Chapter 41

His Lordship Mr Lou Sho Zhang

Max, Dickie and Wang had only just returned to the flaming wreckage, and Max was bending to retrieve Dickie’s fallen bowler hat, when a shotgun blast sounded from the Higgins home. It was quickly followed by the appearance of Mr Higgins himself, smoking weapon in hand.

"What in God's good name!?" he roared, flinging the gate open and advancing on the three weary travellers. "Richard Pearse! I might have known!"

Mr Higgins had one of those special red faces that was remarkable for its glow at the best of times, but at moments like this it went on to dazzle with the depth and brightness of its flushed vermilion hue. It was a wonder that the roots of his great wiry sideburns did not cook in the heat of his super-charged blood. Dickie was looking very uncomfortable at his neighbour’s sudden appearance.

"It's hard enough to make an honest living without..." ranted on Higgins. "...just look at my roof! My pumpkins!"

"Only talk when I ask you something. And only then in Chinese," Max whispered to Wang, placing the bowler hat on his head. Wang looked a little confused, so Max favoured him with a conspiratory wink while he retied his own dark hair at the base of his neck.

"Mr Higgins!" declared Max, all at once and with some flourish. "Can I introduce you to Mr Lou Sho Zhang." He extended his hand to Wang while approaching Higgins. "International Globe-Trotter, Scion of Industry, Patron of the Sciences, Sponsor of many..." Higgins looked sceptically a Wang. "What is that Mr Zhang?" Max marched back to Wang's side and pretended to listen while Wang articulated a few sentences in Cantonese. "Yes of course," replied Max, nodding once in understanding before returning to Higgins. "My Lord Mr Zhang wishes to apologise for the damage to your property and the interruption to your day..."

"Too right he does!" fumed Higgins, but Max interrupted him with a raised hand.

"And he wonders..." continued Max "If this would cover your expenses?" At which Max produced from his waste coat pocket a large chunk of yellow gold, still hot from it's very resend reforging on the dirigible engine and placed it in Higgins's dirty paw. The farmers eyes went round in shock, and he almost dropped the now forgotten shot gun, which Max quietly relieved him of and passed to Dickie.

"Doe's it what!?" said Mr Higgins. "You could have the whole farm for that!" And he tried to pass it back to Max, who ignored him and returned to Wang. Wang muttered a few more choice phrases before Max translated;

"Very well! If by the farm you mean this house, the small land surrounding it, this barn and the rails here, then we accept your kind offer."

Higgins couldn't believe what he was hearing, and it took him a good few moments to decode what he had just been told. Then with this most unexpected change in his luck he was quickly transformed into an entirely different person, a better man.

"Ah, ah, yes," he stammered. "Ah would sirs like a cup of tea inside. I could have Mrs Higgins put the kettle on right away. It would be an honour to host you in the sitting room."

Max listened and translated back Wang's apparent response to the invitation.

"Very kind. Thank you. But no. We still have much to do today. Someone from Mr Zhang's office... that is the company of... of WMW will call on you tomorrow with the papers for the exchange of ownership for your farm. Until then please return to your lady wife and we will be in contact shortly."

Higgins looked twenty years younger. He strode forward and seized Wang's hand, which he then shook a little too vigorously for polite company, but the deed was done.

"Thank you your honour," he said, before shaking Max's hand and smiling at Dickie, "Mr Pearse."

"One final thing," instructed Max. "We ask that you do not disturb this wreckage. There are still items of a personal nature within it, that Mr Zhang hopes to salvage."

"No of course not," responded Higgins at once, looking appreciatively and with something near devotion at Mr Zhang.... Wang.

"Very good," said Max, taking Mr Higgins's arm and leading him back toward his own gate. The farmer practically skipped thought it. Max saw him chew on the edge of the melted coin like a pirate as he returned up his garden path. A moment later he could be heard calling his wife from inside the house.

Dickie leant the shot gun against the picket fence.

"Max what just happened?"

"WMW?" added Wang, raising an eyebrow.

"A number of things," replied Max, striding past his two friends to survey the smouldering ruins of the dirigible. He adjusted his soiled waste-coat before answering. "First a have purchased for you, Dickie, a larger and dare I say, much needed workshop." He indicated the barn at the end of the rails. "And a personal home, a little away from all your squabbling siblings. Although if Higgins doesn't use his new found wealth to fix the roof, you will need to see to that yourself before too long. Call it your reward for saving Wiremu and my lives." Between breaths Max uttered a prayer for Wiremu. His thousandth that day. "And second," he went on. "I have secured this wreckage and more importantly the treasure on-board, on private land and away from scrutiny. We need to get it in the shed and soon as it has cooled."

"That's a big shed," said Dickie.

"I'm sure you'll fill it."

"Thank you," muttered Dickie, conflicted and obviously confused by his feelings about the generosity suddenly shown him.

"You saved us Dickie, you and Wang," reaffirmed Max. "Us and the gold. For that I and many others, though they may not ever know it, will always have you to thank." Max paused then and for a moment just stared into the crackling flames. Coming out of himself again he continued; "Besides I may well have use for some of your inventions in the future. Though I would ask that one of your first jobs within your new workshop be the setting up of your furnace and crucibles."

"Oh, why is that?"

"So that you can melt down some of this gold into natural looking flakes. We need to lace Yo Foo's gold clam as soon as possible."

Although Max's mind was racing a hundred miles an hour, he kept part of it locked away solely for Wiremu. He dared not look at his other two friends now, in case their reactions to his plans, any resistance, somehow unmanned him. He had to keep moving. He was right on the edge, but with so much left to do before he could give himself to grief or sleep, or both. He focused on the charred timbers before him. It had only been a few minutes, but fire was almost out, the canvas quickly consumed. The blackened boiler and its network of iron pipes, sat silently amongst the ashes, finally cooling after its titanic effort. Somewhere in there was the down payment on their fortune.

"WMW?" reflected Max, picking up Wang's question. "That is our new company. The world will know it as Wanganui, Manchester and Westhaven, just another conglomerate investor with faceless directors, and a seemly endless supply of off shore funds. Wang I hope you are up to the paper work? The Company deed, land purchase, this farm first... but there will be others." Wang nodded. "But to us," Max continued, "WMW will simply be, Wiremu, Max and Wang, and it will mean so much more."

"I'm not entirely sure what you are planning," remarked Wang, a small smile crossing his weary face. "But I guess I'm in."

"Knew you would be," said Max, with a wink.

"Look!" called Wang a moment later, and they turned to see that other dirigible drifting over the top of the Rockville Terrace.

"Aldridge, come to find his missing airship," remarked Dickie, not taking his eyes from the approaching craft.

"I vote we let Max handle it," said Wang.

The shocked faces of Aeronaut students could be seen crowding at the gunwale, as the new arrival passed overhead, before turning to begin its descent. Air Admiral Aldridge was indeed at the helm.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Very good," agreed Max, deep in thought. "Let's move quickly. We shall meet them at their gangplank." He set off along the rails, toward where the dirigible looked to be about to land. "Second thoughts. Mr Zhang, you wait here. Keep your face in shallow a little." Wang nodded and adjusted the rim of his hat.

"Richard, what happened?" asked a flabbergasted Admiral, coming down his ships boarding plank, but looking beyond Max and Dickie, to the smoking ruin of one of his beloved airships and the figure standing next to it. Max strolled forward and took the Admiral by the arm.

"Come aside good sir," he asserted. "We must talk. And maybe it is best if your students stay on board for the time being." Aldridge looked confused, but went aside with Max, Dickie followed.

"Who are you?" he demanded a moment later.

"No one of import," answered Max. "Just a humble servant of his Lordship Mr Lou Sho Zhang." Max pointed toward Wang and the Admiral squinted at the distant figure.

"Lou Sho... who?" he asked still trying to make out the features of the man next to the remains of his airship.

"The world-famous adventurer? journalist? A man of many contacts... the thing is..." Max lowered his voice still further, "...it seems that Lord Zhang wants to clear up this mess as quickly as possible and with minimum fuss. He even seems disinclined to press charges over the mechanical failure of your airship and his own near demise... he may even forgo making a negative report in his journal to the ministry in Hong Kong. I know! I can't claim to know how these Orientals think a large part of the time... maybe it's pride or the desire not to offer offence, but sir you have struck it lucky with this one. In fact, he is very keen to keep the whole unfortunate episode out of the papers. Oh, do not worry, Air Admiral Aldridge, His Lordship was not harmed, thanks, as he sees it, to Richard's excellent training. His primary concern at this point is in fact your compensation."

Air Admiral Aldridge's eyes were wide at Max's long tale.

"Young man," he huffed. "Do you have any idea as to how much one of these airships costs?! These cloud riders are all the best cutting-edge technology."

"I believe Richard has given Mr Zhang some idea." And with that Max furtively produced the last two coins, which had melted together to form a large figure of eight, and turning his back to the blue uniformed students on board, showed it to Aldridge. The Air Admiral's eyes seemed as if they would bulge out of his head. With his arm behind his back, he distractedly waved a floppy hand at his students and said weakly;

"Please stay on board, boys."

"Mr Zhang, wishes to make full amends," continued Max. "And to pay for Richard's services, of whom he said is an excellent, and I repeat well trained, pilot." Max placed the warm gold into Aldridge's hand, which dropped a little under its weight. The Admiral swallowed.

"Young man, you could buy two dirigible with this!" he said in a course whisper.

"One moment," responded Max holding up a finger, before striding away to rejoin Wang.

The Air Admiral was waiting when Max returned a couple of minutes later. Though Dickie had moved away to avoid the questions and taunts of his classmates.

"Two dirigible you say?" asked Max as he rejoined the other. "Very well. Mr Zhang says that he will pay for the wreck and take this one as his second." Max pointed at the airship that Aldridge had just arrived on.

"Ah..." Aldridge stuttered, suddenly on the back foot.

"Don't worry sir. Mr Zhang says he will not need the dirigible for a couple of days."

Aldridge looked down at the yellow metal in his sweaty hand. Max whispered; "Sir, you and I both know that you'll get a lot more than two old training dirigible with that."

The Marshall nodded his head, deep in thought. Then made up his mind.

"Very good." And the gold disappeared into the pocket of his uniform. Max nodded solemnly.

"Someone from Mr Zhang's office will come to the Aerodrome with the correct papers on Monday morning. Please have the airship ready, fuelled and with a hot boiler."

"As you wish," said the Admiral. "Tell Mr Zhang that it was a pleasure doing business." And he remounted the boarding plank.

Dickie and then Wang rejoined Max as the ship lifted off, turned toward the city and then disappeared back over the edge of the terrace again.

"Well?" asked Wang, removing the bowler hat and returning it to Dickie.

"I have just purchased Dickie here a dirigible to put in his new shed. Not so much room in there now is there?" Then with a wink he turned and set off, on foot, down the Valley Road.

"Where are you going?" called Wang.

"To get Grandma Riria."

* * *

Guinan McCreddy sat hunched in his wheeled chair. Before him his great desk was strewn with ever manner of precision metal working tool; micro-compasses, presses, multi-squares, mills and naut-base calibrators. All had their uses, but some of those uses were known only to McCreddy. At his back the wheeled chair's steam engine chugged quietly. A flexible flue, hanging from the ceiling, had been attached to the chair's exhaust, so that steam and spent coal smoke could be drawn away from the inventor as he worked, or slept.

McCreddy chuckled, rocked in his chair, and coming fully wake, sat up. He stretched and yawned. For a long moment he sat looking at the metal in front of him. He did not put a hand to any tool, instead he grabbed up a wad of papers and his fur usanka hat, before pushing the reverse lever on his chair. With a hiss the faithful contraption carried him backward, turned and headed for the double doors in the workshop wall.

McCreddy punched a button to his right and the doors cracked open and drew aside to reveal a late afternoon sunset, the beauty of which nothing within the workshop had hinted at. Rolling forward he shielded his eyes from the sun with the papers and came to stop on the wooden platform overlooking the Parapara Inlet. He had had no idea of the time, such measures rarely mattered to him. The only thing on his calendar was the still distant second meeting of the League of Robot Wars. Until then he would work, eat and rest with whatever rhythms his own body set for him.

He placed the fur hat on his head and the papers onto the tray table attached to his chair. Only two pieces of paper were of current interest to him, the smallest and the largest. The rest were unceremoniously stuffed down the side of his seat. The largest he spread out in front of himself.

It was a schematic of a yet unnamed robot. The inventor hovered over it for some time, tutting and clicking his tongue at various intervals. Occasionally he would take up his pencil and ruler and make adjustments or corrections.

He had always known that the fools at the Army would get Cuchullain after his victory in the Iron Arena. But the passing of the fact had still left him bitter. He had done his best to hide the machines secrets within its complex and counter-intuitive design. He had even incorporated a large number of follies and false pipes to confuse the military engineers. Cuchullain hadn't been his greatest work, not now anyway, and the prize money had been worth something.

No, the greater insult had been the one dealt to him by Harriet Leith. He rubbed his head where she had punched him with her steel knuckle-duster. He could admit that maybe he shouldn't have tried to squash her with the robot's iron sledge hammer. But sometimes the joy of having working legs again... and something akin to the ancient berserk, the unstoppable battle fury, would take him. She was lucky to still be alive, and he knew he must not lose control like that again.

McCreddy drew out the smaller paper. It was a piece he had cut from the Dominion Press the day after the Leith Engineering team had won the Haast Locomotive Race. There had been others in the photographic, but his scissors had removed them all. Only Miss Leith's smiling face remained. He starred at the grainy, black and white image for a long time. He remembered that she had flaming red hair, and pink lips, he knew that her flesh would be warm and soft to the touch.

His own lips were dry. He needed a drink, some whiskey tonight, and maybe a little of his medicine. She wouldn't be a threat to him much longer. Clarity came then. He produced a self-inking quill and on the large page, in the blank square where the designs name went, he wrote the word; Cormoran.