Aether Rising

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Chapter One

Danielsville, Tennessee 10 March 1871

Louisa looked up from her magazine when the men entered the train car. Their heavy steps made it bounce, and she pursed her lips in what she hoped was a pretty but effective show of annoyance at the interruption. Then her mouth passed puckered to make an O of surprise when her stepfather’s pet thugs ushered in an extra person.

A familiar person, and she couldn’t stop looking at him.

Something heavy plopping to the red velvet cushions on the bench beside Louisa made her jump. Her stepfather wiped his brow even though it was cool outside. He gave her his business smile—lots of teeth but no crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

I need you to talk to Davis, he said. He’s hiding something. Something doesn’t feel right.

Yes, Father. She willed him to continue, to explain what the tall redheaded and bearded man standing between his two current favorite hired muscles was doing there. Cobb had said they were going down to Tennessee to pick up a talented inventor since Paul Farrell had only gotten so far with the aether. Louisa didn’t know what she was doing there—her place was charming business associates and their sons in drawing rooms and ballrooms, not on messy trains—but now she wondered. Was Parnaby testing her?

Her heart accelerated like the train, moving from a steady chug to panicked clip.

Oh, and I believe you’ve met our guest, Patrick O’Connell. It was so long ago you may not remember.

She leaned into the pillow behind her, tilted her head up, and flashed a coquettish smile. Have we met? You look familiar. Oh! She clapped her hands. You’re that tinkerer from Claire McPhee’s ill-fated birthday party. She squeezed a careless laugh through a too-tight throat.

The Irishman filled the train car, moving so naturally with its easy sway he could have been part of it. Not like her on trains and boats, which made her dizzy and nauseated. The only vehicles she could stand were carriages if she was facing to the front and airships as long as the weather was clear and calm.

Aye. Hello, Miss Cobb. He ground the word out through his teeth. He’d matured—they both had—and his brawny frame dwarfed the men beside him. In spite of his caged animal air, he could have broken free, at least before the train started moving.

What was going on? And what was her stepfather up to?

The two handlers pressed him to the bench across from Louisa and Parnaby, and everyone eyed each other in uneasy silence. His red hair and beard blazed with the afternoon light that slanted then dappled through the windows as the train moved from open country to forest.

Louisa’s stepfather nudged her foot. He was letting her take the lead, as he had promised her he’d do. This was a test.

She swallowed. Not here. Not with this man. But she had to.

Remind me of your name again? she asked as if it hadn’t haunted her dreams—both the nocturnal kind and the girlish day kind—of the past six years.

Patrick O’Connell.

She opened her fan. In spite of the car no longer being in direct sunlight, her cheeks heated.

Oh, right. And how is your friend, the negro doctor?

He’s well.

Yes, Parnaby said. He helped O’Connell here pioneer a new kind of therapy device similar to the electroshock helmets the neuroticists use for melancholia.

Oh? Louisa fanned herself. What is the new device for? She looked over the lace at O’Connell.

He bit down, but the words came out anyway. We don’t know yet, it’s only been used to help young women recover from disturbing experiences.

Don’t try to lie to her, Parnaby said. No man can.

And what about women?

Parnaby laughed. "Oh, right, you’re clever. No person can lie to her."

Louisa bit her lip. She’d hoped to reveal her special ability in her own time to this man whose lips she remembered all too well. In fact, if she closed her eyes and smiled just right, she could still feel the kiss he had stolen from her at the party. She had no doubt she’d finally be able to get the truth of what had happened that night from him, but she was more curious about whether he remembered her like she dreamed about him.

It was an improper question, and did she really want to know the truth?

The first and last time Patrick had seen Louisa Cobb before this odd train trip was when she had been fifteen. He thought surely she’d be married by now, six years later. But if it was impossible to lie to her, well, what kind of relationship would that be?

A damn good one.

Unlike his parents, who had fought over his father’s drinking and skirt-chasing. He’d been honest, but in an unrepentant way, and Patrick had often wished his father hadn’t been so brutal with his retellings for Patrick’s mother’s sake. But for a society miss like Louisa, whom men just wanted to pat on the head and visit in bed, forced honesty would be a disadvantage. Or was Cobb just waiting to wield her at the right man, like a business rival’s son?

That ain’t right.

He almost smiled at the expression that popped into his head, the one that had shocked Chad. It was a good reminder that he was more than he seemed, but he needed to hide behind the stereotype, ensure Cobb underestimated him.

So you’re probably wondering why we invited you to join us on our journey back to Boston, Cobb said.

The train shifted as their track joined another one, and Louisa hid her face behind her fan. An unladylike belch, then moan came from behind the lace.

Just a few more minutes, Cobb told her and patted her hand. Does the aether device do anything for motion sickness? he asked Patrick.

Perhaps you should have her ask me. He regretted his flippancy when she emerged from behind her fan with pinched lips that told him she was fighting not to vomit.

I’ll take it the answer is no, Parnaby said. You might be an Irish brute, but you’re not going to withhold help from a suffering woman.

From a suffering anyone, he said.

Cobb sat back with a smile, and Patrick mentally kicked himself. He’d seen enough of the entrepreneur to know how he operated—he was a master manipulator and exploiter. Patrick had just revealed a weakness, whereas his intention had been to withhold as much as possible about himself.

No, that wasn’t right. Neither was forcing him to reveal trade secrets, especially regarding a device powered by an element they didn’t understand fully and that carried unknown risks.

Patrick met Cobb’s challenging gaze. I’m not sure what you want me to do with it. Are you suffering from melancholia? Perhaps some sort of neurasthenia or delusion?

Now when Louisa ducked her head, Patrick was pretty sure it was to hide a laugh. Interesting. So she wasn’t so enamored of Cobb that she’d jump to his defense or be offended at Patrick’s teasing.

Never mind what I want it for. I just want you to perfect it so that the influence can be spread over a wider area, like in the theatre.

Are you looking to manipulate theatre-goers’ emotions? As an entertainment strategy, Patrick could see how it would be very effective, but then an icicle of realization formed at the base of his skull. What of other influence, like at an emotionally charged political rally or protest? Mobs couldn’t be controlled. Or could they?

I won’t do it, Patrick said. It’s too dangerous.

Oh, I think you will. You see, I know what concerns you the most.

And that is…?

Your friends’ happiness. As you said, you won’t let them suffer. You want Doctor Radcliffe and his precious Claire McPhee to marry, correct? Interracial marriage is still illegal except in special cases where dispensation is granted by the government. I can ensure they find all possible obstacles to their happiness.

The train slowed, and Patrick glowered. But then he remembered Davidson’s hasty admonishment to cooperate with Cobb even if it didn’t make sense. It was the only way for them to see what Cobb was truly up to. He only hoped Davidson could get him out when it was time. And that Louisa didn’t ask about Davidson.

If she knew him as Davis, would that negate or attenuate her talent? Patrick could honestly say he didn’t know a Davis.

His head fogged with the layers of deception. The train emerged from heavy forest into a field, where Cobb’s airship waited, and rolled to a stop.

Ah, here we are, my dear, Cobb said and stood. He helped Louisa to stand. She still swayed as though the train moved, but at least she looked less sick. My men will show you to your room on the airship, Mister O’Connell.

The thugs hauled Patrick to his feet, and they followed Parnaby and Louisa out of the train. When he saw the field only contained the airship the Blooming Senator and Cobb’s men, any hope Patrick had that Davidson might engineer a rescue before Patrick was truly out of reach evaporated like the steam that hissed from the train’s funnel. As much as he would have liked to break free and run, his promise to Davidson to spy on Cobb and his obligation to his friends for Cobb to leave them alone kept him doubly shackled in a figurative sense.

Patrick recalled the attack on the Blooming Senator that had dropped the aetherist Edward Bailey and the others into his and Chadwick Radcliffe’s lives. Although he hadn’t seen the airship itself, his tinkerer’s brain wouldn’t allow him not to look for signs of what had occurred. First he noticed the dirigible had been repainted, but if he looked closely enough, his trained eye could see where glass had been replaced and other subtle scars.

The air isn’t necessarily the safest place.

The thought chilled him. With one last look at the early spring world around him, Patrick allowed the henchmen to shove him on to the ship.

Louisa’s stomach settled once the airship rose above the clouds and gained forward momentum. She missed her stepfather’s former maid Marie, who would make ginger tea with honey and lemon. Marie was the only one who could make it with just the right proportions to settle a dancing stomach. Not that Louisa travelled with her stepfather on most of his journeys to Europe and beyond—and she didn’t think she could handle the turbulence she’d heard was over the oceans—but she would always associate Marie’s tea with the treat that was a calm domestic trip.

Once Louisa could move about without holding on to the walls, she wandered into the hall. She’d last seen Patrick O’Connell being bundled into the airship behind her, but she didn’t know where they’d taken him. This level was all bedrooms. She suspected that her father wouldn’t just let a talented tinkerer like Patrick O’Connell wander about unguarded, but she also didn’t see any guards posted outside any of the rooms. She ascended the narrow stairs to the next level, which held the library, ballroom, and laboratory.

Ah, the guards were in front of the lab. Parnaby stood and spoke with one of them. He turned and smiled at Louisa—this time with crinkly eyes and no teeth.

Feeling better?

Yes, much, although I miss Marie’s tea.

If she hadn’t known Cobb so well, she would have missed the flicker of pained annoyance that flitted across his face. She braced herself for his snappish retort and wished he would just say what was bothering him.

You’re an adult. You can make your own tea.

You’re right, I can.

But I won’t apologize for bringing her up. Your stupidity and selfishness lost her and inconvenienced me.

Louisa assumed a neutral expression, folded her hands in front of her and looked from the henchman to her father. Is that where you’re keeping O’Connell? Aren’t you afraid he’ll find something in there to blow us all up?

I had the room cleaned out while we were on the train. Don’t worry about him—he has the bare necessities to be comfortable for this journey.

Oh, I’m not. She waved a hand. It was amazing how easy it was to lie to others in spite of the fact they couldn’t intentionally deceive her. And it wasn’t too much of a lie. She was more concerned about how her own emotions seemed in danger of taking over when she was with the Irishman.

How could one stolen kiss mean so much?

Good. It’s tea time. Go up to the dining room. I’ll meet you there.

Louisa dipped her chin so she’d seem to be meekly acquiescing to his command, but she ground an imaginary bit of dirt between her back teeth in frustration at being ordered about.

Once she reached the stairs, she climbed quickly to the spot in the middle where an air vent relayed the words from the hallway below.

…make sure he doesn’t speak to her, Cobb was saying to the guards. I’d underestimated the influence of the history between them.

A blast of hot air added to the heat in Louisa’s cheeks, and her stepfather’s admonishment only added to her resolve to see if O’Connell remembered her the same way she remembered him and determine if any feelings for her remained.

And what if he says there are?

She smiled and ascended the stairs at a more ladylike pace.

Then things will get interesting.

Chapter Two

Somewhere over the Eastern Newly Re-united States, 10 March 1871

Patrick stood at the counter by the window and watched the world pass beneath him. Or, rather, he caught sight of the land through breaks in the clouds and tried to determine his location.

For what? I can’t alert anyone to rescue me.

At one point he thought he saw a flash of gold, the glint of sun on a brass device, but he couldn’t find it again. It would make sense, though, for the Clockwork Guild to be following them. He didn’t believe for one second what Davidson had told them, that Cobb and the Guild had come to some sort of amicable agreement. More likely, they pretended to, but neither side trusted the other, and the guild had one talent—spying.

And here he was trapped in the air and headed to Boston, where he’d be kept in a cage of some sort and made to work on something that would enhance peoples’ emotions, but that he didn’t understand well enough to put safeguards into, while waiting for some sort of release from a man he hardly trusted.

A different shape caught Patrick’s attention, a bird of some sort. It was too small to belong this high up in the air. He tested the windows and found that one would open, although not far enough for him to squeeze through. He left it slightly ajar, and the strange object came at the airship arrow-straight. When it got close enough, Patrick saw it wasn’t a bird, but rather some sort of brass device shaped into a metal dragon-type creature. Its wings, each about the length and breadth of his two hands side-by-side with fingers outspread, flapped with mechanical rhythm, and its multifaceted green eyes glittered.

The airship’s engines changed pitch, and Patrick held on so he wouldn’t be thrown to the floor when it accelerated. Cold air whistled through the open window, but Patrick didn’t shut it. He couldn’t stop watching the creature, which pursued them with relentless determination. The hiss-pop of steam rifles going off above him made him press himself to the back of the room, and the creature shuddered as though hit. It opened its mouth and let forth a small plume of sparks. That was enough of a message—the gunfire stopped lest it decide to latch on to the hydrogen balloon. The wyrm reached Patrick’s open window, detached its wings, and fell through the crack, now a clockwork worm that telescoped into itself around a wax message cylinder. After closing the window, Patrick picked it up and stuck it in his pocket just before his door was flung open.

Did you see it? This was the thug Patrick had named Monkeyface because the man had ridiculously protruding ears behind long side whiskers.

See what?

The dragon. Monkeyface moved his arms with similar undulating motions to the ones the flying clockwork displayed.

Patrick enjoyed how ridiculous the man looked before answering, Yes, I saw it.

Did you see what happened to it?

Patrick practiced talking around the truth rather than lying. It looked like you shot its wings off, and it fell.

Monkeyface sagged, his grin revealing he must not like his teeth much considering how many were missing. Oh, that’s good news. You never know what sorts of creatures you’ll encounter over the mountains. Spies’re everywhere.

I don’t doubt it. Now if you’re done panicking over strange clockworks, please tell Mister Cobb I’m ready for my tea.

Now the thug scowled. You won’t be telling Mister Cobb what to do. It doesn’t even work for his own daughter, and little girls is s’posed to be able to wrap their papas around their littlest finger.

Then please tell him I accept his invitation to join him and the lovely Miss Cobb. Patrick straightened his shirtsleeves and tried to walk past the guard, but Monkeyface elbowed him in the solar plexus. Patrick fell to his knees with a wheezing breath.

Nice try, Red. You’ll get your tea when he says you can get your tea.

Patrick coughed, and the door slammed behind the guard. Patrick wanted to know what the creature left him, what message was on the cylinder, but he would have to wait for a more secure place than the laboratory. And rig up something to listen to it with. He remembered Marie’s stories of Parnaby or his men spying on their airship guests. He hoped no one had seen his delivery. He suspected that everyone was watching for the creature and lost sight of it when it approached the airship.

Iris peered through the telescope up at the Blooming Senator, but the same clouds that kept them from being detected obscured her view.

Do you think he got it? she asked her husband, Edward. He stood beside her and looked through binoculars.

I think so. The wings have just dropped, so it attached to something on the airship.

Iris screwed her one eye into an unladylike squint, but it didn’t clarify the image through the lens or help her see the falling canvas wings of the modified clockwork worm, now wyrm. With a sigh, she lowered the device and blinked to clear the afterimages. She was more accustomed to and comfortable with peering into underground places, not the open, sunny sky.

If he wasn’t the one, we’re all in trouble. She leaned into Edward, who now sported a rakish tan. He put an arm around her and pulled her close.

The desert had been good for him. The sun and wind cleared the gloom that had fogged his brain in Paris before they had realized the aether gas could affect emotions. He had confided in her the depth of his melancholia and just how close he’d gotten to—well, she wasn’t going to think about that.

They were back in the States—the reunited states, thanks to Patrick O’Connell and Chadwick Radcliffe—and about to rescue their friend from the clutches of Parnaby Cobb.

Sometimes it was difficult to focus on the present when her mind was used to pondering the past and the ancient danger that still lingered.

The ship descended into the mountains and slipped further under the heavy gray clouds. When it landed, Edward opened the door of the observation deck and lowered the ladder, stairs being too heavy for a smaller vehicle such as the Skycatcher. Iris followed him, not able to resist caressing the soft material of the left air chamber on the way down and grateful once again that the Ottomans had no problem with women wearing trousers, at least not when they crewed ships. Getting up and down would have been difficult if not impossible in her skirts.

Marie and Johann met them at the bottom. The Skycatcher’s nets had been retracted, but Iris was still careful not to step on any strings that might have escaped.

Did it work? Johann asked. Mist clung to his blond hair, and dark curls escaped from Marie’s braid. They each held up a wing. They caught these in the nets.

I think so, Edward said. Now we just have to reach Boston on time.

I hope it got to him, Marie showed Iris the wing she held. A bullet had pierced the canvas. Iris pressed the ribs, but no images or impressions came through. Her talent had grown stronger, but she still needed someone to have had real contact with an object for her to glean emotions and images from it.

The wings wouldn’t have detached unless the wyrm managed to latch on to something, Edward reminded them. We tested it, remember?

Iris nodded and rested a hand on his arm. Waiting is always the hardest part.

Edward checked his pocket watch. That reminds me. It’s almost time for tea.

Johann rolled his eyes. Please tell me that after all we’ve been through—

Edward grinned, and Iris laughed. He’s just teasing. Then her stomach rumbled. But I have to agree with him this time.

They entered the lower gondola, and the rumble of the engines made the entire thing shake as the ship took off. Once it achieved the air, the Skycatcher’s feel smoothed out.

Louisa looked up from her magazine and the article titled, What to Do When You Meet an Old Beau when she heard the shots. Of all the rooms in the airship, she preferred the smaller, more informal dining room, which was interior and therefore allowed her to convince herself she wasn’t in a moving vehicle. In fact, she likely wouldn’t have heard the pops from the steam rifles had she been truly engrossed in what she was reading, but her mind kept wandering to a certain captive Irishman and a party long ago. Regular etiquette advice didn’t seem to apply as well to him.

She closed her eyes and tried to feel if the airship was losing altitude—which would indicate they had been fired upon and hit—and the thought of plunging through the clouds to the jagged peaks of the mountains below made her stomach quiver. No, the airship seemed to remain steady, and her curiosity piqued. Sometimes the men took shots at birds flying nearby, but they should be higher than any natural creature could fly.

So that leaves unnatural creatures or attackers. And there would be more shouting and firing if we were under attack.

A conference room sat behind a wall that could be retracted to open up the space for dinner parties too large for the dining room. She rose and moved toward the door, her ears alert for any signs of further conflict. There were legends of large flying creatures over the mountains, and if one approached the airship, she wanted to see it.

The conference room door opened for her with a squeak, and she was relieved to see the room was empty. The sky shone light blue without any variation in color from clouds, and she could almost convince herself it was merely glowing wallpaper or a screen, like on a stage. A glance to her left told her the door to Parnaby Cobb’s office was cracked open, so she moved slowly so as not to alert him to her presence with the rustling of her skirts.

She reached the windows and deliberately kept her gaze straight ahead or up so she wouldn’t look at the ground. Alas, there was nothing at eye level or above, so she squinted her eyes and peeked downward.

In spite of the sun hitting the windows, the glass radiated cold. Its bite gave her something to focus on other than the sensation of her stomach falling to her feet and beyond when she saw the clouds and the patches of dark brown and green that showed in the gaps. She chewed the inside of her cheek to forestall her stomach’s progress toward nausea and forced herself to look for anything unusual.

Louisa?

Cobb’s voice made her spin around too fast to face him, and her stomach lurched. She covered her mouth with her hand and chewed on both cheeks. She drew in deep breaths through her nose while focusing on a knot on the conference table.

What are you doing in here? You know you can’t handle the view, he said. And it could be dangerous.

Why? Her voice sounded like a squeak because she dared not open her mouth too far.

Because a strange clockwork creature was sighted.

The Guild? She allowed him to steer her out of the room and into the dining room, where she sank into her chair. She closed the magazine with a snap.

I’m not sure. He didn’t meet her eyes, and she wondered if he and the odd organization had fallen out. He had brought her along to their most recent meeting that she knew of, and the man, who wore a mask, hadn’t been able to say three words. At least not three honest ones. Relations between Cobb and the Clockwork Guild had been strained since.

Or worse—had he seen what she was reading?

What was it? Although her stomach settled, she couldn’t help the little ladylike burps that escaped with every other breath, so she kept her questions short.

Some sort of flying dragon creature, but not large. He held out his hands. About so big.

Spying?

Or delivering something. Morlock is talking to O’Connell now to see if he received anything. Perhaps I should let you question him.

The thought of the lab with all its windows extinguished the flare of excitement at seeing O’Connell again. Was Cobb toying with her? He’d told his men to keep her and Patrick apart.

I need a few minutes for my stomach to settle.

Cobb patted her on the shoulder, but she noticed the corners of his mouth draw tight with disgust under his whiskers. She hated these moments that made her look like a weak female, but she couldn’t help it. Motion sickness and fear of heights had followed her since she was a child.

I wasn’t serious. Do you need your laudanum? he asked.

Louisa shook her head, which made it spin more. Why had she allowed her curiosity to get the better of her?

Yes, I believe I do. I have some in my chamber. I’m going to lie down.

Morlock appeared at the top of the stairs. He says we shot the wings off it, Sir.

And you believed him?

Morlock shrugged. Louisa drew back from his smell—body odor and sickly sweet pipe tobacco—and chewed her cheek again.

We’ll watch him, don’t worry, Sir.

Good. Can you accompany Miss Cobb to her room? She’s not feeling well.

I can make it on my own, Father, Louisa said and kept her voice even with every ounce of her will.

He knows how that man’s smell turns my stomach. Does he want me to vomit in his airship?

Very well, Cobb said. Back to your post, Morlock. Let me know if you need a physician, Louisa.

I should be fine.