The Chase of the Saltire IV

Jock sat on the bank casting his fly rod as Stefania sat nearby her sketch pad in hand her hands busy as she roughed out another sketch of Jock fishing.

“I hope you have moved onto a more fitting subject,” Jock joked as he placed his fly just where he wanted it.

Stefania smiled. “My grandfather would say the same thing when I would visit him at Lake Como,” she smiled her cheeks dimpling as she continued to draw.

Jock grinned and continued on with his fishing.

“Any sign of Steede and Peele?” John asked as he set down a large hamper overflowing with food and drink.

“Saw them out earlier nosing around the shore near the ruins,” Rebecca said. “They were acting like a couple on holiday.”

“Really? Are they still using that cover? I think every agency on the continent is aware of that ruse,” John replied as he spread a large wool blanket over the ground.

“It seems a bit odd to be having a picnic this time of year,” Rebecca smiled as she knelt down.

“It is a bit chilly I admit, but,” John deftly removed the cork from a bottle of champagne. “I know that Skye is not the destination of The Saltire.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. ‘And you know this how?”

John grinned. “ I charted the currents from North America to here, they will make landfall in a day or two just to the north. Jock being close at hand was just a bonus.”

Maureen adjusted her camera’s lense and snapped pictures in rapid succession of Steede and Peele.

“Smile for the camera Miss Peele,” Steede said grinning, we seem to have attracted company.”

“One of the lady’s I see, he does have quite the industrious little harem.”

“Why MIss Peele, do I detect a hint of moral outrage?”

“What ever gave you that Idea?” Miss Peele smiled her eyes twinkling. “Trying to cover your hidden desire’s for your own?”

“Miss Peele! I would never desire,” Steede paused and looked down the glen, ‘Such an outmoded and barbarous institution!”

Maureen shook her head chuckling as the exchange carried across the glen. “John wishes he had a harem too,” she said softly too herself as she began to pack up the large camera. It took several minutes to break down the large camera and its components, placing them in their slot in the large carrying box.

“Grant!” The loud firm voice of Captain Panache traveled the length of the the airship The Saltire. “Report to the bridge!”

Grant set down his wrench and adjusted his golden flowing locks. He took his time working his way up from the bowels of the airship until he stood upon the open bridge.

“Reporting as ordered Captain,” he said standing there before Panache.

“Yes, Grant, have you been sending off those misleading reports as I requested?” Panache gave his crewman a stony gaze as he absently flicked his fly whisk about.

“Of course Captain, I always follow orders don’t I?” Grant said gazing at Panache.

“Except when you don’t,” came a rumble followed by laughter further down the bridge.

Grant shot daggers in the general direction of the laughter. Panache raised his hand and the laughter stopped abruptly.

“Good, we make landfall on the morrow. I expect you to have done your job well and that we shall be met by officials of Alba’s government so we can quickly go about our business. “

“Of course Captain,” Grant said staring ahead.

“Hmmm, yes,” Panache eyed Grant. “Crew, break out your number one kilt uniform, we must make a favorable impression after all. Grant, you may return to your duties.” Panache turned and took the wheel of The Saltire.

The Chase of the Saltire II & III

The rain had cleared and the sun had appeared as the local steamer pulled into Oban Station. Maureen descended from the carriage her skirts gathered in her hand as Stefania held out a hand to her. John stuck his head out of an open window, meet me round the front of the station, arrangements for transportation have been made,” he said and pulled his head back into the carriage.

“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 Old Firm XVIV: A Steampunk Tale

"Good, I was just going to call for you," John said when Rebecca appeared. "We're an hour from the border."

"Any word?" She asked as she took the seat next to him.

"Nothing. And that is worrying."

"He's not crazy enough to detonate the fissionables," Rebecca said with certainty.

"I don't know, he's growing more unstable I think."

"John, criminal masterminds are not known to be the most stable individuals in polite society."

"Neither are we, Becca," John said to her softly his hand touching hers.

"John please, not now," she pulled her hand away the slightest distance.

"Yes, of course, business first of course," John cleared his throat.

"You know I don't mean that." Rebecca turned away and wiped at the corner of her eye.

"Of course," JOhn's voice was flat as he stood. 'Keep track of Stefania, it's going to be sticky on the border." he handed Rebecca a wireless. "Seems that the Duke of Westchester-on-Stratford has moved his regiment within a mile of the border on maneuvers."

"I know that there are those on both sides who desire war to sate their thirst for vengeance but to involve fissionables is madness!"

"We are not seeing the whole picture," John said rubbing the bridge of his nose. "There is another plan, one that only benefits Master M. I'll be damned if i can figure it out though."

"We'll stop him, we always do," Rebecca said firmly and smiled. "Besides, you don't think we would let you get out of taking us to the continent for some time on the beaches of Italia. Stefania wants to show us around her village."

"Sun, wine, and beautiful women. How can a man argue with that?" John smiled broadly.

"They can't," Rebecca grinned now lets catch this bastard."

To Be Continued......

The Chase of the Saltire

John McBride stared out at the Dumfries skyline as he sipped at his tea. The late fall rains had been falling for over two weeks now swelling the River Nith as the rain swept clean the city streets. John turned and walked over to Rebecca who was reading the Dumfries Daily. Without looking up she held out a silver flask which he tipped into his cup pouring a medicinal dram of single malt into his tea.

“Thank you dear,” John said as he give his tea a quick stir as the door to the drawing room opened and William Earl of Argyll entered.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, business of the crown and all that.” The Earl set a file down on the table and went over to the tea pot and poured himself a cup. “Good job on that last bit of business,’ he said as he took a chair.

“Thank you. We’re looking forward to spending some time on the continent catching some sun,” John answered as he drained the dregs of his cup.

“I imagine you are but I’m afraid that will have to wait.”

Maureen and Stefania set down the cards in their hands and gazed upon the Earl. Rebecca stood and went to John’s side.

The Earl continued,” We have received information that may be of the utmost importance to Alba.”

“Go on,” John said neutrally.

“Britannia’s colonial troubles may soon wash upon our shores. We’ve received intelligence stating that a rebel airship known as The Saltire is heading towards our western borders, possibly the Isle of Skye.”

“The colonies want to draw us into the conflict on their side,” Rebecca said.

“That is a possibility,” acknowledged the Earl. “We don’t know, there has been no official communication between them and his majesties government.”

“Then why are we being involved?” John asked as he poured himself a port after offering one to the Earl who accepted.

“We have an informant aboard. A crewman by the name of Grant. He says the Captain is a rogue who will wreck havoc upon any who get in his path.”

“Sounds rather fanciful to me, like some penny adventure story,” John smiled.

“We thought so a first, but this grant chap provide information that has since then been proven accurate.” The Earl handed rebecca the file. “We are not going to take any chances. His majesty wants to send Princess Mary to the continent in a few weeks. The timing is bit too much of a coincidence for our liking.”

“Oh my! This Grant has a high opinion of himself,” Rebecca said as she looked through the file. Maureen and Stefania both looked at her questioning. “Golden flowing locks, pert firm buttocks.” Rebecca let out a laugh as Maureen joined her and Stefania turned away blushing.

“Yes, his dispatches have been a mixture of grandiose bragging and terror ridden pleading,” the earl noted as he sipped his tea and reached for a lemon biscuit.

“Mender of Weasels, Big Mikey, Captain...Panache? This all sounds like the fancy of some day dreamer,” Rebecca said as she closed the file.

“It is rather unusual I agree,” the Earl said, “But with the increased tensions within Britannia and her colonies, his Majesty feels we must be treat this situation with the utmost seriousness.”

Maureen and Stefania had put away their cards and were gathering up their purses. Rebecca slipped the file into a folio she carried with her.

“We’ll look into it,“ John said with a slight bow to the Earl. “LAdies?” he held open the door for them.

“It may come to nothing John, but his majesty is duly concerned.” The Earl rose from his chair.

Maureen, Stefania, and rebecca murmured their farewells and exited.

“John? We are not sure this Grant chap can be trusted, be careful, King Robert would like you to accompany Princess Mary in a few weeks.”

“It would not do to disappoint his majesty,” John answered. “Good day and he tucked his hat under his arm, gave a nod and was out the door.

To Be Continued……...