Carialis stepped forward. “Can I help?”
“Ma’am,” Dooley started to lead her from the room.
“Wait, Dools,” Domaroc ordered. “She may be what we need. Come here, Mistress Trant.”
Ali did as she was asked and looked down the small hole in the mass of copper coils. “My arm won’t be long enough to get at it from the top. Have you tried from below?”
Dom shook his head. “There’s less room from there.”
She knelt down, ignoring the hiss of surprise from the crewman. She saw the valve in her limited view and an object wedged against it. “I can see it. There’s a . . .” she reached up, the sharp edge of bolt scraping her arm as she forced her way upward. Her fingertips grazed over a smooth rounded edge. “A wrench fell and hit the valve. If I get it free, can you pull it from the top?”
“Yeah,” Dom replied.
She could feel his leg against her side as he stepped closer to the equipment, and the coils shifted slightly as he reached down. With great care, she freed the wrench and slid it away from the valve, the bolt biting into her arm as she did so. “Almost have it.”
“I can see it. If you can get it more upright, I can grab it,” Domaroc stated, his voice strained as he reached for the handle.
The wrench shifted above her fingers, and she felt it move away. She was able to tap the valve handle back into the open position, and the whistling lessened as fluid began to flow once more.
“I’m going to feed down a safety wire, Miss Trant,” Domaroc stated. “Do you think you can tie the valve open?”
“Yes,” she replied as the wire stabbed her index finger. Using the same technique that she used to thread a needle, she wove the wire through the hole in the lever and found another in a metal brace below to wrap it around. She repeated the process with the other end of the wire and tapped the lever to make it secure; her wrist cracking as she finished winding the end of the wire into place.
“Are you alright?”
“It’s nothing. Happens sometimes when I’m working on needlepoint too,” she lied. The pain radiated through her arm, and as she drew it back, she saw the stream of blood from where the bolt had cut her.
Domaroc shook his head when he saw the puncture. “Your mother is not going to approve of that.”
“Her ladyship won’t approve of the state you're in either,” Dooley pointed out.
Ali looked down and saw how dirty her dress was. She shrugged and laughed. “If I’m quick in changing, she’ll hardly notice this one is missing when I throw it overboard.”
Dooley and the other crewman laughed while Dom put an arm around her waist and led her to a small desk near the door. He pulled a metal box from the bottom draw and opened it. “You’re lucky this wasn’t a few centimeters over, or it could have cut something important.”
“You’re lucky I knew what that whistle meant,” she retorted, wincing as he cleansed the wound with alcohol.
“That we are,” he replied gently. “Luckier still that you came to help.”
She felt the blush creep into her cheeks. “It’s a very silly design.”
He bobbed his head slightly. “Yes, but freighters need to have everything compacted, so more room can be used for cargo.”
“Doesn’t explain why they block the valve.”
“Well,” he started and looked to where the two crewman were busy ventilating the system. “It usually isn’t an issue if everyone keeps track of their tools.” He unrolled a bandage and pressed the soft linen against her skin. “I suppose you mark this as part of our wager?”
She shook her head. “No, this was just my way of ensuring we would still be alive for our wager to begin.”
Carialis always enjoyed her time in the capitol. Her mother was less strict, and the social obligations were less rigorous. She was also allowed to attend the University. In the past, she had focused on the humanities as most young ladies of her class did. There was a constant shift in enrollment, and the humanities were more of a high-borne gossip circle than actual learning. This time, she went to the science wing.
Upon entering, she ignored the stares that followed her every step as she found an empty table near the back of the room. With great care, she set out the small set of tools her father had given her. It had been a gift meant only for her eyes, and if her mother ever found out she had them, it would have meant trouble for both Carialis and her father.
“Why, Miss Trant?” the department head asked for the fifth time. He hadn’t left her side since she had made her intentions known. He was constantly polishing his spectacles and squinting at her.
Once more, she answered him. “Because I’ve grown up on the ships and want to understand them.”
“But you’re a woman.”
“I don’t see how that matters. Madam Anjaleigh is responsible for the latest power converter, and Mistress Wyburn designed the rudder response system used on the new pleasure yachts.”
“But they aren’t ladies of worth.”
“Ah, I see,” Carialis stated. “Well, I hope I can be as good as they are.”
Each morning she would breakfast with her mother, thankful for the long gloves that hid the bruises, calluses, and especially the oil that stayed beneath her nails. She would listen to her mother prattle on about who was in the city and who was on holiday. Occasionally, a hint of a possible suitor would drop and Carialis would react appropriately depending on the name. She would make up something about school if asked, although that rarely happened. Then she would go to the campus, where she used a faculty lounge to change for her studies.
The program was harder than anything she had imagined. She focused her studies on airship design and mechanics and found that her hands and shoulders were weak compared to the men sitting beside her. It was their sniggering and condescension that forced her to stay later each night, hoping to gain a better understanding and find ways to help herself.
She would change into her finery before going home. She was tired most evenings, and that drew her mother’s concern, but Ali insisted it was all because of the great literary debates she was holding each day that drained her. Her mother would smile a knowing smile and praise her for being like her father and not backing down. Then a warm bath would be drawn, and she could relax before starting the process over again.
One evening, as she was staring at some lump of machinery that the instructor wanted dismantled, one of her classmates approached her. She had seen him on campus, but he never spoke to anyone it seemed.
“It’s a new model,” he said pointing at the metal.
Carialis looked up at him in surprise. “New model of what?”
“Engine,” he sniffed, taking out a kerchief from his pocket and rubbing at his already red nose and using an unsullied corner to wipe his watery blue eyes. “Been designing it for awhile.”
“It’s your design?”
He nodded.
“Then why do they want it dismantled?”
“To see how easy it can be done.”
“Ah,” Carialis replied and shook her head. “I see.”
He cocked his head to the side, “See what?”
“Clifford, isn’t it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I think they’ve set us up for failure. I don’t know enough about your engine to dismantle it properly, and if it should break, it is my fault. Should I manage it, you’ll be mocked for creating something so simple, even a woman could take it apart.”
“I don’t see how that’s failure,” someone stated from behind her.
It was a voice that had been invading her dreams, and it took all of her training not to blush as she turned to face Domaroc.
“A simple design doesn’t mean simple mindedness.”
“Cousin!” Clifford squeaked and rushed forward to give the mechanic an awkward embrace. “I didn’t think you’d be in port so soon! Mistress Trant and I were working on the final analysis of the prototype. I think you’ll be pleased.”
&nb
sp; Dom smiled and patted Clifford on the top of the head. “I’m sure of it. Well, Mistress Trant, I see you have been working on proving me wrong. Has Cliff explained what this beauty is?” he asked gestured to the table.
She shook her head.
“What’s the number one cause for lives lost on an airship?” he asked, holding a hand up to stop his cousin Clifford, who was nearly shaking in desperation to answer.
“Deflation or crash,” she replied with a shiver. She had spent many sleepless nights because her dreams were filled with burning airships. When she was little, she had stood beside her father on deck when the ship ahead of them had an engine failure and had fallen out of the sky into the ocean below like a rock being dropped into a puddle. She had watched men jump in hopes of being clear of the wreckage, while others had been trapped in the belly of the lower decks. Of the three hundred men that had served on that ship, only fifteen had been found alive, and only a hundred bodies had been recovered. Her father had assured her that nothing like that would happen to him, but she knew that was just the hopeful promise every father gave his little girl.
Carialis shook her head to clear the memory.
“You’ve seen it,” Dom said with a whistle between his teeth.
She nodded.
“It’s a danger that most airmen don’t even think of until they watch one fall.”
“But not anymore!” Clifford stated and pointed at the small engine. “This is going to help eliminate casualties.”
“How?”
“Lifeboats!” he squealed. “Instead of the hot air balloons that some ships carry that need time to fill, this is a miniature engine that can power a miniature airboat!”
“It’s been tried before!”
Domaroc nodded. “It has failed before and been put aside as impossible. Those attempts didn’t have two things this one will.”
“What is that?”
He pointed at her and Clifford.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “No one else has as much to prove. You still have two months, Mistress Trant, you’re doing a great job of making a name for yourself on this campus, but you’re keeping it quiet beyond these walls. Poor Cliff here, well, the boy’s a genius, but not practical. You’ve spent more time on ships than he has and can give him the advice needed for design.”
“This wasn’t Doctor McEwan’s assignment was it?”
Dom smiled, and she couldn’t deny the warmth it caused in her cheeks as she stared into his dark brown eyes. “No, it was the Arch Chancellor’s. Won’t that make Captain and Madam Trant proud?” He winked and turned on his heel. “I’ll be calling on you again in two months, Mistress Trant.”
It was almost complete. Cliff had the basic design right for the engine, but it had been too heavy for any of their test vessels. Their experiments and prototypes had drawn the attention of most of their classmates, and soon, there were more helping hands and ideas than there were successes. After a particularly dismal failure that had led to the closing of the science wing, so the smoke could billow out, Carialis found herself walking in the center courtyard.
She was lost in thought as she replayed the attempt over again in her mind. A familiar laugh pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Delphine and Anastasia sitting on one of the picnic benches. She smiled at her friends and started toward them until the shock on their faces forced her to stop.
“What are you wearing?” squeaked Delphine as she stood.
Carialis looked down at the overalls and stained shirt she had adopted as her lab wear. Her black buttoned shoes were hidden by the cuff of the denim that hung loose on her. Her hair was tucked under an engineer’s cap that Cliff had given her after she had nearly caught her curls in a cooling fan. Her hands were dirty, and she looked far from a proper high-borne lady.
She laughed. “I’m trying a new trend.”
Anya stood and came to her, slowly circling like a member of the cat clans stalking its prey. “I think you are in need of a new designer.”
Del nodded and stood. She twirled before her. “You’re in the capitol, darling! This is the height of fashion. The best silks and seamstresses, and you’re all mucky.”
Carialis watched her friends deep blue skirt puff as the wind took it and an idea struck her. “You’re absolutely right!” She rushed her friend and hugged her, ignoring the girl’s dismay and little shriek of horror as a few drops of lubricant marred the perfect fabric. “Thank you so much, Delphine!” She turned and ran from the courtyard to the library, where she knew Clifford could be found.
She ignored the librarian as she ran through the stacks looking for the familiar head of unkempt black hair. She had almost given up when she heard his sneeze from a dark corner of the library. She rounded the corner and saw Clifford, nearly hidden behind a stack of dusty tomes. She knocked them aside, so she could see him.
“Wha?” he asked confused by the sudden interruption.
“We’ve been going about this all wrong!” she nearly shouted.
He gestured for her to lower her voice.
“We’ve been trying to build something to take off from the ships,” she whispered. “We need to think of something for a slow descent. Time has been against us all along. No matter if we get the engine and craft size right, those airmen won’t have time start it and launch.”
Clifford nodded slowly, but she could tell he didn’t understand.
She shook her head, ran to the storage tubes, and pulled out a design set for a standard battleship. Unfurling it, she returned to the table and laid it out flat. “Every ship has multiple loading doors. That means those down below have access to the sky. If we put lifeboats on the outside, they would cause drag. If we put them inside, they take up already limited room. But if we design something that can unfurl and catch the wind, slowing descent, it can be stored on every level!” She reached over, pulled the pen from behind his ear, and began sketching a bowl shape on the top of his notepad.
Clifford’s eyes widened. “How? Balloons take time.”
She shook her head. “Not balloons, but similar. Cloth that can dome like a balloon, but catches the wind like a bird’s wing does to keep it aloft. We don’t need to keep the airmen in the air. We just need to keep them alive.”
Cliff smiled and took the pen from her and continued the sketch. “Some sort of harness system to keep it attached.”
“It’ll need to be light-weight.”
“But strong.”
“Silk.”
“Yes, silk. Silk canopy and lines would work, attach with steel grommets to a leather harness, and it could work!” Clifford continued sketching, his hands flying over the paper as he calculated velocity to airspeed to determine how large a piece of silk would need to be and how thick of a cord would have enough tensile strength to carry a man through turbulent winds. “Yes, Cari, I think we have it.”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me something other than Mistress Trant,” she pointed out.
Clifford’s hands stopped, and he looked up at her aghast.
“It’s quite alright,” she began.
“It most certainly is not!” her mother exclaimed behind her, and Carialis winced. “Young lady, what is that awful costume you have on?”
“My study garb, Mother,” Carialis grimaced at Clifford before switching to a look of contrition and turning to face the fury of her mother.
Her mother was usually the pillar of decorum in a public setting, but the anger was clear in her set jaw and hard eyes. Behind her, stood Anya and Delphine, twittering to each other as they ran their own commentary. Her mother turned her glare on them, and both girls fled into the shadows.
“Are you now acting as well as reading?” asked Madam Trant. “I will not have a thespian in my household. That is for the less fortunate.”
“No, Mama, not acting.”
“Then, I ask again, why you are wearing that?”
“She is wearing it at my grandfather’s behest,�
�� Clifford stated as he stood up from behind the table. The color had gone from his face, and he held tight to the side of the table as he came around to stand beside Carialis.
“Your grandfather’s behest? And who is your grandfather to have such sway over my daughter?”
Carialis thought Clifford would faint under the weight of her mother’s judging stare, but instead, he straightened his posture and squared his shoulders. For a moment, he reminded her of his cousin.
Running a hand over his hair to smooth it into place, he bowed at the waist. “Forgive me, Madam Trant, we have not been formally introduced. I am Clifford Morris-Lowe.”
“Morris-Lowe? As in Arch Chancellor Morris-Lowe?”
“The very one,” he replied with a wink.
“What would the Arch Chancellor want with my daughter?”
“Well, you must know she has a brilliant mind, Madam. My cousin, Domaroc, I believe you met him before the fleet shipped out, saw that and mentioned her potential to grandfather. Things have been quite stale here at the University, and Grandfather felt that a fresh perspective would be in order.”
“And you agreed to this without consulting me? Does your father know?”
“No one knew,” Carialis answered. “I didn’t even know the extent of the Arch Chancellor’s involvement.”
“You didn’t?” her mother became suspicious once more.
“No, I had placed a wager with Mister Lowe.”
“A wager? What sort of wager?”
“One to prove that I could be more than ball gowns and high-borne society,” she mumbled then looked at Clifford, who nodded encouragement. “I wanted to show him that I can do more than people think I can and can fly on my own.”
“You fly all the time on your own,” her mother objected. “Last summer you went with Delphine to the mountains with only her servant as chaperone.”
Carialis shook her head. “No, Mama, I mean I wanted to show that I didn’t need my position to be someone. That I could prove my worth as something more.”
Cogs in Time Volume Three (The Steamworks Series Book 3) Page 15