I nodded though that wasn’t entirely true. I saved some of the money I made throwing darts so I could start my own airship-related business.
“I wish you’d told me sooner. I could have increased your allowance with funds of my own, but you will insist on doing everything the hard way. I can at least keep you well supplied with proper underclothes. There’s no reason you need to be sewing up tears in your stockings, for Heaven’s sake.”
“How did you know—?“
She waved off my question. “Please,” she said airily, “I’ve seen your embroidery. The beginning end of one of your repair attempts is just peeking out of the top of your left boot.”
I looked down. She was right.
“You may be a deft hand with tiny mechanicals, but you sewed that stocking like a drunk, myopic dock worker.” Aunt Miranda came to a decision then. “I’d like to see this Bosch airship of yours,” she told me.
“Sorry?” I asked, not sure I’d heard her properly.
“I want you to take me to see this airship. I’d like a tour and, if such a thing is possible, I’d like to take a ride in it. Perhaps we could go to a pub somewhere.”
I sat, open-mouthed in astonishment.
“Ariana, shut your mouth. You look like a fish.”
I shut my mouth. “You want a tour?” I asked, the ‘at your age’ in my thoughts, though I was smart enough not to say that out loud.
Aunt Miranda looked mildly offended. “I’m not going to break, child,” she admonished. “I am nearly eighty years old, true enough, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go places and do things. I’ve travelled the world – climbed the Pyramids, sailed down the Mississippi River, walked the Great Wall – and I did all of those things before these airships existed. I’m a tough bird.”
She’d written about those experiences in our correspondence. “I know, but—“
“Despite my age,” she barreled on, “I’ve an interest in technological advancement. I also think riding in an airship would be an interesting and enjoyable experience. If the issue is money, then I’ll pay for my passage. Will that suit you?”
“I… ah...”
“How long would it take you to set this up?”
“I’d been about to head to the shed where we keep the Bosch when I met you on the steps,” I said. “I usually ride my bicycle out there. Max and the others had scheduled a work day today.”
“I see,” she said and took what was almost a gulp of the tea.
I continued to stare.
Aunt Miranda waved her hand at me impatiently. “Finish up child,” she chided. “We’ve a hansom at our beck and call, and I’d like to see this flying contraption before the sun sets. You can tell me more about your fellow crewmates and your collective adventures on the way.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aylmer followed my directions and we arrived at the Bosch’s airfield and hangar about half an hour later. The doors of the hangar were open and the tan, curved envelope of the airship’s rigid balloon frame was visible, moored to the buoy. A rendering of Bosch’s Ship of Fools in Flames graced the middle of the cigar-shaped balloon, the mast of the odd boat rising out of the head of a robed figure while other humans sat in the curved hull warming their hands on the burning craft. It was an odd, nonsensical image that matched the roaming, illogical nature of our expensive and time-consuming hobby. The big difference was that while Bosch’s flying boat seemed to burn with a lazy sort of flame, if our airship caught fire, the hydrogen in the ballonets inside the rigid frame would explode with enough force to send all parts of the ship and its unlucky crew spewing away across the countryside in tiny bloody bits.
That was a piece of information I had no intention of sharing with my Great Aunt. I hoped my crewmates were wise enough to keep that fact to themselves. Due to our rigid safety protocols, the chances of an explosion were slim, which was only reassuring so long as the ship didn’t explode. Anyone who operates an airship like ours and rejects the chances of an extremely violent mishap is a fool, I thought. Problem was that while another lighter than air gas was known and slowly becoming available for use—namely helium—it was prohibitively expensive and not buoyant enough for our particular needs. Hydrogen was easily obtained, inexpensive and very much lighter than air. At the moment, there was enough hydrogen in the ballonets to keep the Bosch upright, but not much more. I hoped Aunt Miranda wouldn’t inquire much into the gas we used for buoyancy.
We exited the cab, and while Aunt Miranda instructed Aylmer to wait for us, I made my way into the hangar.
I couldn’t see anyone inside on ground level. I called out, and Max came down the gangplank of the ship, wiping his hands on a rag. He saw me and smiled broadly.
“Ari! I wondered what kept you. Is everything all right?”
“Hello, Max. Sorry I’m late. Can… we give someone a tour of the Bosch this afternoon?” I asked, looking back and seeing Aunt Miranda approaching, looking up at the balloon of the airship in wonder.
Max noticed. “Who is this lovely lady?” he asked, moving past me to greet my aunt, smiling his most charming smile.
Miranda turned at his approach and took in his appearance. He’d rolled his work shirt-sleeves up past his elbows, and standing there with the rag in his hands, in grease-stained shirt, suspenders, pants, and boots, he was the epitome of an airship captain. He held out a greasy hand, realized it was greasy and dropped it, wiping it self-consciously on the rag.
“Hello, madam,” he said, making a small bow and tucking the rag in a pants pocket. “My name is Max, and I’m the captain of this bucket of bolts we call the Bosch. Ari said you’d like a tour?”
Miranda beamed. “My, my,” she said, eyes twinkling, “aren’t you a pirate. Ari didn’t mention that about you.”
Max looked at me and then back at my aunt, his smile intact. “You have me at a disadvantage, madam,” he said, “and we’ve not ventured into piracy just yet.” He moved his shoulder like it hurt. “Waving cutlasses aggravates my rheumatism.”
Aunt Miranda shook her head sadly. “I always preferred a pistol,” she said. “Saves wear and tear on the joints.”
Max turned to me. “Who is this esteemed personage, Ari?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to introduce her, but she beat me to the punch. “I’m sorry,” Aunt Miranda said, stepping forward. “I’m Lady Miranda Brentwood, Ari’s great aunt. I asked for the tour.”
“Oh!” Max said, understanding dawning. “Lady Brentwood, we’d be honored. Let me get the rest of the crew out here.” He shot me a slightly amused look as he turned to head back up the gangplank and disappeared into the ship.
“I see why you like this,” Aunt Miranda said, walking over to join me. “He’s very pleasant. Are you sure you aren’t—“
“No, Aunt Miranda,” I said. “He’s just a friend.”
Aunt Miranda sniffed. “Shame.”
“It’s a great deal of work keeping the ship in top shape,” I said, changing the subject quickly. “I don’t think we can take you out in the Bosch today—but tomorrow should work, assuming the weather holds.”
Max emerged from the ship with Griff and Needle behind him, all of them stained to varying degrees with oil and grease. Griff’s handlebar mustache drooped slightly, giving him a tired appearance. Needle was taciturn and angular as always. Lizzie, I knew, was at home helping her mother, and wouldn’t be joining us until later.
Max made the introductions, and Aunt Miranda greeted my friends warmly. I didn’t say much, mostly because I knew my Aunt wished to evaluate my friends and our ‘hobby’ on their own merits. If I hogged the conversation, it’d seem like I was trying to hide something from her. She wanted the truth in its unvarnished, simple form from my crewmates.
Max, Griff, and Needle seemed flattered by my aunt’s interest and soon they chatted like friends.
“Ari always speaks of you with great affection,” Griff said with a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You ask
ed for a tour,” Needle said. “That’ll involve a lot of climbing over struts in the balloon and the engine room is dirty. Are you sure you want to risk your clothing on our foolishness?”
Aunt Miranda looked up at the envelope. “You can go inside the balloon? Ye gods.”
Max laughed. “There are smaller rubberized ballonets inside the rigid frame. We need to be able to walk around inside the frame to maintain and repair the ballonets and the frame. Come on,” he said, motioning her forward, “I’ll show you.”
Together we made our way up the passenger gangplank into the lowest level of the ship. The part of the Bosch that wasn’t the aluminum-framed envelope for the hydrogen ballonets was an actual boat the others had repurposed. They’d replaced the wooden framing of the boat with steel, and reapplied the planks to the new frame. They’d also removed the keel and flattened the bottom so it sat flat on the ground for repairs. The oak was weathered but strong, and a thin line of tar between each board kept out the wind.
To the left was the large gangplank we used for Griff’s Technacart. The large gangplank was drawn up, but the space where the Technacart sat was empty. Griff had it elsewhere in the hangar, probably in pieces as he worked to improve his design. He took a few minutes to explain what the Technacart was to Aunt Miranda, who nodded in understanding and looked elsewhere in the room.
Coiled ropes and other random bits of tackle hung from the walls opposite where we stowed the Technacart while containers of fuel for it sat strapped into bins below them. Narrow stairs to the next level spiraled upward at the prow of the ship. The room smelled of petrol, tar, wood, oil, and rubber.
“How in the world did you have the time, energy and funds to create this?” she asked, obviously impressed. “I thought the exterior was wonderful… but this—“
Max beamed. “That’s a long story I only tell over a pint of Guinness, your ladyship,” he said. “But, since you’re Ari’s favorite aunt, I’m willing to give you the short version. My friends and I pooled our resources. I inherited a lot of aluminum struts, along with this land and enough money to build the hangar and commence airship construction from an old friend of my family. Bit of a magnate he was, with no sons to whom he could pass on his legacy, so he left me enough to get the airship enterprise started and still eat while I did it. Griff knew a chap who knew a chap who had a boat we could buy cheap. Needle and Lizzie drew up the plans for how to modify the boat and attach it to our balloon. All four of us worked to make the necessary modifications, cobbling together engines and propellers and whatnot in our spare time.”
Aunt Miranda nodded. “I see. What contribution did my niece make to this grand endeavor?”
Griff sidled up to stand next to my aunt. “Your niece is a mathematical and navigational genius,” he said. “Lizzie sells Ari’s little Ladies’ Helpers in the shop where she works. You know about those, I hope?”
“I do. Ingenious devices. Have a few with me whenever I travel, particularly since I never take a lady’s maid with me.”
“Indeed,” Max agreed. “Were I a lady, I dare say I’d have them myself.”
“Well,” Griff continued, eyeing Max oddly, “Lizzie asked Ari if she’d try her hand at devices we could use. Y’see, your ladyship, we built the Bosch and actually got her to fly… but steering was a bit dicey. We had no reliable way to compensate for the wind or keep track of our position relative to the ground. Figuring when and how much gas to put in or take out of the ballonets was a right puzzle.” Griff pointed at me. “She came out, looked the old girl over, rode with us a couple times and got to work. She figured out how to navigate the Bosch. She made the instruments to determine pitch, roll and yaw, created devices that track wind speed and our position in the sky, and developed the system by which we know how much gas to put in the ballonets. If we move up, down, left, right or sideways… well, it’s because Ari figured out how to do it.”
“We don’t crash anymore,” Needle added, ever the pragmatist. “That’s lowered the repair bill considerably.”
Aunt Miranda looked at me. “Crashes? There were crashes? Good Lord.”
I started to respond, but Max beat me to it. “No one has been seriously injured,” he put in quickly, “but before Ari applied her considerable intelligence to the problem, all the amateur airships and their crews in Cambridge had the same probleMs. Pioneers frequently encounter these sorts of difficulties, as I am sure you are aware. Ariana solved them.”
Aunt Miranda looked at me speculatively. “Did she, indeed?”
“She showed the other amateur Cambridge aeronauts what she taught us,” Max said.
“There’s more than one of these airships in Cambridge?” Miranda asked. “I’d no idea.”
“We’ve a club,” Griff said proudly, “and a clubhouse. We call ourselves the Icarus Squadron. Thanks to Ari’s help, our club name is more an inside joke than an allusion to our airship mishaps. We’re the best amateur aeronauts in England, says I.”
“Or at least the most persistent,” Needle added.
“Icarus Squadron, eh? Hmmm,” my aunt murmured, thinking. “Ari, if your mother ever finds out about this airship matter, I suggest you refrain from telling her the name of your club. Well then,” she sniffed, “you’d better show me the rest.”
Max indicated the stairs in the prow. “After you,” he said. “Next level up is the engine room and cargo hold.”
“Is that the only way up to the next level? Those narrow spiral stairs?”
“No, m’Lady,” Max said moving toward the stairs and encouraging us to follow him. “There’s another set folded up into a closet directly opposite the way we came in, but we mostly use these stairs. There are also three other ways off the ship in case of emergencies.”
We followed Max up the stairs in a line, with Aunt Miranda directly behind Max, while Griff, Needle and I brought up the rear.
The four gasoline engines: two on the port side and two on the starboard side, sat silent and oily in the metal and wooden frames that held them screwed to the deck. Steel straps held the oblong petrol tanks between the engines on both sides of the ship. Pipes with pressure and fuel level gauges jutted out from the tops of the tanks and attached to the engines. Two small mechanical beetles with phosphorite bodies sat clamped to the ceiling above the engines with tiny claws, waiting to be powered up in case light was needed in a hard-to-reach place, while larger phosphorite globes in sconces dotted the walls. Drive shafts extended out from the engines through the walls of the ship to the four propellers that moved the Bosch through the air. The chadburn, its white dial and bronze handle gleaming, stood in the center of the room, its pointer indicating ‘Stop’.
Aunt Miranda looked over the set up in silence, taking in the scene with obvious interest. “So these engines move the ship through the air,” she mused, “but what are you using to give the Bosch buoyancy?”
I bit my tongue and waited for disaster.
“Hydrogen gas, my lady,” Needle said, cutting to the chase as usual. He was calm and obviously proud of our hydrogen gas system. “We’ve tanks that keep it under pressure on the next level up, and we control how much gas goes into or out of the ballonets with valves controlled at the helm. The chadburn here,” he pointed at it, “tells the engineer when to speed up or slow down the engines. Combined with the navigational devices, we’re able to maneuver the old girl pretty as you please.”
Aunt Miranda nodded and the temperature of the room seemed to drop as she considered Needle’s explanation. “I’m not a chemistry student, but I seem to recall hydrogen explodes rather violently when it comes into contact with a spark or an open flame. How is it in your previous…” she paused and looked at me, “...crashes, you’ve not been blown to Kingdom Come?”
I winced. I was in for it now.
Max noticed my discomfort and cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, there’s some that say we’re too stubborn to blow up,” he began, but quickly decided on a different approach when he saw Aunt Miranda�
�s withering glare, “...but, mostly, we’re careful not to make sparks, and the rigid aluminum frame helps keep the ballonets from being punctured.”
“Are you the only airship in Cambridge that uses hydrogen?”
“No, ma’am,” Max responded, “and we’ve a healthy respect for the stuff. Every safety precaution possible has been taken.” He indicated the room around us. “We only use phosphorite bulbs for lighting. The engines are as far from the ballonets as possible. No smoking of any kind is allowed on the ship. We’ve several ways to escape if there’s an emergency, and each exit has several parachutes to facilitate a safe landing should we have to… um… abandon ship.”
“I see,” Aunt Miranda said coldly. “How many people have been injured in your airship escapades?”
“Old Toby broke his arm,” Griff said, “but to be honest, he was drunk and he’d sort of… hijacked the Folly, one of the other ships in the Icarus Squadron. He floated into a tree, panicked and jumped out of the cockpit.”
“We don’t fly drunk,” Needle said gravely.
“Other than that,” Griff continued, “there have been some scrapes and bruises, and a bit of blood, I’ll admit… but there’ve been no life threatening injuries. With Ari’s navigational instruments, we’ve had a run of several months without a mishap for the whole Squadron.”
I held my breath, waiting for Aunt Miranda to respond.
“Max,” Aunt Miranda intoned, “are there other safety precautions that can be taken?”
“We could use a few more fire extinguishers,” he said cautiously, “and a couple more parachutes.”
“Ariana, do you know where those items can be purchased?”
A glimmer of hope shimmered through me. “Yes, Aunt Miranda,” I said.
“Very well. I will purchase what you require, Captain,” she told Max, “and in future, should you require other such equipment, you will let me know. Is that understood?”
Max clicked together his heels and saluted my aunt smartly. “Yes, your ladyship,” he said with a grin.
The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
