ONE
Captain Alan Northrop and Admiral Randolph Baker of the Freyan Royal Navy were sitting down to a late supper in the dining room of the Naval Club when the club steward came to inform them they were both wanted in the Visitor’s Room.
“Now?” Randolph demanded, shocked. “I’m to be interrupted in the middle of my goddamn dinner?”
“I am afraid so, Admiral,” said the steward apologetically. “The gentleman said the matter was one of urgency.”
“Who the devil is it?” Randolph asked, scowling.
“The gentleman did not provide his name, sir. He handed me this.”
The steward gave Randolph a note. Randolph read it, frowned, and tossed it to Alan.
Alan glanced at it. The note contained a single word, scrawled in all capital letters, EMERGENCY. The note was not signed, but Alan knew immediately who had sent it.
“Simon.” Alan glanced up at the steward. “Is the gentleman who delivered this note extremely tall and built like a bear?”
“I have never seen a bear, sir,” said the steward. “But I would say that is an apt description.”
“That would be Mr. Albright,” said Alan. He looked troubled. “This summons is not like Simon. He never wants to be disturbed in his studies. What is the time?”
“Just coming up on nine of the clock, sir,” said the steward.
Alan rose to his feet. “We better go see what is so urgent, Randolph. Perhaps we’re going to war with Rosia.”
Randolph irritably yanked his napkin off from where he had tucked it beneath his chin and threw it on the table. “We bloody well better be!”
The two men had returned to their rooms in the Naval Club after spending the past fortnight as guests of Lord Alfred Winterhaven, who owned an estate in southern Freya. The party had also included Lord Alfred’s charming niece, Annabelle.
The Winterhavens were attempting to promote a match between their niece and Alan. The handsome, dashing Captain Northrop, in his mid-forties, had thus far avoided matrimony, but he had found himself spending most of their time during dinner talking to Randolph about the lovely and spirited Annabelle Winterhaven.
“I find her completely captivating,” Alan had said.
“‘Captive’ being the appropriate word,” Randolph had said with a chortle. “She’s out to hook you like a trout.”
“I really don’t think I should mind,” Alan had said with a smile.
The Naval Club was a private club for officers in the Freyan Royal Navy and for highly placed government officials, such as Sir Henry Wallace, who was in the foreign office and dealt in matters related to the Royal Navy, as well as the defense of the nation. Club rules stipulated that only members of the club or invited guests were permitted beyond the Visitor’s Room.
Alan and Randolph found Mr. Albright holding his hat in his hand, gazing out the window. He turned when he heard them enter.
“What is the matter, Albright?” Alan asked. “Is Simon all right?”
Simon Yates had what Henry Wallace termed a “giant brain.” He also called him “Freya’s secret weapon.” Simon had been felled by a bullet more than twenty years earlier and now spent his days in his wondrous floating house, seated in his specially designed floating chair, using his giant brain to gather information, ferret out criminals, and foil plots against his country.
Mr. Albright appeared to be of two minds regarding whether or not to answer the question regarding his master. He was a taciturn man by nature, which suited Simon perfectly. One of the terms of Albright’s employment was that he should go about his duties with as little speech as possible. In this instance, he decided the matter was important enough to respond, for he spoke.
“The master is agitated,” said Mr. Albright.
Alan and Randolph exchanged alarmed glances. In more than twenty years of friendship, they had rarely known Simon to be “agitated.”
“We will come at once,” said Alan.
Since the late autumn night was chilly, the two navy men both wore their boat cloaks. Albright had traveled in Simon’s magic-powered carriage, which he had designed himself. Mr. Albright opened the door, and Alan started to climb inside, but paused.
“Are we to meet Henry there?” he asked.
Albright simply shook his head. He ushered Randolph and Alan inside, then mounted the box. Placing his hand upon the helm, he sent the magic flowing to the lift tanks and the airscrews. The carriage left the ground and sped through the darkness, bound for the famous floating house known as Welkinstead.
“What the devil do you suppose is going on with Simon?” Randolph wondered aloud. “Agitated, my ass. This had better not be more goddamned theorizing on the possibility of anomalous liquid Breath pools in the Aligoes.”
“I just hope it doesn’t have to do with the discovery of some new type of bug,” said Alan.
Randolph laughed. “Like that bug he named after you! What did he call it? Northrop’s Weevil?”
“I have no idea,” said Alan. “I took care to forget it as soon as possible. You cannot imagine the humiliation I endured. I was attending a party and having a confidential chat with a lady when we were quite rudely interrupted by some blighted bug enthusiast asking me questions about weevils!”
Randolph’s laughter soon died and the men rode in silence, both of them pondering Simon’s unusual summons.
“Can you see the house?” Randolph asked Alan after some time had passed.
“Just coming into view on the port side,” he reported, indicating the chimneys and turrets and towers of Welkinstead silhouetted against the stars. “Wind from the north. The house will be drifting in a southerly direction tonight.”
Simon’s home, Welkinstead, was considered one of the wonders of the world. Built by the wealthy Elsinor family, the house had started life as a villa located on the outskirts of the Freyan capital, Haever. Down through the years, the rich, eccentric Elsinors had done renovations to the house, adding on or tearing down as the mood seized them.
Copyright © 2019 by Margaret Weis and Robert Krammes
