Bedlam: The Further Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (43 page)

Stieber fell silent. We watched the landscape passing below us. A miniature waterwheel paddled in a creek as narrow as a ribbon. Tiny men fished in the stream. As Stieber contemplated them, I sensed his thoughts: he was fancying himself as God, from whom no human sins could remain secret, who could dispense justice as he saw fit.

“Not long afterward, a privy councilor in the Ministry of the Interior asked me to come and see him,” Stieber said. “He told me that the authorities in Silesia had uncovered a conspiracy to overthrow the government. He ordered me to conduct a secret investigation. I traveled to Silesia in disguise. Upon arriving I contacted a man named Hermann, who'd supplied the tip about the conspiracy. Hermann said the conspirators planned to seize property from the rich and distribute it to the poor. I discovered their identities and arrested them. They were charged with treason and sentenced to prison. The case caused a scandal. Politicians excoriated me for illegal ‘secret police' work. But I was just following orders. I didn't reveal who gave them because I'd been sworn to secrecy.”

In addition to his desire to please his superiors, he had such a strong sense of loyalty that he would rather bear the brunt of public censure than betray them. His loyalty transcended the law and the fact that they were mere mortals with human failings. Slade and I were amazed that such an evil man was motivated by such a noble trait.

“In 1848, I was drawn into the turmoil of the revolutions that plagued Europe,” Stieber continued. “The King had made himself unpopular by dissolving a new constitutional convention formed by his people. He rode through the city alone, hoping that his boldness would prevent a rebellion. Instead, he was assailed by a violent mob. I happened to be there. I single-handedly cleared a path for him and pulled him to safety inside the palace gates.”

Stieber clearly relished his heroism. “The King fainted. I carried him into the palace, where I was surprised to discover that he was an actor impersonating the King. The real King thanked me for my brave service. He actually took my hands in his and squeezed them,” Stieber marveled. “And he recognized me from my sermon that he'd heard. I informed him that I was now a police inspector and secret agent. I took the opportunity to tell him about my accomplishments. He rewarded me with a promotion to chief of the Berlin police force. It was the proudest day of my life.”

I suspected that the King's esteem had compensated Stieber for his father's disapproval, but not entirely. Perhaps Stieber had never recovered from being cast off by his father, and he continued to seek approval from his superiors out of a need to heal the wound that would never heal. That need was the vulnerable human core in Stieber.

“I investigated and thwarted many conspiracies against the King's regime,” Stieber said. “Word of my expertise spread. Other heads of state applied for my assistance in unmasking members of secret societies in their kingdoms. One of them was the Tsar.”

“That explains how a Prussian agent became the Tsar's chief spy,” Slade said. “I was wondering. But how do you justify working for the Tsar? Doesn't that interfere with your loyalty to your King?”

“Not at all,” Stieber said. “The King loaned me to the Tsar in exchange for certain favors.”

“Favors such as military support from Russia, I suppose,” Slade said. “But how can you serve the King while you're chasing Dr. Kavanagh and his weapon for the Tsar? Aren't you spreading yourself a bit thin?”

“I am killing two birds with one stone. The King ordered me to travel to England to track down the Communist League, a revolutionary society that has established its headquarters in London. I infiltrated it and befriended its leader. He suffers from painful hemorrhoids. I posed as a physician and obtained a remedy for him. When I brought it to his house, I stole the register of the Communist League. The members will soon be arrested.” Stieber added, “In case you are interested, the leader's name is Karl Marx.”

Slade said with incredulity and contempt, “How can you do it? Have you no sympathy for the people that your masters oppress?”

“I have much sympathy,” Stieber said. “I believe that the soil that nourishes their grievances is poverty, and eliminating poverty is the only truly effective weapon against subversion. Poverty can only be eliminated by providing better education, better pay, and a better standard of living for workers. But I disapprove of secret plots and attempts to overthrow governments. Changes in society must be implemented within the framework of law and order, rather than by rebellion and violence.”

His views were more liberal and humane than I'd assumed, but I could not approve of his actions, and neither could Slade.

“That's a pretty speech,” Slade said, “but instead of acting on your beliefs, you abdicated your personal responsibility.”

“I have stated my ideas to the Prussian court, and it has made me many enemies there.”

“According to you, you have access to European heads of state. You could have influenced them and worked to eliminate poverty. Instead, you became a running dog for corrupt dictatorships.”

Anger rekindled in Stieber's eyes. “I'm no different from you. You've done things that you think are wrong, because you followed orders. There must be as much blood on your hands as mine. Your conscience can't be any more free of guilt.”

Slade gazed straight ahead at the clouds in the distant sky, his jaw tight. I knew that Stieber's words had stung him because there was truth in them. But he said, “I'm not like you. I'll prove it by making a proposition that you never would: Let's put our loyalty to our superiors aside and join forces to put Niall Kavanagh out of commission and protect the world.”

Stieber didn't hesitate for an instant before saying, “I cannot do that.”

Slade looked at me, smiled ruefully, and shrugged; he hadn't expected Stieber to agree, but he'd thought the deal worth a try. Now he and Stieber were at an impasse. They could never reconcile their different ideas of duty and honor.

During the next few hours, the novelty of flying wore off, and I grew tired of standing in the basket and sitting on its hard floor. I was exhausted due to the terrible toll that the past few harrowing days had taken from me. The constant noise from the engine frayed my nerves; the sun burned my skin and made my eyes ache. Using the pail was an embarrassing necessity. Friedrich and Wagner remained immobilized by fear. Slade and Stieber spoke no more while they helped Dr. Kavanagh operate the airship, but their mutual hostility was palpable. Learning that they had much in common didn't make Slade like Stieber any better. One always hates most in others what one hates most about oneself. And there was too much bad blood between Slade and Stieber, too many offenses that neither could forgive.

My own spirits rose during a spectacular sunset. Floating through a sky colored orange and red, beneath lavender clouds, I felt as if I were experiencing the glory of God at close hand. But night came fast, and we were engulfed in darkness. We traveled by compass and the faint light from the stars, the moon, and the lamps twinkling on earth. At about eight o'clock we finally neared London.

The city was unrecognizable, its vast spread almost hidden beneath a pall of smoke tinged yellow by the thousands of lights in buildings and along streets. I glimpsed a few tall towers and church spires, but the only familiar landmark I could make out was the Thames, a black curve that divided the city and glittered in the moonlight.

“Where is the Great Exhibition?” Stieber asked.

“In Hyde Park,” I said.

“But which way is that?” Dr. Crick said.

As he and Slade took turns peering through binoculars, trying to get their bearings, the wind picked up. The balloon blew back and forth. The basket swayed. I clung to the edge.

“We'll have to land soon,” Dr. Crick said. “If the wind gets any stronger, I won't be able to steer the airship.”

A loud boom rocked the night. Everyone started.

“Someone is shooting at us!” Wagner cried. He threw himself on the floor beside Friedrich.

Slade, Stieber, Dr. Crick, and I watched a red fountain of stars burst in the sky. More booms preceded fountains, cartwheels, and sprays of red, green, and white lights.

“It's fireworks,” Slade said.

Now I saw, beneath them, a structure that glittered and reflected like a long, cross-shaped block of ice. “There,” I said, pointing. “The Crystal Palace!”

G
ETTING TO THE CRYSTAL PALACE WAS NOT EASY. THE WIND BUFFETED the airship, sending us off course. Dr. Crick set the engine on full power. He and Slade and Stieber hauled on the rudder line, straining to turn the balloon. The basket swung violently while I hung on for dear life. Wagner clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and prayed aloud in German. Friedrich moaned. Somehow we managed to regain our course. The Crystal Palace grew larger as we approached. The rockets boomed louder, exploded closer. I could see streamers of smoke trailing the colored stars as they fell.

The engine clattered, coughed, and died. The propeller slowed, then ceased.

“We've lost power.” Dr. Crick tried to restart the engine, but couldn't. “We have to land now, or I'm afraid we'll be blown out over the ocean.”

He opened the vent on the balloon's underside. Gas hissed out. The airship began to descend. We dropped through a dimly glowing, acrid veil of smoke. Then we were below it, above the great expanse of Hyde Park. There, people milled about; gaslights burned along roads full of carriages. The Crystal Palace glittered in the distance. Treetops rushed up to meet us. My heart was in my throat; my lungs constricted with fear.

“Pull!” Dr. Crick shouted.

Slade and Stieber heaved on the rudder line. We veered away from the trees, over a broad lawn. People below us spotted the airship descending. They scattered. When we were some ten feet above ground, a gust of wind rolled the balloon sideways. The basket tipped. We tumbled out, screaming. I landed so hard on my hands and knees that my teeth slammed together and my spectacles were knocked askew. I righted them and saw Wagner facedown beneath me. I heard Slade calling, “Charlotte! Are you all right?”

I struggled to my feet. “Yes.”

Slade was standing, too. But Friedrich lay groaning and clutching his thigh. “My leg is broken!” Wagner didn't move; he was either unconscious or dead. Even though I disliked him, I was horrified to think I'd accidentally killed him. Stieber sat, dazed. He rubbed his head. People surrounded us, staring and exclaiming.

Dr. Crick knelt, his watch in his hand; he chortled with glee. “I flew the first steam-powered airship from Portsmouth to London in five hours and thirty-nine minutes! I've made history!” Then he looked up and said, “Oh, dear!”

Without passengers to weigh it down, the airship rose into the sky, just as the fireworks began their grand finale. Rocket after rocket launched. The balloon soared straight through the booming cascades of colored sparks. They burned through its fabric. The gas inside ignited with a cataclysmic blast.

A mass of orange flames shot through by the fireworks roiled over Hyde Park. It lit the sky as brightly as the sun. My horrified cry joined the uproar from the crowd. Burning cloth fragments flew apart. They glowed and fluttered, like fiery birds. The ropes curled like flaming snakes as they fell. The basket crashed to the earth, engulfed in fire, like Icarus's chariot.

Dr. Crick burst into tears. “My airship!”

The crowds ran from the burning debris that drifted down from the sky. A police constable sped toward us. “Hey! You weren't authorized to land a balloon here. This is quite a serious offense!”

Slade and I backed away. The constable fixed on Stieber, grabbed him by the collar, and said, “You're under arrest.”

Slade caught up my hand. We bolted. I heard Stieber say, “Let me go!” and the constable say, “Ah, you're a foreigner. What's your name? Was this an attack on England?”

We ran through the crowds and the smoking wreckage of the airship, toward the Crystal Palace. So did many other people. To take shelter in a glass house might have seemed absurd, but the Crystal Palace was the only building nearby. Mobs jostled us, trampled on my feet. We joined a huge crush at the door. Elbows jabbed me as Slade muscled our way past a tight pack of angry men, crying women, and frightened children, through the odor of hot, sweaty flesh and the shrill of frantic voices. Inside the building, the Great Exhibition was even more crowded than it had been on the day I'd visited it with the Smith family, and night had transformed the place.

Thousands of burning lamps reflected in the glass walls and ceiling. The air smelled of gas fumes and shimmered with heat. Flickering shadows distorted the faces of the people that Slade and I passed as we fought our way along the main aisle down the transept. The Great Exhibition had become an inferno populated by ghouls.