Emilie P. Bush - Chenda and the Airship Brofman

Chenda and the Airship Brofman

Emilie P. Bush

EmitoneB Books

Norcross, Georgia - 2009

Copyright 2009 by Emilie P. Bush

All rights reserved.

ISBN 1449542549

EAN-13 9781449542542.

Designed by Emilie P. Bush

Printed in the United States of America

To Tony, Saralyn and Eleanor.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Hail and Farewell

Chapter 2 - The Stones that Sing

Chapter 3 - Captain Maxwell Endicott

Chapter 4 - The Fire and the Flight

Chapter 5 - The Dead Walk Away

Chapter 6 - The Crew of the Airship Brofman

Chapter 7 - A Stick in the Eye

Chapter 8 - When Morning Came

Chapter 9 - Atoll Belles

Chapter 10 - Eastward

Chapter 11 - Keep Talking Till They Hear You

Chapter 12 - Finding the Tjalk

Chapter 13 - Tugrul Aquaba

Chapter 14 - Resistance

Chapter 15 - Pranav Erato

Chapter 16 - Decisions

Chapter 17 - Investiture

Chapter 18 - Run

Chapter 19 - Departures

Chapter 20 - Due West

Chapter 21 - Crider Island

Chapter 22 - The Welcoming Republic

Chapter 23 - Amends

Epilogue

Chapter 1

HAIL AND FAREWELL

Chenda Frost sat perfectly still. She balanced, immobile, between a desire to run in panic and the urge to vomit that accompanies the shock of desperate grief. As the short line of cars followed the hearse into the churchyard, Chenda steeled herself for her first, and last, public appearance with her husband. She realized that this was the first time she had been to town with Edison, but she couldnt find the strength to contemplate the irony that this would also be the last time she would travel to Coal City with him. After today, she would never see him again. Forever. She couldnt pull her eyes away from the car carrying his casket, tried not to even blink for fear of losing any part of her last few moments with him. Chendas driver opened her door, and she stepped out into the misty morning to the sound of flashbulbs and the shout of rabid newspapermen. She raised her dark eyes to focus on the front door of the church, her goal. More flashes sent sparkles across her vision. She ignored what she could of the shouted questions and kept her pale face as placid and unmoving as possible. As quickly as her legs would carry her, she escaped into the cool darkness of the ancient church.

Her eyes anxiously searched the interior of the sanctuary, and she relaxed slightly as she saw Edisons casket arriving through a side door. He was there. She was, at least for a few minutes more, with him again. Even in death, his presence calmed her. Chenda followed the funeral director as he wheeled Edison to the head of the aisle and opened the casket. The assembled visitors hushed for a moment as they gandered at the deceased, then the hurried whispers began again. Chenda found herself cringing away from the stares, positioning herself at the end of Edisons casket, partially hiding herself behind the extravagantly carved lid.

Chenda glanced around at several of the assembled guests. She recognized very few. For the most part, it looked to her just a faceless sea of dark suits and military uniforms. The people to whom she could place names were either dignitaries she had seen in the newspapers, or a smattering of her former teachers or companions all hand-picked by Edison none of whom had she seen in years.

Chenda listened as two of her former tutors gossiped about a delicately built blond woman in the second pew, a woman Chenda had never seen before.

Fancy her coming here. I never would have taken Professor Candice Mortimer as a curiosity seeker like these other gawkers, the first said.

Perhaps she reads the tabloids for fun, the other said. Theres not a front page in the city that doesnt say Death of the Recluse Hero in the headlines. Besides, shes such a serious person. She has to get her kicks somehow. Perhaps funeral crashing is her thing.

The gossiping women wandered away, having quickly lost interest in the professor, who simply sat gazing remorsefully at Edison in his casket.

Candice Mortimer wasnt sure why she had come to Edisons funeral. Truly, sadness filled her as she looked at Edisons scarred face, coldly encircled with pale flowers in the casket. He had changed so drastically from the handsome young officer in her memory. Candice counted the years back to the last time she had seen Edison. Twenty-one years felt like yesterday in some ways. Hed been so dashing then in his Republic Airship Service uniform. All the R.A.S. men were dapper to some extent. Strong and brave, each was ready to defend the Republic's coast against Tugrulian attackers. A generation of handsome young men volunteered. Thousands never came back. Too many came home like Edison, broken, disfigured and aged well beyond the intervening 12 years of the war.

Candice cried when Edisons airship, the Valiant Eagle, was reported lost. She rejoiced when she heard he had miraculously returned alive. More than once, she tried to see him, but he never accepted visitors and refused all correspondence. Each of her letters returned unopened. Rumors swirled that he was a spy, or had been on a secret mission to corrupt the Tugrulian Empire. Edison never spoke publicly about any of it.

As she waited for the ceremony to start, Candice's sadness turned into disgust. All of those strangers staring stupidly into Edisons casket. How rude! True, she must look as much a voyeur to them as they did to her, but Candice knew who she was, and what Edison had meant to her all those years ago, so she felt no reason to explain herself to anyone. She turned her gaze to the shy woman at the end of Edisons casket, The Widow Frost as all the papers were calling her. Candices first thought was this girl couldnt possibly be his wife. She was young enough be his daughter. Candice bristled and focused on Edisons unmoving form.

Chenda, a receiving line of one, found the assembled crowd respectful and solemn as they filed by, but not particularly grieved. She could feel their eyes on her, judging her, and she heard all the whispered remarks.

lucky, I guess. Shes the richest widow in the whole Republic.

bet it was suicide. Who lives that way? Apart from the world for all those years.

I hear she is a bubble-headed fashion monger, I mean look at her, Ive never seen so much expensive silk and satin on one dress.

good grief, shes just a child! I guess Frost liked em young.

Gee, if he never left his estate, I wonder if any of these people ever actually knew him?

No, Chenda thought, just me.

The funeral went on as so many do: prayers to all the gods, kind but generic words from a gray haired priest who laments the death of a man he has never actually met, poetry about salvation and songs that move too slowly. Finally, the time came for Edisons casket to be closed for the last time. Chenda stood by herself for one long moment, her hands resting on Edisons casket. She felt fractured and wondered, when she exhaled next, what it would be like never to breathe back in again. She wanted to die, too. The center of her world had vanished, and she now drifted alone, frightened to her core.

Where do I go from here, Edison?

With her emotions momentarily paralyzed, she mindlessly followed the congregants out of the weathered stone church and into a dim, drizzling afternoon. Dozens of flashbulbs again blinded Chenda as she appeared on the church steps. In her turmoil, she had forgotten to prepare herself for the gantlet of reporters in the churchyard. People pressed in on her, trying to sneak a peek at The Widow Frost. The shoving and clamor kept her unsteady. Her field of vision was clogged with a jostling crowd of reporters and spectators, and, losing her footing on the slippery steps, Chenda started to fall. Suddenly, someone caught her by her elbow and she felt another hand reach around her waist, pulling her back to standing but also maneuvering her sideways, out of the heart of the crowd.