Steam Dogs (14 page)

CHAPTER 26

After an hour of restless tossing in his narrow bunk
on the
Il Colibri
, Simon gave it up
and began fiddling with bits of wire again. Usually he slept well after a
successful job, but not tonight. Tonight’s foray had left him dissatisfied.

It wasn’t the money. The job had gone well. Easier
than expected. And now that they had the funds to fix the gondola, their
exhibition at the air show would no doubt be a success. Arvel would be happy. Of
course the
Il Colibri
was no German
warship--.

No. It was that insufferable police inspector,
Greenslade and his sanctimonious babble about the German ship that caused him
to crumple the bit of wire he was holding.

He straightened out the wire and started over,
pinching and bending the copper without any real purpose or intent. England was
nothing like he remembered. Before they arrived, the thought of returning to
England excited him. He remembered care-free, sun-filled summers playing along
the wide sandy beaches of Ryde. But this miserable island had to be one of the
most wretched, stinking places on earth. The poverty and misery of the poor
sods who lived here must be unbearable. He longed for the sun-kissed warmth of
Capri; an island of such beauty and magic, it haunted his dreams.

It wasn’t just the island, though. Although he would
never admit it to Arvel, now that he’d seen it up close—getting on board
the royal yacht undetected wasn't looking good. His boasts to Arvel about being
able to crack the Queen’s safe meant nothing if he couldn’t get to it. And as
much as he hated to admit it, Greenslade was probably spot on about the German
airship; it was sure to be the Queen’s choice for her air navy. Nothing for it
but he
had
to find a way to board the
ship undetected. But that wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

It was Welsie, too.

Arvel accused him of infatuation, but it was more than
that. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. In a week or less, the air show
would be over, and they’d be leaving. The thought of leaving her at the mercy
of that sausage-fingered husband and that arrogant inspector Greenslade was
simply not acceptable. No doubt Greenslade was biding his time, just waiting
for the right moment to make his intentions clear.

If she wasn’t already aware. Simon hoped she wasn’t.

What a small world she lived in. How could she stand
it? She’d told him she’d never been further than ten miles from her home. Never
experienced the cafes of Paris or the charm of the Grand Place in Brussels or
the sunsets of San Marino; but the wistful gleam in her eyes told him she
wanted to. Hungered to.

She couldn’t possibly be in love with that bloke she’s
married to, could she? Would she leave him? That was the question.
What if I asked her to come with me?

And
that
maddening
thought was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stay on
this
awful island, that’s for certain. Staying
here, waiting for her was impossible. But what could I offer her?

The answer to
that
question kept circling back to the Queen’s personal jewels inside the safe
onboard the V
ictoria and Albert
II.
Those jewels represented more than
the start of his business partnership with Arvel, but a future with Welsie,
too.
I’ve got to find a way to get to
that safe
. But if she knew the truth about how he made his living, she
might not think too kindly of him.

He sighed.
Maybe
I should never have come back.

There had been other girls, in other villages. Before
they built the
Il Colibri
, he and
Arvel never stayed in any one place too long. Leaving had never been a problem,
and he never gave a thought to asking one of those girls to come with him.
But there was something about her
…

He looked down at the scrambled snarl of wire in his
hands. It had started as a dog; perhaps one with a policeman’s tall hat, but
decided against it. Too obvious. It had to be something he could fold flat enough
to carry in his waterproof belt. And it had to be undeniably linked to that
blasted Greenslade. The inspector used a silver toothpick to clean his teeth,
but it was topped with a red stone. A garnet or ruby perhaps. Hard to find in a
place like this. Unless he could lightfinger the pick from the policeman’s
pocket—no, he sticks it beneath his collar. Simon winched at the memory. A
difficult spot for a pinch.

Better figure
out how to get to that blasted safe, first.
He set the wire aside and dressed
quickly in the chill dark of pre-dawn, then slipped down the ladder to the
makeshift kitchen the crew had pulled together in the hangar bay. Rudy and
Louie Ma, the fireworks technician had set up a small stove in the corner of
the hangar farthest from the ship. At night, the big hangar doors were shut,
but the hangar wasn’t heated. Simon fired up the stove and put a kettle on to
boil.

By the time he finished his second cup of coffee and a
cold breakfast of cheese and dried cherries, Rudy had joined him, and a short
while later, Arvel came down as well. A member of the German crew opened the
far hangar doors, and while Rudy and Simon huddled against the nippy morning,
Arvel ignored the cold draft and concentrated on combing out his moustache.

“If Figgsy is right about the weather, we’ll have
clear skies tomorrow.”

The men moved toward the open doors. “The winds last
night scoured out the fog,” Arvel said. “Simon, why don’t you give Rudy a hand
and set up the hot air balloon this morning? If anyone wants to go up in the
balloon, you or Rudy or Nuncio can take them.”

“Of course.” Simon nodded, but he wasn’t paying
attention. Instead, his eyes were riveted on the small steamship tied up across
the river at Greenwich Pier, just behind the
Victoria and Albert II
. It was half the size of the royal yacht,
but no less well-appointed, and although it was difficult to see details at
this distance, the men on board appeared to be wearing the same naval uniforms
as those on the Queen’s yacht.

A shiver of excitement coursed through him.
I’ll need a closer look.

With Nuncio’s help, he and Rudy loaded the envelope of
their black and gold hot air balloon,
Il
Calabrone
, into the back of a hand cart, along with the basket and tanks
and rolled it out to the area near the dock walls designated for tethered
balloon flights. Although
The Bumblebee
,
as it was known in English was black and gold as opposed to the green and gold
of
The Hummingbird
,
the details of the balloon and airship
were designed to be so similar that the two were a matched set. The basket of
the balloon, although wicker, matched the woven metal gondola of the airship;
the script of the two ships names were identical.

Although he loved the maneuverability and speed of the
Il Colibri
, Arvel had taught him
everything about hot air balloons years ago. Simon helped Rudy and Nuncio
manhandle the equipment and position the balloon’s envelope so that the two men
could finish inflating it on their own.

By now he was impatient to get over to Greenwich and examine
the tender docked behind the
Victoria and
Albert II
. He had an idea that he needed to confirm. Maybe there
was
a way to get to the Queen’s jewels
after all.

But it would not do to show up at the docks again,
asking questions as he’d done earlier. He needed a disguise. He headed back to
the hangar to change his clothes and appearance. He would then take a cab over
London Bridge to Greenwich. One trip over on the ferry had been more than
enough, and he didn’t want to have to explain himself to Welsie or anyone else.
Not until he was sure.

But when he returned to the ship to change, he found
Arvel there, talking to a woman. It took him a moment to recognize the
well-dressed woman was Welsie Foine.

CHAPTER 27

Welsie hadn’t planned to go out to the airfield alone.
Like a carnival, the airshow was a special event. Of course Hamm would want to
go. She’d already made up her mind to convince him to come with her. They had
not done anything together for more than two years. Even so, she put extra
sausage in the pan, and toasted the bread in the oven, just the way he liked
it.

But for the first time since their marriage, he didn’t
come in for breakfast. Not even tea. She covered his plate with a dish towel,
and threw a knit shawl over her shoulders, then ran down to where the
Hound of the Mist
was tied up at the
floating dock. Cully was there, wiping down the benches, and prepping the boat
for launch.

“Where’s Hamm?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen him, Mrs. Foine. I thought he was up
at the kitchen with you.” Cully had worked for Hamm for years, but he was not
qualified to take out the ferry. He was a nice man, but didn’t have his pilot
papers. If Hamm wasn’t here to man the Ferry, the ship would not leave the dock
today. People who’d already bought tickets would be angry, although admittedly,
those numbers seemed to drop every week.

Even as she believed Cully, she climbed on board, to
see for herself. The brisk morning air was only partially responsible for the
chill in her bones. She checked the pilot house, and then down the gangway to
check his tiny cabin; so small, there was only a bunk and small cupboard for
his work clothes.

The bedding was damp and cold. If he slept here last
night, he must’ve gotten up hours ago.

If.

She wondered if he might be seeing another woman, but
immediately dismissed it. Hamm would never—yet the idea kept returning.
He’d been sleeping on the boat for weeks. She believed him when he told her he
slept better out here, and never considered that he might be sleeping somewhere
else altogether. She tried to remember the last time he’d touched her or looked
at her that way. She couldn’t remember, exactly, but it was well before he’d
started sleeping out here…

No
. He must’ve
gotten up early to pick up a part or something from the one of the tradesmen.
He probably told her, but she’d been preoccupied.

No, that wasn’t it. Yes, that Italian chap Simon and
his friend had caused quite a stir lately, and even Roman’s little dog Henry
may have distracted her, but Hamm had always been a man of few words. When he
spoke to her, which was less often than ever these days, she would have
remembered. The only conversations they’d had recently had been about the
continuing drop in fares for the ferry and the looming date for the launch of
the new public ferry. The thin proceeds of the pub now made up most of their
meager income. And if he’d needed money for something on the boat, he would
have had to come to her for it; and that she would certainly have remembered.

Maybe he was talking to someone about a job. No one
knew the Thames better than Hamm, and there was no better pilot on the river. Maybe
he’d taken a night job. Something he didn’t want her to know about. Something
without the boat? Not likely. Something illicit? Few people knew that Hamm’s
father had been sent up for murder. Or that, for years, he’d been confined to
one of the prison hulks off Woolwich, until he died of cholera. Hamm never even
told her about it until after they were married.

Whatever it was, he would no doubt be back soon
enough. Better to pretend nothing had happened. In a way, it was as if a weight
had been lifted off her shoulders. Now there was no reason not to go up to the
airfield and see the air ships.
And Simon
.

 
Her heart
fluttered at the thought. Yes, he’s handsome enough, I guess. Knows it, too.
Full of himself in a charming sort of way. Endearing, actually. And worldly, but
not the sort to put on airs about it, now is he?

It would be rude
not to go. The Captain himself invited me, right?
I won’t stay
long, but I’d never forgive myself for missing something like this.
I’m going.

The good dress still fit well enough. Perhaps not as
fashionable as something worn by the ladies in London proper, but the green did
wonders for her eyes, and putting it on made her feel something she hadn’t felt
in a very long time.

At the pub, she wore a shapeless brown or grey skirt
and a matching shirtwaist with an apron over. Except when she needed Hamm to
carry in a new keg, she did most of the heavy work for the bar herself. For the
seven years, they'd run the pub she’d done all the cooking, cleaning, and
serving. She didn’t resent it, and in spite of her skirts, the regulars seemed
to treat her more like one of the boys. She was accustomed to their rough talk
and ways.

But this dark green woolen dress hugged her waist and
formed to her in ways that made her feel feminine, although the cut was as
modest and proper as a girl could want. Trimmed with black ribbon, the collar
and bustle were understated. Uncertain as she was as to what sort of outfit one
wore to an air show, she thought this would do. She turned to gaze at her
reflection in the oval mirror on the wardrobe. She fretted a bit about a hat. She
didn’t own anything really appropriate. In the end, she settled for pinning up
her hair. With her mother’s black knit shawl to keep off the morning chill, she
set off for the air hangars at a brisk walk.

As she climbed the hill toward the hangars, she could
see she wasn’t the first to arrive. She paused at the entrance to the great
airship barn, overawed by the sheer size of the huge grey cigar-shaped aircraft
inside. Good heavens, it was enormous! Big enough to hold half the island’s
population! A crowd of about three dozen people gathered around a low wooden
platform, where a fellow with a thick German accent addressed a crowd of some
forty or fifty people.

Someone called her name and she turned to see ginger-haired
Captain Paretti rushing up to greet her. “Mrs. Foine, how nice of you come!” His
great handlebar moustache tickled when he kissed her on each cheek. The Captain
was only a few inches taller than she, with freckles and a clear-eyed, intense expression
that made him seem a much bigger man than his height would indicate. Today he
wore a thick, rust-colored silk scarf around his neck, which gave him a
somewhat daring and rakish appearance.
 

“Good heavens, Captain, I had no idea these airships
you spoke of were so large.”

“Yes, the Germans are happy to tell you they have the
largest fleet in the world, even if they only have three.” He took her hand. “Come,
let me show you our little
Hummingbird
.
She is not as large, but infinitely more clever in design, if I do say so.”

He led her deeper into the great cavern of the hangar;
past two French ships, more in line with what she imagined. The first, a petite
pearly white, with somewhat flattened pillow-shaped balloon, called
Le Baleine
, carried a glass-enclosed
gondola beneath. A ship designed primarily for observation, the Captain
explained. Captain Paretti introduced her to the captain of the other, the
somewhat larger
Faucon de Ciel
, a
Corvette Class ship, a streamlined tear-drop shape painted the most brilliant
sky-blue.

“Is built to be fast, my lady.” Captain Fournier
boasted. “She can carry messages and post very fast. None can match her for
speed, eh, Paretti?”

The Captain propelled her through the ever-growing
crowd, toward the last ship in the row. “This is my baby, Mrs. Foine. The
Il Colibri.
Like you, dressed in the
colors of a hummingbird.

She gasped at the sheer beauty of it. “Oh, Captain, it’s
beautiful!”

Unlike the other workaday ships which held a gondola
beneath a single elongated, hard-sided balloon, the
Il Colibri
was composed of a cluster of hard-sided emerald-green
eggs, each as big as a ewe, contained within an airy cage in the shape of a
flower basket or upside-down helmet. Each of the eggs seemed to be formed out
of iridescent green glass, and the filigree metal which contained them in the
basket was matte black in color. Two dozen propellers, most no larger than a
dinner plate, jutted from the sides like tiny wings. Simon explained how they
worked, saying they allowed the ship to hover with tremendous precision, like
its namesake, the hummingbird.

“This was a work of art!”

The exterior of the ship’s cabin was carried beneath
the helmet, bound securely to the framework with straps of metal molded into
shapes of vines and leaves. The exterior of the cabin was black as onyx, and
polished to a warm sheen. The windows, he told her, were of flawless rock
crystal mined in the Italian Alps. The cabin was smaller than even those of the
French ships, but as Captain Paretti demonstrated to the crowd, nestled beneath
the cabin was a retractable gondola for loading and unloading passengers during
flight. He added that the
Il Colibri
was the only ship in existence with a gondola that could be raised and lowered
during flight.

“I’d be too terrified to even think of doing something
that dangerous” she exclaimed. By this time, there were a dozen people who had
joined her, just outside the roped-off area surrounding the ship.

Simon’s voice sounded from behind her. “I don’t
believe you are afraid of anything, Mrs. Foine. Come up to the ship and have a
look.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to look up at
him. The expression on his face immediately made her glad she’d decided to wear
her green dress.

The gondola had been damaged, Simon told her, and they
were waiting on a part, so he showed her how the crew boarded the ship. There
was a thick rope with a loop at one end, and he instructed her to set her foot
into the loop, like a stirrup, and hold the rope as he pulled the rope over a
pulley and brought her from the floor into the hangar up to the ship without
mussing a hair.

He helped her into the cabin, as the audience
applauded from below.

“You’re a natural;” he said. “Oh what a trapeze artist
you would have made.”

She had a moment of dizziness, as she peeked out at
the audience some thirty feet below, and then Simon led her into the pilot
house. The warm scent of oranges greeted her, and Simon explained that the wax
they used to prevent corrosion and keep the woodwork gleaming contained orange
oil. Within the cabin, a dizzying array of dials and wheels and knobs and
handles arrayed themselves within arm’s reach of the pilot’s seat.

She listened with rapt attention as Simon explained
how they worked. “Arvel designed this ship himself. It’s not the fastest ship,
and it’s not designed to carry a lot of passengers, but it’s got tremendous
range, and we can travel across much of western Europe without needing to
refuel. Mostly, it is designed to fetch and carry small groups of men back and
forth behind enemy lines. Did you notice that all our exposed metal on the
outside is black?”

She nodded. “It looks nothing like the others.”

“And it’s nearly impossible to see against the night
sky.”

“It’s beautiful.” She ran her hand along the supple
leather of the pilot’s seat. “I can only imagine all the places you’ve been. The
sights you’ve seen! What an exciting life you must lead.”

“Come. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

This time, she wasn’t even nervous as she rode the
stirrup rope back to the floor of the hangar. Simon took her arm with an easy
familiarity, and an intensity of attention she found intoxicating. As they exited
the hangar, he pointed at a sight that took her breath away—four hot air
balloons hovering against the grey overcast in colors as bright as the rainbow,
suspended high against the grey overcast, each tethered by a long anchor line.

He led her toward a fifth balloon, a black and gold
beauty, festooned with streamers of dark green and gold ribbon which fluttered gently
in the soft air. The lettering on the side of the balloon matched the lettering
on the cabin of the airship.

“
Il Calabrone
,”
She recited, clapping her hands with delight. “What does it mean?”

“The Bumblebee,” he said, and without any preamble,
lifted her bodily and set her into the basket. “Thank you, Nuncio, I can manage
from here. “ With that, Simon pulled a lever and with a roar, flames shot up
inside the balloon and they began to rise.

Welsie felt as if her heart would leap from her chest
with the exhilaration of the sensation. She gripped the sides of the basket, as
all shreds of decorum fell away with the earth beneath them. She felt as if she
were a child again . “Oh my heavens, we’re flying!”

Simon grinned. “Are you afraid?”

“No, not even a little. This is wonderful!”

He nodded. “I felt the same when Arvel took me up for
the first time. I was about fifteen. I’d just joined the Zollo Brothers Circus
. Arvel ran the hot-air
balloon rides—taking passengers aloft in a tethered balloon, a lot like
this one. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

Beneath them, the island, and the twisting line of the
Thames raced toward the horizon, the water a glittering darkness beneath them. She
could see the Steam Dog Tavern and the Hound of the Mist docked above the
waterline. So small and shabby at this height.