Serial Sunday: The Renaissance Man and the Strange New World, Part XVI
By Ryan Fleming.
The ground shook violently as the Renaissance continued to follow the man calling himself ‘Arry Bell towards a promised escape from this strange new world. ‘Arry held aloft a bronze disc he had taken from a font in an alcove beneath some grotesque idol carved into a stone wall.
The bronze disc had immediately created two changes in the situation faced by he and the Renaissance. First, the part-human, part-fish creatures that looked ready to tear them to shreds had stopped dead in their tracks when ‘Arry raised the disc before them. Secondly the earthquakes that hindered their present progress had begun, as one of the mountains above the idol had begun to move.
The group moved as quickly as they dared, each tremor threatening to throw them to the ground. In addition to the humanoids following purposefully behind them, they had seen massive spiders scuttling and enormous tentacles writhing on their passage. Fortunately, with the exception of the humanoids, every other living thing in the strange new world seemed to care more about the geological situation than the human interlopers.
True to his word, ‘Arry had led them to a massive airship that sat in the centre of a recently abandoned camp. There were no bodies to be seen anywhere in the camp. Unless any member of the Renaissance were to check a ditch at the edge of the camp, where they would find a body that had been the authentic bearer of the name Harry Bell.
The Renaissance had no time to investigate the abandoned camp, so perilous was their situation that they only had one goal in mind: get to the airship.
They made their way across the camp, following the sprinting form of ‘Arry, the humanoids still following behind them.
‘Arry made his way up the gangway, opened the door of the airship, and bolted inside.
He held the door open a sliver as the Renaissance followed him up the gangway. As each of them reached the door he would open it just enough to allow them entry, before proceeding to close it again despite their being barely a second between each member of the Renaissance going through the door. Except for the final two. Chance and Williams had untied the mooring ropes securing the airship.
“Eileen, let’s get this thing airborne,” Williams panted.
The two of them set out for the cockpit, but not before Eileen noticed the logo omnipresent on the airship interior.
“This is a Macmillan Airship,” she noted.
Glances were exchanged between the remaining members of the Renaissance.
“Macmillan,” ‘Arry began. “Ain’t he like the richest man in the world.”
“More like sixth or seventh,” Annie corrected.
‘Arry shot a glare in her direction and was surprised to find it was being reciprocated.
“Give it back.”
‘Arry stood silently for a moment.
“Give what back, love?”
“The disc, you took it and all this started. We used it get past those creatures, but we’re safe now so throw it out.”
‘Arry kept his eyes on Annie, but when he spoke, he addressed someone else.
“Mr. Chance, sir, I don’t think this—”
“Throw it out,” Chance cut him off. “Maybe it’ll even stop these earthquakes.”
“What if they get inside,” ‘Arry spat. “Did you people think of that? We’re not free and clear just yet.”
Annie, Chance and Alastair stared at ‘Arry. It was Alastair that eventually spoke, smiling.
“You’ve lost your accent, mate.”
Having realised his ruse was up, Maximilian Macmillan chose to flee into the airship with the disc.
The three members of the Renaissance did not immediately pursue him.
“Let’s get this thing up in the air,” Chance said. “Then we can deal with whoever this jackass really is.”
***
On the bridge of the airship, Eileen and Williams had already set to work lifting off the airship. They had drained the ballast tanks, engaged the propellers, and, with Eileen at the helm, began ascending over the strange new world that had brough them there in the first place.
Looking from the windows, the Renaissance were able to get a better look at the mountain that had moved once the man calling himself ‘Arry Bell had taken that disc from its resting place.
It was no mountain.
A massive creature, bigger than anything any member of the Renaissance – who had captured mammoths, escaped dinosaurs, and tracked sea serpents – had ever seen, was rising from the mountain range that ran the centre of the small continent.
Its face, such as it was, was the same visage that had been carved into the stone wall Alastair had found. They now knew those strands trailing down from its face were not a beard.
Tentacles bookended the Renaissance’s visit to the strange new world.
As the massive creature rose, so too did the land begin to submerge back into the ocean. Annie had quickly theorised upon their arrival based on the fauna and the geology that the land had until very recently been far below the ocean surface.
The airship continued to rise. Once free of the quaking earth, it was a smooth ascent for as experienced a pilot as Eileen.
The titanic creature followed the land below the surface. Before long, both of them were lost to view, only disturbed waters left behind to mark their passage.
“Well,” Eileen began. “Where too?”
“Wherever’s closest,” Williams answered. “Australia, New Zealand, Chile.”
“I have no idea,” Eileen admitted. “From up here I can tell which direction we’re headed but without some way to navigate I’ve no idea which direction gets us back on dry land quickest.”
“How are we for fuel?” Williams asked.
“Not bad, and we don’t need much in this thing except for landing. Can use the rudder to get us pointing the right way.”
“Alright,” Chance said. “Has to be some charts near the bridge, some way of navigating. Ben, Annie, why don’t you check that out whilst Eileen keeps flying.”
“I can help with that,” Eileen offered. “This isn’t like flying a plane. So long as I don’t stray too far.”
“Great. Alastair,” Chance continued. “Let’s you and I look for our friend 'Arry.”
***
There was no sign of the man calling himself ‘Arry Bell anywhere near the bridge. Chance and Alastair went armed, not knowing what else ‘Arry might have been hiding or what he might have found aboard the airship.
Alastair opened an ornate door and found himself in a palatial stateroom. Beneath a large mahogany desk there was a massive, larger than life portrait.
“Uh, Chuck…” Alastair called.
He was soon joined by Chance in the stateroom, who proceeded to join Alastair in staring at the portrait behind the desk.
The man who had introduced himself as ‘Arry Bell stared down at them from his portrait with barely hidden contempt. The plaque on the frame revealed his true identity to Chance and Alastair: Maximilian Macmillan. Owner of the Macmillan Airship Company and around two dozen other massive companies and concerns across the globe.
Chance began to look elsewhere around the stateroom, an open door at the far end led to what looked to be Macmillan’s bedroom.
“He’s taken a change of clothes,” Chance called to Alastair, seeing the open wardrobe and dresser in the bedroom.
“We should find him then before he can get lost in a crowd.”
Chance laughed at Alastair’s joke.
Their laughter was interrupted by the voice of Williams echoing through the airship interphone.
“He’s making a radio transmission. Gave away our coordinates, think he’s meeting someone here. Eileen’s trying to get us away but if he’s about to jump, he’ll be near one of the exits.”
Alastair and Chance sped off.
They hoped Macmillan had chosen the nearest exit for his departure.
***
Macmillan was not just making his own escape. He had quickly gathered some valuables and thrown them into a trunk. Now he pushed that trunk, complete with its own parachute and floatation devices that should activate once they hit the water, towards the rushing air on the other side of the open door.
One valuable he had not put in the trunk was the bronze disc he had liberated from that terrible land. That he had stored in a pack strapped to his front of his flight suit. Strapped to his back was his own parachute.
As soon as the trunk was halfway out the door, he pulled the cord of its parachute and shoved it the rest of the way. It floated down towards the surface of the Pacific, a beacon flashing on top of it. Looking below, Macmillan could barely make out the shape of the submarine that awaited his arrival.
“Hold it, Macmillan!”
Macmillan turned, facing him, pistols drawn, were Charles Chance and Alastair Eliott.
Macmillan raised his hands. He smiled at them, then fell backwards out of the airship.
Both of them rushed towards the door and watched Macmillan fall towards the Pacific before they saw his parachute emerge.
“Well, we’re not taking him with us.” Chance said simply.
***
An inflatable launch from the submarine picked up both Macmillan and the trunk and brought them both onboard. Ironstone, Macmillan’s hulking bodyguard and dogsbody, awaited him onboard. As the closest thing Macmillan had to a right hand, Ironstone had been dispatched on the submarine as a backup plan in case the airship expedition failed.
“Your orders, sir?”
Macmillan, his breath still hitching from his freefall and dip in the ocean, already knew what he wanted next.
“You tracked the land and that… that thing. After they were submerged?”
“We are tracking them, sir. On sonar.”
“Follow them!”
***
High above the submarine, the Renaissance set their own path in their latest acquisition, part of the Macmillan Airship Company’s fleet.
“Did we find out from the coordinates where we are?” Chance asked as he entered the bridge.
“We did,” Williams answered. “We’re closest to New Zealand.”
“So, we make for New Zealand, rest up, then take our new transportation back to New York? Think we can get a mooring mast on top of the brownstone?”
“Well,” Annie began. “We’ve also heard radio reports that there’s been a volcanic eruption in Chile.”
“Chile it is then.”
Chance answered instantly, as much as the Renaissance Man was a façade, he did take the work they did as the Renaissance very seriously.
Five of the six members of the Renaissance: Charles Chance, Alastair Eliott, Annie Thomas, Benjamin Williams, and Eileen Wong – looked out of the windows of their airship, the Pacific below them, and flew toward their next adventure.
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Ryan Fleming is the author of SLP's Reid in Braid and various short stories for the anthologies, as well as editing The Scottish Anthology.
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