The Ruby Airship

by Sharon Gosling

  “If we can help, we must try!” Dita interjected.

  “All right, all right,” J said, turning back to the control desk. “I ain’t arguing about that bit, I just . . .” He trailed off as the airship sailed down, over the smoke-clogged trees. “Look, there,” the boy said, a tense minute later. “See?”

  He was pointing to a scrubby clearing just off the track, about half a mile from the burning line of caravans.

  “Good, J — set us down there.”

  Thaddeus was opening the cabin’s hatch before the airship had even touched down. It landed with a bump, the gangplank slamming onto ground that was still wet. Even from this far away, the policeman could feel the heat of the fire.

  “J,” he said, “stay here, with the airship. You too, Dita. If it looks as if the rest of the forest is going to catch light, don’t wait for me, take her back up. Okay?”

  “But Thaddeus —”

  “I don’t have time to argue, J,” Thaddeus said firmly, jumping from the ship. “Just do it.”

  He ran down the road, which had been churned to mud by the rain and by what must have been hundreds of horses. Ahead of him, Thaddeus could see the circus folk, silhouetted in the darkness against the orange flames. Some had formed a line through the trees between the river and the road and were passing buckets of water, frantically trying to douse the flames. Others were rescuing what they could from the caravans that had already been put out, dragging from the wreckage scraps of clothes, cooking pans, and other odds and ends. To Thaddeus, it seemed as if there was precious little left and no hope for the caravans that were still alight.

  He reached the first caravan, a smoldering wreck of wood and burned possessions. Thaddeus kept going until he reached the head of the water chain. Before he could speak a bucket was thrust into his hands. He turned and threw the water at the flames licking around yet another of the wooden homes. Farther down the line, the policeman saw a loose sheet of fabric flapping hopelessly as it was consumed by the fire. He recognized it as part of the Big Top. A flash of memory came to him, of the first time he had ever seen Rémy Brunel. She had been performing inside that very circus tent, flying through the air like a bird. Anxiety clutched at his gut. His eyes searched the line, trying to find her face, but he couldn’t see her. Another bucket of water was pushed toward him and then another.

  There was a shout, and someone shook his shoulder. It was the big man behind him — the next in the line. He was yelling and pointing to the next caravan in the train, indicating that Thaddeus should move so they could try to extinguish it. More water was pushed into his hands, and he threw it as hard as he could, trying to reach the center of the searing flames.

  A scream of terror reached Thaddeus’s ears. For one sickening moment he thought it was coming from inside the blazing caravan, but then he saw movement. It came from beneath the caravan, not inside it. Someone was trapped inside the ring of flames that circled the wooden cart wheels. He shouted, chucking the empty bucket back to the man behind and throwing himself flat to the ground to get a better look. There was another shout from behind him as the big man realized what was happening and did the same.

  There was a child, trapped under the caravan. It was a little girl, cowering between the burning wheels. She was sitting in the mud with her knees pulled up to her chin, shaking and crying.

  Beside him, Thaddeus heard the circus performer utter a curse. Thaddeus didn’t need to know the translation to understand what he meant. The caravan was completely surrounded by fire — it was a miracle that the floor above hadn’t yet caved in and fallen on top of the child. It could only be a matter of minutes before the inevitable happened and she was lost to the inferno.

  There was no time to think. Thaddeus turned to the man beside him. “Give me your jacket,” he yelled over the noise of the raging flames and then reached out to point at what he meant. “Give it to me, quickly!”

  The man understood, hurriedly shrugging off his shabby coat and pushing it toward the policeman.

  “Sorry,” Thaddeus muttered automatically before pushing it down into the wet mud under their feet. The garment was immediately soaked, coated with a thick slime of wet dirt. Thaddeus pulled it up from the sucking mud and threw it over his head and shoulders, the cold sludge a salve in the face of the fire’s heat. He took a breath, staring at the flames, and suddenly his confidence crumbled. What on earth was he doing? Did he really want to throw himself into those flames? Was eighteen years enough for a life, if his ended here? Thaddeus suddenly felt very young and very scared and very much as if he hadn’t seen nearly enough of life to throw it away so easily.

  But then the trapped girl screamed again, pure terror lacing her child’s voice. Thaddeus’s heart clenched. He pushed the wave of fear and doubt away. What was the point of being a policeman if he didn’t help people, whatever the cost? What else was he for?

  He sucked in a breath and plunged into the flames, launching himself directly between the two front wheels. The little girl screamed again as he threw off the coat and pressed it into the mud at her feet, killing the first licks of fire that had danced across it.

  “Come,” he yelled to her, over the sound of the inferno, holding out his arms.

  She screamed again, too terrified to move. A creak sounded above them as the caravan’s floor threatened to give way. With no time to be gentle, Thaddeus grabbed the child by the forearms, pulling her to his chest and flinging the coat over her. He took one look at the ring of flames, then ducked his head beneath the sodden fabric and lurched forward, hoping against hope that he’d picked the right spot and wouldn’t collide with one of the caravan’s burning wheels. The girl screamed in his ear, her arms wrapped around his neck as they surged into the fire. This time, Thaddeus felt the flames reaching for his legs, curling their heat around them like a thousand tiny, vicious whips. He tried to stagger forward a few more steps but collapsed to his knees. The child screamed on, still clutched against him.

  Thaddeus only realized they had escaped the fire when he heard shouting. The burning coat was ripped away, and the child was pulled from his arms. Someone else grabbed him by the shoulders, shouting at him. That same someone pushed him to the ground and made him roll in the mud until the burning in his legs lessened. When Thaddeus stopped moving, he felt hands under his shoulders, helping him to sit. An unknown hand tipped a cup of water to his lips and wiped the mud from his eyes. The policeman blinked and realized it was his companion from the water line. The big man patted his shoulder, nodding and smiling grimly.

  “The girl,” Thaddeus managed. “Is she —”

  His new friend moved a little so that Thaddeus could see over his shoulder. The child he’d pulled from the burning wreck was being cradled in a crying woman’s arms. She was terrified but seemed otherwise unhurt. Around them, the water line had broken up. The circus folk stood, looking at the burning hulks of their homes, resigned to the fact that there was no more they could do to save them.

  “Mr. Rec!” Thaddeus pushed his sodden hair back to see J and Dita rushing toward him. “We thought you was a goner, for sure!” said J, out of breath as they came to a standstill in front of him.

  “You should be with the airship, J,” Thaddeus said hoarsely.

  “It’s all right, don’t you worry,” said the boy. “It ain’t reaching the tree line — look.”

  Thaddeus looked blearily to where J was pointing and saw that the boy was right. The big man who had pulled him out began to speak rapidly in French. Dita listened for a moment.

  “His name is Augustus. He is calling you a hero,” the little girl told Thaddeus with a smile. “And saying that from now on, you are family.”

  Thaddeus nodded, too exhausted to smile and too overwhelmed to think. He struggled to his feet, scanning the crowd for one particular face. He saw no sign of Rémy, not even allowing for the covering of smuts that masked every face. His heart san
k.

  “Dita,” he croaked, his voice still full of smoke. “Ask him what circus this is — was. What was it called?”

  Augustus looked at him, and even Thaddeus could understand what he said next. “Le Cirque de Secrets.”

  “Do you — do you know of Rémy Brunel?” he asked, a sick feeling rising into his throat. “Little Bird, she’s called . . . Er — Petit . . . Petit . . .” He tried to remember what her stage name had been in French, but couldn’t.

  “Ah oui, oui,” said Augustus, “Petit Moineau! —Rémy Brunel . . .” He continued in a gush of French.

  Dita frowned as she translated. “She was here,” the little girl said, her voice fraught. “With a magician called Yannick. It was he who brought the Comte’s men.”

  “The Comte was here?” Thaddeus asked, a chill befalling him.

  “Not the Comte de Cantal himself,” Dita translated. “But his men came. For — for Claudette. They set the feuer — the fire. Rémy . . .” The girl glanced up at Thaddeus with worried eyes. “He doesn’t know what happened. There was chaos. They were trying to free the horses and move the lions. But . . .”

  Thaddeus looked at her as she trailed off. “But what?”

  “Perhaps nothing,” said Dita hesitantly.

  Thaddeus placed his aching hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “But what, Dita? Tell me.”

  “Gun shots,” said the girl reluctantly. “No one saw Rémy after that. And they were too busy . . .”

  “. . . too busy to look,” Thaddeus said hoarsely. He straightened up, ignoring the sting of the burns to his legs. “So now we look,” he said, looking Augustus in the eye. “Yes?”

  Augustus nodded, grim-faced. “Oui.”

  * * *

  In the end, it was Dominique who found her. Thaddeus recognized Rémy’s circus pony. She stood quietly beside a tree, nosing at something on the ground. The little palomino had been let loose with all the other circus horses but, instead of running, she had found her long-lost mistress. Rémy was slumped, not moving, beside the tree.

  Thaddeus spotted her a moment after he saw the horse. For a second, his legs turned to lead and he couldn’t move. And then, almost without realizing it, he was by her side, dropping to his knees. There was a nasty gash across her swollen brow and her shoulder was bloodied.

  “Rémy,” he said, tipping her face toward him and taking in the strangeness of her short hair. “Rémy?”

  The pulse beneath his fingers was weak, but it was there. Relief surged through him. Thaddeus ripped off his muddy shirt. Most of it was useless, but he tore the cleanest scraps into strips, wrapping the rags around her injured shoulder.

  “I’ve found her,” he shouted, his voice cracking as he lifted her into his arms. Oddly, he no longer felt pain. “I’ve found her!”

  She stirred as they reached the airship, eyes fluttering open, bruised brow creasing into a frown as she tried to focus.

  “T-thaddeus?” she muttered. “What . . .”

  “Rémy,” he said. “It’s all right. I found you. Everything’s all right.”

  She remembered something then, and tried to struggle free. “C-Claudette,” she grated. “I have to —”

  Thaddeus held her fast against him. A moment later, she passed out again, her head against his chest.

  * * *

  No one slept much that night. For one thing, the circus folk had nowhere to sleep, and for another they were busy trying to round up as many of the circus horses as they could. Some, like the ones seen from the airship, were far away and gone forever by now. But others had not fled so far, and these were the ones that were brought back, slowly, over the hours that stretched toward dawn. Constance the elephant came, too, lumbering hesitantly toward her relieved keeper.

  Dita and J went out to help in the search, but Thaddeus stayed with Rémy. He had placed her in his bunk in the airship. As far as he could make out, the wound to her head was worse than the wound to her shoulder. It seemed as if the bullet had only grazed her, scraping the skin but breaking no bone. Thaddeus bathed and wrapped the wound, and then did the same with the ugly gash on her forehead. Leaving her to sleep, he stepped outside into the gathering dawn.

  The dead hulks of the caravans were still smoldering. To Thaddeus, they looked like the carcasses of a great herd of strange beasts. He stared at them for a while, and then went to help Augustus, who was trying to calm a still-terrified horse. They nodded at each other, smiling through the language barrier until Dita and J returned, another tired pony between them.

  “Right, Dita,” Thaddeus said. “I want to know everything that happened here.”

  {Chapter 31}

  A PLAN

  Rémy woke to pain and the sound of murmuring. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a curved wooden ceiling. Sunlight was streaming through an open hatch above her head. From somewhere above her came the sounds of bumps and scraping. Twice shadows passed through the sunlight, as if someone was moving around up there.

  Rémy tried to sit up, wincing at the pain in her shoulder. There was a blanket tucked carefully around her. She realized with alarm that, apart from her underclothes, that was all she was covered by.

  The murmuring stopped. Another shadow came nearer.

  “Well,” said a familiar voice, still speaking very quietly. “There you are.”

  Rémy squinted as she looked up, trying to focus. Her head was still fuzzy. The figure dropped into a crouch beside her.

  “Th-thaddeus?” she croaked, through a throat as dry as scorched earth.

  The policeman smiled gently, picking something up from the floor beside the bed. He held it out to her — a glass full of water.

  “Drink,” he said, “but slowly. How are you feeling?”

  Rémy took a few sips, then handed the glass back to him. “I — my head hurts. And my shoulder.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Thaddeus told her. “It looks as if you had an argument with a bullet. And you hit your head.”

  Rémy blinked again, still confused. She looked down at her bandaged shoulder, naked apart from the dressing. “Where is my shirt?”

  “Ruined, I’m afraid. Your corset and trousers are all right, though.” Thaddeus gestured to the end of the bed, where both lay. Her boots stood on the floor.

  Rémy shifted, uncomfortable, and then saw Thaddeus glance away and offer a slightly abashed smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We got Dita to undress you.”

  “Dita?” Rémy asked. “Who’s —”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “Never mind that right now. We’ll introduce you in a little while. Right now, I think you need more rest. J and I are just there if you need us.” He nodded to the light he had emerged from, and Rémy’s eyes had cleared enough to see that it was some sort of doorway with a ramp. She could just make out J’s back, turned away from her, and beyond him, blue sky over green trees.

  It was the trees that did it. The memory of the previous night flooded her aching head and she gasped.

  “The fire! Claudette!” She tried to struggle up, forgetting for a moment about her damaged shoulder.

  “Easy,” said Thaddeus, holding her back. “Rémy, take it easy. You’re not —”

  “But — but they took her! They burned . . . everything!” Rémy, said almost in a sob. “I have to go after them!”

  “Not yet,” Thaddeus said, his voice firm as he tried to get her to settle. “Rémy, you’re not well enough.”

  “Pass me my clothes, Thaddeus.”

  “Rémy —”

  “My clothes.”

  Thaddeus looked at her, and she looked back, summoning every ounce of defiance she had. After a moment he nodded and reached for the garments.

  “You need to take some time before you go rushing off,” he said, as he passed them to her.

 
“Turn around,” she said curtly. He did, and she climbed gingerly out of bed. Standing upright was more difficult than she’d imagined. Her head swam, and she blinked rapidly, trying to fend off the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Don’t look!”

  “I’m not!”

  She managed to struggle into her trousers and fasten them, but the corset was another matter. Rémy succeeded in pulling it on, but the laces were hard enough to tighten at the best of times, let alone with blurred vision and a throbbing arm.

  “Rémy?” Thaddeus asked, after a few minutes. “I can call Dita . . .”

  “No,” Rémy said hoarsely. “I just need — can you —” she sighed. “You can turn around now. Can you do this up for me, please?”

  She turned her back as he moved. There was a moment of silence, and then Rémy felt him step closer. Another moment passed, and then she felt his fingers slide under the laces, pulling them in. He didn’t say anything.

  “As tight as you can,” she said.

  It was strange, feeling his fingers on her back. Thaddeus seemed reluctant to let them linger there, jumping slightly every time they came in contact with her skin. Rémy’s mind was spinning, replaying not only the events of the night before, but also trying to work out what he was doing here, this far from home. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see him again, but here he was.

  “Did you come looking for me?” she asked, her throat still dry. “All the way from London?”

  Thaddeus finished tying the corset. He said nothing for a moment, and then she felt his fingers brush against the short-cropped hair at the nape of her neck. The last time he had seen her, her hair had been far longer, though always tied up. For some reason she found herself holding her breath.

  “Of course I did,” he said finally, so quietly that she hardly heard it.

  Rémy turned around and looked up at him. Maybe it was because her head still felt as if someone had hit it with a mace, or perhaps it was because she was so worried about Claudette, but she felt her lower lip trembling as she tried to stop her eyes filling with tears.