The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (24 page)

“Eighty-two percent, Captain. That’s with minimal venting Sir, to allow for the pressure change in the lift bags due to altitude.”

“Hmm…” Jerard said, running the figures through his head. “That would give us a hundred and thirteen thousand pounds of lift; still a good thousand pounds over our static weight all right, thank you Mr. D'Arcey. Let’s try not to vent more of that gas than we have to Sir.” Jerard turned to look at the fast approaching storm. “Wind speed?” He asked.

“Fifty knots Sir from north by north west.” Wallace answered, a thread of strain from his efforts at controlling the tiller was evident in his voice.

“Cutting right across us, delightful!” Phillips exclaimed with irritation. “Very well, full power Mr. Wallace. Mr. Randal, I trust you’re correcting for our enforced drift?”

The four Wolsey Engines flared to full power just as Fred Randal gave his reply. “Yes Captain, come about to 15 degrees magnetic to compensate for wind drift.”

“That’s your cue Mr. Wallace. Lets hope its just a squall then Gentlemen.” Even as the words left his mouth Jerard knew the folly of them.

Nervous moments passed as the Soul of Discretion powered towards the rainstorm. Little tendrils of ice made hoarfrost patterns on the forward bubble's glass with each blast of cold wind. Jerard was hard pressed to determine if they were on the inside or the outside since the temperature on the bridge had dropped considerably. The ship began to vibrate as waves of steadily strengthening rain began their beat against the fabric and metal hull.

“Steady as she goes.” Jerard murmured reflexively.

The dark cloud was all about them now reducing visibility to next to nothing. The airship began to buck slightly as contrary crosswinds dashed against the rear flaps. Her main hull rings groaned faintly like unquiet ghosts as the semi flexible duralium girders absorbed the growing storm’s energy. Buffeted, the airship tilted and began to roll. That's the end of the chess game I fancy, Phillips thought with a wry grin. A particularly nasty down draft made everyone's stomach flex as the lighter than air craft rode down the ‘air breaker’.

“We’re loosing height Captain.” Mr. Wallace stated calmly even though the man was obviously in a battle with the ship’s tiller.

“Rate of decent please Mr. Wallace?” He queried, his tone matching the pilot's.

“Gettin’ up t’ about three feet per second Sir. It’s hard t’ judge as the crosswinds ‘n down drafts are pretty variable. I’m trying t’ hold her steady but our forward speed 's not enough for her flaps t’ work with, Sir.”

Jerard nodded, he had already come to the same conclusion. “Do your best, Mr. Wallace we have enough height to afford to loose a few thousand feet if we have to.” Another gust of wind slammed into the side of the ship, interrupting Jerard’s mental calculations. “D'Arcey,” he shouted over the noise. “Are we still at fifteen percent tolerance in the lift bags?”

“Sixteen percent as of now Captain.” The Frenchman replied not looking up from his readouts and dials.

Jerard rubbed his eyes and resumed his mental calculations. He had to find that sweet spot, the one that was low enough to allow for the updrafts but high enough to keep them out of the frozen North Sea. He did not voice his fear of the possibility of a sudden updraft rupturing the gas bag seals; he knew that the rest of the crew were probably thinking the same thing.

Doggedly the Soul of Discretion plowed on through the worsening storm. Down in the galley Mr. Vinnetti threw up his hands in disgust as his pots and pans went sliding to the deck for the fourth time. The man let fly a stream of Italian invectives that sent Mr. McPherson running for the safety of his cabin. At this point the chef was much more frightening than the storm.

Colonel Carstares was clinging to the side of his chamber pot with a case of extreme air sickness. While in her stateroom, Tash stood in front of the porthole gripping the edges with white knuckles. Her eyes were wide and feral, and her lips were parted as if she were approaching a lover. Gopal sat calmly in a chair, book on his lap and watched his mistress enjoy the fury of the storm. He had never understood her passion for violent displays of nature.

Chief Engineer Nichols had left the auxiliary bridge and made his way to the engine room in response to the note that had arrived via pneumatic tube from Leading Airshipman Collins. Number two engine was running hot, and Nichols surmised her radiator was fouled with some gunk shaken loose by the violent bucking of the ship. Working rapidly with Collins they rigged a bypass valve so that two of the engines could share coolant flow. A poor second choice to flushing the radiator but for now better both engines runs slightly hot than risk one of them seizing from the heat. When they were done Nichols wrote a hasty explanation of the problem and his recommendation. He sealed the note in a canister and sent it whooshing towards the bridge on a jet of compressed steam, knowing that bad news always travels fast.

Aneurin Jones tore his attention away from the roiling black clouds when he heard the message thump into his receiving box. “Message from the engine room, Sir.” He called above the drumming rain.

Phillips left off his contemplation of the rain streaked window and unsteadily made his way over. Jones half unrolled the message and handed it to the Captain. Scanning the gist of it rapidly Jerard thought ruefully that engineering was about the only warm place on the ship right now, outside the cabins of course. Resuming his seat he addressed the crew.

“How is our height Mr. Wallace?”

“7,000 feet Sir, holding steady, more or less”

“Good enough. Gentlemen one of our engines is a bit hot it seems from running flat out in this murk. Mr. Nichols wants us to throttle back to 75% and make up the difference with the A-K booster motor. It’s a fair idea, so on my mark engage the boost to 30% Mr. D'Arcey; then throttle back on main power. Lets use that extra 5% to see if we can claw back a little bit of height.”

The chorus of “Aye Sirs” was muffled by the dull cannonade of rain on the thin aluminum shell of the gondola. Through a swirling gap in the clouds a blazing line of white fire cut across their vision. Loud thunder followed a split second later. Wonderful, lightning as well, thought Phillips, at least it’s summer and we’re not high enough to get ice and hail on top of all this.

“Any idea of where we are Fred?” Phillips asked the Navigator.

“Well…hard to say Sir, but by dead reckoning from the numbers that Mr. Wallace here has given me I judge we’re not much more than twenty miles south of our plotted course.”

“That’s acceptable then, given the weather”

“Aye Sir, as soon as we get out into the clear I can take better measurements.” Randal replied.

“See that you do and keep me update...What the...!?”

The ship bucked fiercely and Philips had to grab the arms of his chair. A piece of equipment threw a shower of sparks over Mr. Jones’s desk and the lights flickered wildly both on the bridge and indeed all over the ship. A cacophonous boom of thunder right on top of them momentarily deafened everybody aboard.

As the ship settled Phillips barked out, “Report!”

“Lightning strike Sir!” Wallace replied quickly. “Sorry Sir, it startled me and I let the wheel spin a couple o’ times; now resuming Mr. Randal’s original heading, Sir.” The young man quickly got a grip on himself and adjusted the control yoke.

“Jones get a damage report request to all sections.”

“Aye Sir, I can tell you the charge shorted out the speaking grills, it might take a bit to fix it.” The Welshman replied as he fed message tubes into his dispatch box.

“Not much wrong here Captain,” D'Arcey stated. “The charge appears to have skirted the hull ribs and carried right on down to the ocean.”

“Yes I know how it works Sir, its not the first time a ship of mine has been tickled by Zeus’s toothpicks” Phillips jested back.

“Oui Captain, my apologies.”

“Not a problem Sir.” Phillips waved the man’s words away. He was more concerned about Wallace’s slip costing them miles and maybe even structural damage if the ship had hauled around too swiftly while out of his grasp. And speaking of 'out of his grasp', Jerard wondered how the rest of the crew and his passengers were getting on with this weather. He fervently hoped that the Colonel and Miss Smythe-Harris had taken his advice to return to their cabins.

Tash experienced the flash, the sparks and the overawing boom of the lightening strike all at once. Through the rim of the port hole she felt the electricity and the odd flexing shudder of her beloved air ship. “We’ve been hit.” She breathed out, closing her eyes and sending her senses through her hands, into the rim of the port hole and spiraling out to blanket her ship.

Gopal quietly got to his feet and left the room unnoticed; his book still where it had fallen only moments before, balanced on its edges like the letter A. How it remained that way for the next few minutes was a mystery as the Discretion kicked and bucked her dissatisfaction at the raging storm.

Tash broke her concentration and turned at the sound of the door opening. A smile lit her face as she observed what Gopal had in his hands. She saw that he had changed as well; gone were the soft slippers, loose tunic and sash, replaced with heavy boots, fitted trowsers and workman like leather belt.

“I thought you would need these.” Gopal said dryly as he flipped a copy of what he wore over the edge of the dressing screen.

“Thank you Gopal, you know me so well.”

The manservant inclined his head; not so much to acknowledge Tash but to hide one his rare smiles. He knew that she was going to head down to lend assistance to Nichols and rest of the engineering crew.

Down in the auxiliary bridge Nichols shouted into the speaking grill. “Gus! Gus! Gustav deReuter! Can you hear me!??!” Only static came back to him as he toggled the device to receive.

“I think something is wrong with the speaking grills Chief.” Geoff Adam's called breathlessly from the bridge doors. “I think a junction box shorted out.”

Nichols arched an eyebrow at his assistant. The man had a most irritating way of stating the obvious.

“Understood. Adams, you stay here and keep and eye on things. Dortsman, you get to the cargo bays and make sure every thing is still tied down, I’m going up to check on the air bags and Gus.”

Airshipman Dortsmorn looked at Nichols with vacant eyes, several seconds seamed to stretch past before the man nodded.

“Get a move on Sir! And report back here to Mr. Adams when you are finished!” Nichols shouted in frustration.

Geoff Adams placed a hand on the chief engineer’s arm. “Easy Sir, I think you startled him.”

“I’ll take your word for it Mr Adams. Right now, I’ve got to check on the air bags.”

With long strides Nichols left the control room and made his way down the hallway toward the stairs. It was possible the lightening had not done any real damage to her; but it was equally possible that it had.

Climbing the stairs rapidly he stepped into the main engine room. “Report Mr Collins.”

Edward Collins looked away from his status gauges as his Chief strode into the room. “We're fine Sir, got bounced about a bit but nothing serious, engines all normal.”

Seeing Airshipman Wright rubbing his arm Nichols said. “Are you hurt Sir?”

“No Sir, just a bruise. I fell over when the ship pitched like that, but I'm fine.”

“Very good. Keep things running here Ed, I can't raise deReuter on the speaking grills so I'm going up to the lift bags next.” He declared as he crossed to the connecting door.

Nichols made his way through the companionway as fast as he could. The ships occasional shudder making him reach for the walls every few paces. As he reached the circular stair that would take him to C deck, the door to Tash’s room flew open.

“Mr. Nichols!”

Nichols turned and was not really surprised to see Tash standing there in her ‘lad’s clothes’.

“Where can I help Sir?” Tash asked.

Nichols scratched his head and swallowed back the sigh. “I don’t honestly know Tash. We are still accessing damage. Come with me.” This time he did sigh as he climbed the circular stairs to the lift bag chamber. He should have known she would have felt the lightning; the woman had an uncanny feel for the ship.

Nichols stepped off the stair on the C deck landing; the smell of burnt metal strong in his nose. He yanked back the gate and jogged down the catwalk toward the fuel bags. A quick inspection showed him that they were intact and from this vantage point and there was no visible hull damage. There was also no sign of Airshipman deReuter. Nichols checked the console and found the message he had sent up still in the tube. With a deep foreboding he looked down over the side of the catwalk and scanned the dark below. Still there was no sign of the missing crewman. Turning on his heel he jogged back toward the stairwell and the gate to the other side of the central catwalk.

He could see Tash and Gopal, they had exited to the other side of the stairwell. She was pointing at something overhead and seemed to be shouting. Lance shook his head hoping she realized that he could not hear her over the sound of the storm. He looked up to try to see what she was pointing at and when he caught sight of it he began to run.

One of the gas bags, number 15, seemed to be undulating wildly. “Oh sweet Virgin Mary.” He prayed out loud. The only thing that would actually break a gas bag was rubbing up against another gas bag. As he neared Tash he could make out what she was saying.

“The damage is on the other side!”

He exaggerated a nod to show that he had finally heard and then watched the two younger people run toward the bow of the ship. He followed along as fast as he could and despite the freezing cold he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

Reaching the bow he turned left and followed the catwalk that circled the perimeter of the ship. His foot slipped on the wet surface and Lance stopped. Wet surface? His eyes traveled up the side of the airship and realized that something was terribly wrong with the hull. The smell of damp was mingling with the scorched metal smell and there was something else…burning cloth?