The Great Race

Beth Cogan 9342 Monticello Dr Twinsburg OH 44087

One of these things just doesn't belong here...
Oh, he looked like everyone else. Enough to pass. Dressed in deep grey with a silvery vest and almostpristine cravat, he could have been anyone. But he wasn't. He wasn't supposed to be here. And the reason
he was... Well, it was for his own amusement.
He chose the title of commander because it suited his moods and his ego. He had such an ego, and it
showed in the straight-backed way he walked, glass in hand, as if he fit in with these people. As if he
belonged in a garden party with the upper crust of society. Men shook his hand willingly. Women hid bashful
and flattered smiles behind fans.
It was a lavish party. No doubt even the weather had been consulted and ordered to be perfect for the event.
There was music, food, and people to chat with who believed he was simply a rich guest from out of town.
Someone invited as a way to be polite and bring them to the attention of this city's society.
He finished the contents of the glass he carried, gently setting it down on a table before picking up another
with a gold-coloured champagne filling it. It was his fifth one, but he showed no sign of any effect. Only that
warm lopsided smile that went right up into his deep sapphire-blue eyes. Five minutes later, he was taking
his leave of another meeting. "If you'll forgive me, sir..." The lady was given a kiss to the back of her hand
before he departed.
What they didn't know was that her husband's watch and wallet were now in the possession of the stranger.
Lee Underhill was not upper class. He was no more than a troublemaker, charming though he was.
He was trouble. And he liked it.
Whilst the charming vagabond was making his way around the pockets of the guests, the host of this gala
event, Sir Jacob Aubrey-Fleet, Duke of Ilcester, stood entertaining some of his peers with yet another boring
tale of his so-called adventures on his tour of Africa from which he was newly returned. The upper class and
even members of lower royalty were well-versed in looking interested whilst dying of boredom, especially
when the teller outranked them on the social ladder.
This left his daughter, Lady Georgina Felicia Elizabeth Aubrey-Fleet, Duchess of Ilcester, to the task of
making sure everyone was enjoying themselves and sure to leave with positive things to gossip about at
Madame LeFebvre's next high tea. George, as she preferred to be called, never Georgina, was about 5'6
tall and had rich deep auburn hair that she usually wore up as was the fashion, but preferred it down to feel
the wind blowing through it. Her eyes were a deep dark green and her skin fair and glowing in spite of all the
time spent outside in the sun. This had only managed to splatter a few freckles across the bridge of her
perfect nose, probably from the way she kept it lifted at those all around her whom she determined as
beneath her. Her figure was quite full, with the usual small waist formed by many years of tight corsets, and
yet it wasn't as thin as was the fashion of the day. She was still quite a handful in more ways than one. Her
voice was low, husky and could be exceedingly loud if she so chose as she did now as her father's best
friend Lord Clarence Highbottom approached.
Uncle Botty! she called out quite loudly, though out of necessity for 'Uncle Botty' was all but stone deaf.
The man cleared his throat and introduced another man with him. He was tall, painfully thin, and had the
longest nose and chin combination she'd ever seen.
George, m'dear! Remember that man I told you about that wanted to hold that race? Well, here he is!
"Very nice speaking with you, ma'am. I wish your son the best on his exams."
Lee walked away, overhearing the older lady speaking so glowingly of him. A smirk took his lips. This was
easy. Standing by a table of food, he stole a cube of cheese, chewing thoughtfully. With the day's pickings,
he could make the repairs he needed on the ship. Maybe gamble a little. Find a nice little lady to
spend...an...evening with.
"Hello."
The little lady he set his sights on at the moment stood beside him, a small plate in her hand, her eyes on the
display arrayed on the table. She raised those eyes and smiled. He discovered her name was Jane, and it
suited the classic beauty of her, with her cornflower blue eyes and sandy blond curls. Gently, he took the
plate from her hand and set it on the table. "You don't want this. I think I can find something much sweeter for
you to delight in."
Ten minutes later, one Baron Simon Carmichael began checking his pockets. Looking at his wife, he shook
his head. "I cannot find my watch, my dear." She, too, discovered her little clutch was missing. A few men
around them found their wallets missing, one lady saying she was missing a ring.
They all had one thing in common.
Lee Underhill.
And where was he?

In a secluded part of the garden, kissing on the neck of the little beauty, Jane, while she clutched at his arms
and sighed with pleasure. "OhGod, you're sweet..." He mumbled the words against her skin, then drew back
to capture her lips again. His big hand had just cupped her breast through her sky blue dress when he heard
the clearing of a throat behind him. Turning his head, he broke the kiss...and forced a smile to his lips.
"Gentlemen...what can I do for you?"
One of the men was short and wide, with a grey suit and black tophat. The other was tall, medium build with
a full head of fair wavy hair and piercing grey eyes. This was the family butler and all around dogsbody
named Godwell. The short fellow was the chauffeur, Brian Harvey.
Well well what have we here? Harvey clucked in his thick West End accent. If it in't our pirate come t'do a
little nickin'. Well, we don't want any o' your kind 'ere, mate. He grabbed Lee by the collar and tried to frogmarch him off the premises whilst Godwell saw to the young lady's safety.
George noticed this little happening off to her side and wondered. She started to ask Godwell but stopped as
Lady Haversham came up to share a tidbit of gossip with her. George just rolled her eyes. She'd much rather
be seeing what the ruckus was all about.
"The suit! Mind the suit!"
Damn that Harvey. Being short, he was pulling Lee backward a bit, making his walk awkward. But as he
went, he twisted, turning from the man's grasp, facing him.
"You got nothing on me. I've done nothing but eat and drink. Even you wouldn't turn up your nose to free
food, would you? No. Well, neither did I."
But as he spoke, another figure came from behind him, slapping cuffs on him before he could move. Lee
looked over his shoulder to find Constable Isaac Turner.
"Aw, this is all a big misunderstanding." His shoulders rose. "C'mon, guys. Even I wouldn't go after an
unwilling woman. And she was willing! Believe me, I made the offer and she gladly accepted."
"You seem to need a place to think this over. Might I suggest the local jail?"
"C'mon, chief. I'm harmless! Look, ask anyone." His eyes landed on George and Lady Haversham. "Ask
those pretty ladies right over there. I was polite and charming to all. No one was hurt. I'm not even armed."
"C'mon, come with me. And no scenes. You've done enough for one day."
"I'm telling you, I've done nothing." He paused as Turner slowly pulled a pocketwatch from the right pocket of
his jacket. "About that..."
Turner's eyes rose to meet Lee's, and the man shrugged again.
"Like I said, BIG misunderstanding."
Then Godwell and Harvey took hold of Lee's arms and legs and upended the chap, shaking him lightly.
People began to stare as all manner of watches, bracelets, wallets etc spilled from the interior of the
pickpocket's clothes. A few yards away, George caught sight of this and handed her drink to Miss
Haversham, hiking up her skirts and storming over to the man caught by her staff.
What in heaven's name is going on here?! she demanded in her husky, posh accent. Who is this man and
I use the term loosely? she fixed her deep green eyes upon him, one side of her mouth curled slightly as if
something didn't smell quite right.
A pickpocket, madame, Godwell said in his languorously smooth just as posh voice. It seems the
constable was just going to take the fellow to gaol.
"Hey!!! WHOA...!"
It was no fun to be shaken as he was, watching all that lovely treasure fall from his pockets. It made him feel
a little sick. So much for repairing the R'lyeh.
"Okay, okay! So I lifted a few items. It's not like they can't spare a bit to someone in need. It's not like--" His
blue eyes rose to the woman before.
Now THERE was a woman!
"Lady...ma'am...miss...this is being blown way out of proportion here! I admitted my wrong, so they can let
me down, throw me out, and everyone can be about their day. I-- C'mon, you wouldn't let a man rot in a cell
would you?"
Turner sighed. "I'm so sorry, my lady. We've the situation in hand and I'll remove this lowlife from the
premises immediately." His watery grey eyes landed on Lee. "We'll be off. And you can just behave." Once
he had possession of the man's wrists, he began to walk him away, but Lee was calling out.
"C'mon! I said I was wrong! Nnngh! I just wanted to repair my ship!"
George stood, arms folded across her chest, watching as they carted the protesting blackguard away. Of
course he was only liable to prison insofar as she, the owner of the premises, wished to press charges,
seeing as the thefts occurred on private property. He was cheeky enough that she almost admired his
audacity, but she thought she'd let him stew for awhile anyway. And what was that he was shouting about
wanting to repair his ship?

With a shrug, George instructed Godwell to gather up the things that odious man had stolen and see about
returning them to their guests. The Duchess had a garden party to oversee.
"Aw, c'mon! Guys..." Lee looked out from the inside of the cell, hands on the bars as his coat was taken
away. "I'm broke. I just needed some cash to fix my ship." There was chuckling under those words, a
knowledge he was going to be sitting here for a while, possibly a long while.
Sighing, he leaned his head against the bars. So close. He should have just left instead of getting
sidetracked by that pretty little Jane. Oh, but she was sweet, the innocent thing. He'd likely given her
something to think about. He chuckled at that, too.
What he didn't chuckle about was that pretty thing he'd seen just before being led away. That was a woman.
Curvy, well dressed, haughty as anything. She'd not be some milk-and-water girl. She'd leave a man with
something to think about. And that left Lee wondering who in hell she was. Oh, she'd been so beautiful, but
that perfect little nose of hers was so high in the air. What he wanted was to get his hands on her fair skin.
With nothing else to do, he lay down on the cot, staring up to the ceiling, eventually turning over to his
stomach, facing away from the doorway. Arms crossed, he laid his head down and let himself doze off.
Back at the party, Sir Jacob stood on the little podium erected on the top of the steps outside the back of the
manor house, overlooking the formal garden and where the people had gathered to listen. Uncle Botty stood
nearby with the tall thin old man he had brought with him.
Ladies and Gentlemen! Uncle Botty took over the stand. This is Sir Coleville Lemington-Smythe. He is the
senior Solicitor for the law firm of Horsey, Horsey and Smythe. They have been entrusted with the rules and
the prize allocation for this year's Great Race. I shall now turn it over to Sir Coleville.
The old man hobbled to the forefront, doffing his top hat and thanking Uncle Botty before turning to address
the crowd who were all abuzz wondering what the competition would be this year. It had been everything in
the past, from bicycles across the British Isles, to rowboats across the Channel. A hush fell over the crowd as
the surprisingly high pitched voice began to speak.
Ladies and Gentlemen, he began. I am pleased to announce that this year's annual competition will be a
ten day journey from London to Cairo.... in airships! Now we understand this is not for the faint of heart, nor
something one person can tackle alone. Therefore, in the rules, each airship Captain may take up to two
assistants, one of whom must be of a mechanical nature. Um, knowing mechanics, not made of them, he
chuckled along with the rest of the crowd.
The route will include: London Paris Freiburg Florence Naples Malta Tripoli and Cairo with
three stops in between Tripoli and Cairo in the desert for refuelling and supplies. At every stop there will be a
special type of flower that will only survive a certain number of days. Thus each must arrive at the destination
in the precise state that it should be in if having picked it up at the right stop. Furthermore, anyone taking
longer than the allotted ten days will be disqualified. Anyone skipping a stop will likewise be booted out. Any
questions? He peered over the audience.
Impressed and awed gasps were heard through the crowd, ladies looking to their gentlemen, curiosity alive
and in full swing.
"The purse! Tell us the amount!"
More than one called for the amount, the prize for such daring. The ladies all daydreamed of the challenge,
some wishing they could take part, others nudging their husbands. Airships were costly, and sometimes
dangerous. How many would actually be brave enough to go?
"Where do we register, and when? When will it be?" There were already shouts of interest, several wanting
to have their names first on the list.
One who would register was Holmes Tattington, an older gentlemen with a quiet manner. But he was
competitive. He played fair, though used chessboard strategy to keep ahead of his opponent, whatever the
challenge.
Another was John Whiting-Fries. He was one to look out for. Big, dark, and cunning, he looked to win,
however he had to make it happen. Winning was all, and nothing less would do. His brown eyes scanned the
crowd as other hands went up. He would be ready, and he would take the prize.
"Can I at least have a book?"
Lee sighed heavily. "If you'll keep me here this long, on no formal charge, at least let me have something to
pass the time!"
Turner wandered over to the little cell block and tossed a book to the prisoner. 'The Time Machine'. Where
had he gotten that? "This should keep you busy for a while.
Lee looked at the book and then up to Turner.
"Can I get a woman, too?"
Turner walked away.
Sir Coleville tried to quieten the crowd, but Uncle Botty had to step in. Please, please, let his lordship

answer! he laughed then stepped back once again.

There will be an entry fee of five hundred pounds. However, the purse is a whopping fifty thousand pounds
in British sterling!
There was a hush at the announcement of the fee, but the staggering amount offered to gain by the winner
received a mighty ovation.
Uncle Botty stood up once again to shush the crowd. Now registration will begin immediately, with the
window closing in one week's time. That should give everyone enough time to collect the entry fee and
prepare their ships. The race will start one week from tomorrow in London, on the banks of the Thames.
From there the first stop will be Paris. Our people will be there at every check point to make sure that no
rules are breached, and all contestants have a fair shot. If you have any more questions, you can see me or
Sir Coleville here. Thank you and good luck!
George had stood to the side listening to this with a grin flowering upon her striking features. Did you hear
that, Godwell? A race! And I can take two people along with me. Surely you would love a trip to Cairo, my old
friend? she turned her grin to the faithful if somewhat reluctant butler.
B... but my lady... your father will never allow you to participate. It is most unladylike...
Bollocks. He'll probably even pay my entry fee though that wouldn't be a problem for me. I shall need a good
mechanic, though, the gears in her mind were whirring... like a steel bear trap. What about that little round
fellow... what's his name?
Saunders, madam?
Yes, that's it! she snapped her fingers. Saunders. True he is probably a little on the overweight side, but
he's so short I'm sure if he were stretched out he'd be like any other normal sized man. Speak to him for me
will you? I'll share the prize money equally among you both.
Both Tattington and Fries blinked at the entry fee, but only Tattington would be registering today. That kind of
money was no problem to the man. Fries would need a day or two. But he WOULD register, and he would
win.
No questions asked.
With the few who would sign up that day, Holmes Tattington stood in line, already looking forward to seeing
these lovely cities from above...and gaining the purse at the end. Oh, he would win, but with careful strategy.
"Whoever came up with this is a fool. No one can travel through time." Lee actually turned the book on its
side, staring at the pages as though trying to decipher an alien language. His prominent brows drew in, head
shaken.
"Fool needed a woman to keep his mind on this planet, and not rambling through time, which is impossible."
His voice was low, pure distaste there. "Idiot. Travelling through space. Indeed."
But flying would be nice. Getting back to the R'lyeh was going to be a bitch, though.
There were a few others considering entering the race, the steep entry fee not putting them off. One of them
was Lady Prunella Botherington-Jones. She was a peer of the Duchess' as they had grown up in the same
circles together, gone to the same boarding school for young ladies, even to the same finishing school
though it hadn't had that much effect upon George. Her father the Duke had more or less raised her as a
boy, a trait which the ladies' schools had not quite eradicated. She and Prunella had spent most of their
young lives trying to outdo each other whether it was in swimming, painting, archery, horseback riding, lawn
tennis or even boys. George had excelled at all of them but the last, for Prunella was tall, blonde, blue-eyed
and had all the grace of a ballerina. George, on the other hand when she was just being herself, could easily
have been mistaken for a lad, were it not for the dresses, the long hair and the rather buxomly filled corset.
Lady Botherington-Jones had just finished explaining how she preferred to be called 'Ella' when George
came up, grinning wryly.
Oye, Pruny, she addressed the cringing blonde. Are you going to enter the race this year? Tenner says I
win.
'Ella' just groaned and rolled her eyes and turned her head slightly. I wasn't going to Georgina, but... you're
on.
By the second morning, Lee was feeling stiffness in his back from the cot he was made to bed down on. It
was his only seat, so sitting up was done without support, too. The fact he'd been fed sparingly added to his
unhappiness.
"I should have left when I had the chance."
Women. Always a problem in one way or another.
By now, his clothes were rumpled from being slept in, his vest and all the extras tossed aside to leave his
shirt unlaced and open, the sleeves billowing. Shadow covered his jaw and his hair fell against his forehead,
no longer neatly combed back.
Turner leaned against the bars and Lee glared up at him.

"You've kept me overnight. That's long enough, isn't it?"

"Charges have not been formally levelled against you. Yet. But they will be, rest assured."
"You've made my day, Constable. You've made my whole damn day."
Just then the door to the constabulary opened and in came the Lady Aubrey-Fleet, dressed in a delightful
forest green day suit that perfectly set off her eyes. I came to enquire as to whether you were still holding
that vagabond you caught at the garden party? she asked the constable on duty. Ah, Turner, she didn't
wait for an answer when she could ask the Inspector himself. Are you still holding that thief or have you
hung him already? her voice was low and sultry with a touch of snooty for good measure.
"Ah, my lady, good morning. You're always a pleasant sight." Turner's smile fell. "No... He's still here.
Though, I can't imagine what business a lady of your caliber would have with him." He'd come forward,
welcoming to his guest, but now he wondered at the intelligence of letting her anywhere near that cell.
Despite his supposed charm, Mr Underhill was no treat to deal with. He was demanding, complained, and
was never happy with anything.
He'd made this situation himself.
"Do...you wish to see him? Or do you want only to level the charges against him?"
"Oh, c'mon, Turner. Let her come over and see me."
"Pipe down!"
"Yes, yes", he grumbled, turning his back, leaning back against the bars. "'Be quiet and read your book, Lee'.
I know."
Without answering Turner, George merely motioned him aside with a gloved hand and moved with a rustle of
petticoats, closer to the cell wherein Lee was being held. I had come to see if you were still here and to
perhaps actually drop the charges, however I think I'll let them stay at least until you've had a few more days
to simmer... and until after the deadline for entering this year's Great Race has passed.
The words were spoken with the demeanour of someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but also with
the air of a challenge, with a smidgen of taunting thrown in. For she had remembered his comment about
wanting to fix his ship; she could only surmise that he had an airship.
Too bad you can't enter it with your airship... and oh yes, you needed to repair it any way. What a pity, she
eyed him sideways, hoping to get a rise out of him for it amused her.
"Isn't that just like a lady..." He spoke without looking up, then slowly stood, unfolding all 6'3 of himself to his
full height. But no sooner had he plastered on that dark look, it faded. Airships. The Race this year was
airships. And no doubt for a sickeningly large prize purse.
"Wait..." He came forward to the bars, one hand through them to gesture. "Just wait. Whatever the prize, I
could use that. The R'lyeh needs repairs, yeah, but..." He paused. "Well, what the hell do you care? What's
all this to you? Did you seriously come here only to wave that under my nose? You thought about dropping
the charges but decided to taunt me instead. Oh, isn't that just like a woman. What, watching me taken away
the other day wasn't enough? Letting me sit here on unconfirmed charges wasn't enough? You know, all I
wanted was to repair my ship. That's all. And it's not like you upper class lot can't afford to lose a little. That
ship is all I have. It's my travel, it's my HOME."
Leaning forward against the bars, he levelled his dark blue eyes on her. "Let me tell you something, little
miss. Given half a chance, I'd win that race. You can be assured of that. I'm a damn fine pilot, and for all her
sad condition, the R'lyeh's a damn fine ship. I'd win, and who would be nose-in-the-air then?"
Still me, you sad little man who has to steal just to fix his ship. Oh boo hoo. Besides, even if I did drop the
charges, and even if you did manage to repair your ship enough to fly it, you would still be down here on the
ground, looking up as we all sail off for you could never afford the five hundred pound entry fee. So, I'm
actually doing you a favour by letting you rot here for a while longer. All this was stated matter-of-factly with
no small measure of snobbery added for effect.
Oh and the prize is a nice one. Fifty thousand. Nothing to sneeze at is it? she pretended to pick lint off her
fine, dark green silk gloves.
"You bitch."
Lee muttered the words low, low enough only she would hear them. "You pretty little bitch." But he couldn't
help laughing. "Oh, she'll fly. She's not reliable, like any female, but she'll fly." That entry fee was a problem,
though. She was right, there. He couldn't afford it. Five hundred pounds. And worse, a purse of fifty
thousand?!
He laughed again, stepping back from the bars. "You think it may be the end of me, sitting here and losing
out on the race. Well, so be it. I have one consolation, and that's the fact I'll never be the one foolishly tied
down to that vinegar tongue of yours."

Oh, my tongue can be sweet enough to those worthy of its honeyed words, she cooed in example. But
rightly so, you'll never taste its sweetness. Turner! she called out suddenly, turning towards the desk. Draw
up the papers and send them for me to sign. Tomorrow, she grinned over her shoulder. Oh and get that
man a bath, he reeks.
The sapphire eyes narrowed.
She might be young, but damn, she was cold. There was something very wrong with that mind of hers that
she would be so cold at such a tender age. She was certainly ten years younger than he was!
"You can't do that." Again he muttered low. As she looked over her shoulder, he slammed a palm against the
bars. "You can't do that!! Just because you have money, you don't get to dictate someone else's life!"
Turner stepped forward, calling out. "Here now, settle down! Easy!"
"Get her out of here!"
"Sit down and be quiet!"
"I'll not rot OR die for that little bitch's pleasure."
"Watch your mouth!" Turner gestured to two of his men, who stepped forward with a shock gun each.
Lee chuckled. "Oh, c'mon on, then." Turning his eyes on George, he shook his head slowly. "Glad I could
entertain you, your worship." He slammed his hand on the bars once more...and the world went black.
You call that entertainment?
Then he passed out from the shock guns.
Now THAT I call entertainment. But then George sighed and moved forward, crouching beside the still pile
lying on the other side of the bars. Aww did you have to do that? Is he all right? she looked up at Turner,
genuine concern in her forest green eyes. Then the elegant lady stood and sighed. Wash him, get him a
decent meal and let him out in the morning. Tell him if he wants to enter the race, to go and see Uncle Botty,
but don't tell him I had anything to do with it, all right? I'll go and speak to Uncle now. Good day, gentlemen.
"He's fine, my lady. Just puts him out for a few minutes, it does." Turner sighed. "He was warned. I won't
have behaviour like that, and not toward a lady." He listened to her instructions, a little confused by the turn
of events. The two didn't seem to get along and yet here she was doing something decent for the man. She
was a real lady, the Duchess.
"Good day, my dear lady, and rest assured I'll pass on your message." Without a name attached, of course.
When Lee woke, it was to a headache and the feeling he'd been asleep for hours. It had been no more than
ten minutes. "Tell me she's gone." He groaned when one of Turner's men came over.
"Aye, and she was kind enough to decide we should let you loose. No charges."
"Was she?" He tried to laugh but couldn't. Sitting up was hard enough, and he did that holding his head. He
found himself on the cot, and blinked up at the bloke. "She say why?"
"I don't rightly know. Entertainment, I suppose."
"That was exactly it." Turner came to join them, peering in at Lee. "We'll let you out in the morning. For now,
you sit tight. We'll see about getting you washed up a little, and some food..."
"Just a basic cleanup will do. I'll bathe properly when I get back to the R'lyeh."
"Speaking of which, you'll be out in time to sign up for the Race. You did mention needing the prize money."
Lee went thoughtful. Yes! The Race! But the fee! Well, if no one saw him, he didn't do it.
"The man you'll want to see is Lord Clarence Highbottom."
The next morning saw him a free man again, and once he'd bathed, shaved, and changed into fresh clothes,
he headed straight off to see Botty.
Lord Clarence was sitting in the president's office of the bank, partly because he was working, and mostly
because he was the president. As the best friend of the Duke, he was also friends with his daughter,
Georgina, though knew better than to call her that. He knew she had a temper and a mind like a steel trap.
Once she had been insulted or slighted in any way, she never forgot, nor forgave. Thus it seemed odd to him
when she stopped 'round the previous afternoon and gave him odd instructions. He was to entertain Mr.
Underhill, yes, the thief from the party, and after letting him sweat and beg for a long amount of time about
the money for the entry fee, let him have it, but only under certain conditions.
He wasn't sure what George was playing at, but she seemed to know what she was doing, and, besides, she
was the Duchess after all.
So when the next morning came, he was not at all surprised by the first visitor to his office.
Commander Lee Underhill to see you sir, said his secretary, always forgetting that Botty was rather deaf.
Eh? he looked up, round, wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the edge of his nose.
I SAID THERE IS A COMMANDER LEE UNDERHILL TO SEE YOU SIR! SHALL I SEND HIM IN?
Oh yes, yes, um, send him in will you?
The clerk rolled his eyes and left, sending the thief in and closing the door behind.
And what can I do for you, Mr. Underthrill? Botty asked, finishing his memorandum and setting the quill

back into the pen stand.

Of course. Lee's luck would see him sitting in a bank, to see the president, no less, after attempting to steal
from so many at that damned garden party. Of course, he'd be sitting there waiting to see the man, and of
course, unbeknown to Lee, the man knew George quite well.
He walked in dressed more casually than before, having not known exactly where to find this Lord
Highbottom. This found him standing in the bank, waiting to be seen while wearing plain black trousers and
an ivory shirt, the laces left open at the neck, the cuffs unbuttoned, with a leather vest over it. His boots were
scuffed, but decent enough. And his hair hung against his forehead. The clean-dressed and well groomed
Commander of the party afternoon was gone.
And here he was to see the president of the bank.
Of course.
Now, sitting across from the man, he affected a relaxed position. He was IN no position to appear this way,
though. "I was told you were the man to see about this year's race."
He took a deep breath. "Thing is, I know time is running out for registration...and I need to gather the entry
fee. Can I possibly register late?"
Test fate? Oh well I suspect you certainly will, but registration is Friday. After that I'm afraid the race will be
closed. They have to set up the check points and all you see. Late is out of the question. So, what do you
propose to do about the fee? I understand you were caught stealing at the Duke's garden party, tsk tsk, he
shook his balding head as he leaned back in his chair, his large belly no doubt breathing a sigh of relief.
Lee groaned. No late registration.
"About that..." He shifted in his chair, leaned forward. "The charges were never formalised, so I'm free and
clear. However...the motive was my ship. It needs a few repairs I can't afford. If I could win that race, and the
R'lyeh will limp along enough to win, I'll be able to fix her up."
Was this guy even hearing all this?
"Sir...is a loan possible? I mean, it could be paid back with the prize money. With interest, of course." He tried
to sound as confident as possible, but he was still wondering how in hell he'd get that money in time. Friday.
Damn! And all because Miss Priss had to let him sit for so long before being decent about it all. The Duke...
Was he her protector? He was old enough to be her father?! It had to be the draw of his wealth. Well, Lee
could understand that.
"...IS a loan possible?"
Ah well, a loan would be possible, sir, if you had something valuable to put up as collateral. One of the
members of our board has put up a fund out of her own pocket to be made available as short-term loans to
be repaid upon the tenth day of the race, after the winner has been declared. But yes, I'm afraid they will
have to be secured. Five hundred pounds sterling is a lot of money! Botty was proud of himself for not giving
away George's role in this. He was usually quite bad at such subterfuge.
"You don't understand..."
Sitting forward in the seat, he tried to play on the man's seeming friendly nature. But he didn't hold much
hope. "All I own is that ship. It's all I have. I don't have valuable personal belongings. I don't own a house. I
have nothing."
He was going to have to steal it. There was no helping it now. He came here to sign up for this race, and by
the grace of whatever creator was out there, he was going to.
"Sir, it's wonderful that this board member is so giving, but you obviously can't help me. I'll have to sit this
one out." He let out a deep sigh. "The R'lyeh's all I have. That ship is my home."
Rising to his feet, he offered the expected polite smile. "I won't take up any more of your time."
Just a minute, young man. What do you think the local constabulary will say if you suddenly turn up with the
entry fee and it did not come through here? Hmmm? Botty stuck his thumbs in his braces and pulled on
them frighteningly far. If you are so confident that you would offer to repay the loan immediately out of the
prize money, then why won't you simply put up your ship as collateral? It's only for ten days, and should
anything untoward happen to your ship, here he was improvising, but he was sure the Duchess would want
it this way, say a natural phenomenon or somesuch, then you would no longer be held liable for the
repayment of that initial loan. But, sir, this is a one time only offer. Once you walk out of this room, the deal is
off the table.
No. No, he couldn't even begin to consider such an idea. But old Botty had him in a corner. If he came up
with the money from nowhere, what would Turner think? He'd end up back in that cell for sure, and likely
someplace else for a longer stay.
Well, that wasn't happening.

Standing right where he was, with his back to Botty as he'd been ready to take his leave, Lee had to think.
He knew the odds were slim his ship would last long enough to make the trip. He also knew it was worth the
five hundred, even needing repairs. He'd put a lot of time and money into that ship over the years.
But if he didn't win, he'd lose her.
The R'lyeh was everything to him.
Swallowing hard, he forced a smile to his lips and turned to Botty.
"Where do I sign?"
Before long the deadline had come and passed, and it was a little over a week later and Saturday, the eve of
the beginning of this year's Great Race. There were a total of nine entries this year, the steep entry fee
keeping the hobbyists and time wasters away. The nine who had entered were serious airship pilots,
mechanics and mere owners who loved flying and the ships that carried them.
George had given her ship, the Whisperwind, a complete overhaul. She had then chosen two companions,
Brian Harvey, the chauffeur and one of the men who had assisted in the foiling of Underhill's attempt at
thievery, and the other of the pirate-nabbing pair, the family butler, Godwell. She had known him as Godwell
for so long, George didn't even remember his first name, though there had been rumours that it was James.
That day was to be spent in making sure that everything was ready for the eight am starting time, but that
night was a big sendoff party for all and sundry who wanted to send the contestants off with warm wishes
and good cheer.
The low number of entries gave him a little hope. Not much, but a little. His so-called crew gave him less. But
with nothing to offer but an adventure and a chance to say they were at least involved in the race, he couldn't
find anyone. He promised a share of the winnings, but that was also...up in the air.
One who volunteered readily, though, was one poor soul who was known as Nimrod Catchpole. The man
was friendly, very much so, but clearly had been born with a mental deficiency. But the term 'adventure' had
his attention, and so he was willing to lend his hand at mechanics.
The other was a chap calling himself Laurentius Bagstock. He was a bit shady, by all Lee could see, but he
kept guaranteeing he was a sharp shooter, and that one would definitely be needed. Lee couldn't be sure, in
fact didn't care, but the guy was insistent, and where else would he find a willing second hand?
The night before, with the grand sendoff party, the trio mingled with those who came to wish them all well.
Laury sat in a corner, watching the room suspiciously and talking to the air by his shoulder. Nimrod laughed
good-naturedly with a few people and ate enough for three. Lee himself was surrounded by a few who had
heard about the garden party, and among them was a girl or two who wanted to see the 'pirate'. He was
rumoured to be handsome.
And he was.
Lee, though, was keeping his blue eyes peeled for someone else...and hoped she was nowhere to be found.
George was late for the party. She had found Harvey tinkering with the engine. There was a miss in there,
Ladyship, and I were tryin' to fix it afore tomorrow morn.
She had watched him for a moment before yanking the spanner from his hand. Gimme that, you're going to
break the thing before we even start! Hold the light! She handed him a torch, even having to flick it on for
him, and began tinkering away herself. Before long she, too, was banging on something very loudly.
Meanwhile, Godwell was at the party, nodding and being infuriatingly polite to everyone whilst wondering
where his mistress was.
I thought you said you were a mechanic! she shouted from within the engine cavity at Harvey.
No, Ladyship, I only drive 'em, he said, scratching his head, short hair all messed up.
Then go fetch me a proper mechanic. And stop calling me that! I'm just George, remember? She huffed and
went back to trying to loosen the bit that was being extremely stubborn, wiping sweat from her brow and
grease onto it.
All eyes were on the crews of the airships that would leave come morning. There were some interesting
individuals to be included. John Whiting-Fries had his share of the ladies all about him, and Holmes
Tattington was chatting happily with several other gentlemen.
Like Fries, Lee was now surrounded by women. Little was said about his stay in the jail, but they were all
interested in hearing about a few of his adventures in the R'lyeh. He embellished them lavishly, adding in
daring fights, flights through storms, and characters he'd never met. But he held them captivated by his tales,
which grew even more colorful with the liquor he drank.
Now, the thing is, even he wondered where George was. Of course he'd wanted to avoid her, but at the same
time, he strangely wanted to see her. Not out of some want to apologise for the thefts, or for his words to her.
No, he wanted to add to it...with a piece of his mind.
George had no such crowd. She was busy, waist deep in 'Windy's' engine compartment. She hated missing
the party, but this was important and no one could accuse her of not being dedicated to whatever cause she

was involved in. With a smattering of curses, George emerged from the engine, wiping her hands on a cloth
for that purpose. More grease and soot was on her face, making her look more like a coal miner than a
Duchess. Just then a handsome young man appeared at her elbow. He was small in stature and build and
had piercing blue eyes, and short, wild curly hair of a greyish brown colour.
George jumped slightly, banging her head on the raised cowling of the engine compartment.
Crikey! Who are you and how long have you been standing there?
The young man doffed his bowler hat and smiled crookedly. I'm Charlie, ma'am. Harvey's nephew. He said
you needed a mechanic for the race. He's scared of heights so asked me to come. Um, sorry to scare you.
He breathed deeply as if that were the longest speech he'd ever given.
George looked him over carefully, then slapped the spanner into his hand. Right, see if you can fix the
blasted thing. I give up. She stood back with her arms folded, and waited.
Charlie nodded and went straight to work. Within minutes he emerged with something metal and black and
twisted in his hand. Here's your problem, ma'am. Must've got stuck in the gears. Should be fine now. He
grinned.
The Duchess was astonished. Well, Charlie! You're hired! Right, speak to Godwell if you want anything, I
have a party to attend.
Um, ma'am, you've um, got Charlie shyly motioned to his face then pointed at hers, meaning the grime
that covered it.
Oh, yeah, thanks, Charlie. With a smile, she went to the ladies' restroom and cleaned up before finally
attending the party.
"...And there I was with my, if you'll forgive me, arse bared to the room. I had no idea she was married!"
The young women all around him blushed and tittered, which was exactly why he'd told such a story. Oh, it
was true, but he didn't say a word about the beating he'd gotten from the angry husband. There was no need
for such a detail in the telling.
"Aren't you scared at all? Nervous, even?"
"Nooo..." He drew out the word and tilted his head. "I've been all over most of the globe. started sailing when
I was fifteen, just tucked away in a ship and praying to get away from the town I grew up in. I acquired my
ship about six years ago."
"This should be easy enough."
"And I aim to win."
"You're lucky you were let out of that cell in time."
Lee's voice lowered, his look darkening a little.
"Yes. I suppose so. Excuse me."
He fell into a chair beside Laurentius, who jumped and stared at him through wide eyes.
"Here now! There's someone sittin' there!"
"Yes. Me."
Leaning toward Lee, Laury looked about nervously. "He's an evil mastermind, boss. Evil to the core."
"He, who?"
"Him." Nodding, he gestured across the room...to Nimrod Catchpole.
"That's Nimrod." Lee sighed heavily and slid down in the chair, legs splayed wide. "Laury, he--"
"Don't let him near the ship, boss! He'll sabotage it for sure!"
"He's our mechanic!" Ten days of this? He was going to have one hell of a headache.
Laury went quiet, then abruptly hissed, "Shut your trap."
Lee made a face as his gunman apologised.
"Sorry, boss. Didn't mean you."
What a crew! came a laugh from higher up and to the side. Then again I'm even surprised you made it,
George smirked as she took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. She sipped it, her deep
green eyes fixed upon the 'pirate' she had visited in the gaol only days before.
So, were they the best you could come up with? A moron and a.. a nutter? Her tone was so condescending
even her voice seemed to smirk. Of course it was all a facade, but one she wore as naturally as her own
skin.
Just then, Godwell and Charlie came up behind her, seeking instruction. This, on the other hand, is my crew.
Charles Morgan, he's Welsh, and Godwell. She still couldn't remember his first name. Charlie nodded
and doffed his hat, and Godwell of course bowed.
Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir. He was always polite to everyone, even the enemy.
Charlie here is a master mechanic and Godwell, well, he can do anything. She beamed at Godwell with
genuine affection for the man she'd known most of her life. Boys, go ahead and enjoy yourself tonight, but
be back first thing. I wanna go over the ship one last time before the race.
"Oh, if it isn't Her Highness, come to mingle with the commoners." Lee glared up at her. "I'm full of surprises.
Everyone deserves a chance, don't you think? If they're willing."

Godwell was given something of a grin. "You're not going to help haul me away this time, are you? I swear,
I've kept my hands to myself. Even with the ladies." Not that he intended for it to stay that way.
"Hey, miss...you'll want to avoid that one there." Laury pointed blatantly at Nimrod. "Evil man, he is. Just evil."
"Shut up, Laury."
"But... Now, she's a pretty lady, she should be warned."
"More than likely, he should have been warned about me."
The new voice made Lee pause, and when he looked up, he found John Whiting-Fries standing there, glass
in his hand. He made a bow to George, then joined in her smirking at Lee. However, his words were not for
the self-proclaimed commander.
"My dear, you're quite taking my breath away, looking as pretty as you do. Not many women can do that to
me."
Lee rolled his eyes and slid further down in his seat.
George was anything if an equal opportunity snob, and this Whiting-Fries instantly rubbed her the wrong
way. Well it's obviously not enough for you are still talking, she snapped, annoyed at the way this sleazy socalled 'gentleman' interrupted her 'conversation' with Mr. Underhill. True, he wasn't that much better than the
smarmy Mr. Whiting-Fries, but he didn't give her the creeps like the latter did.
I like Laury, he has good taste in women, she chuckled, now ignoring the newcomer. Just as George was
about to say something else, an overly seductive voice came from behind her, Well hello, gentlemen, it
oozed.
George instantly recognised it and rolled her eyes before speaking, not even bothering to turn around. Ahhh
if it isn't Pruny Bothersome, she donned a fake smile and turned at last.
Georgina, how nice of you to play along with us, Prunella Botherington-Jones returned the tone and
sentiment, knowing full well that George hated her proper name. She then waved George off and spoke
more to Whiting-Fries and Underhill. My name is Prunella Botherington-Jones, but you may call me Ella.
She said this last bit with a tiny splash of bile aimed at George, who just smiled in smug contentment at
having irked her life long frienemy.
Despite his less-than-stellar standing with George, Lee had to snort at her words to Fries. Who simply gazed
at her as if she'd not said anything at all. Not in a lovesick kind of way, but rather in a predatory way.
"She's a lady, she is." It was Laury who had the warning in his tone, voice quiet. "You should show proper
respect."
He was about to open his mouth again when he heard that other female voice.
Prunella was gorgeous, in that classic kind of way with her colouring and slim form, unlike George's more
striking features. But her voice and expression were all seductiveness. That was that. But it drew all three
pairs of male eyes, though Laury looked away again. Fries all but leered at her, but it was Lee with the more
assessing look, as if he were actually considering attempting to win her attention for the evening.
Before Fries could say anything more, Lee stood to make a slight bow.
"Commander Lee Underhill. Very pleased to make your acquaintance."
Ella smiled brightly, but held her hand out to Whiting-Fries to take, completely ignoring the ruffian Underhill.
She had been at the garden party too and had recognised him as the man they'd taken away for stealing.
Oye, Pruny, that's not very nice you know, George glared at the taller, prettier woman.
You can hang out with the trash if you wish, dear girl, you usually do. I will stick to my own class of people,
she snorted then turned back to Whiting-Fries. And good day to you, sir.
George, standing behind Ella, scrunched up her face and made as if to kick her in the backside, but Godwell
hurried forward seemingly from nowhere and grabbed her.
No, my lady. You know what happened last time you started a fight with her.|
Yeah, I ripped my dress and busted out one of her teeth, she remembered gleefully. Naw, you're right,
Godwell. She's not worth the effort. The night is young and I need a drink.
Ah but you said...
Stuff what I said. How hard is it to fly an airship? It's not as if there's any traffic up there. Underwear, you
wanna drink?
Lee's eyes narrowed, but more at the gloating Fries rather than the pretty bitch Ella. He'd been turned away
by women before, those not brave enough to walk a little wildly for a night. For that, he could chuckle, but it
was Fries who ruined it. The look he shot Lee made the so-called pirate's blood boil. Where George wanted
to kick Ella, Lee wanted to pummel Fries.
He'd gladly turn Ella over his knee for calling him trash.
George's reaction made him almost grin, even if she did deliberately ruin his name. A finger pointed at her.
"You're on." An arm was offered, as he meant to leave Fries and Ella to themselves.
He almost asked her to use his first name, but decided against it.
It wasn't as if she'd be screaming it later.

George looked at Lee for a moment then took his arm. At least he was honest in his debauchery and did not
give off a creepy aura. Let Pruny have Mr. Fish and Chips. Right, what'll it be, Lee? she had known his first
name all along, but only used it here because it rhymed. George was an odd cookie. She could have her
nose in the air and be as cold-heartedly snobbish as Lady Botherington-Jones in her ball gown one moment,
and the next she'd be hobnobbing with the guys down the machine shop in her dungarees in the next.
Complex didn't even begin to describe the Duchess, but boring would never be used.
I see you managed to join us after all then. Which bank did you rob? she grinned as she grabbed two beers
off the bar counter regardless of whose they were, and handed one to Lee.
Lee saw no reason to lie to anyone about who or what he was. The only time he kept it hidden was when
authorities were nearby, and that was a given. Seeing as George had already seen him in action, why bother
pretending?
She was an odd one alright. There she'd been with her nose in the air, and all of a sudden she was the exact
opposite. He had no idea what to make of her, and because of this, he was quiet until that beer was pushed
at him. He didn't turn it down.
"I didn't rob--" He was right on the verge of losing his temper with her when he saw her grin. And something
about it said she wasn't mocking him at the moment. "I didn't." He spoke in a more even tone. "I...got a loan.
If I lose the race...I lose my ship." To hide his feelings about that, he took a long drink and grinned back at
her.
"Good thing I'll be the one to win."
He cast a look toward Fries and Ella, and to Laury, then back to George, eyes glittering.
"Feeling confident, Your Highness?"
George laughed heartily after a big swig of her own beer which she drank down like one of the lads, none of
this pinky in the air sipping like the fine ladies do. No, she even wiped the foam from her lip with her sleeve.
Luckily she didn't give a loud belch... yet. Actually, seeing your crew and the competition, yes. I feel very
confident. But I'll feel bad about making you lose your ship. You seem so fond of her. There was a tiny tone
of mock in her voice, but only enough to be considered good-naturedly humorous, nothing more.
Where did you pick those two up? Bedlam?
One might admire her the way she drank, except for what she said...and how she said it. He'd heard more
mockery in her voice before, so this was easier to swallow, except the thought of losing the R'lyeh.
"You know, at least I know something about sailing. What does a girl like you know about airships?" Another
swallow was downed, his head tilted at her. "Listen, princess...this race is real. I've got my ass on the line
here. That's my ship. It's my home. It's all I have. I doubt you would know anything about that kind of life."
Popping a few olives from a bowl on the bar into her mouth, George nodded. You're right, I don't, she said
with her mouth full. But my ship, Whisperwind? I built her myself. Started when I was a kid, and I've worked
on her ever since. She actually started out as a wagon that my pony pulled around. Then I saw an airship at
a show in London and I was fascinated. I begged and borrowed bits from the neighbours, yes, okay the
neighbours were all very rich, but still, how do you think they got rich? Not by giving everything away. So I did
little chores for them like bathing or walking the dogs, babysitting when it was the nanny's day off. But I bet I
love Windy as much as you love yours. Who knows, maybe you will win. But if you didn't want to lose her,
you shouldn't have entered the race. No one made you do it. She downed the remainder of her beer and
grabbed two more, pushing one over to Lee. Then she belched.
"No, no one made me, but I could damn well use the money!" She was so irritating! She made him want to
choke her and kiss her all at the same time.
"So, yeah, congratulations, you built the ship. On a dream idea. The R'lyeh is different. I've made her what
she is. I've sunk more money into that ship than I've had to my name. I live there. I sleep there. There have
been times I've been in that ship and not seen land for days. I know how to make her purr, that's for sure."
He could say the same for women.
When he made it to his second beer, she had him chuckling. "I can't decide if you're a lady or not. One
minute your nose is in the air, the next you're telling me you did chores and belching like any man."
Turning to lean his back to the bar, he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I'll win this race, princess. Watch me from
your pretty little ship. I'll win, and then get the hell away from here."
George just shook her head as he whinged. Maybe if you'd applied yourself more you could have had a
respectable job and not ended up so poor. Instead you opted for the 'easy way' and stealing what other
people /have/ worked hard for. Anyway, of course I'm a lady. I just happen to acknowledge that I am a human
being too. My farts smell just as bad as yours do no doubt. She took another swig and got some foam on
her nose. And my ship is hardly little. Have you not seen it yet? she grinned, knowing he probably hadn't

since she had it covered and now it was dark.

"Spoken like someone who's never had to fight for food or shelter."
His head tilted, lips a sneer. Ignoring how she looked, he turned his face away. "No, I haven't seen this ship
of your grand design. Let me guess. You got bored, decided it might be a nice toy, and so you set to work.
And of course, Daddy will have funded the whole thing."
Looking back to her, Lee narrowed his sapphire eyes.
"Let me tell you something, princess. The life I've lived is not the 'easy way'. I've struggled from day one. I've
been poor from day one. I left to find a better life, and the R'lyeh's given it to me. So, I won't be losing her to
someone like you."
No. You'll be losing her to the bank. And what did I just tell you? 'Daddy' didn't fund a thing. I earned it all on
my own. Though true, now I don't use milk bottles and discarded engine parts as I did in the beginning, but
neither did I ask to be born into a rich family, just as you didn't ask to be born as you were. None of us did.
We do the best with what we've been given in life. That's all anyone can ask of us. George turned back to
the bartender and ordered two glasses of champagne. The barkeep nodded and wiped the foam off her nose
before filling her order.
Besides, I wouldn't call spending twenty years of my life on Windy merely playing with a toy, she huffed.
George got riled up about few things, but her ship was one of them. Rich or not, she felt about her ship just
the same as Lee did about his. Sure it wasn't her home, but it was her freedom. In her station in life, sure she
had the wealth and security, but it came at a high price; her freedom. The Whisperwind was her freedom at
least for a few hours or days, as the mood struck her. Otherwise she was tied into all the duties her position
entailed... which included being married to someone she didn't even know, let alone loved. She was fighting
it tooth and nail though, and her father wanted no more of it than she did, but the deal had been struck long
ago, before she was even born and her father regretted it every day of his life since. Her only hope was to
find a way to make herself undesirable so that the one she was promised to wouldn't want her any more, or
find her true love before she had to marry that idiot marquis, nephew of the Queen, when she turned 26,
which wasn't far off.
"Nice story. I'll remember your wise words."
He didn't believe her, but had to admit it was fun seeing her riled like that. It brought color to her cheeks and
made her eyes glitter. Leaning in, he spoke close to her ear, voice just loud enough to be heard.
"The R'lyeh will win, princess. Then you'll be toasting me...and my victory."
Having said that, he turned to leave, moving into the crowd. But along the way, a couple of girls found him
and giggled over his every word. By the time Lee reached the R'lyeh, with both girls in tow, he was far
drunker than was wise. He spent a few hours with the girls, hours he couldn't quite remember, and woke
alone and hungover. Pulling on brown pants with a black shirt and boots, he attempted to look ready for the
race, but when he stepped out into the sun, he squinted, groaned...and was promptly sick.
Race starts in fifteen minutes, Mr. Underhill, came a voice from behind him. It was Godwell, that butler of
Lady Aubrey-Fleet's, carrying a basket of provisions back to their ship in preparation. You'd best send one of
your men for yours, he lifted the basket to show, or you'll have no food for the first leg to Paris.
With that he doffed his hat and left the man to wretch on the sparse grass.
Meanwhile, back at the Whisperwind, like all the other contestants, George was on the bridge, making final
checks to see if everything was ready. Coal and wood were stacked as much as was calculated would be
needed for the journey across the channel, Charlie standing by as stoker and chief engineer. George would
steer and Godwell would navigate this fairly straightforward course. What could go wrong?
The only thing that made this current scene in his life better was that it was Godwell who appeared and not
George herself. He didn't need her mouth when he felt like this.
Groaning again, he nodded. "Great. Lovely. Thanks." The butler was right. He should send one of-- Where
the hell were Laury and Nimrod?!
They were strolling toward the R'lyeh, Laury carrying the basket and scolding Nimrod. "Stop trying to eat
everything. You're one of the nicest guys I've ever met, but you're like a kid at Christmas!" There was
laughter in his voice, and then it turned to a hush. "But watch the Commander. He's an evil one, I tell you.
Evil to the core. He'll skin you alive if he can. So just watch yourself. And you back there, SHUT UP!"
Nimrod had no idea what he was talking about and didn't bother to ask. He was a friendly type, with a little
less thinking than others. He was chunky, with a cap he wore constantly, with ear laps on it, and a pair of
leather, fingerless gloves. He carried a tool box with him and wore a tool belt over the other, though both
were sliding out of place because of his belly.
Laury was the opposite. He wasn't a bad-looking chap, but crazy as you could ask for. He heard voices and
got random notions in his head from time to time. But he was a sharpshooter and pretty damn good with
navigation.

"Here we are, boss. Got our basket here, though Nimrod tried to eat half of it. ...How many times do I haveta
tell you-- Anyway, we're all set. Ship's ready to go. We had a look at her while you were asleep."
"You alright, boss?"
Lee waved a hand at them. "I'm great. Fine. Everyone in. Final prep. Fifteen minutes, then we fly."
All the contestants were ready, airships of varying sizes, shapes and colours were lined up along a painted
starting line in the centre of Hyde Park in London. People were gathered all around, cheering on their
favourite crew, each having been given a colour to mark them out from the others. This colour they had to
display at all times or be disqualified. The crews all had armbands and the ships themselves had flags along
the exterior of their ships. George had, of course, chosen purple for it was her favourite colour. The amount
of people in the crowd waving little purple fans was impressive and she felt confident that she would not fail
them. Of course people had placed wagers on the outcome of the race... where was the fun without that?
Prunella had chosen yellow for her colour, to match her hair, she had said. There were a noticeable amount
of yellow flags in the crowd too.
The R'lyeh waited with the other ships, her balloon full, propellers waiting to be started. Tied down, she had
to keep her patience.
In choosing colours, Tattington chose blue, a trusty colour. Fries took red, claiming it was flashy and the mark
of a winner. They left Lee with green (which almost matched his eyes), and the trio made sure their
armbands were fixed fast. But while there was a modest number of blues to be seen, and an impressive
array of reds, there wasn't a single green to be had.
Not even from the girls Lee had entertained the night before.
He paid no attention to it. He was instead ready for the race he knew he would win. He had to win. As the
starter pistol went off, Laury untied the ship, and Nimrod gave life to the propellers while Lee steered from
the wheel at the front. The R'yeh's faded and tattered flag began to pick up and wave and Hyde Park was left
behind.
George, too, was at the helm of her airship, Charlie back at the boiler, stoking it full of coal for the initial part
of the journey, whilst Godwell was with George, maps and compass at the ready for his duty as navigator.
With the starter's gun, the lines were cut and the Whisperwind rose high above Hyde Park, George giving the
wheel a spin and catching it in time to turn the Windy towards the south and Paris. They decided to take the
most direct route, after all, how hard could it be?
Once we get clear of the city, let out the wings. Hopefully it'll be a windy day over the water, she grinned,
her voice raised over the sound of the vertical propellers spinning wildly.
"Boss! Boss, what's that?"
Nimrod pointed to a figure beside the doorway that led from navigation to the helm. A fierce-looking creature
with blank orange eyes and a mouthful of teeth. It moved now and then, but never rose from its seat, nor
made a sound.
Lee tilted his head. "That's Azathoth. He's mechanical, Nimrod. He can't hurt you."
"Boss...that's a dragon."
He sighed and shook his head. Laury scratched his head.
"You know, boss...if he wasn't so dim, I'd say he was evil."
"You have said-- I'm going back to the wheel. Nimrod, feed her full blast!"
"Aye, boss!"
Laury looked out toward the other ships and sighed.
"Evil...all of them, evil."
The other ships had all taken off just the same, some faster, some slower, but all were headed in the same
general direction. This leg, at any rate, would be relatively simple compared to later on. Tonight they would
all be partying in Paris, as long as nothing went wrong. Many were like Lee and had only propellers to move
them across the Channel, but others had the same idea as George, using the usual strong winds to carry
them towards their goal.
Shall I keep on this heading, ma'am, or adjust to capture maximum wind velocity? Godwell asked, now
taking over the wheel as George took her spyglass and surveyed the other contestants.
George, Godwell. My name is George. Not ma'am, not ladyship. George. Got it? Um... take the fastest
route, she fired back at him frustratedly then absently as her brass lenses landed upon Lee's ship.
Ahhh Mr. Underhill so that's your precious ship? She shook her head as she watched him and his crew.
He'll never make it with that lot, lemme tell ya, she muttered.
They do seem a bit odd. Godwell knew exactly about whom she was speaking.
"So, that's her damned ship."
He took a moment to lean casually against the wheel and peer off toward George's vessel. It was impressive,

damnit, not that he'd admit it. He had no intention of telling her just how nicely put together she was...the
ship, rather.
"Laury", he came back inside. "Track the fastest course. Straight shot. We'll be in Paris in no time, kicking up
our heels with the upper crust." Rather than bemoan his low station, he grinned. There was always a way
into the swankiest party, and since the racers were the centre of attention, of course his presence would be
expected.
Oh, this was fun.
"Watch where you're goin'!"
Fries... Already, he knew that voice.
Outside, he leaned on the railing. "Having a bit of steering trouble, Fries? You should see to that before we
hit the long runs. You'll be left floating whilst we make our way onward. We'd miss you so."
"Damn you, Underhill..."
Laughing, Lee wandered back to the wheel.
On George's other side, unfortunately, was Pruny's ship. Naturally it was bigger and faster and fancier than
even her own, but then daddy bought everything for her, even her crew who were just as obnoxious and
odious as she was. She snorted for Pruny couldn't even change a light bulb without getting her engineer
Helmut Hanz to help her. Trust her to find a big, beefy German to work on her... ship. That was why George
knew she would win, or at least beat Pruny. The Duchess knew every nut and bolt of her ship, had built it wit
her own two hands. There was more of her own sweat and blood in this machine from over the years than
was probably left in her own body. And to her, that is how it should be. Underhill understood. At least he was
of the same mentality in that respect anyway as George. And he wasn't too hard on the eyes either.
Behind her, she spotted that Parker-Smith fellow, or Bertie as he liked to be called. Boy was he an eccentric
one! His entire ship looked as if it were cobbled together from a rubbish tip... probably because it was!
George wasn't too worried about him, in fact, she felt rather sorry for him. He had no chance. Not with all the
excellent state of the art ships that the rest of them had.
She swung her spyglass back towards Lee, for she had to admit, his crew had to be the most entertaining by
far.
The only one of these characters that didn't get involved in trying to outdo the others simply in steering and
being seen was Holmes Tattington. The old gentleman went about his business regardless of the words
shouted from Lee and Fries, or the watchful spyglass of George. His ship, which looked like a bit of
everything thrown together like a patchwork quilt, was lovely, actually. Eccentric like he was, but reliable and
trusty. It sailed easily, smoothly, through the sky.
On the deck of the R'lyeh, Lee watched this ship come up alongside of Fries, and be ignored. He was
actually pleased with that, cos he knew Fries was trouble.
And then there was George. Her little friend seemed to be doing well enough on her own. What a thorn, the
way she'd treated him. Like gutter trash. Well, she'd soon see exactly all Lee Underhill could be, as would
George. Her mouth would get the better of her, he'd see to that.
Seeing to the undoing of her corset wouldn't be too bad, either.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Laury's voice.
"The competition don't look too tough, 'cept for that blonde one. Her ship looks a good one."
"So did she, but she's colder than ice."
"Set your sights on the auburn one, boss."
"My sights aren't anywhere. It's a race, not a dating game."
"A what?"
"Never mind. Full steam ahead."
Lee turned his face into the wind.
My lady, Godwell spoke up as he took a turn at the wheel, the way fairly straightforward.
Hmmm? she responded from behind her spyglass.
I notice your gaze affixed most of the time to the um 'gentleman' we caught pickpocketing at your father's
garden party. Is there any particular reason? Perhaps you are afraid his arm could reach this far or he could
perchance find a way to sabotage the others and thus win the prize for himself? His words were delivered in
his usual serious tone, but there was in fact a distinct twinkle of amusement in the corner of his grey eyes.
George actually lowered her spyglass for a moment. What /are/ you on about, Godwell? she all but glared
at him before putting the glass back to her deep green eye.
I was merely speculating as to what you might find so interesting about Mr. Underhill.
Interesting? Nothing, she snorted, peering at Pruny's ship just to be contrary. He holds no interest for me
whatsoever.
Is that why you paid his entry fee?
George twitched at this, nearly poking out her eye with the eyepiece of the brass and glass instrument she
was gazing through. How...? How did you know? Anyway, it was just a loan. If he doesn't win then I will own

his ship, or rather the bank will. And as I own the bank, well... she grinned.
But ma'am, what is it that you want with his ship when you have this fine one of your own?
I don't. I just... leverage. That's it. I'll have a hold over him. It's a game of a sort, I guess, she said quietly
after some thought.
And to what purpose? Godwell wasn't stupid. He knew her purpose, even if she didn't.
I... she lowered the glass again. You know what, Godwell? I don't know.