by Chris Paton
“You have a rope attached to the balloon?” Leaning his head back as far as the halter allowed Hari twisted to the left.
“You won’t see it,” Luise wiped the rain from her face. “It’s tied to the top of the cradle.”
“Ingenious,” Hari let his body hang in the halter. He gripped Luise around her waist. “This is one of the lifeboats?”
“Yes. Jacques and I...”
“What?” Hari waited.
Luise took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Hari. I didn’t mean to doubt you, but we just couldn’t see how you were going to rescue that young girl.”
“So you came up with another plan?”
“Yes,” Luise paused. “I didn’t want to lose you, Hari.”
“And I did not want to be lost.” Hari reached up with his right hand, smoothing the rain away from Luise’s face. He looked up. “Are we attached to the Scotsman? That must be a very long rope.”
“Not the Scotsman, no,” Luise leaned back, her brow wrinkling beneath the wet strands of her strawberry blonde fringe. “Something a little more fragile, I am afraid.” A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “There they are. Look up, Hari.”
Slicing through the swathes of rain gusting in the grip of the wind, four lengths of thick rope caught Hari’s eye as they stretched from one lifeboat balloon to the next, all the way back to The Flying Scotsman labouring through the storm above them.
“I had to empty this bag to reach you.”
“You must have jumped before I fell.”
“I have never done anything like it,” she grinned. “Most exhilarating, let me tell you.”
“I think I know,” Hari’s eyes lit up in the light escaping from a brief crack in the dense cloud covering the sea.
“I had to jump before I even knew you had fallen, before the window shattered.”
Hari leaned back in the halter and stared at the lifeboats. “And what is the next part of your plan?”
“That’s up to Jacques,” Luise sighed. “He said something about a winch, but he could only use it if the airship was flying level.”
“Well,” Hari pointed up at the clouds. “There is a break or two up there, and I am not quite as chilled as I was before.”
“So you are happy to hang around with me?” Luise let go of the steering guys and placed her hands upon Hari’s shoulders.
“This is the third time I have been dangling in perilous situations,” Hari smiled.
“Hari Singh,” Luise frowned. “Did you just call me perilous?”
“Yes, Miss Luise, I believe I just did.”
The balloon jerked upward as the rope began to stretch taut in the wind. Light splintered the clouds and the whitecaps rolling along the surface of the sea shrank beneath them.
҉
The heavy oak door creaked as the tiny Cossack, Lena Timofeyevich, leaned her weight against it, locking it with a loud snick of an iron bolt. Lena pulled the bandoliers over her shoulders and hung them on the rusted nail protruding from the centre of the door. “I know what they are,” she pushed a crate into the middle of the dark cellar with the toe of her boot. “But I don’t know to what purpose they are intended.” Lena pointed at the rough chairs leaning against the walls of the cellar. “Take a chair,” she nodded at Stepan and Vladimir. “Yuri will come when dinner is prepared. After he has cleaned the drakon.”
“Drakon?” Vladimir set his chair next to the crate in the middle of the dusty stone floor.
“The Puckle Gun,” Stepan ventured. “It sounded like a dragon spitting fire up close.” Placing his chair next to Vladimir, he waited until Lena was seated on a chair of her own. “You said you know what they are. We were expecting mechanized labour for the mines. That is what the posters promised.”
Lena reached inside her sheepskin jacket and tugged a metal heart-shaped flask from an inside pocket. “You like it?” she waggled the flask in front of Vladimir. “My father said it is the closest thing I will ever have to a real heart.” Lena uncapped the flask and took a long pull. She passed the flask to Stepan. “Murmansk vodka,” she licked her lips. “I hope you navy boys can take it.”
“Boys?” Stepan took a swig of vodka and grimaced. “You are in your twenties?”
“Twenty-six.” Lena reached forward and took the flask from Vladimir when he was finished with it. She slipped it back inside her pocket. “They are not metal labourers, but metal emissaries.”
“That is what they were called in the posters,” Stepan nodded.
Lena leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the crate. “At least they were emissaries, once.”
“Emissaries for what?” Stepan fingered the face of watch hiding the picture of his family.
“For use in Central Asia, where it is too dangerous to send a man,” Lena scoffed. “Of course, they never thought to send a woman.”
“How do you know this?” Resting his hands on his knees, Vladimir leaned forward.
“My father,” Lena cast a glance at Stepan.
“Is no longer my concern, not since I joined naval research,” Stepan nodded. “Please continue, Lena.”
“He was sent to Central Asia.” She turned to Vladimir, “This was before the Murmansk Revolt when he,” Lena dipped her head in Stepan’s direction, “and my father got to know each other.” The crate creaked as Lena shifted her feet. “My father served under Kapitan Bryullov in Peshawar. He was responsible for unloading Russian emissaries, a rough copy of these German machines, and getting them ready to be sent to different towns and villages in Afghanistan and Pakistan.”
“Your father worked with Bryullov?” the light from the thin window above the door reflected in Stepan’s eyes as they widened. “I know of Bryullov.” Stepan turned to Vladimir. “He was in the army. A secretive man. Not someone one hears a lot about.”
“His job was secret,” Lena nodded. “He controlled the emissaries sent to the villages and towns. One at a time. He would follow them on horseback or foot.”
“And your father?” Stepan tapped his fingers on the false watch face.
“No,” Lena shook her head, black curls shaking free of the tight leather band pulling her hair into a ponytail. “He never left Peshawar. But he did learn much before returning to Russia.” Lena paused at a rap on the door.
“Yuri?” Vladimir pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Da,” Lena removed her feet from the crate. “Black tea and black bread,” she smiled. “Yuri is a true revolutionary.”
Vladimir crossed to floor to the door. Sliding back the bolt, he reached down and took the rough wooden tray from Yuri’s hands. Yuri lifted his chin and looked up at Vladimir. The Cossack frowned.
“You have never seen a giant before, Yuri?” Lena twisted in her seat.
“I am not a giant,” Vladimir walked to the crate and placed the tray on top of it.
“You say that now,” Lena laughed. “But when Yuri is finished telling the men, you will be the Giant of Arkhangelsk, a new legend for the Cossacks to savour in the cold, hard winter outside the city walls.”
“And what are Cossacks doing inside these walls, Lena Timofeyevich?” Stepan poured strong, black tea into a chipped porcelain cup.
“Apart from saving officers of the Imperial Navy?”
“Yes, apart from that,” Stepan waved at Yuri as he closed the door behind him.
Lena spread a thick layer of butter on a stubby crust of black bread. “We heard the news about the robot labourers coming to Arkhangelsk, to work in the mines. My father recognised them from the pictures – the German equivalent of the Russian models – and,” Lena shrugged, “he thought they could be put to other uses. But, it seems, the Germans had already thought of that.”
“You were going to steal one?” Stepan handed Vladimir a cup of tea.
“One?” Lena scoffed, crumbs of bread cascading from her lips. “We were going to steal an army.”
“An army is what they have, Kapitan,” Vladimir wrinkled his nose as he sipp
ed his tea.
“You don’t like it?” Lena dropped the half-eaten crust onto the wooden tray. “Here,” she pulled the flask from her pocket and tossed it to Vladimir.”
“In tea?” Vladimir fumbled the flask from where it landed in his lap.
“What kind of giant are you?” Lena shook her head. “I thought you were Russian?”
“Lena,” Stepan waved his hand in front of the Cossack’s face.
“What?” a smile playing across her bread speckled lips, Lena pulled her eyes away from Vladimir and stared at Stepan.
“I think we will need more of your help. We need to get out of Arkhangelsk, and get military assistance from Moscow.”
“Moscow?” Lena shot forward in her chair. “I will be hanged in Moscow.”
“Not if I protect you,” Stepan placed his cup on the tray.
“Kapitan,” Vladimir placed a hand on Stepan’s arm. “Nikolas?”
“Yes,” Stepan took a deep breath. “Vladimir, my old friend, I need your help.”
“You want me to find Nikolas?”
“Yes,” Stepan exhaled. “I have a duty to the people of Arkhangelsk. Even if I found my son, I would have still have to fight these...” he looked at Lena, “so-called emissaries.”
“We will fight them together.”
“No, Vlad, you must not fight them. Not yet. We need to know what they are really doing here, and I think we will know soon enough.”
“Then I will find your son.” Vladimir emptied Lena’s flask into his tea. Tossing the flask into the Cossack’s lap, he raised the cup to his lips and drained the contents in one gulp. “Like a true Russian.”
Lena laughed. “Da, I like him, Kapitan. He is a true Russian.” She slipped her flask back into her pocket.
“And a good friend,” Stepan slapped Vladimir’s thigh. Pausing a moment, Stepan tapped the false watch face stitched into his leather wristband. “Now then,” he turned back to Lena. “Are you as tough as your father, Lena Timofeyevich?”
“You have to ask?” Lena’s chair crashed to the floor as she stood. Knocking the cup from Vladimir’s hand, she gripped the Poruchik by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him full on the lips. Biting his lower lip, Lena tugged at it between her teeth until Vladimir cried out. She slapped his cheek with her hand. “A man such as this,” Lena turned to Stepan, “a true Russian, is worth fighting for. I will come to Moscow with you. If you can stop me swinging from a bureaucrat’s rope, then this man can find your son. Together we can fight these metal emissaries.”
“Vlad?” Stepan grinned.
“Kapitan,” Vladimir pressed the tip of his finger to his bloody lip. He stared at Lena. “You fought her father?”
“Da,” Lena’s cheeks dimpled. “And my brothers and their wives.”
“I even think there were some children.”
“Of course there were children,” Lena shook her head. “Where else do they learn to fight but in battle?”
“A good point,” Stepan conceded. He stood up. “If we are to get out of Arkhangelsk and all the way to Moscow.”
“We will need one of those giant iron snakes,” Lena grinned.
“I think she means a train, Kapitan.”
“You speak Cossack?” Stepan turned to Vladimir, a smile playing across his lips.
“I might have to,” Vladimir licked his bottom lip.
Lena took a step closer to Vladimir, gripping the back of his neck in her tiny hand. “You will wait for me, da?”
“I am not sure I have a choice,” Vladimir nodded.
“Good,” Vladimir’s head rocked as Lena released her grip on his neck. “Come, Kapitan. We must get to the railroad station.” Leaning her head to one side, she pointed at the broad crease in Stepan’s jacket. “That uniform usually comes with a sword. You will need a weapon, Kapitan. It will not be easy leaving Arkhangelsk.”
“No,” Stepan agreed. “I don’t believe it will be.”
Chapter 7
The Flying Scotsman
Somewhere over the North Sea
May, 1851
The wheels of the winch squealing in the bowels of The Flying Scotsman turned slowly, coiling the rope in thick worms around the metal drum. Jacques secured the last of the lifeboats, cutting away the harness and floating the small balloons to the rear of the compartment as he waited for Luise and Hari to appear through the hatch in the airship’s hull. He smiled at the first sight of Luise’s strawberry blonde hair as it caught the first rays of sun from the brightening sky.
“Welcome back,” Jacques reached out to steady the balloon as it drifted up through the hatch and into the lifeboat compartment. Securing the bucket-harness he cut the balloon away and let it fall to the floor.
“Thank you, Jacques,” Luise shifted her boots on the grille and helped Hari to his feet, and out of the halter.
“Yes,” Hari sighed. “Thank you.”
“Quite a ride, eh?” Jacques took the halter from Hari’s hands.
“Truly.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Jacques.” Luise looked around the compartment. Spying her satchel hanging from a railing by the side of the winch, she untied it, checking the contents before slipping it over her shoulder.
“All there,” Hari reached for Luise’s fingers.
“Yes,” Luise nodded. “All there.”
Jacques coughed. “The Captain is waiting to meet you.”
“And the Germans?” Luise squeezed Hari’s hand.
“They are most interested in meeting you,” Jacques grinned. “Again.”
“And the airship? The passengers?” Hari smoothed his hand along the railing.
“Everything is back to normal.” The compartment fell silent as Jacques shut off the winch. “Although, it will take some time to clean up the mess.” Luise and Hari followed him as he started walking toward the ladder. “The passengers are confined to their cabins while repairs are made on the dining deck.”
“And the girl?” Hari stepped over their lifeboat as it sagged its last breath on the grille walkway.
“She and her family are waiting on the bridge with the Captain. They are most anxious to meet you.” Jacques stopped by the ladder. “Although, still not quite as much as the Germans.”
Luise took a deep breath. She let go of Hari’s hand. “Take us to the bridge, Jacques. Let us get this over with.”
The burr of the propellers vibrated gently through the accommodation decks as the airship continued to rise through and above the clouds. Entering a stable stream of air, The Flying Scotsman levelled out, maintaining a uniform attitude giving crew a steady platform upon which to make repairs.
Hari paused in the middle of the dining room. His feet planted firmly upon the deck, he watched as the crew removed daggers of glass from the wooden sill. Boarding the window with thin planks of wood, the crew muffled the whistle of air with thick cloth tacked into the wood and the surrounding frame.
“The bridge is this way,” Jacques tapped Hari on the arm. “The Captain has arranged for you to meet the family without the Germans being present. Although, they will see you both later.”
“I thought you said the Captain was powerless to make decisions around the Germans? How did he arrange for a private meeting?” Hari took Luise’s hand as they walked beside Jacques.
“It seems even the Germans have a heart. They were moved by your rescue of the girl, and I believe your friend, Dieter, managed to convince them that you would have escaped by now if that was your intention.”
“Good old, Dieter,” Luise smiled.
“Yes,” Jacques agreed. “But Dieter is also confined to his cabin – for the remainder of the journey. They have even posted a guard outside.”
“A guard?” Luise paused outside the door to the bridge.
“The Germans might appreciate your rescue, Hari, but they did not take kindly to Dieter getting in their way when they first met you.”
“So Dieter is locked up...” Hari glanced at Luise.
“As will we be after we have met the Captain, I am sure.” Luise turned at the sound of men climbing the stairs behind them and stepping onto the wooden deck. She stared at the German soldiers as they took up position either side of the stairs.
“Come,” Jacques placed his hand on the door handle and turned it. “It is time to meet the Captain.”
҉
The gangplank leading to the embarkation deck of The Regal Giant was wet; the soles of Hannah’s new used boots slipped as she stepped onto the slick wooden surface. Hannah held onto the twisted rope handrails as she climbed, the newly-painted hull of the Roland & Percy steamjammer shearing steadily below her toward the surface of the water. Stopping to fasten the buttons of her corset jacket before stepping onto the deck, Hannah paused at the sight of a cable car clicking along a thick wire from the dock to the steamjammer’s upper decks. Two short men stared at Hannah from inside the car as they passed, the brims of their stovepipe hats snugged tightly above their brows.
“That would be Masters Roland and Percy,” The Regal Giant’s embarkation orderly indicated the cable car with a nod as he reached out to take Hannah’s hand. “No luggage, Miss?”
“What?” Hannah turned away from the carriage as it clicked out of view. “No,” she shook her head.
“That’s a little odd, is it not?” The orderly guided Hannah inside the steamjammer, gesturing toward a plush leather sofa to one side of the entrance. “If you’ll take a seat, miss. I’ll just check you in.”
Hannah sat down on the edge of the sofa. She stared at the grubby boots trailing river mud over the thick fibres of the red carpet. She brushed a large clump off the toe of her left boot, flicking the mud underneath the sofa. Straightening her back, Hannah wiped her fingers on the side of her culottes and stared at the orderly. The red sash around his waist caught her eye, obscuring, as it did, the long-barrelled flintlock pistol secured to his right thigh with an intricate web of leather straps and dark metal buckles. Hannah flicked her eyes away as he turned to face her.
“Well, if I hadn’t been warned you would be arriving a little later, Miss von Ense, I might have been tempted to refuse you permission to board.” The orderly rested his thumbs in the thick leather loops hanging at the front of his white cotton trousers. “Mr. Bremen...”