A Picture's Worth

Chapter 1

Vivian Hawthorn

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. Moments later the report came in from the ticker tape machine.

AIRSHIP EUROPA HAS CRASHED -- NORTH LONDON.

I grabbed the tape and stood.I was working the switchboard at the International Police Commission’s London Headquarters. I’d have to tell Commissioner Hutchins what had happened.

The few agents at their desks looked up as I walked through the open work area toward the commissioner’s office. They had to know there was bad news when I wouldn’t look at any of them.

Hutchins met me at his door. What is it, Hawthorn?

I handed him the tape.

He took a deep breath as he read the words. He spoke in a low tone, as if speaking softly could lessen the disaster. Contact Agent Durnham and have him assist with the investigation. He looked up and paused. I want you there as well. You know all about airships, correct?

I know a bit, Commissioner.

Good. He turned his head and shouted. Reynolds! You’re on switchboard!

* * *

Smoke was still rising from the wreckage when I arrived. Huge fire brigade wagons were dousing several spots with water. From the smell, it was diesel fuel.

Local police and air dock security had cordoned off the area and were turning away curious onlookers. I parked my motorcar at the edge of the barricade and climbed out. I showed my badge to a uniformed constable who let me pass.

I scanned the field for Agent Jack Durnham. Instead, I saw a tall, dark-haired man in his mid twenties. His moustache, while thickening up, left much to be desired.

Agent Conrad Morgan worked for the Commission as well. We hadn’t worked together in the field, but we’d assisted each other on several cases. He’d taught me a lot. Sometimes I felt bad I’d kicked him the first time we’d met.

To be fair, he’d deserved it.

He touched the brim of his cloth cap and walked to me, but didn’t stop. Hello, stranger. I didn’t think we’d see you out here.

I fell in step with him, not sure where exactly we were going at such a clip. The commissioner thought I might be of help with the investigation.

The debris field covered an enormous area. There were a lot of pieces. No part of it resembled an airship.

The duralumin skeleton looked like the ribcage of some horribly slain bird. The huge structures that had kept the ship’s envelope round were twisted. The supporting girders had snapped. Every bit of what was left was charred black.Here and there were bits of the ship’s fabric skin. It felt like I was walking at the center of a fire pit while the last coals were still smoldering.

One of the structural rounds creaked as it settled.

Conrad and I looked up at it, but kept walking. He was headed toward an enormous hanger.

Anything to get away from the switchboard, right? He gave me a look like he thought I was up to something.

I shook my head. It wasn’t my idea. I grinned like I was up to something. But it does get me off the phone.

Conrad chuckled. Agent Durnham has me putting together some background information. I’ll have it shortly. If you could, please tell him that?

It was difficult to keep pace with Conrad without breaking into a run. I will, if I can find him.

Conrad looked over his shoulder and bobbed his head to our right. He’s not hard to find. Just look for where the most people are looking the most brassed.

I turned my head and looked. Sure enough, there were three unhappy-looking men glowering at Jack Durnham. Thank you, Conrad.

He bounced his head. Don’t mention it. But, do mention the reports. I’ll have them shortly.

I changed course toward Jack.

Uniformed workers picked through the pieces, taking pictures, and laying out blankets over the casualties. There were several wagons slogging their way through the mess, wet from the fire brigade’s efforts and spillage from the airship’s water ballast tanks.

I stepped around one body and waved to the recovery team. One man nodded and moved in my direction. He pinned a red tag with a large 23 to the woman’s dress and pushed a small red flag into the ground beside her. The flag was also numbered 23.

When I finally got to Jack, I’d missed most of the conversation.

His black bowler was slightly askew atop his head. He nodded as I came closer, but continued to address the three men around him. How often do you receive threats like that?

One of the men waved his hand as if to shoo away a fly. "Once or twice a week. And not just Europa. Every ship gets threatened. Some looneys just get off on making threats."

Jack had a pencil and notepad, but nothing was written on the paper. "I understand. But was there a specific threat made against this flight?"

Another of the men spoke. I’d have to check. We don’t keep track of that rubbish without good reason.

I see. Jack held his pencil like he meant to take a note, but never did. Gentlemen, this is Agent Hawthorn. She also works for the Commission. She will have questions for you later. He looked back up and among the men. You will make yourselves available to her?

They each grumbled a yes.

Two even bowed and tipped their caps in acknowledgement that I was there.

I made the slightest curtsey. Thank you very much.

Thank you. That will be all for now. Jack turned toward me.

The men, realizing they’d been told to sod off, sodded off.

Jack waited until they were out of earshot, then looked down at my feet. You’re going to ruin those boots.

I shrugged. What do we know so far?

Very little of consequence, but more than we thought.

I looked around the smoldering wreck. What does that mean?

Details are scarce at the moment. We know as Europa was setting down, fire ripped through her midsection. By most reports, the fire lasted less than one minute. He looked around and sighed. And we were left with this.

But you already know more than you told the company engineers?

I have no idea yet whether this was a deliberate act, the result of negligence, or an unfortunate accident. He flipped one page forward in his notepad. "But, we do know there’s a chance Europa was being used to smuggle items into the country and, he tapped something he’d written with his pencil, that those items were headed here."

I read the London address. Where did you find that?

Let me show you. He started walking.

Several yards further into the field was a heavily charred wooden crate. The crate had fallen, presumably from the ship while it was still in the air. It was sealed, but its contents were visible through the split sides. Inside were two sections. The larger, upper portion was porcelain dishes wrapped in cloth, feathers, and unburned paper. The lower, much smaller portion contained several hammered-gold discs with hooks. They might have been earrings.

The label affixed to the outside of the crate matched the address Jack had written.

I reached down and picked up one of the earrings. It was several inches in diameter and thin. Where did this flight take off?

Paris.

Well. I stood back up. If there’s no paperwork on the earrings – and Conrad says he’ll have the paperwork shortly - it’s a crime that crosses national borders. It’s our jurisdiction.

There was a sharp grinding sound as another part of the ship’s skeleton settled.

Jack looked and then turned back. The smuggling is. Unless we can prove the crash is related to smuggling, it’s still not our case. We’re here to assist only. He turned to face me. But I’ll be relying on you to tell me if our company friends are being honest.

I nodded. I can certainly do that, but I couldn’t tell you what caused this. Maybe my step-father - it still cut me not to call him ‘Father’ - can. He worked at the Marathon Airship Company for fifteen years and at Gilles Worldwide before that. He knows everything about airships. If this was an accident or sabotage, he’ll work it out.

Jack nodded, but didn’t answer right away. He looked around, taking in the scene. It was several seconds before he nodded. Ring him up. It won’t hurt to have our own expert. He looked back down at the crate. Especially if this does turn out to be something other than an accident.

There was another heavy grinding sound, but this one didn’t stop. When I turned to look, one of the twisted round structures was collapsing. It was huge. Even crumpled and broken, it was fifty feet high.

Below it, three uniformed men were pulling a body from the wreckage.

If they didn’t move, there’d be three more bodies.

Without thinking, I ran toward them.

One man stumbled to the side through the ash-mud. The other two looked up and gawked at the falling metal. One lost his footing on the slick ground. When the other tried to help, he slipped as well.

I summoned everything I had, jumping over a section of scorched hull girder and around a smoking swath of fabric skin. As I neared the two men, I reached down. I grabbed their shirts as I passed, dragging them out just as the beam crashed.

I let the men go and turned.

Jack was still moving toward us at his best run.

I had to be careful doing things like that. Sooner or later he’d wonder how I could run so fast, or lift heavy objects, or why cuts and scrapes – and broken bones – healed so quickly. He’d wonder where I’d mastered the martial arts.

One day he’d ask.

On that day I’d lie.

I’d downplay the whole thing and pretend it wasn’t the ancient sapphire on the chain around my neck. I’d make him think it was all his imagination. I’d feel bad for it, but I’d have to. No one could know of the stone’s power.

Not anyone.

It was too bad, too. Jack would be right to ask.

Just like he’d been right about me ruining my boots.

Jack looked down at them but didn’t say a word.

I looked as well, and sighed. Do you want me to check that address?

That can wait. He looked around to indicate the wreckage. This is of more immediate importance. All British passenger airships have been grounded until we can find the cause of the crash.

I nodded. Shall I go fetch Father, then?

Jack sighed. He didn’t turn back to me as he continued to look around. No. I’ll send Agent Morgan. He turned back with a strange, somber look on his face. Give me your step-father’s address.

Chapter 2

Vivian Hawthorn

My stepfather’s home was in West Wickham, some thirty miles from the air dock. It’d be awhile before he was able to join us. That didn’t mean we had to pause our investigation. Conrad gave us each a stack of papers before he left.

Jack and I spent the rest of the morning interviewing witnesses. We started with the survivors who were conscious before they were taken to hospital. They all said pretty much the same thing, until I spoke to the Paddons.

The medic tending them warned me not to upset them. I promised to keep my questions simple and short. He grudgingly let me speak with them.

Mr. Paddon was in his late thirties. His wife was younger, maybe in her early twenties. Twenty-five would be a stretch. They lay on emergency cots, waiting for a wagon to transport them.

They were bandaged from head to toe, Mr. Paddon with one leg immobilized and his wife with both. They had each broken an arm, him the left and her the right. He had more scratches on his face than she did.

By now I’d gone numb to the sight of catastrophic injuries. I introduced myself and showed my badge.

Mr. Paddon rolled his head. How can we help you, miss?

I spoke gently, hoping not to excite either of them. Can you tell me about the crash? Anything you may have seen or heard in the moments leading up to the fire?

Paddon took a breath. The ship was late getting in. We came in over the field and started to land. My wife and I had our bags ready and were watching from the promenade. For some reason, the ship went back up, flew a giant circle, and made a second run at the field. This time when we got very near the ground, someone shouted something about a fire and the ship shook. The next thing I knew, a cabin boy broke out a window and shoved my wife through it. We were still thirty feet up! I went to break his nose, but he overpowered me.

Mrs. Paddon’s voice was frail. He was a brute.

Quite right, Paddon added. Enzo something or other.

I scanned my notes and the pages Conrad had found. Is that Enzo Monette, the steward?

Thank you for his name! I’ll have him strung up.

The medic looked up and cleared his throat.

I needed to lower the emotion level, but I had to say something. He very likely saved both your lives.

Mrs. Paddon groaned. He didn’t have to be so rough about it.

I looked back at my notes to confirm what I was about to say. You needn’t worry about him. Mr. Monette wasn’t among the survivors.

The words had no effect on either of them.

Paddon was silent, but only for a moment. He got off easy if you ask me.

I skipped to my next question. "You boarded Europa in Paris, is that correct?"

His voice was weak, but fiery. Yes.

During the flight, did you have much time to go out among the other passengers?

Paddon looked me over once. We spent most of the flight on the promenade, yes.

And during your flight – before the incident – did you see or hear anyone behaving strangely?

His face tightened. Strangely how?

Well... I’d thought it had been a straight forward question. Anything peculiar, out of the ordinary. Someone sneaking off or saying things. Maybe checking a watch repeatedly. Anything you may have noticed.

Mrs. Paddon answered. Peculiar, yes.

I turned to her and gave her a comforting smile.

There was that African.

I swallowed hard and bit my tongue.

He was peculiar.

My words came slow. In what way?

Mr. Paddon’s did not. In every way.

Mrs. Paddon was quick to fill in the details. His clothes, his voice, the way he’d sit down at tables where he wasn’t invited and join conversations.

I looked back and forth between them. What did he say when he’d join the conversations?

Mrs. Paddon rolled her eyes. Who could tell? He made that awful clicking sound with his mouth. Some kind of rubbish savage talk. She began coughing.

I see. Do you know his name?

Paddon’s voice was still burning. Someone called him Toma.

I checked my notes. One of the names was Abioye Toma. Other than his, it was distasteful to say, rude behavior, did he seem...on edge or anxious?

No. Paddon was clear. He was very relaxed among the other passengers. Far more so than he ought. We had to leave the starboard lounge because of him. Thankfully, he spent the whole trip there as near as I could tell.

I took a breath and went on.

Other than Mr. Toma, was anyone else behaving strangely?

Mrs. Paddon’s voice had become acid. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stand to listen to either of them any more. No, the other passengers were quite civilized.

I had no more questions and didn’t want to hear anything else they had to say. Courtesy demanded I show them respect. It did not demand more than lip-service from my words.

Thank you both very much. That’s all I need. I bowed first to him, then her. I wish you both a speedy recovery.

Do you think it was sabotage or some native voodoo? Mrs. Paddon asked.

My skin crawled. It was difficult to keep myself in check. I had to pretend I was someone else at that moment.

I chose to be Jack Durnham. We won’t know until we’ve concluded our investigation. We will make our findings known at that time.

Paddon nodded once. Good luck to you, miss.

I stepped away to consult my notes.

Crewman Monette had come aboard in Paris, taking over for another steward who had been sick. I’d have to follow up to be sure the well-timed illness was real and not an excuse to leave the ship.

I could check on that with a telephone call.

Chapter 3

Vivian Hawthorn

The Commission agent working the switchboard at the Paris office was helpful, if nothing else. We will check on this crewman, Collin Miller. If he is not too ill, should we have the local police detain him?

Things would go much better for poor Collin if he was, in fact, ill. If he’d left the ship to explore Paris for the day, he was going to have to explain to more people than just his supervisor. That won’t be necessary. Just see that his story checks out.

Very good. I’ll leave word for you at the London office.

The line went dead, but I finished anyway. Thank you.

I set the receiver down on the cradle and turned straight into Jack. I stepped back so I was nearly leaning backward over the desk in the airfield office.

Jack’s eyes bounced from me to the phone and back. Did you find something?

One crewman got off unexpectedly in Paris. I’ve asked our office there to check on him. He claimed he was ill.

Jack snorted. Most likely skiving off his duties to cavort with some French girls.His eyes said he was thinking something else. I’ve got some reports and technical schematics to look at. I’d like you to be there.

Of course.

We left the office and moved to a portable kiosk that had been erected to serve as field headquarters. There were several small tables, but only room for two chairs. Jack moved one aside with his foot and leaned over the table with the most papers on it.

On the tables were documents detailing everything known about the crash. Among the them were the ship’s blueprints, passenger and cargo manifests, a map detailing where survivors had been found, and one showing the locations of the red marker flags.

The red flags made a nearly straight line across the ship’s hull. It was like the ship had been an egg someone had cracked on a giant mixing bowl. There were a few droplets in every direction, but the locations told the tale.

The fire had started amidships, just above the cargo hold. Supported at both ends but not in the middle, the gondola broke in half. The burning gondola would