“You don’t always need to kill, many times breaking a bone will take two fighters out. Comrades will often come to the aid of a wounded friend. Next time I will teach you knees and shins,” Sigmund finished the hard-learned lesson with, “Remember, the fight isn’t over until someone runs away, surrenders or dies.”
“And if I can’t find Missy?” Helena asked, “I gave my word.”
“You get knocked down, the goal is to get up, simply keep getting up, always get up once more than you get knocked down, you win,” Sigmund answered.
“Where do we search now? I have no clues to follow.”
“You don’t,” Sigmund walked over to his coat draped over the parallel bar. “We have something else to attend to,” he produced The Call newspaper, blasting the headline ‘Russian’s Invade!’ I think we should go see this.
Helena sped through the story, before asking, “It says they are landing at the Bay District Race Track? How can they land at a closed track?” she asked.
“I suggest you get your riding gear on and we go to find out.”
“It also says there is a reception tonight for Count Stroganov and his sister Ludmila at the Cliff House.”
“This waited for you when we returned. Still, I thought you needed a little exercise before I gave it to you,” then Sigmund handed her an envelope her name embossed in gold leaf. “We should have enough time to go watch the spectacle. Before we come back and prepare for the reception.”
Helena tore into the envelope, the gold foil on the inside giving way to reveal her invitation for Count Stroganov’s reception. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Helena watched Sigmund moving slower than normal, obviously sore from letting her work out her anger on his body.
Closer to twenty minutes later, the pair strolled into the stables, where Lane had three horses saddled, two English and one Western riding gear. “There is no way I’m going to miss this chance to ride. I have no idea what is happening, but I’ll grab any excuse to climb on the back of a horse,” Lane said ready to ride.
It wasn’t that far from the estate to the racetrack. Since they rode horseback, they cut through the Laurel Hills Cemetery, going around it would double their travel time. While downtown, the sun had been out, and it had been a beautiful day, the closer sunset came, the more clouds moved in. Now Helena couldn’t see any blue sky, only a blanket of gray hanging over the city.
“I bet the Russians wish they had better weather for their arrival,” Helena said.
“Don’t be surprised if they somehow engineered the overcast sky. I think we’re in for a show,” Sigmund said, kicking his horse into a trot.
The area around the now-closed racetrack became cluttered with traps and carriages, anyone on horseback rode right up to the front gate. Sigmund made a motion to the man standing guard, and he opened the gate allowing the three to enter. Not everyone was permitted to bring their horses onto the racetrack proper, but Helena was learning that her name carried much more influence in the city than she ever realized.
People arriving by horse-drawn carriage were ushered into the grandstand overlooking the racetrack. Helena assumed that they would be allowed onto the center of the track, but that area stood blocked off by a row of men standing six feet apart fully circling the infield area. The few groups of riders allowed in on horseback stood waiting on the track itself.
They had no longer arrived at the track when there came arising Awws and Oooos from the grandstand, peppered with a few screams of hysteria and fear. The three tried to decide what they were looking at before they noted the people around them pointing up at the sky, while several horses spooked from the incoming sight.
Straight above the infield the clouds glowed green as if an emerald sun burned overhead and grew closer. Something lowered through the clouds, it wasn’t one light making them radiate, but Helena counted six distinct light sources arranged in an oval pattern. Suddenly the lights burst through the overhead and everyone could tell that they were lime light spotlights attached to what resembled the hull of a ship. It continued to descend when all at once the lights shut off in unison and a tremendous oval shape drifted out of the clouds. Four great propellers, two fore, and two aft, were attached to the hull of the ship, systematically spun maintaining the ship's position in three-dimensional space.
“What is that?” Helena asked awestruck.
“Is that the Russians?” Lane asked.
“I assume it is, but I never knew they had flying ships like this. This is the largest one I’ve ever seen,” Sigmund said.
“You’ve seen these before?” Lane and Helena asked in unison.
“Something similar, many years ago in India, but this one looks built for war, not adventure.”
Helena understood what Lane meant by made for war, noting no apparent weapons visible, but the craft looked menacing. On closer inspection, the suspended section did look like a ship that had been plucked from the water, but there was something about the lower portion she could view that made it emit ominous or threatening feelings. Painted flat black, it seemed to soak up the little remaining light. The greater part painted the same dull black, looked solid as if made of metal. The best name, Helena could place on it would be a flying ship.
As the audience stood in awe or terror of the spectacle. Mooring lines began to drop from the ship like a jellyfish’s tendrils. These lines efficiently scooped up by teams of five
