Edward Lane's Argosy Ch. 07

"Three—no, four!" Tayanita said. "Intruder! Probably one o' them pickpockets and sneaktheifs." She quickly rooted around in the large bag she carried, full of useful tools, and pulled out a wide belt from which was suspended a small but deadly revolver. As she strapped it on her hips, Marta nodded, her face pale, and picked up a carbine that Gideon had thoughtfully posted in her shed for their protection.

The girls made a point of locking the laboratory securely, then made their way to the central courtyard in front of the yawning hanger where the Victrix slumbered and from which the Argo had yet to be born. There was already a crowd of two-dozen, a mixture of Oklahoman marines and European crewmen, all of whom had armed themselves with deliberate speed. A profusion of carbines and revolvers, not to mention implements of a ruder -- but no less effective -- sort bristled from the crowd.

Gideon was on the pedestal he'd erected there, addressing his folk like the lord he was. His voice was loud, purposeful, and angry.

"—saw him around the front gate, asking questions about our yard. Wet Fox sent him on his way, but the man disappeared a few moments later, and that's when the sergeant on duty noticed the cash box we use to pay our suppliers was missing. Since the front gate was bolted at that point, the only explanation is that the thief is still somewhere on the premises. There will be five ounces of gold for any man who brings him to me alive, and two gold for his corpse."

"It was a thief," nodded Marta.

"Perhaps he will take you unawares and rape you," offered Tayanita in a whisper. "I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

"Perhaps if he was handsome," the Atlan girl conceded. "I would not struggle overmuch."

"Struggle? You'd put him down and ride him like a rented horse!"

"Surely you have mistaken me for a woman of loose reputation?"

"You ain't got no reputation right now, that's the problem!" the Cherokee girl giggled as she checked the load on her pistol. "Tell you what: we find the man, we take that reward money, go into town, and get us a couple o' fellas. Don't care if they like boys -- they got pricks that can rise, that'll do."

"We may have sex if we find this man?" Marta said, suddenly interested. "Then lead the way, meisje, and I'll destroy him!"

"You horny old . . . hey, see how the Marines are all headed for the walls?"

Marta nodded. "It would make sense. The thief would want to escape with his prize as expediently as possible."

"Which is why goin' towards where all the folk with guns are ain't necessarily the best plan for him," Tayanita pointed out. "So let's go up to the guard shack, take a look around, see what this fella got and then figure where he went. Basic tracking."

The two women wandered away from the resolute-looking men who were swarming the fences and found the route to the guard shed, where there were easily twice as many armed Indians as usual. They were reluctant to let two women in to look around, but the respect they held for Tayanita -- and the fact that both ladies in question were armed -- allowed them into the scene of the crime. Tayanita wasted no time, asking questions about the look of the criminal, exactly what happened, and expressed a desire to see where the stolen money box had been secured.

"Bolted to the wall," noted Tayanita in a murmur. "So he planned this. Chief, how much money in the box?"

"Twenty, thirty francs," Robert "Chief" Standing Bear answered. "Plus some sous. Hardly seems worth the effort."

"It wasn't," agreed Tayanita sagely. "And note what else was stolen?"

"The box?" Marta asked.

"The book," Tayanita corrected. "Gid's big accounts book. It's gone."

"Why would someone want that?"

"And why would someone after money not take that cigar box?" she asked, nodding towards the desk where an ornately carved and inlaid Moriscan box held fine cigars looted from the wreck of a Corsair the Victrix had overtaken. "That box is worth forty francs by itself, not to mention the tobacco inside."

"Yes, that is strange," Chief admitted.

"So they took the book, but not the box," reasoned Tayanita, quietly, opening the expensive piece.

"And this means? Besides the fact that he does not care to smoke?"

"The thief wasn't after money. If he was after mere money, he would have taken the box, the cigars, and had them safely sold before he left the port. Oh, he took the money, of course, but what he really wanted to take was the information in the accounts book. How much we've spent, and with whom."

"But why?"

"That," agreed Tayanita, "is an excellent question, Marta. All of our suppliers are of public record -- all of the ones in France, at any rate. So he wanted to see . . . how much we've spent, and with which vendors. And on what. Someone, it seems, is curious about the Argo."

"Who even knows about the Argo?" Chief asked, mystified.

"Someone who wanted to know so badly they hired a thief to steal our account book. And you say he left . . . this way?"

Fifteen minutes later, while the outbuildings were being thoroughly searched and the walls were being checked for the intruder, the pair of young women came out of the guard shack and strode resolutely across the compound to the old farmhouse that Gideon had converted into a residence fit for a captain. And his engineer.

The old country house predated the airfield by a century, at least, but was snug, warm, dry, and even painted a lovely light blue color. No one seemed to be searching it, so the girls were able to enter without notice. Tayanita immediately drew her pistol and turned towards her brother's hallowed study, where he kept his desk, some books, his safe, his papers, and -- most importantly -- the master plans she herself had drawn up in designing the Argo. If anyone was curious enough about their labors to steal the account book, then the blueprints and designs would be too rich a prize to pass up -- not with the entire compound mobilized to search for a petty thief.

Indeed, Tayanita was gratified a moment later to discover the thief, right where she had deduced he was located.

Sitting at Gideon's desk reading those same -- very secret -- plans was a young man no more than twenty five, neatly coiffed, clean shaven and professionally dressed. He looked like a bright young accountant, or clerk at law, in his well-tailored dark suit. After being around Frenchmen for almost half a year, she was able to determine that this man looked somehow "more English" -- although, truth be told, she frequently found all Whites looked the same to her. But this one was strikingly handsome, she had to admit. He was puffing heartily on one of the Moriscan cigars from the gilt box from the guard shack while he studied, much to Tayanita's horror, the master blueprints that she had painstakingly drawn herself.

"Excuse me," she said, a deadly threat in her voice, "but I believe the tradesmen are expected to use the rear entrance." She spoke in English, because her French was awful and it was one of the languages she and Marta shared. Besides, after six months of seeing how the whole of Paris dressed, the style of the man's suit was decidedly English, even if his face might not be.

"This is a social call, actually," the handsome young Englishman said, without looking up. "This ship you're building -- it's fantastic! I've never seen anything like it! It's beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like it," Tayanita said, evenly. "As it may be the last thing you ever see!"

Finally, the intruder glanced up. "Well, perhaps not the last," he said, after a pause. "Nor, I'm afraid, the fairest. You have taken that honor."

Tayanita had the good grace to blush, but her pistol never wavered. "You have a gentle tongue, I see," she said, when she had recovered from the unexpected flattery.

"That depends entirely on my mood and the lady I'm with," he quipped. "Not to mention the manner in which it may be deployed. Would you be so kind as to summon Captain Becker for me? Thank you."

"Sir, it seems to have escaped your notice that I am armed," she said, her anger rising. "I have yet to kill anyone on this continent, but you are making that exceedingly hard to avoid! In any case, yes, Captain Becker should be informed of your capture. Tom! Black Tom!" she called over her shoulder. When no response was forthcoming, she glanced at Marta. "Go seek my brother and tell him what has happened."

"Will you be all right with him?" the Atlan girl asked.

"I have the gun, he is the trespasser," the Cherokee princess replied. "As far as being ravished," she added, scornfully, "he hardly looks the type."

"As you say," Marta said doubtfully, but she left in good haste.

"I'm not, actually," the stranger commented.

"You are not what? A trespasser?"

"Oh, I'm guilty of that. And of evading your stout savages. And of breaking into this house in broad daylight without a single one of you witnessing the act. I meant to say, 'I'm not the type to ravish a lady' . . . without her express permission."

"I assure you, that shall not be forthcoming," Tayanita said, raising the weapon a little higher to emphasize her argument.

The man shrugged and smiled, displaying dimples that revealed a boyish nature. It unnerved and frustrated her that he was not displaying an adequate amount of fear of her and her pistol. "The day is still young. So, in what capacity do you serve Captain Becker?"

"You are not to do the interrogation, Mr. Thief. I am the one holding the gun!"

"So you have said, thrice now, and yet you haven't fired and I haven't been remotely concerned that you would do so. Does that not speak of a more complicated affair than merely catching a thief?"

"What? If I have restrained myself, Sir, it is out of a fear of giving in to my savage nature -- which I assure you, my people are well known for!"

"Yes, I'd say you were about half English," he nodded. "A beastly people. I'm one, myself, sad to say."

"Are you not concerned for your skin, Sir?" she asked, quivering at the stranger's temerity -- and wondering about his accuracy.

"Usually," he admitted, sublimely. "But my foremost concern regarding my skin is what the most expedient means would be to press it excitedly against your own."

"You go too far, Sir!" she warned. She blushed, despite herself, and realized that she was attracted to this cocky, self-assured stranger.

"Do I?" the thief mused. "I often wonder if I go far enough. I had considered making my entry by means of a line dropped from an airship, but discarded the idea as too . . . showy. I prefer a subtler style. Now Gideon," he chuckled, "Gideon would not have considered such a sudden appearance as 'subtle', unless there was a lion or a camel or something involved, and then he'd only consider it 'mildly interesting'."

"Yes, Miss?" asked the deep and pleasant voice of Black Tom, who acted as Gideon's majordomo while they were aground. If the fact that she was holding a loaded pistol on a stranger in his master's office disturbed the Negro in the slightest, he did not show it.

"Tom, if you would not mind, please pour two glasses of wine for myself and our guest. Three, actually -- the Captain will be joining us." She spoke lightly, but through clenched teeth.

"Yes, Miss," the sharply-dressed man nodded, and disappeared. A moment later he handed a winestem full of red -- a Burgundy, to which her brother was partial -- to Tayanita, and without getting in the line of fire, set a glass near to the thief's elbow on the desk -- receiving a polite thank you for his trouble. The third glass he deposited on a nearby table. "How many for lunch, Miss? Will you be dining with us today?"

"Yes, I think I will be," she agreed. "Set a table for four. We can always remove a seat, if it isn't required any more."

"Yes, Miss."

"This is splendid," the mysterious stranger nodded after sipping the wine. "From Burgundy, I would have to guess an '88?"

"If you are seeking to impress me," Tayanita said, sipping her own glass, "you will be hard pressed to do so. Although I admit your stealth in breeching our compound has piqued my curiosity. How did you do that?"

"Easily enough," the thief demurred.

"And you act as if you know my brother?"

"Know him well," the thief agreed, congenially, as he continued to smoke the cigar and sip the wine. "To his health!" he added, raising the glass.

"Cheers," she nodded. The pistol did not waver.

"So, what is a gloriously radiant woman such as yours—oh, hello Gid, outstanding vintage!" the thief said, interrupting himself as her brother stomped into the house, half a dozen of his Sky Panther marines behind him bristling with weaponry.

"It's an '88," the airship captain said, dully.

"Thought so," the man nodded. "It's splendid . . . but it will be radiant in a few years."

Gideon crossed the room and retrieved the glass that had been prepared for him. "Good to see you Edward. Oh, gentlemen, please cancel the alarm," he added over his shoulder to the bronzed warriors. They nodded and left without any further discussion. "I see you met Tayanita," he said, as the thief vacated his chair.

"Lovely woman, truly beautiful," the man her brother called Edward said, affably. "Is she your bride? Or your fiancé? Or something less . . . formal?"

"She's my sister, actually," Gideon said, putting his mud-stained boots up on an ottoman. Edward took one of the facing chairs, while Tayanita still had not lowered her weapon. While the men were acting like old friends, she knew that Gideon's lack of an order to do so was no oversight: clearly he was suspicious of this "old friend" who was so free with his property and security. "Half sister."

Edward's eyebrows raised in surprise. "She? She's the one your . . . oh, dear God, it is such a pleasure to meet you, then!" he said, roaring with laughter. "And such an enchanting creature, too, to be at the heart of that tempest. Oh, what a scandal you have left behind you, Gid! Your mother is livid, your father is . . . well, I would have a care before you dropped in over the holidays. Might want some of those savages with you."

"I doubt they could stand one of Mater's vicious assaults," Gideon chuckled, wryly.

"I don't say you're wrong. Oh, by the way: your strongbox," the thief said, pulling it out from behind an aeronautical globe in the study.

"Why did you steal it?" Gideon asked, curiously.

"Because it got your attention. You had to know a thief was about. I thought it a fair warning to get your people mobilized for a search for me. That's an impressive cadre you've built, Old Man."

"And yet you broke in anyway. Sissy, when we were at Rugby, Edward had the most amazing talent of . . . acquisition you had ever seen!"

"So, you know this man is a thief?" she asked, skeptically.

"I prefer 'gentleman burglar', actually," Edward offered.

"I prefer 'housebreaker extraordinaire! You may holster your weapon, Sissy, and join us for a bit. Edward was one of my closest friends from school, but afterwards he . . . got involved with disreputable folk."

"Please," Edward dismissed, "I've always been involved with disreputable folk. It makes a man truly appreciate a reputation."

"In any case, Edward steals things -- expensive things -- from very rich people."

"The truth comes out at last," Edward sighed. "So you knew?"

"Of course. Don't let it concern you, Old Man, I didn't mind. You never stole anything from me, personally. And you shared your loot in school too often for me to begrudge you a few silver spoons. I was amused, actually -- the way you made the rounds. Always seemed to have some brass, never seemed to work for it."

"Never work for it?" Edward asked, astonished. "Are you joking? Burglary is hard work, I'll have you know. There's as much art to it as science, and if one is to remain a burglar long, one must put in endless hours of preparation for the tiniest assignment!"

"Really? Is that how you stole my cousin's silver Swiss pocket watch?" Gideon countered. "A grand, elaborate plan with meticulously detailed preparation?"

"He passed out drunk at cards, and I took an opportunity," Edward admitted. "All right, I admit, there's as much initiative in the art as preparation. But it is hardly easy. Not if you're good at it."

"And are you?" asked Tayanita, impressed with the man, despite herself.

"Did I not just break into your home in an armed camp in broad daylight? With no witnesses?"

"He's one of the best in Europe," Gideon assured her.

"Well, as long as you're associating yourself with a high class of criminal," Tayanita said, beginning to relax a bit. Perhaps the wine was soothing her nerves. "By the way, I am indeed claiming my five ounces of gold for capturing him, Gideon. I need to get Marta . . . serviced." And herself, too, she added, silently, somewhat to her dismay.

There was just something about this damned city that made a girl want to throw her legs up to the heavens and hump every cock that happened by! She didn't know if it was the finery, the architecture, or the fabulous cosmetics, but the city of Paris enchanted you, reached out and grabbed you by your cunt and made you want to fuck. Even the presence of this Edward, a comparative stranger, was having a most lubricating effect on her virtue. That was one reason why she didn't blame Billy as much about his infidelity with Marta -- everyone in this town was horny, from the lusty young Emperor to the lowliest scullery maid. And the cosmopolitan nature of the city drew the horny from all over the world, compounding the problem.

She had heard a rumor that the magnificent cathedral of Notre Dame was behind it -- that the church had been built originally on the site of a pagan temple of a particularly lusty divinity, a kin of Pan's, and that Paris' well-deserved reputation for licentiousness was his revenge. She liked that thought -- she found the European manner of religion to be stuffy and impractical -- not to mention not much fun.

The wine helped -- she rarely drank it, preferring good German beer instead, but in Paris wine ran like water -- better than Parisian water, actually. She tolerated the flavor, but the effects of the alcohol were the same as beer. And the Parisians seemed to drink it at all hours of the day. That had to contribute to the lusty nature of the city.

"Is Marta your horse? Dog?" Edward asked, curious.

"She's my aeroarchitechtural protégé," Tayanita corrected. "And if she doesn't see some joy soon, she will be unbearable." That went for both women, of course -- Tayanita nearly blushed at the memory of her brazen display of self-love earlier. If she did not soon find relief . . .

"So you're an . . . engineer?"

"I am the engineer," she corrected, smoothly. "A distinction I truly hope you'll bear in mind."

"Oh! Of course, mademoiselle," Edward assured her. "I meant no disrespect. If you are half as talented in your field as your brother is in his . . ."

"Half? She eclipses me, Old Man. Really, Edward, 'Nita's extraordinary, she really is," Gideon smiled indulgently. "She's not only my chief engineer, she's the chief architect of this," he said, dramatically spreading his arms to encompass the large sheaf of design diagrams covering the desk before him. "She's the wizard behind the Argo."

"Now I am the one who stands impressed," Edward said, quietly, after a moment's consideration. "That ship is . . . it's no less than magnificent. Glorious."

"You know how to read blueprints?" she asked, surprised.

"A gentleman burglar is equipped with all sorts of unusual skills, my dear," he assured her, a silky tone in his voice that she found both pleasant and irritating all at once. "I can read a blueprint, but more importantly I can recognize a truly unique design when I see one. This will be the biggest, most extraordinary thing aloft—"