Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 9


The Saltire gently rose higher and higher as Todd headed us Northward. I looked down at the very outskirts of Greenville and saw a pretty young mother pointing out our zeppelin to her three children who then waved at us. I smiled down at them, tipped my Captain’s cap, and returned their wave. One could imagine her excitedly telling her offspring “behold that magnificent zeppelin and her brave crew bound for adventure. See her dashing, handsome, and very well dressed kilted Captain looking to glorious horizon and his destiny. He must be..." at this point my train of thought was broken by the sudden intrusion of a rapidly speaking voice behind my shoulder.

“One can imagine the young mother pointing at our departing dirigible and sadly bidding her children to say farewell forever to the doomed explorers who will never again return to these mild and happy climes. Perhaps she warns these young ones of the horrors that befall those whose hubris causes them to challenge the bounds of reason and nature. She tells them how in her mind’s eye she sees the burned and shattered skeleton of the airship lying half buried in the frozen waste as polar bears tear apart the carcass of the vain and foolish Captain who promised his crew glory but brought them only damnation and …”

I whirled about to see Jake the reporter speaking dramatically into his silver recording device.

“Exactly what are you doing on my bridge?” I asked not entirely without rancor.

He looked annoyed and adjusting his glasses said “You’ve interrupted my train of thought!“

“Indeed, I imagine that must certainly be distressing.” Sadly my sarcasm seemed lost on him as he adjusted his glasses to peer at me with a bothered expression. I continued, “Again, what are you doing on my bridge?”

“I’m recording the events as they unfold. David gave me permission to go anywhere on the airship”

“Did he?” I frowned.

“Yes indeed. He even gave me a signed permission slip”

“I’m sure it never occurred to my colleague that having a member of the press standing beside me and dictating next to my ear might be a tad distracting from the actual operation of our zeppelin?”

“Oh it occurred to him. He was laughing a lot at the time just thinking about it. He told me you would get all huffy about it but to just ignore you.”

“Did he?” , my frown deepened.

“Most certainly” said Jake brightly.

“I am in charge on this airship you know. I even have an authentic Zeppelin Commander’s cap to prove it!” From the helm Todd turned to give me a dirty look.

Jake looked at the hat and remarked, “you know that style of headwear doesn’t go with a kilt at all. It just looks wrong…”

I cut him off, “well as I have stated before there is no such thing as the Kilt Police and therefore I feel pretty safe in wearing MY Captain’s hat on MY zeppelin!” I shot Todd a stern look and he returned his gaze forward.

“OK you’re the Captain. You have a hat which doesn't work with a kilt. But I have a note from David and if you’ve got a problem with it you should take it up with him.”

“I will. Tell me one thing, is there some particular reason that you are painting our departure in such a bleak and gloomy manner?”

“It’s literary convention.”

“Is it?” my frown had evolved into a grimace.

“Most certainly. You see if you bring that sense of doom and foreboding to the piece early on it really grabs the readers’ attention.”

“I see”

“So if you don’t mind I’d like to continue.”

I sighed and told Todd he had the bridge. “Ja Kaptain!” he exclaimed jauntily. I climbed up the ladder to the interior of the zeppelin.

As I left the gondola Jake resumed his narrative “…damnation, suffering, and death. One can hear the cracking of the Captain’s bones as the polar bears greedily eat his marrow…”

I sighed again and with a determined expression went to find David for a few words.


To Be Continued…