Agent Auber's Aerial Adventure

Instructions were to write exactly 500 words about a steampunk spy. Details may be found in the external link. . . enjoy:

The problem was the gown. My superiors, in their infinite wisdom, masquerade as minor clerical officials in Her Majesty’s Government, the better to maintain an unremarkable presence. They expect their employees to do the same. The expectation is that, while pursuing our duties, we must be dressed as ordinary citizens. Thus, I found myself suspended from the air-bag of a steerable aerostat, several hundred feet above the streets of the metropolis, wearing tightly laced boots and a very modish violet dress. The gown had a prominent bustle, and sleeves with bursts of frothy lace at the cuffs – not an outfit conducive to aerial acrobatics.

My plan was to lower myself from air-bag onto the gondola's spacious deck. I could then walk into the cabin, where I hoped to find the plans for Major Morton’s Submersible Battleship – and whatever other documents Doctor Simpelstur might have received via clockwork carrier pigeon from the perfidious Archduke of Ruritania. I rappelled down the rope, reassured by a satisfying ’clunk’ when I re-engaged the ratchet that kept me from sliding off the rope and onto the streets below. I was within a metre of the deck when the frill of lace at the end of my left sleeve caught in the cogs of the ratchet.

I tried to pull the lace free, but couldn't. I was searching my reticule for my pocket multi-blade when I heard the cabin door open.

“Ah, Miss Auber,” An oily voice announced. I turned to see the black-clad figure of Doctor Simpelstur himself advancing towards me, twirling his moustache with his left hand. “You will make a pretty prize for my masters overseas.”

 “Those plans belong to Major Morton - he would never sell them to a traitor!”

 “I know,” he agreed, “which is why I didn't ask him to sell them to me. I admit it freely; I stole them.”

 “Condemned out of your own mouth, sir! You can rest assured the Chief Justice will find your statement instructive.”

“That does not matter, Miss Auber. I do not intend to allow you to tell the Chief Justice.”

 From a crate he drew out a device composed of a circular blade compelled to spin by a network of gears. In a trice, my rope had been cut, and I was falling.

I was certain my doom was upon me. I screamed as I fell through the air, and I believe that is what saved me.

With a bone-jarring thump, my fall suddenly came to an end. I was in a small fixed-wing flivver, piloted by a handsome young man.

“Might I help you down, then, Miss?” he asked politely.

“How can I ever thank you, sir?” I asked.

“You can meet me for dinner,” he offered, “And I shan't take 'no' for an answer.”

“Of course.” I agreed out of duty, not thankfulness – his plane was decorated with the Ruritanian coat of arms. . .