Arabella of Mars(19)
She had no idea why the man who had just thrown her out of his shop might now be seeking her, but she had no wish to find out, nor to endure any further abuse or humiliation at his hands.
She ran.
5
THE MOON AND SIXPENCE
Arabella ducked and weaved frantically between irate passersby in an attempt to evade the man, but no matter how many woolen-clad elbows she jostled or fine shoes she trod upon, his shouting and footsteps continued to dog her heels.
After several frantic minutes—the thudding boots now nearer, now farther, but never completely eluded—she dodged into an alley, pressing herself against the wall.
Her pursuer passed the alley mouth, his rapid footsteps pounding past and vanishing around the corner.
Panting, exhausted, she slid down the rough bricks to the alley floor. The man had been diligent in pursuing her; she could not rest long.
And then, pasted to the wall across from her, she saw a recruiting poster.
GOD save the KING.
To all Loyal British Subjects,
Our beloved SOVEREIGN, seeing his Majesty’s AIRLANES
threatened by FRENCH PRIVATEERS both rapacious and bold, has caused to be built and commissioned
THE AERIAL CLIPPER
ATHENA
of Sixteen Guns
a fine and exceptionally fast Ship
Which now lies ready for MARS
lacking only a few good Hands
CAPTAIN
SIR HIRAM WALTER
who was not killed at Ceres as some have reported
Commands her.
The following BOUNTIES will be given by his MAJESTY, in Addition to Two Months Advance.
To Able Airmen … Five Pounds.
To Ordinary Airmen … Two pounds Ten Shillings.
To Landsmen … Thirty Shillings.
REPAIR,
All who have good Hearts, who love their KING and COUNTRY, to Lieut. J. F. CONNOR
at his Rendezvous, at THE MOON AND SIXPENCE
MAKE HASTE!
G. BONDHAM, Printer, Carrow-Street
As she read the poster, Arabella recalled the old airman’s words: the Earl of Kent was no clipper. But here was a clipper, Mars-bound, a “fine and exceptionally fast ship,” and not only was she calling for volunteers, but offering a bounty as well!
Even a landsman—into which class Arabella assumed she herself fell, owing to want of experience—would receive a bounty of thirty shillings, thus providing a solution to her financial problems … as well as passage to Mars!
The game was not yet lost. She might be able to do better than send a letter … she might be able to beat Simon to Mars herself!
“Excuse me, sir!” she called to a passerby, a tall gentleman with a shockingly long knitted scarf. “Do you know where I might find The Moon and Sixpence?”
*
The Moon and Sixpence, located in a narrow side way only a few streets distant from the poster, was a dark and low-ceilinged public house of a type Arabella had never before entered. Raucous conversation rattled the beams, rough tankards clattered against the tables, and a stink of sour ale pervaded the atmosphere.
Hesitantly Arabella stepped down into the space from the stairwell, blinking from the light outside. Here, at least, her ragged and unwashed clothing would be no impediment.
A serving-girl, carrying three brimming mugs in one hand and showing an indecent amount of bosom, came swaying past. “Excuse me?” Arabella said to her.
“Aye? What’s yours?”
“I am looking for Lieutenant J. F. Connor. Of the Athena.”
The serving-girl looked her up and down. “The Air Service won’t take you before sixteen.”
“I am seventeen years of age, miss.” That much, at least, was the truth.
Suddenly the serving-girl reached out and drew a finger down Arabella’s smooth and beardless cheek, then laughed aloud. “Aye, and I’m a Martian.”
At that Arabella laughed in return. “Indeed? Well, so am I, miss. A Martian born and raised.”
The serving-girl tipped her head and grinned. “Cheeky little b____d. Well, you wouldn’t be the first to join the navy under false colors.” She jerked her thumb toward a table near the fireplace. “Connor’s there.”
“Thank you, miss.”
But as Arabella turned away, the serving-girl touched her shoulder. “Take care, now,” she said, her expression serious. “’Twould be a shame for a sweet young face like yours to get blown to bits by some pirate off Ceres.”
“I will, miss.”
*
Connor lounged against the wall, drinking from a glass-bottomed tankard and talking with several companions. He wore a blue navy coat with airman’s red piping, but his neck-cloth was loose and stained; above it, his cheeks were ill-shaven.
Arabella pushed down her fears and stepped forward. “Lieutenant Connor?”
The airman looked up over the brim of his tankard, but said nothing.
“My name is Arthur Ashby, sir. I saw the recruiting poster for Athena. I would like to volunteer.”
At that the lieutenant immediately excused himself from his conversation, drained and set down his tankard, and walked over to Arabella. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Ashby.” His handshake was exceptionally rough and strong, like being gripped by a great twist of rope. “Allow me to stand you to a drink.” With a great show of cheer and camaraderie he ushered Arabella to the bar, where he ordered two pints of ale, handed one to Arabella, and raised the other. “The king’s health!” he cried, and drank off a great swallow.