The Fifty-Fifth Chapter: In Which We Conclude the First Book

The Arabella landed in the port behind the old Southern home of Madam Virginia. Virginia greeted them, her employees following onto the dock. The two coffins were the first to be loaded off, and Virginia said it would be rightly fine to bury them in her backyard if no one else would have them. Abigail respectfully thanked her.

The funeral was quick. Remus played a song, Fitz read some Keats. Abigail laid the flag.

And Emma Rosen was gone.

The quiet plantation house on the side of the water looked out to the fields below. It was yet another pocket they’d found themselves to hide away in, if only for a short while. Peace was not for outlaws, and Abigail knew after today, they would be fortunate to find even an hour in a place as tranquil as Virginia’s.

“The Mad Inventor,” she said, keeping her eyes on the window. “That’s what they’re calling you now.”

“Oh?” Prower said from his place in the bed, “I’m Mad now? well, I figured it would happen eventually. Does that mean my leg isn’t really gone?”

“No, until you build yourself one with rocket jets, it’s very gone,” she said.

“Although,” she picked up a small little leaflet from the nightstand and wagged it at him, “According to this, you’ve already built one not only with rocket jets, but flame throwers.”

She threw it at him. It slapped him on his bare chest, and he grabbed it.

“Your life goal has been fulfilled, Prower,” Abigail said. “You are living in a dime novel.”

“And it only cost me a leg. What a deal.” He smiled weakly.

“Oh, yes, that’ll buy you a villainhood,” she said, pointing to the picture sketched on the front. “In order to be the hero, you have to give up an arm.”

“What?” he asked. “No. What in God’s name.”

Abigail laughed. “The Rather Prolific Adventures of Quinn Adams. I must say, he does look rather dashing in the illustration …”

“They’re calling him a hero?”

“Well we killed near to four thousand persons, Prower,” Abbey said soberly. “Who’s to say they’re wrong in their assertion? Who’s to say anyone’s better than anyone else?”

“That was an accident!” Prower said. “Surely you’re not comparing us to him! You said yourself, ‘I’m not him and he’s not me,’ and never will be.”

Abbey came to sit on the bed, crossing her legs and thoughtfully looking to Prower. Then to the window. She said nothing for a very long time, and finally she turned to him again. “We’ll need to leave tomorrow,” she said. “We’ve stayed too long here. You think you could fashion that leg on the ship if we picked up supplies somewhere?”

“Perhaps if you grab a fancy toolset while you’re out.” He smirked. “I’m afraid I don’t have the right tools.”

“I’ll make you that deal,” Abigail said. “We’ll have a many other things to pick up. The Spiderweb ain’t gonna last much longer, especially if Hopfrog had been telling them all on our goings-ons. So we will need to gather as much as possible while we can. It’s going to be a long haul.”

“What do you mean? Where are we off to now?”

“If Lord is involved, that means he is the one who will know the most,” she said. “That means that is where the makeup for Sparky is, and it’s where Quinn will slither to.”

“But we can’t do this alone,” she said. “It’s us against the whole bloody country. We ain’t nothing but a bunch of misfits who uprooted something bigger than ourselves. We’ll have to bring this out to air, all of it. There are good people out there who will help us. But first, we make sure they can never build another Prower weapon again. I don’t know how long it will take, I don’t know how dangerous it will be, or where we’ll end up.” she looked at him. “But I do know that I must be selfish in asking you to come with me. Although my Captain self would like to chuck you in the Dakotas where your biggest worry would be some Sioux with a black market musket. But you and I both know you’d just get yourself into trouble.”

Abigail’s eyes shone, her growing hair framing her grinning, freckled face. She patted his remaining leg.

“And it would be quite evil of me to separate you from me,” she said. “You wouldn’t be able to take the breaking. You love me too much. Yes, sir, I have to say that you are quite smitten with me and you would keel over and die if I left your sight.”

Prower laughed. “Oh, I certainly would.”

“And I apologize for nothing,” she said. “You see,” she touching his hand. “It was all a dastardly plan. I never miss a step. And you can barely walk down stairs.”

“Oh boo.” Prower said. “Poor taste.”

Abigail laughed. She pressed her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s really as simple as this,” she said quietly. “I walked into this with you, and I will walk out of this with you.”

Prower shook his head and smiled. “Well then I better get to work on a leg.”

It was here Abigail fell asleep. She had not done as much in quite a few days, and now that the occasion to curl into a rather good pillow with silk sheets and enough stairs to ward off militant ruffians if she needed to jump to action had arisen, she used Prower’s warm body for all it was worth, and slyly employed it as said pillow.

Prower, a contented grin seeping through his worried brow, consented, and soon was nodding off himself. When Fitz came to bring them dinner, he got no further than the doorway before hearing Prower’s snore. So he quietly shut the door and set the dinner on the floor outside.

It is here we will leave our two heroes — or possible villains. Whatever they may be, pithy morality does not hold up to the need to sleep. In the end, all a person cares about are two particulars: how well rested they are and how much of a company they keep. Seeing as they had each other and a thick quilt, they found themselves content.

Let them enjoy. In the morning would come more sleepless nights, more battles to rip them apart from each other’s grasps, more meddling machinas and mortifying monsters. For whatever the good or bad of it, when two fools decide to walk in together and walk out together, a rather prolific adventure is bound to await them.

~~~~THE END OF BOOK ONE.~~~~

The Fifty-Fourth Chapter: In Which a Monster is Born

The sun settled down into the ground, buried to a grave it would jump from, rejuvenated and resurrected for the next morning, noon, and twilight.

And a darkness spread over the decimated Boston harbor. Down to the Capital where a grandfather heard news of his two grandsons, and even in his cold heart, he came to wonder how a family could destroy itself so passionately. Further to Virginia, where a Madam waited near her small river, wrapped in a shawl and wondering if there’d be a day when the Spiderweb alliances wouldn’t be protected any longer. Further down to Raleigh, where Hooper opened a newspaper which read a stolen luxury airship had been spotted, along with the outlaws aboard it.

Four thousand dead, and more would have been taken if it hadn’t been for the brave kin of the Secretary of Defense in his small battleship. Further south, to the charred and forgotten remnants of a forest met with a whistling wind and complete silence. One lone and abandoned suit of armor sat alone, plopped down near a hill of ash. The only sign of it ever having company was where someone had pried it open with the jaws of life. But just right over the hill, a group of men began to trek from a motorplane. A crane followed them.

Then south, where Cheston was now forever buried under more bodies, more persons surveying the destruction and weaving the tale of the Bloody Captain and the Mad Inventor. Then Atlanta, where Quinn’s corridors still sparked from electricity and still stained red with Abigail’s blood. Then New Orleans, where Remus’s forgotten uniforms collected more dust.

And Shreveport, where the Bodyman stood outside a padded room deep underneath the ground.

Iron, rusted bars all round the windows, the door …

His lip was firm.

“Come see,” he said to his companion.

Quinn stepped forward. His face was stitched and bandaged. He limped, keeping his left half in the shadows of the hall. No one would see his sleeve rolled and pinned, where an arm should have been. Not even the Bodyman.

Quinn peered through the bars into the room

“Recognize him?” The Bodyman said.

There, tied down to a bloodstained operating table, hooked to cables and ropes, sparks and wheels, lay a masked man.

It was the masked man from the meeting with the Council! “That man!” Quinn roared. “What is he doing here!?”

“Steady yourself, Mr. Adams,” The Bodyman said. “He is the key to regaining your footing.”

The masked man raged, rattling the chains and plugs. It was a muffled howl, but still a howl loud enough to make Quinn take a step back.

“We told him of the death of that pretty blonde lady you shot in Cheston,” the Bodyman said. “She was to marry him. Fortunately for you, we told him of how Abigail did the deed. And as you can see, that didn’t settle well.”

The Mask screeched like a wild beast.

“Along with his other adjustments, we have adjusted a great enemy of yours into an ally.” The Bodyman looked to Quinn. “The other great advantage this man gives you,” he said. “Is all else you see. All limbs useless. most of his face and torso scorched. He was barely called a body when we found him in the rubble. And quite soon, he will once again stand, walk, run, shoot … kill …” the Bodyman gave a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “My employer could fix you as well.”

“‘Fix’ me? You say?” Quinn sneered. “Turn me into some monster?”

“No,” the Bodyman said. “Turn you into a man.” His eyes slipped to look at Quinn’s hidden stump.

Quinn jerked to hide his empty sleeve, but the damage had been done. “Very well,” he said. “But I aim to watch you very carefully before, during and after, and I must approve any modifications.”

“Of course,” the Bodyman said. “It is in fact your arm. And we wouldn’t want the nation’s hero with a faulty appendage.” The Bodyman looked back to the Mask, “The rumors say an Adams could once again sit on the throne.”

“I aim to.” Quinn said darkly.

“It won’t be a difficult target, if you continue along as you have,” the Bodyman said. “Especially if you bring those outlaws to justice.”

The Mask gave out a shattering roar.

“EMMA!” was the muffled cry.

“Now one last thing,” The Bodyman said. He turned to Quinn. “What are your beliefs on Galvanism?”

“What? Again with this?” Quinn sighed. “I had not heard about it, until that girl went off about it. I thought she was deluded.”

“She is quite deluded on many a thing,” the Bodyman said. “But I may have forgotten to mention.” he nodded to the Mask. “Our friend here was very much killed by Miss Henley. And he’d been very dead for a full day before we threw him to life again. Is your interest piqued, Mr. Adams?”

“Yes,” Quinn said. “Yes indeed.”

The Fifty-Third Chaper: In Which Abigail and Dover Watch a Sunset

The sunset fell on the quiet skies as they puttered their way home. The Arabella was tired, but she kept on trailing as long as Remus ushered her along. If they could reach Virginia’s, they would be safe.

In the medic office, Emma Rosen lay on a cold wooden table while the ship rocked back and forth. Abigail watched her from the corner of the room, chewing on her dirty nails.

Finally, Abigail slowly approached. She touched the girl’s cold hands, which were laid folded on her frozen stomach. She was very still.

She brushed the blonde hair from Emma’s white face. She lowered her head. A long, raspy breath quietly rushed between her lips. She’d met Emma four years prior. And once, they were never seen without the other. That was before other tropes fell into place, such as Hopfrog. Such as Abigail’s stubbornness. Such as Emma’s cynicism and unforgiveness.

But once, Abigail knew her.

“It’s awfully depressing in there.” Abigail turned round. Dover stood in the corridor right outside, not looking at Emma’s body. He motioned for her to come to him. “Come on now, we’ll go to the observation deck.”

Abigail complied, and slowly made her way into the corridor. Her wrist still hurt terribly, and her cheek was sore and swollen and burnt, but oddly enough, her head was feeling clearer. Maybe it wouldn’t be permanent after all …

“How is he?” Abigail inquired as they walked the corridor to the stairwell. Dover cleared his throat.

“He’s resting,” he said.  “He’s going to throw a hell of a fit when he wakes …”

“He may,” Abigail said. “But if I know him, he’ll see it as an opportunity to go invent something better than the original. He’ll get along fine.”

“You think he can make a peg leg work just as good as the real thing?”

“No one said about it being peg,” Abigail said. “He’s Cornelius goddamn Prower. It’ll be … some sort of electrified dyed steel of moonstone or something of the like.” She gave a little laugh and smiled to herself. Dover saw this. He hunched, as if slapped.

“Yes,” he said. “Something of the like.” He cleared his throat again. “He’ll be awake by tomorrow morning, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, by the way,” Abigail said. “For saving us.”

“I didn’t save ‘us.’ I saved ‘you,’” Dover said, looking fiercely at her. “I could give a damn what happens to him.”

“Well you should,” Abigail said. “He’s a part of the crew you are on.”

“A part of the crew I am on?” Dover laughed. “And what makes you think I’m going to stay?”

They fell into the lobby of the observation deck, and there they looked through the wrap-round windows, the transparent floor.

It was here he’d proposed to her.

“Why did you leave?” Dover asked.

Abigail shrugged, “Because you took too long in the bathroom.”

“Yes, very hilarious. And now could you just look at me and have one real conversation?” Dover said tersely. “Don’t I deserve that much?”

Abigail looked to him, her eyes that once had shone now quite tired and dull. He saw the wall was up; a wall he’d never been on the outside of.

“Because I knew what it would be,” she said. “Once the war was over, you wanted to go out west and settle on down. You wanted to take care of me. You wanted to take care of our children. And while once in a while we’d find a motorplane and go joyriding, we would live a taken-care-of life.”

“Aye, that was our plan.”

“Never my plan,” Abigail said. She sighed. “The happiest I was … it was that one adventure we had. To the circus? Sleeping in trees and hopping onto train cars. But even then, you took care of me.”

“And I would take care of you, Abbey —“

“I know,” Abigail said. “That’s why I ran. Because perhaps you’ve always taken care of me. Perhaps someone has always taken care of me. And perhaps, maybe I need to be a captain.”

Dover put his hand on her arm. “You don’t need to captain your way through life alone, Abbey. It’s alright to be protected —“

“I’m not alone,” Abbey gave a little laugh. Her eyes sparked. “He’s still here.”

“Then I won’t protect you,” Dover said. “I can have you lead —“

“It’s not only that, Romulus,” she said quietly. “Look.” She put her own wrapped hand to Dover’s face, and she stroked it gently. Then she slowly turned it to look outside the windows. There the clouds danced underneath them, settling on a glorious sun which burst through the white and grey with patches of yellows and purples and oranges.

“What do you see?” she said.

Dover blinked. “I see the sun’s setting. And there seems to be a few storm clouds underneath us.”

Abigail nodded, “Aye, there are.” She turned to face it, to bring in the warm sunlight to her burnt, charred cheek … to blind her. To swallow her whole.

And she gave a grand smile. “But there’s much more.”

The Fifty-Second Chapter: In Which Our Heroes Have their Scene with Our Villain

On the Hephaestus, Prower, Quinn and Abigail were on the Pilot’s Deck; a dull gray room, built for efficiency. A massive window looked out to survey the battlefield. Prower and Abigail were both on the ground, kneeling with their hands cuffed behind their backs. Quinn was looking smug.

“Oh this is brilliant,” Quinn said. “You caused all of that destruction? This is better than I could have hoped.”

Abigail looked to Prower worriedly. Somehow she’d get them out … somehow if they just worked together, they’d get out —

“Oh this is grand. Quinn Adams, hero of the Union, yes I do like that.” He ignited Abigail’s flame sword, twirling and thrusting it about, as if in battle. “I would put you in more strict conditions, but honestly, I don’t trust anyone else to watch you. That’s the difference between us, Prower, I learn from my mistakes.”

Prower’s face turned bright red, a look of seething anger appeared.

“Can I please have my sword back?” Abigail said. “It’s got an ‘A’ monogram on it. That doesn’t fit you.”

Looking at the hilt, Quinn noticed the ornate A was engraved on the sword. “Oh well that’s wonderful!” he said, “A for Adams, how fortunate!”

Just then, the flame sword sputtered and ceased to be. It had run dry.

Prower seized this opportunity, rushing at Quinn.

“It stands for Abigail!” he screamed. His hands were free, and he used this to his advantage, bowling Quinn over then grabbing his own flame sword from Quinn’s clutches. He activated the blue flame sword and put it to Quinn’s throat.

“I always forget you can do that handcuff trick,” Abigail said, standing. “It comes in quite handy.”

“I know.” Prower said grinning. “Now you, get up.” He said to Quinn, motioning him towards  the wall furthest from the exit. Quinn complied angrily. Keeping one eye on Quinn, Prower released Abigail’s handcuffs.

“We gotta dismantle the electric doomsday trinket,” Abigail said, “You know, we really need to come up with a name for it … how bout … Sparky.”

She swung the cuffs round her finger, and threw Quinn to chains against the pipe. Quinn didn’t struggle. He only stared at Prower.

“You hate me,” he said. “I can see it very clearly written all over your face.”

“You’re absolutely right, Quinn.” Prower said. “I’m sure that was difficult to deduce.”

“Oh yes, so difficult to deduce,” Quinn said lazily. Abigail made sure his cuffs were tight, but he paid no heed. “After all, I nearly killed your pretty little sparrow here. And what after everything I did to your father and your mother — it’s quite certain you’d want me dead.”

Cornelius tensed up. “Stop talking.” He said to Quinn. “Let’s go, Abigail.”

“I’ll find her,” Quinn laughed. “I’ll just keep tracking her down and I’ll slit her throat right in front of you. Or maybe I’ll shoot her between the eyes, just like the blonde one.”

“Shut up!!” Prower said. He reignited the blue flame sword. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How many people you’ve hurt?”

“Not nearly as many as you,” Quinn said. “You had over three thousand on the Dragon alone, if I remember the schematics correctly. And a pity, really. They all could have been spared … your crew, my crew … if you had only a bit of brains in you. How far will you fail this time, Cornelius? How long until you bury little Abbey Henley?”

“Prower, just keep walking,” Abigail pressed her broken wrist to his shoulder. “He’s trying to get to you. It’s what he does.”

“Do you disagree with me, Prower?” Quinn said. “Look at her wrist. Look at her face. Look how she sways now. None of that would have happened if you hadn’t dragged her into this.”

“SHUT UP!” He screamed, flinging the flame sword at him.

Quinn grinned, and his wrists slipped out of the cuffs nearly as swiftly as Prower’s had. He snatched the sword in his hand and swung it through the air. Abigail dodged out of the way, and Quinn lunged for her before Prower could move.

Abigail yelped, and Quinn held the hot searing fire to her face.

“Ah, this is familiar,” Quinn said. “Just as it was. You looking up at me, knowing you’re to die. And watching me taunt your little pet. You know you are to die, don’t you?”

Abigail gave out a wail.

“Why don’t you fight back?” Quinn laughed. “You’re afraid. You know I am to fear.” Quinn turned to a frozen Prower. “How very stupid, cousin.”

“No!” he ran over to Quinn. “Let her go, Quinn!” He gave in. “I’ll go back, just don’t hurt her.”

“Oh I don’t want you to go anywhere,” Quinn’s grin had widened to his ears. His maddened eyes flared. “I want you to go to the pilot’s deck. And I want you to look through that spyglass. Go! Go or I’ll do it!”

“Don’t, Prower,” Abigail said quietly. “He’s got all this planned —“

“I’d hush it if I were you!” Quinn seared her arm with the flame, and she gave out a cry. “Go on now, little rabbit. Hop along.”

He obeyed and peered through the spyglass.

There, the crosshatch, aimed right at a beautiful airship parked in the middle of a shallow river.

“Now you will press those gears to make my machine work,” Quinn said. “Or I do apologize, your machine.”

Prower slumped his shoulders, defeated. He grabbed the spyglass once more.

But rather than peer through it, he ripped it from its place, and charged Quinn. Quinn readied himself for Prower, positioning the fire sword as if fencing. Prower threw his free hand out to the fire sword hilt, but rather than grab it, he covered the opening with his bare palm. Without air, the fire sword extinguished. Prower screamed in agony, and used this moment to beat Quinn across the face with the spyglass.

“Grab it!” he screamed to Abigail.

Abigail grabbed the sword and sliced through the air once more with a blue blade.

Prower fought through the pain, the adrenaline rushing through him. He resumed pummeling Quinn. “Destroy that console, Abigail!” Prower yelled.

And that’s when he felt it pierce into him. There, in his thigh, sliced through the britches, was a knife held by the four-fingered hand of Quinn. Quinn grinned maniacally.

“You just wait where you are, Miss Abigail,” Quinn said, twisting the knife. “I’m quite close to a deadly tunnel of blood.”

Abigail froze.

Quinn panted as he grabbed the spyglass away from Prower. He struggled the boy to the ground, and he pinned him, blood dripping off his broken lip. His eye had swollen two sizes large, and he looked like a furious beast … a monster … sneering down at the clockmaker.

“Now I’m going to tell you something,” he said quietly to Prower. “I never make a mistake. I never miss a step. But you, Cornelius, you can barely walk down stairs.”

Abigail stepped forward with her sword. Quinn twisted the knife again. Prower howled.

“I would stop moving towards me, Captain!” Quinn barked. Abigail stood stiff.

Quinn turned back to Prower, “But you are terribly hard to break. They warned me you would be. But they also warned me about your father. See, I know something about you and Uncle John that neither of you could wrap your little engineering blueprints around. I know you both would lift a tank onto your back if it meant saving your lass. That’s why you’re struggling so hard, isn’t it?”

He twisted the knife.

“But I know something else,” he was near to cackling. “I know that women are different. See, they wouldn’t lift a tank … they’d lie down in front of one. And that is why a woman is so much easier to break. You see, Cornelius, I have broken Abigail. She could kill me right now if she’d like, but she knows I’d take you with me. So she stands her ground. She is afraid.”

Abigail did not move.

“And I know that she will do anything I say,” Quinn said. “And it will be all your fault, Prower. Just as it was your father’s. Because there’s one last thing you don’t know and I do. Amelia Prower? Your mother? I didn’t need to lay a hand on her. I was no simple-minded Claudius hushing round in the night and slipping arsenic into her oatmeal. Oh no. That wouldn’t have been very applaudable. No, Cornelius. She killed herself. She killed herself because I told her I would kill your father if she didn’t.”

He looked to Abigail. “And now I’ll demonstrate how I did it.”

Abigail couldn’t stop looking to Prower. And Quinn took this moment to smack him across the face with the spyglass.

“So there is your choice, Abbey,” he sneered. “It’s you or him. I will have one body to take back as a prize. And for the many faults I have, my word is not one. You give me your own person, and I will let him go. I will let the Arabella go. And we both will get what we want.”

“Don’t you dare, Abigail! I will never forgive you!” Prower screamed. He headbutted Quinn, trying to free himself.

Quinn just dug the knife in further. “Better watch your leg or you may lose it,” he said, and he looked to Abigail, “Look at her, Prower. Look how she looks at you. Think of what she could have been if she had never met you. If she had never fallen in love with you. I want you to think of what you did to her.”

Abigail lowered her head. She knelt down, her hair hiding her face from Prower. She turned off the sword blade, but aimed the empty hole to her heart. She put her hand on the button.

“Abigail!! No!!!!” Prower screamed.

Abigail took a breath, “Prower, please,” she whispered through her raspy, tear-sodden voice. “Please stop.”

“Don’t you try to rationalize this…” he said, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t you dare.”

She looked up at Prower. To his surprise, her eyes were completely dry. No crying, no tear-stained face. “Quinn?” she muttered weakly. Quinn looked to her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You missed a step.”

And she flipped her sword round and flew to her feet and straight at Quinn. The flame seared through the air and cut Quinn straight through the arm attached to the hand attached to the knife. It skidded across the room, free of its body, slamming into the pipes.

Quinn howled and held his bloody, fiery stump. Abigail grabbed Prower and slipped in the puddle of mess as she shot for the pilot deck. “Go!” she said, “Kill the thing!”

He reclaimed his sword, and sliced at the moorings attaching the giant electrical gun to the ship. He ran the sword through the control console, melting all of the components within. Finally, he severed the base of the weapon from the rest, and the weapon slid across the deck and over the edge. It plummeted to the ground where it crashed and shattered into a worthless, unrecognizable pile of shards. His mission completed, Prower and Abigail ran. Outside the door to the pilot deck, Prower took the sword and soldered the door shut. “We have to get to a motorplane!” he yelled.

“No, really?” Abigail said, pulling him down the corridor. “Now whatever you do, don’t think about your leg. If you don’t think about your leg, the adrenaline will keep it numb.”

“Oh thanks!” he said sarcastically. He winced and grabbed his leg, the pain was nearly intolerable. “Keep moving!”

“I told you not to think about it!” Abigail dodged a door and jumped down the stairwell, landing at a time. Prower couldn’t keep up. She threw him on her back and shoved her way through a closed door. “One more corridor!”

A roar from above, a slamming into the steel walls. Quinn was coming.

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE WHORE!” Quinn screeched, and Abigail stumbled as she skidded round a corner.

“Just keep your arms around my neck and don’t look back!” she ordered Prower.

“Ignore him and keep moving!” Prower yelled.

A blast from the side, and Abigail felt a pain well up in her ear. Everything was ringing. She struggled to keep on her feet. The door was so close —

There, in front of her. A woman.

“You,” she seethed.

Portia grinned, and she aimed her gun, “Told you we’d get here,” she said, and she cocked the chamber.

And that’s when the door to the deck blasted open, and a large sucking of air overtook the corridor. Abigail grabbed onto the pipes along the wall. Prower held onto Abigail. And Portia flipped round to a surprise.

Romulus Dover stood in the shadows of the bright sky outside. His six-shooters raised. And his barrel aimed at Portia.

Abigail gave out a holler and rushed forward, mostly pulled to the torrent winds outside. Dover grabbed her and Prower, and Portia screeched.

“Go!” Abigail sounded, and the three flew to the motorplanes. Abigail threw Prower on the back of a waiting Fitz’s compartment, and she jumped onto Dover’s. “I’ll thank you later, let’s just go!”

And with a rumble, the two motorplanes left the fiery Hephaestus to the mist and smoke. And headed east for home.

The Fifty-First Chapter: In Which Tudor Survives and Hollock is Dead

The Arabella landed quietly in the river, and Thoms shot out of the bulb to the floating deck. He scoured the bank.

“Where are they?” he jittered as the rest of the crew followed behind him. Dover’s eyes flew from one end of the river to the other. “Dover, Fitz, ain’t they supposed to be here?”

“Aye, they are.” Fitz said. “And we’re a bit late.”

Dover swallowed. His brother came to stand next to him.

“If I’d gone, we’d be here by now,” Dover said tersely.

“I’m sure Prower and the Cap’n have things well in hand.” Fitz said. “But I say we scour for them all the same.” From a distance, the roar of a motorplane could be heard, cutting through their conversation.

And then, from the trees, came Tudor.

In his hands, he held a wounded Emma.

Thoms didn’t wait. He tore across the deck and plunged into the cold water. Disappearing, then resurfacing with a paddle, he stormed the calm river to reach the shore. He rushed to Tudor, and stopped short when he saw the blood.

He gasped, and stared straight into Emma’s foggy, glassed-over eyes.

“Look away,” Tudor instructed him. But Thoms couldn’t. Tudor looked to the nearing crew who was also trudging through the water. He lowered his head, “It’s only me,” he said.

Fitz stopped. “What about the Captain? And Prower?”

“Taken up with Quinn,” Tudor said. “On that motorplane. To the red airship with the electrical storm gun on the front of it. You’ll see it come over the trees soon enough.”

“Is she alive?” Dover started, pushing past Fitz.

“Quinn?” Dwarf interrupted. “I thought if he came, he’d be with the others! We didn’t take out the lightning rod?! You told us to drop the bomb!”

“No,” Tudor said. “I didn’t. Henley did.”

He gently set Emma down on the smooth stones of the bank. He quietly closed her eyes. There was a hush in the crew.

Dover looked at the crumpled body of the little girl. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. And he slammed past Remus to get to the lone motorplane left.

“Get out of my way,” he barked at his brother and trudged back into the water.

“What are you doing?” Remus said. “Rommy, you dolt, where are you going?”

As the Dovers left, Lenwright looked to Tudor, and with a quiet, shaking voice, said, “Where’s my brother?”

Dover gripped the handles to the motorplane, and he hoisted himself up. “Oh don’t start acting all loving now,” he said. “You stay where she put you.”

Remus motioned to Fitz. “Then he’s going with you.” Fitz lumbered over and climbed in the motorplane. “I won’t let you get yourself killed.” Remus said.

“Yeah,” Dover huffed. “Like anyone’s ever cared on that.”

And the two men drove into the sky and back to the west. Back towards Cheston.

The Fiftieth Chapter: In Which the Battle Begins

It was even danker than the last time they’d met Cheston’s streets. At night, it’d looked decimated. At daytime, it looked void.

Abigail and Prower settled onto the ground, Dwarf poised on the back holding on for dear life. Behind came Hollock and Emma Rosen, along with Tudor dangling from behind. One motorbike would be left behind, the other taken back to the ship by Dwarf.

The other motorbike may make it through the blast, but all involved knew that would probably be the optimistic yet very false case.

“So, you know this thing will rust along with everything else,” Abigail said to Prower as they loaded their weapons onto themselves. The mist rose round them, no sign of anyone around. No sign of a main street, no sign of a school, of a grocer’s, of a dance hall —

“I know,” Prower said, brushing the hair from his eyes.  “That’s why when you signal the ship with your intercomera, we ride like hell. Speaking of, that’ll rust too.”

Abigail looked at her intercomera. “Well damn.”

“So who gets the electric gun?” Prower asked, pulling it out of the satchels.

“Well,” Abigail said, “I suppose you should, since you made it.”

Emma looked hard at the gun as she loaded her six-shooter, almost identical to Dover’s. “So is that what you used to kill Christopher?”

“Yes,” Abigail turned to her. “And I killed him. Not Prower. Now if you want to digress from our mission anymore, I’ll let Dwarf stay and have you take the plane back to the deck.”

Emma holstered her weapon and said nothing.

“Oi,” Tudor said, “What the hell are these?”

He pulled out two small silver boxes.

The boxes had a fire insignia on them, one with an ornate letter A, and one with a P. “Oh those, Prower said. He grabbed the box with the A on it and opened it. Inside was a polished silver cylinder, like the fire sword lost in Boston, but this hilt was bigger, with a grip attached to it. Prower flicked the switch with his thumb and a massive red flame erupted from the hilt.

Abigail’s face lit up. “Brilliant,” she salivated, and took it from him. “It’s probably the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I came up with the idea when you left me with Dover.” He said. “But this version has a bigger fuel chamber. The only downside is that if it’s punctured, it might blow up, so be careful.” He then grabbed his own and admired the hilt, perfectly crafted to Prower’s own hands. “I figure it’s got an hour or so of life, so don’t waste it.” He smiled.

“And will it rust, too?”

“No,” he grinned. “I’m a genius, remember? I treated the silver with my own concoction while I was polishing it. It shouldn’t rust or tarnish for two hundred years.”

“Two hundred years, huh?” Abigail laughed. “Well then, that’ll give us enough time.”

“I’m off then,” Dwarf said. “We have all weaponry off and on?”

“Artillery sound off!” Abigail ordered.

“Aye!” all sounded back.

“Alright then! You’re off,” Abigail patted the motorplane. “Now,” she added to Dwarf. “You know as soon as I give the go, Remus jags it up to the moon and you let it drop. Regardless of where we are.”

“Aye,” Dwarf said. “Although I’d rather the captain and the genius didn’t die for a preliminary battle.”

“Yeah well don’t we all,” Abigail said. “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

And Dwarf started the plane back to the deck.

“All right children!” the Captain clasped her hands. “It’s a lovely day to bait! Let’s get going!”

They walked down the streets, Henley first, then Prower. Then Rosen, Hollock, and finally Tudor bringing up the rear. In the smoky grey air, they could barely see where they were going, but they headed forward all the same.

“So the plan,” Henley said. “Is we run like hell.”

“That’s the plan?” Prower asked. “Well that’s reassuring. How long ‘til the tincans arrive?”

“They ain’t,” Henley said. “Couldn’t afford them. But we have fireswords!”

“Very funny.” He smiled. “I mean Clan Lionhead.”

“Ah the Lionheads,” Henley said. “I don’t rightly know. We sent them the invitation, so …”

And she stopped.

Prower wrestled to a halt. He threw his gun up. But Abigail didn’t.

“Shh,” she instructed everyone.

And she walked forward into the mist.

It was impossible to see more than two feet in any direction. Prower stayed right on Abigail, unwilling to lose her to the fog.

And as they trudged through, they all stopped where their Captain had grown quite still.

There, above them, was the ghostly frame of a church’s front façade. A large stone archway, its doors frayed and burnt from the still standing frame. And above, in the breaking dawn and soot, was the cross bearing down on them.

Nothing else was left. Just a wall and a cross.

As the sun came over the horizon, the mist became opaque, glinting in the sunlight, blinding anyone in its throes. Prower lost track of Abigail. He squinted to find her again.

There she was, under the cross, touching the frame.

She looked to Prower with fierce eyes. “Sort of metaphorical and such, huh?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, approaching quietly.

Abigail took his hand and pressed it on the cold stone. She watched him. “You got some sort of misunderstanding in your face,” she said. She looked to the cross. And then let go of him. She lowered her head and crossed herself. “You don’t explain metaphors,” she stepped away. “It ruins their significance. Let’s get a move on!”

Suddenly from the fog came a familiar voice. “Bloody hell, it’s foggy as all get out, innit?” It was Farragut. “Get down!” Prower hissed to Abigail. “They’re here!”

Abigail and the crew flew to the ground and rolled behind the church wall.

“You know him?” Abigail whispered.

“His name is Farragut. He’s one of the tin cans.” Prower whispered.

“Ah,” Abigail said. She leaned into her intercomera. “Alright,” she said. “Adams has arrived. Armored soldiers cross sectioned 30 and 42, near the church.”

“Roger,” Thoms said.

“Shut that thing off!” Emma covered the crackling box with her hand.

There was a silence in the mist. The armor had stopped clanking.

“Now we run?” Prower asked.

“Why yes we shall,” Abigail bowed to Prower, stuffed her intercomera into her coat, and bounced to her feet. “Go!”

Off they went, out of the arched doorway and into the fog. Huddling together as not to lose sight, they charged across what must have been the street at some point. Rushing, slipping on the loose dirt, and fumbling to get a look at anything — anything ­— around them.

“Over here!” Farragut cried. The armor began thudding in their direction at a remarkable pace.

“Okay Tudor,” Prower said. “Under the right eyepiece…”

Tudor aimed. “Aye, got it.” And the gun shot off.

“Bloody hell!” Farragut was blind… again. He roared. “It’s Prower, boys! Over here!!”

Abigail laughed and skidded to her knees. She took aim. “The eye, got it!” And her gun went off.

“AGH!” A man yelled. “Knight Tenley down! They blinded me! Cover your faces!”

Emma rushed her guns, and so did Hollock.

The sounds of richocheting bullets filled the churchyard. “Take them out!” A deep gruff voice called out.

Behind them, the heavy thud of armor, and a new sound – hissing.

“Oh no,” Prower thought. “They’re using their guns now!” He cried out.

“Run,” Abigail muttered. She wasn’t laughing anymore.

So they ran.

And the fog pierced apart by thin deadly lines of steam. Hollock fell back with a swallowed yelp.

“Dammit,” Abigail said, rushing to him. “Medic!”

“No time!” Emma sounded. “Go go go!”

The sound of stinging, searing wasps shot past their heads. Abigail grabbed Prower and shoved him ahead of her. “Run! Don’t look at me! Run!”

‘We can’t get too far from the church!” he quietly pressed. “We have to slingshot back that way!” And he began to curve his path.

Abigail followed him.

“What are you doing?!” Emma hollered. “They’re that way!”

“So’s the blast radius!” Abigail shouted. “Can I make the call, Prower?”

“Do it!” he yelled.

Abigail fumbled for her intercomera. “GO DO IT!” she screamed. “NOW!”

**

Above, Thoms shot his head round to face the Southern pilot.

“NOW!” he shouted.

“Aye aye!” Remus hollered, as the Arabella began to ascend. He began to sing, loudly and cheerfully. “Oh here we go a sailing, hooray, hooray!”

“I guess they don’t kid when they say Sing of the South,” Dwarf sounded from the deck into her intercomera. “Tell me when!”

“Not till we get through the clouds,” Thoms said. “You all strapped in?”

“Fitzy?” Dwarf shouted over the gushing wind as the Arabella suddenly creaked and whirred and shot upwards.

They held onto their harnesses, and Dwarf gave out a slow breath.

“I hate flying,” she said.

“Yes ma’am.” He said, tugging at his harness. “Ready when you are!”

“Thoms?”

“Are we at the altitude?” Thoms asked Remus.

The Arabella shuddered and shook.

“Almost!” Remus yelled, beginning a new ditty. “Oh I was just a lad when I left my home…’ Come on my boy, sing with me!”

 

**

Abigail watched the skies. A puttering, a warbling …

“That’s not a good sound,” she said. “Are you sure the ship can take this?”

“I know that ship.” Prower said. “She can take it.”

“What are we doing?!” Emma reloaded, Tudor stopped for breath. “Why haven’t they dropped it yet? Shouldn’t we try to get back to the plane?”

Suddenly, the sky roared and a massive steel airship cast a shadow over the group. The Dragon had arrived. “No time to breathe, keep running!” Prower yelled.

“Running? Running from that?!” Emma had lost her mind. “Is this your plan?!”

“Keep moving, you idiot!” Prower screamed. But he was drowned out as a massive wall of fire spewed from the Dragon and scorched the dessicated remains of Cheston.

No one spoke. They only rushed, flying to God knows where, terrified out of their brains. Abigail held Prower close as they rolled under a broken wall. There in the gravel and mud, she reloaded.

“They need to drop that thing now,” she grumbled.

**

The Arabella was ready to drop it’s weapon, and Remus was ready to sing another verse. “Drop it now!!” he screamed. Then cheerfully began singing, “Fare thee well my Bonnie fare thee well…”

“Drop the thing!” Thoms shouted.

“Dropping the thing!” Dwarf and Fitz went about to unknotting the bomb.

And down it went.

**

The bomb, looking so much like a bloated shark, fell through the sky like some sort of cruel joke. It did not whistle, but rather, roared, as it approached the ground, before finally making contact. The impact was tremendous. The gas spewed forth and began corroding everything in it’s path. “What the bloody…” Farragut cursed as he went down, again. “I can’t bloody move! What is this!?” His newly repaired armor turned dull, rusted and useless. The gas was spreading to all corners of the town. Knights and Paladins began dropping to the ground, locked in various positions. As the gas reached Prower and Abigail, his belt buckle rusted and cracked, and the intercomera became a worthless piece of trash.

Abigail dropped it in the dirt, and she looked to Prower. “It worked,” she said.

“Well of course it did.” He beamed. They were safe. They had won. The gas, finally reaching the Dragon, began to corrode the belly of the beast, quickly racing to the monster’s mouth. It rusted shut as another wall of flame was ready to erupt. “Oh no.” Prower said, realizing what was happening. With nowhere to go, the fire reversed into the heart of the Dragon. Everyone inside was cooked alive. With its innards destroyed, the rusted Dragon began to plummet toward the ashes of Cheston.

“Prower?” Abigail said. “Run.”

And they ran.

Scraping to their feet from underneath the rusted wall, they shot through the fog and away from the crashing fire-lit hell above. Racing towards them, it mercilessly bellowed through the air. They jumped past the paralyzed soldiers, who were staring through their helmets at what would surely be the end of them.

“Don’t think about it!” she ordered Prower. And they turned a sharp corner and headed for the surrounding forest.

Prower let out a cry of anguish but kept running. He couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about what he had done. All those people…

The Dragon crashed to the ground with a colossal thud, bits of the ship scattering across the desolate wasteland. Then, an incredible explosion. The heat seared the landcape, turning the entire bed of ashes into a sea of glass. The heat from the explosion blew through the air, rocking the Arabella, and causing Remus to halt his song. “Hang on everyone!” he screamed over the ships intercom as he violently adjusted for the massive explosion far below.

On the ground, Abigail and Prower flew off their feet and were hurled down a steep hill into a brick chimney. Abigail landed with a thud and a crack. She gave out a yelp.

Prower rolled harmlessly into a pre-existing pile of ash. “Abigail!” he cried. “Are you alright? What snapped?”

“Nothing, just my wrist,” she said, giving out a groan and ripping her sleeve off. She wrapped her wrist tight, and saluted Prower with her good hand. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “If I could survive your electro-gun of doomsday, I can survive a broken wrist …” she trailed off. She looked around the flying glass and smoldering debris.

And she turned white.

“Electro-gun of doomsday,” she muttered and she flew to her feet. “It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here?” he asked, pulling the worthless rusted gun out of his satchel. “I even held onto it, didn’t want someone else finding it.” He said.

“Not that one,” Abigail said. She took out her gun, saw it rusted, and threw it to the ground. She took out the fire-sword. “The one someone already found. The one Dover warned us about.”

“It’s not here?” he asked. “How do you.. No.” He said. “No no no.”

Humming toward the glass remains of Cheston was the Hephaestus. Like a juggernaught, the Hepahaestus was composed of a thick steel hull, and an array of cannons, forming a massive wall of cannon fire, on the front of the hull and all along both sides. It was a behemoth, made of iron and painted crimson, like some kind of metal death from above. But the most terrifying part of the ship wasn’t it’s enormous crimson visage, its massive rotors, or even the speed with which it was approaching, but the massive electric gun affixed to the bulwark, like some kind of demonic idol.

Abigail took Prower’s hand in hers. “Prower?” she said.

“Yes?” he replied.

“I hate you,” she said.

“I know.” He replied.

She clicked the contraption of the fire-sword alive. It swung out in front of her, a grand red flame. She looked to it, then to the airship. And she marched forward.

Inspired by her bravado, Prower reached for his, pulled it out, but did not ignite it, and marched up beside her. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” he asked, with a nervous chuckle.

“You won’t,” she said. “I’ve done it once before, I won’t be as afraid to take it.”

The Hephaestus rolled to a stop hovering directly over the glassy remains of what was once the churchyard. A small motorplane roared from the mighty ship, and barreled down to intercept them. As the motorplane came to a halt, the pilot removed his helmet and out climbed Quinn Adams. “Why hello, there.” He said to Prower and Abigail. “It’s been too long.”

Abigail, who hadn’t even registered the idea of running before Quinn made his entrance, now stepped in front of Prower.

“So protective.” He gushed. “That’s what I like about you,” he sneered, “you’re so predictable.” He then removed an elongated pistol from his jacket, pointing it at Abigail.

A shot went off.

Abigail winced.

But no bullet came near her.

It hit Quinn’s arm, and now he held it in pain.

From behind him came Emma Rosen.

“And you’re so dime novel,” Emma growled, her six-shooter pointed straight at him.

“What can I say?” he growled. “It’s so much fun!” he quickly passed the pistol to his other hand and BAM! Emma slumped to the ground, a bullethole between her eyes.

“Jesus!” Abigail cried. Emma was quite dead as she fell to the dirt like a rag doll. Emma Rosen was dead.

She looked to Prower.

But he was already sprinting at Quinn, roaring. “How could you?!” he screamed as a bright blue flame arched its way from the hilt of his sword. He brought the sword down on the gun, splitting it at the trigger, and taking with it the trigger finger of one very startled Quinn Adams. He instinctively grabbed his hand, howling in pain.

“You idiot!” Abigail jumped forward, snatched Prower, and flew from the fingerless Quinn and the expired Emma. They forced their way through the fog and shards and bodies, further and further from the scene.

“He… he killed her.” He huffed. “No warning. Nothing!”

“Yeah, that’s how that death thing happens!” Abigail retorted. “What do you think, opera music plays and the angels come down? Ain’t you never see anyone die before?”

“Of course I have, but he just… I was right there. I should have…” His reasoning gave way to an anguished cry, and then there were no more words. He had to save his breath to run for his life.

“Stop crying,” Abigail panted behind him. “Just … just stop.”

But no tears shone on his face. No crying.

Prower stopped. “He’s not chasing us.”

“Yeah,” she yanked him round so his neck snapped back into place. “That’s a good thing. Let’s go.”

“No.” He said. “We have to destroy that gun.” He started to march back toward Quinn.

“And how are you gonna destroy it?!” Abigail said. “With your fire stick?” she grabbed him again and pulled him back. “You wanna die too?!”

“I have an idea.” He said. “You need to go though, keep running.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you!” Abigail said, pulling him back again. “We are both running right now into the woods and away from this.”

“No!” he said. “This is my fault! All of this is my fault!” He leaned his head on hers. “I love you, Abigail. But for my plan to work, you need to get back to the ship. Have the Arabella follow Quinn’s monster. I’ll need a ride after I destroy that gun.”

Abigail’s lip trembled, and her eyes grew glassy. Then tears down her cheeks. She pressed her head against his, feeling his hair in her good hand.

“I’m not leaving,” she whispered.

“I’ll be okay, and I know you’ll always come after me. I won’t be long.” Prower squeezed her hand. “Now go.”

She cut him off as she brought his lips to hers, and she kissed him long. Her hot breath on his cheek, she wrapped her arms around him and sunk into his embrace.

She let go, her eyes locked with his. And she shook her head.

“I love you,” she said.

Prower stopped. “I know.”

And the sound of a motorplane roared over the hill.

The motorplane descended upon the pair, without hesitation. Quinn once again clambered out of the motorplane, this time, visibly shaken. “You.” He said, pointing to Prower with his good hand. “You will pay for that, I assure you.” He pulled the flare gun from the motorplane and blasted Henley. Her fire sword bounced out of her hand.

“Oh dear,” Abigail nervously laughed. “What’s next, you’ll tie me to a railroad track?”

“I wouldn’t dream of killing you, my dear. I have no intention of losing my other trigger finger,” he said, scooping up her fire sword. “I do like this, though.”

Abigail was paralyzed with fear. She looked to Prower.

“Quinn,” she said. “Why are you here.”

“Well,” he said drolly, “to kill you and capture him, initially.” He swung the fiery blade. “But I wouldn’t want to set our little genius off again. You two are coming with me.”

Prower looked to Abigail, and nodded.

Abigail looked to Prower as if he was mad, but nodded as well. “Alright,” she said.

“Delightful.” Quinn chimed, returning to his normal demeanor. “In the motorplane then,” he pointed the sword at Abigail.

Abigail and Prower took hands, and they slowly stepped onto the backseat, struggling to fit. Abigail squeezed Prower’s hand.

“It will be alright,” she said. “I’d rather be here than leave you alone. My choice.”

“My fault.” He said, squeezing her hand.

“Oh you two are adorable.” Quinn said. “Now hand me yours Prower.” He said, holding out his hand.

Prower reluctantly handed Quinn his fire sword, looking into Abigail’s eyes.

“Well, now that’s out of the way, off we go.” Quinn said, as they left the forest behind and  flew toward the Hephaestus.

The Forty-Ninth Chapter: In Which Abigail Rallies the Troops for Our Final Battle

The Arabella fit Prower’s newest invention along Bulb 3. Dangling from a dangerously low airship, it slowly rose from the ground.

“The Arabella is not a landing port ship!” Thoms cried as he and Lenwright attempted to make the gears work faster.

Remus was at the helm.

“Come on boys!” he cried. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Back with your sense of physics!” Thoms screamed into the intercomera. “Fitz, he’s mad!”

“I know, lad!” He said, jumping in to help with the crank.

Steam pussed from the corners of the pipes. Arabella cried out for mercy.

“Oi! Don’t break my ship!” Abigail shouted up to the deck from the ground.

Remus let out a laugh. “She can take it! Come on boys! Heave!”

“Heaving! I’m heaving!” Thoms heaved.

Cullens rushed to a gush of hot steam with a wrench. Emma, Lenwright, and Tudor tried to steady the weapon.

“Do we have enough anti-shock on her to combat with this thing?” Emma shouted down.

“I — you heard her, Prower. Do we?” Abigail looked to Prower.

“Anti-shock on what? The ship?” He asked. “You mean stabilizers?”

“Aye whatever!” Abigail said.

“It’ll be fine. It won’t be set off by a few bumps,” he said.

“What the hell did you do without a mechanic?!” Dwarf said, spotting the machine.

“We had you!” Abigail argued.

“Aye, but I left two years ago!”

“Alright so we may have used some mud and spit for some of it! It don’t rightly need a mechanic, just making routine cargo shipments! It’s when you get this whole ‘saving-the-country’ mission thing that you’re turning a cruise liner into a submarine battleship.”

“It’s secure!” Emma shouted.

“Take her up!” Abigail sounded. “All the way!”

“They’ll need to be way up in Abbeytown to avoid the blast radius.” Prower said.

“Yeah yeah I know,” Abigail said. “That’s our plan. But not before we get there. We’ll waste all its energy. Poor girl.”

“Take her up then!” Thoms sounded to Remus.

“Away we go!” Remus cheered as the Arabella ascended into the sky.

Abigail and Prower settled onto their plane. Dover and Dwarf on Dwarf’s old model.

And up they went.

Landing on the dock, Thoms rushed Abigail and threw his arms around her.

“Captain!” he said. And Abigail pressed his head to her shoulder.

“Oh boy,” she said. “You haven’t bathed since I left.”

Lenwright nodded to the arriving crew. “Good morning ma’am. Sir.”

Abigail nodded back, ‘Where’s your brother?”

“Helping the Colonel,” Larrick said.

Thoms let go of Abigail and rushed Prower. “I knew it warn’t all your fault!”

“Not all my fault, no.” he smiled.

“Of course it’s all his fault.”

Dover ripped from his seat and strode to Prower. “Something’s everyone’s forgetting to mention is your lightning conductor. And how we wouldn’t be rushing all of this if it weren’t for your stupidity.”

“Dover, stand down,” Abigail said, and she headed into the engine room, dragging Prower behind her.

Dover glowered.

Thoms looked to him, “His lightning what?”

Dover shoved past Thoms, and they followed the captain into the engine room and up the stairs.

**

The mess hall was emptier than it had once been. But compared to how scant the crew had been last Abigail and Prower were here, it seemed crowded. There were both Dovers, one looking quite at home and the other smoldering in the corner. Then there was Thoms sitting beside Fitz.

Emma was alone at a table. Benjamin stood. Then Tudor, Dwarf, and the Private brothers settled together.

“Alright,” Abigail said. “Just let me do the talking, okay Prower?”

He covered his mouth and nodded.

“Listen up!” she said. “We will be on a direct course to Cheston shortly! So we will make this brief! What we’ve discovered thus far is a group called the Lionheads are responsible for what happened in Boston and other parts of the like, where tin cans have fancied themselves. Now it seems this group is headed by our Secretary of War.”

“Our what?!” Dwarf started.

“Cornelius Adams. This one here’s grandfather,” she jabbed a finger at Prower. “Now they want to make a foreign enemy to bring the nation together united from two halves against a common nemesis. So they’re ransacking a country with a false army to scare us all. They were working with Quinn Adams as well, this one’s cousin.” She jabbed another finger at Prower. “We have put out a signal to the Lionheads via intercomera and the Spiderweb networking. They know where we will be. They know we have Prower. And they are coming for us with everything they have. They also know that I am alive. As of this morning, they heard myname via intercomera. This means that Quinn Adams, the man who kidnapped Prower and me, will be coming as well. He wants Prower, and he wants to kill me.

“You have seen their weapons,” she said. “You have seen what they can do. We have the Dragon; a large zeppelin which seems to throw fire. Then we have their hydraulic armor, which Prower has figured through. He will debrief you on these weapons. Go on Prower.”

He stood up. “There is weak point on the helmets.” he said. “Just below the right eyepiece. If shot there, they will be blinded. However, they are nearly impenetrable and sealed around each fighter with a locking code. If you encounter a soldier using that armor, your best bet is to blind them and run. That’s what the machine is for. Also, they have pressurized steam guns that can cut

through stones, but they are very short range, so try to keep a good distance away. As for the dragon, the machine should take care of it too, provided it’s within range. There will probably be unarmored infantry too, so be on guard.” he sat down.

“We have a weapon which will oxidize all of this,” Abigail said. “our plan is simple. Prower and I will drive into the battle as bait. Remus, the Arabella will need to then drop the bomb. And reach a height past cloud base. Right straight up.”

“That’s insane!” Thoms cried.

“Can you do it, Remus?” Abigail said.

“Well, we could drop it from cloud level, and climb from there.” he said, “That would work.”

“Peachy,” Abigail said. “The bomb will go off. The Dragons will fall. The armor will be useless. And —”

“Alright, that’s it,” Dover stood up. “You tell them why we really went and built that machine.”

“We didn’t build it,” Abigail said. “Prower built it.”

“Yeah that isn’t the only thing he built, now is it?” Dover looked to Prower. “You. You built a big electric gun that shoots volts of lightning. You killed Hopfrog with it, and now they made one of their own. I overheard them.”

Emma gave out a little sob. “He what?!”

“No!” Prower said. “It wasn’t made to be lethal!”

“But it was, wasn’t it?” Dover said. “Just like your flame sword. Just like everything you touch. You’re worse than your father. That’s why Lord got you to work for him!”

“Lord?!” Emma shot up. “You worked for Lord?!”

“I was tricked by Hopfrog.” he said. “He was out to murder the Captain, and he and Lord used me.” he sighed. “But I never made any kind of deadly weapon!” he yelled.

“You did!” Dover said. “If you didn’t then why the hell are we dropping an oxidation bomb?!”

“The Captain’s found herself a new toy and now we’re sticking out our necks in a battle that doesn’t matter! Whatever we knock off, they’ll remake it!”

“No!” he exploded. “You just stop talking, Prower. Listen,” he said to the crew. “This is all a —”

BAM!

A gun ricocheted through the mess hall.

Everyone grew silent.

Abigail held her gun high.

“Dover, I will not have you stirring up my crew before a mission,” she warned him. “Now you stop talking. My turn.”

She looked to Emma who looked fit to jump on her.

“Hopfrog was working for Lord,” she said. “He was out to trick Prower. And as we both know, Prower is dumb as a brick.

“Now as for this weapon,” Abigail said. “I will acknowledge that Prower’s weapon will be used against us. But it has been bastardized by Lord.”

“Why is Lord even involved?” Thoms said fearfully.

“I don’t know,” Abigail said. “All I know is that he is playing Quinn against his grandfather. We don’t have time to figure it all out while these weapons are scourging the country, though. So we are taking them out to give us time to investigate. No, this will not end the problem. It’s only the beginning. We will have to face these weapons again.”

“I am not saying it will make it better. I am saying it will make it better than it is. And then we will attempt to decode this whole tangled mess. But the one thing I will not have is doubt and mutiny. The Arabella is far too good for that.”

Abigail stood before her crew. Her hair whisped under her helmet, fridging out in all directions. Her goggles placed themselves on her forehead, glinting in the sparks of the Arabella. Her uniform, once more in tact. Her gloves pulled tight.

She looked as dashing as the day Prower first saw her.

“I’m supposed to be giving my rallying speech,” she said. “This is the part where I come before my troops and tell them to be brave, to be strong, et cetera, et cetera. But as a wise man pointed out to a blind and lost Captain, you are not my troops. You’re my friends.”

She looked to Thoms. “Thoms, you are like my brother. You have stood by my side through fire, hurricane, tornado, and bad digestion. You are not a child, you are my first mate. And my best mate.

“Fitz,” she said. “You trusted me. You came on this ship and have protected me with your life, over and over again, to the point where I reckon we forget how many times you could’ve died for any one of us.”

“Emma,” she said. “Although I know we have our differences, you taught me a good many things about being a decent person … and about being a not-so decent person. We’ve drank too much, laughed a bit too little, and I miss you, but I still respect you.”

“Cullens,” she said, “Once you gave up your rations for three days so the smallest kids could eat. You didn’t ask for anything in return. You didn’t complain. You’ve given up much more than any of us for this ship, and don’t think I don’t know you let me win at chess.”

“Remus,” she said. “You are the only one who can pilot this ship. You hold your head high, even when the world smacks it down. And even when I deny your sugar cane offers, you forgive me.”

“Tudor,” she said. “I’ve not known you long, but without you, there would have been a lot more Bostonians lost. And I would have been one of them.”

“Lenwright and Brother Whose Name Eludes Me,” she said. “Thanks for not shooting me.”

“Romulus,” she said. Dover looked to her, his face stone. She hesitated, but did not skip a beat. “Rommy, you are my great friend. You are in my heart, in my crew’s heart, and the heart of the Arabella. You keep us safe. You keep us in line. You show loyalty, even when we can’t. And I thank you. For everything.”

Abigail now turned to Prower. Her eyes were glowing, but her sooted face did not move.

“And Prower,” she said. Nodding. “Prower, you are the soul of my ship. Although you are so daft and a complete dolt … we’d be lost without you.”

Prower smiled. “You’re so inspirational,” he laughed.

Abigail grinned.

Dover grew darker.

“So to my friends,” she said. “I ask you to once again come together, hold onto one another, and fight not for the North. Fight not for the South. Do not fight for war, or for blood or battle. Fight for the thought that someday we won’t need to fight any longer! Let us bring their destruction, and in turn bring life!  So here it is! The beginning of the future!”

The crew sounded out.

All but Dover and Emma.

They then broke to go to their stations. To prepare for a battle they might not all survive.

The Forty-Eighth Chapter: In Which Quinn Meets Lord

The small town of Shreveport was nowhere Quinn thought a respectable investor should live. Only one white mansion kept raised, and it was here the girl took him.

A large man sat in the drawing room for Quinn. He looked without expression, without thought, but stood in a gentlemanly manner at Quinn’s arrival.

“Hello,” Quinn said. “I expect you’re the big man.”

“At least of what you will see of him,” the gruff voice came.

“And what do you mean, by that?” He asked, annoyed.

“It means I speak for him,” the man said. “Do sit,” he offered.

 ”Very well.” he said, sitting on a plush lounge.

“Would you care for anything to eat? Drink?”

“No, get down to it.” he said.

The Bodyman smiled. “Good man, you are. I can tell. A man not as different as my employer. As myself. And I suspect Portia here has introduced herself.”

The girl nodded, “Aye. In passing.”

“Portia is a special lady in our little family,” the Bodyman said. “I assume she showed you Mr. Cornelius’s little invention?”

His eye twitched.

“…So, it’s one of Prower’s toys? I didn’t think the worm had it in him. But, yes, I’ve seen it. Quite wonderful.” he said, regaining his composure.

The Bodyman’s lips twitched. “My employer had the brilliant idea that perhaps, the son was made of smarter stuff than the father. All these years, plotting for John. When really, Cornelius is the boy who’s created many more weapons at half his father’s age. And what a convenience for us, where Cornelius outshines his father in mechanics, he is a grand disappointment to his father in hiding. Or any sort of intelligence out of gears and whirligigs. The boy was here, only a few weeks ago. Building us that machine of his own free will.”

“Well, he’s also naive and has more moral fortitude than the old man. He isn’t broken. That’s rather a nuisance. So, how is he of anymore use, now that he has seen your plot, judging from the scorched earth behind this place?” Quinn asked derisively.

The Bodyman’s lips pursed. “He believes his weapon to be burnt to the ground. Lucky for us, old Theodore Gunn has been plagiarizing the Prowers from sight for a very long time. We have been scouring the South, looking for Prower and Captain Henley —”

“Henley? The girl?”

“Aye, the girl. I believe you two met briefly in Atlanta.”

His face hardened. “Yes, I believe we did. My network reported that she was dead.”

“Your grandfather didn’t tell you otherwise?”

The Bodyman’s eyes looked straight through his. Somewhat surprised. “That’s odd.”

“Well, I will have to correct that oversight.” he said darkly.

The Bodyman cocked his head. “You do know there have been other rumors milling round concerning your grandfather and yourself.”

“Oh?” he said. “Have there, now? And how does information in the halls of power make it to such a squalid little town?”

“You do ask questions,” The Bodyman said. “Do you believe that such a powerful man as my employer would be in such a den as New Orleans? We have room to breathe out here. And we elude questioning, thanks to questions like you just asked. Now these rumors, it seems you are no longer on the Lionheads Christmas card list.”

“People who fear questions are hiding something. It’s true, my grandfather and I aren’t especially cozy. Now, what are you hiding?”

“We are hiding nothing,” he said. “Those who have questions to ask are fearful. Now was there a gentleman with your grandfather at any time … who may have worn a mask or other sort of ominous uniform?”

His face flared with anger. “That fool! Where is he?!”

“Dead,” the Bodyman said.

“Shame.” he said, calming down.”I would have quite liked to do that myself.”

“You’ll have your chance to have your vengeance,” the Bodyman said. “That man was to have killed you. At bequest of your grandfather. Before little Portia took care of the man, we heard a good many plots unravel from his masked mouth. Seems as if they’ve duped you, Mr. Adams. Frame you for their force, and create a villain with a face. And strike you down as the Union’s enemy. Throwing your grandfather higher into the favor of the nation. Not to mention his cohorts. You were but a pawn,” the Bodyman added with venom, but he nodded calmly. “But I know you are much more than that. It is why we are hoping to help you twist their plot onto themselves. Take Prower’s weapon. Take it to the Lionheads, and strike them down as the villains of the North. Save your country. Gain the Union’s support and everlasting thanks. And gain the South’s gratitude. Under your legend, the country could fall to a presidency which would be quite powerful.”

“Ah, now I see.” Quinn said. “Well, whether or not I believe you, that is quite tempting.”

“My employer believes you to be the leader of a new age,” the bodyman said. “We do not flatter here. If we did not like you, we would not have offered you brunch. Or that delightful Prower weapon you are now towing.”

“And what exactly is the gratitude of the South worth?” he asked.

“More votes,” the bodyman said. “Come now, you must think like a politician if you are to be one. Much easier to have the applause of a gnat, regardless of how small, rather than a pointless drop in the polls because of some resistance that starts up a third conflict. Best to unite under the power of the Union once and for all. And when the other candidates try to raise up in a Praise the union, the South will push you over the majority with their support. Never underestimate the smaller persons. There are quite a many of them.”

“How very interesting. Very well, you old devil.” He extended his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

The Bodyman shook Adams’s hand. Then said, “We have news then. Behind this house, you will find the Hephaestus. It is my employer’s ship. It is now yours. And lastly, it seems Farragut’s army is to take to the South in your grandfather’s attempt to ransack us all to bring us all together. Captain Henley and Mr. Prower will be cutting them off in Cheston, Georgia.” The Bodyman turned round and added, “We would so appreciate you taking care of Captain Henley, if you could find the time. We are rather angry about our workshop being set aflame.”

“Well,” Quinn said. “With so many targets in one place, how could I not?”

The Bodyman quivered his jaw. “And Prower? What will you do with our little mad scientist?”

“Well, he’s too good to be swayed. And so I’ll kill him.” His lips curled into a smile.

“You don’t believe him to be of any use?” the Bodyman said. “You underestimate your ability to persuade. I heard you did quite a good number on persuading the father.”

“Well, the father was easily broken. Maybe…” he trailed. “Yes. Perhaps I could try.” he said.

“Do it the way you went about it the last time,” the Bodyman said. “Kill the wife.”

“Oh but that’s far too easy! If I kill the girl, I would only incense the boy. No, he needs to think he can save her.”

“He needs to believe as John did,” the Bodyman said. “That it was his fault.”

“Details…” he said. “I’ll figure some way to twist my dear cousin.”

“I have no doubt,” The Bodyman said. “I will leave you to your work.”

He bowed, and gestured to the grand hall leading  to the back yards. Portia didn’t bother getting up to see Quinn out.

‘I’ll be coming with you,” she said. “But I need to use the little girl’s room. Long trek.”

“Do what you must” he said. “We leave in ten minutes, with or without you.” And he disappeared.

The Bodyman gave a cough. The intercomera in his ear whirred.

“Perfect,” Lord wheezed. “Much better than i thought planned. Now don’t say a word, you both know he’s right outside listening in.”

Neither said a word.

Lord continued, “The three will meet in Cheston. And all is going according to what I said. Portia, you will go along and make certain we stay the course. Bodyman, I will need you to be nearby.”

“Of course,” Portia said.

“Sing of the South,” Lord whispered.

Portia and Bodyman lowered their heads in respect.

And followed Quinn out.

**

The Forty-Seventh Chapter: In Which Prower Builds His Weapon, and They Finally Kiss

Dwarf’s home was now a crowded loft above a Hooper General store. The four of them quietly sat and waited impatiently for Prower to finish his grand plan. During the day, Dwarf and Prower had worked nonstop, leaving Dover and Abigail to stare at each other from across the room.

It had been past half a month since Boston had burned. Prower was taking too much time.

This meant that Henley found more time to sit in the corner of the smithing pots niche and watch him with much evil fervor as he steamed the hot iron in the cool water.

“Work’s nearly done,” he muttered finally after days of no talk. He looked at her through his fogged goggles, although she couldn’t see any of his face under his smithing gear. “We’ll be out of here soon, so you can stop fretting …”

Abigail only watched Dwarf go to smacking a gear in place. The invention was incredibly large, taking up most of the General Store’s basement. She merely shifted on her potato sack and cradled her leg as she did so.

Prower sighed. “How are you healing?”

“What is soon,” she snapped. “Soon is not a day of the week.”

“The next couple of days,” he said tersely. “And you need to call the Arabella. This thing needs to be activated in the sky. Now how are you healing?”

“I will not call the Arabella,” she said. “The Arabella is busy taking refugees out west. It’s the only bit of tangible action we’ve taken. We can find another way.”

“Well, by all means, if you have another airship capable of carrying this, let me know.” He paused, the sizzling metal in his hands. He handed it off to Dwarf who was keeping herself busy staying out of the conversation. “There is no other way, Abigail. They need to drop off the refugees. This will save more lives than all of the refugee runs combined.”

“Captain,” she said.

 “Abigail.” He said. “You’ll earn the title ‘Captain’ again when you earn my respect.”

Abigail gave out a laugh. “You don’t understand, Mr. Puppersnackle. You are no longer on my crew. You are a prisoner. A captive. And as soon as you fix this, I’m throwing you off the deck.”

He took off his mask and laid it on the table. His hair matted together with sweat, his glasses fogged and smudged by the goggles. He breathed for air, “Then you aren’t the person I thought you were. The world needs our help, and you are too busy trying to claim loyalty that you don’t deserve. You can’t just fly around and ignore the world, throwing away people that you disagree with. You’re quick to point the finger when I become morose and childish, but between us, who is the more spoiled?”

“The more spoiled?” Abigail started. Dwarf pumped a lever on her tool and went to whirring. The door opened upstairs and Dover’s boots tromped into view. But Abigail disregarded them both and only raised her voice. “Who was living in an ivory tower when I found him? Who hadn’t ever left the docks of Boston without his nursemaid, Mr. Adams?!”

“I’m sorry, which one of us grew up alone and had to work in a clockshop to eat, and which one was born into privilege with a nursemaid-playmate always around to coddle and protect – SHUT UP DOVER.” he cut off the beginning of an interjection. “You want to talk about ivory towers, Henley of the Boston Henley’s? How dare you. Everyone else may let you do as you please, but I’m sick of capitulating to your every desire.”

“Do as I please?!” Abigail was red. She stood on her bad legs and furiously hobbled for balance.“I’ve never done as I pleased! It’s always what I have to do! What others pleased me to do! If I did as I pleased, I sure as hell wouldn’t be mixed up in all this!”

“Don’t hand me that.” He said. “You’ve always wanted to be the wild airship captain, flagrantly abusing those around her because she’s afraid of being hurt. You wanted adventure and freedom, and if you’re a slave to anything, it’s your own compassion that you try so desparately to hide.”

“Captains don’t have compassion. They have their duty.”

“So, you’ve traded one prison for another then? Is it your duty to constantly hurl insults at anyone who gets too close? Is it your duty to portray a veneer of the lone icicle, too removed from the concerns of the world to care about those around her?”

“And what of you!” she snapped back. “You want to talk of loyalty? You want to talk about deserving things or caring about anyone but yourself! You’re a boy! You couldn’t even trust I wasn’t a goddamn bounty hunter!”

“And why would I believe such a thing, Henley? Huh?” Prower stepped forward. “You running off with no word? You pointing guns at me? You keeping secrets and  pretending you don’t give a flying flip about me? You are cold! You are inhuman!”

Abigail drew silence. She stared at Prower, her jaw set.

“You’re the child, playing pretend,” Prower said. “Pretending you don’t care, pretending you don’t feel pain.”

“Don’t feel pain,” Abigail said quietly. “I could have saved Boston if it weren’t for y —“

“NO YOU COULDN’T HAVE!!” he screamed. “You’re one person, Abigail, you’re not invincible!”

“I think it’s time you leave, Prower,” Dover was done being silent. He edged past the machine and came to stand between the mechanic and the captain.

“No, Dover, I’m going to have to disagree.” Prower said, turning to him.

“Are you now?” Dover’s hands were fists. Lord, he was big.

“Yes, Dover, because every problem can be solved with fists. Good on you.” he said.

“Seems to always do the trick for me,” Dover started for him.

“Dover you prat if you break his teeth he can’t make the weapon!”

“He can’t make the weapon regardless!” Dover spat. “We’ve been here for how long?”

“Shut up, Dover.” Prower said. “Do you want to stop this war or don’t you?”

“And we would’ve by now if it weren’t for you!” Dover said. “Abbey, he nearly killed us!”

“Dover, just stand down.”

“I will not stand down!” he said. “I’ve let you run this show and your head is all muddled with God knows what! You, Prower, are shut your trap and fix that weapon before I shoot you! And you, Abigail, go upstairs, lie down on the bed and get your head on straight!”

“Why don’t you go for a walk, Dover?” Prower said. “Obviously, you’ve been cooped up too long.”

“Did you not hear me?”Dover shoved closer. “I said get downstairs and get to work!”

“Did you not hear me?” he said. “You need to leave… now!”

“Both of you!” Abigail slammed both of them. Dwarf dropped her tool with a clank and grew silent. “I’m done with it! Back and forth like children! Prower, for God’s sake I would’ve thought better of you to hate someone so viciously! Calm the hell down! And you, Romulus, you are not the Captain! Now which one of you is going to argue? I’ve got enough bullets for both of you, but I like to conserve!”

“All right.” Prower said, sitting down. “Go on.”

Dover kept standing. He did not retract.

“Abigail, please get on the bed.”

“I will get on the bed when I want to get on the bed.” she said. “Now I suggest you take a leaf out of Prower’s book.”

Dover laughed, “What, worship you for something you’re not? Tell him on the day you left me in port, Abbey. How about the day you threw Hopfrog off the side? How about how Emma is terrified of you? And now even he is understanding you. Cold and distant, and hurtful.”

Abigail said nothing.

“You’re an idiot, Dover.” Prower said calmly. “That’s not who she is, really.”

“And who are you, Prower?” Dover said.

“I’m a mechanist from Boston that sees good in the world and is doing his best to help save it. This is fun,” he said. “Who are you, Dover?”

Dover laughed. “Oh Lord.”

He stood up and looked to Abigail. “I’ll go finish my work now, Captain.” he said, and he returned to the machine.

As he placed his mask over his head, the smithing niche erupted into anger. He only pulled his lever and drowned out the noise with his machines.

**

It was late as Prower worked by lamplight on his inventions. Dwarf had been busy calibrating and taking measurements, as Prower forcefully assembled he machine. It was nearly as tall as Prower, and shaped like a very rotund shark, at least, that’s how Prower liked to imagine it. He stepped a back a moment to admire his work.

“Is everything alright, Dwarf?” he asked.

Dwarf wiped her sooty forehead. “Aye,” she said. “Rather brilliant, really.”

Prower beamed. This was perfect.

The two took their leave of the machine and headed for the groceries in Mr. Hooper’s kitchen. He had a quaint little house on top of the basement and in the back of the store. Dover and Abigail slept up above in the loft, and Hooper must have been out for the night. Dwarf took a turkey leg, and Prower some buttered bread.

“Now we’re going to need to draw them somewhere secluded,” he said. “There’s a pretty sizeable blast radius, we don’t want to destroy any more cities.”

He stopped to think for a moment.

“Cheston,” Abigail said.

He spun around to see her at the foot of the stairs. “What?”

“Cheston,” she said. “We touched down a couple of months ago. While you were sleeping. It’s completely decimated from the war. And we cleared all of the refugees out.”

“That sounds perfect.” he said. “But how will we get them to go to a burnt out town?”

“Give them bait,” she said. She jabbed a finger at herself. “This gal.” And she jabbed a finger at him. “And that lad.”

“Aha.” he said.

“Well, if we’re going to put ourselves in the fire, we have to plan this so that there is a way to pull us out.”

“Oh come on, we always plan everything out,” she said. “Meticulously and … frugally.”

 “Indubitably.”

She sighed. “Dover says you’re useless.”

“Well, yes.” he said. “I’m sure that will look very imposing when it doesn’t work. It looks like a bloated shark demon right now …” he laughed. “And I don’t care much what Dover thinks of me.”

Dwarf bit into her turkey leg. “I should really call the Arabella, Abigail.”

“Do it then,” she said. “Make sure all are accounted for. Tudor should be on his way as well. We’ll be right back. Come on, Prower.”

He put his tools back in his pouch and followed.

The night was cold and damp. Like the rainstorm passing, the town seemed to be breathing new. It was quiet, quaint … unlike a town which was in the throes of attacks. And unlike two people so close to dropping a weapon unlike any other into the Georgian countryside.

Abigail breathed in the air.

“Did you really think I’d go after your bounty?” Abigail asked.

“I thought you may have … before you knew me,” Prower said. “I hoped you hadn’t … I’m sorry.”

Abigail’s face fell. She nodded, and stepped forward, “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Soon they were mounting the motorplane. This time, Abigail was driving, and Prower awkwardly held onto his small railings.

“Hold on,” she said as she fixed her goggles over her eyes.

The motorplane puttered, and with little to no smoothity, it shot across the field.

“Yee haw!” Abigail crowed, and she pulled up on the steering.

Up they skidded into the sky.

Through the freezing air, nothing to cover Prower’s face. Then pressing through the clouds. And then with a puff of air, breaking through to the sky above the rain.

Abigail soared over the white patches of floating lands. Mountains, valleys, all etched in the imagiation of clouds. And above them sat Casseiopeia upside down. Along with Perseus, Andromeda, and others like Taurus. Draco. Orion.

Abigail slowed the motorplane, and quietly swayed the gears back and forth, rocking the ship as if it were on water, nearly hovering right there in mid-air and looking down on a kingdom only they could see.

“There,” she said. “This is where I’m to live after I die.”

“Oh, I see.” Prower said, looking around. “Am I welcome to visit you here?”

“I suppose,” she said. “If you like.”

“I think I would.” he smiled.

Abigail smiled. It was warm. A look he’d not seen since that first day.

“I know,” she said. “You understand this place is beautiful.”

Her warmth blasted away the frigidity of the night air. He felt warm and satisfied, glowing almost. “Well, of course it is,” he laughed. “Who could see something so beautiful and say otherwise?”

Abigail laughed. “A good many people. Once I took Dover to this place. He told me I couldn’t live there; they were clouds.”

Prower looked thoughtful. “What difference does that make?” he asked.

Abigail looked to him.Her brown eyes were wide and glassy, staring at him as if she’d never seen a specimen like him before. As if she’d been looking at him her whole life, but didn’t know what he looked like.

She gave a small, weak smile. “I called it … I called it Abbeytown when I was little. Once, on one of my father’s airships, I saw it from the observation deck. It was the only real time since Arthur died that I felt that light up inside, you know?” she looked down to the clouds.“Whenever I felt trapped, I would think about Abbeytown. I would think about getting back here. To a place where people are kind, and you don’t have to worry about anything. No one is at war. No one yells. No one has guns. … I’ve tried for so long to get back here. But every time I got close, it just disappeared. Whisped away on the breeze. It’s built on clouds,” she said. “People don’t understand the clouds. We forget about them.”

Abigail pressed her hand to Prower’s.

“But you see it,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“See it?” he said. “I live here.” he smiled. “I’ve got a nice little cottage, right over there…” It seemed all the stars were twinkling in her eyes. He squeezed her hand.

She pressed her thumb on his.

“Right on the mountainside,” she said. “I always liked that house.”

“Well, you can come and stay, if you’d like.”

Abigail looked to their hands. Her worried brow looked to him.

She breathed in the cold air. “I gave you a reason to believe Hopfrog.”

“You also gave me a reason to burn the workshop down.”

Abigail looked away. Prower did not.

“I knew you lived here,” he said. “The first day I saw you. It doesn’t matter what days came after … I saw you on that first day.”

“I was going to kill myself that first day —“

“You weren’t playing Captain,” he said. “You were …” he slunk into himself, looking round below them. The small lantern lights from Raleigh could be seen glowing from underneath the clouds. He looked to the woman who was looking at the same sight. “I … I wish I knew how to say all of this better but … it’s as if we’re two parts of the same design.”

She gave out a choked laugh, “Yes. Ha, poetry written by an inventor.”

And quietly, she lowered the motorplane down to the lcouds, through the break, and down to the earth. Feet off the motorbike, she marched up the hill from him.

He watched her go, before she tore off her goggles and spun around to look at him.

“Now listen,” she said. “I wanna make this clear. I ain’t some prize. And I’m not some perfect wild madwoman who goes galavanting on adventures. I will not make your life any more interesting than it already is. And I will not be dressed up in jewelry and petty little corsets! And don’t you dare … don’t you dare propose marriage. It’s happened twice before, and I ran from both. Do you understand, Prower?”

He smiled and said, “Why would I want it any other way?”

And he grabbed her arm and pulled her in.

They met. An embrace. A kiss.

And Abigail melted into his arms.

He took her round her strong waist, and she pressed her chapped hands to his chest. He wrapped his fingers in her wild, short brown hair and gripped the locks as if she’d run away again. But she wasn’t.

She was shining.

They looked to each other, a feeling of disbelief in both of them.

Years from now, children would sit round a fire and hear the tale on the night the Bloody Captain kissed the Mad Inventor. Now we the scriboners cannot tell you if her name was ever changed to Prower or if the children were their own. And if they were their own, if both were able to breathe to tell the story. For this story has a lot of death and sadness to come, and both of these adventurers had many dark and terrible things to come. But what you the reader must concern yourselves is the joy of this one moment. For it was this moment in which a kiss sealed one most important notion: that death would be the only thing to separate Abigail Henley from Cornelius Prower.

But the night all of this happened, she did not say a word.

She only shoved Prower playfully and walked back to the store with a “I can still taste Emma on you. Don’t you ever clean your mouth?”

He grinned and grabbed her hand, unfazed. He had seen his future, for the briefest moment, shining in her eyes. It was heavenly. He closed his eyes, never wanting to leave Abbeytown.

The Forty-Sixth Chapter: In Which Quinn Meets a Mysterious Woman, and the New Age Begins with the Flick of a Switch

Quinn’s motorplane whirred down into the familiar field. He would not be bothered here. Finding the hidden door, he lifted it up and entered, where only weeks prior he had Abigail and Prower in his grasp. He sighed as he continued down the steps, and was surprised to see a lone figure standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“I’m someone who is in charge,” the figure was a woman.

“Forgive my simple ears, my dear, but you’ll have to clarify. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?”

The woman struck a match, and she lit the nearest wick on the wall. Her face was soft, her eyes large and round like two black pebbles from the beach underneath straight black bangs and long straight black hair. She looked not older than Captain Henley, peering out of the darkness with the creased lips of an ancient politician.

“Your grandfather disowned you,” she said. “And your grandfather’s higher-uppers do not approve of his decisions.”

“Oh, I see… He regrets his decision and wants to bring me back into the fold, how charming.”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice drawling and lazy. “I did not say your grandfather. I said his higher-uppers. Mr. Adams, the Lionheads are but a small pawn on this earth. They failed to give you the resources to find the inventor, and they expected you to work miracles.”

“And you, oh, Mysterious Lady, claim to be more equipped to find the old man than the Union government? Oh I have to hear this.”

“You can wipe that smug smirk off your cheap face,” she said, not raising a finger, not raising a tone. “We already have found the inventor. And for a price, we would like to align ourselves with you. And show you what sort of power we could offer. If you are interested, I could give you a demonstration right down this corridor.”

“Oh by all means,” he said bemused. “My corridor is your corridor.”

The woman nodded, and slowly shuffled her way down the dark hall, to a room where once Quinn had shoved Prower’s thick skull under water. A large, cold and dank place. There lay another now, not Prower (unfortunately), but a weeping, whining little whelp with a gag and cuffs.

“You may recognize him,” the woman said. “A token of our loyalty.”

An old man, sputtering. His hands worn by years of inventing, his eyes staring up at Quinn, terrified.

“And before you lecture me on how this is not the inventor you were looking for,” the woman said. “I already know.” She kicked Theodore Gunn, and slowly made her way to the other side of the room. She drew back a curtain.

“But this,” she said, the room turning bright with the shock of sparks. “This is enough proof that we have what you need.”

There was Prower’s gun, large and settled in a larger vault. Above, a coil sparked with electric storms. And below, a long stick, pointing like a long, damning knell to Theodore’s sweaty face.

“You may want to retreat to this side of the mechanism,” she said.

“My, how very intimidating…” he laughed, settling himself behind the machine. “On with the show then.”

With a flick of a switch — not even a move of more than a finger — and the room ignited in a horrific shriek. The lightning shot straight from the coil, through the gun, and down the rod.

To say that Theodore screamed would be to undo justice to this scene. Theodore did not scream. He gave out a sound unheard on earth before this moment. It was the sound that comes from a thunderstorm pulsating throughout one’s body, ripping his skin and veins and sinew and bones from the inside out. The sound was a sound of burning flesh, burning brains, burning stomach, burning heart.

And then it was the sound of silence. As the switch was pulled back. And Quinn saw what the mad inventor had wrought into this world.

It was a new age.

“What a theatrical presentation,” Quinn said. “You have my attention.”