“Air,” Lash rumbled, “ship. In the shape of a dragon, with four wings, powered by a system of steampipes radiating from a central kettle. It was Maldonado’s belief that a flame-throwing device could be rigged within the dragon’s mouth—much like the mortar cannons currently used on a few of the ships in the Royal Navy—and in so doing make it into the world’s most fearsome weapon: a machine to rain death down from the skies.”

Matthew was nearly tempted to give a noncommittal utterance. He’d never heard of such a thing, and it sounded like madness. An airship? A flying dragon spitting flame down upon the battlefield? Well … yes, he saw how that could change the entire world of warfare, how the great ships of every navy would be in danger of the thing’s fire, how no fortresses could stand before the thing—or God forbid a fleet of the things—and how the infantry would run for their lives at the dragon’s mere shadow, but … it was madness! It had to be!

Wasn’t it?

“I am going to build it,” Lash said.

Did Cardinal Black give a quiet laugh from his dark corner? Or was it the laugh of Satan himself, awakened and listening to this most wonderful news of the night?

“Tell the baron,” was Lash’s next statement.

With hardly a pause Julian said to Matthew “Airshippen, em builden,” and Matthew replied “Jaaaaa,” as if this were the most interesting idea in the world.

Lash spent a moment surveying the plans once more, obviously enthralled by these five sheets of parchment. “When I was a small boy—a boy,” he corrected, for Matthew figured he was never considered small, “I was struck down with a fever. I lay in bed near death for many days. But in that fever I had visions of such things as this before me. Visions of great airships commanding the sky. Huge fleets of them sailing through the clouds and spitting fire on the enemy below. When I came out of that fever, I was consumed by another: the visions I had seen, and yet they seemed so real. I understood even then, as I played with my toy boats, what power airships might bring to whoever owned them. And as I grew older the resolve grew as well, that this was the future of warfare, and I would be the man to make it so.”

“A worthy cause, indeed,” said Julian, who shot a quick glance at Cardinal Black before returning his attention to Lash.

“Yes,” Lash agreed. “Worthy. But expensive. My money comes from my family. Yarrow Huxley of the Huxley Shipyards was my grandfather, responsible for building many of the navy’s greatest ships. My path to the vice-admiralty was greased by the oil of that labor. I long to make a name for myself, one that will stand for eternity. This before me … this is my destiny.”