by Giles
“Discretion – are – you - receiving?”
“Receiving Inchinnan tower.”
“Touche - Madam”
“Ah, Mr. Carstares I see that you fully understand the nature of this impasse. Say hello to Mr. McPherson for me.”
“Yes - I – have – now – been – made – aware – madam - so – will - you – be – returning – to - London?”
“Not at all Mr. Carstares, I have something you want and you have something I want. I suggest we negotiate.”
“Agreed – what – do – you - propose?”
“I propose that we land this ship and proceed with her repairs; we then set off for Norway early in the morning as planned. I further propose that you and your esteemed master Lord Mansfield cease all attempts to have me removed from this ship.” Tash was not sure if what she heard next was radio crackle or a very heavy sigh.
“I – agree – to – your – proposal - madam.”
“May I have your word as a gentleman?”
Tash could hear Captain Phillips grumbling, it sounded like: he’s no gentleman, trying to have a lady arrested, how could you trust him? But since it was not said directly to her she did not reply.
“You – have – my – word – as – a – gentleman - madam. – And – I – thank – you – for – accepting - it.”
“Mr. Carstares? This is not over Sir. There is one more piece to negotiate but I feel it will best be done face to face.”
“Now – see – here – madam!”
“No Sir! You see HERE! If you are not willing to negotiate then neither am I.” Tash reached over and switched off the radio leaving a thundering silence on the bridge.
No one moved or spoke for several shocked moments before the room erupted in chaos. Tash calmly held up her hand and said: “Wait!” As the objections, encouragements and expressions of confusion died away she turned the radio back on.
As he watched her calm the crew with a word, Phillips considered just how much the crew evidently loved Miss Smythe-Harris. He thought he understood. While the woman could be infuriating she nonetheless cared very deeply for those about her. A bit like how his sister had fussed over him when he had declared his intent to join the Army he supposed. That was it he realized, “Miss Tash” was the big sister to the company with Mr. Starblower being a more distant and patriarchal figure as was only proper. Jerard shook his head, it was a far cry from the military way of doing things.
“Discretion – Discretion – come – in – Discretion. Are – you – receiving – Discretion?”
Tash stood up from the chair and motioned for Jones to come forward and take her vacated seat. She smiled sweetly, “We are receiving now Mr. Jones.”
Aneurin Jones chuckled as he sat down and answered the tower. “We are now receiving you Inchinnan Tower. We lost signal for a few moments.”
“Confirmed - Discretion.”
Jones turned to Tash. “What now madam?”
“Just wait a moment Mr. Jones.”
“But madam, what are we…” His words were cut of with a loud crackle from the radio.
“Discretion – this – is – Inchinnan - Tower – are – you – still - receiving?”
“Confirmed Inchinnan Tower. We are receiving you.” Jones looked to Tash again. She shook her head no and mouthed the word ‘wait’.
The seconds stretched into a full minute before the next radio crackle. “Discretion – this – is – Inchinnan - Tower – are – you – still - receiving?”
“Confirmed Inchinnan Tower. We are receiving you. ”
Aneurin seemed to be catching onto the game and laughed out loud. He turned to Tash, not even trying to hide the admiration in his eyes. “I seem to recall you teaching me an early chess lesson Tash. Let me see,” he tapped his nose in mock thought. “How did that go? Oh yes! NEVER attack a cornered opponent; they will always remember how to fight. Instead rely on the confusion created when you do not press your advantage.” He stood up and bowed deeply to Tash before continuing. “So madam, how long do you expect it take before…”
The radio crackled loudly. “Discretion – this – is – Inchinnan - Tower – are – you – still - receiving?”
“Confirmed Inchinnan Tower. We are still receiving you. ”
“Discretion – this – is – Major - Carstares! I – will – speak – with – Miss – Smythe-Harris – immediately!
Jones looked at Tash and she shook her head no.
“Inchinnan Tower, Major Carstares, Miss Smythe-Harris is no longer on the bridge Sir.”
“Blast – that-woman!”
“Beg pardon Sir?”
“Can – you – get – a – message – to – her?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Will – you – tell – her- I – will – negotiate – further – with – her - face – to – face? I – will – wait – here – for – her – reply.”
A wicked grin stole across Jones’ face. “No need Sir. She has been expecting your message and she told me to reply that she will meet you on the ground.” After a moment’s hesitation Jones continued with, “Discretion out.”
“Well done Mr. Jones.” Tash said sweetly into the silence.
“And to you Madam, and if I might add you will forever be an honorary Welshwoman in my eyes.”
“Such an honor Mr. Jones!” Tash said as she curtsied. With a smile she turned to Captain Phillips. “Sir, shall we try this landing again?”
Jerard returned the smile and bowed. “My dear lady, it will be my pleasure!”
Tash performed another proper curtsy in reply to Jerard and then turned to Constance.
“Now then sweetling, I really do have a simply marvelous present for you!” The two ladies linked arms and glided from the bridge.
The Discretion had drifted perhaps some two hundred feet from the still extended docking tower. It took the experienced crew only moments to return the airship’s nose to a hover directly above it.
Jerard Phillips could not believe the performance he had just witnessed. The woman was either brilliant or insane. One moment she is negotiating and manipulating like a barrister and in the very next she is curtseying and smiling as if she hadn’t a brain in her head.
“…I wonder what other concessions she is going to wring out of poor Carstares?...” he mused softly aloud as the docking hawser was reconnected.
“Pardon Sir?” Mr Jones asked.
“Nothing Sir, Just thinking aloud, lets get her secure and get those inspectors on board. I want to be ready to leave as soon as possible. Something tells me that Miss Smythe-Harris’ decisions are usually not based on whimsy.”
“Now you’re getting it lad.” Nichols said as he clasped Jerard on the shoulder. “Shall I finish showing you the ship Sir? Before the inspectors get everywhere?.”
“Capitol idea!” Jerard said. Then turned to those remaining on the bridge. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed!”
As the two men walked toward the aft bridge Nichols spoke up. “Sir, I would be honored if in times like these you would be willing to call me by my given name: Lance.”
Jerard was quite taken aback at the request. This was not the military way but then again he reminded himself, again, this was not the Queens Service either. What should he do? He was responsible for maintaining order on this ship. This casual approach to “order” seemed to be the normal operation. Making a fast decision Jerard stopped in his tracks and offered his hand to Nichols. “Jerard,” he said. Nichols accepted his hand with a smile and Jerard had the distinct feeling that somehow he had just done the ‘right thing’. Although how many of the crewmen he was expected to be this friendly with was certainly generating some discomfort. This kind of thing was just not done, not in polite society and certainly not in the military.
Lance Nichols began speaking as the two men entered the A deck’s long hallway. “Now then Sir, I don’t think we got very far the first time. The first group of cabins is the officers’ quarters. On your rig
ht here across from the stairs is Mr. Wallace’s room and just to the other side is Mr. Pruette’s.”
Jerard nodded and smiled, he was amused at the tone of voice Mr. Nichols had taken on. The man sounded like a holiday tour guide; one who was obviously enjoying himself.
“As you already know Sir, the next set of doors are yours and mine, yours on the right, mine directly across. The next set here, belong to Jones and D’Arcy, Jones on the right, D’Arcy directly across, you get the picture. The two lower decks use this set-up, a central hallway with the rooms extending off to each side. I have to say Sir, this does make for very large cabins.”
“Indeed Sir.” Jerard certainly did agree, his old scout ship was very utilitarian and what rooms it did have seems to be rather like rabbit warrens.
“On your right here Sir, is the secure locker. Oh! I remember this was a far as we got before Tash arrived, moving on then. This next set of cabins I personally call the petty officer cabins although I do not believe this title is in any way given to these staff members. Here on your right Sir is Mr. Howell’s quarters and directly across is the room shared by his staff Mr. Tanner and Mr. Phelps. Next on your right here is the room shared by our junior engineers, Mr. Adams and Mr. Collins and across is Mr. Vinnetti’s quarters.”
Jerard began to wonder if Mr. Nichols would take a breath. He had been walking fast and gesturing side to side as if he were calling a lawn tennis match.
When they reached a huge open space Jerard stopped and stared. Nichols kept walking and talking but the only bit Jerard caught was “this is the staff dining room.” This room, this “staff dining room” was amazing! The single room ran the entire width of A deck. Sunlight flooded the room from the large view ports, two on each side. Jerard blinked as he moved further into the space.
The wall decorations, the faux paneling and wallpaper from the hallway extended all the way around the room. On his right were six dining tables covered in white tablecloths, each had four chairs neatly tucked up tight. A huge chandelier-like fixture hung over all. Jerard wondered if it were gas or electric. A large and what appeared to be wooden sideboard/china cabinet (Jerard had learned not to trust his eyes) took up the space along the back wall to the right of the door. This did not look like any “staff dining room” Jerard had ever seen, it was more like the set-up for a hunting party. He shook his head and turned his attention to the other side of the room.
Another set of cabinets and a sideboard filled the back wall of the other side. There were no less than three overstuffed settees on this side, each accompanied by a pair of chairs a tea table and several small side tables and fringed ottomans. All of this was set atop one of the largest Persian rugs that Jerard had ever seen. Another of those huge chandeliers hung down from the ceiling. Jerard swallowed as he began to note the details of this side of the room. Each upholstered piece was done in a different pattern yet all contained shades of green. Instead of creating confusion, everything meshed together in an atmosphere of cool and calm. There were pillows and throws scattered around and books lying here and there along with several trays holding decanters and glasses. In the furthest corner a quarter table sported an odd brass trimmed mahogany box. On top of it was mounted a strange black and brass contraption and of all things a trumpet! As he studied the device and the metal cylinders stacked neatly beside it he realized that he was looking at an Edison Phonograph! Ye gods! These things were mere rumors. Could this really be?
“Sir?” Nichols interrupted. Jerard turned to look at the grinning man. “Sorry, I forget what kind of impact this room has on someone who has never seen it. Most of us live aboard ship, you see, Miss Tash created this so we would be comfortable. If I might, I would like to point out my two favorite parts of this room. The first is the support columns; take a good look at them.”
There were four of them on each side of the room. At first glance they appeared to be gold columns but on closer inspection Jerard saw that they were in fact regular duralium girder beams almost completely covered in brass filigree wire. The wire was swirled around the beams in dizzying patterns that reached up and onto the ceiling. The effect was very organic. Jerard reached out to touch one of the columns, expecting it to give to the pressure of his fingers. “Amazing!”
“It is Sir, in fact it is rather relaxing to sit and try to trace the patterns, I would like to meet the person who created these.”
Jerard nodded, he would like to meet that person as well. “And the second thing?” He prompted Nichols.
“That would be the dinning tables Sir.” Nichols moved over to one of the tables and lifted up the tablecloth and the pad underneath. “All of the tables are covered in felt, the perfect surface for a game of cards.”
Jerard chucked, “Indeed! It seems that Ms. Smythe-Harris has thought of everything.”
“Pretty much Sir and we have all been told that if there was anything else we required, within reason of course, we were to let Mr. Howell know and he would get it for us.”
“Ah!” Jerard said, that would explain the man’s cryptic remark when they first met. “All right then, carry on, let’s see what other wonders await me!”
The pair moved off down the hallway and were met by the most delicious smell and the sounds of cooking. A few more steps revealed a large open doorway to Jerard’s left. He peered in and saw Mr. Vinnetti leaning over the open door of one of two very large ovens. Jerard waited until the man closed the door and stood up. “That smells like beef wellington, Sir.”
Mr. Vinnetti turned and smiled. “Si! My Captain! We will feast tonight, yes? Miss Tash has ordered a special meal for the crew.”
Jerard raised an eyebrow, he had not heard about this but then again so much had happened today he was not surprised that no one had told him. Mr. Vinnetti must have caught his look and quickly jumped in to explain.
“It was supposed to be the surprise, yes? Miss Tash tell me that she had to order the men to stay close to the ship, no leave time. So she have me make this nice meal, see?”
“I do see Mr. Vinnetti, thank you. I will be sure to keep the secret, and I am very much looking forward to this feast.”
“Si, si, I get back to the work now. And Captain, if you see Mac, you will tell him I need him, yes?”
“Mac?” Jerard questioned.
“Mr. McPherson Sir. He is Vinnetti’s right hand man in the galley.” Nichols said before turning to Vinnetti. “Uh, Paulo, I think Tash told him he could go and visit with his father for a bit.”
Mr. Vinnetti smacked his palm against his forehead and muttered something in Italian. “Ok then, you get Roger for me, yes?”
“Will do.” Nichols replied and motioned for Jerard move on. He opened the door across the hallway and explained, “This is the electrical room.” He ushered Jerard in and closed the door. He leaned against it and sighed. “Sorry for the rush there Sir but Vinnetti has been known to co-opt anyone standing around for kitchen duty.”
Jerard chuckled, “Sounds like me Mum.”
“Aye, Sir, and mine as well, best to stay clear unless you want to find yourself peeling and chopping vegetables!” Nichols rolled his eyes and then stepped away from the door. “Now Sir, here we have our main generator.”
Jerard looked about the room and for the first time he actually felt more at home on the ship. Here was the heart of this graceful lady. The room was dominated by a large barrel shaped device linked by a drive shaft to a good sized internal combustion engine. Multiple pipes snaked their way out to the outer hull from the engine presumably carrying its exhaust gasses. While other smaller lines of pipe and wire bundles fed in and out of the assembly. Nichols allowed him a moment to pan the room before continuing.
“The main generator is rated to 20 kw Sir and runs on blaugas from the main fuel stores saving us from having to install another fuel system. As a back up, the ship’s four Wolsey engines each has a small dynamo attached to it via a flywheel. So, while the ship is under power we can augment our power needs from them. Coll
ectively they can’t supply more than 12 kw, its not quite enough for our cruising needs, but its better than having no back up at all.”
Moving to a wall panel emblazoned with sinister looking lightning slashes Nichols continued. “Behind this access panel we have a double row of lead acid batteries to store accumulated power. The opposite wall as you can see is the monitoring station. Airshipman Adams is usually on station here during flight to make sure the power requirements are kept stable. On the wall is the speaking grill and pneumatic tube that allows us to keep in touch with him in flight. Now here…” The chief engineer moved to a hatch set flush into the floor and pulled the duralium door upwards with little effort. “…is the access to the search light.”
Phillips looked down and saw a small a metal ladder descending perhaps six feet into the glass observation bubble that held the swivel mounted searchlight. Contemplating this he asked, “So has the crew much experience with night landings then Mr. Nichols?”
“A few times Captain, Mr. Starblower is fond, it seems, of dashing off on one of his forays at all hours. We have the procedure down fairly well, why I recall one time over the Yorkshire moors we just couldn’t safely set her down but the command came up from the cargo bay that we were ‘close enough’ and he drove his motorcycle right out of the doors to drop the last few feet or so!”
“Impressive” was all Jerard said out loud. Idiotic, was what he thought, airships had no business landing at night except at a proper facility. Still in a perverse way it was a good sign that this ship’s duties would be less routine and boring than he first had assumed. Moving to another machine towards the back of the room he knelt down by it and looked back at Nichols. “And what's this Sir?” He queried. The device was clearly another engine but not an internal combustion type.
“Ah that's our old generator engine Sir, a 30 horsepower Armstrong-Klein gas pressure engine. Had it replaced in the current refit with the Beardmore 45 here.” He said tapping the cowling of the larger generator engine. “We’ll be dropping it off on our return to Mr. Starblower’s residence as there is essentially nothing wrong with it, though its fuel chambers have already gone. That's where we managed to get the extra batteries installed you see Sir.”