seen. It was as if van den Bosch had found some alchemical equation for cheerfulness and efficiency and had applied it to his crew. Her Majesty’s Royal Navy should be so disciplined, Nathanial thought, thinking once more of the engine crew of Sovereign.

“Your heroism certainly has its limits, Nathanial,” Annabelle said. Hands came up to drape the towel that had been around her head over the side of the screen. “However, there is heroism, and then there is foolishness. Only a fool would have continued to argue with the man once it was clear you were beaten.”

Nathanial felt a flash of annoyance. Annabelle, in her own way, was complimenting him, but as often happened her coarse manner brought the compliment about in the form of a verbal backhand. She came from around the screen, and he helped hook her into her dress without comment.

“Thank you,” she said, then added coyly, “You’ll make some woman a fine husband someday.”

Nathanial said nothing. The less this subject was broached, the better. There had been many long hours on the flyer from Mercury for him to think on certain…occurrences there, and he was still unsure how to consider them. Certainly, these new feelings stemmed from the character flaws which had plagued him since boyhood, and he needed time to sort them out. Peregrine Station, however, was certainly not the place for that. A nice villa on Mars, with a sirocco blowing sands across the desert and a cool glass of wine in hand, and then he could put such fancies to the test. Until then, he had to keep his wits about him.

Annabelle went to her steamer chest and removed the pocket watch Nathaniel had seen her carry on occasion. She wound it, and with a clever movement of her hands, made it disappear somewhere Nathanial could not see.

“Well,” she said at last, “at least you didn’t get us tossed out with the refuse.”

“The night is young,” he replied.

“When do you start your work?” she asked.

“As soon as possible. According to Doctor van den Bosch, we’ve only a few days before the station will start to slide into the vortex. If I haven’t arrived at a solution by then, he will call for a general evacuation.”

“And what shall I do in the meantime?”

Nathanial smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find some terrible secret to become embroiled in.”

Annabelle laughed that tinkling, elfin laugh of hers. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

“You could work with me.”

“Perish the thought! I should turn this hovel into a bordello and offer my services to the lonely men of Peregrine Station, first.”

“Annabelle! Good God!”

“Oh, Nathanial. Surely you know me better than that.”

“Yes, I do, but I should warn you, the men here are not used to your…ways. Talk like that is apt to breed distraction, and would no doubt make an enemy of our host.”

“To Hell with Henry van den Bosch. I’m not at his service, like you are. And anyway, disrupting men is something of a specialty of mine.”

There came the clacking noise as the door’s mechanism was employed. The panel slid aside, but no one stood in the doorway. Nathanial and Annabelle exchanged glances. They were supposed to be under guard, and had been ordered not to leave their quarters under any circumstances until they were summoned to dinner. Nathanial’s first instinct was to wonder if this was a test of their obedience. Annabelle poked her head out of the door, looking left, then right. She turned and spread her hands in confusion.

“No one there, including our guard,” she said.

“Strange.”

Nathanial was about to suggest they close the door when a strange figure dropped from above the doorframe and landed in a crouch behind Annabelle. An inarticulate shout of dismay leapt from Nathanial, and Annabelle was turning to see what had upset him when he snatched her by the arm and jerked her to his side.

What stood before them looked like a man, but it was dressed in rags. Its skin was white like bleached bone, its eyes bugged and wild, rolling around as if of their own accord, and his teeth were an ugly, yellowish tint. The face was hairless, and the scars of what appeared to be burns on his face and neck were evident.

The thing smiled at them, and Nathanial could not suppress a shiver. It looked squarely at him.

“Well, hello,” Annabelle said, being the first to recover. “And who might you be?”

The creature responded by doing a jack-legged dance, skinny arms and legs flopping as it lurched to some unheard, chaotic tune.

And just like that, it was gone, scampering away in the gloom of the corridor. The panel then slid back into place, and the clacking noise resounded again.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Nathanial asked.

Just then, the clacking noise repeated itself. The panel slid aside, and the hulking figure of Loaves, Annabelle’s guard, stood before them.

“’Ello,” he said. “Are you two fine folks ready for supper, then?”

“We are, at that, Loaves,” Nathanial said. “Thank you.”

“If you’ll follow me, then, we’ll get you set up nice and proper.”

2.

Nathanial and Annabelle followed Loaves down the passage. Though everything was thrown into wavering shadows, Nathanial could see the corridor was done up in an elegant, intricate design. The walls and ceiling were monuments to mankind’s abiding love of art, from African and South American cave paintings to replicas from the Sistine Chapel and others. The centre of mid-decks was done up in the style of a Gothic basilica, St. Vitale’s in fact, with the domed rotunda in the middle a near-replica of St. Vitale’s chapel, complete with stained glass ceilings and windows, back-lit so each panel could be seen.

“How are you enjoyin’ your stay so far, miss?” Loaves asked Annabelle.

“It’s certainly interesting,” she replied, cutting eyes toward Nathanial, who shook his head. Annabelle ignored him and pressed on. “So, who was the little fellow before you arrived?”

“Li’l fellow, miss? I’m ’fraid I’m at a loss.”

“The tatterdemalion sort who was dancing at our door. He looked a nightmare. Surely you saw him.”

“No, miss, I did not.”

“Why weren’t you at guard?”

“I went to fetch a candelabra, but Griggs the quartermaster tol’ me there was none. Was hopin’ to give you a little light to see by. It’s a bit disconcertin’, all the shadows, until you get used to it.”

“We appreciate your efforts, Loaves,” Nathanial broke in. “Sorry to bother you with it.” Annabelle looked daggers at him. She might want some sort of controversy, but Nathanial did not. He had more than enough to worry about, just then. The fate of an entire heliograph station was suddenly in his hands.

“Coincidentally, I know who that chap was.”

“Who?” Annabelle asked-shouted, before Nathanial could speak.

“That would be Professor Thaddeus Wren, miss.”

Another glance was exchanged. “But I thought Professor Wren had passed away recently.”

“Oh, ’e ’as. That’s ’is ghost what you saw. Been hauntin’ the place all merry like since the fire.”

Oh, that’s superb. More ghosts, Nathanial thought, just what we all need.