The Chase of the Saltire: An Adventure in Multiple Parts

[Rob Wright]

John McBride stared out at the Dumfries skyline as he sipped at his tea. The late fall rains had been falling for over two weeks now swelling the River Nith as the rain swept clean the city streets. John turned and walked over to Rebecca who was reading the Dumfries Daily. Without looking up she held out a silver flask which he tipped into his cup pouring a medicinal dram of single malt into his tea.

“Thank you dear,” John said as he give his tea a quick stir as the door to the drawing room opened and William Earl of Argyll entered.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, business of the crown and all that.” The Earl set a file down on the table and went over to the tea pot and poured himself a cup. “Good job on that last bit of business,’ he said as he took a chair.

“Thank you. We’re looking forward to spending some time on the continent catching some sun,” John answered as he drained the dregs of his cup.

“I imagine you are but I’m afraid that will have to wait.”

Maureen and Stefania set down the cards in their hands and gazed upon the Earl. Rebecca stood and went to John’s side.

The Earl continued,” We have received information that may be of the utmost importance to Alba.”

“Go on,” John said neutrally.

“Britannia’s colonial troubles may soon wash upon our shores. We’ve received intelligence stating that a rebel airship known as The Saltire is heading towards our western borders, possibly the Isle of Skye.”

“The colonies want to draw us into the conflict on their side,” Rebecca said.

“That is a possibility,” acknowledged the Earl. “We don’t know, there has been no official communication between them and his majesties government.”

“Then why are we being involved?” John asked as he poured himself a port after offering one to the Earl who accepted.

“We have an informant aboard. A crewman by the name of Grant. He says the Captain is a rogue who will wreck havoc upon any who get in his path.”

“Sounds rather fanciful to me, like some penny adventure story,” John smiled.

“We thought so a first, but this grant chap provide information that has since then been proven accurate.” The Earl handed rebecca the file. “We are not going to take any chances. His majesty wants to send Princess Mary to the continent in a few weeks. The timing is bit too much of a coincidence for our liking.”

“Oh my! This Grant has a high opinion of himself,” Rebecca said as she looked through the file. Maureen and Stefania both looked at her questioning. “Golden flowing locks, pert firm buttocks.” Rebecca let out a laugh as Maureen joined her and Stefania turned away blushing.

“Yes, his dispatches have been a mixture of grandiose bragging and terror ridden pleading,” the earl noted as he sipped his tea and reached for a lemon biscuit.

“Mender of Weasels, Big Mikey, Captain...Panache? This all sounds like the fancy of some day dreamer,” Rebecca said as she closed the file.

“It is rather unusual I agree,” the Earl said, “But with the increased tensions within Britannia and her colonies, his Majesty feels we must be treat this situation with the utmost seriousness.”

Maureen and Stefania had put away their cards and were gathering up their purses. Rebecca slipped the file into a folio she carried with her.

“We’ll look into it,“ John said with a slight bow to the Earl. “Ladies?” he held open the door for them.

“It may come to nothing John, but his majesty is duly concerned.” The Earl rose from his chair.

Maureen, Stefania, and rebecca murmured their farewells and exited.

“John? We are not sure this Grant chap can be trusted, be careful, King Robert would like you to accompany Princess Mary in a few weeks.”

“It would not do to disappoint his majesty,” John answered. “Good day and he tucked his hat under his arm, gave a nod and was out the door.

To Be Continued……...


Rob

[RB51]

Ooohh, more adventures...but isn't Grant a little out of his aqueous element?

[Standard]

So, this aledged Grant fellow is stirring up trouble across the pond now as well. Hmm.....

[BroosterB1]

Yuck. a multiverse where Grant's the good guy and Capt'n P is the bad...hummm on second thought this might be promising.....

[KD Burke]

According to Grant, I am Panache's nom de plume. Any chance or murdering me off creatively?

KD :ootd:

[ccga3359]

I'd better get a bloody kilt check in this story, Jamie's been a tich stringent in this matter, the basta...!

[Ancienne Alliance]

I really love this one !


Best,

Robert

[davedove]

Very interesting, the same setting again, but from an entirely different point of view.

[Rob Wright]

III

The ferry’s double stacks puffed great columns of smoke as the mighty wheels churned the locals waters as it steamed northward. The cold fall winds blew steadily down upon the decks the passengers huddling together for warmth.

Stefania sat near the cabin’s tiny window composing a letter home as John and Rebecca sat at the table the remains of a fair supper off to the side as they went over the file once more.

“This Captain Panache comes across as a brutal violent fellow,” John noted as he read the information Grant had provided.

“Downright abusive it sounds, having crewmen humiliate and toss this Grant fellow around like a...a...toy!” Rebecca set the file down. “It sounds to good to be true.”

“I agree,’ John said. ‘I’m not sold on this Grant’s trustworthiness.”

“Throw in the colony troubles and it looks more and more like a Britannia plot to cause trouble north of the border,” Rebecca sipped at her port.

“There are some down in London still fuming over the debacle with the fissionables,’ John noted as he leaned back and smoothed his tweed waistcoat.

A sudden blast of cold ocean wind filled the room as Maureen entered struggling briefly with the door before it slammed shut with a solid thump. “Bloody hell,” she growled out as she set down the the ice. “No sign of our “friends.” probably laying low and doing the same as us.” She mixed herself a gin and tonic.

“If Steede and Peele are here, they are up to something,” John yawned. ‘And they want us to know they are here.”

“Where are we heading John?” Stefania asked as she sealed her letter home.

“Isle of Skye is our final destination but we are stopping over to visit Jock first.”

Stefania’s face lit up. She enjoyed roaming the countryside with Jock while he spent his free time settle on a river bank casting for salmon.

“Jock?” Maureen gave John a look. ‘You trying to use his military connections?”

“Now Maureen,just because I am not looked upon favorably by certain elements of the Ministry of Defense does not mean I would make an end run around the chain of command.”

All three ladies rolled their eyes and made polite sounds of disbelief. John gave each of them a glare. They each smiled at him demurely.


Grant slammed shut his locker and flopped down onto his tiny bunk buried deep in the bowels of The Saltire. Hanging from the curved wall of his cabin was his rubber chicken sporran, its head folded back, a roll of paper stuffed down the chickens gullet. Grant reached up pulling a clean sheet up and reached for his pencil.

“Blast them for making me muck out the clogged air toilet,” he muttered under his breath. “They damn well know I’m a delicate creature and should not be subjected to such abuse! I even pointed out to Captain Panache the regulations that forbid me from performing those duties! But did he listen? NO! Not him! It’s just Grant, he can handle getting dirty, he can handle the toxic fumes generated by the diet this crew consumes. Grant is disposable, we don’t care what happens to Grant as long as he does our dirty work! Well, I’ll show them all!”

Big Mikey paused as he stood watch. ‘Did you hear that?” he commed Ensign Mender of Weasels.

“Sounds like Grant is plotting again,” Ensign Mender replied back. “He didn’t like having to clean out a clogged pipe in the air toilet.”

“Is that what all the moaning and groaning was about?” Big Mikey grinned.

“He was complaining about the diet of the crew being hazardous material,” Ensign Mender chuckled. “Naturally forgetting it was his cabbage stew that clogged the pipes in the first place.”

“Is that what that was? I thought he was trying to ferment some new alcohol recipe,” Big Mikey scanned the horizon for signs of approaching airships.

“I’m turning in,’ big Mikey said, see you for breakfast, these fair winds should bring us to Skye by the morrow.”

Ensign Mender nodded and settled into his watch, the night stars brilliant at this altitude.

To Be Continued…….

[Old Hippie]

Heh, heh...an aerial adventure par excellence! Keep it up!

:ootd: