Chapter Four
“I never did care much for museums anyway—if a thing still works, work it.” The grime from Red’s fingers greased the brass levers as he practiced how to steer the machine. Right lever forward to turn left, back to turn right. The aerogypsy was an almost identical locomotive design to the early ‘horseless carriages’, but with a critical difference—two rotor blades, atop and astern, gave the vehicle flight.
“Just make sure you bring her back in once piece.” Joe uncoupled the winch from the cockpit roof, having lowered the aerogypsy down by crane from its podium near the hangar entrance. “Vagrancy I can handle; grand larceny...not so much.”
“You fusiliers always were whiners.”
Red bid the boy join him in the glass-domed cockpit, for the ride of the youngster’s life. After such an unpleasant Christmas Eve—narrowly avoiding a police reprimand and death in the same day—Edmond had earned this impromptu adventure. “Hop in, lad. Don’t worry, I’ve flown these things more than I care to remember,” he lied. But he had grown proficient over the course of his eleven unsupervised flights, even if this ’gypsy was rather more...antique than he was used to.
“Your parents need never know. Come on, I’ll land us in Vincey Park and we can walk the rest of the way. Think of it as a special Christmas hack to dinner, and I promise we’ll get to see London like no one else.”
Edmond seemed unconvinced, holding a puzzled scowl as he inspected the gleaming brass framework at length. “Who designed it?”
“An ingenious Norwegian fellow named Mikael Sorensen. 1882, I believe.”
“Professor Sorensen?”
“The same.”
The lad’s eyes lit up. “My father works with him at the Leviacrum. He says Sorensen has the sharpest mind in all Europe.”
“He’s not far wrong at that.”
Edmond climbed in, plonked himself down on the padded passenger seat and let Joe strap him in.
“Don’t get too ambitious, Red. The wind can whip ’round some of these taller buildings and throw you out of flunter. I’ve seen it happen. Keep her flat and low.”
“And bring me back some dessert,” Angharad said to Edmond. “I’m partial to rhubarb pie with clotted cream.”
“Will you settle for apple strudel?”
“Will I? Ha ha, I love this boy. Red, if you don’t bring him back to see us again I’m disowning you.” She straightened his bob hat, tucked his scarf inside his collar, and re-checked his harness. “Have a marvellous Christmas, young ’un. Don’t forget us now.”
“I won’t. And thank you.”
“All right, here we go.” The first rattle of the pipes under steam pressure shot a buzz of nervous excitement to Red’s scalp. He forced the two propulsion valves open. The boiler hissed loudly. The squeaking axles eased the vehicle forward over the cobblestone, out onto the main road.
Despite a heavy fog, light from the streetlamps appeared to bow in opposing ranks across the icy cobbles, as though they’d laid an amber carpet for passing dignitaries to find their way. Dim lights originated from living quarters in the backs of shops, where families had gathered to celebrate one of the only times of the year when everyone, no matter their circumstance or station in life, had permission to make merry, to abandon their shackles and rejoice atop the summit of their year’s labours.
But few would feel as lucky as Red this evening, he reckoned. It had been years—too many years—since he’d last enjoyed a family dinner, or any meal of note outside an airship cabin or a safari tent. Those eating places had, at best, offered a promiscuous sense of comfort, in the company of friends, colleagues, those he’d left behind for this mission to London. And even more years had passed since he’d seen, or more importantly felt, what it was like to have a wife and son to come home to. In his long experience, that remained an unbested investment for a man’s heart and soul.
Alas, so easily snatched away.
He sensed the boy’s excitement at his side. It fed into him, too. Ice crunched beneath the aerogypsy’s wheels as it gathered speed. He’d need to find a junction or an open quadrangle before he could take off—the velocity of ice pellets the rotors flung up might cause damage to nearby windows or passers-by. He cranked up his side window and bid Edmond do the same. “So’s we’re not fighting the wind in here as well.”
“Is this legal, Mr. Mulqueen, if you don’t mind me asking?” The lad didn’t look worried in the least.
“A sensible question, but to be honest, I haven’t the foggiest. Airships have to follow set flight paths when taking off or landing, and it’s frowned upon for a big ’un to fly low over anywhere inhabited—the limit’s a thousand feet, I believe. But the aerogypsy isn’t used much except abroad, to scale cliffs and such, or to cross devilish terrain. I don’t suppose London has even considered them as air traffic. They’re military luxuries, on the whole, as rare-seen as badgers are in the daytime. ”
Edmond beamed at that last remark, then pointed out one of his friends from primary school, a tall, gamine girl with an even taller mother. Strangely, Red couldn’t recall a single friend of his own son’s, and it vexed him. So few details from his family years had escaped him, and he’d always pictured his son as something of a solitary boy—perhaps selfishly on his own part, not wanting to share the poor lad with anyone else. How much of life was channelled by perception, secrets, self-obsession.
Did I ever really know my boy at all? Did he know me?
“There’s a tram depot if you take the next left,” Edmond said. “Lots of open space. You could take off there.”
“Good. That’ll do nicely.”
“I think you’ll like Mrs. Simpkins’s cooking. She’s a peach.”
Red looked at the boy, saw that he was blushing. A crush on the housekeeper? He’s full of surprises.
Yuletide Miracle Page 6
