The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead

by David Wake

  “You can’t fire that in here,” said Kroll. “Blugas, hydrogen.”

  “It’s not ‘can’t,” said Earnestine. “It’s ‘shouldn’t’.”

  She fired.

  She missed.

  The fiery projectile soared upwards across the vast cathedral–like space to penetrate a distant gas bag. For a moment the balloon shone brightly like a gas lamp, beautiful and bewitching, and then it exploded.

  A blue radiance, painful to see, trembled along the inner skin of the dirigible like bubbling water flowing along the ceiling above her. There was heat and it gave off water enough to make a rainbow flicker over the gantries and ropes. When the effect reached the far end, the pure burning of the escaping gas ignited the canvas and gas of the motors, the blue rising flames suddenly turned fiery and angry, a roaring combustion that raced back along the walkway.

  “Mein Gott!”

  A second balloon burst into flame and a third, and then, like dominoes, the combustion exploded each one in turn. The light was blue, a blue beyond blue, and then red flames rippled like angry clouds raining fire.

  There was a roar as the air was sucked in. The whole Zeppelin acted like a chimney, and then there was yet another burst of flame as a blugas balloon went up. The shockwave of flames hit Kroll, picked him up, and blasted him through the ruptured skin of the airship and into the void.

  Earnestine ducked, burying her face in her hands as the heat washed over her. She’d been protected by Kroll, he in turn by the pack of his parachute.

  She ran.

  Where was there to go?

  Where were the lifeboats?

  Behind her, the bow of the Zeppelin split open like a peeling fruit or an opening flower, blooming with rage and fire. Metal split and melted and sprang loose. The Zeppelin was finished: she could either burn or jump, and so she threw herself through an opening and into the atmosphere beyond.

  The cold air took her breath away before a wall of heat hit Earnestine hard, punching her forwards and dishevelling her hair and clothing. She grabbed at nothing because there was nothing. The huge domineering airship became tiny so jolly, jolly quickly, a bursting fireball that went up as the metal skeleton of the Zeppelin, its skin in flames, began the long fall to the ground below.

  Earnestine tumbled, over and over, waving her arms desperately as she tried to swim in the thin, cold air. Arms out and spread, she was suddenly flying, stable, and looking down. It was a long dive towards London’s hard paving.

  Kroll was like a comet trailing smoke to mark his incandescent trajectory, a Chinese firework going straight down. He was on fire.

  Earnestine put her arms back and in against her body, her petticoats fluttered and flapped in the increased airflow and then, as the air was sucked out, they stuck to her legs and she plummeted. She found she could turn, tiny alterations to her palms having a decided effect. The streets below looked so far away, but the sudden slapping of mist told her that her velocity was extraordinary. Droplets formed on the outside of her goggles were blown away.

  She flew; it felt powerful and incredible as she spiralled around the trail of smoke.

  As she whizzed down, she saw Kroll struggling with his parachute, the burning pack generating the smoke trail she followed.

  Earnestine made herself into an arrow and flew, closer, closer…

  She hit him, sparks erupted from his singed clothing and she almost failed… no! Caught hold, her fingers wrapped around one of the parachute’s straps.

  With her other hand, she yanked the clasp open before the shocked Oberst realised what was happening. His face was blackened on one side where he’d caught the explosion and his eyes were bloodshot.

  He fought back, tried to hit her, while Earnestine concentrated on the harness. When it came free, the two opponents hung for a moment connected by their tenuous hold on the thin straps.

  Earnestine pulled and she had the pack in her hands. She yanked the ripcord.

  Nothing happened.

  Kroll punched her in the face and she span away.

  She saw him wrench the pack on…

  Ground.

  …click it into place…

  Ground.

  …pull the ripcord….

  Ground.

  …the silk parachute burst open, a white rose bloom that burst into red. Like tissue in a fireplace, the thin material, ignited by Kroll’s burning clothes, shone and then blackened instantly into ash.

  Her last chance – gone.

  No!

  Not Earnestine, not a Deering–Dolittle.

  She brought her knees up to make herself into a ball and the desperate Oberst seemed to fly upwards.

  The sky was awash with clouds and bright, blue expanses of brilliant sky, pierced by falling shapes, burning canvas and fire. She squinted when the sun passed across her vision followed by the flare of vivid red flames of the doomed Zeppelin before her tumbling brought the huge expanse of the Earth into view. It was a massive panorama of grey streets and the sunlight glinting off the snaking Thames. There, somewhere, was the House of Commons, the loop around the Isle of Dogs and–

  There!

  Yes.

  A small falling dot!

  She straightened again, her skirts flapped briefly and then tucked back like the wings of a diving hawk.

  She struck Schneider’s corpse hard, her fingers torn backwards as she hurtled past, and she dropped below him, even flapped her arms, and then threw herself into a star shape, the air resistance pummelling her and slowing her. The wind caught her skirts, braking her descent enough to fly her back up. She caught him, clambered up his legs, just as the creature turned its murderous intentions on her.

  She held his jacket with one hand as she searched for the clasp to the harness.

  There was no clasp, no straps, no parachute – they hadn’t put one on him.

  The corpse, still very much animate, opened its slobbering mouth to bite and snap, its spittle flecking the air. Hand–over–hand she crawled around him until they were face–to–face. She grabbed the handle of the umbrella, and shoved her elbow joint into the hook of the handle.

  Her foot was seized in a vice!

  Kroll grasped her ankle.

  His momentum caused the three of them to cartwheel.

  The ground was suddenly there below, full of hard roofs and pointed towers.

  She pulled, the umbrella came away and–

  She cried out!

  It opened explosively, the thin metal ribs pulling on the stretchers, the whole curved shape threatening to invert. She seemed to leap up into the air as the corpse and the Oberst plummeted towards the model buildings. They struck an angled roof punching two distinct holes through the slates to reveal the rafters beneath.

  The black canopy distorted, bowling the wrong way, and then she hit the roof herself, spine–jarringly, and slates clattered loose. The canopy righted itself with a beat as she slid down the slope. Slates, knocked free, cascaded into the street below to explode, hurling sharp fragments everywhere.

  Earnestine was in the air again, twirling like a spinning dandelion seed to settle on the pavement over the road with a heavy crunching impact.

  She rolled.

  Her head connected with the pavement and for a moment she saw swirling specks. She did see lights: a myriad of fiery shards like shooting stars falling to earth. It was a glorious sight, the doomed airship disintegrating high above.

  She picked herself up, feeling embarrassed as all the passers–by looking at her in amazement. Then, in a panic she checked her arms, legs, face and chest, a flurry of pattings up and down: she was still in one piece.

  “Oh, golly gosh!”

  Above the flaming Zeppelin still fell like a rapidly setting sun.

  They’d won!

  There had been three airships: one hadn’t used its Regenmacher for long, theirs hadn’t at all and Kroll’s was a flaming wreck. Without a thunderstorm their army was nothing – just so many old bones and so much rotting flesh. E
arnestine gazed up, elated, and almost felt like crying out for joy (not that she would, of course) such was her euphoria.

  A droplet of rain splattered on the lens of her goggles.

  Then another.

  And another.

  The pavement began to mottle as a dark pattern appeared and these tiny lakes spread and joined to create a sea, the rain now ricocheting off the flagstones. Passers–by unfurled umbrellas or ran for cover. The pelting water washed away hope, but it was only rain, just rain. There was a flash and… one, two, three… from twelve miles away a deep ominous rumble.

  Earnestine howled.

  “Steady on, miss,” said a passing gent, “it’s only a spot of rain and you have a brolly.”

  The fight was far from over.

  Mrs Arthur Merryweather

  The storm was operatic, great swirling heaving waves of dark grey clouds lit by savage flashes of light, a maelstrom of thunder and lightning as if angels and demons fought for the sky itself. The Austro-Hungarian crew, now back in control of their Zeppelin, guided the damaged craft down into the dark pit of hell.

  Georgina and Charlotte stood together at gunpoint.

  “Don’t worry,” Georgina whispered. “Arthur will save us.”

  The damaged Zeppelin shook and vibrated as it continued its downward movement. When they landed, the internal hydrogen balloons being vented to reduce buoyancy, the craft settled, creaking and forlorn like an industrial whale beached on the land.

  It was in another field and so Captain Merryweather was not there to rescue them. They were on their own.

  Miss Charlotte

  “What is the meaning of this?”? Charlotte demanded. “I will to be treated like-”?

  “A precocious British schoolgirl.”

  Charlotte was quiet and held on to Georgina’s hand; they were both drenched and shivering.

  The Graf was dry, handsome, with his neatly trimmed saturnine beard as sharp as his words. His features were a mix of those stern and remote faces painted on the enormous canvasses in solid gold frames that blocked every inch of the walls. Scattered across these long dead people was his aquiline nose, his piercing eyes, his heroic chin, his intelligent brow; but this man was real, blue blood coursed in his veins and his uniform had not faded in the light.

  They were in the Austro–Hungarian embassy.

  “That’s what you are, really? Ja?”

  Charlotte said nothing.

  Georgina spoke out: “He killed the girls in the boarding school!”

  The Graf was taken by surprise: “How did you… you are clever as well as beautiful.”

  “Thank you– No!”

  “Why did you kill them?” Charlotte asked.

  “It was necessary,” said the Graf. He stepped away from her and waved his hand as if to encompass the room, but Charlotte knew that his meaning lay further afield. “We have a duty to our nations and to history. Think of… I’m sorry I can only put this in military terms.”

  Charlotte knew she’d understand: “Then put it in military terms.”

  “If a nation invades your lands, then it rapes and pillages, it destroys everything. Your army fights back, your people flock to the cause, and, with God’s blessing and a good general, you force them back and win the day. But you cannot stop there, you must push on to destroy the aggressors in their own land, so that they never threaten you again. If that army, cowardly, hides within a city, then you have no choice but to lay siege. You know that there are people within the city, innocents, perhaps even subjects of your own, but you must push ahead for the greater good. Do you see? It is the same. It is glory.”

  “Murdering innocent girls in a school?” Charlotte said.

  “There was a… competitor hiding within that school’s walls. There was an opportunity. We had little time. It was worth trying.”

  “You mean to kill Prince Pieter, your brother.”

  “Ja, without him the Great Plan would be nothing and my plan would be inevitable.”

  His breeding and lifetime’s training could not hold back his emotions, so Charlotte could see the pain etched on his face. She wanted to believe him. She wanted this strong man to live up to his uniform. She wanted…

  “But the girls as well, women and children?”

  “I am not proud of what I have done. I did not order them to kill the girls, I gave explicit orders to the contrary, the soldiers exceeded their commission,” – the Graf paused to hold up his hand to quell Charlotte’s objection before continuing – “but even so, I, and I alone, am responsible. That is what it means to be imperial.”

  “It’s still wrong.”

  “Yes, yes, so you must help me put it right. Stand by my side, together, be my conscience, so that I may spend the rest of my days atoning. My backward country is a medieval land, it must be dragged into the new century. We must have industry and commerce and education, schools, yes. A hundred schools for our brave boys and our vital girls.”

  Charlotte wavered under his spell: “Yes.”

  “But no, you are nothing to me, there is no blue blood in your veins.”

  “I’m British.”

  “When they finished at the school, we gathered them all together, afterwards.”

  “I saw,” said Georgina.

  The Graff began a wide circle of the room: “They were checked against the register. We are nothing if not thorough. The school kept accurate records, something to be admired.”

  Georgina again, angry, her word twisted by bottled emotions: “And?”

  “There were three missing. All sisters.” There was a rustle of paper before the man murdered the vowels: “Deering–Dolittle: Earnestine, Georgina and Charlotte.”

  He stopped and stared at them: “I met an Earnestine at the castle and you! Yes, you are familiar from… Strasburg. You said you were… Merryweather.”

  “I am.”

  “But before then, you were a Deering–Dolittle. I have heard of you, a family from England… Surrey.”

  Charlotte couldn’t help herself: “Kent!”

  “We found a stowaway on the Zed Oh Three.”

  “Really?”

  “A girl. We assumed from the school. One of the Deering–Dolittles, but I think that was a mistake. I think that you are not the Princess and she was not the school girl.”

  “I guess you’ll have to marry her now,” said Charlotte.

  Georgina stifled a sob.

  “Nein,” the Graf answered. “We shot her and threw her body over the parapet for the eagles.”

  Charlotte remembered the terrified but determined princess: “No!”

  “My grandmother, the Gräfin, will be so upset.”

  “You cad,” said Georgina.

  Charlotte remembered that Earnestine had told her about the Princess, blamed her even, and Earnestine had been in the other Zeppelin when it had turned into fire.

  A flash lit up the high windows.

  “You will have to excuse me,” the Graf said, clicking his heels and bowing formally. “The capacitors must be charged by now and I am needed. England is a dreary country, no mountains, but it is known for its–”

  There was a flash.

  “Rain, its wonderful rain.”

  Thunder rumbled on distantly.

  Chapter XXII

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  “You’ve done your bit now, Miss Deering-Dolittle, you can leave it with Major Dan and ourselves.”?

  “Thank you, Captain Caruthers.”

  The men stood.

  Earnestine remained seated. She was very conscious of the rain water seeping out of her skirts and bustle, and soaking the chair.

  The men left, active and certain of their commission

  Earnestine sat primly, breathing in and out as much as her corset allowed, and gradually calmed down. Her job was done and it was a relief. The men would, of course, do the best they could, and they were Gentlemen Adventurers, so clearly far more able than herself; however, she could be proud: she had fulfille
d her responsibility admirably.

  The carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked.

  When this was over, when Major Dan, Captain Caruthers, Captain Merryweather and Lieutenant McKendry had solved this, there might well be an article in the Times and, if there was any justice, it would mention in passing the gallant assistance that three sisters had afforded the British Empire in a time of crisis. It might even mention their names and go some way to redressing the balance in the reporting that the Kent family tended to suffer.

  The ticking continued: a flash lit the sky briefly.

  Of course the odds were against them, but they were men and better used to handling these matters than a young lady like herself, even a Derring–Do… She corrected herself: Deering–Dolittle.

  The clock ticked on. Outside the rain pattered on the window and a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

  “Oh to hell with this!” Earnestine said aloud.

  Back at Zebediah Row, Earnestine dumped her wet clothes on her bedroom floor and then, dressed only in her undergarments, she pulled the battered suitcase from on top of the wardrobe.

  There was a cough.

  A woman stood in the doorway in a prim, black dress with starched white lace trim. She looked over her glasses at Earnestine.

  “I heard you were back,” she said.

  “Yes, Nanny.”

  “And you’ve been partaking in some very unladylike activities by the look of things.”

  “I don’t have time, Nanny,” said Earnestine.

  “Of course you have time!”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit around fanning myself while the British Empire falls.”

  “It’s up to the men to sort that out.”

  Earnestine dressed, sensible red Worsted and a small bustle.

  “Your underclothes are damp,” said Nanny, “you’ll catch your death.”

  “Then I’ll catch my death.”

  Earnestine took everything out of her canvas bag and laid them out on her bed.

  Just the essentials and a few other items, she thought, so the medium kit. She weighed the canvas bag in her hand before checking everything was in place: penknife, compass, flashlight, spare batteries, binoculars, matches, tinder, sewing kit, spare button, handkerchief, whistle, map of London, pencil and notebook, water bottle, dark lantern, extra socks, a bandage and both packs of Kendal mint cake.