A deep grumble vibrated through the floor.
“I must admit, I’ve been thoroughly impressed by Trounce though,” Lawless continued. “He rolled up his sleeves and took to the training like a fish takes to water.”
“He’s a practical sort,” Burton confirmed. “Whereas Swinburne’s head has always been where we are just about to go; that is to say, up in the clouds.”
“Engines at optimum,” Orpheus announced. “Are you going to stand around chin-wagging or shall we get on with it?”
“Take us to latitude north fifty-one, east one degree, altitude eight thousand feet,” Lawless commanded. He explained to Burton, “As planned—opposite the mouth of the Thames and a little north of Margate. Far enough out to sea to avoid detection, I hope.”
“Ascending,” Orpheus said.
Swinburne whooped.
The floor lurched slightly as the ship left the ground, its engines thundering.
“I feel somewhat redundant,” Lawless commented.
“Some judgements require more than cold calculations,” Burton murmured. He stepped to the rain-spattered window and took a last look at the sprawling city before the ship was swallowed by the weather front.
“En route,” Orpheus noted. “We’ll reach the coordinates in twenty minutes. The Nimtz generator requires a pressure of one thousand and five hundred psi in order to achieve the necessary power by the time we get there. It is currently at one thousand and ten psi. I suggest you adjust valves twenty-two to twenty-eight to setting six so we might accelerate through time without any delay.”
“On the other hand,” Lawless said, “sometimes cold calculations are just the ticket. Mr. Swinburne, relay the Orpheus’s advice to Mr. Krishnamurthy, please.”
“Aye aye, Captain Lawless, sir. Straightaway.” Swinburne gave a snappy salute and clicked his heels.
“Just ‘aye aye’ will do.”
Bright yellow light streamed through the windows as the airship emerged from the cloud and soared into the clear sky above it. With rotors thrumming, she sped eastward, leaving a trail of glaring white steam behind her.
Burton sat at a console and stared into space.
Initial destination: 1914. By that year, in every other variant of history, a world war was raging. In Abdu El Yezdi’s native reality, the conflict was many years old and the Prussians had overrun the world. In others, hostilities were just commencing. However, here, uniquely, the Germanic nations were placated, had joined in an economic and political alliance with the British Empire, and were sharing the spoils of Anglo-Saxon hegemony.
Nineteen fourteen might be a small step, but Burton wanted to see how the Empire would develop without the devastating events that so slowed progress in its counterparts. Besides which, it would be wise to contact the immediate descendants of the Cannibal Club, just to be sure the purpose of their mission remained clear.
While the king’s agent gave himself over to quiet meditation, the Mark III made intermittent observations pertaining to flight speed, course and altitude, Lawless gazed out at the blanket of cloud below, and Swinburne communicated the captain’s occasional commands to the engine room.
An air of expectation and trepidation hung over all.
They waited.
“We are at north fifty-one, east one degree,” Orpheus finally declared as the engines altered their tone. “Holding position. Flight duration twenty minutes, as anticipated. Rather good, if you ask me. I got it exactly right.”
Burton blinked, took a deep breath, stood, entwined his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. “Has the Nimtz made the initial set of calculations?”
“It doesn’t make the calculations,” the ship replied. “I do. And I have. As always, at your service.”
Swinburne placed a speaking tube back in its bracket and added, “Maneesh and Sadhvi are standing by.”
Burton crossed to him and indicated another tube, this one marked Shipwide. He tapped it and said to Lawless, “Do you mind, Captain?”
“Go ahead.”
Burton took up the tube and spoke into it. He could hear, beyond the bridge door, his voice echoing through the vessel.
“Sadhvi, William, Maneesh, Daniel, we’re all set. In a moment, I’ll command the Orpheus to move ahead through time. I have no idea how we’ll be affected, but, whatever you experience, please remain at your posts.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you all, and—and may fortune favour us.”
Replacing the tube, he glanced at Swinburne—who grinned broadly—then looked up at the ceiling and said, “Orpheus, take us to nine in the evening of December the first, 1914.”
“Are you quite sure about this?” Orpheus responded. “I’m liable to become instantly outmoded. I don’t relish the thought.”
“Just do it, please.”
“On your own head be it. You’ll become antiquated too, you know. I’m engaging the generator. Hang on tight.”
Outside, everything suddenly turned completely white.
Utter silence closed around Burton. He saw Swinburne look at him and move his mouth as if speaking, but there was no sound at all, not from anywhere.
The poet slowly became transparent. So did the walls. Suddenly Burton was floating in limbo.
He fragmented. All the decisions he’d ever made were undone and became choices. His every success and every failure reverted to opportunities and challenges. The characteristics that had grown and now defined him disengaged and withdrew to become influences. He lost cohesion until nothing remained except a potential, existing as coordinates, waiting to take form.
He was a nebulous, unarticulated question.
The possible answers were innumerable.
A decision.
A path chosen.
Manifestation.
A recognition of whiteness, of shapes emerging from it and darkening it, of Swinburne’s face.
Burton swayed, stumbled backward, regained his balance, and looked around the bridge.
“Phew!” Swinburne exclaimed. “That felt like an instant and an eternity all rolled into one.”
“It was fifty-four years,” Orpheus said. “We have arrived.”
Burton said, “Call down to the others, Algy. See how they are.”
This was done, and the poet reported, “All’s well.”
Lawless said, “Orpheus, a systems check, please.”
The ship responded, “Done. I’m perfectly fine, thank you for asking.”
The captain crossed to a console and examined its dials. “It’s a clear night, and windless according to the readings. Cold, though. I suggest we switch off all lights and descend to five hundred feet.”
“Agreed.”
“Orpheus, you heard that?”
“I’m not deaf.”
“Then proceed.”
The bridge’s electrical lights clicked off, and the engines moaned.
Burton’s stomach moved as he felt the drop in altitude. He strode to the window. Swinburne and Lawless joined him. They looked out. A full moon was riding low in a starry sky. In half a century, the heavens hadn’t changed one jot.
The king’s agent muttered, “I’m a fool. I should have taken the phases of the moon into account. We’ll be visible.”
“Why did you choose December?” Lawless asked.
“Because Abdu El Yezdi caused the Russian dictator, Rasputin, to die this year. That, however, was in a different history. I’m interested to know what happened to him in this one. I’m hoping that the three great wartime mediums were so prone to resonance that their death in one history caused their deaths in all the others.”
“There’s a yacht,” Swinburne said, pointing downward. “I can just about make it out. See?”
Burton searched the silvered surface of the sea. Before he spotted the vessel, it drew his attention with a sequence of flashes.