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junior scions of the aristocracy – both English and French – ignored the smile, checked his belt and then strode on to the next passenger. There was no better way to travel, if one had the money, than via airship. Jack took another sip of his gin and tonic and allowed his eyes to rest on the stewardess’s behind as she swayed through the cabin. There were times when playing the part of a junior aristocrat was far too easy.
    A dull rumble ran through the craft as the engines pushed it down towards the landing field, far below. Jack had to smile at the nervous expressions on some of his fellow passengers, the ones who had never flown by airship, but preferred the thought of flying to spending hours on a leaky boat and then a railway trip to London. The direct flight from Paris to London only took around three hours and the food was extremely good. It should have been, given what he’d paid for his ticket. The vast majority of London’s inhabitants would be lucky if they could have afforded a trip to Blackpool or Dover, let alone a visit to France.
    London grew closer as the airship settled to the ground. Darkened blurs became buildings, the new high-rise tenements built by the city corporation to house the influx of labourers from the country. The development of farming technology might have made it easier to raise crops and feed the animals, but it had pushed many thousands of farmers off the land. They ended up travelling to London or one of the other cities, looking for employment and a better life. Others went to the Americas, or Australia, or even the growing settlement in South Africa. Few found a better life.
    The hatch opened, allowing the air of London to slip into the airship. After Paris, it was always a shock to smell London. The stench of industry hung in the air, mocking the puny humans who had to breathe the stuff every day. People got used to it quickly, Jack knew, but it was yet another reminder of how the world had changed over the last three decades. Airships, railways and farming machinery had changed Britain forever. And, as always, it was the poor who bore the brunt of the suffering imposed by the changes, for was there not pain in birth? The price of the brave new world was paid by its people.
    He followed the other passengers out of the airship and onto the landing field. It had expanded since the last time he’d visited London, with several new airship hangers and more hackney cabs waiting for the wealthier passengers. There was no security worthy of the name, but that wasn’t a surprise. Anyone who could afford the price of an airship ticket, the secret service had reasoned, wouldn’t be interested in overthrowing the established order. There was far more security on the docks, where poorer folk from Europe came in hopes of finding a land of milk and honey. They had been sadly deceived.
    Jack waved to a cabbie and the man brought his horses over to meet him. “The Bainbridge Hotel,” Jack said, as he pulled himself into the cab. The horses neighed as their owner cracked the whip. London’s cabbies competed ruthlessly for passengers, knowing that a wealthy passenger might tip them enough to allow them to feed their families better food. “And don’t spare the whip.”
    He settled back into his seat as the carriage cantered away from the airship field, into Greater London. London had changed in some ways since he’d last visited; the glowing streetlight network had expanded and a handful of automobiles could be seen on the streets. They said that one day everyone in England would own an automobile, but Jack had his doubts. The best the industrial geniuses had been able to produce were cranky, prone to breaking down and incredibly expensive to run. Horses were far more reliable, even if they did have a habit of leaving their waste on the cobblestones. It was easier to pay the poor to clean the streets than it was to iron the bugs out of the automobiles.
    London had its rich areas and its