Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (19 page)

“Let’s hope Jerry’s got us dock space,” Mitch said.

“I don’t imagine there’s an enormous amount of traffic,” Alma answered, but couldn’t help feeling a nagging worry. Jerry knew what he was doing; he wasn’t a pilot, but he understood what they needed, and he was perfectly capable of reserving a dock for the Cat. It would be fine.

“Ma’am?” Tiny’s voice crackled in her ears. “I raised the Tower, and they said we’re to land on Lake Mareotis, not in the East Harbor. We’re to continue on this heading until we’re an hour out, and call them again.”

“Got that,” Alma said. “Thanks, Tiny.”

“Lake Mareotis?” Mitch fumbled for the maps he had tucked into the pocket beside his seat.

“South of the city, I think.”  Alma frowned, trying to remember the map she’d looked at before they left. “Not far. Imperial Airways uses it?”

“Got it.” Mitch folded the map into a manageable shape.  “Here. South and east of the East Harbor.  It looks plenty big enough, anyway.”

Alma nodded, studying the blotch of blue. Not far at all, a bit more than a mile south and east of the harbor, so that the city lay on a narrow strip of land between sea and lake. A salt lake, presumably, since there seemed to be a canal connecting it to the sea, or at least brackish. And big, easily big enough to take a fleet of flying boats. “Should be hard to miss.”

Mitch grinned, the rising light showing tired pouches beneath his eyes. “That’s probably a good thing.”

They reached Alexandria around half past eight in the morning, the tower at Ras El Tin giving them a heading that took them over the old harbor and brought them toward the lake from the east. They had fuel to spare, and it kept them clear of any other traffic.  Alma dropped low to find the buoyed lane, then swung back as instructed to make the landing from the east. It was a relief to have the sun behind her, after the long flight in the morning glare; she blinked away the lingering dazzle, and tipped the Cat into a conservative descent. They skimmed housetops, a few hundred feet up, and then the lake opened before her, the buoys bright against the dark water. There was plenty of room, no traffic to worry about, and she let the Cat down gently, keel skimming the water. She cut power, and felt the hull settle, the weird transition from plane to boat, and Lewis throttled back to taxi speed.

“They said there was a launch?” she began, and in the same moment Mitch pointed to their right.

“There.”

Sure enough, there was a wooden-hulled speedboat flying what looked like an official pennant, a young man in dazzling white waving to them from the stern. Alma waved back, and followed him decorously out of the lane. This part of the lake was more crowded; she saw a tri-motor biplane in Imperial Airways livery snugged to a mooring close to the terminals ashore, and a smaller seaplane taxied past them toward the buoyed lane. She felt the air change as Tiny opened the side hatch, getting ready to tie them to their own mooring point. The speedboat slowed, the man in the stern pointing to a brightly-painted buoy, and then circled the mooring for good measure.  Alma waved again, and kicked the rudder, bringing them carefully alongside. There was a clang as the buoy hit the hull, and then Tiny shouted, “Got it! I’m putting the fenders out now.”

“Let’s shut her down, Lewis,” Alma said, too tired to stand on proper procedure, and Mitch grinned.

“So here we are. Welcome to Alexandria.”

J
erry leaned on his cane, squinting into the brilliant morning sun. It was still relatively cool on the dock, and the bright-red Catalina swung at her mooring, balanced on her hull and the floats that folded down from the ends of her wings. Yes, there was the water taxi, pulling alongside the hull, and even at this distance he could recognize Mitch’s familiar figure handing down their meager baggage. There was Lewis, and then two strangers — one was probably the extra crewman, but he couldn’t think who the second man would be. Alma climbed out last, drawing the hatch closed behind her, and the taxi pulled away from the mooring, beginning its long arc back to the terminals and the customs inspection. Jerry allowed himself a long sigh: he hadn’t doubted they’d come, but he also hadn’t realized just how worried he’d been, between the intricacies of the dig and Iskinder’s situation. But they were here, and safe, and together the Aedificatorii Templi would figure out what to do about Iskinder and the Emperor’s guns.

He made his way back along the dock, going slowly both because of his leg and to give the others time to get through Customs. He’d gotten them rooms at a perfectly respectable hotel on the Corniche, one that housed any number of pilots and crew from the various lines that flew the African routes; he’d take them there, and then bring them back to his own flat to discuss what should be done.

The terminal was still cool and relatively dark, sun splashing in through the arches that opened onto the dock. The customs barrier was at the far end of the hall, a set of tables manned by men in neat uniforms, their English and their manners equally faultless. At this hour, there was little traffic: the flying boat to Port Bell had left at dawn, the morning flight to Cairo had left an hour ago, and nothing was due in until later in the afternoon. There was no line, and the inspectors were closing suitcases and waving them through the flimsy barrier by the time Jerry approached. Alma lifted a hand in greeting, but her attention was on a thin-faced man Jerry had never seen before.

“— fulfilled our agreement,” she was saying, “and from here on out — your business is up to you.”

“I don’t suppose I could hire you,” the stranger said, with a wry smile, and Alma shook her head firmly.

“Sorry. We already have a charter.”

Jerry stopped beside her, resting his weight on his cane. “Hello, Al.”

“Hello, Jerry,” she answered, turning a pointed shoulder toward the stranger, who tipped his hat and turned away. Jerry clasped hands with Mitch and then with Lewis, waiting until he was sure the stranger was out of earshot to ask the obvious question.

“Who was that?”

“Count Carl Gustaf von Rosen,” Alma answered, giving every syllable its due. “He’s a Swede.”

“He threatened to rat us out if we didn’t bring him with us,” Lewis said. “But Al shut that down.”

“He’s here,” Jerry said, looking from one to the other, and Alma shrugged.

“He’s been flying for the Red Cross in Ethiopia. He says he came to Palermo to buy a plane, but the seller didn’t show, and he’s trying to get back to Africa.”

“He’s also the German air minister’s nephew,” Mitch said, hoisting his duffle onto one shoulder. “Which — I don’t know, it doesn’t make me trust the man.”

“Our friend may know him,” Jerry said, reluctant even now to speak Iskinder’s name out loud. “Or know of him, anyway.”

“That’s true,” Alma said. “But regardless, I don’t want him getting too close to us right now. Not until we’ve figured out how to do whatever it is you needed.”

Jerry nodded.  “I’ve gotten you rooms at the Metropole — it’s very nice — so if you want we can drop your bags there and then carry on.”

The very tall young man — Tiny Foster, Jerry remembered — groaned aloud, and then blushed as the others looked at him.

“It was a long flight,” Alma said. She smiled at Jerry. “Let’s get checked in and then we’ll see.”

The Metropole was an older building but still nice, the facade well-maintained and the interior renovated in the mid-twenties. Jerry had reserved three adjoining rooms overlooking the courtyard, and they left their bags with a pair of bellhops and rode the polished-brass cage elevator to the fourth floor. The bellhops were waiting with their modest luggage, and Mitch reached into his pocket, then stopped abruptly. Of course they hadn’t had time to change any money, Jerry thought, and reached into his own pocket for the tip. The bellhops salaamed and backed away, closing the door behind them, and Mitch gave the nearest bed a longing look.

“We flew straight through from the closing ball,” Alma said. “We’re a little tired.”

Tiny Foster yawned and failed to smother it, blushing again to the roots of his hair.

“I know,” Jerry said. “I’m sorry. But this is urgent. I think it would be better if you talked to Iskinder now and then slept.”

Alma and Lewis exchanged glances, and Alma nodded. “All right. Tiny, you stay here and get some rest. One of us needs to be in decent shape later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man said, meekly enough, and Jerry led them back downstairs to catch a cab.

They piled in together, Jerry in the front seat to direct the cab driver, the others in the back with Alma wedged in the middle. There was no time for sight-seeing, much as Jerry would have liked to show them the city; instead, they took the quickest route, through undistinguished modern buildings, and pulled up at last outside the rented flat. Jerry paid the driver, and ushered them upstairs, pretending not to hear Mitch grumbling about needing to change money.

“We’ll get to that,” Alma said. “For now —”

She stopped abruptly as the door opened, letting them into the crowded sitting room. Iskinder looked up from a game of solitaire — not winning, Jerry saw, and determinedly not cheating, either — and a smile spread across his face.

“Alma, my dear.”

“Iskinder.” They embraced, and then he and Mitch clasped hands. Alma cleared her throat. “And this is my husband, Lewis. This is Iskinder, who — well, I’ve told you about him.”

Lewis nodded, and held out his hand in turn. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Iskinder, please.” Iskinder took a deep breath, and looked at Jerry.  “Willi is at the dig, but he said you should send for him if you needed anything.”

“I think we need to talk first,” Jerry said frankly. “Because I’m damned if I know whether this idea is going to work at all.”

“Just give it to me straight,” Alma said. “What do you want us to do?”

“You’ve heard that the Italians have invaded Ethiopia,” Iskinder said, and she nodded.

“Yes.  In fact — but that can wait. Go on.”

“The emperor sent me to buy guns for our army. A thousand machine guns and the ammunition. Transport had been arranged, but the pilot —” Iskinder shrugged, his expression determinedly casual. “He refuses to fly into a war zone. He is quite happy to help move the guns to anyone else I can find to fly them, but he doesn’t want to be a casualty in someone else’s war. And that, I’m afraid, is what I’m asking you to risk.”

“Machine guns and ammo,” Alma repeated. “Do you know the weight?”

“It’s on the papers.” For the first time, Iskinder looked as tired as she did, and Jerry put a hand on his shoulder. “Ten thousand pounds? Twelve thousand? I don’t remember.”

“That’s within our limits,” Alma said. “All right. Where do you want to go?”

“You can’t — Alma, I am serious when I say that there is real fighting. This isn’t just skirmishes, it’s a war. You need to consider this very carefully.”

“I am. I will.” Alma looked at Mitch and then at Lewis, visibly gathering their approval. “And I promise you, we will take every precaution and we’ll expect you to help us do this as safely as we can. But this is a thing we can do.” She grinned. “We will, of course, charge a suitable haulage fee.”

Iskinder gave a shaky laugh. “That, at least, I can promise.”

“Also we’ll need your help arranging fuel,” Alma said. “But this — you called us here, you’re not going to get rid of us that easily.”

“I should have known,” Iskinder said. “Jerry said — thank you, Alma. I begin to think we may salvage something out of this disaster.”

J
erry retreated to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, half listening to the voices in the other room. Iskinder was telling them the story of his mission, the others listening in attentive silence, and Jerry collected enough cups to go around. He brought them out into the sitting room, and Lewis rose silently to take them, then followed him back to the kitchen.  Jerry handed him sugar and the last bottle of milk, grateful for the help, and then hovered in the doorway, half his attention on the stove to keep the coffee from boiling over.

“I think we can do this,” Alma was saying. A yawn caught her off guard, and she rubbed her eyes. “I still need exact weights, but — so far I’m not seeing anything to stop us.”

“The plan was to fly to one of our bases near the capital,” Iskinder said, “but with a flying boat, I think we’d be better landing on Lake Tana. Bahir Dar has a regular airport, with beacons and a tower. Or if we land on the northern side of the lake, we’re in easy reach of convoys from Gondar, and they can carry the guns on to the front.”

“Fuel for getting home?” Mitch asked. ”I assume the airfield will have it, but what about if we go north?.”

“It would have to be brought from Gondar,” Iskinder answered. “I should be able to arrange that.”

“That’s the one crucial thing,” Alma said. “We can get you there, but I want to be sure we can get back out again.”

Iskinder nodded.  “I will send a cable.”

Jerry raised an eyebrow, and Iskinder gave a sheepish smile. 

“All right, I will write a cable and Jerry will send it for me. Is that better?”

“Safer, certainly,” Jerry said.

“Our diplomatic codes aren’t much different from the commercial ones,” Iskinder said. “But at least we have a code.”