Ten minutes later, Grimm cut the wheel sharply again, as if he had just remembered the turn, and soon the residential property opened up to grassland on which herds of cattle grazed. Suddenly, Icarus topped one of the many rolling hills and in a clearing several hundred yards before them floated a huge airship, the privateer, Daedalus.
Grimm decreased his speed only slightly driving Icarus around to the far side of the airship where a sturdy ramp barely brushed the ground. The ramp was well built and obviously used by the crew to load and offload cargo to and from the ship’s hold. It appeared to be just wide enough that with care, the Icarus could climb it safely.
Boots retrieved his hat from the seat, and prepared to leave the auto but the Captain put the automobile into a sharp slide and Boots realized he had other ideas.
“Hold on!” Grimm yelled above the noise of the engine, before aiming the velocitor towards the ramp and throttling up.
“Oh, my,” screamed Persi.
“Hells Bells!” was all Boots could manage before the front tires hit the ramp and they streaked up the narrow wooden slope. He hoped the two young men were still on the back, or had jumped away safely.
For an instant, Boots thought the vehicle, along with he, Persi and their luggage might slip off the side of the ramp and plummet the thirty some feet to the ground, but abruptly they were thrown forward as the velocitor came to a sudden stop in the hold of the airship.
“Holy Hell, man, you are at least one brick shy of a load!” Boots yelled, stepping out of the Icarus, almost forgetting about Persi, who was standing with her hand extended.
“I know my ship, Monsieur Beacon,” Grimm said, “And I care for her as she cares for me. She will not let harm come to me.”
Boots shook his head, “We were not in the ship, we were in the ...” Boots began, until Persi placed her hand on his arm.
“Boots,” she said, “help me down, and let the Captain secure Icarus while we retire to our cabins.”
“But ...” he tried again, but her look was a bucket of cold water and he sighed.
“Yes, Persi,” he said. He spoke to Joseph and Nicholas, who were safe and unloading their bags. “Please take Ms. Shuttleworth’s bags to the Navigator’s stateroom,” he said.
The sootys hesitated, and looked at Grimm for confirmation.
“Well, take Ms. Shuttleworth’s bags as he has said.” Grimm said, nodding the correct direction. He looked at Boots, “And yours will go to your suite, I assume.”
Persi’s smile straightened slightly as she tried to gauge Boots’ response.
“Yes, yes, well of course my suite,” Boots stammered.
Her smile regained its hold as she realized he was finally figuring out the crew knew he and Persi’s relationship was more than one facilitated only by their business partnership.
Grimm bowed and nodded for the sootys to move. They all proceeded up the stairs to the second deck, then one young man split off and took Persi’s bags forward to the Navigator’s cabin located just behind the control room, while the rest continued to Boots staterooms amidships.
“If there is nothing else, sir, I will return to my duties,” the Captain said, turning to Persi and Boots.
“Carry on Captain. We shall relax here until we lift. By the way, what does the cook have planned?”
“Well, yes, it is a thing of which we must speak.” Grimm’s face showed distress.
“Yes?” Boots asked.
“Is something wrong with cook?” Persi asked. She liked Adarsh, as he was a splendid cook, but mostly because she had stolen him from the great Cornelius Vanderbilt having been a part of the staff at his Newport summerhouse.
“Alas, Madam, he is no more.”
“Oh my, how did he die?” Persi asked.
“No, mon Dieu, he is not dead, only gone. He received an aethergram informing him of the death of his father in Bombay. He has left nearly one week past.”
“Well, we need to advertise for a temporary cook, perhaps one that ...” Boots began.
“Ah, Monsieur, I have been on top of that exact thing and have acquired a most worthy cook.” Grimm said.
Persi caught something in his eye she did not like.
“She is in the kitchen and will bring you your meal, at which time you may question her. I think you will see she is indeed a good selection.”
“She?” Persi asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Madam, you will know the truth of her skill, I assure you.” Grimm said, something close to pleading touched his voice.
“Oh, I’m sure if you picked her she is very … skillful.” Persi said.
“Yes, I am glad you agree,” Grimm said, seeming to miss her insinuation and bowing slightly. “Then I will leave you to ... relax.” He winked at Boots but was out the door before he could be scolded.
“Really, that man is incorrigible,” Peris said, “He carries himself as if he is always just one step ahead of trouble.”
Boots leaned in to steal a kiss, and having succeeded, untied his cravat. “Interestingly enough, I keep him because he understands the need for that very thing.”
Several moments passed before Persi spoke again. “My love, why must we keep up the charade of our relationship on your ship, with your crew? You have such a huge bed and I want to sleep beside my husband.”
Boots crossed to Persi from behind, as she fidgeted with a button on her sleeve, and wrapped her in his arms. “My heart, there is nothing I would like better, and perhaps there will be some time for that, but we will both be in a fix should the agency find out how far ‘our relationship’ has matured. I believe my crew is loyal, but one never knows when one of them might lose control of his tongue.”
“Or ‘her’ tongue,” Persi said flatly.
Boots smiled and kissed her neck. “My dear, I have not known a fantastic cook who is also a ravishing beauty. I doubt you have anything to worry about on that account, and besides, that also assumes I would not be loyal to you and I tell you now, that will never happen.”
Persi turned in his arms to face him. “In truth? You will not find someone who is not an agent, one for which there is no need to hide?”
Boots kissed her nose. “How could I find one prettier than you?”
She looked at him, batting her eyes flirtatiously.
“And of course there is your money and social connections,” Boots said quickly.
“You are horrid, you ruined it all,” she said as she hammered his chest with her fist. “And you left out that I am armed and a good shot.”
“Mmm, yes, there is that,” Boots said.
A knock on the door forced them apart. Persi answered it to find a woman in her early forties carrying a tray. Her hair was dark and pulled back tight into a bun at the back of her head. She wore a black dress buttoned at the top and trimmed at the cuffs and collar with white lace. The dress was loose and did not show the woman’s shape in a favorable light. A white apron covered the dress, while a teapot and plate of cookies sat on the tray. She projected a conservative and serious minded demeanor.
“Refreshments.” the woman said sharply. It came across as an announcement and Persi stepped aside as the woman entered the room.
She placed the tray on the table and turned, wiping crumbs and wrinkles from the apron, then stood, hands folded in front. “I am the new cook, Mrs. Jones. Captain Grimm met me outside the hotel in town where I was in search of a job. It was pure serendipity.”
Serendipity eh, so she is educated. Persi thought. “Indeed? And you are qualified for this position, how?” Persi asked.
“Well, I cooked and kept house for my family for many years, prior to the war, then various houses in Atlanta for the last ten years.”
“Atlanta,” Boots asked, “then how did you get here?”
Mary looked at the deck, “My fiancé came here looking for work. He heard the eastern north/south line would be pushing this direction and figured to beat them here. He invested all his money ... our money, into a cattle ran
ch outside of town. It appeared he had made a good decision and was doing well when he was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. The ranch and cattle were sold to pay his ... our, debts, and I was left with nothing. We were to be married next …” she faltered, “…next month.”
Persi stepped to the woman and placed her hand on her shoulder. “We are so sorry for your loss. I believe I can speak for Mr. Beacon in this, so I tell you, we will give you a reasonable trial period and pray you will be a fit here. If not, we give you the best reference.”
Surprising Persi, Mary bobbed a curtsey and wiped at her eyes. “Thank you, Miss, I won’t disappoint you. Now I must return to the kitchen and continue preparations for lunch.”
“The meal?” Persi asked.
“It is so very hot. I decided on a gazpacho to start, then chilled beef tongue with a cucumber, tomato and mozzarella salad, and spice cake with cream to finish,” Mary said.
“Simple but elegant. Well considered, Cook,” Boots piped up. “If the taste is commensurate with the description, we are well on our way to a long-term relationship.”
Mary smiled and curtsied again, then left the room.
Boots sat in his favorite chair, an overstuffed ancient leather monstrosity Persi would rather have dumped for a more fashionable one but Boots would not be moved on this. He worked his feet from his boots while Persi stepped to the Ottoman beside him and sat. “Well, she’s not hideous,” Boots said with a smile.
Persi didn’t take the bait but selected a cookie from the plate and nibbled an edge. “Nor is she a horrible cook. These lemon cookies are rather yummy. And Grimm seems to like her, though I would be interested to know for which of her attributes he is most fond?”
“As you have said, we will give her a chance and hope she will meet our expectations.” Boots said. “Now, agent Shuttleworth, how will we approach our mission here?”
Chapter 12 – Our Agents Discover a Newspaper
“Well, Agent Beacon,” Persi returned, “I suggest that after lunch we prepare ourselves in our finest, but coolest investigative attire and ascertain where the burned out building from the paper is located. We can also ask around for witnesses and collect statements.”
“Agreed,” Boots said, placing his hand over hers as it rested on the large arm of his chair. “May I suggest we search out the local newspaper since the information and photograph had to come from somewhere?”
“Brilliant, dearest,” Persi agreed.
“And though I seldom, if ever, attempt to involve myself in your wardrobe ...” he continued.
Persi spun to catch her husband’s eye. “Yes?”
He patted her hand. “The climate here reminds me somewhat of my time in Mr. Stanley’s trek through Africa where we encountered disease carrying insects, as well as snakes and leopards. Though I don’t believe we need to worry about the leopards, I do believe we should prepare ourselves to encounter both biting insects and poisonous snakes.”
“Are we to imitate a safari, my love? Shall I enlist our sootys to play the part of the native African porters?”
Boots face fell. “There is much about that trip I would rather forget. Stanley was not as much a humanitarian as the papers lead the masses to believe. But no, my love, I mean only that you should consider a light long sleeved shirt, high-necked walking dress, a wide brimmed hat to hide your beautiful face from the sun, and from which I can hang a bit of bug netting. Also, your tallest leather boots to turn a serpent’s fang.”
She nodded. “Well said, my dear. I will take your suggestions, provided I can match the gloves.”
Boots lifted her hand and kissed it. “Duly noted.”
****
Lunch had been as described, delicious, both visually and in flavor. “Cook,” Boots had said, “you set a high standard and it is much appreciated.”
Now fortified with an excellent lunch, they road into town using two American Pintos Captain Grimm acquired after they decided Icarus would attract unnecessary attention and possibly distract from their investigation. One was a beautiful white and black overo filly, and the other, a handsome black and white tobiano gelding. Since there were no sidesaddles to be had, both horses were provided with western stock saddles. Persi did not flinch at this for the garment was divided into two parts, one for each leg, while maintaining the flow of standard riding dress, which allowed Persi to mount and ride the horse as a man. Stylish as ever, the dark red dress with black trim was reminiscent of a British military uniform. Affirming the designer’s martial inspiration, the dress was the accompanied by a black tricorn hat, trimmed with scarlet lace and a single long white plume.
When both were mounted, Boots rode to Persi’s side. He looked over her attire, and at a foot in each stirrup. “Scandalous,” he said with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “What would Madam Isabella say about this?”
Persi raised her chin in a parody of nobility at the mention of her boarding school riding instructor of years past. “She would say…” She urged her horse forward, ‘Elisabeth Persimmon Shuttleworth, are you wearing your knickers today?’ to which, of course, I would lie and say yes.”
Boots eyes went wide in disbelief.
“What?” Persi said, pulling the reigns and directing the horse to the road. “Husband, I don’t think you understand how binding all these layers of clothing are. And especially so when one is thirteen and used to riding bareback across open plains.”
“I suspect so,” Boots said, at once intrigued and shamed by the picture forming in his mind. “Shall we proceed?”
The ride took them nearly thirty minutes, and after a quick stop at the blacksmiths to ask directions, they were hitching their horses outside a small shop on the edge of town. The sign over the door read, Orlando Sentinel.
Upon entering the shop, they were confronted by a bustle of activity. Two men manned a huge mechanical press, while a third stood over a large shallow rectangular box of letters, moving letters from smaller boxes to the large one. A woman in a brown bowler came through a door in the back carrying a can of ink and upon seeing the agents, set the can down, grabbed a rag and approached them, wiping the ink from her dark skin.
Stopping at the counter, the black curls dangling from beneath her hat stopping a half second later. She placed her hand on a large mound of fur laying off to the right that neither agent had noticed. The pile of fur raised its head, and as if by magic, took the shape of a longhaired black and white cat.
Boots blinked as the cat stood, arched its back and yawned showing its long sharp teeth. The woman picked the cat up and it immediately stretched up to smell her breath. Persi frowned, disgusted the woman let the cat get so close to her mouth.
“He’s okay,” the woman said, “Kenz wouldn’t hurt a flea. In fact, he won’t hurt a mouse which is why I got him two years ago when the damn rodents started getting into my paper stock. I printed some wedding announcements in trade for this promised grand champion mouser.” She ruffled the animal’s fur. “I guess I got the short end of that trade.” She looked at the cat and smiled, not seeming to care about his laziness.
“How do you do? I am ...” Boots started, holding a calling card out.
“Horace Randolph Bosworth Beacon the Third, or Boots to your friends,” The young woman said placing the cat back on the counter, leaving Boots standing with his mouth agape.
She looked at him for several seconds, waiting for him to speak and when he didn’t, she took his hand and gave it a brisk, most unladylike shake. “Clarissa Melody Brown, owner and managing editor of the Orlando Sentinel.”
Persi stepped up and offered her hand, now back in the black kid leather gloves she had worn in the Dakotas. “I am ...” She paused, raising an eyebrow and waiting on Ms. Brown to finish her sentence.
Clarrisa looked at the gloved hand, wiped hers again and shook it. “No idea, but glad to meet you.”
Boots, having now regained his composer asked, “Have we met, Ms. Brown?”
“Mrs. Brown, though te
chnically I suppose it’s ‘Widow Brown’ so just call me Mel,” she said.
As if on cue, the man setting the print, spoke up, “Hey Mel, our last lower case ‘n’ is chipped ... looks like a sad ‘r.’”
“Well, run it anyway, we’ll try to fix it after we get this edition out.” She looked at Persi and Boots and laughed, her tight black curls bobbing frenetically as she did, “Hell, most of these Crackers, don’t know how to read anyway.”
“Crackers?” Persi asked.
“The cattle men ‘round here. ‘Been here since the late 1700s. Call themselves, Crackers ... something about old English word that means ‘to boast,’ anyway, I didn’t make it up,” Mel said.
Boots tried again, “Mrs. Brown ... Mel, how do you know me?”
“You were part of the mission to search for Dr. Livingstone weren’t you? A doctor or something, right?”
“I was a doctor’s aid.”
“Yeah, so I worked in New York, at the Times, cleaning the presses, carrying coffee,” she paused, leaned in and whispered, “and secretly learning the trade.” Stepping back, she said, “I kept up with the party’s progress and knew every white man in the troupe, even some of the African porters.”
“Ahh, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Boots said.
“And I you.”
Before he could speak she said, “You gonna be around for a while, I’d love to get some stuff for a story. To my readers, anything that happens outside the county is world news.”
“Well actually ...” Boots said.
“That your airship that landed outside of town? Mind if I come take a look? It’d make a great story,” she continued.
“I don’t think ...” he tried.
“And that velocitor you got, that’s something else. It’s an Excalibur, correct? I’ll bet it can ...”
“Mrs. Brown,” Persi said, rather loudly.
The Lightning Lord Page 9