Free The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead by David Wake

harsh.
    “Do you want to stop?” Merryweather asked, his voice far away and soft.
    “No.”
    “This one?” McKendry said.
    It was a girl who wouldn’t smile again: “Julietta… I hated her, she was a bully, but…”
    “No–one deserved this.”
    “I told her to go to drop dead.”
    “It’s not your fault.”
    “Amazo, Amazon, I’m a spot, am as gone, am as lost…”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Nothing.”
    Caruthers bent to assist McKendry, so the process went quicker. After a while, Georgina’s words became monosyllables. When they reached the Life and Times of Wellington, there were none left to consider.
    “They’re not here,” Georgina said.
    “Are you sure?” Caruthers asked.
    “They’re not here.”
    Georgina turned her attention to the teachers. They weren’t laid on top of one another, so she could scan down the line by herself.
    “I think all the tutors are here,” Georgina mumbled, “except for old Motty.”
    Most had been shot, but some had been bitten, torn and ripped.
    “Who could do this?” Merryweather asked.
    “They had dogs, I heard them,” said Georgina.
    “I’ve never seen a dog do this,” McKendry said.
    “Miss Price was my Latin teacher, she was teaching me when… I wished her dead.”
    “Come away,” Merryweather said.
    “Gardener’s Hand… unless they are elsewhere with Lottie and Ness… oh, help.”
    A darkness leapt up to take Georgina and Merryweather’s arms were there to catch her as she toppled.
    Miss Charlotte
    The magnificent airship turned as it dropped through the clouds. The castle below was rugged, constructed from large blocks of local stone, so it looked like it had been carved out of the mountain itself. Most of the towers ended with an elongated roof like a witch’s hat, but one had been converted into a lighthouse. Its beam sliced across the valley to guide airships away from the rocks.
    A loud boom reverberated.
    “Oh,” said Charlotte, “they’re firing a… one gun salute.”
    “Nein,” the Graf replied. “It is the battery signalling our return – see!”
    Below the castle at the end of a zigzag path was a small building. A cannon was fired again.
    The Graf laughed: “A two gun salute.”
    “One each.”
    “Ja.”
    The Zeppelin was close now as it bore down upon a platform of metal gantries that poked outwards and upwards. The wind gusted, so they had to manoeuvre to approach upwind. The motors strained as the giant behemoth narrowed the gap to yards and then inches as the crew called out in metres. The nose caught the gantry and a shudder coursed through the metal skeleton, a deep cavernous sound echoing the thrill that Charlotte felt.
    Once the two cables from the nose had been secured, they grappled other lines and dragged the Zeppelin around. It trembled as the wind began to press against its side, but eventually it was tied off with the cabin section over another platform. As Charlotte waited by the exit with Graf Zala, ground crew jostled a large wooden staircase into position.
    Graf Zala disembarked first.
    “Careful, my Princess,” he said.
    Although the gap was only a foot or so, it was nerve–racking to step across, but Charlotte made sure the Graf saw how brave she was. He held the railing and she held his hand as they descended. When his boot hit the stone flags, those waiting dropped to one knee, bowing.
    “Vögte?”
    “Graf, willkommen in–”
    “In English, Vögte, in honour of our Royal guest,” said Zala, holding Charlotte’s hand high as if presenting her at court.
    “Es tut… Apologies, welcome home, Graf, and welcome, Your Royal Highness,” the Vögte said. He was thin, gaunt, with his oiled hair slicked back and despite being clean–shaven, he didn’t look like a boy. His starched collar meant he couldn’t turn his head, which was funny.
    Charlotte bowed in thanks: she was having such a good time.
    The Graf turned to her: “You are tired. The Vögte will see to your needs.”
    “I’m not at