Airship City

Chapter 26

He stared at his wristwatch. It was a quarter before noon. He ran full-tilt down the street towards the bus stop, where another bus was just pulling up. It was close, but he jumped onto the rear platform just as the bus pulled away. Panting slightly, he made his way to the upper deck, and found an empty seat.

The journey was spent rehearsing what he would say to Monmouth. I made the drop as you asked. I did it the first evening. I found the statue easily. I’m sure that no-one saw me. He went over it again and again, trying to anticipate any questions that Monmouth might have, any inconsistencies that might trip him up. I must remember not to let anything slip about Vanross. In a way he was glad to have something else to focus on, it helped take his mind off the business with the banker’s draft.

All too soon, his stop was next. He ran nervously down the stairs and nearly tripped at the bottom, stumbling across the rear platform and catching himself on the pole just as the bus shuddered to a halt.

As the bus pulled away in a cloud of diesel fumes he crossed the road and surveyed Trafalgar Square spread out below the National Gallery. He spotted Monmouth leaning against the plinth of one of the famous lion statues, and descended the stairs to cross the square. The shadow of Nelson on his column fell across him, and he felt a sudden chill despite the warm sunshine.

“Hello, Joseph.” Monmouth was wearing a pair of dark glasses which hid his eyes. He stubbed out his cigarette against the statue plinth, and stepped forward to meet Joseph. “Well done. You completed your mission.”

Joseph nodded. “Yes, it seemed to go well.”

Monmouth cocked his head, reaching out to squeeze Joseph’s upper arm. “Are you all right? You look a little glum. Everything OK at work?”

“Oh yes, everything is fine,” he said. He certainly didn’t want Monmouth to know about his work problems.

“What is it then?”

“All right, I’ll tell you. I just don’t feel comfortable spying on Hughes. I feel as if I’m betraying Ione’s trust.”

Monmouth nodded at this, and relaxed his grip on Joseph’s arm. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. You have developed feelings for the girl, yes? Can’t say I blame you.” He scratched his chin. “Of course you don’t need to carry on if you don’t want to. I’m sure I can find other ways of finding out what happened to your father.”

“No, I do want to continue, of course. I will do anything to bring my father’s killers to justice. It’s just difficult sometimes. But I can handle it.”

Monmouth smiled. “Of course you can! You’ve done very well. I think you’re ready for the next task.”

“What is it?”

“It’s another courier job, I’m afraid.” He bent down and opened the briefcase at his feet, removing something from it, and straightened up again. Joseph was handed a small but quite heavy package, wrapped up in brown paper and sealed with string and sealing wax. He had been expecting a letter, and was a little taken aback.

“Now, again, whatever happens, this package must not be tampered with. Deliver it to the drop point on Aeropolis, but do not open it.”

Joseph nodded. He presumed there was no point in asking Monmouth what the package contained, as he would simply be given the same guff about not being told for his own protection. “How will I get back to Aeropolis?”

Monmouth grinned. “Well, I was rather hoping that the charming Miss Hughes would invite you back again. But if that’s not the case, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging you transport on a freighter which is leaving London Air Park next Friday evening. She’s the Lucky Lou and her skipper is expecting you. Name of Nelson Shaw.”

Joseph nodded, and took the package under his arm. “All right. Shall we meet again next week?”

“We shall indeed! Let’s make it at Seven Dials, near Covent Garden. Monday at noon?”

“See you then.”

“Good luck, Joseph.”

The unexpected size of the package posed a problem that Joseph spent the return bus journey puzzling over. He didn’t want to leave it in his pigeon hole, given the degree of unwelcome attention that was getting from Mickey. But where to store it safely until it was time to go home?

In the end he decided to stuff it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, keeping his jacket on in the office so that the bulge wasn’t visible. It made the afternoon rather uncomfortable, but he couldn’t risk Mickey getting his hands on the package. He tried not to think about the appointment with Miss Honeywell.

When he got home he managed to sneak up to his room without his mother seeing it, and he hid it under his bed behind some old school bags. Then he lay down, feeling exhausted by the day’s events, until his mother called him for supper. He sat at the kitchen table, and started to toy with the shepherd’s pie on his plate.

“Are you all right, Joseph?”

He looked up into his mother’s face. There was concern in her eyes, but also tiredness, a sense of having been worn down by the world. He knew he couldn’t add to her worries by telling her all of his problems. Or even his dreams about flying.

“Yes, mum,” he said, forcing a small smile.

“Everything all right at work?” 

It took a lot of effort for him not to react to that, as an image of Janice Honeywell’s stern face flooded into his mind. Instead he just nodded. “Yes, fine, thanks.”

“I hope Mr Churchill appreciated the effort you made over the weekend. Going all the way out to his country estate.”

“Oh, yes, he’s been very kind to me,” Joseph mumbled, feeling even more guilty about the lies he had told her.

“Good.”

His mother started to eat, apparently satisfied that all was well in the world of her son, and Joseph sat in silent agony, wishing he could tell her the truth. He remembered how she would hold him when he was a little boy, soothing and comforting him, telling him everything was going to be all right. He desperately wanted everything to be all right again, and the need was a pain in his chest that nearly made him gasp. 

“What’s wrong, Joseph?”

He grabbed his glass and took a gulp of water before answering. “Bit of food, went down the wrong way. I’m all right now.”

His mother nodded, and picked up her fork again. Monmouth would be proud of me, he thought bitterly. I’ve become such an accomplished liar.

The remainder of the meal passed in silence, and after supper he excused himself and returned to his room. All thoughts of Monmouth’s package were now forgotten as he worried about what would happen the next morning at work. Would he be fired? Would he be arrested? How could he prove that he hadn’t taken the draft? Perhaps he should have gone to Miss Honeywell as soon as Mickey had threatened him. 

The thoughts and regrets went around and around in his head, preventing him from sleeping properly, and when he awoke in the morning, far too early, he felt completely exhausted. But he couldn’t stay in bed another second. He washed, dressed, and set off for work.