Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (22 page)

“How can I help?” Eddie, unsure of how to convince him otherwise, decided to let it go. If Mr. Jensen wouldn’t listen to his advice, he would assist in the building. Captain Sterling didn’t strike him as a patient woman, but he also doubted she’d want Silas endangering himself over one little harpoon gun.

Mr. Jensen wasn’t interested in what Eddie thought, however, as he was back to work already. “Hand me the blowtorch,” Silas said as he flipped down the welding mask.

The sparks flew as metal bonded to metal. Holes were bored into panels and the sounds of hammering and drilling filled the room. Eddie was astonished by the progress Mr. Jensen had made in the last few hours. While Eddie was topside, most of the wiring and structural components had been placed. The majority of the work still to do was the shielding and superficial details to give it a clean, finished look. It would be ready for testing soon, just as he said.

“Say, Mr. Jensen,” Eddie popped his head over the top of the former harpooner, “how are we going to test this, anyway?”

“Won’t be able to until it’s all done.” Silas didn’t look up from where he was adjusting some of the interior conductors. “Not ideal, I know, but it’s either wait or blow a hole in the side of the ship. I could be wrong, but I think Captain Sterling would prefer we not destroy the hull.”

Eddie smiled. “I imagine you’re right.” He gave a screw one last twist to ensure it was tightened, then stood. “I’ll go get some chow for us. If I wait much longer, Monsieur DuSalle might close the mess deck.”

“Is it that late already?” Silas blinked in surprise, looked at the clock on the wall, then rubbed his bleary eyes. “Hmm. Perhaps we should break for a bit, then. I’m not positive, but I may have missed lunch today.”

Eddie shook his head. “If you don’t take care of yourself, Mr. Jensen, you won’t be able to finish this at all. And what about sleep? Aren’t you worried that some of your calculations could be off?”

Silas looked at Eddie. Irritation lined his face, but it softened and he smiled. “You’re right, my boy. I apologize for being short with you.” He relented, tossing his mask to the workbench. He unfastened his tool belt and set it aside as well. “Let’s get some dinner and get to bed early.”

Relief poured out of Eddie as his shoulders dropped. “Sounds great to me.” He slid the screwdriver into its holster on the wall.

“After you.” Silas motioned him out, and they left, carefully closing and locking the door behind them.

The mess deck was nearly empty when they arrived, the only other occupants being Danton and another sailor hauling a box of dirty dishes to the scullery. This did not bode well. Eddie grimaced. Danton already harbored ill will towards Silas; showing up late to dinner would not endear them to the man any more. The look Danton gave them as they approached did nothing to argue otherwise. He remained seated, a large ledger open in front of him.

“Good evening, Monsieur DuSalle.” Silas gave a short bow to the master-at-arms. “Is there any chance it isn’t too late to get a bite to eat this evening?”

“Monsieur Maclaren.” Danton began, addressing Eddie, but not taking his eyes from Silas. “You’ll find some bread and a bit of meat in the kitchen. Please take what you and your master require. I am afraid this evening’s meal has concluded and cold sandwiches are the best I can offer in the way of provisions.”

“Yes, sir.” Eddie jerked to attention, then sped away into the kitchen.

“Monsieur Jensen.” Danton narrowed his eyes. “It is no secret that I do not like you.”

Silas nodded. “You’ve made as much clear.”

“Then I don’t have to tell you to watch yourself. If I see any proof you are anything but what you say you are, I will not hesitate to eliminate you.” His cold stare caused Silas to shiver.

Silas shook his head. “You’ve made yourself completely clear, Monsieur DuSalle, but I do hope you’ll change your mind. I’m nothing more than what I’ve told you. I’d no sooner bring harm to you or any aboard this ship than I would to my apprentice, or even my own mother, if she still walked this world.”

“So you say…” Danton trailed off.

Silas threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Continue to suspect me. As nothing I can say or do will appease you, do as you will.”

Eddie’s reentry into the room ended the tense conversation.

“Good evening, Monsieur DuSalle. Have a pleasant night.” Silas called over his shoulder as he and Eddie departed. He ignored the scoffing sound that followed.

After the quick meal, Silas and Eddie slept. It was difficult for Silas to shut off the endless stream of thoughts about the particle cannon, but before too long he was sound asleep. Even in his dreams, equations wove through his mind, interlaced between the visions of steam and gears. The smoke cleared for a moment, and there she was, dancing, the clatter of steel on steel creating the music of her movement. Her dark hair flowed gracefully behind her, a cape of silky chocolate brown. He moved towards her, entranced. A smile played at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes flashed with desire when they met his. His arms reached for her, but as he moved to pull her in, she disappeared in a swirl of fog, her echoing laughter the only proof that she had been there at all.

He jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed. His heart pounded in his chest. At first disoriented, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Eddie snored softly in the cot next to his. The darkness outside the small porthole told him it was still night. He lay back down, but sleep eluded him. After a good thirty minutes of trying to get comfortable again, Silas gave up, got dressed, and left their cabin.

Instead of returning to the workshop, he decided a bit of fresh air would clear the remaining haze from his mind. He headed upwards through the ship, only half paying attention as he mulled over the dream of Rachel. He must be mad to even consider she’d look at him that way again. Hopelessness settled around him as he slunk up the stairs. Why this bothered him so much now, he wasn’t sure. Rachel never once gave him the impression she was looking for anything more than a bit of entertainment, a pleasant distraction. It wasn’t a surprise. Yet now it seemed so much more final, and it hurt. The dream stirred up feelings he managed to ignore until now. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to know why she distanced herself; her lifestyle was clearly ill-suited to monogamy. It was more an irritation at being discarded so easily, especially since now he was a passenger on the
Antigone’s Wrath
. So deep was he engrossed in his brooding, he completely missed Rachel leaning against the bulkhead as he exited onto the open deck.

The weather finally cleared as her watch ended, and Rachel was enjoying the newly visible stars. She opened her mouth to remark on Silas’s presence, but quietly shut it when she realized he didn’t see her. He appeared to be entrenched in thought, and she didn’t want to interrupt anything important, in case it was about the missing harpooner. While she wasn’t pleased about its absence, she knew that in the case of an attack, it wasn’t a crucial weapon. In fact, the last time it was used was during crew down time a few months back. There was a rather large fish that gave the men some trouble. She gritted her teeth when they asked to use it, but the resulting feast that evening was well worth the small bit of fish entrails that lodged itself into the spear’s nooks and crannies. To be fair, she probably shouldn’t have given Silas such a hard time about it, but after going so long showing only animosity towards him, she found it difficult to do otherwise. While she didn’t want to show weakness in front of her crew, there was no cause for her to be outright mean to the poor man. The situation was not of his making. She started forward, meaning to talk to him, maybe to apologize for her behavior, but Silas mumbled something that stopped her cold.

“Rachel, is it so impossible for you to love?” he whispered as he gazed out across the tops of the clouds.

The remark knocked her back and she stifled her gasp. Rachel ducked into the ship’s interior, her hand pressed against her lips, eyes closed. She did not want love, and never asked him for it, so why did he sound so sad? Even more worrisome, why did his comment, spoken when no one should have heard it, make her feel so vulnerable and alone?

She shook herself, breaking the spell of introspection. Without confronting him, she turned and started off down the hall, back towards her quarters. It was nearing two in the morning, and tomorrow they would arrive at the monastery. She needed her sleep and couldn’t afford to get caught up in sentimentality tonight.

His comment haunted her, however, and her dreams were filled with memories of romances past. She awoke at the morning call to chow, still tired, but unwilling to relive another round of ghost lovers. She took her time brushing out her hair, and pulled on a pair of brown suede trousers and a cream colored tunic before lacing up her boots and heading out for breakfast.

Before she got very far, Eddie intercepted her. “Captain, you must come quickly!” He took huge, gasping breaths, evidence that he’d been running.

“What is it?” A moment of panic seized her. Was someone hurt?

“The new weapon.” He took another deep breath. “We’re ready to test it, ma’am.”

She blinked, confused. This wasn’t what she expected. “Wait, the weapon? No one’s been wounded, have they?”

Eddie tilted his head to one side, looking confused. “Er, no, ma’am. None hurt. I only thought you’d like to see the first firing for yourself.”

She sighed tiredly. “Is that all? Can’t it wait until after breakfast?”

Eddie’s face flushed. “Sorry, Captain, but I’m afraid not.” He ducked his head, embarrassed. “Mr. Jensen said he didn’t want to risk testing it any nearer our destination, what with us being so close. He didn’t think he’d have another opportunity today.”

“Very well then.” She grimaced. Breakfast would have to wait. Danton would set aside a meal for her, she was fairly certain.

Rachel followed Eddie to the open deck. A crowd of crewmen bunched together, all wanting the best vantage point, and they obscured her view to this new gun. She gave a shrill whistle and the men parted, snapping to attention as she passed. By the look of the clenched notes in the hands of a few of the men, there were bets being taken, most likely on whether or not the weapon would explode.

It certainly looked impressive enough. The main cannon stood approximately where the old harpooner had, but it was accompanied by two cylindrical towers, conjoined across the top and bottom. They were roughly two feet high, set about a foot to the right and behind the gun itself. Rachel surmised they were the generators Silas had so much trouble with on his original design. Another change was the low platform on which they stood. Apparently, Silas had been very busy last night after she saw him.

“All right, Mr. Jensen,” Rachel pushed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms, “what’s your plan for this demonstration? I hope you’ve considered any contingencies, should something unexpected happen.”

Silas looked up from where he crouched to tighten a bolt, his eyes magnified to bug-like proportions by the lenses in front of his face. “You mean, in case it explodes? Yes, of course I have. I’m not an idiot. We’re miles above the ground. I hardly think it wise to blow a hole in the thing keeping us up here.” He gave the bolt a final turn, dusted off his hands, and stood. “In case it overloads, which it won’t, I only need to pull this cord,” he paused to show the thin line, “and it will be launched into the wide open sky. You will, however, be out one harpooner should that happen.”

She examined the platform beneath the contraption. It was spring loaded and ready to let fly, should the need arise. Duly satisfied that every precaution was taken, she gave him a crisp nod, signaling him to proceed. Silas stepped forward and, after taking a deep breath, flipped a switch on the generator. Everyone took two large steps backward as the machine hummed to life, the noise gradually increasing in pitch and volume. With a swift kick, Silas disconnected the plug from an outlet. With the generators building up their own charge now, outside power was unnecessary.
 

Crackling sparks dancing back and forth in the space between the two cylinders broke the hum of the generator. When the noise plateaued, Silas stepped up and took hold of the handles on the rear end of the cannon.

“Eddie!” he yelled over the din. “Target!”

Nervously skirting the edge of the crowd, Eddie stopped at the railing. He held several flat metal discs under his arm and yelled, “Ready, Mr. Jensen!”

“Pull!” Silas bellowed and the first disc went flying through the air. With a flick, a clear lens with crosshairs popped up and he stooped down, turning the gun and searching for the metal plate. When he sighted it, his thumbs clamped down on the handles’ buttons, and the cannon fired.

A blue, ropey light ripped through the sky, directly at the target. It connected with the disc and, within seconds, it exploded in a cloud of shrapnel and molten metal. Rachel felt her hair blow back as the repercussion reached her with a soundless boom of air that vibrated in her stomach.

Silas repeated the demonstration once more, and then asked for a volunteer gunner. A younger man by the name of Ansel cautiously took up the challenge. He let out a whoop of delight when his target met the same fate as the other two, bursting into shards mid-air.

“Captain, it’s amazing!” Ansel gushed when he resumed his place in the crowd. “You must try it!”

It seemed safe enough, so she stepped forward. “May I?” She gave Silas a smile as she inclined her head and motioned to the cannon.

“Please do.” Silas grinned. His arms swept toward the weapon, presenting it proudly.

With only a twinge of worry, Rachel took her stance behind the gun, placing her hands as Silas had. The charged aura around it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. This was a bit unsettling, but she persisted through the discomfort.

“Mr. Maclaren, pull!”
 

A moment later, one of the metal discs flew through the air. Using the sight, she locked onto it, released the breath she was holding, and pressed down on the triggers. A tingle passed through her hands, then up her arms, into her shoulders, and down her back as the blue light shot towards her target. It connected, exploded, and she released the buttons, the tingle diminishing into a dull, physical memory.