Chapter Eleven

“The Horizons of Truth”

1.

THE GRIEF OF FAILING his ancestor’s sacred duty had all but broken the old apache chief, and when he had seen first-hand how the great green tree his people had venerated had been utilised, his spirit had begun its final, sad decline. Milling around in small, despondent groups, the remaining apaches told how it was not despair that had broken their leader, but a willingness and strong desire to confront the spirits of his ancestors directly, and answer for his shortcomings in protecting their sacred past. He had died as he had lived, bold and brave, willing to face up to his responsibilities, however unpleasant they might be.

Annabelle had withdrawn into herself the moment she had heard. She had spent some time with the body, a custom not extended to George, who was still seen as far too much of an outsider. He was to be buried that night, at an undisclosed location out in the desert, by Gopan and Gopan alone. Though she would have dearly loved to be there, Annabelle knew only too well the importance the apaches placed on such secrecy. She knew she had to put her feelings to one side to respect the customs of the people that had cared for her for so long, even if right now she didn’t care for them one jot.

Still, they had to eat. Enderby was keeping close guard over Casey in a tent set away from the main camp, presumably making arrangements to have his prisoner returned to England for a full, frank and brutal questioning over the true identity of his malignant benefactor. Annabelle had her suspicions, and as she sat on the floor of their tepee and angrily tore the pelt from the carcass of a rabbit for their supper she plotted a deep and terrible revenge.

George, who had hitherto kept his distance out of respect, quietly made his way into the tent. He tried to catch her eye but she firmly and stubbornly kept her attention on her task, refusing to look up at him. They had barely spoken since their return, and Annabelle was not wholly sure she could rein in her temper, should he be foolish enough to try and mollycoddle her.

“Annabelle,” he began slowly, stepping forward and kneeling beside her. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabelle threw the dead rabbit onto the floor and jerked her head up to look at him, eyes ablaze. “For what, George?” she spat, every syllable precise and sharp. “What are you sorry for?”

“Well, your loss,” said George, speaking slowly and carefully. “He was a great man.”

“Oh, go away, George. And take your aimless manners and your feeble platitudes with you.”

“I know you’re upset, Annabelle, but really…”

“Yes, George. Really. Please, just get out of my sight.”

“I will not,” said George, not unkindly. “Not until I’ve at least tried to comfort you, or found some way to do so in the near future.”

“You can’t, George. You’re wasting your time. I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

George stood up sharply. For a moment it looked as if he was about to storm out and leave his wife to her own devices, but he stopped himself and turned on her suddenly. “No,” he said purposefully. “I shan’t. Not until I’ve got to the bottom of this bitter mood of yours. I can understand your grief, dear Annabelle, really I can. But not this perpetual antipathy towards me. You’ve been like it since before we set off to Souptown. I’m your husband, Annabelle. I’ll respect your privacy and your willingness to mourn, but I won’t abide this venom until I know there’s nothing I can do about it, or at least why you’re pouring such scorn on me. What have I done?”

“What have you done?” Annabelle hissed, matching his anger and intensity tenfold. “What have you done?”

She pushed herself upright, slapping him away when he tried in vain to assist her. She strode over to where the fateful object lay, still covered by clothes, in the old trunk. She sent the trinkets that covered it careening around the room as she yanked the blanket from the top and spilled the contents out when the box tipped over. Getting down on her knees she searched about for a moment, sure of the position she would find the desiccated scalp. She yanked it out and held it up to George, letting the leather covering fall gently away.

“This, George,” she screamed, her voice suffused with rage. “How do you explain this? I told you to destroy it! I didn’t want to remember any moment of that day, and here you are parading my shame in my face once more! Have I not suffered enough?” The pain of the revelation was too much for her. She fell back onto her haunches and began to sob. “This place,” she said, feeling like she was talking only to herself. “This place, these people… A wonderful people, but every time I return there is pain and suffering, pain from the moment my parents first brought me here. Am I to damn Kai to live that same life too? Is that a choice I have to make, that she should suffer the same way I did? And you, George…” She looked down at the shrivelled scrap of skin and threw it to one side in disgust. “You saw fit to remind me of all of it.”

George remained silent for a moment, but the sound of his wife in tears soon prompted him to action, and he knelt down beside her. He tried to touch her shoulder but she flinched away. He dropped his arms uselessly down at his sides.

“I’m sorry, Annabelle. Of course I never meant for you to discover it, I should have just thrown it in the rubbish when I had the chance back in London. But I didn’t, because that wasn’t what you’d asked of me. I brought it back here, my love, to bury it as you wished, and I dearly regret ever keeping it in the first place.”

“But why, George? Why did you keep it?”

It was George’s turn for anger to creep into his voice, barking out the answer as if it was obvious. “Because he hurt you, Annabelle. He hurt you so terribly, and… And I wanted to remember. Not your pain, not your past, but the fate that befell him. That fate I swore on that day would befall any man or beast who would dare to hurt you again. The fate of those would seek to damage those who I hold most dear.”

“That’s a facile reason, George. It makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He nodded across to the corner of the tepee. There, standing upright against the fabric of the tent’s wall was Casey’s customised Winchester, its golden filigree glinting slightly in the dull light. “Aren’t you keeping that for precisely the same reason?” he asked.

Annabelle shrugged somewhat petulantly, but the gesture was as much an admission of George’s shrewdness as it was one of truculence.

“Then you can understand,” he said. “Though much evil in this world goes unpunished, dear Annabelle, some of it does not. With the lives we lead, sometimes it’s good to have a reminder of that.”

She could not fault his argument, and she was far too exhausted—both physically and emotionally—to argue. “Oh, George,” she sighed. “There’s nothing more for me here, not any more. Let’s head home, as swiftly as possible. Will you bury that…thing for me?”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you wish.”

“Whatever?” she asked quietly, finally looking up to gaze at him, reading the compassion in his eyes.

“Whatever.”

“Then I think it is time we gave Kai a proper home.”

2.

THE WIND SENT THE DOG scrambling under the table. Le Boeuf glanced up and looked at the windows. Like a torrent of bullets, the rain hammered in the early morning darkness outside. He had to admit he could feel tiredness creeping up on him, but he had to remain focussed. He still had much to do, and very little time for sleep. Unlike Mortimer who had enjoyed his few hours of sleep and had since been involved in the surgery needed to implant the small device in Fontaine’s neck.

“It is done,” Mortimer said.

Le Boeuf joined him and looked down at Fontaine, who was lying on the table, his back facing them. Le Boeuf peered closely; the incision was clear by the bloodied lines beneath Fontaine’s parted hair. “Very nicely done, James.” He turned away from the table. “Clean him up, and make sure these are given to Delany for the trip back to Kent.” He handed Mortimer tiny green crystals—pure aleksandrite. “Tell him when he returns Fontaine to his room at the home, to make sure these crystals are placed somewhere nobody will look. Their proximity to Fontaine will keep him in a confused state while his neck heals—he will convince himself this was all a dream.”

“Very well,” Mortimer said, and took the crystals from Le Boeuf.

It was a job well done. Fontaine would wake up in his bed with no idea of his short stay in Dartmoor; the staff at the home would be silent, their greed overriding their sense. As for Stone… Once Delany returned from seeing Le Boeuf’s naval agent he would know how to proceed. How best to use Fontaine against Stone.

It was simply a matter of time.

3.

THOUGH THE SADNESS THAT cloaked the girl over the death of her grandfather remained, Kai had taken the news of her imminent departure to England with remarkable aplomb. Nothing, it seemed, truly fazed this girl, the spirit of adventure that ran so strong through the mother’s bones had clearly been passed down to the daughter.

Between periods of gloomy introspection, Kai had quizzed Annabelle relentlessly regarding the nature of her future life. Would she be living in a grand country house? Why yes, she would. Would she be able to hunt buffalo in the grounds? No, dear, you probably cannot. Would she be able to go and see the queen? George had winked at her when she’d asked that one, and told her he’d see what he could do.

In truth, Annabelle was glad she could distract the girl with tales of her upcoming life in England, for it gave her some distraction herself. As they packed their things up slowly and solemnly, she knew in her heart that this was the right thing to do. She would return to Arizona and the apaches one day, she was sure of it, but it was no longer a home for her. The tribe was still mourning the death of their greatest leader, with the conversation and the eyes of the womenfolk dimmed in mourning while the men remained surly and gruff. It seemed likely Gopan was to assume leadership, and Annabelle couldn’t think of a better choice. She knew that, with him and everything he had seen in the pursuit of the tribe’s continued existence, their future was in safe hands. But it would take time for wounds carved so deeply to heal, and the scars that remained would be ugly and prominent.

“Mama, mama!” yelled Kai, bursting into the tent and causing George to start. “Come see, come see!” The girl grabbed Annabelle’s hand and pulled with all her tiny might. George chuckled effusively, catching Annabelle’s eye and smiling warmly as she was dragged out of the flap of the doorway. The smile warmed Annabelle’s heart—her previous reservations concerning her husband’s actions had all but dissipated thanks to his keen knowledge of her character, and knowing they both shared a common bond over the relics of the past they wished to cling to had, in the end, only strengthened the love they shared. It also delighted her heart to see the connection between George and Kai flowering as they spent more time together—he had already had to promise her several times that, each and every night without fail, he would tell her a new story of his adventures in the Navy. Fatherhood, she knew, would suit him well. She only wished he would be about for longer.

As she was yanked out of the tepee her eyes accustomed themselves to the evening gloom. A small fire was burning itself out in the centre of the camp, which seemed deserted. Geronimo’s death was still felt keenly, and would for many moons to come. She only hoped that the camp would one day be filled with lively chatter and spirit songs again.

It didn’t take long to see what had got Kai so excited. Still some miles off, HMAS Intrepid was chundering towards them, the low moan of the engines cutting through the warm air and its dark shadow blocking out the stars. Yet it made its own stars; small lights twinkled and blinked from the prow as it made its way across the plains.

“Am I going to the stars, Mama?” asked Kai.

“Not quite yet, Kai. Not quite yet.”

Further out, beyond the circle of tents, two silhouetted figures could be seen in the gloom. One was fat, his white suit standing out slightly as he rested on his knees with his arms tied behind him and his head hanging low. The other was more difficult to discern. He had changed back into his standard black suit, small wisps of smoke rising gently into the air from his cigarillo. She supposed she had him to thank for the airship’s speedy arrival, but she was in no way going to thank him. She would be grateful, in fact, if she never saw the wretched man again.

His body moved. He looked around in the gloom, picking her out instantly. Though he was wearing his darkened glasses once more, she did not need to see his eyes to feel the intensity of his gaze. After a moment, he turned back again to the approaching ship and continued puffing smoke into the evening sky.

4.

BEYOND THE INNER WORLDS: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone (Vol.2) – An extract.

Thursday November 6th 1890.

It is like I know this vessel, although I have not stepped foot on it until today. HMAS Endeavour is an exact copy of her sister ship, Sovereign, the first of a small fleet that is still being built to echo that powerful prototype battleship. It has been ordered to ferry me, and a select group of scientists drafted from Otterbein Base, to Mars where Sovereign herself awaits. She has been there for the past month, undergoing a major refit for the long voyage ahead, including the installation of the new boilers and solar panels designed by Professor Thomson and Doctor Boltzmann. Thanks to my link with the Heart (I dare not write or speak its real name) much of the work done by Thomson and his team can be enhanced by the edwinite; in particular I feel I can increase the productivity of the solar panels by growing wafer-thin cells from pure jothrick. The edwinite will be the power source that takes Sovereign beyond the asteroid belt. Already it is growing into a diamond that I can fit into the cradle lattice inside the aether propeller governor, while further applications of the crystal will be used to increase the steam pressure in the boilers.

Yes, growing and shaping itself into what I need. The Heart confirmed what I had already discovered; all three crystals as one is a natural state for it, one that contains so much potential power that it was intentionally distilled into separate compounds a very long time ago. I suppose I am risking a lot by allowing it to remain in one united form, but we need it at its most potent if we are ever to find and stop Imperator. The Heart also confirmed that it is responsive to telepathic control—it can become whatever it is needed to be. This is why I drafted a list of names for the Admiralty, of scientists I needed for the voyage, and all of them from Otterbein Base. People who have shown some telepathic leanings; they will power the edwinite, act like a control element. Without them it is pretty much just a lump of crystal; I, alas, cannot be everywhere at once.

The hold of Endeavour contains several tones of the Drobate crystals and jothrick, everything Kaplan, Tally and I could put in our cutter before we left Luna. I have already sent a heliograph to Mars and asked for a large quantity of the Chaldrite crystal to await my arrival. It is true that even now the edwinite grows according to my mental urging—indeed, I can see it as I write this, on another table on the other side of my cabin. I do not how much I can grow in the three weeks it will take us to reach Mars, but I suspect I will need extra quantities of the crystals during the mission ahead; thus the crystals in the hold.

I have made a request to the Bureau for the inclusion of Tally on our mission—if nothing else, I think Tooler will agree simply so he has one of his own people on board. They are ever suspicious of each other, the Admiralty and the Bureau. I have also requested the presence of Arnaud, once he is recovered. Again I shall get what I wish, simply because without me the Admiralty knows this mission will fail. There is no-one in the empire who knows as much as I. Not now Folkard is lost, and even then, what scientific mind do they have who has been there since this all began? And, more importantly, they know they put me in this position and so my whims will be met.

My only real regret in this mission ahead is Annabelle… I will miss her; she has been my companion for so long now, a constant source of strength. But she cannot come with me. Not this time.

5.

KAI WAS HELPING GEORGE unpack upstairs when the knocking on the door came. She could hear the two of them chatting away genially as George instructed her where and how things should be properly stored, and Annabelle could not help suppress a smile as she heard him raise his voice to ask her, somewhat nervously, to put the bowie knife down because it was not a toy.

Annabelle skipped lightly down the stairs of their home and opened the door to reveal a courier, just in the process of unstrapping his mask and goggles. A young lad no more than twenty-two, she was momentarily flummoxed when she found the boy staring at her in something approaching embarrassment.

Then she remembered—her hair! She must have looked quite a picture to the lad, and she resolved herself to perhaps arrange a house visit from her hairdresser to neaten it up a bit. A shorter style would have to suffice before it grew out, but she found herself slightly flattered by the soft blush that rose in the courier’s cheeks.

“Telegraph for you, Ma’am,” he stammered. He handed it over, still staring. So to spare him his continuing blushes she thanked him, gave him a shilling for his troubles and sent him on his way.

As soon as the door had swung shut she turned around and tore open the envelope. It was from Nathaniel, and she leaned back against the doorframe to read the missive with an encroaching sense of emptiness.

My Dearest Annabelle,

Apologies in such circumstances seem a moot, if not wholly insufficient, way to mitigate the sadness I feel having to say my farewells to you in such an impersonal manner. I can only imagine the disappointment you must feel that I could not see you in person, but please be assured that my disappointment is yet greater. Yet due to recent developments my research is now at a crucial stage, and I have little time left to me before Sovereign is due to set sail from Mars, and more work than I think is possible to complete to my satisfaction in such a pitiful amount of time. I will not bore you with the details.

I am glad George and yourself returned safely from Arizona, and I hear through the grapevine (it amazes me how fast news can travel) that your daughter accompanies you, and is now to be a firm and constant fixture in your life. This news delighted me; you will make a fine mother, Annabelle, and George a fine father. I dearly look forward to meeting Kai at some point in the future, and wish you and her the very best in the transition into your new lives.

I know, dearest Annabelle, that last year I promised I would look after you, and I fear my conduct in this regard is, and remains, shamefully lacking. It is a point I promise you I will remedy upon my return, and I also promise to do my utmost in finding your uncle and returning him not only to sanity but to the bosom of his family. I know my promises may not carry much weight with you after my failure to ensure your safety on so many occasions, but I shall strive to do my best, as I always have done.

Nothing now remains but to bid you farewell, Annabelle. Not a day will pass on my great adventure when I will not think of you, of the times we have shared, the dangers we have faced and the hope and joy you have brought to my life. If there is one thought that will see me through the dangers I will inevitably face it is the thought of returning safe to you, for you are the light that will guide me back home through the long night of the stars.

With deepest love and fondness,

Nathaniel.

She could feel the wetness on her cheeks. When she looked up, George was standing at the top of the stairs. His presence acknowledged and the deep, private spell of the telegraph broken, he paced down the steps and took her in his arms.

“He couldn’t even find the time to say goodbye in person,” she murmured, taking solace in the strength of his embrace.

“He wouldn’t have done it if his work wasn’t so important,” George pointed out, not unkindly. “The fate of our world may well rest in his hands.”

“I know, George, I know. But once again I find my life has changed in irreparable ways, and in this maelstrom it is only you and he that I feel I can truly rely on. And now I am to lose you both for goodness knows how long. If not forever.”

George held her tighter. “We’ll both return, my love. I’ll make sure of that.”

She stepped back from him and dried her eyes. She loathed the presumed emotional fragility of her sex at the best of times, and was not about to indulge herself in it now. “I shall write him. Will you take it with you and deliver it for me?”

“Of course I will, my darling. But there are other obligations that I must see to first.”

She looked at him and he smiled at her. The well of emotion threatened to bubble up in her again, and only with the greatest effort did she manage to suppress it. How long, she wondered, would it be before he was taken from her, this time forever? She did not feel it was a matter of fate, skill or even luck. It was only a matter of time.

6.

ONCE AGAIN STONE WAS going to be beyond his reach, but he would make it work. Le Boeuf should not have been surprised, Stone had more luck than the devil himself. He had read many reports today—from Arizona, from his agent in the Navy. Everything seemed to be coming together. With Bedford back on Sovereign Le Boeuf knew that it was simply a matter of time before Imperator was stopped. Tereshkov may believe himself indestructible, but after events in Arizona, Le Boeuf had gained a new respect for Commander Bedford. He would be surprised if Tereshkov ever made it back. Indeed, he would be quite happy if Bedford killed Tereshkov. There was little doubt that in some way Stone would return; the man had a surprising survival instinct. All that was left for Le Boeuf to do was wait, to set the gears in motion so when Stone did return it would be to his downfall.

Fontaine would play his part in that. Already Le Boeuf had sent Delany back out again, with sealed instructions for his agent who was soon to return to Sovereign. No-one was beyond his reach—not Stone, not Fontaine.

In the meantime he would keep himself busy, continue to bring the British Empire to its knees. It had been several days since his letter to The Morning Post and so far it appeared the British were controlling the fallout over the gravitar revelation. Unusually every organisation was pooling their resources—the Bureau, the Admiralty, even the House of Lords. It seemed they were better at this than Le Boeuf had expected.

No matter. There were other ways. He had not played his final card yet. There were still ways to cause the British Empire to crumble.

7.

ENDERBY HATED THE BIG Room at the best of times, but it felt it all the more keenly now. There was no room to properly pace, and the space in Tooler’s office was so confining he felt caged, which agitated him all the more. If he did not find some way to vent this spleen shortly, he felt as if he would punch through one of the walls.

“For pity’s sake, Enderby, please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

He didn’t look it, though. As ever, Tooler maintained his façade of distant and airily wry sang-froid as he watched Enderby shift uneasily from one side of the tiny room to the other. Normally, the agent had a heavy respect for the Bureau’s director, but today his unruffled attitude was only serving to irritate him further.

“We should all be nervous, sir. Things are getting out of control.”

“Ah. No great insights gleaned from our prisoner then, I take it?”

“He sang like a nightingale, sir. No backbone whatsoever, especially when the boys got the pincers into him. Only problem is it seems he knew very little to begin with. He was paid a small fortune by a man calling himself Willie to mine the aleksandrite, whose agents came to pick up the spoils twice a week.”

“And no description of this Willie character?”

“Not a particularly useful one, sir. Tall, dark-haired, strong features. No distinguishing features or discernible accent. Hardly enough for a warrant, is it?”

“Quite. But I do have my suspicions. I take it you have seen today’s Times?”

Enderby dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. Of course he had. Everybody in the Bureau offices had, and Enderby resented this fatuous remark. Once more a “Concerned Citizen” had written to the paper offering evidence of the British Empire’s misconduct. This time, the subject was not gravitar but the exposure of the empire’s continuing presence on Luna—a presence that violated several international treaties. Undoubtedly it was the same individual who attempted to expose Professor Stone and the whole Peregrine debacle last year. There were whispered reports of urgent and secretive cabinet meetings, and already several embassies had been clamouring for answers. The world, it seemed, was losing faith in the British as the harbingers of fair play, and lesser countries were all too ready to take advantage of the empire’s wounded reputation. Many of the empire’s borders had already (if discreetly) been put on high alert, should the unthinkable occur. While such explosive repercussions were not exactly imminent, they were looking increasingly likely should the empire not regain its footing and somehow save face in the wake of the ongoing revelations.

“It’s my belief,” began Tooler, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, “that the Soup Twins’ benefactor and our Concerned Citizen are one and the same. Someone with a deep and pathological desire to destabilise the world order for their own ends. Who else should he target but us, the custodians of the world? Do not for a moment think I am not worried, Mister Enderby. Irrespective of his other transgressions, anyone with the connections and the purse-strings to hire the Mouth and the Scalpel must be taken very seriously. He’s a threat to all of Her Majesty’s subjects. If not the entire world.”

“So what are you going to do about it, then?”

Tooler archly raised an eyebrow. Enderby realised he had spoken out of turn, and could feel his already tenuous position as one of the Bureau’s most senior agents slipping from his grasp. “I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

“You do yourself no favours, Mister Enderby. Remember that.”

“I will, sir.”

Tooler sat forward and idly began shuffling through a few papers on the chaos of his desk, seemingly for no real purpose. “Sovereign’s mission beyond the asteroid belt may well uncover the answers we’ve been searching for. If the Concerned Citizen is in league with the Russians—or at least providing them with their aleksandrite—then it follows there must be somebody in the crew of Imperator who knows his true identity. I think it’s almost certainly information Doctor Grant will have in his possession. We will just have to wait and hope that such a discovery is made and communicated to us with the utmost urgency. Only then will we be able to act.”

“Well, the answer seems obvious to me, sir.”

Tooler chortled softly and looked up over the rim of his pince-nez. “Well, it seems to have eluded my reasoning, Mister Enderby. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Send me along on Sovereign’s mission. I can be the eyes and ears of the Bureau. Those rum-soaked buffoons in the Navy are totally self-serving—you know damn well they can’t be trusted. Stone’s no better. He’s becomingly increasingly fractious, and you can be sure he won’t do what he’s told or what’s best for us, the Navy or the empire as a whole. Just what he thinks is right. He’s a loose cannon, sir, and if I may speak freely, a bloody supercilious one at that.”

Tooler frowned. “While I agree that Professor Stone’s allegiances appear more moral than nationalistic, his genius is in no doubt, and neither is his capacity to act in the best interests of us all. He might not trust us, but I can say with faith and impunity that I fully trust him. No, Enderby,” said Tooler firmly as the agent opened his mouth to protest. “Let me finish. You are, I might add, quite correct that a Bureau presence aboard Sovereign is wholly necessary. But that presence will not be you.”

“Sir, I have to protest…”

“No, Enderby, you do not. You simply wish to—another of your less than sterling attributes. Professor Stone has been in contact with me regarding this issue, and has requested the presence of Agent Cahalleret for the journey. It is a request I am happy to grant.”

“Cahalleret?” gasped Enderby. “He’s only been with us a matter of weeks! Surely you can’t trust him to…”

“Mister Enderby!” yelled Tooler. It was the first time Enderby had ever heard the director raise his voice, which seemed to echo round the room and leave a cold, hard silence in its wake. “Trust is precisely the reason I have come to this decision. Professor Stone and Agent Cahalleret trust each other implicitly. The same can hardly be said for you—a situation exacerbated by your recent, and, I might add, questionable conduct in Arizona. Oh, yes. I’ve heard all about that. Sovereign’s mission is of the utmost importance for the continued peace and prosperity of the empire and all of its citizens, whose welfare we are beholden to protect. I will not have that peace and so many lives jeopardized by the rash, unruly actions of an impetuous, egotistical upstart such as yourself. Am I making myself totally clear?”

“Yes, sir,” hissed Enderby through gritted teeth. “Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. In any other circumstances I’d recommend an extended leave of absence for you, pending a full enquiry into your suitability as a Bureau agent. But with the state of the world stage as it is, not to mention the increasing pressure placed upon us by various bodies, we cannot afford to let our investigations falter, not even for a second. You’re a good agent, Enderby, but you are far from indispensable. You would do well to remember that. As of tomorrow, you are to begin investigations into the identity of the Concerned Citizen. Your experiences in Arizona qualify you for that, at least. The usual resources will be placed at your disposal, and I suggest you begin by investigating any leads that may come from the Citizen’s recruitment of the Mouth and the Scalpel. I’ll send you the relevant files.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Is that everything, sir?”

Tooler stared him down for a moment, daring the agent to push him one step further. “No, Enderby, it is not. You are not leading this investigation. You are assisting with it. You will report directly to Mister Boon, who suffice to say will be keeping a close eye on your conduct. You are on a tightrope, Enderby, and a thin one at that. Do not put a foot wrong.” He paused for moment to let the threat sink in. “And that, to answer your question, is everything. You are dismissed, Enderby.” He looked back down to his papers.

Enderby left the room, every fibre of him raging. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch the wall. But he did not dare do either.

8.

NIGHT WAS FALLING AS the Her Majesty’s Aerial Ship Drake neared the naval aether ship port at Beachy Head in East Sussex. Deep within the ship, in a private room, Bedford sat at a desk pouring over reports and written orders pertaining to his forthcoming mission. His head felt heavy.

He looked up, thoughts of Annabelle and Kai swimming to the forefront of his mind.

They had travelled with him to London, ostensibly to see him off, but while he visited the Admiralty to receive his final orders from Admiral Cavor, Annabelle had taken Kai around London to show her the sights of the big industrial city. He would have given anything to spend the day with them, to enjoy Kai’s first experience of London, but duty had to come first. Nonetheless, once he received his orders and a curious package wrapped in brown paper, he quickly excused himself to spend a couple of hours with his family before HMAS Drake was scheduled to take him to HMAS Empress of India, which was to ferry him and the ‘cargo’ to Mars. The cargo in question being a large amount of aleksandrite from Calcutta—apparently the vein of aleksandrite in Dublin had all but been destroyed by Klopstock’s attempt to kill Stone, and what remained the Irish were holding on to. Not because they knew what it was, but because the British Government wanted it.

Those couple of hours simply were not enough. His heart ached to part with Annabelle once more, this time for what could amount to two years, but he took comfort in the knowledge that she would have the company of Kai. He made her promise to stay out of trouble, but he had no doubt that she would soon become restless and be off gallivanting the aether, taking Kai on the kind of adventures the young apache craved. He had never visited Venus, but he had heard plenty of stories from both Annabelle and Stone about their adventures there and, as he boarded Drake, he idly wondered just what Kai would make of Thymon.

Bedford smiled, remembering his first encounter with Annabelle. April 1889—it seemed such a long time ago. Even then there had been no doubt in his mind that she would become his wife. Although he wasn’t expecting a daughter in process, at least not so soon. But now he had both. Annabelle and Kai Bedford, his wife and daughter. His family.

He was going to miss them terribly. And, deep down, he knew he blamed Stone. Of course, Annabelle had to stay to be with Kai, but Empress of India would also be couriering new officers from the Women’s Royal Navy Service to serve on the mission ahead, and there was even a female scientist joining the ship from Austria. He was glad Annabelle knew none of this—had she known she would have insisted on finding a place for both her and Kai on the mission. Maybe Stone had been right to intercede, but it was the way he had gone about it that rankled Bedford so.

He shook himself out his maudlin mood. This wouldn’t do at all. He was a commander in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, the first officer on the most important mission the Navy had ever undertaken. He had to focus, prepare himself. He had a few weeks until he reached Mars, and during that time he intended to familiarise himself with the new crew members and the research team that were also being transported to Mars on Empress of India. They would be with each other for a long time, and it would do well for him to know them as if they were his very own children.

He reached for the brown-papered package, and undid the string that bound it. Inside he found a leather-bound book. It was familiar to him. He opened it and a small piece of paper fell out. He lifted the paper and read.

Commander Bedford, my friend and most loyal officer. He paused. Bedford knew the penmanship well; he had read more than enough orders in this hand. He glanced to the bottom of the page.

It was a letter from Captain Folkard. Of course, that’s why he recognised the book. From the many hours spent in the captain’s quarters aboard Sovereign during their last tour of duty together.

Bedford continued to read.

I am entrusting you to my most prized possession. You will no doubt recognise it as my journal—which dates back some four years. I fear I did not enter my thoughts into it as often as I would have liked, but it is the last entry which I need you to read forthwith. It is of vital importance that no-one ever gets their hands on this journal, for the words contained in the final entry could condemn two men. One of whom is most dear to your wife.

Promise me now, George, that no matter what you read, what you hear and see, that you will protect Professor Stone with your life. If not for him, then for Mrs Bedford’s sake. Promise me this, George.

Bedford stopped. Protect Stone? From what? It was true that Stone had, unintentionally, made many enemies since April last year, all in service of the British Empire. The professor was a changed man, but from what did he need protecting?

Bedford opened the journal and flicked to the last entry.

Friday September 19th 1890.

I find myself still awake as the sun rises over London—of course it is not comparable to the sunrises one sees in the countryside, but as light rises over London it creates a nimbus in the smog of industry, churning around twenty-four hours of a day. There is nothing majestic about a sunrise in London, but this one has a special meaning for me. It will be, I fear, the last sunrise I ever witness in England. Indeed, I would hardly be surprised if it is the last sun rise I ever witness.

He had never believed Enderby’s assertion that Folkard was a traitor, regardless of what Grant claimed. Grant was quite clearly insane, much like Tereshkov before him, and Enderby was an arrogant blackguard. And yet it seemed as if the captain knew he would not return from his mission to Severnaya. Bedford continued reading.

A dangerous mission lies ahead of me—Enderby and I have discussed the particulars of the mission with Admiral Hamilton and I foresee a multitude of problems ahead of us. Enderby seems less concerned, but that’s the Bureau for you. I am certain they encourage idiocy in their agents—the willingness to take foolish risks. On the surface it seems simple enough—Enderby and I will lead a small team of Bureau agents to Severnaya, Russia, to uncover the secret weapon they are developing. I have already devised several ways in which I can do this.

None of the above truly concerns me. It is a dangerous mission, of course, but I have served Her Majesty’s Navy for a long time now and I have been in dangerous positions before. No, the mission is not what keeps me awake. It is the knowledge that I will never again see people who I have come to regard as my friends. George and Annabelle are already in Arizona, ostensibly on their honeymoon, but I know there is another reason. No doubt George suspects the same. He is ever a shrewd man—a far cry from the teenager I first met on Raleigh some twenty years ago—and he will know there is more to the hospitality of the Admiralty and the Bureau than there seems to be on the surface.

Bedford smiled warmly. How right Folkard was. He knew that there was more than a honeymoon on offer. But it was this talk of not seeing his friends again that bothered Bedford. As the letter progressed the certainty grew.

Professor Stone is in Ireland, following another lead at the behest of the Bureau, while Fontaine is in Calcutta doing the same. These last two trouble me—I cannot claim a friendship with Fontaine, although I would not consider him simply an acquaintance either. We have served together since February and he has earned my respect, but what I saw only a few days ago… I can barely bring myself to write of such things.

I think of what I saw and I feel only betrayal. At first it was anger, disgust, but by the cold light of day, when I next saw them the following morning I found myself carrying in me a seething resentment. I do not quite understand it. I have been betrayed before—both professionally and personally. It is difficult to have had a career like I and not be betrayed, but this is something different. Of course one hears rumours, tales of deviant behaviour, of the fops and the houses they visit, but to think there were two such people serving with me for the past six months… It beggars belief!

Bedford looked up, a dark fear crossing over his mind. Protect Stone, Folkard had asked…

Stone I have known for well over a year, and it is true that on first meeting he seemed to carry himself with a certain regard, a man of refined language, but I have since come to learn that is merely a sign of his propriety upon meeting new people. I have seen him relaxed, seen him almost on a daily basis for over six months and I never questioned Stone’s lack of attachments; indeed, I seem to recall believing there to be an attraction between him and Annabelle. This has been proven an error of judgement on my part, as witnessed by the wedding of only three days ago. Stone is a man of science, and such men often seem to be married to their work, to the discoveries they make. I have come to consider Stone a friend—I have seen him go through the worst kind of pain, I have protected him, survived death with him. Certainly during our last journey to Mars I began to doubt my opinion of the man, but he once again proved himself during our adventure on Phobos. As for Fontaine…he is French and a scientist, one expects certain things from the French. But not this, never this. It feels as if Stone had been lying to me all this time—deliberately misleading me, feigning an interest in Annabelle to dissuade my suspicions! Oh, what am I saying? Suspicions, indeed! I never had any. Stone has never given me any reason to suspect anything of the sort.

What would dear Charlotte say?

For a moment Bedford stopped reading. This felt too big for his head. He got up and walked the length of his cabin. Stone and Fontaine! Had he had any such suspicions? Had Annabelle? Surely she knew Stone better than any other; they had a friendship going back over two years. They had survived many harrowing ordeals together. How could she not know? Bedford looked back at the journal. Annabelle should have said something to him.

But what of the captain? How did Stone’s deviance relate to his certainty that he would not return from Russia? Bedford retrieved the journal and continued to read as he paced the cabin.

Another reason for my lack of sleep. Ever since I saw Charlotte again I have not been able to shake from my mind the words she spoke to me; “I shall see you soon.” Just one more reason for me believing this to be my last mission. None of us have spoken about the events aboard Esmeralda 2, of the aether tear and our deaths. It is not the kind of topic one can just bring up; but I know it often occupies the thoughts of both Stone and Annabelle. Fontaine I have seen less of since returning to Earth, and he has shown himself to be a master of deceit. But the other two—yes, I see that their experiences have changed them, too. I do not know what it is they saw in Heaven (I find myself laughing at even writing this—but I cannot deny what happened to us), but I suspect that, like I, it was something deeply personal. A lost loved one, no doubt. For Annabelle I imagine it was her parents, and for Stone…perhaps his brother? As for Fontaine—I know little of his history, but it would seem likely he has lost at least one person he loved deeply. For me it was Charlotte, my darling wife who died over eight years ago, but not only did I see her but finally I met our daughter, Felicity. I do not think that any passage of time would be enough for me to come to terms with their deaths—Charlotte, who I had known since we were children, and Felicity, my daughter who I never got to know at all. The weight of that loss has pressed on me every day since, but I carried on, focussed all my energies on my career, raced up the ranks until I became captain of the most advanced aether ship ever built.

Bedford could hardly credit what he was reading. He had known Folkard for twenty years; how could he possibly not know any of this? It seemed as if everybody had been living secret lives while he focussed on his career.

It was my commission on Sovereign the led me here—every event since April last year has prepared me for this final mission. Even know I can feel the tug of the Heart of Luna. It is trying to speak to me. It is never with words, just images, thoughts, things one can barely put words to. And it tells me that this will be my last mission, that it shall lead me back to Charlotte and Felicity.

It hit him suddenly. There was only one reason Folkard would not return. He was dead. Bedford knew it as surely as he knew Annabelle’s love for him. For a few moments longer he continued to pace the cabin, his eyes misting over. Folkard had been so much more than just his captain—twenty years ago he had taken in a cock-sure rating and taught him what it was to be an officer, what the Navy truly offered him. Twenty years of friendship followed, of mentorship. He owed Jacob Folkard everything.

I am all packed, provisions ready. Sovereign is due at 0800 hours, barely an hour away. I should leave, but first I must make certain my journal will not be found after my departure. Normally I would take it with me, but to do so is to risk someone finding it. And there are words here, revelations that would destroy a good man. I cannot pretend to understand how Stone and Fontaine can find love in each other’s arms, but I feel I must not let that lead me to anger, to a feeling of betrayal. Stone and I have been through much, experienced things most will never do. We have both visited Heaven, and I must believe that the peace I felt there, the love that awaits all men there, is enough to overlook the ignorance of men. I feel the British Empire, indeed Earth itself, is standing at a crossroad, that a big change is coming. Something that will force humanity to take a long hard look at itself…

Everything is connected. Man is a speck of sand on a beach. Soon we will all be brought to account for the deeds we have done.

It went against everything he believed in, this revelation about Stone and Fontaine, yet it had been Folkard’s dying wish that he protect the professor. And so he would. Though it may damn him to do so, Bedford would see that Stone and Fontaine be protected from not only others, but from themselves too.

9.

HOW LE BOEUF LOVED the feeling of a job well done. Though his work was nowhere near completion, he nevertheless took no small satisfaction in the way the wheel of fate was turning in his favour—a wheel he had set into terrible motion all by himself. It was the beginning of the culmination of his own peerless ingenuity; the fuse was lit, and soon enough the world would burn.

The report in the Times was typically played down—oh, these British. Always ones to maintain calm and decorum in the middle of a crisis. The way they were relaying the news of the conference was more akin to the parish newsletter than the world-changing event it truly would be—but then again, why play up the importance? It was, after all, the empire who was truly at fault. Le Boeuf was only glad it was he that had brought the British misdeeds to the eyes of the world. A very Concerned Citizen indeed, he thought wryly.

In two weeks, many of the world’s leaders would meet in Stockholm for a frank discussion of the empire’s use—and concealment—of gravitar. Doubtless there would also be several questions raised over the empire’s illegal activities on Luna, which pleased him no end. What an awfully embarrassing situation to find oneself in. The sun might never set on their little empire, but that did not mean there were areas of it that did not need bringing into the light. And what light he would bring! A truly burning brightness.

It was a pity that Klopstock had been forced to remain aboard Imperator, as his protégée, while competent, was nowhere near as aesthetically skilled. Le Boeuf had visited the laboratory to check up on the construction of the device that very morning, and while the design was practically identical to Klopstock’s, it lacked the artisanal touches of the craved brasswork and polished wood that he had taken such pride in. Still, Klopstock would have needed rather more time to add his flourishes on this new aleksandrite bomb—after all, it was so much bigger than the last one.

Le Boeuf was confident that the conference would be a triumph—only not for those who had arranged it. Allowing himself the rare indulgence of humour, he thought how the whole thing was bound to go off with a bang.

A very big bang indeed.

10.

BEDFORD KNOCKED ON THE door gently and waited for an answer. The door opened, and he felt his heart sink a little. Fontaine looked terrible—barely a shadow of the man Annabelle had told him so much about. Bedford felt certain that the good doctor should have remained on Earth, but Rear Admiral Cavor had insisted that Fontaine’s presence was required. It seemed that Stone, for all his propriety, was not above pulling strings when it suited him, which was hardly a surprise to Bedford knowing what he now knew about Stone and Fontaine.

“Are you quite alright, Doctor?”

Fontaine nodded his head feebly. “Soon. Oui, I will be shaped like a ship and in the fashion of your Bristol.” He offered a smile.

“Very well. We are on the final approach to the Mars dock, if you require any assistance I can arrange for a rating to take your belongings over to Sovereign.”

“Thank you, that would be very helpful, yes.”

For a second Bedford studied the doctor’s face. It seemed as if the man was barely there. Nonetheless… “Perhaps you would be so kind as to do me a favour when we board Sovereign? I will be busy preparing for the mission.” He pulled a sealed envelope out of his coat pocket. “If you could give this to Professor Stone I would be most grateful.”

Fontaine took the envelope. “Of course. More sealed orders?”

“No, a letter of some importance, from Mrs Bedford.”

“Ah, oui, Madame Bedford, of course. It is a pity she cannot be here, non?”

“Quite a pity.”

“I will deliver this.” As if to prove his sincerity, Fontaine placed the envelope directly into the inside pocket of his crumpled jacket. He frowned and looked around.

“Something troubles you?”

“Perhaps,” Fontaine said, rubbing the back of his neck, a distant look in his dark eyes.

Really, Bedford thought, what is Stone thinking, bringing the man out there like this?

Fontaine shook his head sadly. “Perhaps I have forgotten something.”

Bedford could appreciate that feeling. He had felt the same for the last three weeks, ever since they had left Earth. It was the first time since joining the Navy that he had ever felt out of sorts while aboard a naval vessel. Something was missing, something more important than his career. “If you will excuse me, Doctor, I have to rouse the other members of your team.”

“My team?”

“Indeed. You have not been informed? Professor Stone has assigned you head of the research team aboard Sovereign.”

This time Fontaine’s smile was genuine. “Mon toujours,” he said, and shook his head. “Non, I have not heard from Nathaniel since over a month. I am very much looking onward to see him again.”

“I see. Well you shall shortly be reunited with him.” Bedford bid him farewell and walked down the gangway. Beneath his feet he could feel the shift in the vibration as HMAS Empress of India reduced speed. Soon he would be on Sovereign, and further from Annabelle than ever. Although he would do his duty, he could not honestly say he was looking forward to seeing Professor Stone again. The man was, rightly or wrongly, responsible for Annabelle remaining on Earth and Bedford was not sure he could forgive him for that. Yes, he would do as Folkard had asked, but it did not mean he had to be Stone’s friend.