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Gentle
waves rocked the boat as it drifted lazily through the sapphire and crystal
waters. The boat wasn’t heading anywhere, nor was it coming from anywhere. It
was simply drifting. Its captain emerged from below decks and squinted in the
bright Caribbean morning. He donned a pair of brass-rimmed sunglasses and
breathed a deep breath of clean, fresh air. He let it out in a sigh of
contentment. Life was good.
He raised
the sail and prepared for a day of sailing. He checked his compass and his
charts, fairly certain of where he was. Setting the heading for the Northwest,
he sailed, toward an island called St. John. He spotted a settlement called
John’s Folly that sounded like a good place to spend a few days. He was a man
without a schedule, basking in the freedom afforded only to a man who’d died
three months prior.
Phineas
thought, as he often did, about Anabelle. How badly had he hurt her? Would she
ever forgive him? Would it matter if she did? He didn’t plan to go back to the
city again, so he doubted very much that he would ever see her again. He didn’t
want to hurt her like that, but the only way his plan worked was if everybody
believed him dead.
***
He had
genuinely hoped they would get away without the ruse. But when he realized that
the boat was about to sink, he made sure he was below decks. The commotion of
the chase made everything so easy. The boat wasn’t fast enough to outrun the
airship, but if he gave up the chase too quickly, they wouldn’t have sunk the
boat. So he played around a bit, passing the boat back and forth under the
airship. Clearly not giving up, the airship had no choice but to keep shooting,
and the commotion kept Anabelle safely above decks.
When the
cannonball hit the boiler, he knew it was over. If only Anabelle had listened,
she could have made it away. He’d told her time after time that she needed to
look out for herself. He supposed it was admirable that she didn’t abandon him.
But it was downright foolish of her. He watched her get airlifted off the boat
and he went to work.
He pulled
the breathing apparatus out of his pocket. He knew it wouldn’t last long, with
only a small tank of oxygen. He would need to conserve his energy. He looped
his leg under a rail to make sure he sunk with the hull of the boat. As his
head dipped under the muddy water, he slipped the device into his mouth and
began to breathe very slowly, deliberately.
The boat
sank slowly. Bubbles of air began to escape the bullet holes and cracks in the
wood of the deck. The boat was carried downstream by the current as it dropped
to the bottom. It finally hit bottom with a jolt and embedded itself into the
thick mud of the riverbed. The turbulent waters calmed themselves, content with
having swallowed the boat. A few remaining pockets of air leaked out slowly,
bubbles dancing as they rose to the surface.
He calmed
his mind, resisting the instinctive urge to swim to the surface. The world
around him was dark and brown, with streams of light cutting through the water
from the surface. Ripples within the beams hinted at the turmoil above. Slowly,
he breathed, relaxed. He had hoped that Anabelle would be safe. He didn’t want
her hurt in any way. He would be doing enough damage with his stunt; he prayed
that the authorities didn’t make it worse.
The world
beneath the surface of the water was peaceful. Dark water drifted past his
face, the cold felt like tiny needles on his skin. A stream of warm would pass
as the boiler continued to heat the water as it cooled. Slowly, he breathed,
meditating on his freedom. He drifted in and out of a trance, biding his time.
Montebanque had told him the cylinder would last 10 minutes, but he stretched
it to 15 by keeping himself under control.
The
breathing got more difficult as the cylinder emptied. He unhooked his leg, took
a handful of gold coins from the sack in the control room, and swam to the
surface. He breached the surface and looked around at his surroundings. He
allowed the current to carry him downstream as he oriented himself. Upstream,
he could see the faint outline of the city skyline. No sign could be seen of
the airship that had come for them.
“Goodbye
Anabelle. I pray you will be treated well.” He muttered to himself as he swam
to the bank of the river. He spotted a farm not far from the bank. He made his
way to the barn, hoping to be able to dry off and warm up. The cold water had
chilled him to the bone, numbing his feet and hands. But now the sun was
warming him as he moved, thawing his sluggish limbs. He would need to lie low
for a few days while he developed a plan.
He headed
to a small town, not far from the city, where he bought a new tuxedo and hat.
He shaved off his characteristic mustache and hair, hoping to eliminate any
chance of being spotted. Pulling a pollution mask over his face, he got on a
train. It was the very same route as the one they had robbed. The irony was not
lost on Phineas as he chuckled to himself in the dining car.
Once in
the city, he made quick work of gathering as much of his stashed gold as
possible. If they had gotten to Anabelle, he was sure the others wouldn’t be
far behind. He purchased a used steam-lorry from the dealership at the edge of
town and drove it to the various banks across the city. At each place, he
unloaded his stash into the truck. He was thankful for the privacy afforded the
banks’ customers, especially in light of the recent events. Nobody asked why he
was withdrawing his gold, they all asumed that he was spooked, and no doubt
would be back in a few weeks when it blows over. That couldn’t be further from
the truth.
Even
still, he couldn’t resist asking the question. “I’ve been out of town for a few
days. Can you tell me what came of those scoundrels that robbed the Lester
train?” He asked the attendant at one of the banks.
The
attendant smiled at the masked man, “Yes. The news is that they have all been
caught and are being held for trial. Though I believe there was one chap killed
in the chase.”
“Serves
those cursed fools right, if you ask me.” He couldn’t resist an artistic
flourish. He tipped his hat and walked out of the bank. Seated at the driver’s
seat of his steamer, he fired up the boiler and drove out of the city, headed
for the coast.
***
He steered his sailboat toward John’s Folly, nothing but open water in front of him. This was what true freedom felt like. He would never again worry about money, never need to toil for food. Yet, it was bittersweet for him. He was lonely. He made friends easily at each port. But each time, he moved on to another, never satisfied to sit still. It was as if he was afraid that his history would catch up with him. Every beautiful woman brought him visions of Belle, and each port held reminders of the city he’d left behind. It pained him that he would never see the city he loved again, would never have a chance to hold Belle again. For everything, there is a price to pay. For Phineas, he lost a city and a love. Only time would tell if it was worth the price.
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