To Rule the Skies

By Michael Tierney

Professor Nicodemus Boffin, late of the University of Edinburgh and protégé of the great Michael Faraday, serves as the Scientist General of a semi-secret British institute to further scientific knowledge and technological advancement for Queen, Country, and Empire. Boffin and his crew travel the world aboard their advanced airship Flamel on a voyage of discovery. In desperate times, however, Flamel is called upon to perform “extraordinary duties”. Boffin is tasked to search for the cause of the sinking of HMS Bellerophon, the Royal Navy’s flagship which was secretly carrying a huge shipment from the Canadian gold fields to London. He must uncover who or what is behind the disaster before tensions between long-time transatlantic enemies, Britain and the United States, bring the two nations over the brink to all-out war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Tierney
• Release date: Sep 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310937286

Michael Tierney

Michael Tierney writes steampunk-laced alternative historical fiction stories from his Victorian home in Silicon Valley. After writing technical and scientific publications for many years, he turned his sights to more imaginative genres. Trained as a chemist, he brings an appreciation of both science and history to his stories. Visit his blog at www.airshipflamel.com.

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To Rule the Skies

An Airship Flamel Adventure

Copyright 2014 Michael Tierney

Published by Michael Tierney at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Connect with Michael Tierney

Prologue

August, 1878—Off the coast of Cornwall

Go and inform your captain that it would not be fruitful to attempt to attack us, the Professor said calmly. Putting down the speaking tube, he looked up at the envelope of the much larger airship looming above. The gondolas of the two airships faced each other across an open abyss of rushing air. Professor Nicodemus Boffin could not but notice the polished brass muzzle of an incendiary gun at the aft of the airpirate ship's bridge, aimed squarely at him.

My captain has given orders not to be disturbed. The crewman from the larger ship looked confident, almost cocky. Prepare to be boarded. Your tiny ship is no match for us. If ya knew what was good for ya, you'd surrender quietly.

I assure you, that will not happen. The Professor's voice became strident, "Be certain that we are completely capable of defending ourselves. Now, please wake your captain from his nap, and let him know that his first mate is making the mistake of trying to plunder Her Majesty's Research Airship Flamel."

Now looking less certain, the pirate pulled his head back into the airship's cabin. Through the window, the Professor could see him arguing with other members of the larger ship's bridge crew before disappearing up a stairway into the interior of the airship. The Professor issued a quiet command to the airman at one of the ship's control panels, Mr. Cartwright, please activate the discharge rods. But do not deploy them as yet. The crewman threw a large knife switch and turned a red knob. The needle on the large ornate brass voltage indicator rose and a low hum increased in pitch until it could no longer be heard.

Discharge rods ready, Professor.

A few minutes later, the airpirate returned, poked his head out the window, then withdrew it. Another man, much younger, but obviously in command, replaced him. He looked down at the smaller ship, noted the name at the bow, and made a quick, slight nod towards the Professor.

The older man looked up at the cabin of the larger ship. A slight smile crossed his face. Son, I tried to explain to your crewman that it would not be profitable, financially or otherwise, to attack this ship, but he seemed unable to comprehend. Is this the calibre of pirate for hire these days? And, if I may say, you've got some cheek to be plundering so close to British shores.

The pirate captain's shoulders drooped slightly, then stiffened. Be on your way. My ship and its crew are no concern of yours. Leave before I change my mind. He withdrew into the window, and could be seen inside the cabin dressing down the crewman.

Time for us to be taking our leave, Captain. Please steer a course away from their ship.

The Captain grasped the large wooden ship's wheel and turned it sharply to port. The wheel seemed almost quaint surrounded by the valves and switches on the control panels ringing the bridge. Still, the ship's wheel was tradition, and so made the transition from maritime ship to airship unchanged.

If you don't mind me asking, sir, how in Jupiter's beard did you talk our way out of being attacked by those airpirates?

I've run across them before, Captain, the Professor explained. At times, we have had mutual goals, although we have been at odds with them more often than not. His grey eyes peered out at the other ship, which with increasing distance no longer filled the sky with its enormousness, and noted the name on the nose of its envelope: Demon's Scourge. The Professor looked down at the speaking tube still in his hands. And when I addressed their captain as son, it was not meant figuratively, but familially.

Chapter One

Famili-what, Professor? the captain sputtered.

Familially. It means he is my son, my blood son.

If you don't mind me asking, Professor… the captain paused, but his mouth kept moving seemingly at a loss for words. Finally he blurted, Your son's an airpirate?

The Professor gazed wistfully out of the window of the bridge towards the sunlit clouds in the distance. It's a long and complicated story, I'm afraid. Suffice to say that he chose his own path. The consequences of that choice were not totally evident at the time, however. I am glad that his mother never—. The Professor caught himself suddenly and stiffened. I must ask you to keep this in confidence, Captain. Not many are aware of our relationship, and it could do this ship and its crew irreparable harm should it become more widely known.

Surely, whatever trouble he's gotten into, he hasn't turned all pirate. I mean, he let us go!

Yes, a combination of residual family loyalties and a respect for our defences, I should think The Professor straightened. "Captain, this ship's experiences with the Demon's Scourge extend back several years. A perusal of the ship's log might be illuminating. I suspect you haven't had the time to hear all our stories yet. We did get underway rather quickly after you came aboard."

Captain Daniel FitzHugh was still a bit bewildered at how he came to be commanding Flamel at all. He had just come off leave after a particularly trying air voyage that left him pondering his future service career. His airship, HMAS Gryphon, had been assigned to convey Her Majesty's special emissary to the newly crowned king of the Afghans, a former warlord who had somehow gained the upper hand in the continual tribal squabbles in that part of the world. However, what had begun as a rather mundane diplomatic ferry run had collapsed into disaster. Upon arrival in Kabul, the Afghan king refused to meet with the British emissary unless he was paid tribute, his preferred form of tribute being gold. Needless to say, Her Majesty's representative was not prepared to kowtow to this petty potentate, and told him so in very polite and gracious terms. The diplomatic row rapidly escalated to armed conflict between Afghan forces and the British troops who were assembled across from them in the Khyber Pass. FitzHugh's airship, still moored outside Kabul, was trapped behind enemy lines and quickly surrounded by a detachment of Afghani irregulars in an attempt to hold the airship and the emissary hostage until tribute was paid.

To save weight on this diplomatic mission, Gryphon had not been outfitted with its standard complement of arms, and had little means of fighting its way out. However, Captain FitzHugh was not ready to surrender his ship and crew. Taking advantage of the moonless night, FitzHugh ordered a stealthy departure under cover of darkness. The airship detached from its mooring and floated slowly upward in the dark night sky with engines switched off so as to remain silent. The ruse was succeeding until one unusually observant Afghan sentinel noticed, and sounded the alarm. Although armed only with small-calibre rifles, the Afghan forces did manage to puncture one of the gas cells with some lucky shots. While racing to raise steam to start the engines, the ship lost altitude in Kabul's thin mile-high air, and was close to crashing. FitzHugh ordered emergency release of almost all the ship's ballast water onto the Afghan troops beneath them, stunning them while the ship slowly began to gain altitude above the range of their guns. Only by skilled airmanship and sheer bravery did the crew escape being shot down and held captive, or worse. It was the first time since the Air War that a British airship had come under fire, and the first time for FitzHugh as captain of his own ship.

When Gryphon made it back to Britain, FitzHugh was met with a storm of controversy. The Foreign Office blamed him for scuttling the diplomatic mission, while the British emissary stayed mute on the captain's actions, and the Air Admiralty officially provided only a tepid endorsement of his tactical performance. Disgusted and feeling abandoned by his superiors, FitzHugh let notice that he was considering resigning his commission in the Airship Service. He had hoped that some time away from his duties would help clarify his mind, but after a fortnight's holiday, he had still not come to a firm decision regarding his future. The Airship Service was his life; he had begun as a navigator on the first British airship, the Phoenix, and worked his way up the ranks during the Air War to eventually become Captain of his own ship. It was not an easy decision to resign. Still, if the Airship Service would not publicly defend his actions, why should he feel loyalty towards it in return?

Sitting in a corner of The Flying Frigate, an airman's pub just outside the main gate of the aerodrome in Croydon, nursing a pint of their best bitter, FitzHugh still hoped to gain some clarity of purpose before the ale befogged his mind. It was late afternoon and the pub had not yet filled with men coming off shift. In the quiet bar, head bowed, FitzHugh stared absentmindedly at the bubbles rising in his pint glass like miniature airships, and pondered his future. Coming out of his reverie, he noticed two sets of trousers standing next to his table. He looked up at two men, one in the blue uniform of Her Majesty's Royal Airship Service and the other wearing a black frock coat and serious demeanor. This man bowed slightly to FitzHugh while the officer saluted him smartly.

Captain FitzHugh? The uniformed officer spoke. I am Captain Grainger of the Airship Service Special Operations Detachment. This is Mr. Willoughby Smith from the Royal Institution. We have been following your service record for some time. We feel you are uniquely suited for a special assignment we have to offer you. May we speak?

FitzHugh raised his head, eyebrows raised. Special assignment? If I may speak frankly, Captain, I just got back from a Special Assignment and I'm sure I don't want another Special Assignment anytime soon.

I apologize for the curtness, Captain, Smith said, This is a matter of some urgency, as will become clear. May we sit?

The Captain nodded, and gestured with his hand. Would you gentlemen like an drink? I'll call the barman.

No, thank you, Captain. I'm afraid there is no time even just for a pint, Smith said. "You have surely heard of Her Majesty's Research Airship Flamel?"

"Flamel? Course, I've heard of her. FitzHugh cocked an eyebrow. Heard many strange stories of her."

Grainger nodded, Yes, well. Stories or not, she is presently in need of a captain. We feel that your experience renders you the top man in the service for the job. Grainger leaned in, I must say personally that your performance in Afghanistan was admirable, worthy of commendation, and it would be, if the government didn't want to sweep the whole incident under the rug. His demeanor hardened, "I must also mention that your selection for this posting has been approved at the highest levels of the Air Admiralty. Flamel departs tomorrow morning for an extended and indeterminate cruise, so you would have to report immediately."

The Captain was surprised and somewhat confused by praise and threat coming so quickly one after another. Rather than try and figure it out, he resorted to technicalities. You expect me to take command of an airship I've never even seen and have only heard legends about? I know nothing of her construction or her crew. How can you expect me to agree to command a ship I know nothing about? And furthermore, I might ask, what happened to her last captain?

Smith spoke up, "Calm yourself, man. While the operation of the ship herself will be your responsibility, Professor Nicodemus Boffin is the Expedition Commander. Ostensibly, Flamel is a research airship; her mission is one of exploration and scientific discovery. However, she is often given other assignments as well. And as for Flamel's last captain, he left the service after a long career. More I can not say."

You can't, eh? So, who is this Boffin I would be serving with?

Professor Nicodemus Boffin is a scientist by training, and appointed leader of the voyages of scientific discovery. You will find him brilliant, capable, and practical.

You men speak as if this business has already been settled. A Captain usually has right of refusal of his next command.

Yes, you do have that right, but again I must stress that this posting has been a matter of some discussion even up to the Air Lords themselves. Consider it just compensation for your recent troubles. You may decline this position, but the consequences to your future service may be dire. On the other hand, successful completion of this posting could lead to, let us say, personal and professional enrichment.

FitzHugh sat up indignantly, Gentlemen, I did not join the Airship Service for personal enrichment, as you call it. I've served Queen, Country, and Empire for the last twenty years through the Air War and afterwards. Don't insult me by assuming I can be tempted by vague promises of glory.

Captain, no offense was intended, I assure you. Your service to this nation is well-regarded by us as well as by those above us. You have been offered this assignment because you are the best man for the job, and, it must be said, also in acknowledgement of your past service.

FitzHugh calmed down somewhat. Sorry for the outburst, gentlemen. It has been a trying time for me. I appreciate your kind words. He paused and looked out of the large windows of the pub that looked out over the aerodrome. A row of airships was visible in the blue twilight; searchlights splayed across their envelopes. The sight never failed to stir him. Since it appears that I have little choice in the matter, I accept the assignment.

Since we left Croydon this morning, I've been busy trying to familiarize myself with the ship's operation. Not easy when you come aboard at the last minute. Although I will say, Professor, that if half the stories I've heard of this ship over a pint at The Flying Frigate are true, that log will be interesting reading.

The Professor chuckled, "I dare say that half the stories I've heard are so fantastical as to be totally unbelievable by even the most gullible of listeners. However, the other half do bear some semblance of veracity."

The Captain paused, tilted his head, started to speak, thought the better of it, but then spoke anyways, If you don't mind, Professor, if I am supposed to be captain of this legendary vessel, I'd be obliged if the Expedition Commander would teach me her secrets.

Yes, that would be quite fitting, Captain. I'm afraid we've rushed you into service without proper introductions. Please follow me to my study and I will elucidate.

The two men went through a utilitarian-looking hatch on the rear bulkhead of the bridge. When the door closed, the working sounds of the airship—wind noises, mechanical hums, pneumatic hisses—faded. The captain's feet sunk into lush wool carpeting. The air was pure. A warm dim light brightened as the men entered. The Captain looked around. To the left was a chart table. On the right, an impressive wall of leather-bound books was interrupted only by a paneled door and a cabinet containing several specimens in jars. One specimen seemed to the captain to be a large bat, but with its skin covered with scales instead of fur. Another jar appeared to be filled with pickled tentacles. At the far end of the room was a large and ornate oak desk. On a corner of the desktop, under a leaded glass bell jar, was a specimen of an orange stone which seemed to glow. On the opposite corner sat a filigree silver frame containing a colour photograph of a woman with flaming red hair. She was dressed in travelling clothes and was perched on a large dressed stone block with a desert landscape behind her. It was a photograph of Boffin's wife, the Lady Elizabeth Boffin, daughter of the Aether Society's—and Boffin's—benefactor, Lord Clarendon. Next to the desk, supported by a complex mechanical stand was a goldfish bowl housing two orange and black fish. As the airship swayed to and fro in flight, the Captain could see that the mechanism counteracted the movement to keep the bowl level and stationary.

Please, sit, Captain. May I offer you some tea? The Professor moved to a teapot sitting in a small alcove fashioned into the wall next to the desk. He poured and handed a china cup to the captain. You won't mind if I have coffee? I'm afraid it is a habit I acquired when I was younger in the coffeehouses of London.

Permit me to relate some history of how this ship was conceived and birthed. The Professor smiled at his unintended pun. The Captain briefly looked hopeful, then confused. Boffin continued, Ten years ago, a certain group of esteemed gentlemen started the habit of meeting monthly over dinner to discuss the latest scientific developments. These meetings they later formalized as The Aether Society of London. As they kept abreast of the latest scientific news, it became apparent to them that the pace of technological advancement in Britain was lagging behind a number of other countries, to wit, America and the German Empire. While Britain had led the world in scientific and mechanical progress in the first half of the century, foreigners were now making advances which the gentlemen felt threatened the political and economic security of the Empire. The Americans built railways across their wide country and reeled telegraph cables across the Atlantic to the Continent. German scientists devised methods to create new artificial chemical compounds and were beginning to transform Maxwell's works on the nature of light and electricity into practical devices. The amazing speed at which the Germans developed lighter-than-air ships leading up to the Air War was particularly worrisome. Even the French had made great strides in engineering and architecture.

These gentlemen were themselves not without influence or wealth, but realizing the great economic might of the Empire was at stake, they presented their evidence to the Government. Prime Minister Gladstone, I am sorry to say, did not possess the necessary capacity to comprehend the urgency of the situation, and the Government squandered several years studying the matter which in reality meant doing nothing. Fortunately, Mister Disraeli was more discerning. Four years ago, the Government, with Her Majesty's direct and personal approval, I might add, discreetly contracted with the Royal Institution to determine means of increasing the development of scientific and technological improvements throughout the Empire.

Surely, Professor, this ship is not newly built. I've heard tales of her exploits for several years.

Quite right, Captain. Dismayed by Mister Gladstone's dithering, the gentlemen of the Aether Society—some renowned scientists themselves, and others well regarded in trading and banking circles—put a plan in motion on their own initiative and using their own capital. Interestingly, the members of the Aether Society could not agree on a name for this plan—there were many names proffered, some cryptic, others more prosaic in nature— so it's always just been called The Endeavour. A research laboratory was founded on the grounds of Trentham Hill, the country estate of Lord Clarendon, a founding member of the Society and one of its most generous benefactors. The laboratory was staffed by top-rank academics chosen personally by the Society, along with engineers, mechanics, and artisans. At the time, I had a post as Professor of Chemistry at the University of Edinburgh, still a rather young scholar, but becoming more known in my chosen fields. Apparently the Society had taken some interest in following my career, and I was offered the position of Scientist General —although, as in your case, it was made known to me that the offer was not to be declined lightly. I was tasked with seeking out advances in the scientific and mechanical disciplines throughout the globe and translating them to our shores. I had at my disposal this ship, which was then nearing completion, and its crew.

"In April 1872, the ship was launched, and christened Flamel, named for the famous medieval alchemist to inspire all who serve on her to turn mundane lead into noble gold."

Lead into gold? Literally, Professor? I've heard stories…

Literally? Yes, that would be interesting, wouldn't it? A slight smile tightened his mouth for an instant. Let us call it a metaphorical charge to excel. Why don't we go up to the engineering spaces and I can continue the tale.

Leaving out the paneled door, the men climbed a staircase narrow enough for only one person to pass at a time and entered a corridor which ran the length of the ship. The walls were painted a pale grey colour to reflect the light from incandescent lamps placed at intervals down the space. We had Mr. Swan's incandescent lamps installed just last month. Much safer and much brighter than the gas lamps we used previously, said the Professor as they walked. From the slight movements of the airship, the Captain could tell they were moving aft.

"At only 212 feet in length, Flamel is rather small for an airship, especially one