[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
is going to strike up, you know."
"Really?" I stammered. "Do do you like music, sir?"
He ignored that, too. "Come on, Pocket," he said. "I think we've done our bit for the shareholders."
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (45 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
He turned and stalked away a few paces, the stained and crumpled tails of his jacket flapping behind
him. Then he looked back. "Well?" he boomed. "Care to join me?"
"Ah... where, sir?"
"In the Phaeton, of course. She's perched on the top deck. Much better view of the Royal Marines
from up there, if you like that sort of thing. And you might be amused to inspect her construction."
He fixed Holden with a searching stare. "And I daresay I could rustle up some stronger poison for
your dissolute companion there, who looks as if he needs it."
Drawing back, I was about to stammer an apology, when Holden kicked me none too gently and
hissed, "For God's sake, accept! Have you no curiosity? Traveller's flying ship is the wonder of the
Age."
"But Françoise "
Holden ground his teeth. "Françoise will still be here when you get back. Come on, Ned; where's
your spirit?"
And so Holden and I hurried through a corridor of curious stares after Traveller.
4
PHAETON
Champagne glasses in hand, we climbed a marble staircase to the Promenade Deck of the Prince
Albert, emerging into strong sunlight.
At the head of the stair I turned back to survey the Saloon's chattering throng. I recognized the young
Frenchman Bourne by his absurd masher's costume he peered up at us with an odd cunning, I
thought but I failed to espy Françoise; and with a stab of regret I turned away to follow the
engineer.
Despite myself, Holden's remarks had caused me to reflect. Apart from her quite remarkable looks
and figure, what was it about Françoise that attracted me so?... After all I knew next to nothing about
her. With her unusually broad understanding, not to mention her cutting tongue, she was scarcely
comparable to the rather empty-headed young ladies it had been my pleasure to escort up to that
point.
Fancy Ned Vicars being attracted to a woman of intelligence!
And then there was that air of mystery which Holden had so bluntly pointed out. Why indeed should
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (46 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
a woman, no matter how intelligent, wish to study the finer points of reciprocating arms and steam
jackets? And where would she learn such things?
Ah, Françoise! I walked across the Promenade Deck oblivious to the wonders around me. Perhaps it
was her very mystery that attracted me so: the sense of the unpredictable, the unfathomable, the
wild.
I wondered if I were truly falling in love.
Before Françoise, I would have testified on oath that love on first sight is impossible. If no congress
of minds has yet taken place the only attraction is purely glandular in origin.
Surely this was so.
And yet...
And yet I had already followed the blessed girl halfway across Europe!
I saw myself then through Françoise's eyes: as a rather vain and shallow young man; one of
thousands circling the civilized capitals although, I allowed, rather more charming and better-
looking than the average
Holden took my arm and shook me. "Good God, Ned; have you no curiosity at all? Look at the
wonders you're strolling past!"
As if emerging from a dream I raised my head and gazed about me; and I felt my face, scrutinized by
a satisfied Holden, break into a smile.
For the Albert's Promenade Deck was indeed a wonderful, if not magical, place.
The bulk of the deck was laid to lawn, planted here and there with young trees (firs, of the shallow-
rooted kind). We followed a path through the trees, gravel crunching pleasantly beneath our feet.
There were shaped bushes and a little statuary, but overall the effect was pleasingly irregular with a
hint of the healthy and the natural just as in the best English gardens, I reflected, which avoid the
foppish over-ornate design of, say, the French.
Beyond the trees the ship's funnels soared into the air, copper bands gleaming.
Here we were, perched on the hide of this iron Behemoth sixty feet above the Belgian countryside,
and yet it was as if we were strolling through an English country garden!
At length we emerged into a large clear area at the center of the craft. To our left stood a small,
ornamented bandstand; the orchestra were vigorously doing their worst to a polka although the
heavier din of the Royal Marines band was now drifting up from the ground in competition. And
before us lay a glittering disc of water. This was the Albert's celebrated ornamental pond; it centered
on an ornate fountain-figure of Neptune, complete with trident. The sun, glinting from this pool,
dazzled me.
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (47 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
I made out the tall, black-frocked figure of Traveller on the far side of the pond and stalking away
from us, his stovepipe hat screwed tightly to his head, the man Pocket at his side like a shadow.
Then I looked beyond Traveller and saw for the first time his flying ship Phaeton.
To my dazzled eyes it looked for all the world as if, against the backdrop of his wonderful vessel,
Traveller was walking on the surface of his portable iron sea; and, just for a brief moment, he
acquired in my eyes the aura of the magical.
In overall form the Phaeton was rather like a mortar shell, set standing on its base or rather on
three rather fragile-looking legs of wrought iron which raised the body of the vessel some ten feet
from the deck. But this shell was tipped by a dome of leaded glass perhaps fifteen feet wide; and the
lower hull was marked by what I took to be hatchways and portholes, all set flush with the surface.
A hatch near the bottom of the glass dome hung open, and a collapsible staircase of rope and wood
hung from it, down the side of the craft and to the deck.
The whole assemblage sat squat on the Albert's deck, perhaps thirty-five feet tall. The hull gleamed
silver like a beacon in the sunlight.
A small crowd of sightseers was restrained by a red rope on brass poles. A single British Peeler
patroled the interior of this rope circle, hands behind his back and looking uncommonly hot in his
heavy black uniform.
We joined Traveller and Pocket within the barrier; Traveller rested rather ostentatiously against one [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
is going to strike up, you know."
"Really?" I stammered. "Do do you like music, sir?"
He ignored that, too. "Come on, Pocket," he said. "I think we've done our bit for the shareholders."
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (45 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
He turned and stalked away a few paces, the stained and crumpled tails of his jacket flapping behind
him. Then he looked back. "Well?" he boomed. "Care to join me?"
"Ah... where, sir?"
"In the Phaeton, of course. She's perched on the top deck. Much better view of the Royal Marines
from up there, if you like that sort of thing. And you might be amused to inspect her construction."
He fixed Holden with a searching stare. "And I daresay I could rustle up some stronger poison for
your dissolute companion there, who looks as if he needs it."
Drawing back, I was about to stammer an apology, when Holden kicked me none too gently and
hissed, "For God's sake, accept! Have you no curiosity? Traveller's flying ship is the wonder of the
Age."
"But Françoise "
Holden ground his teeth. "Françoise will still be here when you get back. Come on, Ned; where's
your spirit?"
And so Holden and I hurried through a corridor of curious stares after Traveller.
4
PHAETON
Champagne glasses in hand, we climbed a marble staircase to the Promenade Deck of the Prince
Albert, emerging into strong sunlight.
At the head of the stair I turned back to survey the Saloon's chattering throng. I recognized the young
Frenchman Bourne by his absurd masher's costume he peered up at us with an odd cunning, I
thought but I failed to espy Françoise; and with a stab of regret I turned away to follow the
engineer.
Despite myself, Holden's remarks had caused me to reflect. Apart from her quite remarkable looks
and figure, what was it about Françoise that attracted me so?... After all I knew next to nothing about
her. With her unusually broad understanding, not to mention her cutting tongue, she was scarcely
comparable to the rather empty-headed young ladies it had been my pleasure to escort up to that
point.
Fancy Ned Vicars being attracted to a woman of intelligence!
And then there was that air of mystery which Holden had so bluntly pointed out. Why indeed should
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (46 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
a woman, no matter how intelligent, wish to study the finer points of reciprocating arms and steam
jackets? And where would she learn such things?
Ah, Françoise! I walked across the Promenade Deck oblivious to the wonders around me. Perhaps it
was her very mystery that attracted me so: the sense of the unpredictable, the unfathomable, the
wild.
I wondered if I were truly falling in love.
Before Françoise, I would have testified on oath that love on first sight is impossible. If no congress
of minds has yet taken place the only attraction is purely glandular in origin.
Surely this was so.
And yet...
And yet I had already followed the blessed girl halfway across Europe!
I saw myself then through Françoise's eyes: as a rather vain and shallow young man; one of
thousands circling the civilized capitals although, I allowed, rather more charming and better-
looking than the average
Holden took my arm and shook me. "Good God, Ned; have you no curiosity at all? Look at the
wonders you're strolling past!"
As if emerging from a dream I raised my head and gazed about me; and I felt my face, scrutinized by
a satisfied Holden, break into a smile.
For the Albert's Promenade Deck was indeed a wonderful, if not magical, place.
The bulk of the deck was laid to lawn, planted here and there with young trees (firs, of the shallow-
rooted kind). We followed a path through the trees, gravel crunching pleasantly beneath our feet.
There were shaped bushes and a little statuary, but overall the effect was pleasingly irregular with a
hint of the healthy and the natural just as in the best English gardens, I reflected, which avoid the
foppish over-ornate design of, say, the French.
Beyond the trees the ship's funnels soared into the air, copper bands gleaming.
Here we were, perched on the hide of this iron Behemoth sixty feet above the Belgian countryside,
and yet it was as if we were strolling through an English country garden!
At length we emerged into a large clear area at the center of the craft. To our left stood a small,
ornamented bandstand; the orchestra were vigorously doing their worst to a polka although the
heavier din of the Royal Marines band was now drifting up from the ground in competition. And
before us lay a glittering disc of water. This was the Albert's celebrated ornamental pond; it centered
on an ornate fountain-figure of Neptune, complete with trident. The sun, glinting from this pool,
dazzled me.
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (47 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:35 PM]
Anti-Ice
I made out the tall, black-frocked figure of Traveller on the far side of the pond and stalking away
from us, his stovepipe hat screwed tightly to his head, the man Pocket at his side like a shadow.
Then I looked beyond Traveller and saw for the first time his flying ship Phaeton.
To my dazzled eyes it looked for all the world as if, against the backdrop of his wonderful vessel,
Traveller was walking on the surface of his portable iron sea; and, just for a brief moment, he
acquired in my eyes the aura of the magical.
In overall form the Phaeton was rather like a mortar shell, set standing on its base or rather on
three rather fragile-looking legs of wrought iron which raised the body of the vessel some ten feet
from the deck. But this shell was tipped by a dome of leaded glass perhaps fifteen feet wide; and the
lower hull was marked by what I took to be hatchways and portholes, all set flush with the surface.
A hatch near the bottom of the glass dome hung open, and a collapsible staircase of rope and wood
hung from it, down the side of the craft and to the deck.
The whole assemblage sat squat on the Albert's deck, perhaps thirty-five feet tall. The hull gleamed
silver like a beacon in the sunlight.
A small crowd of sightseers was restrained by a red rope on brass poles. A single British Peeler
patroled the interior of this rope circle, hands behind his back and looking uncommonly hot in his
heavy black uniform.
We joined Traveller and Pocket within the barrier; Traveller rested rather ostentatiously against one [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]