With no further reason for delay, the Hesperus set out on its three-day transcontinental journey to the eastern seaboard. Colonel Pell took the opportunity to show Amelia and Alexander the basic layout of an airship and taught them the fundamentals of navigation. Lady Pell focused her lessons on self-defense and diplomacy, often simultaneously. Amelia also received a copy of the Code of Conduct to learn by heart and a history of The Argonaut Society for continual study and finished both en route. By the time the party arrived at headquarters in the afternoon of the third day, Amelia felt less fundamentally unqualified for her station than she had upon departure. In fact, the ease with which she learned provided much-needed encouragement.
A small, solemn group waited outside the hangar as the landing cradle lowered the ship to the ground and the roof slid closed. Amelia tried and failed to ignore the workers and machines that sprang to action around her. It wouldn’t do to gawk. Captains never gawk, she decided. The landing cradle staircase that folded down and in as the party descended didn’t astonish her. The sheer magnitude of the hangar itself left no impression. Her eyes weren’t wide as saucers and her heart didn’t flutter like a giddy school girl. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking.
Colonel Pell introduced her to the Councilmen, whose names she immediately forgot and replaced in her memory with their dominant personality traits: Bombastic, Glad-Hand, Shrew, Glower, and Berserker. Bombastic presented her to Director Marsters, whose demeanor reminded her of an overworked but dedicated nanny minding her wayward and tiresome charges.
Her impressions of the men deepened over dinner. Despite all attempts by Marsters and Colonel Pell to steer conversation toward safe topics, arguments and antagonisms still flared, died and rose again many times over. Her opinion was irrelevant to the belligerent few commandeering first the dinner table and then the den when the party changed locations. Lady Pell remained largely silent for the duration of the gathering, and Amelia recognized in her compatriot’s weariness the capitulation after a long and fruitless war. She began to understand why it had taken them 32 days to decide on a course of action. Twenty-seven of those days were likely spent at each other’s throats.
“Gentlemen, I must retire for the night,” she sighed, rising (not satisfied when the men immediately shut up and scrambled to their feet). “The truth is, I am here because a majority of you decided it should be so, and I intend to move forward as planned until the majority opinion changes. You may continue the debate if you desire. You know where to find me.”
Alexander hid a smirk finishing his drink.
***
The next morning, brighter and earlier than necessary, the curtains snapped open. Daylight streamed across Amelia’s eyes and she growled her displeasure. The suite of sleeping quarters included two bedrooms attached by a common sitting area. After three fitful nights sleeping together on the Mazarine and Hesperus, Amelia and Alexander quickly decided sleeping separately would prevent midnight homicide. Since neither of the couple rose early, Amelia knew her beloved husband couldn’t have been the culprit.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” a young woman chirped as she unleashed another onslaught of sunlight. “I’m Bridget Loft; I’ve been assigned as your lady’s maid and assistant. If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of having your breakfast sent to the patio. It offers a glorious view of the sunrise and the lake. I didn’t know if you preferred coffee or tea, so I ordered both. I’ve also procured suitable attire for today’s activities. If you require anything else during the day, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“How thoughtful, thank you,” Amelia mumbled, attempting a groggy smile. She’d never had her own lady’s maid before, let alone one possessing so much alacrity. But then, she’d never been an airship captain, either.
“I hope you don’t mind the early hour,” Loft continued. “Lady Pell trained me, and she’s quite the morning person. In fact, I expect she’ll have already returned from her dawn ride. She will join you for your first appointment this morning with the clothiers and weaponeers. That will take all morning and resume after luncheon. Then you will have the remainder of the afternoon to rest before dinner at seven when you will meet your crew and complete initiation afterward.”
“During which I sign away my soul with my own blood,” Amelia said, only partially in jest.
“Among other things,” Loft said.
Alexander’s revivified corpse joined her on the patio just as she was gulping down the last of her coffee. A quick kiss on the cheek, and Amelia dashed off.
After a series of measurements for wardrobe, an excruciating three hours passed under the appraising eyes of Master Weaponeer Mr. Plummer and Concealment Specialist Ms. Boon. While Plummer determined which overt weapons Amelia would wield, Ms. Boon demonstrated how smaller weapons could be hidden and where: a bustle-concealed pistol holster, knives slipped up long sleeves and down special sheaths in boots, poison jewelry, throwing sticks and stilettos in hair or used as hatpins.
“Sticking grown men with pins?” Plummer asked Boon. “Isn’t that what your people call acupuncture?”
“Ignore the neanderthal,” Boon said, cutting her eyes at Plummer. “He thinks he can beat people into submission with his big stick. A gun is the first thing your enemy will remove from you. Your knives next, if they know where they’re all hidden. But the cleverly concealed weapons will slip an enemy’s notice. And as a woman, anything you wear can hide a weapon.”
“Or you can just shoot them when they try to take your gun,” Plummer said. “You don’t want to get close enough to a sky pirate to use a dagger, no matter where you stick it.”
“Your first assignment as a new crew will include meeting Emperor Germanus Pax,” Lady Pell interrupted. “Guns aren’t allowed in the imperial palace, but that won’t prevent enemies from attempting to remove you, given the chance. Ms. Boon’s skills hold immediate precedence, then. We can begin overt weapons when you’ve returned.”
Unlike the sessions aboard the Hesperus, Lady Pell didn’t pepper Amelia with both strikes and diplomacy riddles. Instead, she and Boon focused on tricks to draw the gaze while unsheathing a blade, maintaining poise and patience so as not to attract attention, and mind-numbing amounts of repetition to make actions automatic and lightning quick.
“You must never think yourself helpless,” Boon said after she knocked Amelia’s stiletto out of her hand. “Find solutions. Even when these weapons are gone, you still have your mind and your body. Fingers to the eyes, a chop to the throat, an elbow into the solar plexus, a heel ground into the toes can incapacitate or give you space to escape. Use psychology. Let your enemies think you’re defeated. Then twist what hurts them most.”
***
Amelia and Alexander arrived early to the drawing room to await the arrival of the new crew members. Colonel and Lady Pell joined them soon after they arrived, followed not long after by two men deep in conversation. One, a middle-aged man whose attire met Code standards but barely, spoke to the other quite heatedly about the Argo’s speed and capacity. His interlocuter, or, rather, his willing ear, stood straight as a pin in a Pax Terran military uniform. His movements as he poured drinks for himself and the other gentleman were precise, efficient, and fluid.
“Captain and Mr. Brinkley, your Defender Lieutenant Manuel Guerrero, and your Mechanic, Mr. Jonny Monterey,” Pell said as the two men joined them. “Captain Amelia Brinkley, and her husband, Mr. Alexander Brinkley.”
Amelia extended a hand in greeting. Guerrero hesitated, seemingly perplexed, then bowed. “Forgive me. The Code does not address how subordinates should greet a female in command. We are in uncharted skies.”
“’Cause we’ve never had a woman in command, have we? But she isn’t curtsying, is she?” Monterey said, extending his hand to Amelia. “And you can call me Monty.”
“Monty,” Amelia said, taking his hand firmly, then Guerrero’s. "Lieutenant."
"Guerrero, please," her Defender said.
Another gentleman joined not long after, fitting all of the visual criteria for a pilot, including swagger to rival that of Gavin Graves without the plume of booze vapor. He introduced himself as Richard Eckhart.
“Mr. Eckhart has trained to be an Argonaut pilot for many years,” Colonel Pell said.
“I’ve dreamt of flying the Argo since I was a boy,” Eckhart said with a lopsided grin.
“I’m glad you have your opportunity,” Amelia said.
Monty leaned toward Eckhart with a conspiratorial smirk. “Just don’t wreck this one, a’right?” Eckhart’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. Monty’s smirk deepened.
“So,” Amelia said as a diversion, “we have our Defender, our Pilot, our Mechanic, and our Captain-hopeful. We’re missing the first mate and the Chronicler, I believe.”
Colonel Pell made a short bow. “First mate, Colonel William Pell, at your service,” he said.
Amelia couldn’t express her relief. “And the Chronicler?” she asked.
“That position has caused me no end of consternation,” Marsters said as he joined them. “Merriday has thrown the Argonauts into a tailspin with his little stunt,” he said. “But I don’t blame you in the least, Captain. It might have been time for some new life in the ranks. With a new captain comes a new crew and a new vision.”
“The Director has wanted to shake things up for years,” Monty said, pouring another drink. “He finally gets his chance.”
“Merriday’s team was the oldest in Argonaut history,” Marsters said. “And public interest in the Argonauts decreased as a result. If the Society hopes to endure, it needs to evolve with the times.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Monty said.
“What wouldn’t you drink to?” Eckhart mumbled.
“Your health, windbag,” Monty retorted.
Marsters glared at them. “We had an individual set aside, but he declared himself incapable of taking commands from a woman. He flatly refused and relinquished his membership in the Argonauts in protest. In fact, all but one of our initial Argo crew candidates followed suit. I believe Merriday named you as his heir not to demonstrate his support of initiating women into the Society, but as a way to make his parting all the more destructive. It worked.”
I’m the wrench in the works, Amelia thought, her stomach sinking. Merriday intended me to fail and take the Society down as a result.
“There’s a reason we’re the team,” Monty said. “We aren’t exactly the Society’s prime stock. Except Guerrero here. But we’re all willing to follow your orders if it means joining the Argo.”
“The exodus meant we had to make some concessions when choosing the new Chronicler,” Marsters continued. “Some transgressions had to be overlooked.”
Colonel Pell scoffed.
“So our Chronicler has broken the Code enough to make him questionable as a member of the crew?” Amelia asked through another wave of panic.
“Haven’t we all,” Monty joked.
“Ah, here he is,” Marsters said, waving toward the door, but not quite hiding the tension in his face. Unadorned and uncharacteristically somber, Gavin Graves approached the group.
“That horse’s ass is our Chronicler?” Monty asked, then laughed and slapped Gavin’s back jovially. “Knew you’d weasel your way in somehow.”
“They let you in,” Gavin retorted. “Their standards have slipped a bit.” He turned to Amelia and extended his hand. “Mrs. Brinkley, please accept my most humble apology for my actions a few days ago. I had no reason to question your virtue. I allowed my anger to override my good sense. I would be honored to serve as your Chronicler.”
Amelia hesitated. He didn’t appear or smell drunk, but she hoped rather than believed his apology sincere. That meant he held all that rage coiled tight inside, set to a hair trigger.
He’s going to eviscerate me.
A small, solemn group waited outside the hangar as the landing cradle lowered the ship to the ground and the roof slid closed. Amelia tried and failed to ignore the workers and machines that sprang to action around her. It wouldn’t do to gawk. Captains never gawk, she decided. The landing cradle staircase that folded down and in as the party descended didn’t astonish her. The sheer magnitude of the hangar itself left no impression. Her eyes weren’t wide as saucers and her heart didn’t flutter like a giddy school girl. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking. Her hands were not shaking.
Colonel Pell introduced her to the Councilmen, whose names she immediately forgot and replaced in her memory with their dominant personality traits: Bombastic, Glad-Hand, Shrew, Glower, and Berserker. Bombastic presented her to Director Marsters, whose demeanor reminded her of an overworked but dedicated nanny minding her wayward and tiresome charges.
Her impressions of the men deepened over dinner. Despite all attempts by Marsters and Colonel Pell to steer conversation toward safe topics, arguments and antagonisms still flared, died and rose again many times over. Her opinion was irrelevant to the belligerent few commandeering first the dinner table and then the den when the party changed locations. Lady Pell remained largely silent for the duration of the gathering, and Amelia recognized in her compatriot’s weariness the capitulation after a long and fruitless war. She began to understand why it had taken them 32 days to decide on a course of action. Twenty-seven of those days were likely spent at each other’s throats.
“Gentlemen, I must retire for the night,” she sighed, rising (not satisfied when the men immediately shut up and scrambled to their feet). “The truth is, I am here because a majority of you decided it should be so, and I intend to move forward as planned until the majority opinion changes. You may continue the debate if you desire. You know where to find me.”
Alexander hid a smirk finishing his drink.
***
The next morning, brighter and earlier than necessary, the curtains snapped open. Daylight streamed across Amelia’s eyes and she growled her displeasure. The suite of sleeping quarters included two bedrooms attached by a common sitting area. After three fitful nights sleeping together on the Mazarine and Hesperus, Amelia and Alexander quickly decided sleeping separately would prevent midnight homicide. Since neither of the couple rose early, Amelia knew her beloved husband couldn’t have been the culprit.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” a young woman chirped as she unleashed another onslaught of sunlight. “I’m Bridget Loft; I’ve been assigned as your lady’s maid and assistant. If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of having your breakfast sent to the patio. It offers a glorious view of the sunrise and the lake. I didn’t know if you preferred coffee or tea, so I ordered both. I’ve also procured suitable attire for today’s activities. If you require anything else during the day, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“How thoughtful, thank you,” Amelia mumbled, attempting a groggy smile. She’d never had her own lady’s maid before, let alone one possessing so much alacrity. But then, she’d never been an airship captain, either.
“I hope you don’t mind the early hour,” Loft continued. “Lady Pell trained me, and she’s quite the morning person. In fact, I expect she’ll have already returned from her dawn ride. She will join you for your first appointment this morning with the clothiers and weaponeers. That will take all morning and resume after luncheon. Then you will have the remainder of the afternoon to rest before dinner at seven when you will meet your crew and complete initiation afterward.”
“During which I sign away my soul with my own blood,” Amelia said, only partially in jest.
“Among other things,” Loft said.
Alexander’s revivified corpse joined her on the patio just as she was gulping down the last of her coffee. A quick kiss on the cheek, and Amelia dashed off.
After a series of measurements for wardrobe, an excruciating three hours passed under the appraising eyes of Master Weaponeer Mr. Plummer and Concealment Specialist Ms. Boon. While Plummer determined which overt weapons Amelia would wield, Ms. Boon demonstrated how smaller weapons could be hidden and where: a bustle-concealed pistol holster, knives slipped up long sleeves and down special sheaths in boots, poison jewelry, throwing sticks and stilettos in hair or used as hatpins.
“Sticking grown men with pins?” Plummer asked Boon. “Isn’t that what your people call acupuncture?”
“Ignore the neanderthal,” Boon said, cutting her eyes at Plummer. “He thinks he can beat people into submission with his big stick. A gun is the first thing your enemy will remove from you. Your knives next, if they know where they’re all hidden. But the cleverly concealed weapons will slip an enemy’s notice. And as a woman, anything you wear can hide a weapon.”
“Or you can just shoot them when they try to take your gun,” Plummer said. “You don’t want to get close enough to a sky pirate to use a dagger, no matter where you stick it.”
“Your first assignment as a new crew will include meeting Emperor Germanus Pax,” Lady Pell interrupted. “Guns aren’t allowed in the imperial palace, but that won’t prevent enemies from attempting to remove you, given the chance. Ms. Boon’s skills hold immediate precedence, then. We can begin overt weapons when you’ve returned.”
Unlike the sessions aboard the Hesperus, Lady Pell didn’t pepper Amelia with both strikes and diplomacy riddles. Instead, she and Boon focused on tricks to draw the gaze while unsheathing a blade, maintaining poise and patience so as not to attract attention, and mind-numbing amounts of repetition to make actions automatic and lightning quick.
“You must never think yourself helpless,” Boon said after she knocked Amelia’s stiletto out of her hand. “Find solutions. Even when these weapons are gone, you still have your mind and your body. Fingers to the eyes, a chop to the throat, an elbow into the solar plexus, a heel ground into the toes can incapacitate or give you space to escape. Use psychology. Let your enemies think you’re defeated. Then twist what hurts them most.”
***
Amelia and Alexander arrived early to the drawing room to await the arrival of the new crew members. Colonel and Lady Pell joined them soon after they arrived, followed not long after by two men deep in conversation. One, a middle-aged man whose attire met Code standards but barely, spoke to the other quite heatedly about the Argo’s speed and capacity. His interlocuter, or, rather, his willing ear, stood straight as a pin in a Pax Terran military uniform. His movements as he poured drinks for himself and the other gentleman were precise, efficient, and fluid.
“Captain and Mr. Brinkley, your Defender Lieutenant Manuel Guerrero, and your Mechanic, Mr. Jonny Monterey,” Pell said as the two men joined them. “Captain Amelia Brinkley, and her husband, Mr. Alexander Brinkley.”
Amelia extended a hand in greeting. Guerrero hesitated, seemingly perplexed, then bowed. “Forgive me. The Code does not address how subordinates should greet a female in command. We are in uncharted skies.”
“’Cause we’ve never had a woman in command, have we? But she isn’t curtsying, is she?” Monterey said, extending his hand to Amelia. “And you can call me Monty.”
“Monty,” Amelia said, taking his hand firmly, then Guerrero’s. "Lieutenant."
"Guerrero, please," her Defender said.
Another gentleman joined not long after, fitting all of the visual criteria for a pilot, including swagger to rival that of Gavin Graves without the plume of booze vapor. He introduced himself as Richard Eckhart.
“Mr. Eckhart has trained to be an Argonaut pilot for many years,” Colonel Pell said.
“I’ve dreamt of flying the Argo since I was a boy,” Eckhart said with a lopsided grin.
“I’m glad you have your opportunity,” Amelia said.
Monty leaned toward Eckhart with a conspiratorial smirk. “Just don’t wreck this one, a’right?” Eckhart’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. Monty’s smirk deepened.
“So,” Amelia said as a diversion, “we have our Defender, our Pilot, our Mechanic, and our Captain-hopeful. We’re missing the first mate and the Chronicler, I believe.”
Colonel Pell made a short bow. “First mate, Colonel William Pell, at your service,” he said.
Amelia couldn’t express her relief. “And the Chronicler?” she asked.
“That position has caused me no end of consternation,” Marsters said as he joined them. “Merriday has thrown the Argonauts into a tailspin with his little stunt,” he said. “But I don’t blame you in the least, Captain. It might have been time for some new life in the ranks. With a new captain comes a new crew and a new vision.”
“The Director has wanted to shake things up for years,” Monty said, pouring another drink. “He finally gets his chance.”
“Merriday’s team was the oldest in Argonaut history,” Marsters said. “And public interest in the Argonauts decreased as a result. If the Society hopes to endure, it needs to evolve with the times.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Monty said.
“What wouldn’t you drink to?” Eckhart mumbled.
“Your health, windbag,” Monty retorted.
Marsters glared at them. “We had an individual set aside, but he declared himself incapable of taking commands from a woman. He flatly refused and relinquished his membership in the Argonauts in protest. In fact, all but one of our initial Argo crew candidates followed suit. I believe Merriday named you as his heir not to demonstrate his support of initiating women into the Society, but as a way to make his parting all the more destructive. It worked.”
I’m the wrench in the works, Amelia thought, her stomach sinking. Merriday intended me to fail and take the Society down as a result.
“There’s a reason we’re the team,” Monty said. “We aren’t exactly the Society’s prime stock. Except Guerrero here. But we’re all willing to follow your orders if it means joining the Argo.”
“The exodus meant we had to make some concessions when choosing the new Chronicler,” Marsters continued. “Some transgressions had to be overlooked.”
Colonel Pell scoffed.
“So our Chronicler has broken the Code enough to make him questionable as a member of the crew?” Amelia asked through another wave of panic.
“Haven’t we all,” Monty joked.
“Ah, here he is,” Marsters said, waving toward the door, but not quite hiding the tension in his face. Unadorned and uncharacteristically somber, Gavin Graves approached the group.
“That horse’s ass is our Chronicler?” Monty asked, then laughed and slapped Gavin’s back jovially. “Knew you’d weasel your way in somehow.”
“They let you in,” Gavin retorted. “Their standards have slipped a bit.” He turned to Amelia and extended his hand. “Mrs. Brinkley, please accept my most humble apology for my actions a few days ago. I had no reason to question your virtue. I allowed my anger to override my good sense. I would be honored to serve as your Chronicler.”
Amelia hesitated. He didn’t appear or smell drunk, but she hoped rather than believed his apology sincere. That meant he held all that rage coiled tight inside, set to a hair trigger.
He’s going to eviscerate me.
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