Dear Reader, kindly allow me to resume my tale.
As might be imagined, I felt considerable distraction when facing Miss Pryor again after having read the pages of her diary in secret and glimpsed the mysteries of her pleasure. I had accessed such an intimate side of her. In any other circumstance my agitation upon seeing her with such images in my mind would have been obvious, and I don't doubt she would have found out the cause quickly. However, this was no ordinary circumstance and so she did not catch me out. Instead, I returned to her lab in the darkest hours of the night and we left immediately for the aerodrome, there to seek our passage East.
It was a night of bustle and strain. A night of furtive movements and inky silhouettes against London's halogen-blue night. We were transformed into nocturnal creatures by our rushed, hushed passage through the city, and in that slippery state my silences and averted eyes were recast as natural behaviours. Likewise, Miss Pryor's cool, far-eyed control of the mysterious situation seemed the proper order of things. She led while I followed, like dancers at a masked ball. As these two characters other than ourselves, we made our way through trolleys and cabs, back-streets and alleys, to the launching fields at the outskirts of the city.
It is a testament to my great distraction that I did not even consider how we might purchase, barter, or otherwise commandeer a spot on an aero-liner in the middle of the night. I simply assumed that since she meant to leave in the wee hours, she had means of transport already arranged, or perhaps some kind of connection in the hangars. I half-expected a dapper gentleman-pilot to meets us with a brisk, "Right-o! Constantinople it is!" and usher us to our cabins. Regrettably, it was not half so tidy as that.
"Nothing too big, but large enough for at least four," she murmured to me as we approached the aerodrome.
"Pardon?"
"Once we're through the bars, look around quickly for an airship that is not so big as to draw attention, but large enough to accommodate at least four people. Ourselves, Ulupi, and an additional space if needed."
"Through the bars?" I echoed weakly.
But she was already moving ahead of me. Timing her movements to avoid the sweep of the iodine-halogen watch-light, she walked straight up to the wrought-iron fence and pushed through the bars. She did it as easily as one might push through saplings in the underbrush on a weekend stroll.
"Iron," she muttered in disgust. "Decorative, certainly, but not a practical defence."
I slipped through the gap she'd left, not even pausing to inspect her handiwork. A military steam-suit could do as much, but a solider-suit, standing half again as tall as a grown man, would draw far more attention than lithe little Eva and myself. As it was, we simply walked through the grounds at a calm pace as if we belonged there, and then melted into the shadows of the first hangar we came to. It was only at this point that I realized she intended to steal an airship. It wasn't until much later that I realized how this would bring the entire weight of the Unified Nations to bear on us. So, all unknowing of the consequences, I did everything in my power to help her locate a ship suitable for our voyage.
Indeed, it was my enthusiastic eye for things aeronautical that allowed me to identify the right craft within minutes. It was a small, lightweight, long-range steam-skipper, seating two up front at the wheel and potentially another two in the cabin behind. It boasted a small bunk for the pilots to trade off their respite, along with a compact but fully-stocked galley and the head. The space below was taken up by a cargo area and the powerful engines and fuel stores required to make long-haul flights. I thought it was a private owner's touring-craft rather than a Crown working vessel. One could also do a decent trade in smuggling with a ship like this. We found no evidence of the previous owners inside, however, and taking that as a sign, we took the little boat as our own.
Casting off was, of course, the most difficult and dangerous part. We might be able to hide ourselves on the ground, but the liftoff of an airship before dawn was highly irregular and bound to draw attention. Our primary hope was that the majority of airships fast enough to chase us would not have their gas-bladders fully distended (which, after all, was a fire hazard) and would not be able to inflate fast enough to catch up with us.
So quietly we inflated our own balloon, so quietly we hovered mere inches above the ground, so very quietly we opened the hatch in the aerodrome above. Then with a great surge, we cast off the grapples and burst into the sky.
Almost immediately, klaxons began to sound, harsh baying tones like mechanical hounds on the hunt. The force of the wind was terrific; it took all my strength to hold the wheel steady and keep us from losing our speed to buffeting cross-currents.
"There!" she shouted, pointing to a hangar top opening below us. "The pursuit zeps! At three-quarters' capacity, I'd say. They should be able to launch in moments. Tack around, use the wind, the wind!"
"But it's blowing us Westerly! We need to go East!"
"No, we'll go out over the ocean, as if making for New York. Then we can track back around over Unified Russia."
"But the U.N. Occupation forces-!"
"Better them than the French!"
I had to agree there. Giving up the argument, I set the wheel's auto-turn due West and let go. It spun round wildly as the wind took us hard and sharp about, until the compass' needle neared West and tripped the gearshift to set our course, stopping the wheel. Once we were around, I engaged the little skipper's turbo propellers to give us more acceleration in advance of our pursuer's arrival. I hadn't seen any sign of heavy arms on our craft, and besides, our massive aft propellers would have interfered with artillery. This was a craft for evasion. We fled. The sleeping land slid below us, at once unnervingly fast and sickeningly slow. The pursuit zeppelins rose behind us with predator grace.
"Keep us over the countryside," Miss Pryor commanded. "We need to avoid the battalions at Portsmouth and Southampton. I don't think Cardiff will give us trouble. Localists, you know."
"Unless we're shot down there," I muttered. "Not too fond of Englishmen, your Welsh Independents."
"We will not be shot-"
At that very moment, a series of screeching whistles pierced the air and a shudder ran through the craft. Smoke blossomed from the aerodrome's cannon below.
"Scattershot! Blast it!" she growled. "They do want to shoot us down, but by inches. Gain what altitude you can!"
Without warning, she leapt up and threw herself down the stairs, falling into the hold without any apparent control whatsoever. There was a crash. I called out in alarm,
"Are you hurt?"
I got no answer but a series of muffled thumps.
"What are you doing?!"
Just as I was about to run to her rescue, she emerged from the hold and tossed up an armful of coarse fabric.
