“He is getting cocky again,” Stefania said her Italian accent drifting warmly across the platform.
“He is,” agreed Maureen as she hefted her luggage. “It was bad enough when he tried to get us to order those new fashions from Paris to wear swimming.”
Stefania giggled despite herself blushing at the memory of the “artistic” catalog that had arrived from the continent. “He really is a simple man,” she chuckled.
“Gossiping again?” Rebecca asked as she approached parasol in hand.
“Not us ‘Becca,” Maureen grinned as they walked by throngs of passengers coming and going about the station. Outside the station horseless steamers sat thick black belches of smoke pouring from their stacks as the drivers milled about drumming up passengers.
Maureen ignored a cheeky drivers attempts to chat her up swatting at him with one of her gloves and glaring down at him as she stepped in front of Stefania. “I swear, they are as bad as the drivers in London!”
Rebecca stood on tiptoe and peered around. “There he is!” she exclaimed and grabbed Maureen and Stefania by the hand leading them across the street and down towards the port.
“Where are we going?” Stefania asked as she looked around at the building about them.
“We are heading north a bit, seems John knows a few folks and we are going to pay them a visit,” Rebecca replied as they boarded the Coastal Ferry.
“Speaking of John? Where did he vanish off too?” growled Maureen looking around her as other passengers continued to board.
“I’m right here,” John grinned making his way through the crowds. “I had to make suitable arrangements for our quarters.” he took Maureen and Stefania by the arm and guided them along the crowded deck and to the first class cabins. ‘Compliments of his majesty Robert VI,” he announced as the door was opened for them. “After you m’dears.”
Rebecca followed and John came last shutting the door firmly behind him. ‘I think a gin and tonic is called for,” John said as he set his hat and cane on the side table. “I took the liberty of ordering a little something to tide us over until dinner,” he said as he smoothed his tweed pleats with his hands as he sat down.
“This feels more like a vacation than a mission,” Stefania said as she mixed herself a gin and tonic.
“Don’t get to comfy, we have company,” John answered as he sipped his own drink.
Rebecca looked at him. “You know something.”
“Our friends to the south have sent along some old acquaintances.”
“Oh bother, they didn’t!”
“Yes, Steede and Peele are both here,” John replied as he refreshed his gin and tonic.
III
The ferry’s double stacks puffed great columns of smoke as the mighty wheels churned the locals waters as it steamed northward. The cold fall winds blew steadily down upon the decks the passengers huddling together for warmth.
Stefania sat near the cabin’s tiny window composing a letter home as John and Rebecca sat at the table the remains of a fair supper off to the side as they went over the file once more.
“This Captain Panache comes across as a brutal violent fellow,” John noted as he read the information Grant had provided.
“Downright abusive it sounds, having crewmen humiliate and toss this Grant fellow around like a...a...toy!” Rebecca set the file down. “It sounds to good to be true.”
“I agree,’ John said. ‘I’m not sold on this Grant’s trustworthiness.”
“Throw in the colony troubles and it looks more and more like a Britannia plot to cause trouble north of the border,” Rebecca sipped at her port.
“There are some down in London still fuming over the debacle with the fissionables,’ John noted as he leaned back and smoothed his tweed waistcoat.
A sudden blast of cold ocean wind filled the room as Maureen entered struggling briefly with the door before it slammed shut with a solid thump. “Bloody hell,” she growled out as she set down the the ice. “No sign of our “friends.” probably laying low and doing the same as us.” She mixed herself a gin and tonic.
“If Steede and Peele are here, they are up to something,” John yawned. ‘And they want us to know they are here.”
“Where are we heading John?” Stefania asked as she sealed her letter home.
“Isle of Skye is our final destination but we are stopping over to visit Jock first.”
Stefania’s face lit up. She enjoyed roaming the countryside with Jock while he spent his free time settle on a river bank casting for salmon.
“Jock?” Maureen gave John a look. ‘You trying to use his military connections?”
“Now Maureen,just because I am not looked upon favorably by certain elements of the Ministry of Defense does not mean I would make an end run around the chain of command.”
All three ladies rolled their eyes and made polite sounds of disbelief. John gave each of them a glare. They each smiled at him demurely.
Grant slammed shut his locker and flopped down onto his tiny bunk buried deep in the bowels of The Saltire. Hanging from the curved wall of his cabin was his rubber chicken sporran, its head folded back, a roll of paper stuffed down the chickens gullet. Grant reached up pulling a clean sheet up and reached for his pencil.
“Blast them for making me muck out the clogged air toilet,” he muttered under his breath. “They damn well know I’m a delicate creature and should not be subjected to such abuse! I even pointed out to Captain Panache the regulations that forbid me from performing those duties! But did he listen? NO! Not him! It’s just Grant, he can handle getting dirty, he can handle the toxic fumes generated by the diet this crew consumes. Grant is disposable, we don’t care what happens to Grant as long as he does our dirty work! Well, I’ll show them all!”
Big Mikey paused as he stood watch. ‘Did you hear that?” he commed Ensign Mender of Weasels.
“Sounds like Grant is plotting again,” Ensign Mender replied back. “He didn’t like having to clean out a clogged pipe in the air toilet.”
“Is that what all the moaning and groaning was about?” Big Mikey grinned.
“He was complaining about the diet of the crew being hazardous material,” Ensign Mender chuckled. “Naturally forgetting it was his cabbage stew that clogged the pipes in the first place.”
“Is that what that was? I thought he was trying to ferment some new alcohol recipe,” Big Mikey scanned the horizon for signs of approaching airships.
“I’m turning in,’ big Mikey said, see you for breakfast, these fair winds should bring us to Skye by the morrow.”
Ensign Mender nodded and settled into his watch, the night stars brilliant at this altitude.
To Be Continued…….
The ferry’s double stacks puffed great columns of smoke as the mighty wheels churned the locals waters as it steamed northward. The cold fall winds blew steadily down upon the decks the passengers huddling together for warmth.
Stefania sat near the cabin’s tiny window composing a letter home as John and Rebecca sat at the table the remains of a fair supper off to the side as they went over the file once more.
“This Captain Panache comes across as a brutal violent fellow,” John noted as he read the information Grant had provided.
“Downright abusive it sounds, having crewmen humiliate and toss this Grant fellow around like a...a...toy!” Rebecca set the file down. “It sounds to good to be true.”
“I agree,’ John said. ‘I’m not sold on this Grant’s trustworthiness.”
“Throw in the colony troubles and it looks more and more like a Britannia plot to cause trouble north of the border,” Rebecca sipped at her port.
“There are some down in London still fuming over the debacle with the fissionables,’ John noted as he leaned back and smoothed his tweed waistcoat.
A sudden blast of cold ocean wind filled the room as Maureen entered struggling briefly with the door before it slammed shut with a solid thump. “Bloody hell,” she growled out as she set down the the ice. “No sign of our “friends.” probably laying low and doing the same as us.” She mixed herself a gin and tonic.
“If Steede and Peele are here, they are up to something,” John yawned. ‘And they want us to know they are here.”
“Where are we heading John?” Stefania asked as she sealed her letter home.
“Isle of Skye is our final destination but we are stopping over to visit Jock first.”
Stefania’s face lit up. She enjoyed roaming the countryside with Jock while he spent his free time settle on a river bank casting for salmon.
“Jock?” Maureen gave John a look. ‘You trying to use his military connections?”
“Now Maureen,just because I am not looked upon favorably by certain elements of the Ministry of Defense does not mean I would make an end run around the chain of command.”
All three ladies rolled their eyes and made polite sounds of disbelief. John gave each of them a glare. They each smiled at him demurely.
Grant slammed shut his locker and flopped down onto his tiny bunk buried deep in the bowels of The Saltire. Hanging from the curved wall of his cabin was his rubber chicken sporran, its head folded back, a roll of paper stuffed down the chickens gullet. Grant reached up pulling a clean sheet up and reached for his pencil.
“Blast them for making me muck out the clogged air toilet,” he muttered under his breath. “They damn well know I’m a delicate creature and should not be subjected to such abuse! I even pointed out to Captain Panache the regulations that forbid me from performing those duties! But did he listen? NO! Not him! It’s just Grant, he can handle getting dirty, he can handle the toxic fumes generated by the diet this crew consumes. Grant is disposable, we don’t care what happens to Grant as long as he does our dirty work! Well, I’ll show them all!”
Big Mikey paused as he stood watch. ‘Did you hear that?” he commed Ensign Mender of Weasels.
“Sounds like Grant is plotting again,” Ensign Mender replied back. “He didn’t like having to clean out a clogged pipe in the air toilet.”
“Is that what all the moaning and groaning was about?” Big Mikey grinned.
“He was complaining about the diet of the crew being hazardous material,” Ensign Mender chuckled. “Naturally forgetting it was his cabbage stew that clogged the pipes in the first place.”
“Is that what that was? I thought he was trying to ferment some new alcohol recipe,” Big Mikey scanned the horizon for signs of approaching airships.
“I’m turning in,’ big Mikey said, see you for breakfast, these fair winds should bring us to Skye by the morrow.”
Ensign Mender nodded and settled into his watch, the night stars brilliant at this altitude.
To Be Continued…….
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