The dirigible wasn’t as crowded as a public transport airship, but Daphne still felt claustrophobic. She kept twirling a long strand of hair around her finger—around and around and around—and then letting it unravel like a skein of yarn. She had seated herself in a pocket of the dirigible’s gondola, the only passenger in the small cabin.
Daphne had always been fascinated by airships, but that wasn’t why she rode one today. She had an assignment all the way in Dover. Things had been a little off at the clock tower. There were mechanics in the field who could pop over and have a look, but London was the clock mechanic hub of southeast England, and the Lead preferred to send his mechanics to investigate disturbances.
Strangely, though she’d been assigned to Enfield, she hadn’t received any assignments there. Maybe Danny Hart had already done all the necessary work. She thought again about his eyes, green and desperate and so, so sad. Saying no to him had been hard, but she’d had no choice.
And she couldn’t help thinking that there was something off about him. Something secretive that kept her guard up.
The loud whirring of the engine was strangely soothing, and being hundreds of feet from the ground relaxed her. She looked out the window at the low-hanging clouds. The dirigible started venting gas in preparation for descent and the clouds drew closer and closer until the ship passed right through them, like a submarine sinking into a cottony sea.
Once out of the clouds, she could see Dover below. It was a small town at the very edge of the country, right where land met sea. Beyond the sheer white cliffs of the shore lay the Strait of Dover, and beyond that, France.
The dirigible would land just outside the town and an auto would drive her to the tower. This was a one-day job; Daphne disliked overnight assignments. The London office usually made sure their mechanics didn’t need to be away longer than absolutely necessary, just in case something happened in the field.
She thought about Lucas and shuddered.
The whir of the dirigible grew louder as it landed. Steam belched from the engine and the ground crew ran about in preparation below. When the ship came within a dozen feet of the ground, the engine sputtered and came to a stop as the gas did the rest. The ship slowly drifted down, where the crew grabbed hold of its mooring ropes to secure it to the mast. Daphne collected her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“There you are, miss,” the pilot said as he emerged from the front cabin, pulling up his aviator goggles. She noticed a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, a set of wings to symbolize Caelum, Gaian god of the sky.
Many pilots used it as a good luck talisman. Her father had had one in almost the same spot, an inch above his wrist. She remembered being small and tracing the black lines it made on her father’s ochre skin.
“Was it a good flight?” the pilot asked.
“Very good, yes.” She caught a glimpse of the copilot inside, an automaton fastened to the seat beside the pilot’s. The automaton turned its head this way and that, as if surprised to be on the ground again. “You’ll fly me back this afternoon?”
“Of course, miss.”
Outside, the bright sunshine was deceptive; a cold wind came up from the sea, and she was thankful for her thick trousers and coat.
The man sent to greet her stood just off the gangplank. He looked her up and down with consternation, blinking repeatedly. “Ah … Daniel Hart?”
She frowned. “No, Daphne Richards.”
His eyes lingered on her trousers, a corner of his upper lip curling. “Ah. Would you be the apprentice, then?” He looked back at the airship, as if expecting Danny to walk out after her.
Her voice came out frostbitten. “I’m the mechanic.”
“Oh. I see.” Now he was determined not to look at any part of her. “Well then, Miss Richards?” He gestured to the auto.
Daphne sat in the back as the man drove her into town. He glanced at her a few times in the rearview mirror, but she invited no conversation. She had experienced this before—men and women disapproving of her clothing and her profession. They would be shocked if they could see the other women of London: auto mechanics with grease in their hair, fisherwomen in from the coast with tattooed arms.
Matthias had told her what to expect when she had been his apprentice. That the men, especially the older ones, would look at her as if she were a joke. Or an insult.
“But I’m not doing anything to them,” she’d argued. “I just want to be a good mechanic.”
“And that’s all that matters. Don’t mind anyone else or what they think. You do what’s best by you.”
Daphne tried not to think of the driver’s face when she’d said she was the mechanic, the way he had waited for a man to come and announce he was her escort.
Why did he think Danny Hart was coming with me, though?
The town didn’t take long to drive through, and soon they were at the base of the clock tower that overlooked the sea. The two faces, one facing north and the other south, gleamed in the sunlight. Although she noticed the limestone had eroded away on one side, likely from sea salt, there were no crumbling bricks or obvious signs of neglect.