Three if by Air
One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. I repeated the mantra until it became a meaningless drone in my head. There was nothing special about this litany, yet the words danced across my mind like a catchy tavern tune. My eyes darted from the North Church, to the HMAS Somerset moored above Boston Harbor, to the deserted streets of Boston itself. The only illumination originated from the airship’s deck lamps where sentries watched from their lofty perch for the few brave souls who dared to break General Gage’s curfew.
Brave or foolhardy. Paul Revere claimed his signal would occur the moment he had an answer. I doubted his plan would proceed that simply. Light the lanterns, and cross the bay, Madeline. We’ll be out before the lobsters know what’s happening. A daring sentiment considering Gage’s standing order to shoot anyone suspected of running messages out of the city. I remained wary all the same. My job was just to hold the iron horse while he crossed. Doctor Warren’s orders on behalf of the Committee of Public Safety. Paul was the more reliable rider, so he got the hard work. Me? I got paid either way.
I glanced to the silent machine. It looked as much like a horse as a doll looked like a baby. The legs, head and body held a similar position and orientation, but regular horses weren’t filled with steel joints, hydraulic pistons, and covered in exhaust vents protruding from every angle. The animal—the machine—was still as a statue, not similar to a real horse in the slightest.
A dog in Boston barked, and I flinched, my eyes flickering towards the church. No signal. What’s taking so long? By the time on my chronometer, the Regulars should have begun their march fifteen minutes ago. Paul’s contacts in the Regulars were reliable enough to confirm that information. General Gage had given orders to leave Boston tonight. They intended on heading to Lexington, most likely to arrest the Patriot leaders there.
Most had since fled the city. If the gossip was to be believed, John Hancock, my former employer, as well as fiery Samuel Adams hid somewhere nearby to coordinate resistance, but I couldn’t confirm that rumor. No one ever told me anything. War is not a woman’s business. How many other women have risen to helmsman on a merchant ship? Fought in a duel with three men at once and won? Not damn many.
The HMAS Somerset lit up, interrupting my diatribe. The decklights on the airship created a new star in the night. Men called to each other, each an unintelligible vocalization coming from far above. My eyes went to the church. Nothing. Did they see Paul? His crossing might not go unnoticed.
I shifted uncomfortably where I stood at the edge of Charleston. A person out at night with an iron horse, an illegal piece of machinery, would raise eyebrows. A woman out an night with an iron horse demanded an explanation. I stilled my breathing to listen as the lights and voices dulled away. No, just the changing of the guard. I sighed in relief.
One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. The mantra relaxed me for some reason. Any of those choices were likely. The Regulars might take the land route, or they might cross the harbor. Either meant Lion Knights. The great mechanical-armored Regulars would be slow moving, but would have the momentum of a runaway wagon. Nothing would stop them.
But if the Regulars traveled by air, they’d arrive at their destination and meet no resistance, having left the ground bound militia behind. The iron horses were there in that event. They ate fuel like a Hessian at dinnertime, but when comparing their speed to a dirigible’s, the dirigible might as well be at a standstill.
Revere’s signal occurred with such subtlety, that in my focused state I almost missed it. A light in the tower. Another. Then a third. The lights lasted half a heartbeat. The Regulars would move by air. That left me waiting for Paul. His favor, owed to him from a year back.
I paced back and forth, trying to busy my mind and stop worrying. Other riders would already be leaving from the city. William Dawes, Paul’s partner in crime had no doubt left from southern Boston. He was but one of several insurance policies against the Regular’s intervening in our warnings. The signal from the tower was a beacon to several other riders in nearby villages to begin the warning. They already must be well on their way out.
Voices came again from the Somerset. In the darkness, I spied movement on the airship’s railing. Another changing of the guard? Fear crept up like a lion stalking its prey. The Somerset’s foglights still lay unmanned, but there was movement on deck. Hand-held blue gas lamps shifted from position to position marking the movement of the watchmen.
Hurry it up, Paul. I watched the opposite shore for any signs of the man. The glows still moved about the deck above me, but I couldn’t make out their activities. Another voice called out, the wind carrying it to my ears as an incomprehensible whisper.
I heard a splash, too powerful to be a wave, too light to be unintentional. I locked onto the opposite shoreline. Another splash. A tiny brown shape slowly manifested into a lone figure riding low in a boat. Paul Revere. He sat alone in the small boat, accompanied by nothing else but the wind and the silence of the night.
From my vantage point his direction of travel suggested a landing a half-mile to the north. I grabbed the dangling harness of the iron horse and pulled. It fell into step behind me with slave-like obedience.
Anxiety fluttered inside me like a bee inside a jar. I’d misjudged Paul’s landing. The current was pulling Paul farther north. Right towards the Somerset. His flurried attempts to correct his course showed he wasn’t oblivious to the danger. He plunged his oars in, each stroke pushing him farther from the imposing airship.
The foglights on the Somerset exploded into life. If the earlier lights were a new star, this was a new sun. The cascades of illumination began to scope out the bay, highlighting every part of the harbor. Relax; they might be just performing a random sweep in the bay for smugglers. I knew this wasn’t the case. Just a little further. They hadn’t spotted Paul yet.
Despite his efforts, Paul drifted closer and closer to the shadow of the airship. The spotlights roamed the water, each a predator looking for prey. Revere stilled and dropped into the boat, freezing as the lights crept closer. I held my breath. The lights slinked by fewer than ten feet from where Paul sat.
Then they were gone, off to explore other parts of the bay. Paul dipped the oars into the murky water. I looked at the iron horse, and missed what happened next. One minute he was rowing across the bay and the next, he floundered about in the water next to his capsized boat.
Before I could move, the foglights were back, each an eye from heaven glaring down at Paul, now within fifteen feet of the shoreline. Their intent was clear. The rata-tat of the repeating rifles mounted on the deck of the Somerset drowned out Paul’s frantic attempts to stay afloat. I bolted for the water’s edge, abandoning the iron horse.
The lights spotted me as well, but I welcomed their gaze. Each glow brightened my path to the shore and Paul. The guns continued to howl out terrifying bursts that rocketed both water and dirt into the air, splattering me with both. I arrived just as Paul floundered onto shore, looking more like a drowned jester than a drowned rat. He collapsed but my arms shot out, grabbing him to stop his fall. Without waiting for him to speak, I gripped him under the shoulders, and dragged him to the woods. The strength to pull him came surprisingly easy, no doubt due to the adrenaline coursing through my body. Bullets continued to spray around us, yet by some miracle, none hit us. As I came into the canopy, the shots tapered off, leaving the sounds of shouting from the Somerset to fill the air.
As I dragged, I laughed aloud, as I couldn’t help but think of what my father would say. Grabbing a man and dragging him into the woods? That wasn’t how he had raised his only daughter. I’d been the mistress to the Marquis Caulaincourt a decade ago, and was now on British controlled colonies, working with the Colonials. He’d die of heart failure when he heard.
The thought of my blustery old father collapsing was humorous, but the mirth faded as I considered my situation. Ground troops would arrive any moment and mirth would be the last emotion on their mind.
I gently set Paul down next to several red maples. He groaned as I patted him down and my hands came away red. I wiped them across the trees, while I thought. Shot, at least twice. For all my various skills, I did not count medicine or surgery among them. Charleston had a doctor. But I can’t take him there. That’s the first place the Regulars would look. They’d find him immediately, and haul him back to jail for questioning. If he survives the night.
“Madeline…” Paul gasped.
“Stay silent, you’ll be fine,” I said.
“You’re a lousy liar. I can’t finish this now. You take the horse.”
“Nonsense. You need a doctor, man.”
I tore off a section of his shirt, and wrapped it around the bullet wound in his lower torso. I knew I needed to bandage his wounds, but beyond that, I was unsure what needed to be done.
“Damn it, girl. You can’t do anything for me now. Every minute you waste—” his words cut short as he coughed like a plague victim.
“Fine, I’ll do it, just stay still and—“
He cleared his throat. “Get out of here. I’m calling in another favor. Everything is counting on you. You’ll find help in Lexington. Look for a large double story gray-green house with nine windows on the front. I’ll be fine.”
I began to speak, but he let out another cacophony of coughs, and then went still. I sat for a moment, shocked. I looked to my yet again bloodstained fingers and wiped them on a nearby tree. Just like that he was dead. I stood, still looking down at him. He was alive and then he wasn’t, as easy as blinking your eyes. I knew what I needed to do. I always paid my debts and kept my promises. Paul lay peacefully, uncaring of the world around me. Promises to a dead man. I turned and didn’t look back.
Several moments passed before I found the abandoned iron horse. With such an odd framework, you’d think it would be easy to find, but a motionless machine at the edge of the forest in the middle of night is hard to spot.
I jumped to the saddle and slid my hands into the saunters. My arms and wrists hung loosely inside the oversized controls, obviously meant for larger hands. I de-activated the automatic-slave; the setting that told it to follow harness tugs, and took manual control.
The machine shifted with the motion of my arms and stumbled several steps. Only internal balance systems kept it from falling to the ground. I hadn’t used one in years, not since me and Johann Hammer were together. I recalled us both astride stolen iron horses, running across the countryside of northern Europe.
I, the eager young student, and he the wise teacher, showing me how to sing, fight, and think. He changed my life over three years, but our relationship didn’t last, and he remained in Europe, while I left for the colonies. Like him or not, the gruff Hessian mercenary certainly changed Monsieur Dautier’s daughter.
I leaned my shoulders forward and the machine took several steps in response. I leaned even more and it sped up. The memories of using the iron horse slowly came back to me, as if I had ridden just yesterday. I leaned into the saunters and the machine shot away, quickening to an intense speed that threatened to steal my breath. Given its state of ill-repair, it moved with surprising ease, racing at least four times as fast as the quickest horse.
The world around me became a blur of passing trees, and the road melded into a gray stream flowing beneath me. I focused onto the road and only the road. If my concentration wavered for a brief moment, I’d run into a tree. I was unfortunate enough to witness the result of such an incident and it was an outcome I wished to avoid.
The wind on my face was exhilarating and I embraced the flow, relishing the speed. I suddenly realized I was ignoring my original purpose. There was a promise to keep. The road on which I traveled curved to the north, passing by several unfamiliar villages before shifting south to join the main road towards Lexington.
Already up ahead, I saw a village coming into view around the leaves and branches of the forest. I brought the iron horse down to q slower speed, worried I might send the villages into a panic when I stormed through their town like a thunderbolt.
I stopped into the square and the iron horse fell silent as it awaited my next command. I switched it into automatic-slave setting and dismounted, looking about my surroundings. Large buildings of new construction rose around me, each belching smoke into the sky as their furnaces burned coal for the inhabitants. Their nearness to Boston meant cheap goods, as shown by the coal furnaces, the gas lamps, and various other technologies.
As expected, my arrival did not go unnoticed, and I had scarcely taken four steps before blue glows were flickering on inside the village.
I first thought to knock on a door, but I knew that if I just waited, the locals would come to me. Warnings regarding possible Regular movements against the Colonists already permeated the countryside and the villages only needed a catalyst—myself—to dispatch the militia. As I waited, I became aware of a low rumbling. I looked to the sky, imagining a storm on the move, but the air was empty save for the bright stars.
I looked back towards Boston, hoping to spot the airships. Nothing sat in the sky. No imposing shapes or amorphous airships hovered in the sky. I almost looked away when I saw a star eclipse behind a shape.Intently I watched the spot, and another vanished. There. Two airships. Easily a mile up if not more. They were so high, I couldn’t even hear the low drone of their engines, and their shapes were illusive shadows that one would miss unless they already knew where to look.
“Regulars are on the move,” said a voice behind me. I nearly jumped, but part of me kept my nerve and I faced my guest.
One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. I repeated the mantra until it became a meaningless drone in my head. There was nothing special about this litany, yet the words danced across my mind like a catchy tavern tune. My eyes darted from the North Church, to the HMAS Somerset moored above Boston Harbor, to the deserted streets of Boston itself. The only illumination originated from the airship’s deck lamps where sentries watched from their lofty perch for the few brave souls who dared to break General Gage’s curfew.
Brave or foolhardy. Paul Revere claimed his signal would occur the moment he had an answer. I doubted his plan would proceed that simply. Light the lanterns, and cross the bay, Madeline. We’ll be out before the lobsters know what’s happening. A daring sentiment considering Gage’s standing order to shoot anyone suspected of running messages out of the city. I remained wary all the same. My job was just to hold the iron horse while he crossed. Doctor Warren’s orders on behalf of the Committee of Public Safety. Paul was the more reliable rider, so he got the hard work. Me? I got paid either way.
I glanced to the silent machine. It looked as much like a horse as a doll looked like a baby. The legs, head and body held a similar position and orientation, but regular horses weren’t filled with steel joints, hydraulic pistons, and covered in exhaust vents protruding from every angle. The animal—the machine—was still as a statue, not similar to a real horse in the slightest.
A dog in Boston barked, and I flinched, my eyes flickering towards the church. No signal. What’s taking so long? By the time on my chronometer, the Regulars should have begun their march fifteen minutes ago. Paul’s contacts in the Regulars were reliable enough to confirm that information. General Gage had given orders to leave Boston tonight. They intended on heading to Lexington, most likely to arrest the Patriot leaders there.
Most had since fled the city. If the gossip was to be believed, John Hancock, my former employer, as well as fiery Samuel Adams hid somewhere nearby to coordinate resistance, but I couldn’t confirm that rumor. No one ever told me anything. War is not a woman’s business. How many other women have risen to helmsman on a merchant ship? Fought in a duel with three men at once and won? Not damn many.
The HMAS Somerset lit up, interrupting my diatribe. The decklights on the airship created a new star in the night. Men called to each other, each an unintelligible vocalization coming from far above. My eyes went to the church. Nothing. Did they see Paul? His crossing might not go unnoticed.
I shifted uncomfortably where I stood at the edge of Charleston. A person out at night with an iron horse, an illegal piece of machinery, would raise eyebrows. A woman out an night with an iron horse demanded an explanation. I stilled my breathing to listen as the lights and voices dulled away. No, just the changing of the guard. I sighed in relief.
One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. The mantra relaxed me for some reason. Any of those choices were likely. The Regulars might take the land route, or they might cross the harbor. Either meant Lion Knights. The great mechanical-armored Regulars would be slow moving, but would have the momentum of a runaway wagon. Nothing would stop them.
But if the Regulars traveled by air, they’d arrive at their destination and meet no resistance, having left the ground bound militia behind. The iron horses were there in that event. They ate fuel like a Hessian at dinnertime, but when comparing their speed to a dirigible’s, the dirigible might as well be at a standstill.
Revere’s signal occurred with such subtlety, that in my focused state I almost missed it. A light in the tower. Another. Then a third. The lights lasted half a heartbeat. The Regulars would move by air. That left me waiting for Paul. His favor, owed to him from a year back.
I paced back and forth, trying to busy my mind and stop worrying. Other riders would already be leaving from the city. William Dawes, Paul’s partner in crime had no doubt left from southern Boston. He was but one of several insurance policies against the Regular’s intervening in our warnings. The signal from the tower was a beacon to several other riders in nearby villages to begin the warning. They already must be well on their way out.
Voices came again from the Somerset. In the darkness, I spied movement on the airship’s railing. Another changing of the guard? Fear crept up like a lion stalking its prey. The Somerset’s foglights still lay unmanned, but there was movement on deck. Hand-held blue gas lamps shifted from position to position marking the movement of the watchmen.
Hurry it up, Paul. I watched the opposite shore for any signs of the man. The glows still moved about the deck above me, but I couldn’t make out their activities. Another voice called out, the wind carrying it to my ears as an incomprehensible whisper.
I heard a splash, too powerful to be a wave, too light to be unintentional. I locked onto the opposite shoreline. Another splash. A tiny brown shape slowly manifested into a lone figure riding low in a boat. Paul Revere. He sat alone in the small boat, accompanied by nothing else but the wind and the silence of the night.
From my vantage point his direction of travel suggested a landing a half-mile to the north. I grabbed the dangling harness of the iron horse and pulled. It fell into step behind me with slave-like obedience.
Anxiety fluttered inside me like a bee inside a jar. I’d misjudged Paul’s landing. The current was pulling Paul farther north. Right towards the Somerset. His flurried attempts to correct his course showed he wasn’t oblivious to the danger. He plunged his oars in, each stroke pushing him farther from the imposing airship.
The foglights on the Somerset exploded into life. If the earlier lights were a new star, this was a new sun. The cascades of illumination began to scope out the bay, highlighting every part of the harbor. Relax; they might be just performing a random sweep in the bay for smugglers. I knew this wasn’t the case. Just a little further. They hadn’t spotted Paul yet.
Despite his efforts, Paul drifted closer and closer to the shadow of the airship. The spotlights roamed the water, each a predator looking for prey. Revere stilled and dropped into the boat, freezing as the lights crept closer. I held my breath. The lights slinked by fewer than ten feet from where Paul sat.
Then they were gone, off to explore other parts of the bay. Paul dipped the oars into the murky water. I looked at the iron horse, and missed what happened next. One minute he was rowing across the bay and the next, he floundered about in the water next to his capsized boat.
Before I could move, the foglights were back, each an eye from heaven glaring down at Paul, now within fifteen feet of the shoreline. Their intent was clear. The rata-tat of the repeating rifles mounted on the deck of the Somerset drowned out Paul’s frantic attempts to stay afloat. I bolted for the water’s edge, abandoning the iron horse.
The lights spotted me as well, but I welcomed their gaze. Each glow brightened my path to the shore and Paul. The guns continued to howl out terrifying bursts that rocketed both water and dirt into the air, splattering me with both. I arrived just as Paul floundered onto shore, looking more like a drowned jester than a drowned rat. He collapsed but my arms shot out, grabbing him to stop his fall. Without waiting for him to speak, I gripped him under the shoulders, and dragged him to the woods. The strength to pull him came surprisingly easy, no doubt due to the adrenaline coursing through my body. Bullets continued to spray around us, yet by some miracle, none hit us. As I came into the canopy, the shots tapered off, leaving the sounds of shouting from the Somerset to fill the air.
As I dragged, I laughed aloud, as I couldn’t help but think of what my father would say. Grabbing a man and dragging him into the woods? That wasn’t how he had raised his only daughter. I’d been the mistress to the Marquis Caulaincourt a decade ago, and was now on British controlled colonies, working with the Colonials. He’d die of heart failure when he heard.
The thought of my blustery old father collapsing was humorous, but the mirth faded as I considered my situation. Ground troops would arrive any moment and mirth would be the last emotion on their mind.
I gently set Paul down next to several red maples. He groaned as I patted him down and my hands came away red. I wiped them across the trees, while I thought. Shot, at least twice. For all my various skills, I did not count medicine or surgery among them. Charleston had a doctor. But I can’t take him there. That’s the first place the Regulars would look. They’d find him immediately, and haul him back to jail for questioning. If he survives the night.
“Madeline…” Paul gasped.
“Stay silent, you’ll be fine,” I said.
“You’re a lousy liar. I can’t finish this now. You take the horse.”
“Nonsense. You need a doctor, man.”
I tore off a section of his shirt, and wrapped it around the bullet wound in his lower torso. I knew I needed to bandage his wounds, but beyond that, I was unsure what needed to be done.
“Damn it, girl. You can’t do anything for me now. Every minute you waste—” his words cut short as he coughed like a plague victim.
“Fine, I’ll do it, just stay still and—“
He cleared his throat. “Get out of here. I’m calling in another favor. Everything is counting on you. You’ll find help in Lexington. Look for a large double story gray-green house with nine windows on the front. I’ll be fine.”
I began to speak, but he let out another cacophony of coughs, and then went still. I sat for a moment, shocked. I looked to my yet again bloodstained fingers and wiped them on a nearby tree. Just like that he was dead. I stood, still looking down at him. He was alive and then he wasn’t, as easy as blinking your eyes. I knew what I needed to do. I always paid my debts and kept my promises. Paul lay peacefully, uncaring of the world around me. Promises to a dead man. I turned and didn’t look back.
Several moments passed before I found the abandoned iron horse. With such an odd framework, you’d think it would be easy to find, but a motionless machine at the edge of the forest in the middle of night is hard to spot.
I jumped to the saddle and slid my hands into the saunters. My arms and wrists hung loosely inside the oversized controls, obviously meant for larger hands. I de-activated the automatic-slave; the setting that told it to follow harness tugs, and took manual control.
The machine shifted with the motion of my arms and stumbled several steps. Only internal balance systems kept it from falling to the ground. I hadn’t used one in years, not since me and Johann Hammer were together. I recalled us both astride stolen iron horses, running across the countryside of northern Europe.
I, the eager young student, and he the wise teacher, showing me how to sing, fight, and think. He changed my life over three years, but our relationship didn’t last, and he remained in Europe, while I left for the colonies. Like him or not, the gruff Hessian mercenary certainly changed Monsieur Dautier’s daughter.
I leaned my shoulders forward and the machine took several steps in response. I leaned even more and it sped up. The memories of using the iron horse slowly came back to me, as if I had ridden just yesterday. I leaned into the saunters and the machine shot away, quickening to an intense speed that threatened to steal my breath. Given its state of ill-repair, it moved with surprising ease, racing at least four times as fast as the quickest horse.
The world around me became a blur of passing trees, and the road melded into a gray stream flowing beneath me. I focused onto the road and only the road. If my concentration wavered for a brief moment, I’d run into a tree. I was unfortunate enough to witness the result of such an incident and it was an outcome I wished to avoid.
The wind on my face was exhilarating and I embraced the flow, relishing the speed. I suddenly realized I was ignoring my original purpose. There was a promise to keep. The road on which I traveled curved to the north, passing by several unfamiliar villages before shifting south to join the main road towards Lexington.
Already up ahead, I saw a village coming into view around the leaves and branches of the forest. I brought the iron horse down to q slower speed, worried I might send the villages into a panic when I stormed through their town like a thunderbolt.
I stopped into the square and the iron horse fell silent as it awaited my next command. I switched it into automatic-slave setting and dismounted, looking about my surroundings. Large buildings of new construction rose around me, each belching smoke into the sky as their furnaces burned coal for the inhabitants. Their nearness to Boston meant cheap goods, as shown by the coal furnaces, the gas lamps, and various other technologies.
As expected, my arrival did not go unnoticed, and I had scarcely taken four steps before blue glows were flickering on inside the village.
I first thought to knock on a door, but I knew that if I just waited, the locals would come to me. Warnings regarding possible Regular movements against the Colonists already permeated the countryside and the villages only needed a catalyst—myself—to dispatch the militia. As I waited, I became aware of a low rumbling. I looked to the sky, imagining a storm on the move, but the air was empty save for the bright stars.
I looked back towards Boston, hoping to spot the airships. Nothing sat in the sky. No imposing shapes or amorphous airships hovered in the sky. I almost looked away when I saw a star eclipse behind a shape.Intently I watched the spot, and another vanished. There. Two airships. Easily a mile up if not more. They were so high, I couldn’t even hear the low drone of their engines, and their shapes were illusive shadows that one would miss unless they already knew where to look.
“Regulars are on the move,” said a voice behind me. I nearly jumped, but part of me kept my nerve and I faced my guest.
