Steamlust (6 page)

This was no monster or wild delusion, but a machine, some sort of flying device! A machine, however fantastical it seemed,
was something I could understand. More to the urgent point, it had moved sideways enough that it would miss colliding with me as it rose. A flying machine that could be steered, and propelled! And with lift enough to cloak its gasbag with copper!

I didn’t realize my breathing had stopped until it started up again. Then I gasped again, and cursed, as air currents stirred up by the intruder hit and made my gondola pitch and sway. It was all I could do to hang on and not be tumbled out, and the
Prairie Lily
above me thrashed about until I wasn’t sure the tethers could hold her.

Observation of much about the flying machine rising past was impossible, except to note that the gasbag was oval in shape and so was the enclosed gondola tucked up close beneath it. But I did catch a glimpse of a face at a window, helmeted and goggled and hidden as well by a short black beard. I recognized that beard with its jagged silver streak on one side. To my shame, I’d even dreamed about that beard, in vividly improper ways, proceeding from stroking it with my fingers to feeling it against my skin in a very different region.

It was Miklos, that cursed lecturing fellow from the symposium!

When I managed to look again, his gondola was higher than mine, though scarcely a stone’s throw away. I fervently wished I’d brought along a supply of just such ammunition.

He’d shut down his propelling devices, at least, so the air wasn’t battering at me much. I glared across at him. He pushed up his goggles and looked nearly as panicky as I’d been, but when I let go of one rope to shake my fist at him, he flashed the broad smile that had also figured in my dreams, put a finger to his lips as though signaling a secret, and drifted away upward before restarting the propellers. From below I could see that both gasbag and gondola were colored a misty white on their
undersides, the way some birds and fish try to blend in with the brightness above them. Then he set off toward the northeast, confident in his craft’s ability to cross the Bay to its northern tip without depending on the whims of the wind.

I shook now not with fear but rage, and a burning envy. A directable airship! What was the word from that lecture? Dirigible? But he’d made it seem all theory and speculation, and wild speculation at that; nothing already possible, already built and fashioned with such attention to fanciful detail. Who could ever see that tracery of feather shapes on the top surface? Unless they were flying in another such airship—or a hot air balloon like the
Prairie Lily,
which he’d clearly regarded with a degree of condescension when we’d conversed after his lecture.

Later, though, when the old professor had brought him along to Ruby Lou’s notorious parlor house, he’d appeared to take some interest in accounts of my uncle Thaddeus Brown, who’d flown surveillance airships with Colonel Lowe’s aeronauts in Mr. Lincoln’s war, and who had left the
Prairie Lily
to me when he died. I’d even begun to think this attractive young man had taken some interest in me, Maddy Brown, though it was clear I wasn’t one of the girls for hire. But then the new French girl in a satin corset and not much else had attracted his interest enough to lead him upstairs, both of them babbling away in the French language. He came back every night for a week, and would converse with me about scientific matters and foreign countries and even my life in Wyoming, in quite a lively fashion, until some sort of inner reminder would strike him, and he’d go off with one girl or another. In all that time, he’d never mentioned flying a true dirigible airship.

So now that I
had
seen the reality of this airship, did he truly think I wouldn’t tell? Well…I might not, at least not yet. The notion of a possible hold on him calmed me down somewhat
and warmed me up a tolerable bit as well.

A light breeze was building from the west. I was pretty sure the air currents could be sufficient as the day progressed to take me all the way across to a landing in the East Bay, but without a paying passenger I couldn’t afford enough fuel for such a flight. The air in the
Lily
was cooling already, and we were beginning to descend. I increased the gas flow just enough to keep from falling too fast. The crew would crank the tethers onto their giant spools as soon as they felt the slack.

Ho Ming’s customary impassive expression was just a hair less impassive when I climbed out of the gondola. The flailing of the balloon must have been felt through the cables, but I was glad enough that she said nothing beyond the necessary, and neither did I. Once we had the
Prairie Lily
and gondola safely packed up in the wagon and were making our way back to Ruby Lou’s I thought a time or two that she was about to ask, but it never quite came to that.

If I confided in anyone, it would be Ho Ming. We never talked much, but after two years we were as good friends as could be managed in the circumstances. We worked well together, both of us being women dressing like men, though Ho Ming could pass so well that even I thought of her as “he,” while I made no pretense of being anything I wasn’t. Those who call me “Ruby Lou’s boy” do it with a grin and often a leer, showing they aren’t deceived a bit by my trousers and shirt and short pale hair. I don’t mind what they call me. I’ve always been nobody’s but my own.

Miss Lily had given me a letter of introduction to Ruby Lou, who had taken me in and given me work as a sort of secretary and assistant. If I expressed my appreciation to her in other ways now and then, that was my own business. Ho Ming did more of the heavy chores and security work. She came from the north of
China and was bigger and taller than most Chinamen in California, and would toss a drunken troublemaker out the door with secret moves that nobody else could ever quite figure out. Just as Ruby Lou’s influential notoriety protected me from insults that might have come my way, it shielded Ho Ming from much of the ill will against Chinese immigrants so widespread in the area.

That night the professor came to Ruby Lou’s and headed right for me. I was keeping an eye on incoming patrons, making sure they weren’t already too drunk. I didn’t look around to see if that deceitful lecturer had come along; the way his dirigible had been heading, by now he’d landed somewhere in Sonoma.

“What was the name of that quack lecturer on flying machines?” I asked the professor. “Miklos…something? I never quite caught it.”

“Maddy, my dear, would I take you to quack lectures?” he objected. “Never! Miklos Karvaly is no quack, but a man ahead of his time!”

I watched him sidelong, trying to figure whether he knew more than he let on. “Sounds foreign.”

“Hungarian, yes,” he said. “Though I believe he was raised in Los Angeles. Cousin to the Haraszthy family. They do think he’s somewhat on the wild side, I will admit.”

“Ah,” I said. “The wine people. That would explain why he was heading up toward Sonoma.”

The professor just looked puzzled at that and swiftly changed the subject to the upcoming event with Mr. Mark Twain at the Bohemian Club, which was so like him that I couldn’t justifiably find it suspicious.

Some folks call me the professor’s boy, instead of Ruby Lou’s, with an extra snide round of leering, and I don’t deny that he may entertain that fantasy himself at times. But he’s been good to me, and if I repay him now and then with such
mild pleasures as he’s able to manage, that’s my own business, too. My scant education has been expanded by his conversation and the books he’s lent me and the lectures and symposiums we’ve attended together, often in places where no acknowledged woman would be admitted.

Just now, though, I didn’t want any further conversation with him, for fear of saying too much. He drifted off to exchange some words with Ho Ming, as he often did to practice speaking the Mandarin Chinese language. The surprising part was that Ho Ming spoke back to him with uncharacteristic volubility.

Next morning was clear and fine. I took the wagon to purchase more tanks of coal gas for flying, and all the way from the Tenderloin to the coal plant at Potrero Point and back I was pondering what to do if Mr. Miklos-lying-Karvaly didn’t come back soon to face up to my questions. The fact that my image of such an interrogation involved him being tied to a great cogwheel was just a bit of private entertainment.

I needn’t have worried. Miklos was right there in front of Ruby Lou’s stable, and as Ho Ming stepped up to unload a tank, he hefted one onto his own broad shoulder with no regard to his tailor-made coat. Ho Ming muttered something to him as he passed, and he muttered something back in Chinese, while I sat there in the wagon stewing in silent irritation that he knew both French and Chinese. Not that it mattered a whit, but I had a strong disinclination to feel at a disadvantage to him in any way.

With only two tanks left, Miklos came to stand by me. “Miss Brown…Maddy?…do you expect to be needing these to fly today? With such fine weather?”

I looked at him with what I hoped was a steely gaze. He did seem a bit embarrassed, or penitent, or maybe even shy.

He tried again. “I must apologize for our near-collision
yesterday. I had no notion you’d be flying in such fog, but I should have steered clear of your launch site from the start. I hope you weren’t too greatly frightened.”

“
Frightened?
” I paused to keep my voice from rising to a shrill squeal. “Not frightened, furious! Don’t we have something more to discuss than your blundering? Something you hadn’t seen fit to mention to a lowly balloon pilot who happens to be merely female?”

I saw I’d gone too far when he smothered a smile. “Ma’am, I would never think of a balloon pilot as lowly, or any woman as ‘merely’ female. Someone who can manage being both at once is truly awe inspiring.”

That was something, however insincere, but not enough to win forgiveness. I pretended to ignore it. “As to making an ascent today, I wouldn’t expect to find paying passengers this early in the season, and in midweek. On Sundays enough folks ride the streetcar out to the park to improve my chances, but we generally don’t see weather this fine until May or June, and I don’t count on it even then.”

“But you’ll have a paying passenger,” Miklos said, “if you’ll take me. And we’ll have a chance then to discuss all those other matters.”

I pretended to consider. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have the
Prairie Lily
on view, getting folks thinking about going up some other day. I’ll take you up for half an hour or so.”

“I was thinking more of a regular flight, right across the Bay to Oakland. I’ve even brought a luncheon to share.” Miklos gestured toward a wicker hamper on the curbside. “But only if you think the wind’s right for the trip.”

I figured this was some sort of challenge, so I named him a high price, more than enough to cover bringing the
Prairie Lily
back over on the ferry, and he paid it right out. I resolved to save
his cash and thrust it back at him some day for a flight in his far grander vessel.

Golden Gate Park had been only sand dunes before the city had greened it up. Through Ruby Lou’s influence with city councilmen, I’d been granted a launch base near enough to the horticultural gardens that most folks would pass by at one time or another, and tethered rides in a hot air balloon became a fashionable enough adventure that what I could earn in good weather got me through the harsh times.

Miklos acted as crew along with Ho Ming and asked enough questions to nearly persuade me that his education in flight had skipped the finer points of hot air inflation. The look on his face when the
Prairie Lily
stood suddenly upright, inflated to positive buoyancy, reminded me of just the way I’d felt the first time I’d seen it happen. So did his expression as we rose gently from the ground.

“I won’t be sure about the wind direction until we’ve got some altitude,” I said, working the gas flow to keep a slow, steady ascent. “If I have any doubts I’ll put us down along the Embarcadero.” I kept a keen eye on the drift of smoke or steam from chimneys, the flight of seagulls, and, once we were high enough, the wave patterns on the surface of the bay. Air currents could be different at different elevations, and change as the sun heated land and water.

“We’ll do it!” I called over the roar of the burner, as I poured enough heat into the air bag to take us abruptly higher. Miklos grinned like a schoolboy. I smiled back, glad to be sharing the joy of flight with someone who understood, and nearly forgot my grudge against him.

At my chosen altitude I turned down the burner. We soared along steadily in the near-silence that only comes with traveling with the wind instead of battling it. I leaned over the rim of the
gondola to watch the waves immediately below us, then turned suddenly to ask Miklos some serious questions about the structure of his airship. It seemed best to get some solid information before raising the issue of secrecy.

“Do you use a single gasbag within a rigid framework?”

Miklos raised his head with a jerk. He’d been staring at me, not at my face, but well below.

“What is it?” I looked down to see if something was wrong. I’d dressed warmly, with long johns under my denim trousers, but it’s true that Levi Strauss and Co. doesn’t cut their work pants to fit the female form, and slim though I am they’re a bit snug in the seat, especially when I lean over as I’d just done. “What? Have you got some complaint about my choice of clothing?” My tone made it clear that he’d danged well better not.

“No! Just the contrary!” His face above the beard reddened, and he looked flustered to an astonishing degree for someone generally so self-possessed. “But…oh, you were asking about the rigid framework. Yes, and in larger machines, we—”

I broke in coldly. “Let that wait. I’m the pilot in this craft, and I won’t be made game of. Apologize for your rude staring, or explain yourself.”

“I do apologize,” he said sincerely. “I was just thinking… well, someone like you would naturally not be pleased to be admired in such a way, but I couldn’t help thinking that if the ladies of this town only realized how becoming trousers can be on a woman, you would start a fashion craze.”