Chapter Two

“Nature Vs Man-Made”

1.

THE MORNINGS ON board the flyer were often bizarre for Nathanial; the lack of both sunrise and sunset while travelling the aether sometimes upset his sleep pattern. Although Nathanial’s sleep had been disturbed by Arnaud’s thrashing, something else was niggling away at his mind, keeping him from sleep.

The Frenchman lay splayed out in an uncomfortable looking position on the cot while Nathanial dressed.

“Did you sleep well, or is that a question that you may find too intrusive?” Nathanial asked before turning away to continue readying himself for the day.

Arnaud yawned rather inelegantly and rubbed his face before talking. “It is no secret that sharing such a small cot between us is far from ideal. Were you expecting it to be cosy?” Arnaud asked, waggling an eyebrow.

Nathanial felt his cheeks flush. “Arnaud, can you cease the jesting for just a moment? You were clearly in distress while you slept last night, and I am merely expressing a little bit of concern.”

Arnaud frowned and heaved himself into a sitting position. “Well perhaps your concern is not required at the moment, mon cher.”

Frustration continued to grow. “You think calling my name in your sleep is nothing of concern?”

Arnaud froze and cleared his throat (rather melodramatically, Nathanial thought). He rose from the cot and floated over to one of the equipment cabinets. “What did I say exactly?”

Nathanial sighed exasperatedly while pulling on his frock coat. “Just my name, I suppose, and also something like mina or minor.”

Arnaud raised an eyebrow. “And these words I spoke were sufficient evidence for you to be concerned?”

“You sounded distressed enough!”

“I don’t remember you being a part of it, but I did have a bad dream. It happens sometimes. I assure you, I am fine.” Arnaud gave his trademark smirk.

Nathanial put on his metal slippers and decided he had had enough. “Very well. I am just popping out to get some fresh air.”

“Where will you go to get this air, Nathanial?”

“The green house will suffice.”

Nathanial plodded his way out of the lab, already feeling his frustration at Arnaud fading rapidly. No doubt they would be at perfect peace later, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the bloody Frenchman would be the end of him!

2.

ANNABELLE SAT STARING out of the window of her cabin, lost in daydreams. Her mind wandered aboard Sovereign, imagining seeing her beloved George in action, seeing his face again. He stood at the helm; passing out orders, then turned away from his duties to look at her, holding out his hand. As their hands merged, a rapping noise came at the door, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Come in,” she called out to the intruder.

The door opened and Arnaud slipped in. “Bonjour, Annabelle,” he said jovially.

“Hello, Arnaud,” she replied with a forced smile. “Is there something the matter?”

“I was looking for a distraction from certain…ah…problems. I thought we could partake in some zero-gravity dancing?”

Annabelle took a moment before answering. Perhaps that was just what she needed at the moment. “I would love to join you.”

Arnaud smiled, and led the way out of her room. Annabelle stood up from her bedside and followed him out, down the gangway, and into the common room. She took a seat and watched as Arnaud wandered over to the device on the cabinet. The device, which he had referred to as a phonograph, began to play music.

Arnaud walked over to her side, offering his hand with a bow. Annabelle smiled and placed her right hand in his. With a gentle pull, he lifted her from her seat and into a standing position.

“Are you ready, ma chère?”

Annabelle nodded to him, trying to think exactly how she would do the steps of the dance; having one leg made it more challenging, but she could not wait to have a release from her cumbersome mechanical addition.

Arnaud placed his right hand on the small of her back, his left grasping her right gently in his. She rested her left hand on top of his shoulder. They stood balanced for a moment as they rose off the floor. “To warm up, a waltz.”

He counted them in with a one two three, and they were off! A grin swept across Annabelle’s face, her troubles forgotten for the first time in many months. She followed his lead, waltzing in their invisible box. Arnaud was a more than ample teacher: he was commanding but gentle, graceful and empowered all at the same time. Even with her happier thoughts, there was one that clung to her mind.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” she said. “Having one leg for the rest of my life. It is a most unnatural burden.”

“You are doing a remarkable job, ma chère. I have never met someone with as much fire in their heart as you.” Arnaud smiled warmly at Annabelle, then added; “I believe that you wear it well. Burden or not.”

“Be that as it may, my dear Arnaud, I can’t help but feel there is a great deal that I will never be able to fully appreciate anymore. I cannot pretend that it does not affect me.”

Arnaud studied her for a moment in silence. He looked as if he had no words left to comfort her. His face suddenly lit up. “I have an idea!”

Annabelle looked enquiringly at him but he merely smiled mischievously in response. He took her hand and guided her through the air, out of the common room, onto the observation walkway.

“No matter what happens to us, Annabelle, we can always find a positive light for it. You may have but one leg now, but that does not stop you from living a most fulfilling life. Look at this sight.” He waved his arm across the lengthy window. “We are here, among the stars. It is a most captivating thing. How many can say they have seen the things we have seen, done the things we have done?”

“I understand what you mean. That we can be here, looking out at all of this and visiting all of these places, is truly remarkable,” Annabelle said. “I sometimes think we ought not to be up here.”

Arnaud regarded her thoughtfully. “I could not agree more. All of these things… Ils sont incroyable; they are wonders usually reserved for dreams.”

The two looked out of the window, hovering weightlessly. Arnaud turned from the window to Annabelle. “You are a proficient waltzer, non? I feel it is time I taught you something new. Something différent.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“It is called the Minuet. It has always held a special place dans mon cœur, something taught to me as a young boy. An old dance, but there is something to be said for traditions, at least at times”

“Fair enough.” She grinned.

Arnaud smiled back, and started to teach her the movements needed for the dance. Annabelle imagined that she was dancing with Bedford at their wedding: the thought exhilarated her, making her more determined to learn the dance than ever before. As Arnaud said, there was something to be said for traditions. George would no doubt agree. The Navy had its share, after all. As did weddings.

“Thank you, my dear Arnaud.” For some reason, she could barely speak. The two of them twirled there in the starlight to the scratchy music of the phonograph, a million miles from where the song was first played. And yet, for all the distance from home and love, for the first time in far too long she felt that things were somehow just as they should be.

3.

ARNAUD HELD A plant in the palm of his left hand, the roots draped in between his fingers. He lifted it up to the light, studying its roots. They looked normal to him, but he knew how looks could be deceiving.

While Arnaud was deep in thought, Nathanial entered the lab, holding a plate of sandwiches. The two shared a look.

“I brought you some lunch,” Nathanial said. “A peace offering if you will.”

“Mon ami, there was no need.”

“This morning…”

“It was nothing, we should leave it in the past and carry on with the present.”

“Yes, the past should stay as such.” Nathanial smiled bitterly.

Arnaud pretended to ignore it and indicated the sandwiches. “So, shall we eat?”

Nathanial crossed the room and took the chair next to Arnaud, placing the plate in front of them. “Bon appetit!”

“Très bien, Nathanial,” Arnaud said. “You are learning well.”

“I have the best teacher.”

4.

FOLKARD FELT HIS eyes droop as he sat at the controls. Nathanial had been kind enough to relieve him a few hours prior and although he appreciated it, the several hours of sleep that he managed to catch seemed to have had little impact on his fatigue.

No matter, a man of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy had to be of strong spirit, and besides he had served longer periods of duty without sleep in the past. Perhaps it was the lack of anything to do. On board Sovereign there were always duties to keep a captain busy; on Esmeralda he was little more than a glorified pilot while the boat sailed the luminiferous aether.

Folkard enjoyed spending time with Annabelle; however that time often came in short intervals when she was not shut in her cabin, as she had been for most of the journey from Earth. Perhaps she and the professor had a bit of a do again? Speaking of Stone, he saw very little of him or Doctor Fontaine, save for when it was Stone’s shift at the controls. He had not seen Fenn once since leaving Earth; though he had heard plenty of his barking through the speaking tube.

“Reporting for duty, Captain.”

Folkard craned his head around and smiled when he saw Annabelle. “Ah, Miss Annabelle, feeling a tad sprightlier now, are we?” he asked as he unbuckled himself from his chair.

“As are you.”

Folkard realised that his eagerness to leave the control room may have become a little more evident than he had intended. “Ah well, you know one needs to keep his senses sharpened when at the helm of any vessel.”

Annabelle’s brow creased slightly. “You know, Captain, sometimes I think you love serving the Royal Navy a bit too much,” she said.

Folkard smiled, double checking that everything was in place and fit for Miss Annabelle before leaving her. Annabelle as usual insisted not to be fussed over and reassured Folkard of her ability to pilot an aether flyer.

Even in an environment devoid of gravity he swore he could feel fatigue literally pulling down on him. He twisted the ornate handle of his quarters and pushed into the room, closing the door behind him while simultaneously yanking of his cravat. His boots were quickly discarded underneath his cot and he prepared himself for sleep, seemingly growing more tired each second.

The creaking and groaning of flyer constantly adapting to the relentless vacuum of space soothed Folkard in a strange way as he began to take slow and deep breaths; something he often did to relax himself before sleep. His father has told him the value of breathing exercises, especially for someone in the military.

Folkard smiled as he sank down into his bedding. It felt almost like a luxury to rest in such peace.

He could smell a pleasant fragrance creeping up his nostrils that was both floral and sweet. This coupled with the light breeze that passed softly over his face could not have been better.

Breeze?

He opened his eyes and was taken aback by the sweeping bed of flowers and the mountains that carved shapes in the horizon far away. There was a large willow tree barely a few metres from where he was sitting that sheltered him and…

“Did you want another scone, Jacob?” The soft voice that spoke was in perfect equilibrium with the tranquil surroundings.

Folkard looked around and smiled as the large willow, a cottonwood if he wasn’t mistaken, cast playful rays of sunshine that danced on the woman’s face.

Charlotte bore a sweet smile, and her eyes narrowed while they set on Folkard. He returned a smile with as much, if not more, sweetness and politely helped himself to a scone from the silver stand on which they stood.

“It really is beautiful here, Jacob,” she said.

“Yes, it really is. Actually why did we leave before?”

A flash of blue shot past in Folkard’s periphery suddenly. He turned to see what it was.

It was a ribbon, trailing through the air, tied round the waist of a young girl. Her laughing drifted over as she skipped through the knee-high ocean of flora.

Folkard stood up so quickly that he knocked over the cast iron chair that he hadn’t even realised he was sitting on. The girl looked to be around the age of eight or nine, but making a better estimate was impossible as her face was not visible, only the back of her head, covered in long, curly hair of a deep brown hue.

He did not know why, but he began to run, only just catching Charlotte’s last comment before exiting earshot. “I shall see you soon, Jacob.”

The girl was almost upon a small cluster of trees, tall and slender pines, as Folkard bolted through the expanse of flowers, not caring for the destruction of them. He felt his heart-rate increase, the pounding causing his chest to pulsate with pain. Was his age really catching up with him? The girl vanished into the forest when he was within metres of her. He carried on running.

He burst through foliage and into the maze of trees. He heard a giggle and his eyes darted around manically, looking for the girl. He needed to find her; he needed to make sure she was all right.

There she was! The girl was peeking out from behind a tree trunk to the right of Folkard. He rushed over when the girl withdrew back behind it.

He searched behind the tree, but she was gone. There was the giggling again, this time from behind him. He spun around and saw the girl running in between trees and branches, as if she was playing a game and still Folkard could not make out her face.

“Wait! Come back!”

He began running again and the girl shrieked playfully and tried to evade the man running toward her, but Folkard was in no playing mood. She continued to prance around, and into thicker foliage where Folkard struggled to follow.

The laughing of the girl became louder and more intense and seemed to come from all sides. Folkard was losing his wits.

She was to his left, no his right, or was she behind him?

Folkard felt beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and he thrust an arm out and grabbed the girl by the arm while she danced past him.

The girl screamed. A loud thudding…

Folkard sat straight up in his cot, the pounding coming from the door. He was shaken and he wore a cold sweat. “Yes, who’s there?” he called out.

“Sir, sorry to wake you,” came the voice of Fenn from the other side of the door. “But did you find anything odd with the controls earlier? I did ask Miss Somerset but she said you didn’t mention anything.”

Folkard cleared his throat. “No. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Fenn, is it really necessary to wake me in such a manner?”

“Apologies, Captain, I was just experiencing a few irregularities in the engine room and wanted to check everything was in order. I must get back to it now, sir. Sorry again for the disturbance.” Fenn’s voice trailed off in his rush back to the engine room.

“That bloody lad,” Folkard said shakily under his breath.

He began to lower his head to his pillow when his eyes locked on to something. The ornate storage chest in the corner. He unbuckled himself from the cot and, using his right leg against the wall, pushed with just enough force to propel him gently across the room.

He opened the chest and began to rifle through his collection of books. Surely a book would take is mind off things.

He pulled one out. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. For a moment he stood there, just looking at the cover showing Alice in her blue petticoat. A flash of the girl from his dream rushed by and he shuddered.

Deciding that reading was not such a brilliant idea after all, he returned the book to the chest and returned to his cot. As he set his head back down on the pillow he closed his eyes, still haunted by the vision of the girl running from tree to tree.

5.

NATHANIAL LOOKED AROUND the dark room, trying to remember how he had got there. There was nothing in his immediate sight to help him figure out where he was and his memory was foggy, unresponsive. All was silent. It was as if the ship itself did not dare make a sound for fear of disturbing something. He found himself stealing his breathing, worried his breath might attract unwanted attention. He walked forward, each footstep echoing loudly around the room. A muffled sobbing came from the room adjacent to his; Nathanial thought to call out to the intrusive noise, but his instincts told him otherwise.

He walked through the doorway and in to the new room, the volume of the sobbing increasing as he closed in on its source. The room he had entered was dimly lit; a solitary candle the only source of light. It smelled musky, the kind of aroma only a room left alone for years could create. He ran his forefinger over the table by his side, dust creating a film of dirt on his finger. Disgusted, he rubbed it off on his trousers, looking around the room as he did so. There was an air of familiarity about the place, something he could not quite put his finger on.

His eyes adjusted to darkness, finding the origin of the sobbing; a man Nathanial had never met. He had his back to Nathanial, his shoulders hunched over the light. He did nothing to acknowledge Nathanial’s presence in the room. Nathanial watched him for a moment in silence as he considered his next move.

“Sir? Hello. I am Professor Nathanial Stone. What ails you so? Where the dickens am I, and come to that, how the deuce did I get here?” He looked back at the door, closed now. He frowned. “I was on board my aether flyer one moment, the next I am here, wherever here is. What is going on?”

The words had no effect, leaving Nathanial trying to think what to do. He repeated the questions several times and lost his patience. Quite forgetting himself, he made to shake the other man to his senses. However as he grabbed at the stranger, Nathanial fell through him and on to the floor.

He looked back at the man who now sat above him. He was staring at himself.

The other Nathanial’s eyes were wrinkled, with a sadness carved deep into them. His body frail, barely an echo. Still he ignored Nathanial, the sobbing unrelenting.

Nathanial got back on his feet and dusted himself down. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but could not. He knew it was pointless to attempt to hail the other him, so instead he searched for something else. Looking around he noticed another door to the right, and proceeded through it. What greeted him on the other side was a mist so thick he had trouble finding his footing. Something contrived to trip him up, knocking him out in an instant.

He did not know how long he had been unconscious, but when he awoke he knew something was amiss. Where he had previously been on cold, hard floor, now he found himself on wet grass, rain falling heavily upon him.

Giant oak trees cast spidery shadows across the ground, slivers of moonlight finding their way through the gaps in the branches. The whole area was surrounded by wrought iron fencing, rusted and topped off by spiked shapes.

It took him a bit longer to notice that every few metres there were rows upon rows of tomb-stones; a cemetery.

He got to his feet and peered through the dense mist. He walked over to a decrepit, mossy tombstone and wiped away most of the dirt with his sleeve. He stood there, frozen to his core, and read the words over and over again.

Here lies

Nathanial Ronald Stone

Born to this world on the First day of April,

In the year of Our Lord 1863

And taken on the Twenty-Eighth day of September,

In the year of Our Lord 1899

“Bread of deceit is sweet to a man;

But afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.”

“Wake up, Nathanial. Wake up! Nathanial, wake up!”

With a sharp sting he jolted awake on his bed. Arnaud was standing over him, his right hand hovering over Nathanial’s face. His cheek stung.

“Desole, mon ami, I was afraid. I could not wake you, no matter how I tried. You were shouting in your sleep.”

Nathanial looked at the distressed Arnaud and smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said, simply, rubbing his sore cheek. His mind was in a fugue, but he dimly recalled the details of his dream. The words on the gravestone would be seared into his mind for some time.

Arnaud looked at Nathanial carefully. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough. I think.” His throat was parched.

“We should talk about your dream. It could have not been pleasant to have caused such a reaction.”

“Like you talked about your dream?” Nathanial snapped.

Arnaud shrank back. “My apologies.”

“No, I am sorry, Arnaud,” Nathanial said, his tone gentler, although in his mind he felt anything but. “Each man, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.” He shook his head. “I would rather just take a drink of water and return to sleep.”

Arnaud looked as if he wanted to argue, but Nathanial gave a look that stopped him. Nathanial rose and walked off to get water. Returning to the cot he found Arnaud was already asleep. Nathanial looked down at him, a smile creeping across his face.

He climbed back into the cot, this time lying in the same direction as Arnaud, but before he could reconsider his actions the comforting arms of the other man embraced him. Nathanial settled his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.