Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 (24 page)

“Let’s save that option,” Alma said. She too was worried, but she wasn’t sure that running off half cocked and charging all over town was a good plan. And of course they weren’t in the room. Even the most cursory inspection revealed that no one had been in the rooms since they’d left, not even the maid. Who probably ought to have been by now, since it was mid-afternoon. Alma poured herself a cup of the now long cold coffee and went to stand by the window looking down at the street. Back to the west the light was obscured by massive thunderclouds building, a classic Midwestern storm still miles away, the clouds purple beneath, burnished with fire above.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Jerry said.

“I’m not,” Alma said.

“Mitch has a good head on his shoulders and Lewis isn’t fragile.” Jerry came and stood beside her, his hands in his pockets. When he stood up straight he topped her by four inches. “You don’t have to carry us all, all of the time.”

“I don’t?” Alma gave him a sideways smile, sipping the cold coffee.

“No.” Jerry pushed his gold framed glasses further up on his nose. “God knows we’ve all leaned on you too much. It’s probably not been good for us. Good for me.” Jerry frowned down at the street. “I couldn’t stay here alone ten years ago. That’s absolutely true. And when you and Gil needed me, I have no regrets about being there. None. But being back in Chicago has made me start thinking, Al.”

“About getting back in the field?” She took another sip of the coffee. “You should, Jerry. You can teach. You can translate. Ok, maybe not a dig in Mesopotamia, but there are a lot of things you can do, a lot of things that the world needs you to do. That’s building the Temple too.”

“I know.” Jerry shrugged. “But it’s not that easy. I’ve been out of it for a long time. There aren’t faculties lined up waiting to hire me.”

“Still, you could put out some feelers.”

“I could.”

Alma leaned back on him, bumping him with her shoulder affectionately. “I’m not trying to get rid of you, Jerry.”

“I know that too.” He bumped her back. “But you have Lewis now.”

“I do. Whatever this is.” Alma grimaced. “I don’t know, Jerry.”

“He’s not Gil.”

“Of course not.” Alma shook her head. “There was only one Gil.”

“Thank God,” Jerry said. “I’m not sure the world would have survived two.”

Alma grinned, as he’d meant her to. “We should call the hangar,” she said. “That’s the other place Mitch and Lewis might have left a message.”

Jerry waited while Alma put through the call, eventually getting Henry’s shop manager on the phone, who said he’d seen nothing of Mitch and Lewis at all, though he thought the Terrier was swell. He didn’t mention that his shop inexplicably reeked of Musgo Real, which Alma thought was a mercy.

“Oh, and there’s a telegram for you here, Mrs. Gilchrist. Mr. Kershaw sent it from St. Louis last night.” Which explained why Alma wasn’t getting the usual nonsense from the shop manager once he discovered that Al Gilchrist was a woman. She was a friend of Mr. Kershaw, the big boss on the west coast, who could have a pet aviatrix if he wanted one.

Alma debated for a moment the wisdom of going down to Municipal Field and getting it or not, but Mitch and Lewis were still missing with no idea when they’d turn up. Besides, Henry was unlikely to have put anything bizarre in a telegram that would be seen by dozens of people, especially when he knew he’d have to send it to the shop since he had no idea where they would be staying. “Would you mind opening it and reading it to me?” Alma asked, feeling Jerry perk up beside her.

“In St. Louis flying southern route stop,” the shop manager read. “Will be in NY tomorrow pm late stop. My man found Davenport cable stop. Bought ticket on Ile de France leaving Friday stop. That’s all there is, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Alma said, jotting it down on a piece of hotel stationery beside the telephone. “I appreciate it. Would you mind giving me a ring at the Great Northern Hotel if there’s another cable or message?”

“Sure thing,” the shop manager said. “Hope Mr. Kershaw’s test flight is going ok.”

“It’s going fine,” Alma said. Jerry was craning over her shoulder trying to read the note. “Thanks for everything.”

She hung up and passed the message to Jerry, whose eyebrows rose. “Henry’s in St. Louis?”

“He had to get back to New York for his airship launch, remember?” Alma said. “He’s flying the southern route, LA to St. Louis rather than through Chicago. It looks like he laid over in St. Louis last night.” She shook her head at the note. “But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that now we know where Davenport is going. He got tickets on the Ile de France out of New York for tomorrow.” Alma let go of the note and swore. “Goddamnit. They’ve probably missed him. The Commodore Vanderbilt left Chicago for New York forty minutes ago, at three o’clock. It will get into New York tomorrow morning in plenty of time for him to make an afternoon sailing.”

“Unless Lewis and Mitch tailed him to the station,” Jerry said. “In which case they’re probably on the Commodore.”

“If they could get a seat at the last minute,” Alma said. “It’s a premium express train.”

Jerry blinked. “Al, how in the hell do you always know the train schedules everywhere in the country?”

“It’s our competition,” Alma said. “The main reason people fly is to get somewhere faster than the train. So I need to know when the trains leave and how fast they can get you there. Otherwise how do you think I would ever sell a ticket? We can leave when you like and get you there sooner. It’s the only advantage we’ve got. The train is safer and a lot more comfortable.”

“I mean, how do you keep all those schedules in your head?”

“How do you keep Latin and Greek?”

Jerry shrugged. “Point taken. So what do we do about Lewis and Mitch?”

“If they’re on the Commodore there’s not a thing we can do about them,” Alma said. “Except for us to pack up and fly to New York. It’s a long flight for one pilot, but I can do it if I need to.” An awfully long flight, she thought to herself. And one not well begun late in the day with no sleep the night before. A night flight by herself…. Alma walked over to the window again. The flag on the pole across the street stood out, flowing beautifully dead east. The clouds were building, the slanting light already gone.

That was the other problem with air travel. The Commodore Vanderbilt would keep going through the night for anything short of massive blizzards. This thunderstorm would close Municipal Airport within the hour. And there was no way she’d take off in the Terrier with a full fuel load right into the teeth of a storm this size even if the airport didn’t close. She wouldn’t do it in her Jenny at home, much less with a plane she knew less well that frankly handled like a load of bricks when they had the auxiliary tank full.

“I think we’re going to have to go tomorrow,” Alma said. She held a hand up to forestall Jerry. “Look out the window. There’s no way. But if they’re on the Commodore with Davenport, you and I can take off in the morning and try to catch up to them.”

“We won’t get there before the Ile de France sails,” Jerry said. “Even I can do that math.”

“But Lewis and Mitch will,” Alma said. “I’m glad Mitch has plenty of cash with him.”

“I am too,” Jerry said.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he rain had slowed by the time they finished eating, but it was still steady enough to soak through the shoulders of Lewis’s jacket and drip disconsolately from the brim of his hat. The vague feeling of content that had come with the hash and fried eggs was long gone. His socks squelched in his shoes, and while he might have been this physically miserable since the War, it hadn’t been more than once. Mitch looked just as damp and maybe even less happy, and the elevator operator gave them a sympathetic glance.

“Still raining? It’s supposed to keep it up all night.”

Mitch looked about ready to explode. Lewis mumbled something polite and placating, and then they’d reached their floor. Mitch knocked, not bothering with the key, and Alma opened the door and fell back as though they’d startled her.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were on the Commodore Vanderbilt.”

“What?” Mitch stared, damp hat in his hands.

Lewis shrugged off his coat, feeling a damp patch still between his shoulder blades. Since the war, he hated having to stay in wet clothes, and wanted nothing more than to get changed. “Why would we do that?”

“You lost him,” Jerry said.

Mitch sailed his hat onto the dresser with unnecessary force. “Yes, we lost him. We chased all over the damn city after an illusion.”

“He’s going to New York,” Alma said. She brandished a sheet of the hotel’s notepaper. “Henry sent a telegram. Davenport’s got tickets on the Ile de France.”

“Why?” Lewis asked. He kicked off his shoes and socks, but the cuffs of his pants were clammy around his ankles.

“I don’t know,” Jerry began, and Alma interrupted.

“It’s more important that we stop him first. What happened?”

“We followed him back to downtown,” Mitch said baldly. “He tried to shake us in traffic, then he took the L. Then he went to the train stations, La Salle Street first, then Union Station. That’s where Lewis realized something wasn’t right. Somehow — and I don’t know when, or how — he managed to send us off after an illusion.”

“Dammit, Mitch, how could you?” Alma exclaimed.

“Because I’m stupid,” Mitch snapped. “How was I to know he was going to New York?”

“It’s my fault,” Lewis said. The wet clothes were sticking to his skin, chill and nasty, and he shivered. “I was leading — he must have fooled me somehow, and if I hadn’t suggested we eat —”

“You what?” Alma glared at him, and Lewis met her eyes squarely.

“We waited at Union Station for the rain to let up, and we had something to eat while we waited. I’m sorry, Al.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Jerry said. “The Commodore Vanderbilt left at three.”

“You should have been on it,” Alma said unreasonably.

“And how the hell were we supposed to know that?” Mitch demanded.

“Because you’ve brains, no matter how hard you try to hide it, and talent to spare.” Alma ran her hands through her hair. “Both of you. Damn it, he’s sailing tomorrow.”

“All right.” Mitch glared at her. “We’ll fly out —”

He was interrupted by another crash of thunder, and Alma shook her head. “Not tonight, we won’t. Not in this weather.”

Mitch went to the window. “It’ll clear. We’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t,” Alma said. “That’s the storm front that’s been behind us since California —”

“I can handle it,” Mitch said.

Lewis looked from him to Alma’s furious face. “Well, I can’t. Not with the supplemental tank full, and maybe not even with it empty. They’re going to close the airport anyway.”

Jerry gave him a look that was almost grateful. “Lewis is right,” he said. “We won’t get out tonight.”

“Then what the hell —” Alma bit off the rest of what she’d been going to say, shook her head hard. “We can’t afford to lose him. Not with what it can do.”

“He has to stay Davenport a while longer,” Jerry said. “If he wants to sail on the Ile de France, he has to stay Davenport.”

“That’s true,” Mitch said.

“If we take off first thing tomorrow, with a full fuel load,” Lewis began, and Alma nodded.

“Ok, it’s eight hundred miles, give or take, to New York.”

Mitch reached for a scrap of paper, found a pencil and scribbled for a few minutes. “We can’t do it in one hop. We’ll have to stop to refuel.”

“Are you sure?” Alma came to look over his shoulder.

“I’m sure,” Mitch said.

“But —”

“We’d be landing on fumes,” Mitch said. “Trust me on this one, Al.”

She nodded reluctantly. “So if we leave first thing — we might be able to go at first light, if we use Henry’s name, and plan to leave before any of the commercial flights want to go. If we could leave by five, we could make it by one. We might just be in time to make the sailing.”

“Or to stop him from sailing,” Jerry said. “One or the other.”

“We might make it by then,” Mitch said, but he sounded doubtful.

“Assume the worst,” Jerry said. “We miss the Ile de France. What are our options?”

“Catch another boat?” Lewis said, when no one else spoke.

“We’ll be behind him all the way,” Alma said, “and we’ll have to dowse for him when we get there. But, yes. That’s a possibility.”

“Make sure he really did take the Ile de France,” Mitch said, with a wincing smile.

“Point,” Jerry said.

“We wire Henry,” Alma said. “We tell him that Davenport gave us the slip and to look out for him. If he can do anything — well, I doubt he can, but on the off chance, at least he’ll know.”

“Henry’s in New York?” Mitch asked.

“For the airship launch,” Jerry said.

“Oh, right.” Mitch touched the back of his head again.

“Maybe he can come up with an excuse to stop him,” Lewis began, then shook his head. “No, sorry, that would only make it — jump — again.”

Alma nodded. “And that’s the one thing we really don’t want. Let it think it’s shaken us, and we’ll catch up with it in France.”

Lewis looked from one to the other. Mitch’s temper had cooled, and there was a new ease, a comfort, between Alma and Jerry, as though they’d come to some understanding. “But what does it want?” he asked, and there was a little silence.

“I don’t really know,” Jerry said, after a moment. “I do know that, almost by definition, it can’t be good.”

“But —” Lewis paused. “Ok, I know this sounds bad, but hear me out. How bad can it be? This is one guy, an archeologist — a college professor. What can he do? You’re talking about sailing to France and letting everything back home go hang so that we can chase him. Isn’t there — I don’t know, some other group who could take over, or something? Like Henry’s lodge, or that Bullfinch guy you called in California?”

“I don’t know anybody else,” Alma said. “Not any more. It all fell apart after the War, Lewis, we just — there didn’t seem to be much point, after everything we’d been through. Saving the world — most people didn’t think it was possible. Gil was one of the few who thought we could keep trying.”