Moon Sea Marauders Pt5

Steampunk serial

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Previous chapters: Part 4 Part 1

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The northern district of Absolution Point was a Dante-esque scene of chaos and confusion when we landed, and were it not for the stout sailors on our decks and the many guns of the marines clinging to our riggings, we would surely have been overrun by the mob which surged forth to meet the Poseidon as she hovered to a halt. The French raiders, operating with devilish cunning, had broken open the prison camps of the labourers who worked the mines here, and these vile creatures - blackened with soot, and clutching coarse implements of violence - were the first ones to meet us as we prepared to step off. Shouted warnings from the marine sergeants, followed by the bellowing of a discharged cannon, swiftly changed the minds and moods of these vagabonds, and their figures scattered back into the burning chaos even as the sailors deployed debarkation ramps. Captain Devworth led the way, lantern held high in one hand and rapier drawn in the other, and his officers followed in his wake, eager and ready to defend their captain. Two squadrons of marines, freshly dismounted from the riggings of the Poseidon, also joined their party, and when they set off, I abandoned all sense of decorum and ran after them with my medical bag clutched to my chest.

Reputation be damned, this was an adventure I did not want to experience second-hand around the dinner table that evening!

We met only a handful of survivors during our march through this inferno, and the few that were not escaped prisoners were only too happy to give us directions to the governor’s mansion in the centre of the settlement. Escaped prisoners burst from the smoking ruins from time to time, trying to test the marines but meeting only musket fire and steel blades in return, and we left a breadcrumb trail of bleeding bodies behind us as we forged deeper into Chaos - a macabre thought, admittedly, but one which would not leave my mind after stepping over yet another fallen prisoner.

At the centre of Absolution Point, we arrived to a terrible sight: the governor’s mansion had been transformed into a roaring pillar of fire, and of a water brigade or firemen there was no sight. Instead, a ragged cluster of soldiers - red of coat, and soiled with dust and soot - stood guard around what appeared to be the household staff of the governor, who himself was sat upon a great wooden chair which must have been pulled from the mansion before its untimely ascension into pyredom. A shout of relief went through the assembled soldiers and staff when they saw our party approaching, yet from the governor himself - Lord Gainsley, of the Gainsley & Heathers Trading Consortium - there was little reaction. Lord Gainsley appeared to have been struck mute with shock, and it was from his valet that we ultimately had to receive the terrible news: Lady Jessica Gainsley, eldest daughter of Lord Gainsley and betrothed to one of the princes of the imperial court in London, had been taken by the French.

Suffice to say that the remaining time we spent in Absolution Point could be measured in the time that it took me to splint and bandage some wounds on the garrison soldiers - which is to say, not very long at all. Captain Devworth and his officers conferred with the senior members of the Gainsley household, and their conclusion was near-instant: the Poseidon had to set off in pursuit of the French privateer immediately. Every moment spent on the ground was a moment that took Lady Jessica further away from us, and the thought of leaving her in the clutches of those vile slavers practically set the men’s blood boiling. A squad of marines was left behind to assist the garrison troops in their plight, and the rest of the Poseidon contingent, along with select members of the Gainsley household, turned around and rushed back to the waiting aeroship even as I finished up my work on one of the wounded retainers. Once again, I was left scrambling to catch up, and only the flashing of red coats and the bark of muskets guided me for the first hundred yards or so through the smoke before I managed to retake my place amongst their ranks.

Once aboard the Poseidon again, we set a course northwards, in pursuit of the fleeing privateer, and as the flaming lights of Absolution Point faded behind us, so too did the passion of the men rise as word spread of the lady’s abduction. Sir Henry Cottonby, the personal purser to Lord Gainsley, was amongst the small group of household retainers who had joined the crew of the Poseidon, and his tales of the French abuses in Absolution Point lit a fire under the men to rival that of Captain Devworth’s command of the pursuit.

The French had struck hard and fast, by all accounts collected by Sir Cottonby, and had broken open the stores of daedricium at the same time that they began to release the prisoners from their camps. Another party of Frenchmen, led by their commander - Captain Jacques Montiard du Valle - had stormed the burning governor mansion, and fought their way into the foyer and ground floor of the building even as the governor’s personal guard resisted. Here, in a stunning stroke of misfortune, the rogue captain managed to accost and capture Lady Jessica mere moments after she had returned from her afternoon riding to the west of the settlement. Men threw themselves at the French raiders, desperate to free the shrieking lady, but it was to no avail. Realising his good fortune, the blackguard captain retreated with the lady in his clutches, demanding the full release of all daedricium and moon coral from the settlement’s stockpiles in return for the release of the lady. The blackguard’s plan, mused Sir Cottonby, must have been to take to the air again with the lady as his hostage, thereby making it impossible for the settlement to retaliate against his circling ship.

Of course, when the Poseidon burst from the conflagration that smothered the centre of the settlement, we did not know of this situation or threats of extortion, and our opening salvo against the rear of the French ship - the Daphne, according to the Sir Cottonby - must have made the French captain realise much the same. Battling our emboldened - and, dare I say it, blissfully ignorant - crew at that point in time would have made little sense to the men of the Daphne and their priceless cargo, and thus they had set off for the north even as we spiraled down to land at Absolution Point.

Needless to say, this tale of treachery did not endear the French to the crew of the Poseidon one bit, and after the exhausted Sir Cottonby and his retinue retreated to the galley to recover, the sailors bent their will to speeding the lumbering aeroship even as Captain Devworth plotted a course to the north. We were already leagues north of Absolution Point by this time, and the lunar polar region was fast approaching. The cold of the night and the starkness of the land conspired against us, throwing icy winds in our faces as we churned through the darkness, and only those of us with thick mittens and fur coats could remain on deck by the end of the first watch. The windmill engines were a constant rumble at our sides now, straining and shuddering to cut through the arctic air. What little heat we had gained from our passage over the burning mining settlement was soon lost, and while the Faraday coils along our keel managed to heat up the interior of the ship, the decks and riggings soon descended into Jotunheim’s realm of frost and ice.

The men stayed determined throughout the long hours of the chase, and while our prey was unseen ahead of us, our progress - measured against charts and the twinkling stars above - was relentless. We crossed into the polar reaches at some point that evening, and shortly before midnight, Captain Devworth received a note from the helmsman which he shared with the rest of us even as we remained in conference around his vast dinner table.

We had finally crossed the Ross-Atkins line, which was the furthest north that any British ship had ever explored on the moon. From here forth, every mile we traveled further to the north was officially a new record.

Less than an hour later, the Poseidon’s Faraday coils started failing, and we began to lose altitude.

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Next chapter: Part 6

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