The Clockwork Century: Fiddlehead Part 19

"Anything's possible. And now Maynard is somewhere within..." Maria wracked her brain, trying to make an educated a.s.sessment. "Seventy or eighty miles of here? That's no pinpoint, but it's a narrower window than we had before."

"When we're finished up here and you're on your way, I'll drop Mr. Lincoln a line to keep him informed." Some flicker of uncertainty crossed Troost's face, but quickly pa.s.sed.

But Maria saw it, and she asked, "What? Is something wrong?"

Troost laughed, short and harsh. "Other than the end of the world, you mean?" He pulled a map out of a drawer beneath the taps and spread it out beside them. "I can't be sure, but I think something funny's up in the District. I don't trust the wires there, not tonight. There's an interruption someplace, and I don't like it."

Henry stiffened, and he narrowed his eyes. "You think Mr. Lincoln's in danger?"

"I think everyone's in danger, more often than not. But yes, him in particular. And maybe the president, too."

"You think it'll go that far?" Maria asked.

"It's gone farther than him already. But there's nothing I can do about that right now. Not from here." Finished with the subject for the time being, he jabbed his finger at the map to guide them, and said, "All right. From where we're sitting now, the fastest way to Georgia is that road right outside, the little highway you came in on. But the more direct route is this road, which cuts through the south end of town and out past the ridge. The main road drops down that way, and it's a straight shot to Atlanta, then on to Macon, and so forth."

"Can we take that map?" Henry asked.

Troost rolled it up. "It's all yours."

"But will they be sticking to the main roads?" Maria asked. "They're on a covert military mission; wouldn't they take the side streets and back ways? They're less likely to be caught that way."

"I don't know what side streets you're talking about. Most of the way, it's the main road or nothing. And these men don't have much choice but to hide in plain sight. We're talking about two dozen soldiers, a half-dozen horses, and a couple of carts big enough to pa.s.s for a mobile hydrogen station. They'll be dressed in grays, with paperwork that'll fool anyone who'd stop them-especially since there's a big hydro facility in the middle of Atlanta. That may even be the truth, as that's probably where they intend to detonate the weapon. It's right at the edge of a real dense neighborhood, with plenty of easy victims."

"And if the cloud roams...?"

"Can't tell you much about the weather, ma'am," Troost replied. "All I know is that word out of the city says it's fair and calm, but clouds are coming up from the southwest, so you never know. Might be a storm in the Gulf pus.h.i.+ng up a breeze. Let's hope not, eh?"

She murmured, "You hope. I'll pray."

"Pray into one hand, s.h.i.+t in the other. You tell me which one fills up first."

"That's unnecessary." She frowned.

"It's a reminder, that's all. Get out there and do your jobs, and don't count on any help from above, unless it comes in the form of an airs.h.i.+p."

Henry stuck the map into his coat, jamming it down into a pocket. "And it's our job to stop this caravan? The pair of us? Against a contingent of special Union forces?"

"A Pink and a Marshal against a squadron?" Troost grinned, and it only looked a little forced. "I almost feel bad for them. Now, let's get you on the move so that I can get on the move."

Maria asked, "You're taking Sally and Caleb out? Tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm getting them as far from the blast zone as I can. Orders right from the top, from Uncle Grant this time."

Henry said, "I was under the impression he hadn't been too helpful so far."

Troost started to roam the room, packing up small items and throwing them into a satchel. "He's a sad old drunk who's sitting in a nest of vipers, but he's not a bad sort-and I don't know what convinced him, but I can make a guess or two. Uncle Abe implied that Miss Haymes showed up to give him a heart-to-heart in person. But you know how it is with telegrams. You have to guess at half the detail."

Maria tapped her fingernail on the table beside the telegraph key. "So, Henry, how fast can that carriage of yours run? It seemed a bit slow-going on the way here-not that I'm complaining, of course."

Troost announced, "I have a better idea."

Henry grinned. "I told her you might," he said, as Troost pa.s.sed him a small packet of paper.

"Take this down to the dirigible docks on Missionary Ridge. Henry, you know the place?"

"I can find it."

"Got you a two-seater reserved. It'll be cold flying-and I expect that might be hard on a delicate magnolia like yourself, Miss Boyd, but-"

"Hush your ridiculous mouth."

"-but if you're living on the Chicago lake, I figure you'll survive the discomfort. Now, the craft's reserved under the name Henry Fisher, courtesy of the Texas Rangers. I ran it that way because your stars ain't too different, and if I'd put it under the Marshals, they'd have put me under arrest. Sorry, but you'll have to fib it as a brown. How's your Republican accent?"

"Pa.s.sing fair," he drawled.

Troost leaned on the table and gave him a critical eye. "Tell 'em you're from the islands. Say Galveston. The vowels aren't as long, and most Texians only halfway consider the Gulf part of their country anyway."

"Got it."

"Miss Boyd, you're traveling as Mary Wilson. I tried to think of something more bland than that, but I failed. I hope it'll do."

"It'll work just fine, thank you. How did you come up with all this so ... so quickly?"

Henry flashed Troost a look that suggested he'd like to know, too, but Troost didn't feel like sharing. "Tricks of the trade," he said, and that was all. "Now get a move on. Every mile they go is another mile you have to chase them."

"G.o.d knows what we'll even do when we catch them," Henry sighed.

Maria said, "We'll tell them the truth. It's all we've got."

"Sadly, it's the best we've got. Troost, thanks for all your help."

"I'd say *anytime,' except I wouldn't mean it. Stop those fellows before they do something we'll all regret-them most of all. When I get to the District, I'll try to arrange papers from Uncle Grant to make explanations for you. Until then, just make sure they don't shoot you if you get caught."

"That was part of the plan already," Maria a.s.sured him.

"You know what I mean. Now, make a run for it, make it good, and start practicing your story." Then he gazed hard at Maria, as if she'd given him an idea. Maria didn't like the feel of it, almost as if he was staring right through her ... and perhaps he was. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "You remember your old friend Hainey, Miss Boyd?"

Calling the air captain an "old friend" was a little much, but she let it ride. "He's a difficult man to forget."

"I might be able to drag him into this. Might need to, in fact. I can't be everywhere at once-I'm good, but I'm not that good-so I'll need somebody..."

"Somebody as good as you?" she supplied.

He balked at answering. "As good as me? I don't know about that. But I'll fire up the taps and see if I can't flag him down. I'd love to have some help in the District, and I could do much worse than him." Before Henry could volunteer them, Kirby clarified, "Not you two. You're headed south. You won't have time to fly back and save the day if it needs saving. Neither will I, I don't expect. We can't spread ourselves that thin. So I'll see who I can press into service. If everything shakes out all right, I'll see you in the District in another few days. If it don't ... I suppose I'll see you all in h.e.l.l."

Sixteen.

The steep slopes of Missionary Ridge were cold and treacherous-muddy from the rains of the past few days, and slowly freezing as the temperature dropped yet lower and a bl.u.s.tery wind kicked up from the west. Spitting hints of rain slapped against the windscreen as Henry drove, and flicked inside the open cab to sting Maria's cheeks. She huddled deeper in her coat and burrowed as far as she could back in her hard seat, despite the discomfort. She could feel the gears s.h.i.+ft and yank, and the frame behind her shoulders rattled as the car tugged against the road's slick, unforgiving ruts.

The dock itself was perched high atop the tree-covered ridge overlooking the city, outside the wall and far enough away to provide a generous view.

"Tennessee likes to say their wall is one of the wonders of the modern world," Henry told her through chattering teeth. "I don't know if that's true, but"-he drew the vehicle to a halt and set its brake so it wouldn't roll-"it's a sight to behold all the same."

"Agreed," she said, through lips so numb she could scarcely form the word. Without the wind rus.h.i.+ng in the windows, the world seemed somewhat warmer; but as soon as she opened her door and stepped to the ground, she found the currents were almost worse up there in the scenic elevations.

She wished for a good umbrella, something that would fend off ice and rain alike.

On second thought, it was just as well she didn't have one, as it would not survive the weather-or so she concluded when a fierce gust shoved up against her side, peppering her cheeks with needle-cold shards of sleet.

"Flying in this weather won't be any fun."

"Won't be very safe, either, but we don't have much choice." Henry tucked his own coat closer and made a beeline for the ticket house, a long, narrow building with four counter windows ready to do business.

While he handed over his papers and sorted out the arrangements, Maria eyed the dirigible offerings. She counted three big transport s.h.i.+ps, far too large for their needs-and almost certainly too big for them to fly as a pair-but they had closed-in cabins with enormous gla.s.s s.h.i.+elds, so she wished for one all the same. Two others were middling-sized, though one of those looked too bedraggled to fly. And she thought she spied several smaller crafts behind a tall wooden fence, the tops of their domes peeking above the barrier, bobbing against one another in the wind.

Henry returned with a pa.s.s and a set of keys in hand. "Let's go. The ticket girl says that the weather's supposed to get even worse. A storm's coming, spinning up out of the Gulf."

"Little late in the year for that," Maria grumbled. "You'd think the weather would be warmer, if that's where it's coming from."

"You would indeed, but such is not our lot in life. Not today, anyway."

They hiked against the wind until they reached a big gate, which opened with the turn of the largest key on Henry's ring. Once inside, they were protected from the worst of the chill, for the fence and the s.h.i.+ps themselves served to break up the gale. "They tried to talk me out of it, actually," he told her, scanning the rows for the right slot. "They said we'd be crazy to fly today, and whatever we're doing could wait for morning."

"What did Mr. Troost tell them when he reserved the craft?"

"I'm not sure, but it had something to do with the war effort. I think he told them you're a nurse, and I'm a doctor, and we're running an emergency aid something-or-another to someplace. I'm sure the particulars were fascinating. He has a knack for detail."

"Strange little man, that."

"And you have a knack for understatement. Here, this is it: the Black Dove." He used another key to unlatch the s.h.i.+p's anchor from a claw-style mooring, then pulled a lever inside the craft. The hook and chain retracted with a tinny grind, then disappeared into a side panel that closed behind them.

It didn't look so bad. Open to the elements, more than not. Engine-powered, but controlled by foot pedal, so their feet would dangle over an open cha.s.sis through which they could watch the land pa.s.s by below.

"It's st.u.r.dy enough," Henry surmised. "We'll freeze our noses off if we don't wrap up, but then again, we might freeze them off anyway. I don't know about you, but I can hardly feel mine anymore."

They climbed inside and drew the frame doors shut behind them. The seats featured a long strap of good hemp canvas to serve as a belt, but it fastened across them both, securing them to little but each other. Henry worked up a blush, but Maria refused-she was glad for the closeness.

"We'll both stay warmer this way," she told him as she settled herself as comfortably as possible, without a hint of an improper struggle. "Now, I've never flown one of these before, but I've ridden in one. What can I do to help?"

"Navigate," he said as he slipped a pair of goggles over his gla.s.ses and urged her to do the same. He used another key from the ring to remove a steel lock from around the ignition, then leaned out the window and deposited the keys and the lock into a basket provided for the purpose ... and cranked the dirigible to life.

Its motor purred willingly, if with a faint clatter, while it warmed, then quivered, and then lifted them off the ground. Henry took an experimental turn or two with the thrusters, testing them for responsiveness. He fiddled with the steering mechanism and flipped switches and tugged levers.

Maria didn't think this looked very complicated, in the grand scheme of things. She resolved to learn how to fly a dirigible upon her eventual return to Chicago-a.s.suming she didn't freeze to death in the sky above north Georgia. Well, a.s.suming also that her mission was a success. And that the world was not overrun by necrotic leprosy.

Though, as the dirigible gained alt.i.tude, she considered that a plague might be all the more reason to learn how to fly. Victims of the ailment could run and eat, but they couldn't chase her off the ground, could they?

Henry valiantly fought the drafts and currents, forcing the Black Dove high enough to pa.s.s the ridge. His gloved fingers were tight on the controls, and his eyes dashed back and forth between the readouts, the levers, and the sky. Without looking at Maria, he asked her, "I gave you Troost's map, didn't I?"

"Got it right here," she said, withdrawing it from the satchel where she'd stashed it. Keeping a firm grip, she splayed it across her lap. "Do you see the southbound road?"

"No, but it can't be far."

He was right; it wasn't far. They found it fast, puttering and swaying against the intermittent rain and wind, dipping up and down above the trees, only to drop back down into the valley as they soared past the wall, so near that Maria could've stuck out her hand and touched it. Her stomach dropped and lurched, but luckily she hadn't eaten since the night before, so there was nothing present to cast out over Lookout Mountain as they careened off to the south.

The weather worked against them every mile of the way. It buffeted them head-on, and sometimes threatened to throw them off course. Henry wore himself out keeping the craft as steady as he could, and eventually found some violent rhythm to the trip. Maria couldn't see his eyes behind the lenses, but she had a feeling that they were hard and unblinking.

"There's a spygla.s.s in my bag," he shouted to her over the rus.h.i.+ng air and rumbling motor.

"I'll get it." She nodded, and fished around until she found it.

"I'm not seeing much traffic down there, are you?"

"No," she said loudly back, though her view through the spygla.s.s was compromised by the lenses she wore to protect her eyes. "That'll change as we approach Atlanta. It's picking up even ... even now." She gestured at the road, then off to the side, where a large factory compound coughed out soot from three tall towers. "That's Dalton, I believe."

"I'm sure you're right."

"So"-she squinted back down at the map, and pointed to a spot with one gloved finger- "we're about here. Still ninety miles from the city, I'd estimate, but I'll keep my eyes open. If we're lucky, they're still quite a ways outside town."

"If we were lucky, Troost would've gotten us a ride with a heater," Henry said. His icy cheeks were round and red, and he wasn't smiling.

"Just one more reason to hope we find them fast," she replied, though she couldn't feel her face at all, and her jaw must surely be freezing shut.

Talking was difficult, so they soon gave up and concentrated on their respective ch.o.r.es. Henry kept the craft aloft, and Maria watched the ground below, tracing the comings and goings of carts, horses, and diesel carriages as they chugged along the southbound route to the biggest city in the Confederacy.

She did not take her eyes off the road as she asked, "How much fuel does this thing hold?"

"Enough to get us to Atlanta, but not much farther. These little ones aren't made for the long haul, but we'll make it to the city," he a.s.sured her. "Even fighting the sky like this."

"Good," she said quietly. And then she closed her eyes, listening for something she heard very faintly, behind them and off to their left. "Even if we take a detour or two?"

"Detour?" He frowned hard enough that the goggles dipped on his forehead. "Why would we detour?"

"Not a detour, then. Call it evasive action."

Her ears pinpointed the noise and she turned her head far enough to catch it with her eyes. A s.h.i.+p was incoming, far enough away that she couldn't suss out the details, but it wasn't alone-and that was the main point of note. It had a friend, and that friend was approaching from the right.

"Two s.h.i.+ps, Henry," she said evenly. "Coming up behind us."

"They could be merchants or military fellows," he tried, but he didn't sound convinced even as he said it. "This is a common enough trade route."

"Henry, we're being flanked."