2.0

Alessandro Maggiormente frowned. There was something wrong with the formula but he could not locate where he had gone astray. He looked up at the array of beakers and frowned more.

"You've missed an important ingredient," Eduardo said, the languor of his voice conveying a sense of unutterable boredom.

"That is apparent," Maggiormente muttered without looking over his shoulder at his familiar. "If you could actually pinpoint the missing element, that would actually prove useful."

"I suppose," Eduardo said, raising his face to the warming rays of the sun, "but I have not been able to pay attention today. This is the first sun we've had since we came to this wretched land."

Maggiormente looked up. "Is that so? I had not noticed."

"You never do."

The alchemist ran his finger down the page, mentally ticking off each herb and tincture. Perhaps it was something in the order of elements—oh, if he had to start over again! How tiresome. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he had been at this for too long today.

"Yesterday," Eduardo said, stretching.

Maggiormente looked up at that. "What?"

"You've been at this particular round since yesterday. You're too tired to think straight. I bet you're hungry, too. I know I am." His big green eyes blinked. "Very."

"You're always hungry," Maggiormente said absently, but rubbing his eyes he realised he was famished. "Do we have something left to eat?"

"No, we need to go out." Eduardo became mobile instantly, shrugging off the sunlight-induced indolence with shocking ease. "Let's go out!"

Maggiormente looked down at him. "Remember what happened last time we went out."

"That was not my fault."

"You frightened that woman very badly."

"Some people frighten easily."

"She had every reason to be alarmed. You roared at her most inexcusably!"

Eduardo snorted. "You'd think the woman had never seen a lion before."

Maggiormente put his hands on his hips and glowered at the cat. "You are the last of your kind, Eduardo. No one has seen a Venetian lion if they have not seen you."

"I'm sure there must be some others around," Eduardo said, flexing his wings a little with a shake. "They just have better things to do."

The alchemist sighed. "I hope your presence does not overshadow my own experiments at the Exposition."

"I can't help it if I am beautiful," Eduardo said.

"Not to mention insufferable," Maggiormente muttered.

The cat pretended not to hear him. "I smell duck. Wouldn't duck be just the thing? And maybe some chicken afterward. And a cow."

"Maybe you should wait here while I go get some victuals."

"I promise to be on my best behaviour," Eduardo said, raising a paw as if to swear.

"Why don't I believe that?" the alchemist said with a snort.

"I will, you'll see. I shall be genteel and nod politely and say 'please'."

"Perhaps you ought not to speak at all."

Eduardo looked affronted by that. "Next you'll make me wear a hat."

"Not a bad idea."

"I am not a monkey."

Maggiormente sighed. "You would be easier to manage if you were."

"Monkeys are no help at all when it comes to alchemical workings. And they smell."

"True enough. But they look very smart in hats."

Eduardo narrowed his eyes at the alchemist. "If you absolutely insist, I will wear the fez. But I will not be pleased."

"Done."

1.9

"I forbid it," Rochester announced with finality.

"You cannot forbid it," his daughter said with equal fervor.

"I am your father!"

"And I am an adult. Don't be ridiculous, papa."

"Adult? Who's being ridiculous now? Why, you can't be more than—than—" Rochester turned to his wife. "How old is she anyway? Fifteen?"

His wife smiled gently at him. "She is nineteen. I was on my own at a younger age."

Rochester looked at his wife with disbelief. "Surely not." She nodded. "Well, those were…extraordinary times. I am not about to let my only daughter go gallivanting about in the sky with an Italian on the way to France to meet another Italian whom none of us know."

"Father," Helen said, "You can't be serious. This is the modern world! You have to move with the times."

"I realise I may seem utterly ancient to you, daughter, but I assure you I have not lost all my faculties."

It was that moment Tuppence chose to appear outside the window, resting on the rhododendrons and making her hoarse croaking that sounded very much like laughter. Rochester scowled. His wife, however, hid a smile.

Helen regarded him with folded arms. "I am flying to France next week, papa. There is no use arguing. I have a career to build and a new technology to demonstrate. I can make this scheme a successful one if I can collaborate with Signore Maggiormente. You can't stand in the way of progress!"

Rochester got up to stalk before the fire, hands clasped behind his back, muttering words that his wife knew she did not wish to hear aloud. At last he stopped to address his recalcitrant offspring once more. "I am not standing in the way of progress: I am merely voicing the necessary concerns of propriety. It's not as if he were English, after all," he added, gesturing toward the injured Italian.

"Signore," Romano said. "I am an honorable man." He winced with the effort but went on. "Your daughter is safe with me. Further, I am engaged to a beautiful woman in my hometown. I have no designs upon your daughter."

"Not good enough for you?" Rochester barked at the young man.

"Papa, leave him alone. First you think he's going to compromise me, then you're afraid he won't. It's irrelevant. I am quite capable of handling myself. You taught me to shoot, you should know. I'm a better shot than you."

"I don't think your father is only worried about fisticuffs," her mother said, walking over to lay a gentle hand on his arm. "It's only natural that we should be concerned for your safety. I realise you have ambitions and we do wish to support them, but we must be have certain safeguards in place to be sure that you will come home to us in one piece."

"But mother—!"

Mrs. Rochester continued, "Which is why I have suggestion that will suit both your scheme to travel and your father's concerns about your safety. Quite simply: your father shall accompany you."

All three stared at her. Tuppence croaked again from the window, flapping her wings against the window panes to punctuate the silence.

"Madness!" Rochester sputtered.

"You can't mean it!" Helen said, but she was already recalculating the fuel resources that would require.

"Darling, listen: you want to watch over our daughter? Do it yourself. You've been kept too close to home for too long. You haven't been as far as York in months. When's the last time you were in London?"

"Well, I haven't had much to do, what with Fairfax handling all the business dealings…"

"Exactly. You're beginning to wear on my nerves somewhat, so I can only imagine that you are feeling fractious as well." She tapped her husband's arm. "Admit it."

"Well…"

She looked up at her daughter. "And wouldn't your father make an excellent addition to your crew?"

"What's he going to do? Shout at poor Signore Romano? Curse at my airship?" Helen smiled as she said this and her mother knew that she had won. "Well, as long as he is part of my crew."

"Meaning?" her father demanded.

"You must obey me."

"I'll do no such thing." His wife elbowed him gently. "What? You don't really mean I should obey this chit?"

"My ship, my rules, papa."

"Infernal nonsense!" He stomped over to poke the fire.

"That means he agrees," Helen's mother translated for her.

"I know." Helen threw her arms around her mother. "Thank you!"

1.8

Helen's father stared at her. "Don't be ridiculous. Look what happened today."

"That's exactly my point. Look what this kind of penny-wise pound-foolish economizing has led to." Helen warmed to her topic, pacing in front of the fire. "If I weren't trying to make do with less than optimum equipment, we wouldn't have had this accident today."

"What do you propose to do?" her mother asked.

"I will beg, borrow or steal enough money to patch the tear near rudder and make the renovations to the engine assembly that we have been discussing for some time. I shall see the ironmonger in the morning."

Rochester made as if to wave her words away. "None of this is relevant. You are certainly not going to fly to France in that contraption."

"You needn't worry, papa," Helen said with a smile at her father's frown. "We shall be safe as houses."

"Houses! If an infernal house took a notion to fly, it would end up just as disastrously. I will not countenance such a journey." He threw himself into the large armchair and glowered from its depths.

"Father," Helen said, her voice taking on a tone distinctively similar to his and a look of determined stubbornness, "I will be flying to France next week as soon as I can get the ship repaired. Signore, you will doubtless be able to pilot again by then, too, I expect."

Romano nodded, but groaned a little as he did so.

"Helen, perhaps you should take a little more time to assess the damage," her mother said, her tone as placating as the words. Her eyes were on her husband who still mumbled from the depths of his chair. "Surely a short delay will lend you the opportunity to go over all the mechanicals thoroughly."

Helen shook her head. "We don't know how much longer the good weather will last. We cannot wait more than a week or we risk that being a factor."

"Fine, then you can put off the journey until spring and use the winter to tinker away at that contraption," her father announced with satisfaction. "Or find other interests," he added in a low voice.

Helen folded her arms and regarded him. "This is not a whim, father, this is my passion and I will not retreat one iota from this goal. Air travel is the future! I plan to be one of the trailblazers."

There was a commotion in the hall and Mrs. Hitchcock's voice could be heard distantly.

"I expect that's the doctor at last," Helen's mother said, patting Romano on the shoulder gently.

However, when the housekeeper appeared at the door to the library, she appeared alone. "Miss Helen, I have a letter for you."

Helen walked over to take the letter and tore it open to devour the contents. Her parents exchanged a puzzled glance. When she finished reading, Helen let out a cheer and said to Romano, "He is in Paris and will be glad to work with us!"

"Wonderful news, signorina!" Romano said, wincing a little with the pain of exertion.

"He is attending the Exposition Universelle, he says," Helen continued, rereading the missive. "I wonder if he is exhibiting? He does not say."

"Who are you talking about, my dear?" Helen's mother prompted her gently.

"Alessandro Maggiormente," Helen said grandly, a broad smile across her face.

"Of course," her father grumbled. "Him."

Helen looked at him with amusement. "The premiere alchemist in Europe, papa. Signore Maggiormente has been responsible for some of the most exciting developments in alchemy for this century."

"What the devil do you need an alchemist for?"

"Edward," his wife tutted. "Do be more temperate in your language indoors. You are not addressing your dog."

"Alchemists are little more than hucksters and mountebanks," Rochester insisted. "There's not one whose work holds up under scrutiny."

"You confuse the sensational trials with the quiet accomplishments. Maggiormente has been responsible for some exciting developments in fuel sources."

"And what is it you propose to do with this charlatan?"

"I will be consulting with him in the hopes of securing his assistance with a new undertaking that will revolutionise the flying experience!"

"You don't mean to say—"

"Yes," Helen said with satisfaction as she took in her father's dismay. "I will be flying to France to collaborate with Signore Maggiormente."

1.7

Helen stifled her irritation at her brother and his penchant for wasting inordinate amounts of time rehashing the endless bickering that was politics and hurried toward the library, her father stumping along in her wake. She feared to see her pilot looking even more peaky than he had looked upon the moors.

"How are you, signore?" Helen said, her voice gentling as she took in the pale figure on the sofa. "Are you feeling better?" It was worth asking. Romano didn't actually look much worse than he had just after the crash. Besides, the library fireplace was crackling merrily and Mrs. Hitchcock had tucked a nice tartan rug around the Italian, which looked very snug.

"I-I am trying to hold on, signorina," Romano said, his words sounding more persuasive than his voice did. "I am feeling rather faint, I think."

"Well, at least you're already lying down," Helen said, hoping the comment seemed helpful. The bandage around his head had a large red stain on it that appeared to be slowly growing. "The doctor will be here soon. I think you may have a concussion."

"Concussion!'

"It's serious, signore, but it's not life threatening. We'll know more when the doctor arrives."

"Perhaps I should rest," Romano said, closing his eyes with evident weariness.

In the back of her mind, Helen remembered something about head injuries and keeping the patient from drifting off. "Not just yet, signore. I think we should keep you awake until Doctor Ponsonby gets here. Besides, I want to go over the last part of the flight."

"Signorina, I am not certain that can be fruitful at this juncture," Romano muttered. "And if I close my eyes for just a moment, I know I will feel much more vibrant."

Helen pulled up a chair and took the pilot's hand in hers. Then she began to slap it with her other hand. "Come now, Signore Romano, stay awake!"

"Signorina!" He stared at her with surprise in his eyes. "This cannot be proper."

Helen heard a bark of laughter as her father entered the library. "Proper! The day my daughter recognizes propriety—"

"What?" At the sound of this new voice both Helen and her father started. "What will happen on that momentous day, Rochester?"

"Mother!" Helen leapt up and rushed over to her. "Have you seen Signore Romano? Do you think he will survive," she asked, lowering her voice precipitously for the second question.

"Signore Romano has an extraordinary constitution," Helen's mother announced. Patting her daughter's hand, she added in a more confidential tone, "Although he would benefit from a head as hard as your father's."

"Don't pretend you didn't mean for me to hear that," her father grumbled as he poked the fire. Looking over her shoulder, Helen saw that a small grin lit his face, making his rugged face nearly handsome.

While her mother's face could not be called handsome in any sense, it was so full of lively intelligence that one could not help liking it. Helen had admired her since she could remember, eagerly shadowing her about the house. Her mother's will had such firmness that Helen could not imagine ever getting the better of her in a disagreement, even though she towered several inches over her.

"Mother, do you think Fairfax will get the doctor here soon?"

"Don't worry, he knows this is important. I'm sure he'll be back directly." She took the seat Helen had brought over and took up Romano's hand. "We'll have you up and about in no time, signore, but you need to stay awake. If you cannot keep your eyes open lying down, I'm afraid we're going to have to make you sit up, painful though it may be."

Leaving the pilot in her mother's capable care, Helen turned back to her father. "I'm going to need some more funds for repair, papa. I don't know if Fairfax will give me enough. He was rather meanly inclined the last time around."

"Your ship requires a lot of funds."

"But I desperately needed those upgrades to the motor and vent system. And the payoff will be enormous when I show how beneficial cross continental travel can be."

Rochester turned to regard her with a raised eyebrow. "Beneficial? To crash into the sides of mountains, to drown your passengers in the Channel? I supposed you could round up superfluous relatives and have them disposed of quietly." He laughed at his own wit.

Helen did not allow that to discourage her. "I am going to fly to France."

"Someday my dear, surely." Her father smiled indulgently as he poked the fire.

"I am going to fly to France next week!"

1.6

"Let me anchor the ship and we'll race down to the house," Helen offered. She took her father's bark of laughter for assent and cast about for a likely anchor for the ropes.

"It doesn't look likely to go anywhere," her father remarked, frowning at the damaged gondola.

Helen grimaced as she pulled on the rope leading from the port side of the ship. "It's losing air through a rift near the rudder, but there's an awfully good chance of it floating off if the winds pick up."

He grumbled something unintelligible, but picked up the other rope. "What do we tie this infernal machine to?"

"We're going to have to see if we can fasten it to this rock. It's the only thing remotely useful in that way." Helen looped the rope around the stone and tied a couple of half hitches to tighten it. Her father tossed his rope around the stone in like manner, tying his knots as well as he could.

"Doesn't look very secure." He tugged at the knots, which held nonetheless.

"We haven't much in the way of choice up here. I'm going to have to work on some kind of mobile anchor, something that could help lock rope into place on unusual surfaces." She looked at her father. "Why are you grinning like a monkey?"

"You will make a good little tyrant. I like seeing you so self-sufficient, makes me hopeful I won't have to house all of my children when I am decrepit."

"Papa," Helen scolded. "You won't have to worry about taking care of me. I can take care of myself. Come, Tuppence!" The raven flew down from the rudder and croaked as it lighted on her shoulder.

"How are you, you murderous old bird?" Rochester greeted the raven with jolly laugh. "When are you going to settle down and find a mate?"

"Shall we race back to the house?" Helen said.

"Don't be ridiculous. You could already run faster than I when you were twelve. Even with all those skirts, you'll have the advantage."

They hadn't gone more than half a mile when they spotted riders heading their way. "I take it your Italian friend made it back in once piece."

"That's encouraging," Helen said, waving at the group. She could see that the lead horseman was Thompson, her father's head groom. As pleased as she was that they were coming to retrieve the airship, she found herself even more pleased that Thompson was leading two more horses for them to ride home. It was no hardship to walk the rest of the way, but she was eager to get back and discuss the failures of the flight and possible fixes.

The men pulled up, all of them approximating some level of bowing from horseback which led to an awkward and stilted performance that made her father glower. "Thank you, Thompson," Helen said, taking the reins of her dapple grey mare. "Is Signore Romano all right?"

"He were bleeding a good bit, miss," Thompson said, "But he seemed to be right enough. I don't think you have to worry about him."

"Thanks, Thompson. That sets my mind at ease. Ready to ride, Papa?"

They parted from the crew and galloped homeward. At the last stile, the dark mass of Cerberus waited, barking loudly once before he leapt up to greet his master. "Down, you devil," Rochester growled, but Helen saw that he was smiling. At the house, the young stableboy waited, his cap too big for his head, his hands shaking as he tried to take the reins.

"Don't shilly-shally, boy," Rochester cried as the timid lad once again missed the reins.

"Papa, don't frighten him. It's all right, you're doing fine," Helen reassured him. Turning back to her father she gave him a severe look, which he pretended to ignore. Trotting inside the house, Helen found a harried looking housekeeper wringing her hands. "Mrs. Hitchcock, what's the matter?"

"Oh, Miss Helen! I had hoped the horse I heard was the doctor. I am so afraid for your Italian friend. He is in a most alarming state."

"Nonsense," her father said as he barreled past the housekeeper. "He's just got an excitable nature. Where have you put him?"

"In the library sir."

"Good god, you haven't got him bleeding all over my surveying maps, have you?" Rochester stalked off toward the library.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Helen reassured the harried looking woman, but then she noticed the bloody shirt in the housekeeper's hands. "Who went for the doctor?"

"Your brother. He didn't want to go, but all the men had to set out for your balloon thingee and there was no one else to go."

"I hope he doesn't stop to talk politics," Helen said, annoyance sharpening her tone. Curse that Fairfax. He did nothing in haste. Her father joked that he would even fall off a cliff slowly.

1.5

"Well, come on then!" Helen's father shouted at the poor Italian. "Mount up!"

"Papa," she hushed him. "Give him a minute. He's been injured."

Romano rose on unsteady legs, giving a baleful look at Belial, who stamped his feet as if to emphasize that he was no horse to be trifled with -- as if his size and fierceness had not already conveyed that information to the injured pilot.

"Let me lend you a hand," Rochester said, his voice genial and a look of amusement on his craggy face. "Up you go."

Romano lifted a foot tentatively and Helen's father grabbed it and tossed him aboard the stallion. Belial immediately shied to one side, as if testing the rider for soundness. Romano clapped his legs tighter and grabbed for the black tendrils of his mane for security.

"Right as rain!" Helen said to encourage the Italian, though she couldn't help looking askance at the horse's dancing.

"The reins, curse you," her father rumbled, his always short patience already gone. "Damme, man. Have you not been on a horse before?"

"Ah, signore, not since I was a little boy." He fumbled with the reins, unable to let go of the hair that seemed to feel more secure in his hands. "I always take carriages."

Helen frowned. "Perhaps I should ride with him, help hold him on the horse."

Her father guffawed. "I'd like to see your mother's face if she saw the two of you riding in on Belial. You want her to skin me alive? No, this will do."

"Perhaps the signorina has the right idea, I think I would feel more secure if -- "

"Nonsense!" Rochester stepped back and slapped the stallion's hind end. "Home, Belial!"

The horse was off like a cannonball, hurtling away down the moors -- thankfully, Helen noticed, in the general direction of the house. She glanced at her father who still laughed raucously at the flying black shape.

"Father, stop laughing," Helen scolded. "You are most unkind to my friend."

"Friend!" He threw back the tousled hair that struck her as far too similar to the demonic horse he rode. "The man was actually going to allow you to ride with him on that horse. Most indecorous. Even I know that. Your mother would have my guts for garters."

"Oh father, you've been reading novels again."

"Braddon is quite bracing and I've got the next Dickens waiting in my library for a pipe and some leisure. Will you read to me tonight? I must know what happens."

"Where's Edmund?"

All the laughter disappeared from his expression. "That jackanapes! If he knows what's good for him he'll stay out of my sight, such as it is," he added with a bitterness that was more habit than feeling.

"It's true then? He's been sent down?" Helen frowned, too, unconscious how much it made her look like her father.

"Sent down indeed! A waste of money as I knew it would be from the start."

"Father, you must be patient. Edmund has yet to find his feet -- "

"Well, he will find mine applied to his posterior if he does not figure out something useful to do with all his talents and energies. Something other than gambling and carousing."

"Papa, it's not as bad as that. A few youthful indiscretions -- I wager you were not without a few of them yourself." Helen looked at her father out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction to that.

"Your mother has been telling tales, eh?" Rochester smiled grimly. "I paid for my mistakes. Your brother should avoid having to do the same. We're not a family with a great deal of luck."

"Mother would disagree."

"Your mother is a singular person and makes her own luck. We can't all do the same." Nonetheless, his looks softened. "There's no person on this earth like your mother."

1.4

The stallion's legs pounded along like pistons, its nostrils wide from the exertion. The magnificence of the animal was echoed by the black rider who looked as if he had ridden from the flames of hell to this desolate place. The powerful beast rapidly closed the distance between them.

Helen looked down at Romano who seemed to have become rather nervous. "It's only Papa," she said, patting his shoulder.

"This is your father?" Pietro shook his head in wonder.

"Yes," Helen murmured, standing up once more. "I hope he hasn't come to interfere."

The hooves beat a staccato across the expanse of the moor. Helen noticed that her father was hatless. Whether he had left the manor that way or not was uncertain. It was not unknown for him to ignore such niceties. At least that beast Cerberus was not with him. The black wolfhound recognized no master but he. Helen decided she ought not mention the dog to signore Romano.

Helen took a few steps forward and waved wildly. Her father raised a hand in greeting, corrected his trajectory slightly, and seemed to increase his pace. The great black horse was upon them and her father swung down from his back as the horse snorted and danced.

"Darling Papa, how kind of you to come all this way." Helen stepped up to kiss her father on the cheek.

"Your mother demanded I find out whether you were dead," her father said, his voice gruff though his expression revealed kindness. The scars on his face suggested a past tragedy and his left eye showed a milky blindness. "Is he dead then?" he continued, pointing at Romano, one eyebrow raised.

Pietro coughed and tried to stand. "No, signore, I am just a little bruised, but I shall be on my feet in a moment." However, he staggered immediately and sat back down on the hard ground, holding his head and wincing.

"Don't be a fool, signore!" Helen cried. "Papa, we must take him back to the house to wait on Doctor Ponsonby. I shouldn't like to find he's had a concussion."

"Sit down, you Italian nincompoop." Helen's father leaned in to take a closer look at Romano's wound. "It doesn't look that bad," he said at last. "Best to be certain."

"He shall take Belial and be back in no time," Helen said, giving a quick nod of her head.

Her father laughed. "I'd like to see that."

"Papa! You must see it is the best thing."

"Signore, how are your riding skills?" Helen's father narrowed his good eye at Pietro. "This horse is a veritable devil. You'll have to be a better one to stay on him."

The Italian looked alarmed. "I don't know—"

"You must," Helen said. "You'll be perfectly fine."

Her father laughed.