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overlay now displayed a variety of small boat-shaped marks dotting the area Wellington had indicated as the Graveyard of the Atlantic. “These are known shipwrecks of the past twenty years. Green signifies wrecks from 1875 to 1890. The yellow are markers from ’90 to ’95.” Felicity overlaid another piece of film over the first. “This is the activity grabbing our attention.”
    These red marks were hardly the same number as the green and blue. What did intrigue Eliza was this concentration of shipwrecks seemed focused along three inland markers.
    â€œMiss Lovelace, are these markers,” Wellington said, following them along the coast with a single finger, “Cape Henry, Currituck, and Bodie Island?”
    â€œYes, all these lighthouses have recently passed inspection so we know they are in full working order.”
    â€œSo how many years of shipwrecks are we looking at here, Felicity?” Eliza asked, passing a hand over the collection of red markers. “The past year? Past two years?”
    â€œNot shipwrecks. Disappearances.” Felicity swallowed. “Just in the past
month
.”
    â€œIt gets worse,” Bill replied. “Look closer at the markers.”
    Eliza and Wellington leaned in and noticed that of the twenty markers, five of them were marked as circles, not boats.
    â€œAirships,” Felicity spoke, her tone grim. “That began happening two weeks ago.”
    Wellington’s fingertips traced the line of red markers. “You’re saying these vessels have all disappeared?”
    â€œIf’n these ships did wreck, nothing—I mean nothing—ever made it to shore.” All eyes turned to Bill. “No corpses. No wreckage. It’s as if the Atlantic just opened up and swallowed ’em whole.”
    â€œHave you taken a closer look down there?” Eliza offered.
    â€œWith what?” Bill scoffed. “One of them fancy submarine things?”
    Wellington’s brow furrowed. “You mean, your organisation does not have access to one?”
    Felicity and Bill cast a glance at each other.
    â€œI’m just gonna sit here and drink my beer,” he grumbled.
    â€œThere are plenty of warning indicators along our coast, and the reputation of the Graveyard is secondhand knowledge to ship captains,” Felicity assured them both. “But why airships are disappearing we cannot make heads or tails of.”
    Eliza followed the line of recent calamities, her index and pinkie finger measuring the distance between the two of them. “This looks to be about an area of roughly seventy miles. From this area of Virginia stretching to”—Eliza leaned in and read—“Kill Devil Hills. What a charming name!”
    â€œWhile waiting for you two, Felicity and I have been watching the area like hawks on the hunt. So far, nothin’ but boats and ships comin’ in and out like clockwork. No missed schedules.”
    Felicity gave a nod as she folded up the map and placed it along with her overlays back into their envelope. “Bill’s plan was to start here and follow the trail of disappearances.”
    â€œJust a moment,” Eliza spoke up, her brow furrowing, “this seems like a simple matter of investigation. You’re calling on us for experience? What sort of experience do you need?”
    â€œTold you we didn’t need ’em,” Bill said, finishing off what little remained of his beer.
    â€œWell, yes, this is a matter of investigation, but my own concern is that we lack experience concerning
æthergate
travel. That technology from Atlantis that you all commandeered from a nefarious organisation called the House of Usher could be behind these disappearances.” Even in light of Wellington’s reaction, Felicity shrugged. “Then there is the matter of the Janus Affair.”
    Eliza cocked her head to one side. “The what?”
    â€œThat is how we refer to your