by Amy Braun
The Lilly Mae could handle the projected weight of the wagon and cargo, and if it were too heavy, he could always leave some of the gold behind, much as it would break his heart.
His plan was a sure thing, no doubt, no chance of anything less than success.
He had the information straight from the mouth of his darling Lilly Mae Hunkins—say what you like about Soiled Doves, they found out secrets better than anybody, and if you were good to them, sometimes they shared what they’d learned.
Hell, if things worked out, first thing he’d do was up and marry Lilly Mae, make an honest woman out of her.
#
You wouldn’t think Andy was a buccaneer of the skies to look at him. A friend had once described him as “the boy who sweeps up at the general store”—completely forgettable in appearance, plain in his manner of speech as well as his dress, polite, respectful, and patently not dangerous.
But courtesy of his lineage, he was smart. Courtesy of his parents, he had book learning. From the dime novels he’d devoured, he had an overly romantic view of piracy, and from his grandfather on his mother’s side, Yorick Aloysius Feargus, inventor of the Variable Suspension System for Wagons of all Kinds, he had an inheritance and Trajan—an inheritance he’d already spent on his airship and a slave he’d set free in all but filing the necessary paperwork.
From nowhere and no one had he inherited a lick of common sense.
#
The Lilly Mae had a sound design, and was well-constructed, albeit a bit on the smallish side where her gondola was concerned. Andy had designed her with an eye toward efficiency—he could easily handle most shipboard operations from his cabin at the front of the gondola, lounging in the comfort of his wicker chair. The only reason he needed to move was to go back and keep the firebox full of coal. Aside from his tiny cabin and the coal hopper, the rest of the space in the gondola was for captured booty and spare parts. The latter was due to a small gift of wisdom from Yorick: “There ain’t never been nothin’ designed or built by the hand o’ man what won’t break down sooner rather’n later.”
His granddaddy had been right. Eighteen breakdowns in the short eight-month life of the Lilly Mae, and only two of them had been while she was on the ground. Andy had never considered whether he was afraid of heights or not, but had been reassured to find they didn’t bother him much at all—the first time he had to hang outside the rear of the gondola, repairing the airship’s engine thousands of feet above the earth.
The airship was armed to the teeth, in Andy’s estimation, courtesy of four steam-powered dart guns firing knock-out darts of his own design. He’d killed a lot of cattle getting the approximate dosage figured out, eight men equaling one cow—and he hoped no one ever found out who’d been responsible for those dead cattle—and further occasional tests on humans during previous exploits had proved he’d gotten it right at last.
In the dime novel tales of Captain Anson and his Gentlemen of the Air, killing was frowned upon. Evil and devious villains of all kinds killed, and did even worse to women. Air pirates were a noble breed of aerial Robin-Hoods, stealing for the good of the common man.
Andy was sure newspaper reports of real-life air pirates killing and burning and worse were just an attempt to soil their good names by the bankers and bureaucrats who controlled the papers.
Nope, not an iota of common sense.
#
Andy rode his mare, Estelle, into Waterloo, Texas from where he and Trajan kept the Lilly Mae, outside of Talmidge. Another twelve hours, and he’d need to be soaring north-easterly, but he’d be damned straight to a Hell full of Papists instead of a more Presbyterian Heaven if he’d leave without another few, sweet hours with Lilly Mae herself.
He’d never had the courage to tell her he’d named his airship after her—had never really had the courage to tell her how he felt about her at all—but somehow, he figured she knew. None of her other gentlemen callers could spend time with her for free, although that was limited to when he took her out for a meal, or a show at the Waterloo Opera House. Even Andy wasn’t silly enough to believe he could hide the calf-eyed, love-struck look he had on his face whenever he thought of her, much less was in her company. She had to know how he felt about her.
As Estelle plodded along, he winced at the jostling and bumping his bottom and legs were taking. Truer love hath no gentleman of the skies than to ride a horse along a rutted trail to see his love.
Afflicted by horse flies and mosquitos the size of dragon flies, Andy reflected on his first meeting with the lovely object of his affections…
The crowded barroom of Thredgull'’s Saloon, the thick haze of nauseating cigar smoke, the sense of celebration in the air. It was only two days after the North agreed to peace terms with the Confederacy, due in no small part to the Southern Cause’s apt use of airships in their war efforts. Everyone was still walking around almost in a trance; joyous in the Confederacy’s victory, but after five-and-a-half years of bloody warfare, unsure of what a peaceful life would look like.
He’d gone to Thredgull’s to have his first drink of whiskey, in honor of victory. He’d drunk beer, and had little love of it, but that day he made his way into town from his job at the Waterloo Dirigible Works determined to try harder drink.
It was all forgotten when he spied Lilly Mae coming down the stairs. Her slight frame, almost like a boy’s, except where it delightfully wasn’t, her precious crooked nose, the cascade of almost brown hair, the missing tooth that gave her mouth character. As she drew closer, he first smelled the perfume of her sweat—the only odor he’d found that made cigar smoke tolerable.
It hadn’t started as a lust that would have raised the eyebrows of his Presbyterian family—it had begun as adoration of her angelic form and features. When she spotted him at the bar, sidled up, and asked him a question he couldn’t even remember without blushing, the lust had come.
His times with her had been the purest form of magic, from that moment on...
Andy’s mind returned to the present, as he instinctively whacked a giant mosquito with his hat. He could see the lights of Waterloo in the distance, and spurred Estelle to a slightly more spritely gait, in anticipation of Lilly Mae’s company.
#
Later that evening, after dinner at Nightbird’s, while they lay sweating in the after-glow of their passion, he said, “Lilly Mae, darling, I’m about to turn that information you gave me into a fortune.”
Her breathing quickened.
“You are? Do you have...” she trailed a finger down his mostly hairless chest, “any plans after that?”
“Uh...uh...if you’d agree to come...uh...away with me,” he blurted out the rest of his words, “I’dbethemostgratefulandhappymanintheworldifyou’dmarryme!”
She leaned over and kissed him, with even more passion than earlier in the evening.
“Andy, sweetie, you come back with enough gold for us to be rich, I’ll be yours forever.”
His heart soared as he bolted from the bed and began to dress.
“Then, Lilly Mae my love, I’d better get going so I can capture it.”
#
The ride back to Talmidge passed almost without notice. In his mind, he was holding his beloved close, his head upon her breast, listening to every beat of her precious heart.
Upon arriving home, he left Estelle in Trajan’s care, running through a last minute check of the Lilly Mae in a daze. Trajan made sure to follow after him, sure his owner was incapable of seeing any problem, much less a subtle one, the state he was in.
Once through, Andy leapt in, ignited the coal in the firebox, and began building up steam for the journey.
He leaned out the door, and shouted to Trajan above the boiler’s noise.
“When I get back, we’ll be rich!”
“We?” Trajan shouted back.
“You, me, and Lilly Mae!”
As the airship made its way into the sky, slowly turning to a north-east heading, Trajan watched it go, shakin
g his head.
#
For the most part, flying the Lilly Mae at night was rather unexciting. There was an occasional light below, most often from some small town, but for the most part, there was nothing but engine noise, the groans of the boiler—in itself, not so much a problem, but something to be watched—and the wind.
The boiler, the entire steam system in fact, was at the top of Andy’s to-do list. If over-fired, the system produced more steam than it could handle. A tragedy had narrowly been averted during her first flight when Andy heard a bolt shoot from one of the pipes, quickly followed by another. He’d rushed back and vented all the pressure, as fast as he could, before something exploded.
He’d managed to land alright, and then had begun testing. Anything above around fifty percent of her capability was dangerous, but that still left him with power to spare, so he’d been content to let it wait for when he was flush. Taking out the boiler, pipes, and everything else in the system would be a major undertaking, and very expensive to replace.
He thought of the one time he’d brought Lilly Mae out to see his ship. He didn’t have her name painted on it, as anonymity was often of value in the life of an aerial pirate, so he was able to relax as he took her up, taught her the controls, explained in general terms about firing the boiler, keeping the pressure up—even though he’d handled those chores while she handled the controls. He even showed her how to operate the dart cannons, and they’d gleefully shot at a flock of goats.
Like all his time with her, it had been heavenly. He looked forward to returning from the robbery, giving Trajan his share, giving him his manumission papers, freeing the old man, and soaring off with Lilly Mae.
She could fly, and perhaps he could catch some sleep. By that point, it would be well over thirty-six hours since his last rest. Perhaps he’d have her tell him where she wanted to go first, point her in the right direction, and sleep on the floor close to the pilot’s chair.
It was a warm, cozy thought...
He awoke to see tree-tops on either side of the Lilly Mae! There were loud thrums as the dirigible’s frame pushed its way through the trees, and he prayed his weariness hadn’t resulted in punctures to any of the gas bags.
The ship kept shuddering, and shuddering more often. He brought the nose up, noisily throttled back the engine, and held his breath as the airship climbed, at a painfully slow rate, higher into the sky.
Andy was still trembling as the ship reached a comfortably undetectable altitude. He damned himself for not thinking to bring some coffee with him.
According to his compass, he was still on course, more or less. He wouldn’t be able to make any fine course corrections until after the sun was up, and as he looked out to the east, he realized sunrise wasn’t all that far away. There was already a very faint glow on the horizon, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.
He set the controls, and stood up to stretch, forcing wakefulness into his body. As he rolled his neck back and forth, he thought, “Not much longer.” Then he went up into the frame to check the bags.
#
The sun was barely half-risen before he knew where he was. A small correction to his course, and he was sure he’d be in position by the time the gold wagon came down the road. Wells Fargo’s route was north to Nacogdoches, then west to Fort Worth, and as a consequence, he was floating above the piney woods of East Texas. With the exception of the road itself, and occasional clear patches for a homestead or small town, it was a sea of green.
It wasn’t his first trip to the area—he’d crossed it twice on the ‘log job,’ as Trajan called it, and his third attempt at airborne piracy had been in this area as well…
Much to his dismay, shortly after the War of Northern Aggression ended, his Confederacy had proven themselves no better than the damned Yankees where Indian relations were concerned. Despite treaties, promises, and allied operations in the war, the Confederacy had implemented a policy of enslaving the Indians just as they had the Negro. It had outraged Andy, and he’d taken off to rescue as many members of the Alabama and Coushatta tribes as he could.
It was a fine and moral undertaking, perfectly apt for a Gentleman of the Skies, and the plan, as usual, was simple. Fly in high during the day, stay on station during the night, sweep down and rescue as many as possible in the early morning dawn.
He hadn’t stopped to think that if they were being enslaved, there would be guards, and soldiers, and guns.
Lots of guns. More guns than he ever wanted to see again. Ever.
He’d taken two bullets, one in his bottom and one in his left arm, and the Lilly Mae was shot so full of holes he’d made it back only by the Grace of God and, as Trajan had said, “more luck than any dumb boy deserves”…
He was shaken from his reverie by the sight of a heavily-laden wagon, looking like a giant black box on wheels, rolling around a bend in the road and coming into view.
#
The first part was easy. He powered ahead of them, brought the ship around, and laid out the ‘Whip’ and ‘Shotgun,’ courtesy of his darts. He was ready to drop down and handle the team of horses should they require it, but in spite of the great droning ship in the sky, they slowed down, and went to the side of the road looking for forage.
Carefully he brought the ship around, and down over the wagon’s top; dropped the cables to attach to the wagon; and leapt out—dart rifle in one hand, a line to the ship in the other.
There was no stirring in the wagon he could discern, so he crept to the front, gently laid the rifle down, lowered himself to the box, and unhitched the horses from the coach. No way in the world he could lift six horses and their traces in addition to the wagon, just to have them thrash their way free and fall to their deaths.
Climbing back on top of the wagon, he was preparing to rig the first cable, when a voice said, “Boy, you need to stand up real easy and slow, or I’m gonna end you right here and goddamn now.”
Andy did as he was told. As he stood up, he saw three men on the road behind the wagon, all of them well-armed, and all of them sporting the familiar badge of the Texas Rangers on their shirts.
“I suppose surrendering would be a good idea,” he said, thankful his voice sounded stronger than he felt.
“Yeah, it would be, so would droppin’ that kerchief you got over your face,” the man in the middle said, his large handle-bar mustache bristling as he spoke. “So, you took the bait in Waterloo.”
“The bait?” Andy replied, not making a move to drop his mask.
“Yeah, we left news of a different gold shipment in several towns, got men out all over Texas, waitin’ to see who would bite. You bit in Waterloo. Won’t take us long to find out what whore it was that told ya.”
The man to the left, a greasy-looking younger man with a paunchy belly said, “Yeah, we got ways to make whores—hell, purty much anybody—talk.”
Andy had been considering surrender. Rangers were tough adversaries, and he’d been caught dead to rights...but then they talked about Lilly Mae Hunkins. Catching him, he might allow. Hurting her...
He wrapped the line around his wrist with a quick flip, grabbed on with his other hand as well, and pulled hard on a second line, much thinner, and hard to see in the gloomy shade between the tall trees to either side of the road.
“This is gonna hurt something fierce,” he thought, as the ballast bags on the outside of the Lilly Mae’s gondola—all eight-hundred pounds of them—released at once.
#
How he managed to avoid dislocating a shoulder or two, he considered to be a Deeper Mystery, best left to the ponderings of preachers and professors.
How he managed to avoid being shot was a lesser mystery, and no doubt his swinging madly back and forth beneath the dirigible, screaming and wailing like a banshee, had something to do with it, as did the sheer speed of his ship’s ascent. He was not ashamed he’d somewhat dampened his trousers during his escape.
Once he crawled, hand over hand, up the line, and
reached the cabin, he gave the Lilly Mae all the speed she could muster at the moment then went back and fed coal in until the gauge read sixty-percent, before giving her even more speed.
The Rangers had the telegraph, and a state-wide organization.
He had an airship, and a long way to go.
#
The trip seemed endless, but for a moment he tore his thoughts away from Lilly Mae, waiting, alone and vulnerable in Waterloo, and gave thanks for his second disastrous attempt at piracy…
Mexican silver, and he’d brought home enough of it to keep the debt-collectors from breaking his limbs, but he’d have brought home more if the Federales hadn’t heard the groaning of his boiler, while he loaded the silver on board.
He’d crawled aboard, hiding from the bullets whizzing all about, and had gotten the ship into the air...slowly...much too slowly. He’d been throwing ballast bags out by hand, bullets shredding his ship, and it had come to him he needed a way to let all the ballast go at once. So he’d rigged it outside, able to be released by a tug on a single line, and swore he’d never leave the airship while on a job without both lines in his hand…
He rubbed his sore hands and arms, and rolled his shoulders, and was thankful as he could be for his prior failure.
#
“Trajan!” Andy yelled as he put the ship down.
The old black man came out of their shack, and started to tie off the landing lines.
“Didn’t go the way you’d planned?” Trajan asked mildly.
“Not at all. I’m saddling Estelle and heading for Waterloo. They’re gonna come for Lilly Mae!”
Trajan stopped, and looked at his master.
“Who’s coming for her?”
“Texas Rangers! I gotta get there and get her out afore they grab her and hurt her!”
“So you’ll be leaving as soon as you get back?”
“Yeah. Do up some more ballast, strap it on...” Andy walked into the shack, pulled papers out of his valise, and returned. “Here—you go to any county seat, you get these papers filed, you’re a free man.”