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

threatened to throw me off it. And then stole poor old Maria off Smith here.”
    â€œShe was the Yellow Rose then,” said Rowena, wiping the grease from her hands on a square of dirty cloth. “She’s a whole different ’stat now, Aloysius. She’s the Skylady III . That makes her mine, not Cockayne’s. And you’ll come to no harm under my command.”
    â€œAs I recall, the Skylady II was blown to bits high above the Mediterranean,” said Bent mildly. “Remind me what happened to the first one?”
    â€œShredded on the north face of the Eiger.” Rowena smiled and ran a hand through her short, auburn hair. “Gideon, we’ve got an ascent slot at midday. She’s wound and loaded; I just need to take a bath and get a few papers in order before we depart for New York. Which reminds me, Gideon … Walsingham left something for you.”
    â€œMore effing problems, no doubt,” said Bent.
    â€œYou don’t have much faith in Mr. Walsingham,” said Gideon as Rowena walked toward the offices. “He is the representative of the Crown, after all.”
    â€œWhich is precisely why I don’t trust him,” said Bent. “Gideon … I’ve been around the block too many times. I know what they’re capable of. Christ, you saw what happened to poor old Annie Crook.”
    But Gideon hadn’t seen what had happened to Annie Crook—no one had, save for Mr. Walsingham and his most trusted advisers. Annie Crook had fallen in love with the wrong man, and Walsingham had been called in—or had taken it upon himself—to sort out the mess on behalf of his employer, the British Crown. Gideon didn’t like to think about what they knew had happened—Annie Crook, a common shopgirl known to dabble in prostitution had been “seen to,” her body dumped in the mud on the banks of the Thames, her brain transferred to Professor Hermann Einstein where the scientist implanted it into his automaton, Maria.
    So yes, they knew what had happened to Annie Crook. And Mr. Walsingham would stop at nothing to protect the British Empire. But that was past history, and there was nothing Gideon could do about that. He had been tasked with a job by Queen Victoria herself, and if that meant taking orders from Walsingham …
    â€œYou must learn to trust more, Aloysius,” said Gideon. “They pay our wages, after all.”
    â€œAnd you must learn to trust less, Gideon.” Bent tapped the side of his nose. “They pay us, but they don’t own us. Now, where did I put me pipe…?”
    Gideon left the other man trying to strike a match in the face of the crosswinds that tore across the wide apron of the aerodrome, following Rowena into the shadows of her offices. The gift of the former Yellow Rose from Cockayne and the recent fame from being honored by Queen Victoria herself for her part in defeating the crazed John Reed’s plot to raze London had, by Rowena’s own admission, done wonders for her business. But that had evidently not brought with it any improved organization skills. The office of Fanshawe Aeronautical Endeavors was piled high with yellowing documents, abandoned mugs of tea that had started to nurture cultures of blossoming blue mold, sections of clockwork, and steam-powered devices in various stages of being repaired or stripped down. One wall was dominated by a huge map of the world, into which colored pins had been stuck and connected with crisscrossing lengths of woolen yarn. Mandates, schedules, and handwritten notes were tacked up and down the sides of the massive chart.
    â€œYou are certain Mr. Walsingham trusted you with highly classified documents?” asked Gideon doubtfully, looking around for a space to sit down.
    He ducked as Rowena aimed a lump of steel wool at his head. “Saucy. Admittedly, he did make me lock it in the safe first.”
    She yawned and stretched, the