Flaming Zeppelins

  “Maybe reservation not such bad idea after all,” Bull said. “Wish Bull fat ass there. Not here.”

  “I’d rather fight a whole parcel of Sioux than deal with this,” Hickok said. “No offense.”

  “Fuck you, Hickok.”

  The day burned on. They ached from thirst. Then, as night was about to fall, they saw the fin of an enormous shark.

  No. A whale.

  But whales didn’t have fins like that.

  Huge. Slicing the water like some kind of prehistoric fish, speeding directly toward them.

  Rising from the water, spilling bubbles over its side, it revealed a long snout and bulbous black eyes. The brute crackled with illumination.

  “What are you waiting for,” Hickok yelled at it. “Eat us or go away.”

  The strange beast made a creaking noise. A flap opened in its top and, like Jonah freed, a man scrambled out of it. He was lanky, bearded, wore sailor-style clothes and a fur cap. He had a large revolver strapped to his hip. His arms hung impossibly long by his sides.

  “Ahoy,” he said in an exotic voice. “You people seem in a bad way.”

  The insides of the great fish hummed. Behind them lay the eyes of the fish, which were actually a great, tinted, double-bubbled water shield. Before them was a long hall.

  The sailor who had spoken to them and helped them onto the craft, sealed the round lid above them with a twist of a wheel. Two more sailors appeared. They looked just like the first sailor. Lanky, hairy, and long-armed. Close up, it was revealed they did not wear beards at all. Nor were those things on their heads hats. It was part of their heads. They had sharp teeth. They seemed to be large monkeys with good backbones.

  They were carrying white fluffy robes. The first drew his revolver and pointed it at them.

  “Put them on,” he said.

  “The guns aren’t needed,” Hickok said.

  The one with the gun ignored him, said, “Take off your clothes. Put the robes on.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Annie said.

  “We will avert our eyes,” the sailor said.

  “Like hell you will,” Hickok said.

  The sailor pointing the pistol cocked it. “Please,” he said.

  Bull and Hickok, Cody’s head under his arm, turned their backs for Annie while she undressed and slipped on the robe. Next, passing Cody’s head to Annie, Hickok and the others slipped on their robes.

  Later, Annie admitted that the sailors had been most polite, actually averting their eyes while she changed. Hickok thought they were certainly unlike any sailors he had ever heard of.

  Once in the robes, the sailors escorted them down a long hallway tricked out in thick red carpet. They entered a large room that housed a magnificent library; the smell of books was rich, laced with the stench of cigars, a bit of spilled whiskey, a hint of perspiration and the stout stink of fish. There was a soft-looking red velvet couch and cushioned chair, a mahogany desk and a wooden chair. And the source of the fish smell.

  A seal was perched in the stuffed chair, tail curled, holding a book with its flippers. It wore glasses on its nose, and a large, square, metal hat. It was obviously engrossed, flicking not a whisker or turning its head to observe them. Beside it, in a bowl, were the remains of several sardines — heads and fins.

  As they watched, one of the seal’s flippers moved, turned a page.

  Bull, Annie and Hickok looked at one another, looked back at the seal. Hickok, who had ended up with Cody’s head, lifted the jar so Cody could see what they saw.

  “You don’t see that often,” Cody said.

  “I think he’s actually reading that book,” Annie said. “And it looks as if he has thumbs on his flippers.”

  “Oh, I assure you,” said a voice, “he is reading the book, and those are thumbs of a sort.”

  They turned, saw a tall gentleman dressed in a soft white shirt, blue velvet trousers, woven sandals. He was nice looking with wide-spaced eyes, a large forehead, dark skin, and silvery hair.

  All of the sailors, save one, disappeared. The remaining sailor edged backwards out of the way, but at service. He was the sailor with the gun. He dropped it by his side, but made no move to holster it.

  “Ned, that’s the seal, becomes deeply involved,” the man said, “but the mere smell of a fresh fish will jerk him out of his concentration.”

  “What do seals read?” Hickok asked.

  “Actually, his personal reading habits aren’t up to snuff. He likes dime novels. The Adventures of Buffalo Bill.”

  Bill cleared his throat. It sounded more like someone spitting water.

  “Good Lord, is that a living head?” the man asked.

  “I certainly am,” Cody said. “I am Buffalo Bill Cody.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  The man took the jar from Hickok and examined it carefully. “You do look like him.”

  “It’s him,” Annie said.

  The man gave the jar back to Hickok, studied Annie. “My, but you are lovely. And who are you?”

  “I’m Annie Oakley, this is Sitting Bull, and Wild Bill Hickok.”

  “Well I will be twisted and peed on. I am honored. I know of all of you. My name is Bemo. Captain Bemo to my friends. This ship is my creation, the Naughty Lass.

  “I named her that because she was a bitch to build,” Bemo said. “My original name for her was Sea Shark, but no one in my original crew liked that one. Lots of grumbling about the name. I changed it to Nasty Sea Shark, but that didn’t excite anyone either. I even considered The Real Nasty Sea Shark, but by that time I’d lost everyone. I should have just called it what I wanted. I didn’t have to answer to anyone. Not then. But, I wanted to please. Finally, I decided on the Naughty Lass.”

  “By the way, we’ve heard of you, too.” Hickok said. “And the Naughty Lass.”

  Neither Hickok nor the others mentioned Bemo had been considered a pirate, noted for destroying vessels on the high seas. It had been his way to combat war, destroying the ships that made war or carried goods for war. Every navy in the world put a price on Bemo and his ship, but the bounty came to naught. Since the attacks on ships ceased, it had been thought for the last few years that he had lost himself at sea.

  “But you’re supposed to be dead,” Annie said.

  “Don’t believe everything you read,” Bemo said. “And while I’m on the subject, there were some photos that got out. Me…unclothed, and well…I just want to say, if you saw those photos… Well, it was cold.”

  “Photos?” Annie asked.

  “Taken by a disgruntled crew member. A female crew member, I hasten to add. I posed for them, caught up in the moment, you might say. Quite a mistake. They appeared in some French periodicals. So, again, don’t believe everything you read, or see. In fact, I’m certain those photos were doctored. They can do that sort of thing, you know.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read is right,” Hickok said. “Including the stuff in Buffalo Bill dime novels.”

  “Some of it’s real,” Cody said. “And I thought it was Naughty Ass. Not Naughty Lass. I’m a little disappointed.”

  “Come,” Bemo said. “Sit. I’ll have food brought. All of it from the sea. Afterwards, seaweed cigars.”

  “I hate I’ll miss that,” Cody said.

  “You’re being snide,” Bemo said. “But you really will miss out. This seaweed is high in nicotine. Quite tasty. Better than Cuban, actually. The only thing missing is it isn’t rolled on the thighs of Cuban women. That’s how it’s done, you know.”

  “If that’s true, I miss it already,” Cody said. “The Cuban cigars, that is.”

  “These were actually rolled on the thighs of my crew,” Bemo said. “That’s not something I like to consider while I’m smoking.”

  “By the way,” Hickok said. “Who is your crew? They are unusual.”

  “Ugly,” Bull said.

  “Yes, they are,” Bemo said. “They’re monkeys. Or they were. They have been al
tered through surgery, genetics and chemicals. Their intelligence has been raised, and for the last twenty years or so, they, and…others, have been receiving training in all the basics. Reading, Writing, Arithmetic. The last part gives them trouble, but they try. I think their English is quite good, don’t you? Come. Please. Take a seat.”

  The seal didn’t give up his seat. He gave them a quick, uninterested glance, went back to reading.

  There was plenty of room on the couch, and soon they were seated, telling their story, each filling in a little bit here and there.

  “The Frankenstein creation,” said Captain Bemo. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of him. Lost to the waves, you say. Not exactly a prosaic life, his, now was it? Or maybe it was overly prosaic. Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. Met the monster’s creator once. Convention of inventors and scientists in Vienna. This was before he made news with his creation. Quite the bore, actually. Couldn’t stop talking about anatomy, brains and venereal disease. Had one, if I remember correctly. A venereal disease, of course. I’m sure you know he had anatomy and a brain, but the part about the disease, that is most likely news to you. Ghastly subject matter, venereal disease, isn’t it?”

  Annie said, “Thanks for rescuing us.”

  “When the storm finished I thought it would be more energy-saving to travel on top of the sea, rather than under it. We found you entirely by accident. Think about that. We surface, and there you are. The proverbial needle in a haystack. Of course, since we weren’t looking for you, you weren’t even that. A happy accident. But this isn’t exactly a rescue.”

  The zeppelinauts considered that statement, let it hang.

  “About the seal?” Hickok asked. “I’m curious, is he just doing a trick? You were kidding about him reading, right?”

  “Him like that hat?” Bull asked.

  Bemo grinned. “That’s not a hat. It’s a brain enhancer. A bit of surgery was required, and now the brain, having grown to three times its size, needs more room. Thus, the hat, as you call it. Hat and brain have long since fused. The glasses are for bad eyesight, of course. And yes, he can read, and from the notes he takes, it’s apparent he understands what he reads quite well. When left to his own devices, his reading habits are quite atrocious, but he can read heavier material if put to it. He’s a good researcher. Takes insightful notes.”

  “Notes?” Annie said. “He can write?”

  “It’s a bit messy,” Bemo said. “But legible. He’s working on it. Wears a pad and pencil around his neck.”

  “Can he talk?” Hickok asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bemo said. “Isn’t it enough he can read and write and use the toilet? He can stand a bit more upright than the average seal, however. He’s had some adjustments. He does have a tendency to lose his glasses, and that’s why we’ve added a chain to the ear pieces, so that he can hang it, along with his pen and pad, around his neck.”

  “You did that?” Cody asked. “Expanded his brain. Taught him to read.”

  “Oh, no. I’m talented. But my abilities tend to be more of the mechanical, ecological nature. This is the work of Doctor Momo.”

  “Momo?” Cody said. “I thought he might be dead.”

  Bemo grimaced. “No. He’s quite alive, I assure you. Ned is sort of on loan to me. I have him read certain texts, evaluate them, write up his notes. He also takes dictation from me.”

  “What’s he researching?” Annie asked.

  “Material for Doctor Momo,” Bemo said. “There are a number of items Momo needs for his experiments that only come from the sea. I acquire these for him, and do some research. With Ned’s help, of course.”

  “I’ve wanted to meet Doctor Momo for some time,” Cody said. “I have friends who would love to meet him as well. Sam Morse. Professor Maxxon. Chuck Darwin. Many others.”

  “My goodness,” Bemo said. “Famous people, all. This is wonderful. Your friends may not get their wish, but you will, Mr. Cody. And the friends with you. You will meet him. We are, in fact, on our way to Momo’s island.”

  “You’re jerkin’ me,” Cody said.

  “As how there’s little to jerk,” Bemo said, “I doubt that. And by the by, how did that happen, good man? The head business and the jar, I mean?”

  “Cut myself shaving,” Cody said.

  “Very well, your business,” Bemo said. “No need to discuss it.”

  “And you’re not jerking me about Doctor Momo?”

  “I said as much. And beyond the physical, neither am I jerking you in a figurative sense. We are indeed on our way to see Doctor Momo.”

  “I suppose you two are great friends,” Annie said.

  “No, actually, I hate the sonofabitch, but…” Bemo stood from his place on the couch, turned to reveal the back of his head.

  It was missing. A large chunk of hair and skull had been removed. There was a shiny bulb screwed into his brain, the gray matter around it pulsed.

  When Bemo turned to face them, he said, “You see, I’m in a bit of a pickle. Wrecked the Naughty Lass on his island once. I was grievously injured in the wreck. My crew was killed. Doctor Momo saved me. But, knowing who I was and what I could do for him, he cut out a bit of my brain, fastened in an apparatus that makes me submissive to him and in need of frequent bowel movements. I talk a little fruity, as well. I’m a kind of zombie.”

  “Good Lord,” said Cody.

  “Yes,” Bemo said. “And in short time you will meet my master. And you won’t like it that much, I assure you. An absolute asshole, Momo. Absolute.”

  The rescued zeppelinauts spent the night in comfort in separate cabins, Cody’s head in the library on a shelf. In spite of Bemo’s disconcerting revelations about the zombie business and the comment about them not going to like Momo, for the first time in three days, mostly due to exhaustion, they slept well and awoke rested.

  During the night their clothes had been cleaned and dried, left folded at their bedsides before morning. Annie had been supplied with a large box of brushes, combs and hair pins. She used them minimally, looking lovely with little effort.

  Early morning, for their benefit, just before arrival at the island, Bemo had taken the Naughty Lass down. They stood at the great water shield and watched. Hickok held Cody’s jar. The sea foamed about the nose of the sub, then overwhelmed it. They dropped deep, burned a bright exploratory light that revealed all manner of fish and water creatures. They saw reefs. They saw shipwrecks.

  “I really would like to have shown you Atlantis,” Bemo said, “but, alas, we are nowhere near it, and I’m afraid I don’t choose for myself much anymore. You know how it is, the bulb and all.”

  An hour before they reached the island, a breakfast was provided. There was stewed kelp, salmon, fish eggs and kippers. There was a kind of coffee made from dried seaweed. There was bread ground from an underwater plant. It was all delicious. Cody, unable to eat, was the table centerpiece.

  A mile out from the island, they surfaced. The Naughty Lass entered the island of Doctor Momo via an inlet bordered on both sides by a monkey- and parrot-filled jungle.

  Bemo allowed them on the sea-slick deck of the Naughty Lass as they sailed in. Hickok carried Cody’s head. Bull watched the monkeys leaping and chattering with the same deadpan expression as always. Blue and red parrots exploded from the jungle, water birds burst toward the sky in blues, whites and grays. Huge water snakes were spotted.

  Bull blinked once, having thought he saw a female head poke from the water, but when he looked again, there was only a huge fish tail flipping up and dropping away.

  Annie had Ned the seal at her side. She had tried to pet and coo to him the night before, but the seal wasn’t having any until she explained the head in the jar was that of Buffalo Bill, the hero of the dime novels Ned loved. After that, the seal was her companion.

  Annie attempted to introduce Ned to the head of his hero, but Ned was too nervous. Hero worship prevented it. But he had taken to carrying a copy of one of Buntline’s dime no
vels under his flipper. It was titled Buffalo Bill’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth. Also included, Richard, Lord of the Jungle, or, the Swinging Dick.

  Upon arriving at the dock, they were greeted by a strange sight. A hunchback and a metal man.

  “We have a welcoming party,” Hickok said.

  “Yes,” Bemo said. “I used the Marconi Wave to send news ahead.”

  The hunchback was excessively hairy. His face was dark with it. Hair pushed out of the back of his shirt and through the front where it buttoned. He scuttled hurriedly onto the deck as if he might be receiving candy. He had a wandering eye, a left foot larger than his right, a buck-toothed smile, and a less than conventional dress pattern. He wore a white shirt, a bow tie and a jet-black bowler hat and thatched sandals. He seemed nervous, as if ants had taken to his rectum.

  The metal man was even more amazing. Sleek, well-formed, his face appeared to have been modeled after the Greek god Apollo. He flashed in the sun like a rifle barrel. Like the hunchback, his manner of dress was unusual. He wore a pair of knee-length red shorts, a black vest that was wide open, revealing his rippled blue-metal stomach and swollen chest. He had pink painted toenails.

  A chain was fastened to the left side of the vest; it stretched across the gap, where it disappeared into the right vest pocket; the pocket bulged with the shape of an enormous turnip watch; it could be heard ticking, like the beating of a small tin drum.

  “Oh,” said the hunchback. “What we got here? Oh, my goodness, she’s so lovely. You’re a lovely, lovely lady.”

  When he spoke there was a chattering to his voice, as if he had learned English from monkeys.

  Annie smiled. “Thank you, sir. And your name?”

  “Jack. At your service.” He scooped the bowler off his head, bowing low. “May I escort you to shore?”

  “That would be most gracious,” Annie said.

  Ned took her hand in his mouth, began to lead her toward the dock.

  “Ned!” Jack said. “I just offered my services.”