“Why would I mind?”
“Because I’m a stranger. And a nosey one at that. Given the events of yesterday and our conversation just now, I’ve not proven myself to be the kindest or most ethical person. Though I would like the record to show that I’ve been honest. And I think that should count for something.”
“I do believe you have been honest,” Emilie says. “In the explicit details. Though I do wonder why you’ve come to me with this.”
“Technically I was here first. So you came to me. But to answer your question, this airship is populated by men. A gender I distrust implicitly. I married the only man I’ve ever been truly fond of.”
“As did I.”
Gertrud glances at the stewardess’s bare ring finger. She senses a story but chooses not to ask. “Then we have that in common, at least.”
“You trust me simply because I’m a woman?”
“I am inclined to trust you more because of that, yes.”
“You don’t know women all that well, then.”
Gertrud laughs at this. A deep, throaty laugh that draws a smile from the stewardess. “I didn’t say I like women. I said I tend to trust them at a higher capacity.”
The stewardess drains her cup and sets it lightly on the table. “My break is over.”
“Emilie?”
“Yes?”
“Why won’t you tell me who this tag belongs to?”
“You might be predisposed to trust other women but I am not.”
THE NAVIGATOR
The bartender looks up when Max taps on the air-lock door.
“Max! Come in! What can I get for you?”
“I need a quick favor.” There’s little time left in his break and he needs to be as expedient as possible.
“Anything for you.” Schulze secures the air-lock door behind them and gives Max an expectant look.
“What I’m going to ask you is technically against the rules.” He sighs. He has been doing a lot of rule breaking on this voyage. “So now is your chance to pretend you didn’t hear me. Or that I didn’t ask. Whatever you prefer.”
The bartender clucks his tongue. “I’m not so easily scared.”
Max is committed now. He may as well continue. “I was in France a number of years ago on holiday. I stayed at an inn in a small town by myself. It rained the entire time and I was unspeakably miserable. The trip would have been a total loss if not for a certain kind of brandy produced in Gascony that I drank every evening by a roaring fire. I’m rather ashamed to say that I went through several bottles that week. And while drunkenness and gluttony are not vices I’d normally boast about, I do confess that I’ve never enjoyed any beverage more.”
Schulze is a man of spirits, literally and metaphorically. He can be as moody as any woman, though he tends toward cheerfulness. But it is the spirit that comes corked and bottled that he knows best.
“Brandy, you say?”
“Armagnac, to be precise.”
Schulze swirls his finger in the air and turns toward the mirrored shelves behind him. “I knew you were a man of fine taste. It’s a fine liquor. Some would say mystical. Vital du Four once claimed that Armagnac has forty therapeutic virtues. I don’t recall that healing the lovesick was among them. However, should you suffer from burning eyes, hepatitis, consumption, gout, canker sores, impotence”—he gives Max a skeptical glance at this—“or memory loss, it’s certainly the drink for you.”
“Would these mystical properties include helping a woman set aside lunacy and think straight?”
“Not even God could do such a thing,” Schulze says. “As for myself, I simply prefer the taste, the warmth, and the feeling of invincibility after consuming a bottle.” He shifts a few large decanters around on the shelf, then stretches up on his tiptoes. Max Schulze is not a tall man. After a moment he sets a lovely teardrop-shaped bottle on the counter. It is corked and sealed with wax. The liquid inside is the color of stained and polished cedar. “To be fair, the bottles are quite small.”
“You have some.” Max breathes a sigh of relief.
“The first thing you need to know about me is that I always have some of everything.”
“Duly noted.” He lifts the bottle. Gives Schulze a questioning glance.
“If you tell anyone I will swear you stole it.”
“My lips are sealed.” Max slides the bottle into a deep pocket of his trousers. “Might you have two glasses that I could borrow? I will return them first thing in the morning, of course.”
Schulze sets a pair of crystal goblets on the counter. “I can respect a man of action.”
They both turn at the tapping sound on the smoking room door. Emilie stands on the other side, staring daggers at Max, waiting to be let out.