Airship City

Chapter 6

And so it was that Joseph found himself aboard Hughes’s famous airship H-1. Feeling swept up by events, he had followed the group across to the Royal Exchange, into the large elevator, and up to the rooftop landing pad. The majestic airship sat in the centre, dominating the view. When Joseph had watched it flying in earlier, it had seemed small and sleek, but up close, it was imposingly large, the curve of the gas envelope looming out overhead, and blocking the early morning sun. The elegant gondola sat neatly under this bulk, like a bus under a whale. Once again, Joseph found himself guiltily admiring what he saw. He followed the others across the landing pad to the entry hatch. Pausing to run a hand in wonder over the lustrously shined wood of the doorframe, he caught himself irritatedly and hurried aboard.

Inside were dark wood panels, polished brass fittings and instruments, and soft burgundy leather seats. A pretty blonde stewardess welcomed him aboard, and directed him to his seat. As he sat down he noticed that Hughes had taken the right-hand command seat at the front of the cabin, where he was going through the pre-flight checklist with the co-pilot. So Hughes flies his own airship, does he? Joseph felt simultaneously impressed and annoyed by this.

After closing the door, the stewardess turned and took the seat next to him, buckling herself in with quick, efficient movements. Joseph immediately felt awkward as he fumbled with his own seatbelt. I’m going to do something stupid, I just know I am. The stewardess turned to help him, and he mumbled his thanks, feeling his cheeks burn.

“I’m Betty, by the way,” said the stewardess in a soft American accent, turning on a dazzling smile. “I’m the stewardess on H-1.”

Joseph’s mouth went dry. Why am I getting so nervous? His brain seemed to be stuck as he looked down and away from her bright blue eyes. He forced himself to return her gaze. “I am Joseph Samson, and I work for Mr Churchill. At the bank. Do you live on Aeropolis? Well you must do, silly question really, how else could you always be available to work on H-1?” He became aware that he was speaking too quickly, and he stopped himself, blushing and dropping his gaze again.

When he looked back up again, Betty was smiling gently. “Well, you’re right, I do live on Aeropolis. Will this be your first visit?”

Joseph smiled and nodded as she launched into a spirited description of what Aeropolis was like, but inwardly he was seized with the sudden fancy that she knew what Monmouth had asked him to do. It was a ridiculous thought, but he couldn’t quite shake it. It must be because he felt guilty about his decision to spy on Hughes. How do real spies stand it, pretending to be something they’re not?

The whine of starter motors drew Joseph’s attention to the engine pod visible just forward of his porthole window, and he was hit with a sudden strong smell of aviation fuel as the engine roared into life, then throttled back to a rough idle. Joseph hadn’t flown for more than a year, but the old familiar excitement came fluttering up inside him as Hughes motioned for the mooring lines to be released, and then swivelled the engine pods upwards with a practiced twist on the brass control levers. The agile ship fairly sprang off the deck, the roar of aero engines rising to a crescendo. As soon as they had cleared the roof structures, Hughes rotated the great engines forwards, and the ship accelerated into a sweeping, climbing turn that brought them up over the City and pointed towards Aeropolis.

Joseph’s seat had an excellent view out of the forward-most port window. He didn’t know what to look at first. From this new perspective on the City, the old stone seemed to glow in the soft golden light, the sky pale blue fading to peach. The imposing bulk of the Bank of England dwindled rapidly, and then the Monument came into view, the gilded flames on its top already below them. They slipped smoothly across the north bank of the Thames and over the great river itself. Joseph imagined that the ship must look like a silver rugby ball flying towards Tower Bridge, as if it were an immense set of goalposts. They cleared the crossbar easily.