Gideon Smith and the Brass Dragon by David Barnett Read Free Book Online Page A

handed over the manuscript, and Walsingham said, “What were your immediate plans, gentlemen?”
    â€œSleep, and lots of it,” said Bent. “With ale and gin at regular intervals.”
    â€œWe were going to go to the Stokers tomorrow,” said Gideon, eyeing Bent. “I was just about to tell Mr. Bent … Bram has apparently returned alive from Egypt.”
    Bent goggled. “Alive? But he was crushed … Countess Bathory said so.”
    â€œI would not visit him in the mornings,” said Walsingham mildly. “Mr. Stoker has become something of a … night owl since his return to London. Besides, you have another mission.”
    â€œBut we’ve only just come back,” protested Bent. “Where are you sending us this time?”
    Walsingham looked Gideon in the eye. “America, Mr. Smith. We have had reports of a sighting of what we believe is the brass dragon, Apep.”
    Gideon stared at him. “Apep? Then I’m finally going for Maria?”
    â€œMiss Rowena Fanshawe is cleared for takeoff from Highgate at noon,” said Walsingham. “She will take you to New York, where you will meet Governor Edward Lyle and be briefed on what we know so far.”
    Gideon swallowed drily. Maria. He was going to rescue Maria. At last.
    Walsingham placed his topper on his head. “I shall see myself out. Godspeed, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bent. May you do the Empire proud once more.”

 
    5
    L IGHTER T HAN A IR
    The steam-carriage deposited them on the stone apron outside the wooden, single-story building that was the headquarters of Fanshawe Aeronautical Endeavors just in time to see Rowena, her face smeared with black grease and carrying a foot-long wrench in her hand, chasing two boys in gray rags from the front door.
    â€œAnd don’t come back!” yelled Rowena, spotting Gideon and Bent unloading their luggage from the steam-cab and waving at them. She abandoned the chase and the two boys disappeared behind the piles of rusting gear wheels, cogs, and piston parts that were steadily growing beside Rowena’s business premises.
    â€œAutograph hunters?” asked Gideon, dropping his leather bag to embrace Rowena.
    Bent paid the steam-driver, hovering a penny over his outstretched palm before changing his mind and exchanging it for a ha’penny. He ignored the man’s baleful glare and said, “Knicker-nickers, more like. Trying to steal a pair of the Belle of the Airways’ panties.”
    â€œIt’s good to see you, too, Aloysius,” said Rowena, stretching her arms around his broad shoulders. She extracted herself from his pungent hug and cast a thumb back at the boundary fence of the Highgate Aerodrome, where the boys had fled. “Actually, they’re after brass goggles. They’ve become quite the fashion accessory at high-class parties, by all accounts. These urchins can get a good price for the genuine article in some of the costume shops in Covent Garden.”
    â€œWho’d have thought?” said Bent, shaking his head. “I swear, since I’ve been hanging around with Smith here I’ve completely lost touch with what’s going on in high society. I’ve more idea what they’re wearing in Outer Mongolia than in Mayfair.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Brass goggles, eh?”
    Gideon shielded his eyes from the late summer sunlight and looked up at the Skylady III, tethered by steel cables as thick as his wrist to huge iron rings set into the stone-flagged apron. The first time he had seen the vast dirigible, it had been under the command of Louis Cockayne. He said, “She looks grand, Rowena.”
    Bent turned to appraise the dirigible, patting the pockets of his shapeless brown overcoat for his tobacco. “Don’t rightly know if I should be even thinking about stepping an effing foot on that thing,” he said sourly. “Not after that damn Louis Cockayne