Chapter Five

“Reunions of the Heart”

1.

AS A SECRET SERVICE Bureau agent he had been hoping for something a bit better, especially after Mister Tooler had said about his papers having all been arranged; but first class on a luxury liner this wasn’t.

Instead here he was being ferried to Luna on RFA Fort Scraesdon, a small supply ship that formed part of the Royal Fleet Auxiliary, a civilian-manned fleet owned by the Ministry of Defence. Following the expansion of the Royal Navy into the aether, it was decided that since the large network of bases they enjoyed on Earth were not practical in the aether they needed to assemble a fleet solely for supplying Navy vessels and outposts. Tally had learned this from his companion, a short robust Spanish scientist who went by the name Orlondo Quintana, an associate of Nathaniel and the Bedfords who had been visiting Arizona at the behest of Nathaniel. The two men, both en route to Luna with documentation for Nathaniel, were to share the same small cabin. Apparently Fort Scraesdon was designed to ferry armaments and dry stores—it wasn’t built to ferry people back and forth. The cabin was the best they had to offer, and it did not offer much.

This would be the secret part of the Secret Service, then; travelling incognito. No posh suit, just him in normal clothes acting like a normal feller. Tally was hoping for something a bit better on his first official excursion into the aether.

Unlike him, Quintana was quite used to aether travel, something that Tally envied from the moment Fort Scraesdon broke out of Earth’s atmosphere and hit the aether. This was what Tooler had been talking about; the difference between travelling the aether with and without gravitar.

Everything seemed to shift around him. It felt like he could float on air, his head light, and so he stepped forward, expecting to float towards the single bed provided. Instead he stumbled forward, his legs oddly heavy. A chubby hand took hold of him by the elbow.

“Magnets in the soles of the shoes,” Quintana said.

Tally felt like a fool. Of course, that’s why they were offered footwear for the journey. He knew this—he was sure someone told him, but unfortunately Quintana had been rambling away in his ear, commenting on everything as if he’d never been on a Navy supply ship before. Maybe he’d read it in the Bureau’s little black book.

“I’ve experienced worse after raising me elbow more times than I should,” said Tally, offering his best Dublin smile, remembering many occasions of stumbling home with his brother. He looked around the room, suddenly tired. He’d prefer a good nine hours sleep, but they’d be arriving at Luna in about six. When Tooler had mentioned going to Luna the next day, Tally had assumed he meant first thing in the morning, and so he’d slept well for the first time since being drafted by the Bureau. Upon waking, he’d learned he had a few small assignments to keep him busy during the day while he awaited his fellow traveller. Like Quintana, Tally had been given important papers for Nathaniel, carrying the Seal of the Admiralty. Tally felt for the sealed papers in his coat pocket. They were not leaving his sight. Sure, Quintana was vouched for, but he didn’t know the man from Adam and wasn’t given to trust him on account of mere acquaintances, even if one of them was a man Tally considered something of a younger brother.

“Ah, sí, I hear much about the Irishman’s liking for alcohol,” Quintana said. “My drinking days are long behind me. I need to keep a clear head,” he added with a wink and a tap of his nose. “Dangerous men want the knowledge I carry with me.”

Tooler had hinted at such. Part of the reason he’d been asked to wait for Quintana was to serve as the man’s bodyguard. Tally didn’t fancy their chances should the art of knuckles become involved; his arm was still too weak to be of any use, and Quintana didn’t look he’d be much use in a fight. Yer man was running to fat.

Still, he had to keep a brave face. “Well I fancy mesel’ forty winks, if yer don’t mind me taking the bed?” Tally was tired, but he didn’t expect to sleep much. This feeling of weightlessness was quite disagreeing with his stomach.

Quintana waved him towards it. “By all means, Señor Tally. I have notes to compile, thoughts to think. My trip to Arizona was quite enlightening. Indeed, it seems since I met Nathaniel Stone I have done nothing but discover new and exciting things. Arranging for me to join the team on Luna, and then sending me to that remarkable cave in Arizona. Stone is a very generous soul.”

“Aye, that he is. Looking forward to seeing him meself. He has a way of opening up the world to yer. In a way.” Tally stopped at the bed. “What’s this?”

The bed, such as it was, was covered with some kind of netting. The bed clothes beneath were as straight as Tally had ever seen. Not a crease. Like a finely presented Navy uniform, rightly enough. How was he supposed to get in the bed with the netting covering it?

Orlondo pushed gently past him, reached down and unhooked the netting. “It’s to prevent you from floating; standard practice in the aether. You don’t want to find yourself pressed against the ceiling upon waking, sí?”

That made sense. He could see why this gravitar stuff was so bloody important now, it helped the admiral’s sleep all sound. Typical. Still, he didn’t much care for being tied down in his sleep. How was he to spring into action should someone break in during the night? He sniffed. In the aether it was always night. What a depressing thought. “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘drifting off to sleep’,” he said, with a forced grin.

At this Quintana laughed. “Ah, sí, very good! You have known Professor Stone a long time?” he asked suddenly.

Tally wondered if he’d ever get used to Quintana’s abrupt changing of subjects. He had done so at least ten times in the scant few hours they’d known each other. “Only a couple of months, though it feels like I’ve known him since we were knee-high.”

Quintana nodded, walked away from the bed and sat on a nearby chair. It was strange to see a man of Quintana’s bulk strapping himself to a normal looking chair. This whole travelling the aether was something Tally didn’t think he’d get used to. Too much like being in prison again for his tastes; no real freedom even if you sat or slept. He always felt like he needed somewhere to bolt to, as a crutch. Here there was nowhere to run. He wanted a horizon again. Nevertheless, he was also tired, and wanted to be his best when he saw Nathaniel again. He would at least try sleeping under a net. After all, he’d slept under much worse. And that was just the women.

He stripped down to his bare essentials and struggled to manoeuvre himself into the bed.

“Would you consider yourself Stone’s friend?” as Quintana, suddenly but in an artlessly casual manner.

Tally looked up, surprised by the question and the way it was phrased. “Aye, that I would. We’ve been through a lot, Nate and me. Shared a lot. Or at least, more than most.”

“Would he think of you the same?”

Tally wasn’t one to presume what others thought, but in this case he felt so and told Quintana yes.

“You know of Arnaud Fontaine?”

Tally paused, almost settled beneath the covers now. He had never been comfortable around people who asked too many questions. Which was a wonderful irony considering his new line of work, but regardless Quintana’s questions bothered him. Nate and he had spent many long hours talking over a bottle of brandy or two and had shared many confidences. Had Nathaniel ever mentioned Quintana before? Possibly. He spoke of many people he had met, and certainly Mister Tooler suggested Quintana was a close ally of Nathaniel’s, close enough to procure important documents to be taken back to Luna for him. But what did Quintana know of Nathaniel and Arnaud? And why the feck would he want to talk about it? He could barely get his own head around it, let alone discuss it with others. Nate was like a little brother, but it didn’t mean he approved of everything he did. Still, Tally knew he’d protect Nate to the end of this world if he had to.

“I know enough to not speak of them in the open. And with a man I barely know,” he added with a tone he thought would be enough to convince the Spaniard to quit the subject now.

Quintana nodded. “Sí, secrets must be kept or they are not secrets. You are a good friend, Señor. You need to ask Stone about Fontaine when you meet him. I was on Luna weeks before el profesor told me about the Chiricahua cave and asked me to study the skeleton in there for him, and not once did he mention Arnaud. And Arnaud and I are friends. It is very troubling for Stone to say nothing of a man so dear to him, no?”

Tally frowned. He knew Nathaniel had returned to Luna to work on solving the secret of aleksandrite, effectively working on behalf of the British Empire, and he also knew that Nathaniel had failed to visit Arnaud even once before doing so. Behaviour that didn’t fit the man he knew, the man who spoke so fondly of Arnaud.

Something was wrong. Tally could feel it in his water.

2.

A RATHER MORE COMFORTABLE flight was the current pleasure for Mister Baxter and Mister Henry, who had departed Lincolnshire for the Americas not long after the shadowy Mister L had left their company. Not that they could give two tin ha’pennies for his pretensions of mystique, of course. A job was a job. Baxter’s housekeeper, the venerable widow Mrs Bidmead, had packed their cases with slightly more vehement grumbling than usual—the issue, Baxter was relatively sure, not being the last-minute nature of their egression from England’s pleasant shores and more the fact that the Gatling gun was an awful chore to disassemble.

Still, it should be strapped down safe in the hold of the aerial flyer by now. Mister L had made a point that every expense would be met, and what were two gentlemen who enjoyed the finer things in life to do? Go expensive, naturally. Henry had put a telephone call through to the right people and, making quick use of his legendary garrulousness, had managed to displace the Venezuelan ambassador so the pair could shanghai his diplomatic suite.

And very nice it was too. Situated right at the front of the aerial flyer, the princely staterooms were decked with fine oak furniture, beautifully wrought ironwork and a bar stocked with the finest gins and whiskeys. Two firm leather Chesterfields faced each other across the morning room, and between them sat a low mahogany coffee table on which were perched two Napoleon brandies, a humidor full of fine cigars and the Chinese fowling piece that Henry had modified himself into a fearsome, fire-spitting blunderbuss. He felt it brought a dangerous frisson of class to the place.

“Rum cove,” said Henry, “that Mister L.”

“Indeed,” replied Baxter. “Would trust him with my wallet, but not my life, what?”

“Well said, Mister Baxter. And having us kill a woman, to boot.”

“If your gambling debts and penchant for redecorating hadn’t seen us in the red, old bean, I’d have told the feller where to stuff his proposition. Still, needs must when the devil drives.”

“And the parlour does look magnificent now, does it not?”

“A matter of taste, Mister Henry. A matter of taste.”

A moment of quiet fell between them, as Baxter swilled the brandy around in his snifter and looked across at his companion. “When it comes to it, you know,” he said, somewhat vaguely, “it shall have to be you that pulls the trigger on the dear girl. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

“For that wallpaper in the atrium, dear Mister Baxter, it will be worth the perfidious peregrinations of the very devil himself.”

3.

SOD ALL SLEEP WAS all he’d had. As he stepped off Fort Scraesdon, Tally was more concerned with finding a decent bed than being awed by his surroundings. Quintana was as excited as ever, and shuffled Tally out before him.

They walked down the steps, Quintana babbling on, while at the bottom of the gorge supplies were brought in by by large machines like giant clockwork spiders. A short distance away a much smaller ship, looking much like a giant bullet made of metal and wood, came to a gentle rest.

“That’s one of our cutters,” Quintana pointed out. “We use them when we need to explore the surface, although not many bother now. The wonders of the City of Light and Science keep most of us busy, although I find the hives of the Selenites quite fascinating. Have you ever met a Selenite, Señor Tally?”

Tally looked back at Quintana with blurry eyes. According to the clock aboard Fort Scraesdon it was almost five o’clock in the morning; the last thing Tally wished to talk about was Quintana’s bleedin’ gelignites, or whatever the hell they were called. He wasn’t much about science at the best of times, and never less so than when he’d been awake for twenty hours straight.

He was about to explain that no, he hadn’t ever seen a bloody gelignite when Quintana pointed to their left and nudged Tally to look in that direction. For a moment Tally thought that maybe he had, indeed, fallen asleep. Three ants, almost the size of a man, were helping to carry supplies from the aether flyer.

“Those are Selenites. The indigenous species. We used to think that the Drobates were indigenous, hence the old term moon men, but we’ve since learned that they are an ancient aether faring race. Unlike these poor Selenites. They grew on Luna, super-evolved under the influence of the Heart. Ah! Darwin would have a field day on Luna.”

Tally shook his head. Giant ants, moon men, the Heart; it all sounded vaguely familiar to him, but his brain was far too tired to put the pieces together. “Listen, all I’m needing is a good bed and a few hours kip, then I’ll be happy to listen to all your stories. Twice. I’m not a scientist, I just need me sleep!”

Quintana nodded in understanding. “Alas, it seems Director George disagrees. I think the heliograph moves faster than the flyer, sí?”

Tally was about to ask what he was gabbing about this time, when a man walked up to them, dressed smartly, wearing a very broad smile. His smile did nothing to hide the tiredness of his own eyes. Tally could relate.

“Agent Cahalleret,” George said, grabbing Tally’s hands in his own and pumping them with way more energy than Tally possessed. Tally glanced around them; what was wrong with the eejit, didn’t the base director know he was supposed to be here incognito? How the hell did he learn about Tally’s arrival anyway? “What a delight it is to have an agent of…”

Tally leaned forward quickly, and whispered. “Shut your hole, you damn eejit!”

Director George looked like he’d been slapped, until Tally continued to shake his hand once again and looked around pointedly.

“Oh, yes, quite. Well, erm, we only learned of your arrival about an hour ago; if we would have known you were on the way sooner we would have been much more prepared.” He looked over Tally’s shoulders at Fort Scraesdon. “And to travel on a supply ship!”

Tally knew he could quite warm to the idea of people toadying around him. On any other day. But right now he just wanted to sleep. Possibly noticing Tally’s irked mood, Quintana stepped in on his behalf.

“Is Professor Stone around?”

George finally released Tally’s hand and looked around. “I don’t believe so, but then that is nothing new. He can vanish days on end without letting anyone know of his whereabouts. The man is a dratted law unto himself!”

“And a very good friend of…ah, Mister Cahalleret here,” Quintana said, beaming at Tally.

Tally stood up to his full height and put on his most serious face. “Aye, that he is. Now where is he?”

George looked around, worry etched on his tired face, but Tally had to give him his due. Not once did he drop his smile. “I’m afraid I have no idea. I daresay he’ll surface in the morning. Until then…um, perhaps a tour of Otterbein Base?”

Christ no. Tally shook his head quickly. As much as he was wanting to see Nate, he was happy for the chance of more sleep. “I would rather a chance to sleep,” he said, doing his best to sound officious. “The sleeping arrangements on Fort Scraesdon were dreadful.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Um… Sleeping quarters. As I mentioned, we were not forewarned about your arrival, perhaps…”

Once again Quintana stepped in. “There is a spare bunk in my room. If Señor Cahalleret wouldn’t mind using it?”

Tally would sleep here if he were allowed. “Sounds perfect to me,” he said, just hoping that Quintana would cease his prattling. He’d had a lot to talk about on the six hours to Luna, imagine what topics he could cover now—the trivialities that would be constantly crossing his mind now they were on Luna. Tally almost shuddered at the thought.

“Then that’s settled.” George looked relieved. “A tour first thing then?”

“Aye, as long as first thing is no earlier than ten o’clock. I need me sleep, man!”

Director George swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Best news all day.” Offering his best Dublin smile, Tally took the lull in conversation to push Quintana on towards the buildings he could see in the near distance. Surely that had to be Otterbein Base? It was a shame that Nathaniel was not there to greet them, but given that sleep seemed to be something of luxury, Tally intended to make the most of the next five hours.

4.

THE DOOR WAS OPEN a crack, and Le Boeuf stood there watching the Frenchman. He represented everything Le Boeuf hated; a reminder of betrayal, both personal and professional. Professional because of the way the French had left him stranded after the destruction of Peregrine, taking away their backing of his greatest achievement, forcing him to Russia and Count Dorokov—which he had, of course, turned to his advantage, but that was beside the point. And personal because of Fontaine’s reaction yesterday.

Fontaine narrowed his eyes. “Qui êtes-vous?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Le Boeuf’s own voice was level, taking great delight in the look of pain his words were bringing Fontaine. “I am your new master. You are going to help me destroy Nathaniel Stone, and you are going to do so with a song in your heart and a smile on your pretty little lips.”

At first Fontaine just looked at Le Boeuf, his eyes still confused by the remains of the aleksandrite mixed with the laudanum, but when Le Boeuf’s words registered a look of anger swept across his rugged features.

“Non! Vous allez me tuer avant que je vous aiderai!” Fontaine yelled, spittle on his lips.

Such fierce loyalty. Admirable really, if ultimately meaningless. Le Boeuf had not come across it very much, but the look in Fontaine’s eyes… He had seen it in Thaddeus’ glare many times, especially when Henry had tried to blackmail them both when, in college, he had discovered their secret. Of course, Thaddeus had done nothing to fight back, that had been down to Le Boeuf, and for his efforts he had been ostracised, humiliated, forced to hide himself in the shadows until he finally returned to Thaddeus’ side—by which time Thaddeus had done the unthinkable, and had got married! Le Boeuf had been betrayed many times since then, but it was that single act which hurt the worst. Everything that had been good in Guillaume Le Boeuf had died that day.

And now Arnaud Fontaine had Nathaniel Stone. There was no doubt in Le Boeuf’s mind. Once again it seemed Stone was taunting him. First he had destroyed Torquilstone, ruined his greatest achievement, and then somehow managed to survive the smear campaign Le Boeuf had started before Stone had even returned to Earth. And now he had it all. All! Everything Le Boeuf had been denied. There was a small satisfaction in knowing Stone could not celebrate his reputation, his successes…but Le Boeuf knew Stone, and somehow that jackanapes would find a way to overcome that obstacle soon enough. A triumphant return from death!

So to Arnaud Fontaine. After the display, Le Boeuf knew just what he to do. He had retired from the room and left orders with Mortimer to make Fontaine comfortable. Have him rest up for the rest of the day, sleep comfortably. While Mortimer took care of the Frenchman, Le Boeuf had taken to the moors with Mortimer’s dog, allowing the clean air to wipe away the dust of his mind, to adapt his plan. At first he simply wished to strike at Stone through those closest to him; Fontaine was the obvious initial step—his exposure to aleksandrite was too good an opportunity to miss. Moonsinge had proven the adaptability of aleksandrite by utilising its potent hallucinatory properties. But there was still the new Mrs Bedford—the Mouth and the Scalpel would see that she was brought to account for her actions on Peregrine. That she survived the wound he had given her had surprised him, and that she would go on to marry the first officer of the British Empire naval flagship was an insult Le Boeuf could not let go unchallenged.

Now he had a new plan. A new way to destroy Stone.

“I do hope you are well rested, Doctor Fontaine,” Le Boeuf said as he stepped into the guest room.

Fontaine looked at him through the mirror, but did not turn to face him. Fontaine was looking better for his rest, although he still had a long way to go before he was the handsome man that Stone had fallen for.

“Oui,” he said, forcing a smile. “But good manners will not make me a party to your plan. Whatever you are after, you have got the wrong man.”

“Au contraire, Doctor Fontaine. You are very much the right man.” Le Boeuf sat on the end of the bed and watched Fontaine for a few moments, and the man studied him back. As well he should. Yes, Stone had chosen wisely. Even now, still suffering from the drugs in his system, Fontaine projected the kind of strength Le Boeuf had once seen in Thaddeus. Many years gone. Thaddeus had been broken by the end, and so, too, would be Fontaine. “Do you know who I am?”

“Non, neither do I care to know.” So the man was stubborn and petulant too? This too could be exploited. Finally Fontaine turned to face Le Boeuf. “I wish to return to my room in Kent, to overcome the stuff that witch put in my body.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “Where are we?”

Le Boeuf rose with a smile and joined Fontaine at the window. Stretched out before them was a vast stretch of Dartmoor, totally silent. “A land of spectral beasts,” he said, his voice low. There was no time like the present to start his plan. “The location of which will not be of interest to you. You will not be leaving the Hall, but I cannot promise the dogs will not come to get you.”

That said, he slowly walked away from the window. He only glanced back when he reached the door. “I daresay Stone has told you all about me—well, all that he knows, which is very little. I am Guillaume Le Boeuf, Doctor Fontaine, and you will tell me everything about yourself and Stone. One way or another.”

He walked out of the room. Yes, the fierce loyalty in Fontaine’s eyes had given way to fear. Stone had told him. That was good. Fear was Le Boeuf’s greatest weapon, and it was one he would use to drag Fontaine to the gates of hell itself.

5.

THE MYSTERIES OF AGES. Such incredible images and knowledge. They gave everything, holding nothing back. So much that it was hard for one mind to take it all in.

Time was meaningless as the story unfolded; every part of the great experiment, the journey of the Heart and it’s brethren, the shutdown and the awakening, the evolution of the Selenites, the connection between the Heart and man’s progress into the aether… Millennia of history. For the first time they both knew it all.

You know what to do?

Yes.

The timing is crucial. There have been too many mistakes. They are not ready.

I understand.

Wait for the signal.

Yes. When will we know you again?

When it is time.

Until all are one?

Yes. Wait for the signal.

For a moment Nathaniel stood there, his hands pressed against the smooth surface of the Heart. For the first time since he’d first held Arnaud in his arms he felt a sense of contentment. Nothing was unknown to him. He felt at one with the universe. He took a deep breath and stumbled backwards.

Nathaniel looked up at the metal wall before him, his mind a well of confusion. What was he doing here? He glanced around the cavern. He remembered coming here, yes, after he had arranged for a message to be couriered back to Earth for Orlondo. He had come to talk to the Heart, to try and communicate with it. He had never shown any telepathic tendencies before, but already since arriving on Luna he’d found he could understand the Drobates, make sense of their broken English. Had he succeeded?

He pulled himself to his feet and dusted his trousers down; not that it made a whole lot of difference, his clothes had been almost consistently dirty for the last few weeks. He walked over to the Heart and placed one hand against the smooth wall. There was nothing, no sense of the mind he had heard Grant and Folkard speak of. Perhaps he needed to acquire the help of one the telepaths at Otterbein Base—it was true that none of them had a smidgen of the understanding that Grant had shown, but they had made some progress in his absence.

Nathaniel turned away from the Heart and found himself facing another problem. Ridgway and Parkhouse were still there, guarding the entrance as per Major Larkins instructions. He had to get past them; it was the only way in and out of this particular chamber. Other Heart chambers had many access points, but not this one. Which presented a problem.

There was only way out of this.

“Good day, gentlemen,” he said as he walked towards them.

They looked back at him, to each other, then at him again. “Professor Stone? How did you…?” Parkhouse glanced at Ridgway, who shrugged in return.

“Must have been Webster and Spillane.” Ridgway clucked his tongue. “The major ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Nathaniel was going to question them on this; it was they who had let him in, not the other unfortunates they mentioned. He would hate to be them when Larkins got hold of them; still, if it meant an easy way out, then Nathaniel would take it.

“Yes, I guess not all marines are as dependable as you.” Nathaniel offered them his best smile. “It’s my own fault; put the fear of Admiral Hamilton into them.”

Parkhouse nodded. “Ah, well, they are new here, guess they’ve not worked out that it’s Major Larkins who gives the orders, not one of the bigwigs at the Admiralty.”

“Yes, it would appear so. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do at the city.”

Nathaniel pushed his way gently past them, not daring to glance back. Best not to give them reason to stop him and present him before Larkins instead. As he walked off, his mind continued to ponder on the oddness of it all. Why did they not remember letting him in? And why had they not noticed him in the chamber anyway? Maybe the Heart had somehow hidden him, protected him from them… If so, then did that mean he had been successful and the Heart had communicated with him?

He wished he could remember what had happened.

6.

IT HAD BEEN THREE days since the grisly and unsettling circus sideshow of the hanging. For the rest of Sunday evening, the denizens of Souptown had all seemed in a jocular and carefree mood, as if the execution had released some pressure that had been building, worrying at the corners of their mind and never easing. With the pressure off, it was time to let their hair down.

While a lot of the derelicts, renegades, whores and convicts went back to the saloon, a good number remained in the street to wrestle or huddle in groups, throwing knives and horseshoes. There were still too many people around, and they were still too unfamiliar with the true layout of the place for any of the intruders to go snooping. They would just have to lay off the whiskey, hope everybody else didn’t show similar restraint, and poke about under cover of darkness.

George, thinking quickly, had managed to snag them a small table in one of the darkened back corners of the bar, so the trio hunkered down and kept their ears open. Mostly for show, Enderby bought a bottle of whiskey which, when sampled, brought tears to their eyes and was promptly left alone.

There was some talk of the hanged man’s crime—it sounded like something to do with trying to alert the authorities about one of the residents to net himself a handsome bounty, but he had been apprehended before getting even a couple of miles from the borders of Souptown when the old nag he’d rustled collapsed from exhaustion. Beyond that they learned nothing; there was no talk of men forced inside bones of bronze, neither were the Soup Twins openly discussed beyond praise for Casey’s wise judgement and Eustace’s reedy singing voice.

Similarly, their probing under night’s stifling veil was no more productive. The residents of Souptown were not ones for an early night. Way past midnight darkened alleyways were still alive with deals and gambling, or the promise of a night-time tryst. It was simply too much of a risk, and even at this broken and lonely hour the factory and mansion were guarded by several men armed with Winchesters and bowie knives.

They had to accept the setback. Even Enderby, frustrated as he was, had to concede that the risk of capture or discovery was too great, and sent George to procure them a single room they could share somewhere on the top floor of the brothel. George didn’t like the way the madame smirked at him when she handed over the key.

The following day saw more information come their way, though it was more by luck than judgement. Enderby had sauntered off under the pretence of finding them some food other than horse-meat stew, leaving George and Annabelle to swelter in the poky, foul-smelling room they currently had to call their lodgings.

Annabelle’s demeanour towards George had not warmed in the interim; she still did not know how to broach her discovery, let alone if she was to forgive him or not. In order to avoid having to talk to him, she stared from the window while her husband sat on the paper-thin mattress, fretting and biting his nails.

As she took in the street a curious incident occurred. A man, clearly drunk but dressed significantly better than Souptown’s other residents, stumbled out into the street. Unsteady on his legs but unwavering in his approach, he strode across to the curiously door-less metal factory and began banging on the sheet steel of the side. Annabelle opened the window so she could hear better. Wordlessly, George joined her to watch the scene unfold.

“You took him from me,” yelled the man. “My kid brother, you went an’ hung him, now you can at least give me the body for a proper Christian burial! Mister Campbell… Eustace! You’re a man of the Lord with a brother himself, you gotta let me give Harry the last rites!”

There was a clank above him and once more the flywheel on the big brass door span around. One of the brothers stepped out, and in his hands he brandished a lever-action Winchester rifle that was patterned all over with gold leaf, the wood of its stock carved and polished to an expert level. He strode up to the edge and looked down.

“Which one are you?” yelled the man below him. “Which one, dammit!”

The brother declined to answer. He simply shouldered the rifle and clicked a latch on the side with his thumb, and a telescopic slight flicked up from the side to click into line with the barrel. The brother took aim.

The beleaguered man soon forgot his complaint, grabbed his hat and started to zig-zag away as fast as his drunken legs could carry him. Annabelle wasn’t sure if his erratic movements were a deliberate ploy to avoid getting shot or a handy side-effect of the booze. The brother shot from the balcony once, then twice; each time a plume of dust shot up an inch from the fleeing man’s shoes, accompanied by a roar of carnival clown laughter from the twin.

Not long after this, Enderby returned. He brought with him several wrinkled apples and what he promised was buffalo jerky. Without touching any of this bounty himself, he leaned by the doorframe, lit another cheroot, and told the mute couple of all he had learned on his sojourn.

In what passed for a general store, the shopkeeper wouldn’t be drawn on discussing the Soup Twins, the factory or the strange nature of the hanging, but Enderby put this down to stupidity on the man’s part rather than a lack of talent on his. On the way back he had skirted round the rear of the factory but found it blocked off by the walls of other houses. There was no sign of any doors or windows.

It was as he was making his way back that he’d heard the commotion on the factory balcony. Ever alert to possibilities he flattened his back against the nearest wall to watch from the shadows. When the man began to flee under the cold glass eye of the Soup Twin’s sniper rifle, Enderby quickly calculated where he terrified gent would flee to and set off down the backstreets to intercept him.

“And intercept him I did,” added Enderby casually. “As if his troubles weren’t enough, his name’s Mick Mackett. Came here with his brother after some gambling debts got him into trouble back in Blackwater. His brother, the gentleman who was hanged not one day ago, was an apprentice blacksmith who had been taken on by the Soup Twins to work in their foundry—that big metal building. He disappeared for weeks. Apparently, those who go into the factory are allowed to stay in the mansion, and such is the luxury there, with every whim provided for, they need never leave. Only the next thing he knows, his brother’s been branded a criminal and is on the run, although nobody saw him escape and nobody had seen him brought back in chains.”

“Doesn’t anybody around here question such queer occurrences?” Annabelle seethed.

“I don’t think they dare to,” Enderby said. “The Soup Twins are like royalty, nobody dare speak up against them. For the promise of liberty from the laws of the land, the residents here seem happy to cower under their despotism.”

“Not much of a life,” mulled George. “Sounds like marriage. What are we to do, then?”

“Well, unlucky old Mick is adamant on getting his brother’s corpse back. But he’s too unpredictable to be of any use to us, save as acting as an extra, slower target for the enemy to shoot at. He thinks he can get us into the factory, and I’ve told him we’ll get the body back while he keeps watch.”

“How on Earth did you gain his confidence so easily?” asked George, clearly impressed.

“He was drunk,” said Enderby drolly. “He thought it was a great idea. And I found something else out, too. Casey is the one we need to go for. He’s the smarts. Eustace is just some cheap showman, a godly preacher that likes the feel of a flock in the palm of his hand.”

“And what of Mackett’s plan?” asked Annabelle.

“We’re to meet him at 2am on the westernmost side of the factory.”

When they arrived, he was nowhere to be seen. The following morning, Enderby vanished too.

7.

THE PASSAGE OF TIME was so hard to gauge in the underworld of Luna without the orbit of the sun to help. True, they had watches, but it didn’t help with the AM or PM. The passage of time occupied his mind as Nathaniel traversed the tunnels from the Heart chamber, using lesser known secret passages that he’d been introduced to by Jappeth Kelp, quickening his journey back to Otterbein Base. His watch wristlet, given to him upon his return to Luna since their use was more practical than the usual pocket watch—a practice started by the military, he was told—told him that it was now five to twelve, some eight hours since he’d gone to see the Heart. Eight hours! That in itself was longer than he would have expected, but even then it felt like he had been there longer still. What he needed was one of those twenty-four hour clocks the Italians used—perhaps he could adapt his own watch wristlet to that purpose? He was no horologist, but he was certain he could work out the finer functions of the watch on his own.

Eventually he emerged onto a rocky outcrop overlooking the creatively named Great Cavern—it seemed everywhere was called Great Something on Luna. Below him he could see the lake that took up most of the cavern, Otterbein Base covering almost all of the ground on the far bank—nearly twice the size it had been when he had last visited Luna almost a year ago. The British administration continued to build, as the need for research grew, and thus the larger military presence with it. There was little left of the Russian mining operation that had once occupied the Great Cavern—now it looked like almost any British colonial base, albeit dirtier and darker. To the right of the base was the landing area, situated just to the side of the Great Gorge. As usual it was full of cutters and various mining equipment, including a couple of mole drills, looking like strange misshapen locomotive engines.

It was looking at Otterbein Base that he got his first confirmation that he’d been away longer than he wanted to believe. The Edison bulbs, standing atop tall masts, shone according to the hour of the day in an attempt to replicate the twenty-four-hour rotation of Earth. Unless he was mistaken, the illumination now indicated noon.

Which was impossible. How could he have possibly been away for twenty hours? It was absurd to think he’d been with the Heart for such a time. But, he considered, it would explain the odd behaviour of Ridgway and Parkhouse and the mention of those other marines; presumably the pair who Ridgway and Parkhouse had relieved for the morning shift. How many had guarded the Heart chamber in the time he had been there? And why had none of them noticed him?

Questions he could not answer right now. He’d have to answer enough questions if his return to Otterbein Base was noticed by Professor George.

It never ceased to surprise him how people ignored you if you walked around like you had something to do. No-one bothered to question him, merely the odd nod and good afternoon, and soon he was opening the door of his own quarters that doubled as his private lab. Not that he used it much. He tended to spend more time in the City of Light and Science, talking to the Drobates there, with the interpretative skills of Kelp, and examining the construction of that city.

There was a definite similarity between the crystals that were used in its construction and the aleksandrite.

“Orlondo!” Nathaniel was most delighted to see his friend waiting for him; his portly frame seated comfortably at the desk, test tubes and ephemera cast aside in favour of the papers he had been studying as Nathaniel opened the door.

Orlondo looked up from the papers, his tanned face breaking into a wide smile of his own. “Professor! Sí, sí, a joy to see you again!” He got off the stool and walked the length of the room to heartily shake Nathaniel’s hands.

“How was Arizona? And how is dear Annabelle? Enjoying her second honeymoon, I trust?”

For a moment Orlondo did not reply, a dark shadow crossing his usually bright face. “She is, ah, well occupied,” he said, his hesitation causing Nathaniel a small measure of concern. “But Arizona; it was amazing! That cave. Ah! The discoveries I made. But come, we shall speak of these later. First!” Orlondo snapped his fingers and pulled an envelope from his inside pocket. “From Julian Verney, the information you requested, sí?”

Nathaniel took the envelope from him and began opening it. “Did you have trouble finding him?”

“No, no, your friend at the Savile Club was most helpful. Although he did say that you will have to reimburse him later. He expected much for being put out of place.”

“Yes, that sounds like Sir Eleias.” Nathaniel glanced at the papers inside the envelope—exactly what he needed; the complete set of records from Verney’s observations of the glow. He would have to personally thank the astronomer at some point, and maybe even discover why Verney had never published his findings. He closed the envelope. The papers could wait a short while. “What did you discover in Arizona? I assume it was helpful to your research, your understanding of the Drobates?”

Orlondo’s face was alight with excitement. He scrambled over to the desk and picked up a daguerreotype. “Let me show you! The Drobate skull in the Greenore Gulch cave was… Come, see for yourself!”

Nathaniel had missed Orlondo’s excitement, and considered it a pity they had not had more time to work together on Luna. It was a shame their working together would be delayed for another month. He listened, studying the unclear image of the Drobate skull, as Orlondo explained his findings and his hypothesis. One phrase struck him; as if the brain had outgrown its original purpose. For a few moments Nathaniel was silent.

“It has to be the jothrick,” he muttered softly, rubbing his chin.

“Qué? Jothrick?”

Nathaniel explained about jothrick, and the tree found at the Greenore Gulch cave. “The way Annabelle described it, I believe that stump of crystal was once a tree of jothrick, not unlike that which Tally and I discovered beneath Phoenix Park.”

“Sí, I saw the crystal, it looked like…”

“This?” Nathaniel pointed to the green crystal growth sitting in a plant pot, looking much like a bonsai tree. Orlondo’s face lit up. “I wonder… Could it be over-exposure to the aleksandrite? Sorry, that’s what jothrick is called on Earth. I have reasons to believe it to be susceptible to psychic influence—indeed, much evidence points to this. This little tree here was but a small chunk of crystal when it was given to me, and it grows because I want it to. And then there’s Arnaud… The mental damage done to him by exposure to a raw potency of jothrick.”

“Where is Señor Arnaud?”

Nathaniel was thrown by the abrupt question. For a moment he looked at Orlondo, wondering why he would ask such a thing. “He is on Earth, recovering, surely I have mentioned this?”

Orlondo shook his head. “No, you have not said his name since you came to Luna. Is everything okay with you? You and he are…?”

Nathaniel looked away. “Too much exposure,” he said, and pointed at the picture of the Drobate skull. “This is what it does to you.”

Orlondo nodded, concern in his eyes. Despite this he, too, turned his attention back to the main topic. “Sí. Drobates are telepathic, we know this.”

“And the City of Light and Science is made of a similar crystalline substance. I have run tests and it shows the same sclerenchyma-like properties as the jothrick. I am certain the Chaldrite crystal city on Phobos will contain the same properties—I am expecting a sample of said crystals today, in fact.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them. It could be the courier, but what kind of man would knock so rudely? For a moment Nathaniel considered ignoring it, but decided that he would rather deal with the indignation of George now than let it fester longer, for there was no-one else who would possibly knock in such a way. He opened the door and, in fact, saw the very last face he ever could have expected.

“Why, there y’are, ya gobshite!”

Handsome as ever, his face and expression hardened by life, but not defeated by it, the man before him had jet-black hair and sparkling blue eyes. As usual he was dressed in a waistcoat and open-necked shirt, a flat beige cap balanced at an odd angle on his head.

“Tally!” Before he realised he was going to do so, Nathaniel grabbed Tally in a hug. At first the other man resisted, his muscles like iron, before he relaxed into the embrace and firmly pattered Nathaniel on the back. “What the dickens brings you to Luna? I thought that surely Tooler would be putting your unique gifts to good use.”

“Aye, and that he is. Me gifts, as yer so delicately put them, are at your service, Professor. Mister Tooler sent me here to be yer bodyguard—seems he worries for yer safety now the world knows about this gravitar stuff.”

For a second Nathaniel was confused. “Ah, I see, that’s why we have a much larger presence of Navy vessels above us. Oh. I doubt Chillingham will be happy about this development.” At this he smiled. “Serves the blackguard right, keeping his dirty secrets to himself and using them to settle petty scores.”

“And so he should; you Britishers worry too much about keeping secrets. Honesty is the only way forward. Which reminds me.” Tally pushed his way into Nathaniel’s quarters and closed the door tightly behind him. “Only just managed to escape that tour. I tell ya, how many laboratories does one man need to see before he’s bored senseless? Thought I’d get used to toadying, but I may’ve been mistaken.”

“Professor George, I assume?” Tally nodded. “Yes, well, he means well, but he doesn’t really know when to stop ingratiating himself. Oh! Forgive me.” Nathaniel indicated Orlondo, who was still sitting at the desk, the daguerreotype in his hand. “This is Doctor Orlondo Quintana, a good friend and expert on…” He stopped at the nod of recognition between them. “You two have met?”

“Aye, that we have.”

“Lo siento, Señor,” Orlondo said to Tally. “I needed to visit Raddep Jank to discuss my new theories. He was most excited. I did not want to disturb you, estabas durmiendo.”

Tally looked from Orlondo to Nathaniel for a better explanation.

“You were sleeping. And so he went to see a Drobate—a rare breed among his people; curious about their past. As a rule Drobates are ignorant of where they came from, both blissfully and wilfully, I think. There are but a few who wish to learn more.”

“Aye, catching up on the sleep I lost coming here. Dreaming of dear old Dublin town,” Tally said. “Just not sure I’m built for this travelling lark. Wasn’t what I expected when I signed up with the Bureau.”

“Then perhaps I can help you with that,” Nathaniel said, hitting upon an idea. “A chance to return a favour.” He looked over at Orlondo. “You’ll have to forgive me for cutting this short, but Tally must be shown the City of Light and Science. Is there anything else you particularly need to show me, or can it wait?”

Orlondo glanced at the picture in his hand and shook his head. “No, you have confirmed my hypothesis. But I have much study to do.”

“Indeed, but alas it will not be on Luna.”

“Qué?”

Nathaniel could not blame him for his confusion. Things were progressing so fast, faster than he had expected. But there was no time to waste. He needed someone he trusted to prepare things for him; someone he knew. “I’m afraid you’ve been conscripted, my friend. For the most amazing discoveries of your career. What you saw in Arizona was only the beginning. You’re off to Mars.”