Air and Fire Read Free

‘Lost it?’ he said. ‘How could you lose a dress?’ But she had run out of words. All she could do was shrug and turn away.
    â€˜Are you not feeling well, my dear?’
    This question coincided with her thoughts so neatly that, for one moment, she could not be certain where she was. Then, looking up, she remembered and had to invent an excuse.
    â€˜It’s just the heat, Théo.’
    â€˜This is nothing,’ the Captain said. ‘Wait till July.’
    â€˜Do you need some air?’ Théo asked her.
    She summoned a smile for him. ‘I feel fine. How long until we arrive?’
    Théo studied her for a moment longer then he reached up with his napkin and dabbed his mouth. ‘An hour.’ He turned to the Captain for corroboration.
    â€˜Aye,’ the Captain murmured. ‘Close enough.’
    â€˜Then we ought to be able to see the town by now,’ she said and, leaving her chair, she launched herself towards the window that overlooked the bow.
    But she could only see the land stretching away in both directions, a land stripped of all adornment, musty and jagged.
    Then she noticed a cloud to the north-west, a thin white cloud that lay perfectly horizontal in the air. It was so straight, it might have been drawn with a ruler; Théo might have been responsible for it. Looking more closely, she realised that it was not a cloud at all. It was smoke, rising in thin columns from the land below. She could just make out two chimneys, some huddled buildings, the dark arm of a harbour wall.
    â€˜I can see it,’ she cried.
    The two men joined her at the window.
    â€˜Aye, that’s it,’ the Captain said, ‘godforsaken hole that it is.’
    But Théo was smiling.
    â€˜At last,’ he murmured. ‘The work can begin.’

Chapter 2
    SS Korrigan
    17th April, 189–
    My dear Monsieur Eiffel,
    I wrote to you from Panama in January and again from Santiago some weeks later, but as I have little faith in either of the two postal services, I am writing to you once more on the assumption that this is the first that you have heard of me.
    That I should mention Santiago at all will no doubt cause you some concern since our original plan, as I am sure you remember, was to put in at Panama, transport the church by rail to the west coast and then proceed northwards by steamer into Mexican waters. This plan was thwarted owing to the untimely dynamiting of a government train by a notorious group of revolutionaries. Any assessments as to when the line might once again be operational were vague, to say the least. After a conference with the Captain of the
SS Korrigan
I decided that it would be as well to continue south, reaching Mexico by way of Cape Horn. Though it would add two months to our journey it seemed the course of action that would offer least threat to our cargo which was, after all, our primary concern. Before too long I was to regret this decision, for we encountered the most ferocious storm, not only ferocious but persistent too, lasting, as it did, a full seventeen days. A section of the bulkhead split, and it seemed at one moment as if we all might perish. It was during that day that we sighted another vessel struggling, like we were, against the elements; it is difficult to express the degree of succour that it afforded us, to know that other men were sharing the same dangers, the same exhaustion.
    Suffice to say that we survived the rigours of Cape Horn. On the 2nd of March we put into Santiago for extensive repairs, and it struck me then as an immense irony that, had the National Assembly supported the Panama Canal project, as you supported it, out of a sense of duty to the nation, we might have been spared many of the hardships of thepreceding two months. Our sojourn in Santiago was, in many respects, delightful, but it was a relief to be under way once more. Our passage up the coast of South America was accomplished without incident, and the