Trouble in Svardovia 8

 

Chapter 8

 

“You need to rest,” said Sophie. “I’m going to sew coat belts onto these pillow cases to make bags we can put over our shoulders. It’s not ideal, but we need to take stuff with us that we can’t necessarily wear.  I would think your drawers, being knit, should be good to put on under your trousers, and I have some cotton duck bellbottoms above this room. I thought I would go see if I could get us a bag of food when I have handles.”

“They will eat at five,” said Dmitry. “There should be nobody in the galley, then.”

Sophie nodded, and sat down to sew on the handles as securely as she could, whilst waiting for the clock to creep round to five. She removed Victorina’s skirt, to go to the galley in the trousers she had kept on, pulling out drawers in the chest of drawers in the closet, to use as steps up to its top, where she could easily pull herself up into the dirigible proper. She hurried aft again and checked until she found what looked to be a kitchen. There was nobody in there, and she let herself down on top of a cupboard. Finding a tray of eggs, she put a pan of water on the gas stove and lit it, to hard boil them, whilst she looked for other things.  Half a game pie which was presumably for the officers or Victorina went into the bag, in greaseproof paper, a loaf of bread, some tinned meat of some kind, and some carrots, which could be eaten raw, and a salt cellar which had a closeable lid.  A tin of pineapple and a tin opener joined them, and a couple of bottles of beer; not ideal, as Sophie did not like beer, but at least fluid, and they could refill them with water as they had screw tops. The eggs were done by then and she poured out the water through a colander, not worrying if an egg cracked.  She picked up a knife which did not have dubious origins to use with the food, and was ready to climb from a stool to the top of the cupboard when she heard a noise, and back up into the roof space, getting the panel back just as someone walked in.

She had left a bit of a mess, and someone was apparently animadverting on the subject. Sophie scuttled away, and back to Victorina’s closet.  Something made her pause before singing out that it was she, as she heard muffled voices. Or rather, voice.

She eased open the door of the closet, and saw Jaromar Zbignevosky, slapping Dmitry in the face, demanding to know where Victorina was.

Sophie eased down her bag of food, taking out the tin of pineapple, and helping herself to one of Victorina’s silk stockings. She eased the jar into the toe, wound the top a couple of times around her hand, and moved out of the closet. Zbignevosky was so intent on questioning Dmitry that he did not notice her until it was too late, and the tin of pineapple knocked him cold.

“Well done!” said Dmitry. “He managed to force the door in, as he had a key.”

“Can you manage to tie him up and gag him?” asked Sophie.

Dmitry nodded, and got to this as Sophie retrieved Zbignevsky’s key from outside the door, and quickly shut the door opposite, which must be his. The key fit his door too, so she locked it, shutting and locking Victorina’s door again, and adding a heavy armchair to the vanity, which the big man had been able to force aside enough to slip in. It was fortunate that he had relied on himself and not sent for reinforcements.          

“I’m going to look in his rooms for anything useful,” said Sophie. “There’s food here; I think we should eat something before we leave. I thought a hard-boiled egg and a piece of bread would be light enough, but give us something, and the beer, and replace it with water.”

“I’ll get that prepared, and dress in the sailor’s clothes,” said Dmitry.

“I am hoping to find a man’s fur coat for you,” said Sophie. She vanished back into the roof, going to the same position opposite.

Zbignevosky’s closet was smaller, but there was a fur coat and a couple of fur-lined cloaks, which Sophie stuffed into the roof. Some heavy woollen stockings, and leather fur-lined gloves she also took. She looked cautiously into the man’s room but there did not seem to be a valet there. A quick search of the bedside table revealed a pistol and ammunition, and Sophie took that for Dmitry. A couple of military kit packs meant that some of what they might carry could go in those.

When she got back with her booty, Zbignevosky was well trussed with Victorina’s stockings, and Dmitry was joining more stockings together.

“A rope might come in handy,” he said. Sophie nodded. He had cut a lump off the bread for each of them, and halved an egg, salting it.

“I forgot butter,” said Sophie.

“We’ll survive,” said Dmitry. “Her drinks cabinet has spring water in it; I thought you’d prefer that, though once opened, it can’t be resealed.”

“Oh, well done,” said Sophie. “He may be missed; we should eat as swiftly as we can.”

They made a much-needed repast, and chose what to wear. Sophie went back to her short schoolgirl’s skirt over the sailor’s trousers, the short sailor’s jacket over the blouse, and a velvet, fur-lined jacket from Victorina’s closet over that. They would come back to Victorina’s room for the coats and cloaks.  Dmitry had found a similar jacket, and sniggered at himself in the mirror to be wearing what he called a ‘kontushik.’

“I thought it was worth loosening my bootstrings and wearing a pair of Zbiggy’s wool stockings under them,” said Sophie.

“Wise,” said Dmitry. “I found a pair of male boots left here, which are bigger than my feet, but a second pair of stockings will make up for that deficiency, and will be warmer.”

He strapped on his sabre, which he found in Victorina’s room, and his own pistol, as well as Zbignevosky’s. Then he followed Sophie into the roof space, a huge cathedral-like space, almost entirely filled with the huge gas-bags.

“Here’s the forward gas reserve,” said Dmitry, showing her a metal tank. “If I show you how to disable it, we can do the other two, one each.”

Sophie watched him disconnect the reserve, using the force of his foot to bend the copper tubing back and crushing it. Sophie hurried aft whilst Dmitry did the one amidships. Then she stood by the cable to the vent. Dmitry found his, and signalled to her. Sophie pulled on the cable as hard as she could; and immediately felt a sinking feeling.  She kept pulling. Dmitry retrieved a single stocking from his pocket, and tied it around his cable, and pulled on it, tying it down to part of the framework, and ran aft to do the same to the centre gasbag, passing Sophie a stocking to do the same to hers.

And then they were running back to get into Victorina’s closet, before any sailor might be sent to find out what was wrong, and Sophie eased the plank back just as she heard feet in canvas shoes slapping along the planking above.

Sophie pulled on the fur coat, too hot in Victorina’s suite, but under no illusions about how cold it would be in the mountains. Next the straps of one military pack and one pillow-case bag, containing each a blanket, some food, and her beaded bag with its survival tools in it, and rope made from Victorina’s apparently endless collection of stockings.

The sun was going down, and it would be dark soon; but they could still see as the airship headed down towards the rocky mountain peaks.

There was a graunching, grinding noise, and the sound of splintering wood, as the side of the dirigible caught against some rocky outcrop,  the windows splintering as the frames buckled, most of the glass caught in the curtains, which were, all  but one, closed, the other window, which they had opened for their escape had the whole frame ripped away.  The window hung at a level with a high flat  alpine pasture, still sporting some flowers at the back end of summer. It was about six feet from the window.

“We go now,” said Dmitry. “I’ll go first; then jump, and I’ll catch you.”

Sophie nodded;  they might have no better moment to make their escape.

Dmitry hurled himself over the chasm and landed on the short grass, rolling to break his fall, and gasping in pain as that opened up the wounds on his back again.  Sophie was on the windowsill as he got to his feet and moved forward, and trustingly she launched herself at him. He caught her, falling onto his tortured back, hot tears flowing unbidden from his pain-filled eyes.

It was none too soon; the airship managed to break free of the obstruction which temporarily held it, and continued descending. Dmitry held Sophie like he would never let her go.

“What a good job it is still going lower,” said Sophie. “They may not think to look for us up here.  And the windows breaking means that having one open will not show. It is warm enough here in the setting sun, but we should seek shelter for the night, and begin our long trek tomorrow.”

“Yes, this is too high for a hut for summer pasture to be convenient,” said Dmitry. “With luck there may be something to provide shelter, even if no cave as such.”

Tumbled rocks became rough peaks up from the green ledge, and the best shelter Sophie could see was where two big rocks were close to the rock wall, and a few spindly spruce trees around.

“If only we had an axe,” muttered Sophie.

“We can use my sabre, which isn’t as good, but will take out those spindly trees,” said Dmitry. “And I’ll show you how to make a Swedish torch.”

“What’s that?” asked Sophie.

“By taking a log and splitting it lengthwise, and then holding it back together in a pit, or wire, with a gap down the middle, you can put a fire in the middle which is enough to cook on, or create heat which lasts for hours,” said Dmitry. “We don’t have a spade or an axe, and we don’t have wire, but we can build a wall of rocks around to hold the wedges together, which will also heat the rocks which will give off some heat.” He flashed her a grin. “Next time I get captured by a mad bitch, I’ll bring a folding spade and an axe,” he said.

“I sincerely hope you will endeavour not to be captured again,” said Sophie, severely. “Is your back up to cutting some trees to make a rough shelter against the cliff between those two stones?”

Dmitry looked.

“Yes, I can do that,” he said. “And whilst I do, can you see that piece of doped fabric torn from the dirigible? It is waterproof, and would lay over some branches as a roof, in case it comes on to rain. But be careful; do not risk falling to obtain it.”

Sophie went towards the garish red canvas, and managed to loosen it from the rocks which had caught it, ripping it away, and brought it back triumphantly.

Three spindly spruce trees held the doped fabric well enough, and Dmitry found a fallen tree. He cut off ten inches of it, and roughly cut off branches to give them something to sit on, having struck off the branches of the living trees to make a sleeping platform to raise them off the earth.  He then split the short end of the log into four, and Sophie helped build a cairn around it to hold the quarters roughly together.  He was sweating and panting by the time he fed in the dead twigs and bark from the seat log.

“I shall have to unload a pistol and use it to spark into the log,” he said.

“No, you won’t, I have matches,” said Sophie. “I always keep things like that in my little bag.” She fished out her tin with the box of safety matches in, and struck one, shielding it to set into the gap between the logs. The dry tinder went up immediately.

Sophie dropped the used match back into the tin.

“Why do you keep it?” asked Dmitry.

“If I keep all of them, in an emergency, it’s enough to get less ideal wood going,” said Sophie. “I have a candle as well and if we had no dry wood, the wax would help, but we don’t need it for light with this, and we have warmth.”

It might not be much warmth, but it was better than nothing, and was a comfort as the night darkened. Down below there had been various sounds or creaking from time to time, and now there was a sudden yell, and a WHOOMF of flame into the sky, right up past the ledge the fugitives were on, and sundry voices screamed.

“Dear God, what happened, I wonder?” whispered Sophie, clinging to Dmitry.

“Some idiot forgot all that loose hydrogen in the dirigible; not all of it would have escaped when the side was damaged, it might have lurked in the top of the structure, until some fool decided to inspect it with a naked flame,” said Dmitry. “And I can’t help hoping it was dear Yaromar, being a cavalryman, not as well versed in the nature of airships. Of course, they might have hoped it had all vented, but it’s a big hope to trust your life to it.”

“I wonder if anyone managed to radio for help,” said Sophie. “I don’t fancy the chances of any poor soul who got out on the side of a mountain, even if much further down and therefore less cold.”

 

oOoOo

 

By a stroke of outrageous fortune, the radio survived the first fall, and the captain tapped out his morse message. ‘Mayday, mayday, this is Svardovian flagship ‘Cherny Vilk’ we are descending for no apparent reason. Mayday, Mayday! We are going down!’ before the valves of the radio succumbed to the hard bumping they were taking, and the radio stopped working.

The message was heard by the ‘Thunderchild,’ and the radioman rushed to give the message to Captain Thorndyke.

“By God, the Black Wolf of the Scarlet Bitch itself,” said Thorndyke, grimly. “We have to go and give succour; your daughter and son in law would have been taken to the flagship, and there is a chance they might survive this.  I wonder how it came to descend like that?”

“My money’s on it being Sophie,” said Edward Harmon. “If she got even the ghost of a chance, she would seize it.”

“Well, dirigibles don’t generally fall out off the sky for no reason,” said Thorndyke. “Does she know how they work?”

“In broad,” said Edward. “Enough to work out how to break one, anyway.” He considered. “In which case, I strongly suspect that both Sophie and Dmitri are alive, but not necessarily on the dirigible.”