I ran back to the wheel.
“Angus, I need more speed,” I yelled down to the gear galley, rapping on the wooden hatch that led to the rods, belts, and propeller parts below.
Angus slapped open the hatch and stuck out his bald head. His face was covered in grease, and his blue-lense monocle glimmered in the sunlight. He looked up at the clouds and back at me.
“Let’s giddyup,” I called to him.
“You trying the Tower sling?” he yelled back.
“You got it.”
He laughed wildly. “That’s my lassie,” he yelled and dropped back down, pulling the wood hatch closed with a clap. I heard the gears grind, and the propeller, which had been turning nice and steady, began to hum loudly. The ship pitched forward. Within moments, we were coming up on Tinkers’ Tower. The airship towers were just a stone’s throw away.
I aimed the ship directly toward Tinkers’ Tower. Just as the bowsprit neared the clock, I yanked the wheel. The warm air caught us.
“Whoa!” Jessup yelled as the balloon moved within arm’s length of the tower.
The sound of “Ohhs!” echoed from the crowd below.
A mix of warm air and propulsion gave us some go, and seconds later we were slingshotting around Tinkers’ Tower toward the airship platforms. Gliding in on warm air and momentum, we flew fast and low.
Cutter had kept it high, but now he was dropping like a stone toward his own tower. Damned American. I didn’t blame him; I would have used the same move. His balloon was releasing so much air that I wondered if he would be able to slow down in time, not that I would have minded seeing him smash to the ground in a million pieces.
“It’s going to be close,” Jessup yelled as he adjusted the heat pan.
I guided the helm. The Stargazer was temperamental, but we understood one another. A shake of the wheel warned me I was pushing too hard. “Almost there,” I whispered to the ship.
The Grand Prix Marshalls were standing on the platform. Cutter and I had the end towers. I was going to make it.
“Cut propulsion,” I yelled toward the gear galley. On the floor near the wheelstand, a rope led to a bell in the galley. I rang it twice. The propeller switched off.
A soft, sweet wind blew in from the port side. It ruffled my hair around my shoulders. I closed my eyes and turned the wheel slightly starboard, guiding the ship in. Moments later, I heard a jubilant cheer erupt from the American side and an explosion from the firework cannon signaling the winner had been declared. My eyes popped open. I tore off my goggles and looked starboard. Cutter’s balloon was docked. I threw the goggles onto the deck and set my forehead against the wheel.
The Stargazer settled into her dock. Jessup set the balloon on hover and, grabbing a rope, swung down to the deck. He then threw the lead lines and anchors onto the platform. The beautifully dressed crowd, gentlemen in suits and top hats and fancy ladies in a rainbow of satin gowns carrying parasols, rushed toward the American end of the platform to congratulate the winner.
I was, once again, a national disgrace. Lily the loser. Lily second place. Perhaps I would never be anything more than a ferrywoman, a cheap air jockey.
“Good job, Lily. Second place!” Jessup said joining me. He patted me on the shoulder.
I sighed deeply and unbuttoned my vest. The tension had me sweating; I could feel it dripping down from my neck, between my breasts, into my corset.
“You did great,” I told Jessup. “Sorry I let you down.”
“Ah, Lily,” he sighed.
Angus emerged from below wiping sweat from his head with a greasy rag. He pulled off his monocle. He frowned toward the American side. “Well, we beat the French,” he said with a shrug and kissed me on the cheek, smearing grease on me.
“Good job, Angus. Thank you,” I said, taking him by the chin and giving him a little shake as I wrinkled my nose and smiled at him.
Angus laughed and dropped his arm around Jessup’s shoulders. They grinned happily at one another.
“You stink, brother,” Jessup told him.
“It’s a wee bit toasty down there. Besides, I pedaled this ship across the entire fucking country while you were up here looking at the birds. That, my friend, is the smell of success.”
I laughed.
“You pedaled the ship?” Jessup asked mockingly. “Like Lil and I were just up here playing cards? If I didn’t keep the balloon aloft, your ass would be kissing the ground.”
“Now wait a minute. Are you saying your job is more important that mine?” Angus retorted.
I could see where this was going. “Gents.”
“More important? Now why would I say that? Just because I’m the one . . .” Jessup started and then his mouth ran.
“Gents.”
“...and another thing...” Jessup went on.
“Gentlemen! Our audience awaits,” I said cutting them both off, motioning to the well-shod crowd who waited for us on the loading platform outside the Stargazer.
I grinned at my crew. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I patted the rail of the Stargazer. “Thanks,” I whispered to her, and we exited onto the platform.
A reporter from the London Times and several race officials stood waiting for me.
“Well done, Lily! Well done!” the British race official congratulated me with a pat on the back. “Second place! King George will be so proud. One of these days you’ll have it, by God.”
I was pretty sure that the last thing I needed was the attention of George IV, the extravagant, unpopular lush. But I bit my tongue and smiled politely.
“Lily, how did Cutter beat you? You led the entire race,” the reporter asked. She was a round woman wearing a very thick black lace collar that looked like it was choking her. Her heavy purple walking dress looked hot under the late afternoon summer sun, and the brim of her black satin cap barely shaded her nose. I noticed, however, that she had a small clockwork fan pin attached to her chest. The fan wagged cool air toward her face.
I pulled off my cap, mopped my forehead, and thought about the question. “Luck,” I replied.
“Lily, that was some move around Tinkers’ Tower. How did you learn to do that?” another reporter asked.
“My father,” I lied.
“Make way, make way,” one of the race officials called, ushering a Marshall forward.
The Marshall looked like someone who lingered an hour too long at supper. The gold buttons on his satin, marigold colored vest would take an eye out if they popped. His overly tall top hat was adorned with a ring of flowers that matched his striking orange colored dress coat.
“Miss Stargazer, congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand. “The Spanish airship is coming in now. Will you please join Mr. Cutter at the winners’ podium?” he asked politely as he guided me forward by the hand.
From below there was a commotion. A man dressed in an unusual costume rushed up the stairs. The London constables, a full squadron of the Bow Street Runners, chased him. When he got to the loading platform, the man pushed through a crowd of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were gentry. It was then I could see he was dressed as a harlequin. He wore the traditional red and black checked outfit and a black mask. He scanned the towers until he caught sight of me. He jumped, landing on the tower railing, and ran toward me. A woman in the crowd screamed. Moments later the constables appeared on the platform. The race Marshalls pointed toward the harlequin who was making a beeline for me.
I let go of the Marshall’s hand and stepped back toward the ship.
“Lily,” Jessup warned, moving protectively toward me.
Angus reached over the deck of the Stargazer and grabbed a very large wrench.
Was it an assassin? Christ, would someone murder me for winning second place? I turned and ran toward the Stargazer. A moment later, the harlequin flipped from the rail, grabbed one of the Stargazer’s ropes, and swinging over the others, landed on the platform directly in front of me. Any second now, I would be dead.
He panted and muttered “Lily?” from behind the mask.
“Stop that man! Stop him!” a constable yelled.
“Get out of my way!” Angus roared at the crowd that had thronged in between us.
The masked man grabbed me, tugged on the front of my trousers, and leaned into my ear. The long nose of the mask tickled the side of my face. “Go to Venice,” he whispered as he stuffed something down the front of my pants.
“We got you now,” a constable said, grabbing him, raising his club.
The man shook him off, took two steps backward, and with a jump, leapt off the tower.
Several people in the crowd screamed.
I rushed to the side of the tower to see the harlequin lying at its base. His body was twisted, and his arms and legs bent oddly, contorted into three distinct points. Blood began pooling around him.
“Miss Stargazer, are you all right?” a constable asked.
“A man just killed himself in front of me. No, I am not all right.”
“I mean, are you harmed? Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head and looked down at the mangled body which lay in the shape of a three-sided triskelion. It was the same symbol that was painted on the balloon of the Stargazer.
Chasing the Star Garden: Chapter 2
“Absinthe,” I told Rheneas, setting my trophy on the bar.
He laughed. “Of course, Lily. Hey, you did good today.”
“Oh yeah, it was all great. Losing. Having a man kill himself in front of me. All good,” I replied.
“You’re getting to be a grouch in your old age, Lil,” he replied with an injured laugh, his face crumpling.
“Sorry, Rhe,” I said, feeling regretful for my sharp words.
“Well, nobody likes to lose to an American. Right, gents?” Rheneas called to the crowd who booed in reply. Rheneas set his hand on mine. He poured me a glass of the green fairy then slid me the iced water along with the plate of sugar cubes and a spoon. “That one is on me.”
I leaned across the counter and kissed Rheneas on top of his bald head. I popped a sugar cube into my mouth and sipped the drink. The spirit dissolved the sugar on contact. My mouth filled with the exploding taste of sweet and the sharp taste of alcohol. I could smell the anise, fennel, and other herbs in the absinthe. I closed my eyes and let it slide down my throat. Heaven. After two more glasses, I was feeling remarkably better.
“I’m headed to the back,” I told Rheneas.
“Why don’t you leave that with me?” he replied, looking at the trophy.
I gazed at the cup. It was shaped like a hot air balloon. The stem of the trophy was the basket. The top of the balloon was open at the pinnacle and suitable for drinking. It was a heavy piece with inlaid silver filigree. The trophy, once I’d sold it, would probably keep the Stargazer outfitted until the next race.
With the death of the harlequin, the trophy ceremony had been suspended. The Marshalls had given Cutter, me, and the Spanish airship racer, Alejandro Fernando, our awards behind the scenes as the constables ushered everyone away from the airship platforms. Just like that, after two solid months of preparation, it was all over. Cutter had invited me for dinner at some fancy place in Kensington, but I passed. The boys headed to Scarlette’s Hopper, a tavern near the towers, and I headed home to Covent Garden.
I looked at the cup and back at Rheneas. He was right.
“All right,” I said, pushing it toward him. “I’ll be back for it later. Either that, or I know where you live.”
Rheneas laughed. “You should stop by. My wife has been asking for you.”
Flying on absinthe, I wound my way back to the opium den. My head felt light and dizzy. The pent-up tension from the race finally started to leave my body. The green fairy had already led me to another plane. I was seeing stars by the time Miss O led me to my opium cot.
“Lily! You here to celebrate?” Miss O asked, her naked breasts hanging in my face as she set out the equipment for me, including my favorite pipe.
“Oh yes.”
“You need anything else, baby? Want me to bring you someone? We got a new girl. How about a nice tickle?” she asked, rubbing her hands over my breasts.
I laughed. “Miss O. Go away,” I replied, smacking her playfully on the ass as she headed out.
“Call if you need anything or if you change your mind,” she said, wiggling her tongue at me, then closed the curtain.
I picked up the engraved brass and wood pipe and lit the opium. I inhaled deeply, the smoke filling my mouth. The sweet scent of the burning herb filled the air around me. I closed my eyes and let the opium do its work. After a few hits, I felt like the world around me had begun to slow. The voices outside my cot seemed drawn out, Miss O’s laughter ringing like a slow gong. My head filled with a light haze. I felt deeply relaxed. Finally alone, I decided to find out what, exactly, the harlequin had passed to me.
No one had seen him stick the package in my pants. When the constables questioned me, I declined to offer more information than they needed. I told them the clown had asked me to marry him, and I’d said no. Then, he jumped. They didn’t need to know anything else.
The constables had bitched bitterly when they discovered the harlequin had nothing on him except his mask. Apparently he’d been making a ruckus across London all day. He had manhandled an undersecretary at a downtown office and made off with some papers, stolen something from a cathedral, beaten the priest who’d tried to stop him, and knocked out two of the Bow Street boys to get onto the tower.
They did, however, ask me to identify him.
When they removed his mask, we discovered he was young and very handsome. “I’ve never seen him before,” I told them truthfully, a lump rising in my throat all the same.
“Well, that’s it then. Just some loon. Probably was so depressed she rejected him that he killed himself. After all, no one goes around dressed like that,” the Captain told his underlings.
“Unless they are a harlequin,” I said.
“Well, yes, of course,” the Captain replied, irritated. With that, they closed the case.
I pulled the package out of my pants and unwrapped it. At first I thought it was a spyglass. It was long, gold polished, and had strange symbols engraved all over it. It looked very old. I lifted it, expecting to see magnification, but my eye was met instead by a waterfall of color. A kaleidoscope? Why had someone died to pass me a kaleidoscope?
I lay back, taking another hit of opium, and looked at the colors. They were exceptionally vivid. I had never seen a kaleidoscope so brightly hued. I turned the glass around and around. Inside the colors changed, at least in my imagination, from vistas of flower filled fields, to bouquets of lilies, to the floral pattern on my mother’s everyday housedress. I stopped. That was an image I had completely forgotten until that moment. Sighing, I turned the kaleidoscope again while my eyes drooped.
I was sweating. I could not move. I stared down at my foster father’s body lying on the cobblestone street, blood pouring from his mouth and ears. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t make a sound. I twisted and turned, unable to get away from the sight. It was so hot. I could not breathe.
“She’s in here,” Miss O’s voice broke in. “You want me to bring a couple of girls again?”
“No. Not this time.”
“Lily, visitor,” Miss O called.
My eyes popped open. I gasped for breath.
“Bad dream?” he asked.
“Lord Byron?” I said, surprised, as I tried to pull myself together. I mopped the sweat from my brow. As always, the fucking nightmares. Would it ever end? “Now, what brings you to this den of sin?”
“I looked for you after the race. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Naturally, then, I knew you would be here,” he said, sitting down on the cot beside me. He lifted the pipe and took a toke. How handsome he looked in the dim light, his chestnut colored hair curling around his ears, his skin, with its alabaster sheen, making him look otherworldly. His pouty re
d lips always seemed hungry. And then there were his eyes, as clear and blue as a spring sky.
“I’ve missed you, but why are you in London?” I asked him. He handed the pipe to me. I inhaled deeply. The opium made a haze of everything. I felt like I was experiencing the world from a forty foot distance.
“Some legal matters needed immediate and personal attention. And I came, of course, for the race. But I’m leaving for Athens at dawn,” he said, stroking my leg. He toked again then poured himself a glass of absinthe from the small decanter beside the cot. He popped a sugar cube and drank the absinthe in one long swallow.
“So soon?” I said with a sly grin as I grabbed hold of his belt, my fingers inside his pants.
“That’s time enough,” he replied, “unless, of course, my absence has cured your love for me,” Byron said with a smile.
“Love?”
“Of course. It is the duty of a lover to love. Ah, but I forget myself. I have a gift for you,” Byron replied.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. He handed it to me.
I took another toke then set the pipe down. “What is this for?”
“Your service to your country,” he replied.
“Ah yes, how the British love a loser.”
Byron leaned in and kissed my cheek and ear. “We are giants. That is the reason we cannot tolerate anything less than excellence. Open it,” he whispered.
I opened the lid to discover a small metal pin tinkered into the shape of a lily. “It’s beautiful.”
“Ah, but that’s not all. Watch,” he said and tapped one of the intricately designed carpels extending from the center of the lily. With that, the flower came to life. The petals flexed up and down as if they were in the breeze, the carpels waving in coordination. “A lily that never loses its fragrance. A delicacy that never wilts. It is common metal, yes, but strikingly beautiful in its complexity.”
I stared at it. It was amazing. I set the box down, and lying back, pulled Byron on top of me. I kissed him deeply, my tongue roving inside his mouth, my fingers twisting around his curly hair. I could taste the sugar and alcohol on his lips. His intoxicating scent of patchouli and orange blossom overwhelmed me.
Chasing Christmas Past Page 3