Meanwhile, Back at the Airship

Schöneluft Log, 1900.06.24

Ulrik Manfred Adler, acting Captain

27.834, 86,602, anchored. Wind northwest, 27mph

Despite my failure to protect their children, the von Hedwigs have given me the honor of commanding their ship whilst they attempt a rescue. It has been a week since Herr von Hedwig and his good lady descended the volcanic tube that swallowed the children the week before. They returned from Saigon in record time with the American pilot. Her racing vessel is a thing of beauty, a scarlet-enveloped custom Renard racing dirigible modified to carry extra fuel for longer voyages. Captain Charette showed me around her ship as we readied it for the rescue mission. The interior is built from Japanese lacquered panels, lighter than wood but just as strong. The controls are so delicate, the ship so responsive! I would love a chance to pilot her to be sure, but they are all mad to plunge down a cave in such a flimsy craft. I believe the pilot is quite reckless, but Mein Herr trusts her, and so must I. He may treat his own life as nothing, but he will not risk his lady wife.

I wish I had gone with them. I wish I could do something, anything, to recover the children. It is my fault they were taken, yet I float, useless, in the empty, quiet ship that should never be so quiet. There has been no word from the rescue mission below.

I have waited here as long as I can. Now I must proceed to Pekin to retrieve Fraulein von Hedwig. Captain Charette told us Saigon hears whispers of trouble in China, of fomenting rebellion. Perhaps these are only rumors, but I am anxious to have Philomena safely on board. Then I will have to tell her I lost her brothers and sisters, and she will hate me forever.

She has been touring the more remote areas of Eastern Europe with a British family of much wealth and little talent. Why would she go to Transylvania with them rather than to the Great Himalayas with her own family? Surely not for the sake of a piano-accordion player?

The boiler chief has made it clear he thinks he should be captain in Mein Herr’s absence. He rolls his lips around in a sneer when he thinks I’m not watching. They keep to their routine, as far as I can tell. None of us know what it is they do or why they do it, but they are keeping busy and the Schöneluft purrs in contentment. I shall play a small concert for them tonight, for morale’s sake. I must find something cheerful to play, as all that comes to my fingers these days is Mahler. Though the solstice is past, today seemed far longer, and I have felt every minute of it. Tomorrow we fly north.