by Rob J. Hayes
“There’s no wind,” Bastien pointed out.
“She flies under her own power,” Gaston said.
“Turbine?” Bastien asked.
“Thruster,” Gaston said with a toothy grin.
Of course there had been attempts to produce viable thrusters before but as with the alchemical welding torches they had always been horribly inefficient and worse, dangerous. Jacques was not certain how much Bastien should know and so made certain his face remained blank.
“Using an alchemically altered form of the gas that we now use in welding torches,” Captain Cervantes explained, “we have managed to build a stable form of thruster propellant allowing for faster airship travel than ever before. We have tested it of course but The Northern Sunrise will be the first airship to actually house thruster engines.”
“The gas comes from Turlain,” Bastien mused.
“Fairly poetic, wouldn’t you agree,” Duc Lavouré cooed.
“Are we allowed a tour?” Adeline asked. “Or did you bring us here only to congratulate you on the size of your ship?”
Bastien smiled, Lavouré gaped in amusement and Captain Cervantes near bent over laughing at the innuendo.
“Of course,” Gaston said eventually. “Please follow me.
“I feel I should apologise for the actions of Thibault.”
“I feel that would be both warranted and conducive to our relationship,” Adeline said in a cold voice.
Gaston coughed. “Indeed. He has… not been entirely himself of late. He sees treachery at every corner and on every face. He seemed to think you were a fraud and a spy and sought to prove it in a most final fashion. I apologise and thank you for sparing him.”
Bastien opened his mouth to reply but Adeline got there first.
“Is he alright?”
“Wounded both in body and pride but he will live. I didn’t expect you to show him any compassion, Adeline. He did try to kill your husband.”
“Many people have tried, Gaston,” Adeline responded quickly. “I myself have considered the act more than once. Thankfully Bastien is as good as his reputation.”
“Please stop,” Bastien said with unfeigned honesty as they started up the cargo ramp onto The Northern Sunrise. The ship moved, only slightly and very lazily but when he looked for it it was there. No doubt it was as steady as a rock while in the air but here in its watery berth the ship was at the mercy of lac Fren.
Gaston gave them the full tour of the airship starting on the fore engineering section where Bastien witnessed up close for the first time all the equipment and electronics that allowed an airship its flight, not to mention a Vinet crystal. He had of course seen a crystal before but that had been only the size of a marble, the Vinet crystals that gave The Northern Sunrise its flight were the size of carriages.
After the engineering section they moved through the crew quarters. They were immaculately clean and smelled strongly of alchemical disinfectant. Cervantes assured them that in no time at all the area would smell even more strongly of sweat and boot polish, he then quickly apologised to Adeline at the image but the Baroness simply rolled her eyes at the man’s assumption of her fragility.
By the time they had toured the cannon mounts on the starboard side of the ship, all twenty-four of them, it was well past noon and the Duc called for a repast on the main deck of the ship. A wonderful picnic was served to them by the Duc’s ever belligerent and ancient servant, Percy. After lunch, and the conversation regarding possible uses for a warship such as The Northern Sunrise, during which both the Duc and the Captain stayed firmly clear of the possibility that it might be used against the Turlains; they were finally allowed to visit the bridge.
“Have you ever seen an airship control console before?” Gaston asked as they stepped into the bridge.
Adeline shook her head and wondered over to stare out the window at the lake beyond.
“I’m afraid not,” said Bastien though in truth he had looked over more than a few schematics including that of the first airship ever built.
“Then you will not be truly able to understand the genius that has gone into the design of this ship,” Gaston continued with an excited grin. “Normally a console would cover roughly three to four times this amount of space even on the smallest of airships.”
The bridge was large enough for a good twenty people with space to move and a large table for charts but the control console took up a frighteningly small section of that. A single chair sat at the front of the bridge near the window and in front of that a trio of sticks rose up from the floor, beyond the sticks was a metal panel with a variety of switches, gauges, lights and dials all easily accessible from the single chair.
“I was given to believe we piloted airships with a wheel,” Bastien said in surprise.
Gaston clapped a tobacco stained hand on Bastien’s shoulder. “We used to, my friend, we used to. It was a horribly inefficient way of piloting something that flies through the air but a throwback to times upon the sea and one no engineer had ever thought to change.”
“Until you?” Bastien asked.
“Indeed!”
“And the three sticks?”
The Duc nodded sagely. “Altitude, navigation and thrust.”
Captain Cervantes stepped forward and put a gentle hand on the back of the pilot seat. “Until The Northern Sunrise airships needed four pilots working in unison, it was… inefficient and at times dangerous. Duc Lavouré has designed this ship to operate under the piloting of just one person. The change takes a lot of getting used to and any pilot wishing to undertake the responsibility must be completely retrained but this is the future of aeronautics.”
The Duc coughed. “There are still a few kinks to be worked out.”
“Such as?”
With a look bordering on a pout the Duc fished in his pocket and pulled out his pipe, packing it with tobacco as he spoke. “The mechanism that should control the positioning of the struts doesn’t work. As the ship can fly higher than a normal airship the anti-gravity field generated by each crystal grows in size, the mechanism is supposed to read the altitude and, based upon my own calculations, automatically position the struts as to find the best balance for the crystals. Only it doesn’t work.”
Bastien nodded. “That sounds a fairly fatal flaw.”
“I’m working to fix it,” Gaston assured him as he put the pipe to his mouth and lit it from the match Cervantes offered. “But it takes time and certain members of the Royal Navy are pressuring us to show off the ship before she is ready.”
“But she’ll crash,” Adeline pointed out gravely without turning away from the window.
“Oh no,” Gaston said affronted. “Nothing that sensational. The whole ship is supposed to fly under the efforts of a single pilot only currently it also requires an additional crew member down in the engineering section to manually adjust the crystal struts according to the current altitude.”
“The admirals want a grand unveiling and they’ve given the Duc sixteen days to get it working,” Cervantes said.
“I’ve been working on the problem for a hundred days and I’m still no closer,” Gaston complained sucking on his pipe with a sulky set to his mouth. “I need more time.”
“One way or another she will fly though,” Cervantes continued. “And I will fly her.”
“I look forward to seeing that, Captain…” Bastien started before the Duc cut him off.
“I have another matter we need to discuss, Bastien. You may have heard I’m throwing a benefit support soon. I need you to attend and I need you to publicly throw in behind my candidate for the position. Your name is starting to travel in some powerful circles these days and your opinion carries some weight. Can I count on you?”
Bastien let slip a slow smile but it was Adeline who answered. “I assure you, Gaston, you have both of our complete support.”
Chapter 22 – That One More Last Job
“It all seems a bit too easy,” Jacques said staring at all
the items he needed to take with him.
“What does?” Franseza asked.
“Getting in, of course,” Jacques replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. Franseza Goy was a blunt instrument and would be little to no help during either the night or the preparation for it. “Usually there would be walls to climb or guards to bribe or vicious hounds to circumvent preferably without being used as a carnal relievement tool.”
“I don’t believe that’s a real word,” Isabel said sulkily. Jacques shot a glare at her back until she turned around forcing him to stare at the ceiling and pretend he hadn’t been looking at her at all. For close to a month she had barely spoken a word to him beyond planning this night’s job and he found he was desperately missing the ‘old’ Isabel.
“So what’s the problem?” Franseza asked.
“We’re on the bloody guest list,” Jacques said with exasperation. “Removes half the fun.”
“Not all of us are,” Amaury said grumpily.
Jacques looked over at the Seigneur’s professional thug and stifled a laugh. Amaury Roache was dressed in the garb of a high-to-do contract waiter. The benefit Duc Lavouré was throwing for his candidate was not a small affair and the household simply didn’t keep enough servants on staff to adequately serve all the guests; as such they had been hiring contract waiters for weeks. Seigneur Daron had documents forged and referrals arranged and Amaury had been hired. He looked more than a little comical in his black suit with its long coat tails and that funny little cravat that all the servants were apparently wearing.
“You look positively fetching,” Jacques said in an overly smug tone.
“You look like you want throwing out of a window,” Amaury shot back.
“You look…” Jacques started.
“Stop it! Both of you,” Isabel cut in impatiently. “Amaury you look perfect, the suit fits you well.”
Amaury beamed. Jacques sneered. Franseza laughed.
Seigneur Daron limped into the room with a grimace. Quite where the man had come from was a mystery to Jacques as the door from which he had appeared led only to the Baron’s private bed chamber.
“Is everybody ready?” he asked, eyeing each of his employees with intense scrutiny.
“Just about,” Amaury complained, rearranging his collar.
Jacques picked up his pistol, twirled it dramatically around his finger, and slotted it into his holster with a grin. “Ready and set.”
Isabel gave Franseza a nod who proceeded to tighten the cords at the back of her bodice and tie them into place. “Perfect,” Isabel wheezed with a grimace.
“Good,” the Seigneur continued. “Do this right and it will be the last time the Baron and Baroness Bonvillain are needed.”
“And then we get paid,” Jacques prompted.
“And then you get paid,” the Seigneur assured him rather unconvincingly.
“Excellent,” Jacques said, offering Isabel his arm. “Shall we?”
Isabel walked away without him.
“You’re late!” the old man pointed a bony finger at Amaury. It took a lot of effort not to reach out and snap that same bony finger. Instead he pulled a pocket watch from his jacket and looked at the time.
“No I’m not, I’m ten minutes early,” he said slowly.
“You’re not in charge here,” the old man said. “I’m Duc Lavouré’s personal manservant and if I say you’re late, you’re late.”
Amaury glanced back at the five contract servants waiting behind him. “Just me or all of us?” he asked slowly to a couple of hissed words behind him threatening him to leave them out of it.
“Just you,” the old man said with venom.
Amaury swallowed his pride with monumental effort. “Yes sir. I shall attempt to make up for my tardiness.”
“Your cravat is wonky,” the old man continued.
Amaury attempted to look down at the annoying neck ornament but discovered his substantial chin was firmly in the way. With surprising speed the old servant’s hands shot out towards Amaury’s neck and quickly rearranged the cravat into a more suitable position.
“Thank you, sir,” Amaury said warily.
“Good,” the old servant replied, apparently mollified by Amaury’s subservience. “Report to Lauren in the kitchen, she’ll supply you with your job for the evening. Next,” and with that Amaury found himself dismissed and gained entrance into the Lavouré mansion. It was both easier and far more painful than he had imagined.
Amaury had been inside a great many of Rares’ mansions, both those belonging to nobility and mercantile. It was amazing how many places the tunnels under the city led to and just as amazing how many folk didn’t know there were secret passages leading directly into their own homes. The Lavouré mansion, however, did not have any such tunnel and so it was a place Amaury had never been before, which to his mind simply made it all the more exciting.
He followed a slip of a serving girl carrying an empty silver tray; she gave him an odd backwards glance followed by a stunning smile that might have made Amaury’s heart miss a beat had he not been obsessed with Isabel de Rosier.
“You’re new,” the girl said in a quiet voice.
“Contract staff,” Amaury replied with a nod. “I’m supposed to be looking for the kitchen.”
The girl gave him a sly grin. “They’ve not given you a job yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Follow me,” and with that she was off down a side corridor that did not look like it led towards a kitchen.
With a resigned sigh Amaury followed after the girl appreciating the view as he did. His heart might belong to de Rosier but that didn’t mean his eyes couldn’t wander, especially as de Rosier seemed determined not to return his affections. With grim satisfaction Amaury imagined giving Revou the beating of a lifetime in front of de Rosier. After this job was done he might just carry out that beating, just as soon as the Seigneur had no more need of the little thief.
“In here,” the serving girl said and Amaury realised she had stopped and opened a heavy wooden door. He peered inside.
“It’s a closet,” he said dumbly.
The girl let out a devilish giggle. “You catch on quick,” she said as she pushed him inside and followed him in, shutting the door behind them.
“… contrition,” Jacques said.
Isabel snorted, a very unladylike act she was well aware but right now there was nobody around to see and she didn’t feel much like being the Baroness. “You don’t know how to be contrite.”
Jacques threw up his hands and kicked a handful of gravel away as though taking his frustration out on the little stones would do any good. Isabel was well aware having an argument in the middle of the Lavouré grounds during a period when guests could be arriving at any moment was most certainly not a good idea but it also happened to be the time they were having it and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to vent herself upon Jacques.
“All I’m saying is it would be nice if you could at least show some of the love you claim to have for me,” Jacques said rounding on Isabel and planting his feet like a bull about to charge.
“If I didn’t love you why would I be angry?” Isabel asked her voice raising an octave.
“Why are you angry?” Jacques asked, his voice rising even higher than hers.
“Is everything OK?” asked the voice of Joudain de Roe.
Both Isabel and Jacques rounded on him together.
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
That was the problem with having heated arguments in the middle of social situations; they rarely remained private even when hissed through whispered voices, and the path leading up to the main entrance to the Lavouré mansion was hardly the most secluded of areas.
The Marquis nodded slowly. “I only ask because a few of the Duc’s guests are starting to worry about the couple almost coming to blows in the front garden and with you two it’s likely any altercation will end in bullets.” Joudain smiled to try to ease the pressure thou
gh in truth it was nearly the worst thing he could have said. The last thing Isabel needed was another reminder of the damned duel.
“It’s fine,” Bastien assured the Marquis while Isabel forced the Baroness’ mask back on. “Just a… misunderstanding.”
“About what?” Joudain asked allowing Bastien to lead him away.
“I have no idea,” Bastien replied.
Adeline let her face soften into more genteel lines and followed along behind the two men. They were well and truly into the job now and Isabel would have to stay hidden for the duration lest their cover be blown on the very night of their heist. She would play the part and do her job and then afterwards she would damn well finish their argument.
“We’ll have to spend a while participating in the meet and greet,” Jacques said. It was the night before the job and he finally had his intricate plan all in place, it was time for the others to learn their parts. “The Baron and Baroness Bonvillain will spend some time being sociable and, more importantly, public.”
“You want everyone to know we’re there,” Isabel said. Jacques met her eyes for an instant and paled from the hostility he saw there.
“I don’t want any suspicion falling on the Bonvillains,” Jacques continued. “Everyone must know we are there but not realise when I am not.”
“When you’re not?” Isabel asked in flat tones.
“I need you running interference, Bel,” Jacques said.
“A distraction?” she asked. “Isn’t the plan a two-man job?”
“Precisely!” Jacques grinned. “Two-man, and I cannot believe I’m actually going to say this, but I will be running the job with Amaury.”
“What?” Amaury asked perking up from his seat behind the desk. Up until that moment he had seemed disengaged and far more interested in staring at Isabel through the brandy glass in his hand as though no one would notice his real attentions.
“You and I, Amaury. Pulling a job. Together.” Jacques let a smug smile slip onto his face. “Unless you can’t handle the pressure.”
“The Seigneur said to help, this seems to be a bit more than helping, Revou. I’m no thief.”
