Airborn (4 page)

“What’s the news, Mr. Bayard?” Captain Walken asked, turning to the wireless officer.

“He’s requested a landing, sir.”

“What on earth for?” the captain demanded.

“He says he’s got one of our passengers. Two actually. A young lady and her chaperone. They missed the boarding.”

“Who?” The captain looked at the note Mr. Bayard handed him.

I watched the captain, wondering what he would say next. I’d never heard of such a request. If a passenger missed the ship, he was out of luck, simple as that. He had to wait for another vessel. But the captain just sniffed and gave a smile.

“Well, they must want passage badly enough, eh?” he said. His cheerfulness surprised me, since the landing would put us at least half an hour behind schedule. The captain was a punctual man and prided himself on his timely arrivals and departures.

“Prepare to head up, Mr. Wexler. We’ll keep our present altitude, thank you, Mr. Kahlo. Mr. Bayard, please tell the pilot he can make his approach when we’ve put our head to the wind. Then wire the harbor master and tell them we’ll be altering course to allow an aerial docking. The breeze is light; if he’s a pilot worth his salt, he should be able to make a landing first try.”

The captain caught sight of me and winked. “We’ve taken more difficult things on board, haven’t we, Mr. Cruse?”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a grin.

“Thank you for the refreshments, Mr. Cruse. Your timing is uncanny, as always. But perhaps you should go to the landing bay and attend to our latecomers when they board.”

“Of course, sir,” I said, delighted. Only once before had I seen an aerial landing, and it was no mean feat. I passed out the last of the coffees and pastries and left as the
Aurora
began her slow graceful turn. I stopped at the bakery, dropped off the tray, then hurried aft.

The landing bay was forward of the cargo holds, very near the ship’s midsection. Mostly it was used for extra storage, and there were plenty of crates and cases arranged around the walls. But the center of the bay was always kept clear in case we needed to allow for an aerial landing. When I arrived, the crew were just opening the bay doors in the floor. With alarming speed they split apart, and each long half rolled back flush with the ship’s underbelly. Air galloped in. We could see the ship’s lower tail fin and straight down to the Gulf Islands and the water, blue as lapis lazuli and cut by the white furrows of boats headed for Lionsgate Harbor.

Mr. Riddihoff pulled a lever, and, with a clanking whir, the docking trapeze began to lower from an overhead track in the bay’s ceiling. The metal trapeze dangled through the hatchway into open air. The ornithopter pilot would have to make his approach directly beneath the airship’s belly, cut speed so that he was almost in a stall, and hook his overhead landing gear over the docking trapeze at just the right moment.

“Must be pretty important passengers,” said Mr. Riddihoff, “for the captain to be going through all this hullabaloo.”

I looked down at the trapeze. It was a tiny place to hook a plane to. I hoped the pilot was experienced, but these harbor fliers were daredevils and used to more outlandish tricks than this.

The ornithopter’s drone grew louder. Crouching, I could just see it, behind the
Aurora
’s tail fins, coming in. It seemed to be hardly moving, wings scarcely beating now, and I thought he would make it first try. But when the ornithopter was just feet away from the docking trapeze, it shuddered and dipped, and I heard shrieks of alarm from the passengers as the ornithopter dropped away and banked sharply.

“Bit of a gust there,” said Mr. Riddihoff calmly.

“Bad luck,” I said. “Look, he’s coming round again.”

I had to admit, that ornithopter was a nimble thing, and seeing this one maneuver so smartly did impress me.

“Hope he gets it this time round,” said Mr. Riddihoff. “I’ve not had my breakfast.”

“I suggest the eggs Florentine,” I told him.

“Good, were they?”

“Terrific. Here we go.”

Here came the ornithopter again, skimming the
Aurora
’s belly, straight as a Canada goose toward the loading bay. His hook slipped over the trapeze and locked with a loud, satisfying clack. I heard the engine cut out, and the wings stilled instantly. The
Aurora
didn’t even shimmer with the sudden extra weight.

“Hooked!” Mr. Riddihoff sang out, pulling levers. The trapeze slowly lifted the dangling ornithopter through the hatchway and carried her along its track to set her down on the floor of the landing bay. A woman in the rear seat was trying to stand, pulling at her leather hood and sounding off as if she’d suffered a great calamity.

“Outrageous!” she said. “Dangerous and foolhardy like I’ve never seen!”

And now the poor pilot was turning about in his seat and trying in vain to explain.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Simpkins, but I have no authority over the winds. A small gust buffeted me just as we were coming in that first time. It’s not unusual, Miss, to make more than one pass with an aerial landing.”

Miss Simpkins made a
humph
sound and gazed haughtily around the loading bay. She was no more than thirty, a striking woman with fierce features, but right now she looked a total fright. Her hair was frazzled, as if it had just exploded from her head. Her eye makeup was smeared by tears and wind, and there were deep red rings around both her eyes from the goggles. She appeared altogether crazed. I was pushing the boarding stairs toward the ornithopter, but not quickly enough for her liking.

“Hurry along, boy. Help me out of here! This thing’s not fit for use as a kite!”

Now this was rich behavior, I thought, all this barking and whining, when she should be apologizing for setting us behind schedule with her late arrival.

“Welcome aboard the
Aurora
, ma’am,” I said, stepping up to give her a hand.

“And you are?”

“Matt Cruse, ma’am, cabin boy.”

“Attend to Miss de Vries now.”

I turned to the passenger in the middle seat. A girl, my age probably, no more than fifteen. She pulled off her cap and smoothed her long mahogany hair. She looked a little windblown, her face pale, but there was a happy blaze in her eyes. I knew instantly it hadn’t been her shrieking as the ornithopter came in to land. She looked thoroughly revved up.

I offered her my hand, and she stepped out onto the boarding stairs.

“Thank you, Mr. Cruse,” she said.

“This is Miss Kate de Vries,” said the woman, still trying to claw her hair down. “And I am Marjorie Simpkins, her chaperone. Escort us to our rooms now.”

“Very good,” I said. “I’ll just attend to your baggage.”

Kate de Vries, I noticed, was looking around, out the open bay doors to the sea below, up to the girders and beams and gas cells and catwalks that crisscrossed overhead like the work of some giant mechanical spider. Taking it all in. Miss Simpkins meanwhile fussed and fluttered about, telling me to be careful with the luggage and the hat bags and for heaven’s sake don’t thump things around so. She pattered her hands against Kate de Vries’s back, trying to move her this way and that, as though she knew where it was best for her to stand. Kate de Vries seemed used to ignoring her.

I took the passenger list from my pocket and saw that the grand stateroom was in fact reserved under the name of de Vries. Rich, then, this Kate de Vries. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, though, shackled to a chaperone and one like Miss Simpkins at that!

They had so much luggage I wondered if they were doing a planetary tour. It was too much to carry, so I loaded it onto the freight conveyor belt and sent it on its way forward to the passenger quarters. I’d pick it up when we got there.

“Shall I take you to your stateroom, then?” I asked, making sure to direct the question to Kate de Vries.

“Thank you, yes, that would be very kind,” she said.

“I’ll be telegraphing your superiors as soon as I can!” Miss Simpkins hollered at the ornithopter pilot.

“Thank you very much,” Kate de Vries called up to the pilot with a smile and wave. “It was a
thrilling
flight!”

“Any time, miss,” the pilot said, grinning. He had not even removed his leather hood and goggles. “I’ll be on my way while the wind holds.”

He started the engine, and I heard its loud insect drone. The trapeze lifted his ship up and carried it back toward the open hatchway. The wings fluttered ever so gently in anticipation.

“Actually, I’d like to see this, Marjorie,” said Kate de Vries, stopping to watch. Her tone of voice made it clear this was not a request. Miss Simpkins sighed loudly and stared heavenward. I was pleased about this, since I’d wanted to see the takeoff myself. I was liking Kate de Vries more and more.

Mr. Riddihoff worked his controls and lowered the ornithopter down through the hatchway.

The pilot gave him the thumbs-up and pulled a lever in the cockpit. His docking hook snapped off the trapeze. The ornithopter dropped, quite dramatically I must say, straight down toward the waves, wings flapping desperately. It seemed its plunge would never stop, but then, impossibly slowly, it inched forward through the air and peeled off to the port, climbing. I realized I’d been holding my breath.

I looked over at Kate de Vries, who was tilted forward, peering intently out the hatchway, and saw her exhale.

“That was something,” she said with complete satisfaction, and then grinned. The expression seemed to take charge of her whole face, and I felt myself grinning back.

“It was, miss,” I said.

“Come along, then,” said Miss Simpkins impatiently, hands fluttering. I led them out of the landing bay and escorted them along the keel catwalk toward the passenger decks. Miss Simpkins was most impractically shod in heels, and they kept getting stuck in the metal floor grille so that she jerked and lurched and sighed and snorted all the way.

“What kind of corridor is this?” she complained.

“Passengers usually don’t traverse it, miss,” I said. “It’s on account of your late arrival that you see this part of the ship at all.”

Now, Kate de Vries, on the other hand, was sensibly wearing flat-soled shoes. She ambled along, oblivious to her chaperone’s convulsions. She gazed all about her as though planning on drafting a blueprint when she got half a chance.

“Is it your first time aboard an airship, Miss?” I asked her.

“It is, yes,” she said.

“If you’re interested, there will be a tour later this morning.”

“I’d like that very much.” She turned to Miss Simpkins, whose shoe had come off and was stuck in the metal grille. She was bent down tugging at it, violently.

“Allow me, miss,” I said. I handed it back to her.

I caught the girl’s eye and swear it had a glint of mischief in it, and I had to freeze my face so not to share her smile.

“Some flat-soled shoes would be more comfortable if you wish to join us on the tour later,” I suggested.

“I can’t imagine anything I’d less like to do,” muttered the bony chaperone.

“Perhaps someone can push you along in a wheelchair,” the girl said amiably.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you very much, Kate.”

Kate. The name suited her. Quick and to the point.

We reached the passenger quarters, and I led them up the grand staircase to A-Deck where the first-class passengers stayed. The swirling banister was all walnut, though hollow in the center to save on weight, and at the top of the red-carpeted steps was a magnificent Michaelangelico fresco. The fresco was enough to quiet the chaperone for a few seconds, and her heels didn’t fall off, which made her even more cheerful.

People had finished off their breakfasts now and were strolling about, yawning and stretching and groaning contentedly, weighing about ten pounds more apiece. Down the central corridor we went, and right at the end was the Topkapi stateroom. The luggage trolley was already waiting outside the door, ferried up by stewards while Miss Simpkins had been lurching about on her high heels.

I unlocked the door for them and led them inside. Quite a palace it was, furnished with sofas and wingback chairs and side tables and coffee tables and footstools; vases of fresh flowers bloomed all over the place, making it smell like the botanical gardens of Florence. The outside wall was one panoramic window, burgundy velvet curtains tied back so all you could see were cirrus clouds scalloping the sky and the blue of the sparkling Pacificus, and off to the hazy shores of North America melting into the horizon.

And this was just the sitting room. Miss de Vries looked around as if enchanted. The stateroom was named after a Sultan’s palace in Constantinople, and it deserved its name. I myself always liked having a gander when we were in harbor. In particular I liked slipping off my shoes and scrunching my bare toes against that plush burgundy carpet.

I showed them their adjoining bedrooms—both had four-poster beds with lace canopies—and the bathroom with the famous bathtub. It was the only one on board, water being such a heavy commodity. Everyone else just got showers.

“If there’s anything you need, ladies, just pull the cord”—I showed them the braided tassel draped from its wall socket—“and someone will come right up to assist you. You also have a message tube here.” I told them about the elaborate network of vacuum tubes that carried messages throughout the ship. “Just put your note in the canister here and slip it into the tube, and you can send it to housekeeping, the lounge, the kitchen, or the chief steward’s station, just by pressing one of these buttons.”

“How ingenious,” said Kate de Vries. Her eyes took on a look of mischief again. “Marjorie, wouldn’t one of these be useful at home? Just to keep track of each other.”

“Frightfully. We’ve missed breakfast, I suppose,” said Miss Simpkins tragically.

“Not a problem. I’m happy to order some to be brought to your room.”

“I’m starving!” said Kate de Vries.

“Yes, a scrape with death can give one quite an appetite,” her chaperone said tartly, and she set about placing her breakfast order. Which indeed was rather sizable.