by Giles
“Yes, yes,” Nichols waved the explanation away. “And I can clearly see that the heated metal burned the canvas for nearly the entire length of the ring.” Nichols leaned down to help Tash up onto the catwalk. “What I don’t understand is how so much of the hull could be leaking.”
“I have a theory.” Tash chimed in. “The lightning obviously heated the metal of the ring, maybe it was hot enough to burn away the hull’s dope?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing...but your theory does fit. The problem is that I doubt we have enough canvas to repair the entire leaking area.” Nichols sighed and ran a hand through his wet locks. “And even if we did, it wouldn’t matter. The new canvas will be immediately soaked.”
Nichols stood and offered a hand to Tash. The other three men also got to their feet in silence.
“Still we must get the burned bit covered as I don’t want to see her split wide open.” Nichols looked around. “Where the devil are the others with the repair supplies?”
“I’ll go and see Sir.” deReuter volunteered.
“No, no, you four rest a bit. There’s obviously more climbing to be done, as much as I hate to admit it.” Nichols cast an apologetic glance at Tash. “I’ll go.” He finished, holding onto the ship’s struts he trudged off. “I’ve also got to report this new development to the Captain,” he muttered. “He’ll not be liking this.”
****
“Message from the lift bag chamber Sir.” Jones shouted. He snatched the note out of the tube and nearly tore the damp paper. Jones looked at it in surprise.
“Is there a problem Mr. Jones?”
“Uh...no Captain, sorry Sir. I guess I was surprised the paper felt damp.” Jones replied handing the note to Phillips.
“Why would that surprise you Mr. Jones? It is raining cats and dogs outside.”
Jerard took the slightly damp piece of paper and frowned as he read it.
“Well this explains things gentlemen. The report says that gas bag number 15 has been re-secured and has taken no visible damage. And that our hull has indeed been breached and we are leaking, however repairs are underway.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon Sir, but is that all it says?” Wallace asked.
“Yes, why Mr. Wallace?”
William Wallace’s face went pale as a sheet. “Well Sir, I must tell ya then. I’ve been a flyin’ with our Mr. Nichols for nearly a year now. Loves his job t’ man does.”
“Yes Mr. Wallace?” Jerard wished the Scot would get to the point.
“Well ya see Sir, if there’s one thing our Lance loves more n’ this ship, it’s talkin’ about ‘er.”
Jerard felt the color drain from his own face as he was starting to understand.
“That lil’ short note means Sir that our engineer is a stallin’ for time. He’s usually quite verbose our man is.”
“What exactly are you saying Mr. Wallace?”
“I’m sayin’ that we can trust Mr. Nichols to take care o’ the problem but that it’s probably a lot bigger than he’s a lettin’ on.”
“Damn.” Jerard swore under his breath. He crumpled up the note and tossed it onto his chair where it promptly rolled to the floor.
“I’d better go and have a look for myself.” Jerard announced, noticing that the crew were all staring at him.
“Sure that’s a good idea Captain? Fred asked.
“No but it is what I'm going to do Sir.” Jerard replied sternly. He turned on his heel and strode towards the bridge door. A drop of water hit him right between the eyes. “What the...?” Jerard wiped the water away and looked around for the source of this irritation. The bridge ceiling looked fine but the upholstery on the walls to the left of the bridge door looked odd. He moved to the spot and touched the wall. Water welled up around his finger and made a hasty trail towards the floor. “Ye gods!” He breathed out.
“Captain?” D'Arcey queried having seen Jerard's odd behavior in poking the wall but not the resulting water fall.
“Engineer! Get up into the crawl space man! We’ve got to see where this is leaking from!”
Responding to his orders the second engineer jumped from his chair and moved into the ante-room. Jerard could hear the man’s boots on the ladder on the other side of the flimsy wall. He listened as the ceiling hatch was pulled back; the stream of French invectives was even louder than the sound of the huge amount of water that splashed to the deck. Jerard’s bark of laughter was cut short when he realized just how much water was up there. Dear God, Jerard thought as his eyes followed the sound of D’Arcey crawling above his head.
The sound finally stopped somewhere over Mr. Jones’ head. The entire crew seemed to be looking up and holding their collective breath.
Another muffled stream of French could be heard as the sound of D’Arcey’s returning moved over head. Moments later D’Arcey appeared in the doorway; cap missing, soaking wet and covered in a grayish mud from the knees down.
“I could not find a single leak Sir.” D’Arcey said before he glared past the captain at his snickering crew-mates.
Fred Randall laughed out loud. “I respectfully disagree Sir!” he shouted and began to sing in a high clear tenor: “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There’s a hole in the bucket…”
“That’s enough Fred!” Jerard ordered, with a look that dared him to open his mouth again. He struggled to keep his own grin hidden while thinking that Fred’s wicked sense of humor would get him killed one day.
He turned back to address D’Arcey. “I am sorry Sir, I do not understand. You could not find a single leak?”
“Non Sir, what I tried to say is z'ere is no single leak, the whole of the top and the bottom of the crawl space is wet.” D’Arcey shrugged. “I had to punch a drain hole in the hull to keep any more water from coming into the bridge Sir.”
Jerard nodded. There was not much else the man could do he admitted to himself, but the thought of another hole in the hull was fairly disconcerting. “Thank you Mr. D’Arcey. I had no idea that…” Jerard waved at the man’s wet dirty clothes “…that would happen and I apologize for the soaking. You are dismissed Sir to change into a dry uniform.”
D’Arcey turned on his heel and left the bridge.
“Mr. Jones, will you please tell me what is so funny Sir? And when you have finished can you get that speaking grill thing working? I need to try to contact Mr. Nichols.”
Aneruin Jones made every effort to affect a neutral mien and answered his captain in a fairly deadpan voice. “My apologies Sir. I was laughing at our drowned rat of a Frenchman.”
“Mr Jones!” Jerard said sternly, trying desperately not to smile at Jones’ description. D’Arcey did have a narrow face and a long pointed nose and standing there dripping on the floor he did look rather like the a fore mentioned rat. “I will not tolerate prejudice on this…”
Mr. Jones waved a hand as he interrupted Jerard. “Please Sir, it was not prejudice, I would have laughed even harder if it had been Mr. Randal!”
“Oi!” Fred Randal shouted.
The entire bridge crew burst into laughter, Jerard included.
“All right! All right! Thank you for that bit of levity Mr. Jones. Now gentlemen back to work. Mr. Wallace, what's our current altitude?”
“Still about four-thousand Sir. I’ve not been able to get us any higher.”
“Very well Mr. Wallace, we’ll take what we can get right now.” Jerard held onto the back of his chair trying to keep himself from pacing. He did not want to let on to the crew how worried he was. The possibility of crashing an airship because she was taking on water had never occurred to him before and his mind was busy trying to figure out how to get rid of the water. He desperately needed to talk to Nichols.
****
Nichols was making his way back from sending his message. Guilt made him frown, he hated not telling the Captain how bad things were, it was just that he did not want to panic the man. And he had to admit to himself, he was afraid the young whip
would come running up here and just get in the way. Nichols had his hands full with the damage. He was still not sure how he was going to fix it and stop Tash from doing crazy things.
As he neared the catwalk stairs to B deck a bolt of cloth shot up from the stairway and landed with a thump hard enough to shake the walk. The bolt was followed by a large duff-bag and then Airshipman Wright’s head.
“Where have you been?” Nichols shouted over the noise of the rain.
“We need some help Sir.” Wright shouted back.
“What the devil?” Nichols said as he saw the long crate Wright was attempting to heave up through the stair’s opening. “What is that, man?”
“Miss Smythe-Harris asked us to bring these up Sir. They’re not all that heavy Sir, they just don’t fit up these twisty stairs very well.”
“Move over man.” Nichols said as squatted down and took the rope handle from Wright. He could now see that the wooden crate was nearly five feet in length. Using his legs he hauled the crate up out of the hole and backed up to place it on the catwalk. Not heavy? He thought, wondering what Mr. Wright considered heavy.
Wright jumped up through the opening and shoved the cloth and duff-bag down the catwalk. “There’s another one Sir.” He gasped out, kneeling at the opening to grab the handle of another of the crates.
When both crates were firmly on the walk, Dortsmorn followed and sat heavily at the edge of the stairs. Nichols was a little alarmed at the man’s condition. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely, not to mention he looked like he might fall over from exhaustion. Nichols had mentally calculated Dortsman’s age to be at about the same as himself when he hired the pair, now he was thinking that this man must be at least ten maybe fifteen years older.
“Are you alright Mr. Dortsman?”
“Aye Sir, I just need a moment.” Dortsmorn said in his bland voice as he turned his vacant eyes on Nichols. “I can do this Sir.”
Nichols felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Dortsman sounded like he was repeating after someone. Nichols shook off the creepy feeling and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just rest here a moment and then follow with the cloth, Wright and I will take the first of these crates around to where they need to be.”
Nichols looked up to catch a look of naked panic on Wright’s face. He motioned to the man to pick up his end of the crate. Nichols supposed that the two were friends and that Wright was concerned for Dortsman’s health, but somehow that did not seem to fit in with Mr. Wright’s odd expression. However Lance forgot all about it when he hefted his end of the crate. Suddenly the catwalk looked several miles long and the rolling of the ship felt more violent. Nichols cursed his fatigue and tugged on the crate to indicate to Wright to get moving.
“He’s not looking very good Sir!” Wright shouted and lowered his end of the crate.
Nichols nodded and lowered his end as well. “See to him then, I’ll get help.”
Without the weight of the crate Nichols’ easily hurried back to the waiting climbers. He motioned for them to follow him and turned on his heel to race back to Wright and Dortsman. Landover caught up with him.
“Sir?”
“Dortsman’s not well, we’ve got to get him down to McPherson.”
“I will take him Sir.”
Nichols felt the others catch up through the vibrations of the catwalk. It gave him an idea. “No Mr. Landover, I need you here, we can have Miss Tash take him down.”
Landover’s ‘aye, Sir’ was nearly lost in the sound of the storm, unlike Tash’s comment.
“Trying to get rid of me Mr. Nichols?”
“Not at all, I am putting a member of my crew above the repairs of my ship. Think girl! You are the fastest of us, if you should have to leave Dortsman and run for help you are the most able to do this.”
Tash did not like it but he did have a point. They had reached Wright and Dortsman and she could see that even in this dim light the man’s face was a nasty shade of gray. She grabbed his hand and felt for his pulse, it was slow and fluttery. Leaning down she could hear that his breathing was shallow.
“He’s my friend!” Wright shouted and shoved Tash backwards so that she fell firmly on her bottom.
“Wha....” she began but closed her mouth in amazement as Mr. Wright scooped up Dortsman and literally leaped down the stairs.
“Well I never...” Nichols muttered.
Tash looked at the men standing on the catwalk. All wore the same expression of stunned disbelief as she did.
“I did not think Wright was that strong.” Landover said.
“I think they might be more than friends...” deReuter said, meticulously not looking at any of them.
“Oh!” Nichols exclaimed, not able to hide his shock.
“I think that we can assume that Mr. Wright will take good care of Mr. Dortsman, might I suggest that we return to the task at hand?” Gopal said as he extended a hand to help Tash up.
She accepted the hand and upon standing immediately reached down and grabbed the great wad of cloth. Airshipman deReuter moved forward and took one end of a crate and motioned for Landover to take the other. The big man just shook his head and picked up one of the crates all by himself. Gopal chuckled and took the other end of deReuter’s crate and left the repair bag for Nichols.
When Nichols caught up he could see that the crates had been opened and contained rows of black bottles with glass stoppers all nestled in a bed of straw. He watched as Tash and deReuter began tucking the bottles in their climbing harnesses.
“I’m sorry girl but glue isn’t gonna work on the wet canvas.” Nichols shouted.
“I agree Mr. Nichols! That is why we are using this!” Tash held up one of the bottles and grinned. “It’s rubber, well mostly anyway. More like rubber and acidic glue mixed together. We use it to waterproof the new Wellington boots.”
“Tash! That’s bloody brilliant!”
“I know.” She said, reattaching her harness ropes.
“But will it stick to the wet canvas?”
“Watch this.”
Tash took the bottle from Nichols and poured some of it into her hand. She reached up to the scorch mark and smeared the black viscous substance into the cloth in a large circle. Nichols noted that she was working at getting a thin coat.
Everyone watching seemed to be holding their breath. Gopal handed Tash a handkerchief to wipe her hands. Several moments passed before Tash reached out again to poke at the ‘patch’. It gave slightly but no water came through. Tash turned to look at the men, her face glowed with pride.
“It’s my own recipe you know. After dipping the shoes in the mixture we then dip them into a mixture of water and baking soda to harden the rubber and remove the effects of the acid. I just did not know if it would harden properly without the baking soda. It won’t be a good idea to touch the patch without gloves until it can be treated with the soda.
“But what about your hands, the acid?”
Tash laughed, “I put a bit of oil on them first, each case contains a bottle of it. It is designed so you can handle the mixture safely.”
Nichols just shook his head. Every time he thought he had the measure of Tash she surprised him again. “Let’s get on with it then. What can I be doing?”
It was deReuter who replied. “We are going to need the patches cut for the actual tears Sir. And if you would get the needles threaded I can shimmy up and get them affixed as soon as we finish with this black goo.”
Nichols nodded and knelt on the catwalk to begin his task, but not before he watched Gopal haul Tash up and out of his sight.
Tash worked as fast as she could. Getting a thin coat of the rubber on the wet canvas was actually more difficult than she had let on and she hoped that Gus was having an easier time of it than she was. There was nothing to brace on so hanging there in the air was creating problems. Her back and her arms were beginning to ache horribly. Not to mention being this close to the constant crashing of the thunder was giv
ing her a righteous headache. She lost her grip on the girder and swung out away from the ship’s side and got tangled in deReuter’s ropes.
A sharp jerk on the rope indicated to Gopal that Tash wanted to be raised up higher. So he pulled on the ropes before realizing that Tash’s light was actually floating directly above instead of moving along the hull.
“What’s going on?” Landover shouted. “Why is deReuter yanking on the ropes?”
Both men were looking up, straining to see what was happening above their heads.
“One of them is falling!” Shouted Nichols as the three men watched what appeared to be one of the lights floating towards them.
“I don’t think this is so...sahib.” Gopal ground out as he struggled to keep his rope taught and his eyes where the light once was. “I think...I think our climbers are tangled in each other’s ropes...”
The light picked up speed and flew past the anxious men landing in a soft splash below them. It was followed by another object that made an even larger splash.
“Let us bring them both down.”
“Agreed.” Said Landover as both men began feeding out the line. There was another vicious yank on both sets of ropes before they began moving slowly through the pulleys.
Nichols gasped as another light began its decent toward them. This one however would not pass by and he shouted a warning in time before the thing bounced off the catwalk and joined its twin in the water below.
“Faster!” Gopal shouted suddenly. “I do not know if I can hold both of them!”
“Both of them?” Nichols queried, trying hard to understand what was going on. But one look at Gopal’s normally placid face spurred him into action. “Give me one of the ropes!” he shouted. And just like that it was released into his waiting hands. It was not what he was expecting. When he had held the ropes for Tash before they seemed like living things in his hands. He could literally feel Tash at the other end. But now, now all he could feel was dead weight through the safety line.
“Oh ye gods! What’s happening?” Nichols muttered as he slowly fed out his line, trying to match the pace of the other two men; his eyes attempting to pierce the darkness above.
