A Fistful of Dust (2 page)

“Now my task…my um…favour…”

No matter how he felt towards Routledge, they didn’t need further complications. To be doing favours at every port of call… It lay on the tip of his tongue to remind Sir Henry they were on a mission, when Folkard beat him to it.

“I appreciate that, old boy, and I wouldn’t usually ask, but a member of the realm has found himself in a spot of bother.”

“Really, Sir Henry?” Annabelle sat down.

“Nothing to trouble your head with, my dear.”

“Then I am surprised any of us should trouble our heads at all.”

There existed a moment where Routledge made several peculiar noises that made Nathaniel think maybe his tea had gone down the wrong way. Just short of huffing, Routledge continued. “It would seem a man has gone missing and as far as our intelligence can ascertain he was last seen hiring a transport to Phobos.”

“Phobos?” Annabelle’s voice rang out. “You mean the moon? Why would anyone want to go there?”

“One might have once said the same of Luna,” Folkard murmured, which caused Annabelle to look down. Her lips compressed. Folkard had missed that her words were intended to incite Routledge, and not to dismiss the possibility that they should help.

“He has not been heard from since?”

“No, Captain Folkard.”

“Then whatever his reasons for going there, I suggest that one must consider the worse has happened.”

“Indeed,” Nathaniel concurred. “Especially as the chances of him actually finding some way to land are unlikely.”

“Quite so, quite so, but one must look to all possibilities. Either the man must be found alive and well, or we need to locate his corpse. Um…I mean…forgive me, my dear Miss Somerset.” Sir Henry spared her a nod before speaking again to Folkard. “We need to locate the unfortunate soul and lay him to rest.”

“We must?” Nathaniel posed.

Clearing his throat, Sir Henry seemed at a loss.

“Forgive us.” Folkard’s tone softened, maybe as a way to lessen Nathaniel’s interruption and placate the man. “We are all exhausted and as I have pointed out, we already have a task to resolve. Obviously, there must be more to this disappearance or I am sure you would not waste our time.”

“I would not waste your time at all. A man has gone missing. A fine young fellow. I knew his father back at…” Sir Henry coughed, possibly realising that personal connections were by no means the best way to convince an enervated crew. “This is a matter of loyalty. We are in Her Majesty’s service. A member of aristocracy has gone missing and others are seeking our help!”

“That’s as may be, Sir Henry, but we are also under the charge of the empire.” Folkard broke off so abruptly, he drew all gazes in the room. A frown crossed his face. He turned his head, swayed.

“I say, old chap,” Routledge began, and Nathaniel was about to ask whether Folkard felt unwell when the man straightened and strode to the window.

Gazing up into the sky for some moments, he said, “Phobos, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more.”

“The man in question is one Henry Barnsdale-Stevens.”

The way Sir Henry spoke made Nathaniel wonder whether the name was a matter of coincidence, or someone had called the missing chap after the governor at birth. That would explain Sir Henry’s immoderate interest.

“He…stopped by to see me and I learned of his intention to investigate Phobos. Indeed,” Sir Henry cleared his throat again, “he sought my advice and help, but I…I refused.” A hint of shame and sadness crept into the governor’s voice. “I told him I’m of a mind to agree with those who liken Phobos to a diseased potato. He would not listen. Said that he had to check it out on behalf of his soon-to-be brother-in-law. That he’d promised, and family being family and all that… Well, I-I understood, but I couldn’t just give him a flyer and service men to go off on some wild… Er…that is…um…”

“The wild goose is cooked,” Arnaud remarked, speaking quietly, but it was a miracle if Routledge didn’t hear.

“I thought his insistence was bravado or an act of persuasion. I should have realised. An adventurous spirit has our Henry. Had I fathomed his intention I would have detained him for his own good.”

“Why did he need to check out Phobos for his brother-in-law or otherwise?” Nathaniel enquired.

“Hmm…some nonsense about a land purchase that I found dubious, but the point is I am responsible. I refused to help, and now this dear fellow has gone missing. I believed that some of these damnable Martians had something to do with it, especially as they harbour certain superstitions regarding the moon, but after investigation, Highmore assures me.”

“Highmore?” This time Nathaniel rudely broke in.

“Y-yes.” It sounded as if Routledge didn’t want to confess that, and well he should.

“I take it he is one of the would-be passengers.”

“You have heard of him?”

Turning his gaze to Folkard rather than look at Routledge’s florid face, Nathaniel nodded. “His family are…well-to-do.”

“Well-to-do, indeed. I should say so, but wealth isn’t everything. It’s breeding that…” Again, Sir Henry stopped. “Forgive me. I am unused to speaking with one of the feminine persuasion in the room. I continue to forget myself.”

“That you do, Sir Henry, not that I will fall apart at a mere breath of coarse language or of a disagreeable subject, I assure you.” Annabelle reached out, rapping her false leg with her knuckles.

If Sir Henry were to grow more rubicund, they might have to resuscitate him. To add to the man’s discomfort, Nathaniel said, “Let us just say The
Honourable
Joseph Highmore’s reputation does not live up to the title and leave it at that.”

“I am aware that some might not look upon the younger Highmore as the epitome of British aristocracy, but such is the foolishness of youth.” Sir Henry conveniently seemed to forget that Highmore was older than many of those sitting in the room. “Henry’s friend and fiancée are both here to.”

“Fiancée?” Annabelle’s voice rang out bringing Sir Henry to yet another stuttering halt.

“She is…here,” he admitted. “When Highmore went off in pursuit of Henry’s trail I could not allow the young lady to attend, and, fortunately, Highmore agreed. However, I have been less successful in convincing them that she should not accompany this expedition.”

If he meant to suggest a lady should not be gallivanting about the universe, he’d find it a matter of dissension when it came to Annabelle…or so Nathaniel thought.

“The young lady will surely listen to such good counsel as yours.” Annabelle’s very words indicated how strongly she objected to the other woman’s inclusion, but why, Nathaniel could not begin to guess. They had no time for debate, interrupted by a door opening and a swish of skirts.

Thomas, the governor-general’s aide and secretary, appeared on the young lady’s heels. “My apologies, sir.” His flustered tone did not match his expression, making Nathaniel frown.

“Do not apologise for me!” A shrill voice snapped out. The newcomer looked upon them as though assessing rabble, although he could well appreciate her ire if she were the fiancée of the missing man. Her attitude only seemed to falter when she set sight of Annabelle, but she quickly regained her composure. Surely, the arrival of a second outspoken female would cause Routledge to bluster even more.

It did not. If anything, the governor-general seemed to puff up with something similar to… Not pride. More like triumph.

Fools
. Sir Henry’s posting had been one intended to make use of his years of military experience, one that made it possible to overlook certain…misdemeanours of manipulation as well as dalliances with the fairer sex. Nathaniel didn’t believe or suspect Routledge guilty of a casual or intimate relationship with this young lady; however, that did not mean Routledge was beyond using her obvious charms to his own advantage in other ways. Routledge was about to make fools of them all.

“I truly do understand your reluctance to help those you do not know, but I implore you.” The young lady wrung her hands. “Will you not help one of Her Majesty’s subjects in the most heartrending pursuit trying to ascertain what has happened to the man she loves?”

In reply, Arnaud studied the floor. Folkard squared his shoulders. Annabelle rolled her eyes. Nathaniel watched the entertainment.

“Forgive me…Miss Highmore, I presume?” Annabelle turned to look at Routledge. “Sir. With respect, I must protest that I do not appreciate being ambushed in this manner.”

Tu tu tu
noises erupted from Sir Henry’s throat. Before he could recover, Folkard spoke. “You must appreciate what Miss Somerset is trying to say. I suggest the presence of Miss Highmore appears to be somewhat contrived.” So Nathaniel wasn’t the only one thinking that. “However.”

“Sir! The Realm does not leave a man behind!” Routledge cut in.

“
However
,” Folkard resumed, “we will help.” If he noticed the others were surprised, he did not show it. “I take it as we are restocking supplies there is time for us to rest up and ascertain the details a little later? Over dinner?”

“To be sure, to be sure.”

“Then, we will retire to freshen ourselves and rest before we dine.” Folkard’s sweeping gaze seemed to indicate it was time for them all to leave the room.

As they stood to follow Folkard’s stride, the lady moved aside and in her movements came face…to chest with Nathaniel. A small gasp left her before her gaze wandered, coming to rest on his face. Maybe his height alarmed her, but whatever caused her to startle brought a most peculiar expression to Annabelle’s mien. At least the encounter provided her with merriment for the first time in weeks.

As to…this lady, her hair appeared to be only slightly paler than her skin and she was waif-like to the point where a single breath might blow her out of existence. That she had followed her missing fiancé spoke of some hidden fortitude, perhaps, but were times changing so much that no woman would remain at home?

As they trouped out, Nathaniel replied to Arnaud’s raised eyebrow. “The goose is not cooked; however, it is wild. The phrase you sought was a wild goose chase, and it seems that we are about to embark on one.”

“Not necessarily so,” Folkard replied, glancing back, a look they had come to recognise coming into his eyes. “Not necessarily so.” He somehow managed to sound simultaneously a little excited, and ill at ease. The captain strode off leaving Annabelle, Nathaniel and Arnaud to blink at his departing back.

Chapter Two

“In Which All Meet the Interlopers”

1.

“MY FATHER HAS
always considered black hair on a woman to be rather unseemly. I have to say I cannot agree with him. Although I have never seen a woman with hair as black as yours, until now.”

Taking a deep breath, Annabelle suppressed a sigh. Despite Annabelle speaking very few words to her, Elizabeth Highmore seemed to have latched on as if they were sisters at heart purely from the anatomical fact of being the same sex. They could not have been more unalike.

She could not deny that she had tried to formulate all sorts of reasons why Elizabeth should not join the expedition, all of which failed for she could think of few ways to argue without cutting herself out of the trip as well.

True, the mere slip of a girl had shown some…
doughtiness
coming all the way from Earth in pursuit of her fiancé, but she seemed to carry the act of doing so as if deserving of martyrdom. To make the situation more unpleasant, she came out with such asinine remarks Annabelle struggled to determine whether the girl was a simpleton or simply pretended to be so that she could enjoy making veiled insults. “I believe there is some parlance in certain circles that blondes are dumb,” Annabelle quipped to test either theory.

Elizabeth coloured. “I…meant a compliment. I apologise. I haven’t…travelled before, and I am unaccustomed to making new acquaintances.”

“Well, you are certainly travelling now.”

Annabelle had no wish to be lumbered with caring for a weak woman…or stand by watching the men dote on her. One of those sentiments, she understood; the other she did not. She had no need for any man other than her George to dote on her, so she had no reason to care if others positively lavished affection on Elizabeth. Not that there seemed to be much chance of that. Folkard was too professional to do so, and had only a mind for his dear Charlotte, and as for Nathaniel and Arnaud…no need to worry there. No, if Elizabeth garnered any tenderness it would have to be from her brother when he arrived.

Inwardly, Annabelle sighed. Since her heavenly encounter, be it reality or a dream, she had begun to relish the new found tranquillity, the inner serenity to accept all that had come to pass. Her arrival on Mars had tilted the balance, upset her equilibrium. A situation made worse since her acquaintance with Elizabeth especially owing to the cramped conditions meaning she would have to bunk with her.

Annabelle felt…less whole. Almost as if this younger, slighter, sillier woman was in some ways better by the mere fact of having two legs, which made Annabelle the idiotic one. It wasn’t as if Elizabeth was the first woman she’d spent time with since the loss of her appendage, yet, this was Mars…where the first sight of a canal had caused memories to come flooding back brightly coloured and alive with pain. Still, there had been many good things to take account of during her first visit. A feeling of fellowship and acts of loyalty. She had endured. Nathaniel should feel some pride in that, and it stood to reason a little pride in her survival held sway. What was pain when weighed against the prospect of heaven? The thought eased her strange agitation

“I heard tell you lost a friend here.”

For a moment, Annabelle thought Elizabeth referred to her severed leg. A limb was an “old friend” was it not? “Yes. Kak’hamish is sorely missed.”

“Your friend was a Martian?”

“Most assuredly. I do hope that you and your brother are not the type to judge others by the detail of their birth in deference to whom they are at heart as displayed by their actions. If it were not for Kak’hamish, I would be dead. Nathaniel, too, in all probability. I owe that Martian a great debt and only wish I could…” She hesitated, aware her words were going to sound blasphemous, but enjoying the prospect of shocking Elizabeth, she said them anyway. “Resurrect the dead.”