Chapter Three

“Something Isn’t Right Here.”

1.

ANNABELLE WOKE UP, her breathing laboured. Another night, another dream. She was becoming most weary of them. Sleep was now her least favourite activity on the flyer. Spending time in the company of others recently had not been a priority of hers, but some duties had to be attended. Nathanial was too busy with his lab to notice, the others with their own thoughts. Today, she decided, she would keep to herself.

She tried to remember the latest part of the “story” that had been steadily unfolding in her dreams, but it was like trying to catch a snake in tall grass, and after a while of attempting, she forfeited. There would always be tonight’s dream.

A glance at her pocket-watch told her it was about time to get up and breakfast.

The common room was, thankfully, empty. She pottered around preparing food and, once finished, made her way back to her cabin. Before entering, she took a quick glance up and down the gangway. She heard Nathanial and Arnaud deep in conversation in their lab; they had grown most comfortable with each other. Glad that they were otherwise occupied, she re-entered her cabin.

She sat at her desk, eating her pork loaf. It was nothing special but it would suffice. Annabelle was not one to do nothing for more than a few minutes, but since they had left Earth, she had the unusual feeling of being devoid of mental and physical energy. Everything was sapping. She tried to shake the muggy feeling that was afflicting her brain.

A giggle resonated around her room, as if it was trying to push its way into her mind. “What…?”

She looked around her cabin, but there was no-one there. The giggle had the high-pitched, playful sound of a young child. It came and went in seconds, not betraying its source at any time.

Annabelle stood up from her desk, to better see from where it came. She searched all over her cabin, but found nothing. She listened intently, hoping that she could locate the little giggler, however the giggling changed into frightened fits of sobbing.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

No answer.

As if lightning had struck her, she jolted up and across the room, and flung open her cabin door. The child had to be outside! There was nothing there to greet her. The usual hum of the flyer; a rhythmic clanking from the engine room; the low noises of the two in the lab, yes, but no actual person. Even the sound of giggling had gone.

She travelled up and down the gangway, but there was no sign of a child. She shook her head, hoping to rid herself of whatever was playing tricks on her mind, and re-entered her cabin.

Inside she made one final sweep to make sure there was nothing there. There wasn’t. Maybe sleep would cure whatever had been ailing her? She undressed and climbed under her covers, pulling the netting over herself. Lying down seemed to empty her head, and sleep soon followed.

2.

NATHANIAL AND ARNAUD sat comfortably close to each other at the table. Some of their notepads pinned down with magnets, others hovered in the air. “How is your food?” Nathanial enquired while pulling one of the notepads from above him down to the table.

“It is most delectable, for flyer food,” Arnaud said, winking. “There is something different in the taste of chicken stew from a tin, oui?”

“Well if you will take that attitude, I shall not make food for you again, my friend.” Nathanial stood up from the table, and took steps away from it, in mock affront. He turned back to Arnaud leaving a lingering gaze on him, watching the Frenchman’s reaction amusedly.

“I meant no offence, as I am certain you know.” Arnaud stood up, touching Nathanial’s shoulder delicately. “I will say just this, when we are back on terra firma I will show you the culinary skill for which we French are known.” He kissed his fingers. “There are no words to describe the perfection. It would be a disservice to even attempt to.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the familiar sound of magnetic shoes clicking on the metal grating outside the room.

“Is there something amusing, boys?” Annabelle asked as she entered.

“We were just sharing our appreciation of the wonderful food we are subjected to,” Arnaud replied. “It is most delectable, non?”

“Quite,” Annabelle said, carrying on their playful manner. “I would not change it for anything in the aether. Earth food on the other hand…” She mimed being sick.

They all looked at one another, trying not to laugh, but the temptation was too much. When they had managed to stem their laughter, Annabelle excused herself to make some food. Nathanial sat back down at the table, gesturing Arnaud to join him. They carried on with their work, sidling closer together. When Annabelle returned to the table, she gave the two an inquisitive look as they quickly edged away from each other.

“I do believe this is the first time the three of us have been together since we left Earth,” she said.

Nathanial and Arnaud looked at each other. “Well I never,” Nathanial responded, shocked. “I am sorry, my dear Annabelle. How are you? I have been so caught up in the lab with Arnaud, I have been unintentionally negligent of you.” Although he had enjoyed spending time with Arnaud, he realised he had not properly seen Annabelle since the night with Folkard in the control deck. Even then, he had not been as good a friend as he should have been. How woefully remiss of him, he thought, shaking his head.

Annabelle smiled at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nathanial. We have all had our minds on other things. In fact…” She stopped. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“Come now, Annabelle, whatever is the matter?” Nathanial asked. “Your face is a paler shade of white, something is clearly bothering you. Spit it out.”

She hesitated a moment longer before finally speaking. “On the topic of things on our minds, did anyone, perchance, hear a girl laughing or crying last night?”

“A girl? We did not hear anything of the sort. What a most peculiar thing to hear.” Nathanial thought about the last week. “There does seem to be something most odd occurring at the moment, however.”

“Odd?” Annabelle stole closer to the two men.

“Both Arnaud and I have been having a series of dreams. Continuous dreams, running consecutively night after night. It is highly uncommon for such a thing, but it is not completely unheard of.”

Annabelle’s face dropped in shock. “You have had them, too?”

“Too?” Arnaud responded.

“Yes,” Annabelle said darkly. “They are horrible, truly.”

The three looked at each another, unsure of what to say. A dark shadow fell across their faces. Arnaud was the first to speak. “This can be no mere coincidence. Annabelle, if it would not be too impudent of me, may I ask when your dreams started occurring?”

Nathanial looked up sharply at him. “You believe there to be some correlation?”

“I am not too sure, but it would appear so. Annabelle?”

“Let me think, it must have been… Five, yes, five nights ago.”

“Mon dieu!” Arnaud exclaimed. “That is exactly when they began for me, and the following night for Nathanial. What could all this mean?”

Again they were all shocked into silence. They looked at each other, worry etched onto their faces. Nathanial did not like the sound of what was being said. He found himself wishing for the simpler days of working on aether propellers for Her Majesty’s Navy, before he had been enlisted on that fateful mission to Luna oh so long ago it seemed now.

“Oh, Nathanial, I do not like this,” Annabelle said. “What could possibly be occurring? Maybe there is a lack of oxygen on board, causing us to have these dreams?”

It was a very real possibility, Nathanial supposed. One they should at least look into to be sure.

3.

STEAM HISSED VIOLENTLY from a gauge, its freedom short lived. Fenn hurriedly quelled the leakage; he had spent so much time in the engine room of Esmeralda that he had become synchronised with the engine to a near uncanny degree.

He walked over to the rear of the room to check the boiler, its large bulbous shape dominating the cramped room. A loud clanging sound rang out, the vibrations being felt from the floor. Fenn span around, nearly tearing himself from the magnetic grip of his shoes in the process. His hand lunged at a nearby balustrade to steady himself.

“What the bloody…?” He cut himself off, quickly realising that had the noise been caused by someone entering, they might not take so kindly to his language. He spent most of his time alone in the engine room, so he’d got used to saying such things with only himself to hear. He called out. “Is anyone there?”

There was no reply, but through the dispersing cloud of steam a form could be seen, though not clearly enough for him to identify his visitor.

“Professor?” He moved over to the figure, waving the steam out of his way with a flailing hand.

A large noise, sounding like an eagle’s cry, burst forth from somewhere behind Fenn. He flinched, covering his head with his arms. A pipe must have ruptured. He doubled back and rushed to where he calculated the noise had come from, but he saw no leakage or breaks.

He checked pipes at the rear of the engine room, craning his head up, down and around to try and spot any cracks but there was no damage.

He turned back to the person who’d entered the room, expecting to be able to see them clearly now the steam had dissipated some. He shook his head. There was no one there. He put the noises down to being over-tired. He had been on shift for over ten hours now, no wonder his mind was so tired. Perhaps he could ask the professor to relieve him for a spell?

No one worked such long hours in Sovereign’s engine room, the chief wouldn’t let them. Fatigue must be working at his mind. That, and other things. But no sense in adding guilt to weariness. Best to get back to work. What was done was done. Any ordinary man would have done the same, surely.

Wait; there was a noise again, this time from outside the room. He made his way to the door to investigate.

4.

FOLKARD LOOKED OUT through the vastness of the aether at a particular shining dot that, when observed closely, irradiated the tiniest hint of red. They were well into their journey now but still had around three weeks of aether travel remaining.

He really did wish for there to be more for him to do on the flyer. Countless hours of piloting Esmeralda had become such a gruelling duty. He thought about how exciting the prospect of a hulking Russian ironclad coming into view would be, but shook his head to disperse those thoughts. Entering the realms of imagination and fantasy would not do when on duty.

He was snapped out of his vacant gazing into space by the sound of footsteps approaching. He wrenched his head around, to see who it was. Was it Miss Annabelle? Even with the lack of gravity, the men of the ship were not ones to tread elegantly; these steps sounded light.

He observed the frosted glass panel that was set in the middle of the tightly sealed door to the control deck. There was no figure to be made out through the thick glass, not even the usual distortion of light that occurred as someone approached.

Folkard frowned.

There was a muffled sound, obscured by the door. It sounded as if someone had said something.

“Is that you, Miss Annabelle?”

There was no reply.

He turned back round to check the controls; everything was in order. A high pitched giggling came from behind the shut door and the captain span back around. He’d have none of this tomfoolery when he was on duty.

He hastily unbuckled himself from his chair and made for the door, pulling it wide open.

“I suppose…” Folkard stopped; there was no one in the immediate vicinity of the door. He descended the ladder to the gangway in the hope of finding the culprit of the jest. He looked up and down the gangway, but there was no activity.

“I say, who’s fooling around out here? I assure you I am not amused!” His voice bellowed through the flyer. He stood firmly and waited.

The lab door clicked open and two heads popped out from inside; the heads belonging to Arnaud and Nathanial. Annabelle was next, stepping out from her cabin to see what the fuss was about, followed by Fenn emerging from the engine room.

They all exchanged looks then turned to face Folkard.

“Did you call one of us, sir?” Fenn shouted from the other end of the flyer.

Folkard adopted a puzzled expression and stroked his beard gently. “No, I thought very much the opposite. Have any of you been at my door in the last few moments?”

“I thought I heard something in here just a moment ago, sir,” Fenn replied.

“I believe we have all been in our own quarters,” Nathanial said, turning to the crew to confirm his theory. They all nodded in response.

“Oh,” Folkard said, pausing in thought for the briefest of moments. “Very well then, as you were.” He turned, climbed the ladder and re-entered the control room. This time he left the door open before returning to the pilot’s chair.

He resumed his monotonous duty, trying not to think of how the laughter from behind the door had seemed almost child-like.