Steamed

Chapter Two-1

Log of the HIMA Tesla

Monday, February 15

Forenoon Watch: Four Bells

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“Cap’n Pye! Cap’n Pye!”

“The word is ‘captain,’ Dooley. We are not pirates, nor are we yokels who cannot expend the extra effort to pronounce words correctly, and judging by the nonstop chatter I hear from you in the mess, I am reassured you have the vocal capacities to do so. Yes, I see it now, Mr. Mowen. The valve to the left of the intake cylinder, isn’t it? It’s cracked, you think?”

“Aye, Captain.”

I sat back on my heels after examining the valve in question. Cracked, my three-legged uncle. It was no more cracked than I was.

“Captain Pye, Mr. Piper, he says you’re to come to the forward hold immediately!” Young Dooley fairly danced with agitation as he spoke, but that was nothing new. Dooley was a quicksilver sort of lad, always moving or talking, apparently unable to sit still for even the shortest amount of time. In a way, he reminded me of a hummingbird I’d seen in the emperor’s aviary, for Dooley flitted and dived around the ship just as the hummingbird had done in the high-domed aviary.

“Can you fix the valve, Mr. Mowen?” I asked the chief engineer, fully confident of an affirmative answer. “Or will we need to land at Lyon?”

“An unauthorized landing?” Mr. Mowen looked scandalized at the thought. “That would put us off schedule, lass. Er . . . Captain.”

“Captain Pye—” Dooley tugged at the sleeve of my new scarlet-red Aerocorps jacket.

I quelled both the tugging and the excited dancing with a look, one I had honed on lesser crew members for a decade. “I will be with you in a moment, Dooley. Mr. Mowen has my attention now.”

“But Mr. Piper said you must come quick—”

“Mr. Piper would never condone your interrupting an important discussion about the ability of the Tesla to fly, Dooley. You have delivered your message, and may return to your duties.” I spoke in what I hoped was an authoritative, yet kindly, tone. I didn’t want to be perceived as an ogre to the crew, not on this, my first assignment. Yet the seven other individuals on board must acknowledge my position of command, or it would all end badly. Firm but tempered, that was the key.

“But, Cap’n—”

Mr. Mowen watched me with interested, somewhat amused eyes. He was waiting to see how I handled the overexcited teen who was the bosun’s mate, no doubt curious to see whether I would let him ruffle me. Ah, but had he known I had long since lost that ability . . .

“You have duties, Dooley, do you not?”

“Aye, miss. Cap’n. Captain. I’m to be cleaning the galley, then tending to the boilers as Mr. Mowen likes.”

“You are excused to attend to your duties.”

Dooley responded to the voice of authority, reluctantly tugging on his smart black cap as he left the cramped quarters of the aft boiler room. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“That wasn’t nearly so bad as you thought, now, was it?” Mowen asked with the hint of a smile beneath his big salt-and-pepper walrus mustache.

“Not at all, and how did you guess?” I asked, a little surprised by the perspicacity in the older man’s eyes. “Is it that obvious that I was expecting such a test?” One of several that were laid all ready for me, no doubt.

“I’ve been sailing the skies betwixt Rome and London long enough to see a full score of captains come and go,” he answered, his eyes now twinkling with amusement. “The first run is always entertaining, with the crew watchful, waiting to see what sort of man the company has saddled us with.”

I glanced at him, curious as to the meaning behind his words. “I can’t believe that no one from the Aerocorps told you anything about me. I received a dossier on the crew; surely you had something about me?”

“It wasn’t so much a dossier as it was a note telling us that you were taking command of the ship.”

I waited, sure there was more to come.

There was. “Mr. Francisco has a mate in the Corps offices, and he told us a bit more about you. He said you were a woman, which we’d guessed from your name, that you had red hair and brown eyes—not that it matters, you understand, but Mr. Francisco, as you might have noticed, has a bit of passion for redheaded ladies, so he was particularly overjoyed about that bit of information—that you joined the Corps when you were sixteen, and have been in it just as many years, and that you have some friends in high places.”

My brows rose just a smidgen. “The Aerocorps files say that?”

“Ah, well . . .” Mr. Mowen slid me a sidelong look. “Perhaps that was my own speculation.”

“Indeed.” I made my voice as neutral as possible. “On the whole, that is an accurate summation. I hope the crew will not be disappointed with me.”

“Time will show,” he said, nodding, idly rubbing a spot of grease on his cuff. “Good or bad, there’s naught we can do but accept.”

“Oh, I imagine there are all sorts of things a crew could do to make an unwanted captain feel less than welcome,” I answered, deliberately keeping my tone light. “Food that is oddly inedible when compared to the crew’s fare, unpleasant surprises of the insect and rodent nature to be found in the captain’s bed, repeated rousing during the sleeping hours to examine strangely malfunctioning equipment that was sound only a few hours before . . . Yes, I have heard of such dealings, and imagine it would be quite easy for a dedicated crew to take care of an unpopular captain.”

Mr. Mowen gave me a long look. I allowed myself a little smile, at which he relaxed. “True enough, Captain, true enough.”

“I trust that this valve, which strangely appears to have been wrenched to the side and thus is no longer seated properly rather than cracked, can be returned to its proper position without delay, Mr. Mowen.” A light of respect shone briefly in his eyes. I waved away his offer of help as I rose to my feet, dusting off my long navy wool skirt and the edges of my knee- length jacket. “I also expect there will be no further tests to determine if I am familiar with the workings of an airship steam engine and boilers. I assure you I am.”

The engineer saluted me. “And right glad I am to hear it, ma’am. It’s about time the Tesla had a captain who understood her.”

“Even one who is female, Mr. Mowen?” I couldn’t help but ask as I made my way along the narrow metal catwalk.

He replied after a few moments of silence. “I would be prevaricating if I was to say that, Mr. Francisco aside, we did not have concerns about having a lass as a captain.”

We reached the gangway. I gave the engineer a considering look. I had expected a token amount of resistance when I took over as captain, but surely in these enlightened times no one could protest the fact that I was a woman. “There are several female captains in the Southampton Aerocorps, Mr. Mowen. It is not at all uncommon.”

“Aye, but those captains are limited to domestic routes. You are the first we’ve heard of taking command of an international route.”

“An oversight on the part of the Aerocorps, I’m sure. I served for several years under Captain Robert Anstruther, and he, as you might know, commanded the largest passenger airship to travel the empire. I am quite familiar with both the routes and the duties of a captain, even those that fall under the domain of a small cargo transport, such as the Tesla.”

“Captain Anstruther will be well missed,” Mowen said, his face now somber. “Those damned Black Hand revolutionaries have much to answer for, killing as fine a captain as ever sailed the skies.”

“Indeed they do,” I answered, squaring my shoulders at the pain that always followed the memory of Robert Anstruther’s last hours.

“You knew him well, did you?” Mowen asked, watching me closely.

I made an attempt to present a serene expression. “I did. He was my guardian, and a very great man. I consider him my father.”

The engineer’s eyebrows rose above the steel rims of his spectacles. “Then I am sorry for your loss, Captain.”

I acknowledged his sympathy, the pain that rose at the memory of Robert’s sacrifice a familiar burden. “I was given into his care when I was very young, and both he and his wife treated me as if I was their own child. I miss them very much.”

“The captain’s lady—she died, too, in the airship explosion?”

I closed my eyes for a moment as once again the vision of the burning aerodrome rose in my mind’s eye, the figure of Robert Anstruther silhouetted against the flames l*****g the black sky stark and hard.

“There is no other way, Octavia,” he had said, and I felt again the pain in his voice. “The emperor will not be appeased this time. If it was just myself, I could bear what would follow. I am old, and my time has almost run its course. But there is Jane and you to consider. I will not let my shame destroy your lives.”

“I will go with you,” I had begged at the time. “Let me go with you and Jane. I can help, I know I can.”

He had merely smiled sadly, and cupped the side of my face. “I bless the day the old emperor brought you to me. Do you remember it, Octavia? You were just a wee little girl, lost and confused, talking of wild, impossible things, and trying so very hard to be brave and not cry. Jane called you our little miracle, coming as you did right after our son died.”

My throat ached as I fought vainly against tears. Robert considered me for a long moment, ignoring the wetness that rolled down my face and over his hands.

“You have a bright future ahead of you, my dear. If we are lost to the fire, nothing will taint that future.”

“Am I to never see you again?” I asked, my voice cracked with pain.

“No. We cannot come back to England. We are too well-known. But you will always be with us, in our hearts.”

I bowed my head, overcome with the grief, wanting desperately to cast aside all my burdens and flee with the two people I loved best in the world.

“Fight for what is right, little Octavia. Do what Jane and I cannot.”

Those were his last words. No more had been needed—I stayed behind to do my duty while Robert Anstruther, decorated three times by the emperor himself, and a hero to the entire empire, walked toward the burning aerodrome, and into the pages of history.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I did not mean to distress you.”

The voice had softly spoken, but pulled me from my dark memories back to the present. Robert and Jane had been gone for almost a year. It had all come to pass as he predicted—the inquiries that had swirled around his activities had withered to nothing, and a nation mourned its lost hero.

I squared my shoulders and gave the engineer a little nod. “Thank you, Mr. Mowen. If any other issues arise, I will be in the forward cargo hold seeing what it is that has Dooley in such a swivet.”

He touched his cap in a salute as I moved down the narrow gangway, past the two rear boilers that powered the steering engines. The low thrum of the engines as they turned the propellers sounded in time to the throb of movement felt in the metal framework structure that ran the length, breadth, and height of the ship. It was a familiar sensation, one I didn’t even think of now, and certainly not one I noticed until I was on land, and it was missing. Indeed, the feeling of the ship as it sailed through the air was as much a part of me as breathing was, and I could tell instantly—as could every man on board the Tesla—when something was awry with the engines. A slight change in tempo in the vibration, or a higher tone in the thrum, was enough to have the crew looking to me with concerned eyes.

“You’re not going to have any problems, though, are you?” I asked the ship softly as I made my way down a small metal ladder to the lower gangway. “You know how important this trip is. You know how valuable the cargo is. You know what will happen should we fail.”