Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 8


On the last day of May a great shadow fell upon the City of Greenville South Carolina . It swept purposely across the city like a dark storm cloud heralding a fierce tempest. Motorcars stopped dead in the street and their occupants spilled out to stare at the mighty airship. With purpose the airship maneuvered implacably over each street and neighborhood. The residents of Greenville gazed up to behold the huge dark blue zeppelin with the white saltires on each of her flanks. Some of them looked on with wonder, while others quivered with dread. The sense of awe and power was assisted by the rising notes of “Mars: Bringer of War” by Holst from the composer’s “The Planets” suite that emanated from the airship. The steady beat of the bass drums mixed with the ominous droning of the ship’s mighty engines and the rising crescendo of the horn section to fill the air. Long would the city remember that day that the symbol of the great forum X Marks the Scot and The League of the Moderators rose up and dominated their sky...

“You’re lost, aren’t you.” declared Todd from the helm.

“Furman University is around here somewhere. Just keep a sharp eye out for a football stadium” I replied tersely. I was somewhat irked that the moment of grandeur I had been enjoying had been disturbed by this plebian (though sadly accurate) observation.

The Cellist shouted from her station “Stadium portside at 7 O’clock!”

Todd asked “Wo ist der Fulghafen?”

In the short time we had been aloft Todd had shown a distressing tendency to often communicate in German. I attributed this, much like his grey military attire, to his desire to really throw himself into the proper frame of mind to be a zeppelin pilot.

“What?” I queried?

“The airport? Where is it?”

“Err there isn’t one. I thought we would just sort of swoop down in the football field”

“You mean the one in the stadium?” he gasped.

“Indeed”

“Without a runway?”

“Err…yes”

“Or mooring tower?”

“Err…quite”

“Swoop?”

“Well, or gently land. Whatever is easier.”

“I assume you would prefer if we don’t crash into the stadium while we are doing this as well? It might put a bit of a kink in your plans if the Saltire is destroyed and we all die because we have to land in a stadium instead of something easier. Say perhaps an empty field? Do you have any idea how hard it is to park a zeppelin? ” Todd asked with a somewhat sarcastic tone that I much preferred to use than to be a recipient of.

The Cellist and Violinist who made up the rest of the bridge crew exchanged looks.

“Just land the airship if you don’t mind” I answered sheepishly

“Unglaubliche!” he exclaimed

“What?”

“Das macht nichts.”

I decided to let it drop.

“Take us down Todd”

“Sehr gut. Gehen vir!”

This must have been an affirmative as the Saltire began to angle earthward. I issued instructions to reduce speed. Luckily for the expedition Todd proved a proficient pilot and the dirigible descended to the exact center of the football field with the wheel of the front landing strut touching the ground with a most gentle bump. I ordered the violinist
to have the woodwind section of the crew secure mooring lines. “Ja Kaptain!” he smartly replied and issued instructions into the intercom tube. Todd was proving, if not a bad influence, at least a Germanic one.


The musicians scrabbled down rope ladders to secure our mooring lines in the bright green turf of the Paladin’s gridiron.

The field was almost deserted. Some fifteen lovely young lasses, who by their dress appeared to be members of the cheerleading squad, seeming both awed and put out by our arrival (no doubt spoiling their practice) stood off to the sidelines. In addition four gentlemen approached the lowered ramp for entry to the zeppelin.

The first three wore kilts and the bright red long sleeve tunics of our security detail. I stood at the entrance to hatch of the Saltire to warmly greet our newest crew members. First came Mr. Splash who arrived with small valise in hand and a wide grin on his face. Next came Mr. BEEDEE who carried a set of bagpipes as well as a suitcase. Following our new piper came Mr. Mender. Now Mr. Mender was already a gentleman of great height and girth but he was even more imposing as he carried on his back a bow with two quivers of arrows, an ax, a claymore, a dirk, a dagger and various other weaponry. In his arms were a suitcase, as well as two trunks. One was labeled “TAXIDERMY SUPPLIES” and the other “DINNERWARE”. Not having a free hand I patted him on the shoulder as I offered my welcome. “Pleasure to be aboard sir, when do we eat?” he spoke as he passed by into the interior of the Saltire.

Following these three came a stranger of short but fit stature. He wore glasses and his hair was curly and worn slightly long. He too was kilted and had a brown leather satchel slung over one shoulder. The most odd feature of this gentleman was the strange electronic apparatus he carried in one hand. A speaking tube projected from it and he was offering a narrative into the device as he walked up the ship’s ramp.

“…as I walk up the majestic zeppelin’s gangplank I see the Captain of the expedition standing there full of confidence and his grand vision of adventure, unsuspecting of the horrors that lie…”

At this moment he must have noticed my concerned gaze. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m with IKNS : Independent Kilted News Service, the name’s Jake. Pleased to meet you.” I shook the reporter’s hand and began to inform him that we had no need of a reporter as my skills as a recorder of our travels would be quite sufficient for our needs when David popped his head out of the airship.

“Ah Jake. You made it! Excellent. Jamie I took the liberty of inviting a proper writer along to record our little expedition. We all know how often you digress and how digression is the sign of a poor writer and dull conversationalist.”

I frowned but David jauntily continued.

“…hoping to make a bit of money on the residuals for the serial rights. Not to mention perhaps adaptation for those moving picture cinema shows. This could be big. Step inside Jake.” David led the reporter inside.

I sighed.

Returning to the gondola. I gave orders to alight once more. Todd and our two string musicians worked efficiently and in moments the Saltire rose from the field. Inspired by the moment, the cheerleaders below started to chant. They danced and waved their pom-poms and cheered:

“There is only one site!
With the best sight!
That feels right!
And we love it a lot!
X X ...X MARKS THE SCOT!”

From inside the main part of the airship David took that as his signal to launch our airborne symphony orchestra into the prelude from “Tannhauser” as we soared heavenward.

To Be Continued…