Harry gets Her Wings (Iron Pegasus Book 3)

by Steve Turnbull

  Khuwelsa had had enough. “I’m so sorry, Mrs Hemingway. I had intended to assist you in your rescue but it is entirely clear that that is not what you want. So, if you don’t mind I’ll just leave you to it. You can find your own way out. As the house falls to pieces around you.”

  Sellie squeezed back through the door. The corridor was twisting and the floor dropped as she watched. Holding on to the door frame she turned towards the window at the end. As she watched the frame distorted and several of the frames fell out. They shattered as they hit the carpet.

  Something grabbed her hand on the door frame.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  A tiny part of Sellie was grateful her tutor had relented. It would have been difficult explaining to her father how she had come to leave the ungrateful woman to her fate. Khuwelsa squeezed back through the gap into the tutor’s suite.

  The safest place was likely to be the corner of the house; it would be the last to go, if it fell at all. She took a step towards the bedroom with Mrs Hemingway still clinging to her hand.

  The floor lurched under them.

  The tutor lost her balance and fell, dragging Khuwelsa down with her.

  The floor was no longer flat and a gap yawned between it and the main wall. Mrs Hemingway squealed as another joist snapped and the floor shifted again. Gravity was pulling them across the carpet.

  Sellie cursed silently; if Mrs Hemingway had not been there, she would have spoken out loud. Trying to crawl in these layers of petticoats and a corset was almost impossible. But if they didn’t move, they would soon be dead.

  They might not be able to crawl but there was another option.

  “Mrs Hemingway, you must roll towards the bedroom door.”

  “Roll? I will not!”

  “Die, then,” said Khuwelsa. She was not in a good position to roll across to the bedroom—her tutor blocked her direct path—but she was considerably stronger, and rolling up the sloping floor should not be too much of a challenge. She could see the slope flattened out further towards the far wall.

  Sellie twisted round on the floor and rolled uphill. It was considerably more difficult than rolling down a grassy slope. But by pushing with her arms she was able to make progress and it got easier.

  Mrs Hemingway sobbed. The floor vibrated again. The wall that had once supported the floor was now bowing away from them. If she had been in the right place Sellie could have looked into the next room through the gap into which the writing desk was now leaning, as was the chair.

  That must be quite heavy, thought Sellie as a potted fern toppled over and fell into the space between the wall and the floor. She stared at the writing desk. It teetered on the edge but its back still rested against the wall. Without help, it would not fall for some time.

  She decided to give it the assistance it needed. She climbed to her feet and hitched up her skirts in a most unladylike way, tucking them into the decorative sash that served as a belt. Then she picked up a straight-backed chair—one of four around a small table suitable for card games—and descended the slope at increasing speed.

  Mrs Hemingway was watching and screamed as Sellie took a suicidal route. As she reached the writing desk, Sellie jammed the chair ahead of her and the four legs struck the wall.

  It was not Sellie’s intention to move the wall but rather to use the chair as a support. It had been a risk, since the wall was clearly no longer the major structural feature it was intended to be but simply another card waiting to fall.

  And yet, it held. And Sellie’s downward motion was brought to an abrupt halt.

  Having taken that risk, the next one was quite minor but far more alarming to her audience. She jumped up and down in an effort to dislodge the writing desk. Each jump vibrated the floor and the writing desk shifted slightly but it was taking too long.

  There was a crumbling thunder further up the building and, about thirty feet away, Sellie could see the wall she was leaning against disintegrating. The ceiling above it was coming down as its support disappeared. The collapse was moving along the wall towards her.

  Sellie threw herself to the floor. The chair, left to its own devices, tumbled through the gap into the dark below. Sellie put her feet against the carved ball-and-claw feet of the writing desk. The Mad Hatter’s riddle from Alice in Wonderland came into her mind: Why is a raven like a writing desk? Sellie gave the legs an almighty shove. They slid across the carpet and the writing desk disappeared into the dark. With that weight gone, the floor sprang up several inches.

  “Because they both have crow’s feet!” shouted Sellie at the falling desk. She heard it crash.

  She scrambled to her feet as the wall fell apart. She grabbed Mrs Hemingway by the arm and pulled her half-crawling half-stumbling towards the closed bedroom door.

  The ceiling showered them with plaster. Sellie turned the handle and smashed her shoulder against the door. It did not budge but pain shot through her collar bone and upper arm.

  The frame was too warped. Looking at it Sellie could see gaps where no gaps should be.

  “The window!” shouted Sellie above the continuing roar of collapsing masonry.

  Once more she grabbed her tutor by the wrist and dragged her across the room. She unlocked the sash window and flung the lower half up. Sellie had been aware of a background rumble among the rest of the noise, but with the window open that sound redoubled.

  The growl of diesel-driven propellers. Above them a Zeppelin hung like a thundercloud threatening its worst.

  “Friends of yours?” asked Sellie to Mrs Hemingway as they stared up at the airship.

  “Of course not,” said the tutor. “The only reason they will be here is for you and your sister.”

  “Thank you,” said Sellie.

  “What for?”

  “For acknowledging we’re sisters.”

  vii

  In the moments after the initial blast Harry sat with her mouth open. She had been in the middle of a word when the world exploded around her. She saw the admiral blown out of his chair.

  The sound of thunder roared around her. The windows fragmented and shards of masonry splintered against the far wall. The room filled with dust and smoke. The sun shone down through it and Harry alone saw a shadow move across it. A shadow that meant something big had crossed in front of the sun.

  It had not been fast, which meant it was not a plane. It could have been a British vehicle, but they would have heard the roar of its rotors. It had to be an airship—and only one sort of airship carried the artillery and bombs to destroy a house.

  Harry did not know what state her sister and father were in but she guessed that, since she had been sitting between them, if she was not severely harmed then they would probably be the same.

  Taking no time to make her decision she jumped to her feet and dodged across the room to the door to the conservatory. A remnant of the door was attached to the frame by a twisted hinge. The floor shifted slightly as she stepped out into the sunshine.

  The conservatory was gone. Flattened. Not a single pane of glass remained; almost the entirety of its metal frame lay broken and twisted. The low wall that marked its perimeter was, for the most part, intact. A crater perhaps fifteen feet deep lay just outside the door. She stepped out onto its rim and the ground collapsed. It seemed to run away from her, descending deeper into the earth, like wave-washed sand on the beach.

  She jumped away, stumbling as her foot caught on protruding bricks and landing face down in the damp soil. The artillery shell must have opened up a way into the cellar. She staggered away across the uneven surface. Craning her head she shielded her eyes against the sun. The Zeppelin, if that’s what it was, had already disappeared over the roof of the house.

  The house emitted a strange creaking sound. Its outer wall, where she had just exited, fell away, starting at the bottom. Harry gave her head a gentle shake just to be sure she was not imagining things. Then in a sudden rush a whole section gave way, showering her in dust and pieces of
stone.

  Fear for her sister and father gripped her but there was nothing she could do. A curtain of falling masonry barred her return. The wall looked none too safe and she was still within range if it decided to collapse. She must trust they would be safe.

  She pulled up her inconvenient petticoats and staggered away around the crater, heading for what had once been the wide French windows leading to the lawns.

  Once beyond the low wall she found herself walking through a carpet of shattered glass.

  She stepped gingerly. Her shoes were sturdy, but she did not need any shards getting into them and slicing her feet.

  She had decided to go round to the front but was so busy picking her way through the devastation she was not paying full attention when she rounded the corner into the shadow of the house. Glancing up, she froze.

  The Edgbaston home was essentially just a rectangle with additional kitchens and staff accommodation added at one end. She was at the other and standing on the corner. Only fifty yards away, down the gently sloping lawns from the main building, close to a copse with a white wooden summer house, stood a troop of German soldiers armed with rifles held in the ready position.

  Behind her a piece of wall collapsed with a roar. More than one face turned in her direction at the sound. She stayed completely still. There was some discussion among the men but no cry went up. She was in the shadow of the house with the sun behind her Not for one moment did Harry not think they had come for her and Khuwelsa. Sellie had received no post, so perhaps the newspapers did not mention her. But the Germans knew it was both of them.

  Some of the letters had spoken in quite antagonistic terms about the Germans, which could only mean that those details had been included in the news reports. While she had never taken a great interest in politics she had become far more aware of it recently. And that was what the admiral and the rest of them had been here for, to discuss the newspaper reports.

  And, she supposed with a wry smile as she watched the soldiers, the Germans wanted to discuss it as well. Though if they hadn’t been so keen on starting a war, none of this would have happened.

  She couldn’t stay here; they were bound to see her eventually. The front of the house was out of the question now. The soldiers were probably waiting for either a signal to attack or for the people to come out.

  Harry guessed they were not expecting to collect a bunch of British diplomats and top brass. Well, that meant she would have to rescue them. And that meant the Pegasus. The furnace should still be hot from this morning so if it was just one Zeppelin this should be easy, even without Sellie. Although she would much prefer it if her sister was with her.

  The wall she was leaning against vibrated. Expecting another crash, Harry slipped back around the corner and out of sight. She was not disappointed. A whole section of the rear wall crumbled. She could see the exposed upper floor and watched as her father’s bed fell from the edge into the accumulating masonry. She allowed herself to wonder why the house was falling to pieces just because of one bomb. It was probably something to do with the cellars. Sellie would know.

  The house went quiet, but now she heard orders being given in German. Harry’s command of German was good, as she had had lots of practice with Johannes so she understood perfectly: The soldiers were being told to check the rear of the house.

  Pieces of shattered chimney pots landed beside her, one large piece embedding itself in the ground. It wasn’t safe either. She dare not peek to see how close they were. She had to move.

  Right now.

  viii

  Harry cursed her skirts once more as she set off at the best run she could manage, diagonally away from the collapsing house. The fragments of glass twinkled in the sunlight. She could not worry about it, not this time.

  Harry reached the low perimeter wall of the destroyed conservatory, paused for a moment and spotted a larger piece of glass. She picked it up and tossed it over the wall before throwing herself after it onto the bare earth.

  She needed to crawl and that would be impossible in these clothes. She picked up the shard she had selected and rolled on to her back. She strongly doubted there would be anyone on this side of what remained of the house to see her pull up her skirt.

  Her first action was to slice off a long section of a petticoat. She rapidly wrapped this around the glass to give herself something to grip more safely. She did not have time to cut all the layers short—which was a challenging idea—but she could slice up the side. She wished she had time to get rid of the corset.

  She could hear nothing from the soldiers and it still took a couple of minutes to make a split in each layer up to her thigh. She hoped that would be sufficient. This method had the advantage that she would still look decent if she encountered anyone else.

  Her instinct was to throw the glass into the corner but she decided to keep it with her, even though the petticoat wrapping was already stained red from where she had cut herself. It wasn’t serious. She wanted to put it in a pocket but she had none until realising it could make its own if she pushed it through her dress and into the corset binding. Not entirely safe, but it freed up her hands.

  Feeling very daring she exposed her legs and rolled over; her bare knees pressed into the ground. She was close to the wall and it was high enough to hide her even on her knees. She crawled as fast as she dared, every now and then touching the glass shard to make sure it remained firmly embedded. She did not relish the thought of running it through her knee if it fell out at the wrong moment.

  There was another tremendous crash from behind her as another part of the house gave way. She knew the soldiers would be distracted by it, so she took a chance and poked her head up.

  With the sinking feeling one gets when one discovers one has done something completely wrong unintentionally, she found herself staring directly at a soldier no more than ten feet away. Since all the lawns sloped down from the house, he was lower than she was and so his head was at a similar height to hers.

  He must have caught her movement and turned. She ducked and in a single half-roll came up tight against the wall. She pulled the shard from her corset and covered her legs, then realised that might be a mistake. She shifted her left leg until she could feel the sun’s heat beating down on her skin.

  If she was lucky he would ignore the idea he had seen something. Or he would come closer and not see her. Or perhaps get called away.

  Luck chose not to favour her. Instead the barrel of his rifle came over the top of wall slowly. Harry moved her left knee out a little more to make sure her leg was fully exposed to the thigh. Even she quavered at something so outrageous; she could not imagine what Mrs Hemingway would think.

  It occurred to her that Mrs Hemingway was in her rooms, in the collapsing house. It seemed unlikely she would have the slightest clue what to do.

  A hand holding the rifle appeared. It was the hand of a younger person, she thought. All the better. She contrived to look unconscious but kept her eyes open a tiny slit. Her glass dagger lay hidden in her hand under a fold of her dress.

  His head came into view, and his eyes were directed at her leg. She felt a blush blooming in her cheeks. For some reason being a redhead meant she blushed far worse than most people.

  The time had come to act. She reached up with her free hand and grabbed him by his collar. She pulled hard. He overbalanced and fell across the wall. She hoped he would not pull the trigger by accident. She lifted her other hand and pressed the glass against his neck, he flinched. She spoke in German.

  “I don’t want to hurt you but we have very little time. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Another part of her home collapsed with the accompanying cacophony.

  “Listen. You are going to drop your rifle and pistol. You will escort me to the far wall as if I am your prisoner. Then I will let you go. Just say yes and then do it; otherwise I will hurt you.”

  He did not bother with the yes. The rifle dropped beside her and then the
handgun.

  She stood carefully, keeping the glass blade at his neck. She grabbed his arm to keep him close and made sure he was aware she could cut into his neck in a trice.

  They walked towards the far wall, away from the house and the other soldiers.

  “Beckhardt!” shouted someone.

  “Is that your name?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll just carry on walking, they won’t shoot because they might hit you so we’re both safe.”

  A bullet ricocheted from the wall as the sound of the shot reached them. Beckhardt jumped. Another error, perhaps they didn’t like him.

  “Please understand I have no ill will towards you,” she said. “But your seniors will not be pleased with you if they think you simply gave in. Isn’t that right?”

  “It is.”

  They reached the wall as another shot, closer, slammed into it.

  “I am sorry,” said Harry. “But this is for your own good.” She stepped away from him and slashed down his arm. The material of his shirt parted as did the skin beneath it. He cried out in pain and blood welled from the wound.

  “Good luck,” she said and once more jumped the wall.

  ix

  Heedless of the glass, she charged down the slope. Gravity pulled her along so fast her legs could almost not keep up. The roof of the barn where they kept the Pegasus rose beyond the trees.

  Harry could see a thin line of smoke wafting upwards; her plane was still hot. Something whined past her ear as a gunshot echoed across the grass.

  There were trees to the right and only a little out of her way, so she cut across into them.

  She did not look behind as it would only slow her down. Luckily, this was her domain. She knew exactly where she was going.

  The trees thickened but she kept running. The level of freedom the split in the dress provided was impressive; it would be perfect if only she weren’t so constricted by the corset. The little air-dock they had for the Pegasus had originally been a barn with a walled area for keeping animals safe from lions and other predators. She and Khuwelsa had inherited it even before her father had given her the Pegasus to silence her pleas for an air-plane.