Ravenna Friere may be gone, but the rifts in the twisting weave of time – and those who would exploit them - are not. So here, to whet your appetites for future installments of ‘Deeper Realms,’ is an extract from a forthcoming tale, which is also an unashamed homage to the works of Philip Reeve (see my previous post) and his world of airships and analogue technology.
I do hope you enjoy DEAD ZEPPELIN and please keep your eyes peeled for forthcoming Deeper Reams stories on Amazon in ebook and paperback format!
THE ENVELOPE
Charlie Fell.
The swinging wrench had missed her temple by millimetres, but her instinctive jerk away from it had sent her flailing off the gantry.
She tasted the void, momentarily aware of cold air on her cheeks, and then her hand was grabbing a protruding strut, blonde curls blinding her, fingers latching on before her conscious mind had even caught up with her instinctive lunge to save herself. She felt the breath knocked from her – terror stinging as her body continued its wild arc outwards - desperately lunging for another protruding rail as her screaming fingers lost purchase.
She swore, her writs almost popping as it took her full weight, grunting in desperation as her left hand connected; then she was thrusting out her right, gripping the underside of the gantry with all her strength, pulling up her legs to lock her heels into whatever purchase they could find.
She clung there, spider like, back to the yawning drop, struggling to reconcile the barrage of information which bombarded her senses. The whiff of aero-fuel, the low pulsing hum of huge transatlantic engines – the unintelligible curse of the dark haired woman who was now leaning out over the narrow walkway to get a better view of her plight.
‘Every time!’ she called down in frustration, her voice echoing down and along the catwalk which projected from the envelope between the gas bags. ‘Every damned time I try and save this thing one of you little rodents pops up from somewhere!’
Charlie clamped her eyes closed, struggling to make her heartrate slow. She was trapped, dangling high inside the structure, and there was no way the woman above her was going to let her live.
The dark haired young woman straightened and began to unfasten her sheepskin lined aviator’s jacket as if preparing to get her hands dirty.
‘It’s a beautiful thing,’ she sighed whimsically as she continued to stalk above her. ‘250 metres of duralumin all wrapped up in heat shielding doped-cotton, big-ass cutting edge engines, a host of luxury suites – man, if I’d got somewhere big enough to keep this thing for myself …’ There were voices somewhere below them now, just audible over the steady hum of Daimler-Benz LOF-6 Diesel engines. ‘…The most advanced tech of the age and I am not going to let it die –’
Charlie closed her eyes trying to rein in her wildly bucking emotions. The pulsing world around her was a titanic curving cathedral of walkways and ladders – a semi-circular tower block of vast cotton gasbags wedged between Ferris-wheel bulkheads; a fifteen foot drop of zig-zagging stairway leading straight down to the luxury off the passenger deck below. The thought made her feel suddenly nauseous. They had no idea of the terrifying ordeal going on above them – or the horrible fate which awaited them, barely moments away now, she guessed.
‘Guess you’ll make quite an impression as you smash through the cocktail-lounge ceiling.’ The woman above laughed in her lazy Californian twang. ‘Literally!’
God, could she read her thoughts?
Boots clicked on the aluminium catwalk inches above and her pursuer sighed theatrically. ‘Hey, look, why don’t you just save me the bother of coming down after you and fall to your death? You can’t hang on forever Charlie – it is Charlie isn’t it?’
Charlie Anning tried to force every thought from her mind.
Never listen to them. That was what her mentor had always told her – never engage, just clear your mind, just keep surviving. But she could hear her following now, boots rasping against the creaking framework as she swung herself out and over.
‘Did you know she once told me you were her favourite Charlie?’
Her words seemed to latch in her ear like sickly barbs and she forced herself to tilt her head to look at the catwalk’s underbelly. She had to keep moving, had to blot her out, had to concentrate every synapse on the hold ahead.
‘… And that’s quite an honour, believe me, because there’ve been so damned many of you over the years!’
Charlie began to climb, locking her heels into the joins and riveted plates of the gantry’s underside, dragging herself hand over hand, fingers fluttering and probing for each new hold. A joint in the sectional underside of the gantry, a grab handle, a rivet – gritting her teeth with the effort as the pain in her muscles began to build.
‘But hey – I’d just give up.’
She could hear her likewise climbing now, dragging herself along the catwalk's underside in pursuit, and she forced herself to keep her gaze on the gantry ahead. ‘… You wouldn’t believe the sheer volume of you silly little creatures I’ve bought to a horrible end.’
Charlie fought the pain in her hands, the agony in her fingers and wrists. She had to keep focused, had to keep her mind from her words, and the drop, and how little time there was left before …
‘Maybe I could cut you a deal,’ the dark haired woman grunted behind her, ‘– I could use a little help …’
‘I don’t bargain with demons!’ she called back before she’d even realised she’d replied, then swore silently, almost able to imagine her pursuers triumphant grin.
‘Man, Charlie Anning, I don’t know whether to be hurt or flattered!’ She heard her pause to take a breath before lunging for another ridge on the gantry’s underside. ‘You know I’m no unclean spirit - just like she was no angel – we’re ordinary girls Charlie, just like you …’
Charlie turned her gaze to the next hold and the gantry beyond it. They were not ordinary girls – and there was no way she was going to listen to her.
She was approaching an intersection where the catwalk met a narrow platform, a place where another railed gantry and a stairway intersected. She could reach it if she lunged. Leap across to it and pull herself up – but it would take a massively explosive move, all her commitment – and if she dropped it …
‘It’s long way down.’ Her pursuers voice jibed as if reading her mind. ‘Lots of metalwork to crack your bones on as you drop …’
Charlie swore. The woman was barely a few feet behind her, hauling herself onward with almost supernatural dexterity. ‘Come on Charlie – why don’t you give me a chance. It’s amazing what a taste of immortality can do for you – how skilled you can become after decades of training.’
There was a ridged section of steel between knurled tread plates five feet away across the void. It would have to be a full commitment dyno – both hands, all her strength. She focused her eyes on the neat raised lip, clearing her head, making it her world.
‘Clock’s ticking.’ The voice needled close behind. She could hear the woman’s breath rasping, the rustle of her leather jacket as she lunged for each hold. ‘Another ten minutes and you’re going to be toast anyway Charlie …’
Charlie emptied her lungs, before filling them slowly, struggling to keep her breathing level. It was an easy move. She’d done far more technical at the wall, caught hold of next to nothing on the most off-camber overhangs. It was just mats below her, just a six foot drop – not the fifteen feet of narrow steel spanned horror sandwiched between walls of flammable hydrogen.
‘Just let the hell go Charlie, it’ll be so much easier for both of us …’
Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t have replied if she wanted to. She fixed her eyes on the thin silver lip of the deck, framed between the vastness of the ribbed struts which held the nearest hydrogen cells.
‘You’re going to pay for making me break a sweat Charlie Anning …’
She threw her bodyweight back towards the underside of the gantry with a powerful swing of her hips, loading her weight, before pushing off with her thighs and arms.
‘You little ..!’
She exploded out with a yelp which could have been determination - but was most likely terror - saw emptiness and flashing steel, visualised her hands catching the rim of the walkway – willing them to connect – and then they were, euphoria flooding her as her palms and fingers slapped cold steel and gripped on hard.
She gasped, body moving faster than her brain, dragging herself upwards, pulling her knee onto the lip, pushing off the rim to haul her weight over; scrabbling and squealing as she dragged herself up to lie panting on the cold deck.
‘Impressive.’ A voice said just above her.
Charlie pulled herself up onto all fours, trembling uncontrollably with adrenaline.
‘Sorry, I cheated.’ Said the girl in the aviator’s jacket. ‘I’m getting bored now.’
Charlie swallowed, struggling to still her erratic heart, blinking at the woman who stood flaunting her control over time and physical space. On the face of it, she didn’t stand a chance, but – as Ravenna had often told her – everything was possible for those who believed.
‘Tick-tock, little girl,’ the older woman said in her causal, mocking, tone. ‘Still want to keep wasting both of our time?’
She had to keep her talking, had to give her time …
‘You can’t do this!’ She said, barely knowing what she’d say next. ‘You know this is wrong …’ Something clanked loudly high above them, audible over the drone of the engines but the dark haired time traveller seemed not to notice, bracing her weight against the railing and cocking her head on one side.
‘This airship has to be saved.’ she shrugged. ‘It’s a thing of beauty – a marvel of engineering. Transatlantic flight will be revolutionised forever, family lines extended which otherwise would have died out - cordial relations between the US and Germany strengthened.’
‘No.’ Charlie said shakily, scanning for something to use to defend herself with. ‘It explodes, that’s what happens …’ She tried not to think of the passengers bellow her, of the crew, of the aerodrome staff who would be injured as the huge frame collapsed like a fire shrouded whale carcass.
‘Nothing is written!’ the dark haired woman spat back with unexpected anger. ‘In about ten minutes some worse-for-ware businessman’s going to come up here for the cheeky cigar this thing is designed to prevent him from having, and when he does, I’m going to stop him, end of!’
Charlie’s mind was racing. There was nowhere to run – nothing to grab and use as a weapon. She swallowed, tensing her muscles. Hell – maybe this was it? Her palms felt horribly sweaty - worse-case scenario: spring up, grab her and take them both over the side.
The dark haired woman seemed to read her thoughts.
‘Chill out Charlie!’
‘No! She stammered. ‘You’ve got to leave here, got to let history take it’s …’ She could barely believe what she was saying.
‘What and miss all the fun?’ the older woman said. ‘It’s going to be an absolute blast – literally!’
Charlie swallowed and her demonic pursuer laughed maliciously. ‘Maybe I should go. You’d be part of history – a barbecued part admittedly – but to be honest, this thing is too beautiful to trash …’
‘You can’t prevent the accident,’ Charlie yelled, sweat stinging her eyes. ‘It happens – its history!’
The other woman just blinked at her.
‘Man, you’re even talking like her now!’
Charlie took a breath and forced herself to stand, horribly aware that the low pulsing vibration of the deck had begun to change.
‘This is an accident, it’s horrible, but it has to happen, it’s just one of those things!’
‘Just one of those things!’ the dark haired woman echoed in mock disbelief. ‘Who’s the monster now Charlie?’ She broke off and laughed harshly. ‘Stop me and in less than a quarter of an hour there’ll be millions of dollars of damage and 35 lives on your hands! Is that what you really want? Is that morally right?’
Charlie’s gritted her teeth, willing herself to stay firm as a smile played across the woman’s beautiful face. ‘Come on. Join me Charlie. You could stop this – you could stop so much waste.’
‘No!’
She had to prevent her getting inside her head, had to keep her talking.
‘You’re sowing chaos – this isn’t going to make the world a better place!’
‘Ravenna again.’ The dark haired woman drawled. ‘You’re boring me Charlie – change the track …’ She had found the wrench from somewhere and glanced at it casually.
Charlie began to edge back, scuttling steadily away on her aching limbs, making for a point where the walkway terminated. There were ladders there and a zig-zag of staircase connecting the companionways between the towering gas cells. Perhaps if she could get lower and lead her away …
‘We’re, like, less than fifteen minutes out of New Jeresy,’ her enemy continued as she stalked after her, ‘I bet Captain Pruss is already sighting up with the docking mast at Lakehurts. Come on, save us both the bother!’
Charlie shook her head, trying to look defiant, yet strongly suspecting she looked like the frightened second year humanities student she was. Her eyes darted up the slender wedge of space between the walkways to the thin strip of envelope which curved high above her. It was like being in some kind of warehouse, yet a warehouse which was steadily moving towards its doom. It was unreal – horrifying – an incredible spectacle made even more incredible by the knowledge that barely three hours before she’d been struggling over the end notes of an assignment for Dr Forbes and that there was every chance that lacklustre essay on the pivotal place of the stone hand axe in the history of human evolutionary development stood to be her final legacy.
‘You’re like a rat in a trap.’ The dark haired girl continued lazily as she swung the heavy wrench at her side with a whoosh. ‘Just close your eyes and I’ll make it quick.’
But Charlie’s kept here eyes open, allowing them to dart as rapidly as her pulsing heart was beating. Where to go – what to do … how long before a crewman spotted them?
As if in answer there was a clatter on a grilled walkway about ten feet above them and the woman with the wrench looked up briskly – a swift movement – but long enough for Charlie to take a breath and throw herself towards the hand rail of the stairs, kicking out as she lunged; but the older woman was too quick for her, jumping her kick deftly before lashing out with a blow which missed her head by millimetres.
Charlie winced, her ears ringing as the wrench left a dent in the aluminium railing.
‘You are getting seriously tiring now child.’ The older woman growled - though physically she was barely a year or two older than her. ‘I’ve had a thousand years to master every fighting skill and martial art - to hone my body into a weapon of total control!’
Charlie dropped her weight down the flight of slatted treads as the dark haired woman swung again, gripping the rail to let her head dip below the swing, before propelling herself up again to lunge past her along the walkway.
‘Impressive.’ The woman in the aviator jacket laughed as another dull clang echoed above them, then frowned as Charlie glanced up towards the sound. Charlie took a shaky breath, feeling her heart leap as she saw rapid movement on the catwalk ten feet above.
‘Well, at least I have one thing you don’t.’
The woman’s brows dipped quizzically. ‘And what could that possibly be?’
Charlie swallowed praying that she was right.
‘Friends.’
The swinging steel rope hit the woman square across the shoulders, carrying her clear off the side of the gantry with a gasp of rage, the wrench clattering off a railing below with a sonorous ting as she fell.
Charlie stood for a split second, heart thudding, hardly able to believe the spanner-wielding woman was gone, and then there was movement above, a freckled face peering down at her uneasily from the walkway above, wavy brown hair spilling over the fur fringe of her parka coat.
‘Is she gone?’
Charlie scuttled to glance over the edge but there was no sign of the dark haired young woman. No crumpled body, no hole in the cabin ceiling - like she’d just vanished into thin air – which effectively she had. ‘Gone.’ She breathed, but even as she said it, there were voices below – urgent shouts – the sharp echo of boots on aluminium treads. She twisted back to the woman who was now clattering down the stairway towards her. She’d seldom been so glad to see the museum curator who now joined her at the rail.
‘Company,’ said Polly Nightingale, gesturing as the sound of anxious crewman began to carry up from the passenger lounge.
Charlie swallowed, caught between the immediacy of being discovered and the terrifying black and white news reel footage the older woman had shown her on her phone barely forty minutes before.
‘This is nuts!’
‘Yep.’ The curator said in a tone which she couldn’t decipher. ‘We’re about to become part of the first disaster ever caught on film ...’ Even as she said it, the deck beneath them lurched violently, sending them reeling against the rail.
‘It’s begun its final turn,’ Polly muttered as Charlie stared at her, eyes wide. ’We’ve got …’
But the clatter of feet close at hand send them diving into the shadows, Charlie flattening herself against the metal structure, hardly daring to breathe; listening as shouting crewman topped the stairs.
‘What are we going to do?’ she mouthed, but almost at once the men were passing them, taking the companionway which jutted off to their right. Feet clattering, presumably running to the bow to vent the forward gas valves and trim the airship.
Polly swore.
‘It’s made the final turn to the air station, but the ground crew aren’t ready, the Captain’s trying to bring it around and do a lap of the air station. They plan to drop their cables at altitude and get hauled down.’ Charlie felt her stomach roll over as the reality of what they were involved in hit home. ‘US airship crews do it all the time,’ Polly added, ‘but this is a German ship and they’re not used to the procedure.’
Charlie swallowed hard, hoping Polly couldn’t see how scared she was.
The gantry deck was listing noticeably now, the floor tilting towards the rear of the vast gasbag packed space.
‘What’s happening now?’
‘Its stern heavy,’ Polly replied. ‘They’ll be dumping water ballast soon, it’s probably about 7:18pm but I can’t quite remember the order of events …’ She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and pawed at the screen in frustration. ‘Damn – wikipedia’s not loading, I thought seeing as I’d bought the page up back in …’
Charlie’s mind whirred. It was 1937, late May, and the heavens were empty of satellites – it would be decades before Sputnik … The deck dropped a few more inches and they both gasped. Men were shouting now, their ghostly voices echoing amid the clang of mechanisms and the grumble of the now idling engines.
Charlie swallowed. ‘Is this really the right thing to do?’
Polly looked up distractedly and Charlie took a breath. ‘Letting it happen I mean – you know …’ The thought made her feel suddenly nauseous. Letting it burn.
Polly shot her a troubled look. ‘It happens Charlie. It just vaporizes on landing. If we try and stop it, we’re as bad as her, we’re changing the whole course of history – endless lives will be affected the ripples …’
‘I know, I know.’ Charlie said. But still it felt wrong, so horribly wrong. The sick feeling was starting to sting her chest now, sweat beading her forehead – perhaps it was just the cloying atmosphere in the tight space. ‘So how long?’
Polly glanced at her watch and swore. ‘Sooner than I thought …’
The hum of the engines was changing, the clang of cable being released and dropped through distant hatches drawing both their gazes.
‘Do we go now?’
Polly swallowed. ‘No – we’ve got to wait till the last minute, make sure it happens, make sure she doesn’t …’
Charlie shuddered, then took a breath, realising her acing knuckles were white where she was gripping the edge of the deck. ‘So – if the last manoeuvre to bring the air ship into its moorings was at 7:18, and they dumped ballast at 7:21, when does …’
‘Polly shot her an angry look. ‘Like I said Wikipedia isn’t loading and I can’t remember …’
There were voices directly below them and they both froze. A man speaking loudly with an American accent – then footsteps as another voice replied, the accent German. Charlie couldn’t make out the words, but it was easy to tell the American wasn’t happy, spelling out his rights and his demands in slightly slurred tones as the German crewman tried to placate him.
Charlie began to speak, but Polly pressed a finger to her lips. Bellow them, someone was climbing, their feet echoing steadily on the aluminium treads, his voice carrying clearly.
‘And if I want to light a cigar I will damned well light a cigar!’
Charlie felt her heart thudding out of her chest.
‘Okay – so I guess this is, like, the last minute?’
Polly nodded, her expression tense. ‘You keep an eye on them – I’ll try and …’ She broke off. It was like none of them – not even Polly – knew exactly what she did, or even how. But ever since her mentor’s death it was like they’d been linked together. She could see where she was needed, just sense and feel and daydream the moment to which she was called – while Polly possessed the ability to take them there.
She felt her mind dragged to another place as Polly closed her eyes, to another moment, when the mentor she had come to love and lose had placed a hand on her head and told her to take up the mantle, to be ready and listen and surrender to those dream like echoes – to the feelings which led her to combat the cracks and crinkles in the weave of time. Then the image faded.
There were men yelling off to her right, the rush of escaping gas far away to her left, echoing in a hollow spine-chilling hiss along the narrow gantry. Charlie pressed her head against the panelling, taking terrified gasps. What if Polly couldn’t do it – what if she couldn’t get them home? She forced herself to watch the stairway.
And it always happened at the most inconvenient times. If she thought about it – tried to rationalize it - the ability seemed to slip further and further away from her, but if she surrender, if she slipped dream-like into the whisper of visions, allowed herself to be taken when she least expected it …
The cigar waving passenger was getting closer, his shadow lancing up beyond the hand rail, swaggering and staggering with the jerky movements of a marionette oiled with the finest first class champagne.
‘Pol,’ she hissed loudly. ‘Could you hurry it up?’
The older woman opened her eyes and gave her an exasperated sigh.
‘Stall him!’
Fear roared through Charlie, stinging her chest. ‘It’s not working?’
‘I’m trying – just keep him away!’
The clatter of feet had doubled, the German crewman clearly hurrying up behind the passenger.
‘Sir, no cigar, Please – for all our safety – nicht zigarre … rauchen verboten.’
Charlie twisted desperate.
‘Try harder!’
‘I am trying,’ the older woman shot back. ‘But the thousands of cubic tons of flammable hydrogen aren’t exactly conducive to a relaxed state …’
Charlie saw a glint of light through the stair treads – a solid gold lighter - and her heart went into her mouth.
‘He’s going to light it!’
Polly swore and clamped her eyes closed. She’d told her once as they’d spoken awkwardly about what they shared that she had to clear mind, that being empty of self and finding clarity was the way that she heard, just as she saw …
Your only enemy is fear. Ravenna Friere had often told them. Fear – lack of peace is - your true foe …
She almost whispered her name, but knew that she should not, mind racing as the dark sleeve of the American’s jacket came into view, left hand gripping the rail, fat Havana wedged between his fingers; a gold signet ring glinting, his right moving across his body, lighter in hand.
‘Pol!’
He’d stopped on the skeletal recurve of aluminium and steel, just a couple of meters below. She was so scared she could hardly breathe. He was talking loudly, his swaying bulk framed against a steel structure stamped with a host of warnings and measurement information – presumably related to the cells’ hydrogen fill.
Polly’s eyes were firmly closed, her curling hair falling wildly, eyelids flickering just discernibly now as her face seemed to change – like she was seeing another place, like she was walking in another realm.
Charlie felt her gaze dragged back to the American passenger’s hand, gesturing drunkenly with the lighter like a self-medicating secondary school teacher against the blackboard of the panel. She saw the printed weights and volumes, the warnings in a language she couldn’t understand, the emblem of the winged eagle and the letters LZ 129 above the name Hindenburg.
‘Pol!’
The air smelt weird now, the atmosphere thick and cloying, and then suddenly she was struggling to breathe.
‘Oh God.’ She whispered as the man’s voice echoed belligerently up to her.
‘… And if I wish for a smoke ...’
Charlie saw the swift movement of his thumb against the bevelled wheel in weirdly vivid detail: the flick of his nail as light flared, flame flickering, arching, rushing out in a shimmer of blue white light. And then Poly was grabbing her left hand, her scream of, ‘Now!’ drowned by a visceral whoosh.
She found her head turning, eyes raking the huge gas bags above her, drawn up to the envelope of the towering structure. She saw the dark Ferris-wheel like skeleton of the fuselage section which held the ribbing framed crazily dark against gathering light, smelt the air and her clothes begin to smoulder and then, as she felt herself, Polly and the men below swept away, her perception seemed to lurch to the speed of light as the world went super nova.