“Particularly those. Oh, they have ships, for what that’s worth. But they’re the inferior French design, and the engines simply aren’t up to the rigors of the crossing. Too many accidents, too much hemming and hawing and not facing up to the fact that German engineering is superior.”
“Which manly British opinion has nothing to do with Her Majesty’s family connections, of course,” Claire said slyly.
“I am a loyalist, it’s true. But I’m also a realist. As are you, I suspect.” He took his gaze from the course ahead and she met it with only a tiny blush. At least she did not blotch. The heat in her cheeks was not from humiliation; it was merely the acknowledgement of the presence of a companionable mind.
“Sir, we have a pigeon incoming.”
Captain Hollys turned to the young man whose collar insignia would have told Claire he was in charge of communications, if his duties as they left the airfield at Southampton had not already demonstrated it. “Let the aft control room know to open the stern hatch.”
“A pigeon, captain?” They were four days out on either side. How could a bird have flown this far without dying of exhaustion?
“Not a real one,” he assured her with a smile. “It’s simply what we call them for the sake of convenience. Would you like to go aft and see?”
“I would indeed. And I’d like to pay a visit to Tigg in the engine room. I’ve barely seen him the whole voyage.”
“From what I hear, we’d better keep you out of there, or you’ll be tinkering with the engines yourself.” He gave the helm to the first officer, and accompanied her to the ladderlike stair from the gondola beneath the fuselage up to the B deck. “After you, my lady.”
Claire hitched up her workaday blue wool skirts and climbed the ladder nearly one-handed. The captain, gentleman that he was, may have had more of a view of her ankles and calves than she might have intended, but he said not a word. Instead, he guided her up a second stair and onto a catwalk as delicate as a spiderweb, though it appeared to be made of some metal. “This is the main coaxial corridor that traverses the length of the ship,” he said.
“Corridor?” Claire hesitated the briefest of moments, then bravely stepped out onto the catwalk. Below was the network of piping and the thin partial ceilings of the A deck, where Rosie had been trapped. Above were the huge bags of gas, separate from each other but still bigger than any building Claire had ever been in with the exception of Parliament.
“A practical design,” she said, to keep her mind off the space around her.
“It is indeed. If one bag should get into trouble, there are still five to do the work.”
“And if all five get into trouble?”
“We do not like to think of such things, but each member of the crew is trained in what to do.”
“And what should the passengers do?” Dear me. This was no way to keep one’s mind off the two thousand feet of space beneath one’s feet. Perhaps she should change the subject.
“Each member of the crew is assigned a passenger, my lady. I, of course, am assigned to his lordship, the chief steward to her ladyship and Lord Will.”
“And I?”
“You are under the care of the chief engineer, which I believe to be singularly appropriate.”
“The children?”
“It is unlikely the girls will be separated from you, so I have assigned Mr. Yau to them as well. Young Mr. Terwilliger is unlikely to be separated from him, so you make a party of four. The lad Jake will go with my communications officer.”
“And Rosie?”
Behind her, the captain’s step hitched. “Rosie? Is there another in your party of whom I am unaware?”
“Rosie was spirited aboard the vessel by the twins. She is a red hen of singular ability. Though she can fly, I fear two thousand feet may prove too much even for her.”
“You don’t say.” The captain took a moment to absorb this information. “A hen.”
“She is not to be eaten.”
“Of course not. I will inform Mr. Yau that he is responsible for a party of five, then.”
“And what do these responsibilities include, if I may ask?” If one were falling out of the sky at some horrific rate, she did not see that any action on the part of the crew would help the situation.
She had counted five gas bags. The sixth loomed ahead, so they were nearly to the stern. She turned to get her answer.
Captain Hollys practically ran into her. “I do beg your pardon, my lady.” Now it was his turn to be flustered, as he set her away from him on the narrow catwalk and stepped back a respectable distance. His cheeks were ruddy, but whether it was because she had embarrassed him or because he was used to standing in rushing wind and sunshine, she did not know. “What was your question?”
She had nearly forgotten herself. Dear, dear. “The responsibilities of each crew member,” she finally recalled. “What are they, if we are falling into the sea?”
“Ah. Firstly, you will not fall. Even if all six gas bags come to grief, enough gas will remain to make it more of a long glide, with a gentle landing.”
She frowned at him. “This seems difficult to imagine.” Anyone who read a newspaper knew of the fatal mishaps that balloonists sometimes experienced. Gentle gliding did not seem to be a feature of such stories.
“You are thinking of balloons, I see.” He had regained his composure, and indicated that she should precede him down the ladder. The engine noise was much louder here, and he raised his voice. “The physics are quite different with a zeppelin. It is merely a matter of collecting one’s valuables, strapping on a small rocket pack, and leaping to safety once the ground is within a one-hundred-foot range.”
“Good heavens. Are we permitted to practice with these devices?”
“The Lady Lucy has never gone down in a decade of flight,” he said as he jumped the last of the steps and showed her into the engine gondola. “I do not expect that record to change this week. The rocket packs are merely a precaution. They are tested periodically by the middies, but no one has ever actually had to use one.”
Claire fervently hoped that this was not a case of famous last words.
Mr. Yau, who wore his dress blue uniform with an interesting sash of intricate knots worked in red silk cord, looked up and straightened into a salute as they stepped into the gondola. It was smaller than the control gondola forward, but still held a dizzying array of equipment, including the controls for both engines and all six gas bags within the fuselage.
Captain Hollys returned the salute. “I have brought Lady Claire to see the pigeon and Mr. Terwilliger, Jack.”
Mr. Yau nodded. “I sent one of the midshipmen to fetch it. Tigg?”
A black curly head popped out of the space behind a console. “Sir?”
“Is that pulley assembly fixed?”
“Yes, sir. Good as new.”
“You have visitors.”
Claire smiled at him, conscious of his pleasure at this attention to his duties. “I will not keep you from your work, Tigg. But I hear good reports of you from Captain Hollys.”
His coffee-colored skin suffused with a blush and he ducked his head wordlessly. With a mumble, he vanished through a door. The sound of engines increased and softened as the door closed behind him.
“A good little chap, that,” Mr. Yau said as a boy in a sailor collar scrambled down the ladder with a device under his arm. “I’d be tempted to offer him a job if he wanted one.”
“He acted as a laboratory assistant until very recently,” Claire said. “I would be loath to lose him, but of course a man must forge his own career.” In point of fact, an opportunity to learn his trade under the care of one of the most powerful families in the land—in the world, if one counted their holdings in the Canadas—merited careful consideration. “If you are serious, I could have a word with him.”
“I’m quite serious,” Mr. Yau said. “All the middies up to the age of sixteen receive instruction in reading, penmanship, navigation, and mathe
matics from Mr. Skully. His education would not go a-begging because of his duties here. Isn’t that right, Mr. Colley?”
“Yes sir,” the boy piped. “Here’s the pigeon, sir.”
Claire examined the device with interest. A combination of propellers and articulated wings for gliding made up most of it, with a cell on top that in some ways resembled the power cell in her own lightning rifle. “It is not propelled by steam?”
“No, ma’am,” the boy said, evidently under the impression she was asking him. “It’s a sun cell.” At her raised eyebrows, he explained, “It gets its power from the sun, and when it’s cloudy, there’s enough stored to make the props and wings go. The mail’s in here.”
He flipped it over and opened a compartment emblazoned with the emblem of the Royal Mail, now filled with rolls of paper.
“How on earth did it find us?”
“Magnetic signal, same as the land post,” the boy said. “Milady, there’s something here for you.”
“For me?” She unrolled it eagerly. “Poor Lewis has no doubt written to tell me Rosie is missing.” But it was not from Lewis. It was from Andrew, and the news it held made the blood drain from her head.
“Lady Claire!”
The captain, ever gallant, caught her just in time.
Chapter 3
“In the Texican Territory.” Lady Dunsmuir could not seem to wrap her mind around the astounding news as she pressed the smelling salts into Claire’s hand yet again. “Lord James Selwyn has absconded with the device. To the Americas.”
Claire put the smelling salts firmly on the table. She was quite recovered. Embarrassed, yes. Determined not to lace her corset quite so tightly in future, yes. But quite recovered physically, thank you very much.
Mentally, she was having nearly as difficult a time as Lady Dunsmuir.
“Andrew Malvern—my erstwhile employer in the laboratory—evidently took the next airship after him in an attempt to recover it. But my goodness, the Americas are enormous. How will he discover them?”
“I imagine he’ll head for Santa Fe.” The earl shook a map out of a brass tube and unrolled it on the low table in front of the sofa. “New York and Philadelphia—” He pointed to the two largest cities of the Fifteen Colonies on the eastern seaboard. “—are where the railroad barons have begun building mansions, but if this is a group of Texicans looking for some kind of coup with your device, they’ll be in Santa Fe.” He indicated a dot in the middle of a large area marked TEXICAN TERRITORY and colored a faded red. “That’s the capital of a territory that runs from the border of the Canadas all the way down to Mexico City.” His finger slid from one edge of the map to the other.
“But they will have to put down in New York,” Lady Dunsmuir said. “That is the entry point for the Americas—not to mention the only airfield on the entire coast capable of handling the traffic. They must declare themselves and their cargo and receive traveling papers or be considered pirates. And of course they must take on kerosene for their engines and supplies and the like.”
Claire fingered the letter in the pocket of her skirt. “Andrew’s message was dated the day we left London. Do you suppose we shall arrive at the same time?” What a joy it would be to see his familiar face—and to find out if, perhaps, she might assist him in his mission. After all, as he had said, that power cell was hers and the children’s, no matter whose name was on the patent. If anyone was going to profit by the sale of it, it should be them, not James.
On the other hand, she had gone to great lengths to remove herself from James’s orbit, where he could not touch her or force her to be his wife. She must continue on with the Dunsmuirs to the Canadas, as planned, far from Santa Fe. Andrew was perfectly capable of managing on his own.
“No telling if we’ll arrive before or after Persephone,” his lordship said. “We haven’t been pushing the ship or attempting any speed records. Captain Hollys has been holding us back because of the hurricane.”
All four children looked up. “Hurricane?” Lizzie said. “Wot’s that?”
“You know how the water behaves when you pull the drain plug in the tub?” Lady Dunsmuir asked. When Lizzie nodded, she said, “Imagine the water is air and we a very tiny rubber duck, and you have a hurricane, more or less. It’s an enormous storm that spells disaster for any zeppelin. We are forced to stay well clear of it.”
“This rubber duck is going to stay far north of their brewing grounds in the Bermudas and the southernmost of the Fifteen, you may be assured of that,” said Captain Hollys, entering the room in time to hear. “My lord, might I have a word?”
“What is it, Ian?”
The captain kept his gaze on his employer. “In private.”
“Good heavens. If you and Jack have been gambling again, I’m not advancing your wages.”
“It’s not that, sir.” The gravity of his tone and the absence of a smile caused a flicker of unease to dart through Claire’s stomach. The two men stepped into the corridor and Lady Dunsmuir distracted the children by pulling out the Chinese checkerboard and a fat bag of marbles.
Most of the children. Not all.
Claire caught Lizzie’s eye and glanced toward the door. Lizzie got up and drifted toward the serving pantry, aimless as a cloud and harmless as a dove.
They had already discovered the pantry contained three doors, one of which led into the corridor. There was even a dumb waiter apparatus to transport food from the galley below on B deck to the dining saloon. The fact that it transmitted sound as efficiently as it did filet of sole and steamed vegetables was an advantage, if you had an interest in gathering as much information about the goings-on among the crew as you could.
Lizzie, Claire knew, had quite an interest.
In fact, she must ask her to find out about these rocket packs as soon as possible.
When Lady Dunsmuir and Willie later retired to their cabin for afternoon naps, Lizzie and Maggie appeared in Claire’s own doorway with eyes that told her they had news. Claire ushered them in and removed Rosie from Maggie’s shoulder, setting her on the nightstand with a saucer of water.
“Well?”
“I didn’t understand most of it, Lady.” She exchanged a wordless glance with her sister. “Wot’s diversionary tactic and circumnavigate?”
“The first is a dodge and the second a runaround.”
“Ah. Then that’s wot Cap’n Hollys wants to do.”
“Why? Is he dodging the storm?”
“Not only. Seems there’s a ship off our stern that’s been behavin’ bad. Captain don’t like it.”
“They’re probably doing the same as we are—avoiding the storm.”
“That’s wot ’is lordship said. But Cap’n don’t think so. ’E thinks it’s pirates, Lady.”
“Pirates!” She had heard of them, of course. Wherever there was wealth in transit, it seemed, there were those who wanted to skim off a little for themselves. To take rather than earn. But the Lady Lucy had been plying the skies for years. Surely Captain Hollys knew what to do.
“So ’e says, Lady. We ent near so high as we were off the Seychelles—an we’ll make landfall tonight, ’e says. Just not in New York.”
“How did we not know of this?”
“They think we’re just girls,” Maggie said with scorn. “Ent no pirate ’alf as nasty as the Cudgel, I’ll bet—you put paid to ’im an’ you’re a girl.”
“But Maggie, that was with the assistance of the lightning rifle. I can’t use that aboard ship. An inch too close to the fuselage and we’ll go up in an explosion they’ll see all the way to New York.”
Lizzie sat on Claire’s bunk and tucked her feet up under her dress. “I knew I should’ve stayed wiv Lewis and the others.”
“We must consult with Jake tonight when the family is asleep,” Claire said after a moment’s thought. “He’s been in the gondola, so he must know what’s going on. In the meantime, pack your kit and let Tigg know, too.”
“Pack?” Maggie repeated. “Wot
for?”
“Just in case.”
“Lady, you don’t think t’ship’ll go down?” Lizzie’s eyes grew huge.
“Of course not. Captain Hollys is an experienced airman and our waiters in white gloves have an air of competence that suggests they know more than merely which side to serve on. But it does not hurt to be prepared.”
Lizzie looked as though she wanted to ask what she was to be prepared for, but she did not.
When they found him in the dining saloon some hours later, Jake did not have much more to tell them. “We’re way north of New York now,” he reported, wolfing down a cream-filled biscuit. “Dodgin’ that ship and waitin’ for t’storm to pass over New York. Can’t moor till it blows itself out.”
“I saw the cloud bank as the sun went down,” Claire said. “I’ve never been in the sky to see a storm before. It’s much more frightening up here than it would be tucked up in a warm library.”
“Captain plans to circle around and come at New York from the west.” Jake mumbled something else and stuffed a plum in his mouth whole.
“What was that, Jake?”
“Nuffink.”
“I quite distinctly heard you say something about fuel.”
“We’d ’ave enough if we’d just quit this dodgin’ and backtrackin’ and fire something at those rascals.”
Claire’s stomach did a dip and twirl that had nothing to do with the ship’s trim. “So let me understand you correctly. We are not only illegally flying in American air space, we are the target of sky pirates and are running out of fuel. Would you say that was accurate?”
“Lady Claire.”
She choked on a scone covered in cream and turned to see the earl not six feet away. “Your lordship,” she said when she could speak. “What are you doing here?”
“I hope you do not expect me to sleep when my family and guests are in—” He stopped.
“Danger?”
“We are in no danger at present.”
“But we could be, if that ship gets down to business and our engines give out.”
He eyed her. “You are singularly well informed, though I would appreciate it if you would not say such things in front of the children.”
Magnificent Devices Page 2
