Seven days and seven nights of Theographic discussion passed like a dream before Richard’s rampant mind’s eye. He found himself impressed by the fact that The Czarina, attended by Hilda, her severe maid, had a mind equal in depth and breath to his own. Richard made not a move or devoted a thought to courting this great lady. She was unattainable in any case, due to nationality and rank. She might, however, as a confidant of Queen Gloria, gain Richard some even higher commission than this, perhaps make of him a Drake of a fleet of sky dogs. Towards this end he showed utmost courtesy and military bearing to this impressive lady.
There was a part of him though, that wished this airship would crash in some fabled land, perhaps even through a portal—which Zephyr assured them existed—taking him and her to some alien planet. Perhaps, a smaller planet, like Mars or Venus, where Richard’s modest stature might be enhanced by his heavy gravity origins permitting him to leap like a tiger?
One night, over the vast Parana forest of evergreen clothing the confluence of Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay, other, less refined dreams were realized at the Captain’s table in the bridge, Jones permitting the servants of the guests a revel. Hilda, the Czarina’s hand maiden, was the daughter of a captured Prussian Grenadier and a Mongolian princess who wanted a round-eyed child. Hilda was the result, twice as wide as her charge, boasted of having taken a bullet once already for her mistress, a through and through of one mighty mammary. She was perhaps 40, to her charge’s 24 years, had been an avid wrestler and dancer in her youth and, upon the disgrace of premarital pregnancy to an unknown officer of the Imperial Guard in Saint Petersberg, became the wet nurse and eventual nanny to Czarina Svetlana, to who she demonstrated a ferocious attachment.
The next to last night before docking in Patagonia, as dawn ushered the airship over forest and beyond over the Pampas, “Her Hunishment,” [1] Hilda, in some kind of fact-finding caper aimed at determining the character of Richard through the interrogation of his serving men, arranged the revel with Captain Jones, who, at the wheel, looked forever and away as he listened to phonographic music broadcast from his brazen record player. In rounds served up by the Bar Keep of The Raven, this mighty stout “maid,” initially over a game of cards, drank Richard’s entire serving staff under the table.
O’Neal fell first, the imprint of the beer mug remaining in his forehead for days...
Blackie soon nodded off on the bench.
The young liver of Tyler Pope failed him at around midnight.
The famously pickled brain of LaFano and that indifatigable liver, kept him conscious until nearly dawn. The four woke to czarist music blaring from the brazen phonograph, with empty pockets, groggy heads, the contents of their brains now possessed by the still sober Hunish Huss to report to her Mistress his every secret, down, he imagined, to the color of his medical socks!
The entire crew grinned at him as his four men stood in misery upon the main deck before Color Sergeant Major, LaFano still quite drunk, [2] “Seen the bullet riddled udder, I did, Sarge. Fine a shield as ever wrought by Mother Mary ta’ save a high lass.”
“Get ye some sleep in case ye mice are need for action against as yet unknown men,” sounded the Sergeant, who then turned to Richard, “Sorry you had to button up yourself, Sir. The Czarina’s maid had some sport with your men. I fancy she can name the staff of Dark Hall down to the lowest Hindoo sculler.”
“Good service then, has been rendered by all, Color Sergeant Major. We have nothing to hide.”
Breakfast was served to the Theographic dignitaries, by the bar keep and Hilda, as Mister Pete proudly stood guard next to the towering Sergeant, who could not wear his pith helmet within the cabins or on bridge. Only the cat walks, gang ways and main deck admitted a tall man with head gear.
Hilda reeked of alcohol as she reached over Richard’s right shoulder with his coffee and dish and whispered huskily in his ear, “Good Captain,” to which the Czarina, who always sat next to him on his left, next to his stump, smiled slightly and admitted, “Apologies for any damage done to the towering intellects among your menials, Captain. I, as a remote viewer, who have already been privy to your rampant fever dreams, and hence my request of Dear Gloria for your service, knew you to be of sterling character. However, as you have your own overbearing Color Sergeant, I have my Hunish Shield, who can trace her blood to Frederick The Great and Genghis Khan. My guardian must know things of her own ken.”
Breakfast coffee had all been served and Captain Jones offered a toast, “To the four her fell here in defense of the Lord’s Honor, may their heads pound the softer and their hearts soar loftier!”
He could not help but grin as Mister Pete clicked his heels and whirled his red fez of felt hung with its cloth of gold tassel and Bing-Ham cut loose some kind of cowboy whoop that sounded too Indian to come from a Theographic throat.
Commander Levsky then announced, “After the first hour of sundown, we dock at an autonomous base of the Extra-National Theographic Society. All expeditionary personnel other than Captain Jones and Crew, will disembark within an hour of anchorage. This vessel is in service to the Russian Empire, and may not dally.”
Her voice entered his mind, not through his ears, but through some other kind, “Yes, Richard, the time is nigh to quench Truth in the fire of The Lie.”
He turned his head and looked at her eyes, not wide or narrow, but focused in clear regard.
Her face seemed content in an odd tension of purpose.
His mind was quiet, except for an echo far and below.
…
Notes
-1. The entire crew seemed to be in on the joke. They nick named Hilda Her Hunishment based on her Prussian parentage.
-2. In 2022 a large breasted babe showed me a through and through shot from a recent 0.45 APC round she took at close range, before stomping the gunman. Hilda is based on that woman.
