Emilie & the Hollow World - By Martha Wells Page 0,10
and tried to get over the strangeness of doing something so normal in the oddest place in the world.
Emilie made tea, which everyone drank but Kenar, and waited. Miss Marlende and Dr. Barshion talked about aetheric currents in technical detail, with Kenar joining in occasionally. Emilie tried to listen, because some of it was interesting, but it had been a long hard day, and the couch was soft and comfortable. After a time, she drifted off to sleep.
She woke abruptly when the deck shuddered, a vibration that traveled up through the couch and rattled Emilie's bones. She sat up, startled wide awake. “What was that?” The wall clock said she had been asleep almost three hours.
The others were sitting bolt upright, frozen, listening hard. Staring out the port at the bubble, Dr. Barshion said, “I don't know. It's not a terribly good sign.”
Head cocked to listen, Kenar said, “We hit something?”
“I don't think so.” Frowning anxiously, Miss Marlende added, “Perhaps it's just an aberration in the flow-”
The deck shuddered again, more violently, and Emilie's heart dropped to her stomach. She swallowed hard, very aware again of the water pressing in on their fragile bubble. Dr. Barshion strode to the door and pulled it open. The sailor-guard was braced against the wall, looking uneasy. Dr. Barshion said, “I must be allowed to go to the engine rooms. If there is some sort of interruption to the aether current-”
The sailor was saved from the decision to disobey his orders by a thunderous shout from the other end of the corridor. “Barshion!” Lord Engal demanded, “Where the hell are you?”
“Here!” Dr. Barshion stepped out.
“Come along, we've got a problem!”
Barshion hurried away, Miss Marlende and Kenar right behind him. Emilie followed, having no intention of being left behind.
Lord Engal led them down the first stairwell, saying, “Abendle doesn't believe the problem is in the protective spells, but in the motile itself.”
Barshion said, “By 'problem' he means...?”
Taking the stairs two at a time, Engal glanced up at him, his face grim. “He thinks it's not getting enough power from the conventional engines.”
“What's the motile?” Emilie said, keeping her voice low. Her knowledge of the interior workings of steamers ended at Lord Rohiro's fictional pirate ships.
With an impatient glance at her, Miss Marlende replied, “The motile is the engine that my father invented. It lets us travel in the aether by taking in the aetheric stream and expelling it for locomotive power. The aether helps protect the ship from the pressures and forces outside the current, as we travel through the fissure.”
The sound of clanging, banging, and the chug of the engines grew louder until they reached a lower deck with a stained metal floor, low ceilings, and warm damp air. Lord Engal turned down a corridor and led them past several metal hatches. Passing one, Emilie got a glimpse of a room filled with mist and smelling thickly of wet earth and green plants. She stopped, startled, peering inside. All she could see were clusters of white things like balloons, or like stuffed sheep's bladders. An older crewman in a disheveled uniform was poking one with a dubious expression. The others were leaving her behind and she hurried after them, asking Kenar, “What's that room for?”
“It's part of the spell that cleans the air inside the bubble,” he said over his shoulder. “I don't know how it works, either.”
The air was growing warmer, and, from the clanging and chugging that seemed to be coming from the deck below them, Emilie thought they must be just above the boiler room. Then they came to an open hatch. Dr. Barshion and Miss Marlende followed Lord Engal inside, but Emilie stopped on the threshold with Kenar.
The cabin was filled with big pipes and tubing, all connected to a round plinth in the center with a large copper dome atop it. Dials and knobs surrounded the base of the plinth, and two crewmen stood there, tools scattered on the floor around them, pointing to the dials, arguing. They stopped as Engal stepped inside. “Any luck, Abendle?” Engal asked.
“No, My Lord.” The man who answered was Southern Menaen also, with grizzled dark hair and deep lines in his face. Both crewmen looked sweaty and exhausted, as if they had been battling something down here for the past hour. “The adjustments didn't help. I don't know-”
His voice tense, Dr. Barshion said, “Open the cover, please.”
As the younger crewman lifted the copper dome, misty steam filled the room, though Emilie couldn't tell