Chapter Eight

“Whence Honour Springs”

1.

AS THE LAB continued to shake, Arnaud scrambled over to the cot and checked Nathaniel. He was coming around, his eyelids flickering. “Arnaud, what is…?”

“Soyez tranquille, mon confére.” Arnaud reached for Nathaniel’s head, and wiped away the blood with his sleeve, revealing a very small cut. He must have hit his head on the bulkhead when the flyer shook. “Are you okay?”

Nathaniel blinked. “I think so. What the devil is happening?” His eyes flickered around the lab, following the cracking sound. “The vortex?”

“If, indeed, that is what it is,” Folkard said, returning to his feet.

Nathaniel shook his head, as Arnaud helped him to stand. “I do not understand. What else could it be?”

“That is what we came to ask you, Professor. Your precious governor is failing to have any effect whatsoever, and now we have the added problem of that plate Fontaine here brought with him from Mercury.”

Arnaud could not blame Nathaniel for looking confused; he, too, was confused. But mostly by Nathaniel’s shift in attitude. Only moments ago he seemed cold, provocative even. To assuage Nathaniel’s confusion, he explained about the plate and the effect it seemed to be having on the non-vortex. The ship rocked again.

“That cracking sound is Esmeralda 2 straining from the pull of that tear out there,” Folkard added, once Arnaud had finished. “She was not designed to survive an aether vortex, never mind a rip in the aether.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “It’s like Peregrine all over again.”

“Worse I should wager,” Folkard said, rather pointedly Arnaud thought. Still the captain felt some blame lay at Nathaniel’s feet.

“How long do we have?” Arnaud asked.

“I cannot say. If it were a vortex we would have experience by which to estimate, but that thing…”

“Is there anything we have yet to try in the engine room?” Nathaniel asked. “Perhaps if I look at the governor? I’m certain I can fix this. It was designed to help navigate a vortex after all. On Sovereign, surely you must remember, Captain, how easily we sailed the vortex then?”

Arnaud was still confused. Nathaniel was acting like a wild thing, clutching at straws. He knew that Nathaniel’s experience with Peregrine had a profound effect on him, but this reaction was at odds with his earlier composure. Can a man’s attitude shift so radically in so short a time? Without the influence of cognac Arnaud would have usually said no.

“Professor, you appear to be missing the point. That is not an aether vortex out there. Your governor is of no use now—if, perhaps, you had bothered to tell me that we were having problems with the governor before we got into this predicament then we’d have some kind of solution to grasp hold of.”

For a moment the coldness returned to Nathaniel’s eyes, but then it was gone. He looked directly at Arnaud. “The plate. You say it’s reacting to this aether tear?”

Arnaud nodded. “Oui. And the…aether tear…is reacting to the plate. I do not understand why.”

“Unimportant,” Nathaniel said with a wave. Arnaud wasn’t sure he agreed on that point, but for now their survival was of more importance. “Perhaps if we dispose of it? Destroy it! Remove the metal and the magnet is little more than another piece of metal.”

Destroy it? Arnaud stepped in front of Nathaniel. “Mon confére, you cannot do this. You know what this means to me.”

Folkard spoke up. “Your personal attachment to this plate of yours is beside the point.”

Arnaud span on Folkard. “And if it was your copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? Would that also be beside the point?” Folkard’s cheeks flared. Arnaud knew he was wrong to bring up such a thing, he was almost betraying a confidence, but he could not let the plate go. It held Nathaniel’s imprint, kept him close at all times.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulders, and Nathaniel spoke to him softly. “Arnaud, I am here right now. Ton confére. You do not need the plate.”

Arnaud glanced back and looked up at Nathaniel’s grey eyes. He could not explain it, but a strange sense of contentment overwhelmed him, and he nodded. “Mon toujours,” he said softly.

My always.

2.

THE THREE OF them made haste to the engine room, Fontaine carrying the plate close to his person. Folkard could not blame him for his attachment to it; he, too, had things of personal value with which he did not wish to part. But if it meant losing such things to save the lives of his crew, then he would not hesitate. And Fontaine would have to do the same.

Fenn looked up from his workings, scrambling about the engine room in a vain attempt to get the most out of the boiler and the aether propeller. Folkard wasted no time in explaining the situation, keeping his eye on Fontaine all the while. He and Stone stood to one side, conferring among themselves. Folkard was, once again, uncertain of Stone’s motives. He had thought that he’d finally got the cut of Stone, but recent events had brought all his doubts to the surface once more.

“I have a hammer,” Fenn said, reaching for such. “That should be able to make a pretty dent at the very least.”

“A hammer?” Folkard was incredulous. He was hoping for something more, but perhaps brute force was the answer. “Very well. Doctor Fontaine?”

The Frenchman looked at him with something like fear in his eyes. Stone whispered something in Fontaine’s ear, and with a nod he unwrapped the cloth from around the plate and placed it on the nearest workstation. Fenn and Folkard joined the scientists, and raised the hammer. Fontaine took a sharp breath.

“Wait,” he said.

“Doctor, now is not the time to be squeamish,” Folkard pointed out, irritation building in him.

Fontaine shook his head. “Non, but if anyone is to do this, it should be me. I…I am to blame for all this.”

Folkard had no time for such introspection. Action was required. “We can parse blame later, right now we need to destroy this thing and hope we can get clear of the aether tear.” He nodded at Fenn. “Give the doctor the hammer.”

Fenn did so, and without a moment’s hesitation Fontaine swung the hammer and brought it crashing down on the plate. Not even a scratch. Not to be deterred, he struck again, and once more the hammer had no discernible effect on the plate.

Broad he may have been, but Folkard did not reckon much on Fontaine’s strength. He asked for the hammer, deciding that, if anyone was going to save the ship, then it should be him. Certainly he was the strongest of the men on Esmeralda. He glanced at Stone, who was standing away from the three of them, his arms folded over his chest, watching silently. No, not watching, observing. Folkard narrowed his eyes. Stone would keep for later, if they all survived.

Summoning all the strength he could muster, Folkard brought the hammer down on the plate. The head of the hammer flew off the handle, careering through the air, missing Stone by an inch before bouncing off the bulkhead behind him. Meanwhile the plate, vibrated by the impact, spun on its axis and shot off the workstation to land on Fontaine’s foot. The Frenchman jumped back with a screech of pain, holding his foot in a fashion that would, under other circumstances, be comical, before toppling over due to his one foot being cemented to the decking by the magnet in his shoe.

Folkard looked to the handle in his hand. “Well I think it’s safe to say that did not work.”

Stone picked up the hammer head and looked at it curiously. “No, indeed.” He glanced at Fontaine. “How is your foot?”

“Bruised,” Fontaine said, tentatively rising to his feet and testing his weight. “But I should live.”

“For now,” Folkard said grimly. He handed the hammer handle back to Fenn, looking like a child whose favourite toy had been broken. “Any other suggestions, gentlemen?”

“What about melting the plate?” Nathaniel suggested so quickly Folkard wondered if he had been harbouring the idea for some time.

Fenn shook his head. “That would deplete the oxygen levels, Prof; we couldn’t do that.”

“The ability to breathe will hardly be an issue either way, soon, Mister Fenn,” Folkard reminded him. He turned to Fontaine. “I believe you have a Bunsen burner?”

3.

THE FLAME FLICKERED around the plate, causing the crystal to change colour, mimicking the angry blue of its source. Arnaud leaned in closer, amazed by what he was seeing. The flame was not touching the plate, merely dancing around it. He could not help but admire its beauty.

“Impervious,” Nathaniel commented behind him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Arnaud, but did we not see damaged plates on Mercury?”

Folkard interrupted. “Is this relevant, Stone? For whatever reason, the plate does indeed seem impervious now.”

Arnaud ran a finger over his lip. “Perhaps due to its proximity to the aether tear? Strengthening its molecular structure.”

“Is that even possible?”

Arnaud shrugged at Folkard’s question, and waved his hand at the plate. “Apparemment.” He turned to Nathaniel. “If we cannot melt it down, what can we do? It is imperméable to all attempts to destroy it. What have we left?”

In one way Arnaud was glad to see the plate resist. Although Nathaniel was there, Arnaud knew that he would not always be so. How could he? Once the mission was over and all the minerals were collected, what would keep them together? His usefulness to the British Government would be over, and he doubted even his father would be able to influence any further involvement from Arnaud. At least with the plate in his possession he would always have something of Nathaniel.

“The only solution left to us is to give the plate to the aether tear,” Nathaniel said softly. “It seems they are attracted to each other, and perhaps we ought not stand in their way any further.”

Arnaud swallowed. Nathaniel’s eyes did not leave his as he spoke. They lingered for a few moments longer, before he pulled them away and looked over at Folkard. The captain appeared not to notice. He was looking at the plate, still going through the spectrum of colour, and stroking his beard.

“How would you suggest we do that, Stone?” Folkard asked, only now looking at them.

“One of us will have to take the plate outside the flyer.”

Arnaud looked at Nathaniel in horror. “You cannot be serious? That is suicidal. Whoever would do such a thing?”

The three stood in silence, looking at each other before Folkard spoke up. “I must do it. As the captain of this flyer, it rests with me to look after its safety, and that of the crew. I have lived a full life, without regret. There is no need to waste your lives.”

“You cannot!” Arnaud said forcefully. “This is my fault, my responsibility. If anyone should do it, it should be me. We would not be here if it was not for my stupidity.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “I will not let anyone else die,” he said. “There is too much of that on my conscience already.” He considered Folkard carefully. Arnaud was not privy to everything that had occurred between the two men in London, but he understood enough to know that Nathaniel was talking of his younger brother who had died then. Over the past few months Nathaniel had wrestled with that, shifting the blame from himself to Folkard and back again. “I will not be able to live with any more death.”

Folkard held Nathaniel’s look. “If you do that, Stone, you will most certainly be sucked into the tear.”

“I am aware of that, Captain, but I am the least of us. Besides, on Earth I am already dead. William Brooker I am not.” He shook his head. “I can never return to my family, I will forever be hidden from them, living this lie in service of the British Empire. No, I cannot live like that once this mission is complete. I have to do this.”

4.

IT WAS MADNESS to allow Nathaniel to throw away his life like this. Annabelle just could not believe that Folkard would allow it; there was no guarantee it would it even work. She now stood in the gangway, next to her cabin, watching as Nathaniel climbed into an atmosphere suit, Arnaud helping him.

She supposed she should feel sorry for both of them; over a year it had taken them to finally confess how they felt, and now this was it. The end for both of them. But she could not push aside her own feelings. She and Nathaniel had been through so much since Arizona. March 1888 seemed like such a long time ago. How much life could a person live in over two years? There was a time she would have said very little, but she and Nathaniel had been through so very much. He had saved her life more than once, became the big brother she never had. She smiled sadly, remembering how, once upon a time, she had believed that Nathaniel had other intentions towards her. How wrong she had been!

Although he frustrated her greatly with his proper ways, she was thankful for his protection, for keeping her safe, for allowing her to stay with him at the Whites’ in Chatham Dockyard, even letting her bully him into joining him on his first trip to Venus. At the time she did not appreciate the effort he had made, the responsibility he had taken on when he agreed to her care out of respect for Uncle Cyrus.

Annabelle looked down. She had been so cruel to him back then, and now she felt ashamed.

“Je viens de ton trouver, mon toujours,” Arnaud said, and reached up to peck Nathaniel gently on the cheek. Annabelle pretended not to notice, but she smiled despite herself, glad that Folkard was already manning the control deck and Fenn was safely locked away in the engine room. She doubted either man would understand this display, and would most certainly be disgusted by it.

“I know, and now I must save you.” Nathaniel looked over at Annabelle. “Save you all.”

Annabelle put her hand to her mouth, feeling the sting of tears. She held them back. No, she would be strong for Nathaniel. Her protector.

Silently Arnaud turned away, but he was prevented from leaving by Nathaniel’s hand, which clasped Arnaud’s tightly. The two men looked at each other, but there were no more words that could be said. Arnaud returned to his lab, their arms reaching out until, finally, their fingers could no longer touch. The door closed behind him, and with a thump it locked tightly, sealing him against the forthcoming vacuum.

She walked over to Nathaniel, wanting to hug him, hold him and not let him go. But the cumbersome atmosphere suit would not allow that. In some ways, and God forgive her for thinking this, Nathaniel was more important to her than George. The love she had for Nathaniel was quite unlike that which she had for George, and he had been by her side through so much. She could not honestly have asked for a better friend.

He frowned. “What is it?”

“Memories,” she replied. “It is nothing.”

“No,” he said, holding her hand. “Memories are all we have, ultimately. Every experience leaves a memory, and is that which makes us the people we are. I take with me so many happy memories of us.” He smiled sadly, and reached for the helmet of his suit. “If only things had been different, my dear Miss Somerset.”

She helped him secure the seal of the helmet, and looked at him through the glass. He offered her a final smile then turned to leave. She knew she should enter her cabin, pressurise the door, before he reached the airlock, but she could not move.

“Stop,” she cried, so sudden she surprised herself.

He stopped.

So many thoughts rushed through her head. “Please, I don’t want you go, Nathaniel. I…”

With no further response, he continued towards the airlock.

5.

WATCHING THE AETHER tear (if they survived this, Folkard was determined to make that an official designation for the phenomena) was like watching Ouroboros dancing in the heavens. He was far from a scholar of history, but he had an interest in Greek mythology and was aware of Plato’s story about the self-eating being—supposedly the first living creature in the universe.

Could it be that this was what he was seeing? If Stone and Fontaine were to be believed, then that plate was connected to a being as old as Mercury itself. Maybe even as old as the universe. There was clearly a connection there. It seemed the aether was rife with ancient forces—the Heart, Hermes, the aether tear. Maybe everything in the universe was connected?

Folkard closed his eyes, trying to get a sense of the Heart. He had not felt its itch in a while, probably since Esmeralda 2 had drawn near the tear. Connected, perhaps, but that was not to say in a good way. Humanity, after all, was connected through Creation, yet they were seldom bound together in unity. Perhaps it was the same for the Heart and Hermes, and for the Heart and the aether tear.

Eyes still closed, his thoughts drifted to Stone. Over a year ago he had tested the professor’s metal by having him board Sovereign by walking the gangplank thousands of miles above the English Channel. The young man may have been terrified, but that had not stopped him. Since then he had built up a healthy respect for Stone, but things had not be great between them since Edwin Stone’s death. He wasn’t sure if the professor still held him responsible, but nonetheless Stone had continued to prove himself and accepted Folkard’s leadership on the current mission.

Neither man had given the other reason for doubt since leaving for Mercury in February, but since departing Earth three weeks ago… Stone had not been his usual self. Negligent in some ways. Now though, now he was out there, doing what needed to be done to save them all.

The flyer shook. Folkard’s eyes snapped open, looking directly at the tear.

Godspeed, Professor.

6.

EXCERPT 87.

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

Sunday July 6th, 1890.

Secrets are difficult to share, but it seems that sometimes they are not needed to be spoken. I see Annabelle looking sometimes at Arnaud and I and I am certain she can see the truth. Neither Arnaud nor I talk of such things, but it is there. Will we ever find the courage to utter the words? To confess? How would we live if we were to do so? Perhaps we should never make a declaration of such things. The truth would damn us both.

I thought that having Arnaud here would make things easier for me. Perhaps I was being selfish, needing some kind of solace after the death of Edwin, and, in some respects, the death of myself. I had insisted on him joining us, that we needed his expertise on this mission. Many were opposed to having a Frenchman involved in such a clandestine mission, but his worth has been proven. To the point that even Folkard has accepted him as a bona fide member of the team. And yet…

I feel uneasy with Arnaud being here. My feelings for him grow ever deeper, and we sleep in such an intimate way now, in a way unbecoming two men. We dare not speak of these feelings, and if we were to be discovered… Well, one suspects Labouchere and his cronies would have their day. A Subject of the Crown such as I. Seven years minimum… What a fall it would be!

Arnaud closed the journal. He could read no more; not that there was much more to read. That was the start of the last entry, written two weeks ago. Had things become so hectic on Esmeralda 2 that Nathaniel ran out of time to write up further entries? It seemed so unlikely; his confére always found the time for his journal.

Never again.

Anger bubbled up inside him, seemingly coming from nowhere. Perhaps this is what he wanted? Together their lives would be impossible. Easier to give up.

Arnaud shook his head. No, that was unfair to Nathaniel. He was giving up his life for those he loved—was there a greater expression of love? He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the rocking of the flyer. Nathaniel may indeed save them all, but Arnaud would lose so much as a result. He held the journal tightly, and whispered the words of his father’s favourite poem; Marceline Desbordes-Valmore’s Asunder.

N’apprenons qu’à mourir à nous-mêmes.

Ne demande qu’à Dieu…qu’à toi, si je t’aimais!

Au fond de ton silence écouter que tu m’aimes,

C’est entendre le ciel sans y monter jamais.

7.

SHE REMEMBERED THE story Nathaniel told her of his first walk into the aether—scaling the hull of Peregrine with Holmes, Fullbright and Provost to fix the stabilisers. At the time she was being held by Dolan; battered, bruised and degraded. But afterward, while being returned to Earth on Sovereign, he had explained to her what it was like to be out in the aether, with no world to hold on to. The very notions of up and down irrelevant. And now he was out there again, only this time it seemed unlikely he would return.

How could he? Esmeralda 2 could not pull away from the aether tear, and she had engines working in her favour, all Nathaniel had was his strength. His ability to hold onto the hull of the flyer, while the plate and the tear reacted, pulled at each other, would be as nothing. What good was man’s strength against the primal forces of the universe?

Her breath shuddered, racking pain in her chest. She would not cry—she would not! She would be strong for Nathaniel, show him the respect he deserved.

“Oh, Nathaniel,” she said, the words escaping as a breath of hurt. “I will miss you…so very dearly.”

A knock on the door of her cabin stole her from the pain, and she looked up. Was it over already? Certainly Esmeralda seemed to be shaking less. She gathered her strength inside, attempting to prepare herself for a life without Nathaniel. What would she do? Continue on with this mission, or book a passage back to Earth once they made Mars-fall? Right now all she wanted to do was see George. He would know what to do.

“Nathaniel!”

She almost fainted at the relief, thinking that she was getting delirious again. She reached out a hand, letting it rest softly on the cold material of the atmosphere suit, made all the more colder by exposure to the aether.

He smiled at her through the helmet. The words she could barely make out, but that did not matter. Nathaniel was there, standing before her! She reached up and helped him unseal the helmet.

“How did you…?”

He shook his head, the ginger hair looking like a dirty brown through sweat. “I did not need to do much—the plate knew where it wanted to be. I simply let it go…home, I suppose.”

While Nathaniel removed the atmosphere suit, Annabelle returned to the control deck to inform Folkard of Nathaniel’s success. All they needed to do now was manoeuvre Esmeralda away from the tear, assuming it was still out there. Perhaps, now it had the plate, the tear itself would close.

The sight that greeted her upon entering the control deck, however, only served to destroy her optimism. Folkard wrestled furiously with the propeller wheel, while barking orders down the pipe to Fenn. He noticed Annabelle enter, and nodded her to the empty chair.

“It would appear Stone sacrificed himself for naught,” he said, his eyes returning to the view outside.

Annabelle looked. The tear was still there, only now it seemed to be worse, opening up like some maw waiting to consume them. But Nathaniel had said… She turned back to the captain. “I do not understand; Nathaniel let the plate…” She stopped abruptly, her dark eyes resting on the worst sight she had ever seen. Just behind the captain’s seat, looking like it was part of the bulkhead, was the Mercurian plate.