Ascending to Nephele
“It's one thing to be late for tea with Mama,” sighed Clara. “But to be late for metallurgy with Papa is not to be imagined!”
Clara and Adelaide quickened their paces accordingly, a feat made much easier by the discreet steel springs hidden in the heels of their boots, so that their delicate feet wouldn't tire so easily over distance.
Adelaide suspected that Papa would forgive them- after all, he had spent several entranced afternoons in the Crystal Palace exhibition with fellow gentlemen of his Society. It was hardly to be wondered that his daughters would be equally fascinated by the orichalcum alloy samples from the Atl exhibition.
Both girls hurried across Hyde Park, slowing only when they gained the safety of the gravel paths within sight of their house, and within earshot of one of the uni-wheeled hansom cabs, whose single toothed wheel ploughed the grass unheedingly where once two horses would be have simply dimpled their hoofprints.
“Why,” exclaimed the figure half concealed in the cab, “I believe I see Miss Clara Chambers and Miss Adelaide Chambers!”
Both young ladies paused in their journey, and it was Adelaide who first understood their companion. “Miss Higson? We thought you were taking the waters! You do look well.”
Well indeed, thought Clara cynically, considering the Higston family had told everyone their youngest daughter was near death from consumption and not to be visited.
“I'm very well indeed, thank you. And you are precisely the sort of young, intelligent women that might be interested in my latest discoveries.”
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but Miss Higson had already raised a long tin whistle to her lips, and blown a note so high that neither sister could hear it, but that made the top of their skulls ache.
As silent as a fog rolling from the lakes, the airship descended.
It was entirely the smallest such vessel that the sisters had ever seen, being as they were used to looking up and seeing the London-Manchester omnibus taking flight overhead. This was barely larger than the hansom cab, which Miss Higson now descended from to reveal she was wearing a shocking pair of bloomers in the Chinoiserie fashion of a hundred years previous.
“Come along, come along!” If her manner of dress was scandalous, at least Miss Higson's manner of speech was respectable, if a little brusque. “The shuttle can't linger.”
With nary a look between them, the sisters allowed their scientific curiosity to propel them forward into the modest cabins underneath the canvas-looking balloon of the airship.
“More tourists, Goldkey?” Deep in the labouring bowls of the air ship came the rumble of a Scottish accent. It turned out to belong to a large woman whose complexion was the same flushed colour as the hair she kept tied back in a grubby scarf. Indeed, only her corseted figure sufficed to convince the sisters that they were in the presence of a fellow woman.
“More tourists, Red.” A vaguely social arm was waved. “Ladies, may I present Red Admiral. Red, this is Clara and Adelaide Chambers.”
Red sniffed. “Chambers? That's the best name you could think of for yourself? We'll have to work on that before we get home. Half an hour, ladies, so make yourselves comfy and be glad the kettle's always warm.” She barked a laughed, and vanished back towards the engines.
Clara shuddered delicately. “What a dreadful woman. And why did she call you Goldkey?”
“That's my name now,” shrugged Goldkey. “Comes from the first time I tried opium.”
Both sisters gasped on cue.
“Come and see.” Without waiting for a response, Goldkey grabbed Adelaide's hand and dragged her over to a porthole. The slight concave effect of the glass made the centre of London appear below them in a wide distortion.
“Now imagine you're seeing this on opium,” explained Goldkey matter-of-factly. “I saw where the underground trains run from Farringdon to Paddington station, and I saw the trains and the dirigibles. And it all works like clockwork, as the saying goes, all the schedules and fares and passengers...I saw London as one vast and secret machine waiting got be wound up. And the drug gave me a vision of the Queen holding this big golden key, waiting for the day when she'd have to wind up the machine that is London, and her big city-clockwork would do...something. Perhaps the whole city will fly away.”
There was a polite cough behind them, and when the sister turned around they found themselves faced with a young girl that they took to be Chinese, carrying a tray of teacups.
“Ah good,” breezed Clara. “I'd like my sugar, no milk, please. Sugar, you know?”
“Sugar's the white loaf behind you,” said the girl in an accent that was pure Limehouse. “Please use the sugar nips, not your fingers. And Goldkey, please stop leave random crockery all over the control panels.”
“Sorry, Jenny,” said Goldkey contritely, “You know what it's like- half way through a mug of tea you wonder what would happen if you added saltpetre to whatever you're working on.”
“Bloody big mess, generally,” said Spinning Jenny sagely, and kept her face serene despite the shock caused to the sisters. “Nephele is just coming in to view now, if you're interested. Come up to the viewing deck.”
Adelaide nodded as though she'd just worked something out. “All women on this shuttle here are equals, then?”
“Not just on the shuttle.” Goldkey hauled herself up a small wooden ladder with dexterity born of experience. With some difficulty, and much hampered by their crinolines, the sisters followed her.
Both Red Admiral and Spinning Jenny were on the viewing deck already, the larger woman fanning herself with a sheaf of blueprints. “It's good to get the air flowing. You two, fetch some goggles, your eyeballs will be dry as wee lumps of coal if you don't save them from the wind.”
The sisters accepted the proffered goggles, and found an odd comfort in putting them on. It was a lot like when they were small and learning welding and soldering at their dear Papa's knee. And really, Papa had only limped for a fortnight afterwards.
The city of Nephele lay before them. And above them, too.
Suspended under more helium that could be imagined outside of the Sun himself, the city floated serenely as a series of wooden planks, rope walks, and bridges lashed haphazardly to brass railings. Most of the city was likewise circumnavigated by brass safety railings, apart from what was clearly a dock, admitting shuttles like their own for entrance and departure.
“The last outpost of the Empire,” said Red Admiral reverently. “Home to her Majesty's Royal Sisterhood of Scientific Wonders.”
“Where are all the men?” Clara asked.
“We leave them on the ground,” said Spinning Jenny cheerfully. “They haven't yet managed to despoil the sky- well, not at this altitude anyway, so her Majesty wants to see what happens if women have a Royal Society of their own.”
Clara stared at the vast ribbed bags of helium that maintained the city's impossible height. “Nephele is the Greek word for cloud,” she said half way to herself.
Further speculation was silenced by a metallic chattering sound, and at Spinning Jenny's left hand a punch card emerged from a metal slot. She swept her fingertips lightly over the short and long holes cut out of the thick paper, and Adelaide wondered if perhaps they were in Morse code.
“Nessa Ludd is in charge of air traffic today,” Spinning Jenny reported, “and grants us permission to dock. Shall we, ladies?”
“Gladly,”chorused Clara and Adelaide, already wondering what names they should take among the Sisterhood of Scientific Wonder.
The shuttle turned, and prepared to make its ascent to Nephele.
Clara and Adelaide quickened their paces accordingly, a feat made much easier by the discreet steel springs hidden in the heels of their boots, so that their delicate feet wouldn't tire so easily over distance.
Adelaide suspected that Papa would forgive them- after all, he had spent several entranced afternoons in the Crystal Palace exhibition with fellow gentlemen of his Society. It was hardly to be wondered that his daughters would be equally fascinated by the orichalcum alloy samples from the Atl exhibition.
Both girls hurried across Hyde Park, slowing only when they gained the safety of the gravel paths within sight of their house, and within earshot of one of the uni-wheeled hansom cabs, whose single toothed wheel ploughed the grass unheedingly where once two horses would be have simply dimpled their hoofprints.
“Why,” exclaimed the figure half concealed in the cab, “I believe I see Miss Clara Chambers and Miss Adelaide Chambers!”
Both young ladies paused in their journey, and it was Adelaide who first understood their companion. “Miss Higson? We thought you were taking the waters! You do look well.”
Well indeed, thought Clara cynically, considering the Higston family had told everyone their youngest daughter was near death from consumption and not to be visited.
“I'm very well indeed, thank you. And you are precisely the sort of young, intelligent women that might be interested in my latest discoveries.”
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but Miss Higson had already raised a long tin whistle to her lips, and blown a note so high that neither sister could hear it, but that made the top of their skulls ache.
As silent as a fog rolling from the lakes, the airship descended.
It was entirely the smallest such vessel that the sisters had ever seen, being as they were used to looking up and seeing the London-Manchester omnibus taking flight overhead. This was barely larger than the hansom cab, which Miss Higson now descended from to reveal she was wearing a shocking pair of bloomers in the Chinoiserie fashion of a hundred years previous.
“Come along, come along!” If her manner of dress was scandalous, at least Miss Higson's manner of speech was respectable, if a little brusque. “The shuttle can't linger.”
With nary a look between them, the sisters allowed their scientific curiosity to propel them forward into the modest cabins underneath the canvas-looking balloon of the airship.
“More tourists, Goldkey?” Deep in the labouring bowls of the air ship came the rumble of a Scottish accent. It turned out to belong to a large woman whose complexion was the same flushed colour as the hair she kept tied back in a grubby scarf. Indeed, only her corseted figure sufficed to convince the sisters that they were in the presence of a fellow woman.
“More tourists, Red.” A vaguely social arm was waved. “Ladies, may I present Red Admiral. Red, this is Clara and Adelaide Chambers.”
Red sniffed. “Chambers? That's the best name you could think of for yourself? We'll have to work on that before we get home. Half an hour, ladies, so make yourselves comfy and be glad the kettle's always warm.” She barked a laughed, and vanished back towards the engines.
Clara shuddered delicately. “What a dreadful woman. And why did she call you Goldkey?”
“That's my name now,” shrugged Goldkey. “Comes from the first time I tried opium.”
Both sisters gasped on cue.
“Come and see.” Without waiting for a response, Goldkey grabbed Adelaide's hand and dragged her over to a porthole. The slight concave effect of the glass made the centre of London appear below them in a wide distortion.
“Now imagine you're seeing this on opium,” explained Goldkey matter-of-factly. “I saw where the underground trains run from Farringdon to Paddington station, and I saw the trains and the dirigibles. And it all works like clockwork, as the saying goes, all the schedules and fares and passengers...I saw London as one vast and secret machine waiting got be wound up. And the drug gave me a vision of the Queen holding this big golden key, waiting for the day when she'd have to wind up the machine that is London, and her big city-clockwork would do...something. Perhaps the whole city will fly away.”
There was a polite cough behind them, and when the sister turned around they found themselves faced with a young girl that they took to be Chinese, carrying a tray of teacups.
“Ah good,” breezed Clara. “I'd like my sugar, no milk, please. Sugar, you know?”
“Sugar's the white loaf behind you,” said the girl in an accent that was pure Limehouse. “Please use the sugar nips, not your fingers. And Goldkey, please stop leave random crockery all over the control panels.”
“Sorry, Jenny,” said Goldkey contritely, “You know what it's like- half way through a mug of tea you wonder what would happen if you added saltpetre to whatever you're working on.”
“Bloody big mess, generally,” said Spinning Jenny sagely, and kept her face serene despite the shock caused to the sisters. “Nephele is just coming in to view now, if you're interested. Come up to the viewing deck.”
Adelaide nodded as though she'd just worked something out. “All women on this shuttle here are equals, then?”
“Not just on the shuttle.” Goldkey hauled herself up a small wooden ladder with dexterity born of experience. With some difficulty, and much hampered by their crinolines, the sisters followed her.
Both Red Admiral and Spinning Jenny were on the viewing deck already, the larger woman fanning herself with a sheaf of blueprints. “It's good to get the air flowing. You two, fetch some goggles, your eyeballs will be dry as wee lumps of coal if you don't save them from the wind.”
The sisters accepted the proffered goggles, and found an odd comfort in putting them on. It was a lot like when they were small and learning welding and soldering at their dear Papa's knee. And really, Papa had only limped for a fortnight afterwards.
The city of Nephele lay before them. And above them, too.
Suspended under more helium that could be imagined outside of the Sun himself, the city floated serenely as a series of wooden planks, rope walks, and bridges lashed haphazardly to brass railings. Most of the city was likewise circumnavigated by brass safety railings, apart from what was clearly a dock, admitting shuttles like their own for entrance and departure.
“The last outpost of the Empire,” said Red Admiral reverently. “Home to her Majesty's Royal Sisterhood of Scientific Wonders.”
“Where are all the men?” Clara asked.
“We leave them on the ground,” said Spinning Jenny cheerfully. “They haven't yet managed to despoil the sky- well, not at this altitude anyway, so her Majesty wants to see what happens if women have a Royal Society of their own.”
Clara stared at the vast ribbed bags of helium that maintained the city's impossible height. “Nephele is the Greek word for cloud,” she said half way to herself.
Further speculation was silenced by a metallic chattering sound, and at Spinning Jenny's left hand a punch card emerged from a metal slot. She swept her fingertips lightly over the short and long holes cut out of the thick paper, and Adelaide wondered if perhaps they were in Morse code.
“Nessa Ludd is in charge of air traffic today,” Spinning Jenny reported, “and grants us permission to dock. Shall we, ladies?”
“Gladly,”chorused Clara and Adelaide, already wondering what names they should take among the Sisterhood of Scientific Wonder.
The shuttle turned, and prepared to make its ascent to Nephele.