She replied, “I know. ”
“It’s a marvel, isn’t it?” he pressed, until she turned to regard him.
He was well dressed, and the details would’ve betrayed his foreign origins even if his voice had not. The shoes were a brand and shape Mercy rarely saw; likewise, his suit had a cut that was a few lines distant from contemporary American styles. His hair was dark and curly, and his hands were long, soft, and unmarked—they were the hands of a scholar, not a man prone to labor.
Mercy said, “A marvel, sure. We’re living in an age of them, aren’t we? Practically swimming in them. ” She turned again to watch the dirigible refuel.
“You don’t sound too pleased by it. ”
“By what?”
“By this age of marvels. ”
Mercy looked his way again and he was grinning, very faintly. “You’ve got me there,” she told him. “Most of the marvels I’ve seen are doing a marvelous job of blowing men to bits, so you’ll have to pardon me if, if . . . ” Something large clicked with the sound of small arms fire, and she gave a little jump.
“You view these marvels with some trepidation,” he finished for her. “Have you ever flown before?”
“No. ” Surrendering to the demands of politeness, though somewhat reluctantly, she tore her attention away from the ship and its tanks long enough to ask, “What about you? You ever been flying before?”
“A few times. And I always consider it a grand adventure, because we don’t have such ships yet in England—at least, not in the numbers one finds here. ”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“More or less,” he said, which Mercy thought was a strange answer, but she didn’t ask about it. He continued. “But I understand ships like these are becoming more common in Australia these days, as well. ”
“Australia?”
He nodded. “So progress must come easier to nations of such tremendous size. Thousands of miles to be traveled in any direction . . . it’s not so surprising that newer, more comfortable methods of long-?distance travel might become more commonplace. ”
“I doubt it. It’s a side effect of war, that’s all. These ships were first built for the fronts, but the damn things can?
??t go more than a few hundred miles without refilling, and they can’t hardly carry any weight at all. ”
If he minded her profanity, he didn’t say anything. “Give it time,” he said instead. “The technology improves every day. It won’t be long before people are crossing from coast to coast in machines like this. Or greater machines, built on a similar template. ”
“People already go coast to coast with them, but it’s all merchants moving goods here and there, not people. Did you see the armored dirigibles earlier? The ones that came and went from the commerce docks?”
“No, I only just arrived. ”
“They’re war machines, and there are only a handful of them—for a real good reason,” she informed him. “The hydrogen’s as flammable as the devil’s knickers, and that don’t work so good with live ammunition flying all over the place. Not a month after the first dirigibles took to the front, antiaircraft guns were up and running, shooting them down like carnival balloons. ” She was parroting someone now, and she wasn’t certain whom. One of the soldiers at the hospital? One of the doctors?
“But they’re such impressive instruments. And armored, like you said. ”
“Yeah, but the more armor that covers them, the less weight they can carry. The trade-?off makes them a losing bet on the field. Though I heard from one of the retained men that a CSA dirigible was stolen a few years ago, and that people sometimes talk about seeing it out West, flown by a pirate and outfitted for his trade. Maybe it’ll be the frontier pirates, after all, who will show the East how to make them into proper riding vessels. ”
“Pirates do tend to be an innovative lot,” he murmured. “By the way, I fear I haven’t introduced myself properly. I’m Gordon Rand, lately of the good Queen’s service, but recently discharged to my own recognizance. ”
She almost responded with “Vinita Lynch,” but instead opted for, “I’m Mrs. Lynch. ”
“Mrs. Lynch?” He glanced at her hand, which was covered in a tight leather glove and therefore hiding the wedding ring she still wore. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. ” He took her hand and gave it a perfunctory kiss.
She let him do it, then reclaimed the hand and asked, “What business of the Queen’s takes you west, Mr. Rand?”
“I believe I’m going to write a book,” he informed her. “And the subject matter takes me west. It might take me farther south later on, and maybe even into Mexico, if time and health permit. But we shall see. ”
Mercy gave him a noncommittal, “Hmm,” and gazed again at the ship, which heaved gently back and forth in its moorings as bits of luggage were loaded up through a rear hatch with a retracting ladder.
The indefatigable Mr. Rand asked, “Keeping an eye on your bags?”