Читать книгу The Grand Dark онлайн | страница 62
“Lucky Orlok,” said Gustav. “Another rich little bird lands right in his lap. What is his secret?”
“Don’t whine,” said Petersen. “You had your chance with her.”
“But I’m merely a poet. Not a musical god. All of my little birds flit away in the slightest breeze.”
Greta leaned away from Orlok and pulled Gustav over by his tie. She mashed the last of her cake into his face and began kissing him too. The three fell into a pile on the lounge’s silk pillows.
The gathering had begun as someone’s birthday party, but around the end of day three it had turned into something else. What, no one knew yet. Perhaps it would become clear after another day or two.
For now, though, people were interested in doing everything they could to feel anything … or nothing. The languid hedonism in the ballroom. And the foggy boredom in the airship’s forward observation deck. It was a greenhouse full of exotic plants, wrapping around the front of the craft. Helene watched as an industrialist named Frölich pried open one of the side windows and threw out a full champagne flute. “For my customers,” he said, giggling drunkenly. Soon, others were throwing things—food, plants, articles of clothing. Whatever they found amusing. Helene watched them from a bench by herself, growing bored with these people, their dull games, and the surroundings. She was wondering if there was some way that she could get off the airship without the others knowing when the small squirrel-like chimera that Frölich kept in the breast pocket of his jacket leaped to the floor and ran away. Instead of chasing his pet, Frölich and the others laughed as it disappeared from sight. Without thinking, Helene jumped from the bench and ran after the poor creature.
She soon found it cowering along one of the interior walkways. Picking it up, she cooed until it stopped trembling. When she heard boring Frölich heading down the corridor behind her, Helene didn’t hesitate to push through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only.
Once inside, she found herself on a bare metal gangway in the true interior of the airship. The craft’s skin stretched over and around her. It’s like being swallowed by a great silver whale, Helene thought. Along the ribs that kept the ship’s skin taut, an army of robin-size Maras scuttled up and down, occasionally darting out onto the skin to mend small holes. Brief bolts of white-blue plazma shot from a central shaft to the ribs, jolting the little Maras with power. Instead of being scared, Helene was delighted by the interior lightning storm.