It was the year of our Lord 1862, and our second patrol of the lunar seas had been going well.
We had recently celebrated the silver jubilee of our beloved monarch, Queen Victoria, and the men were still in high spirits. Our ship, the HMS Poseidon, was fully stocked with supplies from our last visit to Port Arcturus, and the hum of our gravitic aether engines was as smooth as the day they had left the Thames yards almost ten years ago.
We were over the Sea of Serenity, some distance east of Port Arcturus, when the first news reached our ears of the attacks on Sloveton and Marshal Point. These small settlements, scattered atop the lush atolls of ground that rose from the otherwise semi-barren seas around them, were frontier posts in our plans to expand the empire, and the cattle herds which they raised on the grey grasses of the Sea of Serenity were a key component of our logistics network in the region. News of their attack came by carrier pigeons, the white creatures fluttering in amongst our rigging before descending, and once Master Brighton had captured them and collected their message capsules, there was a great deal of gossipping about their contents.
Of course, our captain, Sir Franklin Devworth, did not stand for that, and once he emerged from his cabins he gave short shrift to the gossipping men. You are men of Her Imperial Majesty’s Aeronautical Fleet, he roared from the quarterdeck, and clucking about like a pack of London hens is beneath your station. He then roared at the sergeants and other officers to assemble, and within minutes the news about the settlement attacks was out. Two French privateers, flying merchant flags, had descended upon first Sloveton and then Marshal Point, and stripped the settlements bare of their prized herds. Not only animals, for food, but also hoards of moon coral and star diamonds, found scattered across this strange landscape, had been taken by the privateers. They had departed in a cloud of cannon smoke and burning roofs, and the governor of the region, Lord Fartheron, was demanding justice.
No time was wasted, and the Poseidon leapt into action with a vigour I had never yet seen before. Men swarmed over the riggings, deploying extra sail, while other teams disappeared into the stomach of the ship and began agitating her crystal-electric tanks in earnest. I do not claim to understand the eldritch alchemy which powers these aether engines, but understand only, superficially, that it involves the flow of some chemical solution over the famed Glasgow crystals which Thomson and Blythe discovered years ago. These crystals then generate an electric current in turn, which is drawn off to power the vast windmills which hang alongside the Poseidon - and with these blades churning, we set off towards the stricken settlements. Along the belly of the ship, the vast Faraway coils crackled and hissed, powered by the same Glasgow crystals, and it was on their gravitic aether emissions that we floated above the lunar sea like a cloud scudding close to the earth.
It took us two days to reach Sloveton, where the pall of rising smoke still filled the air. The townsfolk were still in an uproar, but repairs had already started as well, and the smell of freshly sawed moonpine was thick upon the evening air. Their major provided us with barrels of fresh water for our stores, and then we set off again, heading for Marshal Point.
The second village - somewhat larger than the first, and possessing a small garrison force - was in a far greater state of ruin when we eventually spotted it days later, and the welcoming party that met us was pitiful to behold. Facing resistance from the garrison, the privateers had unleashed the fully malice of their guns upon both the the fort and the surrounding town, and their cannon shots - lobbed from on high, where they had floated over the sea - had obliterated most of the structures in town, and severely damaged the rest. After their eventual surrendering, the remnants of the garrison were trotted out onto a sandbank nearby, and shot down by musket-wielding blackguards from the privateer ships. The interim major - for the original major of Marshal Point had perished during the vicious attack - showed us the line of graves on the outskirts of the town, where fresh soil still glistened, and the hearts of the men of the Poseidon were greatly enraged at this sight. Vengeance was sworn, loudly, and when a ragged militia of villagers offered to join the Poseidon as marines, to wreak their revenge on the privateers, it took all the effort of Captain Devworth and his officers to convince the villagers to stay put. Their village needed them more than we did, and their presence aboard the Poseidon would likely make little difference once we eventually cornered the privateers - although this reason we kept from them, for fear of demoralizing their fragile resolve.
What we did take from Marshal Point, however, were the bearings along which the privateers had left, and the Poseidon set off in pursuit. The lunar night was approaching, fourteen days of night caused by the moon’s celestial dance around our homeworld, and the prospect of frigid weather, stygian darkness and the stark isolation of the uninhabited North now lay before us. Our course took us north by north-east, and we left the Sea of Serenity on the last day of sunlight.
Now, ahead of us, lay only darkness - and our prey.
Next chapter: Part 2
Nice one, James!
Nicely done. I want to read more.