Chapter Four

All Up in the Air

After all the drinking she had rather been hoping for something more leisurely, but now as she stood in the chill air of the open field, she began to feel herself straighten and sober up. Legend had it, fresh air could do that.

"I've not been on an airship since I was a little girl," she told Redd as she tucked her auburn hair out of her face. "I remember how wonderful it was."

"Well then," he said guiding her towards a hangar, "I think you will find this even more than that tame experience."

It was definitely not an airship that he led her to, but rather something infinitely sleeker and far more fragile looking.

Redd gestured and two burly men appeared from a small office in the hangar. They began to wheel out the narrow shape of an ornithopter from under the roof. Anastasia's mouth dropped open as it passed her. It seemed like something a child might make; a construction of paper and reeds. A compromise made by some lax parent.

Along the side in cursive writing she reads the name The Pineapple Express.

"This will make the perfect end to the evening, and sober you up. You need to sober up." His tone was now clipped and reminded her of her English teacher, Mr Jones. He would always slap the rattan stick he usually kept under his arm, on the desk in front of her, since Anastasia was rather prone to day dreaming.

She swallowed hard on her suddenly dry throat. "But...but...but..." Just like when speaking with Mr Jones, she couldn’t seem to find the words. Instead she allowed herself to be tugged along, following in the wake of the ornithopter. As the technicians unfurled the wings, and arranged the struts she finally managed to get a complete sentence out.

"I can't possibly get into that tiny cockpit," she said waving to spot, and then towards her voluminous outfit.

A smile, broad and wicked flickered over Redd's devilish lips. She let out a terrified squeak when he pulled out a knife from his jacket pocket, but it is not her porcelain flesh that contacted with the blade. Instead he dropped to his knees and with a few broad slashing gestures, cuts away the folds of her dress.

Ragged gasps escaped her, as she felt the chill of the night on her scandalously exposed ankles and even calves. She just knew the technicians were stealing glances of her sweet flesh out of the corner of their eyes.

Otherwise, Redd did not seem to take any notice of the vast impropriety he has forced on her. She should run away, find a cab, send an aethermissive to Frederick or some other agent to come fetch her, anything—but what she actually did end up doing. When Redd offered her his hand, she took it.

Now that the men have finished their work with the wings, they fire up the small engine in the rear of the ornithopter. Anastasia almost leapt out of her skin when it catches. The rattling roar sounded like an angry, hungry, smelly beast.

Still she allowed Redd to install her in the rear compartment, right behind the one with all the controls. He folded the remains of her skirts around her, and then slipped into the front-most one himself.

Anastasia spluttered, just like the engine, but could bring herself to comment further. As frightened as she was of going up in this flimsy contraption, a small Nymph flutter in her abdomen suggested there might be something more up there for her.

"Just relax," Redd said, flicking switches, and testing the small steering wheel in front of him. When that was done, he slid the glass roof over them, and raised a clench fist gesture to the technicians.

They released the wings, and Redd gunned the engine. Anastasia locked her hands around the rear of his seat, and tried to keep her concentration on the back of his head.

This was certainly not what she had been expecting when she had decided to do a favour for Ethel only the day before. Could it be less than twenty-four hours since she set foot in his office?

The contents of her stomach make a break for her mouth, as the ornithopter lurched up from the ground, like a cat making a leap for the top of the curtains. Drinking all that gin would not have been her first choice if she had known a mid-air adventure was in the offering. Clamping a hand to her mouth, Anastasia tried not to think about the tumbler and the chugging. As the ornithopter banked to the right, the taste of juniper washed back up into her mouth.

Redd didn't even glance back at her, and she imagined throwing up in his hair. Would that ruin whatever opinion he had of her? It would be pretty much a certainty.

"Look down over the left wing," Redd said, his voice raised over the din of the engine. "Maybe that will take your mind off your...problem."

Breathing heavily over her hand still clenched to her mouth, Anastasia did as commanded, and stares down into the city she had known since childhood. Except she had never seen it quite like this.

Even her memories of the view from the airship cannot measure up to this. London at night, swooped by beneath her. The gaslight torches lined up the streets as if drawn by some child's hand, while the river twisted and turned its way through the land. For a long moment Anastasia forgot about the gin's imminent reappearance, and stared at the capital of the world with wide eyes.

"There's the Tower," she said, jabbing her finger against the window. "I knew they lit it up for the tourists, but from up here..." She lost all ability to frame any language.

Redd twisted the controls and the ornithopter pivoted on one wing, spinning them wildly downward, so that it felt like it was out of control.

Forgetting about regurgitation, Anastasia grabbed hold of the handles on each side and let out an ear-piercing scream. Somewhat contrarily her Nymph began to sway with delight, even as terror gripped the young woman's body.

"I fear Miss Brassingworth," Redd shouted to be heard over her yells, "you have been rather closeted."

As she watched her city jig left and right under her, Anastasia considered. Since her father's disgrace she had not be afforded many opportunities for fun. Money, once something she barely thought of, consumed all her attention.

"And you are not?" she shot back. "I hear the fabulous pineapple baron hardly ever gets seen out and about—unless you do it all the time but just from behind a mask."

He didn't answer for a moment, and she worried that she has gone too far. His reply came in the form of a grand loop-de-loop over London. The scream that ripped out of Anastasia's throat was entirely unladylike and bounced around the tiny cockpit until her own ears rang. How the gin soaked contents of her stomach did not come splattering out over them both was a mystery to her.

Redd laughed as he brought the ornithopter out level, until they were in line with the Thames once more.

"That was uncalled for," Anastasia replied, batting at him with her hand. "I was just trying to cut you down to size."

"That is not your role," he replied and the dark threads in his voice make her stomach—yes, quite her stomach—clench.

"Then what is?" She didn't know why she asked so many pointed questions.

"Well, it is certainly not as a reporter, but I find myself thinking long and very, very hard about what role we can put you to."

They flew on in silence after that, and she could bear to stop thinking about what other positions she might fulfil. Perhaps it was not the most delicate of conversations, but since their relationship seems to be slipping into the intimate, she had to let him know the one thing, her dark secret.

"I think I should let you know one thing," she said before swallowing hard, "I am still a maid."

"You mean a maid like a servant?" He glanced over his shoulder at her confused. "I thought you worked as a store girl not a maid?"

He was making this doubly hard, but Anastasia went on even though her blush was now hot and red as a baby's slapped cheek. "No, sir you misunderstand me. I am still a virgin."

The ornithopter bucked underneath them as for a moment he appeared to lose control of his piloting skills. "Why on earth would you tell me such a thing?"

"I...I.." she choked, swallowed her words and then tried to find some more. "I just felt like...I well I don't quite know."

"Yes you do," he snapped. "You are throwing your virginity at me to put me off you."

Anastasia blinked and stared at the back of his head. Was that what she was doing? Did he know her better than she knew herself even at this small length of acquaintance?

"I will take that as an admission you are." He banked the ornithopter to the right and now they circled around St Paul's cathedral, not entirely a proper place to be discussing such things. "But I ought to tell you that it won't make one jot of difference. You won't be the first virgin I have handled."

They began to descend, and Anastasia's Nymph started to dance wildly. "Where are we going now?"

He let out a long slow, chuckle that seemed to shake the cockpit. "I have something to show you at my London apartments. I hope you brought your glasses with you."