Hot and Steamy

by Jean Rabe

  At least not for a while.

  “Spitz, old lad, I hope we haven’t gotten ourselves in over our shoulders on this thing.”

  “Ook, ook.”

  “You know Captain Al’s been chasing the idea of finding Xibor most of his life. I’ve been over every scrap of information history has to offer about the place with him, and although it all makes claims that those what reach it all find their hearts desire, not a single bit of it ever says what happen to them what got there.”

  “Vootie?”

  “You know it, mate. There might be those what reaches Xibor, but there ain’t never been any what’s come back.”

  “Couldn’t we be the first?”

  Both crewmen turned at the quite unexpected voice of Miss Edgars. Pulling herself through the Gibraltar’s upper escape hatch, taking care to not snag her petticoats on its frame, she emerged onto the ship’s crown, exclaiming: “Bit nippy up here, isn’t it?”

  “That it is,” answered Stevens. “Most don’t care for it. That’s what Spitz and I like about it. The fact a body can be left alone in peace up here.”

  Settling into one of the lounge chairs, Filimena pulled the seat’s built-in blanket from its side pocket and wrapped it about herself. The young woman found herself comfortable enough after a moment, except for the fact she had neglected to bring a pair of goggles along for protection against the wind. Shaking his head in amused pity, Spitz took off his own pair and handed them to Filimena as he ambled back toward the escape hatch. She accepted them graciously, stared at them for a moment as if she might be able to perceive any suspected fleas by starlight, then resolutely lifted them to her face and fastened their snaps behind her head neatly beneath her bonnet.

  Pulling her blanket a bit more tightly about her shoulders, she asked, “Might I put a question before you, Mr. Stevens?”

  “I don’t rightly see how I could stop you.”

  “How gracious you are,” answered Filimena before she could stop herself. Mentally cursing her temper, she reeled it in quickly then continued. “I’ve noticed you don’t care for me very much. I’ll not argue your right to do so, but for the sake of trying to maintain civility while we’re all traveling together, might I inquire as to why this is so?”

  Stevens tilted his head, lifting the flap of his leather flight cap so as to be able to stick a finger into his left ear and scratch at an itch that had been bothering him. Allowing the flap to then drop back into place, he took a draining pull on his last LaRaja, then sighed as he dropped it down to join its still rolling companions. “You’re a quite lovely little girl, Miss Edgars, and your brain seems as wide as the ocean and as active as Vesuvius the day it arrested all attention in old Pompeii, but . . .”

  “Yes, Mr. Stevens, ‘but’ . . .”

  The pilot fought the dozen or so malicious utterances suggesting themselves as possible verbal cannonade, but rejected them all, holding his tongue for a moment until he could swim past the delicious influence of his many LaRajases, finally saying: “But . . . I owe the captain plenty—plenty and twenty pounds more. The only reason Spitz and I are here is to be there at the end for him.”

  “So,” Filimena snapped, “you’re just like all the rest. Pat me on the head, you will, for my accomplishments, ‘so clever for a mere woman, isn’t she,’ but you don’t believe I can actually guide us to Xibor, do you?”

  “On the contrary, Miss Edgars,” replied the pilot. Standing from his seat, stuffing his own blanket back into its pocket, he stretched his arms out at his sides, and then began to slowly stagger back to the hatchway. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got it all figured out. If you were just leading the captain on a wild goose chase, that would be different. A man’s true mate will let him get into all manner of loony trouble so’s he can rib him till he’s tender then help him heal afters. But that’s not what’s happening here.”

  “Oh, and according to your narrow, male mind, what exactly is happening here?”

  “In small words, the only kind I know, you’re leading the man who’s been a father to me most of my life to his doom. Albert Dollins is a good and proper sort what don’t deserve to have ever met up with the likes of you. And Spitz and me, with all we owe him, well . . . tiny brains like we possess and all . . . we can’t let him die alone.”

  And with that, Stevens caught hold of the hatchway’s ladder and began to carefully maneuver his less-thansober self back down into the Gibraltar, taking care not to strike his head against the jamb or his hair-triggered Robbins and Lawrence against anything at all. Seated in her chair, listening to the soft whir of the twin steam engines’ turbines below propelling the great ship forward, Filimena Edgars stewed for a moment.

  After all, she had only come forward as a proper, enlightened human being to try and propose the adoption of a touch of civility between herself and the pilot—and his monkey—so as to make their voyage more pleasant. And he had—

  And then, while a number of comforting comments roared into the young woman’s mind, several gentle whispers drifted in along with them, asking her to pause, and to reflect, on exactly what Stevens had actually done—if not from her viewpoint, than from his own?

  The only answers she could come up with left Filimena feeling small and alone under the night stars, and filled with a shivering even the heaviest blanket could not dispel.

  Despite the extraordinary intake of their beloved LaRajas on their night of departure, Stevens and Spitz managed to keep the Gibraltar straight and true, following each new course change as the captain and Filimena decided upon them. The pilot was perfectly willing to admit he could not begin to determine how playing a harp while singing mathematical formulas in a variety of languages could produce anything but a novelty act at which even Crabtree’s Curious Carnival of Clowns—London’s West End’s oddest collection of performers—would roll their eyes. But, being an honest man, he also had to admit that, whether they would find Xibor or not, they were still headed on a true course for the middle of the Dasht-i-Kavir.

  “I don’t get it, Spitz,” Stevens mused one morning, some eight days into their voyage. The pair inspected the port engine’s piston assembly, “I mean, I know the captain’s always had this seed stuck in his teeth over Xibor, but to buy into this dizzy business . . .”

  Satisfied with the tightness of the galvanized lug nut he had been tightening, Spitz turned and gave the pilot a weary shrug, indicating he had no better explanation for their situation than his friend. Stevens was about to respond, when suddenly Filimena’s voice sounded through the overhead speaker:

  “Mr. Stevens, Mr. Spitz, your presence is required on the bridge, thank you.”

  The pair eyed one another, wondering what would require the both of them in the middle of a shift. Seeing no reason not to comply, however, man and beast wiped their oily hands dry for the purpose of safe climbing, hung their tools in their required positions, and then started up the ladder to the gangway leading to the bridge.

  Once on deck, Spitz scampering up behind him, Stevens asked: “All right, we’re here. What’s so important you needed us to break our maintenance check?”

  A most untypical impish grin on her face, Filimena turned to the captain. “Would you do the honors, sir?”

  “Most ’appy to, my dear. Tell me, Jackie my boy, what would you expect to find at this longitude and latitude of the Dasht-i-Kavir?”

  Checking his pocket watch, the pilot answered, “Assuming we haven’t drifted any, we should be smack over the heart of the Kavir now. Which means there shouldn’t be anything but sand in any direction for seventy, eighty miles.”

  “Then what,” asked Dollins, stepping away from the bridge’s front wind screen, “would you say that was?”

  And, jaws hanging open, eyes wide, AppleJack Stevens and his pal Spitz walked forward as if in a dream, staring silently as the sprawling magnificence that could only be Xibor.

  The approach to the city had been something out of a story told by an Irishman, a thing of glori
ous light and dazzling wonder. Spires that reached far into the sky from which gay pennants flapped in the breeze stood like the most graceful of reeds—delicate, towering. Xibor looked to have been constructed of every precious stone and metal known to man. Granite foundations gave way to bricks of jade, silver, and amethyst. Doorways were decorated with strings of gold and rubies, windows hung with drapes woven from dazzling silks and the most colorful feathers.

  The Gibraltar made easy landing in a field practically set in the center of town as if it had been expected. Cheering citizens thronged the zeppelin, lifting Dollins, Stevens, and Edgars onto padded divans. The crew was ordered to secure the ship and see to her provisioning. All but Spitz snapped to attention, saluted and turned to their duties, the mechanic stowing away on the open-air lounge transporting Stevens.

  The parade through the streets of Xibor seemed to last for hours, and yet when the quartet was ushered into the main ballroom of the kingdom’s great central palace, the four felt refreshed and invigorated. The sextet of men carrying each divan lowered them carefully before the throne of the king of Xibor, then bowed and removed themselves quietly. Standing from his throne, the mystic kingdom’s ruler proved to be tall, large of shoulder and strikingly handsome. His features were the expected brown of the desert, his beard black and well-groomed, his eyes flashing with a fierce intelligence which made Filimena shiver.

  “Attention!” The word brought all activity within the ballroom to an immediate halt. “We have returned once more to the world, and as always, we are greeted by the bravest of the brave—the cleverest of the clever. As always, our time here is brief, but until we depart once more, let the music play, let the wine flow, and may our visitors be rewarded with their heart’s desire for daring all to reach us—to reach mighty Xibor!”

  With a gesture from the king, the music started once more, dozens of Xiborians rushing forward to pull each of their guests into the dance. Within minutes the gaiety reached the level of near madness, a swirling, festive insanity which staggered the visitors beyond reason—birds with dazzling plumage, performers juggling flaming knives, acrobats seemingly capable of dancing up the very walls, tables heaped high with every delicacy from coconuts to hummingbird’s tongues on toast—

  “Guess I was wrong, Spitz,” admitted Stevens. Reaching for a proffered goblet of wine, he added, “not that it would be the first time. Right, mate?”

  “Ook, ook.”

  The pilot took a long pull from his crystal chalice, forced to admit that even the grapes of Xibor seemed better than any others he had ever known. As his eyes came in contact with his fellows, it certainly seemed as if the king’s words were coming true. To one side he saw Dollins, surrounded by what appeared to be the leaders of Xibor’s military. They all seemed quite complimentary, in awe of the captain and whatever tale he was spinning for them.

  Shifting his gaze, he spotted Filimena, who looked to have attracted the attention of the magical city’s intelligentsia. She appeared to be explaining how she had determined the location of Xibor, much to the appreciation and even admiration of those around her.

  “Hell, even ol’ Spitzie’s been done proper,” he thought, observing the chimp’s antics as he danced atop a heaping mound of brilliantly yellow bananas and golden pineapples.

  For a moment Stevens wondered if they might not have stumbled into something too good to be true, as if they were only being lulled into dropping their defenses. But, the pilot reasoned, not only would there be no need for such, considering the degree to which they were outnumbered, but also every face appeared to be filled with genuine joy at their arrival. It seemed little doubt that Xibor was willing to do anything possible to fulfill the king’s dictate that the city’s visitors be granted their heart’s desire. And then, suddenly, he blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

  Crossing the room before him, in a gown of shimmering white brocade, was his Rose.

  “I don’t believe it . . .”

  More beautiful than he remembered her, her eyes filled with a love he could scarcely believe, Rose Beckett walked toward him, her white gloved arms extended, her hair flowing behind her, woven with lilies, her mouth forming the words of love he could barely imagine her ever saying to him. Seeing her, his heart aching, he did what he knew he had to: he drew his Robbins and Lawrence pepperbox, pointed it upward and pulled the trigger.

  The weapon discharged with an enormous sound in the small area of the Gibraltar’s bridge, immediately snapping the others to their senses. As Dollins sputtered, Filimena shrieked and Spitz gibbered, Stevens shouted into the relay tube: “All hands, ramming speed!”

  Swinging the great wheel of the Gibraltar around, he then aimed the massive airship at that which had truly appeared upon the sands of the Dasht-i-Kavir, a staggering colossus of nightmare, a thing tall as a mountain and wide as a river! A screeching black mound of teeth and tentacles, it threw forth a thousand grasping feelers, all of them covered in rough spikes of bone, looking to tear the Gibraltar from the sky!

  Dollins and Filimena searched the forward portal for any sign of Xibor, but the city had vanished, somehow replaced by the demonic monstrosity before them. Where had the ballroom gone, they wondered. Their honors, their glory? How could it have vanished? Even Spitz appeared dazed, unable to comprehend to where the peach he had so recently been devouring had vanished.

  “Ignite the gasbags,” bellowed Stevens, “prepare the explosive charges. It means our deaths, lads, but we’ll take that hellhound with us!”

  And, as Dollins and Filimena looked on in horror, barely able to comprehend what had happened to their dreams, AppleJack Stevens steered the Gibraltar directly toward the mouth of damnation.

  “I suppose you’re feelin’ pretty smug right about now?”

  “Well, any reason I shouldn’t, captain—sir?”

  Not answering the pilot directly, Dollins turned to Filimena and said: “And that, my dear Miss Edgars, is why I said from the beginning there was no way I was’eadin’ off to look for Xibor without my boy Jackie at my side.”

  Downing a long pull from a LaRaja, Stevens added, “If I were modest, I’d disagree.”

  Seated across the table from the pilot, Filimena continued to stare downward, unable to raise her eyes to meet those of anyone else in the room. She had gambled all she had on proving her intelligence, and had been duped and used by some horror from beyond. As the bridge grew quiet, she felt the eyes of the others as if they were probing her—hungry. Waiting.

  “I suppose,” she finally said to Stevens in a whisper, “that our thanks should be given to you.”

  “Indeed,” added Dollins, “but if I might, what exactly are we thankin’ you for? What did you do?”

  “Yes,” asked Filimena. “How did you know? How did we escape . . . the ballroom, the crash . . .”

  “I was just lucky,” the pilot answered magnanimously. Taking another deep swig from his favorite brand of bitters, he explained, “That thing, whatever it was . . . it had a harder time with me that with either of you because I didn’t believe there actually was a Xibor to reach. That whole thing about giving us our heart’s desire . . . you two wanted to find it for reasons of your own. Me, well . . . my heart’s desire was seeing us get home in one piece.”

  “But you were seeing the same vision we were, correct?” When the pilot admitted to Filimena’s point, she asked, “If that’s so, then what did it show you that you were somehow able to resist . . . unlike the rest of us?”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The accolades it fed you and the captain, you deserve them. Why shouldn’t you believe what you were seeing? But me, there was nothing it could offer me that I didn’t already have, so it gambled, trying something I knew I couldn’t have.” Stevens took a draining swallow from his LaRaja. “Luckily for all of us I stopped believing I deserved more out of life than three squares and a monkey’s friendship long ago.”

  “I won’t argue with you at this moment, my boy, over what you do and don�
�t deserve,” said Dollins, “but I still don’t understand what ’appened. I mean, one minute we’re in that fancy throne room, then we’re ’ere and you’re lookin’ to shove the Gibraltar down that thing’s throat, and then of a sudden—bang—no Xibor, no monster, just us . . . floatin’ over the desert like birdies with nothin’ better to do.”

  “I took a gamble of my own, captain,” answered the pilot. “When I realized this thing was playing with our minds, I wondered if we might not be able to fight fire with fire. So, after I broke its control by sending a round into the ceiling—sorry about the mess, by the way—”

  “Just tell the story, Jackie.”

  “Sorry again. Anyway, having broken its dream for us, I . . . Gods, what would the word be . . . I willed myself to create one for it. When I threw out my blood and thunder images, I . . . our minds, well, they ‘touched,’ I guess . . . and I saw through to its heart, found that it does this on a thousand, a million different worlds. It shows creatures what they want, gets them in close, then eats them.”

  Filimena shuddered. Dollins laughed, slamming the table with his fist as he shouted: “One in a million, you are my boy, and I’m grateful to you as Abraham when ’e’eard ’e didn’t have to slice up ’is son. Now, findin’ myself famished, I’m ’eading to the galley for the biggest platter of anything I can find. Who’s with me?”

  When only Spitz volunteered to join him, the captain nodded with a twinkle in his eye and headed off with his chief mechanic to celebrate still being alive. Once they were gone, Filimena, her cheeks still red, her spirit still flagging, said quietly, “You’ve certainly have put me in my place, haven’t you, Mr. Stevens?”