Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [112]
“It is a pleasure and honour for us to welcome you aboard the Ariel,” said the young man, in a faint German accent. “The ship, I suppose, is not unknown to you. You have probably seen her floating above New Venice lately.”
Brentford rose up and shook the hand that was offered to him. He tried to express his surprise, but after the Phantom Patrol, he found it hard to be amazed.
“My name is Maximilian Hardenberg,” the man added, planting the gaze of his immense eyes on Brentford’s.
“Brentford Orsini. I owe you my life, sir.”
“No one ever owes anyone anything,” said Hardenberg, curtly but firmly. “And I pride myself on being no one’s sir.”
“If you say so,” said Brentford, slightly taken aback.
“If you will permit me to introduce to you some of my brothers. This is Johann Treschler, from Prague,” Hardenberg continued, as a clever-looking man with bushy brows and short blond hair proffered his hand.
“Herr Treschler is our engineer, and this ship is his brainchild. He will give you a tour if you are interested. This is Dr. Sven Heidenstamm, our doctor and, I dare say, philosopher,” he added, indicating a stocky person who had the strangest glint in his eyes. This was not, Brentford thought, the doctor he would choose, but he was still immeasurably better than Doctor Phoenix, who still made Brentford shiver with disgust and pity.
The next up was a bright-faced, square-headed little man with cold-steel eyes.
“Saying that Herr Hans Schwarz is our chemist would be cruelly reducing the extant of his competencies,” said Hardenberg. “It is thanks to him that our modest armoury is so full of surprises. Our pilot, Hugo Trom, is of course busy, as are most of his crew, and they regret not being able to meet you at the moment. The rest of the people here, you know already, I think. We will leave you to yourselves for a while, but I would be glad if you joined us for dinner, even if you are, of course, totally free to behave as you wish.”
“Nice to see you,” Brentford said to Gabriel. His friend, his borrowed black clothes flapping around him, looked slightly embarrassed, probably about the wedding. Brentford decided he would not talk of it at all. It had been ages ago, anyway.
“What happened to your hands?”
“Jackfrostbitten. More ridiculous than serious. As usual.” Gabriel launched a Punch and Judy show with his bandages on the edge of the table.
They were sitting in wicker armchairs in the almost cosy deck-saloon of the Ariel. A corridor led aft to the engine room and the cabins and berths of the crew’s quarters, and forward to the wheelhouse and the magazines, where a kennel had been improvised for the sled dogs, suddenly very compliant now that their “mission” had been accomplished, it seemed, with the rescue of both Gabriel and Brentford. Gabriel was still amazed that they had darted straight in the direction of the Kinngait, just as he had been thinking about his friend.
The Inuit, except for Ajukangilak, who stayed sulkily in his berth, obviously trying to avoid Gabriel, were busy exploring the dirigible, pussyfooting into every nook and cranny. From time to time Gabriel and Brentford could see Tiblit passing through the lounge, usually pursued by one sturdy, black-clad, bearded member of the crew who was trying calmly but firmly to wrestle from him some object the Inuk had found especially interesting or desirable—a box of crayons, a barometer, or a brass telescope.
“So you did not make it to the Pole,” said Gabriel, casually.
Brentford winced, as he had when he learned that he had been found barely fifty miles from the city. This mysterious banshee must have made him run around in circles. If he had wanted to impress Helen, it had all been quite a failure.
“No. And I’m cured of the will to go there. I would not advise anyone to try it.”
He did not feel like talking about what he had seen, shivering at the idea of just thinking about it.
Gabriel remained