Under the Burning Clouds Read online

  “If you are going to leave us, why did you bring us?”

  The warmth of Lilith pushed away from her. “I don’t want to go to ’Meeta, Goddess. I want to stay with you.”

  Maliha sighed. “I can’t take you where I’m going.”

  “Why not?” said Izak.

  “It will be very dangerous,” said Maliha. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “If you leave me I will be hurt,” said Lilith. Maliha smiled sadly and tried to hug her, but Lilith kept her distance.

  “That’s just blackmail,” said Maliha. “With emotions.”

  “What’s blackmail?”

  “When you threaten to make someone feel bad so they do what you want.”

  Lilith thought about it.

  Izak looked at Maliha. “You wanted to get us away so what happened to that man won’t happen to us.”

  Maliha nodded. “He might not be ill.”

  “But others will be.”

  “Yes,” Maliha would not lie to them. “I believe it will become very bad there. I don’t think there is anything that can stop it.”

  “Then everyone should leave.”

  Maliha smiled and shook her head. “That’s not possible—and people can be very stupid. They would never believe it until it was too late. Have you ever heard of the Black Death?” she asked, not expecting they would have. It had been taught in her school, though she learnt the real truth of it in her other reading. They shook their heads.

  “Hundreds of years ago a disease struck the world and killed many people. If you took ten people and stood them in a line, this disease killed seven of them.”

  “And this will kill seven people?”

  “No, this will kill all of them and their animals.”

  “Will it kill me, Goddess?” said Lilith in a very small voice. She crept under Maliha’s arm.

  “I will do my best to keep you safe,” said Maliha. Because there is nothing in all my knowledge that tells me how to prevent this.

  Izak frowned. “You told Mama Kosi it comes from Venus.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “You are going to Venus.”

  Maliha sighed. “Yes, there is something I must do.”

  “Will you stop the disease?” asked Lilith.

  “No, Lilith, I cannot.”

  “If you go to Venus will the disease kill you?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “But,” said Izak, leaning forward, “if you are not going to stop the disease why are you going?”

  “There is a bad man who must be stopped.” And a good man I must find if I can.

  Maliha found her back was pressing into the padded back of the seat—the atmospheric was decelerating.

  “Is this Mombasa?” asked Izak. Through the window came fleeting glimpses of mountains with farms on their green foothills. Bulawayo was the first scheduled stop, and this was not Bulawayo.

  vi

  The carriage of the atmospheric jerked to the side as it shunted off the main line and onto another. The railway signs said ‘Polokwane’. Maliha dredged the name from the depths of her memory—it was a small community that happened to be in a good position for a station. The doors of the tube on the platform had to line up exactly before they would open.

  Maliha was on her feet with her hand on Izak’s shoulder and the other holding Lilith’s. She was not sure whether she did this to comfort them or to give herself additional security.

  The door to the compartment opened and the train conductor who had brought them on board appeared. He glanced along the carriage corridor and then gestured for them to follow.

  “This compartment occupied from Bulawayo,” he said as they followed him forward. They passed through the pressurised rubber tunnel that linked this carriage to the next one, which was intended for food preparation.

  He led them to the outer door and poked his head out. “Is safe.” He stepped out. Maliha and the children followed. There was an abrupt change of feeling from light to heavy. Izak stumbled.

  “Other doors not opened, you see? Quite safe,” he said. “You go outside.” He pointed at an exit into the station’s concourse and waiting area. “Someone coming to meet.”

  Maliha stared for a moment; there was no one around. She turned back. “How will I—” The door to the atmospheric snapped shut in her face. She pulled back as the outer ones closed too, though more slowly.

  The conductor grinned, waved and pointed again to indicate they should leave the station. There was a roar of steam and the whoosh of pressurised air as the airlocks inside the tube opened and the pneumatic forces were let loose on the vehicle. It slid away, accelerating as it went.

  They were already a long way from Johannesburg but still over a thousand miles from Mombasa. Maliha sighed—she disliked being subject to the whim of others. Gathering Lilith and Izak to her, she walked out onto the concourse. They were hit by a wave of hot air. It was midday and nobody went outside at a time like this.

  There was a railwayman behind the ticket counter. He seemed absorbed in whatever he was doing and did not even look at them. Did Mama Kosi’s influence extend this far? Why not? She had been able to start a riot and, more importantly, bring it to an end with just her word.

  The invention of the atmospheric had created an anomaly in the way nations grew. Once upon a time they had grown along waterways and extended into the hinterlands of countries along the rivers and streams, because man needed water to survive and to grow crops, and because the river provided transportation. Now it was along the routes of the atmospherics—where they went and where they stopped—that civilisation grew.

  Maliha and the children stepped out onto a verandah along the front of the station building. The roof kept them in shade as they squinted out into the reds and browns.

  “This is not a busy place,” said Lilith.

  She was right. Although there were many buildings, including shops, a hotel and a post office, there was a lack of people. Still, it was the hottest part of the day—no reason why anyone should be out.

  Maliha sat down and licked her lips; they were dry. If she needed water the children would too. There was a slight breeze, but it brought no comfort.

  “What’s that?” said Lilith. Maliha glanced around but saw nothing unusual. She looked at Lilith, who had her head cocked on one side. She was listening, not looking.

  Maliha listened. Something.

  “Big engine,” said Izak. Lilith nodded. Maliha could still barely hear it, but it was growing in volume. They were right: a powerful propeller was churning the air. There was a movement to the north. A black dot detached itself from the sky and grew, fast.

  It was coming straight towards them. It was not as big as a Sky-Liner, in fact it appeared to be not much larger than Valentine’s Alice—the vessel he had named after Maliha before he discovered how much she disliked the name—but its wings were much shorter.

  The sound it made became a constant drone.

  Maliha looked up and down the street. There was insufficient flat space for a fixed-wing vehicle to land and this one did not appear to have rotors that could turn. She did not, for one second, assume the ship was there to do anything but pick them up.

  The drone of the propeller dropped in volume and pitch, indicating that the pilot had cut the power. Maliha frowned. She was not an expert flyer, but she had read many manuals and technical specifications. Cutting power meant that it was coming in to land but was still far too high. Never mind the lack of space, it would either overshoot or stall into a crash, depending on what the pilot did next.

  The black dot resolved into a real shape. It had a blocky, solid body, unlike the slim fuselage of the Alice, so it would be able to carry several passengers. The propeller was rear-mounted, as was often the case, and it had a chimney above, which was releasing remarkably little smoke.

  The wings were curiously shaped: they were shorter than she expected and wider, and they appeared to be composed of ... she stared ... fea
thers.

  “It’s a bird,” shouted Lilith in delight.

  The wings suddenly came to life. They bent and folded as the plane back-winged. Its horizontal speed dropped to nothing. The wings beat powerfully and the vessel simply hung in the air like a hawk above the grass, ready to swoop on its unsuspecting prey.

  The wings paused and the metal bird dived. It looped around, almost standing on one wing, then fluttered to the ground blasting dust all around. It landed without a jolt. The wings folded in along its body, as if it had come to roost.

  Maliha knew what it was now: a Clayton & Shuttleworth ‘Iron Pigeon’, nearly twenty years old. Nobody made ornithopters anymore, as they were simply too hard to fly. This one, however, appeared to be in perfect condition and whoever was at the helm was extremely competent. She saw through the large windows someone moving inside.

  Two machine guns were mounted in the lower fuselage—Maliha knew they were not original to the plane. In addition, as far as she recalled, a vessel like this was not capable of hovering. Even with the advances in Faraday technology in the last twenty years, she did not think such a heavy machine was capable of performing the aerobatics she had just witnessed.

  She studied the vessel. Beside the hatch in the side was a worn painting of the winged horse, Pegasus, drawn in the Ancient Grecian style. Her breath caught in her throat—she knew what this ship was, she knew who owned it and who flew it. She jumped to her feet.

  “Come on children,” she said excitedly. “You are about to meet one of the greatest pilots that has ever flown.”

  She hurried forward as the hatch opened and the stairs of the Iron Pegasus were kicked out.

  vii

  With Izak and Lilith in tow Maliha hurried out to the vehicle. She knew she had a grin on her face. She wondered what on earth she would say to the pilot when she appeared. There were pulp magazines dedicated to the adventures of this ship and the sisters who flew in it, and Maliha had read every single one of them.

  As she approached, a woman in a loose jumpsuit stepped out and down to the ground. She placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched. Her hair was tied back with a scarf, which had a pair of flying goggles around it.

  “Khuwelsa Edgbaston!” said Maliha in astonishment, and suddenly she could not think of anything else to say. The black woman was in her thirties, her arms were bare and well-muscled. She ceased stretching and turned her attention to Maliha.

  “You’re Miss Anderson?”

  A man wearing a stoker’s apron appeared at the hatch. His hair was neatly trimmed. He looked a similar age and was peering at them, almost owl-like.

  “Are these the passengers, Khuwelsa?” he said. His English was perfect, but Maliha recognised a German accent.

  “Think so,” she said still looking at Maliha but loud enough for him to hear. “Were we expecting children? If I’d known we’d have brought our three.”

  Maliha felt as if her world was being held upside down and jiggled about.

  “You are Khuwelsa Edgbaston?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re married to ... Johannes?”

  The older woman regarded Maliha with solemn eyes. “You mean why aren’t I Harry, and how can I be married to Johannes instead of her?”

  The rude nature of her enquiry brought back to her thus, Maliha had the decency to look embarrassed, but she nodded anyway.

  “You have an unseemly interest in my personal affairs, Miss Anderson, since we have barely been introduced,” she said. “You read the books, didn’t you?”

  Maliha nodded.

  “Let me explain, then. I am happy enough to do a favour for Mama Kosi, but I do not expect to be cross-examined about my personal life.” She took a step to the side and gestured with her hand. “Now, I believe we are in a hurry, so if you would care to step aboard we will be on our way. Then we can talk and, if I decide I like you, perhaps we will get to know one another a little better.”

  Maliha walked to the ship. When she put her foot on the step she stopped and shivered.

  “Problem, Miss Anderson?”

  “I just wanted to apologise for being so familiar, Miss Edgbaston—”

  “Mrs Schonfeldt,” she said and then smiled. “But you can call me Sellie, almost everyone does.”

  Maliha climbed the steps and went inside with Lilith and Izak behind her. The furnace and generators were smaller than she had imagined them, but she recognised that the current units were modern replacements. There were seats welded to the floor. The pilot’s area was separated from the main cabin by wooden panelling, as was the engineering section. The portholes in the fuselage were larger than the design and there was a small kitchen. The entire vessel had been remodelled.

  “So we’re going to Ceylon?” asked Sellie, standing at the small door that led through to the pilot’s area.

  “You can go straight there?”

  “It won’t be entirely comfortable,” she said. “But we can be there in under twenty-four hours. Speed is of the essence, I understand.”

  “Yes”, said Maliha, “it is.”

  “Well, take a seat and make sure the children are strapped in properly. And you too. It can be a little bumpy until we reach cruising speed.”

  Maliha sat Izak and Lilith in chairs and helped them do up their belts. It wasn’t possible for them to see out, but that could not be helped. She strapped herself in. The connecting window opened for a moment as Sellie checked they were ready.

  The disconnect between the stories and the reality continued. In the stories it was always Sellie who was in the back, stoking the engine. She did not fly the ship—that was her sister, Harry. And it was Harriet Edgbaston who was sweet on Johannes, the German army officer.

  But now Sellie was married to him and, apparently, they had children. Three of them.

  Maliha wondered where Harriet could be and whether something had happened to her. But surely there would have been something in the papers if she had been killed. And if it had been written down, Maliha would have read it. She would know.

  A red electric light lit up in the wall in front of them; it was labelled, ‘Going light’.

  “We’re going light in a moment, like the atmospheric, Lilith, Izak. Don’t be scared.”

  The light flashed and went out. Maliha gasped as she lost almost all her weight. This was nothing like the atmospheric. But it was exactly like Timmons’ vessel.

  The Pegasus leapt into the air.

  After a few minutes their flight stabilised and Johannes came through from the back.

  “There is not a great deal for me to do once the steam is up,” he said and sat down on one of the chairs. He pulled off a gauntlet and held out his hand.

  “Johannes Schonfeldt, Miss Anderson. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  She took his hand; his grip was firm.

  “You do not seem entirely well,” he said. “Shall I make a cup of tea?”

  “Do you have any food?”

  “Oh yes, plenty. We are going to Ceylon, are we not? Lots of time.”

  Moving lightly in the very reduced gravity, he almost appeared to waft to the galley area. He engaged an electrical device connected to what looked like a kettle.

  The Pegasus flattened out and a few moments later Sellie came into the cabin.

  “Fifteen thousand feet at three hundred and fifty miles per hour,” she said with pride in her voice.

  “And, I would guess, over ninety percent gravity reduction,” said Maliha. “May I enquire how that has been achieved?”

  Sellie stared at Maliha for a moment and then looked at her husband. Her husband? Maliha still could not quite imagine it. In the stories of Harry and Sellie in the ‘Astounding Stories of Adventure’ magazine—which she had eaten up when she escaped from school to the bookshop—Johannes sometimes appeared and he was always Harriet’s love interest. Unspoken, true, but it was always very clear.

  This seemed wrong.

  “Did you ever read �
�Harry in the Desert’, Miss Anderson?”

  Mrs Schonfeldt’s words brought her back to the present.

  “The last one? Yes, of course, I read them all. Several times,” said Maliha, then she blushed. “I found them ... inspirational.”

  Sellie smiled. “It wasn’t entirely truthful.”

  “I didn’t really think any of them were.”

  “Oh, they were, for the most part. The publisher and the writers were quite good really, not too much embellishment,” she said. “But not that one. We lied.”

  She pushed off gently and floated down to Maliha’s side. It was like an aerial ballet in slow motion.

  “I want to fly!” said Lilith.

  “When we land, little one,” said Sellie kindly. “I cannot allow you to float around when we are in the air. You might hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You might hurt the Pegasus.” To which Lilith had no answer.

  “To put it simply—”

  “Khuwelsa, you should not tell her.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, Joe, she already knows.” She turned to Maliha. “Don’t you?”

  “I know it’s possible to achieve this level of nullification, though I do not know how. I have experienced it before.”

  Sellie became serious and looked at Johannes again. He bounced over. Maliha realised with horror that he had a revolver in his hand. He was not pointing it at her, but he looked as if he might at any moment. Sellie put her hand over his and pressed the gun down to his side.

  “No,” she said. “Let her tell us what she knows first.”

  What has Mama Kosi thrown us into? Maliha thought. How could the heroes of my youth be so ... dangerous?

  “What have you to say?” Johannes asked, the harsh burr of his German ancestry coming to the fore.

  Maliha composed her thoughts as best she could with the threat of the gun hanging in the air. She turned to look at Izak and Lilith; they clung to one another. It was all very well for them to be excited by these new experiences, but to be so trapped was terrifying.

  She turned back to their captors.

  “There is a fleet of vessels belonging to no country I know, of a design used by no one else, which can do this. They are huge and they are slavers. They trick people into taking ship with them and then carry them off, certainly to Venus and possibly elsewhere.