Beyond the Rails

The Anthropologist

         Kestrel had been far up-country delivering medical supplies to the little Lutheran mission in Buna on the Lak Bor River. It was a grueling near-five hundred mile journey mostly over trackless savanna, which meant a full day’s flight under ideal conditions, which somehow never seemed to occur. Hobbs couldn’t be expected to remain at the helm for the whole day, so Monroe and Smith took it in turns to relieve her. Hobbs didn’t like that. Clinton Monroe might be the owner and captain, but Kestrel was her baby, and she didn’t care for babysitters.
         It was late afternoon, the sun low on the horizon, streaming in over the starboard rail. Monroe had the wheel steering a compass course of 180° which would bring them to the coast close enough to Mombasa for Hobbs to figure out the details. Smith sat in front of the pilot house, leaning back against the wood, playing a Stephen Foster tune on his harmonica as he kept a casual eye on the gullies and razorbacks they were currently passing over.
         It was not a popular run among the territory’s few aerialists. A lot could go wrong in five hundred miles, and it was a damned long walk back to safety if it did, but the little village near the border with Ethiopia was considered a vital outpost on the frontier. That was why the Crown paid a stipend that made the run profitable, and if a crew could pick up something else on the side for the trip, so much the better.
         There had been a small contract for a case of spices for the trader who served the few Europeans who lived around the village, but that had only added a single sovereign to their take. Monroe had collected the coin for the spices from Evans, the trader, and swapped the medicine for a voucher from the pastor who ran the little hospital. They had failed to find a cargo to bring back, and so were cruising light at about four hundred feet above the badlands with nothing but a piece of paper, albeit one that would turn into five pounds sterling when they got it back to Mombasa.
         That was still a good six hours off, and Hobbs had invoked the agreement with their new crew member, Dr. Ellsworth, to get him to make a pot of tea and warm a tray of scones; close enough to tea time in any case. Having finished that late afternoon treat, she had just shucked off her boots and stretched out on her bunk to relax when there was a knock on her cabin door.
         “Patience,” came Smith’s harsh American accent, “Cap’n wants you on deck.”
         “All right, David,” she responded, shaking her head. The man was exactly what she would have expected from America, as unrefined and colorful as the wide open country itself. Pulling her boots back on, she stopped before her mirror to take a couple of swipes through her hair with a brush, pulled it into a ponytail which she secured with a simple leather thong, and headed forward to climb the ladder to the main deck. She was surprised to see Smith as she came out into the corridor, just going up the ladder to main deck with the fowler, their one-pound cannon that could be mounted to the rail, over his shoulder.
         Fully alerted by the sight, she came up behind him, directly in front of the pilot house, took a look around, and turned back to look at Captain Monroe at the wheel. He pointed off the starboard bow.
         Turning to look out over the wrinkled brown landscape below, she didn’t pick out the object of everyone’s interest until Smith stepped over and pointed it out to her. There, sagging into the gullied terrain and blending beautifully into the deepening shadows was a neutral gray sheet of fabric, the collapsed gasbag of a downed airship. Fixing the few reference points in her memory, she moved back to the pilot house door.
         “What have you found now, Captain?”
         “A bit of a mystery, I believe.”
         “Oh?”
         “Indeed. A downed ship, obviously. The mystery is what he was doing in this area at all.”
         Hobbs stepped in, checked the compass, the throttle, the angle of the drive unit, then slid sideways in front of Monroe, effectively taking over control.
         “The only established route in this area is the run to Buna,” he continued, giving her an exasperated look. “We have the contract for this run, and we could barely find anything else to carry, so he wasn’t making a profit up here. The only other thing that comes to mind is that he was up to some sort of skulduggery.”
         “A Prussian, maybe?”
         “Or an Italian. Mustn’t forget that diabolical spore that struck Stephenson’s crops.”
         “The Stephenson place is a long way from here.”
         “Indeed, and maybe this fellow crashed during his getaway. Ease her down as we approach. I want to take a look around before we go aboard.”
         “There isn’t much light left.”
         “Better hurry, then. If there are survivors, they’ll rather spend the night with us, I’m thinking. If not, could be salvage.”
         “Ah, indeed there could.” She pulled the attitude control back, tipping the propellers down, driving the tail slightly up, then straightened them to drive Kestrel on a slight downward angle toward the unremarkable spot that was now locked into her internal map of their surroundings. “Better arm up, Captain. You’re as good as on the ground.

*          *          *

         Dusk was rapidly approaching as Smith swung onto the rope ladder. A lantern hung on its lanyard just below his feet, and he was armed with a Colt Peacemaker in an American holster, and a Winchester model 1873 slung on a rawhide thong. Monroe followed closely, LeMat pistol and Martini-Henry rifle ready to hand. Dr. Ellsworth came over the rail last, his Webley strapped to his hip, another lantern dangling below, fussing mightily about the lack of necessity for his presence, and flirting with disaster every step of the way.
         “There might be survivors,” Monroe told him, “so bring your herbs.”
         Smith reached the ground and looked around the area. Seeing no movement in the darkness, he picked up his lantern and took a few steps toward the gondola of the crashed vessel. Monroe landed quickly and moved up behind him, rifle in hand.
         “Somebody survived, all right,” Smith said. “See how they cut their way through the canvas? Somebody wanted off of there awful bad to cut through that vulcanized fabric.”
         “They thought this ground would be an improvement?”
         “Inexperienced, probably. Or, maybe they thought there was gonna be a fire.”
         “There’s no sign of one.”
         “Doesn’t mean they didn’t think there was gonna be one.”
         “Son of a bitch!” Ellsworth arrived on the hard-packed dirt by way of a huge pratfall, his “doctor bag” landing on his face just as his rump landed on the dangling lantern. “This had better be worthwhile, that’s all I can say!”
         “Let’s hope so, Doctor,” Monroe cautioned him.
         “How’s that?”
         “We don’t know what’s down here. It might be prudent to keep your voice down.”
         “Oh, right... Of course.”
         Smith started toward the wreck as Ellsworth collected himself.
         “Somebody was bad injured,” he said, reaching the bow that had broken on impact. “Judging by the blood on this railing, they ain’t long for this world, either.”
         “All the more reason to stay with the ship. Can you tell which way they went after they went down?”
         “Hah! A blind monkey could follow this trail. Or a hungry leopard.” Everyone’s senses suddenly focused more acutely on their surroundings. “Weren’t many of ‘em, neither. Clear as their trail is, it’s tiny.
         “Lead on, Mr. Smith. Come along, Doctor. There’s suddenly a hint of urgency to this.”
         Ellsworth collected his gear and trotted to catch up. Monroe held his rifle at the ready, following closely behind Smith who held his pistol in one hand and his lantern in the other, bent over, examining the ground ahead.
         “All too easy to take a spill on these loose pebbles,” Smith observed. “Took the path of least resistance. Don’t know where they thought they was going. Nearest village by my lights is Garissa, and that’s back the other way.”
         “Indeed. They don’t seem like the kind of people who should have been making this particular trip.”
         Anything else he might have considered saying was curtailed by a weak moan coming from just ahead. Smith turned toward the sound, slid down a steep gully wall, and dropped to his knees beside a man’s limp form huddled in an undercut at the bottom of the slope.
         “Who’s got some water?” he asked.
         “I do,” Ellsworth replied, kneeling beside him. “Hold the light. Sir, can you hear me? We’re going to take care of you.”
         He lifted the man’s head and held his water bottle to his bearded lips. The man took a small swallow, then broke into a coughing fit.
         “Sabotage,” he said through another moan. “Blew me up!”
         He grabbed the front of Ellsworth’s shirt.
         “Blew me up, the bastards! Make ‘em pay! Make ‘em pay...” His voice trailed off as he expended all his energy in that outburst.
         “Who are you?” Ellsworth asked him. “Who blew you up? Come on, man, who are you?”
         I don’t think he’s gonna be answerin’, Doc,” Smith said, watching as the luster faded from his eyes. “Surprised he lasted this long, from the size of that bleed on his chest.”
         Ellsworth laid the man’s head down and opened his bloody shirt, exposing a deep, ragged puncture.
         “Good Lord!” he said. “What do you suppose? Bullet wound?”
         “Exit wound, maybe,” Monroe said. “Turn him over and look at his back. There should be a nice clean hole there if a bullet went in.”
         Smith and Ellsworth did just that.
         “Clean as a whistle,” Smith announced.
         “Well, maybe a piece of wood,” Monroe speculated. “He did say somebody blew him up.”
         “So why did he leave his ship, injured this badly?” Ellsworth asked.
         “Who knows? Sometimes an injury like this fuddles the brain. You do really stupid things, all the while thinking that they make perfect sense.”
         “Do you think he was alone?” Ellsworth asked.
         Smith held up the lantern and examined the ground.
         “Nobody else came this way, that’s for sure.”
         “Perhaps someone left him aboard and went for help,” Ellsworth said. “Then he comes around, thinks he’s been deserted, and tries to same himself.”
         All eyes turned back in the direction of Garissa.
         “Never mind,” Monroe said. “We aren’t going to stumble around in the dark looking for someone who might be miles away by now. Let’s search the gondola. Maybe he kept a logbook.”
         “Or valuable salvage,” Smith added.
         “Or valuable salvage,” Monroe agreed.
         “You people are ghouls,” Ellsworth decided.
         “Nonsense, boy,” Smith said. “We ain’t gonna eat ‘im!”

*          *          *

         There was indeed a logbook. It was written in an older Germanic script, raising the crew’s suspicions that it may have been the log of a Prussian spy. Brown, who could read the language easily enough, had to attend to the engineering plant during the hazardous night journey over hundreds more miles of featureless veldt, and so was unable to unlock its secrets. A quick examination revealed that the aerialist’s name was Ingel Braun, he was indeed traveling alone, and that his last flight had originated in Abundi, a location of an unspecified nature far to the northwest.
         He had been lost indeed if he had come this way on purpose.

*          *          *

         It was well after midnight when Kestrel made her approach to the aerodrome in Mombasa. Night approaches were considered unusual and dangerous operations for the unwieldy airships, though with Hobbs at the wheel, Monroe wasn’t particularly worried. The chief problems with night landings were that the aerodromes were most often unmanned after dark, and the the trails from the smoke pots, indicating wind direction, were difficult to see even if the pots were lit. Of course, the prevailing wind over Mombasa, and most of Kenya for that matter, were generally steady, the direction varying with the season, and Hobbs employed what was quickly becoming known as the “Hobbs Maneuver,” approaching from the downwind direction, and allowing the ship to weathercock to refine the final heading. Once that was done all that was left was to motor over the stalls, drop a line, and put Smith down on the cargo hoist to make it fast to a bollard.
         This was accordingly done, a tail rope set to control any swing, and the tired crewmen headed for a quick wash-up and a night in their bunks. Hobbs finished switching off everything but batteries for the cabin lights and stepped out of the pilot house to find Monroe walking the perimeter of the deck, making his customary final check of his ship’s condition and status.
         “An interesting journey,” she offered.
         “Indeed,” Monroe agreed. “That fellow was a fool trying to navigate over strange territory alone.”
         “Maybe it wasn’t strange to him. Just because we’ve never seen him doesn’t mean he’s never been here before.”
         “Oh, do you remember seeing that ship around the region? I surely don’t.”
         “No, I don’t either, but there’s nothing to say he hadn’t traveled the area as a passenger on someone else’s ship. He knew how to fly alone, he must have had enough experience to scout a region like this before he attempted a solo flight.”
         “Says who? What with the rubies being found here, the territory’s being overrun with idiots who don’t know the first thing about how to keep safe in a place like this. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
         “Oh, I’ve noticed,” she said with an involuntary glance toward the stern where Ellsworth was in the Kestrel’s refrigeration locker making one last check on the body before turning in. “Still, you can’t just assume that everyone you meet is an idiot and set your course accordingly.”
         “I suppose not.” He heaved a deep sigh. “You saw that log book. He took pains to write it in an obscure script. His last words were, ‘they blew me up.’ You know there isn’t one of us who hasn’t given serious thought to the idea that he was a spy. Now we’re going to be cut out of it without another word.”
         “How’s that?”
         “We’ve recovered a body, Patience. The law requires it be reported immediately upon mooring. I have to go do that before I turn in, and the moment I do, the first thing they’re going to ask is whether we recovered his log book. I can’t very well say no and then produce it later, can I? Once I tell them I have it, they’ll be round to collect it before Gunther even wakes up tomorrow, and that will be that, end of our involvement.”
         “Maybe not. If they need a ship...”
         “They won’t. We’ve brought back everything that matters.”
         “True enough, I suppose. Well, as long as we have the mission’s voucher, five pounds sterling will buy a lot of curiosity.”
         “I suppose. I’d better go file our report. Sleep well. You’ve earned it.”

*          *          *

         Monroe went below to his cabin and strapped on his Le Mat revolver, checking that the 16-gauge centerline barrel was loaded, and swung down the ladder for the mile-long walk to the Government House near the waterfront. As dangerous as that walk could be in the small hours, he was not molested, whether by dint of his reputation or his large pistol, and a short time later he stepped into the Mombasa Rangers’ duty office to find his friend Abasi behind the raised desk.
         “Jambo, Abasi,” he greeted him.
         “Jambo, Captain Clinton,” the big African replied. “You are out late.”
         “As required by law, my friend. We just tied up and I am required to tell you that we found a wrecked airship coming in, and brought in a body.”
         “A body? Is it anyone we know/”
         “I don’t think so. Prussian, by the look of things. Some fellow named Braun.”
         “Braun, you say?”
         “That’s right. Ingle, Angle, something like that.”
         “That is a most unusual coincidence, my friend. If you just arrived, you probably haven’t seen the new ship in the harbor.”
         “No.”
         “Arrived early yesterday. It is a seagoing yacht, the property of Baron Dietrich von Redesky.”
         “The explorer?”
         “The same. He says he has spent the last six months documenting a hitherto unknown tribe deep in the jungle. Rather than hand-pack all his research material out of the jungle, he sent it out with his balloonist, who was to meet him on the coast along here. He has been stopping at each port to inquire about the man, and it sounds from the name that you have found him.”
         “Well, I’m damned!”
         “Most certainly not. There could well be a reward. Tell me, did you find any of the journals, any sort of scientific materials that could be what the Baron is looking for?”
         “No.”
         “That is too bad, my friend. Where is the body?”
         “Aboard my ship. We have it in cold storage.”
         “I see. Did you find his log book?”
         Monroe hesitated just briefly, weighing the pros and cons one last time before answering.
         “Yes.”
         “Well, then, I’ll tell you what. You go back to your ship and get some rest. I will come tomorrow with some men to take the body and the book off your hands. The Baron will want to speak with you, I am certain. Do you have the voucher for your trip to the mission?”
         “Yes.”
         “I will bring your payment as well. And, Clinton...”
         “Yes?”
         “Do not mention the log book unless the Baron asks about it. Simply hand it over to me, as the law requires.”
         “What the devil?”
         “The Baron is, should we say, somewhat presumptuous. Do not ask too many questions yet, Clinton. The less you know, the less you can tell.”

*          *          *

         As good as his word, Abasi arrived with four rangers, natty in their khaki shirts and shorts, the famous Prussian explorer, and five pounds sterling an hour after sunrise. Ellsworth was up, sitting on the mess room roof aft of the pilot house with a cup of tea when they arrived, watching the city come to life from his altitude of twenty-some feet.
         “On the Kestrel,” came the call from the ground. Remembering that very cry from his own introduction to the vessel, he moved over to the rail to see the group of policemen and the well-heeled civilian waiting below.
         “Good morning,” he called down. “What can we do for you?”
         “Good morning, good sir,” one of the African policemen replied. “Is Captain Monroe available?”
         “I believe so,” Ellsworth replied. “I’ll just get him.”
         He went below to find Monroe awake in his cabin, having just shaved, and alerted him to their visitors. By the time he got back on deck, the civilian was standing at the top of the ladder with one of the constables, the one who had hailed him, just coming over the rail.
         “Und where is der kapitan?” the civilian, a bronzed, fit outdoorsman with handlebars, monocle, and cigarette holder demanded.
         “I apologize for the Baron,” the African said, steadying himself on deck. “Customs are different where he is from.”
         “You do not apologize for me, boy!” the man bellowed, rounding on the policeman. “I asked to address the kapitan, und instead I am given to this messenger boy. It is he who needs to apologize!”
         “I say, who the devil is this,” Ellsworth asked the constable, ”and by what right does he board a private vessel without an invitation? I want him arrested at once.”
         “That won’t be necessary,” Monroe’s voice came from the open hatch, “yet. I presume this to be Baron von Redesky?”
         Monroe walked aft to join them, his shirt studiously unbuttoned, offering nothing in the way of respect or hospitality. Ellsworth was glad to see that he was not amused by the Prussian’s high-handed actions.
         “Ja, I am the baron. Dietrich von Redesky, the premier anthropologist in Africa. I am given to believe that you are the kapitan who found my employee.”
         “If your employee was Ingle Braun, that’s correct.”
         “Und where is he?”
         “His body is in our refrigeration locker.”
         “What? Why have you stuffed him in your ice box like a piece of meat?”
         “Because if we hadn’t, he’d be stinking up the place and attracting vultures.”
         “Bah, you English und your eternal jokings! Well,” he ordered Abasi, “bring your boys up und collect him.”
         Monroe nodded to Abasi who turned to summon his men.
         “Dr. Ellsworth will show you,” he told Abasi. “Baron, we found your man in a very remote area, not really on the regular routes at all.”
         “Then what were you doing there?”
         “Delivering supplies to an out of the way village. The question is, what was Mr. Braun doing there?”
         The baron glared at Monroe, outraged that this backwater freight hauler should have the audacity to question him about anything.
         “Baron,” Abasi said quietly, “these questions are going to be asked, and if you do not care to answer them when we ask, then it is almost certain that the officials of the governor’s office are going to ask them instead. Given the political situation in Europe, that process might not be so informal as this.”
         “Well, you English lackeys certainly have some nerve! I lose a valuable employee, und you are now going to interrogate me like I am some common criminal? Very well, ask your— Oh, well, who is this?”
         Monroe looked behind him to see Hobbs’ blonde head coming up the ladder to take in the morning sun.
         “My pilot,” Monroe said. “Patience, come meet our guest.”
         “Good morning, Abasi,” she said, coming over to them, looking the baron up and down as she approached.
         “Missy Hobbs,” the African said, touching his forehead in an abbreviated salute.
         “Baron, this is my pilot, Miss Patience Hobbs,” Monroe said. “Patience, meet Baron Dietrich von Redesky.”
         “The Baron von Redesky? I’ve heard great things about you.”
         He took her extended hand and raised it to his forehead as he bowed deeply.
         “All true, I assure you. This is true, you pilot this vessel?”
         “Yes, I do.”
         “I am in need of a pilot just now. How would you like to triple your earnings?”
         “She’s not available,” Monroe said.
         “Nor am I property,” she countered with a mischievous smile. “What’s your proposal?”
         “He doesn’t have time to talk right now,” Monroe said. “He’s about to tell us what his aerialist was doing out where we found him.”
         “Well, I am sure that even you are not so far back in the woods that you have not heard of my contributions to science. I have been far up to the north of Lake Victoria living among the watu wa misitu.”
         “The what?”
         “The watu wa misitu. I am not surprised you have not heard of them. I und my few assistants are the only white men who have ever seen them. That will change when I publish my book about their lives. That is what my pilot was doing over your territory.”
         “These people are here?”
         “Do not be obtuse, kapitan. I already said these people are north of Lake Victoria. During the studies, I accumulated reams of notes, drawings of everything they do, even some photographs. These things are very heavy und unwieldy, und there is only a rough track to our base camp on Lake Tanganyika. So, I entrusted this equipment to Herr Braun, und told him to fly it to the coast und wait for me at whichever port he arrived at, und I would meet him with my yacht. There is nothing more sinister in his presence than that. So, you have my research materials?”
         “I’m afraid we weren’t looking for books, Baron. There was very little of value around the wreckage.”
         “Oh, it wasn’t burned?”
         “No. Why would you think it was?”
         “A great bag of hydrogen? It just seemed likely. Then you must have found crates of documents.”
         “Not a one. Maybe he jettisoned them trying to hold his altitude.”
         “He would have sooner have jettisoned himself!”
         “Well, there was nothing beyond a few personal effects. We tried to save him, but he expired.”
         “You spoke with him? What did he say?”
         “Nothing,” Monroe said. “He never regained consciousness.”
         The baron visibly relaxed.
         “That is too bad. I will collect his personal effects, then, und take my leave.”
         “Patience, get Mr. Braun’s effects, will you?”
         “Certainly.”
         “Und remember my offer. We shall speak again.”
         Hobbs favored him with a noncommittal smile and went below, leaving Monroe, Abasi, and the baron to stand in uncomfortable silence at the quarterdeck, moving apart when the police carried Braun’s board-stiff body from the cold storage locker in the stern. She returned a few moments later with a package of items wrapped in a leather thong.
         “This is what he had on his person,” she said. “His wallet with all his cash, a medallion he was wearing, a key ring, and a small journal.”
         “Und his log?”
         “Turned over to the authorities, as our law requires,” Monroe said as Abasi nodded out of von Redesky’s view.
         “Mmm. What about the things in his cabin?”
         “The ship was damaged too badly to be worth salvaging,” Monroe told him. “There was no cabin, per se. Wreckage was scattered for acres. It probably fell apart as it came down.”
         “Und yet Braun lived. I think I understand. Very well, then, I will leave you now. Do not let it come to my ears that you have lied about any of this.”
         “Or what?” Monroe growled.
         “I think we are finished here, gentlemen,” Abasi said, crowding von Redesky toward the ladder with his tall frame. “We will be in contact should we need anything, Captain. Will you be in town all day?”
         “Until we pick up a cargo.”
         “Very well. Perhaps I will see you later.”
         Monroe took the small logbook from his hip pocket and handed it to him as von Redesky started down the ladder.

*          *          *

         The sun was past the zenith when Monroe, Hobbs, and Ellsworth walked into the open-air bar of the Queen’s Royal Hotel. The luncheon trade had largely returned to work, but the usual hangers-on were still present, nursing flat drinks or tepid meals, hoping the odd job would turn up, or perhaps a ride to somewhere they could find work. Scattered among the tables were a few men they hadn’t seen before, but that was hardly cause for suspicion in the busiest seaport on the East African coast.
         “Cold beers, Faraji,” Monroe called to the African barman as they took seats around a vacant table.
         “So, what are we doing, Captain?” Hobbs asked, pushing her bush hat back to hang down her back on its chin straps.
         “Having a beer.”
         “Quite amusing, Captain. We’ve been in port all day and you haven’t so much as expressed a passing interest in a job. So, what are we doing?”
         “Abasi said we’d talk, so I’m making myself available.”
         “And if he doesn’t make contact? We have a living to make, you know.”
         “I do. You worry too much. There’s always something going out beyond the rails.”
         “Many somethings,” Faraji said, bringing their beers himself, “far more somethings than there are ships to carry them. Welcome back to my humble establishment, young doctor. I see you have found some new friends. Have they taught you any manners yet?”
         “A few.”
         “That is good. You wish a meal?”
         “Not yet,” Monroe answered. “What do you know about this von Redesky character”
         “Oh, the great Baron. Very busy. He is going to tell the world about the primitive African bush men. Those two men work for him.” He smiled and nodded toward two sullen-looking men in the corner. “Or they know him, anyway. He leaves them here this morning. They sit and watch all day, eat almost nothing, drink only water.”
         “That’s interesting. I wonder what they’re watching for?”
         “You, apparently,” Faraji replied with an amused smile, nodding again toward the table where one of the men got up and walked out.
         “Well, I’ll be damned,” Monroe said. “Maybe we will have that meal after all.”

*          *          *

         Fifteen minutes later as they sat over plates of fish, beef, and antelope steak, the man returned, Baron von Redesky at his side.
         “Uh oh,” Ellsworth said, sitting up straight in alarm.
         “Well,” Monroe said, “that didn’t take long.”
         Von Redesky marched up to their table, and without preamble said to Monroe, “Kapitan, I have a proposition for you.”
         “I’m listening.”
         “I would like to hire your airship.”
         “For what? You already seem to think it’s your property.”
         “I apologize for that little misunderstanding, Kapitan. I have been far from civilization and accustomed to having my own way for a good long time now.” He pulled a chair over from the next table and sat down, as the man who had brought him in went back to the table with his friend. “I would very much like to charter your ship to take me back to where you found my pilot’s wreckage.”
         “Well, that could be problematic, Baron. There’s an awful lot of unmarked territory out there. It could be like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. Do you think you could even find it again, Patty?”
         “With luck, if the pay’s good enough.”
         “Hah,” von Redesky exclaimed. “Such cheek! We are going to make an unbeatable team when you come to work for me.”
         “I told you, she’s otherwise engaged.”
         “Ja, you told me. She has not told me. Anyway, that is for another time. Now, today, I wish to purchase a ride. Would twenty sterling be to your liking?”
         “Hell yes, it would!” Monroe said in surprise. “We’ll need a little in advance to lay in supplies and the like.”
         “My good kapitan, you may have it all in advance if you can guarantee me we will leave at first light tomorrow.”
         “This must be very important to you.”
         “Years of work went down with that ship,” von Redesky replied, taking out his billfold to start counting out twenty one-pound notes. “I must recover anything that can be found.”
         He laid the money on the table.
         “We’ll have the Kestrel ready, Baron. Come aboard tonight if you wish, and you can get settled into your new quarters. I’m afraid they’re rather Spartan.”
         “My dear kapitan, for the last six months I have been living on the dirt floor of a mud hut in a jungle clearing. I hardly think you are going to offer me anything that I might consider Spartan.”
         “Ah, perhaps you’re right, Baron.”
         “Please, if we are now to be partners, I insist you call me Dietrich.”
         “All right, Dietrich,” Monroe said, rising with von Redesky to shake his hand, “Congratulations on hiring the finest ship this side of Europe.”
         The baron took his leave, summoned his two men from the corner table, and walked out of the bar into the bustling waterfront of Mombasa.

*          *          *

         Von Redesky led his two men down the block and around a corner, where he stopped. He looked around the corner to see that they hadn’t been followed, then addressed his men in Prussian.
         “Now, listen carefully. I want you to return to the ship. Eric, you come back here with Gudrun. Both of you dress demurely. She is my secretary for this trip, and you are my valet. Hans, take the yacht as rapidly as possible to Zanzibar. Ready our airship and fly with all haste to Arusha. From there, locate a village in northern Kenya called Buna. Lay in a course twenty degrees to the right of the line to Buna and head in that direction. Somewhere over the veldt you will find at anchor their miserable little Kestrel. You are to blow it out of the sky and kill their crewmen, four or five in number. Be certain that you bring enough men to manage it.”
         “Javol, mein Baron! They cannot help but see us coming from miles away. What if they are faster than us?”
         “I assure you, Hans, with Eric and Gudrun aboard, they will not be.”

*          *          *

         Monroe smiled as he pocketed twenty pounds in crisp notes guaranteed by the Bank of England, and signaled Faraji to come settle the bill. The man came over and asked for two shillings. Monroe produced three as he settled the folded notes in his pocket. Bowing his thanks, Faraji turned to go, but was stopped by Hobbs.
         “Faraji, what do you know about a people called the watu wa misitu?”
         “The what?”
         “The watu wa misitu.”
         “Nothing, Missy. That only means people of the forest. Of course... No, you said people.”
         “What is it?”
         “Nothing. It’s just that wasu wa misitu is the ancient name of some forest devils. They are, what do you say, a myth, a parents’ joke used to frighten unruly children. Like what you English call the bogeyman.”
         “Well, I’m sure that’s not what he meant,” Monroe said. “Thanks, Faraji. Let’s get to work, folks. We have a lot to do before morning.”
         “What should I do?” Ellsworth asked.
         “Just tag along with Patience for now. I’m sure she’ll find something to occupy your time.”

*          *          *

         Kestrel cruised steadily above the veldt northeast of Mombasa, the early morning sun coming over the starboard bow, still gradually gaining altitude. Hobbs stood behind the wheel, the bill of her engineer’s cap pulled down over the huge smoked-glass unilens goggles that covered two-thirds of her face. She was going to take them high today in order to have a wide view of the landscape. She knew approximately where the wrecked airship lay, but they wouldn’t have a hope of actually finding it until someone spotted the deflated gasbag lying among the gullies.
         The Prussians had come aboard last night, von Redesky with his valet, Eric, and his secretary, Gudrun.
         Secretary, my ass, Hobbs thought as the tall Nordic woman came up the ladder, the first of their passengers on deck. She knew the others were up; no one slept through the gut-wrenching near-vertical takeoff of an airship, and the smaller the ship was, the more pronounced the sensation was that things were not progressing well. The blonde amazon looked over the rail, stretched, and turned to see Hobbs at the wheel. There was no sign of alarm at finding herself some four hundred feet above the plains and still rising, and Hobbs noted the fact as the woman walked back to the pilot house door. Her long skirt and loose-cut Bavarian blouse did nothing to hide the athletic grace of her walk.
         “Guten morgen,” she said as she stepped over the threshold.
         Hobbs only nodded, pretending to be far busier than she was.
         “It is unusual to find a woman in command of an airship.”
         “Oh, I’m not in command,” Hobbs replied. “I’m just the pilot.”
         “Ah, a skill not easily learned, I presume?”
         “Not really. You just point and go.”
         “Nonetheless, I am impressed.”
         “Well, thank you, then. You’re the baron’s secretary, are you?”
         “That is correct.”
         “It must be very glamorous traveling the world with a great man of science.”
         “Oh, yes. I have seen much of China und Australia, und now we are performing studies in Africa. I is quite fascinating.”
         “You must be pressed to find time to exercise.”
         Gudrun cocked her head and gave Hobbs an inquisitive look, then it was gone.
         “It only makes sense to keep myself fit. In the places we go, it is not predictable when we might have to run for our lives.”
         “I suppose.”
         “Excuse me,” Gunther Brown said, angling to squeeze past Gudrun.
         “Very nice,” the woman said, looking him up and down as she slid into the cabin to stand between Hobbs and her throttle and lift controls.
         “The engineering plant has been checked out. Everything is working normally.”
         “Thank you, Gunther.”
         “Gunther, is it?” Gudrun purred. “You are the engineer, ja?”
         “Ja.”
         “Sind sie verheiratet?”
         “Nein.”
         “Hast du eine freundin?” she asked with a meaningful glace at Hobbs.
         “Nein.”
         “Interessant.”
         With a last appraisal, she slithered out the door and headed aft.
         “What was all that about?” Hobbs asked.
         “She asked if I was married.”
         “And?”
         “She also asked if you are my girlfriend.”
         “Interesting.”
         “Ja, that is what she said.

*          *          *

         The sun was low on the horizon when Kestrel finally anchored over the limp bag of Braun’s wrecked ship. The baron went down to the surface with his valet, Eric, saying that he couldn’t bear to wait for sunrise. Monroe sent Smith down with them, then, nagged by some sixth sense, armed himself with rifle and pistol and went down to join them.
         The two Prussians were going through the contents of a steamer trunk they had pulled out of the wreckage while Smith stood guard with his Winchester.
         “What do you think they’re going to find with nothing but hand lanterns down here? They act as though the sun weren’t coming up tomorrow.”
         “Ain’t my job to figure ‘em out, just watch ‘em, and I’m startin’ to wonder about that.”
         “As am I,” Monroe agreed. “Dietrich!”
         Von Redesky looked up at the call and moved to physically block Monroe’s view of the trunk’s interior as he approached.
         “Yes, Kapitan?”
         “It’s going to be fully dark within a matter of minutes. It isn’t safe here.”
         “It is rarely safe anywhere.”
         “Nonetheless, I think we should get back to the Kestrel. We can get a fresh start in the morning.”
         “Ja, Kapitan, I suppose you are right. This is not being productive anyway. I wonder where the cargo could have gone?”
         “We’ll work it out tomorrow, Baron, when we have all day to work on it. Now, we really must get back while we can still find the ladder.”
         “Ja, ja. Close this up, Eric. Tomorrow we answer all questions.”

*          *          *

         Kestrel swung around her anchor above the badlands, blown around by the gentle breeze until her bow pointed to the northeast, her ceaseless motion so gentle as to go virtually unnoticed. Von Redesky had taken everyone down to the surface to work on the mystery of the missing notebooks, leaving only Hobbs and Brown aboard. He had insisted that they come down as well, but Monroe had vetoed that demand, saying that the ship was never left unattended; think of where they’d be if the anchor cable parted! So they had eaten the sort of cold lunch they had been accustomed to before Ellsworth’s arrival, and settled down to relax and keep a somewhat lax watch. They were, after all, a hundred miles from nowhere, and the nearest scheduled traffic would be farther away than that. Gudrun, the secretary, had come back aboard to eat and had not returned to the surface, claiming fatigue.
         It was, then, with some surprise that Hobbs, reclining against the pilot house on a thin cot pad, looked up from her “dime novel,” a taste she had acquired from her American colleague, to see a dark smudge of greasy smoke staining the horizon to the west. She stood, trying without success to estimate the distance, then stepped into the pilot house to retrieve the captain’s binoculars. These showed her the situation more clearly.
         A thick, bulbous gasbag, made for heavy lifting, with a wide, flat gondola slung below was headed their way. Hobbs, intimately familiar with the handful of local carriers, didn’t recognize it. She stomped her heel three times, hard, on the deck above the staterooms.
         “Gunther,” she shouted toward the ladder, “I need you topside!”
         She stepped out and around to the port rail and studied the approaching vessel long enough to confirm that she had never seen it before, and that it was headed directly toward them. These things alone were not alarming. Larger ships like this occasionally transited the colony, and it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for one aerialist to inquire of another about local conditions and recommended routes. Still, Hobbs wasn’t one for making assumptions.
         “Captain,” she shouted toward the ground, “there’s a ship coming up.”
         “Anyone we know?” Monroe’s voice came back from the deep gully.
         “No. It’s quite large, though, and it’s headed straight for us.”
         “Do you have steam raised?”
         “Always.”
         “All right. Give a shout if anything develops, there’s a good lass.”
         Good lass, indeed! Still, Hobbs recognized the captain’s indifference as confidence in her abilities; one of her great fears was that she might fail to live up to that confidence some day. Brown came up the ladder from below with the baron’s secretary following him like a puppy.
         “What is it?”
         “There’s a ship coming our way. Make sure everything’s ship-shape and ready to answer the helm, would you?”
         “Of course.” He headed aft toward the motor room.
         Gudrun came over to stand beside her.
         “Is there a problem?”
         “Probably not,” Hobbs replied. “It’s quite a coincidence that another ship should appear right here, right now. Still, these things happen.”
         “Und he is headed for us? Does he mean us harm?”
         “Most likely not. It isn’t unusual for passing ships to exchange news.”
         “I see. Can I do anything to help?”
         “Just stand ready. If we need anything, we’ll tell you, don’t worry.”
         “Ja, good. I just go tell Gunther that I am available.”
         Hobbs just nodded, thinking, I’ll wager you’ve already done that. She propped one foot on the bottom rail, watching the stranger approach, and wondered what it was that was making the hair on her neck bristle. There were no obvious markings on the craft, nothing unusual about the gondola that she could see even with the binoculars. She lowered them, studied the ship without magnification, groping for an overall impression, and suddenly it came to her. It was the volume and thickness of the smoke. Whoever he was, he was taxing his boilers like he was in a race for his life. She began a slow, backward walk toward the pilot house.
         Why, why, why? her mind shouted, why is he doing that?
         Her conundrum was answered with a profound impact when a puff of white smoke appeared at the stranger’s rail, and a second later a whistling sound flashed by close on the starboard side. The unmistakable crack of a large firearm being discharged in her direction punched her in the chest even as the projectile crashed into the landscape a half mile beyond.
         “Jesus Lord!”
         She dashed to the bow.
         “Captain, he’s firing at us! Cut me loose!”
         “Right away!” came Monroe’s reply.
         She trotted back to the pilot house, manned the controls, and pushed the throttles hard forward, secure in the knowledge that the anchor was attached to the cable with a pelican hook and would easily release even if there was tension on the line. As she hoped, Monroe had caught her urgency, and the line trailed free as Kestrel gathered way. One hand spinning the wheel, she shouted into the speaking tube to the motor room.
         “Gunther, they’re shooting at us! You need to rig the fowler!”
         “On my way!”

*          *          *

         Brown ladled another scoop of coal into the firebox of the Cheadle and Gatley closed-system generator, estimating it would give him about twenty minutes before the steam in the boiler went cold. Gudrun had come down the ladder to offer her aid, and it suddenly appeared that he could use it.
         “Come with me,” he told her. “We have a light gun we can rig.”
         He had started up the ladder when she called him back.
         “Gunther, should this be leaking this much?”
         “What?”
         He came back down.
         “Here where this shaft goes into the generator.”
         She pointed to an area on the deck beside the little bridge of steps that led over the spinning shaft and back to the refrigeration locker.
         “I don’t see any leak.”
         He leaned in beside the steps to get a better look, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head, and then he didn’t see anything at all.

*          *          *

         Hobbs was coming to a course more or less east, setting up for flight from their mysterious attacker. Kestrel was no racing vessel, to be sure, but if she couldn’t outrun and outmaneuver that big barge, she’d be pleased to eat her hat. Of course, if she couldn’t she would never have to pay off that particular wager.
         Already the range had stopped closing, and Hobbs continually put in small course changes to give the enemy gunner the hardest possible solution. It was obviously working, as they had fired two more shots and both had missed badly. Still, she couldn’t just run forever. Gunther needed to get their own weapon rigged and begin to sting them back.
         She had just put in a two degree change to starboard when a hand clapped down on her left shoulder and she felt the point of a knife touch the right side of her ribs. The hand held her down as she jumped.
         ‘Very impressive, Miss Hobbs. Now you will come to a halt und prepare to be boarded.”
         “So, a damnable, filthy spy, are you?”
         “Ja, und very well trained. Your tedious insults are not about to provoke me into some precipitous actions, so kindly just stop your engines.”
         Hobbs dropped her right hand from the wheel, commencing the ordered action, but instead of reaching for the throttle she slid her arm back, forcing the knife blade to her rear, spun to her right, and drove the heel of her left hand into the big woman’s nose. The look of surprise was priceless as her hand came up to cover her already bleeding nose, but then she backhanded Hobbs across the face with the power of a London prizefighter. As Hobbs staggered back, Gudrun sought to use her greater weight and strength to overpower the smaller woman, and rushed in to tackle her. Hobbs was able to grab her, barely, and redirect her momentum just slightly so that the power of her charge spun them both around to crash into the wall opposite the door. Hobbs didn’t see the knife and assumed that the woman would have stabber her if she still had it, but that was a question she would have to answer quickly.
         Back to the wall, the Prussian jabbed Hobbs with a short punch, opening up enough distance to get her powerful leg up and shove her low in the belly, sending her stumbling backward to trip over the door coaming and land on her back outside. Before she could begin to gather her wits the woman flew out the door, pouncing onto her like a big jungle cat. Hobbs got her own leg up and deflected her flight, causing her to roll to her side and crash on the deck beside her. Rolling away, Hobbs scrambled to her feet and assessed her situation.
         The woman had either collected her knife, or had never lost it to begin with, and she came up slashing with a six-inch blade, advancing in a balanced fighting stance. Hobbs somersaulted away and darted around the front of the pilot house, snatching a fid, a foot-long hardwood rope working tool, from the rack there. Bringing Gudrun’s charge to a halt with her own weapon, she shouted for Gunther to assist her.
         “I am afraid Gunther will be of no help to you. He is taking a nap, you see.”
         “What did you do to him?”
         “That hardly matters since none of you will be surviving anyway.
         “You’ve not beaten me yet.”
         “Nein? Look around you. You left the ship making a turn. Soon the grapnels will be coming over. You cannot fight with me and steer the ship, too.”
         Realizing the truth of the woman’s statement, Hobbs began to back down the port side.
         “Shall we perform an experiment, you and I? You strike me with your club und I will stab you with my knife, und we’ll see who feels like continuing this dance.”
         With a triumphant smile, Gudrun threw herself at the smaller woman, slashing as she came. Hobbs didn’t try to strike her with the fid, but used it to block a swing that surely would have opened her chest. She allowed the amazon’s size and momentum to bowl her over, setting her foot against the woman’s hipbone and pushing it high into the air. Aided by the shove, her own momentum launched her over Hobbs and well down the deck to crash in a disjointed heap, wrenching her shoulder and knocking some of the air out of her. Hobbs was up first, but not quickly enough to take advantage as the big woman climbed to her feet, smiling once again. She rotated her shoulder, causing a loud pop, and rubbed the back of her hand across her bleeding nose.
         “Cute. I have enjoyed our little game, Englander. Now prepare to die!”

*          *          *

         Brown drifted back into consciousness, aware at once of the blistering pain in his head. He had no idea what might have happened, and pushed himself to his hands and knees.
         “Gudrun!” he called.
         No answer.
         He put his hand to the spot that hurt, and pulled it back covered with blood. He pressed his chin to his chest, stretching the back of his neck, then pulled himself up on the steps. He saw at once that he was alone. Realization set in that Gudrun had either gone to get Hobbs to help him, or she had done this. He staggered to the ladder, took a deep breath to settle himself, and started the climb up. It was nauseatingly difficult, but he could brook no delay. There was no guessing what might be happening up on deck.
         The first thing he saw as his head came up through the hatch was Gudrun’s back up forward beside the pilot house. He couldn’t tell what she was doing at first, but then she began to swing her arm back and forth, and he caught the flash of a knife. More importantly, he saw Hobbs dancing in front of her, dodging and trying to block the slashes of the big woman.
         Pulling himself up on deck he began to walk unsteadily toward the fighting women. He fought down his nausea and had to support himself on the rail, but he finally reached a point directly behind Gudrun and, focused as she was on Hobbs, she didn’t notice him until he clamped his powerful arms over hers in a crushing bear hug. Hobbs charged in to take advantage and the woman lifted both legs and kicked her in the chest, sending her reeling away to crash on the deck.
         With a roar, he threw her sideways toward the rail. She hit it with her back, bounced off, and still full of fight, came at him, thrusting with her knife. He batted her hand aside with his left, and with his right punched her in the face with all of his weight and immense power behind the blow. She spun away, hit the rail with the front of her body, and this time bent forward at the waist and carried right on over, screaming until her impact with the hard ground silenced her voice with finality.
         “Gunther!” Hobbs shouted, getting to her feet and coming toward him.
         “Gunther,” she repeated more quietly, seeing the savage look on his face as he looked below toward the place where she had disappeared.
         ‘Filthy assassin!” he spat. “That was a better fate than she deserved. Are you all right?”
         “Am I all right?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “Gunther, you’re bleeding like a butchered hog. Come to the pilot house and I’ll dress that wound, but first we have to lose our friends there.”
         Their big pursuer punctuated her statement by taking another shot at them.

*          *          *

         Monroe had no sooner released the pelican hook from the anchor than the baron’s commanding voice rang out, amplified by the confined space between the gully walls.
         “Turn around very slowly, Kapitan, und keep your hand away from your weapon. Eric?”
         “Under control, Herr Baron.”
         Monroe turned slowly and took in the scene, von Redesky holding a stubby plasma pistol aimed very steadily at his midsection, and Eric, the “valet,” holding Smith at the business end of a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun. Ellsworth was nowhere to be seen.
         “Looking for your botanist, Kapitan? I assure you, before he is prepared to make a move, my ship will have returned with a dozen soldiers.”
         “Prussian soldiers? You’re ready to risk open war with the Crown, then?”
         “I assure you, Kapitan, no one will ever know we were here. When the animals are through, there well be no bodies to discover. Now unbuckle your belt with your left hand and let the weapon drop.”
         “There never were any notebooks, were there?” Monroe asked, complying with the baron’s order and unbuckling his belt. “Were you ever a real anthropologist?”
         “Indeed I was, Kapitan, und I still am. It makes a wonderful cover for traveling as I wish throughout the colonies. It is amazing what you can see without even trying.”
         “But there never were any watu wa misitu, were there?”
         “No, Kapitan, there were not. Und yet is was sufficient to get you simple-minded Englishmen all the way out here without even asking the questions. That is why we are going to rule the world, beginning with the colonies you are not fit to possess. Now, if you would be so kind as to sit over there by your crewman, you will make splendid bait to bring in your botanist before we dispose of you.”
         “I don’t know what you’re hoping will happen here, but you don’t have anyone on your payroll who can outfly Patience. She’ll bring the authorities back here in a swarm.”
         “Wrong on both counts, Kapitan. First, you have been hearing those booms, ja? Your esteemed Miss Hobbs is in the process of being shot out of the sky as we speak. Second, it doesn’t matter how well she can fly because my so-called secretary went up to the balloon for lunch, do you remember? She is much more ruthless than Eric.”
         “She’s outnumbered two to one.”
         “Und you are thinking she will fail? So what if she does? Your Miss Hobbs is not about to leave you stranded here with us. She will attempt her own rescue. No one needs to catch her. She will come to us.”
         Monroe took a seat beside Smith, heart racing, because he knew beyond any doubt that the baron was right.

*          *          *

         It had been harder for Hobbs to stop Gunther’s bleeding than it had to lose the lumbering airship set to pursue them. Opening up the distance, she had dived over a ridge in a gut-wrenching near free fall, slipped into a narrow space between the trees that lined an uncharted stream, and chugged along at half throttle to northwest as their pursuer moved off to beat the bushes to the west briefly before heading back the way they came.
         Now darkness was falling as Hobbs held her steady in the stream bed, cursing the loss of the anchor as she had to manually keep the ship from drifting. She and Gunther had devised a plan, and she waited now for the engineer to finish his modifications to a standard number six grappling hook. It was after ten o’clock when he came to the pilot house to report his readiness.
         Hobbs lifted the Kestrel out of the shadows and set out on a long, curving course back to the crash site.

*          *          *

         She came up behind the big ship, cruising silently at a speed that kept her twin electric motors as quiet as a whisper. She had gone up to two thousand feet, a height where Kestrel would be nothing more than a shadow on the moon had anyone managed to spot her, and a height where the view upward from the enemy airship would be obstructed by their own gas bag. Now she drifted down, virtually on top of them, a leaf falling though still air.
         Brown stood at the bow behind the fowler which was pointed almost straight down, motioning to Hobbs to take them lower, lower. Achieving the situation he wanted, he held up his hand toward the pilot house and waved it back and forth. Making the sign of the cross over his chest, he steadied the piece and pulled the lanyard. There was a thunderous report, and the hundred feet of light cable sang out under the rail.
         “We have them!” he shouted as the grappling hook he had so carefully sharpened penetrated the gas bag below. “Go, go!”
         Hobbs pulled the throttles all the way back, emergency reverse, letting the motors hum as the hook tore a gaping hole in the envelope of the enemy ship. Brown was frantically reloading their tiny cannon, this time with bits of coal carefully selected for its powdery nature, and he took aim and fired again.
         A shotgun blast of flaming bits of carbon erupted into the escaping hydrogen and quickly raced through the bag as the screaming began. He cut loose the cable holding them to the other ship, and Kestrel quickly backed out of the danger zone. As Hobbs spun the wheel and pushed the throttles to the stops, sending Kestrel into a sharply descending spiral, Brown kicked the rope he had prepared over the side, slung his bolt-action Krag-Jorgensen over his shoulder, and waited for her to find a sheltered clearing for the next part of their plan. That was the work of a moment, and once she came steady he slipped over the railing and slid down into the darkness.
         Hobbs held it steady for a count of twenty to give him all the time he needed to clear the rope, then moved away to wait.

*          *          *

         Brown slid down the rope with the practiced ease of the athlete he was, touching down lightly and waiting for Hobbs to move the ship away, hopefully attracting any unwanted attention upward. Of course, there didn’t seem to be any attention focused anywhere but on the burning wreckage and flaming soldiers raining down from the sky.
         It was the work of a moment to locate the baron’s fire, banked high as it was to keep the nighttime predators at bay. There in the light were Smith and Monroe, tied side by side to a length of timber where it would be easy for the sentries to watch them. No sentries were watching now, with a vision of the apocalypse falling into and around the camp as it trailed away to the southwest, and Brown, though no soldier, found it relatively easy to work his way around behind them.
         There only seemed to be two or three sentries on the ground, plus Eric and the baron, and all were shouting in aimless panic watching the carnage unfolding all around them. Biding his time, Brown carefully crept up behind the two captives, carefully staying in their shadow. When everyone seemed to be looking away, he cut Monroe’s ropes, and as soon as he had gotten his hands free of the ropes, handed him his pistol. He bent to cut Smith’s bindings, and as he was sawing at them, being careful to avoid the man’s bare skin, he heard Monroe shout, “Hold it!”
         He looked up to see the flash as Monroe’s pistol went off, bowling over one of the sentries who was drawing a bead on them. Two others turned, firing wildly, and cocking for their next shots. Brown got his rifle up and fired in unison with Monroe. Both hit the same man, leaving the other unscathed and ready to fire. With a triumphant smile, he aimed at the center of Monroe’s chest. A shot rang out and the man jerked forward with a startled expression, and pitched over onto his face. There at the far side of the camp stood Ellsworth, his .455 Webley smoking as he lowered his arm.
         At the third point of a triangle, von Redesky drew his plasma pistol and raised it to aim. Brown and Monroe both drew down on him, Monroe shouting, “Don’t do it, Baron!”
         Von Redesky hesitated, then relaxed, laid his pistol on the ground, and stepped back from it.
         “Very impressive,” he said sarcastically, slowly clapping his hands. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.”
         “Never mind the compliments,” Brown snarled. “Get on your knees und raise your hands.”
         “You might know it would take a traitor to overcome a force of Prussians.”
         “I have never been a traitor, Baron. My father was an Englander, und I have never had any doubt about my loyalties. If I have to say get on your knees again, I am going to fire.”
         Von Redesky knelt down and raised his hands.
         “Where is Eric?”
         “You’re the genius. You find him.”
         “The Baron sent him to the wreck to look for something,” Monroe said, finally cutting Smith loose.
         “Doctor,” Brown called across to Ellsworth, “tie up the baron, and be careful.”
         He stepped to the side to keep a line of fire to the wreck open.
         “Eric! Sie verloren haben. Kommen mit erhobenen handen hoch!”
         “Zur Holle fahren!” came the shout from the darkness, followed by two shots.
         Von Redesky tried to use the surprise to escape only to be pistol-whipped by Ellsworth, an act that finally took the defiance out of the man.
         “What did he say?” Monroe asked.
         “Go to hell.”
         “I beg your pardon!”
         “That is what he said,” Brown said with a shrug.

*          *          *

         The eastern sky was lightening as the last bit of equipment was loaded aboard the Kestrel. Von Redesky sat, bound, with his back against the pilot house. They had saved one badly wounded soldier and one from the airship who was deep in shock with severe burns. They doubted either one would survive to reach Mombasa, but they weren’t the sort of people who would leave them helpless in the wilderness.
         Von Redesky had recovered from his blow, and was more argumentative, but considerably more subdued than he had been now that he was secured aboard his enemies’ vessel.
         “So, what was the point of all this, Baron?”
         “I told you, I was having a look around.”
         “At what?”
         “That is for you to figure out.”
         “If he was where he says he was,” Smith pointed out, “there’s an unguarded border up there with a growing Italian presence. Could be a useful auxiliary in the event of open conflict.”
         “Don’t forget the mountain of rubies beside the lake we share with the Prussians,” Hobbs added from the pilot house.
         “And that’s not all,” Ellsworth added as he produced a glass jar half full of a brown powder. “I found this in the stuff from the wreck I haven’t had a chance to check this yet, but it could very well be the fungus from your friend’s coffee farm.”
         “All of this goes a long way toward explaining why he tried to kill us,” Monroe said. “Any one of these things would get him a prison sentence, but if that’s the fungus, he could be hanged.”
         “He certainly couldn’t risk that possibility,” Smith said, “and a piece of cow manure like this thinks nothing of killing half a dozen people.”
         “You schweine are ignorant,” von Redesky sneered. “If you insist on treating me like a war criminal even though there is no war, I demand to be confined in the appropriate fashion.”
         “Fair enough,” Monroe replied. “David, rig a shackle over a bed in one of the staterooms for our guest.”
         “With pleasure,” Smith said, heading toward the ladder.
         “Come on, up you get,” Monroe said, taking von Redesky under one arm to lift him to his feet.
         As he came up, he suddenly whipped his hands out in front of him, having worked his bindings loose, punching Monroe in the face and shoving Ellsworth as the doctor turned to see what had happened. He made a bee-line for the side, sliding under the bottom rail, and snagged a rope that had not yet been pulled up. As Ellsworth and Monroe looked on from above, he slid down the rope and into the deep shadows of the heavily eroded terrain.
         “Come back, Baron!” Monroe shouted.
         “You can’t survive alone down there,” Smith added.
         “The damnable fool!” Monroe said. “Unarmed, alone, in the middle of the savanna. The first thing that sees him down there will kill him.”
         “And eat him.”
         “That, too.”
         And though they continued to shout to him for another twenty minutes, he never answered, and they eventually gave up and resumed course for Mombasa.
         “His choice,” Monroe said at last. “The savanna will judge him far more harshly than any magistrate.”

*          *          *

         It was mid-day, and Kestrel was halfway back to Mombasa. Hobbs pointed out the landmarks for Smith to steer by, and went below for the noon meal.
         “Yummy,” she pronounced, sniffing the pot of stew simmering on the burner, and ladled some into a bowl. She took it back to the mess room and sat down at the long table. Ellsworth came in and sat down across from her. His hands were shaking, and he held a cup of strong coffee, but not strong enough to cover the smell of the spirits he had laced it with.
         “You look terrible, Doctor,” she greeted him.
         “Not as terrible as I feel, I’m certain. The captain told me that you couldn’t be pried off the wheel when the ship was underway.”
         “Usually. It’s been a hell of a night, Doctor.”
         “For all of us,” he agreed. He tried to lift his coffee to his mouth, his hand shaking so badly he had to steady it with the other.
         “Any chance that Prussian was the first man you’ve ever killed?”
         “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I’m a scholar. I study plants. I didn’t come out here to kill anyone.”
         “Most people don’t.”
         She reached across the table and put her hand on his. He looked at her hand, then up at her, an almost comical look of surprise written on his features.
         “It will be all right,” she said. “At the bottom of the balance sheet, we’re here, and they aren’t. Sometimes that’s enough.”
         “I suppose it is. There is one thing I’m dying to know, though.”
         “Ask.”
         “How in God’s name were you able to defeat Brunhilda? The baron assured us that she could handle you and Gunther both.”
         “It was Gunther who knocked her over the side.”
         “I heard his story. He was knocked out. She had all the time she needed to have her way with you.”
         “A thing easier said than done.”
         “So I am learning. But how?”
         “Are you familiar with Collins and Mason?”
         “Who isn’t? They must be one of the leading industrial firms in Europe.”
         “Number three,” she confirmed. “I’m a very distant cousin of the Masons. I suppose I never would have gotten a whiff of the family, but when my father was killed in the mines, uncle Jeffrey took us in, my mum and me. It was his mine. He reckoned it was something he owed us. I grew up the only girl among six male cousins on the estate in East Anglia. Uncle Jeffrey had a Japanese groundsman named Hayashi. He spent a number of years teaching me a Japanese wrestling art called ju-jitsu. It doesn’t rely upon strength at all, but rather balance, momentum, and leverage. Basically, it uses your own strength against you, so the bigger and harder you are, the harder you go down. Gudrun was the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You see?” she finished with a mischievous smile.
         “Patience Hobbs, you are the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met in my life!”
         He put his other hand on top of hers.
         “Give yourself some time, Doctor,” she said, pulling her hand back. “You’ve not been out here very long.”
         “How’s that?”
         “Women don’t become intriguing by walling themselves up in London and waiting on their husbands. If you want to be free, the first step is to breathe free air. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Doctor, I have an airship to fly.”
         She left her utensils for him to clean and headed for the pilot house with that provocative, self-assured stride of hers.