CHAPTER 7
Scheduled to return the same evening back to Seagrave Corp for the next pick up of coal for the outer settlements, the crew of the Stevenson having finished their ardours tasks of checks followed by checks and more checks then the inspections of the checks until all checks were done, corrected, rechecked and eventually signed off; couldn’t have hit land faster. Granted a day’s leave in the town they docked, each crewmember, providing deadlines were met, could take fifty per cent of their share. If the airship had taken too long to complete its run, then, however many hours missed collated to rank specific reductions. Thankfully on this occasion, the crew of the Stevenson received the full percentage; and what better town to have such a gift.
Gateshead was legendary among the veteran airmen. Only two hundred miles from the outer walls, the town offered the best pubs, food and brothels.
The ship’s greenhorn Matthew Harold had spent the night polishing the last of the cannon balls, all two hundred of them. It had taken him the best part of the journey from the Prussian capital. But he didn’t complain, having set a wager with Airmen Kirby; he knew it was a setup, they expected him to fail.
‘Get you three whores where we’re taking you, son,’ said Kirby.
Harold had other ideas. As soon as the airmen placed the money in his hand, he knew exactly where in Gateshead he was going to spend it.
Each Saints’ Day, Matthew and his three brothers would wait for their mother to get to bed, then they’d go to work on the old man. Usually a bottle of whiskey got him talking. Last year, the only year Matthew cared to listen, it had taken two bottles, eight shillings and his father had insisted they get drunk and join him.
‘Go on then, Dad.’ His older brother Percy always kicked it off. ‘Tell us about Gateshead.’
His father slurred words mocking each of them at first, pretending he didn’t know what they were quizzing. ‘Well boys, Gateshead is a lovely little town just outside the city walls they have the best food and the best beer...’
‘No, Dad,’ interrupted Percy. ‘Tell us about Foofina’s.’
He’d always make the same face, looking at each of his three sons. He’d pick up the bottle of whiskey and pull out the top.
‘Pass me your glasses, boys.’ He’d fill them up to the brim. If the bottle was empty he’d bark, ‘Matthew, be a good kid get your old man the other bottles from my chamber and don’t disturb your mother.’
Every glass had to be full before he’d begin. ‘Take a sip, boys,’ and they’d take the top layer off their drinks and he’d begin the story.
‘Located a few yards from the market, down a back street, you had to carry with you enough money to pay and enough free hands to fight off any robbers. Go there drunk on your own looking for the rest of your crew, and it’s a shy chance you won’t be leaving Gateshead with all your teeth.’ He flashed the top line of his empty gums. ‘Many of the aircrew couldn’t afford it, and some save all of their raids and runs share for months, just to spend half an hour with one of her girls.’ He’d take swig of his drink. ‘Foofina’s Boutique was exquisite and so was she.’
The boys exchanged glances, each egging him on, filling his glass. ‘I served thirty healthy years for your Majesty. I saw the best, Paris, China, even some of the ones they have in Prussia are pretty good. But this place, boys, don’t tell your mother, but if any of you ever become plonks, I’m telling ya, get ya’self to her gaff. By the Mother, I would just sign up to get some of the same again, any day.’
It was decided then, thought Matthew, he’s got the money, tonight was the night.
‘How much money do you have left, Kirby?’ Matthew asked, as he put away his brushes.
‘Not much, greenhorn, about eighty shillings.’
‘It might be enough,’ he said under his breath.
‘Why?’ Kirby asked, hearing him.
Getting in close, Matthew whispered, ‘Listen, I know of this place, it’s a little rough in ways of getting there and you need to keep your wits about you.’
‘Go on,’ Kirby said, tilting his head closer to make their conversation more private. ‘Continue–’
‘Yes, indeed, continue!’ interrupted a voice from behind them. ‘What are you two plonkheads busy gassing about?’
‘Nothing, Mr Robins, just discussing our leave plans,’ Matthew replied.
‘Oh?’ the navigator quizzed. ‘Doesn’t happen to involve going to a brothel, does it?’
‘It does, said Kirby. ‘Mathew Harold here seems to think there’s one in Gateshead where the women are…’
‘…let me guess,’ the navigator interrupted again. ‘Foofina’s by any chance?’
Both young airmen looked at each other.
‘Funny,’ the navigator said. ‘I was heading there myself if you boys care to tag along? The extra muscle will come in handy, in case things get a bit,’ Mr Robins kicked up a brush with his boot and caught it, ‘hairy.’
The airmen smiled at each other.
‘Meet me at the corner of the Stevenson’s bow loading bay in the hour,’ the navigator ordered, poking his fingers at their dirty tunics, ‘and change out of your deck rags. Wear your number two uniforms, if you have them.’
‘We have them,’ they replied in unison.
‘Good, the girls go crazy for them.’
II
Beggar, pimp, toothless hooker, beggar, pimp then another toothless hooker. Matthew had never felt so out of place yet so excited. The conflict he felt was why his left hand would not stop shaking. He hoped it would pass by the time they got there. Almost every person they past starred at him. He felt like an Upper walking among the Lowers. Women smiled and men stood up straighter, some even bowed their heads.
‘It’s the swords.’ said Kirby. ‘These lot know real silver when they see it.’
‘Why aren’t they trying to rob us?’ Matthew asked. ‘I thought silver was more precious than diamonds?’
‘It is, and almost just as sharp, these lot might look poor, but they’re not idiots.’
The three plonks rocked up at the large iron doors to the brothel. A rather heavy-looking bouncer sat on a stool smoking a pipe with yesterday’s copy of the Mercury Gazette in his hands. He looked tired, ready for a good night’s kip. The clock read two o’clock.
‘Good morning, sirs,’ said the bouncer, incorrectly greeting their rank. ‘I need to check in your firearms.’ The bouncer stood and searched each of the men. ‘Right. I take it you’ve been here before?’ The plonks nodded. ‘Good, straight up and wait on the red furniture. She’ll be right out.’
The staircase started straight with wooden steps. The next flight then spiralled carpeted gold with a red trim. Matthew smelt a fresh note of jasmine mixed with sandalwood in the air, and his nerves calmed under it. Whale oil burners filled the alcoves of the stone window ledges. The beads to the parlour parted, and walking in their polished shoes tapped the wooden boards. Two red armchairs and a large red Chesterfield, cracking and peeling with age, and a bar in the corner with various bottles of brown, green and clear liquids.
‘Should we help ourselves?’ Kirby asked.
‘Only if you want to be invited to leave,’ Mr Robins said, making himself comfortable.
Matthew adjusted his tunic as he sat down on the sofa. The fabric ruffled up around the rolls of his stomach. He sat straight-backed to try and tried to loosen it.
‘You daft plonk,’ Kirby said, poking Harold’s stomach, ‘Them cream cakes I’ve seen you scoffing with ya scran.’
From the rooms far archway, a harsh woman’s Parisian voice dished out orders. The other two soon followed Matthew and sat up straight. Matthew Harold preceded to sit even straighter.
From the darkness of the archway a woman appeared. Her figure was slender yet voluptuous, a tiny waist and ample bosom stuck out over her purple and black corset. Around her throat she wore a thick striped brown and black choker. Her lips were full and her cheekbones pronounced; she was older and perhaps less beauti
ful than she’d been in her youth.
‘Good afternoon gentlemen,’ she locked her laced gloved hands together.
Robins stood first; the other two followed and bowed toward the mistress.
‘I am Foofina, head mistress. Welcome to my parlour. Would you each care for some refreshment?’
The plonks traded narrow expressions, while the mistresses qualities replaced with her sexual confidence and ability to pillar a room commanded an answer.
‘Tea, gentlemen? A little early for anything else, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, perfect, thank you,’ Matthew Harold answered with a bow. ‘Two sugars please.’
The other two airmen gave him a nervous look as Foofina left the room.
‘Fucking hell. I wonder how much she costs?’ Kirby pondered.
‘Expensive,’ Robbins confirmed. ‘She only takes the highest clientele, businessmen, Lords. I even heard Seagrave’s had a go.’
‘At the same time?’ Kirby’s jaw slacked, his mind trying to picture such a scene.
‘My old man claims he had a go.’ Matthew said, checking the brass buttons of uniform and giving them a quick clean with his chuff, ‘apparently she can work wonders with your…’
The rattle of beads surprised the men to pause and sit back in their Chesterfield.
A tall, well-dressed gentleman waltzed in, removed his top hat and glided across the centre of the room, past the three plonks, as though a ballroom dance were about to take place and made a beeline for the drinks. His suit was slick, cut tight from dark green material. He faced the plonks and a smile mapped his heavily scared face.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the man, as he continued to fix himself a cocktail from the various coloured liquids, removing the corks from each bottle and taking a sniff.
The crewmen watched on, each with their own set of questions as to the identity of this gentleman. Among the differing inquiries ringing inside of their minds, they each shared in the envy of his outfit, his manner and his charm.
‘Airmen, is it? Well, you’ve certainly come to the right establishment to warm your cockles from those frightful skyways.’
Foofina breezed in with a tray of tea, biscuits and a group of five half-naked girls. She hadn’t noticed Nicholas Nightingale stood over at the bar as he went about adjusting his position, struggling to get a better look at the presentation.
‘My gentlemen,’ Foofina harked, ‘here’s a collection of my finest girls. French, of course, and for the contemporary among you, we also have two Chinese, and each available to you, this day.’ Foofina gave one of the girls a look, she stepped forward and smiled at each of the airmen, careful to soak in as much of their uniforms as rehearsed. ‘May I introduce Hannah, fresh from the Parisian court of Duke Montague. She is of ample bosom as you can see, and she loves to suck and to fuck.’
Matthew gulped a large amount of tea having never heard a woman use such foul language.
‘She is also good at the slow and long workings of making your cock-’
‘Fabulous,’ Nicholas interrupted, as he took a swig of his martini. Each of the girls looked at him. Smiles exploded on their faces like fireworks, as the most handsome of the men they’d seen in months, leant over at their bar, smiling back at them.
Foofina however, wore a contrasting glare. ‘Ladies, please sit and entertain our three other guests. I must attend to this one.’
‘Alone?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Alone,’ Foofina confirmed.
The three airmen played bobtail with the looks they gave to one another.
‘Shall we?’ offering her arm out to Nicholas.
‘We shall,’ he replied.
The two disappeared out of the room, leaving the girls and the airmen to get better acquainted.
III
Nicholas remembered the hallway and the rooms quite vividly. Nothing had changed too much, same sting in the nostrils one acquired upon entering her lair. She walked as she always did, as though the hall were a fashion catwalk. Her buttocks ticked one side to the other like a clock counting down the remaining minutes of a brotherhood bomb. She was still as beautiful, exactly how he remembered her.
‘Business going well I see.’ said Nicholas.
‘It’s been better,’ she replied, with a half-smile and wink from over her shoulder, confirming she was still just as wicked. ‘How’s the farmer’s life? Rather cold I’d imagine?’
‘And dull, actually.’
‘Nothing to keep a man like you busy? I pictured you punching haystacks and the locals?’
‘Not a lot else to do when entertaining oneself.’ he replied.
‘I’m sure you entertained yourself most nights.’ she said.
‘And most mornings.’ He corrected.
They entered a grand room, a bed at the far end appeared to be the furthest furniture from the door, and before it, several blankets covered soft furnishings of once dyed bright colours which had faded. The parlour passed down by her mentor, with little changed since the exchange.
She stopped. ‘Why are you here, again, Nicholas?’ The submissive purr of a kitten left her lips and entered his ear close enough to give him a shiver.
‘Again?’ he said. ‘I’ve not been here in…’ he paused to count the years.
‘Ten years, Nicholas.’
‘Yes, well, I need to find my brother.’
She moved in closer to his lips to catch his words in her ear canal, they missed, and instead puffed onto her neck.
Nicholas found the range of fresh goose bumps erected across her contours.
Wrapping her hand around his head, she whispered in his ear, ‘How dare you come back here.’ She snapped her hand up to slap him.
He caught it hard at the wrist. ‘I’m sorry I left. Not a day goes by when I...’
‘Oh, Nicholas,’ she interrupted, ‘spare me the sentiment. You were always looking for a way out of this, don’t be such a liar.’
‘Fina, I had to go. Did you not receive the letters?’
She walked away from him and spun around, her body wobbled, and Nicholas wondered if the unexpected visit had stirred up a conflict inside her.
‘Yes, I got them.’
‘You understand why I had to go?’
‘You’re a man.’ She snatched the empty glass from him and held his glare. ‘You picked the only one you have ever truly loved–’
‘The man’s wife was killed–’
‘–and you killed us.’
He removed his top hat and placed it against his chest.
She walked to a chest of drawers housing a collection of drinks and glasses of various sizes all positioned neatly, labels facing outward in front of an old mirror. ‘Another?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
As she prepared the drinks, Nicholas sat on the edge of her bed, his hat in his lap. He wondered how many more men she’d seen since them. Steam escaping from pressures sounded from an airship outside, and made him jump out of his daydream. His torso slouched. He looked down and opened his jacket to take it off. The fat rolls were back, he put the jacket on the bed and placed the hat on top, straightened himself and collected his thoughts.
‘Have you finally lost him?’ she asked, coming away from her bar and handing him a full glass.
Nicholas stood up, taking the drink.
‘The village was attacked, many were killed.’ He walked away from her intensity. ‘A man came, tall, slender fellow, he spoke with an Upper Middle City accent, but wore rags. And somehow he had broken in our home and found one of our insignia.’
‘This man wanted to kill you?’
‘Not me, he wanted Alfred.’
‘Seagrave?’ Fina asked, raising both eyebrows taking a sip of her martini.
‘I’m not sure. The drones which came and attacked were powered by gas propulsion.’
‘Gas? Sorry Nick, but you’ve lost me. So, this man controlled the drones?’
Nicholas took a sip of his drink. ‘Yes. I believe he di
d.’
‘I remember the weasel. He destroyed the man’s life, and now he’s coming to finish him off for good.’
‘I think the man may have been looking for something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Plans for the Spirit, perhaps?’
She ambled back over. ‘If Seagrave wanted you both dead, he’d have done it an age ago.’
Nicholas finished off his drink. ‘He did.’
Fina tipped over a bell on the counter next to her; it made a tiny ringing sound and then rolled and fell to the ground. Nicholas watched her body, paying close attention to the contours. As desirable as Nicholas had remembered them. Memories of the fun they had together flooded his tired mind.
‘Please tell me, Fina, if Alfred comes here. I’ll be heading to the compound to try and keep an eye on him in case he does something he’ll regret. If you happen to hear anything, contact the paper and file an advert in the classifieds, like last time.’
She nodded. ‘Sounds like you’re leaving, so soon?’
Her voice was flat and his heart was the first to notice it, how it ached to harmonise with hers.
‘I have to.’ he said.
Nicholas went to leave placing his top hat back on his head. She grabbed him tightly by the arm. ‘Be careful, Nicholas,’ she urged. ‘Don’t let the devil cause more damage to your family.’
Her eyes softened. He touched her arm and kissed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry I left.’
‘Leaving me was never the problem, Nicholas.’ Her smile folded like paper. ‘You never arrived.’
IV
Outside the brothel, memories ripped at Nicholas, clawing him back to the connection they’d always shared.
His footsteps were heavy as they hit the stone slabs as zeppelins flew above. Nicholas walked with pace and put his goggles back on his eyes. He could trust Fina, there wasn’t a lot of love in Gateshead for Seagrave.
Hurrying his pace, Nicholas arrived at the station. A large locomotive with the wording "CITY" written on the top across the front of the train pulled in. The steam filled the gangway and many of the passengers waiting to alight placed masks over their faces. Turning to watch a few of them, Nicholas locked eyes with a gentleman. His skin was freshly shaven with long hair on his head pulled back in one of those crude ponytails popular among the Upper Middles. He caught the face as he placed the mask over his own. It was him, it had to be, he was sure of it, the posh ragged man from the village. The man wore a frustrated expression and hadn’t noticed him.
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