Edward Lane's Argosy Ch. 03

In fact, Annette had worked herself into such a fevered pitch with her wand that she nearly reached a climax -- which Edward had intended upon sharing the moment she arrived -- when the clockwork mechanism that inspired her so wound down and had to be attended to.

"It only works for about ten minutes or so," Annette lamented as she hurriedly turned the base, her face flushed with excitement and exertion. "Then you must rebobinage! It can be so frustrating!"

"No doubt!" Edward gasped, entirely in sympathy with Annette. The randy little whore had brought him -- again! -- to the very precipice of pleasure before being interrupted, and it seemed as if his loins seethed with the expectation of release. Annette wasted no time in returning the vibrateur to the valley betwixt her thighs, and then once again returned her plump lips to the tip of his rampant cock.

This time, there were no interruptions. Edward was so close to exploding that he could only survive a dozen or so breathless strokes of fair Annette's lips, and the whore in turn was on the verge of a cataclysmic release as the little device tickled her cunny to the point of distraction and ecstasy. Edward put a steadying, guiding hand on the back of her head but the whore was enrapt in her own erotic world, pumping his shaft between her lips as she humped against her intimate engine. Just as she abandoned herself to the throes of joy, Edward made his own contribution of an exquisite torrent of sperm, which Annette hungrily consumed as she returned to the mortal plane.

Edward allowed Annette to continue her licking and cleaning as long as she was game, and only reluctantly returned his flagging cock to his trousers as she finally stood -- daintily belching from the exertion and consumption of his robust load.

"That was truly splendid," he sighed. "Who makes such wonderful toys?"

"There are several clockworkers who make these clandestinely," Annette explained, putting hers away lovingly in a velvet bag. "They are very expensive -- mine cost me twenty francs -- but worth every sous! The Church has condemned them, of course, but the nuns seem to be among the most devoted patrons."

"No doubt!" Edward chuckled. "Money well spent -- I enjoyed it immensely." Edward tipped the girl generously, silently thanking Lady Trey's own generosity for making the fellatio possible. If his purse held, he would be back to visit Annette again to repeat the experience, and he promised as much before taking his leave. It seemed an extravagant indulgence, he sighed to himself as he raised his umbrella against the afternoon's rain, but in truth he felt ready to break into Versailles if asked after his incredible orgasm. And coming to Paris without indulging in fellatio with a Parisian whore would be like going to Scotland without visiting a distillery.

Indeed, in the absence of anything better to do the next day, after calling on old school acquaintance who had a business in Paris, Edward found himself at the same café, looking over the same girls, and eventually in Annette's room again enjoying the fruits of her newfound pleasure. Despite her pleas he refrained from fucking her on principal, although he did, at her insistence, give her furry pussy and arse a thorough inspection with his fingers after she spent on her device.

When he returned to the hotel, he had a message waiting from Uncle Pete, indicating some success in his inquiries and a time that evening in which to meet. Edward indulged in a cab for most of the way, his feet tired from the walk, and had the coachman deposit him three blocks away from his rendezvous with his uncle.

"Very interesting fellow, that Cherensky," Pete said in hushed tones after they had greeted one another and ordered a bottle of vin ordinaire. "His family was exiled for plotting to overthrow the Czar, but the charge is widely discounted as purely political in nature. But there was, apparently, ample enough warning for Cherensky's father to get most of his wealth out of Russia before the order came to arrest them. Monsieur Cherensky lives in an old manor house just north of the city, near Saint-Denis, where he has a reputation for . . . unusual taste in friends. He considers himself quite the cosmopolitan, and has a small coterie of admirers and friends in and out of the government. He has three or four parties a year, and dines with company weekly. He can also be found in a few of the more fashionable salons on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, which suggests to my . . . source that he has a mistress of note he sees on those days.

"But the château . . . that is where the fun begins, lad," Pete said, mirthlessly, as he sketched the grounds on a piece of foolscap with a carpenter's pencil. "There is a wall around the house proper, and it connects with an older part of the estate here," he said, drawing a tiny 'x' for emphasis. "It's a medieval tower, the original castle of the estate. My source tells me that he keeps his precious items in the older section. Now ordinarily, I'd say that it would be easier to break the older lot -- but not this time. Let me show you why," Pete said, and then launched into a long and well-reasoned professional assessment of the best way to elude the servants, avoid the dogs (Cherensky raced dogs and horses, and three terrifyingly large Russian wolf-hounds patrolled the grounds, Pete explained) enter the old tower, remove the valuables, and then escape without detection. He concluded with a heavy sigh. "But it isn't going to be easy, my lad. If it were me, I'd pass on this one. Too much trouble with no promise of reward -- but then you got that promise aforehand, didn't you?"

"I consider it a challenge," Edward admitted, after looking at the hastily-sketched diagram and memorizing salient details before he ripped the paper to shreds and put half of the shreds in his pocket for later disposal. "I see the hardest part will be surmounting the main gate, then passing the dogs." The dogs would not be that difficult, of course, once you hid a large pearl of opium in a bit of sausage. "But getting in that gate will be . . ."

"A challenge," agreed Pete with another sigh. "Too high to mount it without attracting attention, even by the dark of the moon. And too much noise to pick the lock and open it proper. Attract attention, it would. And he does have a couple of stout lads on hand to deal with bounders. Get caught in there, lad, and it isn't the gendarmes you need fear."

"Not much of a climber if I can help it, actually," Edward agreed. "I'd prefer to for someone to let me in."

"A smash-and-grab?" Pete asked, confused.

"No, no, nothing so course. I'd never find the stone that way. No, I think that this calls for a more . . . subtle approach. It's best if one is invited in, after all."

"We all have our ways, don't we?" Pete agreed, slowly. Being invited inside by the mark was outside of his purview. "Well, the details are here in this portfolio," Pete said, tying up the package. "And it cost me a pretty penny, too—"

"For your trouble and good work, then," Edward said, digging a twenty franc note out of his pocket. "And more when I have the item." The note disappeared before it hit the table, and Pete looked around conspiratorially before tugging on his cap in thanks and slinking away into the night to eagerly spend his fee.

Edward studied the portfolio thoroughly that night in his room, and most of the next day, formulating a long list of questions he wanted to answer before making the attempt. He checked out of his hotel the next morning and relocated closer to his mark, in a small inn along the main North road to Saint-Denis. It was a busy inn, and one below his normal station (or, at least, the station to which he aspired) but it suited his purposes admirably. Securing clothes more appropriate to a tradesman than a gentleman, he found his way to the manor and skulked unobtrusively about the wall, noting the comings and goings of the servants and messengers. Unlike the rural Tudley House, this house nearly buzzed with activity.

He circled the estate with a surveyor's tripod and a coil of rope, in pretense of taking measurements. There was no pretense, in actuality -- Edward was taking measurements, not of the roadway but of the Cherensky estate. He had an accurate floor plan, thanks to Pete. But there were other things to measure. How many servant girls were there, and what were their ages? How many guards? Groundskeepers? A butler? Which tradesmen did the Count deal with locally? Who was his grocer, and when did he deliver -- or did his staff travel to market? Who was his vintner? His tailor? His butler's tailor? Edward filled page after page of foolscap with notes, questions, and even the occasional answer. After completing one complete, slow circuit of the estate he took his Spartan lunch back at the inn and spent an hour or two eavesdropping. He was far better at comprehending French than speaking it, so he was able to fill in some of the questions he had before returning to his observations.

For three days he took notes and studied his mark, refining his observations and narrowing his focus on the intelligence he found essential to his task. Then he expanded his investigations to the surrounding countryside. Which carters made regular deliveries, and when? How close was the train station, and which trains where scheduled? Where was the airship terminal, and what was its schedule? Where was the nearest livery stable? Nearest church? Nearest graveyard? Where was the police station, and how many men manned it during the day? The night? Which of the various criminal factions claimed ownership of this region, and could they be a help or a hinderance to his plans?

After the fourth day, he gathered his notes and headed back into the heart of Paris, where he secured lodgings at the same hotel he'd left earlier. He also indulged in a brand-new suit in the latest style, a treat that was also a necessary business expense, he justified in his mind. The suit and his knowledge of the aristocracy afforded him entrance to several exclusive salons and parlors where he made discreet inquiries about Cherensky.

The blank spaces and question marks began to fill in, and his nebulous plans began to firm as each new point of intelligence was added to his folio. When he finally decided he had a workable solution to the job, he celebrated by taking petite Annette to a bawdy show, then having her fellate him once in the carriage on the way back to his hotel, once again there, in the comfort of his room, and even chose to pay the extra and break his tradition by buggering the whore thoroughly while she plied her clockwork toy between her legs before retiring for the evening. He was so generous in paying her the next morning, in fact, that she had given him yet another delightful blowjob before she left. Then he began to execute his plan.

First, he met with Pete once more to arrange for a few things and pay the man again for his silence. With nearly half of his reserves depleted so far, and no concrete steps towards the goal yet taken, Edward was reluctant to pay off Pete so lavishly -- but then the last thing he wanted was for word of who would be responsible for the theft to leak out. To anyone.

Once he was assured that Pete would procure what was necessary, Edward began haunting a particular cafe where Cherensky was known to pop in, supposedly for the taste of authentic Russian chai and hot chocolate. Two days and many, many cups of chai later, Edward was gratified by the appearance of an older gentleman that resembled the sketches of Cherensky in his portfolio. Edward ignored him, at first, while he was seated and ordered chai and croissants, and continued ignoring him until the exile had finished. But when the old gentleman finally pushed away from the table, Edward rose soon after and, affecting a stumble, plunged head-long into the Russian noble.

"Pardon mois!" Edward said, helping the man to his feet. "How clumsy of me! You must let me pay for your drink," he insisted, wiping a few stray drops of chai off of Cherensky's coat. "I insist -- I had a bit too much to drink last night and am week in the legs."

Cherensky looked, in turn, confused, outraged, concerned, confused again, and finally gratified. He thanked Edward for his assistance and declared that there was no harm or offense taken by the inadvertent stumble, and that he would graciously accept Edward's generous offer to pay for his drink, before wishing the burglar a good day and leaving the café. Edward took his time settling with the portly little Italian who ran the shop, then left himself. He surveyed the street until he saw the fanciful hat the Russian had worn bobbing its way down the street.

Pulling the purse he had liberated from Cherensky's pockets during his stumble from his coat, Edward made a mad dash up the lane until he almost collided with the man once again.

"Monsieur!" he called. "Monsieur! You have dropped your wallet!"

Cherensky was highly gratified at the return of the purse -- it was heavy with money, and it nearly broke Edward's criminal soul to hand a full wallet back to a mark. But Cherensky was so grateful that he introduced himself formally to Edward, and invited him for a quick drink of something more potent than chai. They settled on a tavern nearby, where the insidious Russian liquor known as vodka was available, as was the gin Edward favored. Ordinarily he steered as clear of spirits as he did cunt when he was planning a job, but in this case he indulged to further his enterprise.

Edward learned much of the man over their drink. Cherensky was an affable drinking companion, a true Parisian who used his Russian veneer as a social eccentricity. He had, after all, grown up here, and had mastered French as much as his mother tongue. Luckily, due to some business dealings with some firms in Amsterdam, he had also developed a passable knowledge of English.

Cherensky purchased the first round, in the process hinting that he was richer, more powerful, and better-connected than he actually was. Edward purchased the second, inventing a vague and nebulous business trip on behalf of an English patron he was on in Paris, to explain his presence. He also made a point of mentioning his interest in art, professing a desire to see the famous museums after his work was done. The two men parted well, pledging to repeat the experience should they ever encounter one another again.

Edward had gathered a tremendous amount of information from his brief meeting with the man, and rushed back to his room to add to his notes before his memory betrayed him. Two days later, he contrived to be at the same dog track that Cherensky favored, and again enjoyed a drink with him between races. Once again he mentioned his interest in art, and pretended he was considering purchasing a few pieces of interest while he was in town on behalf of his fictitious patron.

He made especial note of which of Cherensky's aristocratic companions he seemed the friendliest with -- a Parisian lawyer named Quillion seemed to be his closest confidant, despite his lack of noble title. Edward afterwards made some inquiries through Pete, who provided him with a summary of the man's life. The next day Edward befriended Quillion at a restaurant nearby to his offices, where he indicated that he was considering a law suit against a business rival in Flanders. Smelling money the way all attorneys do, Quillion was only too happy to volunteer for the distasteful task, should it come to such dire circumstances. Edward made sure to leave the man with a fifty-franc note as a retainer.

With both the man and his friend and lawyer on goodly terms with him, most of his set-up was complete. He had his method of entry, his likely method of execution of the crime -- all he lacked was a feasible escape. The problem was getting back out again, not getting in. He had a plan for getting in.

But once he caused the explosion he would need to break into the vault where the stone -- and Cherensky's other treasures -- were kept, stealthily escaping with his booty would be almost impossible without harming one of Cherensky's retainers. He considered, briefly, drugging them all to unconsciousness, but dismissed the idea -- there were just too many of them, almost twenty, to ensure that each and every servant was unconscious before he made his loud attack on the vault.

He considered escaping over the wall, while the servants were busy investigating the explosion, but to do so he would either have to escape by employing a rope down the side of the ancient tower, exposing him to revelation to any casual observer in or outside of the compound -- and then would necessitate a sprint across the grounds to scale the walls, or an attack on the gates to allow him to escape. Neither prospect suited him. But unless he could sprout wings and fly, nearly every scenario he had conjured had led to his capture.

So he elected to sprout wings and fly.

***

Airships had been originally a novelty, playthings for the wealthy and aristocratic, since the earliest days of ballooning under the Bourbon Regime. But it wasn't until the first dirigibles were used in the throes of the Franco-Prussian war, a generation before, that the airship had become the dominant force on the battlefield -- and, by extension, into the lives of everyone in Europe.

When the primitive prototype dirigible Das Rhineland appeared suddenly above the French lines during the Battle of Gravelotte, hailing missiles and bombs and sniper fire down on the defenseless French, it resulted in the near total collapse of the French Army in battle, and resulted in a quick end to the disastrous war. Napolean III had sued for peace almost at once, and had been forced to give up Alsace and Lorraine to the Prussian-German Empire forever -- but kept his Empire.

The French were no stranger to the art of the aeronaut -- indeed, not only had the first balloons been French, but Napolean I had been an early admirer of their clear military applications, and had supported the development of artillery observing balloons. But the floating observation decks were tethered, and therefore earthbound from their true potential.

The Germans, particularly the Prussians, were ardent enthusiasts who had favored rigid airframes which could be steered, in a rudimentary fashion. It wasn't until the depths of the Franco-Prussian war that the dirigible finally came into its full potential, when the XZD-1, better known as Das Rhineland, appeared suddenly over the trenches of the French just after dawn at Gravelotte. The French had already taken a beating from the deadly fast breach-loading Krupps artillery -- seeing a massive, ominous shape appear suddenly out of the mists overhead and rain fire and death down upon them while they were engaged on the ground in a losing debate was demoralizing to the extreme. For two hours the XZD-1 hovered above the fray, its four man crew providing a vital assault on the lines that allowed the Prussians to break through the trenches and famously capture French Marshal Bazaine. When the terrible airship was used a week later to help besiege the city of Metz, the French had had quite enough.

When faced with the choice of reinforcing Metz or conceding to a humiliating defeat by the Germans, Napolean III had sued for peace, and escaped the drubbing with only the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine -- and his pride -- the major casualties. More importantly, he had preserved the Empire from German aggression by the skin of his teeth.

And it was an Empire suddenly mad for airships. Determined not to allow a second shameful showing in the inevitable future engagement against the Germans, who now sported an empire of their own, Napolean III had invested heavily in the design of new ships, and within half a decade the first French Imperial Aerocorps ship Charlemagne was in service against the Basques in the Pyranees. Using naval rockets as well as dropped explosives, the Charlemagne went on a well-publicized three-week rampage that devastated the Uskandulak rebels in their remote outposts. The Empire had a new tool of war.