Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is a draft; there are mistakes, many misspellings and sometimes long periods of no updates. copyright: ion fyr 2025
A metallic creak of floor grate. Pool was standing in the doorway. Luc had know idea how long he had been there. He hadn’t been when he looked during their discusion about him. I’m not as trusting as you think.
The mechanical version of Pool had wrapped what was left of his own shattered arm in a bandage.
“It helps with the dysmorphia,” he said, raising it slightly. “I know something is amiss, but it came as a complete and utter shock to me, moreso that I suspect it was to you.”
He certainly talked like Pool.
“That is quite alright, Constable Pool,” said Etelka. “We will get to the bottom of this. We will look forward to every insight you have.”
“That is very kind of you, Baroness. I am at your service.” Pool made a gesture of tipping his hat with his remaining hand, though without the hat.
Unfortunately, the blast that took their arms and the captain happened years in the future so any hope of finding the rings outside, would involve putting themselves in danger again.
With a a bout of solemn emotions and an uncomfortable flexing, Baba Yaga’s Hut lifted from the strand, raining sticky wet sand, dislodged pebbles and shifting sideways in the arctic wind.
The control panel, a quarter meter wide rectangle propped between the propeller drive levers, flashed red warnings about exceding power limits and overheating, but they stayed aloft.
“Etelka, Beatrix,” both were flanking him, “Can we loose some weight?”
“We can dump the boiler, if we’re not going to need it anymore. That’s 2500 kilos at least,” said Beatrix.
“What about my espresso?” Responded Etelka.
“We can leave you a few liters for espresso, ma’am.”
***
The test of the antigrav engines was successful enough: a spotty connection to one of the engines initially resulted in a port list, but Luc re-spliced the power cable and balance returned.
The cargo hold was thoroughly searched for the rings that Nila was presumably wearing, as was the remains of Luc’s car, now looking like a battered beetle carcass–even the landing gear, which was now partly extended brought the effect home, looking like rigor-curled legs.
The car had been stripped, not just of the antigrav engines, batteries and control interfaces, but of anything that might be useful to them, and anything that would be useful to anyone finding the wreck of it over the course of the next few centuries.
Luc and Etelka and Beatrix went through it, with the 19th century women asking “and what is that” and Luc ripping out whatever they had been pointing at. There was nothing they could do about the carbon fibre hull, but everything else anachronistic was pulled out.
Farewells and respect were paid once again to the late Captain and the grave mound at the top of the beach was finally marked with his carved ivory cane.
***
When they were airborne and around five kilometers out over the grey sea, with a great deal of jostling and concerted effort, Luc, Beatrix, Attila and pseudo-Pool dropped the remains of the car into the water, where it sunk almost immediately.
Etelka turned the airship’s nose to the southeast, and with a reminder from Luc on the drive controls they began to move forward in earnest.
Gradually the speed was increased, until past the upper capabilities of the twin props, when they had to draw down the power slightly as the remaining gas envelopes began buffeting, causing Baba Yaga’s Hut’s frame to shake violently.They were forced to limit themselves to 150 kph.
“That’s a little less than 38 hours if we encounter no problems or delays,” Etelka announced once they were underway. It’s a little above 5600 kilometers in a straight line, although, if we stay in this timeframe, we might want to avoid Muskovy. They’ve had some disputes with the Empire recently. We should avoid proximity to all airships and densely populated areas, because I don’t want to have to explain how we are able to stay aloft with only half the envelopes inflated.”
“Can we route over the mediterranean?” pseudo-Pool asked.
Luc watched him, and listened, trying to hear in his voice something that sounded mechanical. He could not. He even twirled his long mustachios like Pool did. Luc wondered if Pool had been a construct all along. Going back to Nila’s first meeting with him. He couldn’t shake the suspicion.
Ion Fyr 