Exposition
Mr Whybrow added a sprint to his pace, and turned back to me. “Wait in the park, it’ll be easier.”
“Yes, sir – “ Too late. He had already vanished.
Restoring my dress took little time, although it did occur to me that in London, someone would have stolen the lot while I was risking life and limb. I was grateful for a few moments to myself, to let the events settle. The little park was a charming place to wait; its ambience lifted all the aftershocks of the day from my mind, leaving me free to wonder what Mr Whybrow had in mind this time. I did not think he meant to bring out the Golden Grisset again; he wouldn’t have told me to wait in the park.
He seemed to have been gone an awfully long time. I wondered if whatever he was going to show me had gone wrong. Either way, I would find out.
Miss Folger’s emporium, situated right adjacent to the park, caught my eye.
I’d never had a proper look inside, so I thought I’d remedy that while I waited. What I first noticed was the musical instruments which were amongst her specialities. I assumed that’s what they were, since they had keyboards – yes, there was an upright piano, like the one in the workhouse chapel but infinitely smarter. But these others – the carving and marquetry were without peer, but I was struck by how flimsy they looked, and how small the keyboards were. Why weren’t they the same size as any other piano?
Tentatively, I rested a finger on the key of one of these exquisitely-ornamented small pianos. This one was a strange, irregular shape with a sweeping curve on one side of the casing. An experimental press of the key made a sort of twangy sound – like a pub piano, but more refined.
I wanted to examine these intriguing instruments more closely, but then a distant throbbing beat at my ears from high up. I was getting used to the airships by now, but this one was different. Higher up, and closer by. I ran out into the street and looked up. A vast cigar shape was descending, and I gave a little laugh. He had already told me that he had one, and even had I not been expecting something of the sort, the colour alone would have told me whose it was.
The gasbag shut off the sun, leaving me in the shadow as he settled a few feet above the ground; the motor diminished to a slow clacking that reminded me of a steam launch clearing its throat. Mr Whybrow’s proud beam led me to expect him to ask me what I thought of his machine, but instead, he asked, “What were you up to in there?”
“Looking at all the strange pianos, sir,” I replied.
He gave a humourous grunt. “You obviously weren’t in there long enough to look at the labels. Most of those aren’t pianos. Show you when we get back.”
A new excitement thrummed through my veins. Was I finally going to see his house? Gleefully, I clapped my hands together. “Really, sir? Please do, I love music. We used to have concerts at the workhouse.”
Mr Whybrow gave me a curious squint. “Yes, you did mention that. Very well, then. I’ll do what I can to indulge you.” He fumbled inside the gondola and heaved a rope netting over the side. “Now, can you climb in? Try to keep your skirts down, the cooling system’s right behind you.”
The rope rungs engaged reassuringly with my heels, although Mr Whybrow’s drainpipe had offered the reassurance of having been bolted solidly to the wall, and I was glad when my hands could grip the side of the gondola. Over his shoulder, I saw many controls whose purposes puzzled me. I must have been expecting it to resemble the driver’s seat of the Golden Grisset and I could hardly have been more wrong.
He waited for me to settle. “Ready?”
I rearranged my skirts more comfortably about my knees and ankles. “I think so, sir. Should I tie myself in?”
“With what? You’re an airship passenger, not a human cannonball. Just settle back and relax.”
The motor behind me, which resembled that of the Golden Grisset but shorter, rose joyfully in pitch. The roar echoed from Miss Folger’s frontage to clap painfully at my ears. I grimaced and closed my eyes. Then the racket abated somewhat and I became aware of a subtle pressure on my – well, fundament. Opening my eyes, I saw that we were already above the rooftops. My stomach gave a reflexive lurch of protest at its unnatural situation, but settled to an irritable grumbling. The airship was as solid up here as it was on the ground, but then had I expected it to become any less substantial? The whole experience was mind-joltingly surreal, like being in a lift that wasn’t attached to anything.
Mr Whybrow appeared quite used to it all as, now that we were clear of any ground obstructions, he swung the whole kit and kaboodle ponderously around on its central axis. Over the rooftop, I saw the upper masts of Old Stumpy and decided that my present situation was infinitely preferable to that of the sailors of yore, clinging to ropes and masts and things two hundred feet above the deck in all weathers. I remarked also that his falling balloon cable appeared to have dislodged a few roof tiles, but decided to mention that later.
Of my nerves, I can only say that they’d settled into the background, waiting for something to go wrong. I’d like to say that the anticipation had been worse than the reality, like a trip to the dentist (All right, Mr Shang. Most of the time), but it’s more likely that I was still too hyper-alert after my escapade with the flasher, for a mere airship to be any bother. I suppose I owed the flasher my thanks; without him, Mr Whybrow would have had to have tethered his airship to a lamp post so that he could chase me over SouthEnd, while I freaked out like Margaret Pole on the scaffold.
In retrospect, how silly I’d been. I felt as though I should be perfectly safe cocooned in his gondola, and the radiator behind me kept off the worst of the chill. It was the sheer undeniable unnaturalness of my situation that kept my stomach churning like a kettle lingering on the point of coming to the boil.
I remarked that he appeared to be following the same route when we’d been out in bike and car; northwards, through Downs. The gorge in Downs held no vertiginous terror this time, and why should it? At our present altitiude, one bit of land would be much the same as any other if we were to descend in that much of a hurry.
We crossed from Downs to Tamrannoch, and we must have hit a thermal or air pocket or something, as the airship gave a momentary jolt which Mr Whybrow wrestled under control quite casually, without a hint of irritation. But it was enough to tip my already overstressed stomach over the edge.
I did not care if Mr Whybrow noticed the sudden movement in the back, I was more concerned about letting go inside his luxuriously-padded airship gondola. I leaned over the side and up it all came. And it carried straight back into the propeller, which gave a quick thrumming noise as it sprayed my lunch all over Tamrannoch.
Once I was empty, the exhaustion took my mind off my stomach as I slumped back in the seat. I began to feel better already; my foot brushed against a bag of peppermints that had been left in the back either by a previous passenger, or by Mr Whybrow in case anyone else should be similarly stricken. The peppermint killed the yucky taste in my mouth, and the sugar helped restore my vitality and let me take in the world as Mr Whybrow had intended me to.
Yes, my misadventure with the flasher no longer preyed on my nerves; it was a mere bad dream which I could look back on without breaking into a sweat. As for Mr Whybrow, he wasn’t taking me anywhere discreet to hide my punishment from the neighbours; he was giving me what I’d asked for, and was prepared to trust anything I told him. Those reassurances combined with the balmy aura of the radiator and gentle rolling in the air currents to make me believe that I was being carried in the hands of God. It was a whole new world up here, where the clouds were both the landscape and inhabitants, idly drifting about their business, utterly disinterested in the world beneath them.
Ahead of us, Caledon on Sea peeked out from behind the forest I remembered seeing. But this time, Mr Whybrow turned smoothly westwards, following the forest. I noticed that he appeared to be following the roads; whether that was for my education or something he did as a matter of practice, I did not know, but he was right. The roads were certainly easier to understand when seen from above.
The engine shut down to its idle clacking; we drifted to a stop to hover in midair above the lush boughs. Mr Whybrow turned back to me. “How are you, Miss?”
I could not help smiling back. “Fine, thank you, sir.” I noticed that he did not appear to be wondering if I was still afraid; he could see that I was not. But some further reply seemed to be called for. “We’re higher than the seagulls.”
Mr Whybrow laughed. “There aren’t many fish for them up here. And any that you do see, you won’t need an umbrella to protect you from.” He jerked a thumb at the gasbag that followed us like a faithful cloud.
I returned his laugh. “Sir, may I ask you something? You told me that airships are good for learning the roads here, but we seem to be following them. Is that to teach me, or is there a reason why you can’t just fly in a straight line?”
“That’s a good question, Miss. Once we’re off the main part of Caledon, a pilot has more flexibility, but when there are houses about, it’s not advisable to fly over private land if there’s a public thoroughfare to follow.”
Thus he answered a question with another mystery. Not advisable? But before I could ask, he had returned to his controls and with a gentle push in my back, we were under way again.
I was amazed at how full the skies were; I was used to looking up only to see if it was going to rain. But it appeared that half Caledon had places in the sky. Mr Whybrow himself lived high up, it should have occurred to me that others would do likewise. I wasn’t sure that I could live in the sky; flying through it was a strong enough violation of natural law, but living there – no. The privacy of my own home on the ground was seclusion enough; I had to have the footfall of others passing by. Even as I reaffirmed my resolution to save the air for necessary travel only, that hospital airship breezed across our bows on its own errand of mercy. Yes. The sky did have its uses.
It was easy to forget that I was supposed to be learning, not just admiring the view; Mr Whybrow’s call carried easily over his shoulder. “We’re over Caledon itself now, this district was the first to be settled. Over there to the north is Port Caledon.” I followed his pointing arm and saw the docks and warehouses. Of course; Caledon had many creators, was it not only natural that they would export?
Caledon itself came to an end with some lovely gardens. Beyond the coastline, on the western horizon, some large islands began to appear. Mr Whybrow nudged us slightly northwards, over the sea towards an island dominated by spiky peaks wearing a conifer forest like a spiky green wig. Below us, the waves played their own merry dance, with sleek shiny creatures intertwining their own counterpoints.
He appeared to be heading for a bay at the foot of the mountains, with what looked like an old ruin to one side. But it was rather a huge statue that caught my attention; as we drew nearer I was able to discern individual features, including the huge cynical grin of a predator savouring its prey’s terror in the moment before it pounced. A history lesson from the workhouse school seized on my mind, to fill it with foreboding.
Mr Whybrow seemed completely unaffected by the great demigod looming over us as he landed at the edge of the clearing. I had a feeling that yet again, I was about to make a fool of myself, but the glare of the towering figure insisted that I was not. He was, beyond any doubt, there for the purpose of evil. As was confirmed by the ruin, which had resolved into a circle of standing stones as old as time itself, with a fire burning at its centre. Oh, my God – that was why I’d been brought here! As its next victim!
Mr Whybrow shut down the engine, leaving us alone with the cries of the seabirds and the crashing of the waves. He turned to me. “One problem with airships is that they need a lot of space to land – why, Miss Bluebird! Whatever is the matter?”
As if he did not know. Angry at being treated so naively, I jutted a condemnatory finger at the leering giant. “That is! This is a place where men come to die.”
“What?”
All right, Mr Whybrow’s confusion appeared quite genuine, which told me that I was about to make a fool of myself. But I had good reason for doing so. My face alone, angry with betrayal, warned him that he would die in my place if he tried to lay a finger on me. “Don’t assume that because I come from an institution, that I’m completely uneducated, sir! We were told about the druids and their wicker men.”
Dawn broke on Mr Whybrow’s features. He bit off a laugh, knowing that that on its own would precipitate his early death. “That? That’s nothing to do with human sacrifice, for the love of God! That’s just a huge robot – the owner of this island likes robots. Mechanical men,” he explained. “Some people here like them, the way some Londoners admire trains. My dear girl, I can assure you that I’m at least as familiar with Druids as you are, and if there are any in Caledon, then I’ve yet to meet them.”
Inwardly I collapsed, feeling extremely foolish. What I had taken for wood was in fact rust. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, sir – “
Mr Whybrow shook his head, allowing himself an understanding chuckle. “I can see how you came to make such a mistake, but you’re in no danger at all here. And we don’t guarantee crops by burning each other alive. Come on. Let me give you a hand down.”
He tossed the rope netting over the side and, somewhat shakily, I accepted his helping hand. The huge mechanical man seemed to be laughing at me as I disembarked. Remembering his manners, Mr Whybrow turned away as I adjusted my skirts, looking to the standing stones. A large fire burned in the centre of the arena, the licking flames endowing life on the stones which had stood immobile for years beyond count. “Don’t ask me what keeps the fire going, I presume they discovered a source of natural gas,” he told me. “People like to dance here, free from ballroom formality. The dress code is known for being – ah, relaxed.”
I had a good idea what he meant by “relaxed,” although I was too used to Caledon to be shocked. What a strange people these were – formality and dress-perfection, but for this one place where they cast aside all restraints. I doubted that the established church would approve of their social outlet, but then, I doubted that any here cared what the established church thought. Besides, I don’t care what Mr Whybrow said, there was no getting away from the image of sacrificial rituals which this place hinted at with the subtlety of fairground posters.
“It’s also a good place to get away from the world if you want to talk,” he added, pointedly. “You’ve probably had enough of heights for one day, but let’s take in the air further up. I think you’ll enjoy the view.”
He could see that I was still not happy about being near the stone circle and led me up the gentlest part of a rugged slope. From time to time, as we clambered over the steepest parts, he offered his hand to help me up, which surprised me a little.
Finally, the ground levelled out to a rocky plateau shaded by great conifers. Mr Whybrow had been right about the view; although the stone circle and the grinning robot man were still there, I could feel that I had risen above them. He led me a few yards further until they were lost to sight completely. I found myself overlooking the sea from a high promontory; staring straight back at me, a mountain rose from the sea, modestly disclosing a cavernous inlet. Crowning all was a lighthouse which was vaguely familiar.
“Caledon Sound,” Mr Whybrow explained. “And there beyond it, is Kittiwick, where we took the Dreadnought.”
Why – so it is, of course. “How different things appear, when seen from a different angle,” I commented.
Chuckle from Mr Whybrow. “You could say that about many things.” Seating himself on the comfiest-looking rock, he indicated the ground for me to do likewise. “Including what happened to my balloon,” he added with a grin. “All I know is that I’d just entered SouthEnd when it blew up. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
For once, I saw a use for the female bustle. Properly arranged, it made a passable cushion on the rocks while Mr Whybrow had nothing to sit on but his own muscle. I did as he bade me, and tried to miss out nothing. Except for the dread I’d felt when I realised that lesser minds could have made an erroneous identification of the flasher. I was happy to own up to my mistake, but not my self-condemnation. That was for me alone to deal with.
Mr Whybrow heard me out patiently, nodding with approval when I mentioned my keeping the cattleprod handy just in case, and raising a respectful eyebrow when I told him how I’d first used it. But when I described my pursuit of the flasher, his face took on a horrified pallor.
“I hadn’t realised you were half way up the cable at the time,” he blurted, his usual formal composure quite forgotten. “I only saw the flasher go down because he lit up the sky like a meteorite.”
At this point I felt I deserved a falsely-modest grin of my own. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but I only did what was necessary.”
Mr Whybrow shook his head as though encouraging all the facts to fall into place. “So I see. A griefer holds Caledon’s ladyhood in terror, and my shopgirl stamps him out like an insect.” Then he transfixed me with serious eyes, making me feel like one such insect impaled on a card. “And you thought that I was the griefer?”
I explained how I, myself, had only let any doubts play on me for a moment but that if I knew him better than that, many others would not. “If your police are anything like the Metropolitan force, they’ll have gone for a quiet man who keeps women at arm’s length, for the sake of a speedy arrest.”
“And had to release me again, to their considerable embarrassment, as soon as the incidents subsequently continued,” he pointed out. “But your point remains valid. Mud sticks. I owe you, Miss Bluebird.”
His eye softened. I was no longer ashamed at having doubted him, as he quite understood my reasons for doing so. But the depth of his gratitude shone in his eyes, and not being used to the experience, I had to divert my gaze to the Caledon Sound lighthouse.
Mr Whybrow saw my abashment and quietly lifted it from me. “As to who he really was, that’s something I doubt we’ll ever learn. What’s left of him won’t fill an envelope.” He studied the ground gravely, knowing that there was one thing which he had not yet acknowledged. When he finally dislodged the words, I sensed that he’d have given his eye teeth for a cigar. “Miss Bluebird – I’d have expected a shopgirl with even the stoutest of hearts to have fought back, but not to go after him up a balloon cable like Spring Heeled Jack. That was without doubt, the bravest thing I’ve seen.”
With hindsight, it was also phenomenally stupid. But I could see that Mr Whybrow did not think so. If he was amazed, it was only with admiration.
“I’m sorry it cost you your balloon, sir,” I said, to kill a fresh wave of bashfulness before it could arise.
“Don’t let it worry you. The insurers won’t cover it, but my overseas contacts can get me some more silk, and once it’s all stitched together, it’ll only take three days to gas up. A small price to pay. I can see it now -” He looked dreamily up to the birds wheeling overhead. “We’ll find a charred ‘Censored’ sign floating in the harbour, and nobody’ll want to be seen to remove it. The local kids will point it out – ‘Mummy, what does that mean?’ And Mummy will reply, ‘It’s what happens to bad boys who don’t do as they’re told.’”
At that, I had to laugh. My peals rang out across the Firth to echo faintly from the cliffs of Sound. “Yes, sir. Shopgirl will come after them - ”
“ – wielding her mighty cattleprod.”
“And next time I might remember to hold it the right way round.” I had to speak around a great giggle knotting my throat. “And that reminds me, sir; while you were out, I took the liberty of dealing with the seagull problem. Once and for all.”
Mr Whybrow stared at me as he might a peculiar species of bug. “You don’t mean – “
“The cattleprod. Yes, sir.”
“Oh, dear Lord! How I wish I could have seen that.”
His laughter racketed across the Firth and startled the birds nearer to hand on Llyr. I joined in, more for release than through any other reason. What a pair of lunatics we must have looked, had anyone been around to see us.
Finally, out of breath, Mr Whybrow shook his head, chuckling at the ground. “Dear, oh bloody dear! Miss Bluebird – if you really like music, let me show you something which few have ever seen. I think you’ve earned some confidence.”
I felt like we were a pair of schoolkids out on a lark as we scrambled back to his airship. He helped me in before swinging the propeller, and this time I had no misgivings as we rose into the air. Not at first, anyway.
Development
I was, however, sorry to be leaving Llyr. In the short time that I’d spent there, I’d seen beyond my silly preconceptions and come to love the place for its solitude and what Mr Whybrow would have called, it’s “let’s say fair” ambience. And I had to admit that I looked forward to returning to a place where one could leave behind not only one’s problems, but a substantial part of one’s clothing as well.
But enough of that. A new excitement was teeming through my veins. He was finally going to show me his house!
He gave the engine only sufficient power to make a little headway, but otherwise we just kept going up until we were smothered in damp clingy clouds. I was glad of the radiator behind me to keep out the worst of the moisture. I suspected that he did not want me to get a bearing from the ground; it hurt a little that he trusted me so little that he did not want to risk my finding his house on his own, but then, I had learned to respect his privacy and his reasons for enforcing it.
Finally we broke out into a clear sunlit sky. The ground was blanketed entirely by cloud, and I had no compass, nor any way of knowing how high up we were, since the only altimeter was occluded by Mr Whybrow’s bulk.
It occurred to me that I could use the sun as a compass and get at least some idea of our heading, but for that to be remotely accurate, I’d also need to know the time of day. As for Mr Whybrow, he seemed to know exactly where we were going. His head made only that routine cycle of little movements as he checked his instruments in strict order.
In the distance, a speck appeared. It grew larger until I could make out a very regular square shape. This in turn resolved into what I suspected was a manor house, with immense brass pipes sticking out of the roof. A couple of them had bell ends, like trumpets.
Yes, it looked utterly crazy. But from what I knew of Mr Whybrow, it was precisely what I should have expected.
Segue
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