The Airship War Omnibus

The Airship War Omnibus

By Brent Nichols

Copyright 2014 Brent Nichols

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

The Airship War

Chapter 1 – Machinations

Chapter 2 – Assault on the Villa

Chapter 3 – The Gray Eagle

Chapter 4 – Fausto

Chapter 5 – Hunted

Chapter 6 – Escape From the Airship

Chapter 7 – Alive

Assault on Villamar

Chapter 1 – Prey

Chapter 2 – Resistance

Chapter 3 – The Ambush

Chapter 4 – A Perilous Refuge

Chapter 5 – A Desperate Plan

Chapter 6 – The Face of Madness

Chapter 7 – A Rough Landing in Sardinia

Chapter 8 – Desperation

Chapter 9 – The Breach

Chapter 10 – The Grinder

Airship Down

Chapter 1 – Invasion

Chapter 2 – Counter-Attack

Chapter 3 – Captured

Chapter 4 – The Portal in the Pit

Chapter 5 – The Mad God

Chapter 6 – Into the Airship

Chapter 7 – Death of the Gray Eagle

Author's Notes

The Airship War

Chapter 1 – Machinations

Monte Carlo by moonlight was enchanting, but Colleen Garman kept to the shadows, scanning the darkness around her, her attention focused on survival.

She was almost certain that the cult of Katharis was active in Monaco. The cult thrived in the darker corners of the world, among the displaced and downtrodden, but the touch of the dark god could be felt even here, in Europe's elite playground.

Not for the first time she cursed the fact that she had been sent here alone. She didn't always agree with her teammates in Department Nine, but it could be immensely comforting to have them at her back. But Carter had already come to Monaco, and managed to annoy Prince Disaronna completely. Colleen was there to clean up the mess. It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission only, but the cult was involved, and the followers of Katharis liked to play rough.

To her left was a stone wall with an inward curve as it followed the winding hills of the elegant city. She slipped into the deepest part of the curve and put her back to the wall. She was in dark shadow, with her back and sides protected, and she waited there, eyes straining, fighting to control her breathing.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness, coming closer. She was sure someone had been following her, a man who kept his eyes focused on her and ignored the dazzling view of the harbor a hundred feet away. She thought she might have lost him in the last block or two, but she wasn't going to bet her life on it.

The rattle of footsteps came closer, and Colleen moved a half step from the wall, keeping her weight on the balls of her feet. She'd been feeling dowdy all day among the elegant citizens of Monaco, but now she was grateful for her slacks and flat shoes. She could run and fight a lot better in what she was wearing.

A gaslight just around the nearest corner cast a yellow circle of light on the cobbled street, and the breath froze in her lungs as a vast shadow suddenly filled the intersection. Then the source of the shadow came into view, a man and a woman in elegant evening dress, tipsy and leaning on each other as they giggled and stumbled down the street.

Colleen didn't straighten from her crouch until they had staggered past without seeing her. Even then she didn't relax completely. The most dangerous opponent was the one you didn't see, didn't suspect.

She resumed her interrupted walk, looking for her hotel. She had been sight-seeing among the grand hotels and casinos of Monte Carlo, but her own hotel was much more modest. She had enjoyed her sight-seeing until she'd spotted the staring man.

A flicker of light caught her eye. Even the smallest homes in Monte Carlo seemed ancient and grand, built of stone with high stone walls enclosing them. Firelight glowed on a wall to her right. Someone had a bonfire going in their yard.

The glow of the flames drew Colleen like a moth. There was something primal in the smell of wood smoke and the crackle of leaping flames. Bonfires and the cult of Katharis often went together. This was undoubtedly something more benign, a backyard barbecue, nothing to do with the cult. But Colleen found herself pressing deeper into the shadows and turning up a narrow lane, moving closer to the source of the light.

Nothing stirred in the lane. No street light pierced the darkness. Only the moon and the reflected glow of the fire provided light. The fire burned on the other side of a stone wall just over five feet tall. Colleen, at five foot six, found she could peer over the top into the yard beyond.

Half a dozen people danced around a fire. At first glance they looked nothing like the cult members Colleen had seen in the past. They were clean, well-groomed, dressed in clothes that were casual but expensive. There were men and women, ranging in age from late teens to perhaps thirty, and one young man played a repetitive, hypnotic beat on a guitar while the others danced.

Only the glazed, intense look on their faces made Colleen shiver. The faces were different, but the expression was the same. She had seen that look on faces in Victoria, Washington, and the South Pacific.

Katharis was making his presence felt in Monaco.

She watched for a minute, then crept away. In a strange way she found the dancers encouraging. If Katharis was focusing his energies here, then she was on the right track. It meant she had to hurry, though.

The Hotel Roma boasted a view, if distant, of the Ligurian Sea, paid for by a brutal climb up a steep hillside. Colleen arrived panting, tried the front door, and found it still unlocked. In the lobby a single light burned at the front desk. The bellhop, a man of about twenty, her own age, was slumped behind the desk. He looked up blearily as she came in.

Oh, Miss Colleen. He started to rise and she hurriedly waved him back down. Every time he stirred he expected a tip.

Hello, Robert, she said. How are you this evening?

I'm quite well, thank you. He had a high-pitched voice and a subtle accent, a mix of French and Italian. He smiled, glanced around the lobby, and said, I found something out.

Tiredness fell away from Colleen. She hurried over to the desk.

This Disaronna fellow. He is here, in Monaco.

That's great! Where is he?

Robert grinned, clearly enjoying her excitement. You know, it wasn't easy finding this out.

I'm sure it wasn't, she told him impatiently. Only a secret agent of unsurpassed skill could have learned what you found out. He nodded, smirking, and she said, Now give it up. Tell me.

He's got an estate in Monaco, but he's not there right now. Robert's chest puffed out a bit. I telephoned, and said I had a delivery. I said he had to sign for it personally, and they said he was leaving to attend a party. They said he wouldn't be back until quite late.

Colleen nodded, fighting for patience. Grabbing him and shaking him wouldn't help. Instead she gave him an encouraging smile that hid her clenched teeth.

Tomorrow he's out for much of the day, Robert continued. Then he paused, examining his fingernails, watching Colleen from the corner of his eyes. The quirk of a smile told her that he was toying with her.

Well, if that's all you know... She pretended to turn away, and he plucked at her sleeve. The words came out in a rush. You can meet him tomorrow in the evening, if you want. He's hosting a party at his house. I have an address, and everything. Here, I even wrote it down.

She took the paper that he pressed at her. There was an address, the name of a maid he'd spoken to, even a sketch showing how to find the house from the Hotel Roma. Colleen smiled. Thank you, Robert. You did very well.

He glowed with pride. Then shrewdness replaced pride in his face. So, he said, that was useful to you, then? His eyebrow arched and he gave her a significant look.

Yes, indeed. She fished in her pocket and handed him a ten-franc note. He bowed with a flourish and she took her key, bade him good night, and headed for her room.

She lay in bed, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling and running through what she knew of Benedeto Disaronna. He was Italian, twenty-four, rich and privileged. He was also a prince, and in a way he was the ruler of a very small country. Capria had merged with Italy thirty years before, but the island remained a place apart. A hundred miles from the coast of Italy, the rugged little island had its own dialect, culture, and history.

Capria was also the latest place where the cult had sprung up. No one at Department Nine knew why, but whatever it was, it boded ill for the world.

Carter, the head of Department Nine, had gone to Capria and been shunned by the fishermen and shepherds who lived there. Finally he left the island and travelled to Paris, where he'd tracked down Prince Benedeto. He'd made his case to the young man.

Colleen still remembered the disgust on Carter's face as he'd told the story. Benedeto was a spoiled, idle young playboy. His grandparents had lived on Capria as first among equals. His parents had been rulers, and gained fantastic wealth negotiating for the right to mine copper on the island. Young Benedeto had left the rugged island with his money, seeking a more refined life.

The copper was long gone, but the money remained, and the prince's only interest seemed to be in gambling and frittering it away. If dark forces had a growing foothold in his ancestral home, it was nothing to him.

Carter returned to Washington in disgust. But rumors continued to trickle in from Capria, and finally he'd sent Colleen to try again where he had failed. His instructions had been brief.

Charm him.

But I can't! Colleen had wailed.

Well, you've got a better shot at it than I did, had been Carter's gruff reply.

She lay in bed in her hotel room, far from sleep, and thought of all the strange adventures she'd had battling the cult. Tomorrow she had to crash a party and talk to a young man. It should have been a dream assignment, but she found herself dreading it.

Colleen spent her first full day in Monaco walking around the city. It was a combination of sightseeing and familiarizing herself with her environment. Her only experience of Europe was what she had seen of Calais, where her ship had docked, and what she'd seen from the train. Monaco was exotic and endlessly fascinating.

There seemed to be no poor neighborhoods, only varying levels of opulence. Prince Benedeto's house was a two-story edifice of ivy-covered stone, not too large but grand and imposing just the same. She strolled past once in the late morning, admiring the wrought-iron gate guarded by a pair of marble lions. Then she returned as the sun was setting.

Half a dozen cars were parked in front, two wheels pulled up onto the sidewalk so the narrow street wouldn't be blocked. Colleen had driven a Model T before, but there was nothing so plebeian here. These were low-slung roadsters with seats for the driver and one passenger, or elegant sedans with gleaming coachwork. A uniformed chauffeur sat at the wheel of one big car, hat pulled low over his eyes.

The gates stood open, and Colleen walked into the enclosed yard. The front door of the house stood ajar, light spilling out over the granite steps. Her heart thumped in her chest. She hadn't even seen another person yet, and already she felt terribly out of place.

She wore her best trousers with a new blouse of cream-colored silk. She'd bought it that day, and it was easily the most expensive piece of clothing she'd ever owned. Still, she was sure she was going to look drab and under-dressed. Well, there was nothing else for it. She took a deep breath and walked up the steps and into the house.

A short hallway led to a wide room, lavishly decorated, with a fire crackling in a huge fireplace on one wall. Colleen left her shoes by the door and stepped onto a carpet so luxurious she thought she might sink to her ankles.

Young people in their twenties sat on sofas or chairs or leaned against the walls. A record player in one corner filled the room with piano music, and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. A few people glanced at Colleen curiously, but most of them ignored her.

Everyone was dressed casually, she noted with some relief. A few of the girls even wore pants. That was a fashion that couldn't catch on soon enough, in Colleen's mind. Some of the girls wore a bit of quite nice jewelry, and she thought some of the men might be wearing wristwatches that cost as much as her passage by ocean liner from Washington, but overall she was dressed well enough to fit in.

She scanned the faces of the men in the room. There were five of them, and she compared them to Carter's description and a couple of photos taken from the society pages in European newspapers. Benedeto was not there. She had no idea what to say or how to behave, so she kept walking, moving through the room to a doorway on the far side. She found herself entering a kitchen.

Where the front room was elegant to the point of ostentation, the kitchen was warm and cozy. Half a dozen young people sat around a scarred wooden table drinking wine and laughing. Until they caught sight of Colleen. Then the conversation went silent and every eye focused on her.

Hi, said Colleen. When the awkward silence stretched out she added, Mind if I have some wine?

A young man with tousled dark hair grinned, stood, and poured her a glass. She recognized him immediately as Benedeto. Only when the wine glass was in her hand did she realize that everyone had been speaking French, and she had spoken English. Her tentative plan of blending in unnoticed until she could get her bearings was gone out the window.

Benedeto gestured to a chair, and she sat. He was much more striking in person than she'd expected. She'd imagined a soft, dissolute playboy, but he was lean and fit with broad shoulders and clear dark eyes. He was watching her, amusement in his expression.

A sip of wine helped moisten her dry mouth. She took a deep breath, smiled, and said, Yes, I'm a party crasher.

A darkly pretty girl to Colleen's right burst out laughing. She rocked from side to side, then gave a squeal as she nearly fell from her stool. She was quite drunk, and the others chuckled as she clung to the table top. The amusement stayed in their eyes as they returned their gazes to Colleen.

Welcome, Benedeto said. His voice was quite deep, his accent exotic, not Italian or anything else Colleen recognized. It's high time we had a fresh face around here. I've become quite bored with these poor simpletons.

He grinned to show he was kidding, and the boy beside him gave his shoulder a shove. We've heard all his jokes, is what he means. The boy smiled at Colleen. You're new, so he thinks you'll laugh to be polite. Don't, though. It just encourages him.

My name is Ben, said Benedeto, and gestured at the boy who'd shoved him. This is Franz, and his sister Ursula. Over there is Marie and Suzette.

I'm Colleen. I'm pleased to meet you.

Ben looked like he wanted to ask her a question or two, but Ursula, the darkly pretty girl, blurted, I think I'm in love with Douglas Fairbanks!

In moments the others were teasing her and laughing, and Colleen sank down in her chair, trying to be invisible. Eventually someone would ask her why she was here, and she had no idea how to answer. In the meantime she planned to delay the moment as long as possible.

A clock chimed in the next room, three reverberating clangs, and Colleen cocked her head. It couldn't be three o'clock. A glance at her watch showed that it was not quite midnight.

Your watch isn't broken, Marie told her. Ben doesn't know how to adjust his grandmother's clock.

I just haven't gotten around to it, Ben protested.

Marie waved a dismissive hand. He doesn't know how. He always spends January and February in Monaco. He threw a party last year, too. And his clock was three hours off, same as this year. He won't get rid of it, because it belonged to his mother.

My grandmother, actually, Ben said. And I'm sure I could figure out how to adjust it. I've been busy, that's all.

That brought snorts of derisive laughter from around the table. Ben laughed too.

Well, it's a very complicated clock, he said. I opened it up once. Oh, my God, you wouldn't believe what the inside looks like. I don't know what sort of mad gnome built it. I'm not messing with it.

What sort of clock is it? The words were out before Colleen could stop them, and she cursed under her breath. So much for being invisible.

Ben gave her a speculative glance. Do you know about clocks?

I know a bit, she admitted.

If you can fix my clock, he said, I won't even have you arrested for crashing my party. Her eyes must have gone wide, because he laughed, and the others joined in. Come on, he said, and stood. Colleen followed him back to the front room, and the others trouped along behind.

The clock stood on the mantle, a beautiful timepiece a foot and a half tall, the curved case made of dark wood carved with forest scenes. Colleen just looked at it for a long moment, then picked it up and turned it over in her hands.

She started to turn and bumped into someone. Everyone from the kitchen was clustered behind her, trying to peer over her shoulders, and she found herself staring into Marie's startled face. Something triggered Colleen's memory, something about the girl's wide eyes.

"Je m'excuse," Marie said, stepping back. Colleen moved through the crowd, setting the clock on a coffee table and sitting on the floor in front of it. She gave a quick glance at Marie, trying to track down that elusive wisp of memory.

Marie turned, and flames from the fireplace lit her face. A jolt of recognition hit Colleen.

What is it? said Marie. Is something wrong? Everything about her was demure, urbane. Quite different from when Colleen had first seen her, the night before, dancing around a bonfire.

Nothing's wrong, Colleen lied, and turned her attention back to the clock.

The whole room was quiet, everyone watching her as she found the hidden catch that let the back of the clock swing open. She felt herself smiling, partly from the pleasure of practicing her onetime profession, and partly from the absurdity of it all. Clocks themselves could be fascinating, but a clockmaker at work was not. To have a dozen people watch her work was downright surreal.

I tried not winding it, Ben said. I waited until it stopped, and then I waited until the time was correct. Then I wound it again. But it ran slowly for hours, and the time was wrong again.

That's good to know, Colleen said. That tells me something about the spring. She gazed into the insides of the clock, marveling at the intricacy of it all. Do you have any tools? she asked without looking up. I could use a small screwdriver, and pliers if you have them, the smaller the better. Oh, and another light source, if possible.

Marie knelt beside her with a flashlight, and Colleen began to tinker. She didn't remove any parts, just probed delicately, first with a fingertip and then with the screwdriver Ben brought her. She tested how the moving parts reacted to the probing, and finally she said, I see why it ran slowly. The spring has slipped a bit on its spindle. I can adjust that.

Wow, said Marie, you really know a lot about this.

Under different circumstances Colleen would have been too tongue-tied to reply. She was intimidated by these people, their elegance, their wealth. Marie was a green-eyed beauty who made Colleen feel plain and clumsy. But the clock absorbed most of her attention, and it crowded out her usual self-consciousness.

She began to speak, casually, even absently. Her mind was still on the clock as she tinkered, but some corner of her brain was guiding her tongue. She spoke to Marie, but the rest of the group hung on her words.

I get satisfaction from this sort of thing, Colleen said as she released the tension on the spring. The thousand moving parts of the clock went still. I get a sense of control from making things work, and I like being able to do what most people can't do.

Her eyes flicked to Marie. The girl looked interested, engaged. Everything about her seemed wholesome. It was hard to imagine the cult touching her, but Colleen knew what she had seen.

I think everyone wants a source of satisfaction, she said. Everybody wants to have an impact. She lifted out several tiny, delicate gears, making a careful mental note of their positions. I'm lucky that my father was a clockmaker, and that I was suited to the same work he did. Not everyone has that opportunity.

Marie's gaze was fixed on Colleen's face. A gentle probe with the screwdriver revealed the location of the tiny screw holding the base of the spring in place. It was invisible to the eye, but Colleen could find it by touch.

I've seen people make terrible mistakes, Colleen said, trying to find that same sense of purpose I have. You see little kids getting it wrong all the time. They do whatever their friends do, because they want to be part of something, and it's the only group they can find. Working by touch, she slipped the blade of the screwdriver into the slot on the hidden screw, keeping just enough tension to hold the screwdriver in place. They hurt people, because they want to have an effect.

She increased the pressure on the screw, ever so gently. Too much and the tool would slip free, maybe even damage the gears around it. Her eyes went to Marie's face. It's so easy to start down the wrong path, Colleen said. "You do what your friends do. You do what makes you feel powerful. Even when you know you shouldn't. Even when you know it's