Chasing Sunlight

Jonathan rarely went anywhere without purpose, and his fingers drummed impatiently on the handle of his cane as Johann steered the carriage along frigid streets. Steam plumed from the streets here and there as maintenance pipes vented their contents, the boilers in the Industrial Quarter working full blast, and the sight reminded Jonathan of another item for his list. He reached into his jacket pocket as the carriage bumped and jolted, making a note with a small pencil, then returned his regard to the path forward.

They left the gas-fed streetlamps behind, everything converted to pale zint-light so close to the Noble Quarter. It was brighter, but the blue-white seemed less honest than the warm orange flow of burning gas that still held sway in the Industrial and Port quarters. Unfortunately he had no choice, as the address that Eleanor had provided was just outside the Noble Quarter.

She was, improbably, waiting outside as he pulled up — a testament to how much she must have disliked the cover story. It was true that nobody would believe any expedition would take anyone short of an upper-class scholar along, but Eleanor had never developed the patience for playing at aristocracy. Which was what had driven her down toward the Reflected Council in the first place.

Johann exited the cab and opened the door for her, his breath puffing in the cold air as Jonathan reached out a hand. She grabbed it with unladylike strength and mounted the two steps to the cab, settling in next to him and tucking her gloved hands into her coat. It wasn’t until after Johann had steered the carriage away from the mansion that she relaxed, smoothing a lock of hair away from where it had fallen across her face.

“Those whoresons!” She hissed, and Jonathan glanced at Johann, but he didn’t seem to be able to hear them through the glass divider. “Do you know where they put me?”

“That was the McAvey manor, wasn’t it?” Jonathan inquired mildly, amused by her sour mood.

“Yeah, but my sister married a McAvey. Having to share a house with that simpering little—” Eleanor cut herself off. “Anyway. Eight-twenty Mercy Park, southeastern Noble Quarter.”

Jonathan rapped on the glass and then opened the little window separating the driver’s section from the passenger cab to relay the instruction. Johann nodded and pulled levers as he steered onto the proper streets, continuing the climb to the Noble Quarter. In the penny dreadfuls that Jonathan read on occasion when morbid curiosity overwhelmed him, the black market was always in some Port Quarter basement, full of dimly lit smoke. That it was actually in the Noble Quarter made more sense, since almost everyone who actually used such a service was certainly a person of means.

“What do you need to buy there anyway?” Eleanor asked skeptically, still hunched into herself with her hands deep in her pockets. “I figured the Crown backing you would mean you could get ahold of anything.”

“Not anything, and only if I want the Crown to know.” Jonathan drummed his fingers against the handle of his cane as he watched the city roll by. “There are some things for which I’d prefer not to have any official attention.”

“I’d say that about everything,” Eleanor said, her lips curling upward. “Who needs them interfering? Guess you’re kind of stuck though.”

“We are,” Jonathan reminded her firmly. “Unless you’ve decided against going along.”

“Oh hell, how could I pass it up?” Eleanor asked. “Anything to get those leeches on the Council off of my neck.”

“And sunlight doesn’t interest you at all?” Jonathan asked.

“Eh. I don’t see the point. Me, I’m a bit more interested in the loot.” Eleanor straightened up, tilting her head at him and smiling. “Because we both know there will be something out there. I saw all the stuff on that map.”

“I don’t anticipate taking much time out for exploring those old sites,” Jonathan said dryly. “There will be some, but it’s a dangerous proposition.” Simply retracing the same path as his last expedition promised to be quite difficult, and there was far more to finding sunlight than simply looking around. Before it was over, he was certain Eleanor would be devoutly sick of ruins and mysteries.

“Yeah, but try and stop me,” Eleanor challenged, turning to face him and bracing herself with the roof strap as the carriage bumped around a corner. “You promised that I might get those people off my back. The only way to do that is to get something big enough that I can buy my way out.”

“When we reach the furthest points, I will ensure you find enough to sate any greed,” Jonathan said, though he personally doubted they would ever let her go. Not with what she could do.

Johann guided the carriage down Mercy Park, where a number of large mansions encircled a broad landscaped swath of moss and fungal stands thick with vines. The zint lights were carefully placed on tall lampposts, showing the colors that remained even in the midst of winter and ensuring there were no shadows within the park. Their destination was at the far end, one of the oversized estates that were so typical of the noble quarter, with bleached white stone, ornately carved lintels, and a large carriage park for any guests.

“We shouldn’t be more than an hour,” Jonathan said as he exited the carriage, holding his hand out to help Eleanor down.

“I’ll be right here, sir.” Johann said, and produced a worn copy of one of the old adventure novels Jonathan kept in his library. “Just got a book, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Eleanor said, peering at the cover. “You’ll like it. Right, come on, Jonathan. I don’t suppose you’ve been here before?”

“Not this one, no,” Jonathan said, extending his arm to Eleanor. She gave him a look of surprise, then laid her hand on his arm and readjusted her posture and face, patting the pillbox hat to ensure she looked properly like a high class lady. Even if she didn’t like it, Eleanor clearly had practice at pretending to be nobility.

The butler at the front entrance took their appearance with perfect aplomb, leading them inside and, at a muttered word from Eleanor, into a rear wing of the mansion. There they were met by a young, foppish man whose overly-broad smile and overly-tall frame implied to Jonathan that he’d been partaking in what he was peddling. The look of hunger that lurked in the back of his eyes had nothing to do with Eleanor’s youthful beauty or the money-case at Jonathan’s side.

“Welcome to the gallery,” he said, staying almost too close as he beckoned them forward, making Jonathan’s grip tighten on his cane. “Do tell me if any of the exhibits catch your fancy.” There was an almost manic glee to his words that set Jonathan’s teeth on edge, and judge by the set of her jaw it bothered Eleanor just as much, but it wasn’t like they could go elsewhere.

The rooms off the long hall of the so-called gallery looked rather like Jonathan’s study, full of trophies and sundries from foreign lands on display, some benign, some things that no god-fearing man would want near him. There were no prices, and not everything was labeled. For the unlettered, it would have been tempting and at the same time confusing to browse the exhibits.

Jonathan didn’t need to browse. He didn’t want to browse, not when just the sight of certain contorted totems sent talons scratching at the back of his brain. Perhaps effete nobles who had never been beyond the walls of Beacon found them merely quaint and amusing, but he knew better. No sane person would want a part of such things.

He hurried past, glancing briefly into each gallery until he spotted what he wanted. A large tapestry of an altar in flames hung on the wall, which Jonathan thought was rather on the nose. It was also something the heretics of the Cult of Flame would have laughed at. He steered Eleanor into the room, ignoring the books and engraved tablets closer to the door and studying the amphoras and casks of black stone resting on pedestals along one wall.

“Fire dust?” Eleanor asked skeptically, edging away from a chunk of lava under glass, still orange-veined among black rock, which seemed to radiate a palpable feeling of staggering intensity; some sweet affection that burned with a lust to sink in teeth and tear.

“On occasion, fire is the best solution,” Jonathan said firmly. “Nothing burns hotter than this.” He tapped the black cask, very lightly, out of respect for what it held inside. “When heat will not do, nothing burns colder than that.” He inclined his head at the amphora, not wanting to jostle it, though likely both the cask and amphora were actually empty.

“Never seen unflame in action,” Eleanor admitted, readjusting her hat again. “The Illuminated King doesn’t exactly look kindly on using that kind of stuff in Beacon.”

“I would imagine not.” Nobles playing at occult heresies might be tolerable, and it was best not to look too closely at how the largest families got their wealth and power, but there were lines that were not to be crossed. Inquisitors were not gentle.

“If the good sir is interested in the, ah, incendiary goods on display, some additional exhibits might be acquired,” the too-friendly gentleman said, discreetly displaying a series of figures scratched on a notepad. Jonathan glanced at them and pursed his lips, but there was nothing to do except pay it. There was no time to go all the way south to Godforge, where the heretics performed their rituals atop the great lavafall.

The bottled flames weren’t his only purchases. Certain tools had been lost with the last expedition, and with no replacements readily available he had to construct his own. The wrapped box that the butler delivered promised a number of long nights in his study, and the receipt promised that his combustible supplies would be shipped out to Danby’s Point at the eastern edge of the kingdom, one anonymous box amongst many that they would load before departing into the dark.

“My apologies, sir, that item is not available,” the attendant said as Jonathan inspected a plate of black, light-eating rock. Jonathan raised his eyebrows and gestured wordlessly at the example on display.

“That is reserved, sir,” the attendant said with faux regret.

“Even at double price?” Jonathan asked, having no wish to haggle but the material was requisite.

“Even so, sir,” the attendant replied, and Jonathan frowned but didn’t bother making a scene. Not there. He gave Eleanor a glance and continued on, making note of which items would need to be pilfered from their owners, if not the market directly. It would be cleaner to have Eleanor do it, but it would get done, one way or another.

He left the mansion considerably lighter in purse, though the total expense was nothing compared to the reconstruction of the Endeavor. He’d already spent most of the largesse he’d returned with, and had quietly begun selling off items of his collection, and his father’s. While Jonathan had planned things quite closely, and left considerable cushion, he still found it alarming how quickly his reserves had dwindled.

“I need these,” Jonathan said after they got into the carriage, quickly writing out the short list of unobtainable ingredients and handing it over to Eleanor. “I’ll pay you directly.”

“Absolutely,” Eleanor said with wicked glee, taking the piece of paper and stuffing into a pocket. “Should be fun. Any other errands I can get paid for?” Eleanor asked as Johann closed the door behind them. He clambered into the driver’s compartment to start steering the carriage back out of the mansion grounds. “I’d rather not spend any more time with my sister’s family than I have to.”

“We’re still months away from leaving,” Jonathan said, letting the amusement into his voice.

“Believe me, every hour counts,” Eleanor muttered. Jonathan considered the matter, drumming his fingers on his cane. Eleanor looked at him pleadingly, and he had to stifle a laugh. Obtaining his supplies was the best thing she could do to advance most of his preparations, as he had been bent to such tasks while the Endeavor’s refit was ongoing, but there was a certain task which was necessary to prevent any unnecessary delays.

“If you don’t mind doing some even more off-the-books work,” he began, and Eleanor immediately brightened, life coming into her eyes. “With the Crown interested in this expedition I don’t trust that they’ve left the Endeavor’s refit alone. Or the Reflected Council, for that matter.” He rapped on the glass separating the compartments and instructed Johann where to go, then leaned back as the carriage lurched into motion.

“Then there’s the people who attacked me,” he added, since that was the wildcard. There hadn’t been any repeat incidents, but that meant nothing. “The Crown hasn’t found anyone connected to it, but I suppose it’s hard to draw information from corpses. So you see how I might be worried about sabotage.”

“Yeah.” Eleanor chewed on her lip, eyes going distant for a moment as she turned the job over in her mind. “I don’t know much about airship design but I can skulk about, see if there’s anyone or anything suspicious. You have designs I can reference? I’ve learned how to read blueprints, at least.”

“Easily done,” Jonathan assured her. His estate was on the way to the dockyards anyway, so it was barely a detour. She studied them with her finger tapping her lips as Johann steered the carriage up the long switchbacks of Haphan’s Bluff, the big towers where the airships moored growing ever more clear. Spotlights shone on the vessels docked at the ends of cantilevered pylons, illuminating them against the empty black abyss of the sky.

The Endeavor was floating on the lowest pylon at Crowley, Stanford, and Moore, the drydock cradle filled with cranes, carisium stock, and crates under canvas. Much of the ship had been badly mangled, but the envelope superstructure had survived, along with the main beam, figurehead, and most importantly the commissioning plaque. That made it just a repair and not a new ship; a vital point since only fools and madmen would take a brand new ship out into the dark wilds.

By the time he stepped out of the carriage Eleanor was already gone, melted away from sight. There was no telling how long her investigation would take, but Jonathan trusted that she had her own way home. The decks were only half-completed, not yet fit for habitation, and he had already studied the specifications from the blueprints. It was a state of affairs where no sane engineer would want the customer underfoot, and yet he was underwriting the vast cost of the refit and so the venerable engineering concern of Crowley, Stanford, and Moore had no choice but to indulge him.

Of those who had given the company its name, only Crowley was there to greet him, a man of heroic proportions and arms like pistons, bald head gleaming like the metal that surrounded him. Some terrible accident had claimed his voice, the scars standing out in angry red on the pale skin of his neck and jaw, but he didn’t need to speak to communicate. His silences were more eloquent than most people’s dissertations.

The two of them entered the oversized paternoster, rising up to the drydock where the Endeavor was undergoing her reconstruction. Up close, Jonathan was struck by the sheer size of the airship, something significantly larger than the one he’d ridden on before. The bare carisium beams and deck struts hung below the envelope, tangled with the glass piping and reservoirs for zint lights and engines. Three full decks, running the entire length of the envelope, pointed fore and aft and with the nacelles for the engines already under construction.

“Have you had any issues with people trying to sneak in?” Jonathan asked, and Crowley made a few brief gestures, finishing with a clenched fist.

“A wise choice.” Jonathan tapped his cane against the floor, watching as men crawled through the deck skeleton to connect ducts and piping. A crane integrated into the main tower swung a piece of carisium decking in a ponderous arc before solid, sweat-sheened workmen caught the guidelines to wrestle it into place. “Did you settle on the weaponry?”

Crowley conveyed certain details with the twist of his mouth and the set of his jaw, a flip of his wrist to encompass the yard. He crossed arms as thick as lampposts and raised an eyebrow at Jonathan. It wasn’t the answer that Jonathan had wanted, but about what he had expected. Of course the Crown would interfere, and while newer equipment was better it came with certain expenses.

The Illuminated King didn’t need money, but the bureaucracy he employed certainly had no compunctions about squeezing what they could from the process. Even the king’s token wouldn’t change that. Antomine was the most likely suspect for forcing the weaponry upgrades, because he wouldn’t have realized there was all too much out there that brute force was helpless against.

Eleanor didn’t really need him to distract Crowley, or anyone else for that matter, but he did his due diligence while he was at the yard and found out everything he could about the progress on the Endeavor. It all went into his little notebook, though Jonathan doubted he would ever have to reference it. The venerable firm of Crowley, Stanford, and Moore would never do anything that might injure their reputation.

He trusted Eleanor more. Straightforward and honest people were to be applauded, but they were simply not twisted enough to know all the tricks of the underhanded. All too many eyes were on the expedition and simple spite might motivate Jonathan’s professional rivals to act against him, to say nothing of factions within the Reflected Council and the Crown.

Once home, he spent the next days taking advantage of the materials he had purchased. Certain preparations took time, both due to caution and simply because of the nature of the task. Alchemical reagents had to steep, polished wood had to season. It was still enough to keep him busy, closeted in his study.

“Eleanor.” He greeted her without looking up from his work, the only sound in his study the ticking of the clock. An apparatus of polished metal and whorled stone lay half-finished on his desk, each component innocent on its own but forming something painful to the eye at the edges where they joined. “It’s been weeks. I was beginning to worry.”

“Oh, I was perfectly fine,” Eleanor said, fading into view already seated in the chair across from him. She reached out to drop the blueprints on his desk before stretching and lounging against the armrest. “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages. Do you have any idea how many secrets pass through that shipyard?”

Jonathan looked up at her, taking a small cloth and dropping it over his work. Instantly the room seemed brighter, or perhaps smaller. Eleanor blinked, looking at the rippled folds of woven silk with some distaste, and rubbed her eyes.

“Nothing too clandestine, I hope?” He asked mildly, having no wish to become embroiled in anyone else’s dealings.

“The usual. Smuggling, artifacts, bribery, spying.” Eleanor shrugged and reached into the pocket of her greatcoat to pull out a trio of glass baubles that she rolled in her palm. “There was a Crown agent and a Council agent both on the Endeavor. It was great watching them try to pretend they didn’t know about each other. I did pull these out of some of the zint tanks though. Not sure who put them there or how they’re supposed to be triggered.” She dropped the glass spheres on his desk and Jonathan reached out to examine them.

He only knew so much about how zint mechanisms worked. The deepest secrets of luminiferous terrestrite were beyond most people, either by inclination or design, but he could understand the basics. A single spike, driven by a tiny mechanism, would break the glass sphere from the inside and release its contents.

“It appears we have attracted the attention of someone unpleasant,” he said putting them down again. “Though I’m surprised that was the only sabotage.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Eleanor waved a hand. “But the shipyard people found the rest of it and dealt with the worker who did it. Problem is, it was the widow Hardiman who paid the man off.” She gave him a significant look and Jonathan sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes briefly. Captain Hardiman had been a good friend, but the wife far less so. It did not require any special insight to understand how affronted she might be that Jonathan, the only survivor, was simply chartering another expedition as if nothing had ever happened.

“There is very little to be done about that,” he concluded. “We will simply have to—” He was interrupted by a rapping on the door.

“Pardon me for intruding, sir.” Agnes’ voice floated through the closed door. “That gentlemen is in the front room again. Mister Antomine.”

“Really? Exactly now?” Eleanor stood up, glancing at the door to the balcony.

“Coincidences are to be expected, but not that one,” Jonathan agreed. “Does anyone at the Council know you came to see me?”

“Oh.” Eleanor scowled. “That son of—”

“You would have had to meet anyway,” Jonathan said. “Now might be as good a time as any.”

“Bah,” Eleanor said, shedding her greatcoat to reveal a modest dress underneath and hanging the heavy garment on the stand by the door.

“Someday you’ll need to tell me what you did to annoy someone on the Council,” Jonathan said.

“No,” Eleanor said shortly, settling back into her chair. “I won’t.” Jonathan raised his eyebrows at that, but shrugged. It wasn’t his business.

“Come in for a moment, would you, Agnes?” He called, raising his voice slightly. The door opened and his housekeeper stepped into the room, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Eleanor sitting in the chair.

“This is Eleanor McAvey,” Jonathan said, using her alias. Out of respect for him, it was the same name that Jonathan was used to, though that wasn’t the name she was born with or, for that matter, used anywhere else. “She’s been here for the past several hours.”

“Of course, sir,” Agnes said, immediately understanding and giving Eleanor a curtsey. “A carriage dropped her off, did it?”

“That will do,” Jonathan agreed. “Show Mister Antomine up, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” Agnes replied, and closed the door behind her as she left. Eleanor watched her go.

“She’d do well working for the Council, with nerves like those.” Eleanor tapped a finger to her lips in thought.

“Don’t you dare.” Jonathan gave her a warning look, and Eleanor laughed. The door opened again and Agnes showed the peculiar white-pupiled man inside. He was dressed in white much as before, the outfit being slightly heavier as befit the weather, and he flashed Jonathan a boyish smile as he entered.

“Good to see you again,” he said, turning to Eleanor. “And to see you, miss…?”

“Eleanor McAvey,” she said, holding out a hand, palm down. Antomine bent over it briefly and then straightened.

“My name is Antomine. I take it you’re one of the passengers?”

“Indeed,” Jonathan said, resting his hands on his desk and lacing his fingers together. “Miss McAvey will be traveling with us.” He put a slight edge to his voice, letting Antomine know without words that he was not in the mood for pleasantries.

“Then it is good that I have made her acquaintance now,” Antomine said cheerfully. “We will be spending a great deal of time together, after all.”

“That’s true, but I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone else before we got on board,” Eleanor said, what looked to be a genuine smile on her face. “What brings you here, mister Antomine?”

“Why, to discuss the expedition, of course,” Antomine replied, turning to Jonathan and affecting an expression of hurt. “It has come to my attention that some of the materials being stockpiled for us at Danby’s Point are not strictly legal.”

“I hope that you ensured that our supplies were not disturbed.” Jonathan’s lips curled back from his teeth ever so slightly, regarding the young man before him with disfavor.

“And I was hoping that you would be able to tell me it was a mistake.” Antomine shook his head slowly. “The contraband has been impounded of course, but the new zint-guns I ordered for the Endeavor should be proof against whatever you’re expecting.”

“They will not be,” Jonathan said flatly. “And your guns are a waste of money. My money, mister Antomine, not yours or even the Crown’s. You will send a message that the supplies should be held in readiness for our arrival. All the supplies.”

“Certainly not!” Antomine was shocked. “We have no need for such terrible, ill-favored and forbidden things. Proper, illuminated weaponry is all that is needed. Not this sort of thing.” His hand started for the cloth-covered apparatus on the desk, but Jonathan’s hand shot out to seize Antomine’s wrist. The young man tried to jerk his arm away but staggered when the grip refused to yield.

“Mister Antomine.” Jonathan’s voice cracked like a whip. “This is my expedition. You were imposed on me. I am a good and loyal citizen of the Crown, but not a slave. What you believe or wish does not dictate how this expedition will run.”

“You would spurn the Illuminated King?” Antomine’s eyes flashed and once again Jonathan felt the knife to his throat, but this time he was not cowed. He simply remembered his goal and that singular light unlike anything else in the world. With that, his determination burned bright and he glared at Antomine.

“Chartering a ship from here is the easiest way, but if you – not the Illuminated King, but you specifically – insist on sabotaging the expedition, then I will take other steps. Perhaps the heretics at Godforge, or the Invidus Croft?”

“And you call yourself a good and loyal citizen! You can hardly do those things when the Inquisition has you in a holding cell.”

“Who is going to tell them? You?” Jonathan rose from his chair, suddenly looming over Antomine, light and shadow in the corners of the room squirming as Jonathan’s cold eyes looked into Antomine’s pale ones.

“Gentlemen!” Eleanor interrupted them, breaking the frozen atmosphere. “There is no need for all this pother. Mister Antomine was indeed operating with the best interests of the expedition in mind — however.” She started to reach out toward where Jonathan was holding Antomine’s hand, but stopped. The two men looked at each other, and by mutual agreement they relaxed a fraction of a degree. Jonathan released Antomine as the fire faded from the younger man’s eyes.

“Mister Heights has been on six successful expeditions and is aware of the, shall we say, pragmatic realities of operation so far from Beacon.” Eleanor continued, turning a winning smile in Antomine’s direction as he rubbed his wrist. “I am certain that he will listen to and appreciate any contributions you have, Mister Antomine, but only he has the knowledge to keep us all safe out there.”

“Me and Captain Montgomery,” Jonathan said gruffly, keeping a close eye on Antomine. The young man could make trouble for him, but if the Illuminated King himself were to be drawn into their disagreement, Antomine would likely lose. Antomine seemed to realize it too, after the brief flush of emotions had passed, and he grudgingly inclined his head.

“Perhaps I was too overzealous, but I only had the safety and security of your people in mind.” His pale eyes burned, and the zint lights in the study seemed to glow brighter. “I can see how there may be some call for unconventional solutions out in the dark wild. But be assured, Mister Height — there are limits.” Once again Antomine reached for the cloth, and this time he pulled it aside to reveal the mechanism of Jonathan’s labor. In the bright light of zint all the objectionable twistings and turnings and impossible inversions were gone, rendered dull and mundane to the eye.

“Believe me, I will be keeping a very close eye on things,” he said. “For now, I believe I have messages to send. Mister Heights. Miss McAvey.” He gave them each a nod before turning and leaving the room. The lights returned to normal, and Jonathan tossed the cloth back over the apparatus, which had regained its eye-twisting properties.

“He is going to be trouble,” Jonathan said at length. Eleanor blew out a sigh and flopped into her chair.

“Tell me about it. Do you intend to be rid of him?”

“No,” Jonathan said, his hand moving to touch the cloth and the thing beneath. “As much as I hate to admit it, he might be useful.”

“You’re the boss,” Eleanor said. “I’d better go see what the Reflected Council has on him. He’s weird enough that there ought to be rumors, at the very least.” She didn’t mention what he had done with the zint lights, and neither did Jonathan.

“I’d appreciate that,” Jonathan said, though he knew he wouldn’t quite get the full story.

After Eleanor left he penned a few missives to certain parties involved with the refit, letting them know about the widow Hardiman. That particular problem was easily enough solved, but it hinted at the greater issue: he was not really welcome in Beacon. All his social credit had been mortgaged or burned, and his professional reputation served only to set rivals against him. Ways and means had been closed to him.

He never intended to return, and he had no compunctions lighting his way with burning bridges. Yet dealing with such petty spite meant it would be harder to find the real dangers, such as the sabotage that Eleanor had nullified. Then there was Antomine, and that was a sort of trouble that would only get worse the longer it stewed.

They would have to leave as soon as possible.