Waterwitch

[Keeper]

“Seth,” Holt said, a little calmer. “They’re holed up in the constable’s office. When we get there I want you on the crane with the man-basket. Have a few men with rifles on deck too. They probably won’t be able to see much but if someone shoots at you then they should be able to give you enough covering fire to keep their heads down.

“I’m sorry!” Jonathan said, exasperation obvious in his voice. “Crane? Captain, they’re at the top of the hill. The crane won’t reach.”
“I know that thank you, Mr Reynolds.”
Holt gently shoved him aside as he went to look at a series of dials on the aft bulkhead. “That’s why we’re going to move closer.”
“Ha! Is everyone going mad? This is a submersible ship. They’re at the top of a hill. We can’t get any closer!” Jonathan was almost pleading for the captain to comprehend what he was saying to him.
Holt turned on him and Jonathan thought he was going to unleash another furious blast, but instead he had a smile, a grin, breaking out on the side of his mouth. “This isn’t just a submersible ship, Mr Reynolds, this is the Waterwitch!”
The way he said it made it sound as though that were the end of the argument.
Jonathan threw his arm out in frustration and was about to scream when a soft cool hand gently grabbed his.
The hand’s owner was the young girl the captain had been talking to when Jonathan had burst onto the bridge.
She smiled at him. “It’s okay, Mr Reynolds, relax. I gather this is your first time aboard the Witch?”
Reynolds nodded, struck dumb by the innocent beauty of the girl.
“Daddy knows what he is doing, and he’s just toying with you. But I won’t ruin the surprise, it’ll blow your mind. Why don’t you and I sit back here, out of the way, and just watch.” She led him to a stool next to a chart table, holding his hand reassuringly. “I’m Paige, by the way,” she added.
He looked at her properly. She had long dark hair, straight as a die. Her face was narrow with full lips and a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes.
She was thin, but Jonathan put that down to her youth rather than a lack of nourishment. Fifteen, sixteen tops, he placed her.
There was something familiar about her. “Do I know you?”
Paige Holt smiled at him, then self-consciously let go of his hand. She’d never dream of behaving in so forward a manner with a gentleman back home in London, yet here, on her father’s ship she felt comfortable enough to behave in any way she pleased.
“You do, sir,” she answered Jonathan’s question, going red in the face. “I work in your brother’s house in Knightsbridge. I am one of the maids.”
“Really?” Jonathan wondered why he didn’t recognise her.
“It’s okay,” she smiled as though reading his thoughts. “You came over to London last summer with your family and stayed with us. I guess I’m doing my job right if you don’t notice me.”
“All the same, I should at least have seen you and not to recognise you is almost shameful.”
Paige laughed. “I guess I look a little different now.”
She did. Back in London, when she was working she would wear her maids livery, her long hair tied up and away beneath a white cloth cap. Now she was dressed in trousers and a loose shirt , more akin to the ladies of western frontier towns
“Well I shall ensure I pay you more attention in the future, Miss Holt,” Jonathan apologised.
He looked at her for some time whilst the crew busied themselves. She brought home so many memories. His wife and children were in their home in Montreal. He’d been a fool to leave them there, he suddenly realised.
Of course, he could never have brought them up here, but this turned out to be a doomed venture anyway. One that could have cost him his life were it not for his brother’s timely arrival.
“How old are you?” he asked Paige.
“Sixteen.”
Jonathan smiled. “I have a daughter, only a couple of years younger than you. I think you’d get on.”
“Miss Nicola, I know, sir. I’m sure we would get on but the staff aren’t allowed to mix with the guests like that, sir.”
“Nonsense! Who says, Sebastian?”
“No sir, Mrs Morris, the senior housekeeper.”
Jonathan said nothing more as he was interrupted by Gecko’s call of “We’re loose, captain!”

[Keeper]

Captain Holt, instead of sitting in his chair, stood by the forward bridge windows and watched as two of his thirty-five strong crew wound the mooring lines around a pair of steel bollards in a figure of eight then tied them securely and locked the ends in place.
Once they were done he grabbed a communications hand-set and called the engine room. “O’Clare, I hope for your sake, and Hartfield’s that you’ve got my boat ready,” the captain said sternly.
“That we have sir!” came the crackly reply over the speaker mounted above the console.
Holt said nothing as he replaced the hand-set.
Moving now to his chair he perched on the edge, his hands together, elbows on his knees. “Take her up, Mr Gecko,” Holt told the first mate.
“Up?” Jonathan Reynolds asked in bewilderment. No one answered, but Paige just smiled at him.
Seth Gecko paced across the bridge to stand alongside the helmsman.
“Extend the bow planes.”
A crewman pulled a lever and at the forward end of the vessel the two huge paddle like fins that were stowed in an almost upright position hinged down, driven by huge pistons.
A light turned from red to green above the lever.
“Bow planes ready!” the crewman called.
“Open thrust ports,” Gecko called.
More levers were pulled and more lights went from red to green .
“Helmsman, hold her steady, thirty yards a minute lift,” Gecko instructed.
Wade grabbed a lever to his left and pulled it towards him a fraction.
From deep within the bowels of the submarine came a whooshing rumbling sound then a steady hum that seemed to be very slowly increasing in pitch. Shortly afterwards this was followd by a series of crunching noises that reminded Jonathan of rivets popping.
He cast a concerned look at Paige.
“It’s the ice breaking away from the hull. We’ve been here a while and it won’t want to let us go.”

“A little more lift please, Helm,” Gecko suggested.
The humming changed pitch again when Wade pulled the lever a little more.
There was a jolt as the ice finally let go and Jonathan felt the submarine rocking in the water.

Gecko looked out the windows into the black night, seeing only the flurrying snow flakes reflecting the lights of the bridge back at him. “Lights out!” Gecko ordered.
“I’ve got it,” Paige said, jumping down from her stool and darting over to the panel of switched by the door.

When the lights were out Jonathan expected to be plunged into absolute darkness, however, the various dials, indicators and panels remained lit so that the bridge seemed as though illuminated by not quite enough candles.
Gecko flicked a switch and huge search-lights came on at the bow, and more on the fin structure, lighting up the foredeck and the harbour beyond.

Unable to contain his curiosity now, Jonathan went to stand by the front windows.
He frowned because it looked as though the quayside was a lot lower than he expected.
Paige joined him and laughed at his dumbfounded expression.
“Are we… are we going up?” he almost whispered.
“Yes, Mr Reynolds, we are.”

[Keeper]

Slowly, rocking slightly in the wind, the Waterwitch broke away from the surrounding ice-sheet and rose above the aging quay like some mythic dragon finally awoken from a long, deep slumber.
Huge chunks of ice fell away from her hull to splash into the freezing water.
The whole vessel hummed with contained power as she crawled skyward.
Seaweed and other marine growth hung from her keel like tassels on a curtain, dripping icy water which flew away on the wind and was ice itself before it hit the ground.
“You know where the constable’s place is Wade?” Holt asked thinking it a ridiculous question to ask the scoundrel.
“Aye, sir,” Wade replied sounding dejected.
Wade turned the wheel and at the same time pulled another lever.
An ether-port in the port side forward diving plane opened up, venting volatile ether into the atmosphere, causing thrust and pushing the bow to starboard. At the same time he pushed both feet forward on their pedals, opening the throttle on the engines at the rear of the sub, making the witch begin a tight turn to the right.

The town swept into view below and Wade moved the sub higher, clearing the taller hotel as the bow arced around.
He pushed the Witch forward following the line of the street that led up towards the top of the hill.

[Keeper]

“We’ve got you pinned Reynolds,” Ox called out. “Don’t make this worse. You come on out now and we’ll let your big friend and the woman go.”
Hartfield looked over at Reynolds, who was sat with his back against the outer wall.
“What?” the baron asked.
“Just wondering if you were considering it?” Hatfield replied.
“I honestly wasn’t. I suppose you think me heartless? It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.” Reynolds broke open the shotgun and removed the two spent rounds.
“Good. I think it would be a damned stupid idea. Just wanted to see where we stood, is all.”
Reynolds shrugged. “Right now we’re better off than them. It’s a damn sight warmer in here than out there. They’ll be getting colder every minute and they’ll try getting in again, just because it’s better than sitting around in the snow. But this place is strong enough to hold them off for a bit so I say we stay put, but keep alert, and wait for Holt to come and get us. That’s where I stand, you’re welcome to join me.”
Hartfield grinned. “You’re all right, for a toff!”
“Thanks.”
“So where’d a baron learn to pick locks and sneak about so good?”
“Ah, well, that’s the million pound question! And not one I’m going to answer , I might add. You see, my title grants me some degree of privilege, one such instance being that my secrets are my own to keep!”
Again Hartfield grinned, pulling Lilly’s unconscious body closer and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m just glad for whatever reason you’ve had for acquiring such skills! Bloody hell, she’s cold.”
Reynolds peered around the gloomy room, the light fom upstairs shining down and out through the open door was barely enough to see by. He spotted a heavy fur coat and placed it over Lilly’s exposed legs.
He went upstairs and found the constable’s bedroom. It was warmer in here, what with the fire burning low in the fireplace.
“Bring her up here, Mac,” Reynolds called quietly down the stairs.
The drapes were pulled and the fire too low for any light to penetrate so Reynolds felt sure the men outside would not realise they’d moved away from the front doors.

Hartfield arrived with Lilly and placed her on the bed. “If they get in, we’ll have the devil’s own job holding them back.”

[Keeper]

The world slowly came back into focus.
Bright light shone through the curtains bathing the room in a soft yellowish sheen.
The room was lightly decorated, bright white woodwork framing soft peach walls.
Lillian May Buxley rolled over on the bed, soft and sumptuous.
She sat up, wondering where she was. Had she dreamed about being kidnapped? If so, how had she come to this place? Which brought her back to her original question: where?
She looked down at herself as she moved and saw the long split-legged skirt open almost to her crotch.
“This is the scope?” she whispered. Lilly knew she didn’t actually own such a garment and only her avatar dressed this way.
Climbing off the bed she went to the only door in the room. It opened easily, leading to a short passageway with yet another door at the end.
Lilly moved along it, and the door behind her slammed shut. She turned and ran back but the door was locked.
Turning back to the far door she opened that one.

Lilly was in a round room with a dozen doors leading off from it, not including the one she’d just come through.

Only one other object occupied the room, a single throne-like chair of a red leather and dark stained wood.
The chair was on a circular raised dais and currently had its back to Lilly, but as she looked at it, it began to revolve, so that its occupant was revealed.

Eric Schimler’s avatar sat like a king of old in the ornate throne.
He fixed Lilly’s buxom form with a penetrating stare, but said nothing.

Lilly fidgeted uncomfortably but she did not move.

At last Schimler broke the silence. “Good day, Miss Buxley.”
“How the hell are you keeping me here, Eric?” Lilly blurted angrily.
With a nonchalant shrug Schimler answered replied. “Surely you need to be worrying less about the how, and more as to the why?”
Lilly returned the nonchalant shrug.
“Oh come now child, let’s not be so flippant. Let me explain.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Lilly said not wanting to plat along.
“Oh, but this isn’t for your benefit, my dear, it’s for theirs,” Schimler indicated the rounded lens mounted on the wall above the door which Lilly had come through.
She recognised the device as an ether-imager, allowing someone to watch what is happening in this part of the scope from outside the scope altogether.
“Who’s watching?” Lilly demanded, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
“Nobody, yet. But all this is being recorded and I will send it to Captain Holt, with my compliments. He’ll be getting a daily account of your progress.”
A smile broke out on the avatar’s plastic-like face.
“You see, Lilly, it was my intention to just subject you to random torture over a prolonged period until your mind broke, but I thought that would be just brash and un-gentlemanly.”
“Thanks,” Lilly was certainly not grateful, as her sarcasm laden tone implied.
“Well,” Schimler stretched the word out as though he was doing Lilly some massive favour that was not too much trouble. “You deserve at least some glimmer of hope that you could survive this ordeal unscathed. Hence here you are,” he waved his hands out wide indicating the room.

He looked at the lens. “You see, captain, behind one of these doors is an escape – a door generator that will open a gate to Royal Park in New London. However, behind the other eleven doors lays a good deal of unpleasantness for young miss Buxley here.”
Schimler grinned wickedly at Lilly.
“Oh, my dear Holt! You should see the odd colour Buxley’s face has gone. I didn’t think avatar’s could blush or blanch but apparently I was wrong. Don’t worry you’ll know how she gets on; I’ll be recording that too.”

“This is really a game of pure chance though. Once the door is closed, the destinations change randomly, so choosing the wrong door today doesn’t mean it will be the wrong door tomorrow!”

His attention back on Lilly he asked, “So my sweet, which door will it be?” The corners of Schimler’s mouth turned up as he revelled in the moment.
“I’m not playing your silly games, Eric, you sick bastard,” Lilly spat folding her arms in child-like defiance.

“Oh but you will, Lillian,” Schimler waved a hand and a glowing green screen appeared on the floor.
“Here are addresses, well street names really, of every borough of the Great Metropolis. Failure to comply with my rules means I send men to one of those streets, you get to pick which, where they will begin looking for children. Once they find one they will kill him or her, eventually.”
“You bastard!” Lilly spat. “Even you couldn’t be so heartless?”
“When it comes to holt and his crew, namely you at this juncture, I will do anything. So, are we going to pick a street for our first victim, or are we going to play the game? Refuse this and I’ll pick a street for you, and then a door too!”

“All right you fucker, I’ll play your damned game.”
Lilly’s jaw was set firm and she glanced at the lens, a beaten look in her eyes.
“Good girl! Pick a door.”
Lilly walked across the room to a door positioned at her three o’clock.
She opened the door to find another corridor similar to the one leading from the plush bedroom.
A glance at Schimler earned her a patronising smile from the German and he waved her inside.

The almost wax-like avatar turned to the recording lens. “You may want to look away, James. Although I hear Mr Wade may find this amusing!”

[Keeper]

It came from downhill, or so it at first appeared to Sumpter Oxley as he stood in the lee of a building, sheltering from the wind.
It was a glow, like the coming dawn, but hours too early.
His men were spread out thin, keeping a close eye on the constable’s office from all available angles just in case Reynolds tried to make a break for it.
Ox was a patient man and could wait a while longer.
Most of the townsfolk, it seemed, weren’t too keen on coming to investigate what all the shooting was about, although one old lady had barked out of her window for them to keep the noise down. “If you’re going to be shootin’ them guns, do it quietly,” she had said.
Luke, the man on the receiving end of that blast had told her he would.

The strange glow was becoming steadily brighter.
“What the?” Luke said beside him. He had a better view down the street.
Ox moved to the corner and peered around seeing that there were now three incredibly bright lights in the sky, lights that were moving towards them.
“Well what have we got here?” he muttered, then said louder, “Luke, go get Cooper.”
Luke nodded and sprinted off into the darkness.

Moments later he returned with Jefferson Cooper in tow.
“Yes, boss?” Cooper asked.
“I’m thinking they’ve sent a search party out lookin’ for Reynolds. Probably some kind of ornithopters I would guess. They must be pretty desperate to get hold of them sending them out in this weather. Take your time and pick your shots, but keep an eye on the jail; I don’t want them getting away.”
Cooper nodded, then scurried over to a frozen trough which looked like a good place to hunker down.

[Keeper]

James Hartfield noticed the increased light too. “That’s got to be the Witch,” he said.
“They’ll have the doors covered, I suggest we head up again, the roof if we can,” said Reynolds.
Hartfield nodded his consent and picked Lilly up gently. The back of her knee and calf muscle rested on his mechanical arm and it saddened him that he couldn’t feel the soft smooth skin touching his.

[Keeper]

“Dammit, Luke, I’ve waited in the cold long enough!” Ox said impatiently. “Charlie still got the dynamite?”
Luke shrugged but in the darkness Ox couldn’t see it so he added, “Yep!”
Ox sighed, Charlie lay dead on the pub floor, his clothes soaked in his own blood from a stab wound in his throat.
“Grab someone, head back there and get me them ‘splosive’s. kill anyone gets in your way, or even looks like they might.”

Those damned lights were getting brighter, casting an almost twilight glow over this part of town. With the snow coming in swirls and flurries whipped up by the wind it was threatening to be a white-out.

Lighting a cigar for a bit of warmth, Ox leaned in close to the wall and concentrated on the constables office.
He’d had no real dislike of either Reynolds brother, they were just another job, but things had changed. Ox’s men had suffered casualties at their hands and that couldn’t go unanswered. Yes, he’d hand over Mr Jonathan Reynolds to his employer, but this other one – he’d just have to die.

There was a sudden sporadic burst of gunfire from way off in the darkness, back in the direction of the pub.
“Sheeit!” Ox cursed, drawing out the word.

[Keeper]

“We’ll be on the roof,” Lord Reynolds’ voice crackled over the ether-comm.
“I understand, we’ll be there shortly,” Holt said as the Waterwitch rocked in the high winds.
“Keep her steady, Mr Wade,” Holt said having dismissed Jonathan and his ether-comm with a wave of his hand.
Wade’s jaw clenched in annoyance at the captain’s comments, even though he knew there was nothing incorrect about them.
He was annoyed at everything right now from holt and his orders, to the very task they were undertaking. But he was the helmsman, and he’d be damned if he’d let anything seem too much for him so he gritted his teeth, clamped his mouth firmly shut and used his quite respectable skills to keep the floating behemoth in a straight line.

“I reckon we’re about there,” Mr Gecko called from his vantage point at the windows.
“Very good! All stop Mr Wade. Seth, get down to the crane and guide us in.”

[Keeper]

Sumpter’s jaw hung open as the gigantic hull loomed out of the snow swept darkness.
Dirigibles and zeppelins were nothing new to Oxley, but this? This was a ship, as far as he could tell, a ship floating almost majestically through the night sky.
He guessed his men must have been thinking the same thing as he’d not heard any shots, despite his orders to take out what he thought to be ornithopters. How could they hope to dent this thing?

Seth Gecko was sitting in the cab of the crane mounted on the forward hull of the Witch. He shifted uncomfortably on the freezing seat as he relayed orders and directions back to the helmsman.
With the Witch in position he lowered the box over the side, one of is men acting as banksman, guiding the crane hook over the side of the vessel and down towards the roof of the constable’s office.

The street and the rooftop were now illuminated by the massively powerful lamps from the Witch.
Ox considered ordering his men to shoot them out, but the added light also worked to his benefit.
Cooper now had a perfect view onto the roof and would be able to shoot anyone who emerged onto it.
Ox moved over to where Cooper was huddled.
“Coop!” he said getting the man’s attention. “Can you see the man driving that crane?”
“Nope!”
“What about the one guiding it?”
“Yep!”
“Wait ‘til you can see Reynolds on the roof then take that man out. After that do Reynolds’ friend if you got sight of him.”

There was a dorma window opening out onto the roof.
Hartfield opened it, sliding the sash upwards.
The wind howled in through the opening and Reynolds shivered, pulling his coat tighter.
James glanced out of the window as a shadow passed over it. The box-cage, a contraption similar to an elevator was slowly lowering down towards him. There was a loud thump as the cage hit the roof and then a scraping sound as it slid down the tiles.
The big Canadian cast a glance around again, looking for any sign of Ox’s men. He knew they were out there, and he knew they had a marksman with them. In fact, he was convinced that that marksman was right now beading up on him as he positioned himself with one leg either side of the sill.
When no shots came he was amazed.
“Okay, Seb, get ready with Lilly.”
Reynolds slipped his hands under the woman’s back and her legs and hoisted her up into his arms.
Hartfield grabbed the cage and pulled it in closer, hooking hi outside leg around the structure to hold it there so that he could have both arms free.

“Wait for it!” Ox whispered in Cooper’s ear as he watched Hartfield drag the young woman’s unconscious body out.
Then Reynolds appeared, reaching out and grabbing the cage to steady it.
“Now!” Ox roared.

The gunshot made both Reynolds and Hartfield flinch but the bullet never came near them, though they heard yelling from the vessel above.

Men appeared along the upper deck of the Witch, all of them armed.
Ox saw them and swore.
A ripple of gunfire echoed out across the sky as the men of the Witch fired towards Oxley’s position.

The two Americans hunkered down behind the trough, both very glad that its contents were frozen solid.

James Hartfield heaved Lilly into the cage, his mechanical arm making it look easy.

More shots rang out around the constables office as Ox’s remaining men fired on the witch.
The distraction was enough to get Cooper in position.

James McLarren Hartfield repositioned himself on the windowsill, ready to leap onto the cage which had now swung out away from the building as strong gusts caught the Waterwitch broadside on.
He waited, perched on the ledge for it to swing back. Glancing into the room Reynolds gave him a nod and Mac grabbed the frame determined to give himself as much leverage as possible.

Then his body jerked, and Reynolds saw red mist erupt from the big Canadian’s throat.
Leaning back as he was, Hartfield crashed into the room. His eyes were wide with shock and he struggled for breath as his lungs filled with blood.
Reynolds was beside him then, his hand pressing to the gaping wound. “Hold on!” he urged as he reached with his other hand for his ether-comm.
A cold steel hand gripped his and Reynolds stopped, looking into Mac’s eyes.
The pair of them both knew Mac was as good as dead.
Unable to push sufficient air through his ruined throat Hartfield mouthed the word “Lilly!”
Reynolds gave Mac a reassuring smile, “I will,” he said.
Again Mac mouthed, “Love her,”
Reynolds nodded. “I’ll tell her.”
A wry smile turned the corners of Hartfield’s mouth up and Reynolds wondered what that meant.
“It was an honour meeting you, Mr Hartfield,” the baron said with all honesty and he stayed there, gripping Mac’s flesh hand until he felt the man’s grip loosen and finally fall away.

Reynolds’ visage became one of vengeful wrath. “Bastards!” he snarled.