by Giles
“Thank you Captain, you have saved me from a quite uncomfortable situation.” Carstares said as his stomach rumbled loudly.
“Indeed!” Jerard laughed but sobered after a moment. “Sir, we need to discuss what is to be done today. I was about to come and find you anyway.”
“Agreed, but not until after a cup of tea at least?”
Jerard nodded trying not to laugh again. “I know Sir but I am sorry, we might run out of time to do what I think need doing if we don’t hurry.”
“Oh?” the Colonel said and opened his mouth to speak again when the wonderful smell of bacon reached his nose. “Ahhhh...smell that? Heaven I say!” He quickened his step, moving away from Jerard and nearly running towards the galley.
Jerard shook his head and followed at a more sedate pace. It seemed only seconds after the Colonel entered the galley that he was exiting again. He carried a plate heaped full of food in one hand and a pair of large steaming mugs in the other. He nodded toward a nearby table and set the plate and mugs down. “Right! Here we go Phillips! And a mug for you too. Good man that McPherson, good man; almost like he knew we were coming!”
Jerard took the seat across from Carstares and took the mug of tea in hand. After a long drink of the hot brew (that was prepared perfectly) he had to agree. He remembered the broth McPherson had brought to him just two nights ago, that too had hit the spot. He wondered briefly how Mac knew that he only liked just a touch of sugar in his tea.
Carstares gestured at Jerard with his knife. “Well go on Sir. I can eat and listen, what have you got in mind?”
“Well to be blunt Sir, I believe that we should have the LensBaron followed.”
The Colonel nodded and mumbled “agreed” around a mouthful of food.
Jerard took that as a sign to continue. “I am thinking of sending Mr. Howell Sir or perhaps one of the Landovers. I wanted to get your input before I set anything into motion.”
“Howell.” Carstares said as he popped a large fork full of eggs into his mouth.
Mr. Howell had been Jerard’s first choice as well but instead of an answer he merely raised an eyebrow hoping that the Colonel would elaborate. He had to wait until the eggs were all gone before he got his answer.
“That Howell fellow is the smoothest most resourceful man I have ever met. In fact if I thought for a moment that I could get him away from Starblower, he’d be my man.” Carstares punctuated that last sentence by finishing off the last bite of his toast. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach before carefully laying his napkin beside his plate. “You know Phillips, should you ever need a reference you can count on me Sir.”
“Why thank you Sir.” Jerard said, slightly taken aback by the turn of the conversation.
“Yes well,” Carstares began gruffly. “We have been thinking along the same lines but I had already ruled out either you or I as candidates to follow the LensBaron. Mr. Howell is perfect, if he is seen around town he has an excuse as the chief provisioner for the Soul of Discretion.”
“My thoughts exactly Sir. I expect he and Paulo are in the storage hold about now; making a list of on-hand supplies. I shall speak to him.” Jerard got to his feet.
Carstares was a moment behind having hesitated to take a last look at the empty plate. “Oh Captain, when do we land?”
Jerard chuckled. “We landed a quarter hour ago Sir, did you not feel the ship touch down?"
"Uh, no…I suppose I was more distracted than I thought. Well then, we both need to get moving.” Carstares nodded and headed toward the stairwell wondering how the “negotiations” were going up top and how he could have possibly missed the airship's bumping on the ground.
Jerard went in the other direction to find the indomitable Mr. Howell. He was not surprised that the steward was willing, nay eager, to do a bit of shadow work. No, the surprise was Howell hurrying off before he even finished laying out the plan. The man had impatiently waved his hand in a 'yes, yes, I know' gesture and mumbled something about hitching a ride? Jerard was left standing open mouthed in the storeroom with an equally confused Paulo. In fact he nearly jumped his skin when the speaking grill announced: “Captain Phillips to the bridge. Captain Phillips you are needed on the bridge.”
Jerard was nearly there when he heard the announcement begin again. Quickening his step he made it inside before Mr. Jones could finish. "I’m right here Mr. Jones.”
Aneurin Jones hurriedly took off his headphones and swung around to look at his captain. “Sorry Sir I didn’t hear you reply through the grill.”
“Not a problem m’man” Jerard assured him as he realized that he had forgotten to use he speaking grills. He hurried on. “What have you got for me?”
“The Danish ground crew is on its way Sir.” Jones smirked. “I assured them it wasn’t necessary but, well, they insisted, I thought you should know.”
“Ah yes, so the locals have found time for us at last have they?” Phillips drawled and gave Mr. Jones wink.
The Danish officials were indeed somewhat stern with Phillips for landing without permission or direction from themselves. But once he dropped the names of his two passengers the men backed off considerably.
“The LensBaron of Aalborg ? Here you say?” One of the custom's officers gasped.
“Yes Sir, that is correct Sir. The LensBaron Bodil Gyldenfeldt of Aalborg is aboard this ship along with his good friend and my employer, Mr. Phineas Starblower of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. This ship is here at the invitation of the LensBaron. I apologize if our arrival has caused you distress. However, I thought it prudent, since we have the means, to set down without delay."
The custom's official began to bluster again and Jerard held up his hand. "Please, would you have me tell the LensBaron Gyldenfeldt that our arrival was delayed because the Danish ground crews were too busy to attend to his honor's ship? In fact they were too busy because they were spending their time tying down a couple of German Zepplins?"
Evidently the Danish officials understood the LensBaron's likely mood in the event of Jerard's proposed scenario. Documents changed hands, signatures signed and a few stamps appropriately placed saw the departure of the Danish officials in record time. After seeing the Danes off the ship Jerard dismissed the bridge crew to a late breakfast. He himself stayed on the bridge. Opening the log book on his small podium Jerard set to getting the next bit of paperwork completed.
A dull thumping sound from the gondola’s door broke his concentration. If those damn’d pen pushers want some more of my time I’ll.... He broke off the thought and resignedly trudged to the bridge's ante-room. Dragging the access door open he demanded, “Well what is it this time?”
Two liveried footmen stood at door, they were obviously quite surprised at Jerard's tone. They both bowed politely and asked Jerard a question in Danish. Realizing who the men must be Jerard hastily apologized before recognizing that neither man spoke English. "LensBaron Glydenfeldt?" He tried.
Both men nodded and Jerard motioned them into the ante-room and made the sign to wait. He was about to turn towards the stairs when he remembered he did not have to personally go up to the passenger dining room and get the LensBaron. In fact it probably would not look good for him to do so. Instead he moved to the speaking grill and depressed what he hopped was the "all hands" switch. "Mr. Phelps, Mr. Tanner, Mr. Jones. To the bridge please. Phelps, Tanner, and Jones. To the bridge. "
In less than ten seconds the grill replied, "Tanner and Phelps on their way." And on the heels of that: "Jones acknowledged." Jerard could not help but grin; he liked this grill thing more and more. He was also enjoying the way the two footmen stared suspiciously at the speaking device.
Jones arrived first and Jerard explained who he thought the men were, and asked if he would assist Phelps and Tanner since the footmen did not appear to speak English. When all was settled and the identity of the footmen confirmed Jerard returned to his log book.
It seemed only minutes before the next interruption sou
nded although it must have been a great deal longer. This time it was the voices of Tash and Gyldenfeldt alerting him to their approach. He got to his feet, straightened his jacket and moved to meet his employer and their guest in the ante-room.
Jerard said a pleasant goodbye to the LensBaron and remarked on how much he was looking forward to the opera this evening. It was not until he stood watching Gyldenfeldt with Tash on his arm walking down the ramp that Phillips realized that he really was looking forward to the opera. It had been years, since he had attended a civilized event. Casting a last appreciative eye over the retreating back of his employer he found himself hoping that he would be able to monopolize a great deal of his employer's time. And he wasn't thinking of the fake Starblower.
Jerard sat down again to attempt to finish the paperwork. One minute he was staring at the page of half written notes, the next found him gazing out of the window and imagining what it would be like sharing the opera with Tash.
"Sir? Captain?"
Jerard whirled around to see Mr. Phelps standing in the bridge doorway. "Yes?" He replied as politely as he could.
"Sir, Paulo is ready to serve the mid-day meal. Do you wish to take it here?"
"Uh…yes. Thank you." Jerard replied a little confused. "What time is it?"
"It is a quarter to twelve Sir."
Good god! How long had he been daydreaming? Jerard glanced down to the log book and it looked the same as it had when he sat down almost three hours ago! "Thank you Mr. Phelps." He said dismissing the steward. Jerard rubbed his eyes, I must have been more tired than I realized, he thought. The last time I fell asleep at a desk I was in flight school.
Lunch came and went and Jerard finally managed to complete the ship's log for the last twenty four hours. Perhaps I should have a real kip he thought as he opened his desk and neatly put the log away. His thought was interrupted by a banging on the gondola's outer door once again. Feeling irritated he went to the ante-room and wretched open the door with a rather rude shout of "what?"
“Sorry sir, should I call again later?” came back the impious voice of the chief steward.
“Good heavens Howell I do apologize…great scott man! Whatever happened to you?” Phillips said as he eyed the blooming bruises around Howell's eye.
“Difference in opinion Sir.” Howell said with a grin. "Does it look that bad?”
“I suppose it depends on your definition of bad. Well get inside man, we're all anxious to hear your report Sir.”
“As ordered Captain.” Howell replied with mock humility as he squeezed into the Gondola’s antechamber.
"I will summon the others Mr. Howell, please meet us in the passenger lounge."
"Yes Sir!" The chief steward replied and winked at Jerard with his good eye.
“Jon! What’s happened to you?” Tash said as she rushed to the steward’s side. She took his chin in her hand and turned his face up to the light; then gently touched the bridge of the man’s nose. “Well at least it isn't broken. But oh my! What a shiner!”
Mr. Howell chuckled and gently removed the lady’s hand. “I am quite all right Miss Tash, it probably looks a lot worse than it feels.”
“But what happened?”
“Yes Mr. Howell, what happened? Were you able to follow the LensBaron? Carstares said as he leaned forward expectantly.
“Did you get caught?” Phillips asked.
“Yes and no. I did follow the LensBaron and no I did not get caught.”
“But what happened?” Tash said again her voice tight with concern.
“Pardon me.” Gopal interrupted. He handed the steward a glass of scotch and a cool damp towel. “Might I suggest we all have a seat and let Mr. Howell tell his story?”
Jon Howell took the scotch, drained the glass and handed it back to Gopal with a hopeful look that it might be refilled. The cold towel he pressed to his swollen eye before grinning at his audience.
When no one moved Gopal uttered a stern, “Well?” The others scrambled to take seats looking expectantly at the already seated Mr. Howell. Gopal moved to the passenger lounge’s drink cabinet and poured out another measure of scotch. Once the glass was back in the steward’s hand he took a drink and began.
“Well it went like this see....
Jon swore out loud, he had been trying not to do that but that last pothole nearly threw him off the back of this cursed coach. He looked over at the footman beside him who was also holding on to the back of the coach for dear life. The man was grinning like a fool and seemed to be repeating his curse.
“Ja, ya, it IS shit, yes?” The footman said laughing.
“You speak English?” Jon asked.
“A little.” The man said and managed a shrug as the coach bounced again. “Many who live here speak it, Copenhagen a big place to trade, ja?”
“Where is the Opera House?”
“Opera Haus?” The footman repeated looking confused. After a moment his face brightened. “Oh! The teater! Just there, big place with statues see?” The footman pointed just up the street where Jon could indeed see a very large building with greek statues posing on the roof.
“Is that where we are going?” Jon asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Not now. We take you to market, then we to LensBaron house and after we come back to Det Kongelige Teater.”
Jon smiled and nodded. Now how do I frame my next question he wondered.
The footman sighed loudly. “I wish we stop at Teater now and not come to here two time in one day.”
“Two time?”
“Ja, round and round yes? We drop bags at haus, LensBaron big man, change clothes and go back to teatre.”
Jon nodded. “Yes my master is also changing for the show tonight.”
The footman laughed. “No, LensBaron have to impress teater persons for now. He change again for tonight.”
Jon blinked several times as what the footman told him sunk in. It looked like he was not going to have to try to follow the carriage to the LensBaron’s residence after all. Apparently there was something going on at the opera house this afternoon. He grinned at the footman and clapped him on the back. “Round and round!” He said, not having to fake the happy tone.
After two careening turns the coach finally stopped at the entrance to a rather large market place. Jon gratefully hopped off the back of the coach and waved to the footman as the coach drove off.
Now, he thought, to find myself a translator and handy accomplice. He made his way through the market stalls until he found the spice merchant. Fortunately the man had the saffron that Paulo needed. And fortunately he had the look of the standard shady character. Jon had discovered long ago that spice traders could nearly always be counted on to deal on both sides of the law.
Jon pointed to the saffron and pantomimed “how much?”
The man answered him in Danish and Jon shook his head. “You speak English?” he asked.
The man shook his head. So Jon pulled a fist full of marks from his pocket and held them out. The man leaned over and looked at the money and shook his head again. With a sigh Jon then pulled out a wad of rigsdalers. The man’s eyes grew wide as he delicately plucked a single rigsdaler from the pile. Got him! Jon thought as he stuffed the wad of money back in his pocket. He briefly lamented the fact that it was so easy to convince foreigners that anyone that spoke English was a dumb tourist. But that was the way things worked so Jon gratefully accepted the small packet of spice from the nodding man and pretend to be delighted that he had just paid three times what the blasted stuff was worth.
Jon turned and strolled back the way he had come. He did not need to turn and see the spice dealer step to the front of his stall and motion another man over. He did pretend to drop the spice packet though so he could see just how many men responded to the merchant’s summons. Sure enough it was just as he had pictured and there were two shabbily dressed men having what appeared to be an urgent conversation with the merchant. Jon hurriedly snatched up the packet and resumed his
stroll . He had already picked out the perfect place to get robbed; a suitably dark alley that was open on both ends and appeared to have only one doorway.
The steward began looking around as if he were lost. He back tracked a little bit and even pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and pretended to read as if consulting a list. After a few minutes and when he was completely certain that he was being followed he turned down the alley.
He had only taken perhaps ten, maybe fifteen steps when he heard a harsh voice speaking Danish. Jon whirled around feigning surprise. “Oh hello there!” He said pleasantly. “Perhaps you can help me I seem to be quite lost. I’m looking for...”
The taller of the two men facing Jon spoke again, rudely interrupting Jon and repeating the Danish phrase.
Jon shook his head and smiled. “So sorry old man I am afraid I don’t speak Danish. Either of you speak English?” He looked a each man hopefully and began moving toward the pair; a friendly smile plastered to his face
The second man was shorter, heavier and obviously older than the tall blond who originally spoke. It only took seconds for Jon to size up his opponents. Both seemed fairly inexperienced at this game and while the younger man was certainly fit, the older man was equally out of shape. “English?” Jon repeated again hopefully.
The older man growled out “No!” as the other pulled a knife. Both moved menacingly toward Jon.
“Oh! I say! Is this a hold up?” Jon said stopping in his tracks and raising his hands into the air.
The taller man smiled a rather evil smile and answered in Danish. The only word Jon understood was “Ja.” Which was fine, he was pretty sure at this point that neither of them spoke English so they would be of no use to him. He mentally sighed, ok, let’s get this over with.