Clockwork Chaos (4 page)

The finger slide across the ground as if the surface were ice, coming to rest on Sparrowknife’s scrawl for ‘yes’.

“Kassandra who are we talking to?” Cobham asked.

She turned to him for a moment ignoring the finger that was speeding across the floor once again. “Constable this is a ghost. Unlike a spirit whom I would commune with across the divide that separates the living world from those that passed on, ghosts are still anchored here by a need to achieve closure. I would guess that an untimely death at the hands of a man like Moore might qualify.”

“Cyrus,” Sparrowknife interjected.

Kassandra gave Cobham a brief smile returning to the matter at hand, “So, Cyrus, can you tell us who Moore’s allies are?”

Once the finger completed its macabre skating again, Cobham felt the chill in the small building increase. Southern Islanders still maintained a simmering hatred for their former masters, he thought. Moore had chosen dangerous allies. Ones who were eager for such weapons and the opportunities they offered. Now they had another reason to escape. His Majesty must be warned of this new threat. Cobham turned over thoughts and plans in his mind. Time for another question, “Where are the bombs stored at?” One of the primed bombs placed under the reciprocating arm of the oil pump could set the whole pit on fire destroying the pump. A bomb could even disable the massive
Windram
as well. The finger skidded aside from the letters and numbers and proceeded to scratch a map into the floor indicating a long building not far from where they were held. But first they needed to escape.

“So how do we get out?” Cobham asked the obvious. The finger slid across the floor to the word “no”. “Sorry, Cyrus, I suspect that’s up to us. But thank you for your help so far.”
Now I’m talking to a disembodied digit
, Cobham thought, stopping himself before he could wonder if the day would get any stranger.

Kassandra grinned at him a moment then slid a hand into her left mukluk pulling out a long thin knife.

Sparrowknife chuckled when she handed it to him. “Lady I do like your surprises.” Standing, he made his way to the door. Taking advantage of the gaps in the walls, the airman circled the interior of the shed staring out where he could. Then he returned to the brazier. “There’s only one guard. He has his back to the door. There is a simple latch I can flip open with the knife. But we’ll need a distraction. Cyrus, can we prevail upon you?”

A moment later, Sparrowknife was crouched by the door, knife at the level of the latch. Cobham stood beside him ready to pull the door open and deal with their guard. The disembodied finger of their ghostly ally was sliding under the gap of the door. Cobham spared a moment to imagine what it might be like to see the silvery digit sliding between ones legs like a hyperactive slug. Then he heard a spate of unintelligible words. Sparrowknife flipped the knife and the door slid open enough for Cobham to force his fingers into the gap. Pulling backward, Cobham felt the door give as the guard lost his feet.

The Antelaunder fell back over Sparrowknife’s crouched form, his head striking the brazier, sending coals flying. Sparrowknife leapt to his feet, scrambling for the man’s blunderbuss. Cobham, his instincts coming into play, pulled the guard to his feet, swung back and roundhoused the Antelaunder hard enough that the man bounced off of the rear wall of the shed to fall motionless to the floor. Stepping on a coal as she fitted the rods back into her hair once more, Kassandra looked at the men, “Are we ready to go now?”

In the short, but harrowing run to the storage building, Cobham saw that the gigantic
Windram
was now tied to a makeshift platform lashed to the backs of two of the leviathans. The men of the encampment were all focused on securing the dirigible but soon they would want to load it with the deadly cargo. Cobham knew they had little time and set to work on the latch with Kassandra’s knife.

“Look,” he whispered pointing upward. There dipping in and out among the massing storm clouds was the brassy form of the
Sharpshin
.
Now they had a chance
, Cobham thought. If they could destroy the bombs and escape, then His Majesty’s Aerofleet could deal with the
Windram
. The lock gave way under his hands and the door opened inward.

When Cobham glanced up again the
Sharpshin
was much closer. He could just make out the dangling form of the cargo lift. Their rescuers were on the way. Stepping into the dim interior he found himself standing among crates that filled the building up to the rafters. He missed a breath, stunned.

“They’re coming,” Kassandra cried.

Cobham forced himself into motion. He grabbed the closest crate handing it to Sparrowknife, then turned back to chose one from the floor. Hefting it to his shoulder he stepped outside of the storage building. A shot rang out and a fist-sized hole appeared in the icy exterior of the building next to him. “Run!” he cried, pushing Kassandra ahead of him toward the lowering cargo lift of the airship. Shots chuffed into the snow about them as they raced past their former prison and into the open. Cobham saw a streak of red in the snow. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Sparrowknife stumble onto the cargo lift. A stray gust lifted the edge of the platform and Cobham slid the crate from his shoulder to send it skittering across the wood floor. Then he reached back to lift Kassandra up to Sparrowknife who caught her. The cargo lift swayed as Cobham launched himself at it. The edge caught him in the stomach driving the air from him as he scrabbled for purchase. The ropes sang, the whole lift shaking as the
Sharpshin
lifted away.

Pellets shot from a blunderbuss scattered across the interior of the lift pinging like hail with most of its momentum spent. Sparrowknife, his left arm streaming with blood, elbow-walked his way across the platform until he could grasp Cobham with his good hand. Behind him, Kassandra clung to the airman’s ankles. It took two tries but Cobham was able to swing his legs up over the siding of the lift. He lay there a moment gasping. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see the ground racing away from them. The
Sharpshin
was growing closer as the winch brought up the cargo lift. Small forms raced toward the
Windram
. Already Cobham could see the gigantic dirigible turning as it was freed from its tie downs.

Could the airship outrun the dirigible
? he wondered. More importantly, could they still destroy the stockpile of bombs and escape? As Kassandra stripped apart her gloves to create a makeshift bandage for Sparrowknife, Cobham crawled to the crate he’d brought aboard. When he threw open its latches, he let out an involuntary grunt of despair. Inside laid a weather balloon, packaged with a large coil of rope. Turning back to Sparrowknife he cried, “Dear Lord, I hope you have bombs in your crate.” The airman pushed the other crate across the floor to Cobham. This time when the latches popped open there were three dark metal spheres nestled in wood shavings.

The light changed and Cobham looked up realizing that the
Sharpshin’s
cargo bay was right above them. Their swaying decreased as the platform was swung to one side and the cargo bay doors began to close. Looking at Sparrowknife, Cobham cried out, “Don’t let them close the doors. We have to drop the bombs on the store house.”

“The captain will want to get out of here,” Sparrowknife replied getting to his feet with Kassandra’s help.

“Well you’ve got to convince him differently. If those bombs are used on the Aerofleet we don’t stand a chance. Just imagine what a few of those could do dropped on the His Majesty’s Palace while you’re at it. Just get Bornesun to make a pass low over the storage shed.”

Sparrowknife looked grim but he stumbled off toward the bridge. Already Cobham could see the
Sharpshin
was rising, attempting to gain altitude and the higher winds to try to out run the
Windram
.

Kassandra stepped up next to Cobham, “What can I do?” she asked.

“Moore said that the catalyst becomes active after an applied force. I assume he meant being fired from a cannon. Let’s hope that force doesn’t have to be very specific. Find me a bar, a hammer, any tool. I think its time to apply some blunt force and hope we are very lucky.”

They both looked about the interior of the cargo bay until Cobham found a large wrench. He reached into the crate to pull out one of the cannonball sized spheres. Placing the bomb against the lip running about the edge of the cargo area, he rested his foot against its side. He swung the wrench over his head.

At the top of his arc, Kassandra asked, “Do you really think that is safe?”

Ignoring the question, Cobham brought the wrench down in a ringing blow on top of the iron sphere. They both turned and looked at each other for a second and then Cobham answered, “Has any of this been safe so far?” Setting down the wrench, he reached for the bomb. Lifting it with great care, he stepped up to the open maw of the cargo bay. Chilling wind blew his hair about. The
Sharpshin
was veering back. Something occurred to him so he turned back to the crate. Barely breathing, he restored the activated bomb to its nesting. Then in the remaining moments he struck each of the other spheres as well. Holding the third bomb in his hands, he leaned out over the opening. Behind him Kassandra knotted a hand through his braces planting a foot against the back of each of his, leaning backward to anchor him in place. The ground came racing up as he dropped the heavy sphere over the side. Reaching for the second one, Cobham heaved it over as well.

The
Sharpshin
spun and they tumbled to the deck. The airship’s nose tipped up as the craft raced for the heavens. As Cobham disentangled himself from Kassandra, he saw the crate bearing the remaining bomb sliding across the floor. Quick thinking as always, Kassandra shot out an arm catching it before it could strike the lip at the edge of the cargo bay. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cobham crab-walked over to the crate. Taking a free length of rope, he lashed it to a tie-down near the open maw of the bay. Then Cobham turned and helped Kassandra to her feet. A flash lit up the sky behind them. Seconds later a rumble filled the enclosed space of the bay. Together they rushed to the edge of the opening to see the entire northern end of the encampment engulfed in flames. The roof of the storage shed fell downward in shards of metallic shrapnel. Continuing thumps sounded as the remaining bombs exploded. A final ear-shattering explosion followed, signaling the destruction of the oil reserve and the pump.

Turning back, Cobham found their view was occluded. He blinked and when his eyes focused he realized he was looking at the broad nose of the
Windram
as it ascended toward them. Along its sides, he could see the blisters of the cannons swinging round to take aim. Sparrowknife came running into the bay skidding to a stop next to them, his eyes wide with horror at the sight coming toward them. Cobham reached down for the final sphere. As large as the aeronaught was,
could he miss
? he wondered. Taking the bomb in both hands, he leaned forward once more. This time both of his compatriots braced him. When the dirigible filled the whole of the bay, he let the bomb drop. As the sphere descended, two of the
Windram’s
cannons fired, puffs of smoke drifting from the gunnery blisters. It almost felt like a race.
Would the bomb strike first or the cannon shot
? Cobham mused. Cannon shots streaked by the
Sharpshin
. The bomb on the other hand struck the aeronaught square on. Unfortunately, it merely dented the metallic skin of the dirigible and rolled off.

Cobham staggered back into his companions. He stumbled away from them to lean against the nearby steam harpoon gun. For a moment he weighed the possibility of firing the weapon at the aeronaught,
but what would one bolt do against the massive engine of destruction below them
?
It would be like pricking an elephant with a pin
.
What could they do now
? Perhaps he hadn’t struck the first bomb hard enough to prime it?

Sparrowknife leaned over him shaking Cobham’s shoulder with his good arm. “Don’t give up, old man. The captain’s got more than a few tricks in him. Do you know why they have airships run guard duty on dirigibles? We’re much more maneuverable and can take more hits than a rigid aircraft. If we lose a few cells, we shift them to regain balance. On the other hand, if the dirigible loses any cells it’s no longer stable and becomes difficult to handle. Once its hull fails, it fails catastrophically.”

“No, Airman, the only hand that counts right now is that the thing below is armored like a medieval castle.”

“Not on top though,” Kassandra offered.

“Doesn’t matter...we’ve lost the only weapon any good against it,” snapped Cobham.

A loud crack of thunder interrupted their argument as the
Sharpshin
altered course once again. “Well there’s another alternative. The captain is taking us up into the storm,” Sparrowknife said, stepping closer to the bay. Behind the bulk of the
Windram
the horizon was now churning an ominous bluish black. The light was fading from the sky.

Turning away from the image, Cobham caught sight of Kassandra’s face. Her eyes were intent, focused on the aeronaught below. Her brow furrowed in thought. Just audible above the thunder she asked Sparrowknife, “Does the
Windram
look to you to have the same cladding as the downed dirigible?”

At first the airman was taken aback. Then he nodded. “If I had to guess then, yes. I would say it looks the same. It would make sense since the wreck was one of the Southern’s.”

“Then we have a chance. Constable get the other crate and bring it here. Airman is there any access to the gas cells here? We need to fill the weather balloon as quick as possible.”

Not sure what Kassandra had in mind, Cobham pulled the lid off of the crate. He handed the folded package of the balloon to Sparrowknife. Taking out the rope Cobham swung back to Kassandra.