by Annie Seaton
In the months leading up to the Great Exhibition of 1851, Mr. Grimoult designed and constructed an innovative contraption to float behind the dirigible. It consisted of a series of trays that transformed into a display case. Zane assisted the little man in loading the products, before they finally sealed the container ready for flight as they prepared for their departure to London.
“Are you sure you have packed all of the pharmacologicals?” Indigo paced up and down beside the dirigible, her long skirts swishing.
“Yes, Madame.”
“The cosmecuticals?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“The hallucinogenics?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“What about—”
Zane interrupted her. “Indigo, for pity’s sake, we have checked the cargo for you constantly for the past two days. Leave it to Mr. Grimoult and myself. It is all there. I will stake my life on it.” He grinned as she stormed off.
By God, she was a feisty woman.
However it had not all been preparation over the past few months. They had shared many, many hours of mutual pleasure.
Finally they were ready to depart the manor for their journey to Crystal Palace and the Great Exhibition. Nations from across the world prepared to display their works of all industry in the mammoth glass construction in Hyde Park. For Indigo, a culmination of many years of innovation and rebellion were about to be realized and her excitement was palpable. Cheeks flushed, temper short, she displayed as many nerves as a dollymop in a church.
The combined efforts of the comptroller general and the duke had failed to deter Indigo from her goal. The government sent a member of the Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce to visit the manor in one last attempt to convince Indigo that her display should not go ahead. The member received neither audience nor cooperation from the lady of the house, protesting as she showed him the door, most impolitely.
“The folly and absurdity of the Queen in allowing this trumpery must strike every sensible and well-thinking mind. Trust me, it will lead to rebellion of the masses,” he spluttered, making a hasty exit. Indigo threw his hat and cane after him, slamming the door behind him with a satisfying crash.
The new dirigible, custom-built for the journey was transporting them to London. Mr. and Mrs. Grimoult and the captain were dressed in regulation air suits with brass goggles but Indigo stood apart as usual, refusing to conform.
Her signature red bustier topped an emerald green skirt embossed with the symbols of industry flowed around her ankles, neither garment satisfying air safety dress regulation for dirigible travel. In honor of the occasion her hair was wound high around her head in an elaborate confection, ruby studded ribbons threading through the high loops of curls. The captain handed her a set of goggles as she climbed the short ladder to the dirigible. Shaking her head, Indigo refused to take them.
“I prefer a clear view.”
“Madame, you will need the goggles when we enter the air space of London,” Mrs. Grimoult said.
Indigo ignored her faithful housekeeper and Mrs. Grimoult took a deep breath as she laboriously pulled her stout little body up the ladder. “Breathe the clean country air while you can, my dears, as we will be a long time in the grime of the city.”
As the ship ascended, the entire staff of the enterprise lined the dirigible pad to bid them luck. The submariners and the scientists stood together and gave a rousing cheer as the dirigible ascended slowly in a smooth and fluid motion. Mr. Grimoult turned it toward London. As they passed over Castle Lorcathian, they looked down on the duke who stood on the parapet, gazing out over the ocean, decidedly miserable. Leopold ignored their passing, as did the small mouse sitting on his shoulder.
Mr. Grimoult turned from the rudder, his ruddy face alight with mischief. “I heard down at The Rattling Cat that the duke has refused to let Mr. Brixton morph back to his human body. Did you see him sitting on Leopold’s shoulder?”
The captain stood behind Indigo, both arms wrapped loosely around her waist. He laughed. “What upset him the most was his failure to properly mesmerize me. But it did retrieve my memory of my tattoo and the pretty young lady I proposed to at the time.” The captain patted Indigo’s swelling stomach possessively.
“Little did I know that the woman who declined my proposal in Juan’s tattoo parlor would one day be my wife.”
Indigo turned, pushing him away crossly. “I have not agreed to be your wife, Captain.”
As Zane had come out of his mesmeric trance in the castle, he had recalled a voyage to the Amazon as a youth in the merchant navy. A visit to the harborside parlor for a nautical tattoo befitting a sailor had gone awry, with much rum consumed at various waterfront establishments along the way. The following morning, Zane awoke with a pounding headache, a rum-soaked shirt and a flower on his forearm, to the great mirth of the sailors in his cabin. The most vivid memory of a young woman with lustrous black curls beside him, her head turned to the wall, having a delicate blue flower inked onto her beautiful back, stayed with him. His friends ordered one the same for him, much to their drunken delight and his sober dismay the following morning. The passionflower had remained a permanent souvenir of that trip and, Zane now realized, had been a portent of things to come.
As the dirigible neared the great metropolis, the air turned foggy and the atmosphere became dreary. A myriad of air ships of all shapes, sizes and color dotted the sky and Mr. Grimoult employed precise navigation skills to avoid collision
“Madame, here are your goggles,” insisted Mrs. Grimoult, holding them out to Indigo as she peered down through the transparent floor of the dirigible. Indigo glared at her as she observed Mrs. Grimoult roll her eyes at her husband.
“Madame, the putrid air will not be good for the baby’s health,” coaxed Mr. Grimoult sweetly. Indigo reached over and donned the goggles without a further word, taking great care not to disturb her magnificent hairstyle. As the airship drifted over the Crystal Palace, Zane grabbed the controls to avoid a collision with a smaller dirigible, and Mr. Grimoult gazed down at the amazing building. Architecturally adventurous, it was almost two thousand feet long, constructed entirely of glass on a cast iron frame. The myriad of fountains and cascades within, were visible from the air.
“It makes our biomes look Lilliputian, Madame,” said Mr. Grimoult, his voice hushed.
“It gives me great inspiration for our next enterprise, Mr. Grimoult,” replied Indigo.
Mr. Grimoult gently brought the dirigible to ground on the landing bay in Hyde Park. They disembarked and Indigo and Zane strolled through the park to the Exhibition Hall while the Grimoults sought assistance to unload their products.
On entering the Exhibition Hall, the displays already in place dazzled them. A rich variety of hues appealed to Indigo’s love of bright colors.
“Magnificent.” She breathed in the atmosphere. Forming the center to the building was a gigantic fountain in a forest of trees with lofty and overshadowing branches which provided a restful haven in the busy atmosphere. Delighted to find her allotted display space was on the edge of the forest, Indigo grabbed Zane’s hand and dragged him around the other displays already in place.
“Oh, look at the colors,” she exclaimed.
Opulent fabrics from every corner of the world, flax, silks and linens surrounded them. General hardware, brass and ironwork of many types, locks, grates. Innovative machines and implements, marine engines, hydraulic presses, steam machinery in motion—the array of products was amazing, even to Zane who had travelled to many exotic locations when he was in the navy.
Indigo paused in front of an Astrolaberors, a device for navigation through time. “It is a different mechanism to the one we use,” Indigo explained. “It relies on star combinations and arrangements.”
“I am quite content to remain in our current time, my dear,” the captain replied drily. It has taken him a few weeks to get over the effects of his trip to the twenty first century. The
passion flower lotion had healed his physical injury but it had taken him a long time to reacclimatize to the time change.
It took the rest of the day to unpack the dirigible, transport, and set up the display to Indigo’s satisfaction. A miniature version of the holiday biome sat next to a small glass conservatory filled with tropical plants. A stunning display of products with the blue passionflower as the centerpiece was surrounded by the full range of pharmacologicals and cosmecuticals produced by Indigo’s venture, all in the shape of the flower petals.
Looking around at the three people who trusted in her endeavors and had supported her over the past few months, Indigo blinked back tears and Zane was filled with a surge of pride and love for this woman.
“We have achieved great things,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “We are but a small part of the spirit of creation and we will continue to come up with new ways to make the world a better place.”
She turned, smiling up at him. “Will you marry me, sir?”
“Please?” she added.
Epilogue
Indigo and the captain did not return to the jungle, neither in their time, nor by time travel. They left that to their children and Sofia.
Zane gave up his vessel and supervised the biome enterprise and production of pharmaceuticals and cosmecuticals. Four little captains over the years kept them busy as each of the boys inherited their mother’s feisty temperament, much to their father’s dismay.
Mr. and Mrs. Grimoult became surrogate grandparents, and aided and abetted the boys in the pursuit of rebellion...and of course, time travel.
Sofia followed in her sister’s footsteps and became a well known couturier in Vienna and established her own haute couture salon...and embarked on her own moonflower research, of course.
But that is another story...and it begins below...
Book 2
Vienna and Scotland
Summer of the Moon Flower
Chapter 1
Sofia de Vargas shivered and the hairs on her neck stood on end. The chill wind blew in from the Austrian Alps and the departure lounge of Wien Westbahnhof was icy in the pre-dawn darkness. She pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her dark cloak, gloved fingers curling round the cold steel of the small weapon and her gaze flicked around the deserted space. Quiet footsteps to her left confirmed her suspicion— she was not alone. She stood completely still, ignoring the pounding of her heart as she listened in the silence surrounding her.
No sound.
Nothing.
She knew she was unrecognizable; a close-fitting, dark helmet with a small brass mouthpiece attached, hid her silver blonde hair from any curious onlooker. She stood to the left of the portal, hidden by one of the statue crowned columns in the elevated departure lounge and waited for the arrival of the dawn train from Paris. A sudden movement to her right caught her attention and she turned quickly scanning the deserted lounge.
No one.
Nothing.
Now only the scratching of mice and the rustling of leaves blowing in the cold wind filled the cavernous space. Stepping back into the shadow of the ornamental column, Sofia spoke softly into the mouthpiece of her helmet.
“There is somebody else in here.”
Silence.
No response. The range of the transmitter was blocked by the solid brick walls surrounding her and didn’t extend out to her carriage. She swore under her breath in a most unladylike fashion.
The hissing of steam broke the silence as the train appeared around the bend at the edge of the station, making it impossible for her to hear anything else. Craning forward from the protection of the column as far as she could without stepping into the light, Sofia looked down onto the arrivals platform. The steam fog from the engine trailed ghostly fingers of mist into the dark corners but there was no one waiting in the shadows. The end of the platform remained blocked from her vision.
Her carefully selected vantage point at the edge of this level would have ensured she was able to see anyone else awaiting the train’s arrival. Not being able to step out to the edge of the balcony impeded her view and afforded her no end of frustration.
More worrying were the sinister noises around her and the certainty she was not alone. Sofia had not expected anyone else to be up here and her hand shook as she removed the tiny ray gun from her pocket. The muted voices of passengers alighting from the train below drifted up and she cursed again, fighting the urge to step out from the safety of the column to see if her mysterious passenger had alighted.
No. It was more important she not be seen. She twirled, the dark cloak billowing around her when footsteps sounded quietly behind her
She placed her hand on the cold marble of the circular post, before creeping silently around to the other side to face the entry to the large hall, straining her covered ears for any sound. Reaching up, she flicked the helmet from one side and cursed as a tendril of silver hair fell from the braid looping around her forehead. A rhythmic clicking came from the shadows on her left.
“Who is there?” she called, deepening her voice. It was unfortunate her hair had revealed her sex and she cursed again, pushing the curl back under her helmet.
A rhythmic clicking now came from her right and as she glanced around a movement above caught her eye. Looking up, Sofia gasped as the ornate roof of the porte-cochere slid open and the bright lights of a small airship shone down, illuminating the floor around her. A rope ladder coiled down from the dark recess of the polygonal roof flanking the entrance and hit the ground beside her.
Sofia stepped back quickly as a figure clothed entirely in black, slid down toward her. Before she could run, the acrid smell of machine oil assailed her nostrils and a sudden pressure descended onto her left shoulder. Metallic talons pinched the top of her arm and as she attempted to pull away, her woolen cloak ripped exposing her bare white flesh.
“Merde,” she cursed looking up into the dead eyes of a machine man, twice her height. A human face on a metallic body. Another one approached from her right, the monotonous clicking of the brass joints getting louder as it came closer, metallic claws outstretched to grab her other shoulder.
Before she could pull back, a loud clang echoed as the magnetized talons touched her gun and she dropped it, knowing she was not strong enough to break the connection.
“Vielen Dank, Mademoiselle.” A flat monotone from the automaton.
Deep breaths. Don’t panic. Think your way out of this.
Sofia twisted to escape the claws of the brass machine, and the lifeless faces of the two automatons glowed eerily in the dark above her. The black cloaked figure on the rope ladder was almost to the ground. She had mere seconds to escape, she knew now she was their quarry.
Frantically scrabbling in her pocket, she pulled a small knife from the depths and pushed the magnetic handle onto the centre of the chest plate of the automaton holding her shoulder in its sharp, cold grip. At the same time she twisted to the right with a strength far beyond anything the automaton would have allowed for her slight frame. She broke free of the metallic clasp at the same moment the automaton on the right stretched its shiny claws out to grab her other arm. As the first machine man whirred to a standstill, rendered inactive by the magnetism of the small knife on its chest plate, Sofia ducked under the snapping talons of the second as its talons clicked in vain bare inches above her exposed shoulder.
Sofia ran for her life. Her cloak swirled around her legs, impeding her flight. Lifting her skirt, she ran for the shadows; her soft boots made no sound on the ornate terracotta floor. Realizing the floor would also mask the sound of anyone pursuing her, unless they were metallic, she kept to the shadows along the side of the station. Grateful she lived in a progressive city, she silently thanked the architects for the design of the building. One of the most modern in Europe, the departure lounge of West Wien Bahnhof ran the entire length of the eight hundred feet of the station. Numerous doors led down to the arrivals level, where a multitude of carriages and
omnibuses could load passengers at the same time. She knew one of the exits along the departure level opened to a corridor leading to an enclosed garden and small restaurant overlooking the street below.
Heart pounding, Sofia glanced at each door trying to remember which one she had entered when the designer from Paris had met her, prior to his departure on the afternoon train just last week.
“Merde,” she muttered under her breath again, they all looked the same.
Think.
She recalled they had come up the stairs and taken the first exit after they had turned into the departure lounge. Sofia slowed when a sharp stitch pulled in her side. Stepping behind the penultimate ornate pillar before the end of the building, she leaned back against the cold marble and caught her breath, sure any pursuer would hear her ragged breathing
Total silence surrounded her. The train and the few arrivals had left the station and all was quiet. She craned her head forward and peered around the column. The mysterious black clad figure, face obscured by a helmet similar to the one she was wearing, was backlit by the light streaming from the dirigible. He was six columns behind her, trying each of the doors along the side as he searched for her exit point. As she watched, he paused and attempted to open the next one. The rattling of the brass knob as he pulled at it before he made his way along to the next door drifted down to where she was hiding. She stood, transfixed, as he tried three more, moving closer to her hiding place with each step. Standing absolutely still behind the column, with her breath held, Sofia was close enough to hear the grunt of satisfaction as the third door opened and the figure disappeared into a dark passageway.
Before he could reappear, Sofia hitched her skirt and ran for the last exit. The door loomed in front of her in the semi-darkness and she prayed silently that it was unlocked as she reached for the handle.