Warning from Huang

Schöneluft Log, 1900.06.29, continued

Ulrik Manfred Adler, Acting Captain

Once on board I tried to get an explanation from Mrs. Huang, who can speak some German when it suits her. I followed her to their lodgings above the boiler room, asking question after question. She disappeared into the silk tent that serves as her bedroom while I waited outside. Then she came out and started inspecting the various jars and vats bubbling in the corners of scaffolding. I believe the ladies make vinegar in them, a commodity for which their region is renown.

She came to the largest vat, and removed the lid. She gave a shriek that brought the other grandmothers scuttling over. Then followed a lengthy and angry-sounding three-way tirade in Mandarin, and then Mrs. Huang remembered her German.

“Hair in tub! Why hair in tub?” she demanded.

I winced. Disputes amongst the various factions onboard the ship are Madame von Hedwig’s bailiwick. I only observe the rules – respect Chef’s rule of the galley, do not enter the boiler room or the Grandmother’s encampment without permission. I am no peacekeeper.

Approaching the tub I verified that there were indeed large clumps of fur floating on the surface. The liquid it polluted was not vinegar, though. It was viscous and sparkled dark and silver. I spent some time conciliating before I could ask a question.

“No, I do not imagine you left this vat full of fur.”

“No, Madame, it is not my fur, nor that of the von Hedwigs.”

“No, I do not imagine that you wish this vat to be furred. Perhaps you could strain the fur out of the tank.”

“No, no, of course you should not have to strain the tank if it is not your fur. Perhaps I might broker a solution…”

At last I discovered that the tank held their secret fireproofing solution, with which they have made the Schöneluft the safest ship in the air – a fireproof dirigible. It all made sense then, of course. The boiler crew must have been soaking in it! They work around fire all the time, and are … eccentric in their clothing choices, when they choose to clothe themselves at all.

All told it was an awkward hour before I was able to broach the topic of the situation on the ground. She would not answer any direct questions, instead (as is typical of the grandmothers) ordered me about.

“Go now, fly boat. Leave China.”

“I cannot. We must go to Pekin.”

“No Beijing, Beijing no good for you. No good.”

“Fraulein Philomena is in Pekin, waiting for us at the German Legation.”

She seemed most stricken by this news and consulted with the other Grandmothers in their own language in hushed tones, so different than the screeched conversation at the vat. Mrs. Wang started to cry.

“You hurry. You not stay. You have…you have…” Unable to find the word, she raised her arms, with one hand to her cheek and the other in front, lined up on one eye, fingers pointing.

My heart sank.

“Yes, Ma’am. I have a gun.”