Spring-heeled Jack and the President's Ring

Chapter 4 ~ Magnetron Takes to the Skies

"I related to her the murky recollections of the rail ticket agent, after which she upbraided me bitterly for my lack of tenacity in questioning the young muddlehead."

Within a quarter-hour, the circus atmosphere had dissipated sufficiently to apprehend the various nugatory provocations from which it had arisen.  Mrs. Mackenzie had been attempting to convince the Hogalum Society members that Anders's apparent disappearance demanded swift action.  They had rebuffed her on the grounds that Anders was quite able to fend for himself, eliciting from her a mettlesome tirade which they found immensely humorous.

Pung had strayed onto the roof in his exhaustive and often imprudent search for his missing cat.  Satyros had quite naturally feared for Pung's welfare and undertook to return him to the safety of solid ground.

Cerebelli and Coburn had been effecting repairs and performing routine maintenance on the Luftigel airship when a casual remark unexpectedly reignited a contentious and long running dispute regarding the wisdom of fitting the craft with Gatling guns.  Cerebelli objected strenuously, as do I, to defiling the graceful contours of our cherished Luftigel.  Coburn had suggested recessed guns which would preserve the Luftigel's magnificent silhouette.  This in turn forced Cerebelli into an eloquent soliloquy on the Hogalum Society's tradition of non-violence, going so far as to quote Martin Luther, a rhetorical gambit which did not sit well with Coburn before suppertime.  The discourse fell off sharply in its intellectual rigor, culminating in the disgraceful melee with which I was greeted.

Valkusian, who alone had retained his civility and composure throughout, continued to impress upon me the importance of our impending departure.  We had been invited to stay in Calais at the home of François Boileau, a former member of the Hogalum Society.  I did not want to go, but Valkusian left no room for misinterpretation: Monsieur Boileau had been a founding Society member, and a close confidant of Dr. Hogalum.  If he desired to meet with us, it would be quite impossible to decline his invitation.

The preparation of the Luftigel resumed with Coburn repairing small punctures on the outside envelope, and Cerebelli inspecting from within for mechanical soundness.  These routine chores were moderately inhibited—and I was intensely exasperated—by my inability to lay hands on the plans for the enormous craft.  No doubt Mrs. Mackenzie misplaced them while rifling my documents in her frantic search for facts about Anders.  She denied this strenuously and began an equally strenuous interrogation of me.  I related to her the murky recollections of the rail ticket agent, after which she upbraided me bitterly for my lack of tenacity in questioning the young muddlehead.  I apologized profusely and suggested she question the man herself, which occasioned great huffing howls of displeasure and disappointment from her.

Pung witnessed the exchange and offered his impression after she had left.  "She think you not good friend.  She say Big Andas might be dead but you do nothing.  She vely mad at you."

I wanted very much to come to some understanding with Mrs. Mackenzie, but circumstances did not permit it.  The Luftigel stood ready, my belongings were packed up for travel, and Hogalum Society duties beckoned.  Whatever opportunity I may have had was now lost.  Most bothersome of all, I was now beginning to worry about Anders myself.  I chided myself for never troubling myself to gather the minutest shred of information about this faithful companion.

I boarded the Luftigel and took my station in the engine room, and as the great engines roared to life, my duties crowded out all thoughts of worry and discontent.  The Hogalum Society was together again, and nothing could go wrong.  The Luftigel rose smoothly, carrying us away from the fiery red evening sky and toward the impending gloom of nightfall.