Harry on the Run Page 3

  He clicked his heels and nodded. “Fräulein Edgbaston.”

  He went through and closed the hatch behind him. Harry turned and faced the corridor. What on earth did she think she was doing? He’d been right, taking on an unknown force was reckless. And that was how Mrs Hemingway described her: Reckless. After which she promised one day Harry would be married off to a man who would know how to rein in her unladylike behaviour.

  “Not if I can help it,” she said under her breath and set off towards the prow of the Zeppelin. “What I wouldn’t do for a shotgun right about now.”

  She found the stairs leading up sooner than she expected orr hoped. It was a switchback arrangement with the first level giving on to the lower passenger berths. She had not wondered before but there did not seem to be very many people on board. Johannes might know why. Also, it was somewhat curious the Zeppelin had set down in Mombasa at all. Occasionally they had passengers who wanted to disembark here, but mostly they just flew over on their way to one of the towns in the German territory.

  Which strongly suggested that, whatever was going on, this was not some random attack; there was something special on this vessel and somebody wanted it.

  Her mind had been so deep in thought, it had neglected to inform her she had stopped travelling up the stairs. No, it wasn’t her deep thinking, she was scared. But what was so terrible about that? Her father had often said that only those who knew fear could be truly brave.

  Voices drifted down like falling cobwebs, and it took a moment to tune in and realise they were French. Sellie was better at foreign languages, of course, but Harry could hold her own.

  “...leave it, we are to wait.”

  “Nothing wrong with picking up some extras. And have some fun.”

  The second speaker’s words had mingled with several that Harry did not understand, but she was well aware that they were most likely profanities of one sort or another. His intention was clear enough.

  Time to be reckless.

  As she mounted the final flight she really wished she had a weapon. At first, she could only see the ceiling with its painted mouldings in a traditional Roman style. The walls were edged with ornamental, painted pillars. They were probably made from the lightest wood and hollow to save weight, but the effect was impressive.

  The first head she saw belonged to a dark-haired man with a Mediterranean complexion and a heavy moustache. He was well-dressed or appeared to be on initial inspection, but a closer look showed his finery to be ill-fitting and worn at the joints. If the clothes had been his originally, they were long past their date for replacement.

  He held a revolver, angled to her right. If she wasn’t mistaken, this was most likely the direction Johannes would emerge from.

  A second man, swarthy as the first but clean-shaven and with less tired clothes, appeared further back but unfortunately looking in the same direction. She did not have Sellie’s encyclopaedic knowledge of weapons—she just recognised it was a pistol and it could kill.

  “Hello?” she said in English.

  Both men spun in her direction and she held her breath waiting for the shot. When it didn’t come, she mounted the remainder of the steps. “Hello,” she repeated “I seem to be lost.”

  vi

  “Qui es-tu?”

  On the one hand that pleased Harry. It looked as if they might not speak English, on the other the use of the familiar was quite rude since they hadn’t been introduced.

  “I’m sorry my French isn’t very good,” she said slowly and loudly. “Can you say it again?”

  She wished and hoped Johannes would come through the door right now while she had their attention. She surveyed the rest of the room but her eyes were drawn to the man lying on the floor with a patch of red soaking into the carpet. He did not look as if he was breathing.

  Harry shook. She had never seen a dead man before. She tore her eyes away. To her right were three people, another man and two women. Their clothes betrayed them as German nobility or, at worst, rich industrialists. They could be both. One of the women was middle-aged and holding the other who could not be much older than Harry herself. In both cases their cheeks were wet with tears.

  The man, in his fifties, looked stoic as if he would like to take the men on but knew that it would be suicide to do so. The evidence of that lay on the carpet.

  The older woman stared at Harry with fear in her eyes as if she was worried the newcomer might get hurt. Harry was also concerned about that, but she was the light cavalry come to the rescue. She had chosen the risk, unlike these passengers. And that made all the difference in the world.

  The men jabbered in French, while Harry pretended to ignore them—they were asking who she was and where she had come from. Where was Johannes?

  To the right was a huge French window that led out to a balcony at the front of the vessel, so passengers could enjoy the air as they flew a thousand feet above the ground. There was an umbrella stand just beyond the stairs containing what appeared to be parasols and a walking stick.

  The French were becoming more insistent. The moustachioed one was definitely swearing at her now. And he walked towards her. The second man watched what was going on with an unpleasant smile on his face.

  There was a crash from the other direction. The robbers or pirates or whatever they were turned their attention back that way.

  “Oh dear!” cried Harry in the most pathetic voice she could muster, and she fell to the ground. As she went over, she grabbed the umbrella stand and tipped it clattering to the floor.

  There was no way for her to know how her subterfuge was faring, but there was still no gunshot. She grabbed the handle of a pretty blue parasol in her left and took hold of a bamboo walking stick with her right.

  It was at that moment her weight left her. The Faraday device had energised. There were cries from the men standing whose balance was suddenly confused. Those sitting down would be considerably less affected by the change—and would have felt it during their journey so should be accustomed.

  The partial nullification of gravity was the discovery—the British discovery—that made flight possible. And Harry loved it.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she pushed down with her arms against the carpet and flew upwards, slowly turning in the air. The pirate—she decided they were pirates since they were robbing an air-going vessel—had been looking confused but Harry’s sudden movement focused his attention on her.

  He raised his gun but, like some great waterwheel, Harry had been rotating as she gained height and by the time he tried to aim she was at his head level and upside-down.

  “Bonjour, monsieur!” she said brightly and whacked the walking stick hard on his gun hand, knocking it downwards. With another flick of her wrist, she whipped it against the side of his face. She loved the strength and flexibility of bamboo. A red welt appeared on his cheek. She kept up the barrage of blows, hitting as hard as she could. However, she could not maintain it.

  The Faraday did not remove all gravity, and she began to settle to the ground, the right way up. With a quick flip, she reversed the walking stick and hooked it around her adversary’s ankle. As she gained the floor—and as he was finally raising the pistol once more—she jammed her heels into the carpet and pulled with all her might.

  The gun fired and she felt something touch her head.

  The door at the far end of the room slammed open. Johannes, at last!

  But it was not Johannes, it was a third pirate clutching rolls of paper. He fired his weapon in her direction three times. Two of the shots missed her, while the third struck the falling man beside her who let out a pained cry.

  She was astonished to find she was still in one piece.

  At that moment, she realised there was something wrong with the Zeppelin. It was tilting. Only the front end was rising. Whoever had activated the Faraday—and she had a pretty good idea about who that was—had only engaged the grids at one end. The engines were off so it would be battery power onl
y, so time was limited.

  The umbrella stand with its scattered contents slid and rolled towards the stern. The passengers remained huddled on the sofa. A lot of furniture in the big ships was not secured to the floor the way they were on the smaller and less stable vessels. Chairs toppled.

  On the far side, the pirate with the papers was heading for a door opposite— the one that Harry supposed led to the dining room. But if it led there, it would also lead to kitchens, and from there to the outside.

  The second, clean shaven, pirate had not lost his bearings the way her opponent had. He clearly considered Harry to be the main threat because he was steadying himself against a dresser and taking careful aim in her direction.

  Harry flicked the catch on the parasol and it opened smoothly. It wouldn’t stop a bullet any more than an ostrich feather, but it hid her precise position. As long as he didn’t shoot at her feet.

  The gun roared. A bullet ricocheted off a metal strut above her head.

  She kicked herself into a run, not directly towards him but angling up the slope that the floor had become. She turned the parasol slightly upwards and the air pressure across the top helped to keep her feet on the floor. Even so, each step was long and she had to control herself so as not to fly off. As she approached the far wall—she guessed he had to be to the right and below her—she jumped again and used the wind resistance of the parasol to spin her over again.

  The wall was close and, watching upside down, the pirate came into view.

  Unfortunately, he was ready for her trick and there was a nasty grin on his face as he brought the gun to bear. She was mid-flight and there was nothing she could do.

  A gunshot echoed through the room.

  She jerked expecting pain but felt nothing. The pirate crumpled like a deflating balloon and, as she watched, his mouth filled with blood. Liquids behaved oddly in Faraday fields.

  Across the room, bracing himself against the door frame stood Johannes. A wisp of smoke rose delicately from the barrel of his gun he had gripped tight in both hands. His mouth had fallen open and his face was a ghastly pale.

  At that moment, the whole Zeppelin regained weight and crashed back to earth. The sound of screaming metal and shattering wood filled the air as the lower decks caved in. Harry thudded painfully onto the carpet. Her fall roused Johannes from his stupor and he rushed over.

  “The other one’s getting away,” she said, as he grabbed her by the arm and helped her to her feet.

  vii

  She is not the delicate flower I took her for, thought Johannes as he hauled her up. He was itching to be after the man who had bested him in the cabin. He glanced around. He had no idea what had happened to the ship to make it tilt upwards, but he had a very good idea of why it was now tilting forwards. The crushing impact of its collapse had caused the lower decks to fold up.

  If he didn’t stop the spy, there would be no justification for this level of destruction of property.

  “You stay here,” Johannes said. “I must go after him.”

  “He tried to kill me,” she said, grabbing him by the wrist. “I’m going after him. You stay with your precious aristos.”

  “There is no time to argue!”

  “Quite right, so let’s go.”

  He hesitated. She didn’t and pushed him out of the way as she headed through into the dining room. Lacking the restriction of skirts, it took him barely a moment to catch her and run past.

  The dining room floor was littered with fallen chairs and tables. At this moment, it would have been a lot better if they had been under the Faraday, they could have leapt over it all. Johannes drew ahead of her, which meant he would take the brunt of the attack if they caught up with the man.

  He ran through into the passage that led to the kitchen and caught sight of a spiral staircase. He didn’t know which way to go. Miss Harriet burst through behind him.

  “Up!” she shouted. “He’ll be going for the flyer.

  Of course, he should have thought of it himself. But what if she was wrong? He clambered up the steep steps as fast as he could. The flyer was a small vessel that launched from the top of the balloon envelope—on military vessels they mounted artillery instead. If the spy reached it, they would stand no chance of catching him.

  They emerged in a wide area below the top of the balloon envelope. Complex wooden structures supported the outer fabric like a giant’s ribcage, and the hydrogen-filled inner balloons were fixed all around. He slipped the safety catch on his gun and holstered it. He did not want to go up in flames. Only military vessels rated helium—it was far too expensive for passenger ships. The sooner they found an alternative supplier than the Americans, the better.

  “There!” said Miss Harriet as she came up behind him. She’d lifted her dress to enable a speedy climb and he caught sight of her ankles and calves. If their target had not been already over two hundred metres away he might have taken a moment to enjoy her lower limbs.

  He set off at a run.

  “There’s no time!” she shouted after him.

  He did not use his breath to explain that he still had to try. The spy had managed to crush the stolen plans—Johannes assumed they were plans—into a square of folded paper under his arm, and was now disappearing up a ladder on to the outer deck.

  He must have had this planned from the start for the flyer could only accommodate a passenger and a pilot. Johannes wondered what lies had been told to the men below. The flyer’s purpose was communications so that someone could fly away from the Zeppelin and land at a city or large town and then return without the airship having to change direction. It had a range of at least two hundred miles, once in flight there was no way in which he could be stopped.

  It took him perhaps twenty seconds to cover the distance to the ladder the spy had used. Another few seconds to mount it to the top and discover it had been blocked in some way. The locking handle would not budge and there was no way Johannes could get enough leverage in his precarious position on the ladder. Above him, sunlight filtered down between the cracks in the planking and made the cloth envelope glow with light.

  A door slammed. The spy was already aboard. How long would it take him to get the engine running? As if answering Johannes’s thought, he heard it splutter into life.

  Johannes shouted in frustration and punched upwards. His hand met the flimsy resistance of the envelope. He stared at where it was attached to the planking by metal runners nailed in place. Grabbing a handful he pulled, adding his weight to the effort. The material ripped and sunlight poured in. Within moments the space was big enough. He reached up with both hands and grabbed the planking. Pushing up with whatever footholds he could find, he raised his head and shoulders through the gap.

  A shadow came at him.

  He ducked as the plane passed over then he scrambled out. The retreating tail of the plane was heading down the slope of the wooden planking. Unlike most flyers of the day this one had a propeller at the front and back. He pulled out his gun, switched off the safety and fired. Again and again at the retreating body. Ten shots and the magazine was empty.

  He had no idea if he had hit anything, important or not. But it was hopeless. He had failed.

  He watched as the plane bounced towards the prow of the airship still gathering speed. With its own Faraday device, it would soon be in the air.

  A dark shape rose up in front of it. Miss Harriet! She was directly in its path. She had to know the pilot would not stop for her—nor have time if he wanted to. The plane bore down on her with the inevitability of a guillotine.

  She just stood waiting for it. Johannes could do nothing.

  Then she threw up her right hand as if tossing a ball. And dived to one side covering her head. Whatever it was that she had thrown it was too small for him to see, but the effect was astonishing.

  He saw sparks flying off the front propeller. The plane jerked for a moment and a stream of smoke poured from the engine. He could not believe his eyes. What had she do
ne? But whatever it was, the plane still took off and shot into the sky. It turned to the north as it gained altitude.

  Harriet was still lying on the ground. She might be hurt. He leapt into a run and barrelled down the runway. It took him less time than it had coming up this way on the lower floor. She was pushing herself up as he arrived.

  “Did I get it?”

  “You did,” he said. “Unfortunately, it is still flying.”

  She turned to look. A thin trail of oily smoke leaked from it and hung in the hot midday air.

  “What was it?” he said.

  “Nuts and bolts.”

  A steam engine roared in the distance.

  “If you would help me up again,” she said holding out her hand. “We’d better get after it.”

  He blinked at her, hardly understanding. After all they had failed. “He has escaped,” he said.

  “Not yet,” she said firmly as he pulled her up. She was quite strong in her arms, like his sisters, but the strength of her resolve was something to hold in awe. Her face was dirty, her hair a mess, there was a smoking hole in her skirt.

  She took a deep breath to compose herself and then looked up into his face.

  “Come on, Sellie’s got the Ostrich fired up and ready!”

  viii

  Harry took his hand and dragged him towards the prow of the airship.

  He probably thought she was entirely mad, but it was not madness, just recklessness. The one thing she had learnt in all her years of doing crazy things: if she thought about them too much they didn’t work. Acting on impulse was what she did.

  Every airship that docked was tied down with ropes that went from the top of the ship to the ground. And that was what she was counting on. However, the ones here would have been ripped from the ground when Sellie activated the Faraday device and tilted the airship. Which meant, if they were still there, they would be loose and could be climbed straight down.

  Her skirts really were a major inconvenience, it was just as well she had removed the petticoats. As they approached the edge, the planking became netting and they had to go more slowly.