by Rebecca Diem
“Archie, you know I cannot. They need me. The university is lovely, but this is not my home.”
“Where is home? The Haven is not safe. And you said so yourself, your scheme could be employed from anywhere. Why not Reading?”
“Because it—it just wouldn’t work like that. We separated the crew out of necessity, but it cannot be that way forever. We need our Captain. We’re stronger together.”
Archie sighed, “I know I was a bit of a prat at first. But I’ve seen the way they look up to you, Clara. You have their respect and admiration.” He took her hand, “I’m not trying to dissuade you from your new life. It was against my better judgement that I allowed you to persuade me to leave you on that airship, but you have thrived. I see that now. I just want you to have options.”
Clara smiled, “I did not exactly plan to join up with a pirate crew.”
“Yes, but that was different. Corring is not chasing you; he’s too busy ducking his debtors. He’ll not be mounting a challenge to us anytime soon. And these Tradists, well, I worry, Clara.”
“Can you imagine me returning to the Isle, after all of this? Do the troubles find me or do I seek them out? If it’s the former, then we would be no safer here. I cannot explain why I feel this way. I only know that I must see this through.”
“Very well. Only consider my offer once this storm has passed. Besides, mother will have my head if you don’t start writing your own letters. I’ve covered for you long enough and I’ll not be the one to tell her you’ve taken up with pirates.”
“Do not trouble her! If she’s enjoying France as much as you claim then there is nought to worry her about.”
“Your secrets are yours to tell,” he said smiling.
Clara set out her pilot clothes with her favourite deep purple overskirt, and quickly packed the rest for the next day’s journey. She would miss the idyllic rhythm of their time at Lovelace, but she longed for the next adventure. She wanted to feel the wind brushing her cheeks and tangling her hair. She wanted rope and canvas bruising her ink-stained fingers once again. She knew her own heart, and it belonged to the sky.
Chapter 15: In which our heroine flies to a seabird lair
They were docked at The Royal, the finest of the London tallports. Six levels that stretched into the dense veil of fog that blanketed the city. Clara ran her fingers over the rail of the spoke as they crossed to the central tower, the structure inlaid with Her Majesty’s coat of arms. She was not surprised by Professor Sewell’s warm reception in the city. The woman was famous for her inventions, and although Clara knew she was driven by the science rather than profits, Georgina Jameson Sewell had done well for herself. After securing a promise to visit her factory the next day, the Professor departed to attend to her own business, leaving Clara and Cat to wait for their friends.
They had sent word ahead to Nessa of their travels, deciding the best course of action would be to have her meet them. The Royal was the safest tallport in the London airbours, and they dared not arouse suspicion by having the Professor take them to the docklands.
Finally, they saw the tell-tale blonde hair weaving through the crowds. She stood taller than half the men on the docks, and smiled above the crowd as she drew near.
“Ah, little Cat, I have missed you! Clara, welcome. You made it to London after all,” Nessa smiled.
Clara laughed, realizing that notwithstanding a few detours, her friend was right. They exchanged warm hugs amid the stares of curious onlookers. Nessa was dressed in her full pilot’s regalia. Tight black trousers, with a supple leather vest fitted over her blouse. She had a strange mouthpiece hanging about her neck, a match to the goggles that rested on her head with exquisite detailing in jade.
“A gift, from Marie,” she said, before handing two similar pairs to each of them.
“But what is it for?” asked Clara.
“You’ll need it for where we’re going. Come, I’ll have the porters return for your things. Today, we fly.”
Cat was bouncing with excitement as they traversed the docks, taking a plush, velvet-lined elevator to the upmost level of the tallport. The London particulate was thick at these heights, and Clara soon realized the masks were designed with some sort of filtration system. She breathed easier once it was securely fastened around her nose and mouth. Following Nessa’s instructions, they strapped into the gliders waiting for them and walked to the end of a long tier. Clara felt a thrill run through her. It had been so long since they had flown freely.
Cat went first, showing off her innate ability by turning at the last moment to fall backwards off the spoke with a wave, twisting and banking around to glide above them. Nessa took a short run before launching herself into the aether, catching an updraft to soar upwards. Clara stood with her toes on the edge, feeling the straps of the glider hugging her body. With a smile, she pushed off, diving into the air as she revelled in the sensations. The wings caught a gust and she manoeuvered her way into a position behind Nessa. They made their way upwards, banking little by little without the benefit of the upper breezes, but soon burst through the oppressive haze into clear skies above. And there, the largest airship Clara had ever seen hovered over the city. A great ironclad vessel, with propellers that dwarfed the Captain Duke’s galleon and a balloon that looked as though it could lift an entire city block.
Cat whooped with delight, weaving her glider in acrobatic turns around their party. Clara heard a shout from Nessa, and banked left to follow her as they climbed towards the rear of the ship. Soon she could see the landing platform and shadowed Nessa’s movements to position herself. First was Nessa, who gracefully stepped onto the platform before clearing the way. Next was Clara’s turn. Her approach was a tad too high to mimic her friend’s poise. She caught a draft that pushed her sideways and her heart skipped a beat before she collapsed the glider wings and rolled onto the boards. A hand reached down to assist her, and she looked up into the face of Captain Marie Buchanan.
“That was well done for a first attempt,” she said.
“Practice makes perfect,” Clara replied with a smile.
Cat spun like a dancer as she retracted the wings and landed with her feet planted firmly on the deck, arms akimbo as she took a deep and gratifying sigh.
“And you must be the little Cat I’ve heard so many tales about,” said Captain Buchanan.
Already flushed from the thrill of the flight, the girl blushed further at the attention.
“Captain Buchanan, it’s an honour.”
“The honour is mine. Welcome to the Fregata!”
The two gave the traditional pilot’s handshake, grasping each other by the forearm. After they’d all exchanged pleasantries, the group was escorted through the ship to a finely appointed room with enough chairs for all. Nessa took a seat next to Captain Buchanan.
“I was expecting the Ariadne, but this… I’ve never seen such craft!” said Clara, admiring their surroundings.
“My little Ariadne would not do for the storm season crossings. The Fregata can withstand all. In truth, I suffer in my abundance. So many ships in need of quality pilots,” she replied with a sidelong smile at Nessa.
Clara grinned, pleased with the obvious affection the two had for each other. She supposed she ought to be shocked, but she knew that men held little attraction for her friend. The two were well matched, though Clara doubted even the great Captain Buchanan’s abilities in luring Nessa away from their crew.
“Where is the Captain Duke? Will he not be joining us?” Clara did her best to keep the note of disappointment from her voice.
“His duties have taken him away for the time being,” said Nessa, her expression suspiciously neutral. “At any rate, he has tasked me with filling you in on what we’ve discovered.”
“Well, we have a lot to discuss,” Clara replied, trading a look with Cat as she pulled the drawing from a hidden pocket.
Nessa studied the image, and the accompanying letter.
“Marie, you had better s
end for tea. This will be a long afternoon.”
Hours later, Clara was pacing back and forth as they puzzled over the mystery. The gunpowder, her ex-fiancé, the Tradists, the strange symbol—what did it all mean? The intrigue grew with each discovery. It was clear they were dealing with no simple case of smuggling, but what was the motivation?
“It is not enough,” she sighed. “There is still so much missing. How are we ever to figure out this entanglement?”
“Well, there is a chance we can learn more. Marie?”
“The summit this week is the culmination of the Tradist negotiations I’ve been attending to since my arrival in London. It is the informal meetings where the real decisions are made, however. There will be a salon the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately, I have not been able to secure an invitation, but,” she paused, “We understand the professor you travelled with is well regarded by their company.”
“Professor Sewell? Oh, of course. Let me speak to her, I’m certain arrangements can be made.”
Marie and Nessa exchanged a look.
“Have you told her of the gunpowder? Of any of this?” asked Nessa.
“No. Archie knows, but he thought it best to keep the university uninvolved. He’s quite protective of her.”
“Negotiations are somewhat fraught around the changing nature of international trade. Some are arguing for open borders, others for strict adherence to colonial boundaries. But tensions are growing between the factions and I do not know where your professor falls in all of this. I think it best to avoid mention of the true nature of your visit, if possible.”
“I was not planning to. However, I must say that Professor Sewell has been nothing but gracious and kind to us. She’s helped Trick, Ness. He played for us. There was a time I thought he might never smile again, yet there he was, laughing.”
“That may be so, but we must be careful, Clara. I was as glad to hear of Trick’s progress as you, but we must not let it cloud our judgement.”
“Nessa, she is a friend.”
“Not all friends can be trusted,” she said, with bitter recrimination in her eyes. “Have we not learned?”
Clara felt the flush growing on her neck, “Robbie’s betrayal hurt us all. But we cannot let it harm our ability to see the good in people. I have seen nothing but her sincere motivation to better the world through her inventions.”
“I believe you,” Captain Buchanan interjected, laying a hand on Nessa’s arm to silence her protests. “But for all our sakes, we must be cautious. If you are right, we would not do well to draw Professor Sewell into this quagmire. And if you are wrong, we are left vulnerable to exposure. Think of your crew. Think of Master Tims and those who risk their lives and livelihoods to ensure the common people receive a decent meal. I’ve heard tales of your cleverness, Clara, but it is ruthless intelligence that will keep your loved ones safe in this place.”
The room was thick with silence. Clara struggled with her desire to defend her optimistic perspective, but it clashed with her respect for the two women and their far greater experience of the world.
“I like Professor Sewell, but I don’t trust her.”
Cat spoke up from her position in the corner of the room. She was perched on a chest of drawers, with a plate of exotic fruits beside her, procured by Marie’s pilots who held a soft spot for the pirate girl.
“What do you mean?” Clara asked.
“She sees the world as a problem to fix. Think of it. Archie is well matched to her because he reminds her we’re human. But she needs to be reminded.”
Clara made to dismiss such a ridiculous claim, but her brow furrowed as she recalled how her brother had been the one to explain Trick’s anguish to the inventor.
“In any case,” Captain Buchanan spoke. “We do need her help. Good intentions or not, she is a friend and valuable ally. Clara, I will respect your judgement on this matter, but I would advise patience before revealing our secrets.”
“Your advice is welcome. I will wait until we know more. I will ask her, though, about the salon. I don’t foresee any problems gaining entry for our party.”
“Excellent. Then, shall we dine? It is nearing the supper hour, you must join us.”
Cat hopped off the chest—the growing girl ever eager for a good meal—and they set off to join the pilots in the mess hall. The Fregata’s rooms were surprisingly cozy for an airship of such size, but Captain Buchanan explained how the bulk of the ship’s space went to the cargo holds. Named for a seabird that could soar for days on the wind currents of the Caribbean, the airship was built to withstand months in flight without the need to resupply. It was not until after the meal that Nessa and Clara found a moment to speak alone, while Cat and Captain Buchanan explored the upper decks.
“I am sorry if I caused offence earlier. I have not met the Professor. I should not be so quick to judgement.”
“No, your instincts are correct. We do need to be careful, there are too many unknowns. I wish the Captain was here. If he met her…”
“He will be away for some time I think.”
“How could he leave at a time like this?” she asked, aware that disappointment rang in the tone of her voice.
“He felt it necessary.”
“But the crew! Trick! What could possibly be more important than this?”
Nessa smirked, and went to the rail, staring out over the darkening city.
“I told him you would be unhappy.”
“I—what? Well, of course I am.”
“Because of the crew.”
“Yes, because of the crew. Why else?”
Nessa only smiled, “I think there’s someone you should meet.”
“Who?”
“He’s… a friend.”
Nessa pulled a small notebook and pencil from her pocket and wrote down an address, folding it and handing it to Clara,
“He’ll have the answers you seek.”
Curious, Clara tucked the note into her pocket. Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Cat, jubilant over her tour. Captain Buchanan was teasing Nessa, saying she would steal the budding pilot away from the Captain Duke. This seemed to be an ongoing exchange between the two. If Nessa ever decided to turn legitimate, she had a wealth of opportunities waiting for her.
It struck Clara, that she was so committed to the Captain Duke and their crew she would forfeit such a prospect. But Nessa cared for her work, and it looked as though the affection she shared with Captain Buchanan had sustained itself for years while they were apart. It was as likely to last as any partnership. Clara envied the ease they shared in each other’s company. The deep respect for one another’s chosen path and profession. They returned to the Captain Duke’s airship in the docklands that night. Clara retired early, citing tiredness from the day of travelling, but nursing an inner turmoil of unknown origin.
Chapter 16: In which our heroine courts a gentleman
Clara checked the address twice before mounting the steps to knock on the door of a grand old house. It was a fine neighbourhood, not the most fashionable quarter but a perfectly respectable area. A big, brass knocker announced her presence. She questioned whether she ought to have changed her clothes, but she had flown to call on Professor Sewell that morning, and had not thought to bring an afternoon gown.
First they had visited one of the factories working to produce the Professor’s inventions. Their tour was brief, but the facilities had left an impression. Row upon row of diligent workers, hard at work piecing together the molded metals. The foreman oversaw the operation, walking the length of the hall on a contraption of four spindly legs that lifted him to the height of two men. He had lost both of his own legs while fighting the Boers. Professor Sewell had spoken at length of her desire to see the workhouses empty and the impoverished gainfully employed. Part of the factory was set aside for schooling, offering a free education to the children and siblings of her employees with a focus on mathematics and the foundational study of biomechanical engineering.
They had drawn stares at the hotel where they shared a meal with other scientists; word of the Professor’s visit had evidently spread. There, Professor Sewell said she was more than happy to include Clara’s friends in her entourage for the next evening’s salon, and, with a twinkle in her eye, had been effusive in her insistence that Captain Buchanan join them.
Clara’s last errand was to visit the mystery address. And so, she straightened her jacket and assumed her most charming smile for the butler who answered with a scowl.
“Hello, I’m looking for—”
“The master of the house is not at liberty to receive visitors,” he said, looking her up and down before shutting the door.
Clara frowned, and knocked again, louder. The butler peered out through a crack.
“If you would be so kind, sir, I am only in town for a brief visit and I would be ever so grateful if you would inform your master that I wish to speak with him.”
“And you are?”
“Clara… Whittington,” she said after a pause. Then with a tilt of her chin, “Lady Clara Whittington.”
The butler shrugged and moved to close the door once more.
“Wait, I—Tell him I was sent by the Captain Duke!”
He paused, considering her. Clara gave up the niceties and placed a hand on the door.
“It is of critical importance that I speak to your master, today.”
She injected her stare with all the gravity she could muster.
“This is a respectable household; I’ll have no talk of pirates upsetting him.”
Clara stood firm.
With a grandiose sigh, the butler opened the door, “Very well, you’d better come inside.”
He hurried her into the foyer, setting the latch before leading her down the hall at a brisk pace. He shoved her into a large library with a harsh whisper to stay put before disappearing back into the house. Clara let out her breath in a huff and explored the room.
Tall shelves stretched upwards to meet the high ceiling, framing a large window. Two large, wing-backed armchairs were placed near the fireplace, giving the room a cozy feel. She crossed to pick up a book that had been left on the side table, but froze as she reached for it. The Press and the Public Service by Grenville-Murray, the very book she had given to—
