Chasing the Green Fairy: The Airship Racing Chronicles

by Melanie Karsak

  “What now?” I heard a woman reply, her thick Irish accent filled with annoyance.

  “I have a customer.”

  “Is that right?” A woman with startlingly white hair appeared from inside the Captain’s quarters. She looked me over from top to bottom as she wiped the grease from her hands with an old rag. “You alone, love?” she asked me.

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “That will do,” she said dismissively to the stationmaster.

  He grunted in assent then slowly headed back down the platform.

  “Where can I take you?” she asked me. She stood with her hands on her hips. Overhead, her elderly balloonman watched the exchange. He smiled a wide, toothy grin. His goggles made his eyes seem three times their size, and his white hair stuck out so straight on the sides that it looked like he had wings.

  “Edinburgh.”

  “Oh, well, that’s quite a haul,” she said. She was bargaining, but I wasn’t in the mood. I looked into my satchel, fished my fingers around the coins in my pouch, and offered her half the amount there. It was twice the going rate. She eyed me over, her green eyes assessing, then nodded. “Got a name?” she asked.

  Penelope Temenos. Lily Fletcher. Lily Stargazer. Beatrice Colonna. Lily . . . Penelope . . . Byron. Lost. Broken. “Lara.”

  “Come aboard,” she said with a soft smile. “We’ll anchors aweigh as soon as the galley is settled.”

  I boarded the ship and headed to the prow. I settled in the nook behind the bowsprit. Taking out the laudanum, I rolled the small vial back and forth across my palm. It glimmered in the sunlight. I wanted to throw it overboard. I really wanted to. I tried to think about my life. I tried to think about the upcoming qualifying. I knew I needed to be at my best, but at that moment, I didn’t care. When I thought about the race, I felt . . . nothing. I took a drop of the laudanum, knowing I was failing, falling. And for the first time in what felt like days, I tried to think about Sal. When I did, I felt . . . well, I was afraid of what I felt.

  THE SMALL SHIP LIFTED OFF lazily. I curled up against the rail and watched the bowsprit push through the clouds. The wind felt cool against my cheeks. I felt lost, like my soul had been unmoored from its reason. I was so hollow. When the tears rolled down my face, I didn’t really feel sad. I had passed beyond the pale into emptiness. I took out Byron’s bottle of cologne and breathed in deeply. It was like I was conjuring up his ghost. My mind was tormented.

  Hermia did not try to make conversation. Her quick eyes seem to take in everything. Once she’d got her ship on course, she mucked around in her Captain’s quarters, appearing again with a tray in her hands.

  “I assumed you drink it with sugar,” she said, setting the tray down on the deck beside me. On it was a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

  Surprised, I looked up at her. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. I didn’t know what to say.

  She smiled kindly, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. She sat beside me and took my hand. “There now, love,” she said, patting my hand. “There now. Keep him locked in your memory. Let him live alongside you.” She pulled me into an embrace.

  I wept on the woman’s shoulder. She was warm and soft. She smelled of lilacs, gear grease, and the wind. My grief terrified me. I wept until I couldn’t catch my breath then pulled back, trying to breathe in the wind. I felt like I needed to put the sky back inside my heart. My head ached.

  “Drink,” she said. She picked up the teacup and handed it to me.

  I nodded dutifully then sipped the tea. I smiled as best I could at her. I was so grateful for her sympathy. Satisfied, Hermia nodded then headed back to the wheelstand. The tea went down easy. When I had finished the cup, I looked within. On the bottom, the leaves had again fallen into the shape of the triskelion. I set the cup down, took another drop of laudanum, then rested my head against the rail. I closed my eyes and let the wind wrap around me.

  WE ARRIVED IN EDINBURGH ALMOST two days later. When Hermia lowered the Orpheus into the docking bay, I could feel my real life insisting itself upon me. I wasn’t ready. This was my flight circuit, and everyone on the tower knew me. Word would spread that I’d returned—but not to London.

  Hermia and I stood on the platform outside the Orpheus. “My thanks,” I told her, “for your many kindnesses.”

  “Mornin’, Lily,” Morris, one of the tower guards, said as he passed by. “Stargazer in port?”

  “No. Just passing through.”

  Hermia smiled knowingly then pulled me into an embrace. “Always liked his poetry. Shame. Good luck to you, love,” she said then boarded her ship.

  I took a deep breath, holding back the tears that threatened, then took the lift down to the city. Edinburgh towers sat at the lower end of the Royal Mile near Holyrood Palace. I began my trek to the bank. Flagging down a wagon, I hopped in the back. I settled in on the straw, crates full of glass bottles rattling behind me, as the cart clattered down the city street. I kept my glasses on and my head low. It was market day in Edinburgh, and the streets were flooded with people. I stared at the usually interesting scene with almost vacant eyes. The mood on the Mile was somber. A tinker had modified a piper’s bagpipe to amplify sound from a very large copper speaker. The piper, aided by a big-voiced lass, had the entire Royal Mile awash with melancholy ballad of Bonny Port-

  more. Nearly everyone had frozen still. I imagined they were all in grief with me. I pulled my legs up and put my head on my knees, rocking with the carriage. I tried to shut down my mind to everything and anything.

  As we neared the Bank of Scotland, I hopped off the cart. The bank, a massive building that rivaled Edinburgh Castle in its magnitude, towered over me. Its thick walls, arched windows, and the domed pinnacle on its roof made it look like a fortress. I took a deep breath then entered.

  “Madame,” the doorman said kindly. He eyed my clothing. Still dressed in my odd, ill-fitting, half-Moroccan outfit, I was quite the sight.

  I wandered into the massive open foyer where clerks waited on bank patrons. Since I was still wearing the silk slippers, my feet took chill from the marble floor. Suddenly feeling a bit faint, I swooned. A number of properly dressed ladies looked me over and frowned disdainfully.

  “Can I assist you, Madame?” a young clerk dressed in a dark suit asked.

  “Yes. I’m here to see the bank president.”

  He looked at me like I might be crazy. Maybe I was, but not the way he thought. “That requires a matter of serious consequence. Perhaps I can guide you otherwise? Do you need alms? We can certainly-”

  “No, you idiot. I need to see the bank president. Tell him Lily Stargazer wants to see him regarding a matter of immediate importance.”

  “Lily St-” The man looked at me like he was about to laugh in my face, then he peered more closely at me. “Bloody hell, you are Lily Stargazer. My apologies, I didn’t recognize you dressed . . . like that. Please come with me,” he said then led me toward the back. We wove through the narrow, wood-paneled hallway into the interior of the building. Somewhere in that maze, he took me to a small waiting room.

  “Again, my apologies. Please wait here. I’ll let President Spencer know you are here and will see if he can meet you today.”

  “Please tell him it’s important.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  I flopped onto a red velvet settee and closed my eyes. The bank was deadly silent. It was like the money itself insulated the walls from the noise of the city outside. It wasn’t very long after that the door opened again, but I must have drifted off because I was startled by the sound. I sat bolt upright.

  Standing in the doorframe was a tall, thin man in a black suit. He wore a pearl-white silk ascot and a serious expression. “You are Miss Stargazer?” he asked.

  Trying to pull myself together, I stood. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Edmund Spencer, the bank president. I understand you wanted to see me.”

  “You’re sure you are the bank president?” I asked, Byron’s
warning fresh in my memory.

  He smiled patiently at me. “So it says on the plaque on my door.”

  “Then I’m here regarding Lord Byron’s vault.”

  The man’s lips tightened so thin that they almost disappeared. “Do you have the key?”

  I dipped my hand into my bodice and pulled out the keys Byron had given me.

  He nodded. “I was expecting you. Please come with me.”

  Expecting me? I said nothing but followed behind him. He led me down a number of hallways to a remote part of the bank. This section of the bank seemed deserted. We entered a small, seemingly unused storage closet. I was about to protest when he slid his hand along the moulding. After a moment, I heard a click from somewhere inside. A wall panel slid open creating a space just large enough for a body to pass.

  “Please,” he said, motioning for me to enter.

  Taking a lamp from a nearby shelf, he followed behind me then slid the wall back in place. I was standing in a very narrow hallway. Mr. Spencer, sliding carefully around me, took the lead.

  “This way,” he said.

  I followed behind him as we wound through what seemed like a labyrinth between the walls of the bank. After a while, we came to a small door. Mr. Spencer pulled a very old key from his pocket, similar in appearance to the key Byron had given me, and unlocked the door. It swung open to reveal a flight of stairs leading downward.

  “Watch your step,” he said then led me down the stairs.

  I could feel the chill of the earth as we went underground. A loamy smelled filled the air. We were below the bank, under the city. When we reached the bottom of the stairs we again came to a locked door. Mr. Spencer pulled out yet another key. As I waited, I noticed that overhead there was a keystone carved with the initials R.M. encapsulated in a circle. “R.M.? What’s that?” I asked.

  Mr. Spencer turned, smiled at me, then shrugged as if to suggest he couldn’t say more. I shook my head. I was already deeper in intrigue than I usually tolerated. What had Byron left that needed such strange and secret keeping? The old door unlocked with a clank. Mr. Spencer pushed it back on its rusty hinges.

  “One moment,” he said then went ahead of me to light the lanterns. Inside was a small room. As the lamps filled the space with orange light, I saw there were seven locked doors set off from the room. The space felt like a cave. The walls were made of stone. The floor was earthen. The ceiling was very low. The place felt very old.

  “Your key, Miss Stargazer?” he asked. I pulled the larger, older looking key out and tried to hand it to him. He simply looked it over, not touching it, then nodded to me. He motioned to one of the doors. “Please. Go ahead.”

  I stuck the key in the lock and turned it. The lock clicked. When I let go of the key, the door opened with a yawn. A musty scent wafted from the room. Mr. Spencer picked up the lamp and led me inside. He motioned for me to remove the key. I took it out and stuffed it back into my bodice.

  The vault was nothing like I’d envisioned. For some reason, I’d imagined some massive stone vault with barred windows and stacks of chests. I had missed the mark entirely. Instead, the room was small, dark, and earthen. Inside was a small table with two chairs. On the table sat a quill and ink and three, small, wooden boxes.

  “Please have a seat,” Mr. Spencer told me.

  I sat and looked around the unadorned room. Mr. Spencer set down the lamp and gently pushed aside two of the boxes. The third box he opened. From within, he pulled out a scroll.

  “Madame, there are some formalities I must follow if your patience can abide. First, your name.”

  “Lily Stargazer.”

  The man looked up at me, his eyes fixed firmly on my face. “Your name,” he repeated.

  A tremor raced through my body. “Penelope Temenos.”

  He nodded. “Sign here,” he said, gently setting the very old parchment down in front of me. He lifted the ink pot, swirled it gently, then pushed it toward me. He pointed to the scroll.

  I leaned over the parchment and looked. There were about a dozen signatures on the sheet. Mr. Spencer was pointing to a space just below where Byron had signed his name. What captured my attention, however, were the names on the list above Byron’s. Many of the names were unreadable, but some I was able to make out: an unreadable name with the title of Earl of Huntington, Geoffrey Chaucer, Sir Thomas More, William Shakespeare, Archibald Boatswain—the master tinker who’d designed the first airship and Queen Anne’s Tinker Tower—and Byron. “But Mr. Spencer . . .” I said.

  “You are the next designee for the list, Miss Temenos.”

  “What does signing this list mean?”

  “It means you will become Lady . . . Warden of a vast estate held in protectorate.”

  “What estate?”

  “You will become the Warden of Arcadia, as Lord Byron was before you.”

  Arcadia? The memory of my hallucination of Byron’s spirit flashed through my mind. “But . . . I don’t understand.”

  “When I met with Lord Byron last summer, he indicated that you were his selection for inheritance of the title after him. Given that your key opened the vault, it seems that the . . . realm . . . agrees with his selection. As you can see from the names of the other Wardens on the list, this is no ordinary estate. When you travel to Arcadia, your duties will be explained to you. This is not an inheritance of blood. This is an inheritance of duty. Lord Byron selected you as his successor. The realm has accepted you as his replace-

  ment.”

  I stared at the list and after a moment, signed my name, Penelope Temenos, below Bryon’s. Whatever it was George wanted me to do, I would not let him down.

  “We will request a name from you, a designator successor, at some point in the future. The correspondence will come directly from the bank president, no other.” Mr. Spencer picked up the scroll, blew on the ink until it was dry, then put it back in the box. “I will arrange for a transport to take you from the bank directly to Arcadia so you may settle matters there—as has always been the custom. Lord Byron did leave two other items for you in particular,” he said, motioning to the other boxes. “Miss Temenos, please be aware that in addition to the very large account this bank holds for Arcadia, Lord Byron also arranged an account—an inheritance—for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lord Byron left you a small fortune. We will keep the account discreet. I understand that Lady Byron and others are . . . negotiating . . . Lord Byron’s estate and formal inheritance at the Bank of England in London. There is no need to inform the Byrons or Gordons or anyone else of the existence of these other monies.”

  “But I thought Byron was broke.”

  “Well, being the Warden of Arcadia has benefits.”

  “I see,” I said, but I didn’t, really. In fact, I had no idea what was going on. I only knew that Byron wanted me to be there.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Mr. Spencer said then, leaving me alone in the room with the two boxes Byron had left for me.

  Exhausted and overwhelmed, I rubbed my eyes, took a deep breath, then slid the larger box toward me. It was locked. I looked at the lock mechanism and after a moment, I retrieved the odd punched key Byron had given me. I slid it into the lock. After a succession of clicks, the lock mechanism released, and the box lid sprung open.

  The box had been separated into two compartments. On one side was a small skeletal figure, arranged and secured by wire. The skeleton was humanoid but no larger than the palm of my hand. I stared at it. The body was fully developed . . . and it had wings. In the other compartment was an equally puzzling item: an intricately tinkered clockwork fairy. After a moment, I closed the lid. On its own, the box locked itself again.

  I slumped back in my chair and picked up the other small box. I was afraid to open it. When I did, the contents hit me hard. Inside was a ring. At its center was a large, oval, deep red ruby. The ruby was trimmed by small pearls and yellow tanzanite stones. I knew the ring. I had seen it once
before. Byron had purchased it during our brief stay in Malta. By accident, I’d seen him sitting at his desk staring at it. He’d been in the ship’s cabin working on his writing, but I’d gotten lonely for him so I’d sneaked inside. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard me enter. I saw the ring but felt like a snoop. I’d left before he knew I was there. He never gave me the ring. He never asked. Only now, I understood why. I took it from the box and closed my eyes. Tears burned. For a moment, I considered putting it on my left hand, but then I remembered what Mary and Tommy had said. I slid it onto the ring finger of my right hand. I gazed at it, overcome with the sense that I’d married a ghost.

  MR. SPENCER’S PRIVATE SHIP LIFTED off the roof of the bank and headed south. He passed coordinates to me and the pilot, telling me the estate was located in Nottinghamshire, adjacent to Newstead Abbey. Newstead was one of Byron’s great losses. He was just a boy when he inherited the estate from an uncle; the inheritance had lifted him out of poverty and made him a member of the landed gentry, titling him Lord Byron. But as a young man, Byron could not afford the property. It had to be sold, and as such, it became one of many of Byron’s missed chances. I stood at the prow of the small airship and realized I was another.

  I gazed at the Edinburgh airship towers as we took off. I loved the image of the magnificent airships sitting anchored aloft with grand old Edinburgh Castle in the background. No matter what ship I piloted, I’d always loved flying into Edinburgh. But today, I was running. I would need to face my life soon. People were waiting on me, depending on me. It wasn’t right to let them worry. But, I needed time.

  The small ship pushed south over thick forests and rolling lowlands. I held onto a tether at the prow and stood in the wind. I tried to take in the smell of the trees and meadow flowers. The perfumed air filled my senses and caressed my body, but nothing could ease the depth of everything we—Byron and I—had just been through.

  Despite my miserable state, I arrived at my destination just a few hours later. I found myself hovering above a heavily forested area. The pilot, who’d stayed silent the entire trip, lowered the airship to the tree line and dropped a rope ladder overboard. “Do you need help, Miss Stargazer?” he asked.