Chapter Nine

“Frustration”

1.

EXCERPT 34.

“Beyond the Inner Worlds: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone” (Published July 2011, by Chadwick Press).

Tuesday September 3rd, 1889.

Four days have passed since arriving on Peregrine Station, and I still am no closer to finding the cause of the stabiliser malfunction.

It has taken my host little time to begin stymieing my research. I’m confined to quarters except for necessary things such as to confer with department heads, to eat or bathe, and to meet with van den Bosch himself, which I am required to do before dinner each night. Hell is strictly forbidden, and it is here that the majority of my work is likely to take me. However, Doctor van den Bosch has declared it unsafe, given the presence of the bomber, who has yet to be sighted, much less caught, and because the doctor does not feel it is necessary for me to move about to perform my job. This frustrates me no end. I need to see the machinery, feel it in my hands if possible, and by denying me access he limits my effectiveness. Instead, I receive reports from men who have performed certain inspections in my stead. These men I do not know nor trust. After all, why should I trust the word of a stonemason who has been sent to study physical condition of a solar boiler? I wonder for the thousandth time why there exists this need for so much secrecy. Is the answer so easy, that van den Bosch is a petty tyrant, or it is it something more? Mysteries abound here, and every question that is answered spawns three more of the same.

The one shining light in all of this has been my nocturnal excursions to Holmes’ quarters. My new friends have made these past few days almost bearable. We gather each evening and partake of the finest liquor I have ever drunk (Arnaud would be most proud of me, I suspect), and some of the finest company I have ever experienced. Not since my days at Oxford have I felt such an easy camaraderie! Provost and Fullbright are thick as thieves, and they possess matching razor wits. Holmes is a pure wonder, a bon vivant locked away in this wretched place. I welcome every delightful story, every anecdote, every witticism and grandiose lie he tells. He is wise, and I have not forgotten that it was he who said van den Bosch and his cronies would hinder my work. He has placed himself and our friends in my service, if necessary. I hope it won’t come to that; I’ve no wish to strain their professional relationships with Dr van den Bosch, given the man’s dire reputation. However, if I make no headway in my formal investigations, I will be forced to accept their help for more clandestine inquiries.

Annabelle has been acting strangely. The morning I began to work on the stabiliser problem, she came to me, asking all manner of odd questions. I fear the dark atmosphere might be straining her nerves already. She asked about Gothic romances, a topic in which I confess little interest, such whimsy is more suited to my dear little brother. She nevertheless began to speak as if I had affirmed a deep love for these books, speaking on their conventions as though we were at a sewing circle. Helpless heroines trapped in dark, frightening men with absolute power over the heroine, dark secrets, and haunted houses. Oh, and secret passages within those houses. Yes, that’s what she was on about the most. Ghosts and secret passages.

“Wouldn’t it be grand if this were such a place, with hidden routes all over the station where one could travel top to bottom, with no other soul ever being the wiser?”

Well, of course there is such a way, and when I mentioned this she shrieked with such force Jasperse crashed into my quarters, rifle at the ready, believing we were somehow under attack.

Naturally, this station was constructed by men, and all parts must be accessible by men if maintenance is to be performed. Furthermore, its inhabitants are in need of breathable air, piped from the greenhouses above. So, naturally, Peregrine has air ducts capable of accommodating a man of average or greater size. Whole networks of them, in fact, exist throughout, allowing for the natural circulation of air from the steam turbines. She begged that I show her what I meant, and I produced the station blueprints just for that purpose. She was pleased at this revelation, and I have not seen her since, though I understand she has since begun giving her guard, the dim-witted Loaves, fits, disappearing for long periods of time while under his care, only to reappear later. I pray that whatever she is doing, that she at least be careful. The bomber is, after all, still roaming about, and capable of cold-blooded murder. I pray for her.

I pray for us all, in fact. As I was returning from Holmes’ quarters last night, there came a slight tremor beneath my feet. A few moments later, there came another, only this one was more distinct…our first encounters with the far edge of the aether vortex. The violence done to this structure shall only get worse. Please, God, don’t let my efforts be in vain.

2.

The room shook. The wineglass holding down the blueprint’s upper left corner began to slosh. Nathanial snatched the glass up before its contents could spill, took a sip, and held it until the shaking subsided.

“They’re coming with more frequency, they are,” Jasperse said. The way he said it, he might have been making an off-hand comment on the weather. He sat on Nathanial’s cot, nursing a mug of beer. Nathanial liked having the man in his company. Jasperse had seen a great many things in his life. Not just war, though the man had seen plenty of that, but he had travelled, too. Coming out into the aether was just another journey for him. Something about his demeanour was soothing to Nathanial’s nerves, which would otherwise be increasingly jangled.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better, I’m afraid,” Nathanial replied.

“It always does, but you’ll uncover the problem, soon enough. You’ll see.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Nathanial motioned to the stacks of reports on the floor next to his foot. “Nothing in any of these suggest even a rumour of a problem. Normally, this would be cause for celebration, but we know something is not working.”

Nathanial sipped his wine and tried to relax. If he could relax and clear his mind, perhaps a solution might wander in, as had happened in days past when Grant and he were working on the governor. In those days he would often find shade and sit in the dust, drinking water drawn from an artesian well, so crisp and cold it made his throat ache to swallow it, and he would relax. Staring up at the cloudless, azure skies his mind would drift into unrelated fancies. If nothing else, these daydreams were fine ways to pass afternoons where Cyrus was too moody for close company. Annabelle would return from her daily rambles into the desert or mountains, and they would talk until Cyrus would come upon them and scold Annabelle for taking company with a bachelor without a proper chaperone.

Nathaniel downed the last of his wine and set the glass on the floor. The leather satchel containing his books sat near the door. He reached over and rummaged through the bag. His journal was there, of course, and the copy of Conklin’s Atlas of the Worlds which he had procured before leaving for Venus. But neither of these books had the weight he needed.

“Ha!” he exclaimed and pulled out a thick volume, an overview on the principles of thermodynamics, and used it to hold down the corner of the blueprints instead of the glass. “All of this would be easier if Doctor van den Bosch would give me run of the station,” he said, wiping beer foam from his upper lip.

“Yes, but orders are orders,” Jasperse replied. “And I quite agree with the doctor on this point, I do. One attempt has already been made on your life. If you were to go gallivanting across the station, who knows what might happen? At any rate, Dolan’s incompetence is only likely to embolden our mad bomber in the coming days.”

This wasn’t the first time Jasperse had made disparaging remarks about the Irishman, Jasperse’s superior. “You don’t think highly of Mister Dolan, do you?”

Jasperse snorted. “The Army is full of men like him. They get promoted more for the art of their mouths than for any proper distinction. That boy was in the right place at the right time, and he’ll never let the doctor forget this, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, the accident, of course.”

“Accident? Do you mean—ˮ

“Yes. The one what killed that professor fellow.”

“Wren?”

“That’s his name. The doctor was there that day, and Dolan, too.”

“Extraordinary!”

“Well, you don’t think the doctor got in the shape he’s in now by being mauled by Bengal tigers, do you?”

“He was burned?”

“No, I should think it’s something more than that. They say that Wren fellow was set aflame and died of his injuries, but the doctor…he was hurt by something else.”

“Like what?”

Jasperse scratched at a peppery muttonchop. “Something Wren was working on, or so goes the scuttlebutt. The man had some peculiar ideas about the aether. Anyway, old Dolan was right outside the room, grouting that fountain of his, when he heard the commotion. Pulled the doctor out of there before the old man could be consumed, he did. And there hasn’t been a day pass since that he hasn’t reminded everyone of his heroics. It got him his promotion, and he’s done little since because of it except strut about. Peacocks like Dolan get honest men killed.”

“I should like to see this experiment Professor Wren was working on,” Nathanial said. “Once we’ve escaped our current predicament, of course.”

“Little chance of that, I’m afraid,” Jasperse said, shaking his head. “After the accident, they shut the place up tight, with all of Wren’s notes and God only knows what else. Makes one wonder, why build such a lab for the professor. No call for it, really. This station isn’t rated for research of any kind, and it was a waste of resources when everyone knows we’re woefully over budget. Mister Hague, now there’s a small tyrant, has reminded us of that on more than one occasion.” The old guard wagged a finger. “You mark my words, Mister Stone, there’s more going on here than just a heliograph station.”

“Glad to hear you say it, Jasperse. It’s been on my mind lately.” Yes, indeed. He recalled what van den Bosch had told Annabelle over dinner that first night, about the lights once being dim because the energy was being directed elsewhere. But to where? Wren’s lab? It agitated his curiosity just to think of it.

Jasperse, as if sensing Nathanial’s growing pique, continued with his theories. “Oh, there is something going on. Peregrine’s the third station built, and with Venus screaming for theirs. Why build it here? And why all the hush-hush?”

“And the ostentation. What do they hope to gain from making the station so ornate?”

“A museum, is my guess.”

“A museum? That makes sense.”

“Indeed. I’ve heard it said more than once. Mister Salt is constantly on about posterity. The doctor, he sees a time when travel in the aether will be as commonplace as a fellow taking a locomotive or dirigible from London to Brixton. People will come by the dozens to see a magnificent museum, floating freely in space. A hundred years from now, they’ll come by the thousands.” He made a dismissive noise. “It’s all vanity, I say, and vanity devours men like jackals.”

“One could say it certainly devoured Professor Wren.”

“And nearly the doctor himself.”

“Perhaps I’ll mention this to Doctor van den Bosch when I see him. Do you think he would appreciate the observations of a mere guard and an enslaved scientist?”

Jasperse chuckled. “Is it almost that time again?”

“Soon enough, Mister Hague will come by and collect me. Last night, Doctor van den Bosch yelled at me, calling me an incompetent. I wonder what we’ll talk about tonight. Perhaps he’ll accuse me of espionage.” Nathanial toyed with his whiskers. “Jasperse, if I did want to enter Professor Wren’s old laboratory, how would I get inside?”

The old soldier shrugged. “Easy enough, I would imagine. No one ever guards it, but it’s locked. You’d need a set of keys.”

“And these keys; they wouldn’t just be lying about somewhere that any old chap could pinch them, eh?”

“The doctor’s private study is where you’ll find those.”

“But if it was unlocked for some reason?”

“Then a chap could waltz right in, pretty as you please.”

“And you would stop me if I were to go waltzing one night?” Nathanial gave Jasperse a careful look to say he was serious.

“I wouldn’t be averse to helping you answer a nagging question or two, if that’s what you mean, sir.”

Nathanial smiled. “You’re a good man, Jasperse.”

“I try to be, sir.”