Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity

by Natalie Brianne

  “My good sir, would you be so kind as to direct us towards the bank director’s office?”

  “You have business with the bank director?” Elkins adjusted his spectacles.

  “Yes. We need to have access to the records of a deceased person’s account. We have a warrant.”

  “Well, as long as you have a warrant, I can help you sir. May I see it?” Byron nodded and handed it over.

  “Ah yes. Mr. Pennington. I helped him a few times. Looks like everything is in order. Let me get his file.” Elkins turned and walked out of sight for a few moments.

  “That’s a stroke of luck.” Byron leaned against the woodwork in relief. Elkins returned with a large file and directed them to a table. Byron pulled out a chair for Mira before seating himself beside her. Elkins set the file down and took a seat himself.

  “Here it is sir. Are you looking for a particular period?”

  “The last year if you would.”

  “Of course.” He flipped through a few pages. “Here you are, sir.” He slid a few documents over to them. Byron picked the papers up and glanced over them.

  “So, his influx of money began around March of this year. He received an increased income from March until July, but when he quit his job, he was still receiving funds, withdrawing it in smaller amounts.” He trailed off in thought.

  “Yes sir. From what I could tell he was a financially responsible man,” Elkins added.

  “How often did he come in?”

  “About once a week I believe. He would withdraw the funds he needed for that week, and around March he simply made deposits once a month. I assume he got a second job of some sort. His income from Vaporidge was sent directly here.”

  “Thank you so much. You’ve been most helpful. May I keep this?” He gestured with the papers.

  “Yes sir, we have a second copy. Happy to oblige you.”

  Byron tipped his hat, slipping the documents into his journal and soon he and Mira exited the bank.

  “His sudden disappearances on the airship and the influx of money are connected, but how could he have a second job on the airship itself, especially if the paychecks from Vaporidge were separate from his additional income?”

  “Then that is the crux of the issue. We need to find out where he was going,” she said.

  “Shall we take another ride on an airship Mira?”

  “I suppose we shall.”

  As they approached the Mooreland docks, Mira once again felt small in contrast to the balloons. The Horizon was moored for repairs.

  “It seems as if Fortuna is with us today Mira. We won’t even have to buy a ticket or leave London this time.”

  Mira found her breath again.

  They approached the ship and Byron focused his efforts on finding the foreman. He stopped one of the men supervising the repairs.

  “Excuse me, but where can I find the foreman?”

  “Right over there, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The foreman turned towards them as they approached.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I certainly hope so. You see, I’m a detective working with Scotland Yard. This is my secretary. We are investigating the death of Clement Pennington.”

  “Oh? How can I help with that?”

  “We need access to the Horizon.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We need to finish these repairs. It will be launching across the channel first thing tomorrow morning, and we can’t have any distractions.”

  “We would stay out of the way. We simply need to look around.”

  “I’m sorry, but unless you have a warrant, I can’t let you in.”

  The foreman turned back towards his workers and Byron herded Mira around a group of crates.

  She said, “If it’s leaving tomorrow, we don’t exactly have the luxury of waiting.”

  “My thoughts exactly. It’s also rather odd that he’s so against it. The repairs the ship needs now are minor in comparison to when we were grounded at Bristol, and we were certainly allowed around the ship then.”

  “I wonder how late the foreman stays.” Mira peeked around the crates. “He can’t stay all day.”

  “True. Perhaps we can take a walk and check back later.”

  After taking a long, winding route around the docks, they returned to their hiding spot behind the crates. After watching for a few minutes, Byron turned to her.

  “Play along the best you can. I’m going to determine if the foreman is truly gone.”

  He led her towards the back section of the ship and found one of the supervisors.

  “Hello there, good sir! Would the foreman be around?”

  “Not currently. He’s on break. Can I help you with anything?”

  “Perhaps. I’m a reporter with the Central News Agency,” he pulled out his journal to corroborate his story.

  “Are you wanting an interview?” The man looked skeptical.

  “No, we’re wanting to tour your ship. After all, the new and improved airship that Vaporidge is building wouldn’t be nearly as impressive without a comparison. I’ve heard that this ship is currently the finest ship in the fleet!”

  The man stood taller. “Indeed, it is sir! I’m fortunate to work on it.”

  “So, you’d let us take a look around?”

  “Well it isn’t exactly protocol to let anyone on the ship when it’s being cleaned you see—”

  “You would impede a critical newspaper article?”

  “No sir, not at all but,” he paused for a second, then relented, “well the foreman is out for about two hours, as long as you left before he came back.”

  “Good lad.”

  They started on the top floor and checked every room, every broom closet, the ballroom, the dining hall, the observation lounge, everywhere for a trap door or hidden passage. Nothing. They moved down into the engine area. Workers tinkered with all sorts of equipment, tightening bolts and maintaining the engines. They avoided the workers the best that they could and kept searching, working their way through the ship checking welding, bolts, and rivets in the walls. Eventually they split up in order to cover more ground.

  Mira walked around the back of the ship and it occurred to her that the ceilings in the crew section were a lot shorter than the ceilings in the main chassis. It was odd because they looked to be about the same height from the outside. Perhaps there was an area with more machinery beneath them, but she hadn’t found any doors or stairs to lead down to them. They must need maintenance at some point or another. She kept looking around, and she assumed that Byron did the same.

  When she reached the back of the ship, she noticed a grate covering some sort of vent. She furrowed her brow. Had there been any other grates? This one matched the metal surrounding it so well that if she hadn’t been looking closely, she wouldn’t have even noticed it. She pressed her face against it, trying to look beyond the metal crisscrossing. Her eyes met darkness, but there seemed to be an opening of some sort. That was when she noticed the hinges on the grate, as well as the lock keeping it in place.

  She left to find Byron. He was around the next bend, pushing on wood panels in the walls.

  “Byron, I think I found it.”

  “You did? Where is it?”

  She led him back to the grate and showed him the hinges.

  “Problem is, it’s locked. How much time do we have left?” she asked.

  Byron pulled out his pocket watch. “About ten minutes. But that’s only a problem for the moment.”

  He stood, and they moved out of the airship. Byron helped her down the ramp and the church clocks struck 4 as they strolled in the afternoon air.

  “Do you have a plan?” She looked up at him.

  “I always have a plan. Here’s what I need you to do.” He stopped, looked around, and then pulled her into an alley.

  “Go on back to your apartment and don’t worry about things,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “This is s
omething I need to do on my own.”

  “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to do?”

  He searched her face. “Very well. I’m going to break into the airship this evening.”

  “Byron!”

  He put a finger to her lips and looked around to ensure no one heard. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “It’s not that. I want to come!”

  Byron stopped for a moment and searched her face, before shaking his head.

  “Well, you aren’t coming.”

  “Oh no. You’re not sending me home at the first chance of danger.” Mira crossed her arms.

  “Why not? You said it yourself. Danger. I can’t drag you into that.”

  “Yes, but it’s also excitement. Something different. And how are you to survive without your secretary?”

  “I have done well enough on my own for the past four years, thank you very much.”

  “So then shall I not come back tomorrow?”

  “That isn’t what I meant at all.” He paused, then leaned closer to her, voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Get dressed in the darkest clothing that you have. Trousers if you own a pair. Come back to my place at nine-thirty this evening. Alright?”

  She smiled. “I’ll be there.”

  He tried to look annoyed, but it didn’t work. Despite his best efforts he looked incredibly pleased. He tipped his hat to her before he left. She went back to her rooms to get some food and get ready. It was likely to be a late night.

  She stopped by her uncle’s and tried on a few of her brother’s clothes to see if they would work for the job. Unfortunately, most of the articles needed to be hemmed, and she didn’t have much time. She opted for her own riding trousers and a black sweater. She had her hair up and out of the way for once. With her boots and gloves, she looked like she was about to go rob something. Her coat hid her attire well enough though, and surely a spring in her step wouldn’t give her plans away. She showed up at Palace Court promptly at nine-fifteen. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, placing her coat on a hook in the hallway.

  Byron sat in the living room, sorting through a mess of papers. Mira noticed that the notes he had plastered on the walls earlier were gone. The ones spread out now were much larger. They looked like maps. She came closer. Airship blueprints.

  “What are you doing?” She peered over his shoulder. Byron jumped again.

  “Mira! You’re early. But in a way you’re just in time. I’ve been looking over the blueprints of the airship we explored earlier.”

  “Blueprints?”

  “Yes. Most companies keep a record of their designs. I found a bound edition of Vaporidge blueprints from the last eighteen years at the library. No grate system to be found in any of them. Whatever it is that you found, they didn’t include it in the work plans. Either it is just decor, or the public blueprints are not the real ones.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you have stumbled on something extraordinary.” He smiled up at her. “And you look fantastic. Just perfect.” His smile became a grin.

  He wore all black as well. Black trousers, black sweater, black boots. The two of them matched almost exactly.

  “Are you ready to go?” He rolled up the blueprint and stood.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You know you don’t have to come. You can still back out.”

  “As if I’m going to do that now.”

  “Very well.” He walked across the room to the side table and opened a drawer. He pulled out a key ring with some odd-looking keys and lockpicks. Her eyes widened.

  “You don’t mean to—” She trailed off, trying to find the right word.

  “Yes. We are breaking into that grate. I thought you wanted excitement?” he teased.

  He grabbed his coat and slipped it on, then grabbed hers. He helped her into it, offered her an arm and led her out onto the street. The sky misted, making the atmosphere a bit chilly.

  “You’ll have to teach me, then,” she said.

  “Teach you what?”

  “How to pick locks.”

  “Heavens, no. I’m not turning my secretary into a criminal in training.”

  They headed to the docks, which lay quiet and still, a great change to the usual hustle and bustle happening during the day. They walked normally until they came close to the airship, and then Byron took off his coat and gestured for her to take hers off as well. They stashed them behind a couple of crates. Byron peeked out, looked around, then pulled back.

  “Guards,” he whispered. Mira shrunk up against the crate. Byron put a finger to his lips to quiet her, then picked up a rock. He threw it as hard as he could, and it made a loud ricochet sound against the hull of another ship. Loud footsteps ran in that direction. Byron put his head around the corner again, then nodded to Mira, and they snuck up the ramp. He picked the lock to the main door with ease and they walked into the warm interior.

  The inside of the ship changed as well. It was still as ornate, but at night it seemed gloomy. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting eerie shadows behind the portraits. The gold fleur-de-lis on the walls turned ghostly. Mira’s thoughts drifted to the haunted Beauchamp House library, and she shivered. Byron led her to the center of the ship where the door to the crew area was. This door stood unlocked.

  She decided that she preferred the moonlit ghosts to the shadowy, pitch-black interior. Byron’s eyes must have adapted faster than hers as he led her down the corridor with no problem. She felt the wall as she went, trying to make sense of where they were. When Byron found her lagging, he took her by the hand to make sure they stayed together. Their fingers fit well together, and she could feel his warmth through her gloves. When they reached the darkest part of the ship, she closed her eyes, and trusted that Byron would guide her safely through. The atmosphere lightened near the back of the ship where the grate was, and Byron took out his lockpicks again. She placed a hand on top of his.

  “Can’t you at least explain what you’re doing?”

  He paused a moment then nodded.

  “This ring has several tools on it that can be useful for picking a lock. Some locks can be opened using a skeleton key.” He lifted several of the keys on his ring.

  “Others, like this one, need different tools in order to be cracked. Picks, and a tension wrench.” He lifted two tools from the ring. “These types of locks have spring-loaded pins that fall into place, locking the door. When you use a key, it raises those pins, so the lock will open. You place the tension wrench on the bottom to keep the pins you’ve already raised from falling down again and use the picks to raise them.” He demonstrated. “After a while you can do it by sound, but you usually start with the feelings in your hands.”

  “Why do you know how to do this?”

  “Same reason as you. I was curious. When we get back to Palace Court, I’ll help you practice.”

  This lock took a little more time than the main door. She watched every movement with careful attention. Eventually the lock clicked. He pulled on the grate and it moved without sound. Someone must have oiled it recently. It swung open to reveal a ladder going down further into the ship. Byron slipped into the opening in the grate and started to climb down. When he was a good way down Mira started herself. How grateful she was for trousers!

  About halfway down the ladder the walls surrounding them disappeared. It was dim, but she could still make out how large of an area there was. It was huge. Her steps echoed as she made her way down the ladder. She reached the bottom and found that crates lined the walls, extending out towards the ladder. Byron hid in the shadow of one. She joined him.

  “What is this place?” she whispered

  “A cargo hold of sorts, but not a normal one,” he whispered back.

  They both turned to examine their hiding spot. Sturdy wood, probably oak. It was made of slats nailed together. He attempted to open it, but it wouldn’
t budge. He walked around it, examining every part. While Byron engaged in that endeavor, Mira looked around. This cargo hold held dozens of crates. A whiteish-grey powder was scattered on the floor in places. She walked further in and found what looked like a door. She remembered the doorlike panels on the outside of the ship. This was likely the only real one. Probably used for loading and unloading. Near the door there weren’t as many crates, but square outlines in the white powder suggested there had been more.

  A rumbling startled Mira from her investigation. A squealing noise soon joined in as an opening appeared beneath the door. She stood there a moment, unsure of what to do. Then, coming to her senses, she ducked quickly behind a crate. The noises stopped, and heavy footsteps with a large gait approached. Most likely a tall man. A second pair of footsteps followed the first. Two tall men. They moved to a crate three down from hers. They grunted, and wood scraped on metal for a moment. It stopped, and the footsteps went back towards the door. Panicking, she moved to another crate. The men returned for another one, and another. She moved further and further back. She heard more footsteps returning before it was logical for the first set of men to be back. There were more of them. With the constant flow of footsteps, she could no longer move without fear of being found. She leaned against her crate and tried not to breathe too much. Her heart pounded in her chest. They lifted the crate hiding her.

  “Hey now, Sam, it looks like we’ve found ourselves a stowaway.”

  She quickly found herself between two of the tallest men she had ever seen. Probably about six foot seven. Rippling muscles. Dangerous slanted eyes. One gruffly pulled her up by her arm, and she noticed tattoos decorating his forearm. She tried to struggle, but it really was no use.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her. She looked up at him in fear. Not knowing what to do she started speaking in French. He looked surprised.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked. She kept speaking at him in French, nearly hysterical. Babbling about nothing. Praying that he didn’t understand. He turned to his companion.