"Monsieur, a delight to see you again!" The restaurateur greeted the alchemist like an old friend, which he seemed to have become in the short length of their stay in the City of Lights. The Cossack Bistro had first been a convenient place to eat due to its location, but they had not wandered far abroad because the atmosphere was so welcoming.
When you are traveling with a Viennese lion, welcomes can be a challenge to locate.
"And Eduardo, mon cher! How is your appetite today?"
"Excellent, of course," the lion said, perching himself on a stool near the small table in the back. Experience demonstrated that the two were less likely to draw unwonted attention when they were seated there. The day the tall bearded alchemist and his familiar had taken advantage of the sunshine to sit on the sidewalk like most Parisians had been an inadvertently eventful one.
"I must say, Eduardo, that hat suits you right down to the ground."
Maggiormente laughed, but the lion raised himself proudly. "Thank you, monsieur. What have you in the way of cakes today?"
The restaurateur rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. "Better today than cake—mince pie! An imported tradition, but one I am certain you will enjoy."
"There aren't any leeks in them, are there? I can't abide leeks."
"No leeks at all."
"I'll have three." Eduardo stretched his wings with pleasure, knocking a painting askew on the wall but otherwise harming nothing.
"And monsieur le alchimiste?"
Maggiormente pulled his beard in thought. "Potato and leek soup, I think."
"In a trice," the restaurateur said, bowing and spinning away to fetch the viands.
"Must you do that?" Eduardo said, his voice taking on a cold wind of annoyance.
"Do what?"
"Eat leeks. You know I hate leeks."
"I'm not making you eat them," Maggiormente said, absently drawing on the menu, sketching out a new plan for the procedure. Surely it was in the order and not the ingredients that I have erred.
"Yes, but your breath will smell like leeks and I will be miserable all day," Eduardo said, raising a paw for emphasis. "It's quite uncharitable of you."
"I think we should connect the siphon directly to the beaker here," he said, ignoring the lion's complaint. "Look, this is what's throwing the process off, don't you think?"
Eduardo looked at the sketch. "Hmmm, possibly. But if you add it there won't there be a greater chance of explosion?"
Maggiormente frowned. "What else can I be missing? Should we aspirate the coelestino more?"
"Where is my pie?" Eduardo looked in the direction of the kitchen as his stomach rumbled loudly.
"Can you never think of anything but your stomach?" The alchemist scowled. "Our boot at the Exposition becomes available in a matter of days. It would be helpful if we actually had something to show for it."
"I'm sure everything will come out fine…eventually." The lion rubbed his face with his paw to distract his thoughts from hunger. The couple at the table next to them paid hastily and left even more so. Eduardo watched them go.
"You don't care about this project!" Maggiormente said, crashing a fist down onto the table and rattling the cutlery. Other people in the café were beginning to eat faster.
"I think you just worry too much about insignificant details," Eduardo said, concealing a smile. He could smell the pies now. It would not be long.
"My reputation and a good deal of money are at stake. You do not want us to have to return to live with my mother, do you?"
Eduardo shuddered. "No. I shan't have my choice of hats then."
"Well, either you help me get this process to work or we will have to resort to you telling fortunes and juggling in the kiosk."
For a moment, Eduardo forgot his pies and stared at his alchemist between narrowed eyes. "You wouldn't."
"It is a very expensive undertaking to have a booth at the Exposition Universelle," Maggiormente said, staring back at the lion. Neither made a sound for some time.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
2.1
The alchemist and his Venetian lion squeezed down the narrow corridor together. They had rented the top floor of this Montmartre rooming house because it had good light and seemed relatively inexpensive (for Paris anyway). The workspace helped them overlook the other drawbacks, like this narrow passage, which was not really suited to a six-foot tall alchemist and a full-grown predator of Eduardo's size.
Another drawback appeared when they had descended to the ground floor.
"Monsieur Maggiormente!" The ebullient voice of their concierge, Mme. Gabore, struck the alchemist between his shoulders like a sharp knife. He stifled the impulse to sigh.
"Get rid of her," Eduardo whispered, "for I shall be very tempted to bite her."
"Don't be impossible," Maggiormente hissed back. "We need this flat." In a louder voice, he answered, "Signora Gabora, how delightful to see you."
"Oh, charmant!" The woman clasped her hands together while grinning at the lion. Eduardo did not return her look, but a low rumble echoed in his chest. "The little hat! So charming, monsieur!"
"Ah, merci, signora. I'm afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry—"
"Now now, what have I told you about Parisian life, Monsieur Maggiormente?" She batted her eyes at him coquettishly, the heavily kohled rims emphasizing the bloodshot red spiderwebbing the white around her brown irises. Paired with the heavy rouge on her cheeks, it gave her a seedy look at odds with her well-maintained figure and chic clothes.
She was a mystery, but one that the alchemist experienced very little curiosity to investigate. "Ah, yes, that was, erm—"
Her laughter was like a peal of bells—large bells, like those in a sturdy cathedral. The sound could frighten a less well-prepared man, but having heard her laughter before, Maggiormente had already braced himself.
"Oh monsieur! There is always time, always time. Enjoy every step, embrace every moment." She leaned close to the alchemist, bringing to him a whiff of tobacco and cherries that always seemed to linger near her. Mme. Gabore squeezed his large arm with a familiarity he did not share. "You must savour life in Paris!"
"Indeed, Signora, indeed." Maggiormente edged away from her toward the freedom of the door where Eduardo waited, tail lashing. "Well, au revoir!" He pried her fingers from his arm. He could not help thinking that the glossy varnish of her nails looked as if she had drawn blood.
Safely out in the bustling streets, Eduardo grumbled, "This would not have happened if you had not made me wear this ridiculous hat."
"Don’t be foolish. She would have found some other reason to speak to us."
"To you." Eduardo sniffed. "Why does she smell like cherries?"
"It is probably some kind of liqueur," Maggiormente said, stroking his beard absently, wondering the same thing. "What kind of liqueur does one make from cherries?"
"Something horrid," Eduardo said, spitting his contempt at the pavement and inadvertently frightening a young woman who leapt backwards, knocking down a grocer with a box full of turnips, which rolled into the street frightening a pair of carriage horses who reared up, whinnying loudly, then charged away down the street, loosing the barrels of wine that had been their cargo, which then rolled away down the street in the direction of the Seine as people leapt out of the way, shouting in alarm.
Eduardo watched the scene unfold with a look of pleasure, but turning to his master, he found the alchemist continued lost in thought.
"You missed it," Eduardo said, pacing along beside him.
"Hmmm, yes," Maggiormente said, nodding and ruffling his beard.
Eduardo rolled his eyes. There was no talking to him at times like this, so he amused himself glowering at passersby who, unlike Mme. Gabore, were not charmed into complacency by the fez.
I am a wild beast after all, Eduardo thought with admirable satisfaction. People should fear me and respect me. I am the king of the beasts!
"Can we get cakes?" he asked Maggiormente, who muttered to himself indistinctly.
"What?"
"Cakes. I want cakes."
"Where are we going to get cakes?" The alchemist frowned.
Eduardo sighed. "The café, remember? We are going to the café." He lifted a paw to point and flapped his wings for emphasis.
"Ah." Maggiormente recalled their errand as he looked up at the familiar façade of the Cossack Bistro. "Shall we stop for some food?"
Eduardo blinked. "Yes, why not. Let us savour Paris cakes." He laughed.
Another drawback appeared when they had descended to the ground floor.
"Monsieur Maggiormente!" The ebullient voice of their concierge, Mme. Gabore, struck the alchemist between his shoulders like a sharp knife. He stifled the impulse to sigh.
"Get rid of her," Eduardo whispered, "for I shall be very tempted to bite her."
"Don't be impossible," Maggiormente hissed back. "We need this flat." In a louder voice, he answered, "Signora Gabora, how delightful to see you."
"Oh, charmant!" The woman clasped her hands together while grinning at the lion. Eduardo did not return her look, but a low rumble echoed in his chest. "The little hat! So charming, monsieur!"
"Ah, merci, signora. I'm afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry—"
"Now now, what have I told you about Parisian life, Monsieur Maggiormente?" She batted her eyes at him coquettishly, the heavily kohled rims emphasizing the bloodshot red spiderwebbing the white around her brown irises. Paired with the heavy rouge on her cheeks, it gave her a seedy look at odds with her well-maintained figure and chic clothes.
She was a mystery, but one that the alchemist experienced very little curiosity to investigate. "Ah, yes, that was, erm—"
Her laughter was like a peal of bells—large bells, like those in a sturdy cathedral. The sound could frighten a less well-prepared man, but having heard her laughter before, Maggiormente had already braced himself.
"Oh monsieur! There is always time, always time. Enjoy every step, embrace every moment." She leaned close to the alchemist, bringing to him a whiff of tobacco and cherries that always seemed to linger near her. Mme. Gabore squeezed his large arm with a familiarity he did not share. "You must savour life in Paris!"
"Indeed, Signora, indeed." Maggiormente edged away from her toward the freedom of the door where Eduardo waited, tail lashing. "Well, au revoir!" He pried her fingers from his arm. He could not help thinking that the glossy varnish of her nails looked as if she had drawn blood.
Safely out in the bustling streets, Eduardo grumbled, "This would not have happened if you had not made me wear this ridiculous hat."
"Don’t be foolish. She would have found some other reason to speak to us."
"To you." Eduardo sniffed. "Why does she smell like cherries?"
"It is probably some kind of liqueur," Maggiormente said, stroking his beard absently, wondering the same thing. "What kind of liqueur does one make from cherries?"
"Something horrid," Eduardo said, spitting his contempt at the pavement and inadvertently frightening a young woman who leapt backwards, knocking down a grocer with a box full of turnips, which rolled into the street frightening a pair of carriage horses who reared up, whinnying loudly, then charged away down the street, loosing the barrels of wine that had been their cargo, which then rolled away down the street in the direction of the Seine as people leapt out of the way, shouting in alarm.
Eduardo watched the scene unfold with a look of pleasure, but turning to his master, he found the alchemist continued lost in thought.
"You missed it," Eduardo said, pacing along beside him.
"Hmmm, yes," Maggiormente said, nodding and ruffling his beard.
Eduardo rolled his eyes. There was no talking to him at times like this, so he amused himself glowering at passersby who, unlike Mme. Gabore, were not charmed into complacency by the fez.
I am a wild beast after all, Eduardo thought with admirable satisfaction. People should fear me and respect me. I am the king of the beasts!
"Can we get cakes?" he asked Maggiormente, who muttered to himself indistinctly.
"What?"
"Cakes. I want cakes."
"Where are we going to get cakes?" The alchemist frowned.
Eduardo sighed. "The café, remember? We are going to the café." He lifted a paw to point and flapped his wings for emphasis.
"Ah." Maggiormente recalled their errand as he looked up at the familiar façade of the Cossack Bistro. "Shall we stop for some food?"
Eduardo blinked. "Yes, why not. Let us savour Paris cakes." He laughed.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
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."
"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."
Sunday, December 12, 2010
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!"
"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!"
Sunday, December 05, 2010
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."
"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."
Sunday, November 28, 2010
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!"
"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!"
Sunday, November 21, 2010
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.
"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.
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