Romulus Buckle and the Luminiferous Aether (The Chronicles of the Pneumatic Zeppelin #3) Read Online Free
Author: Richard Ellis Preston Jr.
little notice of the sea’s intrusions.
The Dart advanced slowly at a speed of three knots. Ahead of them the harbor bottom sloped deeper into the shallow depths, cut in sharper angles by dredging, and the near transparent quality of the water deepened into a pleasant green-blue. The harbor floor, amidst its carpet of propeller-clipped seaweed, was a jumble of discarded ship-jetsam and hastily-tossed cargoes—barrels full of anyone’s guess—and had the appearance of an overgrown junkyard. There were no ships active on the surface—the Founders blockade had seen to that—and the water ceiling responded only to the breeze, washed by wind-ripples.
Once clear of the docks, Felix clanged the chadburn handle, signaling the engine room. “All ahead half.”
“All ahead half,” came the response on the chattertube.
The bridge remained quiet for several minutes, the bioluminescent green boil instruments glowing in the sea shade. The Dart slowly navigated her way toward the harbor entrance where the seaweed lawns of the shallows fell away into the depths of the deep blue sea.
“Lovely and quiet,” Sabrina said, pulling back her hood.
“Nobody’s out,” Felix said, tapping his head at the temple. “None of ‘em are quite addled enough in the brain pan to try to run a Founders blockade.”
“Or not being paid well enough to do it,” Buckle said.
“Fair enough,” Felix replied. “There’s a Founders submersible lurking just outside the harbor, here, so we need to be damned cautious,”
“I thought you could simply outrun him,” Sabrina said.
“Aye, but I can’t outrun a torpedo,” Felix answered.
“Do the Founders know where Atlantis is?” Welly asked.
“Of course,” Felix said. “Most of it, anyway.”
“How is it that you know the location of Atlantis, Captain Felix?” Buckle asked.
Felix shook his head as he nursed the helm wheel in his big, rough hands. He took on a new aura on the bridge of the ship, looking taller: here he was the captain, ever-powerful and wise, compared to the shadowy, elusive man who haunted the back tables of the Sybaris. He and Kishi never took their eyes off of the windows or the green boil-lit instruments surrounding them. “Passed down from my father. But finding Atlantis isn’t the hard part when you live underwater. The getting in, well, there’s the rub. And Atlantis is far more than just one underwater city. There are seven main domes, one for each of their gens, or houses, and many of ‘em don’t get along. Now, let’s keep an eye out for that submersible.”
Buckle nodded. The news of the Founders blockade hadn’t surprised him—he expected such tactics. The Atlanteans themselves were surely experiencing the particularly brutal version of diplomacy the Founders liked to practice, but such aggression should work in Buckle’s favor.
The Grand Alliance sorely needed the Atlanteans as a partner, but that wasn’t the main reason Buckle was there. He was lying to himself if he thought he was there for any reason other than to rescue his lost sister Elizabeth. If Elizabeth was in Atlantis he would find her. And he would bring her home. The prophecy of Lady Andromeda, her warning that Elizabeth somehow was the key to winning the war, had taken root ever more strongly inside of him with each passing day. He felt strangely attached to Lady Andromeda, as if he could hear her voice operating within him, gently and insistently, alongside the voice of his own conscience. He had now fallen victim to a gray vagueness, to a sense of insecurity at what he was doing because he wasn’t certain of himself. And he knew that time would only make this condition worse. Perhaps it was for the better; his father, Admiral Balthazar, always said that certainty was the realm of fools and dead men.
“The Founders boats are big, ugly brutes—we’ll see them coming long before they see us,” Felix said, craning his neck to peer up. “And they’re mostly surface
The Dart advanced slowly at a speed of three knots. Ahead of them the harbor bottom sloped deeper into the shallow depths, cut in sharper angles by dredging, and the near transparent quality of the water deepened into a pleasant green-blue. The harbor floor, amidst its carpet of propeller-clipped seaweed, was a jumble of discarded ship-jetsam and hastily-tossed cargoes—barrels full of anyone’s guess—and had the appearance of an overgrown junkyard. There were no ships active on the surface—the Founders blockade had seen to that—and the water ceiling responded only to the breeze, washed by wind-ripples.
Once clear of the docks, Felix clanged the chadburn handle, signaling the engine room. “All ahead half.”
“All ahead half,” came the response on the chattertube.
The bridge remained quiet for several minutes, the bioluminescent green boil instruments glowing in the sea shade. The Dart slowly navigated her way toward the harbor entrance where the seaweed lawns of the shallows fell away into the depths of the deep blue sea.
“Lovely and quiet,” Sabrina said, pulling back her hood.
“Nobody’s out,” Felix said, tapping his head at the temple. “None of ‘em are quite addled enough in the brain pan to try to run a Founders blockade.”
“Or not being paid well enough to do it,” Buckle said.
“Fair enough,” Felix replied. “There’s a Founders submersible lurking just outside the harbor, here, so we need to be damned cautious,”
“I thought you could simply outrun him,” Sabrina said.
“Aye, but I can’t outrun a torpedo,” Felix answered.
“Do the Founders know where Atlantis is?” Welly asked.
“Of course,” Felix said. “Most of it, anyway.”
“How is it that you know the location of Atlantis, Captain Felix?” Buckle asked.
Felix shook his head as he nursed the helm wheel in his big, rough hands. He took on a new aura on the bridge of the ship, looking taller: here he was the captain, ever-powerful and wise, compared to the shadowy, elusive man who haunted the back tables of the Sybaris. He and Kishi never took their eyes off of the windows or the green boil-lit instruments surrounding them. “Passed down from my father. But finding Atlantis isn’t the hard part when you live underwater. The getting in, well, there’s the rub. And Atlantis is far more than just one underwater city. There are seven main domes, one for each of their gens, or houses, and many of ‘em don’t get along. Now, let’s keep an eye out for that submersible.”
Buckle nodded. The news of the Founders blockade hadn’t surprised him—he expected such tactics. The Atlanteans themselves were surely experiencing the particularly brutal version of diplomacy the Founders liked to practice, but such aggression should work in Buckle’s favor.
The Grand Alliance sorely needed the Atlanteans as a partner, but that wasn’t the main reason Buckle was there. He was lying to himself if he thought he was there for any reason other than to rescue his lost sister Elizabeth. If Elizabeth was in Atlantis he would find her. And he would bring her home. The prophecy of Lady Andromeda, her warning that Elizabeth somehow was the key to winning the war, had taken root ever more strongly inside of him with each passing day. He felt strangely attached to Lady Andromeda, as if he could hear her voice operating within him, gently and insistently, alongside the voice of his own conscience. He had now fallen victim to a gray vagueness, to a sense of insecurity at what he was doing because he wasn’t certain of himself. And he knew that time would only make this condition worse. Perhaps it was for the better; his father, Admiral Balthazar, always said that certainty was the realm of fools and dead men.
“The Founders boats are big, ugly brutes—we’ll see them coming long before they see us,” Felix said, craning his neck to peer up. “And they’re mostly surface
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