Chapter 4
Jack's first awareness as he began to wake, was that his shirt was open. He could tell because of the unusual coolness on his chest. He knew he'd buttoned it. He dimly remembered that Phryne had managed to undo the first button before falling unceremoniously asleep. He was becoming aware that that there was something warm and wet and wonderful going on in the region of his navel. He hesitated to open his eyes because he was afraid it might break the spell. His shift in breathing must have alerted her to his wakefulness because the lovely thing she was doing ceased.
He opened his eyes and looked down his torso to see a pair of sparkling blue eyes smiling back at him.
"Don't stop because of me," he encouraged.
"Good morning, Jack," she propped her chin on the hand she had resting on his taut belly and ran the fingers of her other hand through the light smattering of hair on his sternum, lightly scraping his skin as she did.
Right. Phryne on a mission was an early riser. Not that early, apparently. They could hear the sounds of life outside the cabin door. Doors banging, loud conversations, and laughter all indicated that it was a new day. Smells wafted through the airship coming up from below-decks, coffee and tea and baked goods. This had been billed as a floating-on-air hotel, and though some amenities were spartan by necessity, it did not disappoint.
Phryne pushed herself to a seated position and returned her hands to Jack's body. She smoothed her palms over his chest and up to his shoulders, pushing the blue Egyptian cotton pajama shirt away from his pectoral muscles as she moved. He was all sinewy muscle and pronounced clavicle. Jack Robinson kept himself in very good physical condition, and Phryne found she was exceeding fond of his physical condition. She moved her leg quickly over him to straddle his upper thighs—anchoring him—and pulled at his lapels to sit him up. The shift in position allowed her push the shirt completely off his body.
Once his upper body was free of the pajama top, he wrapped his strong, wiry-muscled arms around her mid-section and pulled her closer. She, in turn, wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Only the silk of her nightwear and the atoms separated their torsos as they squeezed ever closer together. Their lips were touching but they had not yet kissed. "Good morning," he hummed back at her, lip-to-lip, "What's on the agenda for today, Miss Fisher?"
The back of her nightshirt left an expanse of exposed skin. He was presently blindly untying the corded tie holding it to her body. His coarse fingertips sending little shocks of pleasure through her spine as he worked. She nipped at his lip before kissing him deeply until the cord was completely loose. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily, "We need to interview Princess Marthe, despite Lord Thomson's assurances."
Jack moved his hands to the hem of her shirt and pulled loosened garment over her head. He returned his hands to her back and pulled her towards his very eager lips. "Agreed," he rumbled against her before returning his lips to hers. She pulled away slightly which urged him to begin nibbling and kissing her chin.
"And of course," she husked out as his lips traveled to her earlobe, "we need to take a very close look at—oh—Cobb and—ah—Dyer."
"Of course," he hummed into her ear. His lips traveled to her neck, his hands moving to her bottom. He squeezed her closer.
"And I'd like—mmm, oh Jack—to talk to," he hiked her up to get access to her breasts, "Mmm, oh yes—I want—I want—I want to talk, mmm, to Princess Valentina Comanesti."
"Mmm?" he queried mouth full, quirking his eyes and brows up at her.
"Yes! Oh, yes, mmm—she was, umm, too interested in the Captain and his table at dinner. Oh God!" her head dropped back in delight and to give him better access as he resumed lavishing attention. "Besides…OH YES! She's also..." she gripped his shoulders tightly, digging her fingernails into him. She squeezed her legs around his midsection pushing the air out of his lungs causing him to gasp for air as she said, "Romanian!" He looked up at her, panting for air but smirking.
"By accident… most strange… bountiful Fortune?" he breathlessly rasped up at her. He continued gazing at her lovingly as his breathing normalized, lightly tracing his fingers along her naked spine. "Now my dear lady, hath his enemies brought to this…um… vessel?"
She looked down at him and stroked his face lovingly, "I don't like coincidences, you know that. And it seems like an awful lot of Romanians of royal extraction claiming not to know each other to not ask at least a few questions. Especially with a missing captain whose zenith was most inauspicious."
She dipped her mouth to his, sipping at his lips gently for a moment. She moved the kiss from "gentle" back to "plundering". The kissing was getting more frenzied. They were going to need to address the need between them very…very…
"Jack, wait! Stop! Mmm… stop…!" She pulled away suddenly.
He also pulled back, stunned, "What… what is it? Did I hurt you?" he knitted his brow in concern.
She pushed herself off him and moved towards the toilette bag, "No… no… nothing like that… I can't remember if I have my... device… in or not… I remember removing it last night when I was getting ready for bed, but I don't remember …" she turned back towards him, "You'll remember I was rather sleepy?" She continued to rummage through her bag for a minute or two, "Found it!" she sang out holding it up in triumph.
There was a loud knock at the door. "Miss Fisher?" They both turned toward the door with wide eyes and froze.
The knock came again, "Miss Fisher?" Jack collapsed against the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Phryne dropped her diaphragm back in the bag. "Damn!" she said quietly.
"Just a minute!" she called through the door. She spotted her robe and threw it on over her body. Jack fumbled his way to standing and adjusted himself as well as possible, grabbing his own robe. They gave each other a quick once over to make sure they wouldn't mortify whomever was at the door, and then Phryne went to open it.
"Yes?" She was greeted by a young crew member who couldn't have been more than twenty, probably younger. The lad looked like he didn't yet shave. He made the Hugh Collins Phryne met in the Andrews' home seem positively cosmopolitan. The look on his face indicted that their efforts not to mortify were unsuccessful.
The fellow blushing in front of them was about Phryne's height. He had dark hair, buck teeth, and huge, thick ears that stuck out a little too far. They were bright red. Though, in fairness, it seemed like they might usually be bright red.
"Uh… Miss Fisher… Lord…um… Lord Thomson, said to say," he looked up at the ceiling as if he hoped the script for his speech were written there. Phryne put her hands on her hips and focused on the lad, "Yes?"
"Um… He wanted me to tell you…that we found the…" he looked at her dumbly for a few heartbeats as she silently willed him to continue. "The… um… uh…" Phryne and Jack exchanged a look.
"Did something happen?" Jack asked, trying to be helpful prompting the boy…young man… he nodded at Jack saying, "They found blood."
"They found the primary crime scene?" Phryne asked brightly, eschewing her earlier annoyance at her morning ravishment of Jack Robinson being interrupted. The young crewman nodded quickly, smiling at both them. "Yes… yes… that's it." He confirmed, "That's what he said, 'Tell Miss Fisher and the Inspector bloke that we've found the primary crime scene.'"
"Wonderful. Where?" She still wasn't sure about this young man. He was darling, but clearly not that bright.
"Oh, I'm to take you there," he responded.
"What's your name?" she asked the terrified young man.
"Flight Cadet Goff, Ma'am."
"We're going to need a few minutes to freshen up," she countered.
"Oh," he said shortly, looking down. He turned red suddenly, and then looked at both of the detectives quickly, "Oh… um… of course. Um… alright. I'll just be right outside ma'am."
"We can find you in the lounge, Flight Cadet." Phryne attempted to get some of her privacy back.
"Oh… it's not a bother miss…I have my orders." The flight cadet was not getting the hint.
Phryne went to shower first as her post-shower routine took longer. She emerged from the room in an ivory deco pantsuit with an Egyptian flair which she had picked up from an up-an-coming couturier in Cairo. The fashion of Cairo ranged from very conservative to très moderne. This particular couturier catered specifically to wealthy Brits enchanted with the mystique of Egypt.
They were both clean, dressed, and following young Flight Cadet Goff down a long metal walkway after twenty minutes or so.
"Miss Fisher, Inspector Robinson. So good of you to join us." Lord Thomson was standing on a metal grate platform over—over nothing, really. Clouds and sky and a bit of the Mediterranean were visible through the grate, but nothing else. An occasional tendril of wind would lick through the space. He was there with two other flight cadets who were making notes in small books.
There was a caged ladder descending from the platform. As they peered down the ladder they could see there was some sort of trapeze set up harnessing a Bristol Bulldog aeroplane to the ladder.
"I've always wanted to fly a Bulldog!" Phryne admired the plane from above.
"Yes, well, that may have to wait Miss Fisher," Lord Thomson pointed down rear rudder. "It seems to have sustained some damage."
"Really!?" and she started to launch herself headfirst down the ladder to take a look.
Jack caught her by the hips, pulling her back quickly.
"Oof… Jack! I'm not going to fall… I'm just having a look!" She turned to him to see he was looking very ill-at-ease. "What is it?" she looked at him concerned, "Are you ill? Jack… you're not afraid of heights, are you?"
"No, no, Miss Fisher. I'm not afraid of heights," he said peering anxiously through the grates, keeping one hand on the railing at all times. "Heights… heights are fine… it's the impact force of landing after a fall from a great height that has me concerned,"
Her face softened, "I'll protect you, Jack."
"By launching yourself into the void?" he countered tersely.
"Don't be like that. I had it under control, Jack," she volleyed back slightly annoyed.
He rolled his eyes and looked away with a clenched jaw.
"If you two are finished?" Lord Thomson cut in.
Phryne kept her slightly annoyed glance on Jack for a beat as she responded, "Yes. Quite," then turning to Thomson, "What is it you've found?"
He looked between the two of them and then quirked is brows up, "Right. So…if you… carefully…" he added in deference to Jack, "look there," he turned and pointed towards the attached aeroplane, "notice there is damage to the fin and stabilizer. It wasn't like that yesterday. It was tip-top shape."
"I see. It looks like there might be blood as well," Phryne was peering more carefully than she originally began. Jack's interest perked up and he overcame his aversion to looking down through the grate to observe. They studied it from the platform for a few minutes, trying to work out whether a body might have left the airship voluntarily or with assistance. It was possible, they discussed, that he committed suicide or fell and the blood they could see came from the impact of his body on the aeroplane or the rigging as he fell.
Phryne stood and walked over to the far side of the platform as the others continued to study the attached damaged Bulldog.
"Baron?" she called over to him. Thomson, Jack, and the three flight cadets all turned as one toward the lady detective. "I think we have at least part of our answer over here." The air minister joined her to see what she'd found. Jack stood and tentatively made his way over to where Phryne was crouched as well.
"There isn't much left because of the grated floor, but this is also blood. And from the area, it looks like quite a lot." She looked at the railing around the platform, "and see here? This is freshly dented. No rust. There was a struggle here."
Jack crouched next to her studied the things that she pointed out and then met her eyes and nodded, silently agreeing with her assessment.
"What are you saying, Miss Fisher?" the air minister asked.
"What I'm saying Baron, is that we may not have a body," she stood facing him, "but we definitely have a murder."
A quick note about the design of the R-101: Just as I'm taking liberties with history, I'm taking liberties with the design of the airship. The R-series airships didn't have biplane trapezes like the zeppelins or the American rigid airships. For the storytelling purposes and because I think they're cool, I'm altering history.