The Impossible Cube

you the best part.”

“There’s more?”

“The paraffin refineries are nowhere near the dam and weren’t touched. Mayor Hrushevsky is insisting we take all the oil we need. The Lady has been restored by his own men, and she is ready to fly when we are.”

Gavin spent three more days recovering. He tired easily and slept a great deal, though he insisted on spending as much time as possible on the Lady, which was tethered just above the mayor’s modest house. It was easier to rest amid the familiar, homey creak of wood and hemp. It also seemed to Gavin that the Lady was pleased to see him. The ship appeared to float more freely, hold herself more steadily when Gavin was aboard, though he didn’t say anything about this to Alice.

When Gavin checked the Lady’s workshop, he was gratified to find the metal project he’d been working on had been moved there from the train, and he spent some time fiddling with it. It was nice to work on something that wasn’t a weapon. The Impossible Cube was locked away in a cupboard. Alice, Gavin, and Phipps didn’t see any need to tell anyone else the particulars of how they had led everyone out of danger. The paradox generator, of course, had been destroyed along with the dam, though Gavin still felt a small twinge at its loss.

Dr. Clef’s notes about the danger of time, space, and energy were also gone, burned by Phipps. Gavin didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had read them and, with a clockworker’s precision, memorized every numeral and symbol. He didn’t intend to use the information, of course. After everything that had happened, it would be foolish in the extreme. Much more interesting to work on his little project.

Now that Gavin was out of danger, Alice set about playing the part of the baroness to the hilt, making speeches and attending parties. Phipps attended most of these events as well, moving easily among the people, pointedly making friends and contacts. Once Gavin had recovered sufficiently to travel—and appear in public—Mayor Hrushevsky declared an entire day of celebration for their send-off to China. He presented Gavin with a new outfit —white airman’s leathers. Gavin found he couldn’t speak.

The ball was both plain and lavish, all at once. Mayor Hrushevsky, a great shaggy man with a long dark beard, insisted that the party be held outdoors in the streets, so it was more like an all-day festival than a ball. The pall of Gonta-Zalizniak rule had lifted, and the people appeared brighter, more cheerful. Even the weather cooperated, granting them a bright, balmy day. Gavin heard Ukrainian music for the first time, and he was enchanted. Street bands and musicians played at nearly every street corner. The mayor opened up the city coffers, and free food was available from stalls every few feet. The electric lights had gone out with the dam, of course, but after sunset people put out lanterns of glass and of colored paper, tinting the city with a hundred lively hues. Alice and Gavin and Phipps wandered about the city, greeted with cheers and laughter wherever they went. They danced to the music, and Gavin held Alice tightly as they whirled through the evening streets.

“Who knew that a cabin boy from Boston would travel so far?” he said to her. “I love you always.”

“And I love you always,” she replied.

When it was time to go, Gavin, Alice, and Phipps returned to the square in front of the mayor’s house and listened to a speech they didn’t understand in the slightest. They smiled and waved to the cheering crowd, Gavin in his new whites, Phipps in her formal reds, and Alice in a Ukrainian-style blouse and skirt, heavily embroidered with tiny cogs and wheels, made just for her by a dozen grateful Kievite women. Click and the automatons, repaired and shined for the occasion, made an honor guard as the trio ascended the ladder to the hovering Lady. The envelope’s curly endoskeleton glowed blue with power from the generator and its generous supply of paraffin oil. The cheers and applause buoyed them up to the starry sky, lifting Gavin’s spirit with every step. When they arrived on the deck, Gavin took the helm and Alice increased power to the generator. The glow intensified, and the ship ascended, higher and higher, until the city became flecks of color on black velvet. A cool breeze washed over him, mixing the scent of purity with the smell of paraffin exhaust. Click took up his usual spot, peering over the side of one gunwale, and the little automatons perched on the ropes or skittered about near Alice. Phipps folded her arms and watched. It was a thrill to be back in his rightful place, back in the air where he belonged.

And yet…

Once they established a heading east and the nacelle propellers were pushing them along, Gavin asked Phipps to take the helm for a moment. She arched a questioning eyebrow.

“I need to show Alice something below,” he said.

He led Alice down to the laboratory. She looked apprehensive. “It’s not anything bad,” he reassured her.

“You’re not going to propose again, are you?” she said. “I don’t really need—”

“It’s not that, either. I’m just… This is important to me, and I want you to be the first to see.”

Now she looked mystified. “All right.”

The little laboratory had been tidied up in preparation for the trip. Most of the floor space was taken up by a large, bulky object covered in a white cloth. Kemp’s head, the eyes still dark, sat on the worktable. Gavin hoped to figure out a way to restore him, but that wasn’t why he had brought Alice down. His heart was beating fast, and his palms were sweaty, though he couldn’t say why.

“I’ve finished it,” he said lamely. “It’s all done.”

It took her a moment to understand. Then she got it. “The project you started in the circus? That’s wonderful! I’m honored you want to show me, darling. Let’s see it.”

Gavin took a breath and whipped the cloth away. Alice gasped. The framework he had created spread out something like a kite. A battery pack with buckles and straps took up the center. The thousands of alloy rings he wound into a cloak now hung over the framework in waterfall ripples. When extended, they would stretch more than ten feet both left and right.

“Gavin!” Alice breathed. “Are those wings?”

AFTERWORD

The fun of writing semihistorical fiction is the ability to pick and choose interesting pieces of history while ignoring or altering anything that doesn’t suit the story. I will no doubt be excoriated by historians both amateur and professional who want to point out that the incandescent lightbulb wasn’t widely used until at least 1885, nearly thirty years after The Doomsday Vault and The Impossible Cube, or that the first paraffin oil (kerosene) refinery was constructed in Poland in 1859, not in Ukraine