Rip woke up with a start just before they landed.

He noticed they were above a metropolis now. The cityscape stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions.

Looming in front of the ship, a tower rose up to meet them with a wide platform around it. Closer to the center, a very tall roof offered cover from the elements. It reminded Rip of a train station, only for dirigibles.

Powell lined up on two white stripes and guided the Steel Comet lower. As the lip of the large metal platform passed beneath them, he punched a button on his dash.

He looked over and noticed Rip was awake.

“Those are the landing cords I let loose. They’ll snag on the rollers, which’ll reel ’em in for us.”

As he spoke, their forward momentum slowed. Powell pushed in the throttles for both engines all the way, bringing them to a stop. Below, Rip could hear massive gears under the platform whining as four winches engaged, gently pulling them closer to the platform’s surface and forward, under the large metal canopy.

The sides were open, and Rip could see half a dozen other dirigibles parked inside.

“It must be massive in there.”

Powell smiled and said, “Aye. It’s a great place to park and get out of the rain, in bad weather. Rolling doors can come down in high winds, too, keeping all the ships inside safe from storms.”

Fascinated, Powell watched as the rollers pulled the ship simultaneously lower and inside. A wooden cradle waited to snugly hold the cabin at the rail’s terminus.

They jerked softly to a stop and Powell grabbed a lollipop microphone hanging on a hook from his dash. He pushed a button to broadcast his voice throughout the ship.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our destination, Heatherfeld Aerodrome, in the city Ethinium. As always, it has been my pleasure serving you aboard the Steel Comet. Expect my bill tomorrow at the Royal Venture Society’s office, including for any and all liquor consumed during this flight.”

He punched the button again and replaced the microphone on its hook. Then he turned and locked eyes with Rip.

Rip said, “Well, uh, thanks for the ride.”

“Aye, good to meet you, lad. Best o’luck in all the inquiries you’ll no doubt be a part of in the days ahead.”

On that note, Powell stood and made his way to the passenger area, to a side door opening to the platform. Rip followed.

They met the others, already lined up at the door. Powell stepped over and slid it open. They were even with the floor of the huge terminal.

Blair stepped out, followed by Chance, Rip, Oggolopoli and Bixby.

Powell stood at the door, watching them disembark.

“Call on me if you need my services again, Baron. Now if you will all excuse me, I’ve got to go calculate my liquor charges.”

“It wasn’t that much,” Blair said, smiling.

“We’ll see about that, Lady Brooke. Expect my bill in the morning.”

With that final word on the matter, Powell slid the door shut, leaving them alone on the platform.

“Right then,” Chance said. “I’ve got to get home to the missus. I’ll see you all tomorrow and collect my share of our earnings after we deliver our report.”

He waved and headed for the middle of the giant circle, where a lift and stairs waited, leading down to the street.

Bixby turned and looked at Oggolopoli, still clutching the breadboard with vacuum tubes sticking out of it.

“Doctor, I’m afraid you will need to accompany me right now to the Venture Society headquarters, so I can prove we fulfilled our mission.”

“Yes, yes. Not a problem. That’s near the Lyceum anyway, I can get into my lab this evening and take a closer look at this.”

“Very well. We’ll hail a cab downstairs.”

He glanced over at Rip.

“What are we going to do with our veritable other-worlder? You have no money, no clothes and no place to stay.”

“He’s part of the team, now,” Blair said. “He’s a Bixby Bandit if ever there was one. He saved us all and helped disable the guardians for us. Certainly he deserves a share of our earnings.”

“Be that as it may, Lady Brooke, we shan’t get paid for our work until the morrow. The question remains, what is to become of him tonight?”

“He can stay at my place.”

Both men stared at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have a guesthouse. It will be fully proper, the model of propriety.”

“Well, I suppose if that is an acceptable arrangement for the sergeant, then I will see you both at the Venture Society at ten sharp in the morning. I imagine Dr. Oggolopoli will want you to appear before his own people later, Sergeant Coulter. I’m certain you’ll be asked to say a few words at ours.”

“Sure.”

With that, Bixby nodded at them both and headed for the lift, followed by the professor.

“Come along, Muscles,” Blair said, wrapping her arm through his. “I’m taking you home. I can’t wait to show you to my maid, she’s going to adore you.”

He walked with her toward the lift, following the Colonel. The other airships loomed nearby, prows pointing in toward the center like spokes on a wheel.

Doors slid open to something more closely resembling the elevators Rip was used to, and everybody walked in. A man in a smart red uniform with brass buttons stood inside. He glared at Rip, but also noticed Blair’s arm in his, so he did not say anything.

There were two buttons on the panel, and the man punched the lower one. The lift started down, faster and much more smoothly than the one in the steam vault.

Soon they reached the ground level. The door opened and Bixby gave the fellow a copper. He nodded his thanks and everyone walked out onto the street.

Here, Rip noticed all appeared rather dark in the shadow of the giant platform above them. It loomed over everything like a giant mushroom in the middle of the city.

Cobblestones lined the street, and more than one horse-drawn carriage clattered by. Interspersed with the equine traffic, a few steam cars puffed their way forward, metal wheels clattering and smokestacks chuffing out thick clouds of gray smoke.

“Shall we all share a cab, Lady Brooke?”

“I think not, Lord Bixby. You’re going in the opposite direction.”

“Very well then. Until the morrow.”

Rip noticed everyone drove on the left, as in England back home.

Bixby stepped off the curb and raised his hand. A steam car stopped and the driver looked out the window, raising his eyebrows.

The colonel nodded at him and opened the rear door. He and the professor climbed aboard and the car huffed away.

Blair crossed the street at an intersection, guiding Rip along by the arm. When they reached the other side, she too stepped off the curb and raised her hand.

This time a hansom cab stopped, pulled by a single draft horse. The driver sat outside the cab, in the back.

“Where to, milady?”

“Four twenty-one Pickle Leigh. The maid will have your fare at the door.”

He tipped a tall black top hat at her and tripped a switch with his foot so the door sprung open and a step folded down. She entered and beckoned for Rip to follow.

“Toss off, biter! This is no place for you.”

“It’s quite alright. He’s with me.”

The driver looked stunned, but made no more protests as Rip jumped into the cab and sat next to Blair.

The driver shut the door and tapped his long whip on the horse’s flank.

“What’s a biter?” Rip said as they began clip-clopping down the street.

“It’s short for arbeiter. That’s Prussian for ‘worker.’”

“Oh. There’s quite a bit of class distinction in your society, I see.”

“Indeed. We really need to do something about your clothes.”