The Wonder - Deep Blue

Chapter 11-1

Chapter 11

The Spirit of Bester

The Hodgkinson International Line

The Gramarye Region

Grand Quillia

June 1856

It has been said that the Grand Quillian Empire was built on the back of the slideways, an extraordinary network of iced tracks. The slideways were curved upwards on either side like a chute, the required frozen temperature maintained by Red Wonder, which also powered the spinning buffers on the ice yachts, which kept the slideways constantly slippery.

Originally created in Grand Quillia itself to carry goods from the centres of industry and sea ports to the capital at speed while minimising the risk of banditry by virtue of both the cold ice and the high velocity of the yachts, the slideways were rolled out across the growing Empire. Wherever the Empire planted its flag, the slideways were sure to follow, initially carrying troops, then colonists and finally commerce.

The ice yachts themselves terrified the less advanced natives and impressed on others Grand Quillia’s dominance over their land, nature itself and the power of the Wonder. Preceding the bulk of the yacht itself, an enormous V-shaped blade suspended from the prow by a great arc cleared the slideway of obstruction. Next, the spinning buffers, giant chamois leather balls at the ends of eight pronged propellers, perpetually spinning to keep the slideway as slick as an ice rink. Another set of buffers were in place either side of the yacht outside the hull and another at the rear, all powered by Red Wonder. As the cold air was pushed upwards by the buffers, it hit the warmer air and filled enormous sails which reduced the need to rely on the supply of Wonder the yachts carried, except for starting and stopping the enormous vessels on their journeys. Vents were positioned around the decks exerting force from the Red power generators below to keep the yachts on the straight and narrow, so a billowing stream of red smoke followed the yachts wherever they went.

The Spirit of Bester was one of the larger ice yachts in Grand Quillia’s Eastern Imperial Fleet, stretching to nine hundred and twenty feet and weighing forty thousand tons. She carried one thousand first class, six hundred second class, one thousand five hundred third class, all in insulated cabins, and three thousand steerage, who were crammed into the frozen bowels of the yacht closest to the ice. Two thousand crew kept the yacht at speeds up to eighty-four miles per hour. She was considered the pride of her line. Her older sister ships, The Spirit of Zelazny and The Brackett Flyer, although smaller and sleeker, were unable to boast the unadulterated splendour of their younger sibling.

The Bester started her journey in the Grand Quillian capital, its holds full of the joys of the motherland for homesick colonists, and more fodder to populate the Empire; farmers, traders, opportunists, mercenaries, bureaucrats, archaeologists, prospectors, hunters, missionaries, theatre troupes and labourers. Recently groups of tourists had started travelling to the more exotic reaches of the Empire to see the Pyramids of Maisy, the spice markets of the Gramarye and even the mysterious phenomenon of the Glasslands, garnered with the snowdrop spire of the Cathedral of Tales.

In the more remote areas, Captain Conrad, the Bester’s commanding officer, would keep the speed up between the larger towns to avoid the unwanted interest of wild natives or criminal elements, although he would occasionally slow at the edge of the Glasslands to watch the Humps flee in terror. Conrad had no idea that his junior officers would occasionally stop briefly if there were any local traders, as they could pick up an attractive financial incentive from both the native tradesmen and the more gullible tourists, eager to spend their shillings on crystallised leaf jewellery, glass apple paperweights and even jars of translucent grass, sometimes arranged into approximations of local landmarks.

The first officer on duty two days before the Bester’s arrival in Chinsey was Trevor Gower, who was made aware one bright sunny afternoon that some of the passengers and even a few of the crew had reported seeing the snowdrop spire of the Cathedral of Tales move. Now if these people were stupid enough to think an ancient building could shuffle about, then he would be happy to liberate them of a hard-earned shilling or two, so, after checking with the captain’s manservant that Conrad was sound asleep, he gave the order to reverse all vents and slow the ship, to allow passengers a chance to see the spire for themselves, and for any quick thinking locals to launch an iceboard to sell anything to hand. Obviously he would make it be known to all but the captain that he was the one to thank for this unique opportunity.

Hilt saw the red smoke burst above the trees as they reached the edge of the Glasslands, where they tied the ponies. It looked about four miles away, around the other edge of the woods, and would probably reach them in twenty minutes if it was slowing, as he suspected.

The Glasslands stopped abruptly, the glass trees giving way to verdant living plants. It had been a relief to smell the warmth of living vegetation again but it did not last. As they approached the enormous slideway, the plants had withered and died from the extreme cold emanating from the ice. In the more civilised parts of the Empire, there were barriers to protect the land either side of the slideways from the environmental damage, but nobody had ever considered doing the same somewhere like the Gramarye.

As they broke the tree line, they could see a small camp on the opposite side of the icy chute, a trickle of smoke smearing sadly into the sky from a paltry fire in the middle. At the edge of the slideway, a collection of large leather covered disks, about ten feet across and a hollowed out tree trunk with wooden stabilisers either side, like a rudimentary canoe, its base also wrapped in shiny animal skins, with one end attached to a coiled piece of thick rope, the other end topped with a winch.

A few figures wandered around the camp, unaware of the group that had just emerged from the woods. Brennan put his hands around his mouth and called to the camp, but nobody turned in their direction. Pinkerton pulled his pistol and fired once into the air.

“That should do it,” he said sagely.

One of the camp occupants looked across the slideway and raised their rifles.

“That did it, alright,” Hilt groaned.

“Hang on a minute,” said Laurel, “I think I know that one.”

“Is that Jobby Stern?” Brennan asked.

Rounds struck the trees behind them.

“So can someone let your friend Jobby know that we are friends please?” Rickenbacker suggested.

“Good friends, eh, Laurel?” Hilt mumbled.

Laurel rolled her eyes and started waving her arms frantically above her head.

“Jobby! It’s me!”

One rifle was lowered.

“Jobby!”

“I hope none of the others is his wife,” said Hilt.

“He isn’t married,” Laurel assured them.

“That’s what he told you.”

There was a glint of glass as Jobby raised his binoculars before indicating to his friends to lower their weapons.

“Your friends had better hurry up or we’ll miss our ride,” said Pinkerton, watching the red smoke above the trees.

The camp occupants picked up the canoe and carried it to the edge of the chute

“Here they come,” said Brennan, moving to the side of the ice despite the cold.

“About time,” grumbled Hilt.

Jobby climbed into the canoe and his friends launched him down the side of the chute. The hiss of the canoe’s belly on the ice got louder as it got nearer.

“Watch out!” Jobby shouted as the canoe began to slide up the side closest to them.

As the canoe started to slow, Jobby twirled the anchor above his head and let it fly towards the others. It landed with a loud pop of Wonder and sunk itself into the ground before the powered winch at the other end of the rope dragged the canoe up the final few yards of the slideway.

“Jobby!” said Brennan eagerly as the well-insulated man clambered out of the canoe and hugged the old man.

Jobby Stern was wrapped in layers of animal skins and fur, with a pair of enormous mittens he pulled off to reveal gloves underneath. He unwrapped the scarf from around his face and pulled back his hood to reveal a large, square head, tired eyes, a long moustache and a heavy set of jowls.

“Brennan, Laurel. We saw the smoke from the lodge and feared the worst,” Jobby said, nodding to the others in turn. “What happened?”

“The worst,” Laurel said. “How are you, Jobby?”

“Good. Fine. What are you doing in the woods? Where are the Humps? Did you see the snowdrop move?”

“Yes. We need your help, Jobby.”

“Name it,” Jobby said, grinning towards Pinkerton. “Laurel and I are special friends. She’s fed me and the gang several times. It’s amazing what she can cook up with so little.”

“We can swap recipes later,” Hilt interrupted. “We need to get on that ice yacht.”

“Hello, Hilt,” said Jobby without looked at the man. “As polite as ever I see. How’s the brigadier?”

“Dead. Alf is too.”

“Alf. My God, Brennan...”

“We need to get on that yacht,” Brennan said to Jobby, tears in his eyes. “We need to get to Chinsey before the people that killed my son.”

Kendrick was relieved that Mandell was riding so fast, and far ahead. He could hardly see the misshapen form of the dead knight galloping ahead through the crystal trees, which was good as Kendrick felt he had vomited up everything bar the content of his bowels as he had watched Axelrod yank out bones and slide in others between muscle and sinew, saw away limbs to slot others into place, hammer out jawbones and wrench in a replacement. What was left was less than human despite the fact that he was cobbled together from many different people. In place of bolts and screws, the Wonder kept the different parts of the corpse together, and any open pieces of skin were hidden beneath different pieces of armour Mandell had scavenged from the Hump camp. As the man thing had scanned the ground with his mismatched eyes, he had mumbled words that had taken Kendrick some time to translate, now that the knight was missing all but three teeth, had a jaw too large for his skull and a tongue to small for his mouth.

Evan was repeating his own mantra, “Kill the sniper, f**k her bones, kill Laurel, f**k her bones, kill Hilt, f**k his bones,” over and over again, and even as he climbed onto the back of one of the remaining ponies, he had kept it up. It was as if he had forgotten Kendrick existed, which was one of the few things in his life that Kendrick was pleased about. He hoped everybody else from the past few days would do the same.

As the troops left the empty lodge, Quine shook his head at Axelrod.

“I knew I should have killed that little man,” he said to the doctor.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Mandell will do that for us, if he hasn’t already.”

“Do you really think your patchwork killer will be able to find someone as sly as Rickenbacker when the man has evaded some of the best Trade agents?”

“Sir, I’m pretty sure I know where Rickenbacker is.”

“You do?”

Axelrod pointed above the trees at the cloud of red smoke from the ice yacht rising above the trees in the distance.

“Bring me a crow,” Quine commanded his second. “I need to send something by Murder.”

“But if the smoke is over there, why are we heading in this direction?” Elena asked, pointing at the red smoke.

“The train is slowing down,” Spicer replied.

“How do you know? From the smoke?” Bunce asked.

“It’s expelling more smoke as it slows down. I don’t know why it’s slowing down but it is. And the red Wonder it needs to slow down and then get started again it will need to replenish. And there’s somewhere to refuel in this direction.”

Elena and Bunce looked at each other, Elena shrugging as Bunce shook her head.

“I had no idea you were such a yacht spotter, Spicer,” Elena said, smiling.

Spicer spurred his pony on without looking back at the two women. All he knew was that the direction he had chosen to take felt right, as if it were a path he had taken before, despite the fact nobody but Hump had been this way for thousands of years. He had a feeling that he was going to catch the ice yacht from the direction he was heading, the way a child has a heady excitement when his parents take him out for a surprise and he suspects they are taking him somewhere he has always wanted to go. Everything else about the smoke from the yacht and the refuel point had fallen into his head as he spoke, like colours in a painting by numbers. He knew none of it made sense but everything was fitting together perfectly.