Episode Three: Ballroom Blitz

Amelia arrived at Colonel Pell’s country estate grateful for the distraction from Alexander’s proposal. Struck as inarticulate as her (clearly mad) suitor, she escaped with a promise to communicate her decision after the gala article ran.

A two-seat Ticker clockwork car zoomed around the circle to the front steps of the Colonel’s home. Gavin slid out of the Ticker and took the stairs two at a time, not seeing Amelia until he nearly ran her over.

“Ah, Miss Stodge! Delighted that you could make it!” Gavin said with uncharacteristic geniality.  He adjusted his driving goggles on his forehead with his customary swagger. “McGoffery gave you the clunker model, I see. The new ones are more streamlined and the roll adjusts automatically.”

Gavin’s breath explained his happy demeanor. 

Amelia admitted inwardly that the cuff was, indeed, clunky. But if she hadn’t worn it she would have felt, if not underdressed, then certainly under-accessorized. Almost everyone she saw, women as well as men, sported some kind of gadget. As she and Gavin joined the crowd in the expansive foyer, Amelia noticed that the gentleman in front of them appeared to have encased his entire right shoulder and arm with a gleaming brass and leather contraption. With every movement of his arm or fingers, various pressure releases hissed and tiny pistons clicked.

“General Beauregard Pillington,” Gavin whispered to Amelia, leaning close so he wouldn’t be overheard. Amelia held her breath to fend against the rolls of whiskey vapor billowing from his mouth. “His arm was paralyzed by a bullet in the wars. Leading from the front, right? The Regent wanted to award him a medal, but the general refused. ‘What good is a medal if I can’t shake a man’s hand?’ he said. Colonel Pell arranged for an Argonaut sponsor company to design and fabricate this apparatus for him. He has been a solid contributor to the Society ever since.”

Not wanting to admit her ignorance – she had no idea who the Argonauts were – Amelia appeared duly impressed. General Pillington reached out to take a glass from a passing tray and the apparatus clicked and hissed as his fingers gripped the fragile glass.

“Of course, he can’t wear it all the time,” Gavin continued sotto voce. “It’s blasted heavy.”

I can sympathize, Amelia thought, her shoulder already beginning to ache from the weight of the cuff on her arm.

Colonel Pell and Captain Merriday greeted Gavin and Amelia as they approached.

“Gavin!” Colonel Pell said, “How good of you to join us. Will you be writing the article? I couldn’t imagine a better man to do so.”

“If I were, I couldn’t enjoy the breadth this evening’s festivities,” Gavin answered with a wink. “The editor has chosen the lovely Miss Stodge for the writeup. You might have read some of her articles in the social activities page.”

The Colonel offered a warm welcome and introduced her to the man of honor.

Captain Merriday, the beneficiary of the evening’s festivities, appeared a tad older than Amelia anticipated, with shots of grey in dark hair and lines about cheerful hazel eyes in a tanned and rugged face. Precisely the countenance one expected in an expeditionarian. He welcomed her and expressed his desire for an interview if circumstances allowed.

“Remember McGoffery’s rule,” Gavin said as they entered the ballroom, “as long as you wear the cuff, behave as one representing the Metropol. No wine and dancing for you tonight, I’m afraid,” he chuckled.

Sighing, Amelia looked about. Couples swirled about the floor to a vivacious waltz, while other guests gathered in clusters to observe and converse, like any social gathering of sufficient attendance. That much at least remained familiar, she thought. 

Before this evening, Amelia’s interaction with the self-named Adventuring class - aside from Gavin Graves - had been limited to the occasional moment or two in a Kettery elevator. These were the people whose fortunes sprang from and directly fueled the scientific and industrial advancement of the territory. They were factory owners, tradesmen, inventors.

“Do you see Mister Louis Grant?” she asked Gavin. “I understand he may have recently abdicated to the Adventuring realm.”

He smiled, somewhat mischievously. “I expect he will be in the Green Room already.”

“Is that so,” Amelia replied.

“You should just admit to your ignorance, and ask me what it is.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she said. “I have work to do, if you don’t mind.” Gavin smirked and merged into the crowd.

Since dancing was out off limits, Amelia wandered in search of inspiration for her article. 

Her press credentials attracted the garrulous and several guests regaled her with thrilling tales of dubious veracity involving sky pirates, junkers, and even a sea monster or two.

She had just concluded with one such conversant when a young woman bumped into her, causing her to lurch sideways against a man in a gold kurta pajama, a telescoping monocle faceplate strapped to his head.

“Oh! I’m so, so sorry!” the young woman said, eyes wide. She couldn’t have been older Margaret, with none of the benefit of deportment lessons to smooth the age’s awkwardness.  “Bit preoccupied, I’m afraid.”

“Quite all right,” Amelia said.  righting the ungainly cuff, tightening the buckles to hold it in place. “Rather crowded, isn’t it?”

“You’re the Metropol reporter?” the young woman asked, crestfallen. “You don’t look the part. Well, except the cuff, but everyone here has a something-or-other. I just thought you would be…well, I thought I saw Gavin – sorry, Mr. Graves. He works at the Metropol, too. Do you know him?”

“I’m afraid I do,” Amelia supplied, glancing around. “But I haven’t seen him for over an hour. Perhaps he’s in the green room.”

“Of course he’d be, that cheek! But I’m not allowed in there; Papa’d murder me.” She sighed. Then, as a hesitant afterthought, she thrust out a gloveless hand in greeting. “I’m Cacity Darrowell. Reg’s daughter. Have you met Reg? The Peregrine’s mechanic.”

Not knowing which volley of the verbal bombardment to address first, Amelia shook Cacity’s hand. 

“Oh, wait!” Cacity swept a glass of champagne off a passing tray, draining half of it in a gulp. Amelia caught herself staring and looked away.

“I hate these things, parties” Miss Darrowell said, fiddling with her glass. “Too many people. And it isn’t easier knowing someone as not. I never feel like I’m doing the right thing.”

“A fairly common annoyance,” Amelia replied. “I’m Amelia Stodge, by the way.”

“Enchante. Have you seen the bravura yet? I’ve already seen it dozens of times,” she said. “But you really must. For the article.” Flashing an impish grin, Miss Darrowell took Amelia’s hand and guided her through the crowd, her brown curly braid swinging.

A large globe centered the exhibit, bristling with large flag-topped pins. Tables and curios radiated out, covered with artifacts, mission scrapbooks, equipment.

“The pins show where he’s been,” Miss Darrowell explained. “And each of his expeditions are coded by color. Most of them started at the Argonaut headquarters.” She pointed at a particularly large pin a few territories east. Strings of different colors sprouted from the pin in all directions. Many strings of the same color connected pins across the world, including the North and South Poles. There were easily three dozen pins along six colors of string, and a hundred more single pins without string.

“He was personally involved in all of these excursions?” Amelia asked, incredulous.

Miss Darrowell nodded. “He’s always looking for a new adventure. He thought of the Amazon trip when he was helping settle a civil war in northern Africa.” She tapped her forehead. “Always thinking ahead. He climbed a mountain in the Himalayas, though not the biggest mountain. He’s been on two African safaris. Was nearly trampled to death by a hippopotamus on the first one so he had to go back. He had the hippo stuffed, too, as payback.” She pointed out a photograph of Merriday beside the hulking beast. “He accompanied an archaeologist in Egypt and helped discover a lost pharaoh’s tomb. Did you know the Egyptians didn’t think the brain served a purpose, so they didn’t preserve it? All those little jars, and not one single brain.”

“Out of their minds,” Amelia said. A few of the guests around the display cast amused glances at Miss Darrowell, who appeared utterly oblivious to the attention.

“Let’s see,” she mused, torquing her lips sideways and glancing at the globe for inspiration. “Oh, of course, he has been to the East Indies and visited the temples there, but that didn’t get much attention. He traveled with a tribe of Bedouins, too. And then for a while he fought in the Unification Wars, but he doesn’t talk about that, and he refuses to include anything from that time in the exhibit, even though those stories were the most popular series of his career so far.”

“So he’s a journalist as well?”

“Oh no, he doesn’t write his own stories. He has a historiographer, part of his crew. Well, had a historiographer. Sen Bradford died a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Amelia said.

“Sen Erasimus Bradford will be hard to replace,” a familiar voice slurred from behind, “and I believe I know who they should choose.”

“Gavin!” Miss Darrowell cried. Then, recollecting herself, “I mean, Mister Graves.” She bobbed a rather awkward curtsy and beamed at him.

“Well done, Miss Darrowell,” Gavin said, hiding a grin behind a look of appraisal.

She blushed – quite prettily Amelia noticed with a sting – and at a loss for what to do with her hands, worried at a compass hanging from her watch chain. “I think you should be the new historiographer.”

“I intend to join the Argo in some capacity soon enough.” He looked meaningfully at Amelia with glazed eyes. He reeked of licorice, incense and something resembling body odor.

“Even while your father’s business founders?”

The older gentleman materialized among them, leaning on a carved ivory cane. He studied Gavin through round spectacles, his countenance a display of placid curiosity.

Gavin’s face hardened with disdain. “Mordrake.”

“I was grieved to hear about the unfortunate explosion in your father’s factory,” Modrake said with a tone of regret in his age-weathered voice.

Gavin’s chest heaved and he struggled to hold his composure. Those nearby glanced at him and spoke in close whispers. “I assure you, Mister Mordrake, the malfunction was not as destructive as you desire.”

“Desire? I desire anything of the sort. My business quite depends upon the success of your father’s factory.”

Gavin’s jaw and hands clenched. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but we have all to hand.”

Mordrake nodded. “Please tell you father that I am available should he require any assistance.”

Gavin exploded, landing a punch to Mordrake’s jaw before anyone could stop him. Mordrake toppled backward, dropping his cane and grasping anything to arrest his fall, which happened to be Amelia’s arm. Already teetering on her destabilizing heels, Amelia fell. The cuff struck the marble tiles and shattered in dozens of pieces that skittered across the floor.

Gavin stood over Mordrake and gripped his lapel, his other fist prepared for a second assault, face purple in rage, eyes wild. “We need none of your assistance,” he seethed.

A hand grasped Gavin’s arm to disrupt the assault. Unprepared and wild with fury, Gavin rounded blindly, clubbing Captain Merriday across the jaw. Realizing what he had done, Gavin blanched, his rage drained.

Mouth set in a grim line and rubbing his jaw, Merriday glared at Gavin. “Bring him with me.” Two large men gripped Gavin’s arms and and led him away.

Amelia returned Mordrake’s cane, which had rolled next to her. The gentleman wiped blood from his mouth with an otherwise pristine white kerchief. A few bystanders helped Amelia gather the pieces of her cuff in her bag. She held the larger mechanism in her hand.

“I apologize for getting you involved, my dear,” Mordrake said. “I will, of course, see to replacing your cuff.” He bowed slightly and offered his white gloved hand. “As our mutual acquaintance is incapacitated at the moment, I will eschew convention. Bertram Mordrake.”

She dipped a brief curtsy and returned the introduction. “I appreciate your generosity, sir, but Mister Graves should pay for the cuff, not you.”

“His pride may be his undoing,” Mordrake said with a worried shake of the head. “And the destruction of everything his father has worked so hard to build.”

“Forgive my boldness, but why would he attack you so?” Amelia asked.

Mordrake leaned on his cane and sighed. “That Graves pride, I’m afraid. Gavin and his father. Neither wants to accept assistance, or even admit they might require it. I’m sure you’ve witnessed what I speak of.”

Amelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I have.”

“And he becomes more intractable when inebriated, I’m afraid. He seems to have visited the Green Room too eagerly.” He glanced toward the nearby door, which had been opening and closing with some regularity, accompanied by billows of smoke and laughter. 

Mordrake must have seen Amelia’s befuddled expression, though she tried to hide it. “The room designated for the consumption of absinthe and other foreign substances,” he explained. “Personally, I find it repulsive concoction that robs the mind of sense. But it seems to be a favorite of the younger set, and Pell caters to all his guests when possible. Even if it isn’t necessarily advisable.”

The cuff's mechanism smeared her gloves with ink and grease, and her roll of typed notes unwound into looping ribbons. Anger soon claimed her better nature and she excused herself to search for Gavin. After witnessing such a reprehensible display, she believed him more than capable of stealing her interview with the famed explorer. 

As she neared the hallway where Merriday had disappeared with Gavin, she heard men's laughter behind a closed door and lost no time imagining her coworker gathering material for his unsolicited article. She rapped quickly on the door and didn’t wait for word to enter.

“You have destroyed my cuff, and I insist that you arrange for its repair.”

Gavin Graves lay unconscious on a divan, a tumbler of some golden liquid on the floor beside him. The men who had escorted him out of the ballroom sat with Merriday, who paused in the act of mimicking some large and intimidating beast.

Merriday dropped his arms and chuckled. “Gavin’s taken a sobriety tonic. He’ll sleep for about an hour, and when he wakes, he should be clear-headed. I can do nothing for his inevitable head ache, but he’ll be more tractable.”

“If one could ever describe him as ‘tractable,’” Amelia said. “I apologize. I will leave you to your…charades.” Flustered and no doubt flushing unprettily – wouldn’t her mother be proud – she turned to leave.

“Don’t I owe you an interview?” Merriday asked.

Amelia nodded, recollecting herself. “I’m afraid my recording device has been damaged beyond immediate repair, however.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “But we have pen and paper here. After hours at the receiving line, I’m in no hurry to return to the party. ”

She settled at the writing desk. “I assume you would prefer Gavin’s indiscretion not appear in my article? Though it would coordinate well with your general reputation, from what I hear.”

Merriday spread his hands in front of him like a banner. “Argonaut Captain Incites Gala Brawl. One can imagine. The public will hear of it, regardless.”

“Well, then,” she said, surveying her surroundings.“Where shall we begin?”

“Would you like a full life history, or a survey of my expeditions?” he asked. “I will admit my childhood is rather dull, so perhaps let’s skip to the exciting bits.”

“Exciting bits.” Amelia grinned as she wrote the words.

What followed, Amelia ascertained, was a nearly verbatim recitation of his interview script. Recruitment by the Argonaut Society by sheer coincidence when he and an Argonaut foiled the armed robbery of a carriage. Various wild and glorious adventures in all parts of the globe. A spare mention of his participation in the Wars. Meeting celebrated individuals in every country, territory, and city. And a few moments imploring the general public to contribute to the continuation of his exploration by purchasing his books or donating to the Argonaut Society Exploration Fund.

“Do you have any other questions?” he asked at the end.

Amelia’s hand had gone past cramping, and her handwriting devolved into illegible scratches and fragmented phrases as she tried to keep up.

“What will your next adventure bring?” She massaged her aching fingers as Merriday thought.

“More of the same, I’m afraid. Allow me to explain. My excursions have challenged my stamina as well as my wits. Those stories inspire the imagination, encourage people to support the cause so they can live through me. But as I’ve grown older, I appreciate intellectual endeavors more. Perhaps because I am less physically resilient. Adventures take their toll on the body.”

“I’d like to join a meditative community. Maybe a Buddhist monastery in the east. Learn from the lamas how to meditate, to quiet the restless mind for a while. My mind is restless, you see. It never sleeps. And more often of late, I can’t sleep, either. Endless nights with a restless mind filled with memories like mine…they prey on the spirit, and the only way to quiet them is to keep moving. Keep busy. Make plans, find new adventures, keep the heart pumping so it remembers its purpose. Maybe in those mountains I can finally find peace.”

Amelia had stopped writing. Merriday stared at the ceiling and appeared for the first time old and fragile. His voice had lost the warmth, had taken on a hollow, husk-like quality, as though he had fed on these hopes for too long with little return.

“What prevents you?”

Even his chuckle sounded dead. “Meditation and self-discovery sell poorly.”

“Then the Argonauts are only interested in money?” Somehow, this discovery failed to surprise her.

“Exploring the world requires funding, my dear,” he replied. “Don’t let’s be naïve.” He looked at his interviewer directly for the first time since the interview began. “Off the record?”

Amelia nodded and set the pen aside.

“The Argonaut Society has done considerable good. Technology invented by Argonauts and produced by its sponsors helped win the Wars. An Argonaut, Kettery, designed and funded the sky trolley system here. We have brought medicine to regions ravaged by disease, mediated international conflicts, even killed for a common good. None of this could be organized without considerable financial support. Our industrial investors require various modes of compensation. None of these persons are what one might call philanthropists. So, if the Argonauts want to continue their good work, they must look to the less magnanimous details of funding. A monastery in Tibet provides little monetary incentive, and the public in general cares little for introspective pursuits.” He shrugged. “QED, they send us where the money is.”

“Fund raising galas, for instance?” Amelia asked, though another question nagged just under the surface. She couldn’t fix words to it, couldn’t even determine its source.

“And a glorious gala it is,” Gavin muttered from the divan.

“Then we must get back to it,” Merriday said, composing his face once more for the public.

***

The sun’s first sliver of light rose behind the mail shrouded crimson balloons of the Argo. Every inch of the ship’s gleaming wood hull had been polished to reflect the flickering lamps, torches and spotlights surrounding it. Trays of champagne circulated the crowd while Colonel Pell spoke about the glories of exploration. Merriday himself, arrayed in his trademark uniform, thanked the guests and sponsors for their generous donations, praised them for believing so fervently in the future of science, exploration, and a more just world. A toast, a cheer, then, amidst a riot of fanfare and applause, Merriday stood in the open cabin doorway waving as the Argo lifted into the pearl grey sky.

Gavin and Amelia watched until the dirigible’s crimson balloon disappeared into the clouds. They sat on the steps leading to the lawn, a nearly empty bottle of champagne between them. Over the course of the evening, they had spent, in total, three hours in each other's presence actively conversing - a miracle Amelia credited to the effects of fatigue and wine.

Amelia’s curiosity finally got the better of her. “How did you get involved in all of this?” She gestured with her champagne glass at the general pageantry and splendor.

“I was born for it,” he replied, then drained the bottle in a gulp.