Mistress of the Air Ch. 21

Three shadowy figures, two men and a woman, emerged from the trees. Count Clitovsky introduced them as Dimitri Bollokov, Sophia Testlikova and Peter Krapotkin. They were formerly students from St Petersburg, radicalised during the revolution of 1905, now in their twenties, thin and poorly fed, and dressed in black. They cast their eyes over the visitors with surly suspicion.

"This is my niece, Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester from Rudston Hall in England," said Count Clitovsky, introducing his guests.

Lady Sally rose to her feet, teetering on her boots, worse for wear for the many shots of vodka. It was lucky that, unusually for her, she was wearing practical footwear as, if she had her trademark heels on, she must surely have toppled into them.

She thrust her breasts out and gave them a lopsided grin. She wielded her formidable powers of charm and sexual allure to engage them and win them over. That was easy for the male members of the band as, however radical their beliefs, Lady Sally usually found her dominatrix persona, not to mention her huge breasts, projected a powerful argument.

"How intriguing. I've always maintained an interest in radical ideas. You must tell me what you believe in."

They were wary at first, given her obvious wealth and aristocratic voice, but she encouraged them with attentive nods and alert eyes.

The one called Dimitri Bollokov argued that the peasantry could become a revolutionary vanguard, by organising themselves into communes and sharing redistributed land to become autonomous collectives.

"How fascinating," said Lady Sally.

The one introduced as Sofia Testlikova talked of the need for free education for peasants and workers as a means of providing everybody with the tools to both understand and put into action revolutionary ideas. She argued passionately for the equality of women.

"Well yes, I'm all for that," agreed Lady Sally. "Indeed, I propose you go further. I extol the virtues of female supremacy and male submission of course and, as you can see, I put those principles into practise."

The last radical, a young man called Peter Krapotkin offered a critique of Darwin's theory of evolution. He argued that man's achievements were a result of co-operation not struggle, and that this communism of people would transform the development of mankind.

Lady Sally nodded enthusiastically as she listened to the young people's arguments.

"Do you have any bombs?"

There was silence.

Victoria rolled her eyes in alarm. She didn't like where this conversation was heading.

Lady Sally was capricious at the best of times but after a toxic combination of blueberry, damson, raspberry and bilberry vodkas, she had the potential to be positively dangerous.

"Well, we believe in taking action," offered Dimitri Bollokov.

"Perhaps I'm under a misapprehension, but I understood anarchists had bombs."

The three shifted uncomfortably.

"There's nothing wrong with a good explosion," added Lady Sally. "Why, I've experienced many explosions in my time; there's been several on my travels so far."

"And still counting," muttered Victoria under her breath.

"You need to take action. Is that not a creed of anarchism?" pursued Lady Sally.

"Well yes, but..."

"Any action will do. It will be a statement," she said, taking another slug of vodka.

"Well, actually we do have a bomb," offered Sophia Testlikova.

"Oh, do let me take a look."

The young anarchist pulled a large, cast-iron ball with a fuse sticking out of it from her bag. It looked satisfyingly like bombs drawn in cartoons.

"What an impressive looking bomb. Have you decided what to do with it?"

"Not yet. We want to strike against something symbolic to show people what we're capable of."

"Well, you don't want to kill anybody, after all, even I think that would be rather beastly. Ah, I have it," she exclaimed, "the perfect target."

The three young radicals looked on open-mouthed, surprised at having found an unusual supporter in the form of this aristocratic English dominatrix, but nonetheless feeling compelled to listen to her suggestion.

"The Alexander Column in Palace Square," she offered triumphantly.

There was a moment's silence as the anarchists mulled the idea over until it met with universal acclaim as a potential target. A monument erected in honour of Tsar Alexander I; it would be the perfect act to destroy this symbol of the Russian Empire and, furthermore, prove they could strike at the very centre of Russia's capital.

"But how are we going to get into the centre of St Petersburg with a bomb?" Kropotkin asked.

"It's perfectly simple. You can hitch a ride in my airship and sneak into St Petersburg..."

"Sneak into St Petersburg!" exclaimed the captain, "In the largest dirigible that's ever been built."

"It's perfectly feasible. I have every faith in you, captain. We fly in under cover of the dark. We lower a couple of our young friends here into Palace Square. They plant the bomb at the plinth of the column, and light the fuse. We pull them back up into the airship and make our getaway as it explodes in the square. It can't possibly fail."

Although they were agreed the column was a perfect target, the band of anarchists were divided on the proposition of actually blowing it up. Krapotkin voiced reservations about the use of violence. Dimitri Bollokov debated if this was the opportune moment. The most vocal supporter was the young, female student, Sophia Testlikova, who had fallen in love with Lady Sally, seeing in her a model of feminine dominance she aspired to. After a long and detailed debate, any misgivings of the other two were overcome. So, as an autonomous collective, they agreed to Lady Sally's drunken proposition

Her maid looked alarmed. Victoria had experienced enough explosions as it was.

Count Clitovsky shrugged his shoulders. He knew his niece too well to try to persuade her from a course of action she'd decided on, however mad-cap. But he was beginning to regret giving Lady Sally a free-reign in his vodka cellar.

He explained to the three young radicals, "You must understand I have to disassociate myself from you. I won't be able to harbour any of you after this, it will be too incriminating for me. Does this mean you are on my way, my dear?" he added turning to Lady Sally.

"I'm afraid so, uncle. As you know I was planning on departing first thing tomorrow in any case. We'll drop our young friends off somewhere and speed on our way."

The scheme having been put forward and agreed upon by the band of anarchists, Lady Sally did not hesitate in putting it into effect.

She said goodbye to her Uncle Clitovsky, who gave her a big hug, "You are incorrigible, my dear, but I would not have it any other way!"

They boarded the airship, along with the young radicals.

For the captain this was a hazardous expedition. They had to switch off the lighting in The Corseted Domme and travel under cover of complete darkness. They floated low over the sky, the captain peering through the gloom to navigate the airship over the streets of St Petersburg. Fortunately, Palace Square was an instantly recognisable landmark, and one that he could pick out even in the pitch black of night.

The airship hovered directly over the column, the captain and Clarissa holding her steady. Lines were lowered from the gondola, and Dimitri and Sofia lowered themselves on the metal guy line until they were near enough to jump onto the ground.

Lady Sally watched as Dimitri unwrapped the bomb, placed it by the plinth of the column as Sophia lit the fuse. They grabbed onto the wire again and were hauled up into the airship. They had no more than three or four minutes to get clear before the bomb blew up. The captain eased the airship forward to make sure it was out of the range of any explosion or threat of being damaged by flying shards of granite.

They waited expectantly. There was a flash of red, and then... boom!

The bomb went off with a massive explosion. At first it didn't appear that the column had been damaged but, its base having been fractured, it started to wobble, and then topple over. There was an almighty crash as the column thundered onto the square, the angel statue on its pinnacle being thrown against the stone and shattering into tiny shards. Fragments of broken, red granite flew through the air. Dust and debris circled in the night air.

"How satisfying. You can't beat a good explosion."

Lady Sally's maid shook her head in despair. Whatever next.