The Truth, At Last
For the third time, Kurt shouted, “Lower the cage!”
Silence from above. No sign of movement. No sign of anyone onboard. The Rheingold floated serenely in the intense blue sky, like some enormous child’s toy balloon. It was obviously manned. Gentle puffs of steam flowed from the engine room exhausts at the stern, following the outward curves of the massive air bags.
But why did no one reply to their hails? Why could no one be seen on the deck, the bridge?
Sheridan looked around nervously. Suddenly, the encroaching jungle felt like some great threatening beast, crouched and ready to spring.
Then, just as he was opening his mouth to speak—though he was not sure afterwards what he had planned to say—the creak of the winch came down below. Quite the loveliest sound he’d ever heard, he thought.
The cage reached the bottom, then slid a bit as a gust of wind shoved it.
“I think we should send this poor wounded man up first,” Sheridan said. “I’ll wait below, if you wish to go with him.”
“I would not dream of it,” Kurt said. “You and I shall both ride up with him.”
With the help of the crewmen—who did not, Sheridan noticed, look happy to be remaining below—they got O’Rourke into the small cage and crowded in beside him.
“It won’t be long now,” Sheridan reassured the man. “We’ll get a bandage on you and something to lessen the pain.”
“Irish whiskey would be the very thing,” said O’Rourke jovially, then winced as the cage swung in the freshening breeze. “Though I doubt if such a thing could be found.”
“Well,” Sheridan said, “perhaps not anywhere near here…except in my luggage.”
“You, sir, are a prince among men.” O’Rourke smiled weakly.
The winch drew the cage ever higher until at last it slid home into the bracket which held it in place on the deck.
Sheridan helped O’Rourke out of the cage. Kurt followed, not deigning to offer his own assistance.
“Hands up!” said a voice.
“Bloody hell!” snapped O’Rourke. He crumpled to the deck, his hands raised over his head.
Kurt grabbed for the revolver in his belt, and Sheridan scrambled for his own Colt. But before he could draw his weapon, Sheridan felt the cold barrel of a gun at the back of his head.
He raised his hands over his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kurt being roughly relieved of his gun.
Then, the very last voice he expected to hear said, “Why, Joseph Lewis Sheridan, whatever are you doing here on Venus?” It was Annabelle Somerset.
* * *
Sheridan took another sip of his whiskey. “I still can’t believe it, Miss Annabelle. Why, it’s as good as one of Mister Senarens’ stories in a dime novel!”
Annabelle laughed. “It’s better by far, you must admit. Why, even Luis Senarens, the American Jules Verne, would never have been able to come up with such a tale!”
A distant pounding echoed from the cabins.
“Our friends sound a bit angry, do they not?” asked Jericho.
“They will have plenty of time to calm down once they are all in a British prison,” laughed Nathanial from behind the wheel of the airship. “No doubt, Herr Kurt will spend some time in one, unless he’s hanged first. Still, Mr. Forbes-Hamilton will enjoy spending time examining this rather stunning zeppelin, will he not? I see no reason to hurry it back to the Germans, after all.”
The five of them were on the bridge of the Rheingold heading towards the Victoria plateau. Kurt, O’Rourke and all the crew were locked in three separate staterooms, with Thymon, armed with his heavy war club and a selection of other weapons, on guard outside.
“He will indeed,” said Jericho as he poured more of Kurt’s best brandy into his glass. He stood at the controls of the zeppelin and had proved to be quite a competent pilot.
“And don’t try to fool me, Nathanial,” Annabelle laughed. “You’re looking forward to a good look round the engine room yourself. Why, I’m surprised you’re not down there this minute!”
Nathanial nodded as Jericho made a slight correction to their course. “I confess, I should enjoy it a great deal. Only one thing I insist upon, Annabelle. The rest of our time on Venus must be spent on the Victoria plateau. No more gallivanting off into the jungles for me.”
“Nathanial, for once, I agree.” Annabelle turned to Sheridan. “Now, my dear Joseph, you have all the information you need to send back home, I take it?”
Sheridan had set his drink down and was busily scribbling in his notebook. He finished a line, shut it with a snap and looked up. “I have the story of the perfidious Germans all straight, I believe. And it’s a deucedly good thing they weren’t able to carry it through, or something really bad could have been stirred up back home. I was their dupe; I admit it freely. Their bad luck was involving quite the bravest and most amazing woman in the System in their plans.” He turned to Jericho. “I was the first newspaperman to interview Miss Somerset when she appeared from nowhere after her time lost in the deserts, and my opinion of her was set in stone that very day. She is without peer.”
“Oh, she’s the most marvellous creature!” Jericho agreed.
“Oh, dear,” said Annabelle in confusion.
Good Lord, Nathanial thought in irritation. What will the girl get into next?