Solomon's Compass (Steam & Aether Book 3), page 8
Chance packed three boxes of dynamite, even though everyone now carried the Wayne Enterprises stick grenades they first brought down into the Calais vault.
When Blair commented on this, he had a ready reply.
“Like you always say, milady. One can never have too much dynamite.”
She smiled and stuffed another box in her own satchel. He raised his eyebrows.
“You’re not going in, yeah? What’s with all the equipment?”
“Always be prepared, Bobby. Besides, an extra bag of supplies never hurt anyone.”
Rip made them all study images of the fortress. He had a rough map diagrammed out on the conference room wall, with an idea of what awaited them on each floor based on Mr. Rucker’s analysis. They discussed plans well into the evening and another day passed.
The following morning saw a break in routine as a group of engineers wheeled out their first large-scale prototype of an airplane. Made from wood and canvas, it had two long double wings stretching out on either side, a leather-backed seat for the pilot and two sticks for controlling the rudder and flaps.
Mounted in front was the smallest engine currently available in production, procured from Royce Limited. And attached to that was a big wooden propeller.
Rip stressed the importance of quality gasoline to be used. The workers carefully fueled the prototype under his supervision. He had also insisted on the addition of a filter in the fuel line, something else the engineers had to quickly design from scratch.
In due course, the entire contraption was rolled out the front gates before the wings were attached, with almost everyone from the mansion accompanying it. The Rucker guards were rather nervous with so many people outside the manor walls, but Rip had the surrounding area swept, keeping an eye out for any Prussian agents. Finding none, he had the Rucker men block the road in both directions, and the fully assembled prototype pointed into the wind.
Rip hired three photographers of his own for the event, but he had also sent word to his favorite reporter, Angela Fontaine at the Standard Trumpet. Fontaine had always treated him fairly in her articles, and she seemed concerned about conveying details as accurately as possible. The same could not be said for many others.
Rip invited her, suggesting a very big story would break this afternoon and that she should bring along a good photographer for an exclusive scoop.
He also secured a motion picture recorder, which had to be special ordered from Paris. The Lumière brothers, he had heard, produced the finest model on the market, so he had one set up alongside the road ready to film the big event.
A bit of confusion ensued about who exactly would pilot the plane on its maiden flight. Rip suggested an enhanced person do it, since they would likely survive in the event of a crash. He felt certain he could handle the thing with his [Transporter] skill. But Sergio Cuellar, as the head of Wayne Enterprises, felt his lead engineer should have the honor, a man by the name of Michael Smythe.
“Smythe has solved all the numerous problems we’ve encountered in creating this beast,” Sergio said. “He should have the honors.”
Rip deferred to Sergio, who passed the word. Soon, the lithe little engineer doffed his green eyeshade and climbed aboard, smiling and eager to take the controls.
Everyone backed away as the Royce engine fired up, spinning the propeller. Rip waved at the cameramen to get ready, and for his movie man to start filming. Then the airplane slowly rolled down the macadam road.
It steadily picked up speed, heading into the wind. Suddenly, its wheels left the ground, rising three feet in the air. Everyone watching either gasped or cheered, depending on what they had expected. It continued climbing as it picked up speed.
The plane zoomed over Angela Fontaine’s head while her photographer madly snapped pictures. She whipped around and watched it bank over the field in front of the Wayne Estate, maintaining an altitude of 30 feet or so as its wing dipped lightly into the turn.
She opened her mouth and gasped.
“That is amazing!”
Slowly the machine circled back in the air and Smythe lined up on the roadway again. Gently, he brought it down at a steady rate of descent. The wheels kissed the road and it bounced once, twice. Then they found purchase and rolled along steadily as the plane slowed to a crawl and stopped altogether. The pilot killed the engine.
Smythe stepped out of the seat and raised his hands wide in triumph, a pose quickly captured by the two cameramen who still had film left.
Everyone ran for the plane, mobbing Smythe. Two other engineers hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him back to the gate amidst the throng.
The kitchen staff looked on from behind the fence, dressed in white, hands clasped behind their backs like soldiers at ease. The chef, wearing the requisite pleated cap on his head, nodded at them. As one they approached a dozen kegs lined up and ready, slamming home taps with mallets and pulling out mugs.
Then the party started.
20
Two days after the world’s first heavier-than-air motorized flight, the Steel Comet arrived at Wayne Manor. Powell brought her in low, the engines puttering along. A ground crew grabbed her mooring lines and fastened them to the tower behind the mansion.
Powell dropped a rope ladder and climbed down from the cabin to the top of the tower. He greeted Rip and the others in the team with a scowl.
“I read about your flying machine,” he said in his light Scottish brogue. “You’re not attaching that thing to me underbelly, I’m tellin’ y’right now.”
Rip smiled and said, “No, not that particular one. That was just a prototype.”
“It had a name. The paper mentioned it.”
“Yup. The Spirit of Ethinium. Nonetheless, it’s likely going to a museum after the boys finish with it. They’ve already got a series of modifications they want to make for the production model. But, we would like to test out a piggyback system with you at some point.”
“Find y’another guinea pig.”
“Maybe. Let’s see how much the Austrians are willing to cover your upgrades, first,” Rip said, reminding him of their agreement. “Besides, you might want to have an airplane go along for the ride sometimes. I think the concept will grow on you. They’re very maneuverable and will become rather deadly once we attach things like machine guns to them.”
Powell looked as if he remained unconvinced, but he dropped the matter for now. The team loaded up, using the rope ladder to climb to the cabin above.
Rip nodded at a group of technicians carrying separate equipment as they followed Chance and the women up the rope.
Powell frowned at them and said, “Who are they? What are they doing?”
“They’re here to upgrade your radio system.”
“Me wireless is fine. What does this ‘upgrade’ do?”
“It will let you talk to the control tower, rather than tapping out code. This is Wayne Enterprise’s newest wireless model, thanks to a young Irish-Italian kid named Marconi we recently recruited. It’s going to revolutionize the industry, trust me.”
That stopped Powell’s protests for a moment.
Then his eyes narrowed and he said, “I ain’t payin’ for that.”
“Nope. The Dual Kingdom is footing the bill.”
Rip gave the man a little pat on the shoulder, which Powell found offensive. No one should touch anyone unless it was a handshake, as far as he was concerned. But he bit his tongue and did not say anything as Rip headed up the rope ladder.
Within an hour, the technicians finished their work. They climbed down to the tower and the Steel Comet made ready for departure, pulling the ladder back up.
The ropes holding her were untied simultaneously, and the great ship lifted up in the air several feet. Powell pulled back on his throttles and the engines roared to life. Slowly, the Steel Comet sailed over the top of Wayne Manor, gaining altitude and speed. Powell turned southwest, keeping the Thames in sight.
When he gained the bearing he wanted and they began crossing the channel, Powell tied off his wheel and headed up the steps to the passenger area. He found no one sitting in the wicker chairs lined up there.
Frowning, he went down the hall to the lounge area, hearing voices trickle back. He walked in and found Chance manning the bar with Rip and the ladies sitting on wicker stools.
“Food and drink are extra,” he growled.
“Relax, Mr. Powell,” Blair said. “The girls don’t drink. Neither does Ripley, not much.”
Rip shrugged and said, “In my old job, heavy drinking was frowned upon. Never got the taste for it, really. Although, we’d toss back a few after work sometimes. Somebody back home still owes me a few for saving her life, but I’ll probably never collect on that debt.”
He smiled, with a hint of sadness.
Blair squeezed his hand and said, “Muscles here won’t let me imbibe whilst in my ‘delicate condition.’ He says it will harm the baby, or some such.“
“Bah. Me mum drank a spot o’wine every day of her life and all while carrying me. Look how I turned out.”
Rip and Blair exchanged a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but she kicked him under the stool.
“That leaves me, mate,” Chance said from behind the bar. “Cheers. I’ll try not to drink you out of house and home.”
Powell guffawed and took a seat beside Blair.
“Pour me one, then, if y’must. It’s at least twelve hours to Frankfurt and the Luftaustausch.”
Rip checked the translation popup appearing in his mind’s eye.
“‘Air Exchange?’ What is that, exactly?”
“It’s a trading post that floats in the sky near Frankfurt. Only accessible via dirigible. Or, I suppose, those new flying machines of yours, now.”
“They’re not quite in production yet,” Blair said. “Our boys learned a lot from the initial test flight, though.”
Rip said, “Yeah, gen one will be pretty robust, but the factory is still gearing up. Anyway, they need a landing strip. Something tells me the dirigibles just dock up there and float alongside so they don’t add any weight.”
Powell nodded, knocking back his drink and shoving the empty glass toward Chance.
He said, “Aye. So, it’s basically a big platform suspended by several giant balloons in a part of the continent where higher elevation winds never get too strong. I dinna understand it all, but even major storms seem to pass this place by. Airships go there to be serviced, mostly Prussian and Austrian models. Although, occasionally a French one or a Danish one might wander over for a look-see.”
“And the Umbrians?”
Powell shook his head at Rip’s question.
“Hardly ever visit. Last time I was there, I saw nary a fellow countryman. Mind you, I’m Scottish first and Umbrian second. But there it is. Our kind are none too welcome, I suppose. And we are a bit snobbish, I won’t lie. Not many of us from around here want to go to the Air Exchange anyway.”
“But some do, obviously.”
“Aye, I’ve been a few times. They still lust after the Steel Comet, y’know. Always happy to see her, and they complain a mite when I go and fly home again. But she’s me ship, by their own laws, so they never give me too much trouble.”
Powell downed his second shot after Chance poured him another round.
He set the empty glass down on the bar and said, “Right. Make yourselves at home. Merry King Joseph is paying for the consumables, so feel free to fix yourselves something to eat and find a bed. We should be at the exchange before noon tomorrow.”
With that, he hopped off the barstool and made his way back to the bridge, leaving his passengers to their own devices.
21
Rip woke up in the morning and carefully shifted off the bunk bed, leaving Blair snoring softly at an uncomfortable angle. She had tossed and turned all night, getting little sleep. Rip knew the baby often tossed and turned at night, and he suspected the unfamiliar bed was not helping things.
Letting her sleep in, he threw some clothes on and left, making sure to shut the door gently so Blair would not wake up. He made his way down the hall to the lounge, which had access to the airship’s little mess. Scrounging around in the cabinets, he found some bread and a jar of marmalade. Also, a tea set.
Rip heated up a kettle of water, which would have gone toward tea for anyone else. Instead, he pulled out a drip coffee maker from his interspatial wallet, with the Brooke & Co. corporate logo on top. When the water boiled and the kettle began whistling, he took it off the stove and poured it in the coffee maker. The hot water worked its way up a tube and out of a spout over some grounds in a paper filter.
He watched as the concoction brewed, smelling the rich aroma and smiling as the carafe slowly filled. Within minutes, he pulled the carafe out and poured himself a cup. Then he set it on the stove, making sure it would stay warm but not get too hot.
Taking his coffee and breakfast out to the passenger area, he grabbed a wicker seat near the giant picture window across from the sliding door. The German countryside rolled by far below. He noted they had gained considerable altitude overnight, far higher than Powell usually flew.
After his last bite of bread he returned to the mess and refilled his coffee mug, then walked back up front again. This time he knocked on the entrance to the bridge and walked down the steps.
Powell glanced over his shoulder to see who it was, then promptly ignored Rip. He stretched, as if working some kinks out. Rip noted a cot shoved off to one side, and concluded the pilot had slept on the bridge last night, which made sense.
Since Powell seemed reticent, Rip sat down in the other seat next to him, and enjoyed the view from the front window. It angled down to their feet, offering a nice full picture of all the scenery below.
Rip blew on his coffee and sipped, savoring it.
Powell frowned.
“What is that?”
“Coffee.”
“I don’t have any coffee on this ship.”
“I know. That’s a shame. But no worries, I brought my own.”
“How did you make it?”
“With a drip coffee maker. They are far superior to percolators, let me tell you. Percolators are inconsistent. Also, they’re all metal. The taste is not the best. With our new drip coffee maker, you get a steady stream of water at 200 degrees over the grounds in a paper filter. It brews some of the best coffee in the world. Literally.”
He smiled and took another sip.
“Where I come from, our coffee makers are electric. I had my guys develop one that could be fed with hot water from a kettle, like with tea. Only, instead of pouring the tea into a service to steep, you pour it in the back of the drip coffee maker and it . . . drips and makes coffee. That was awkward. But it works. Want a cup?”
Powell frowned and shook his head.
Rip shrugged, and took another sip. He smacked his lips.
Powell gazed off at the horizon for a while.
Then he said, “Maybe you could just leave that coffee maker here. You know, in case any other passengers might want coffee instead of tea. Or when I fly you again, it’d already be here.”
Rip said, “Sure. I’ll bill you for it.”
Powell’s face fell as he realized he might have made a serious blunder.
“Now wait a minute. How much are we talking about here?”
“Well, it’s a prototype. I dunno. I’m sure the bean counters back home can come up with something reasonable.”
“Forget it. I dinna want it. Take it with y’when y’go.”
Rip smiled and took another sip.
He said, “You should at least try a cup before turning it down outright.”
“Nope. I dinna want it. Excuse me, I have to go check on some things.”
He tied the wheel in place and left the bridge without another word. Rip smiled to himself as he heard Powell’s footsteps go back toward the lounge.
Several minutes later he returned, with a thoughtful look on his face. He sat down and untied the line holding the wheel, taking it in hand again.
“Maybe we can come to an arrangement. But I won’t be taken advantage of, mind ya.”
“It makes good coffee, doesn’t it? Best cup you ever had, I bet.”
Powell said nothing for several moments as he adjusted their course slightly. They continued angling up into the sky.
Finally he frowned and said, “Aye. It was extraordinary coffee.”
It sounded like he was admitting defeat. Rip smiled, and took another sip.
“When your passengers drink it, tell them it’s from Brooke & Co. It’ll be available in department stores and by mail order. They can make the same good coffee at home with one of our machines. I’m sure we can work out some kind of discount if you give us free advertising or something.”
Powell grunted, noncommittally.
“Maybe we can get a famous old Cricket player to advertise it for us. Or maybe we should just put a sign up saying, ‘Coffee brought to you by Brooke & Co. Coffee Makers . . .’ “
“I’ll tell ’em! Just sell me the bloomin’ machine!”
“Okay. Let’s say, 150 pounds for the prototype.”
“Fine! Now shut up and let me fly!”
Rip smiled, victoriously. He drained his cup and stood up.
“I think I’ll have another. Can I get you one, Mr. Powell?”
“Get off my bridge!”
22
Rip called everyone into the bridge before lunch, much to Powell’s chagrin. But the sight to behold was too good to pass up. Even the surly pilot had to begrudgingly admit that.
Ahead, shining in the deep blue sky, the Luftaustausch floated like an island in the sea. As they drew nearer, Rip was able to make out more details.
“I thought you said it was a floating platform, Mr. Powell. That looks more like a flying city.”
Powell grunted, hands on the wheel as they came ever closer.
Rip decided the base must be made from light wood and bamboo. Everything seemed to be constructed with extra consideration for weight. Looking at the platform from their angle of approach, Rip could see where the surface people walked on had spaces between thin planks and bamboo shoots.
