to sit. Lift in five, four—”
Claire and the girls scrambled forward and sat wherever they could find a horizontal spot with something to hang onto. Rosie perched above their heads, her feet wrapped around a pipe.
“—three, two, one.” She slammed all three levers down, one after the other. “Ignition, Mr. Tigg!”
She half expected to hear the throaty grumble of the poor old Massey. But there was no such sound. Instead, the engine mount seemed to tremble, there was a flash of light that she could see right through the rippled seams of Four’s erstwhile chest, and the pistons began to move.
The props turned, slowly at first, then faster and faster. It worked, by golly, it really, truly worked. Alice drew in a breath that was more like a gasp of relief.
“Up ship!”
The Mopsies yanked in the mooring ropes. Andrew threw the levers for the elevation vanes forward and Jake gripped the tiller …
… and they fell up into the twilight sky with the joy of a lark greeting the morning.
Chapter 3
Edmonton.
The Northern Light, some called it, the third jewel in the continental crown that included New York and San Francisco, and light it was.
The Stalwart Lass circled an airfield big enough to put fifty small towns on, looking for a mooring mast that was free. Through the glass, Claire could see the twinkling lights of the city coming on as darkness fell. It was bigger than Santa Fe, though not nearly as large as London or Paris—but give it time. The lights—not the sallow yellow of electricks, but orange and blue and nearly white, sparkled like the diamonds that gave the city its reason for being.
“Look!” She pointed a little to the west. “Isn’t that Lady Lucy? Jake, steer that way. Perhaps we can moor close enough to walk over and see the Dunsmuirs.”
“Dunno as I want to.” Tigg popped out from behind the engine mount and leaned through the gangway door. “Ent they the same ones as left us all behind in Resolution?”
“They didn’t intend to leave us behind.” Lizzie giggled and elbowed Maggie in the ribs.
Maggie, who was holding Rosie and stroking her feathers, nodded. “We left our own selves.”
“Be fair.” Claire turned ft t{rom the viewing glass and scratched Rosie’s head. The bird, who was getting sleepy with the fading of the light, gave her a polite tap upon the finger with her beak. One did not disturb a lady at her rest. “They believed me to be dead, the two of you in your cabin, and Tigg back with Mr. Yau at the engines. And you know the countess puts Willie’s safety before all other considerations.”
“Kid’s goin’ t’be spoiled rotten,” muttered Jake.
Despite his grumbles, Claire was pleased to see that he had changed their course, and they were now floating nearer to the Lady Lucy.
“There’s a mast free,” Lizzie said suddenly. “Fifty feet off the port side of her.”
So there was. Maggie took Rosie to her hatbox in the twins’ berth in the starboard-side fuselage while Jake and Alice brought the battered Lass in for a smooth landing. One of the ground crew stationed at the field caught the rope and moored them fast, and for the first time since they had left Reno, Claire found herself disembarking like a lady—meaning on her feet, as opposed to climbing out by means of a rope or being hauled about unconscious like a sack of vegetables.
“Cor, it’s freezing!” Lizzie bleated as she jumped to the ground from the gondola. She wore her black raiding skirt and striped stockings and boots, but her white blouse was thin voile, much like Claire’s own.
“I would wrap you in my coat if I still had one,” Andrew told her. “Will my waistcoat do?”
“Here.” Alice pulled off her mechanic’s jacket and settled it around Lizzie’s shoulders. “Air’s got a bite to it, that’s for sure. It never feels like this in Resolution except in the deeps of winter. But then, we’re pretty far north. It’s winter here already.”
“Let us board the Lady Lucy, then,” Claire said briskly. “Davina will know where we can buy clothes more suited to this climate.” And hopefully sooner rather than later. She herself had two skirts and a waist to her name, and both pairs of stockings had holes in the heels. If she didn’t open her mouth to speak, an observer would assume she was a young woman down on her luck—a seamstress, perhaps, or a schoolteacher who had come north to find more opportunity, or a