rudely, I might add. I halted in my telling of how I had arrived at my situation in Portsmouth to stare him down. I was unsuccessful. “To evade even Thatcher’s detection.”
“A nun,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Continue,” he said, stifling a giggle. The cad!
It was all the worse his tea was so good, and his brig so warm and cheerful.
A modest carpet covered up the worst of the planks. Thick blankets softened the hard cot, and a vanity screen had even been installed round the loo. Even the bars were clean and free of rust. I bit into a fingerprint cookie, paired with a delightful Assam, to stall for time.
“You understand, I am only telling you any of this on condition of our deal. You will honor the deal, Master Pirate?” I demanded of him, though I was hardly in any position of leverage. My old friends, a small derringer and my .22 Tranter, lay heavy with unused ammunition atop a table at the air pirate’s elbow. Any documentation of my real identity sat under the loose floorboards in my narrow room over the Jilted Merman.
“If it will engender your trust, my name is Albion Clemens. I know, sounds faker than my alias, right?”
“I didn’t realize pirates had proper names. You may put on any alias you like,” I managed. The name struck a chord, obviously- did my captor have something to do with the air pirate Samuel Clemens? Looking about, the ship did seem far too old and large for such a young man to master.
“Chosen names. They are the only ones that matter.”
“Fine,” I huffed, though the impropriety intrigued me to no end. What value had a name if it did not exist in Her Majesty’s record? By law, such a man could not own property in Britain, nor could he marry. A proper name ought be Christian.
“The nature of your mission?” Clemens, or Shaw, or whomever, pressed.
“Is a secret,” I replied, somewhat spitefully.
“Now now, Inspector, I know everything else. That was the deal, you tell me everything about yourself and I would make sure no retribution falls on you.”
“The details about the case are the business of the Queen and the Pax Brittania. It is not something about myself,” I said smugly. “I have completed my side of the bargain, to the letter of the agreement.”
“Why you smug little minx,” he said, amused. He tended to stroke his short black beard when he found good sport. No matter how roguish and charming the motion, it was still remarkably rude.
“I shan’t have you taking that tone with me, sir! I am a Christian woman!”
Even as we bantered, I could scarcely believe I had been subdued. I had had my derringer on the pirate, in his knackered little longboat floating away from the pier. He had raised his hands, slowly, as did the odd little ginger man who had been attacked by the Lewis brothers. Then, with almighty calmness, the pirate pointed up.
Before I knew it, a vast pink mass was settling on my shoulders, blinding me to the world.
Of course- the elephant balloon! I felt arms close around me, then something very like rope. I recall how I panicked, how I felt we were sure to die plummeting into the icy water below. I wondered if the little air trapped with me in the gassy canvas would lift me to the waves or abandon me bubbling to a wet grave. I also recall it stank to high heaven, like sticky fairy floss and old popcorn grease.
If I had bothered to recall my dirigible engineering courses at the Academy, I might have remembered these balloons came in several compartments- the pirate must have released one section to bind me, perhaps with a loose foot as he distracted me with his hands.
By the time I saw light again, I was in
“A nun,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Continue,” he said, stifling a giggle. The cad!
It was all the worse his tea was so good, and his brig so warm and cheerful.
A modest carpet covered up the worst of the planks. Thick blankets softened the hard cot, and a vanity screen had even been installed round the loo. Even the bars were clean and free of rust. I bit into a fingerprint cookie, paired with a delightful Assam, to stall for time.
“You understand, I am only telling you any of this on condition of our deal. You will honor the deal, Master Pirate?” I demanded of him, though I was hardly in any position of leverage. My old friends, a small derringer and my .22 Tranter, lay heavy with unused ammunition atop a table at the air pirate’s elbow. Any documentation of my real identity sat under the loose floorboards in my narrow room over the Jilted Merman.
“If it will engender your trust, my name is Albion Clemens. I know, sounds faker than my alias, right?”
“I didn’t realize pirates had proper names. You may put on any alias you like,” I managed. The name struck a chord, obviously- did my captor have something to do with the air pirate Samuel Clemens? Looking about, the ship did seem far too old and large for such a young man to master.
“Chosen names. They are the only ones that matter.”
“Fine,” I huffed, though the impropriety intrigued me to no end. What value had a name if it did not exist in Her Majesty’s record? By law, such a man could not own property in Britain, nor could he marry. A proper name ought be Christian.
“The nature of your mission?” Clemens, or Shaw, or whomever, pressed.
“Is a secret,” I replied, somewhat spitefully.
“Now now, Inspector, I know everything else. That was the deal, you tell me everything about yourself and I would make sure no retribution falls on you.”
“The details about the case are the business of the Queen and the Pax Brittania. It is not something about myself,” I said smugly. “I have completed my side of the bargain, to the letter of the agreement.”
“Why you smug little minx,” he said, amused. He tended to stroke his short black beard when he found good sport. No matter how roguish and charming the motion, it was still remarkably rude.
“I shan’t have you taking that tone with me, sir! I am a Christian woman!”
Even as we bantered, I could scarcely believe I had been subdued. I had had my derringer on the pirate, in his knackered little longboat floating away from the pier. He had raised his hands, slowly, as did the odd little ginger man who had been attacked by the Lewis brothers. Then, with almighty calmness, the pirate pointed up.
Before I knew it, a vast pink mass was settling on my shoulders, blinding me to the world.
Of course- the elephant balloon! I felt arms close around me, then something very like rope. I recall how I panicked, how I felt we were sure to die plummeting into the icy water below. I wondered if the little air trapped with me in the gassy canvas would lift me to the waves or abandon me bubbling to a wet grave. I also recall it stank to high heaven, like sticky fairy floss and old popcorn grease.
If I had bothered to recall my dirigible engineering courses at the Academy, I might have remembered these balloons came in several compartments- the pirate must have released one section to bind me, perhaps with a loose foot as he distracted me with his hands.
By the time I saw light again, I was in
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