Chasing the Star Garden: The Airship Racing Chronicles (Volume 1) (24 page)

Chapter 32

I
t was already dark when Byron and I made our way back onto the
Bacchus
. I gazed up at the stars. Ophiuchus was visible in the night sky. We held our lanterns aloft as we crossed the deck of the ship. I stepped carefully around the puddles of blood. Roni was not going to be happy.

“It’s in a crate in the galley,” I told Byron.

“How did you get it in there?”

“Sal reconfigured the gears to be used as a pulley.”

“Genius. I like your tinker, Lily.”

I laughed. “So I noticed.”

“You’ll need to loosen him up.”

“I like him as he is.”

“Be careful. He may domesticate you.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“For you? Yes.”

When we got below, I hung up the lantern and crawled over the gears to the crate. “Hand me the prise bar.”

Byron passed it to me. I loosened the nails, pried open the lid, and slid it off. Part of me half expected, well, something, but this was not my moment. The Aphrodite lay where we had left her amongst the golden straw. Wind blew in from the opening in the prow and ruffled the padding around her. It gave the effect that she was moving. I smiled at her. In the light of the lantern, she glimmered magnificently.

“Let me crawl out so you can see her. There isn’t room for both of us,” I said and slid back toward the galley opening where Byron waited.

We exchanged places. Byron slipped between the gears and worked his way toward the crate. I handed his lantern to him then crawled out of the galley to the deck of the ship.

Once on deck, I dug into my satchel and pulled out the tin of Cutter’s tobacco and a pipe. I lit up. I gazed up at the stars. The tobacco didn’t make my headache go away, but it comforted me. I blew smoke rings into the air and watched them twist away in the wind. Below deck, Byron was silent.

I finished the first pipe then smoked a second. Venus was no longer visible in the evening sky. On the deck of the
Bacchus
behind me, I heard something rolling. I looked back to see the kaleidoscope lying forgotten on the deck. It glimmered in the moonlight. I got up and retrieved it. I lifted it toward the night’s sky. I was startled and saddened to find that the glass within was cracked.

I tried to center the kaleidoscope on Ophiuchus. Not only did the image of Knidos fail to appear, but for a brief moment, I thought I saw Mr. Fletcher’s face. I sat back down, leaned my head against the rail, and looked up at the stars.

The first two years after Mr. Oleander and Nicolette had died, my relationship with Mr. Fletcher was made up of a strange mixture of awkwardness and affection. The lie we shared seemed to cement us together. With Mr. Oleander out of our home, something changed between my foster father and me. We grew very close and were very sweet with one another. I began to feel certain that my foster father really loved me.

Mr. Fletcher had sold the flat on Neal’s Yard and had rented a small loft in the building next to Rheneas’ tavern. The flat only had one room. The space was fine for a father and daughter. I clung desperately to Mr. Fletcher who seemed to enjoy our closeness. I loved being loved. All my life I had wanted someone to really love me, to see me as someone worth keeping, worth loving. Through Mr. Fletcher, my father, I finally found what I was looking for: unconditional love.

In the meantime, we were still flying. Mr. Fletcher had sold the ill-fated
Iphigenia
to a Dutch crew and had picked up a new vessel, the Irish-built
Deirdre
. The
Deirdre
was fast and sleek. On her, I began to learn how to pilot like a champion.

In the year after Mr. Oleander’s death, Mr. Fletcher had hired Angus to apprentice in the galley of the
Deirdre
. From the start, Angus and I got along very well, but Angus never liked Mr. Fletcher.

“His eyes are too hungry,” Angus would say.

It was the first time I’d ever heard the phrase and wasn’t quite sure what he’d meant. One spring morning, however, I found out.

Mr. Fletcher woke me earlier than usual. “Get up, Lily. We’ve got some business to attend to today,” he said, shaking my shoulder gently.

Since we lacked space, Mr. Fletcher and I had taken to sharing the same bed. He almost never got up before I did.

“But it’s Monday,” I complained. We never ran fares on Mondays. On the weekends we worked around the clock. I was exhausted.

“Not that kind of business. We’ve got legal business to get on with,” he explained. “Get dressed. I laid out some new clothes out for you.”

I woke tiredly and stumbled to the table where I discovered that Mr. Fletcher had purchased me not just new clothes, but a dress. I lifted the gown. The style was modern and very similar to the attire I’d seen the female air jockeys wearing. The bodice was constructed with black leather and purple velvet. The skirt, which was very short, had high splits up both legs. I set the clothes back down on the table and burst into tears.

“Lily?”

“How could you!”

“How could I what?” Mr. Fletcher looked confused.

“I can’t. I can’t be like Nicolette!”

“Oh, dear Lily, never! My sweet girl, you are grown now. You should dress like a woman. Today is an important day. You should dress the part!”

“The part?”

“You’ll see. Put it on, and let me see you,” he said, sitting down to watch me change. I slipped my house clothes off and pulled the dress on.

Between Mr. Fletcher watching my clumsy movements and the dress squeezing me, I felt awkward. “How is it?” I asked.

“Very nice!” Mr. Fletcher said and then rose to stand behind me. “I’ll lace it for you. Push your bosom up a bit, Lily. Here, let me help,” he said, his hand scooping under the fabric, adjusting my breasts. I could not help but notice the caress with which he touched me. It made me uncomfortable.

After I got the bodice on, he tightened the laces and unbraided my hair. He pulled a comb through my long locks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Mr. Fletcher then spun me in a circle. “Perfect. Lily Fletcher, air jockey!” he said with a laugh. “Now, come,” he said, and we headed out.

Mr. Fletcher had arranged for a carriage to take us across town. We road to a section of London with which I was unfamiliar. From the attire of the men moving busily about, I gathered we were near the Inns of Court. Mr. Fletcher led me into an office building. We entered a small, quiet office where two old men sat laboring over massive piles of paper. We sat waiting for a long time before we were called.

“John and Lily Fletcher?”

Mr. Fletcher took me by the hand, and we went to the back. Mr. Fletcher pulled my chair out, and I sat, struggling to find a way to sit in the short dress without showing the whole word what I was made of.

“Papers?” the clerk said, never looking up.

Mr. Fletcher handed a number of papers to him.

“And Mrs. Fletcher will be sole beneficiary of your estate?”

“That is correct,” Mr. Fletcher said.

Confused, I looked at Mr. Fletcher.

“Sign here,” the clerk said.

Mr. Fletcher signed his name.

The clerk stamped the paper. “Can your wife write?”

“Indeed.”

“Sign here, Mrs. Fletcher,” the man said then slid the papers toward me.

I looked aghast at my father.

“Go ahead, Lily,” Mr. Fletcher said.

I signed my name on the paper and leaned back into my seat. I could feel the blood draining from my face.

“Your nuptials and estate are now confirmed, Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. The fee, please,” the clerk said.

Mr. Fletcher slid a small stack of coins to the clerk who counted them carefully, twice.

“Thank you. And congratulations,” the man said absently.

Mr. Fletcher rose and took my hand, pulling me behind him. I followed him to the street. I felt like I was going to faint.

“Lily? What’s wrong? You’re absolutely pale!”

“Are we… are we married?” I stammered.

“Here,” he said, pressing a vial of laudanum in my hand. “Take just one drop. It will calm you. Of course we are married. How else do you think I can ensure you’ll inherit my estate if, god forbid, I die? Now, bottom’s up.”

I did as he instructed. The laudanum hit me hard. Moments later, I was lost in a fog. I vaguely remember being loaded back into the carriage. The ride home over the bumpy cobblestone jostled me.

Mr. Fletcher, my father, kept his hand on my inner thigh the entire ride. “You see,” he said, “I promised you I would take care of you. I taught you everything I know! What a pair we will make! Maybe we’ll even have a child, Lily! What-ho! Can you imagine what fun that will be?”

The carriage stopped outside our flat. I stumbled when I got out, scrapping my knees on the cobblestones.

“My goodness, Lily. You can’t even hold a drop. Strong stuff though. I try not to use it much, but once it gets you by the nose, it doesn’t let you go. Let’s go upstairs and celebrate. Here, my girl, I’ll carry you,” he said and hoisted me up.

My head was a confused mess. I thought maybe I was dreaming… or maybe I was dead. In what seemed like moments later, I was standing before the fireplace in our flat. Mr. Fletcher, my father, was lying in the bed. He was calling my name. When I did not respond, he rose. He wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Come now, Lily. I’ll be easy,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Ah, my girl, there is no need to fear. I’ll be gentle. Come now.”

“No.”

“Don’t make it come to this,” he whispered in my ear. “We love one another.”

“You’re my father!” I wailed.

“Actually, Oleander was the one who officially adopted you. Come on now, Lily. Be smart,” he said, his hands roving between my legs. “You stand to gain everything. Who could ever love you as much as I do?”

“Please don’t,” I whispered.

Before I could stop him, he turned me and slammed me, face down, on the table, my cheek pressed against the tabletop. I wailed miserably. “Please! No!”

In that same moment, the door to the loft opened. Mr. Fletcher had given Angus the key so he could drop off the fares.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It was dark. I thought you were out—for Christ’s sake, what’s happening here!” Angus exclaimed.

I slipped from Mr. Fletcher and ran to Angus, clinging desperately to him.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Mr. Fletcher yelled and grabbed me, pulling me away from Angus.

“No! Please don’t go! Don’t leave me here,” I pleaded, reaching out to Angus.

“This isn’t proper! That’s your daughter there!” Angus exclaimed.

“It’s not a bit of your business! Get out or find a new situation!”

“Come on, Lily. Come with me, lassie,” Angus called and reached for me.

I pulled out of Mr. Fletcher’s grasp. He came rushing after me. Trying to get away from him, I moved aside. Mr. Fletcher lost his balance and fell out of the open door and down the stairs. He landed on the street below, his body twisting awkwardly.

I ran to the bottom of the steps. Several people had already gathered around him.

“Call the surgeon! Call the surgeon!” someone screamed.

“What happened, Lily?” someone asked. I looked up. It was Rheneas.

“He fell!” I exclaimed. Tears ran down my cheeks.

I knelt beside Mr. Fletcher. He was still alive. His hand, jutting sideways, twitched oddly.

A constable came running up. “What happened?”

“She said he fell,” someone repeated.

“What’s his name?” the constable asked.

“That’s Mr. Fletcher, the air jockey.”

“Mr. Fletcher? What happened?” the constable asked.

Mr. Fletcher’s eyes were already growing dim. A shadow seemed to hover around him. Blood trickled from his ears and mouth. It took him considerable effort, but he made eye contact with me. After a moment, he breathed, “I’m an old man, and I’ll die like an old man. Slipped and fell,” he whispered then he died.

I looked up at Angus. His dark blue eyes met mine. He set his hand on my shoulder.

My whole body shook. My father had tried to make me his wife, body and soul. Now he lay dead at my feet.

In the end, Mr. Fletcher, just like my mother, had seen me as someone to do with as he pleased. My entire life, I was always someone to be used or not, kept or left, at another person’s will.

A shuffle from below deck startled me from my memories. Byron reappeared from the galley looking paler than usual.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

He turned and looked at me as if he were surprised to see me there. “Lily,” he said, his voice sounding hollow.

I didn’t need to ask Byron what he had seen or what had happened. By instinct, I had known, through and through, that Byron needed to see the Aphrodite. And from the look on his face, I was right. He’d seen what he needed to see.

“Let’s go back to your ship,” I said, taking his hand.

Once we’d boarded the
Hercules
, we stopped and looked up at the starry sky. We stood, hand in hand, in quiet contemplation.

“Athens!” a crewman called from overhead.

On the horizon, the airship towers of Athens were coming into view. The
Hercules
began to drop altitude. In a matter of moments, we would be docked.