or two!” He reached for his glass, raised it to his lips, started, looked at it ruefully, and muttered, “Blast!” He signalled to a waiter.
“Resurrectionists? The Beetle? Pipes? What in heaven's name are we talking about?” Cornewall Lewis exclaimed.
Burton answered, “The Beetle is the rather mysterious head of the sweeps' organisation. A boy. Very intelligent and well read. He lives in a factory chimney.”
“Good Lord!”
Swinburne took another glass of brandy from the waiter, sipped it, and placed it on the table.
“I never met the Beetle,” he said, “but I worked with Willy Cornish when I served under a master sweep named Vincent Sneed during Richard's investigation of the Spring Heeled Jack affair. Sneed was a vicious big-nosed lout whom I had the misfortune to bump into again during last summer's riots. I knocked the wind out of the swine.”
“You fell on top of him,” Burton corrected.
Unseen, Bendyshe took the poet's glass, swallowed almost all of its contents, and slid it back into position.
Bradlaugh whispered to him, “Are you sure that's wise, old man? You'll end up sloshed if you're not careful!”
“Nonshence,” Bendyshe slurred. “I'm jober as a sudge.”
Monckton Milnes turned to Lawless. “What exactly does a funnel scrubber do?”
“Normally, he'll be based at a landing field,” the aeronaut answered, “and is responsible for keeping a ship's smoke and steam outlets clean and free of obstruction. However, in the bigger vessels, which fly at a higher altitude, extensive internal pipe systems circulate warm air to ensure that a comfortable temperature is maintained in every cabin. The pipes are wide enough for a nipper to crawl through, and it's a funnel scrubber's job to do just that, cleaning out the dust and moisture that accrues.”
“That sounds like dashed hot and uncomfortable work!”
“Indeed. But not compared to cleaning chimneys.” Lawless addressed Swinburne: “As you obviously know from personal experience, sweeps lead a dreadful existence. Those that get work as funnel scrubbers are considered the fortunate few.”
“I hardly think that such a promotion completely justifies the word ‘fortunate,’” put in Burton. “Funnel scrubbers are still emotionally and physically scarred by their years of poverty and brutality. The Beetle does what he can to protect his lads but he can't change the social order. To improve the lives of sweeps, we'd need to instigate a fundamental shift in the way wealth is distributed. We'd have to raise the masses out of the sucking quagmire of poverty into which the Empire's foundations are sunk.”
He looked at Cornewall Lewis, who shrugged and stated, “I'm the secretary for war, Sir Richard. My job is to protect the Empire, not right its wrongs.”
“Protect it, or expand it, along with its iniquities, sir?”
Monckton Milnes cleared his throat. “Now, now, Richard,” he said, softly. “This isn't really the occasion, is it?”
Burton bit his lip and nodded. “My apologies, Sir George-I spoke out of turn. I've been rather sensitive to such matters since the Tichborne riots.”
Cornewall Lewis opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Swinburne, who suddenly screeched: “What? What? Has the world gone giddy? How can I possibly be guzzling my drinks at this rate? I swear I've barely tasted a drop!”
Burton frowned down at his assistant. “Algy, please remember that you are Apollo, not Dionysus,” he advised. “Try to regulate your imbibing.”
“Regulate? Regulate? What in blue blazes are you jabbering about, Richard? Nobody drinks more regularly than me!”
The poet gazed at his empty glass with an expression of bemusement, then signalled to another waiter. Behind him, Bendyshe and Bradlaugh smothered their chuckles.
“Anyway,” said Gooch, “when the nippers arrive, the crew will be complete.” He produced a slip of paper from between the pages of his notebook. “I have the complete roster here, sir.”
Lawless took the note, read it through, and nodded his approval.
“May I see that, Captain?” Burton asked.
“Certainly.”
The king's agent took the list and scrutinised it. He read:
Commanding Officer: Captain Nathaniel Lawless
First Officer: William Samuel Henson
Second Officer: Wordsworth Pryce
Helmsman: Francis H. Wenham
Assistant Helmsman: Walter D'Aubigny
Navigator: Cedric Playfair
Meteorologist: Arthur Bingham
Chief Engineer: Daniel Gooch
Engineer: Harold Bloodmann
Engineer: Charles Henderson
Engineer: Cyril Goodenough
Engineer: James Bolling
Chief Rigger: Gordon Champion
Rigger: Alexander Priestley
Rigger: Winford Doe
Fireman: Walter Gerrard
Fireman: Peter Etheridge
Stoker: Thomas Beadle
Stoker: Gwyn Reece-Jones
Funnel Scrubber:
Funnel Scrubber:
Steward/Surgeon: Doctor Barnaby Quaint
Assistant Steward/Surgeon: Sister Sadhvi Raghavendra
Quartermaster: Frederick Butler
Assistant Quartermaster: Isabella Mayson
Cabin Boy: Oscar Wilde
“I trust Quips is living up to my recommendation?” Burton asked the captain.
“Quips?”
“Young Master Wilde.”
“Ah. An appropriate nickname-he's a very witty young man. How old is he? Twelve-ish?”
“He celebrated his ninth birthday a couple of months ago.”
“Good Lord! That young? And an orphan?”
“Yes. He lost his entire family to the Irish famine. He stowed away aboard a ship to Liverpool, made his way to London, and has been working there as a paperboy ever since.”
“Well, I must say, I'm impressed by his industry. There's an unpleasant amount of bureaucracy associated with the captaincy of a rotorship and the youngster picked up the paperwork in a flash and keeps it better organised and up to date than I could ever hope to. Furthermore, I find that whenever I say ‘hop to it,’ he's already hopped. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Oscar Wilde captains his own ship one day.” Lawless ran his fingers over his beard. “Sir Richard, what about these young ladies? Having women serving as crew isn't entirely without precedent, but are you sure it's wise to take the Sister with you on your expedition? Africa is harsh enough on a man, isn't it? And what about all that dashed cannibalism? Won't she be considered too dainty a morsel to resist?”
“It is indeed a cruel environment, as I know to my cost,” Burton answered. “However, Sister Raghavendra is from India and possesses a natural immunity to many of the ills that assail a European in Africa. Furthermore, her medical skills are exceptional. I wish she'd been with me on my previous excursions. I assure you she'll be well
