travelled.
“Ah, we’ve no hotels,
lads. Only two rooming houses, and they’re both vermin infested. Best to stay
with yer ship, eh?” He went on to explain that while most of the workers lived
in corporate housing in Cubitt Town, most of the homes and businesses along the
riverfront were empty. Only a few leaseholders and pensioners still lived on
the island.
Simon gazed unhappily around the hangar at the other ships. He
hated enclosed spaces like this. They were squeezed in behind the two French
ships. Le Baleine, a pearly
pillow-shaped balloon class surveillance vehicle with a large gondola
surrounded by glass, and the Faucon de Ciel , a charcoal-grey armored
corvette with several large scrapes along the hull.
Docked opposite, the German ship took up one entire side of the
garage. A hard-sided model, the twenty-meter-long black ship had four
sinister-looking gun ports, two each mounted forward and aft the cabin, and a
pair of bay doors mounted below, which Simon thought could be used to drop
bombs. At least they didn’t put us in
with the Swiss; better to be considered the same class as the Germans.
Weighted and tethered on all sides, the Il Colibri's natural buoyancy held it about two meters above the
floor. Simon watched Arvel as he walked around his ship to inspect the damage. Although
the captain’s expression remained impassive, Simon could see the pain in his
friend’s face. The Il Colibri represented
every ounce of effort Arvel had invested in its design and build, and every
penny Simon had been able to steal. They’d paid dearly to get it finished in
time. To suffer such damage before they’d even had a chance to demonstrate
their unique capabilities was heartbreaking.
The gondola, the precious golden egg the Il Colibri clutched to her undercarriage looked as if it might have
been attacked by a team of kicking mules. One side of the ovoid metal structure
had collapsed toward the center. Every one of the custom-made aventurine glass
windows, shot through with threads of gold, were either broken or missing. The
filigreed bronze door from Venice was nearly folded in half, and hanging from a
single hinge by means of a bent screw. Inside the structure, the magnificent
chamois-suede upholstered banquette had been torn and would have to be
completely replaced. Worst of all, the gondola had been knocked out of true,
and the central retracting shaft would never work again.
Simon gripped his friend’s shoulder. “The hangar master, Mr.
Figgs, says there’s an excellent ironworks just down the way.”
Rudy, the mechanic, squatted beside the crushed gondola and rocked
the carriage. Over the last four years they’d spent building the prototypes, Rudy
had proved himself to be a absolute genius in implementing Arvel’s innovative
designs. He’d not only helped Arvel design the retractable gondola, he’d
hand-tool many of the parts as well.
“The frame is bent.
The tolerance between the telescopic sections is as precise as that of a fine
timepiece. We’ll need more than a smithy to repair something like this. I’m
going to have to scrap all this and build a new retraction shaft.” Rudy nodded
to the crumpled housing. “I don’t have my workshop with me. I don’t know if I
can make it as it was.”
Arvel looked more discouraged than Simon had ever seen him. Of the
two of them, Arvel had always been the ebullient one. The optimist. Seeing him
like this was almost as unnerving as the seeing the damage to the ship. For
Arvel, the Il Colibri was his baby.
To lose his chance to show off what his airship could do before they even had a
chance to compete wasn’t right. And no amount of money or jewels stolen from
the Queen’s royal yacht would make it right.
“Figgsy says the local shipyard can handle any job,” Simon
offered. “Maybe they’ll let you use their forge and equipment.”
Arvel raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Perhaps,” Rudy said,
but from the set of his jaw, he
“Ah, we’ve no hotels,
lads. Only two rooming houses, and they’re both vermin infested. Best to stay
with yer ship, eh?” He went on to explain that while most of the workers lived
in corporate housing in Cubitt Town, most of the homes and businesses along the
riverfront were empty. Only a few leaseholders and pensioners still lived on
the island.
Simon gazed unhappily around the hangar at the other ships. He
hated enclosed spaces like this. They were squeezed in behind the two French
ships. Le Baleine, a pearly
pillow-shaped balloon class surveillance vehicle with a large gondola
surrounded by glass, and the Faucon de Ciel , a charcoal-grey armored
corvette with several large scrapes along the hull.
Docked opposite, the German ship took up one entire side of the
garage. A hard-sided model, the twenty-meter-long black ship had four
sinister-looking gun ports, two each mounted forward and aft the cabin, and a
pair of bay doors mounted below, which Simon thought could be used to drop
bombs. At least they didn’t put us in
with the Swiss; better to be considered the same class as the Germans.
Weighted and tethered on all sides, the Il Colibri's natural buoyancy held it about two meters above the
floor. Simon watched Arvel as he walked around his ship to inspect the damage. Although
the captain’s expression remained impassive, Simon could see the pain in his
friend’s face. The Il Colibri represented
every ounce of effort Arvel had invested in its design and build, and every
penny Simon had been able to steal. They’d paid dearly to get it finished in
time. To suffer such damage before they’d even had a chance to demonstrate
their unique capabilities was heartbreaking.
The gondola, the precious golden egg the Il Colibri clutched to her undercarriage looked as if it might have
been attacked by a team of kicking mules. One side of the ovoid metal structure
had collapsed toward the center. Every one of the custom-made aventurine glass
windows, shot through with threads of gold, were either broken or missing. The
filigreed bronze door from Venice was nearly folded in half, and hanging from a
single hinge by means of a bent screw. Inside the structure, the magnificent
chamois-suede upholstered banquette had been torn and would have to be
completely replaced. Worst of all, the gondola had been knocked out of true,
and the central retracting shaft would never work again.
Simon gripped his friend’s shoulder. “The hangar master, Mr.
Figgs, says there’s an excellent ironworks just down the way.”
Rudy, the mechanic, squatted beside the crushed gondola and rocked
the carriage. Over the last four years they’d spent building the prototypes, Rudy
had proved himself to be a absolute genius in implementing Arvel’s innovative
designs. He’d not only helped Arvel design the retractable gondola, he’d
hand-tool many of the parts as well.
“The frame is bent.
The tolerance between the telescopic sections is as precise as that of a fine
timepiece. We’ll need more than a smithy to repair something like this. I’m
going to have to scrap all this and build a new retraction shaft.” Rudy nodded
to the crumpled housing. “I don’t have my workshop with me. I don’t know if I
can make it as it was.”
Arvel looked more discouraged than Simon had ever seen him. Of the
two of them, Arvel had always been the ebullient one. The optimist. Seeing him
like this was almost as unnerving as the seeing the damage to the ship. For
Arvel, the Il Colibri was his baby.
To lose his chance to show off what his airship could do before they even had a
chance to compete wasn’t right. And no amount of money or jewels stolen from
the Queen’s royal yacht would make it right.
“Figgsy says the local shipyard can handle any job,” Simon
offered. “Maybe they’ll let you use their forge and equipment.”
Arvel raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Perhaps,” Rudy said,
but from the set of his jaw, he
Similar Books
