Fiddlehead (The Clockwork Century 5)

Sixteen

The steep slopes of Missionary Ridge were cold and treacherous—muddy from the rains of the past few days, and slowly freezing as the temperature dropped yet lower and a blustery wind kicked up from the west. Spitting hints of rain slapped against the windscreen as Henry drove, and flicked inside the open cab to sting Maria’s cheeks. She huddled deeper in her coat and burrowed as far as she could back in her hard seat, despite the discomfort. She could feel the gears shift and yank, and the frame behind her shoulders rattled as the car tugged against the road’s slick, unforgiving ruts.

The dock itself was perched high atop the tree-covered ridge overlooking the city, outside the wall and far enough away to provide a generous view.

“Tennessee likes to say their wall is one of the wonders of the modern world,” Henry told her through chattering teeth. “I don’t know if that’s true, but”—he drew the vehicle to a halt and set its brake so it wouldn’t roll—“it’s a sight to behold all the same. ”

“Agreed,” she said, through lips so numb she could scarcely form the word. Without the wind rushing in the windows, the world seemed somewhat warmer; but as soon as she opened her door and stepped to the ground, she found the currents were almost worse up there in the scenic elevations.

She wished for a good umbrella, something that would fend off ice and rain alike.

On second thought, it was just as well she didn’t have one, as it would not survive the weather—or so she concluded when a fierce gust shoved up against her side, peppering her cheeks with needle-cold shards of sleet.

“Flying in this weather won’t be any fun. ”

“Won’t be very safe, either, but we don’t have much choice. ” Henry tucked his own coat closer and made a beeline for the ticket house, a long, narrow building with four counter windows ready to do business.

While he handed over his papers and sorted out the arrangements, Maria eyed the dirigible offerings. She counted three big transport ships, far too large for their needs—and almost certainly too big for them to fly as a pair—but they had closed-in cabins with enormous glass shields, so she wished for one all the same. Two others were middling-sized, though one of those looked too bedraggled to fly. And she thought she spied several smaller crafts behind a tall wooden fence, the tops of their domes peeking above the barrier, bobbing against one another in the wind.

Henry returned with a pass and a set of keys in hand. “Let’s go. The ticket girl says that the weather’s supposed to get even worse. A storm’s coming, spinning up out of the Gulf. ”

“Little late in the year for that,” Maria grumbled. “You’d think the weather would be warmer, if that’s where it’s coming from. ”

“You would indeed, but such is not our lot in life. Not today, anyway. ”

They hiked against the wind until they reached a big gate, which opened with the turn of the largest key on Henry’s ring. Once inside, they were protected from the worst of the chill, for the fence and the ships themselves served to break up the gale. “They tried to talk me out of it, actually,” he told her, scanning the rows for the right slot. “They said we’d be crazy to fly today, and whatever we’re doing could wait for morning. ”

“What did Mr. Troost tell them when he reserved the craft?”

“I’m not sure, but it had something to do with the war effort. I think he told them you’re a nurse, and I’m a doctor, and we’re running an emergency aid something-or-another to someplace. I’m sure the particulars were fascinating. He has a knack for detail. ”

“Strange little man, that. ”

“And you have a knack for understatement. Here, this is it: the Black Dove. ” He used another key to unlatch the ship’s anchor from a claw-style mooring, then pulled a lever inside the craft. The hook and chain retracted with a tinny grind, then disappeared into a side panel that closed behind them.

It didn’t look so bad. Open to the elements, more than not. Engine-powered, but controlled by foot pedal, so their feet would dangle over an open chassis through which they could watch the land pass by below.

“It’s sturdy enough,” Henry surmised. “We’ll freeze our noses off if we don’t wrap up, but then again, we might freeze them off anyway. I don’t know about you, but I can hardly feel mine anymore. ”

They climbed inside and drew the frame doors shut behind them. The seats featured a long strap of good hemp canvas to serve as a belt, but it fastened across them both, securing them to little but each other. Henry worked up a blush, but Maria refused—she was glad for the closeness.

“We’ll both stay warmer this way,” she told him as she settled herself as comfortably as possible, without a hint of an improper struggle. “Now, I’ve never flown one of these before, but I’ve ridden in one. What can I do to help?”

“Navigate,” he said as he slipped a pair of goggles over his glasses and urged her to do the same. He used another key from the ring to remove a steel lock from around the ignition, then leaned out the window and deposited the keys and the lock into a basket provided for the purpose … and cranked the dirigible to life.

Its motor purred willingly, if with a faint clatter, while it warmed, then quivered, and then lifted them off the ground. Henry took an experimental turn or two

with the thrusters, testing them for responsiveness. He fiddled with the steering mechanism and flipped switches and tugged levers.

Maria didn’t think this looked very complicated, in the grand scheme of things. She resolved to learn how to fly a dirigible upon her eventual return to Chicago—assuming she didn’t freeze to death in the sky above north Georgia. Well, assuming also that her mission was a success. And that the world was not overrun by necrotic leprosy.

Though, as the dirigible gained altitude, she considered that a plague might be all the more reason to learn how to fly. Victims of the ailment could run and eat, but they couldn’t chase her off the ground, could they?

Henry valiantly fought the drafts and currents, forcing the Black Dove high enough to pass the ridge. His gloved fingers were tight on the controls, and his eyes dashed back and forth between the readouts, the levers, and the sky. Without looking at Maria, he asked her, “I gave you Troost’s map, didn’t I?”

“Got it right here,” she said, withdrawing it from the satchel where she’d stashed it. Keeping a firm grip, she splayed it across her lap. “Do you see the southbound road?”

“No, but it can’t be far. ”