by Sadie Swift
The idle chatter and occasional nervous screams of my fellow tea partakers died down while serving staff continued to clear the broken crockery and wipe the floor.
“Thank you. As some of you may know, I am Captain Nansen, in charge of this vessel. It is my sad duty to inform you that one of our engines has taken damage from the storm, and I have taken the decision to land to effect repairs before we continue our journey.”
My fellow diners took this news with dismay, whereas my joyful heart flew up into the swaying chandelier-covered ceiling.
“The nearest airship docks to our position are those in Venice.”
I’m sure someone shouted with delight. I have a sneaking suspicion it was me, due to the looks aimed in my direction. I was quite surprised they could hear me over the storm and engine noise.
Naturally I’d never been to Venice before, just as previously I’d never been in Cairo before (never mind the being worshipped as a Living God aspect). But the name had strong romantic allusions to my mind. I didn’t really mind where we landed, just as long as I could get my feet back onto Terra firma again. But Venice! I could perhaps visit the mechanical marvel being used to prevent the city sinking further into the swamp! I’d read snippets from the newspapers that they’d begun experimenting with aether-powered machinery.
I took a celebratory sip of my tea and smiled warmly at Sir Percival. I was sure the things growing in his beard would appreciate the cake.
“We should be landing within the hour. Weather permitting.” Captain Nansen gave a half-hearted little laugh at his witticism and escaped back through the door.
“Venice,” I said to Sir Percival, my eyes glittering with unsuppressed excitement.
“Indeed.”
I was so excited I overlooked his surreptitious beard-munching and thoughtful look out of the cloud-infested windows.
Venice! How much fun could a mechanically-minded girl have there? I would be unwavering in my quest to find out!
Two
Determined to be first off the airship and to investigate the sights of Venice, I harried Sir Percival unmercifully with my trusty umbrella (much to his annoyance) into speedily getting ready for the landing. I’d quickly changed into my dark green travelling dress and hat and hoped there was a high tide so the machinery, said to be one of the modern mechanical Wonders of the World, would be put to use.
Before us at the disembarkation point stood two large wooden doors with, in front of them, two burly crewmen looking all spick and span in their white uniforms. So far they’d successfully ignored Sir Percival’s romantic overtures, whether because they didn’t understand him or had no interest in someone quite so hairy I didn’t enquire.
The sound of grumbling from our fellow passengers came from behind me. It appeared that even though they were unhappy about their journey being delayed they still wanted to see the sights as I did. I gave those that attempted to usurp our place at the head of the line a menacing twirl of my umbrella and a meaningful glare. They soon thought twice about their actions.
I glanced through the windows at our destination as we came into land. The red tiled rooves shone wetly and the sun threatened to show its face through the thinning dark storm clouds. It looked delightful, although wet.
Holding onto the railing, I felt, more than heard, the sound of the remaining engines throttling back as we neared the airship dock. Various incoherent shouts came to us as the crew and those on the dock below told each other what to do.
And then we bounced, and settled. We were down.
Impatiently I waited for the crewmen to open the doors and let me explore Venice. Were they waiting for something? But what? I silently fumed, imagining sticking the business-end of my umbrella somewhere they wouldn’t like so they’d open the doors.
A loud voice interrupted my musings, “Ladies and gentlemen!” I turned, it was the Captain again, looking relieved that the airship wouldn’t take any more damage. “I apologise for delaying your visit. I felt it necessary to make enquiries about when we could depart after making repairs. And I’m happy to say that we should be airborne again in only a few hours.”
A few glad voices met this announcement, but not mine. Botheration! Only a few hours? What could I see in that short time?
The Captain nodded to the crewmen who unlocked the doors, and successfully avoided Sir Percival’s last attempt to attract their attention as I dragged him down the wooden gangplank.
The smell of freshly washed warm air met us and I took a deep lungful. It appeared that the storm had broken, leaving just a very wet city, that was already wet. Although Venice was a major urban area it hadn’t succumbed, or rather couldn’t succumb, to the mass transit steam-engine system of London, mainly because of the ubiquitous canals. It was rather splendid after suffering through the smoggy air of London and the oppressive heat of Cairo.
I looked round in case any ancient Gods took an interest in me, and listened out for the sound of screams, but it just seemed very busy place.
One thing I’d always dreamt of doing as soon as I’d even learned Venice existed was to ride on a Gondola. Perhaps I could combine that with a visit to the building housing Venice’s mechanical saviour?
So it was that I, with Sir Percival firmly in hand, headed to the first person in a uniform on the ground and said, “Gondola?”
After his first confused sight of my pink hair poking out from under my hat he smiled and indicated with his arm what at first appeared to be a dip in the ground where people’s heads bobbed up and down.
I smiled my thanks and gripped Sir Percival’s arm tightly, tearing him away from making a fool of himself by eyeing up after another male in uniform.
“But Miss Lovelady!” he protested.
“We have but a few short hours, Sir Percival!”
“I know, But–!”
Naturally I ignored him and looked to find a likely contender to convey us through the historic canals.
In a somewhat strange repeat of our arrival at Cairo with the camel-wranglers, as soon as the gondoliers spied us they cried out for us to partake of their services. I noticed with a jaundiced eye that none were of the female persuasion. Bushy moustaches, straw hats with red and blue ribbons down the back, and horizontal-striped tops seemed to be the uniform of choice. Their determination to gain our attention appeared to cheer Sir Percival up no end after his lack of success with the crewmen earlier. Maybe he would strike lucky, like I did in Cairo with the most delightfully attentive Shemei and Hasina?
Like a runner sprinting to the tape one sprightly chap with a dark tanned complexion and a very large bushy black moustache jumped from boat to boat until he burst through the yelling throng and made great show of jumping onto the dock and bowing deeply at us. I glanced at Sir Percival to gauge his thoughts and noticed him eyeing the man’s muscular chest as he rose back up. It must have been a consequence of all that rowing that he looked to be a well-built fellow.
Now that I was achieving one of my dreams I felt rather magnanimous to Sir Percival and decided to take up the man’s offer, hoping I wouldn’t rue my decision later.
“Sir Percival? The cost?” I whispered to his un-listening ear.
“Later, later,” he murmured in reply, whether to mean he’d answer me later, or something he was fervently wishing to do later with the gondolier, I didn’t wish to clarify. And as he was seemingly going to pay I didn’t press the issue.
With grumbles from his fellow boat-wranglers our chap retrieved his boat and brought it to the canal side.
“Laydee,” the gondolier said in gruff heavily accented English, taking my hand and helping me down and settle into his bobbing craft. His eyes seemed to sparkle as they took in my pink hair, which I was rather used to these days. “An’ gennelman,” he added, taking Sir Percival’s forearm and making sure he was seated next to me.
Inwardly I sighed at Sir Percival’s obvious perkiness.
“We only have a few hours?” I appraised our chap.
&
nbsp; “Si, si,” was the gruff reply as he poled us off along the canal.
“Now, now Miss Lovelady, mustn’t distract the fellow. Must be dashed tricky navigating these canals, y’know.”
Words failed me, just as Sir Percival failed to see the look of shock on my face at his comment. The gondolier apparently hadn’t as he choked a cough out. A little voice in my head told me that this chap bore some scrutiny.
“San’ Mark Square?” the chap asked our destination, suggesting one of the main tourist areas.
But I replied, “The Venice Preservation Society building.”
He seemed rather taken aback, but I saw him glance at my hair and seemingly nod slightly to himself. “Si. I take you quick no tourista route. Si?”
“Please.”
I settle back to live my dream.
Three
Our gondolier seemed to have memorised the whole of the history of Venice as he gutturally regaled us with stories of who lived where and what the buildings were used for while we passed them on the gentle waves.
“I say, we don’t know your name?” said Sir Percival, turning round and interrupting the chap.
If I hadn’t already been suspicious I’d have missed the little start he gave and the slightly tighter grip on the long oar.
“My, er name is Fran er… cesco, Francesco, si. See, verra old houses, si?” he added gesticulating at the walls surrounding us with a free hand.
Well, if that wasn’t a useless attempt to deflect the conversation I didn’t know what was.
“And do you live near here?” Sir Percival continued relentlessly, and possibly smiling, although I admit it is rather difficult to tell what with the amount of facial hair he has.
Normally I’d have poked Sir Percival with my umbrella for being particularly annoying, but I too want to hear the answer.
“No, I live, er, many mile thataway,” his hand flung out a direction, and I knew he was lying. There may be several reasons for that, the main one, of course being avoiding Sir Percival’s romantic interest. But as nothing untoward seems to be happening I decide to let it ride and just enjoy the journey. Thankfully Sir Percival also got the hint and ceased his interrogation of the poor chap.
Perhaps not wanting to encourage more personal questions Francesco desists his tourist patter, which I didn’t mind as with the gentle rocking of the boat and clouds scudding across the narrow sky above the three-storied houses, the journey seemed to have entered into a dreamlike quality.
On our way we passed several other gondoliers with their various cargoes of tourists and natives. For some reason there seemed to be no camaraderie between Francesco and others of his ilk, which seems strange as it’s all you can do to stop London cabbies from constantly gossiping with each other and unnecessarily delaying journeys.
But I was in a good mood having come down to earth, albeit a watery one, off the airship.
“We a’ verra close now,” he said quietly.
“Excellent. Could you point it out to me?” I asked.
“Si.” he whispered.
We entered into an area with thinner canals, no pedestrian walkways, and tall buildings on either side pressing in on us and narrowing our sight of the sky. It’s while we move into another area of dark shadow that my inner sense of danger rings a little bell to alert me. The only sound breaking the eerie silence is that of the pole and the waves gently breaking against the boat and canalside.
I glance over at Sir Percival and realise he’s caught the same strange feeling. As one we look up at our chap.
It’s quite a change for someone being so effusive at the start of the journey to be now looking as if they’re being hunted by some mysterious beast that could spring out of nowhere.
I make sure to keep my umbrella to hand and whisper up at him, “What is it?”
His eyes glance down at us and silently he raises a finger to his lips and bushy moustache in the universal sign of ‘be particularly quiet’.
Chills that have no relation to the recent storm race up and down my spine. I hoped Sir Percival had remembered to bring along some sort of weapon, and not just the one he was hoping to show the uniformed aircrew.
As quietly as I can I sat up, my eyes glancing all around, ready for something I know not what.
Four
Francesco whispers something in a shocked tone of voice. I glance up at him to see what he’s looking at and then follow his gaze forwards. A thin mist hovers over the water ahead of us. From his tone I surmise that this is not a normal occurrence for Venice. Ahead, the canal turns gently to our left so I cannot see if it gets any thicker.
“Should we go back?” I whisper up at him, for some reason I don’t want to make too much noise and draw attention to ourselves.
He glances down at me and, as one, we both look behind the Gondola. We are alone on the canal. He looks back down at me and I see something in his eye. I get the distinct feeling that he was looking for something like this. What the devil is he up to?
“Turn us around!” I hiss at him, making strong hand signals that we should go back.
A scream cuts through the silence. There’s a lady in danger! I turn back to face the mist and find it’s thickened unnaturally quickly, I cannot see more than a few yards into what is now a thick fog. My strange aetheric sight has abandoned me, just when it would prove most useful. Does this mean it’s completely disappeared? The air is chilled now that the fog is eating up the warm storm-cleared sunshine. This was most definitely not mentioned in the book I read!
My strange sense of danger gets more strident, clamouring for attention just as another scream sounds. The gondola jerks as Francesco quickly rows us to where he believes it originated. This was what the chap was looking for!
“Where did it come from Sir Percival?” I ask, holding my umbrella in both hands, ready to stab anything untoward.
“I don’t know!”
The next sound is a loud splash. Due to the thick fog Francesco uses the ripples created as a guide to direct us towards whatever it was that hit the water.
“The water, Sir Percival! What is it that fell in!?”
Sir Percival peers over the side of the Gondola into the dark water. I would join him but feel I must keep us safe with my umbrella.
“There!” cries Francesco.
The different voice initially passes me by but then I realise it wasn’t said in a guttural, badly-accented English. But before I can voice my confusion Francesco attaches the oar to the bow and dives into the water.
“I say!” Sir Percival cries out in surprise, both at the splash close by his head and the rocking of the boat.
I’m shocked as well but try to keep an eye all around me for anything looking to do us harm.
More splashes sound and I look to where they’re coming from. What appears to be a large amount of clothing appears at the surface, closely followed by Francesco’s hat.
A gasp for air and a cry of “Here!”
“Can you grab him, Sir Percival?” I ask.
“I shall try!” he replies, rather too eagerly I feel.
I carefully get into a crouch, holding onto the side of the boat with one hand, all the better to gain balance for when Sir Percival pulls whatever it is, and Francesco, into the boat.
“Take her!” Francesco says in his strange voice.
I glance towards him to see what it was he’s brought out of the water and have the shock of my life – Francesco’s large moustache is missing, and the tan colour of his skin appears to be dripping into the water.
And he isn’t a he.
Five
Amid much gasping and grunting Sir Percival helps drag what I now realise is a fully-clothed young woman over the side and into the Gondola. Her head rolls over and I’m shocked to see her face is a fleshless skull with little crystals set into it? But then realise she’s merely wearing a pure white decorated mask over her eyes.
“Is she alive?” Francesco gasps from the water.
Without wait
ing for Sir Percival’s pained look towards me at having to touch a female body any more than strictly necessary I move past him. With one hand I feel through her mass of sodden blond hair for her neck, and with the other I grip my umbrella.
It is but a few moments before I feel a faint pulse.
“Yes.”
Holding on to the side of the boat Francesco says several Italian words in a tone of voice that I take to be of relief.
“Help… her in, Sir Percival. Then we need to get somewhere safe and this person some medical help before answers are provided,” I add to Francesco with a steely look.
Much to Sir Percival’s relief Francesco retrieves her straw hat and scrambles over the side without any of his reluctant help, and heads over to the young lady. Gently she cradles the unconscious girl in her arms, removing the bone-white mask and stroking the errant wet hair from her face.
The girl appears unharmed, but unconscious.
“We need to get out of here?” I remind our previously male guide. Now I know what sex she really is I wonder at how I could have possibly mistaken her chest for a man’s muscular torso. Just how this makes Sir Percival feel is currently an unknown quantity.
“Yes. I thank you for your help,” she says heading back past me to regain her pole.
“That’s all very well but I still feel we’re in danger,” I add rather primly.
The canal is too narrow to allow the gondola to turn on its axis so Francesco takes her oar and moves to the other end of the boat, quickly rowing us away from the cold, clammy fog and into the warmer sunshine.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the fog retreats behind us and my sense of danger backs down, but only slowly diminish my grip upon my umbrella.
