The memoir of a man that lived through a tragedy.

  The following account comes to us from a memoir compiled by Gregory Faulkner, written by his te great-grandfather Henrik Faulkner (1830-1913), who ter became Professor of History here at the University of Bolletarn. He was an eyewitness of the tragic crash of the DC Echudeaux in Conabois. Largely written in 1895, the manuscript was ter rediscovered among the professor's personal effects by his descendant in 1948 and donated to the same university he had once taught at.

  Though the circumstances surrounding the crash were well documented, Faulkner’s personal account serves to illuminate the sapient experience behind the headlines. His memoir captures the raw reactions that gripped the crowd that day and provides a rare glimpse into the mind of a man who, as a historian, was always acutely aware of the intersection of the personal and the historical.

  Professor Leonard Rosdahl,Head of the Department of History, University of Bolletarn12 Ungerbruni 1953Transted into Kanish by Tucker Webb

  That year on a trip to Conabois in Vosennac to visit my sister, I found myself an unwitting witness to one of the greatest tragedies of our time. I arrived by boat after a week’s stay at Kemble as a particurly bad outbreak of measles had grounded our ship until all healthy passengers could be cleared and sent on their way while the sick was left to recover in isotion.

  The dey was irksome but a pleasant enough one as Kemble was one the few northern cities I had not the pleasure of visiting. But eventually, I boarded another vessel to complete my journey to Conabois. My sister, Catherine, married a man named Aurelian Lefebvre seven years earlier and moved with him to his mother country following the death of his father, a casualty of old war wounds from the Civil War. With his passing, Aurelian inherited both the modest family estate and its textile business. He was a man of considerable means and ambition, though not always the sharpest intellect. Still, Catherine’s happiness seemed assured in his company, and I was eager to see her after two years of correspondence filled with little more than the drudgery of daily life.

  It was during this visit, while promenading with my sister on the third day of my stay that she informed me of the vehicle of the future tragedy, the DC Echudeaux, a cimed marvel of modern engineering that had been making regur journeys between Conabois and the eponymous capital for a little bit over a year.

  She was scheduled to make her departure on the afternoon of the very next day at the Grand Aérodrome du Roi étienne and Catherine was obstinate that I accompany her to witness the spectacle.

  "You simply must see it," said she with much enthusiasm.

  There was another reason she wished to attend: the Crown Prince of Vosennac, Philippe-Auguste had returned from his colonial inspection in Hangoa and was to be among the distinguished passengers aboard the vessel. It was a matter of great excitement in the industry, for the prince had long been an advocate of aeronautical progress, and his presence aboard the Echudeaux would no doubt be a gesture of confidence in the future of air travel.

  You must remember, that the idea of air travel without dragon was still a novel and indecisive form of industry at the time. "Bigger is better," the engineers procimed, yet the bance of weight, lift, and hydrogen remained an ever-precarious equation. Many still pced their trust in the great winged beasts that had carried our forebears across continents, while others saw the age of dragons waning before the relentless march of sapient ingenuity.

  Thus, I agreed to my sister’s invitation, if only to witness firsthand what so many hailed as the harbinger of a new era.

  We left the Lefebvre estate at twelve o'clock sharp the next day after a small luncheon. The carriage ride was uneventful.

  At one point, I asked Catherine why her husband had abstained from accompanying us.

  “Aurelian has business today,” said she, not sounding particurly disappointed. “But I suspect he would not have been much impressed by the spectacle anyway. He finds all these things a bit too extravagant for his taste.”

  “He is either, then, very sensible or very dull.” jested I.

  Catherine gave me a warning look though her lips twitched upwards.

  As we approached the aerodrome, the sheer size of the Echudeaux became apparent. She was a floating fortress. The vast structure hung in the sky, anchored by its noses to a mooring mast and roped at its rear by cables. Her two towering gasbags floated side-by-side. They were dark grey and must have been nearly entire city blocks long, tethered to a gondo beneath like infted organs. The gondo itself was massive in its own right, like a giant tube. It was reinforced with metal struts, its windows gleamed like the eyes of an insect, two propellers were mounted on its sides, one at its rear. She looked, at once, both majestic and unnervingly fragile.

  It was half-past twelve when we arrived. The viewing ptform was situated some fifty yards or so from the mooring mast. I still recall quite vividly, the size of the crowd that had gathered to witness the departure. There were the gentlemen, the dies in their fine dresses, the children on their father's shoulders, workmen, enterprising hucksters.

  Catherine had her parasol with her, as the scorching Ungerbruni sun beat down upon us. I shall make a point to emphasise the heat and cloudlessness of that day, it was not unbearable, as any shade was a welcome relief, but its effects on the airship were undoubtedly there. With hindsight, the dirigible should not have been allowed to ascend, as the unique curve of the windows in the gondo would refract the sunlight and cause intense burn within, much like the effects of a magnifying gss on a dry patch of grass. But such was the nature of the age, eager optimism overrode any misgivings that might be raised.

  The boarding process began in earnest after a minute or so after our arrival. The non-royal passengers were ushered aboard first like a column of ants. Many were well-dressed. Most had their luggage borne by porters in blue uniforms.

  Catherine pointed out a certain Monsieur Lemoine as he stepped from mast to ship, a figure of some notoriety in Voseni society, though what exactly made him so, I did not recall, nor do I care to remember. How she was able to distinguish him from such distance, I shall never understand.

  I realise I have neglected to mention the manner in which such a ship was boarded. The boarding process was, at best, a chaotic and hasty affair. Unlike methods of boarding vessels of the marine variety with their neat stairs or ramps, the passengers of the Echudeaux were required to first ascend the mooring itself, thereby reaching the same altitude as the ship's gondo. Once there, a gangpnk was stretched across the gap, leading from mast to gondo. Though the pnk was railed, the fierce gale at such a height would have made the passage far from a pleasant experience. I recall, with a sense of unease, watching the men and women, some more hesitant than others, as they traversed the precarious span.

  Soon thereafter, the Crown Prince and his small entourage arrived to much fanfaronade. The most distinguished moment from this scene was when Prince Philippe-Auguste, at the top of the mast where the gangpnk met the gondo, turned back for a moment and waved to the crowd with a broad smile, rousing a cheer from the gathered onlookers.

  “We ought to take a voyage upon it in the near future,” said my sister after a time. “Aurelian has been considering a trip to the capital, and a ship such as this would make it much quicker.”

  The idea of aerostatic travel admittedly promises a revolution in the way people would move across vast distances, notably as the crow flies. One could not deny the allure of it, even if the cost remained prohibitively high for most and the safety of such ventures was still a subject of fierce debate.

  Still, “I believe I shall prefer the train in the present,” remarked I. “One feels more grounded in it.”

  She gave a small ugh. “You are thirty-three going on sixty-six. I imagine within our lifetime, or our children's lifetime, such ships will be as common as cabs, and no one shall think twice about stepping aboard one.”

  We did not have the chance to discuss the matter further, for the great airship let out a resounding horn. She was departing.

  The mooring lines were untied in swift succession, and the Echudeaux began to rise, free of its earthly bonds.

  The propellers whirred and the gondo tilted gently south. At the time, I refused to acknowledge the awe I felt as the massive airship, with her colossal gasbags swelling in the wind, began to float away from us. But now, I fully confess after witnessing the spectacle of its ascent, I truly believed that such technology was indeed the future.

  But as the airship climbed higher and began to shrink in the distance, a faint bck trail began to snake from the rear side of the gondo.

  "Smoke!" bellowed someone behind, and much commotion ensued among the spectators.

  At the outset, I repudiated the sight before me. Surely it was but some exhaust, a byproduct of the engines warming to their task. But within moments, the dark wisp thickened into a billowing column.

  Catherine, though she will ter vehemently deny it, grasped my arm with such force that I feared she might bruise me.

  Her rear propeller suddenly ceased its turn upon my notice, and the airship, with a dreadful grace, began to tilt eastward, driven by the prevailing winds, directly towards the very aerodrome from which she had just departed.

  I knew immediately that we must make our escape before the crowd descended into panic, for I feared the chaos that would ensue if a stampede of terrified onlookers were to break out.

  I informed my sister thus, and one look at her ashened face told me she understood the severity of the state of affairs. Without another word, we turned hastily, pressing our way through the mass of stunned onlookers.

  We reached the Pce du Roi étienne, the square which led to the aerodrome proper, just as a great roar shattered the air.

  We looked back towards the direction of the airship. The Echudeaux was falling, but not with the swift inevitability one might expect; rather it was a slow, twisting descent that wrapped its fccid, burning airbags around itself like a dying beast. Great plumes of fme were bursting from the gondo, and thick bck smoke swelled upwards, veiling nearly the whole of the ship's form in its dark shroud.

  I beheld with grim fascination as the immense airship descended, vanishing at st behind the principal aerodrome edifice, succeeded by a most unearthly crunch and a dreadful metallic groan. One could imagine this was what Saint Anne must have felt when her father's vessel was torn asunder by Ypogeiosies.

  Then came another explosion. From our position, naught remained visible but a pilr of fire and smoke that unfurled heavenwards and stained the brilliant blue sky with its ghastly mark.

  “Gods help them,” murmured Catherine.

  There were folks hastening towards the site of the disaster, though I could not fathom what succour they hoped to render. The sirens were whistling. The air was heavy with the acrid stench of burning hydrogen, like rotten eggs, a smell I will associate with that day for the rest of my life.

  “We should return to the estate,” said I. “There is naught that we can do here.”

  Catherine did not object.

  I ter learned the full extent of the tragedy. Of its 82 occupants, 52 crewmen and 30 passengers, only 4 survived. Among the dead was the Crown Prince. Dozens of spectators were injured, 2 were trampled in the chaos after the explosions.

  This was neither the first nor the deadliest of airship disasters, and had it not been for the royal passenger aboard, word of it would likely have remained within Vosennac. The royal family, understandably enraged, swiftly demanded a thorough inquiry into the cause of the catastrophe. King Victor IV issued a decree that all further airship flights be suspended until further notice. Specutions ran rampant among the public: some pointed to the Aroyans, others to the Anti-Monarchists, some to the Tanics.

  The official story was published a few months ter, by that time, I was back in Bolletarn and had resumed my studies. The findings of the inquiry attributed the disaster to a fire in the portside engine, which, once ignited, spread with arming swiftness to the gasbags above, consuming the vessel in an instant of ruinous fme. The verdict was pin: no treachery, no grand machination, or at least, I hope so, merely the frailty of mortal design and the inexorable consequence of misjudged ambition.

  An effort to convert to helium instead of hydrogen was proposed as a result, though the prohibitive cost and scarcity of the gas made such endeavours impractical until the discovery of rich helium deposits in Levamart in the '80s.

  In the immediate aftermath, I stayed in Conabois for another fortnight. The newspapers were relentless in their coverage. Each issue was filled with lurid illustrations of the wreckage, exaggerated accounts from supposed eyewitnesses, and sorrowful profiles of the prominent dead.

  Catherine too was shaken deeply, I suspect, though she remained remarkably composed throughout the rest of my visit. We spoke little of the tragic event.