The Sensaurum and the Lexis Page 16

  He fell asleep reading and reciting the details of his life of pretence. ‘Jessamine and Jackson Draftman, newly wedded,’ like ‘Josiah and Gertie Wedge,’ it had a good sound to it.

  Chapter 18

  They were called early. After a hurried mug of Char they travelled by tram to the flying field, which was located in the city at the place where Ralf had first landed on his maiden flight from Northcastle. The sign at the gate said ‘Metropol City Aero-port’. Jessamine was not as excited as Jackson clearly was. “I have flown in an Aero before,” she said. “Stay close to me, I will keep you safe.”

  “Tell me, why do you call it by different names, an Aero, a plane, a flying machine. Which is it?”

  “They are so new that no name has been settled on, people use all of them.”

  “And this Ralf, has he no other name?”

  “I’m sure he does but it is never needed. He is just Ralf, everyone knows who is meant if you say Ralf or Ralf the flyer.”

  That is fame, thought Jackson, even the King had two names, yet this man had only the need of one.

  Using a card that she had in her bag, Jessamine collected their tickets for the flight to Hammerham, the nearest town to Nethersole’s estate. “There is no rail nearby,” she said, “as we saw on the map yesterday. We would have to travel by road from the nearest station, a bone-shaking journey of at least a day, even without any complications, this is much better.”

  At least you were safe on the road, thought Jackson, despite what Fairview had said. Apart from the brigands, your bones might be shaken but calamity in an Aero and they would be worse affected. He wondered if whatever had happened to the aerialway could strike a plane in flight.

  Their cases were put on a clockwork cart and taken away; they both kept their backpacks with them, as they contained all their secret equipment and devices. “We have an hour before we may board,” Jessamine said. She pointed to a small stand, containing news-sheets and periodicals. “We should buy one of Draftman’s journals, it would look strange if I knew nothing of my ‘father’s’ work. This whole expedition is so hastily arranged that the finer details have not been considered.”

  They purchased the journal ‘About Town’, and Jackson also took a copy of ‘An Illustrated Guide to Flight for the new Traveller’.

  Sitting, they read avidly. Jackson was desperate to learn all he could about flight before he had to face the event, he learned the names of the parts of a flying machine, but he was continually interrupted by Jessamine, who insisted on showing him examples of the inducements that the pages of her publication appeared to be full of.

  “Never mind flying,” she said. “I can explain all that to you when we are aloft, you need to know what we are supposed to be expert in first. The job in hand takes precedence.”

  Looking at what she showed him, it seemed to him that anything could be purchased from the pages, without the need to ever enter a shop, there were drawings of the articles, everything from devices to sweep your floor, powered by steam or clockwork to the latest fashion, gowns, coats and all manner of other things. All that was required was to send a written request, and payment, the goods would arrive by delivery wagon within a few days.

  “This is a work of genius,” he said. “But you are wrong about my publication.” He showed her the pages, they too contained inducements, these for flying equipment, medications for flying-sickness, stylish clothing for the flyer and the like.

  “We will soon be a nation of people who hardly need to leave their dwellings” he said. “We may already work from home, via the mails, now we can shop there as well.”

  “It’s not progress, according to some,” she replied. “There are

  people who cannot bear to have the pages cluttered up with inducements, shops will go out of business over this if they cannot compete on price.”

  “Surely there will always be people who prefer the personal service from meeting a shopkeeper?” he countered.

  “That is true, but as time passes, they will be replaced by folk who know no other way, then we might have problems to deal with, as people lose jobs in shops.”

  That was an interesting subject; Jackson considered the implications of something as apparently innocuous as an inducement in a journal. He was coming to realise that society was a web of threads, all dependant on each other for the strength of the whole. He had never even considered it when his whole world was a single space behind a wall.

  “There is so much to discuss, everything in life that I have missed out on learning. Sometimes it feels like an impossible task.”

  “I will help you all I can,” she replied.

  A voice boomed through the room. “All passengers for the service to Hammerham, please assemble at the gate, we are boarding shortly.”

  “That’s us,” said Jessamine. “Come along, this will be fun.”

  Jackson passed through the barrier, and through the door into the sunshine. Ahead of him sat the flying machine, looking much bigger than he had imagined. It was painted in a light blue and had the words Norlandair Services in a bold typeface on the sides of the cabin. There was a drawing of a Drogan in flight on the tail. The wings were underneath, with an engine attached to each, from which a large wheel protruded. He saw the cart, with his case, bouncing across the grass, heading for the rear of the plane, where a hatch was open and people waited. There was a smell of gas in the air; under each wing was a small mobile, with a huge gas tank on its bed. The tank was connected to the wings by pulsing hoses. Jackson assumed they were filling some sort of fuel tank. He wanted to ask so many questions, Jessamine seemed to be totally familiar with their situation and he felt out of his depth.

  “How many can it carry?” he asked. He had not got to that part in his reading.

  “Ten or twelve passengers, two or three crew,” answered Jessamine, “with their luggage.”

  A uniformed woman approached them, her light blue blouse decorated with a silver broach of a plane identical to the one before them.

  She stood between Jackson and Jessamine and spoke to him. “Good morning, sir,” she trilled. “I’m Francine, but you may call me Fanny. I will be looking after you this morning. Have you travelled by plane before?”

  Jessamine moved. “I can take care of my man, thank you,” she said sweetly. “We are seasoned travellers.”

  Francine backed away, still smiling. “Of course, madam, I hope I can satisfy any need either of you might have whilst we are aloft.” She bowed slightly, then walked away to talk to some other passengers.

  “Watch yourself, Jackson,” she said. “These flying women have a reputation, it’s said that they will devour anything in trousers, apparently there is a club for their kind who have… well you know, whilst aloft.”

  The thought occupied Jackson the rest of the way to the flying machine. They were headed towards the front, where there was a hatch with a ladder. As Jackson climbed up, he looked to his left and saw through a window a man in shirtsleeves was peering at a row of dials and making notes on a paper. He was so engrossed that he forgot to duck his head and winced as it collided with the rim of the hatch. Muttering curses, and ignoring Jessamine’s giggle, he entered the cabin of the flying machine. Inside it was set out like a gentlemen’s club, with armchairs and small tables. There was a cabinet containing bottles and glasses, a uniformed waiter stood nearby, directing people to seats, collecting coats and stowing baggage.

  Jackson and Jessamine chose a pair of seats opposite a low table and sat. Jackson was closest to a window and gazed in fascination at the wing of the machine, with its underslung engine.

  “Why did you say that we were seasoned travellers?” he asked.

  “To keep her from hovering over you,” she replied. “Remember, trust no-one. If you have any questions, I can tell you the answers.” Jackson failed to see how the woman could be one of Rodney’s agents; perhaps Jessamine was harbouring some other emotion, a more proprietorial one?

  The woman came on board, f
ollowing the last of the passengers. Jackson noticed that she was flirting with another man. This one appeared to be unaccompanied and she made a great show of seating him and stowing his bag. The door closed with a click and Jackson felt the seat quiver as the engines were started. Where to begin? He wanted to know everything. Before he had time to speak, the woman addressed them.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she began, smoothing down imaginary creases in her gown, which was cut in a modern style, and more fitted than currently fashionable. In its way, it was as revealing of her form as Jessamine’s trousered legs had been. “We will shortly be departing for Hammerham; the journey will take us around two hours. Can I ask you to remain seated whilst we leave the ground, then to only stand if necessary, as the balance of the plane will be affected if everyone moves to the same side at once. I will shortly be serving a small meal and complimentary drinks. Thank you.” She sat facing them in a seat which folded from the cabin’s wall, or should that be bulkhead? he wondered. Gazing at Jackson, she made a show of crossing her legs, exposing her knees.

  Beside him Jessamine nudged his ribs. “Pay no attention,” she said. “She is doing it again.”

  Jackson drew his gaze away and focused on what was happening.

  “How do the engines work?” he asked.

  “That is an easy one. The first engines were little more than a naked flame, which heated and expanded air and forced it out of the rear, pushing the plane forwards. Then Ralf had an idea, gas is still burned but now the hot air produced turns a fan which sucks in and compresses more air. More air means more combustion, thus more hot air is ejected. Instead of the hot air merely pushing the plane forward, the suction caused by the fan also pulls it. The rest of the plane then follows the engine.”

  She had explained it so simply, yet once again, Jackson could understand perfectly. As she spoke, the machine began to roll forwards, the wheels rumbling on the hard surface, then it slowed, swung around and stopped.

  But how does it fly? As he wondered, Jackson heard the whine of the engine’s note increase, looking out again he was sure that he could see the wings shake; there was a haze from the back of the engine. Jessamine gripped his hand. “Fear not, they increase the power against the brakes. It’s more efficient than a standing start. Once a certain speed is achieved, it is impossible for the machine to remain on the ground.”

  That sounded so improbable, no matter how fast any machine moved, it remained on the ground, what was so special about this one?

  “It’s to do with the way air flows over the wing,” she said, as if reading his mind. At that moment, they began to move forwards, faster and faster, until suddenly, the rumble from the wheels ceased. Jackson looked out of the window, they were airborne. By craning his neck, he could see the houses and the city reduce in size, then they turned, the wing dropped and Jackson had a perfect view of the river, the distant ocean and the streets of the suburbs.

  Chapter 19

  The cabin suddenly darkened, Jackson looked out of the window in panic, he realised that they must be flying in a cloud. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, lights came on, recessed in the panelling overhead, bright globes of blue, the same as the ones in Oswald’s room. He remembered the spinning magnet, perhaps their forward motion was used to create the same effect?

  “They must be the Wasperton-Byler lights,” he said to Jessamine. A man sitting close turned at the words. “What do you know of that?” he asked.

  “I have heard of it,” he replied.

  “We saw the effect demonstrated at the Palais this last week,” Jessamine broke in. “It was a fascinating evening.”

  The stranger relaxed. “My pardon,” he said. “I’m a Watchman, currently off duty, returning from a training week in the city to my patrol in Hammerham. I heard you talk of sensitive information; my training took over.”

  Jackson smiled. “Are you from Hammerham?” he asked.

  “I am,” the man replied. “It’s a small place but very friendly, with the patronage of Mr Nethersole it has prospered. I’m proud to serve the people I have known all my life as their Watchman.”

  “Is that Rodney Nethersole?” asked Jessamine. “The manufacturer of prosthetics in the city?”

  “The same, I see that his fame has spread, he is so well regarded locally, there are none who would not defend him. He even takes in the waifs and strays from the city, a charabanc load at a time. He houses them at his own expense in his estate and puts them to useful labour on his farms.”

  It was interesting to see this man’s view of Nethersole’s actions, how it differed from their suspicions.

  “He has farms? I knew not. Is it not enough that he gives hope to our disabled veterans?”

  “He has a manager, a Mr Winstanley, a great authority on farming matters; they produce porkers and vegetables, for local consumption. There is talk of extending the rail to Hammerham, at his expense, to allow him to better send produce to the city.” He sat back. “You’ll find nobody thereabouts who will say a bad word about him.”

  Jackson was pleased, he had put his lessons into practice and obtained useful information, he was about to try and get more when the woman, Fanny, appeared, pushing a trolley. To his relief, she spoke first to the Watchman. Leaning forward over him, she offered him a metal tray on which were a selection of what looked like leftover morsels of food. “Some refreshment, sir?” she inquired, placing the tray in his lap with a flourish.

  Jessamine grabbed his arm again. “Look, Jackson,” she exclaimed, pointing out of the window. “There is the Leopold Bridge, as its builders never saw it.”

  Jackson followed her finger, looking away from the woman. He saw the thirty-nine brick arches, in a gentle curve that carried the rail south across the River Norland, which bisected the country and gave it its name. A Ryde was halfway across, the smoke puffing from its chimney drifted in a line of equally spaced dots, at this distance the soldiers in the roof passage showed clearly as they waved. It was modern, yet old fashioned at the same time. The rail and its steam engine had been the end of the equine; would the flying machine have the same effect on the rails?

  “Some food, sir.” The woman was bent over him with another tray. “No thank you,” he said, lifting his hand. Somehow, he managed to hit the tray, depositing the contents all over him. At least there was no hot soup, just a selection of neatly cut sandwiches and small cakes. Jackson noted that it was larger than the amount offered to the Watchman.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said dropping to her knees in front of him she started picking the items from his lap.

  “I can manage,” he said, pushing her away. He brushed the detritus onto the floor.

  “She is so obvious,” Jessamine remarked as she departed. “She moved the tray so you would hit it. It gave her an excuse to rummage in your clothes.” Jackson was shocked, he squirmed in his seat, what was the matter with some women?

  “They call it the five thousand club,” the Watchman remarked. “The women, or attendants as they wish to be known, vie with each other to join it. They do say, and I could not comment, that the act in the air has a different quality, though I cannot imagine what.”

  The woman returned with a brush and swept the remains of the meal into a small bag. “May I have some food?” asked Jessamine.

  “Of course, madam,” she said frostily. She found another tray and handed it over. “And a drink of Char?” She poured it, splashing a little and stalked off, as far as she could in the cabin. Jackson had been forgotten, could it be because he had spurned her advances? He would have to ask.

  “She likes you,” remarked the Watchman. “I never enquired, what is your business in Hammerham?”

  That was a tricky question, before Jackson had chance to answer, Jessamine broke in, “We are newly wedded and on a tour of the country, while we decide where to set up home together. My father has kindly paid for this trip, as a nuptial gift.”

  “That’s extraordinarily kind,” he said.


  “I suspect my father’s motives,” Jessamine replied. “I fancy he is sending us to survey for expansion of his empire. He is involved in news and periodical publications, always searching for new markets. ‘Get me copies of any local journals you might find’, he said as he bade us farewell.”

  “And see if there is opportunity for my latest venture,” added Jackson.

  The man laughed. “No doubt he will be successful, if he sees opportunity in his daughter’s holidays. And you, sir, what’s your function?”

  Jackson was on the spot. “Me, sir? Oh I am nothing much, I used to work in my parents’ company, supplies for the navy, cloth and the like. Since their demise, I have tried many things, never finding one to excite me. Now my lady is teaching me the science of making and selling the inducements which are printed in her father’s publications.” If the man thought it strange that an adult male could be taught by a female, unlike some, he never showed it.

  “Inducements,” he said. “Yes, I have seen them in the news-sheets, they are a new and novel idea. I never imagined that a whole science could be involved in their design and placement. Can you tell me more?”

  Jackson elaborated on the story that they had practised, glad to have seen some of them so recently. Outside the mountains passed by, so close they could almost be touched but they were ignored.

  “Certainly, imagine you are reading an article about… Char.” The man nodded. “Well, if an inducement were placed in the page, by a Char merchant, recommending his blend of leaves, you might remember it when next you purchased and ask for that particular one. The merchant would be happy; he has paid a small sum to tell many of his wares, he will make more sales as the result of his expenditure, sold Char he might not have. The journal makes money from selling the merchant a place on the page for the inducement.”