The Fall of Eva Pryor Ch. 07

Fatima's secret lair underneath the University seemed at first to be little more than a warren of tiny rooms for her to hide in alone while awaiting our arrival. A tour around it hardly took a hundred steps. As it turned out, however, Fatima was hardly isolated, and her reach extended a great deal farther than the confined spaces of her concealment. She was in fact part of an active network of Localist resisters, some of whom held menial jobs within the Palace or the Army where they could gather intelligence. One such contact worked in Constantinople's aerodrome servicing the zeppelins and other aircraft of the city. Indeed, this Mechanic had worked on the Vimana himself and assured us that she was once again in top form, merely awaiting the Sultan's inspection before launch. It was an unexpected godsend -and yet it was also the coincidence that most certainly sealed our fate.

I should perhaps explain first how it was that we received this fateful news. You see, the resisters kept in contact through a series of small, wireless Magneto-Electric Telegraphs, each with a transmission range around a half-mile, which were connected in hexagonal relays. Their ephemeral sounds were less traceable than sending paper messages by couriers, and more reliable too. Before this system was put in place the resisters had apparently employed street children as runners, placing both the messengers and messages at some risk during the night-time. Through the MET relay, Fatima was able to message her contact in the aerodrome directly even at four o'clock in the morning. Rather than standard Morse Code, they used mechanically-generated codes of apparently random patterns to encrypt the message.

It took several tries -presumably to wake the sleeping Mechanic- but within some dozens of minutes, we were able to make contact and establish a plan with someone halfway across the city. (Truly, we live in an Age of Marvels!) According to this plan, the Mechanic would unlock the worker's back entrance and open the bay doors in the hangar, thus allowing us to reclaim the Vimana in much the same fashion that we had taken her in the first place back in London. As long as we made it to the aerofield before the dawn shift, we should be able to launch when least expected and gain enough of a head start in our swift skipper to make it away.

Our main problem was making it to the Aerodrome before dawn. Already, the pocket-watch on Fatima's desk read a half past four. The sky would be lightening within the hour, and the aerodrome was located some distance outside of the city centre to minimize the chance of accidents.

"How shall we make it in time?" I asked. "Fatima, have you an auto? Will an auto draw too much attention, speeding through the streets before dawn?"

"I have something better," Fatima grinned. "Follow me, and don't forget the supplies."

We gathered up the bundles of supplies that Fatima had assembled for us while waiting on the telegraph. These including fresh clothing (thank God! That over-sized soldier's uniform itched me so, and it smelled), some useful tools and medical supplies, funds in various paper currencies and in gemstones, a few bound volumes of Fatima's own scientific researches that she wished to keep out of the Sultan's hands, and of course the all-important letters outlining the Ottoman Empire's plans for world war. It was fortunate that the Vimana had been re-stocked with victuals and drink, for the packs were heavy enough already. Shouldering my share of the supplies, I followed Fatima and Eva out into the spiral stair. We went up, so I expected that we would head above-ground immediately. However, Fatima stopped at the very next door and produced a key ring from inside her robes.

"This way," she whispered as she opened the door, "to Constantinople's own electrified underground railway!"

To our amazement, the doorway opened into a maintenance tunnel that led to a Tube stop clearly modeled on London's latest improvements to the Underground. We emerged from the warren to find a cavernous room still strewn with the rubble of construction, but clearly nearing completion. A half-finished mosaic of ornate tiles spelled out the station name "UNIVERSITAS" in stately Roman script. The rails gleamed orange in the light of Fatima's torch.

"It will be the most modern underground rail system in the world!" I exclaimed "Quel dommage that we cannot see it completed."

"At what cost, such modern accomplishments?" Fatima said quietly.

"I know. But still, it is a marvel of transportation. Are the lines electrified already?"

"Not yet. Only one steam train is running, for the workers. But it is a fast train, and it is stopped in the next station over. All we need to do is follow the tracks to the next platform."

Fatima leapt down onto the rail bed, then turned back to motion us forward. Framed in the mouth of the tunnel with her torch's light barely keeping back the darkness, she looked the very picture of an explorer venturing into the unknown. I followed suit with a mix of eagerness and dread, excited for the adventure but feeling a certain taboo against walking on underground rail tracks. My city-bred instincts whispered to me that an incoming train might dash us to our deaths at any moment, and no amount of rationalization could overcome the feeling of impending disaster.

It seemed an eternity passed before Fatima called for us to climb up. Ahead loomed a huge, dark shape: the underground steam-train. The narrow ledge we climbed up onto suddenly expanded into another platform, this one even more complete than the previous, with fully tiled walls and handsome stone floors. Once we reached the middle of it, we could admire the train car. It had an experimental and extremely advanced design that put me in mind of a bullet moreso than a steam engine.

"This model is already built to run on electricity, but it has a steam backup engine. Can you imagine the day when all things will be electric, and even the steam-suit will be an outmoded technology?" Fatima asked.

I shook my head. It sounded outlandish to me, when steam-power was such a proven method for accomplishing so many things.

"Are all the people of Constantinople such modernists?" Eva asked. It was not a jibe; her tone indicated that she truly wondered, and indeed was questioning what she knew of Science and the Moslem world. Fatima, however, replied bitterly,

"I could wish it so. But then, look at where our modernism is leading us, into war with the very imperialist powers we despise and yet imitate."

"Well, I hope this particular piece of modernism will lead us to the aerodrome," I said to break the solemnity of the moment.

It shook Eva back into the present as well, and she climbed in to stoke the engine with all the reassurance of her self-education. Fatima pulled out a map of the Underground lines and took the conductor's seat. I deciphered the controls and signs regarding the train's operation and relayed the information to Eva to help her avoid mechanical accidents.

With all three of us so involved in separate tasks, it was a rather astonishing moment when the great engine chugged to life and all the lights in the cars came on. The interior was beautifully appointed in brass and leather, with close-woven Persian rugs on the floors. (Fancy trying that in London! They wouldn't last a day.) The train picked up speed rapidly and like a bullet fired from a gun it shot through the pitch-black tunnels beneath the city streets. Even though the stations were not lit, the texture of the darkness changed with each one we breezed through, conveying an enormous sense of speed. I have ridden the Tube many times, but never in a fashion so swift and free. We barely paused even when we changed lines once at a station so large it must certainly have been the central hub; there, service lamps picked out vast, vaulted ceilings and columned walls. But our speed was such that it seemed a mere fleeting vision, like a dream that vanishes ere it is perceived.

The trip was over very quickly, or so I felt, relishing the locomotion as I did. Fatima called for the brakes a station early, as it took that distance to slow our momentum. But soon enough we were at a halt and our stop was filled with soot and smoke from our own still-chuffing engine. The moment we opened the door, Fatima and I began to cough heavily; Eva, perhaps more accustomed to the smoke, merely wrapped a shawl around her face and gestured for us to get out ahead of her. Fatima soon found the correct exit and brought us out at the aerodrome.

The sky was beginning to pale in the East and for a moment I feared we might already be too late. But after a long, tense moment of observation, we saw no light yet aglow in the aerodrome and no movement of men in the streets around it. We crept around the building to the service entrance. The Mechanic was long gone, but the door was unlocked and the roof retracted as he had promised, leaving the hangar open to the still-dark heavens directly above us. As we crept past sleeping zeppelins and flitters, I noted that almost all of them appeared to be civilian craft, some quite fanciful but not very robust in design. There were relatively few of military make or usage.

"Where are the great barques and dreadnoughts of the Ottoman Sky Navy?" I asked in hushed tones.

"Aloft," Fatima whispered back. "Inshallah, aloft far away."

This was slightly ominous, but I put it out of my mind as we worked quickly to stow our supplies, inflate the gas bladder, and secure the rigging. It felt very good to be back on board, though in the back of my mind I already wondered how we would arrange sleeping shifts with three people and still only one bunk.

Still, I had to put all thoughts of the future out of my mind, because preparations went quickly and we were almost ready to launch. Eva questioned Fatima about the defenses around the aerodrome, the possibility of scattershot, ground-launching vs. air-pursuit based strategies, and so on, and while Fatima answered as best she could, there were still too many unknowns. Finally, there was nothing for it but to make the launch and run as fast as we could, knowing that our restored vessel was uncommonly fast. A new auto-turn mechanism had been installed and the rigging was stronger than ever, having been replaced with lines of Damascus steel. In top form, the Vimana's speed could be well and truly tested. All we lacked was a life-boat, as the one we'd sent off as a diversion had not yet been replaced. But no matter: we all knew it was time to "Do-or-Die," as Robbie Burns once wrote. With that in mind, I took the wheel and gave the command to depart.

"All hands on deck," I called. "Prepare to launch."

"Aye aye, Captain," called Eva.

"Loose the main line."

"Main line loose."

"Loose the secondary line."

"Secondary loose."

"Oh Lord, protect this zeppelin and all who dwell within in," I breathed, just in case it helped. Fatima too murmured a prayer to Allah. Now there could be no more delays.

"Cast off!"

With a great surge, we rose out of the aerodrome. Unlike in London, there was no immediate response to our departure: no klaxons blaring nor scattershot hurled in our direction. It was not until we were quite far up that we began to see lights go on and the tiny flaring reports of ground-based cannons or guns fired at us. But by then we were too far away for their missiles to reach. We soared like a falcon, high and fine in the bluing sky. Not a single pursuit vessel made it off the ground before we were out of sight, perhaps because so many of the closest vessels were privately owned rather than government-run. Constantinople slid into cloud. My final view was of the highest peak of the tallest minaret catching the first ray of dawn above the fog -a moment of splendor too quickly past.

I should have guessed that our escape was too easy and begun planning a more clever route at once. But once the euphoria of the launch wore off, it was replaced by leaden exhaustion. The opium had washed out of me and Eva, leaving a sort of grimy grey crust over the mind like that left by the receding waters of a flood. Fatima, too, was overcome with a case of nerves after our ordeal and went to lie down in the bunk. Although she was brave and unrelenting as an authoress in promoting the cause of Moslem women, she had rarely faced mortal danger in her life, and at that time she was still in the grip of mourning her many losses.

Eva and I, too, felt drained of life. We sat together in the pilot's and co-pilot's chairs for a time. In silence, we drank water and ate a few dried figs along with some unleavened bread to break our fast. The sun ascended overhead as the landscape slid by below us. We cleared the city's limits and came out over open countryside, visible now that we had cleared the fog-banks that surrounded Constantinople in the mornings. Pastoral land dotted with the occasional farm or village gave way to wild forests along the north coast of the Bosphorous Strait. According to our maps, it was not all that far to Bulgaria as the crow flies. From there we could plot a course into the Fractured Lands, once we decided where in the Fractured Lands we were going. We should have been planning. But in our exhausted state we simply regarded one another, unable to say a word yet unable to move away. Finally, Eva placed her hand in mine.

"Benjamin, I do not know how to apologize for what I've put you through, nor how to thank you for enduring it."

I looked down at her hand. I looked for a long time, just to enjoy seeing her small, gold-filigreed fingers nestled in my palm.

"I consented to it, Eva." I said finally. "And I continue to consent, whatever may come next."

"I have several ideas as to what may come next. Some you may not like. It depends on..."

"How events fall?"

"Yes, precisely. How events fall." She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "And now we must rest, Benjamin. I know Fatima has taken the bunk already, but-"

Eva's focus shifted. She had been looking warmly into my eyes, but suddenly her gaze was gone, drawn to something just behind me. Something outside of the window. I spun around and immediately saw it. To most pilots it would have appeared an ordinary cloud-bank, but the particular configuration of its massive cumulus towers and the way it moved were familiar to me now. It was the cloud-camouflage of the Commander's aerial division.

"Benjamin!" Eva gasped.

"Wake Fatima and brace for action!" I said at the same time.

Eva flew from my side, throwing herself recklessly forward. I waited until I heard the door to the bunk slam open, followed by Fatima's exclamations of sleepy surprise. Then I gripped the wheel to turn hard to starboard. The wheel didn't budge. My heart sank like a stone as I feared for a moment that the Mechanic had betrayed us and cut our steering. Then I remembered that the auto-turn was still locked into position for Bulgaria and I cursed heartily as I switched it off.

"Braced for action!" Eva shouted up.

"Right-o!" I replied, and turned the wheel again.

This time the Vimana reacted like a spurred stallion, nimbly turning about to avoid the first barrages of the Ottoman ships. Rather than dive away, however, I rose swiftly and continued to charge straight toward the fleet. I had it in mind to pass over their heads and get out of their aft range before the fleet of cruisers, in their tight formation, could turn en masse. The wind was directly behind us while the fleet was fighting the current, which slowed them all the more. The Vimana soared over them at a speed even she rarely attained. Her rigging sang like the strings of an Aeolian harp but held firm. I gave the wheel an approving pound with my fist, my heart swelling with pride, and thanked the anonymous Mechanic who had repaired her so well.

It seemed that my bold charge caught many onboard the Ottoman ships by surprise. Though they tried to track around, their shots fell behind me from cannon clearly still aimed ahead in pursuit mode. The Vimana soared above them and cleared their range in short order, aeronautically speaking. But in the pan-ops, I could already see one vessel separating itself from the body of the fleet: a great barque with a gold-chased prow, and on its deck a figure of prodigious height.

The Commander had us in his sights.

I braced for the devastating impact of the distance strike. There was no way we could dodge when we were his sole target. At this altitude his range was all but unlimited, especially since I had moved away from whatever cover the Ottoman fleet might provide so that he needn't worry about striking his own ships. I turned my face away as hard light fell across the void-and deliberately struck to our starboard side. Moments later, another lash fell to the port side. The message was clear: surrender, or be destroyed. I slowed the ship to a stop.

"Eva, Fatima!" I called. "Come up. We have a decision to make."

Moments later, the two women appeared, both flushed and breathing hard, but equally contained in their manner with no crying or trembling.

"What is the situation?" Eva asked directly.

"Not in our favour. I believe the Ottomans let us escape the aerodrome only so that they could capture or destroy us out here, where there is no one to witness it. I managed to out-manoeuver most of the fleet, but the Commander has us in his sights. He is there on the barque, in his steam-suit. He has already issued two strikes in warning. We must run up the white flag."

Eva stood stock-still, staring at the sky between our ships. Or perhaps it was beyond the sky. She was like a brass statue for a moment, her gaze fixed on a time beyond the present moment. Then she gave a nod.

"I have a plan. I just need something that looks like the palace letters, some sheaf of papers I can use to convince the Commander I have what he seeks."

Fatima looked around frantically, then seized one of the maps.

"We can tear this up, or fold it-"

"No. Take these."

I brought out the sheaf of Eva's personal papers from their hiding place in my boot and handed her the pages.

"What are-? Ahh." Eva hushed as her eye caught the top corner of the page, with the date in her handwriting. She flicked through the pages briefly, knowing at a glance what they contained.

"You've read these?" She asked.

I took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"And still you stayed by my side, even knowing what I am, how I feel, how impossible it is for me to-?"

'Be with you,' she did not say. But I heard it all the same.

"Yes."

Eva smiled, then, and embraced me. She whispered in my ear,

"Then I am blessed to have someone who knows my dark mechanical heart, and loves me for it even so."

She also embraced Fatima and whispered something brief. Then she went out onto the deck. I set the auto-turn to hold us in place and followed to see what she had planned.

"Run up the white flag, Benjamin, if you please."

I ran it up.

Eva climbed up onto the balcony railing and brandished the papers in the air. Light glinted off the telescopes trained on her from the Commander's barque, letting us know that they were watching. Then she reached into her robe and pulled out something else: the lodestone. They couldn't know exactly what it was at that distance, but it looked like something undeniably valuable, something worth coming over to take from us. As she got the lodestone from her robe, one more object fell out onto the deck: the old Grecian's charm against the Evil Eye. It rolled toward me across the deck.

"Take it, Benjamin," Eva said.

"But you may still need it yet."

"I don't need cloaks or charms any longer. Let them see me for what I am!" Eva said.

And then, she stepped over the side of the ship.

For a moment I was frozen, unable to believe what had just happened. My paralysis broke when Fatima screamed, and both of us together ran to the railing. Eva was gone, falling, plummeting through the clear sky, until even the wink of her framework in the sun was lost.