Captain Fenna's Dirigible Valentine

by Heather Hiestand

  “Can’t you get rid of the hand?”

  “It would take a revision amputation. I’d lose more of my arm.”

  She winced. “Might be worth it.”

  “I can understand why it’s done, I’ve even seen the results, but I want to figure out how to disarm it for good. I could save a lot of good men if I could figure it out.”

  Just like Captain Andrew, this man was a born scientist. She liked that. “I appreciate that goal, but it’s crosswise to my own purposes.” She wanted to create a good life for Noelle, not fight the government as a matter of principle rather than an occasional by-product of making a living.

  “You’re a free trader, not an air pirate. At least that’s what you used to be. What need would you have for crew to board a Blockader airship?”

  She shrugged. “Who can say what might happen?”

  “You find a lot of experienced hands around here? I can’t help but notice you’re doing a lot of heavy lifting all by yourself.” He glanced at her chest.

  He had her there. She cradled Noelle’s small body closer. “I can’t work with a man I can’t trust.”

  “You aren’t going to trust anyone at first,” he argued. “Give me a chance. My mother can’t work right now and I need to put food in our bellies. You know better than anyone that no one is going to give me a chance with this hand, and I can’t afford the tools I’d need to set up as a cobbler. My mother sold all of my father’s.”

  “You spend any time in the south when you were with the Blockaders?”

  “We went wherever we were needed. That included the south.”

  She nodded. This man could be very valuable if she kept him away from BAE airships. “You must have some good information, if I can figure out how to make use of it.”

  “Captain Red Kite thought the same thing, but all I could think to offer were sky patterns and those have probably changed now.”

  Maybe the other captain had been asking the wrong questions. She glanced down at Noelle’s sleeping face. Her baby needed her. She needed help to make her trips more efficient and safer. Maybe Ian Cavill wasn’t the perfect choice, but she was hardly the perfect candidate for airship captain either. They were both compromised in their unique ways. She nodded decisively. “In your first act as my crewman, come back to my cabin with me and take a look at my charts. Let’s see what you remember about sky patterns across the Channel.”

  Her father’s automan waited for her at the top of the steps. “The hold is empty.”

  When Ian didn’t react to the sight of fearsome metal man, she knew she’d been set up. “You sent Ian Cavill to me, Rhys?”

  “You need more crew,” he said, never one to use more words than necessary.

  She thought parts of her father’s personality, some emotional quality and intelligence, were gone forever, but he was strong and helpful and remembered his tasks so she tried not to care too much. Noelle stirred against her chest. She nodded to her father’s automan. “I’ll give him a try. Come along, Cavill.”

  She settled him on the deck with a chart of the Channel while she stayed in her cabin to feed Noelle. There weren’t many caves along the shoreline cliffs and she was lucky to have this one for the Valentine.

  Support for the Owlers had vanished over the three years Gladstone had kept the skies locked down. No black market locksmiths, no trained crew, no tubmen remained either. Those men were once paid ten shillings a night to take barrels of spirits from boats to hidey holes. At least her airship could fly right into its hidey hole and final delivery was all the hauling that was needed.

  When Noelle was done eating, Terrwyn took her baby back to the deck and laid her on a blanket a safe distance from her chart. She couldn’t help admiring the man draped over her maps. Rarely had nature designed a more perfect form for a man, with such broad shoulders and muscled legs. But she had no use for a handsome man. In her youth she’d enjoyed teasing boys who often lost the power of speech around her. But three years under the thumb of Newgate Prison had knocked the flirtation out of her.

  “Any useful thoughts?” she asked.

  He traced a pattern of straight lines across the beaches. “This is how we did guard duty.”

  “No deviance?”

  “No. We were very regimented.” He looked up, catching her in that clear blue gaze. “The time varied only slightly too, depending on air currents and if we spotted anything. Our goal was to keep airships from lifting off the coast. If we did that there was no need to patrol the water.”

  “Has there been much activity down here? I’ve only been back a couple of months.”

  “I’d say it was remarkably quiet until last year. The Owlers were destroyed and then the likely successors were impressed, like me.”

  “Very effective,” she said. “An entire generation wiped out.”

  “I doubt that. Sure, we lower classes were, but I doubt the impressment went past the Stade.”

  “Good point. So for crew, I need to look for bored bankers’ sons and the like.”

  “Exactly. Who have you been using for crew up until now?”

  She answered his intelligent questions and asked more of her own, thinking she might get more use out of him than she’d bargained. He would be more help than mere brawn.

  *****

  Ian scanned the sky with his new Owler spyglass, purchased from Captain Andrew, the inventor, with part of his first month’s earnings as member of the Valentine’s crew. He spent each journey across the English Channel racing along the ratlines surrounding the balloon, usually the only crew member up there. Owen Fenna, as pilot, and Terrwyn, at the engine, kept their flights fast and low, hoping to avoid Blockaders and the French authorities rather than engage them.

  When Ian saw the first puff of smoke emanate from his spyglass, his first thought was a scientific one. How did the silver band on the spyglass detect Blockaders? His hypothesis was it picked up some special alloy in the automaton spider, because to his knowledge, that was the only thing about Blockader airships that was different from anyone else’s.

  He climbed across the balloon to the bow and lifted his spyglass. “Enemy airship coming up fast portside!” he called.

  A small flurry of activity occurred below as the scanty crew ran to the coal burners. Terrwyn had elected not to buy cannons yet, or spend money on extra crew, choosing instead to trade for heaters and assorted weapons for close-in battle. She focused on high-quality cargo she couldn’t afford otherwise if she was also outfitting the airship. The Valentine was new and fast and it could outrun most problems.

  “Can you see which airship it is?” Terrwyn asked.

  Ian squinted. “The Brighton, I think.”

  “Head for the Straits of Dover,” she cried to Owen.

  “There are likely to be more Blockader airships up that way.”

  “We won’t go farther than Folkestone,” she said. “But I know the Brighton won’t travel that far up the coast.”

  Ian’s knowledge of Blockader surveillance patterns had helped Terrwyn plan her trips. His value had earned him the title of the Valentine’s second mate and therefore, a larger part of the profit. But that wouldn’t do him any good if he went down with their cargo of spirits and silk. At least his knowledge of the Blockaders had kept them out of sight for the first two trips he’d made with her. But this third time was not lucky for them.

  As they flew north, pushing the engines to full speed, the puffs of smoke coming from Ian’s spyglass diminished, long after the airship had vanished from sight. The Blockader airship had never been much more than a probability in the sky anyway, since the spyglass gave them more warning than the human eye could. Its range was far better than the mechanism in his automac hand. Ian ruminated on what that meant as they set down on the desolate beach at Dungeness.

  Terrwyn gathered the crew on deck. “The Brighton should turn back at Eastbourne but our path might cross the Dover now because of our schedule change.”

  “The Brighton was early
,” Rhys creaked.

  “We can’t expect the same of the Dover. So let’s deflate our balloon to be less conspicuous and we’ll start again in an hour and a half.”

  Owen wasn’t expected to do the manual labor, and Rhys was too heavy, so Ian was aided by Terrwyn and the two teenaged crew. One was a girl named Hatchet whose main position was with the Christmas, another Fenna airship. Jonas, who was now supporting his family since his father had been killed in a battle with the Blockaders in December while Terrwyn was giving birth to Noelle, crewed as well when he had time. The Owlers were a small, close-knit group.

  Even Ian panted by the time the balloon was empty and tucked against the hull. The Valentine now looked more like a fishing vessel than an airship, an intelligent part of the Gravenor design.

  He found Terrwyn pacing up the beach and joined her. “We need more crew.”

  She sighed and lengthened her stride to match his. “Think the Blockaders changed their patterns? We’ll find them harder to avoid until we figure out their new schedule.”

  “Which means we’ll either have to stop traveling, or bring aboard a cannon and more crew.”

  “Our spyglasses are better than any men in the rigging watching for airships.”

  He put his good hand on her shoulder, to keep her from stepping into a wave. Would she allow him to keep touching her? “I’m well aware of that, but we’ll be more agile if we have more men manning the burner and the gas valves.”

  She shrugged his hand off gently and let the water wash over her boots. “More weight will slow us down.”

  He wished she’d let him touch her, but she never showed the interest in him other women did, even Hatchet. At least he didn’t have competition for her attentions. She dressed and acted like a man, except where baby Noelle was concerned. Then she embodied feminine grace. Of course, her beauty couldn’t be hidden under a captain’s hat and her form was enhanced by the loose trousers and long, fitted red coat she wore. He betted she didn’t realize that. “Just three more crew, then. One in the ratlines, so we at least have someone on each side of the balloon, and two for a cannon. You must have the funds after this trip. I’ll even give you half of my share if necessary.”

  Terrwyn laughed. “You do feel strongly.”

  His breath caught at the enticing lift of her lips. She didn’t laugh often. “We all have families to support, except Hatchet. I’m free trading to live, not for the thrill of it.”

  “Aye, for now, the days of thrill are gone. And you are right, I do have a baby to go home to. I detest every moment Cari takes care of her instead of me, but I need to earn a living.”

  He had a fleeting burst of imagination, of providing that living for her, so she could remain with her daughter, but he had a life to rebuild before he could ever have those thoughts. “Then let’s be more effective at making that living.”

  She nodded. “We’ll go to one of the larger towns after we sell off this cargo. In a bigger town we should find more men. I don’t think Hastings has any good crew to offer, though I do have a meeting planned.”

  “Not enough, anyway. We need a couple of strong men for the cannon, at least.”

  “I don’t want to battle the Blockaders.”

  He’d never thought to hear an Owler captain say that, but then, he’d never known an Owler captain to be a woman before. Did no member of the sex ever understand that sometimes war was preferable to peace? “Where does an Owler get an airship cannon? I never thought to ask.”

  “That’s easy enough. On the other side of the Channel.” She stared out across the beach toward France. “We can pick up a cannon on our planned trip ten days from now.”

  “Then let’s spend next week hiring and training more crew.”

  She nodded. “A good suggestion, but take care that you don’t phrase your remarks to me in such a commanding tone. You are second mate aboard this airship, and I am the captain. Do you understand?”

  He knew how to bow down to a master. He’d gritted his teeth and borne it for three years. But he was still a man. “I’ll phrase good sense in any way you please, Captain Fenna, as long as a willing ear is at the other end.”

  “You are an insolent cur.”

  The words were harsh, but he saw the ghost of a smile hover on those famous lips of hers.

  “Merely a worried, tired cur, captain.” He touched his cap with the tip of his finger and walked back toward the airship.

  *****

  “She’s a hard worker, Captain,” Hatchet said persuasively the next night.

  They sat in the back room of a tavern in Hastings. Hatchet, a small, fierce girl of some fourteen years, always dressed in boy’s clothes and oversized riding boots, which were clearly her prized possession and maintained accordingly, though Ian was unsure she’d ever grow to fit into them properly. She kept her face dirty and he suspected she might be pretty under the grime, a liability to one who tried to exist in a man’s world.

  Terrwyn, on the other hand, wore her femininity like a shield, keeping her five-month-old babe strapped to her chest or resting on a blanket near to her hand when they weren’t in the air. The infant had just begun to roll over, and now chewed on her fist, occasionally listing to one side then flopping over.

  But instead of praising her child’s achievement, Terrwyn stared hard at the sooty specimen before her.

  “I’m a chimney sweep’s lad,” said the candidate.

  “But you’re a lass,” Terrwyn remarked.

  “Aye, and my chest is giving me fits. I bind and I bind but it’s getting to be a problem in small spaces.”

  “She’s an excellent climber and would be a dab hand in the ratlines,” Hatchet enthused.

  “Why, Hatchet, you have a friend. I thought you a solitary creature,” Terrwyn said.

  That wasn’t the story Ian had heard. According to Terrwyn’s sister, Linet, Hatchet followed around Captain Andrew of the Christmas like a puppy. But hero worship and puppy love wasn’t the same as friendship.

  “Cavill?” Terrwyn said. “You’d have to train Meg if we took her on. What do you think?”

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Thirteen, Mr. Cavill. I’ve been climbing chimneys for five years.”

  “That’s good training, if you have a stomach for air travel.”

  “Heights don’t bother me none and I don’t eat much.”

  “You don’t need to starve to work aboard the Valentine,” Terrwyn interjected. “In fact, dizzy crew would be of no use to me. Also, any kind of corseting is frowned on in our line. Sometimes our work is very physical. ”

  “I’ll let it all hang out if necessary, miss.”

  “That’s ‘Captain Fenna,’ Meg,” Terrwyn said coolly. “And Hatchet can instruct you on appropriate clothing.”

  “Then you’ll take me, miss, I mean, Captain Fenna?”

  Terrwyn nodded.

  Ian was proud of her. The girl really might do, and at thirteen, life had little to offer once the chimney sweep trade was done with her. She’d likely end up walking the streets without some kind of trade.

  Hatchet clapped Meg on the arm. “Come along, I’ll take you to meet our automaton.”

  Meg’s eyes grew wide. “Those creatures of the devil?”

  “You’ll like ours. He’s tame.” Hatchet pulled the new recruit into the main room of the tavern.

  Terrwyn picked up Noelle. The baby snuggled into her shoulder. Ian marveled at the contrast between hard-nosed captain and soft motherhood.

  “We’ll be able to pick up our cannon next week,” Terrwyn said. “I’ve heard rumors of a fat new warehouse in Dieppe as well, full of tea and Indian spices. After that we’ll have time to find a couple of brawny fellows in one of the larger towns.”

  “I thought Brighton,” Ian said. “I remember being told when I was a lad that there were more than one hundred thousand people living there.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  He grinned. “It’s nearly summer and Brighton shou
ld be a lot of fun too. Don’t you want to visit the Royal Pavilion? I’ve never seen anything Oriental.”

  “We need to have Meg ready to go in six days,” Terrwyn warned, ignoring his question, but Ian noticed she didn’t exactly say no to him.

  Ten days later, after another trip to France that included purchasing a carronade, a small cannon, for the Valentine, Ian found himself walking, side by side, with Terrwyn in Brighton as she pushed Noelle’s pram. A variety of Cockney accents emanating from cheerful, day-tripping passersby told him Brighton had earned its reputation as “London by the sea.”

  “Why don’t we take in a show?” he suggested, his eyes caught by a colorful advertisement.

  “How about we hire a ladder-man?” Terrwyn said, squeezing his arm none too gently. She turned off the main thoroughfare.

  He stayed at her side as they moved onto a street catering to locals, and stared at a rickety ladder propped against a tavern. On the third rung from the top was a man gluing an advertisement to the second story. As they watched, the man nimbly dropped down and grabbed another sheet of paper and his brush.

  Ian could see how his climbing skills would translate to the ratlines, but Terrwyn wanted a lean crew. “We already hired Meg. We need men for the cannons.”

  “We can afford another crewmate for the balloon, with all the money we’ll make from the spices in that warehouse.”

  “Ahoy,” Ian called, since they had agreed he would do the talking, as men might dismiss a female captain at first glance.

  Terrwyn nodded. “We’ll speak to him, then go to the fish market. Men who haul around fish all day are likely to be brawny and not well-paid.”

  The ladder-man turned out to be too well paid to be interested in life as an Owler, so they left the neighborhood for the local fish market. Ian enjoyed the bright sun and sea breeze, but Terrwyn’s eyes seemed only focused on people and possibilities for her crew. In the past, he’d hoped when her gaze regarded him that it was simple female admiration, but now he knew she looked at his muscles as tools for her airship. The thought was disheartening.