Space: 1889 & Beyond—Vandals on Venus

By K.G. McAbee

Copyright 2011 by K.G. McAbee

Space: 1889 © & ™ Frank Chadwick 1988, 2011

Cover & Logo Design © Steve Upham and Untreed Reads Publishing,

2011

Cover Art © David Burson and Untreed Reads Publishing, 2011

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Other Titles in the Space: 1889 & Beyond Series

Journey to the Heart of Luna

The Ghosts of Mercury

Abattoir in the Aether

A Prince of Mars

Dark Side of Luna

http://www.untreedreads.com

SPACE: 1889 & BEYOND

“VANDALS ON VENUS”

By K.G. MCABEE

Prologue

Commissioner’s House
Chatham Dockyards, Kent

“MORE TEA, Professor Stone? Another cucumber sandwich?” Mrs White held up the silver teapot invitingly. Her abundant auburn hair was piled atop her head, and her pale linen dress looked cool on such a warm day. Her husband, William, lounged in a wicker bath chair under a nearby shady willow and snored unashamedly. As director of Chatham Dockyards, largest of Her Majesty’s Naval and Aeronautical Construction Yards, William Henry White had little enough time for rest. A sleepy Sunday afternoon in May with his wife in charge of the hospitality, offered him an irresistible opportunity to which he had, after much struggle, succumbed.

Nathanial Stone smiled at Mrs White, passed his empty cup and plate, and sighed with pleasure.

He looked around him in delight.

It was a lovely early spring day; the sun struck glittering sparks from the slow-flowing River Medway in the distance. Stone sat in a similar comfortable wicker chair near the conservatory, an elegant structure behind Commissioner’s House, current residence of the Whites. Beyond him stretched the lower lawns of the Italianate gardens, and in the distance, he could hear laughter and murmurs of admiration, interrupted by the occasional thwock of an arrow hitting a target. Annabelle Somerset was just visible past the branches of the vast mulberry tree, which dated, according to legend, back to Cromwell’s time. She was surrounded by a trio of engineers and a pair of lowly midshipmen, though the target they were taking turns shooting at was invisible from his position.

No doubt, Nathanial thought with some irritation, Annabelle was hitting the bull’s eye at every shot. As if she were not insufferable enough already. Now she would have adoring Royal Navy midshipmen coming to call on her at Commissioner’s House. The officers of the Dockyard were bad enough, surely, flocking around her every time she took the air with Mrs White.

Nathanial sighed again, this time in resignation.

“I believe you take sugar and lemon, Professor Stone?”

Nathanial tore his attention from the distance and focused on his hostess. “I do indeed. And I must offer you my most fervent thanks, my dear Mrs White. Annabelle seems to be enjoying her stay,” he ventured as he took his full cup and plate, setting them both on the tiny table at his side. “I feel I really must apologise for her little escapade the other night, however. I have no idea what got into the girl, leaving like that without even telling any of us where she had gone. And to be found at last in a low public house, surrounded by sailors! My mother would have never allowed such a thing in a child of hers, you may be sure of that. But Annabelle is, well, rather different, I must admit. Her upbringing…leaves something to be desired.”

“Please!” Mrs White smiled at him. “Do let us say no more about it; nothing horrible happened, after all. It was hardly a low public house indeed. Really more of a friendly local pub. She simply wished a bit of…freedom, no more than that. And Miss Annabelle is a dear girl, even if she is a little…enthusiastic. Truly, I am quite glad to have her with me. Besides, I am sure she needs a bit of fun after your most frightful time on Luna. I am so glad she is comfortable here. Her life, poor dear, from all that you have told me, has been far from happy. Imagine losing her dear parents in America, and then ending up captured on Luna by Russians! They can be hardly less savage than the Red Indians, I feel sure.” She shook her head in obvious dismay. “I am glad she has such a gallant protector as yourself.” Mrs White reached out and tapped her husband on his arm. “William, my dear, would you like more tea?”

William White woke instantly, his brilliant mind alert at once. “Yes, my dear, and some of that sponge cake of yours, if you please. Professor, have you tried my wife’s lemon sponge?”

Nathanial swallowed tea. “I have indeed, White. You are a lucky man, to be surrounded by such beauty,” he motioned towards the gardens, “and such a beauty,” he bowed at Mrs White.

“Professor Stone, you are a charmer,” she said, her face flushing with pleasure. “But save your compliments for Miss Annabelle, please.”

“Dearest, you are embarrassing the professor,” her husband admonished, though he laughed.

Nathanial could feel the red heat rising in his face. He looked away in discomfort. Deuce take Annabelle! And the Devil take her uncle, Doctor Cyrus Grant, for saddling him with the girl’s safety. What was he to do with her? He could not impose on the Whites much longer, as kind as they were. He had his own work to get on with.

“William?” asked Mrs White. “Is that not a gentleman from the docks coming across the lawns? Really!” She stamped her foot in anger. “It is too bad, to disturb you on your one day of rest this month.”

A young man was not coming across the lawns; he was standing at the corner of the house, looking lost.

White glanced in his direction. “Not from the docks, my dear. See his uniform? He is from the Royal Heliograph and Telegraphy Service. A message, no doubt, for me, or a letter. Or perhaps for you, Professor? Would you mind calling the fellow over? He appears a bit lost.”

Nathanial rose. “I shall fetch him. It may well be important.” Though Nathanial Stone was a brilliant inventor and spent a great deal of time bent over a desk, he had a tall, lean and athletic appearance and was in excellent health. He ran up the mossy stone steps and beckoned the messenger, who trotted forward with an expression of relief on his snub-nosed freckled face.

“Might you be Mister Stone, sir?” he called when Nathanial was still some yards away. “A message came in for you, sir, from Venus.”

“Venus, did you say?” Nathanial took the flimsy paper, gummed in half for privacy. Who on Earth—he shook his head and smiled—who on Venus, rather, could the message be from?

He tossed the messenger a shilling. The boy touched one finger to his round blue cap, turned and dashed away towards a three-wheeled steam velocipede. The boy settled himself in the harness between the two huge front wheels and, assisted by the bubbling engine, sped away at quite seven miles an hour, Stone calculated.

Nathanial walked slowly back towards his host, the bit of paper still unfolded in his hand. The address on the front told him little. Fort Collingwood, Her Majesty’s Royal Colony, Venus.

“Something urgent, my dear Stone?” asked White when Nathanial had settled back in his chair.

“I am not quite sure. If you will forgive me, I suppose I should read it.”

White waved his hand. “Naturally. Duty waits for no man.”

Mrs White rose. “I think I’ll just walk down and see if Miss Annabelle and her admirers have worked up a thirst. Do touch the bell for more hot water, William.” She drifted politely away, her long white skirts trailing behind her.

“Well, go on, Professor!” White sat up straight in his chair, all signs of sleepiness gone. “Let us see what is important enough to send a message all the way across the void from Venus!” He sighed. “I have always wanted to visit the colonies there. Imagine the place. Steamy jungles full of huge carnivorous reptiles, while the colonists huddle inside their palisades as the beasts roar for their blood.”

“You have been reading penny dreadfuls, my dear William!” Nathanial laughed.

“I confess it, Professor.” White had the grace to look abashed. “Do not tell my wife, I pray. I already have to hide them in my desk drawers. Oh, not that she disapproves! I have to hide them to keep her from spiriting them away before I have done with them.”

Nathanial threw his head back and laughed at his friend and, at last, ripped open the bit of flimsy and began to read:

21 April 1889, Fort Collingwood, Her Majesty’s colony on Venus

My Dear Stone,

I am sure you have not forgotten our glorious school days together. I excelling in cricket and squash, whilst you swotted away at your books. What is it, ten years since we met? No, longer than that, surely. I shall forego the usual adage re flying time and simply say how immensely proud I am of your great accomplishments in the years since I’ve seen you. Co-inventor of the aether propeller governor! Even on Venus, we have heard of its wonders!

Yes, Venus, my dear chap. I passed—we shall not discuss precise rankings, if you please!—my civil service examinations and have been assigned to this damply dangerous—dangerously damp?—planet. At first, one must admit, I simply pushed a pen, but now I’ve managed to get my hands on a rather plush position, a sort of attaché without portfolio, if you will.

I am first assistant—well, let me be quite honest, my dear chap; I am the only assistant—to Geoffrey Forbes-Hamilton, esquire, if you please. I know you recognise the name; all you brilliant engineering johnnies belong to the same clubs and speak the same lingo. I confess, my talents, such as they are, are not the reason I received this particular assignment. It is more along the lines of no one else can stand the bounder. Not one of nature’s gentlemen, shall we say? In fact, I have heard it rumoured that his grandpapa was in trade! But be that as it may: the man is brilliant and H.M.’s government wants him coddled, which is, for my sins, my current job.

You are no doubt wondering, in that perspicacious way which is yours alone, precisely why I am rambling on this way—not to mention, why I’ve dared get in touch with you after all these years. I realise we did not part as the best of chums. Water under London Bridge and all that is how I feel about our little contretemps, and I can only pray you feel the same.

For I need your kind assistance, and in the worst possible way. Allow me to explain in more detail. Forbes-Hamilton has a passion for airships, don’t you see, which is the reason he’s on Venus in the first place. He says he’s untrammeled by inquisitive interlopers here. He is determined to build a new kind of airship which will surpass in every way those the dear old Kaiser’s people have designed. Naturally, our own chaps wish to see that happen as fiercely as does F-H Esquire.

And therein lies the rub, and the reason for this endless scrawl of mine—one of the benefits of working for H.M.’s service, don’t you know: I have no need to be stingy with my words when I can drop a missive into the governor-general’s official pouch!

Forbes-Hamilton has built—and lost—one prototype airship already; he called it the Aeronaut I. “Lost” as in “went down in flames,” don’t you know. Really, it was a most impressive sight, I do assure you! Aeronaut II ended up floating in a local lake and, though we both escaped from the wreckage with no more than scratches, by the time we managed to drag the remnants of the airship onto shore, the local aquatic fauna had chewed it about rather badly. It ended up resembling nothing so much as a badly mangled dog’s toy.

Now Aeronaut III is under construction upon the very bones of II. Dear old F-H refuses to discuss the “inadequacies” of I and II; he simply keeps repeating “she’ll be much better this time.” So much eye wash, in my opinion.

Well, to my point. (“At last!” I hear you exclaim across the aether.) If you could possibly see your way clear to barge off to Fort Collingwood here on Venus and offer your vast expertise to dear old F-H, you would not only be helping out a fellow brilliant engineer, but you would also be offering inestimable services to the government of that regal lady we are both so proud to serve—not to mention, saving the bacon of an old school chum. For, and I tell you this strictly sub rosa, my position as aide-cum-nanny for surly old F-H may will be my best—and last—shot at a decentish career.

Do say you’ll come, old chap. Quite honestly, I suspect some serious problems re III. Life or death, in fact. Do come!

Best regards,

Giles Percival Jericho

Nathanial looked up to find White’s eyes locked onto him.

“Well, Professor? You look a bit surprised. Something wrong?”

“Are you familiar, William, with,” Nathanial glanced back at the flimsy bit of paper, “a fellow called Geoffrey Forbes-Hamilton?”

White tented his fingers together; Nathanial could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s brilliant mind.

“Ah, yes, now I remember the fellow.” White sat forward in his chair, his eyes bright, looking like an eager boy—though Nathanial was sadly aware of the lines of care and the many new white hairs visible in his beard. “Some rather striking new ideas in airship design. Went off to Venus to experiment ‘without a lot of official botherment,’ I believe he told someone. Thinks he can beat Herr Zeppelin at his own game, and bypass the use of liftwood at the same time. More power to him, I must say. Is that the chap you mean?”

Nathanial nodded and tossed him the letter. As White read it, Nathanial watched Mrs White coming towards them across the lawn, Annabelle beside her and the young men following respectfully behind, looking in their uniforms like a cadre of blue jays protecting two swans.

White rose and handed the message back to Nathanial. “I see. This is an opportunity not to be missed, Professor. If you can indeed assist Forbes-Hamilton, and his ideas are bearing fruit, it would be a definite coup for Her Majesty’s Navy. We shall have to see what we can do to get you passage to Fort Collingwood at once.”

“But my work here,” Nathanial said, waving his arms around in what he felt must surely look a helpless manner.

White held up a hand. “Never mind about that now; we have quite enough with which to go on while you are gone. It is all construction and testing now, Professor, and you know how boring you find all the detail work. You are an inventor, my dear chap, and a damned good one! This is just the kind of thing you should be doing, instead of wandering around here doing busywork. Let me just call in some favours. We shall have you on Venus before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’.”

“Venus, did you say, Mister White?”

Oh no, Nathanial thought, his heart sinking to the top of his boots. Oh, dear God, no. Sadly, he did not appear to be listening to Stone at that precise moment.

Annabelle Somerset stood beside William White’s chair, her short, slim figure as upright as if she were at attention. Instead of slippers, as Mrs White wore, Annabelle wore sturdy boots—Annabelle always wore sturdy boots—clearly visible beneath unfashionably short skirts, which brushed their burnished tops.

Nathanial didn’t like the look in her eyes, and he cursed his luck again. Damn Doctor Grant!

“Nathanial?” Annabelle handed the bow she held to one of the gentlemen beside her. “You did say Venus, I believe?”

He had no choice; he had to tell her. “Yes. I have been called to Venus. I shall have to leave as quickly as can be arranged. Quite urgent, in fact. Cannot be helped. Uh, I am sure we can find you some pleasant place to stay while I am away.”

Annabelle slid the quiver of arrows off her shoulder and handed it behind her without looking to see if anyone took it; someone did, naturally. A midshipman, his face covered in red spots, clasped it to his bosom as if he’d been handed the flag.

Nathanial wished, as he often did, that Annabelle was not quite so…commanding. But this time, he was sure, she would listen to reason. She had to, after all; what other choice had she?

“Excellent,” said Annabelle Somerset, a determined look on her pretty face. “And don’t be a ninny, Nathanial. Of course I shan’t stay here; I shall go with you. I’ve always wanted to see Venus. Uncle Cyrus speaks often of it. When do we leave? I hope it won’t be too terribly soon, for I have quite a bit of shopping to do. After all, one cannot go to Venus without the proper gear.”

Nathanial Stone sighed in resignation. He enjoyed neither the pitying looks of Mr and Mrs White, nor the envious ones of the engineers and midshipmen.

1.

Nearing Venus

Annabelle Somerset tried to hold back her yawn. She was unsuccessful. The gentleman with the magic lantern presentation droned on and on.

“The indigenous creatures of the planet Venus are all reptilian,” he was saying for the fifth time in as many minutes. “No mammalian, warm-blooded creatures ever developed on this hot, extremely wet planet with its dense and constant cloud cover. The luxurious plant life presents a problem to colonists from Earth in that its growth is quite constant and nearly exponential. This is one reason why Her Majesty’s colonies are all on an immense plateau. The vertiginous drop-off to the lower jungles…”

Annabelle’s attention wandered. She glanced about the main drawing room of the RMF Aphrodite, its elegance undimmed by the lack of light and the clouds of smoke rising from the lantern projector.

Two more days until they reached orbit around Venus. Two more days of Nathanial ignoring her as he poured over the mass of books he’d brought with him, sitting in the ship’s library and scribbling on endless sheets in his notebook, in that crabbed and indecipherable code of his, which she had still, irritatingly, not managed to break. Two more days of heavy meals, which she had to walk off on the promenade deck. Two more days.

Would they never end?

“The intelligent lizard-men of Venus live in small villages consisting of several inter-related tribes. These tribes regularly war against each other for the best hunting grounds…”

A hand touched Annabelle’s arm. She ignored it as best she could, but the owner of the hand was unable to take a hint. Indeed, she was fairly sure he would be unable to take a slap on the face as a deterrent to conversation.

Mr George Carstairs leaned closer. “Care for some air, Miss Somerset?” he whispered, and she could smell the wine he’d had with dinner on his breath. He gave her a smile, which displayed a bit of that same dinner still residing between his overlarge front teeth. Spinach, she was quite sure.

Annabelle cast her eyes skyward—or, in this case, ceilingward. Mr Carstairs had been a bit of a problem the entire trip, showering her with unwanted attention, following her about the ship like a lost puppy. He was no George Bedford, that much was certain. But anything was better than being bored to death, surely?

“I would indeed,” she said in a low but decisive tone.

Carstairs shoved his chair back with such eagerness, it toppled over behind him.

“Sorry,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Annabelle was sure he hadn’t offended anyone; she suspected the rest of the observers were asleep anyway. Several snores had punctuated the exhibition already. She rose and followed him to the back of the grand drawing room.

Outside, on the promenade deck, George Carstairs offered her his arm. Annabelle took it and tried to hide her distaste as he patted her hand with his own plump, sweaty one.

“Dashed hot, ain’t it, Miss Somerset?” he asked as he smiled at her. “I mean to say, it’s rather hot, isn’t it?”

“We are quite close to the sun, sir,” Annabelle pointed out, rather more sharply than she’d intended. “A bit of heat must be expected. I confess, it is a relief to me. I spent some time on Luna recently, where it was exceedingly cold. I spent my childhood years in the American deserts and so I much prefer warmth to cold.”

“Luna, indeed?” he said as he tried desperately to keep up with her athletic stride. “Must have been jolly interesting, what? And the Americas! How fascinating.”

“Yes.” Annabelle didn’t want to encourage the young man. She was only planning on walking as far as the door to the reading room, after all, so she could tear Nathanial away from his books for a walk before bed. “It was.”

“And now,” he panted as he struggled to pace her, “it’s off to Venus?”

“Well, that is the next port of call, I believe?”

“Ah, yes. Quite.”

Annabelle led the young gentleman along the promenade deck at a steady pace. After all, if he were out of breath, he wouldn’t be able to pester her with questions or continuous inane remarks. And she did not doubt that he would be out of breath quite soon. Walking on the deck of a space liner used quite a bit of energy and strength. Since they were in space, there was no gravity to hold them still, so they had to wear the heavy space boots with magnets in the soles, to keep them secure on the metal decking. In addition, Annabelle had smaller ones sewn into the hem of her skirts and petticoats, to keep them from flying about indecorously. The constant clanking and pulling had come near to driving her to distraction at the beginning of the trip, but now, after nearly a month onboard, she was used to the sound. Well, nearly.

While ship’s time labelled it evening, very near the end of the second dog watch, the Aphrodite was so near the sun that darkness had been left far behind them, and they strolled and clanked through blazing sunlight only partially blocked by the ship’s massive screens.

They reached the end of the promenade deck and began the trip across to the starboard side. Generally, by now, Carstairs would have given up and gone in search of something cool to drink, but this time he stuck manfully by Annabelle’s side.

She took pity on him. “And what is your reason for visiting Venus, if I may be so bold?”

“Doing the old grand tour, don’t you know, before I settle down. The pater thought it best for me to see a bit of the system. A few weeks on Venus, then it’s off to Mars for a month or so, and perhaps a short run out to view some of the mining concerns in the Belt before I get back to old Blighty. I say, Miss Somerset, can we stop for a moment?”

“No, sir, we cannot,” Annabelle said. “I must fetch my friend from the reading room, and then we shall take a brisk walk around the decks before bedtime. If you wish to retire, sir, I am quite sure I can proceed on my own.”

“Oh…no, indeed.” Mr Carstairs’ face had turned an alarming shade of red. It might have been a reflection from the refracting screens that protectively encircled the Aphrodite, but Annabelle rather thought not. “Mustn’t leave a lady all alone; wouldn’t be fitting.”

“Sir, what possible danger could there be for me here?” Annabelle waved her hand to encompass the entire massive bulk of the huge aether ship. “This is one of Her Majesty’s finest passenger ships travelling the triangle trade: Earth to Venus to Mars. Mars to Earth to Venus. Indeed, the orbits of the three planets make it quite literally an enormous triangular journey, at least during certain times.”

“I say, you sound just like one of my professors at Cambridge.” Mr Carstairs looked at her like a plump yet admiring dog. All it wanted to complete the comparison was a tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, and Carstairs was very near that state. “I confess, I’ve never been able to get my mind around all this travelling through the aether. I’m more of a man of action, don’t you know.” He tried to flex the muscles in the arm Annabelle held but, since there were few there, failed.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” Annabelle said. “That is quite a compliment. My uncle, Doctor Cyrus Grant, has always told me a woman’s mind is as good as a man’s, any day. You have confirmed him,” she looked at her companion, one eyebrow raised, “in more ways than you can know.” She stopped so suddenly Carstairs nearly tripped. “Now, here is the door to the reading room, where I have something very important which I must do. Good night, Mr Carstairs. Thank you for your…protection.”

Annabelle nodded as the gentleman hurriedly opened the door, then deserted him as she sailed inside.

The reading room was empty, or so she thought at first. Then she caught sight of a pile of books and papers tucked into a net covering, with others hanging in a string bag attached to the edge of Nathanial’s usual table in the far corner.

“Nathanial,” she said as she made her circuitous way through the clutter of tables, chairs and reading lamps, “it is time for our walk. Do put those books away and come along.”

Nathanial Stone looked up, his ginger hair disarranged from his habit of running his right hand through it when he was writing, his eyes blinking, his gaze distracted.

Really, thought Annabelle, it’s almost as if he can’t see me at all.

It bothered her, and she wondered why.

Then Nathanial’s expression cleared. “Why, good day, Annabelle,” he said. “Walk? Certainly. I am sure it is time for one.” He stood and stretched. She could hear his joints pop in protest.

Annabelle shook her head at him. “Nathanial, it’s not good day, it’s good evening. Have you eaten at all today?” She saw a plate with crusts and crumbs, half hidden under an open book. “Ah, I see. You’ve had the steward bring you sandwiches again. Really, you must take better care of yourself.”

Nathanial looked at the plate as if he had no idea where it had come from or, indeed, what it might be. “Yes, I believe I did have some sandwiches for luncheon. They were not very filling, though, for I am still hungry.”

“Well, since luncheon was at least eight hours ago, I’m not surprised.” Annabelle brushed crumbs from her friend’s waistcoat and was rewarded by a blush that contrasted badly with his ginger hair and whiskers. “Now, come along. I’ll ask the steward to make you an omelette and we’ll have a glass of wine. We reach Venus in two days and you’ve hardly done anything the entire trip but read your enormous books.”

“You, I am sure, have spent your time learning all about our destination?” Nathanial took her arm and allowed her to lead him out of the reading room. “I shall depend on you to tell me all about it when we arrive, though I doubt if I will have time to see much of the place. Now, you know, I believe you are quite correct. I do seem to be more than a bit peckish. Did you say something about an omelette?”

Annabelle looked up at him and smiled. “Really, you are the most adorable man,” she said, and laughed when he turned a blazing red. “I shall have the steward stuff as many mushrooms as he can into your eggs, and we shall share a peach afterwards. I know how you dote upon peaches.”

2.

Oberst Hans Kurt’s Office
Karlstadt, Largest German Encampment on Venus

Oberst Hans Kurt sat at his desk in his large, bare office. He’d requisitioned the huge room the moment he’d arrived at the main German settlement on Venus, nearly five months ago, but to outside eyes, it still had the appearance of a transitory spot, somewhere the oberst was simply perching for a moment before flying off to do great things. This was Kurt’s intent, the idea he wished to convey. He had no plans to stay on Venus longer than was absolutely necessary, and had been planning his escape almost since the instant he’d been ordered here. If he had allowed himself such a weakness, he would have been dismayed his departure was taking so long. But he never allowed any weakness.

Kurt was a tall man, whip lean, with the close-cropped blond hair of a true Prussian. His ice blue eyes glittered in a face darkened by the fierce sun of Venus, which blazed like a furnace and cut through the constant cloud covering like hot knives. He was dressed in full tropical uniform, including his vast array of medals; not even the top button of his linen jacket was unloosed, though the heat in his office was staggering. A fan swished lazily above his head, stirring the thick humid air, which poured in the open windows. Outside, he could just see the bony crest of the ancient lizard-man who pulled the rope that moved his fan. He could also hear the shouts from the parade ground as his men trained and marched.

He had plans, did the oberst. But for now, plans were all he had. If the man who was being brought to his office turned out to be the man he needed, though, then his plans would soon become reality. When they did, he would drive the Verdammten Englisch off this planet and back to their tiny island where they all belonged. And how the Kaiser would praise him then! How the Kaiser would heap rewards on his deserving head!

A single knock at the door of spongy native kalsa wood sounded muffled, but broke through the happy dreams in the oberst’s mind.

“Herein,” snapped Kurt.

The door opened. His orderly, Fritz, took two steps inside and stood at stiff attention as two soldiers pushed a man in front of them into the room.

The pushed man contrasted badly with the clean, efficient Fritz and the two soldiers. He was a tall man, well muscled, with thick black hair tumbling over a broad but rather low forehead. Dark blue eyes seemed to twinkle with misplaced merriment, considering his arms were manacled in front of him and his clothes hung from his sturdy frame in little more than tatters. His wide shoulders slumped, but not, it appeared, in dejection or concern, for the expression on his face was inordinately cheerful.

After one quick first glance, Kurt kept his eyes on his paperwork until his men stopped before his desk, clicked their heels in unison and the obergefreiter on the right said smartly, “The prisoner, Herr Oberst!”

Kurt looked up, to find his eyes caught immediately by the gaze of the shabby man. To his surprise, the man was smiling.

“You find something amusing?” Kurt asked in his excellent English.

The man grinned wider. “You could say that, Mein Herr.”

“And what is so funny, pray tell me?” Kurt snapped.

The man shook his manacles meaningfully. “This. You need me, boyo, and you bring me to you in chains? Not the best way to do business, now is it…sir?”

Kurt bristled at the man’s insolence. He was correct; Kurt needed him—for now. Once that time of need was past, however, the man would sing a different tune.

“Remove the restraints,” he said, and, as were all his orders, it was done at once.

“You may go,” Kurt said.

With not a single word, the men turned and marched out; Fritz followed them out and shut the door behind them.

“Got ’em well trained,” the newcomer said. “That’s the thing about you krauts; you don’t stint on the training.” He was rubbing his wrists absently as he examined the room. “And another thing; you like your comfort. This chair, now,” he pulled a wooden armchair forward and settled into it, throwing one long leg over an arm and slouching down, “very nice. Now. What do you want with me…if I may be so bold?”

Kurt rustled the papers in front of him. “I have need of you, I will not disagree, Herr…” he glanced down, “Herr Simon O’Rourke. If that is indeed your name?”

“That’s my name,” his prisoner agreed. “And I’m honoured you know it.”

“Honour, sir?” Kurt gave a thin-lipped smile. “I doubt you know the meaning of the word.” He opened a fat folder and began, “You were transported here seven years ago, due to…certain crimes which are of no importance to me. You served a small fragment of your sentence before you escaped and took to the bush. Since then, you have led some rather daring raids on the English settlements, though you have been lucky enough to retain your freedom. The officials of your country—”

“Not my country,” O’Rourke interrupted with the first sign he’d shown of anything other than amusement. “I’m Irish, Herr Oberst, to the heart and soul and core. I’m no bloody Englishman.”

Kurt shrugged. “Indeed. It is no matter to me what allegiance you claim. So long…” he looked up and caught O’Rourke’s eye. Sapphire blue battled with ice blue for an instant, then sapphire looked away. “So long as you serve me faithfully.”

“Serve you in what?”

Kurt’s smile was as thin as a blade. “Serve me in my glorious task. I have my orders from the Highest. Kaiser Wilhelm himself has entrusted me to remove the English from his colony of Venus. And you are now a part of my plan.”

“Sounds a big plan, sir.” O’Rourke sat up, his interest obviously piqued. “And a good idea, removing the bloody British, I will not argue. Tell me what you have in mind…”

3.

Fort Collingwood, Venus

Nathanial Stone stood on the parapets of the tall barricade around Fort Collingwood, Her Majesty’s largest settlement on Venus, and gazed out into the dense jungles surrounding the fort. The huge trees and thick undergrowth were huddled into an impenetrable mass, twisting round and about each other like a conglomerate of giant worms, as threatening as a pack of wild animals.

So green, he thought, shaking his head slowly in an admiration akin to fear; so green. Not the pale yellowy green of spring or the lush rich green of summer. The green of Venus was dark and intense and multilayered, a storm of green, a monstrous green, a frightening green. As he gazed, he had the strangest feeling that the jungle was gazing back at him, a single huge carnivorous beast licking its emerald lips in anticipation.

He leaned through the gap between the pointed posts, his hands grasping tightly on the rough yet oddly yielding wood. The trees these had been cut from must have been enormous! Still, perhaps a mile beyond the clearing below which circled the huge fort, he saw many far taller, far thicker, trees standing at attention; at the foot of the trees, the undergrowth crouched as if waiting to pounce once he took his eyes away.

And the beasts inhabiting that dense verdant jungle! He’d only seen a few so far, and those the smaller ones brought in for fresh meat or shackled to carts for ploughing the fields outside the barricade. All rough scaly hides and spines and leathery plates, like the ancient bones and fossils dug up on his own planet. What might live deep in that dangerous jungle stretching away to infinity before him?

Stone leaned further over the parapet, fighting the primeval pull of the thousands of miles of green before him…

“There you are, Stone old boy!” called a cheerful voice behind him.

Nathanial jumped and tore his gaze away, shook his head. Strange. It was almost as if he’d been mesmerized by the dense growth.

Giles Jericho trotted towards him along the wide parapet that jutted out near the top of the miles of barricade. “Careful,” he said as he stopped beside Stone, “careful the trees don’t get you enraptured.”

Nathanial laughed, but even he thought it sounded forced. “Whatever can you mean, Jericho? Enraptured?”

“It’s what we call it here on Venus.” Jericho leaned beside him and gestured at the burgeoning plant growth below. “The jungle enraptures some folk. They wander closer, ever closer to it, and finally into it, can’t keep away. Then…”

“Then?”

“Why, they’re never found, old chap,” Jericho said cheerfully. “Eaten up, no doubt, by one of the lizards. Or…or the trees themselves.”

Nathanial laughed. “Now you are hazing the newcomer, are you not, Jericho?”

Jericho smiled. He was a brown-haired, green-eyed young man, considerably shorter than Nathanial’s rangy height, but well-built and stocky. His powerful form was dressed in what Stone had already found was the accepted mufti of Her Majesty’s Colonial Service on Venus: thin cotton shirt, pale linen trousers, waistcoat and bush jacket, and high leather boots, with a pith helmet to top it off.

Stone was dressed in a similar fashion, and he spared a silent thanks to Mrs White and Annabelle, who had shopped for the proper gear and packed it for their trip while they had waited on the arrival of the Aphrodite. He would doubtless have brought his usual serviceable brown broadcloth and he’d be stifling now, or drowning in his own perspiration.

“Is your governor back from this mysterious journey of his, then?” Nathanial asked. They had been at Fort Collingwood for almost a week now, with no sight or sound of Forbes-Hamilton. He was starting to get a bit nervous, especially since Annabelle kept bothering him about a trip into the bush.

“Precisely why I’ve come to fetch you, my dear fellow.” Jericho beamed, the smile lighting up his rather plain features. “Old Forbes-H is back. Seems he heard some balderdash about a sort of Venusian version of liftwood and rushed off to check it out.”

Now this was interesting! “What did he find?” Nathanial asked eagerly.

“Stone! Look about you! Better yet,” Jericho waved his hands in front of his chest in a parting motion, as if he were breast-stroking through water, “feel about you. The air on Venus is so thick, so dense and so bloody damp, do you think anything like the light airy liftwood on Mars could grow here? Oh, I grant you, the Germans have been experimenting in the highest uplands near the South Pole, trying to get liftwood seeds to grow, but it’s been a bust, I’ll warrant. No, Forbes-Hamilton is back, excited you’re here and eager to discuss his problems. I fear you will be asked, nay, begged for your assistance. Will you come?”

The two men trotted down the wide stairway, changing direction at the several switchbacks, and reached the ground at last, just beside one of the seventeen major gates of Fort Collingwood. The huge wall encircled a vast expanse, more than five miles on a side and full of buildings, parade grounds, hangers for airships and the cutters which brought supplies and equipment down from the great aether ships, barracks, plus numerous houses for residents set in burgeoning gardens. The entire fort was a bustling hive of activity, as were the fields outside the walls.

Nathanial followed Jericho to the line of waiting rickshaws near the gate, each pulled by one of the lizard-men indigenous to Venus. Jericho gave an order, “To the floating-bird home.” The men climbed in and the lizard-man started off at an ungainly trot.

“Floating bird home?” Nathanial asked as he gazed about him.

“The skinks don’t speak English well; most of them, anyway,” Jericho said as he waved at an acquaintance, who smiled back. “They have their own names for things and refuse to adopt ours. Which, considering we’re heading towards Aero-hanger B stroke Eleven, isn’t very surprising.”

Nathanial settled back. He had to admit; he was a trifle nervous. As good as he was at aether engines—he had no false modesty about the fact; he was good at them—he had far less experience with helium-hydro airships. He only hoped this wasn’t going to be a wasted trip.

After all he had got Annabelle away from the distractions and lures and dangers of London and into a colonial backwater. Why, she couldn’t even go out of the gates without a pass. What could possibly happen to her here?

It took nearly half an hour by his pocket watch to reach the hanger. He and Jericho got out of the rickshaw, and Jericho tossed the lizard-man a brass coin.

They entered a small door set inside a much larger one and into a huge hanger that seemed almost as dark as night, especially after the brilliant though diffused light of the outside. Nathanial blinked as he walked forward, careful not to bump into the various clutter and piles of engine parts, collapsed airbags and tools that littered the hard-packed dirt floor. He noticed that even here, in the dimness, the aggressive plant life of Venus still tried to carve out a home: rank weeds grew in the hard, oily ground and sinuous vines stretched up the walls wherever a crack allowed them to find a foothold. About halfway into the long, high hanger, Jericho stopped him with a hand on his arm and motioned upwards. Stone gazed up a railed stairway leading to a catwalk; this encircled a small airship floating serenely inside the building, like an egg inside its shell.

Nathanial shook his head in disbelief. Surely he was seeing things? Surely that could not be…please God, say it could not possibly be…

“Miss Somerset!” cried Giles Jericho. He took off his topee and waved it energetically.

Annabelle Somerset leaned precariously over the single, waist-high cable, the only thing keeping one on the high catwalk from toppling off. She waved one hand in obvious excitement.

“There you are at last. Glad you could make it, Nathanial,” she called cheerfully. “Mister Forbes-Hamilton has been showing me the most astonishing things. And what do you suppose? He’s offered to take me up in his beautiful airship!”

“Good lord,” Nathanial muttered under his breath.

“Well, dash it all!” Jericho shook his head. “Your lovely friend has dazzled old F-H. Not surprising; she is quite the most delightful girl. It’s a pity you saw her first, old man, or I’d be in the running in half a tick.”

Nathanial felt his face turn fiery red. “Not…not at all, Jericho. I’m…I mean to say, I am not…you see, her uncle charged me with her protection…and, well…” he sputtered to a stop.

Jericho grinned at him and laid a single finger against his rather large nose. “Of course, my dear fellow. You’re charged with her protection, so you brought her halfway across the System to the most savage of HM’s colonies. I understand; couldn’t be parted from her even for a little while. Say no more, say no more. I understand completely, I do assure you.”

Nathanial really had nothing more he could say. Trying to explain further would be sure to get him into trouble. So he simply began mounting the shaky brass-and-wooden steps up to the catwalk.

At the top, Annabelle met him, her hand on the arm of a short, thin, wiry man with an untidy shock of hair, a wild expression in his dark eyes, and dressed in a stained frock coat with bulging pockets.

“Professor Stone,” he said, holding out his hand while his eyes darted anywhere but to Nathanial’s. “Welcome to Venus! Allow me to say what an honour, indeed, a privilege it is to meet the inventor of the aether propeller governor. The brilliance! Indeed, if I may say so: the genius! I am honoured; we are all honoured, to have you here.”

Nathanial could feel himself blushing yet again. Really, would Annabelle never stop getting him into these things? He had to admit, though, it was not she, not this time, at least not entirely. This strange, excitable man before him was the main cause. And if Forbes-Hamilton could indeed design an airship better than the German zepps, then the trip would certainly be worth his while.

“Not at all,” Nathanial said as he took the proffered hand. “Erm, your ship is a beauty.”

Forbes-Hamilton held onto Stone’s hand as if it were a lifeline as he took a quick glance over his shoulder. When he turned back, Nathanial could detect a look of utter exaltation on his face, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned forward, rose up on his toes and spoke directly into Nathanial’s ear. “She is a beauty, isn’t she? And I have added quite a few innovations of my own onto the existing structure. Quite a few indeed.” The inventor drew back but did not release Stone’s hand; instead, he shook it up and down, up and down, until Nathanial began to feel quite giddy with the nervous energy flowing from the man.

“Indeed, Nathanial. You will be astonished.” Annabelle stepped forward and laid her hand on Forbes-Hamilton’s arm. He immediately dropped Stone’s hand and turned away.

She winked at Nathanial and fell in beside him as Forbes-Hamilton led the way to the gangplank. Jericho fell in behind.

Nathanial’s heart sank further and further within him as they approached the airship Forbes-Hamilton so vaingloriously called the Aeronaut III. From a distance, the airship had looked very much like any other on Earth, but as he grew closer, he could begin to pick out a multitude of differences. Instead of a single oblong cigar-shaped airbag, this ship had a series of—he counted silently—five round balloons, all contained within an elaborate crisscrossed netting affair, which seemed to be woven of some local vegetable matter; a thick, fibrous yet porous looking vine. Below the five entrapped bags hung the gondola. Here again, Forbes-Hamilton had departed from the accepted Earth style. Instead of sleek and aerodynamic design, the inventor had gone for a fantastical look. Stone did not approve. There was no place in engineering, in science, for such a ridiculous object. Why, the thing looked like some sort of Viking ship, with its raised prow and stern, and a silly lizard head which, no doubt, was meant to represent some sort of mythological beast, a dragon or wyvern.

As for the state of the thing! The airbags had patches, which were themselves patched, and the ramshackle gondola looked as if it had been knocked about like a cricket ball.

“Ah,” Nathanial said as he gazed up at the thing. “Yes.”

“Isn’t it lovely, Nathanial?” Annabelle’s tone held a warning. “Aren’t you so glad we came? And do think how lucky we shall be to have a ride in it!”

Forbes-Hamilton had his head down but, even so, Stone could tell he was blushing furiously. No wonder! To have called him halfway across the system to this…this…

“Oh, it’s hardly lovely,” Forbes-Hamilton said, twisting one foot like a child in obvious pleasure at Annabelle’s words. “Though, I must admit, it is rather unusual, is it not?” He raised his head and beamed up at the thing as if it were the most beautiful craft imaginable.

“Unusual. Yes, indeed,” Nathanial managed at last. He turned and glared at Jericho, but even that release was denied him, for Jericho was at that moment grinning like an idiot at Annabelle.

Forbes-Hamilton seemed to suddenly come to his senses. “Well, now, let’s go aboard, shall we? Come around to the port side where the gangplank is set up. I’ve got quite a few things to show you, Professor Stone, and I think you will be amazed, I do indeed.”

Somehow, Nathanial doubted it. But he was here, and Annabelle was safe and not too terribly troublesome, so he might as well make the best of things. He followed Forbes-Hamilton around the prow of the risible ship.

For an instant, he was sure he had run into the same dragon whose head adorned the prow of the Aeronaut III.

A massive figure stood at the bottom of the gangplank. It had long muscular arms ending in seven-fingered hands, each finger tipped with an inch-long claw. The legs were bowed, with flat splayed feet, each of the seven toes also tipped with a claw. The barrel-shaped torso was hung and strewn with weapons: a two-foot-long knife hung from a mottled leather belt on the right; on the left hung a bulbous war club with a leather cover; and the handles of two throwing spears projected above the shoulders. A round convex shield leaned against the edge of the gangplank, painted with a grinning face in lurid colours, next to a vulcanised bag with a drawstring top.

But the thing’s head! There was the image, the very mirror image, of the dragon on the prow of the Aeronaut. A long snout ringed with double rows of triangular teeth jutted out from the lumpy cranium. Two small eyes, as green as glass, gleamed beneath spikes. And the most amazing thing of all: a deerstalker hat sat atop this mythological reptile, as though the thing thought it was a character in a Conan Doyle story in the Strand Magazine.

“Ah, Thymon, my dear fellow,” said Forbes-Hamilton as he trotted towards this apparition. “All shipshape and Bristol fashion, I am sure?”

Nathanial watched in amazement as that long, tooth-filled mouth opened and the beast spoke, in a sibilant voice, almost as high-pitched as a young girl’s.

“I hass watched, ssir, and all iss ssafe in the fat rekota.”

“Excellent, excellent,” said the inventor as he bustled past the massive lizard-man as if he were a mere statue instead of, Nathanial thought, a fearsome beast, and looked back over his shoulder after he’d taken two steps. “The rekota, you should understand, is one of the largest flying reptiles on Venus, so naturally that’s how some of the lizard-men refer to my ship. Come along, do; mustn’t dawdle. And don’t mind Thymon. He’s a dear friend of mine. I saved his life when he was wounded by one of the greater sauroids, I believe it was a ferengin, wasn’t it, Thymon?” Without waiting for reply, he went on. “Something huge, anyway, with quite an astonishing number of teeth. You can still see some of the marks here—” he pointed to a long, deep groove in the lizard-man’s right arm, “—and there, on his leg.” Then he waved his arm towards his ship. “If you’ll look there, just by the figurehead on the prow, you can see more marks from a ferengin’s teeth. So, according to the rules of his tribe—the Cherada, don’t you know; they’re the largest and most advanced of any we’ve run across so far, with quite an elaborate set of funerary rituals and a form of rudimentary writing that resembles cuneiform, if you’re interested in such things. But be that as it may: dear old Thymon is firm on the matter, and he has decided he owes me a blood debt. It’s a powerful tradition, don’t you see; can’t be denied. Naturally, I trust him completely; he’s devoted to me, the dear chap.”

Nathanial felt a bit dizzy at this surge of new information. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak…

“How fascinating,” Annabelle breathed as she gazed up the long length of the lizard-man, who towered over her like a giant. Then, to Nathanial’s amazement, and fear, she held out her hand.

Thymon looked down at her, lowering his massive snout like a drawbridge, a quizzical expression in his deep-set eyes. He held out his huge paw and, with the utmost care, gave the top of Annabelle’s small, decidedly grimy hand a delicate tap with one razor-sharp claw.

“Ah, excellent!” said Forbes-Hamilton. “He accepts you. Quite an honour, dear lady. Thymon has been known to, er, be a bit snappish with new acquaintances.”

Nathanial released a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. Annabelle, he feared, was going to be the death of him.

4.

Neuregensburg, a Small German Settlement
Close to the Border of the English Colony

“Get along there, you lousy skinks!” shouted Simon O’Rourke. He slapped his gift from his new employer, a riding crop made of razor-scaled garg leather, against the arm of a sluggish lizard-man. Bright blood, emerald green in the diffused light from the constant cloud cover, welled up and pattered onto the hard-packed ground. The lizard-man gave a sibilant hiss of pain and nearly dropped the heavy pack he was struggling with. Other lizard-men who were dragging crates and boxes up a gangplank and storing them in the hold of the small airship speeded up their work.

O’Rourke watched for a moment. The lizard-men gave him a wide berth, especially the one whose arm was still bleeding, but the loading seemed to be going well. The Irishman ambled back to the only bit of shade near the airfield.

“You are firm with these creatures. It is good, it is necessary, but the Verdammten Englisch do not recognise that fact.” Oberst Kurt nodded approvingly as he wiped the sweat from his narrow face with a snowy handkerchief. He sat at a small table under a wide overhang outside the zeppelin shed, and the heat was even more intense than usual. “They insist on coddling the creatures, treating them the same way they do their colonials on Earth, and then they are surprised when the beasts turn on them and bite them.”

Kurt tucked his handkerchief back in his sleeve and pulled out a pocket watch. “Another hour and you should be ready. Are your preparations in order?”

O’Rourke nodded. “The location you’ve chosen is perfect, Herr Oberst. The British would murder for the stuff there, and I’ve had all your people moved out and some quiet skinks moved in. It’s a small family group of Lassensee, no more than forty including females and cubs. The Lassensee are passive, unlikely to fight; the other tribes don’t think too much of ’em, if you know what I mean.” The Irishman winked at the German. “Much like you Prussians think of the Bavarians.”

Kurt turned to glare at him. “My uncle married a Bavarian,” he said, his tone icy. “And I believe you mean my plan, not our plan, do you not?”

O’Rourke shrugged. “Yours. Ours. What does it matter, as long as the plan works? But you might just want to consider,” he cocked his head to one side and grinned, white teeth flashing like some feral predator, “that it’s my knowledge and experience that’ll get your plan to succeed. You need someone like me, have needed someone like me for quite a while now, have you not?”

Kurt eyed the Irishman. “And what exactly is ‘someone like you,’ if I may ask? Do you mean someone who is concerned only for himself, who wishes only enrichment and a life of ease, no matter what it costs in the lives of others?”

O’Rourke threw his head back and laughed. The cheerful sound echoed through the dense air, and two of the heavily burdened lizard-men looked curiously about, as if they had never heard such an odd sound before. Since they had been enslaved by the Germans for some time, perhaps they had not.

“You’ve got me there, sir, you have indeed.” O’Rourke’s chortles died away slowly. “The lives of others have no hold on me; never have done. I’m out for myself at all times. As, if you will forgive me for pointing it out, are you.”

“I?” Kurt sat up even straighter and shook his head. “I am a loyal officer of the Kaiser, may God preserve him from his enemies. I wish only to serve the Most High in all I do and say. Do not taint me with your own dark intent.”

“Taint, is it?” O’Rourke grinned impishly. “Don’t fool yourself, my boyo; you’re as eager for some things as I am, and you’ll wade through blood to get ’em. I know your type.” He laid a finger against his nose. “You want to be at your Most High’s right hand, and you know, if you get the bloody English off Venus, you will be. That’s what you are…sir.”

Kurt had his hand on his pistol, but did not draw it—to O’Rourke’s carefully hidden relief. “Have a care how you speak to me. I am a Junker,” he said, his teeth gritted. “My blood is noble and my temper is short.”

O’Rourke decided he’d better listen—this time. His opportunity to take the wind out of this kraut’s sails would come soon enough. He touched a finger to his new hat and put a solemn look on his face, though his eyes still twinkled.

“Sorry, Herr Oberst.” He turned and eyed the lizard-men still loading the cargo hold of the small zeppelin. “Won’t happen again,” he said over his shoulder, and only then let his smile return.

Oh, he had Kurt’s number, and that was a fact. If he played his cards right—and when did he not?—he would have his ticket of leave and be back on Earth in no time. Perhaps he’d visit the Americas, he thought idly; he had some relatives in New York. Not that they’d be glad to see him…

A lizard-man, an old one by the faded and washed-out colour of its scales, dropped a heavy box and bent over, panting. The box split open, the wood gone soft and spongy from the constant humidity of Venus. Half a dozen weapons spilled out, gleaming .577 Snider-Enfields, the breech loading artillery carbine, which had been phased out by the British army when they began using the Lee Metford instead. Phased out on Earth, at least; they were still the official weapon of Her Majesty’s Colonies on Venus.

O’Rourke strode over and kicked the lizard-man, who curled up into a ball and began making soft, mewing noises. The Irishman bent over and examined the rifles. The weapons were in good shape, not damaged yet by the ever-present danger of rust. A bit of a cleanup with an oily rag and they’d be top notch. He wondered where the Germans had gotten them, but decided it was safer not to ask.

“Get these weapons packed up in another crate,” he shouted. “And clear this old skink out of the way. He’s for the cook pot soon, I’ll wager. Though he’ll be naught but stringy meat, and no fat on him at all.”

Simon O’Rourke had been on many expeditions in the jungles of Venus. He knew how to make sure his men were fed, and how to make the best use of those who were no longer able to carry on.

The Irishman strolled towards the overhang and lounged before the table where Kurt sat, papers spread before him. The oberst ignored him for a time, then looked up.

“You have questions? Concerns? Reservations?” he snapped.

O’Rourke threw his head back and laughed. “Reservations? Me? How little you know me…sir.” He pulled up a chair and sprawled in it. “Is it you who’s the one with reservations now? A bit hesitant at spilling red blood instead of green, are you?”

“If the blood belongs to an Englishman, I have no compunctions at all about seeing it spilt,” was the reply. Kurt gave a grim smile. “I would happily wash in the blood of their kind. Wash my boots, at least; I would not deign to use it for any other purpose save staining the ground below me.”

“A real fire-eater, aren’t you now?” O’Rourke sat up straighter. “I’ll have to watch my step around you; that I can see.” He waved his hand at the zeppelin. “Aren’t you worried about supplying any sort of weapons to skinks?”

Kurt shook his head slowly, economically, once left, once right. “Worried? Why should I be? The native species under German control follow orders. Or else.”

O’Rourke nodded slowly. “Or else what?” he asked.

“Or else they die,” Kurt said simply. “As you have already seen, we do not coddle our slaves. Indeed, you are much like us in that. It is only the damned English who treat these inferior creatures as if they were almost human. It is their single greatest weakness, and it will destroy them.” He closed his notebook and put the cap on his fountain pen, then laid it precisely at the top. “You should not be too concerned about the lizard-men being armed. They shall not. I will supply German soldiers to do the shooting. Your main concern, O’Rourke, is to provide the corroborative English bodies we shall need to make our farce look real.”

O’Rourke cocked his head to one side. “Now don’t you worry yourself about that little bit of the plan,” he said. “Once we get our stage set, all I need is a lift to the nearest English settlement.”

“Timing is critical,” Kurt reminded him. “The American journalist is already at Fort Collingwood. He is scheduled to remain there for another two weeks before he comes to tour our own, far superior settlements.”

“No problem at all,” said O’Rourke, hiding a smile at his employer’s arrogance. “We have the time. All you have to do….”

Kurt opened his notebook and uncapped his pen. As he talked, O’Rourke watched as the German took copious notes.

These krauts, he thought; all the same, every one of ’em. Lists and schedules and outlines. If the dear Lord had been a German, he’d have taken months to create the world instead of six days.

5.

Aboard the Aeronaut III

It was early morning and already hot. Nathanial wasn’t surprised. After all, it had been hot all night, and all the previous day, and would doubtless continue to be hot until the sun exploded in a fiery Armageddon. He wiped sweat from his eyes and sighed.

The Aeronaut III cruised at a sluggish ten knots and something around a thousand feet over the dense green jungles of Venus. Nathanial Stone sat under an awning on the poop deck at a rickety wooden table, one of its legs propped up on an empty cigar box. He had doubted the even ricketier chair would hold his weight but had found it was, at least thus far, reliable. In his special cryptogram which none but he could read, he scribbled busily in his journal:

17 June. At A’s insistence, we have been travelling between some of the smaller English settlements in F-H’s little airship. I find the journey thus far beyond boring, but at least it keeps A out of trouble. She has made several conquests: J is her slave, F-H thinks highly of her, and the lizard-man T seems to look on her as some sort of amusing pet. When we set down at a settlement, he disappears at once, only to reappear with flowers or fruit, which he solemnly presents to her on a large leaf. She smiles at him and takes the gift; really, her social skills continue to amaze me, considering the sort of life she has led.

The airship thus far has surprised me. It is far roomier than I’d suspected, and is delightfully easy to pilot. I may consider getting one of my own when we return to Earth, purely for enjoyment. I understand, at least a bit, F-H’s fascination with the theory behind it. It is far different from flying on the Zeus, however, no doubt due to its smaller size.

We had a bit of excitement late yesterday. We moored last night near edge of the vast escarpment on which Her Majesty’s colonies sit because F-H, and J as well, insisted that it was a safe place. I, for one, did not believe in the danger, as I’ve not seen any lizard or saurian any larger than a mastiff thus far. This is because, I now understand, our brave colonists have cleared all the major predators off the plateau.

At least, nearly all.

Yesterday we found out that some are still in residence.

We had moored the ship as usual, and J had started a campfire to boil water for tea. I was sitting at this very table, making notes on F-H’s engines for future reference—see page 37—and A, in that irritating way she has, was insisting on going with Thymon to fetch some fresh water from a stream we had flown over just before touching down.

“I have my bow,” she reminded me. Yes, she has brought hers from Earth, and she found a craftsman in Fort Collingwood who fletched some arrows for her with some quite odd yet colourful leathery feathers.

I could see no danger in it and gave my permission for her to go, at which she quite bridled and said, rather tartly, that she hadn’t asked for my permission in the first place. Really, the girl can be most uncivilised! Due, no doubt, to her distressing time in the Americas.

And so she started off, T in tow; the lizard was bristling with weapons, A had her bow and a quiver full of arrows, and it never occurred to me to worry. J started the kettle on to boil, while I asked F-H some questions about displacement and air speed. The time passed quite pleasantly, and I was just getting into a rather invigorating discussion—J later said it sounded more like an argument—with F-H when we heard a roar that shook the bones within me.

“Good gad, what was that?” I asked.

F-H immediately dashed up the gangplank to the Aeronaut, tools falling from the pockets of his frock coat like he was a flower shedding his petals, only to reappear an instant later with a rifle under each arm.

“Get onboard,” he shouted. “We may have to cast off in a hurry.” He tossed a rifle to J and the two of them disappeared into the heavy brush, leaving me, I fear, with my mouth open.

Another roar; this one quite shook the airship. I could feel the vibrations spread out like rings in a pond where one has tossed a stone. I raced up the gangplank and looked about hurriedly for some sort of weapon, but was unable to find anything more useful than an iron belaying pin. Hurriedly, I unwrapped the lines about it and pulled it out of its slot, then I dashed back down the gangplank with it in my hand. I didn’t dare go too far from the ship, for if F-H were indeed correct, we might have to make what the Americans call a “quick getaway.”

Then, silence, which went on for what seemed like forever. I felt a bit silly with the huge iron pin in my hand and was looking about for a convenient place to put it.

But the silly feeling did not last long. In all too short a time, I was glad I had it, and wished I had a dozen, nay, a hundred more.

For the most fearsome beast chose that instant to come charging through the underbrush, straight for me. A massive head filled with far too many teeth sat directly on a thick trunk without benefit of a neck; two ridiculously small arms waved about aimlessly, each ending with a four-fingered clawed hand. The heavy hind legs were bowed out, and a thick, short tail waved back and forth with the most menacing air imaginable.

I will be quite honest; my very heart quaked within me. I felt my back press against the wooden hull of the airship before I was even aware I had moved, and the air seemed to have oddly lost its oxygen content. I gasped and held the belaying pin out in what I hoped was a threatening manner. Much good it would have done me against the huge beast now bearing down on me.

Then, I noticed the arrows in the thing’s right flank, and the bright green blood gushing from a huge wound in its throat. It slowed, seemed to look about as if wondering where it had got to, and staggered a bit.

A loud whoop came from the dense forest behind the thing, and A burst into view, waving her bow above her head in a most unladylike and quite bloodthirsty way. T was right behind her, and F-H and J were behind him.

I gave them the merest glance. My eyes were caught by the thing before me. I could see now it was in its death throes. It tottered forward a step or two, and one huge splayed foot came down directly on the small fire J had lit before all the excitement. The great lizard jerked with pain, but sluggishly, as though its scorching skin was little more painful than an insect bite. It gave one more step forward, another, getting ever closer…

Then A, the mad child, came running at the thing, waving a branch at it.

“We’ve got to keep it away from the airship!” she shouted.

I saw at once what she meant and ran forward—carefully—to help her drive the thing away, for its great bulk would damage the gondola of the ship irreparably if it fell on it. T and the others joined in, and the great lizard changed its course just enough to bypass the ship. It fell, dead, a little to the left of the stern.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Even the constant cheep-chirp-chitter of the jungle was still, as if all the local inhabitants were offering a moment of silence to commemorate the passing of this great jungle lord.

J ran up, a grin on his face, and broke the silence.

“I say, Stone, what a smashing girl Miss Annabelle is! Look at that shooting! Why, she hit it three times before any of us could get a shot in!”

Then, after the fire had been built up again and the kettle was on the boil at last, I had to hear them all tell me about A and her bravery and her skill and her courage…all while I was trying to learn more about the beast.

“It’s what the natives call a baratnor,” J explained, in between glances of admiration at A. “I haven’t seen one on the plateau before, though I know some of our chaps go hunting them below the escarpment.”

T, who had removed several of the beast’s teeth and claws—no doubt to add to his spiked war club—nodded in agreement. “Very fierce,” he said. “Ssstrong warriors fear them. But not Missss Annabelle.” He looked at her adoringly—or, at least, I suppose that was the feeling he displayed on his leathery, knotty face. For all I know of him and his kind, he might have been considering her suitability for the cookpot.

“A remarkable creature,” F-H chimed in, and for a moment I thought he was talking about A. Then he went on, “Carnivorous, of course. They get considerably larger. This one was little more than a cub. Perhaps it was able to make its way through some of the subterranean passageways that link the plateau with the jungle below. The tunnels are far too small for a full grown one, naturally, but a youngling might just make it. Really, Miss Annabelle, your archery skills are most impressive.”

A smiled at him, turned to me and said, “No more than Nathanial’s skill with a belaying pin, surely.”

Everyone laughed merrily. I’m sure I even heard the lizard-man make a sort of gravel-shaken-in-a-bucket sound which I thought might be construed as amusement.

Really, the girl can be most irritating.

“Oh, do put that journal down and look around you, Nathanial!” Annabelle said.

Nathanial sighed, capped his pen, closed his journal and tucked the pen into his pocket. He got up from the rickety chair and joined Annabelle at the starboard railing.

“Just look at the size of some of those trees!” Annabelle waved at the passing jungle below them. “Isn’t it lovely? So very different from the deserts in the Western Americas…”

Her voice trailed away. Nathanial knew quite well why. Annabelle had seen her parents die in the deserts. No wonder she was dazzled by the lush greenery of Venus. She didn’t even seem to mind the ever-present damp, though he, for one, did not like it in the least.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a damp handkerchief.

What in the name of Heaven was he doing here? He had examined the engines designed by Forbes-Hamilton and found them, at least to his knowledge, barely different from those used in the German zeppelins. Of course, on this ridiculous, time-wasting flight over endless trees, their host had not shown Stone every one of his alterations and additions; Nathanial was quite sure of that. There was one particular valve series that he was itching to investigate, but Forbes-Hamilton kept changing the subject when he asked questions and leading him away to examine yet another dirty bit of engine or section of ripped airbag material. One useful thing; the airbags seemed to be made of some sort of local lizard skin obviously far stronger and even lighter than canvas.

Still, he was glad to have the opportunity to learn more about the craft. He had spent so much time on aether engines, their design, workload and forms, that he was quite enjoying learning about a system that worked within an atmosphere, instead of outside of one.

If only Annabelle hadn’t insisted on this endless trip between tiny, boring villages, all of which looked precisely the same. They could perfectly well have stayed at the capital instead of traipsing all over Victoria plateau. Thank the Lord, they were heading for a larger fort at last, though not Fort Collingwood, and could get off this cramped little airship and into a semi-civilised spot.

“If you’ll look just there, Miss Annabelle,” Giles Jericho said, pointing down over the rail, “you can make out one of the smaller outposts; see it there? It sits very near the edge of the plateau. Fort Saint George is the nearest major outpost from here, though it’s far from the size of Fort Collingwood, naturally. We’ll arrive there soon.” He turned and smiled at her. “I’ll be happy to show you about the place, if you like?”

“Is it indeed a fort? I mean to say, is it surrounded by a tall stockade, like Collingwood?”

“Yes indeed. Quite necessary, don’t you know. The native fauna can be rather hard to deal with, and I’m not just talking about the huge ones like the one you so brilliantly and bravely killed last evening. Why, there’s a lizard no bigger than your hand; travels in packs of thousands and they can strip a field of sugarcane in a day. Luckily, they can’t fly, and they seem to prefer the lowlands. That’s one of the main reasons we’ve colonised the plateau. Easier to grow crops, and the larger lizards tend to stick to the lowest jungle, where they have plenty of prey.” Jericho gave what Nathanial thought was a rather inane laugh. “We wouldn’t want to end up on the receiving end of a trantor’s teeth or a gizzleback’s claws, I assure you.”

Nathanial barely was able to restrain a snort. Really, Jericho was enjoying Annabelle’s company rather more than was suitable. Although, admittedly, he did keep her occupied and out of his way.

Stone returned to the rickety cane table under an awning on the poop deck of the Aeronaut, trying without much success to keep from dripping sweat on his open notebook. He was eager to get back to scribbling notes and ideas for a new sort of hydraulic system, inspired by some of the things he’d seen in Forbes-Hamilton’s engine room. The inventor was standing behind him, gazing through a telescope on a tripod mounted at the edge of the deck.

“Rather a lot of air disturbance south of us,” Stone heard him mutter. “Appears to be moving quickly too.”

Stone ignored the man. Surely such a system would prove most useful… He wandered away into the recesses of his mind.

A heavy tread on the deck beside him brought Stone back with a start.

Thymon stalked past him and headed towards Forbes-Hamilton.

“We sshould land, ssir,” said the lizard in his sibilant speech. “Ssee there? It iss a flight of—” he said something indecipherable to Nathanial which sounded very much like “clothespins,” though he was sure he must have misheard.

Forbes-Hamilton called out, “Would you all get below, please? We shall be, uh, landing shortly, and I believe there may be a bit of turbulence in our future.”

Stone didn’t like the concern he could hear clearly in the man’s voice. He stood up, gathering his things, and called, “Annabelle, Jericho. Shall we go below and prepare to disembark at our next stop? No doubt we shall see something interesting there.”

“Nathanial, I can hear your unspoken ‘at last’ and I do not appreciate it,” Annabelle said severely as they all went down the ladder and headed below decks. “Remember, you are the one who promised Uncle Cyrus to take care of me. Honestly! As though I cannot do that quite well on my own. And I for one am having the most delightful time.”

Just as she spoke the last word, the Aeronaut gave a sudden jerk and twist sideways, almost as if the ship were dodging something. Nathanial knew that could not be the case. No airship could respond so quickly, almost like some sort of steam-driven wheeled land vehicle.

Forbes-Hamilton pattered down the ladder behind them an instant later. “Not to worry, not to worry,” he said distractedly. “I must just go down to make sure the boiler is in order.” He disappeared down the ladder to the lower deck, and they could soon hear the occasional “Dear me” and “Good Gad” and once an emphatic “Blast!”

Nathanial could feel himself blushing at the curse, and he was irritated to see that it had not affected Annabelle one iota. She smiled at Jericho and disappeared into her tiny cabin, calling something about “I’ll just find my hat” over her shoulder.

“What is it, old boy?” Jericho asked. “You look rather pale.”

At that instant, the Aeronaut gave a decided list to starboard, spun around, and Nathanial could feel the unmistakable dropping sensation in his nether regions, which could only mean they were falling.

“Grab hold of something!” he shouted.

Jericho gave a squawk and seized a convenient railing, one of many along the passageway. From Annabelle’s cabin, Nathanial could hear cursing far stronger than that used by Forbes-Hamilton. He would have felt embarrassed if he’d had the time, but he did not.

“Watch out for Annabelle!” he shouted. “Get her above deck as quickly as you can! I am going below to check on Forbes-Hamilton!”

Jericho nodded and began to inch his way up a deck no longer level; instead, it seemed to be canted at quite thirty-seven degrees, Stone calculated automatically as he headed for the engine room below. By the time he reached the hatch, the incline had increased and he very nearly fell into the yawning opening. He was just able to grab hold of the railing that lined one side of the ladder.

“Mister Forbes-Hamilton?” he called as he stumbled downwards. “Sir? We appear to be falling, and rather quickly. Will you come, sir?”

The only reply he received was a cloud of oily grey smoke, which set him to coughing. He pressed forward blindly, slipping on the last step and nearly falling but catching himself in time. He hissed in pain as something hot burned his outstretched fingers.

“Sir?” he called again.

No reply.

He was just contemplating the wisdom of leaving the inventor to his fate, since it looked as if they were all going down with his ship, when the Aeronaut righted herself. Since Stone had been canted forward against the pull of gravity, this time he did fall, sprawling onto the greasy decking below him. He lay there for a moment, trying to catch a breath of relatively clean air.

Then, two powerful arms pulled him to his feet and turned him, none too gently, around. His eyes steaming, his burned fingers throbbing, Stone looked up into the gleaming emerald eyes of Thymon.

An instant later, Forbes-Hamilton appeared from the smoky gloom.

“Are you harmed, Professor Stone?” he enquired. “Ah, I see you have singed your hand. Do come along into my cabin; I have some native remedies which are quite efficacious.”

“What…how…the others. I sent them to the deck.”

“Thymon made sure the small ones were ssssafe,” said the lizard-man.

“There, you see? No cause for alarm. Thymon here alerted me in time that we were headed into a cloud of kaloshpinas. They’re a kind of…well, I suppose butterfly is the closest Earth approximation, if you can conceive of a monarch with inch-long spines lining its wings. Plenty of time to take evasive action, though, don’t you know? Now let’s go see about the others.”

Nathanial grabbed him by his sleeve. “Sir, your servant just said they were fine. And my fingers are only singed. I really must know about your evasive manoeuvres just now; I do insist.”

Forbes-Hamilton looked up into Nathanial’s eyes, his own gleaming with pride. “Rather impressive, were they not? It’s all due to my—”

The airship lurched and Forbes-Hamilton fell into Nathanial’s arms.

Shouts and cries came echoing down the hatch.

“Shall we continue this discussion a bit later, my dear sir? I fear our airbags took some hurt.”

They had indeed; Nathanial saw when they arrived on deck. The first airbag was nearly deflated, and the second in the series of five was hissing like a gigantic tea kettle.

“Not to worry,” said Forbes-Hamilton. “We are just about to set down at Fort David. I shall do a few repairs.”

Annabelle ran up to Nathanial, her eyes shining in excitement. “Isn’t this thrilling? One would never have such an exciting trip in a larger ship. Oh, Nathanial, I am so glad we came to Venus! Aren’t you?”

Nathanial didn’t feel the need for a reply as the ship began limping towards the fort he could barely see in the misty distance.

6.

Command Post, Fort David
Her Majesty’s Smallest Outpost on Venus

“Don’t even mention it, I beg you.” Captain Perkins blushed, his ruddy face turning even redder. “It’s the least I can do for such distinguished guests. Do take another cake, Miss Annabelle. Mister Forbes-Hamilton, would you like another cup of tea, or perhaps something stronger? After all, such a thrilling display of navigation should be rewarded, what?”

Nathanial sniffed. Thrilling display indeed! The damaged Aeronaut had drifted like a deflated balloon, constantly sinking, to land about a mile from Fort David. It was the merest luck, he was sure, though he was still determined to find out more about Forbes-Hamilton’s innovative steering mechanism.

Stone, Annabelle, Forbes-Hamilton and Jericho sat on a wide veranda with Captain Josiah Perkins, commander at Fort David. On the broad steps, Thymon squatted, popping bits of fried letoh worms into his mouth with as much enjoyment as though they were chocolate biscuits.

The encampment, while far smaller than Fort Collingwood, the major outpost, was still big enough to boast a small airship hanger, a fairly large settlement, and telegraph links to the other forts. The location of the camp, so close to the edge of the escarpment, gave it a slightly different climate than that of the forts further towards the centre of the plateau. There was, in fact, at this very moment a breeze blowing. While not cool at all, the movement of the air at least gave the hint, the merest feel, of a lower temperature.

Even though they had barely arrived, Nathanial could tell Annabelle was getting the itch to do something. He dreaded what she would come up with. Of course, Jericho and the others had told Perkins of their adventures, and he was also now enslaved to Annabelle.

“Mister Stone, would you like a brandy and soda? Just to calm your nerves.”

“I would,” Nathaniel said gratefully.

“As would I.” Annabelle smiled prettily.

While the captain looked a bit shocked, he mixed drinks for all, though Nathanial could see he added far more soda than brandy to the glass he gave Annabelle.

“Well, what next?” asked the lean captain as he settled back into his chair. “I mean to say, what are your plans now?”

Nathanial opened his mouth to insist on an immediate return to Fort Collingwood as soon as the airship had been repaired, but before he could even begin on his clearly reasoned argument, Annabelle said, “Why, I would truly love to see more, and do please forgive me, Mister Forbes-Hamilton, but a bit more of Venus from ground level.”

“Absolutely not!” Nathanial said, jumping to his feet and nearly spilling his drink. “I think you have seen quite enough, and Doctor Grant would never forgive me if I allowed anything to happen to you.”

Annabelle regarded him calmly, and this irritated Stone even more than usual. He continued, “I do not know what he is going to say to me already, bringing you all this way into such danger.”

“Really, Mister Stone,” said Captain Perkins, “I believe you’re being a bit too hard on this lovely lady. After all, we are on the Victoria plateau, though our little camp is quite near the edge of the escarpment, it’s true. I think we can find a few things to show Miss Annabelle. One should not come to Venus without having a bit of a look-about, some small bit of an adventure.”

“Adventure?” Nathanial snorted. “Please, Captain Perkins, do not encourage the girl. We have faced a charging dinosaur and been forced out of the air by razor-tipped butterflies. I think those are enough adventures for any young lady, do you not agree?”

“Oh, Nathanial, don’t be so stuffy.” Annabelle sipped her drink. “I’ve already discussed it. Dear Mister Forbes-Hamilton will be some time repairing his lovely airship, as he had to have some supplies brought in from Fort Collingwood. We can’t simply sit around and drink the captain’s brandy while we wait, can we?”

She smiled at Perkins and he blushed again, muttering “No, no, er, yes indeed,” into his walrus moustache.

“A short safari into the bush, Nathanial old chap,” chimed in Jericho. “Just the thing to see a bit more of Venus on the ground, so to speak. I mean to say, floating in the clouds is delightful and all that, but there’s nothing like getting one’s hands dirty, splashing some mud on one’s boots, is there?”

“I feel you are all in league against me,” Nathanial sighed. Then he forced himself to relax. “But perhaps you are right. A short—short, mind you, Annabelle—trip into the jungle while we wait for parts would not be such a bad thing, I suppose.”

“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it, Nathanial my dear?” Annabelle looked smug, as only Annabelle could. “After all, you know I can take care of myself. Do recall, I have my bow, and the darling captain has promised me a new quiver full of arrows.” She gave Perkins a brilliant smile, and he turned the reddest yet. “Just a day or two. I’m sure we can find a suitable guide, and you know how safe the plateau is. After all, it’s nearly England, isn’t it?”

“Now, Miss Annabelle!” Perkins sat up straight; even his moustache looked concerned. “Do remember, we are on a savage planet, full to bursting with creatures who would like nothing better than to have you for lunch.”

The crunching of letoh worms punctuated his warning.

Annabelle laughed. “Dear Captain! After what Nathanial and I went through on Luna, Venus seems like nothing more than a walk in the park.”

Nathanial drained his brandy-and-soda. What, he wondered, would Annabelle get him into next? His mind boggled at the thought.

7.

Fort David Township

The small settlement of Fort David was a bustling hive of activity. Settlers from many of Her Majesty’s colonies on Earth had taken the Queen’s offer of transportation and land; in exchange, they provided the Commonwealth with an ever-burgeoning supply of goods. The kalsa-wood indigenous to Venus was light and flexible, yet stronger than oak; great plantations of the kalsa trees were a main resource. Fruit and vegetable seeds brought from home grew huge and quickly in the hot and moist environment, and many of the local lizard species provided either meat or muscle for ploughs. The rich, deep soil of Venus produced exuberantly and there was a thriving market on Earth and Mars for the dried produce of the Venus colonies. It was hardly economical to transport these products in their natural state across the vast reaches of the aether to other planets, but the clever colonists had solved even this seemingly insurmountable problem. Whole crops were transported into the upper aether where the direct sunlight and the thin air dried them to the consistency of leather within a few days.

As Annabelle and Nathanial moved through Fort David’s marketplace, they heard a variety of languages, from Gujarat to Gaelic. Most people they saw wore clothing of the hotter regions of Earth, loose flowing robes and full breeches, with high leather boots to protect them from the smaller poisonous lizards, which had not been eradicated, though their numbers were far fewer than in the early years, during the first colonisation of the planet. In those long past days, very nearly half of all the settlers did not live out their first year.

Annabelle took a deep breath of the scented air. “Smell the fruits, Nathanial! Better than all the perfumes of Araby. Is not this a delightful planet? So very, very different from Luna.”

Nathanial raised his boot. He had had the misfortune to step in a large and steaming pile of varaneto dung; the sluggish herbivores, the size of water buffalo, were used as pack animals.

“Perfume indeed,” he said as he tried to clean his boot by wiping it on a convenient log, with little success. “Really, Annabelle, have we not looked enough? These folk are simple farmers; they have neither the time nor intention of travelling into the jungles.”

“Now, Nathanial.” Annabelle patted him on the arm. “You know Captain Perkins said there was an agency near here which handles trips into the bush for visiting gentlemen on their grand tour, and for scientists from Earth who come across the aether to study Venus.” She pulled a bit of paper from her leather gauntlet and checked its contents. “We take a left at the end of the market. We’re looking for Thorne’s Emporium. Come along. Don’t dawdle so.” Annabelle dashed forward, just missing a pair of varaneto bulls hooked to a wide low wagon heaped with pumpkins the size of boulders. The driver of the team saluted her with a wide grin and a flourish of his whip.

Nathanial gave up on his soiled boot and followed her. Perhaps the dust of the road—he looked down and grimaced—the mud of the road would clean off the dung by the time they arrived.

8.

Thorne’s Emporium

Nathanial looked down the long, narrow street—really, not much bigger than an alley in London—stretching before him.

“Annabelle?” he called.

Drat the girl! She would always insist on racing ahead of him. One day it would land them both in trouble, he was sure. Still, he thought as he paced down the alleyway, she carried a knife in one boot, a tiny derringer in the other, and she was well versed in the use of both. She was probably far better able to take care of herself here on Venus than he was.

Such dismal thoughts occupied his mind as he trudged down the rough walkway, covered over with warped boards, which, in turn, covered half the street. He glanced up from time to time to read the signs above each storefront; several of the wooden buildings towered quite three stories into the air, and here or there a brick one looked smugly at its neighbours, conscious of its superiority.

Wo Fat’s Laundry had clouds of fragrant steam billowing out into the already far too steamy air.

Morridan’s Best Gentlemen’s Boots promised “the finest lizard leather.”

Paneeri Teas and Cakes really smelled most inviting.

The end of the passageway opened to a much wider thoroughfare. Nathanial stepped up onto a raised wooden walkway.

“There you are at last, Nathanial!” Annabelle was waiting for him, tapping her booted foot in her usual impatient fashion. “You keep getting lost!”

“Well, if you did not dash ahead, you would not continue to lose me,” he pointed out, with some reason, he believed.

Annabelle snorted. “Hmph. Never mind that now. Here’s Thorne’s Emporium. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.

Thorne’s Emporium proved to be a long low building that stretched down the street to their right. Nathanial followed Annabelle to an interior redolent of the smells of odd spices and old clothes and leather. Several customers were being waited on.

A red-haired gentleman, his whip-lean form wrapped about with a dirty apron from below which peeked sturdy boots, bustled forward.

“Miss! Sir! Hezekiah Thorne, at your service. Do come in and tell me how I can help you.”

Annabelle gave him a friendly nod. “We are new arrivals in your lovely town, sir, and would like to see a bit more of the countryside. I was told by Captain Josiah Perkins that you were the man to see.”

Mr Thorne gave an odd ingratiating wiggle of his long thin body and a broad smile illuminated his plain features—or would have, if a few more teeth had been present. “How kind of Captain Perkins, how kind indeed. And so true! Here in my emporium,” he mouthed the word as if he himself had invented it, and waved his arm around in a regal fashion, “you will find any and everything you might need for a journey, whether it be for a few days to visit the highlands just south of here, or a full kit for a lowland safari.”

“Oh, just a short journey, sir, to be sure.” Nathanial thought it best to make that clear from the beginning. If he left it to Annabelle, she’d have them circumnavigating the planet.

“Of course, sir, of course.” Thorne gave another wiggle, his body seeming to bend in the oddest places. “The mountains—well, we call them mountains, but they’re really more like gentle hills—just south, as I said, are quite delightful to visit. The air, sir,” he paused and cast his eyes upward as if in rapture, “the air! So invigorating.”

“You have been many times, I perceive?” Annabelle asked.

“Well, no,” Thorne admitted. “The exigencies of business, don’t you know.”

A small lizard-man wandered from behind a high counter. Nathanial had not even suspected he was there, since he was barely five feet high.

“Shindo, there you are, you rascal!” Thorne said. “Did you get those packets all put away as I told you?”

The lizard Shindo’s mouth fell open and a long green tongue fell out. What he lacked in height, his tongue made up for in length. “All done, sssir.”

“Good, good.” Thorne waved the lizard away. “Now, Sir and Miss, exactly where would you like to go? Do you wish a guide or have you brought your own?”

“Oh, a guide, if you please,” said Annabelle. “One with a great deal of local knowledge, who can inform as well as lead. Do you have anyone of that calibre available?”

Thorne stroked his long chin. “Hmm. Let me see now.”

“Sure, and I’d be happy to take the lovely lady on a bit of an outing,” said a deep voice, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere as it echoed through the cavernous building.

A tall, heavily muscled man stepped from behind a series of shelves. He sauntered forward, his grin—Nathanial thought it looked rather impudent—showing white teeth. He took Annabelle’s hand and bowed over it.

“Are…are you a guide?” Annabelle asked, and Nathanial was amazed to detect a faint blush on her cheeks.

“The best in the colony. Isn’t that right, Thorney?” The man transferred his grin to Nathanial, though he did not drop Annabelle’s hand.

The shopkeeper looked somewhat concerned, Nathanial thought, but he nodded his head in agreement. “None better, to be sure. O…O’Ryan here knows the plateau like the back of his hand, and he’s spent a deal of time below on the escarpment. You cannot go far wrong if you take him on as a guide.”

Thorne seemed to have lost his pleasure at seeing them. His words sounded jerky and forced.

“I am all that, if you will spare my blushes,” O’Ryan said. “And I’ll be pleased to show you both about. Is it just the two of you? How many days would you like to be gone?”

“Oh, we arrived on the airship Aeronaut III just a few days ago,” Annabelle said. “We have to wait for some necessary parts before we can leave; they’re being sent from Fort Collingwood. So we’re not quite sure how long we’ll have. Do you have any idea, Mister Thorne, as to how long it might take for supplies to be shipped in?”

Thorne still looked uneasy, Nathanial thought, but replied readily enough. “Oh, depending on what’s needed, and whether or not it was marked urgent, I think you might well have to wait for the twice-monthly transport.” He turned to Nathanial. “The transport is not truly an airship, sir, but more along the lines of a great, wide wagon, flat as my hand, and all held up by balloons. They don’t break out the airships except for emergencies.”

“See, Nathanial, I told you so.” Annabelle sounded as if he’d been arguing with her. She didn’t even glance at him as she spoke; she hadn’t taken her eyes off the guide. “We’ve got lots of time and you know how bored you are. Oh, my manners! I’m Annabelle Somerset, and my friend is Professor Nathanial Stone, the famous co-inventor of the aether propeller governor.”

Nathanial felt himself turn red as the two men turned to stare at him.

“And I am Simon…Simon O’Ryan,” the guide said. “And may I say what a privilege, what an honour it will be for a humble son of Eire to show such a distinguished gentleman,” he bowed, “and such a lovely lady about. Now then; that’s all settled.” He grinned, displaying those overlarge white teeth again. “Let me take care of everything, everything at all. We can take the balloon shuttle down to the lower escarpment.”

“Is that not dangerous?” Nathanial asked, though he had a sinking feeling that it would not matter if they had to fight their way through ravening reptiles: Annabelle had made up her mind.

“No, no,” said Hezekiah Thorne, waving his flipper-like hands about as if to wipe the suggestion from the air. “Quite safe, quite safe indeed. Why, I’ve been down myself ever so many times. It’s simply a lower part of the plateau, sort of rings us about, don’t you see? Still high enough to protect from the larger lizards, but you can see a bit more of the, shall we say, unspoiled planet.”

“Yes, you can,” said O’Ryan, his dazzling teeth on display. “And comfortable? Why, we’ll take inflatable beds and all the comforts of home, that we will, for such a lovely lady should not have to live rough like we gentlemen, hey, Professor Stone? Now then, that’s settled…and we’ll be leaving…when?”

Annabelle turned to Nathanial, though she didn’t appear to see him; her eyes seemed somewhat glazed and he wondered if she were sickening for something. “Tomorrow, don’t you think? And if we’re gone for a week, that should give us plenty of time.”

Plenty of time for what, exactly, Nathanial wondered as Annabelle gave O’Ryan another wide and dazzling smile.

Really, he was liking the bounder less and less.

9.

The German Zeppelin Rheingold
Somewhere Over the Venusian Jungle South of Karlstadt

Joseph Lewis Sheridan was a sturdy man; his broad shoulders strained against the linen of his jacket, and his heavily muscled thighs were as big around as some men’s waists. His eyes were as dark brown as his hair, and his thick stubby fingers were permanently stained with ink. He leaned over and put his eye to the telescope mounted on the foredeck of the Rheingold. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at, as it seemed there was nothing below but endless miles of greenery. He had been on Venus for nearly two months, and he had still not got used to the climate, the creatures and the colonists.

Of the three, he considered the colonists by far the worst. He’d spent the first six weeks in the English colonies, touring, examining, questioning, writing up brief reports to heliograph back to his ostensible employers at the New York Tribune, taking more extensive and detailed notes for his actual employer: the Secret Service of the United States of America.

The United States had a couple of small colonies on Mars, and were branching out into a bit of mining in the Asteroid Belt; they also had cast what many citizens considered, and did not mind voicing concerns at the cost involved, a greedy eye towards Ganymede and Io in the Jovian system. But thus far, the United States had no colony on Venus, and the newly elected President Benjamin Harrison wanted that to change. Soon.

Thus, Sheridan’s trip to Venus, ostensibly as a newspaper reporter whose task was to send back descriptions to his countrymen, was in reality to see exactly how strong the three main colonial powers were, and precisely where the best places to set up potential American colonies might be. For, since the horrible business of the War Between the States, the northern part of the country had grown enormously. Industry, fuelled by the influx of immigrants from Europe and the East, was always looking for new ways to make money. Venus was not only an untapped market for American goods, but vast parts of it were undeveloped and unsettled.

So far, he had toured the major British forts on the Victoria plateau, a vast upland plain north of the equator. He had visited the thriving North Pole settlements set up by Italy; though small, they had the best climate he’d experienced thus far. While hardly cool, the temperature had actually been measured at a bracing seventy-five Fahrenheit on the occasional night. Now Sheridan was a guest of the German High Command on Venus. It was a pleasure to ride majestically over the dense swamplands below instead of slogging through them, but he couldn’t help but suspect the intent behind the German kindness.

Why were they keeping him so far above the majority of their settlements? What were they hiding? And how was he going to find out the truth, if he had to spend all his time floating around in an, admittedly, quite luxurious stateroom instead of getting his feet on the ground?

Sheridan stepped back from the telescope and gave it a spin; the shiny brass casing glittered from constant polishing, but he could already see a bloom of dampness on it from the constant wetness.

“I trust you are enjoying your journey, Mister Sheridan?” asked a voice behind him.

Sheridan turned. Damn these Germans! They wore the biggest, shiniest boots he’d ever seen, and yet crept about as silently as if they were barefoot.

“I am indeed, Colonel Kurt.” Sheridan beamed a smile so wide it hurt his mouth. “What a magnificent airship.”

Oberst Kurt snapped his heels together. “We prefer to call it a zeppelin, after its inventor, the German genius Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. No doubt your own county has many airships? I understand your industry is burgeoning since that rather unfortunate split in your ranks?”

“The Civil War was indeed unfortunate,” Sheridan said, gritting his teeth to keep from spitting. Damn the man, with his starched uniform and ice blue eyes! “But that was some time ago, and we of the United States of America have tried very hard to leave the pain, if not the memories, behind us. As, I am sure your own country has done since,” Sheridan cast his eyes skyward in a show of innocence, “that rather unpleasant Franco-Prussian affair.”

Kurt gave a knife-like smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nearly twenty years ago, Mister Sheridan. The new united German Confederacy looks to the future, not to the past. As, I am sure, your own relatively new country does. No doubt the acquisition of your colonies on Mars and your mining concerns in das Asteroidengürtel have offered your country much. Have you visited the Asteroid Belt mines in your journeys?”

Sheridan raised an eyebrow. This is one clever German, he thought in grudging admiration. “Not yet, though perhaps my paper will send me there next.” He turned and strolled across the deck to lean over the high railing.

Kurt joined him, though he did nothing so decadent as leaning, but stood straight as a ramrod beside the American.

“You learned a great deal about the British colonies, I am sure…and the Italian settlements in the north, no doubt.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but Sheridan decided to treat it as if it had been. He wasn’t sure where the German colonel was going with this, but Sheridan had always been insatiably curious; one of the many reasons he had landed up in the Secret Service after over a dozen years of wandering from place to place and job to job.

“I enjoyed seeing what they’ve accomplished, yes.” Sheridan took out his cigar case and offered it to Kurt, who shook his head. “The Italians are limited in their growth, I’m afraid. They settled the far north and don’t have the knowledge or equipment or experience yet to move further south. The British, on the other hand, took over quite the best spot on the planet, as far as I can see.”

Sheridan watched the colonel’s face from the corner of his eye, though he seemed to be entirely engrossed in rolling his cigar between his palms.

“It is interesting that you would think so, Mister Sheridan.” Kurt’s voice sounded tight, as if he was having trouble keeping it under control. “There are other plateaus on the planet, after all, but that is hardly the point. We Germans are not as delicate and effete as the British. We have taken on the challenge of the lowlands, and we have conquered, to the everlasting glory of our beloved Kaiser.”

Sheridan lit his cigar. “The challenge of the lowlands. That’s an excellent phrase; may I use it in my dispatches? I certainly will credit it to you.”

Kurt nodded. “You may have free use of it, Mister Sheridan, with my compliments. Anything which shines a light upon the excellence of Germany is ever at your service.”

Sheridan puffed thoughtfully as he eyed his host. “And anything which does not add to the glory of Germany is hidden away, I assume?”

Kurt looked down at the stocky American. “We are not the British, sir. We conduct all our business in the clear light of day. We do not hide things away, keep the knowledge of…certain actions from our friends. And enemies.”

“You are needlessly obscure, sir.” Sheridan’s dark eyes squinted to keep the smoke out. “Are you suggesting the British colonials have something to hide? You interest me indeed. Tell me more.”

Kurt turned to look out over the vast greenery below. “Look down there, sir,” he said, motioning with one hand. “Do you see the many villages belonging to the lizard-men of this planet?”

Sheridan looked below. The Rheingold was at that moment deep within the German territories, and he could see, in clearings here and there, many small villages. “I see them.”

“How many native villages did you see in the British territory?” Kurt asked. No doubt he hoped the American could not see that he was holding his breath in suspense, but to Sheridan it was more than obvious.

Sheridan’s dark eyes widened. “Well, now that you mention it, not many, not many at all.”

“And yet you see them scattered all about our own territories, do you not?” Kurt said, releasing his breath in a sigh.

“What’s your point?”

Kurt smiled at his shorter guest. “We Germans respect the lizard-men of Venus. We give them honest employment, we trade with them, we train them for honest labour, we study their culture. The British use them as little more than slaves. I am sure, when you spent time on the plateau, you saw many lizard-men used as servants, to pull the carriages, to plough the fields. You will not see such things in German colonies.”

Sheridan nodded enthusiastically. “You know, you’re correct. The Victoria plateau had really very few lizard-men villages. And I did see lizard-men pulling small carriages.” He puffed on his cigar to hide his smile. Did this German think him an idiot? Did the colonel truly believe he’d come to Venus without doing any reading or study of the place at all?

Of course there were few native villages on the plateau. The lizard-men lived in the lowlands; only a few were able to survive comfortably in the relatively cooler—very relatively, he thought wryly—higher regions. The few who did live on the plateau had been, in his consideration, gainfully employed and appeared quite content. Unlike, for instance, the few he’d been allowed to actually come in contact with in the German colonies thus far.

Sheridan wanted to know, more than anything, exactly where Kurt might be going with this.

“I’ll certainly put that in my next dispatch to New York,” he said. “My countrymen, as you know, do not take kindly to even the hint of slavery. The thought of these poor natives,” he waved his hand to take in two small villages they were at that moment flying over, “being enslaved by the British will not go well at home, I can tell you.”

10.

Somewhere on the Lower Escarpment

Nathanial Stone squatted down and poked a rather limp and spongy stick into the carcass of the dead lizard. The beast was as large as a cow and covered with spiny skin in a rainbow of colours. He rose to his feet and tossed the stick away, then headed for their nearby camp.

He pushed his way through the hanging fronds of vegetation, dodging a web woven by a tiny spider, sidestepping the plants he now knew were poisonous. He kept his gloves on at all times, and he was careful to make sure Annabelle did the same.

When he emerged from the brush, he paused for a moment and surveyed their small camp. A large tent he shared with Jericho. A slightly smaller one belonged to Annabelle, with another small one on the opposite side used by their guide. Forbes-Hamilton had insisted they bring Thymon as a servant; the lizard-man was finishing preparations for supper over a camp stove—they had tried to start a fire with the wet spongy wood but, thus far, had had little success. He wondered often how the lizard-men tribes managed it, for he had seen thin trails of smoke rising from the swamps below on more than one occasion. He made a mental note to ask O’Ryan.

Then he strode forward and collapsed into a small chair with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Nathanial, do stop complaining!” Annabelle Somerset folded her polishing rag and slid her tiny derringer into its holster, which lay on a small table between their chairs. “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying our trip, but you could at least pretend to be having a good time, after all the trouble dear Mister O’Ryan has gone to on our behalf.”

Nathanial sat back in his chair, and at once recalled why it was called collapsible, since it very nearly did. “Annabelle, I am not complaining! It was a sigh. However, I would like to inquire if you have had quite enough adventure and we can return to Fort David tomorrow. After all, we have been here nearly a week, and seen nothing but odd animals and the occasional balloon floating overhead. Mister Forbes-Hamilton has probably got the parts for the repair of the Aeronaut and I, for one, am ready for the trip back to Fort Collingwood. And surely Jericho is ready to return.”

Giles Jericho emerged from the dense jungle with his ruddy face wreathed in smiles. “I say, Stone, I had no idea the lower escarpment would be so fascinating! I am so glad you invited me along.” Though he was speaking to Nathanial, he was not looking at him.

Nathanial shifted carefully in the shaky chair. Blast Jericho and his ridiculous attention to Annabelle!

The small camp was really quite comfortable, he had to admit, with rubberised tents against the endless damp, and all the other comforts they had floated down the cliffs in a small balloon tethered nearby. Game was plentiful and some of the native fruits and vegetables were delicious.

They were perhaps a mile from the top of the Victoria plateau, on what was called the lower or second escarpment. The plateau settled by the British did not drop off cleanly on all sides, but instead had slopes where the cliffs had fallen away, to form lower, smaller plateaus which ringed the upper huge one, much like a necklace of pearls around a lovely woman’s neck. These lower escarpments gave easier access to the lowland swamps, while also adding a protective barrier in spots to the British settlements above.

Their guide, Simon O’Ryan, strolled up from the direction of the swamps below. The man had an uncanny ability to appear and disappear, which made Nathanial rather suspicious. Annabelle would not hear a word against the man. Nathanial suspected she was somewhat enamoured of the man.

“Now, then, what would the loveliest lady on Venus like to do after supper?” he asked, his white teeth blazing in his sun-darkened face.

Annabelle blushed. Nathanial would never have believed it possible, but he had seen it recently and more than once. He did not understand her attraction to the bounder, though to be honest, the man was certainly well-muscled and quite handsome, bursting with health and animal spirits…

Nathanial stood up, just managing not to knock his chair over backwards. “Well, I suggest that, after we’ve dined, we spend what’s left of the daylight getting packed up. Tomorrow morning would be an excellent time to head back to the plateau. What do you say, Jericho?”

Jericho nodded eagerly. “Absolutely, my dear chap. We’ve got enough time to make it back well about the time my governor should get his supplies, and we can be on hand to assist with the repairs. Miss Annabelle, have you seen enough of the lowlands?”

Annabelle pouted just a bit. “Well…I have seen the lower escarpment, and quite interesting it is. But Mister O’Ryan has been telling me about a curious and charming little native village, just half a day’s travel from here and in the actual boundary of the German settlements. Not to mention, it’s in the swamplands. You must admit, gentlemen, we can hardly return without engaging in a trip to the real, true Venus: the swamps. Why,” she said, looking soulful, her hands clasped to her bosom, “think of it. The romance, the excitement…”

“The stinking mud, the poison lizards, the giant reptiles.” Nathanial snorted. “Really, Annabelle, I think you must agree: I have been quite patient with you. We have wasted—” he stopped when she glared at him and continued in a more conciliatory tone, “—we have enjoyed a most interesting excursion. You have shot another lizard. I have eaten rather more of it than I feel is quite conducive to my health. Please, can we not get back to civilization before Mister Forbes-Hamilton leaves us all and heads back alone?”

Annabelle turned to O’Ryan. “Well, I suppose he’s right, Simon,” she said, though she was shaking her head as if she did not truly agree.

Simon? When did the man become “Simon” to Annabelle, Nathanial thought in some alarm.

O’Ryan nodded. “Certainly, certainly. No need to go further down. After all, it can be quite frightening for some, the true face of Venus.” He settled into a wicker chair, which creaked under his weight. “It’s been a pleasure and a delight, but all good things come to an end, do they not?”

“Well, I am glad you have seen reason at last!” Nathanial could not help but rub his hands together at the thought of a hot bath, a soft bed and rather less mud about his person.

Thymon appeared with a steaming pot in one hand. Annabelle moved her holster and he set it in the middle of the table. “Sssupper.”

“Ah, Thymon, my dear sir, this looks delicious,” Annabelle said.

Nathanial eyed the stew dubiously, but he had to admit, the lizard-man was a passable cook. He had learned, however, not to inquire too closely as to the ingredients he used.

After they had all eaten their fill, Thymon disappeared into the jungle, as was his nightly custom, to do the washing up in a nearby stream. He seldom reappeared until morning. Nathanial had no idea where the lizard-man slept.

Giles Jericho stretched his arms above his head. “Well, an early bed for me, especially if we’re heading back in the morning.”

O’Ryan slapped his forehead. “And here I was forgetting my surprise!”

“Surprise, Simon?” asked Annabelle, dimpling at him.

The guide rose and dashed to his tent, then came back with a bottle and four tiny glasses. He set the glasses down and poured them full of a ruby liquid.

“A toast,” he said, grinning at Annabelle, “to the most delightful trip I’ve taken since I arrived on Venus.”

Annabelle sniffed her glass, then sipped it. “Oh, this is delightful! What is it?”

“A brandy made from a kind of grape here on Venus,” Jericho said, tossing his own glass off.

Nathanial shrugged and tasted his. Not bad, to his surprise. He drank his down.

O’Ryan immediately refilled the glasses. “And to Professor Stone, brilliant designer!”

They drank.

“And to Venus.”

They drank again.

“And to new friends.”

Nathanial felt a bit of a tingle in his arms. “I say, this is rather potent.” He covered his glass with one hand. “No more for me, I think.”

O’Ryan shook his head. “Oh, no, sir. We cannot stop until we drink the health of our lovely companion here, and then our gracious queen.” He filled the glasses again; the bottle was nearly empty.

“Yes, Nathanial,” said Annabelle. He noticed her voice sounded a bit slurred.

Oh dear, he thought, blinking his eyes as he tried to clear away the veil which seemed to have covered them, Annabelle is tipsy. She’ll have a headache tomorrow.

Then she slumped down bonelessly in her chair, the empty glass falling from her hand. It hit the ground and broke cleanly in two.

Nathanial sat up in concern. Or at least, that was his intention. He found that he could barely move; his head was inexorably falling to his chest. Just before his eyes closed, he saw Jericho slide from his chair, a silly grin plastered on his face…

* * *

“Nathanial. Nathanial! Wake up!”

What in the world, Nathanial thought blearily, was Annabelle calling him so early? Surely it was the middle of the night? Why, it was still dark, wasn’t it? He opened his eyes.

Blazing sunlight cut into his vision like heated razors. He squinted and turned his head away.

“Nathanial!” Annabelle shook him. The movement made his head hurt.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t do that.”

“Nathanial Stone, will you please wake up?” The insufferable girl shook him again.

“All right!” he snapped angrily, raising an arm to push her away.

Or at least, he tried to raise an arm. Something seemed to be preventing him from doing so.

Nathanial opened his eyes again. What he had at first thought was brilliant sunlight subsided to the usual dull cloudiness and he looked around him. He seemed to be lying inside some sort of native hut, much like the ones he’d seen on the outskirts of Fort David. The walls were of close-set upright wooden poles set into the soft ground, and the roof was a loosely woven lattice with a round hole in the centre. He could just see a wide door to his left.

“What in the name of all creation is going on, Annabelle?” he said, struggling to sit up but failing.

“Keep still.” Annabelle stood up and tiptoed to the door, laid her ear against it and came back as quietly. She squatted down and leaned over him.

Her face was pale and dirty, and he was amazed to see—was that fear in her eyes?

“Annabelle,” he said, seriously concerned now. “I beg you. Tell me where we are.”

Annabelle ignored him as she pulled her skirt up over her knees and unbuttoned the top of her sturdy boot; he closed his eyes in embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t be so prim, Nathanial,” she said. “You can be as silly as a milk-fed miss.” She pulled out her small pocketknife and rebuttoned her boot, then turned towards Nathanial’s feet and began sawing away at something out of his view. He heard her curse softly under her breath; it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before she turned to face him.

“Now, that takes care of your feet.” Annabelle tried to look cheerful but failed. “Now just let me get those vines off your arms. Hold still now; my knife is rather sharp and I would truly hate to cut you.”

“Until this moment,” Nathanial said, keeping as still as he could, “I had nothing but concern about you carrying a pocketknife. Forgive me for my doubt.”

As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, the constricting feeling about his chest fell away.

“There, now,” Annabelle said in satisfaction. “Now, drink as much of this as you can.” She handed him a gourd that gurgled pleasantly. He tipped it up and sucked at the contents greedily, for he was enormously thirsty. It wasn’t water, but some thin green liquid which seemed to cut his thirst at once.

“Now, if you’re through guzzling, come and see if you can help me awaken Mister Jericho. Softly now! There are guards.” She moved carefully in the opposite direction to the door.

Nathanial rolled over, barely managing to stifle a groan. His head was pounding, his arms ached and his legs were numb. It took him some time before he was able to crawl in the direction Annabelle had gone.

As he moved towards her in a crawl, a bit of feeling returned to his legs, though his various aches and pains did not lessen. He managed to reach Annabelle at last. She was squatting beside a supine body, which he recognised as Jericho. Annabelle was busily engaged in sawing away the thick vines wrapped around his ankles.

Nathanial laid his ear against Jericho’s chest. “Alive, thank God!” he whispered.

“Well, of course he’s alive!” Annabelle had finally finished cutting the vines around Jericho’s boots and moved up to the ones that held his arms against his body. “Do you think I’d waste my time trying to free a dead man?”

Nathanial sat down with a thump. He would never grow used to Annabelle’s outspokenness!

He felt a bit helpless and still terribly weak, but he could do nothing but watch Annabelle as she finally got all the bonds off Jericho. The visible side of Jericho’s face was red and his eyelids gave a brief flutter, but he did not awaken.

“Help me, please, Nathanial,” Annabelle ordered. “While my knife is useful, it is rather small. My derringer is missing; we must look for weapons.”

“Whatever for?”

She turned and gave him the glare she saved for when she thought him particularly obtuse. Obtuse was precisely how he felt, his mind still foggy as if it had been drugged.

“Drugged!” he said in sudden enlightenment.

“Yes, of course we were,” Annabelle said flatly. “And if you hadn’t been quite so greedy, you’d have awakened before me and not frightened me by being so, so…still.” She sniffed as the last word ended in a quaver, a definite quaver, to Nathanial’s surprise. “But never mind that now. It’s a good thing I didn’t like that nasty brandy as much as I said I did, or we’d all be in the soup. Well, in hotter soup than we are now, at any rate.”

Jericho snorted and groaned. He began to shake his head, but stopped at once.

Nathanial understood. His own head felt as if it were stuffed with nails, all pointing outward.

“There, my dear fellow.” Annabelle leaned close to Jericho’s face. “Don’t move about for a while. I’m sure you have a bit of a headache. I know I did when I awoke.”

Nathanial was bursting to know more about their situation, but Annabelle ignored his increasingly impassioned whispers as she reached up and took another small gourd hanging on the wall by a braided cord. She tipped a few drops of the pale green liquid into Jericho’s slack mouth. He coughed and tried weakly to push the gourd away, but Annabelle, being Annabelle, persevered.

“Here,” she said, handing the gourd to Nathanial, “make sure he drinks the rest. It seems to help counteract the effects of the drug in the brandy.” She stood up and, as Nathanial clumsily poured the liquid into Jericho’s mouth, Annabelle began to examine their prison.

Jericho sputtered but drank down the potion. Finally, he was able to sit up.

“What the bloody hell?” His pale face went red. “Oh, sorry, Miss Somerset.”

She came to his side, squatted down and smiled grimly. “Pray, do not mention it. And, indeed, what the bloody hell is going on?”

Nathanial felt his heart sink. “You mean, you do not know either?”

Annabelle glared at him. “My dear Nathanial! Look about you.” She waved her hands. “It is obvious we are in a native hut. The door is locked; I tried it first thing upon awakening, at least directly after I had managed to get out of my bonds.”

“Good gad, you were tied up too? What bounder would do that to a lady?” Jericho said, a bit more strength in his voice than before.

Annabelle shrugged. “Well, they were rather loose. And really, there is only one choice of villain, is there not? Who gave us the drugged brandy?”

“O’Ryan,” Nathanial said.

“Actually, sirs and lady, the last name’s O’Rourke, though do continue to call me Simon, my dearest Annabelle,” said a cheerful voice.

Nathanial had been so engrossed in Annabelle’s story that he had not even heard the door on the opposite side of the hut open.

He turned to see the tall figure of their guide, his broad shoulders nearly filling the narrow doorway. He stalked inside, and behind him came two men with rifles.

“You will call me Miss Somerset in future, if you please, and I shall call you nothing but traitor!” Annabelle snapped.

He strolled towards them, the two men keeping close behind him, their guns raised threateningly.

“Now, Miss Somerset me darlin’,” their former guide said, grinning down at her. “We can still be friends, don’t you know. And you, at least, can still get out of all this alive. Your friends, I’m truly sorry to say, cannot.”

Nathanial rose to his feet. O’Rourke’s guards immediately pointed their weapons directly at him. “Now, see here, O’Ryan or O’Rourke or whatever your name is,” he began.

One of the guards took two steps forward, reversed his weapon in a short and highly trained manoeuvre, and raised the stock threateningly.

“Now, now, Hans, no need for that.” O’Rourke shook his head. “No need at all. Yet. Plenty of time. The zepp won’t be here for another couple of days, and we have to keep our guests healthy until then. Healthy and unmarked, mind you, and I’ll be thanking you to remember that.”

Annabelle stood up and moved to stand beside Nathanial. She took his arm and squeezed it gently, and he was surprised at how comforted it made him feel.

“Mister O’Rourke,” she began, then paused. “Sir, what exactly is this? Are we being held for ransom? For I can tell you now, I am an orphan and have no fortune. And Mister Stone and Mister Jericho work for Her Majesty’s government, so you can imagine they are hardly rolling in wealth either. So why don’t you simply take us back to Fort David, and we’ll all agree to say no more about it.”

O’Rourke threw his head back and laughed. “My dear lady, you have been reading far too many penny dreadfuls. Ransom indeed.” He bent over in raucous laughter.

Jericho had struggled to his feet and now joined them, on Annabelle’s other side.

“See here, you bounder, we are citizens of the British Empire!”

Jericho actually seemed to be trembling in righteous indignation, Nathanial saw in some surprise. Or perhaps it was fear; the good Lord knew Nathanial was frightened enough.

“And as citizens,” Jericho continued, seeming to get warmed up as he talked, “do not doubt that, if you harm us, our government here on Venus will search out and find you. This insult will not be ignored.”

O’Rourke had finished his fit of laughter and now stood, his hand on one hip near the revolver in its holster. The man was a good shot, Nathanial knew from experience, and he suddenly wished Jericho would hold his tongue.

“Well, now,” said O’Rourke in a soft yet oddly menacing tone, “is that a fact? They’ll call out the militia, will they, and hunt me down?” He shook his head. “I’m thinking that will not be, my fine sir. You’re not up on your safe Victoria plateau, now, you know. You’re not even on any of the escarpments. We’re deep in German territory, in the swamplands. Do you think your government,” he said, scorn dripping from his voice, “would risk sending anyone down here? And even if they did have the courage, how would they ever be able to find you? Do you know how big Venus is? Do you know how difficult it is to move through these swamps for someone not familiar with them? Why, not half a mile from here is a lake full of creatures the very sight of which would chill the bones from your body. And the natives! They’re not your tamed and broken tribes of the uplands. Some of these boyos would have your throats slashed and you cut up for the old cooking pot before you could blink. No, there’ll be no tracking down Simon O’Rourke. But you’ll be found, all right. Never fear about that. Sadly, when you are, none of you will be in any condition to tell tales on me. Good day.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the hut, his two guards backing out, their weapons trained on Nathanial and the others. At the door, they slipped out, one at a time.

The door shut. Nathanial could hear grunts and the sound of wood rasping against wood. They’d put a beam or some such across the door.

“Stone, my dear chap,” said Jericho, “what do you think he plans to do with us?”

“He plans to murder us, of course,” Annabelle said briskly. “Now, we need to find some way to keep that from happening. Let’s see if we can find anything to make a weapon from in this hut, shall we?”

11.

Aboard the Zeppelin Rheingold

Joseph Sheridan sat at the small table in his luxurious suite aboard the Rheingold. He was busily scribbling in his notebook in his self-designed code.

Germans up to something. Kurt too solicitous of my comfort while never parting with any meaningful information. Yesterday we did nothing but cruise around aimlessly, setting down only once to refuel at one of their many zepp terminals. No contact with natives allowed, even after I’ve insisted. I suspect Ku—

A sharp knock at the door stopped Sheridan’s pen in mid-word, and an inkblot immediately began spreading through the slightly damp paper.

“Yes?” he called as he blotted it with his stained handkerchief.

“Herr Sheridan, Herr Oberst Kurt’s compliments and he requests you attend him on the bridge,” said a voice.

“I’ll be there shortly,” Sheridan said as he tucked his notebook into its special pocket in his briefcase.

“Your pardon, sir, he is most insistent that you come now,” said the voice apologetically.

“Coming, coming.” Sheridan opened the door and nodded at the young steward.

The man—not much more than a boy, actually—looked relieved. “Danke schön! Danke! I will take you to the Herr Oberst!”

“No need,” said Sheridan, patting the thin boy on the arm. “I know how to get there.”

The boy shook his head, his pale, slightly protruding eyes wide. “Oh, no, Herr Sheridan. The Oberst said I was to accompany you. Come, bitte, follow me, if you please.”

Sheridan fell in behind the boy, who was literally trembling with something. Excitement? Fear? Distress? He couldn’t tell, but he was leaning more towards fear.

Herr Oberst Hans Kurt was an intimidating man. Even he had felt the threat emanating from the man. But he was here to do a job, and Sheridan always accomplished what he set out to do.

He followed the boy, who was dressed in snowy white shirt and shorts, up ladder ways and down corridors until they emerged into the shaded light of Venus on the top deck. Up another short ladder and they were outside the bridge.

Above them, the massive cigar-shaped hydrogen-filled balloon reached out in glorious curves, its enormous shadow keeping the entire gondola in the shade. The lines and ropes that attached the gondola to the balloon stretched and swooped and intertwined like giant spider webs. On the deck, everything that could be polished was.

Sheridan stood behind the steward as the boy stepped onto the bridge and announced, “Herr Sheridan, as you requested, Herr Oberst!”

Then the boy, well, all Sheridan could call it was “scuttled.” He dashed away as if all the hounds of hell were after him.

Or at least, one hound, though the location it had grown in was not in doubt.

Herr Oberst Hans Kurt turned away from the wide curving window that wrapped around three sides of the bridge. He nodded at the new arrival and beckoned him forward.

Sheridan walked slowly towards Kurt, eyeing everything he passed while trying not to look as if he were doing so.

“Good morning, Mister Sheridan.” Kurt snapped his heels together shortly.

Sheridan took in the man’s crisp uniform and gleaming boots and felt both grubby and badly dressed. Of course, he’d already realised that was precisely how Kurt wanted him to feel, so he dismissed it and took a place beside his host.

Below stretched endless miles of green, broken here and there with a silvery lake or thread of azure river. Just coming up even with the shadow of the zeppelin, in a grassy clearing, Sheridan could see a tiny village, no more than a double ring of a dozen huts each. Directly in the centre of the innermost circle of huts was an odd pile of glittering rocks heaped as high as a tall man’s head. Beyond the village, perhaps half a mile away, was an outcropping of bare tumbled rock, all of it a dark bronze colour and most unusual; Sheridan had seen nothing to compare with it in all his journeying about Venus, neither on the English plateau settlements, the Italian pole settlements, nor any of the German forts.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the rock outcropping.

“You might better ask, sir, what is that?” replied Kurt, motioning towards the glittering rock pile in the centre of the small village.

The captain of the zeppelin said quietly into a speaking horn, “Reduce engines.”

Sheridan looked at the tiny village, now almost directly below the vast balloon. He could not recall ever seeing a lizard-man town set up in concentric circles. Generally, they were more along the lines of a haphazard cluster of homes surrounded, often enough, by herds of the sluggish lizards the inhabitants bred for food.

“I see the village,” Sheridan said. “Rather unusual set up, is it not?” Something extraordinary was happening. He felt it with all the senses he’d honed over the years as a secret agent. He would like to have had his notebook, though he knew his memory was good enough to reproduce anything he saw or heard. What he really wished for at this minute, desperately, was his Kodak camera. It was a brilliant new invention by his countryman, George Eastman; the Kodak had just come on the market right before he’d left Earth on this expedition, and he had insisted to his superiors that he must have one.

But his Kodak was down below in his cabin. He was quite sure that Kurt was not going to allow him to fetch it.

“It is not a village proper, Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt smoothly. “It is instead a living place for the miners of varenien. That outcropping you see in the distance? It is the largest varenien deposit we have found on Venus thus far.”

Sheridan tried to keep his expression neutral, even bored, as he stepped closer to the window and gazed below. Inside, however, he was boiling in excitement.

Varenien! The most valuable substance in the System thus far found, used in the construction of the most powerful explosives! Now Sheridan was interested. If the Germans controlled such a huge amount of varenien, they would be able to manufacture bombs and explosives which could, conceivably, give them the power to win any war, any place, any time. Even the pile below in the village centre—if it was indeed varenien ore—would be enough to make a hundred bombs of incredible power.

Now he was curious, intensely curious. Why was Kurt showing him something so important, so potentially shattering?

“Varenien?” Sheridan hoped he sounded casual, uninterested, uninformed, but he was afraid—suddenly, he was very much afraid—that Kurt saw right through his act. “Sounds vaguely familiar. Something…scientific, I seem to recall? But you must remember, sir; I’m merely a simple newspaper man.”

Kurt joined him at the window. “Varenien is an elemental substance used by scientists, yes; we Germans have found a substantial supply here on Venus. It occurs in minute amounts on the other planets, I understand, but appears to be rather common on this one. At least, it is common in the swamplands. I do not believe it can be found at the poles or on the various plateaus. I am, as you say, no scientist, but that is what I have been told.”

“Is it valuable?”

“Immensely valuable, Mister Sheridan. And naturally, the…other Powers on Venus are interested in acquiring their own supplies.”

Naturally, thought Sheridan, raising an eyebrow; so would any country, any colony in the System.

Sheridan yawned. “Fascinating. I must remember to study up on it before I send my reports back to the paper. The Tribune will be most interested, as they always are in any new exports from Venus or the other colonies. I suppose your people set up the mining village below, and that’s why it’s so different from the common native village?”

Kurt shrugged. “Sadly, we have discovered that the mining of the raw ore must be done by the lizard-men. They seem to have some sort of inborn immunity to the dangerous dust raised by the mining process. Our own people become quite ill after only a short exposure to this dust—a serious respiratory reaction which can result in death after only a few days.”

Sheridan didn’t want to know how this was discovered. He could just picture poor German colonists coughing their lungs out in the heavy, dense air of Venus. He shuddered.

“Yes, it is tragic,” Kurt said, noting his reaction. “But the lizard-men, as I have said, have immunity. We are taking advantage of that fact.”

I’ll just bet you are. Sheridan turned away from the window. “Well, that’s interesting, Herr Oberst, really interesting,” he said in a voice he tried to make sound as bored as possible. “I’m sure my bosses will be glad to know these things.” Oh, how glad they’d be! “Might we visit the mining camp, or would it be dangerous? I have no wish,” he laughed softly, “to get sick myself. The Tribune doesn’t pay me that well. But it would be interesting to see, I’m sure.”

“Of course, Mister Sheridan. I thought you might be curious, and I have already checked with several of our scientists before we left on our little voyage. A brief visit, not more than a couple of hours, will have no effect on us whatever.”

“May I take my Kodak?” Sheridan asked, holding his breath, for he never suspected Kurt to allow any such thing.

Kurt surprised him.

“Naturally. You have perfect freedom to report anything and everything you see, sir; such were my orders from my superiors.” Kurt pulled an immense gold pocket watch from his jacket. “It is nearly luncheon time, and the days are short here so near the equator. The captain has told me you’ve requested to send a heliogram this afternoon, and he shall have to take his ship quite high into the atmosphere for that purpose, I understand. Shall we plan a visit to the Kaiser Mining Works tomorrow morning after breakfast?”

12.

Trapped!

Nathanial braced himself, his back against the hut’s wall, his eyes tightly shut. He had never realised how thick and rough the soles of Annabelle’s boots were until they were pressed, hard, into the tops of his shoulders, one boot on either side and uncomfortably close to his neck.

“Can you move just a bit to the left, Nathanial?” she asked from far above his head.

Nathanial, one hand on either boot, shuffled carefully to the left about a foot.

“Sorry,” Annabelle said, sounding most irritatingly cheerful. “I meant my left.”

Nathanial sighed and shuffled, as far as he could judge, twice the distance he’d moved but in the opposite direction.

“Ah, just there.” Annabelle rose up on her toes and Nathanial was barely able to stifle a gasp of pain.

“All right, old man?” Jericho danced around anxiously in front of him, his hands raised. “Sorry I’m not taller. I’d be happy to take a turn.”

“I am…sorry…you are…not …too,” Nathanial grunted, his hand locked around Annabelle’s ankles.

They were—well, Annabelle was trying to see outside the hut where they were imprisoned. There was a four-inch gap all around the top of the hut, which provided her a narrow view in all directions.

“It seems to be deserted,” she reported. “Now, at least. That small airship I saw in the distance on that high rocky hill has gone. I wonder what it was here for? What a pity we were unable to signal it!”

Nathanial sneezed.

“Sorry,” she called down. “I’m sure my skirts are quite dusty.”

“You see no one, no one at all?” asked Jericho, sounding panicky, to Nathanial’s concern. He could hardly deal with an exuberant and combative Annabelle as well as a panicked Jericho.

“You don’t think that bounder O’Ryan or O’Rourke or whatever his bloody name is—excuse my French, Miss Somerset—has simply left us all here to die, do you?” Jericho’s voice quavered. “To starve, or perhaps to die of thirst? Why, we’ll be fighting like rats for the last scraps of food! We’ll be battering ourselves senseless against these massive wooden walls! We’ll be driven mad by hunger! Cannibalism! Torment! A grisly death!”

“Mister Jericho, get hold of yourself!” Annabelle ordered. “You have read far too many penny dreadfuls. I regret lending you my own favourite issues, I do indeed. Now, as we have quite encircled our hut, I would appreciate some assistance in getting down, preferably without embarrassing Nathanial any more than is quite unavoidable.”

“You are a model of bravery, Miss Somerset,” Jericho said stoutly, breathing in deeply as he quite clearly tried to calm himself. “Especially for a lady. I shall take you as my example and strive to be as brave as you.”

“I would…prefer,” Nathanial managed to gasp, opening one eye the merest crack, “that you would take her confounded weight off my shoulders, Jericho, if that would be at all possible.”

Jericho hurried forward and Nathanial could see through his squinted eyes, the man had his arms out.

“Ready, Miss Somerset,” Jericho said.

Suddenly, the weight on Nathanial’s shoulders was gone and, at the same time, he saw Annabelle land lightly in Jericho’s arms, her skirts aflutter. He set her down carefully.

“Well, now, I’m glad that’s over,” Annabelle said as she took out a grubby handkerchief and dusted her hands. “And I’m sure you’re even more glad, Nathanial my dear. It’s your own fault,” she grinned up at him. “You are so delightfully tall.” Then her smile disappeared. “Of course, dear Thymon is even taller. I just hope that monster didn’t murder him.”

“I fear you do not seem to be taking our situation seriously at all, Annabelle,” he said, as severely as he could manage. “If only your uncle had insisted you stay safely on Earth, where I indeed wished to leave you, you would not be stuck here with us now, in danger of our lives.”

“What you really mean is, if only I had not insisted on visiting the escarpment and accepting O’Rourke as a guide, none of us would be here, isn’t that correct, Nathanial?” Annabelle put her hands on her hips and stepped closer to him.

“Here now, here now,” Jericho bleated. “We must all hang together, don’t you know. Time for blame and recriminations later, once we’re out of here.”

Annabelle threw her head back and laughed. “Mister Jericho! What about your fears of cannibalism? Where are they now?”

Jericho looked somewhat sheepish. “Well, now, that was just a bit of panic talking. But I really should like to know what we’re going to do. After all, with only your penknife, we can hardly dig our way out or fight off—”

At that instant, they heard a rough scraping sound—a creaking with which they were most familiar, the sound of the bar at the door being moved.

At once, as if they’d planned it, they lined up facing the opening, Annabelle in the middle and slightly behind the two men.

The door opened slowly, creaking like the door of a tomb. Nathanial waved the uneasy thought away as he stood up straighter. He only wished he felt braver.

Simon O’Rourke stood in the doorway, his sturdy body limned in the dusky light behind him.

“Well, now, and how are my guests today? Ready to get out of these charming accommodations and stretch your legs a bit, I’m thinking? All in good time, my friends, all in good time. But until then, I’m sure you’d like to have a bit of a wash and brush-up, and a nice bit of luncheon. I’ve got quite a good bottle or two of wine here,” he winked roguishly, “guaranteed to be nothing but wine, I do assure you.”

The Irishman came into the room, followed at once by the same two burly men as before, both with rifles in hand and each with revolvers at their waists. They stepped smartly to either side of the door and stood at a sort of relaxed attention, not seeming to look at any one thing in particular but to be taking in the entire room with their roving glance. One was fair, with pale grey eyes; the other was darker, with black hair and a long scar down one cheek that had barely missed his left eye. Neither spoke, but both emanated a palpable sense of menace.

Nathanial looked at one, looked at the other, and recognised the cold ruthlessness that dwelt within both men. They didn’t speak; they simply stared.

Next, a pair of lizard-men entered the hut, both of whom looked, as far at Nathanial could tell from their alien aspects, as frightened as he felt. The one on O’Rourke’s left had several baskets, with the most glorious and delicious odours emanating from them. Nathanial’s mouth began to water as the lizard-man set the baskets down and then took a cloth, woven of rough native fibres, and spread it on the floor. He moved the baskets to the middle of it, then turned and scuttled out of the door as if he were being chased.

The other lizard-man crept forward, his head hanging down low as if he did not dare meet anyone’s eyes; he was burdened with two large wooden buckets, apparently quite heavy, hanging from a sort of yoke over his shoulders. He squatted and set them both down, then turned and followed his partner out.

“Nice hot water,” said O’Rourke, waving a negligent hand towards the buckets, both of which were steaming gently. “A good meal. Do clean yourselves up a bit after you’ve eaten. You’ll find some fresh clothes in that bundle there, which I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

“Mister O’Rourke.” Annabelle stepped forward, and Nathanial could not help but put a restraining hand on her arm. She shook it off as if it were a pesky fly and continued, “I insist you tell us at once exactly how we got here, where we are and, most of all, why you’ve brought us here!”

“Insist, is it?” O’Rourke crossed his arms and smiled down at Annabelle. “I’m thinking you’re in no position to insist anything. But just so you won’t have any problems with your appetite, I’ll answer some of your questions. As to how, I brought you here in the same balloon we brought down from the plateau. Where? We’re deep in German territory, so don’t go thinking you could get back by yourselves, even if you did manage to get out of this hut. The why, now, I think will wait a bit. Enjoy your meal—especially you, Mister Jericho, me poor starvin’ boyo—and when I return, I will share a bit more as to the why.”

Before any of them could say another word, O’Rourke pivoted on his heel and was gone, the two bully boys following and the door shutting behind them.

They could all hear the heavy bar slam home.

Jericho rubbed his hands together. “Well, at least we shan’t starve,” he said as he began unpacking the baskets.

Nathanial was as ravenous as the others, and they all fell on the food as if—again, he shook away the uncomfortable image—it was their last meal. Some of the food was recognisable as part of their own supplies brought down from Fort David, some was native food wrapped in slick green leaves, and some was unfamiliar to all of them, but every morsel and crumb of it disappeared into three hungry mouths.

“Ah,” Annabelle said, sitting back. She eyed the two bottles of wine. “Do we dare trust O’Rourke? And even if we do take him at his word that the wine is not drugged, should we risk impairing our abilities when we make our escape? I’m perfectly happy with water, if you think it best, Nathanial.”

Nathanial picked up one of the bottles and examined the neck. “No,” he decided, “I do not think O’Rourke drugged this wine. The seal seems untouched. I think we all need a glass, even if it is Dutch courage.” He looked in the bottom of both baskets and his heart sank. “Naturally, our captor did not dare risk leaving us a corkscrew.”

“Here, let me see it,” said Annabelle, hiking up her skirt—Nathanial hastily closed his eyes—and removing her small knife from the top of her boot. “You may look now, Nathanial,” she said cheerfully, “I’m decent.”

Nathanial opened his eyes, to see Giles Jericho gazing in abject admiration as Annabelle gouged the cork from the bottle.

“Really, old man, have you no respect for a lady?” Nathanial snapped.

Jericho didn’t even glance his way. “I have all the respect in the world for Miss Somerset,” he breathed.

The cork came free and Annabelle said, “Since we have not been provided with wineglasses, forgive me.” She upturned the bottle and took several healthy swallows, then handed it to Jericho. “Ah,” she sighed. “Excellent decision, Nathanial. If only it were a better vintage. But I suppose O’Rourke didn’t wish to waste any good wine on those he intends to murder.”

Jericho choked on the wine and wiped his mouth. “Murder, Miss Somerset? Surely not! Even that bloody bounder would not dare to do such a thing. Why, we are British citizens! I am employed by Her Majesty’s government!”

“Oh, I think he would,” said Annabelle calmly. “Though I cannot for the life of me figure out why. But I, for one, shan’t go down without fighting. And considering our situation, do you think you might so far forget proprieties and call me Annabelle…dear Giles?”

Nathanial shook his head at Jericho’s reaction. Good gad, the fool looked as if Annabelle had knighted him and offered him a thousand pounds at the same time. How did she always manage to keep every single man of her acquaintance so, so…off balance?

“Now, drink some wine, Nathanial, and,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “let’s make some plans. O’Rourke had brought us some clean clothes. Obviously he has some reason behind feeding us and allowing us to clean up a bit.” She looked down ruefully at her filthy skirt and torn shirt. “He wishes us to look, shall we say, unkidnapped, perhaps?”

“Ah, I see.” Nathanial took another drink of wine then nodded. “Excellently reasoned, Annabelle!”

“I have a mind, you know, Nathanial, for all that I’m only a woman,” she said severely.

“A most amazing woman…Annabelle,” Jericho put in, in a sort of bleating sigh.

“Yes, yes,” Nathanial went on hurriedly, “so since O’Rourke wishes us to look our best, shall we say, he obviously has plans on someone seeing us.”

“Or our bodies, of course,” Annabelle pointed out calmly.

“Please, my dear girl!” Nathanial said. “Perhaps he will take us back up in the small balloon which brought us here and show us to our compatriots when asking for a ransom, simply to prove we are indeed still alive and well.”

“Or perhaps,” Jericho said hesitantly, “he intends to offer us to the Germans. That small airship Miss—Annabelle saw earlier setting down near here must belong to the bloody old Kaiser’s men. I do not doubt they’d pay a pretty penny for the inventor of the aether propeller governor.”

“Co-inventor,” Annabelle said absently.

“Regardless,” Nathanial said, barely managing not to snap, “we shall soon be seen by someone. If we were assured that this ‘someone’ would be our fellows from the plateau, I would say let us simply follow O’Rourke’s directions and be done with it.”

“But you don’t trust him, do you?” Annabelle shook her head. “Of course, neither do I. As Giles has so cleverly pointed out, we shall doubtless be offered to the Germans. And I do not wish to be offered to anyone. I would greatly prefer to escape, capture O’Rourke, and take him back to Fort Collingwood, where he would be cast into the worst conceivable prison forever. That, at least, would be my preference. What a pity he didn’t bring dear Thymon with us. I’m so worried about the poor fellow, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” said Nathanial, “since he was probably in league with our captor from the beginning.”

“You are wrong about him,” Annabelle snapped, “and you will apologise this instant!”

“Very well, very well!” Nathanial threw his arms up. “I hope Thymon was not murdered; there, will that satisfy you? And while I agree wholeheartedly with your bellicose sentiments, I do not exactly see how we can manage to capture O’Rourke, armed as we are with only a small pocketknife.”

Annabelle’s glare lessened as she seized the empty wine bottle and stood up. She walked to the back of the hut, wrapped her skirt around the bottle and hit it sharply against one of the logs which made up the wall. The tinkle of broken glass was muffled by the fabric.

“There now,” said Annabelle when she returned. She handed the jagged neck of the bottle to Nathanial. “Let’s finish the other bottle so you’ll have a weapon too, Giles. And while you two are working on that, I’m opening these other packages. Clean clothes! If you will both kindly turn your backs, I’m going to have a wash up.”

13.

High in the Clouds of Venus

Sheridan handed his message to the Rheingold’s heliograph operator, who took the stack of pages with a blank politeness which barely hid his dismay at so very long a message.

“Sorry,” Sheridan said. He causally dropped a few coins on the desk beside the fair-haired young man, who at once looked more cheerful. “It’s rather long, I admit. Hope you won’t be at it all night or anything.”

“No problem, Herr Sheridan,” said the operator as he glanced through the pages. “It will take me some time, however. I shall inform the captain we must stay aloft for perhaps…” he glanced at a chronometer hanging on the wall of the tiny heliograph cabin, “…perhaps two hours. If you will return to the lounge, please, I will let you know when I am done.”

Sheridan strolled back towards the lounge. He would have liked to watch the boy transmit his message, but he knew that Kurt would not allow it. He also knew it wouldn’t take nearly two hours to transmit even twice as long a message as he had requested to send.

No doubt Kurt wanted to read it first. Good luck to him, he thought in satisfaction. The code he’d worked out before he left Earth would not be easy to break. The message looked like a simple report of the things he’d seen and done over the last week or so, and in it he praised the German settlements lavishly.

Actually, once decoded, the message held inside it some bits of information Sheridan was sure his superiors would find interesting, including:

Germans state they have found vast supply of varenien, though information unproven. Lizard-men held in slavery in German territories. Major posts and airships heavily armed. Suspect plans for acquisition of entire planet.

Yes, thought Sheridan, I’m sure they’re going to eat up that information back home. He lit a cigar as he entered the saloon lounge and hid a smile when he noticed Kurt was not there.

Tomorrow was shaping up to be an interesting day. Varenien or not, he was going to set down in a lizard-man village controlled by the Germans for the first time.

He settled into a comfortable armchair and took out his notebook.

14.

Early Morning

Nathanial had taken the last watch. He could hear the distant roars and cackles and squeals which he’d become familiar with in their days in the hut. The jungle around them was beginning to awaken to a new day.

Annabelle and Jericho were both asleep on either side of the cloth on which they’d dined last evening. Nathanial felt a bit silly holding the broken bottle neck, but it also gave him a bit of reassurance; at least he would be able to strike some sort of blow if needs must. He’d been concerned that O’Rourke would come back and simply take the improvised weapons away, perhaps holding them all at gunpoint to do so, but the Irishman had not reappeared.

After Annabelle was done, he and Jericho had washed as best they could in the now-lukewarm water and each had dressed in the new clothing. The choice of attire had surprised them all. While Annabelle had simply been given some of her own things they’d brought with them, the men’s clothing consisted of British army uniforms, complete with Sam Browne belts and tropical pith helmets.

Nathanial was suspicious and considered keeping his own clothing on, ragged and filthy as it was. He could not force himself to do so, however, and now wore the uniform of a captain in the infantry, while Jericho wore that of a lieutenant. Both uniforms fit surprisingly—suspiciously—well.

Suddenly a sharp sound rang out, startling the flying lizards in the surrounding brush. Only one thing made a sound like that: it was rifle fire.

Annabelle sat up, instantly alert. “Nathanial,” she whispered, “was that a gun shot?”

Jericho stirred and said sleepily, “Tea and toast, please,” then began to snore.

“Yes,” Nathanial said grimly. “It was.”

The single shot was not some anomaly. In a few moments, more shots rang out, a hideous fusillade echoing through the small encampment. Harsh squeals, some low pitched, many much higher, began to be heard in counterpoint to the rifle fire.

Jericho sat up, his eyes bleared with sleep and fear. “What in the name of all that is holy?”

Annabelle had her ear against the door. “I hear marching feet, and dying men.” She drew back, her face pale. “Dying lizard-men, I think.”

More shots rang out, seeming to go in a circle around their hut.

Then, as suddenly as the noise had begun, it was gone.

Silence, utter and complete. Somehow, to Nathanial, this was even more frightening than the previous uproar.

Annabelle trotted towards him, her small knife already in her hand. “I suggest we arm ourselves,” she said quietly.

“How in God’s name can you sound so calm?” Nathanial asked, taking his broken bottle—which now seemed worse than ridiculous—in a hand he could not help but notice was shaking as if he had an ague.

“Listen!” she hissed.

They listened as the silence was broken. Nathanial could hear the steady tread of marching feet approaching their hut. He held his breath as the sound grew closer, closer…then passed them by.

Jericho said, his voice quavering, “What do you think they plan to do with us?”

“I think we shall find out very soon,” Annabelle said. “Take your places, please, as we planned.”

Jericho at once ran to stand in the spot, which would be behind the door when it opened. Annabelle hurriedly wrapped the coarse cloth up into a bundle, tucked it against the wall and set Jericho’s pith helmet at one end.

Nathanial had to admit; in the dim light of the hut, it very nearly resembled someone sleeping.

He and Annabelle stood, side by side as they had done the day before, facing the door. Nathanial could hear harsh breathing, then realised it was his own. He took a deep breath and tried to quiet his heart, which was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.

Outside, the screams and howls, the marching feet, all were gone as if they’d never existed. Again, silence reigned supreme. Even the jungle noises were absent.

Had they been left alone after all, to die of thirst or starvation?

No.

The familiar squeak clunk of the bar being removed outside. The door opened.

Simon O’Rourke stepped inside, a revolver at his waist, a rifle slung over his shoulder, his white teeth showing in a feral grin.

“Now,” Nathanial heard Annabelle whisper.

Jericho bounded from behind the door, the jagged bottle neck upraised in one hand, his eyes blazing. He slashed at O’Rourke’s face, just missing an eye. Blood spurted out in a ruby stream and fell in bright drops onto the dusty floor. Jericho stopped, looking aghast at what he had done.

Calmly, as if he were attacked every day, O’Rourke slapped the glass from Jericho’s hand. Then he calmly drew his revolver and slammed it against his attacker’s head. Jericho crumpled to the floor, blood gushing from his forehead.

“No!” shouted Annabelle. She rushed forward and threw herself in front of the fallen man. “Don’t you dare!”

O’Rourke burst into laughter, though the hand holding his revolver was rock steady. “The pup bites, now, does he?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his face, and still the revolver pointed at Annabelle’s breast.

Nathanial was terrified, but he started forward.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Mister Stone.” O’Rourke’s voice was cheerful, but the warning was there. “No use meeting your Maker before you have to, is there? Now, Miss Annabelle, I do not wish to shoot you. Not you. Will you and your brave cohort move towards Stone, please?” He motioned with the hand which still held the blood-stained handkerchief.

Annabelle helped the dazed Jericho to stand and they backed carefully towards Nathanial.

When the three stood together, O’Rourke continued, “Now, that’s better.” He tucked his handkerchief away. “So. I promised you information, and information you shall have. Much good it may do you, but I have been known to keep my word.” He was careful to keep his gun pointed in their direction as he stepped a bit closer to the open door at his back. “At least, from time to time. This little masquerade here, both your uniforms and all that. There’s a German zeppelin on its way here, with an American newspaperman onboard. And what are they going to find when they arrive, you ask? Why, a village full of dead skinks, heinously murdered, some abandoned British gear about, including the weapons which killed the lizards…and two dead British officers.”

Annabelle gasped and seized Nathanial’s hand.

“And what will this newspaperman think, I’m wondering?” O’Rourke laughed, but his gun hand was steady, steady. “Why, he’ll think the bloody British have come armed into a peaceful skink village—a peaceful skink village in the German territories, mind you—massacred them all, and unfortunately died themselves in the process. Do you know what that ridge in the distance is, the one Miss Annabelle described so well after her recce around the hut? It’s a varenien outcrop.”

Now it was Nathanial’s turn to gasp.

“Oh, aye, you know what I’m saying now, do you not, Mister Stone? This newspaper man’s reports back to Earth, of the vicious British murdering innocent skinks for their precious varenien, why, it’ll upset the entire planet.”

Jericho spluttered, “No one would believe you! But, but…if they did, this could start a war, damn you!”

O’Rourke nodded gleefully. “Indeed it could, and will, if I have any luck at all.” He slid his revolver into its holster and, almost with the same smooth motion, unslung his rifle. “This is an Enfield, as you can see,” he said conversationally as he loaded a round in the chamber. “My employers have left nothing to chance. Even the bullets the Germans dig from your bodies, as well as all the bodies of the poor dead skinks, will be British made. After you are both dead, I shall lay you out as if you turned on each other in your greed.”

“You can’t mean to murder Miss Somerset,” Nathanial said, and cursed the tremble in his voice.

“Now that’s a very interesting point, me boyo.” O’Rourke took a further step inside, no doubt so as to get a better angle on his first shot. “I would dearly hate to harm such a lovely lady, I would indeed. Me dear old mother would turn in her grave at the very thought. So, Miss Somerset, I will offer you a choice. I will take you with me, to the German territories, as me darling bride.” He raised his rifle and aimed it at Jericho’s heart. “Of course, I’ll have to do something to keep you silent, but you won’t need a tongue in your head, not for what I have planned. Still, eternal silence is better than eternal death, I’m thinkin’. Decide quickly, me girl, for there’s not much time.”

Nathanial said, “Do it, Annabelle! You have no choice!”

To his amazement, Annabelle turned and glared at him. “Do you think me less brave than an Englishman, Mister Stone?” she asked, her voice cold.

“Now that’s the lovely I shall clasp to my bosom,” O’Rourke cackled as he lowered his rifle.

Annabelle stepped forward and faced O’Rourke calmly. “You, sir, are a cad and a bounder, and I would prefer to die with my friends than to have you touch my little finger.”

O’Rourke stepped back to the very centre of the open door, his tall sturdy body outlined with light as if he were indeed the Angel of Death. He shrugged. “Well, never say Simon O’Rourke didn’t give you a choice, my lovely. I’ve sent all my men away, for this is a job I shall enjoy doing all myself.”

He raised his rifle and pointed it directly in Annabelle’s face.

15.

After Breakfast on the Rheingold

“Are you quite sure you’ve finished, Mister Sheridan?” Kurt asked solicitously. “Another cup of coffee, perhaps? More toast?”

Sheridan threw down his napkin, trying to hide his excitement. “I am quite satisfied, I thank you.” He patted the small brown camera beside his plate. “And I have all my gear, notebooks, pencils, everything. I am ready when you are.”

Kurt rose, a steward leaping out to pull his chair away. He pulled his pocket watch out and snapped it open. “Excellent timing; it has just gone ten. Let us descend to the mining camp. Remember, it is to be a flying trip; we do not dare stay too long, for fear of damage. We should be back in time for a late luncheon.”

Sheridan followed his host out of the Rheingold’s lounge and onto the deck. Even in the short time since they’d sat down to breakfast, the zeppelin had dropped quite near the ground. It currently hovered, he could see, very near the heaped outcropping of bare rock, mingled grey and brown, so strange for such a verdant planet.

“If you will follow me?” Kurt led Sheridan to the port side, where several crewmembers were belaying grappling hooks at the ends of long lines.

The men, Sheridan could see, were excellent at their work, well practiced and precise. One caught a convenient tree, but the hook pulled through the branches and broke free. Before the leathery leaves fell quite away, however, the other hook grabbed a heavier branch and the hook held tight.

A third crewman buckled himself into a harness and slid down the rope. He made several ropes fast below, and as Sheridan watched in interest, a sort of small cage, made of sturdy yet slender wood and webbing and big enough for three or four men to stand in comfortably, was pulled out to the edge of the deck and securely fastened to a rope webbing.

“Shall we descend, Mister Sheridan?” asked Kurt politely.

Sheridan had ridden in such contraptions before, but he thought it politic to look a little concerned. “Are you sure it is quite safe? It appears somewhat…forgive me, but flimsy.”

Kurt strode across the deck and climbed with agility into the cage. “It is as safe as can be, sir,” he called cheerfully. “Would you like to hand me your camera apparatus and pack, so that you might have both your hands free?”

Sheridan handed his gear over and carefully climbed in.

In another instant, the cage was sliding down the ropes to the ground below.

“Aren’t we going…rather fast?” Sheridan asked, continuing to appear uneasy. Before the last word was even out of his mouth, the little cage sat down lightly on a bit of flat ground some distance from the rocky outcropping.

Sheridan let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. “Ah, that was… quite exhilarating, to be honest, Herr Oberst,” he said gaily. He watched as the cage ascended on its series of pulleys, then shot back down; three well-armed crewmen stepped out.

The cage ascended for the third time, and one of the crewmen detached the original hooks; the heavy cables anchoring the Rheingold were hauled up.

“Is that…quite safe?” Sheridan asked. “Won’t the wind blow the airship away from us or some such?”

“The usual security procedure, that is all. The zeppelin will hover here until we return, keeping close to the ground so as not to miss our signal. But not too close.” Kurt motioned towards the village, perhaps half a mile away. “Come, Mister Sheridan. It appears to be an easy walk, sir. A pleasing constitutional. Just what we need after breakfast.”

Sheridan reached to take his gear, but Kurt handed it to a crewman.

“I’ll just take my camera,” Sheridan said. When he had it safely in hand, he said, “Well, sir, I am in your hands.”

16.

Frying Pan and Fire

Annabelle felt her heart pounding within her like a drum. She gazed into the barrel of the rifle and held her breath. Even in her days as captive of the Chiricahua, she had never faced danger like this. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her breathing, then offered up a brief prayer and squeezed Jericho’s hand—icy cold—and dropped it.

Simon O’Rourke shook his head. “What a pity, to lose such bravery and such loveliness,” he said sadly. “But no one lives forever. Goodbye, Miss Somerset.”

Annabelle tried, but she could not help it; she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She could not bear to see her own death racing towards her. She held her breath.

She heard an odd clunk, solid, as if a rock had fallen onto a log, followed by a clatter.

Wait a minute! That was not the sound of a rifle.

She opened her eyes.

The Irishman was crumpled in a heap on the ground.

Jericho dashed forward and seized his rifle, yanked his revolver from its holster.

“What in God’s name happened?” asked Nathanial, his voice cracking in fear.

A tall figure, its face seamed with scars, one eye swollen shut, its mouth open to display dozens of pointed teeth, stepped inside.

“Thymon!” shouted Annabelle, flinging herself into his arms.

The lizard-man patted Annabelle hesitantly on her back as, laughing and crying at the same time, she hugged him.

“I say, Thymon old chap, how lovely to see you,” she heard Jericho burbling behind her.

Then the lizard-man pushed her gently away. She looked up into his battered face.

“I knew you would not desert us,” she whispered, smiling up at him. She put a hesitant finger on a huge lump beside his eye. “Though I cannot imagine how you found us.”

“When Thymon came back from sstream, he sssaw the bad one loading you all in floating bird.” The lizard-man shook his head sadly. “You all look sick or ready for cook pot, so Thymon ran to help. The bad one hit me with his little fire stick.” He touched his swollen head. “Thymon sleep, but just for a little. Saw direction little floating bird went, so followed through jungle.”

Nathanial stepped forward and held out his hand. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty.”

Annabelle turned and glared at Nathanial. “See,” she said, “I told you so. I told you dear Thymon would never betray us. Oh ye of little faith!” Then she turned back to the lizard-man. “What now?” she asked briskly.

“You follow Thymon. We need weaponsss. I have gathered some. And there is a big, a very big, floating bird coming.”

“The Aeronaut, huzzah!” shouted Jericho.

“No,” Thymon shook his head. “Very much bigger.”

“It is the zeppelin, then, the one this bounder mentioned,” said Nathanial. “The one bringing the reporter.”

“And we can’t simply leave,” Jericho said stoutly. “Why, even if our bodies aren’t here for corroboration, O’Rourke and his people have left dead lizard-men about and littered the place with British gear. He’s set the stage beautifully, and we don’t dare allow his plan to come to fruition.”

“Oh, Lord,” said Annabelle as her heart sank within her. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

“Weaponsss,” hissed Thymon. “Come!”

17.

Massacre!

Sheridan puffed and panted in the thick air. He took occasional shots with his Kodak as they approached the outskirts of the small village.

Then he stopped. He had no choice; Kurt threw up a rigid arm and he ran into it.

“I don’t like this,” Kurt said. “Some of the natives should have been out to greet us by now.”

“Perhaps they’re busy doing, uh, mining things,” Sheridan suggested. Then he smelled the unmistakable noxious reek of death. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

The three crewmen who had accompanied them had rifles at the ready. Kurt drew his sidearm. They approached more carefully.

The first hut they came to was empty. The second, however, was not. Sheridan glanced inside, then turned away, sickened at the sight of a heap of lizard-men piled one atop the other. Small insects circled around the bodies, iridescent wings glistening with the blood they’d dipped into.

“Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt calmly, “would you be so kind as to document this with your camera device?”

“With pleasure,” said Sheridan grimly. He took several shots of the interior of the hut. “Who could have done this horrible thing?” he asked when he was done. “Some sort of tribal warfare, is it?”

“No, indeed.” Kurt motioned further towards the pathway leading into the rest of the village. “Look at this.” He strode forward and picked up a rifle lying discarded, as if it had been tossed away in flight. “This is a .577 Snider-Enfield. The British use this rifle. On this planet, only the British.” He handed the weapon to one of the crewman.

“But surely you cannot be suggesting…”

Kurt turned and glared at Sheridan. “I am suggesting nothing, Mister Sheridan. You have eyes. See for yourself. Come. We will investigate.”

Curiouser and curiouser, thought Sheridan as he followed the oberst. He knows more than he’s saying. He picks up a rifle and ignores the fact that there may well be more? He’s not even worried about our safety. This whole thing smells to high heaven.

18.

Plans and Supplies

Jericho turned over the heap of rubbish inside the second hut they’d inspected, then stood up and dusted his hands together. Thymon was not about to give up so easily; he continued sifting through the pile for a bit, then went on to the next hut for a look around. It was the very last one. They’d investigated all the rest and found, just as O’Rourke had said, nothing but murdered lizard-men.

All about—O’Rourke had indeed been busy during their captivity—signs, unmistakable signs, of British involvement in the massacre.

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid, but the odd knife. So it looks as if all we have are O’Rourke’s rifle and revolver and a few rounds of ammunition. Hardly enough to storm a fully armed zeppelin and explain ourselves, or demand an explanation.”

Just outside the door, careful to stay in the shadow of the hut, Nathanial was keeping a close watch on the slowly descending airship. It was very near the ground; soon they would drop lines, though thankfully the ship was perhaps a mile away. For some reason, it was mooring near that odd rocky outcrop instead of closer to the village.

Thymon came hurrying back and burst into the tent. The lizard-man was burdened with several valises and bags that looked very familiar.

Annabelle stood up with a cry of satisfaction. “Oh, do look! It’s our luggage, and that,” she took one long narrow case from Thymon with a smile of thanks, “if I am not mistaken, is my bow. Good thing, too! I’ve only found one of the native bows, and they’re not quite the kind I’m used to, of course. But I think I shall be able to cause a bit of damage with mine, don’t you agree, Nathanial?”

Nathanial cast his eyes skyward and shook his head. Good Lord; Annabelle never ceased to amaze him. He asked Jericho, “What kind of shot are you?”

Jericho shrugged. “I know which end of the gun is which, and I’ve shot the odd bird or two back home at country houses, but I’ve never shot a man.”

Nathanial shook his head ruefully. “I am the same, I fear. Of the three of us—four of us,” he corrected hastily when Annabelle glared at him, “I believe Annabelle is the best, at least with her bow.”

“I’m an excellent shot with nearly any kind of weapon,” Annabelle said absently as she strung her bow. “Or have you so quickly forgot my rescue of you on Luna?”

“How wonderful!” Jericho said. “Really, Annabelle, I must say, if I had to be marooned in the middle of the Venusian jungles, I could not imagine anyone I’d rather be, uh, marooned with!”

Nathanial sighed and shook his head. “That is all very well, you two. But do consider. We certainly cannot take over an entire zeppelin with these weapons, and I sincerely doubt if the Germans are willing to see reason. Perhaps we should simply set out for the plateau instead.”

“If you recall, it is several days’ march away,” Annabelle reminded them, “and Giles’ poor head is hurt, and so is dear Thymon. It’s wonderful that he made it here, the brave, loyal dear; I’m not sure he can make it back on foot.”

“Then, consider this: why do we not simply drag O’Rourke to the zeppelin and force him to disclose all?” Nathanial asked.

“And get shot for our pains, you mean?” Annabelle did not look at him; she didn’t have to. Nathanial could imagine quite well what her expression must be.

Damn it all! He was not an adventurer, nothing like a hero! He was a scientist, an engineer, an inventor! He had tried to be an adventurer on Luna, but a month back on Earth had shown him the truth. Annabelle was never going to understand that. She was never going to admire him.

“If we’re not going to take the airship by force, then we have no other choice but to set out through the jungle,” Annabelle said flatly.

Nathanial was looking at her bow and did not answer. Ideas were whirling through his mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, being able to work with his brain instead of his brawn might impress Annabelle yet!

Finally, she snapped, “Stop woolgathering, Nathanial, and show some initiative! Do you have any other ideas? Preferably one that might get us out of this mess? Tell us, pray!”

Nathanial let a slow smile spread across his face. “Annabelle, give me one minute.” He turned to Jericho. “How many crewmembers on a zepp that size?”

Jericho shrugged and began counting off on his fingers. “Captain, executive officer, engineer, navigator cum heliograph operator, and perhaps three or four more. A steward/cook. Plus whatever passengers are onboard. Why?”

“And doubtless some of them will land; they would not be anchoring now if that was not their plan, so we may well be dealing with just a few still onboard.”

“But getting onboard, my dear chap!” Jericho waved his hands wildly in the direction of the zeppelin, now floating majestically still, so close the imperial eagle was clearly visible on her side. “You can see they’re mooring at those rocks to discharge someone, and they’re quite forty feet or more high. Besides, if they follow normal German procedure, they’ll cast off and hover while they await the return of those below. It’s hopeless. We’ll never be able to get onboard.”

Nathanial strode over to the back of the hut, to fetch the coil of rope they’d found earlier. Part of the coil was now wrapped securely around their former guide, but there was a good deal left. Would there be enough? He took it back down from the protruding branch where he’d hung it and ran it through his hands. Yes! And the loop of thin yet strong twine hanging beside it was even longer, perhaps a hundred feet or more.

“This rope is at least fifty feet long,” he said. “With this twine attached to the end, with the other end tied to an arrow, I believe we may have a way onboard.”

Jericho shook his head in confusion. “My dear fellow, I certainly can’t shoot a bow with any sort of accuracy. Can you?”

Nathaniel smiled. “Have you ever seen Annabelle shoot a bow?”

“Nathanial, you are brilliant!” Annabelle smiled at him for the first time in what seemed like days. “Come along, Thymon, my dear fellow. Get us out of this village and over to that outcropping! We have a zeppelin to board!”

“Oh, now, see here,” said Jericho weakly. The right side of his head, where O’Rourke had struck him with the revolver, was several interesting shades of blue and green, and his eye was very nearly swollen shut. “I think we should reconsider all this Boys’ Own Paper adventure rubbish and think about what we are proposing. Even if we could get onboard that zepp—and that is a remarkably big ‘if’—what will we do when we get there?”

Nathanial waved the revolver about, then hastily tucked it back into the holster he’d confiscated from O’Rourke when even Annabelle blanched. “We shall hold, uh, someone or other at gunpoint and insist they listen to our story, then take us back to the Victoria plateau, of course!” He was filled with the oddest sense of confidence and determination and…was it bravery?

“Bravo, Nathanial!” Annabelle said as she took the coil of rope from him and tucked it over her shoulder. Then, throwing her arms around him, she gave him two resounding kisses, one on each cheek. “And we have nothing to worry about, once we’re onboard. If needs be, I am quite sure you can soon discover how to pilot the ship, for this I know: there is nothing on Heaven or Earth which you cannot decipher.”

Nathanial felt a blazing heat rising to his face. “Thank you indeed, Annabelle. Well, now; shall we go become airship pirates?”

19.

A Dastardly Attack by the British!

The more he saw, the more sickened Sheridan became. Such bloodshed! Such senseless, monstrous taking of innocent life!

He would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes. He took picture after picture as they proceeded slowly through the outskirts of the small village. Each hut held some further horror, and the smell, the smell!

“You see, Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt, holding a handkerchief to his nose, “what we Germans have to deal with in this inhospitable place. Not only the dangers of the planet, but the danger from those who should be our brothers, our friends, our allies.”

“I’m shocked indeed, and even more surprised.” Sheridan had run out of film and was busily scribbling in his notebook. “And to be perfectly honest, even with the evidence of the Enfield rifles and other things we’ve found, I am not convinced this is an act of the British. When I toured the colonies on the plateau, I saw no signs of such inhumanity. Why would they, why would anyone do such a horrible thing?”

“Greed, Mister Sheridan. Nothing but greed. You know the British as well as I do. They put on the image, the false façade of honourable, noble men, but in secret, in secret!” Kurt shook his head sadly and put his handkerchief back to his nose.

In the instant before the snowy linen covered his mouth, Sheridan thought he detected a slight smile. Surely he must be mistaken. Even Kurt could not smile at such destruction.

Could he? Yes. Of course he could. From all he’d seen of Kurt, that was exactly what the oberst could do. This was a dangerous, a deadly man.

What truly amazed him, what angered Sheridan the most, was that Kurt would think he’d believe such idiocy. Even with a hundred discarded British rifles, even with the poor slaughtered lizard-men, this was nothing more than a scene set for him, and him alone. Why?

They had entered the village proper now, and the three armed crewmen were alert. Kurt, Sheridan noticed, had not even drawn his own sidearm.

“It’s very quiet, isn’t it?” Sheridan said, not even having to pretend to be nervous. “Are you sure whoever did this is gone? I would feel happier if we had more armed men with us.” He tucked his notebook and pen in his pocket and pulled his own Colt Peacemaker out of its holster.

“Oh, I think we are quite safe, Mister Sheridan. The British are cowards. I am sure, as soon as they saw honest German soldiers here, they disappeared into the jungle like the jackals they are. Come, let us finish our tour.”

Sheridan decided to take a risk. “You keep saying British, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that they are the perpetrators of this madness. But consider, sir. Anyone could have planted a rifle here. Anyone could have dropped evidence pointing to them. There is no real proof. And remember. The greatest country on Earth has many enemies.”

He waited, his heart in his mouth, to see the result of his words.

Kurt dropped his handkerchief and turned to face Sheridan, his eyes blazing. “The greatest country is Germany, sir, as all men know! And this,” he waved his hand about, “this, sir, is the result of Germany allowing England to exist!”

“Allowing, Herr Oberst?” Sheridan began, but before he could go on, a piteous moan pierced the dank air.

Now, at long last, Kurt drew his pistol. “It came from that hut,” he said, and suddenly the oberst sounded worried. “Come, Mister Sheridan. That was no sound a lizard-man could make. Come and you shall have your proof, incontrovertible proof! Proof that anyone on any planet will accept, must accept.”

He headed for the hut, Sheridan on his heels. They burst through the open door at the same time.

Inside, a tall, dark-haired man lay on the dirt floor, his arms and legs tightly bound.

“You see, Mister Sheridan?” Kurt pointed his revolver at the man’s head. “This is an Englishman.”

The bound man shook his head. “I’m no…bloody Englishman. I’m Irish.” He gasped and blinked his eyes, and Sheridan saw calculation, calculation and fear in their bright blue depths. “Two Englishmen…I tried to stop them…they got away…vicious, savage…gone now, long gone…murderers. Murderers!”

“The poor fellow,” said Kurt, holstering his weapon. “He tried to stop this carnage, only to be taken down by the British.”

Sheridan dropped to his knees and began sawing through the man’s bonds with his pocketknife. “There, there, poor fellow, you’re safe now.”

The ropes fell way, and the man sat up. He gingerly laid a finger to the back of his head and winced.

“I thank you both indeed,” he said. “My name’s Simon O’Rourke. I tried to stop the slaughter, but they were too strong, too well-armed for me.”

“Who was it, Mister…O’Rourke, is it?” asked Kurt.

“British soldiers,” said O’Rourke. “Without a doubt. If you hurry, you may be able to capture them. But have a care. They will shoot first, and ask questions later.”

Sheridan was examining the back of O’Rourke’s head. He stood up, dusting his hands off. “No time for that now, I’m afraid. This man needs medical attention.”

“Of course,” Kurt said smoothly. “We shall take him back with us, and you can interview him for your paper. I’m sure he will confirm my worst suspicions, that the British were behind this dastardly attack.”

“Oh, never you fear, sir,” said the Irishman as Sheridan helped him back to his feet. “But if I were you, I’d send someone out after the fiends who did this.”

“Only two, you said, O’Rourke?” Sheridan asked as two of the crewmen took the burden of the wounded man, an arm over each shoulder. “That seems odd to me. Even in such a small village, surely they would suspect some sort of resistance. Two seems hardly enough.”

“Well, sir,” he said weakly as he was half dragged, half carried out of the hut, “that’s just like them. Arrogance is the middle name of the British.” Then O’Rourke went on hurriedly, “And perhaps there may have been more. All I can say is, shoot first if you see them, for they won’t hesitate to do the same.”

“Let’s get back to the ship,” Kurt ordered.

Sheridan asked nothing better. “I just hope we don’t run into danger on the way.”

20.

Acrobatic Ability

Nathanial crouched behind a squat tree covered in leathery leaves.

“What do you see, Nathanial?” hissed Jericho, who lay flat behind him.

“No guards on this side,” Nathanial whispered as he ducked back down. “And there were none on the port side either.”

“It’s almost as if they know there’s nothing to fear, isn’t it?” asked Annabelle grimly.

She had strung her bow, attached the twine to the back of an arrow and tied the other end of it to the rope, which lay in a coil at her feet. She studied her target. Nathanial watched as her breathing slowed and an intense look came into her lovely eyes.

“Can you do this, Annabelle?” he asked, suddenly overcome with the thought of what they were getting themselves into. “Perhaps it would be better if we simply give ourselves up after all?”

She glared at him. “Oh, certainly. With the two of you wearing British uniforms, armed with British weapons, and all those poor dead lizard-men in the camp. We’d be shot on sight. Now stop bothering me, Nathanial. I’ve got to get us onboard that airship.”

Annabelle scrambled up the side of a pile of boulders, squatted and took aim.

Nathanial held his breath.

With a twang which seemed far too loud, her arrow arced skyward, trailing the rope behind it. An instant later, it had entangled itself in the nest of rigging on the starboard side.

Annabelle gave a gentle pull.

The arrow pulled loose, caught for a heart-rending second…then came loose and fell.

“Never mind,” Annabelle said as she gathered the rope up and reset her arrow. “I see what I need to do now.”

With hardly a pause for consideration this time, she pulled her bow and sent her arrow at a less abrupt arc. It flew higher, higher, and shot over a heavy line, then began to fall.

“Hold onto the rope, Giles, while we fetch my arrow,” she said calmly. “I believe I’ve managed it.”

“You’re wonderful,” breathed Giles.

Nathanial scrambled out and grabbed the arrow after it fell to the ground. He pulled the twine until he had the rope in hand and gave it a tug.

It held, it held!

“Now, Nathanial,” Annabelle said with a grin as she put her bow carefully down beside Jericho, “we’re almost there. Let’s see how good I am at shinnying up a rope.”

“Absolutely not.” Nathanial was already climbing up higher on the rock pile. “Stand by.”

He looped the rope loosely about his waist and began climbing, hand over hand. He amazed himself at his ability.

In only a few moments—though he was gasping for air and his shoulders had fire running through them and all the skin seemed to be gone from his palms—Nathanial was able to boost himself over the edge of the deck. He took a quick look around.

His luck seemed to be in, for a change. A rope ladder was secured to a bulkhead almost directly in front of him.

In less than five minutes, he had assisted Jericho, Annabelle and the hulking Thymon onboard the zeppelin.

“Now,” said Annabelle, an arrow knocked in her bowstring, “shall we see what’s what?”

21.

The Truth, At Last

For the third time, Kurt shouted, “Lower the cage!”

Silence from above. No sign of movement. No sign of anyone onboard. The Rheingold floated serenely in the intense blue sky, like some enormous child’s toy balloon. It was obviously manned. Gentle puffs of steam flowed from the engine room exhausts at the stern, following the outward curves of the massive air bags.

But why did no one reply to their hails? Why could no one be seen on the deck, the bridge?

Sheridan looked around nervously. Suddenly, the encroaching jungle felt like some great threatening beast, crouched and ready to spring.

Then, just as he was opening his mouth to speak—though he was not sure afterwards what he had planned to say—the creak of the winch came down below. Quite the loveliest sound he’d ever heard, he thought.

The cage reached the bottom, then slid a bit as a gust of wind shoved it.

“I think we should send this poor wounded man up first,” Sheridan said. “I’ll wait below, if you wish to go with him.”

“I would not dream of it,” Kurt said. “You and I shall both ride up with him.”

With the help of the crewmen—who did not, Sheridan noticed, look happy to be remaining below—they got O’Rourke into the small cage and crowded in beside him.

“It won’t be long now,” Sheridan reassured the man. “We’ll get a bandage on you and something to lessen the pain.”

“Irish whiskey would be the very thing,” said O’Rourke jovially, then winced as the cage swung in the freshening breeze. “Though I doubt if such a thing could be found.”

“Well,” Sheridan said, “perhaps not anywhere near here…except in my luggage.”

“You, sir, are a prince among men.” O’Rourke smiled weakly.

The winch drew the cage ever higher until at last it slid home into the bracket which held it in place on the deck.

Sheridan helped O’Rourke out of the cage. Kurt followed, not deigning to offer his own assistance.

“Hands up!” said a voice.

“Bloody hell!” snapped O’Rourke. He crumpled to the deck, his hands raised over his head.

Kurt grabbed for the revolver in his belt, and Sheridan scrambled for his own Colt. But before he could draw his weapon, Sheridan felt the cold barrel of a gun at the back of his head.

He raised his hands over his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kurt being roughly relieved of his gun.

Then, the very last voice he expected to hear said, “Why, Joseph Lewis Sheridan, whatever are you doing here on Venus?” It was Annabelle Somerset.

* * *

Sheridan took another sip of his whiskey. “I still can’t believe it, Miss Annabelle. Why, it’s as good as one of Mister Senarens’ stories in a dime novel!”

Annabelle laughed. “It’s better by far, you must admit. Why, even Luis Senarens, the American Jules Verne, would never have been able to come up with such a tale!”

A distant pounding echoed from the cabins.

“Our friends sound a bit angry, do they not?” asked Jericho.

“They will have plenty of time to calm down once they are all in a British prison,” laughed Nathanial from behind the wheel of the airship. “No doubt, Herr Kurt will spend some time in one, unless he’s hanged first. Still, Mr. Forbes-Hamilton will enjoy spending time examining this rather stunning zeppelin, will he not? I see no reason to hurry it back to the Germans, after all.”

The five of them were on the bridge of the Rheingold heading towards the Victoria plateau. Kurt, O’Rourke and all the crew were locked in three separate staterooms, with Thymon, armed with his heavy war club and a selection of other weapons, on guard outside.

“He will indeed,” said Jericho as he poured more of Kurt’s best brandy into his glass. He stood at the controls of the zeppelin and had proved to be quite a competent pilot.

“And don’t try to fool me, Nathanial,” Annabelle laughed. “You’re looking forward to a good look round the engine room yourself. Why, I’m surprised you’re not down there this minute!”

Nathanial nodded as Jericho made a slight correction to their course. “I confess, I should enjoy it a great deal. Only one thing I insist upon, Annabelle. The rest of our time on Venus must be spent on the Victoria plateau. No more gallivanting off into the jungles for me.”

“Nathanial, for once, I agree.” Annabelle turned to Sheridan. “Now, my dear Joseph, you have all the information you need to send back home, I take it?”

Sheridan had set his drink down and was busily scribbling in his notebook. He finished a line, shut it with a snap and looked up. “I have the story of the perfidious Germans all straight, I believe. And it’s a deucedly good thing they weren’t able to carry it through, or something really bad could have been stirred up back home. I was their dupe; I admit it freely. Their bad luck was involving quite the bravest and most amazing woman in the System in their plans.” He turned to Jericho. “I was the first newspaperman to interview Miss Somerset when she appeared from nowhere after her time lost in the deserts, and my opinion of her was set in stone that very day. She is without peer.”

“Oh, she’s the most marvellous creature!” Jericho agreed.

“Oh, dear,” said Annabelle in confusion.

Good Lord, Nathanial thought in irritation. What will the girl get into next?

Epilogue

The gardens at the Governor’s Mansion at Fort Collingwood glowed like a fairyland. Lanterns in the tall kalsa trees shed shimmering light on the crowds as they ate, drank and talked.

Nathanial wandered through the sweet smells from the night-blooming plants as he nodded and spoke to various members of the party. It was both a celebratory and a farewell affair, for he and Annabelle were leaving soon.

He passed a small group of lizard-men servants near the long buffet table. They were gathered around Thymon, who displayed his new medal on a wide red ribbon about his neck. The others were looking at it admiringly; when one reached out to touch it, Thymon growled warningly.

Nathanial smiled and moved on, greeting the many who spoke to him but not pausing in his quest. He was looking for Annabelle.

Their arrival in the Rheingold at Fort David a week ago had caused quite a sensation there, and a flurry of telegraphs and heliographs had sent their story rocketing across the plateau. Mr Forbes-Hamilton had examined the zeppelin to his heart’s delight while Kurt had complained loudly about the insult and threatened all sorts of horrible results. After a talk with Sheridan, however, and many discussions with the Governor of the British colony, Kurt had subsided. Finally, the oberst and his ship had been allowed to depart for the German territory, their collective tails between their collective legs.

Simon O’Rourke, Nathanial was happy to know, was securely ensconced in the most secure prison on the plateau. No one believed his ridiculous tale of a dastardly German conspiracy to run the British off of Venus, and Kurt had disavowed all knowledge of the man and his stories.

“There you are, old man!” Jericho hurried up, his face nearly back to its normal healthy ruddiness, but his arm in a sling. After all their adventures, Jericho had taken a tumble coming down a gangplank on their first day back at Fort Collingwood and broken it. “I want to thank you one last time before you leave.” He thrust out his hand and Nathanial gave it a hearty shake.

“I take it you no longer fear for your position here?” Stone asked with a smile.

“Fear for it?” Jericho shook his head. “Why, I’m the fair-haired boy about here.”

“So you will no longer have to be nanny to Mister Forbes-Hamilton, I take it?” Nathanial asked.

“Well, about that, my dear fellow.” Jericho looked embarrassed. “I believe I’ve seen a bit more in the gentleman than I did at first. He’s really rather brilliant, you know—oh, not anywhere near your league, of course—and I’ve been asked to stay with him and help him with his new designs. With a promotion, mind you,” he pointed out cheerfully, “and a few other bits and bobs to go on with. After your suggestions, and the things he learned from examining the zeppelin, dear old F-H has some smashing new ideas. Really, I believe I shall quite enjoy it.”

“Excellent,” Nathanial said, pleased for his friend. “Though I cannot say I was all that much help. In fact, I feel I have learned more than I have taught.”

Annabelle came up just then, appearing out of a crowd of admiring gentlemen and dressed in a rather stunning gown. Nathanial hid a smile when he detected her usual serviceable boots peeking out below the hem.

“Giles! Nathanial! You will never guess what has happened!” She seized Nathanial’s hand and smiled happily at Jericho.

“What is that, Annabelle?” Jericho’s happy look had disappeared as if it had been wiped away.

Was the lad actually going to miss Annabelle? Nathanial could not conceive of such a thing, especially after all the trouble she’d gotten them both into. But he was aware that Jericho harboured tender feelings for her, and more than a bit of jealousy towards him.

“Not more gifts?” Nathanial asked cheerfully. “Really, if you are given anything else, we shall not be able to get it all onboard the next ship.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Annabelle said, waving her hand airily. “I shall simply leave everything here for a while, at least until we return from our little pleasure jaunt.”

Nathanial felt his heart sink, and his cheerful mood dissipated like fog on a windy morning.

“Do you not think we have seen quite enough of Venus, Annabelle?” he asked.

“Oh, I do, Nathanial,” she said earnestly. “I do indeed, lovely though I find it here.”

Nathanial let out a sigh of relief. “Well, then. Good.” Then he remembered what she’d just said. “But what do you mean, a little pleasure jaunt? We are leaving for Earth in a few days, as soon as the next aether liner arrives.”

“Oh, that,” said Annabelle with a happy sigh. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back in plenty of time for that. No, my dear boy. Just imagine! We’re off to Mercury in the morning!”

The End

Coming October 2011

“The Ghosts of Mercury” by Mark Michalowski