Chapter Seventeen

“Into the Depths of Hell!”

1.

Hell was blood red and choked with steam. At every turn a shadow moved, as though it were some murderer, ready to spring from the dark and claim a new victim with the flash of a knife’s blade. Moreover, most of the main floor, which was actually three split levels, was all twisting pipes and rumbling machinery. It wasn’t until one emerged into the docking bay where decent lighting or air that wasn’t thick as cotton could be had.

“I say, Stone,” said Provost, who jumped at every disturbance. “I don’t see the logic in all of this. Why bring me along at all?”

“Steady on, Provost,” Nathanial said. Already his head pounded with the tension he felt. Heaven was in an uproar. News of the attack had swept like wildfire among the crew. Security was now guarding the armoury, sickbay, and both Observation Decks. The men wanted answers, or they wanted weapons to protect themselves. Dolan had been removed from his command, and he was nowhere to be found. When Nathanial had questioned Salt, whom he found walking the halls as if in a daze, the man had replied that Hague was now in complete control of all operations, including security.

“Have we any idea in hell where this bloody thing might be?” Provost asked. “Assuming it exists, of course, which I am certain it does not.”

Nathanial ignored him. Let him whine, he thought. Fullbright would be busy in Operations, Holmes was trying to save van den Bosch’s life, and Nathanial needed people he could trust to help him find Le Boeuf. That left only Jasperse, Annabelle, and Provost, and Nathanial could not find Annabelle, either.

A groan passed through the hull, reverberating throughout the station’s iron skeleton. Another warning from the aether vortex.

To answer Provost’s question, one had only to pay attention to the rumours. Professor Wren’s ghost had been seen near a number of airlocks. The most recent sighting had actually been in Heaven, near the airlock by the kitchen, the one used to dispose of refuse. Nathanial could not tell if these sightings were random, or if they were part of some larger message. He could only take the data he had and apply it critically. Sightings of Professor Wren were most recently near airlocks, and so he would check each of the seven in Hell, starting with the one nearest engineering.

The hull groaned again.

“Come on, dear,” Jasperse said, patting a nearby wall. The armoury’s closure had lost him a new carbine, but Jasperse had improvised. Now armed with a pry-bar, a claw hammer, and a knife, he was as prepared as he could be. “Just give us a moment to do our work, and we’ll have you fixed in no time.”

“Don’t make promises we cannot keep, Jasperse,” Provost said.

“I’ve my faith in Professor Stone, here. He’ll see us through.”

“Thank you, Jasperse,” Nathanial said. “We should be passing under Austrian momentarily, gentlemen. That’s where we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

“Good, then,” Jasperse said. “I must say, the heat here reminds me of—ˮ

“Bloody hell!”

Nathanial leapt a foot in the air as Provost cried out in horror. A shower of ice poured down his spine. “What is it, man?” Nathanial hissed. “I nearly caught my death!”

“I saw something!” Provost said. Nathanial found the man in the gloom and searched out his face. Provost was pale, bloodless, like he had seen a ghost.

“How did you see anything in all this steam?” Jasperse asked.

Provost pointed to his right. “I saw him as clear as day. He’s headed toward British. What’s more, Stone, I believe it was that man Miss Somerset was on about.”

Nathanial jerked his head in the direction Provost was pointing. “The bomber?” he asked.

“The same. Short, sandy-haired fellow. He was running like the Devil was chasing him!”

“Running? Why?”

There came a grumbling overhead. The air itself seemed to shimmer as the entire station shook, and then a groan as if the hull itself was being torn asunder.

“That wasn’t the vortex,” Jasperse said.

“It sounded more like an explosion,” Nathanial replied.

“Good Lord,” Provost whispered.

Nathanial grabbed Provost without thinking and twisted him toward the direction the botanist had been pointing a moment earlier.

“Wait! What are you doing?” Provost cried.

“After that man!” Nathanial shouted. “We can’t let him escape a third time!”