In a world of steamships and Progress, no one who sails due south across the Wild Sea ever returns.
No one knows why.
Dale Mortensen intends to solve the mystery. With the help of an old sailor and a reformed playboy searching for his missing sweetheart, he locates a captain and crew ambitious—not to mention crazy—enough to undertake the journey across the Wild Sea.
The Infinity and her crew sail south, but the truth of what really lies on the other side of the horizon is more amazing—and terrifying—than anything they can imagine.
It’s the adventure of a lifetime—and it may just get Dale and his friends killed.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Click here to start from the beginning. Or if you want to read it at your own pace, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HORIZON
E. R. PASKEY
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DALE RETURNED TO CONSCIOUSNESS SLOWLY, EACH HEARTBEAT punctuated by a reciprocal throbbing in his temples. He was yet too groggy to be able to think. Gradually, he became aware of voices somewhere close. One of them he knew; the other he did not recognize.
“You gave him too much, Seldon.”
“You lot said you wanted to knock ‘im out. Well, he’s a bigger man than most, ain’t he? Had to adjust the dosage for his size, now, didn’t I?”
A sigh. “Carry on, then.”
“Much obliged.”
Dale’s head cleared a little, though the throbbing persisted. What is going on here? He struggled to think back to the last thing he could recall…which turned out to be leaving the pub. I got dizzy. Like he had taken a page from Raphael’s old book and drunk much more than he should have. But I didn’t. I only had—
Realization clicked into place and he drew in an unintentionally sharp breath. I only had two pints. Nowhere near enough to put me in a state. His head throbbed again. That means—
“I believe our young friend is awake now,” said a third voice in mild tones.
“About time,” grunted the second man, Seldon.
Dale cracked his eyes open; there was no point in pretending. He found himself lying on a faded counterpane coverlet on a small bed in a dingy, windowless room lit only by the gentle glow of a single lamp. A small table had been pushed up against the opposite wall; three men stood in front of it.
Two of them were entirely unfamiliar to Dale, but he recognized the man in the middle. His eyes widened in shock; he felt as though the very floor had been yanked from beneath his feet. “Withers?”
Sam Withers gave him a nod, his green eyes somber. “Mortensen.”
Dale struggled up into a sitting position, resting his back against the bed’s headrest. He felt lethargic and tired, though judging by the stiffness in his limbs, he had to have been asleep for at least a few hours. His booted feet hung over the end of the bed. This was nothing new; most beds were too short to accommodate his tall frame. He cleared his throat. Shock had not yet given way to anger, but he felt it simmering deep in his chest. “Somebody mind explaining what’s going on here?”
The three men exchanged glances. “You’d best do it,” said the man with the voice belonging to Seldon. He was a short, rather floppy looking man, with unshaven cheeks, graying brown hair and sharp, suspicious brown eyes.
“I agree,” said the third man. He was tall and distinguished—and dressed a cut or two above his companions. The lamplight reflected off of his silver hair. “I’ll fill in whatever gaps are necessary.”
Withers exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”
Before the old gentleman could say anything further, the door opened and in strode another familiar figure. “Is he awake yet?”
Dale’s jaw dropped in utter shock. “Hawk?”
Hawk’s gaze snapped to him. “Oh, good. He’s awake.”
“What in the devil is going on here?” Dale would have stood and towered over the four of them, but as his legs refused to cooperate, he was forced to settle for glaring at them from the bed. As far as he knew, Hawk seldom left the Platform. What is he doing here?
“We’re getting to that.” The distinguished gentleman turned to Hawk. “You’re late.”
“Couldn’t be helped.” Hawk twitched a shoulder in a shrug. “We’re down a man on the Platform detail; watched ‘em myself until the next shift arrived.”
I hear the words, but none of them make any sense. With an effort, Dale sat up properly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Somebody drugged me.” His eyes narrowed, remembering that last pint and its unusually bitter aftertaste. “Roark drugged me.” He could scarcely believe his own ears.
“Aye.” Withers turned to look at him. “We asked him to, if it came to that.”
In the deepest, coldest tone he could manage, Dale asked, “Why?”
“Because you went off your head, that’s why,” grumbled Seldon. He cut his eyes toward Hawk, his voice accusing. “You said he could be trusted not to be foolish.”
Hawk bristled, and Withers stepped between the two men. “Stop it, both of you.” He looked at Dale. “As soon as we realized your friend Avarez had vanished, we put a watch on you.”
“And on your former shipmates, Minh and Yutha,” added Hawk.
Dale blinked. What?
Withers took his silence as leave to continue. “When you announced to the entire pub that you wanted to know where you could find the Revolution, Roark took matters into his own hands.”
“He did not,” interjected the distinguished gentleman wryly, “think you were aware of the full implications of your statement.”
“Aye, that’s for sure,” mumbled Seldon.
“You put yourself in a dangerous situation, Mortensen.” Withers shook his head. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that no one talks about the Revolution openly, and yet you just…” He spread his hands.
Dale found his voice at last. “I just learned this evening—” he tilted his head, “—or is it last night, now?”
“Last night,” said Hawk.
“—last night that my friend has gone missing.” His hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. “How did you come by such knowledge?”
Withers looked tired and much older than usual. He passed a hand over his face. “Avarez was working with us, you see, before they got him.”
The confusion stalling all the wheels in Dale’s mind must have shown on his face, because Hawk took an impatient step toward him. “We’re part of the Revolution you were looking for, Mortensen.”
It was Dale’s turn to pass a hand over his face. Belly’s weathered old visage flashed before his mind’s eye. “What about Belly?” He felt, more than saw, the four men exchange somber glances.
“Disappeared,” said the gentleman sadly. “Not a trace of him to be found anywhere.”
Dale’s throat clogged. “Does that mean Raphael—” He could not bring himself to finish the sentence.
Grave silence descended on the room like a stifling cloud. Poor Elena, Dale found himself thinking. He roused himself with an effort. “Why am I here? Other than the fact that I was publicly looking for the Revolution?”
The men looked at each other and then at Hawk, who shrugged as if to say, ‘I told you’. He perched on the edge of the table. “I’ll tell you, Mortensen. It’s because up until now your stubborn arse wasn’t a threat to Them.”
“What are you talking about?” Dale lifted his head.
Hawk met his burning gaze without flinching. “You know what I’m talking about. Peabody. The dirigible.”
Why do they always come back to that? A growl rose in the back of his throat, but it died as Hawk waved a dismissive hand.
“See what I mean?” he said to the others. “Prickly as a porcupine whenever the subject comes up.”
“It’s been well-documented,” agreed the gentleman. “Though I suspect They’d have got him eventually on general principles.”
“Won’t argue with that,” said Seldon.
Dale went hot and then very cold as the horrifying truth dawned on him. “Peabody and his machine? That’s what this is all about?”
“Avarez suspected as much after Skoog went missing, didn’t he?” asked Withers.
Yes. Dale thought back to his last conversation with Raphael, and then the guilt slammed into him with the force of a steamer. Oh, God, what have I done? His stomach cramped; he hunched over.
“You’ve realized it now, haven’t you?” Hawk nodded sagely.
“Raphael and Belly—they’ve Disappeared because of what they knew about Peabody?” Dale looked from Withers to Hawk and back.
“That’s our theory,” said Withers.
Dale nodded, even though the room had begun to spin about him like a child’s top again. “They must have the dirigible. Or Peabody.”
“Or both,” said Hawk.
“They wouldn’t care otherwise.” Sucking in a deep breath, Dale tipped his head back to glare up at the ceiling.
“After your little stunt in the pub last night,” said Withers, “we were afraid you’d be the next to Disappear.”
It made sense. If such things as who Disappeared could be quantified, Dale would lay gold down on there being a connection. His lips thinned as he wrestled with himself. His pride and fierce dislike of all things to do with the dirigible warred with his loyalty to his friend—and came out the loser.
Straightening his shoulders, he swung to regard Withers, Hawk, Seldon, and the gentleman—
—to find them all staring at him expectantly.
They knew what he was about to tell them, but Dale said the words anyway. “What can I do?”
Relief flashed over all four men’s faces, before it hardened into resolve. “First,” said the old gentleman, “we need you to tell us everything you can remember about the dirigible.”
~oOo~
ON that front, Dale did not have much to say. He told them what little he knew, and at the end of it, he jolted as though stung by a bee. “What about Raph’s fiancée, Elena?” He turned wide eyes on the gentleman. “Will she be safe?” He swallowed roughly. “What about my—anybody closely connected to me?”
The gentleman exchanged glances with Withers. “We think Miss Mountebank should be fine; she has lived in Rift City too long to have any information They might consider crucial.”
“And there’s Corwin Hamper to consider,” said Withers dryly. “Even if she’s engaged to someone else, I doubt they’ll bother her unless they have a very good reason.”
“And my friends?” demanded Dale.
“Names?” asked the gentleman.
Dale listed Naya and her grandmother and waited with bated breath for an answer. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Nothing can happen to her. He would not be able to live with himself if something happened to her too.
“We’ll have someone keep an eye on them,” the gentleman assured him.
A portion of the heavy weight pressing down on Dale’s shoulders dissipated; he audibly exhaled. “Good.”
Seldon scratched his head. “I still don’t know what we’re going to do with ‘im.” He gestured to Dale. “How’s he going to help us? Stand right out, he will, instead of blending in.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Withers. “We’ll get to that when we get to it.”
“I think,” said Dale slowly, waiting for them all to give him their attention, “that it’s time you told me everything.”
Withers and the gentleman exchanged significant looks. “Not everything,” countered the gentleman, “as that would be too dangerous for any one of us, but we’ll tell you enough.”
“Fine by me.” As long as it helped him find Raphael—or else avenge him—Dale decided he did not much care. His stomach, however, had other ideas and growled—loudly.
A hint of a smile poked through Wither’s grave expression. “We’d best get some food in the lad before we start this tale, Theroux.”
Seldon snorted. “And I think we could all do with a cup of tea.”
“Agreed,” said the gentleman, who Dale now knew was called Theroux. “Although I think you and I are the only ones who will take tea.” He nodded to Hawk. “If you’d be so kind as to tell Gretchen.”
“Aye.” Hawk disappeared out into the next room, and Theroux motioned for Dale to join him at the table.
Another fifteen minutes found Dale tucking into breakfast and a large mug of steaming coffee. Both did a great deal to take the edge off of his throbbing headache.
“I do apologize for the necessity of slipping something into your ale,” said Theroux, picking up a chipped teacup. “But you understand that we simply could not take the risk.”
His mouth full of sausage and toast, Dale could only nod. Whatever they had drugged him with had long since worn off, but he still felt addled. Getting kidnapped by the Revolution after your best friend Disappears will do that to you, he thought wryly.
For a long moment, only the sounds of sipping and eating could be heard in the little room. Then Theroux set down his teacup and fixed slightly rheumy eyes on Dale. “Surely you have been here long enough to get a feel for how Rift City runs, haven’t you, Mortensen?” He did not wait for a response, but continued, “The Four Families control everyone and everything here. Oh, they’ve got token members on the Council,” he waved an impatient hand, “but at the end of the day, they do not have any real—”
The door to the other room opened again, and for the third time that morning, Dale found himself looking at someone he knew. In this case, however, his astonishment was not as great. He had already suspected Mr. Riley knew much more about certain aspects of Rift City than he let on.
“Mr. Mortensen.” Riley nodded to Dale. “Theroux. Withers. Hawk. Seldon.” He nodded to each of them in turn and pulled off his gloves, stuffing them into the pockets of his overcoat. “I got here as quickly as I could.”
“Good news travels faster than usual,” said Theroux mildly.
“This news does.” Riley cut a glance at Dale.
Seldon stared at Riley over his teacup. “Isn’t it a bit, well, dangerous for you to be here?”
“I took the usual precautions and then some.” The shorter man shook his head. “This is too important. They’re well and truly concerned now.”
Withers frowned. “No more than they should be.”
“Well, as you can see, Mortensen, we have our man on the Council.” Theroux motioned for Riley to take a seat.
Dale blinked. “And They don’t suspect anything?”
Riley gave him a tightlipped smile. “My presence on the Council is a necessity They suffer grudgingly; none of Them for moment believe I am anything more than what I appear.”
“If They did, he wouldn’t be there, would he?” observed Seldon shrewdly.
“I cannot often get away,” continued Riley, “but when I heard about you, Mr. Mortensen, I thought I ought to be here.”
“Speaking of which…” Dale looked around. “Where are we?”
The corners of Theroux’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “East Middlesedge.”
“Though that’s not how we got you here,” said Withers.
Theroux waved a wrinkled hand. “Never mind that. We’ll explain it later. For now, young Mr. Mortensen, this is what you need to know.” He fixed clear, sharp eyes on Dale, who almost felt like squirming under the weight of the older gentleman’s gaze. “The Revolution is comprised of men and women who believe conditions in Rift City have reached intolerable levels of corruption and mistreatment. Our aim is the betterment of Rift City.”
That’s rather vague, when you get right down to it, thought Dale, but he remained silent.
“You work on the Platform,” continued Theroux. “What do you think will be done with the thousands of tons of glitter-oil you pipe out of the ocean floor?”
Confused, Dale glanced at Hawk, but his fellow worker maintained his usual stoic expression. “I know some of it goes for glitterglass, and to fortify areas around bodies of water that need protecting.” He hesitated, and then added, “And Belly told me that the men in charge of the Platform want to expand to another island.”
“That they do,” said Riley gravely.
“But with this world’s weather?” Dale shook his head. “How do they intend to build a bridge in these constant storms?”
“And that’s not even accounting for the Streamers,” added Riley.
Theroux folded his hands together. “How do you think?”
“I’ll tell you how.” A muscle in Hawk’s bearded jaw clenched. “Same way they built the Platform. On the backs of men like us. They don’t care how many of us die in the process.” He looked at Dale. “Another reason the Revolution came into being.”
Dale frowned, thinking back to the news reports of people vanishing in the Wild Sea that he had collected over the years. “Are there really enough New Arrivals to even do that?”
“More than you’d think,” said Withers. “And by now, most of the last several decades’ worth have married and had children, who’ve in turn married and had children. Rift City has quite a large workforce now.”
“And the Council would like to keep it that way,” said Riley.
“Way of the world, that.” Seldon flattened a hand over his lapels as he reached across the table to pour himself another cup of tea.
A great many things began to make more sense. Dale sat back in his chair, staring down at his coffee cup on the table before him as his mind sifted through the last few months. The others let him. “Books,” he said abruptly. “I noticed when I first arrived that there aren’t many books here. They’re keeping people starved for information, aren’t they?”
“Or simply too busy and, by extension, too exhausted to pay any attention to expanding their horizons,” said Riley.
“Which is why you built a printing press.” Dale looked at Theroux, who nodded.
“It was not an easy task, but we succeeded. And once we had the information from Belly Skoog and young Mr. Avarez, we set about making the rest of Rift City aware of it.” Theroux’s eyes saddened. “Despite the cost.”
Dale opened his mouth to demand to know why the blasted dirigible was so important to everyone—
—and the answer slammed into him like a tidal wave. Raphael had said as much months ago. “You want to use the dirigible to cross through the Rift.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
“Precisely.”
“Of course we do.”
All four men spoke at once.
Withers looked at Dale, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. “Some of us have families on the Other Side—or at least we hope to God we still do.”
“Some of us miss the sun something terrible,” said Seldon, though he himself did not look like he had ever been out beneath said sun’s rays.
“Some of us want to sail the sea again without having to fear Streamers or constant storms,” said Hawk quietly.
Dale nodded to him; he understood that full well. He briefly closed his eyes. I’ve been a fool. “The Council doesn’t want anyone to go back through the Rift, do they?”
“Not particularly,” said Riley. “But it might surprise you to learn that they’re also divided on whether or not Rift City ought to expand to another island.”
That drew Dale’s attention. “They disagree?”
“Quite vehemently.” Riley shook his head. “Otherwise they’d have begun the project years ago.”
“Wait.” Dale held up a hand. “If the Council already knows about the dirigible, why did you need Raphael and Belly to tell you about it?”
Riley flashed him that tightlipped smile again. “That information is reserved solely for the inner circle. The likes of me are not to know about it. But from what little I have been able to gather, the Council is split on how to even use the dirigible. Half of them wish to use it to further development of this world, while the other half would like nothing more than to smash it to smithereens and pretend that it never existed.”
“Because it keeps all of us here,” said Hawk. “Under their control.”
No wonder Raph and Belly both leaped at the mention of a Revolution. Dale internally shook his head. Neither one of them dealt with situations like this well. Not that Dale himself liked to live under such draconian rule, but his two friends seemed to enjoy bucking authority.
He shook his head again. “What are we going to do about it?”
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Or if you want to keep reading right now, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
Copyright © 2013 E. R. Paskey