Dawn of Steam: First Light Read online

  And so it only moved to highlight all the more when I moved from that most mundane of circumstance to the true events of the day. We arrived at the Coltrane country estate some two hours past the village where we stopped to take in the early afternoon meal, just in time for ideal visiting hours. The houses and lawns are almost precisely what one would expect, if one can ever call the splendor that is the new English elite's homes and lands as anything but breathtaking. If anything was surprising, it was that there seemed to be almost no servants about, save those absolutely necessary to the running of the home.

  Once inside the home, and seated comfortably, we were brought tea. Soon after our tea was served, we were introduced to the first of the trio who would join us for much of the afternoon, and she was quite the sight. Indeed, she was notable for the contrast she made with everything else in the well-appointed room, for she was a subtle horror of sorts. She was pretty enough for a woman of the middle classes, but definitely not the willowy beauty so many women of station in these times aspire to be. She was fair-complected, with light brown hair. Broad-shouldered and wide-hipped, she defied her seamstress's every attempt to form her into a more fae beauty, but at the least she had a very distinct hourglass figure – generous of both hip and chest, if I may be so bold as to comment on such base observations.

  She was dressed as a lady might be for receiving visitors, a fine visiting dress, but notable for being of unusually dark colors. The most peculiarly dark coloration was reserved, however, for first the hem of her dress, which appeared much as the dips of a broom used to sweep up dust. I have seen small girls, still sometimes given to running about in the dirt when told not to so soil their fine dresses such, but never a girl in her later teens such as this woman. Most odd indeed. Stranger still were her fingertips, which were that very distinct blackish blue as only ink stains leave upon the hands. And contrasting the shades of her dress, her house slippers entirely did not match. I am no expert in fashion, but even I could not help but notice that the shades were not intended to go together.

  She greeted us in a most distinct accent. I learned from some of the soldiers that it is an American dialect, though I have not yet met enough of the colonists as to be able to easily distinguish between Virginian, the Carolinas or Georgian, though I am certain to a more trained listener they are as distinct as the modes of speech when listening to a Londoner versus a man from the country. She had the faintest tinge of proper English in her speech, as if she had spent not inconsiderable time with the locals, but was quite some way from getting rid of her regional touches in her speech. It was most odd to hear her offering the traditional greetings and welcomes and introductions in so quaint a speech, quite out of place, but clearly she was trying hard. This marvel of conflicting elements and small oddities, I learned, was named Harriet Wright, apparently a cousin of the Coltranes who had come into their service as Jillian Coltrane's lady's companion.

  It was a bare few minutes at most past meeting Harriet Wright that the lady of the house herself appeared. Jillian Coltrane, James's younger sister, has ably managed his affairs and household since the tragic deaths of their parents some time past. As his fame and resulting fortune grew, she no doubt had a considerable task just keeping up with those asking after commentary from her heroic brother, not to mention the many young ladies who have had their eye upon this most eligible of bachelors.

  Despite what must have been a busy schedule, she seemed to bear it all well, and looked nothing at all like her cousin. Miss Coltrane, indeed, was a mostly lovely woman. Slight and willowy, with the grace and elegance of someone obviously used to the highest of social occasions. That impression was echoed by the pale complexion of someone used to the indoors, while her hair was also light – a blonde with some darker hints, but still several shades lighter than her brunette cousin. In many ways, she reminded me very much of a doll. A bit fragile, but lovely in a way that was almost too perfect, with every hair in place and every move just so. The other detail which struck me as unusual quite quickly was that whatever perfumes she used had a rather stronger hint of the scent of lemon than I have ever previously encountered. I most assuredly did not comment on this, and, indeed, took quite some time before finding my voice. In the meanwhile, I was privy to a most unusual exchange.

  Mr. Toomes initially looked upon her with the same expression I have grown so used to, with slightly pinched features and a gaze all ready to disapprove. His encounter with Harriet to that point had, perhaps, prepared him to expect the Coltranes to have picked up some bad habits, or show some fault in their hospitality. His ear perked at her entrance, and he greeted her with suitable decorum, but no warmth in his tone. She seemed oblivious to his bordering on the edge of impoliteness, showing a great deal of decorum and trained manners in every response. Her tone was crisp and civil, though I might not call it precisely warm. For the next several seconds, while observing manners above reproach, but no hint of welcome, the two verbally fenced with one another. I have grown used enough to Mr. Toomes to be somewhat certain he was seeking some flaw in her manners or responses, as if trying to gain some victory or upper hand. I am not certain what he hoped to gain, aside from being the sort of person used to certain elevated circles, with all of the accompanying games of one-upsmanship.

  After a few rounds of this odd sort of game, it seemed to be Mr. Toomes who ended up at a loss. By the time she had taken her seat, assuring us that her brother would be joining us shortly, I saw something in Mr. Toomes which I had not yet witnessed – a hint of genuine surprise. His typical squint was lost, and there was no hint of sneer or scowl to be found. Whether intended or not, his stiff and very military demeanor shifted, bit by bit, to that of a gentleman used to attending the officers and Lords of the nation's highest social clubs. Any hints of the disapproval he expressed from the first impressions upon meeting Harriet had disappeared. Indeed, Harriet herself almost seemed to disappear at times now that her cousin had arrived and taken up much of the talking.

  I was also struck, after a while, with the fact that he did not light a pipe at first opportunity. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, as doing so would have been impolite in these surroundings, but I have grown so accustomed to the habit. In time, the scent of lemon was even strong enough to cut through that of tobacco. Once the general mood relaxed, while remaining entirely ladylike, she somehow shifted the topic to asking after Mr. Toomes's business. He seemed a bit taken aback at first, but also found himself answering her as many others have found themselves answering to him. She explained that she had become rather well versed in handling her brother's affairs, and demonstrated this familiarity by speaking fluently on matters of politics and the concerns of post-war England in general.

  This conversation had not gotten terribly far when, true to her earlier promise, Sir James himself attended us. I will here admit what I would not outside of my private writings – upon seeing that metal monster, I had imagined that the legendary war hero must be some sort of gnome of a man, small and compact, or perhaps spindly. That he had come to build the thing because he was otherwise unfit to serve, and thus turned his fine Oxford education towards finding a means by which to contribute to the war effort. My imaginings could not be further from the truth, for though he was shorter than I by a few inches, and only an inch or two taller than his sister, he was otherwise the very image of the dashing war hero painted by the stories of him. Muscular and fit, with a broad chest and flat stomach, and the same fair and refined features his sister possessed.

  Indeed, looking upon the pair, they could be nothing but brother and sister, for their complexion is the same, the same refinements, and even their voices carried a similar lilt and pacing, though his, of course, had a deeper timbre. Where her voice was musical, however, his own commanding tone was insistent, and he could not be mistaken for anything but a man used to being listened to. Likewise, his small observations and greetings were given a certain gravity that is usually absent from the routine pleasantries of first
meeting someone. If he was not, in fact, quite pleased to see us, I could not imagine it, for he seemed quite interested in everything we might have to say to him.

  Despite this interest, he made it clear he would brook no imperiousness from Mr. Toomes, despite their shared military backgrounds and Toomes’s superior age and experience. I have seen such exchanges many times when working among soldiers, where you can quickly tell those officers who serve through merit, courage, hard work, and the respect of their men, and those who inherited their station through no merit inherent to them beyond fortune of birth. And though both are considerable men, Sir James quickly set the pace for the meeting, would not be hurried or pressed by Mr. Toomes, and thought nothing of the intensity of my companion's gaze. By some few sentences in, meanwhile, I felt almost as invisible as Harriet had become amongst the company of her cousins. This fact eventually turned my reporter's mind from the enthralling conversation to the details of my companion in mundanity. Harriet seemed to be quite intent on watching Miss Coltrane directly, and quietly attempted to ape her seated posture, her composure, her every minute gesture, in much the fashion as I have observed young girls copying their sisters and mothers in the road to becoming proper ladies.

  And in noting this attention to minute detail, I found a most peculiar thing. As they spoke, James and Jillian were exchanging the most subtle of glances. She was continually shifting her grip on her fan in the smallest ways, shifting her eyes more than seemed entirely necessary for attention to guests. Had I not been noticing Harriet trying to perfectly copy every motion of Jillian's, I would never have noticed, but it became quite clear that while Sir James was driving the conversation and no doubt would make the final decision, he was seeking input and approval from his sister, and taking her perspective into account. I quite quickly came to respect the obvious intelligence behind the woman that so distinguished a man as her brother would value her opinion, and the time it had clearly taken the pair to establish so subtle a language between them, while wondering just how complex this language shared by the siblings was, and how much of a message they could truly pass from one to the other through it. While I had come in marveling at the man and his obvious heroism, intelligence and contribution to the war effort, now I saw that his keen intellect must be common to their family.

  Whatever exchanges they had between them, and however reserved they were about keeping their true thoughts to themselves, I got the distinct impression that they were most intrigued by the details of the mission being offered. Sir James asked many questions concerning where we were bound, and exactly to what purposes and what size of crew and passengers were being recruited for this venture. He seemed quite concerned that the airship he had taken so long to have custom-fitted for his needs when piloting the Coltrane battle suit, for such he called it, would be ruined by trying to crowd too many persons aboard. When Mr. Toomes assured him that there was only to be a small, hand-picked crew of myself, the Coltranes and Harriet, and a total of four others, and Sir James would be permitted to retain whatever pilot and engineering crew he wished, he seemed considerably comforted.

  While keenly interested in everything we had to say about the venture, three topics seemed of particular interest to the Coltranes. The American West has been a topic of much interest to many in the halls of power. Now that France no longer contends so heavily with us for control over the eastern regions, many wonder what sort of resources and territory may lay west of the Mississippi. I understand that, before the war, some talk was put forth about trying to map the Colonial West, but such talk was shelved when England asked for help and men from our colonial holdings.

  Secondly, Africa is a matter of great curiosity among the gentlemen of the Royal Explorers society. Trade goes on between those of the African coasts and Europe, aside from just the slave trade to those places that still traffic in slavery, including parts of the American Colonial South. But beyond the coasts, the only European who has even claimed knowledge of what exists beyond the few cities we have mapped is Dr. Bowe, as described in his extensive journals regarding this vast and mysterious land. Even if one were to believe Dr. Bowe's far-fetched tales, that we could be the first to explore large stretches of Africa, and the first to include photographic evidence of what lies there quite intrigued our hosts.

  Finally, though all the details were still being negotiated with the Dutch, news that our mission might take us into some amount of limited contact with the closed nation of Japan especially took hold of Sir James's interest. Mr. Toomes could not miss the obvious look of enthusiasm in Sir James's gaze when the Orient was even mentioned in passing, and took pains to give Sir James as many details as he could on what dealings we might have there. Dr. Bowe's journals detail some amount of contact with the Japanese, though there is no record of anyone aside from the Dutch having had any diplomatic relations with the Japanese people for many decades. Because of their closed borders, this is one of the sections of Dr. Bowe's journals which draw the most skepticism. Apparently, however, some high official within Japan has expressed curiosity to their Dutch trading partners regarding English technology, which may have opened the door to some very limited contact during our mission. Because the English liberated the Dutch from French occupation during the war the Dutch traders are currently disposed to doing us what diplomatic favors they can. Negotiations are apparently fraught with difficulties, but discussions were ongoing, and nothing else seemed to so excite Sir James as the possibility of seeing Japan for himself.

  Eventually, I did voice my own thoughts on our likelihood of success. Which was to say that while I was certain Dr. Bowe had some knowledge of exploration, and had possibly done a fair amount of travel, no one could have possibly done all of the things the doctor had claimed to. Charting the American West, finding ancient lost cities in South America, charting the vast reaches of Africa, crossing the Blue Mountains of Australia and crossing the inland – in addition to crossing Europe and India, finding numerous islands, exploring the waterways of the American colonial North, scaling numerous other mountains, crossing innumerable waterways – it was impossible any man could have done it all in a lifetime, even with a dirigible, much less without one.

  At this insistence, Sir James came especially alive. He did not seem displeased with me in the least, but clearly relished holding an opposing view. His belief was not so much that Dr. Bowe's accounts must certainly be factual so much as he held the absolute view that very little was impossible for a sufficiently determined and resourceful man, and he quite hoped that Dr. Bowe was one such man.

  In this hope and point of view, Sir James appears to be the very picture of the modern gentleman after the war. So many who risked their lives on the mainland, then returned home, soon found that there was no challenge in day-to-day life. So those of means quickly found other risk and challenge. For many, it was their pounds and pence they put on the line instead of their lives. While before he had seemed to have a casual interest in our venture, now Sir James was suddenly quite animated, and insistent that we must venture forth.

  It was as if by daring to state that Dr. Bowe's work was fiction (a matter which, under other circumstances I am certain he cannot but have agreed with, for any other thought is nonsensical) I had personally given him a challenge to put his life on the line to prove otherwise. It was too great an opportunity to not take up, and through sheer force of will, he would alter time and the world to ensure that Dr. Bowe the fiction writer had indeed not wasted time printing imaginative books and instead had turned three or four lifetimes towards exploring the globe.

  It was a most remarkable turn of character and spirit to our discussion. To that point, Mr. Toomes had seemed to me to be growing somewhat frustrated with trying to get a commitment or even rise out of those he'd been sent to recruit. He looked upon me with considerable astonishment, and maybe, just maybe, a small hint of relief. With further assurance about Sir James's control of his dirigible and leadership of the expedition, it was agreed, and so that pos
sibility of this journey, which had seemed little more than a fantastic thought inspired by a perhaps slightly inebriated bet, would now become quite real. At the time I was relieved. Now, with time and opportunity to put my thoughts to page, I find that this reality is fast making me quite nervous. But it is for the hand of fair Cordelia, and thus I shall not waver.

  February 18th, 1815

  Coltrane Estate

  Dear Sir,

  I only just realized that in my descriptions of other people and places, I entirely neglected to consider that you might have some readership which would be curious as to who I am. I would not have thought of such a mundane detail, had not I been reminded of just this by Sir James Coltrane. For where Mr. Toomes has filled our long hours of travel with pipe smoke and his occasional snort or harrumph of disapproval, Sir James instead insists upon filling the time and travel with conversation. He has a keener mind than I could have imagined for such details, continually surprising me. I had thought that the distinguished Oxford graduate and inventor must surely be preoccupied with math and chemistry such as is beyond my limited understandings of these subjects, but he seems to much prefer to share war stories. And for each one he agrees to tell, with far greater color and detail than was ever provided by even the tallest tales of his deeds, and with the most gripping pacing and tone, he insists that I recollect one of my own experiences. Of these, I did have several, first as a young soldier before my literacy and memory for detail was exposed, whereupon I received a prompt promotion to company clerk, and then to aide de camp and occasional messenger, until at last I had somehow found myself given the unofficial station of documenting the war.

  A reporter for one of London's newspapers had been sent to speak to the general at a critical time, as a showdown with the forces of Napoleon himself loomed large on the horizon. By whatever ill fortune visits the people who are put to such cramped conditions as the front, he quickly became ill, and passed on without so much as a word sent home. He had a new device with him based upon the studies of camera technology. Apparently his company had purchased it at tremendous cost, and felt it a worthwhile investment to have the image of our victorious troops posted accurately to their front pages. While at first loath to even dare touch something worth far more than my own life ten times over, I believed I had come to understand how it worked in my conversations with the man at his arrival and on what passed for a poor sickbed. And in learning that I had gained my station by the fortunes of literacy and capability rather than station in life, the dying fool entrusted me with his camera, a mobile, but heavy box which could be made to reproduce any image which it had view of with touch of a button, a few flipped switches, and access to but a small bit of coal to power the secondary box where I was told it subjected specialty paper to various chemicals, which would allow the image it took in to be printed upon the page. (4)