The attendees headed aft were all chattering to each other about the upcoming tourney, but I was surprised to see that the Emperor had not joined them. Perhaps he would only appear later on, once the initial matches had been decided? I was finding it hard to guess the intentions and motivations of royalty, and despite the Emperor’s publican pretensions, he fit quite neatly into that august category.
We soon reached the end of the corridor and exited out onto a broad platform built into the upper regions of the airship. It was open to the sky, and I quickly confirmed my suspicions that the scene in the ballroom perfectly matched the now scarlet clouds of the evening sunset. There was a railing in place around the edges of the platform, in a modest concession to sanity, so I did not worry about the possibility of an attendee pitching out over the edge and sliding down the envelope to their doom, but one could still imagine a solid shove being enough to set things in motion.
Members of the crowd were milling about, as if jockeying for the best place to see, and members of the embassy staff were setting up chairs for some of the more distinguished party-goers. Devonshire and Hermiter had found their place near the far end of the platform, though not as close to the edge as I would have liked. Watching his expression as he catapulted out into the air would have been gratifying indeed, even if it would have ruined our current plans. The man caught sight of me, grinned, and nodded to me. His satisfaction irked me intensely.
I turned back to Patricia to direct her attention to our quarry when she pointed in a different direction. “What in the world are those?”
Blinking at the surprise in her voice, I turned to look in that direction and found myself wondering much the same thing.
There were two elaborately sculpted machines on the platform, both fashioned of silver and brass. They were both shaped like horses, though each stood slightly taller than the normal beasts would have done. Each had a pair of incredible wings sprouting out of their shoulders, with metallic feathers that shone with obvious influence from the Distillation. Entirely lifelike, they fidgeted and pawed at the platform as if they were real animals, and I found myself captivated at their presence.
Two of the French were standing nearby the mechanical beasts, both dressed in some sort of fanciful armor. It consisted of a cuirass that covered most of their torso, and a thick helmet and visor that had only a single slit in it for vision. Thick leather clothing covered their limbs, and each of them held a long, straight wooden lance with a brightly colored flag on the end.
The announcer appeared near the beasts and again raised his device to his mouth, ready to continue the introduction of the event. “Ladies and gentlemen, here are the Pegasi, the technological marvels of Imperial France! Upon these two beasts, our brave armsmen will ride, and whoever either breaks three lances or unseats his opponent first will win.”
It seemed a rather dangerous game until I noticed that each of the riders was wearing some kind of thick backpack. Perhaps they had been stuffed with some sort of parachute? I had heard of such devices from my father, though he had often referred to them as near useless in an actual emergency. Given the nature of the show, however, I had to assume that riders were only rarely knocked from their perch, and that most contests would be decided based on breaking lances.
Patricia nudged me sharply and raised an eyebrow when I looked at her. “You should probably close your mouth, dear Baron. It wouldn’t do to imply you wanted to fly around on one of those things.”
Feeling heat on my cheeks, I stepped back slightly, only now realizing that I had been leaning forward for a better look. Yet the beasts were fascinating, in a way I found it hard to describe. It almost felt like that same unnatural pull that Damocles had on me, and the fact troubled me for a moment before I pushed the thought aside. “My apologies, my dear. You know how I can be with such things.”
She continued to watch me carefully for another moment, and then she smiled. “I suppose I do.”
There was a rush of air that fluttered her gown and hair, and I looked up to see that both riders were soaring above us. I watched in utter fascination as the riders put their mounts through a handful of loops and twirls, eliciting the occasional murmur of appreciation or enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Then they brought their mounts out alongside the embassy, hovering in the air as they faced one another.
The announcer stepped forward, her face fixed with a smile. She brought up a showy-looking pistol, one obviously crafted to fire powder-filled blanks rather than real ammunition. With both hands, she raised the pistol, aiming it at some cloud between the two riders. There was a moment of breathless tension.
Then the shot cracked through the air, and both Frenchmen charged, their mounts blurring towards one another at terrifying speed. My heart seemed to catch as they met one another, and one lance snapped. Fragments of wood, with a tattered green flag, spun away toward the waters of the Thames below, while the red-flagged rider swayed in his saddle. His opponent dipped toward the viewing deck to snatch another lance.
Again and again, they faced off until one of them had snapped the last of his lances. I was captivated by each charge, and even Patricia seemed impressed by the speed with which they jousted. For a while, I even seemed to lose track of the time as I watched them, and each time they descended to change riders and allow the French technicians time to inspect and maintain the Pegasi, I found myself impatient for their return to the sky.
Unfortunately, many of the gathered aristocrats and other worthies did not appear to share my view of the match. After the first few bouts, many began to drift back toward the ballroom, some of them grumbling that they’d seen more impressive marvels on the grounds of their own estates. It wasn’t until the crowd had thinned out considerably that I belatedly realized that Devonshire had joined them, leaving when I was still entranced by the aerial display.
I looked in sudden panic at Patricia, full of guilt and dismay. “P—Ms. Bingham, how long has our common friend been gone?”
She seemed to come out of a daze herself, though she appeared to have been more occupied with the Sybil for some reason. The jewel appeared to have shifted color somewhat, though I had no idea if the golden color had been there when we were talking to Coronel Soares before. “I don’t know. I lost track of him.”
Barely restraining a curse for myself—how could I have let myself become so distracted?—I turned to go back to the ballroom, when I nearly ran straight into Capitaine Chatelain. He seemed to appear from nowhere, though in my mindless state he could have been standing there for quite some time and I would not have noticed. I gave him a steady look and started to step around him. “Your pardon, Capitaine, I have an engagement I need to—”
“Baron Krongesetz.” The challenge in his voice stopped me short a second time, and I looked at him more carefully this time. His back was so straight it almost seemed rigid, and his voice had been pitched loud enough that several of the nearest nobles looked over in mild interest. “I have no choice, in the interest of peace, to ignore your continued abuse of our Imperial Majesty. As the Lieutenant explained, dueling is forbidden here, so I cannot call you to account, but perhaps you would be interested in settling our differences another way?” He glanced upward as the riders clashed again, and a sudden certainty settled in me as he smiled. “Call it a simple contest, perhaps, a gamble between men of honor.”
“If it is a gamble, what would the wagers be?” The words came from my mouth unbidden, almost an instinctive response, and the man’s smile grew as he looked back at me.
“Nothing serious, of course. If you win, I will renounce my grudge against you and will not trouble you again.” Then he leaned forward, and his voice grew very serious. “But if you lose, you shall admit that your calumnies are nothing but bluster. Do you accept?”
Patricia’s grip tightened on my arm, but it was impossible not to step forward. I would tell myself afterward that my disguise was at stake; no properly reared German noble would refuse such an invitation to vindicate themselves. They would certainly not back down in the presence of so many of their peers.
The truth, however, was that I simply could not help myself. The challenge had been made, and honor demanded I answer it. “I accept.”
Moments later, I found myself dressed in a leather suit. The French were helping me clamp the breastplate around my torso when Patricia leaned in to whisper to me. “Hector, this has to be a trap. You don’t have to do this.”
“I do.” I struggled to find the words to explain it and failed. When I looked at the Capitaine, who was also being fitted with his protective gear, I could feel my heart pounding in my ears in a way that did not seem real. He would have the advantage in the air; for all I knew, he had trained for hours on the devices we would be riding, and I would have no more experience with them than I would with flying alone. Yet none of those things mattered. All I knew was that I had to meet him in the air.
Looking back at her, I saw her face was serious. I even saw worry there, and my heartbeat slowed as regret smote me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”
She shook her head sharply and pressed a finger to my lips. The forwardness of the move shocked me into silence, and a wry smile twisted her lips. “If you’re going to do this, then you need to beat him. Knock the guy off his fancy flying horse for me, Kingsley.”
The use of my real, forbidden name should have frustrated me as much as all the rest of the situation, but it only seemed to soothe the guilt from my heart. I nodded wordlessly, and she drew back and raised her voice. “I suppose I should give you a favor, my dear Baron. Take this.”
She drew out a handkerchief, one a bright and shining green that matched the rest of her clothes, and she reached up to tie it around my upper right arm. With a daring little peck on my cheek, she withdrew and let the Frenchmen finish their preparations.
Resolve filled me as I took the helmet from the last of them. I looked over to find the Capitaine watching me, an insolent grin on his face. “Take care not to embarrass yourself, dear Baron. Otherwise, your dear lady might find you unworthy of her.” His grin grew. “Though perhaps she might find another lover to impress her more?”
I gave him a cold, unwavering stare in return until the grin slipped from his lips. When he turned away, I settled the helmet on my head, and took the lance from the waiting footman. My grip on the lance was so tight it felt like it would shatter right there, but I willed myself to loosen it and move toward the Pegasi.
It was still a magnificent wonder to me, all unearthly grace and whirring technological power bound into a single package. The mechanics slouched away from it as I approached, all except one. A footman grabbed hold of a cord which hung out of the pack on my back. He ducked close to the Pegasus and snapped a ring of metal around a small metal tube just under the saddle. He smiled in reassurance. “A tether, Baron. For the parachute.”
I nodded confidently, secure in the feeling that I would never rely on a mere scrap of fabric to save me. It didn’t seem like the other riders had been ousted from their seats either, so the safety measure mostly seemed to be a cautionary measure against accidents. At least, such were my hopes as I handed the footman my lance and hoisted myself into the saddle.
The moment my feet touched the stirrups, the beast responded by prancing forward a step. It was a disconcerting jerk of motion, but I held my seat. Then it danced back a step as my feet settled back in the stirrups, forcing me to grab for the lever located just in front of the saddle. My mount responded to that by rearing wildly, dancing about on two mechanical hooves as I dangled precariously over the edge of the platform.
Panic actually saved me, as I shoved the lever forward in a blind attempt to force the beast to steady itself. There was a sudden click as the Pegasus dropped to all fours once more. Then the lever clicked even further forward, and the cursed mechanical beast bucked up on its front hooves and nearly threw me from the perch. I yanked back on the lever, and the beast once again leveled out. For a moment the lever appeared to tremble, but I held onto it with a stubbornness born of desperation.
“Careful, cousin.” I looked back over my shoulder, still breathing hard. Capitaine Chatelain sat his mount with all the self-assurance of an experienced rider. The Pegasus danced in an elaborate, obviously well-controlled circle, as if to show off its features. “These are quite fickle beasts, and I would hate for it to throw you before we even meet.”
A scattering of laughter spread through the crowd, and I felt the heat of my anger grow with it. I shoved the emotions aside and watched him for a moment, noting how he held the lever steady, and how his mount appeared to respond to the subtle pressure of his feet in the stirrups. Clearly, the controls were, at least in part, located near my feet, with the lever perhaps controlling the vertical bearing of the beast. It appeared that turning it required that one twist the lever as well, as he did several times while his beast cantered and pranced. All in all, it was a machine that could best be controlled over several weeks of careful practice and experimentation, all building up that instinctive control which would be critical in the air.
I did not have time for that. Instead, I accepted the fact that the match was not going to carry much advantage for me and held out my hand for the lance. The footman, who had retreated some distance during my unfortunate debut as an air jouster, had to take several steps to hand it over to me. I accepted a small buckler as well, which was settled on my left forearm.
Once I had been armed, the Capitaine led the way off the ship. Without further taunts or explanations, he launched his beast off the side of the platform, swooping up in an admirable display of skill. I watched carefully, noting how he had hauled back on the lever when his Pegasus had reached the edge, and tilted both feet forward in his stirrups. Turning my own beast to face the edge, I took a deep breath, pulled back on the lever, and leaned forward to press my left foot down.
The air shot past me in a sudden rush. I felt a sudden weight in my gut as we gained height and fought to hold on to my weapons as the beating of the Pegasus’ wings bounced me in the saddle. Tears filled my eyes as the wind buffeted me, but I merely tilted my feet back and pushed the lever forward again.
My Pegasus leveled out some thirty yards above the landing platform. I was breathing hard, and the motion of the Pegasus’ wings was still rather uncomfortable, but I ignored the faint queasiness and took stock of my situation. Chatelain was still showing about some yards away, wheeling through the air like some cursed swallow chasing an insect. Not quite feeling up to such maneuvers, I slowly moved forward and twisted my mount around to face him, some fifty yards from the platform. It was far enough to not hit the side of the airship if I was unhorsed, but so far that the platform felt completely unreachable.
I noticed that the onlookers on the platform were now milling about; it even appeared that some of the attendees who had been about to leave were now hesitating, as if not wanting to miss the show. It was my fervent hope they would stay; after all, the Capitaine would likely feel more hesitant to ‘accidentally’ kill me in front of so many witnesses.
In addition to the crowd, I saw Patricia stepping forward to discuss something with the announcer. There appeared to be a brief disagreement, and I saw her step somewhat closer. Another brief discussion followed, with the announcer suddenly going quite still, with a frozen expression of shock on her face. When the conversation ended, Patricia stepped away with the signaling pistol in her hand, and the announcer cleared her throat loudly. “Under the unusual circumstances, chivalry has dictated that the lovely Ms. Amy Bingham begin the contest. Riders, on your marks!”
Fighting the urge to grin, I took up my assigned position, only fifty yards from where Chatelain’s mount pawed at the air. Clearly, Patricia had suspected some mischief on the announcer’s part, and had decided to prevent it. I hadn’t considered the possibility that Devonshire had suborned the announcer; perhaps it might have been too obvious to have the woman shoot me out of the saddle, but I didn’t put anything outside of his audacity. It wasn’t as if he cared for the fate of his pawns, after all.
I saw Patricia take up her position halfway between us on the platform, and I turned my attention back to Chatelain. It was impossible to read his expression under his visor, but it was hard not to imagine him smiling in savage victory now. He must have imagined that we were in his world now, and that he would be able to play with me however he cared to before breaking my will.
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Time would soon tell if he was right.
The pistol cracked, and I lowered my lance and tilted my stirrups forward. There was a rush of speed and power as the Pegasus bucked into motion beneath me, charging across the air towards the Capitaine. It was terrifically hard to keep the lance steady, but I fought to direct the point towards my opponent’s blurred form. If I could but hit him once, perhaps that would be enough to knock him from the air.
As we closed, I could have sworn that I had missed, but at the last second, I felt a tremor run up my lance. It snapped clean in half and I heard a roar from the crowd. I felt a momentary burst of elation as I realized I had made the hit, which lasted until I managed to reign in my mount and turn back to face the Capitaine.
I found him already prancing in the air, facing me, the front portion of my lance in his hand. He called out as if he was encouraging a child. “A well won hit, cousin. I don’t think the next one will come as easily, though.”
Another burst of laughter swept through the watching crowd, and I felt my neck heat with embarrassment once more. It was clear to anyone watching that he was toying with me, and what would happen next. The only question would be if he would choose to knock me from my Pegasus or settle for breaking three lances on me instead.
Obviously, I needed to change tactics. I carefully guided my Pegasus over to the viewing platform, handing over my broken lance for a new one. The flag atop the false weapon snapped and fluttered in the air, but I had very little faith in seeing it fall as the first one had.
As I moved back to my assigned station, I watched the Capitaine carefully. I noted the way he moved the lever back and forth to adjust the position of his steed, watched as he pranced his Pegasus back and forth with minute adjustments of his feet. By the time I was in place, I started to hope that I would have some advantage in guessing what his movement would be.
We settled in, and again Patricia raised the pistol. There was another crack, and I stomped my left foot down, sending my Pegasus flying across the air towards my opponent. I was sure of my aim, this time; the lance tip was pointed squarely at his chest. Now all I would need would be for the impact to send him flying…
There was a terrific impact against my breastbone, and I lurched in my seat. The lance was nearly twisted out of my hand as the point made a glancing strike against the Capitaine’s breastplate. Shattered wood spun by me as the pieces of his lance began their journey to the water below.
Another scattering of applause and shouts drifted over from the crowd, and I heard Chatelain laugh. “You flew much better this time, cousin! Nearly in a straight line. Quite impressive.”
Resisting the urge to rub at the spot where he’d hit me, I guided my Pegasus to the starting position again. I replayed the events in my mind as he swooped over to the viewing platform for his next lance. My aim had been true, I know it had, but at the last second he had lurched forward in his saddle, as if he had been standing up and thrusting the lance out ahead of him. His momentary extension had meant his lance made contact before mine.
A skilled trick, but one I could easily match. At least, I could if I was not worried about my steadiness on the Pegasus. Standing in such a manner might unbalance me, to the point where even a slight impact might send me hurtling into the Thames. It might not even require a hit; if my foot twisted incorrectly, after all, the machine might buck beneath me and unhorse me without any effort on Chatelain’s part at all.
I had not quite finished considering the conundrum when Chatelain raised his lance, and Patricia took her position. As she raised the pistol, I hunched low in my saddle. If I could not outreach him, perhaps I could force him to aim for a smaller target, using the wings of my mount as a sort of cover. The neck of the mount made a convenient resting place for my lance as well, one that I used to edge it forward until I had hold of it by only the last part of it.
Again the pistol cracked, and again we closed with each other. The wind whipped by at terrible speed, and I guided my mount to meet him. He charged straight at me, apparently heedless of the lance pointed straight at his chest. If he tried the same trick again, he’d be knocked out of his saddle this time. All I needed was…
At the last moment, Chatelain appeared to fall out of sight, my lance point shooting straight past his shoulder. Then he was back, nudging my lance out of the way so that he could bring his own to bear. I braced myself and was rewarded with yet another impact. This time a shredded piece of wood glanced off my helmet, denting the visor, and setting my head ringing.
As I circled, slightly dazed, I realized what had happened. The Capitaine had tilted his Pegasus, shoving his lever to the side instead of forward. Any advantage I might have had in reach had been completely negated, all at nearly no risk to himself. An ingenious strategy, even if it had completely frustrated my plans.
The laughter from the platform was louder and more widespread now. Clearly, the attendees were not upset to see a stuffy German baron receiving his just desserts from a common soldier. Were I not in the saddle, I would have been just as amused. A true baron might not have been, of course, but he likely would not have as much to lose as I did. I glanced over to find Patricia standing on the platform, the concern writ large on her face.
My resolve hardened again, and I realized my mistake. I had been facing the Capitaine as a German baron would, with stiff-backed pride and haughty grandeur. While fitting for my disguise, it would win me no laurels here. The only way to win was to face him as I truly was.
So, as he swept back to the stage for his next and final lance, I sauntered over next to him. I undid the clasp on my helmet and tossed it to one of the footmen, who looked somewhat shocked. When a murmur went through the crowd, Chatelain glanced over, and frowned. “Without your helmet, you might risk your life, cousin.”
“Then I trust that with your skill it will not be necessary, nephew. I merely do not wish to miss the show.” I tilted my lance in a respectful salute and then made my way back to the starting position. Chatelain returned to his place a moment later, his face settled into a curiously serious expression. If I was not mistaken, it actually appeared as if he was genuinely concerned for my safety, a possibility I had not considered. Or perhaps it was just that he did not want his assassination to be too obvious, given my relative lack of protection.
It did not matter, however, because he was as bound to the coming clash as I was. Patricia raised her pistol once more, and I watched Chatelain as he shifted in the saddle. He didn’t betray much nervousness, which I took to mean that despite my unexpected behavior, he still felt more than competent enough to defeat me.
Of course, this meant that my first objective was to undermine that confidence.
The shot went off, and like before, our Pegasi closed with frightening speed. This time, however, I pointedly ignored my own lance, letting it hang loosely from my grip as I concentrated on the range between us. I waited until we had nearly reached contact and then wrenched my lever to the side.
It appeared, for a moment, that the good Capitaine had outguessed me. Perhaps supposing that I would try to copy his earlier maneuver, he stood in his stirrups and tried to stab his lance over and across my mount, where it would have caught a rider tilting in their saddle right in the gut. Unfortunately, my Pegasus did not just gracefully tilt to the side; instead, my trusty mount actually spun in place, gears whirring frantically as the world whirled around me. Gravity nearly completed the job that Chatelain’s lance had failed to do, but fortunately, a strength born of desperation held me in place while I completed the spin.
Once I had finally come upright once more, I then glanced back and found Chatelain reining his mount in. His face was still half hidden by his helmet, but there was a satisfying level of frustration in his movements. Apparently, simply avoiding contact was not something he had expected me to do.
Unbearably satisfied with myself, I calmly took up position for another charge. Letting my lance dip neglectfully to one side, I covered a yawn with one closed fist. “I apologize, Capitaine, I suppose I drifted off in the middle of that one. Perhaps we should go again?”
As a few light chuckles drifted from the crowd, Chatelain responded in a somewhat strained voice. “As you wish, cousin. Try to keep your steed upright this time, if you can.”
I nodded graciously, and Patricia took up her stance again on the viewing platform. It was difficult to see at such a distance, but I could swear that some of the tension had left her face. She raised the pistol, and I braced my lance, as if readying myself for the next charge.
The pistol shot snapped through the air, and again we closed, mechanical mounts blurring with speed. I waited again until our lance points had nearly crossed, and then I yanked back on the lever as hard as I could.
My Pegasus reared and fought for height, placing its flailing hooves between me and my opponent. Chatelain jerked his own mount to the side, apparently wary of being trampled midair, and his lance was pulled off center as a result. It wound up passing harmlessly by me, at least until I took my hand off the lever to yank it from Chatelain’s grasp.
I had to hold both lances in one hand as I brought my beast level. The Capitaine climbed to the same altitude, getting his own machine under control in far less time, but with no lack of exasperation now. There was murmuring and laughter on the viewing platform again as I waved to Chatelain, filling an uncharacteristic lightness in my chest as I spoke. “My apologies, Capitaine! Does this belong to you?”
Another slightly louder set of guffaws accompanied my question. Without waiting for a response, I brought my mount over to him to hand over the lance with grand aplomb. He took it, clearly glaring at me from under his visor. He spoke in a voice tight with anger, not loud enough for the onlookers to hear. “You shall pay for that, dishonorable cur.”
“We shall see, Capitaine.” I glanced back toward the crowd, half-daring him to strike at me from behind, and then guided my Pegasus over to the starting position opposite Chatelain. This time, our charge would be high above the platform, something I had deliberately chosen. Once way or the other, the contest would be decided by the next charge.
A hush fell over the deck as Patricia raised the pistol one last time. I watched the Capitaine, knowing what he would be thinking. The contest had lasted too long; he had expected things to be over by now, but my tactics had unbalanced him. He would be hungry for victory, wanting to end the contest not just as a technical victor, but as someone who finished his opponent off. Yet he could not just commit to the charge; if I escaped him this last time, then it would be as frustrating for him as if he had been knocked from his horse.
So he would be careful, frustrated, and reactionary. Just exactly where I wanted him.
One last time, the pistol cracked, but this time was different. Instead of closing with the Capitaine, I immediately yanked back on the lever and pushed my stirrup as far down as I could. Air roared in my ears as I shot upward, bouncing along in the saddle with each burst of acceleration from the Pegsus’ wings.
I waited for a heartbeat and looked down, fighting a burst of dizziness as I took in how high up we were. Below and in front of me, I could see Chatelain, fighting to gain altitude. He had clearly moved forward before attempting the climb, and was fighting the inexorable effect of gravity to come at me. He was almost exactly where I wanted him.
With a push and a shove, I turned my headlong climb into a sudden twisting dive. Once again, only a terrible, desperate strength kept me in the saddle, but when the world had stopped spinning, I saw Chatelain racing towards me, his lance coming up to point at my chest. The Pegasus gained speed as I dove; if we met a such speeds, the impact would be terrific, possibly enough to cause serious injury, and certainly enough to knock someone from their saddle.
He must have thought that was my plan, for it would be what a man of war would expect. The Capitaine bore down low in his saddle, leaning forward in his stirrups to gain more length from his lance. It was a brave, unflinching charge against unfavorable circumstances. It was almost a pity that I had no intention of meeting it directly.
Instead, just as the points of our lance crossed, I threw my lance at him.
It was not the kind of heroic, point-first toss that legendary figures are prone to make. Instead, it was a fitful, pitiful jerk of motion that turned my slender lance into something like a wooden clothesline. Chatelain jerked in surprise, fouling the aim of his lance one last time as he tried to bat away the offending weapon.
While he knocked my lance aside, I tilted my mount towards his and dove in close. Our Pegasi passed so close to each other that his mount nearly trod on my machine’s right wing, but that was not what held my focus. Standing as high in the stirrups as I dared, I reached out with one hand toward Chatelain, as if holding out a hand in friendship.
Such a gesture would have been a terrible lie, however, because what I was actually grasping for was his parachute line. I felt the cord in my fingers and yanked hard, feeling something tear free as I did so. Then I was past the Capitaine, and diving towards the Thames with my lance tumbling nearby in the air.
I heard a soft whoomp of sound behind me and smiled to myself as Patricia’s laugh cut through the chatter of the crowd. With one careful hand, I guided my mount over so that I could snatch at my lance. Then I pulled out of the dive, sweeping over the viewing platform with what I hoped seemed like majestic grandeur rather than a clumsy attempt to avoid colliding with the ship.
By the time I turned back, the situation had already mostly been resolved. Chatelain was hanging in the air from a wide scrap of fabric tied to his back with cords, pulled from his saddle by the very mechanism meant to safeguard him. He’d lost his lance and his helmet, and even from this distance I could easily pick out the searing glare he was directing at me. I grinned at him, noting that his mount had already pranced to a halt above him, obviously designed to stay at rest in the air when the rider was absent.
I was about to applaud the forethought and design of the artificers behind the beasts when I noticed something was terribly amiss. Smoke had started to pour from the Pegasus’ internal mechanisms, and there was now a troubling whine whenever the wings beat. A moment’s inspection told me that there was no external damage to the machine, and that whatever the problem could be, it certainly hadn’t been caused by the now-drifting Capitaine.
Unfortunately, that did not mean the problem did not exist. For a single heart-stopping moment, the Pegasus seized up and began to fall out of the sky. I felt my heart leap into my throat and only managed to start breathing again when the wings began to move a second later. There was already more smoke, however, and the whine was getting increasingly urgent.
My course had carried me far out past the embassy again. I had meant to loop back toward the viewing platform in a grand, sweeping victory flight, but that was clearly not going to happen. Given the difficulty with which the Pegasus was moving, I doubted my ability to even reach the platform, and if I only managed to crash into the embassy’s air envelope, there was a chance the collision might seriously damage the airship and cause it to fall from the sky. It was a small chance—after all, it had once been a warship, and was likely fortified against such collisions—but with Patricia onboard I could not risk the chance.
All the same, I turned back toward the platform, judging that it would be better to leave the Pegasus close to the airship than to make someone recover me from the Thames. As the beast continued to shudder and smoke, I pulled back on the lever, sending my Pegasus still higher in an attempt to fight the occasional loss of altitude that occurred whenever the beast stopped functioning. I could hear shouts from the crowd now as they realized my situation, and when I glanced in the direction of the embassy, I could see people pointing and rushing about. What purpose that would serve was far beyond me; I was well beyond the reach of anyone, and would be for the next few minutes.
My efforts won me another few meters of height, but completely failed to stop whatever catastrophic failure was occurring within the gears of the machine. It was obvious it was either deeply flawed or had been tampered with. Given the pride the French had in their machinery, and the eagerness with which the embassy staff had placed their own lives in its hands, I was becoming convinced that I had been the victim of sabotage. Clearly, Devonshire had not cared whether Chatelain defeated me; even if I won, he had arranged for things to be resolved permanently through one of the mechanics onboard the embassy.
It was a clever little trap, but it showed a fundamental misunderstanding of the situation. The fabric parachute might not be entirely reliable, but it was still an avenue of escape for me. Chatelain did not appear to have any trouble in his descent, and I imagined the embassy had more mundane methods of recovering him before he hit the water. All I would have to do was join him in his gentle descent.
I gathered my courage and veered the malfunctioning Pegasus away from the embassy. Swinging my feet over the side of the machine, I stopped for a moment as I caught sight of waves breaking in the Thames, farther than I could hope to guess beneath me. Reminded of the feeling of that cold water, I shivered, and prepared to jump.
It was only after I did so that it occurred to me that the same mechanic who had sabotaged my machine might have gone to work on my parachute as well.
The cord ripped from my backpack, but the only thing that exited the top was a tangle of ripped fabric and severed cords. I watched helplessly as it fluttered above me, with the abandoned Pegasus completely out of reach. Air rushed past me as I fell, and I could hear cries of alarm from the gathered spectators below. It was not, I mused, my best moment.
Yet I was not done yet. Moving quickly, I yanked back the fabric of my left sleeve, revealing the Icarus. Daniel’s invention had worked wonderfully the first time I had used it, and now I had no choice but to rely on it again. Fervently hoping that the artisan’s repairs had been successful, I activated the device and turned back toward the embassy.
As the device spread its miniature wings, my headlong fall into the waters below abruptly became a gentle glide toward the viewing platform. I listened carefully, desperately hoping not to hear the whine of overstrained gears as the Icarus worked, and felt myself relax as the embassy drew closer. My only issue was that my descent had been just a bit too rapid to land on the platform itself; instead, I was angling toward some of the bracing structure which was on the platform’s underside.
Ignoring the noise from the platform, I concentrated on my descent. It would be best not to land like an overstuffed projectile against one of the main pillars. Grabbing hold of one of the smaller support struts sounded far less painful, and would likely give me better handholds for the impending climb. I broke from examining the structure long enough to look up and find Patricia. She was searching the crowd for something, but spared me a glance long enough to grin.
Smiling back, I turned my glide slightly. When I was close enough, I deactivated the Icarus to prevent it from damaging itself—Daniel would never let me hear the end of it if I came back with the device broken yet again—and grabbed hold of the strut. To my relief it didn’t give way, and a short climb later, I was swinging my leg over the side of the railing, rejoining the murmuring crowd on the platform.
The moment I set both feet on the floor, there was a sudden burst of applause from the audience. I nodded solemnly to them, as any dignified German noble would do, but inwardly I was simply grateful to have the opportunity to regain the nearest thing to solid ground beneath my feet. I glanced back up at where I had left the Pegasus and found only a disconsolate trail of thick black smoke plunging down beyond the rim of the platform. It was an unconscionable loss, but at least Devonshire had not managed to arrange my demise along with it.
“Well done, sir, well done!” I was surprised to see Louis striding toward me out of the crowd. The Frenchman was still in his infantry uniform, but the smile on his face appeared quite genuine. “I have never seen such a splendid little device. Where did you find it, might I ask?”
Before I could manage an answer, Patricia stepped up beside me and smiled. “Just a little something I bought for him. He always did have trouble falling from high places.” She reached over and drew me into a sudden hug, to my surprise. It was a pleasant feeling, but one that ended far too soon. When she drew back, Patricia looked me over once with eyes far more serious than her heiress persona. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, for she smiled up at me. “I’m just glad you managed to finish things off, my dear. You worried me for a bit. Again.”
The implied rebuke was not as harsh as I expected, but I nodded regardless. “I never meant to worry you, my love. I shall be more careful in the future.”
She rolled her eyes and linked arms with me again. Her expression suggested I had just promised to stop breathing, yet there was a hint of a blush in her cheeks for some reason. “Of course, my dear Baron. Now, shall we go do something a bit less dramatic?”