Asher’s Invention(5)

“Father attempted only half that power yet never succeeded,” Minerva said. “He became almost demented with every failure.”

“Aether science defies everything we know. It requires a completely new way of thinking.”

“You seem to have a lot of work still to do.”

Asher picked up a rivet and rolled it between his fingers. “It will be ready in time, I guarantee.”

May I help? The question burnt the tip of her tongue. Often, when he’d been her father’s apprentice, she had asked him that exact question. She was no scientist, but she came from a line of engineers, and her father had taught her his skills from the time she was young. Later on, she’d managed to kit out her own workshop on the top floor of the Lambkins’ Manchester home. She didn’t pursue grandiose discoveries, but toiled away at more prosaic projects. Her clients weren’t wealthy industrialists or investors, but the poor and the maimed who came to her missing arms or legs, some injured on the battlefield, but most mutilated in the countless mills and factories. Using metal, rubber and fabric, she fashioned new limbs, each tailored to her client’s requirements. Asher had appreciated her manual dexterity with tools, and after his initial skepticism, he’d allowed her to assist him, until it had become second nature for her to sit beside him at his workbench.

But now that old camaraderie had long disappeared, and she had to content herself with craning her neck to get a better view of what he was doing.

“I’ve been experimenting on a new power source for Cerberus,” Asher said. “Most automata like him are steam powered using standard combustion, but that involves a cumbersome engine. My idea is to use hydrogen peroxide, which, when combined with a catalyst, will burn and produce steam.” He held up a tiny glass tube. “This contains enough hydrogen peroxide to fuel Cerberus for several hours. I intend inserting a similar fuel source into my replica millennium machine—” he rapped his knuckles on the empty brass box, “—which will hopefully keep the pistons running long enough for us to rescue your father.”

Several questions popped into Minerva’s head, but she remained silent.

“What? No objections?” He lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Not even one?”

She wriggled on her seat. “I suppose I should point out I just saw Cerberus explode in a puff of smoke earlier today.”

“A keen observation. Yes, the hydrogen peroxide has a tendency to corrode certain components over time. A problem for Cerberus, but not for our purposes. My main problem is concealing the glass vial so it isn’t immediately apparent.”

He relit his blowtorch and bent to his task once more. Despite the heater, the workshop was chilly and draughty. The little carriage clock on a nearby shelf showed the time was well past two in the morning, which meant Asher had been at his task for many hours, ever since he’d risen from the dinner table. The extent of his sacrifice hit her with full force. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to stay up all night, slaving away in the cold, and all for a man who’d cheated him so severely.

A lesser man wouldn’t even have received her. But Asher was a gentleman born and bred, the son of a dean, the grandson of a peer. Once she’d cast herself on his mercy, she suddenly realized, he’d no option but to offer his assistance. She sucked her cheeks in consternation. What presumption she had shown, arriving on his doorstep and asking for his help. He was only doing this because it was ingrained in his character and upbringing, not because of any lingering softness toward her. She should remember that and act accordingly.

She skittered off her stool. “Thank you for showing me your work, but I think I’ll retire now.”

He glanced up in surprise before politeness masked his face. “Of course. You must be cold and tired, sitting there. Good night, Minerva.”

“Good night.”

She fled the workshop and ran back to her room, where she lay awake for the rest of the night.

* * *

At noon the next day they departed London not by train, but by Asher’s private airship. Minerva had never been in an airship before. Upon arriving at the docking green in Holland Park, she viewed the tethered flying machine with some trepidation but marched on board as if she were an old hand. Airship travel was becoming popular among the wealthy, and surely the rich wouldn’t endanger their lives, she told herself. And besides, Asher had said he would pilot the dirigible himself, and she knew how competent he was with machinery.

“I must warn you, the flight won’t be the most comfortable,” Asher said as he ushered her into the cabin. He looked the part in his leather overcoat, wool-trimmed aviator’s helmet, silk scarf, and a pair of brass goggles strapped around his neck, whereas she had only her stained traveling dress and her trusty cloak. “This is a Phantom Zephyr Mark II dirigible, built for speed and maneuverability, not pleasure flying. As you can see, there’s not much room in here.”

The glass-enclosed cabin was indeed on the cozy side. A polished walnut console took up the front, housing a bank of instruments and a great many levers, which left only enough space for a couple of padded leather couches and one little table. Outside the cabin was a small wooden viewing deck, and behind that, a metal enclosure which surrounded the steam engine and propeller. A vast rubber balloon loomed overhead, lashed to the cabin by many lengths of thick rope.

Minerva settled herself on one of the couches and watched as Asher pumped gas into the balloon. The dirigible swayed and bumped as it rose ponderously in the air. When they had risen several feet, Asher leaned over the edge and yelled at the docking hand to release the tether. There was a jolt, and the airship began to shoot upwards with gathering speed. Her head reeled. They were airborne, pulling away from the earth!

She gripped the railing as she peered through the glass. The docking green shrunk rapidly to a dot, followed by the rest of the park, and suddenly there was just a dizzying patchwork of fields below her, and all around her an enormous sky filled with gray clouds. Dear heaven, where had the earth disappeared to? Would she ever see it again? She leaned back, squeezed her eyes shut and held onto the couch for dear life, although what good the couch could do her was unfathomable.

“Minerva, my— Have you no confidence in me?” Asher’s voice broke through her alarm.

Shamefaced, she peeled her eyes open to find him studying her with frank amusement. “My head understands perfectly the principles of airship travel,” she confessed. “But my entire nervous system tells me otherwise.”

“I’ve flown this dirigible for hundreds of hours in all sorts of conditions and lived to tell the tale. Only once have I had to crash-land this ship, and that was in a severe tropical thunderstorm.”

At that she couldn’t help glancing apprehensively at the leaden skies around them.

“There’s rain forecast, but no thunderstorms,” he quickly added. “Trust me, Minerva. I’ll get you to Manchester in one piece.”

“How much farther do we rise?” She gulped as her stomach did another queasy tumble.

Asher drew out a round instrument attached to his fob chain. “Not much farther, according to my wind gauge. We’re searching for the upper atmosphere’s polar streams. They’re the fastest currents, but only the nimblest airships can sail them, like mine.”

“How long will the journey take?”

“About two hours.” Still observing his gauge, he rose to his feet. “We’ve almost reached the correct altitude. Time to start the engine.”

He disappeared out of the cabin, and a short while later she heard the steam engine rumble to life. The propeller attached to the stern sputtered and began to whir, and the dirigible shot ahead at a surprising speed. Asher returned to the cabin and seated himself in front of the instruments. For the next ten minutes, he flicked switches, tapped gauges and shifted levers like an accomplished organist. In between, he used a piece of chamois leather to rub the instruments and console until everything shone. Minerva observed him, noting how completely in his element he seemed.

“You treat your dirigible like some people treat their favorite horse,” she remarked with a small smile.

He paused in his polishing. “She’s served me as faithfully as any horse could.”

“Is this the same dirigible you used in Ireland?”

He nodded. “I needed an airship that could fly at low altitude and was also quick to respond. I spent weeks flying over the potato fields, distributing my little organisms, hoping the winds would disperse them across the crops and not over the bogs. Fortunately it worked.”

“I read all about it in the newspapers. Such an ingenious method, but where did you find your organism in the first place?”

“During my travels in Peru I met a biologist. He told me how the local farmers combated potato blight by encouraging another micro-organism that feeds off the blight to grow. I collected samples of this organism, and from there it was a matter of producing it in sufficient quantity to have a widespread effect. I have to admit, my experiment was a gamble, but it paid off.”

“Is that where you went? To Peru?” Often she’d wondered where he had gone and what he had done. Whom he had met.