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There she was. At the last berth. Grey, ugly, like a steel shark in a school of wooden mackerel. The low hull rose just a few feet above the water and was clad, like the funnels, in iron all the way down to the waterline. In Jacob’s world, the first iron ships had been instrumental in deciding the American Civil War. This, however, was already a much more modern version.
Jacob! Forget it! But reason didn’t stand a chance. His heart beat in his throat as he picked his way past crates and duffel bags, through groups of seamen hauling munitions and provisions, women saying farewell to their husbands, and children pressing teary faces into their fathers’ uniforms. It was like stumbling through one of his dreams, only this forest was made up of ships’ masts.
Up close the iron ship looked even more impressive. It was enormous, even though most of the hull was hidden beneath the waterline. Four men stood by the gangway that led from the pier up to the deck. Three of them were officers of the Regal Navy, but the fourth was wearing civilian clothes. That man had his back to Jacob. His hair was grey, and he wore it short, just as Jacob did.
What if it was him? After all these years. Turn back, Jacob. It’s over; it’s in the past. But he was twelve again. The moth on his chest was forgotten. Forgotten, too, was what he’d come here for. He just stood there and stared at the iron ship and at the back of a stranger.
Jacob!
A cabin boy ran past him, two boxes of cigars under his scrawny arms. A final errand for the officers. He looked up in alarm as Jacob grabbed hold of him. ‘Do you know who that man is? The one standing with the officers?’
The boy gave him a look as though Jacob had asked him to name the sun. ‘That’s Brunel. He built the Vulcan, and he’s already planning a new ship.’
Jacob let the boy go.
One of the officers looked around, but the civilian still had his back to Jacob.
Brunel. Not a very common name. Isambard Kingdom Brunel was one of his father’s heroes. Jacob had barely been seven when John Reckless had tried to explain Brunel’s iron-bridge blueprints to him.
All those years, and now there were just a few steps left.
‘Mister Brunel?’ How timid his voice sounded. As though he really was twelve again.
Brunel turned around, and Jacob found himself looking into the eyes of a stranger. Only the eyes were as grey as his father’s.
Jacob wasn’t sure what he felt. Disappointment? Relief? Both?
Say something, Jacob. Go on.
‘Brunel. That’s an unusual name.’
‘My father was from Lotharaine.’ Brunel smiled. ‘May I ask who . . .’
‘Why, that’s Jacob Reckless.’ The officer standing next to Brunel gave Jacob a nod. ‘Quite a different kind of trade. Hunting for old magic. And this man here happens to be very good at it.’ He offered his hand to Jacob. ‘Cunningham. Not nearly as interesting a name. Lieutenant in the Regal Navy. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Thankfully, our newspapers still like to publish reports about treasure hunters, even if they mostly poke fun at the artefacts these days. A medal from the Austrian Empress for a glass slipper. The Iron Cross of Bavaria for a pair of seven-league boots. I admit to harbouring some envy for your trade. As a child I was determined to pursue your profession and no other.’
‘Congratulations.’ Brunel gave Jacob an appreciative nod. His accent didn’t at all sound Lotharainian.
Behind them, torpedoes were being loaded on board. They’d shred any wooden hull like paper.
Cunningham’s eyes followed Jacob as he bade the men farewell. Brunel, however, had already turned his attention to the ship again. Albion’s new magician.
Relief and disappointment. An old hope, all but forgotten. Jacob barely saw where he was walking. Barrels, ropes, crates . . . everything around him was blurred like his face on the dark glass of the mirror. ‘Look at that, Jacob. This bridge is weightless and as perfect as a spider’s web – but it’s made of iron.’ Did he even remember what his father looked like? He remembered his voice, the hands that had lifted him on to the desk so he could touch the model planes that hung above it.
‘Jacob!’
Someone grabbed his arm. Fox.
‘The outfitter wanted a fortune.’ She shot a furtive glance at the sailors hauling sacks of coal to the Titania’s cargo hatch. ‘I only had enough for one uniform. Have you found a way to get us on board?’
Damn. He’d found out nothing. He’d so lost himself in memories that he had nearly forgotten he soon would have no future.
‘What’s with you?’ Fox looked worried. ‘Did something happen?’
‘No. Nothing.’ And that was the truth. Nothing had happened. He’d seen a ghost, the same ghost he kept stumbling after in his dreams. It was high time he buried not just his mother but also his father. He’d thought he’d done so already.
He took the bundled uniform off Fox. A few sailors were staring so openly at her that Jacob gave them a sharp look. ‘How will you get on board?’
Fox shrugged. ‘I’ll let the vixen find a way.’
