I was welcomed by the sound of screaming. From my place at the bow of the steam ship Endeavour, I watched the gulls circle above the yellow and black funnel, swooping with increasing excitement at the new arrival in the bay and shredding the silence with their cries.
Before me lay first sight of my new home; Caledon. Right now, all that was visible of it was a spit of land to the left of the ship’s prow and beyond, an inlet which housed a collection of weather worn cottages and workshops that clung determinedly to the hillside. I imagined the crofters and artisans within, each living a life imperfect, yet content in the knowledge that both fate and providence had gifted them their birthright as citizens of a better world. Better than my world certainly.
Although I confess to being mildly nauseous during any length of time upon open water, I do not believe I am what can be described as a delicate woman. I consider myself to be unremarkable in appearance, possessing a tall, rather boyish frame and a shock of blonde hair that has a predilection for ignoring the laws of gravity on a regular basis. I had been blessed with a natural intelligence and cursed with a talent for making this quality painfully obvious amongst those less gifted.
Indeed, my mother had often remarked during my childhood that my ‘vulgar brilliance’ might prevent me from finding a suitable husband later in life, as few men could stand to love a woman so openly endowed with a reasoning superior to their own. Even my older brother had noticed that my troublesome tongue was doing me more harm than good. I remember us sitting beside one another the night before he left for his three years of national army service and with that warm smile of his, gently chiding me as we drank lemonade on the house veranda.
‘You have a brilliant mind little flower but just be careful where you show it. Not everyone will be pleased to know that they are not the sharpest wit in the room.’
It was a wise observation and borne out by the plain fact that at 25 years of age, I was still unmarried. As a result, I had chosen a different path, a path that had lead me away from all that I had known previously and out towards this foreign shore.
Drawing a spyglass from the folds in my coat, I scanned the coastline for signs of life. At this time of day, the fisher folk would have already returned home and delivered their day's catch to the market but the beachcombers would still be out in force, as would the denizens of this land’s industrial and technological might.
Caledon is an island state, steeped in antiquity and surrounded by the patchwork culture of a less elegant world. I had spent eighteen months studying it’s people, learning it’s language, filling out forms and attending endless interviews at it’s cultural attaché. Citizenship was hard won and only a precious few found the prize to be truly worth the effort. Caledon was well known as a nation wrought in iron and grace but more subtly, it was also a tribute to an enduring sense of history that refused to be forgotten in the hearts and minds of its people.
As I pondered this, my gaze caught sight of a thick pall of gray at one end of the beach within wading distance of the shore. A large machine with spider like legs belched smoke from a stack at the rear as it picked its way carefully across the rocks at the spit‘s far end. At the head of the beast, a man dressed in overalls and a faded leather coat, manipulated a bank of levers and wheels in front of him with practiced dexterity. Two massive forearms extended from the belly of the behemoth and plunged into the water. The impact created cloud a of spray which expanded outwards and momentarily hid both man and machine from sight. My stomach tightened.
'That'll be Emanuel.' said a voice behind me. I look around and spotted James Wrighthouse, the Endeavour's first mate, weaving his way past the deckhands with a familiar carpet bag clasped tightly in his left hand. We had become good friends during the two day voyage from the mainland and I smiled at him warmly as he approached. Wrighthouse gestured toward the shore with his free hand. 'Emanuel is the volunteer Coastguard in these parts. It’s his job to clear any submerged wrecks from the local coastline. I believe that contraption he's using is one of his own inventions. He's a rather clever chap from what I hear.'
‘And very dashing too.’ I said playfully. Wrighthouse looked back at me with mock indignation. We laughed and stood for several minutes, watching the machine pull huge shards of rusted metal from the breaking water and placing them almost reverently, upon the rocky shore. One machine paying respect for another I mused. Eventually the coastguard and his monstrous apparatus passed out of our sight as we rounded the headland.
Wrighthouse coughed and looked down sheepishly at the luggage he had placed between us
'Er…you left this in my cabin overnight Ms Graysmith. It’s very heavy. What in god’s name do you women keep in these things?' His eyes twinkled as my hand brushed against his.
'Why Mr Wrighthouse!‘ I smiled, ‘I should report your remarks to the Captain.'
It had been a very pleasant voyage indeed.
Less than an hour later, I walked purposefully down the gang plank of the Endevour at Port Caledon and gave Wrighthouse an affectionate peck on the cheek before promising to write and then going our separate ways. I looked up at the famous Lionsgate airship, a beacon of Caledonian technological might, which seemed to cling effortlessly to the sky above the bay and like the rest of my fellow immigrants, tried (and failed) to look at home in it’s considerable shadow.
Locating the Port Authorities building, my disembarkation papers were inspected by a round, red faced man clad in the light blue of the Caledonian naval reserve. He bid me welcome with a happy smile before handing my papers to his companion, a hawkish gentleman of indeterminate age, dressed in civilian clothing. The man smiled thinly at me and leant upon a sturdy ebony walking cane as he inspected my letter of introduction.
'Your name is Miss Tamsin Graysmith is it not?' His voice was smooth and rich like red wine in the evening. Uncharacteristically, I found it hard to hold his gaze and instead, looked down at the reservist seated before me. The round faced man grinned back, displaying a set of teeth so ruined by ale and sweetmeat, I thought that they might have allowed its owner to eat an apple through a tennis racquet. Gathering my wits, I returned my attention to the tall civilian. This was no time to show my true colours. Fight the fights you can win I decided and right now, this man holds all your cards. I smiled primly at the man, hoping to look meek and compliant.
'Yes sir, my name is Ms Graysmith. I have recently been granted citizenship through the Caledonian Cultural Attaché. My hope is to settle here with the intention of becoming a writer and maybe, time and opportunity permitting, entering society.' He pondered my response for a moment, tapping the cane against the side of his boot. Finally, he handed the letter back to the reservist with another mirthless smile.
‘Well on behalf of the Independent State of Caledon, I welcome you Ms Graysmith. I hope that your tenure as a new citizen is both fruitful and rewarding'. He extended a hand towards me and for a moment, I thought I could see a collection of miniature cogs and pistons working furiously between glove and cuff. His grasp was surprisingly delicate but even so, the hand he proffered felt cold and hard.
'I thank your sir. This is a proud day for me.' I said.
'I imagine it would be.' Replied the civilian and walked away.
With both my naturalisation papers and I duly inspected, I left the Port Authorities building and threaded my way through a maze of oak beamed warehouses. A gusting wind funnelled through the streets, throwing up the smell of raw fish, stale steam and freshly baked bread at random intervals. The sky in the south looked heavy with cloud and these streets would probably be wet within the hour. I would have to find lodgings soon.
Gazing out across the port, I followed the rest of the new arrivals to the Caledon Steam Trolley that waited patiently at the dockside, it’s automated mechanism ready to weave its way towards Port Caledon Aerodrome and the Chessboard Park train station. These were names I had mouthed silently in the months prior to my voyage and now suddenly this was it; I was actually here.
Locating a spare seat in the coach behind the trolley, I pulled my journal from the carpet bag and settled down to put pen to paper using own personal shorthand. It was then that I noticed a man sitting beside me on the worn red leather seats, gazing down at my feverish writing and chuckling quietly to himself. He appeared to be in his late fifties with grey, rather rakish hair, smoking a pipe and sporting the dark blue uniform of the professional Imperial Caledonian Navy.
'New in town?' His words were drenched in the thick, melodic accent of a native Caledonian. I looked up from my journal.
'What? Oh yes, just arrived! I wanted to get my thoughts down on paper while they were still fresh in my mind. I had a singular encounter with a rather disturbing gentleman back at the Port Authority building. It helps me to commit such things to paper.' The man pondered this for a moment, drawing deeply upon his pipe and sending out a cloud of bluish smoke from the side of his mouth.
'Hmmm, that might have been Liskard. Was he a tall chap with a walking stick?'
'A good description, yes.'
'I thought so. Well I wouldn't worry young lady, The C.I.P.F. sometimes give the new citizens a once over when they arrive. It makes those arrogant fools feel in touch with the minutiae of government. Surprised that they sent old clockwork fingers down there just to meet you though.' I stared blankly at the naval man as he pulled the pipe from his mouth to inspect it.
'I‘m so sorry sir, you've appear to have lost me there; the C.I.P.F.?'
'Oh, The Caledon Interior Police Force. Usually they just keep tabs on the new arrivals from a discreet distance and for the most part, you'd never know they are there. You must be something special.' There was a pause. 'Are you something special?'
'I hope to be a writer.' I ventured.
'Oh journalist, there you are then.' He stuck the pipe back into his mouth with a satisfied click as his teeth made contact with the stem. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence settled upon us, the only sound being the trolley as it lumbered over the points. I fumbled for a means of introduction that wouldn't appear forward but thankfully, the naval man saved the day by grinning warmly and extended his hand
'Captain Lawrence-Boyd, Imperial Navy commanding the costal frigate Warchild. He winked at me 'But you can call me Jason'.
'Ms Graysmith, new citizen of Caledon.'
'It's a pleasure to meet you Ms Graysmith.’ Boyd looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. ‘Now you may think me forward in saying this but the sun is well past the yard arm and I for one could do with a drink. Would you care to make an old man very happy and join him for a glass of something special at his favourite watering hole?' I was thrilled. My first acquaintance in Caledon.
'It would be my pleasure Captain Boyd'
'Jason.'
'I apologise, Jason. And please call me Tamsin.' Boyd grinned, picked up my carpet bag and walked me over to the lobby of a nearby hotel. As we crossed the threshold, the skies finally opened and the rain fell upon the town in a furious torrent.
‘Do you have an umbrella Tamsin?’
‘Er, sadly no. I lost my favourite one some time ago.’ Boyd shrugged and looked back over his shoulder, whistling through his teeth.
‘Time to start looking for a replacement then.’
The Captain was both intelligent and entertaining company. Over drinks (I drank tea, he chose something dark and pungent which came in a tall glass and frothed mightily), Boyd regaled me with story after story about both his naval career and his frequent brushes with the lower echelons of Caledonian society. I tried to imagine, without success, his songlike accent barking words of command from the bridge of the Warchild. He appeared so gentle and yet for all his sanguine urbanity, the apparently innocuous pauses in his tales seemed to suggest that over the years, something precious within him had quietly withered and died.
‘You are a hard woman to fathom Tamsin.’ Said Boyd quietly as he pulled his tobacco pouch from a pocket. The statement took me slightly by surprise but I feigned ignorance.
‘Why would you think that Jason?’
‘Well, you are delightful company to be sure, yet you and I have been talking for nearly an hour now and in that time, I told you my name, the names of my wife and three children and most of my naval career dating back to my days as a very naive first lieutenant.’ He jabbed at the air with the stem of his pipe as if to hammer each point home and then paused raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. ‘Heh, even the name of my mistress on the mainland.’ I rolled my eyes as I drained my tea cup which elicited a short chuckle from Boyd. ‘Yet throughout all of this, what have I learned about you?’ He leaned forward slightly ‘I mean if I may be so bold; who are you really Tamsin? I know that you are a new citizen of Caledon, you have an uncommon intelligence for one so young and that you wish to become a writer.’ He sat back and then pointed outside to the rain. ‘Oh, and you’ve lost your umbrella too.’ I blushed.
‘I’m a better listener than I am a talker I suppose.’ It was a response my mother would have been proud of.
‘You’ll do well in Caledonian society then.’ Replied Boyd.
‘How so?’
‘Oh, the tea houses, Cavorite fairs and charity balls of this land are full of people content to talk for hours without anyone else uttering a word in edgeways.’
‘Present company accepted?’ I interjected. Boyd grinned and lit his pipe.
‘Naturally.’ He puffed generously and regarded me with a slightly amused expression. ‘And well done.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Even after I asked directly about you, you still didn’t answer my question. That will also serve you well in Caledonian society.’
It took me two months to find permanent rooms in Caledon and a further four to get an invite to a seasonal ball that had any real significance in the social calendar.
I saw Boyd on just three occasions during that time; once at the launching of a new Imperial Navy ship. He looked very regal in ceremonial dress but sadly, being part of the of the honour guard for the launch, our time had been limited to a brief hello and goodbye. The second had been three months later at the Jack and Elaine Whitehorn Memorial Library in Victoria City. I had been giving a reading on the History of Diplomacy through the ages before a select audience of dignitaries and debutants. The event was a precursor for a ball to be held later that evening (to which I might add, I was not invited). At the back of the hall, I could see Boyd standing stiffly next to the library door, his cap wedged firmly under his arm and looking mildly troubled.
The Captain had attended the reading with his wife. A women who I found to be an utterly charmless soul. Not only did she appear to have an unhealthy obsession with red and gold taffeta but judging by her disjointed attempts to control the conversation, the constant excuses to visit the rest room and the embarrassed look on Boyd’s face, seemed to have more than a passing interest in the Laudanum bottle as well. Oh Jason, I thought; what did you lose in order to get what you wanted?
To my eternal shame, I felt quietly validated as a result of the encounter yet little knowing how ominous my statement would be until our third and final meeting.
It was late October and my reading at the library had finally opened a few society doors. I had been invited by Anna-Louise Cowells, the eldest daughter of Lady Cowells, one of Caledon’s premier socialites to attend their Halloween Ball. Lady Cowells was the wife of Sir Thomas Cowells, the Caledonian industrialist who had made his name in shipping and the funding of temporal research at the famed All Hallows University. It was a major social coup for an individual such as myself who had little or know social connections. I would make the most of this opportunity.
Arriving unfashionably early, I was dressed in a cobalt blue and black gown created by one of Caledon’s more controversial designers. The dress barely clung to my body and by the look on the faces the other guests, it seemed to be proving me with some much needed notoriety. Lady Cowells studiously ignored my entrance and instead pretended to be engrossed in the organisation of the bunting around the eaves of the mansion’s grand ballroom.
By contrast Anna-Louise was thrilled to see me, more because the invitation of a social enigma had deeply irritated her mother, than out of a genuine desire to be in my company. We exchanged pleasantries and I waited patiently until she grew bored of our conversation and made her excuses, breaking away to greet the other guests. The petty politics of it all passed me as I knew there was a bigger picture to consider. I simply checked to see if my carpet bag had been handed to the service, placed my dance card in my purse and went outside to explore the grounds. It was an open secret that Caledon’s ruler, Guvnah Shang might drop by during the evening for a brief visit and even though competition for his attention would be fierce, I knew that tonight would be the perfect opportunity for introductions. I would never get a better chance to make my mark in this land
Autumn was late in arriving this year and even though the leaves had turned golden on the bow, they had (in the main) resolutely refused to leave their branches. I wandered down to the lake which had been artificially landscaped into a rather vulgar diamond shape that I had been reliably informed, was all the rage this year. Nevertheless, I stood by the lakeside and admired the golden hues of the Cowells forest in the last moments before the sun went down. On the far shore, artisans busied themselves arranging a myriad of fireworks in readiness for the after dinner entertainment. The sun sank gently over the horizon and I gathered my shawl about my shoulders, gazing at the moon as it climbed slowly into the night sky. I was alone with both my thoughts and my plans.
‘It’s cold by the lake is it not?’ Said a familiar voice. I spun quickly to my right and there stood Boyd next to an exquisitely carved hedgerow, gazing out across the water, his face momentarily illuminated by the match that hovered over the bowl of his pipe. I smiled and began to walk towards him. ‘Stay right where you are Ms Graysmith. I have no intention of hurting you in full view of the guests but I will if you force me.’ My blood froze in my veins.
‘Jason, what in god’s name are you talking about?’ Even in the weak moonlight, I could see that Boyd looked sad. He stood facing the island in the centre of the lake and exhaled a cloud of smoke, refusing to make eye contact.
‘You remember the time we sat in that hotel during the rain storm and I told you all my sea stories.’
‘Yes but-.’
‘I neglected to tell you the most important one.’ There was a chillness in his voice as he cut me dead. ‘When I was eighteen years old. I served aboard the Imperial submarine Canterbury. My first voyage as part of her crew was to deliver one of our agents to a neighbouring nation’s capital. His task was to pass as one of their number, become a trusted and popular member of their Royal Court and to get close to one of it’s leading political lights. After that, he would wait until the appropriate signal was given, possibly by radio broadcast or maybe even a newspaper personals column and then act accordingly.’ My mind reeled.
‘Jason stop this, you’re beginning to scare-’ He raised a hand and turned towards me, his eyes looked more tired than I had ever seen them before.
‘Please Ms Graysmith, or whatever your real name is. We are both professionals and indeed, patriots. I ask you to do me the courtesy of dropping the charade.’
The knife was in the air even before he had finished his last sentence. One of the advantages of being woman in this society is that there are ample places to conceal weaponry about your person. A blade is silent and if I was lucky, no-one would see him fall. I was only mildly surprised when I saw the point find it’s mark not in the throat of the man opposite, but in the wood of a dark walking cane which appeared out of no-where. I breathed slowly and held my ground.
‘You brought your lapdog with you I see.’
‘Liskard has hardly left your side since you arrived madam. I told you before that if the
C.I.P.F do not wish to be seen, you will never know they are there.’ A tall man stepped out of the shadow of the hedgerow, pulled my knife from his cane and then tossed it at my feet. ‘He wants you to have another go.’ Said Boyd smoothly. ‘Knowing Liskard as I do, I would advise against it.’
There was little use in denying anything now. Some part of the soldier hidden deep inside of me for so long, found it’s footing and pushed away the fear that was building in the pit of my stomach. Training and preparation was now all that stood between me, a pistol carrying Caledonian NCO and some waste ground.
‘When did you know?’ I said quietly.
‘Two months before you sailed as a matter of fact.’ I pondered this for a moment. Think back and make the connections.
‘The first mate on the Endeavour?’
‘Ours.’
‘So I had no chance then?’
‘Not really, no.’
I stole a glance at the knife on the ground before me and looked back up. Liskard was wearing that familiar humourless grin of his, slightly broader now after spotting the direction my eyes had taken. His gloves were off and I could clearly see that both hands were a mass of tiny gears, levers and pulleys. Mere mechanisms but infinitely faster than any flesh and blood I had at my disposal.
Men.
It was all speed and might with them. As if being faster or stronger was the answer to every problem in the world. I would miss my carpet bag.
Pressing a tiny stud on my purse, the daylight returned.
The Cowells Mansion behind me exploded in a furious rage of sound and light, bathing the grounds with a bright orange radiance. For an instant I could see the two agents clearly outlined, both of them wearing a look of deep astonishment. In that moment, hidden in the light from the expanding fireball, I let myself dissolve into the years of military conditioning my father and his department had given me. He had been so proud of me when I had accepted this assignment and I wasn’t about to fail him now.
Liskard was easily the more agile of the two so I focused my attention upon him. I was no match for Boyd’s man physically but even a charging bull can be stopped in its tracks if you use the right kind of strike.
I felt calm, almost trance like as I closed the distance between us, my fingers reaching out toward his eyes. Liskard reacted instantly and ducked to the left, the nail on my forefinger barely making contact with his skin on his cheek. He was better balanced than I had expected.
Stepping lightly to one side, I pulled a sash on my gown and it fell away with whisper (as I had coyly requested to it’s designer). Beneath the outfit, I wore a black bodysuit which allowed me to lengthen my stride and begin the hopeless task of trying to put some distance between myself and my would be captors.
Even through the decaying endgame of the explosion with it’s orange light bleeding into cinnabar, I could identify their footfalls behind me. Liskard was the closer of the pair (and catching up with every other stride). I judged that I would be caught in seconds if the poison I had administered via the varnish on my finger nail didn’t hit his nervous system soon. The poison had been destined for Guvnah Shang but right now, I wasn’t complaining.
I heard Liskard’s body hit the grass a moment later. One bull down, one to go I told myself. Trust to your instincts and your muscle memory and for the love of god, don’t downshift into thinking.
I made it to the tree line at the edge of the Cowells estate, amazed to find that Boyd hadn’t had the good sense to simply give up the chase and just shoot me in the back. He was fitter than I given him credit for. I was probably thirty years his junior and yet by the sound of it, the man was no less than ten yards behind me. My lungs told me that I was only good for another fifty yards running flat out but even that would prove impossible within the confines of the forest. If Boyd was agile enough, I wouldn’t be able to out-run him. To add to my woes, my hair (which I had spent a considerable amount of time and money over earlier that day at one of the most select hair salons in Caledon) had come loose and was flapping around wildly, both obscuring my vision and catching every small branch or twig I came into contact with.
‘Enough madam!’ Boyd’s voice was incredibly close and he didn’t even sound out of breath. How in the world did he manage to…
Oh god.
I turned to see him standing just out of reach. He held a Teslar pistol in one hand which looked capable of discharging the contents of a significant lightening storm in one go, its tip aimed squarely at my chest. I stood very still.
My mind was racing, I needed time to think, to work out a new plan. Something, anything. Maybe if I talked and tried to unsettle him, I could find a way out.
‘It looks like Liskard wasn’t the only one to endure the mechanic’s knife Captain.’ I said, trying to catch my breath. Boyd looked calm by comparison in the moonlight.
‘Indeed.’ He raised an eyebrow. Did he know what I was trying to do? Taking a step forward, his left hand tapped a knuckle against his leg. It gave a metallic ring ‘The Canterbury was attacked on our way back from delivering that agent I told you about. That eighteen year old boy lost both his legs when a pressure door closed upon them. Fortunately, the Imperial Navy has some of the best doctors and engineers a young lad could wish to encounter.’
‘Half the man you used to be, eh?’ I purred. He chuckled and I chanced a small step back, my shoulders making contact with the bark of a tree. The smile drained from Boyd’s face instantly. I froze to the spot once again.
‘Please remain quite still madam. This has been a most tiresome day and I would hate to end it with my having to use this rather dreadful device upon you.’ His face was a picture of intent and I knew in that moment, there would be no talking my way out of this. I prepared myself for his approach.
Suddenly Boyd flinched. His expression grew momentarily dark and then slowly lost its hardness. He glanced to one side. ‘Besides, your friend over there would then be forced to shoot me, wouldn‘t you sir?’ I snapped my attention to the right and through the trees, I saw a man in overalls and a long faded leather coat with a rifle was raised to his shoulder.
‘Emanuel.’ I gasped.
‘Stay very still little flower.’ Replied Emanuel. All was quiet for a moment, each of us frozen in place. I have no idea how long the deadlock lasted but it was Boyd who finally took control by gently lowering his weapon and grinning at me. I let out an audible sob as Emanuel drew close, his rifle still pointing at the Caledon agent. Boyd expression dropped as he saw the striking similarities in our features and nodded in the other man’s direction.
‘Blood is thicker than water eh? I’m assuming he must be the umbrella you lost’ I felt his words slice through the façade and my chest heaved, tears welling up at the edges of my vision.
‘You don’t miss a thing do you?’ I blurted.
Eight days later I stood on the observation deck of an airship bound for the homeland Capital. A man appeared on the platform beside me and pushed a cup of coffee into my hands. God I had missed coffee.
We stood for a moment and watched the edge of the city below creep under our feet. The airship was losing height now and in the distance I could see the docking tower being prepared for our arrival. The gulls circled around it’s spire and I listened in silence to their distant screams as the ship advanced towards them.
‘No chance to freshen up when we land I’m afraid’ Said the man. ‘We’ll be heading straight for the Commissariat.’ I nodded dumbly and then looked up into his face.
‘I know we are not supposed to discuss our stories before the hearing but can I ask you one thing?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Back in the forest that night. Were you there for us or for all of this?’ I gestured towards the city with my cup. The man was silent for a moment and then gently nudged my elbow.
‘Drink your coffee before it get’s cold.’
PERSONAL COLUMN: CAPITAL TRIBUNE
DEAREST SON. AS DISCUSSED. YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE ARE ARRIVING IN TOWN THIS COMING SUNDAY AFTERNOON. PLEASE ARRANGE A WELCOME BEFITTING THEIR STATUS IN THE FAMILY. YOUR DEVOTED FATHER. CANTERBURY.
