Cuttlefish (22 page)

“What's happened?” asked Tim, trying to be rational, not angry and afraid for Clara. He was not succeeding too well.

Obviously the lieutenant understood. He put a hand on Tim's shoulder. “Cool down, son. Let the old man tell you. But basically Ambrose and Nicholl found a wireless transmitter in the mate's cabin. There's a small life raft missing. The mate ordered the deck watch in. He said the sub was going to dive.”

Tim let the breath hiss between his teeth. “It was in the little shellacked desk of his, wasn't it? It was always locked. Not like Ambrose, who left the key in the lock either.”

Lieutenant Willis nodded. “Nicholl broke it open.”

“I should have done that,” said Tim savagely, beating himself up for what he could not undo. “What worse could have happened to me?”

They arrived at the crowded little bridge. The submarine was under way, submerged, with a rating peering through the periscope.

Out of habit Tim saluted the captain. He didn't have to anymore. He wasn't part of the crew, after all. The captain, however, saluted him. “Barnabas,” he said. “I owe you an apology. We have found the wireless transmitter in Werner's cabin. I should have listened to you, boy. I should have listened to my instincts too. I didn't think you were a thief, which is why I was so angry and disappointed when Lieutenant Ambrose caught you.”

Tim swallowed. “I didn't want to believe Clara when she said that the mate thought you were the traitor either, sir.”

“What?” The Captain shook his head incredulously.

“Only she said you were so busy denying the obvious that you had to be, see. But I didn't think it was possible. I didn't want to believe it. But it looked like it, didn't it? I told you there was a spy with inside information, and you told me there couldn't be, even though it was as plain as the nose on your face. You'd rather believe what you wanted to believe than me.” Tim knew this was a pointless fight. But he was still wanting to have it, to say it.

“Tim-boy,” said Lieutenant Willis. “How do you know what Miss Calland thought about this?” He turned to the captain. “Sir, with your permission, I'd like to ask Barnabas to give us the whole story. And I think it's only fair to ask that nothing further be held against him.”

The captain nodded. “I think he's been punished enough. And he did say there was a spy aboard, and Miss Calland did try and tell me about the wireless transmissions. All truths, I am afraid. Please tell what you can, Barnabas. We need to try and get Miss Calland back.”

That took the wind right out of Tim's sails. Because getting her back was the most important thing. “Um. Sir, fair enough, I was searching Lieutenant Ambrose's gear for the transmitter. But I wasn't stealing anything. I swear I never took anything.”

“For which you deserved a clip around the ear, because I bet you searched mine too,” said Lieutenant Willis cheerfully.

Tim nodded. “Yessir. I'd searched every room I cleaned. But not the captain's, sir. Or in the mate's locked desk. But he still had the knife that I found in the brig…after we had those Winged Hussars there.”

They looked at him in puzzlement. “He said he was going to tell you, sir. Told me not to tell anyone else. He told Clara not to tell anyone else about the wireless signal too.”

“But she told you? How?” asked Lieutenant Ambrose, picking up on the details. He was good at that.

Tim took a deep breath, told himself that he'd been wrong, and it hadn't been Lieutenant Ambrose, and there was no point in not answering his questions, and Clara could hardly get in more trouble. “Um. The electrical workshop is next to the brig. They share a drain to the bilges, sir. She came and talked to me most days. Kept me sane, sir. So she told me about the mate.…”

“Captain, Sir,” interrupted the man on the periscope. “There is something flashing up the mountainside in the jungle. Looks like it might be someone trying to do SOS.

Clara found the world going up and down. And upside down. And her head hurt and she was going to be sick.

She tried to put her hands to her head and discovered that she could not move them. So she was sick anyway.

She found herself dumped onto the ground to finish throwing up.

After her breakfast had joined the jungle leaf-mould, she managed to look at just who had dropped her off his shoulder onto the wet ground. It was not someone she knew. Not someone from the boat, but a suntanned man with a pockmarked face. Behind him stood the mate, and another man. “Finished?” asked the pockmarked man, unsympathetically.

Clara nodded, feeling too drained to do more.

“Good. You can walk, then. Cut her feet loose, Disco, and tie the rope onto her. We don't want her running away.”

The third man did, and they walked on, upwards. It was hot, and Clara still felt terrible. The trail was steep, and rather overgrown. The man called Disco had to keep cutting bushes away. “Making an easy trail for them to follow,” grumbled the pockmarked man.

“They will not know where we went into this forest,” said the mate. “That is why we hide the life raft, ja. The HMS
Forrest
will be close by nightfall. They do not have time to search all of this jungle.”

“Besides, we could hold an army off from the pillbox, I suppose,” said Pockmarks.

Clara could only be relieved by their getting to the “pillbox.” Her mouth tasted dry and sour, and her head was whirling. It was an odd flat-roofed round building made of green concrete, dug into the side of the mountain, with narrow slits instead of windows.

And it stank. The smell hit them like a wave as the first man opened the door.

“Phew!” said the pockmarked man. “Did something die in there?”

Disco nodded. “Pig go die in there.”

“And you didn't clean it out, you lazy good-for-nothing!” he exclaimed crossly, cuffing Disco about the ear. “Well, get the wireless transmitter out, and put the girl in there. We can bar the door and stay out here under the trees in the old gun-emplacements. We can let the HMS
Forrest
know we've got the girl, and await instructions.”

D
uke Malcolm pointed at the map. “We missed our guess. We'd assumed that they'd make for Vanuatu, which is the normal coaling spot for their submarines heading for Wyndham in Western Australia. I know several vessels had been dispatched to the area. Now we have a message from our agent, saying they're going to American Samoa. It suggests that Captain Malkis was not making for Wyndham as we expected, but for one of the ports on the southern coast, via the Bass Strait. I do have an operative in place there, who reports on the shipping in and out of Pago Pago. Our agent on the submarine says he will be able to take the daughter as a hostage; he's tricked her into his confidence, and he will get her ashore. The question is, of course, just what naval support can you give us, Admiral? I've discussed this with Professor Browne, and he is of the opinion that this woman could, alive, give us a new monopoly position. Alive, if we can have her, or she must be dead before anyone else can be allowed to know what she has in her head.”

The admiral sucked breath through his teeth. “I'll have to check, Your Grace. There might be a gunboat or two at Port Solf in Prussian Samoa…but the Americans keep several cruisers and a destroyer stationed in Pago Pago. Lieutenant Corbett…”

“Sir,” said the aide. “I believe there is a Delphine-class armoured cruiser in Port Solf, undergoing repairs. The HMS
Forrest
. Shall I have the Marconi room make contact, and find out if she can put to sea?”

The admiral looked at Duke Malcolm, who nodded. The aide left at a run.

He returned a little later. “They say she should be ready to sail by midday tomorrow, Admiral. If they have their engineers work through the night.”

“Tell them to make that three hours earlier,” said Duke Malcolm.

The admiral shook his head. “That would have them arrive in daylight, Your Grace. The Delphine class are really obsolete. No match for American vessels. A night rendezvous off the North Coast would be more sensible. It doesn't sound like a combat situation, but more a case of needing secure transport. They can't even track the submarine, not being equipped with the radio-pulse detectors.”

“That is true enough. Let us make it so,” said Duke Malcolm. “I'll have my man in Prussian Samoa get himself aboard the vessel so we can relay my orders directly. Hopefully, finally, we can put this matter to rest. I've got enough problems with the Canadian rout on the West Coast, and the Caliche War hotting up. The Japanese are being far too pushy in Peru.”

T
he smell in the pillbox was enough to make Clara gag again. She staggered through the drifts of leaves and rubbish to the slit-window, where at least she could breathe air from outside. From the narrow window she could see the jungle slope and the sea—she had an excellent view of it, all the way along the coast from the narrow cliff-spit of an island. She took a deep breath and walked to the other long slit, and realised the pillbox perched on the top of a cliff on a narrow cape, allowing her to see into a second bay. She could just make out the edge of a corrugated iron roof, dazzling in the bright sunlight there. Most of it was hidden, though, by the branches of a tree and thick foliage.

She went back to the first window. The sea was clean and clear, transparent.

And unless she was very much mistaken that was a dark shape moving out there, in it, trailed by four other dark shapes. There was just a hint of haze over the water, behind it.

If only she could tell them where she was. And then the glare of the sun off the roof and the mate's lie about signals to the shore came back to her. If only she had a mirror.

She hadn't.

But in among the leaf litter, next to where the radio transmitter had been taken from, someone had dropped a piece of silver foil off a cigarette carton. And there was another next to the window and a piece of stump. And another beyond that, along with several crumpled cartons, and cigarette stubs. This was plainly their smoking spot.

Clara's hands were tied tightly together, but at least they had tied them in front of her, so she could fold the pieces of bright foil together, and shape them into a parabolic mirror and reach her hands out into the hot sunlight.

At first she just worked on flashes. Then she decided on SOS.

She had no idea if they would see it, or what they could do to help. She just went right on trying.

Finally something in the situation did make her smile. At least they couldn't blame Tim for any of this.

“If that is Miss Calland signalling, we should land some men at once. But would she know an SOS?” said the captain.

Tim nodded. “She said it was all the Morse code she did know, sir.”

The captain nodded. “Now that you mention that, I do think I remember her saying just that. Well, I'll need an armed party.…”

“It's likely they'll have some sort of lookout, sir,” interrupted Lieutenant Ambrose. They'd see us landing and move her.”

The captain tugged his neat beard. “We could land men in Vatia Bay. But that is visible from the settlement. Someone would be bound to go across to Pago Pago and tell the American military.”

“Also there is cliff and jungle that side,” said Lieutenant Willis. “We could swim some men in, sir. Just next to it's steep shelving. We could creep in just to landward of those cockscomb-shaped rocks—that little cliff-island. The charts show that as deep to within fifty feet of the shore.”

“I am receiving a message, Captain,” said Sparks. “It's the first mate.”

They all crowded around the Marconi man.

“He says to tell Dr. Calland that if she wants to see her daughter alive again, she needs to come ashore, alone,” said Sparks, listening.
“He says there is a small sheltered bay three-quarters of a mile from Vatia Point. He will meet her there in an hour. If she is followed, his associates will deal with the girl.”

“Somehow I'll have his guts for garters,” said Captain Malkis, grimly.

Sparks continued. “And we'd better be quick about it because half the Royal Navy is on its way here.”

“Can you get me there in time, Captain?” asked Clara's mother. “If…if you can take that trunk, my mother's trunk, to Westralia. Any competent team of chemists should be able to work out at least the basics of the process from there.”

“Easily, ma'am. We could do it ten times over,” said the captain. “I think you should go to your cabin and prepare as many notes as possible, in the time available, detailing your own thoughts. If you don't mind.” He gestured to the door of the bridge.

She nodded. “Thank you. Thank you all for everything.” She paused a moment. “And thank you especially, young man,” she said to Tim. “Clara told me you were no thief. She told me so again when she picked up the radio message. I should have believed her. I wish I had. I wish to heaven I had!”

Tim swallowed. “Uh.”

The captain put his finger to his lips before what Tim wanted to say could come out. “Go, Dr. Calland. We don't have that much time,” he said.

As she walked away, he kept his finger to his lips.

As soon as Tim heard her on the companionway, he burst out in a low voice, “We can't just let him get away with this, sir!”

The captain's eyes were narrowed. “I have no intention of doing so. I just wanted the child's mother out of the way. Ambrose, I want the drogues dropped with a buoy, now. I want both divers, ten strong swimmers, and weapons in waterproof containers ready in ten minutes, gentlemen. Report to the bridge. We'll go with your plan, Lieutenant Willis.”

“He's starting to repeat his message, Captain,” said Sparks. “Shall I acknowledge?”

“Ah. Let him repeat again. Then tell him we are east of Vatia Point. We will attempt to be there on time. He knows us too well to allow us to play for time. But this will give us a little.”

“Captain,” said the watchman on periscope duty. It was Albert, the other diver. “Pardon me, sir. But if we're to go out the escape hatch, well, good swimmers won't do. We need to stay underwater with the hookah. Big Eddie and I can do it. Nicholl has done a bit of diving too sir.…”

“And me,” said Tim.

Albert gave him a grin. “And him.”

Tim saw the captain's look of doubt. “I've earned my place, sir. And anyway you threw me out of the crew. I'd best get ashore,” he said with a little smile.

The humour of it was lost on the captain. “You have earned your place, Barnabas,” said Captain Malkis. “And of course I want you back as part of my crew. I was wrong, and I make good on my mistakes. But you also need to learn some respect, young man.”

“I never lost it for you, sir,” said Tim stoutly. “Not even in the brig. I wouldn't believe Clara about it maybe being you. You treated me decently. You'd decided to at least drop me in Australia. And I'll always be a part of the
Cuttlefish
crew, no matter if I'm not with her. She's my home, and you're my family.”

“I had not decided that,” said the captain. “Although Ambrose, Willis, and a few of the senior ratings and the chief engineer, the cook, and Mr. Amos all tried to prevail on me to do so. The mate is one of the few people who never mentioned the subject.”

“Oh. That was just another thing the Mate lied to Clara about,” said Tim. “He told Clara he'd got you to agree to it. Well, can I go, sir? I can swim with a hookah, and I can keep my head, sir. And I will follow orders. Please, sir?”

For the first time since he'd been caught ferreting in Lieutenant Ambrose's locker, Tim saw that hint of a smile on the captain's face. “I said you'd earned your place. I'm a man of my word. Get to Mr. Amos; fetch the gear you need, Barnabas. We shall get the feelers out and edge this boat as close inshore as possible. Lieutenants. Diver Venables. I need to speak with you.”

Tim ran as fast as his legs would carry him. And he was back on the bridge in the allotted time. Someone motioned him to silence. The skipper was edging the submarine forward very slowly, which was always difficult because they lost steerage at low speeds. There was a faint scrape and a touch.

“We are forty feet below the surface. Just to the lee of a very large rock. Fortunately with the swell from the present direction, Vatia Point shelters us almost completely. Now I calculate we are within seventy feet of the shore. Lieutenant Willis will be leading the shore party. Divers Venables and Markis will take the men in, as you will have to share mouthpieces. You will need to keep calm. The revolvers will be sent to the surface in the waterproof buoy and be pulled ashore. Good luck, men,” said the captain. He smiled. “And I am quite angry with my officers for refusing to allow me to lead this expedition.”

“The
Cuttlefish
needs you, sir. We don't have Werner anymore, and neither Willis nor I have the experience,” said Lieutenant Ambrose. “Although I wish you'd let me go instead of him, sir.”

“He has militia experience, Lieutenant Ambrose. Right. Time is a-wasting. The engineer's men have some rough weight-belts of heavy chain waiting for you at the escape hatch.”

There was barely room to breathe with four of them squashed into the escape hatch. The water was actually pleasant, as it flooded in on them. “Right. You both know to breathe out as you head up, if you have to swim up,” said Albert.

Tim had been buddied to share a hookah mouthpiece with Big Eddie, and he was glad of it. Eddie was grinning. “I suppose my jackknife is still in your pocket, sprog.”

“I found it in your locker. Didn't know you wanted it,” said Tim, innocently, grinning too, as the seawater poured in.

“Salt water'll ruin it.”

“Yeah. Not as bad as it'll do to the chocolate,” said Tim. And then the water was up to their heads, and soon they were out and heading for the shore. It took huge self-control to take a breath of air from the hookah, and take the mouthpiece out and hand it back. But he did it, and they swam on, swapping the hookah mouthpiece. Soon Big Eddie gave him the rope to the watertight drum with the guns, and pointed at the surface. There was a huge rock edge there. Tim started to swim up. Realised he wasn't managing to go up. Nearly panicked. It was the weight-belt of heavy chain. He fumbled desperately at it. Not enough air! He was going to drown.

And Big Eddie pushed the mouthpiece back to him. Pulled him down as he took a greedy breath, and undid the chain. Now swimming up was easy. Tim breathed out as he went up, as he'd been told, and broke water gasping. He'd popped up among the seaweed and the foam fringe around the rock. Lieutenant Willis was out already. He hauled Tim up the barnacle-covered rock into a little gully…and Tim realised he'd let go of the rope, when he'd struggled with the chain around his waist. The rope end was floating on the surface in the swell. Tim jumped back into the sea again and swam a few yards to grab it before the current took it away. Tucked beneath the cliff edge it was unlikely they'd be seen, even on the surface, Tim rationalised, feeling stupid for letting go of it. They needed those weapons.

This time the lieutenant scraped half the skin off Tim's leg, hauling him out over the barnacles. “Chump,” he said, shaking his head with a half a smile.

“Yessir,” said Tim. “But I shouldn't have let go.”

They hauled on the rope together, pulling it in. The lieutenant cracked the cask open, and checked the weapons. They were still dry.

Big Eddie and Albert brought the next two men ashore, Nicholl and Gordon.

“Captain's orders. We're not bringing more. No time,” said Albert, hauling himself up.

There were just six of them. How many did the ex-mate of the
Cuttlefish
have with him? He'd said he had “associates,” thought Tim.

The lieutenant issued weapons. “Move it up, lads. Time's a-wasting,” he said, leading them at a running scramble through the rocks under the cliff edge, and over to the fringe of jungle.

“Into that, sir?” asked Tim.

“Yes. Sharpish now. We'll be out of sight in there.” But it wasn't so easy. Creepers, ground-hugging trees, and thorny bushes fought for every last bit of space, and they had to try to get through them. It was like pushing into a thorny tide-race. As soon as anyone pushed forward, branches would snap back and hit the next person. They were springy and tangled with creeper. Cutting with a cutlass was slow, and noisy too. “You're making a racket,” commented Tim, worriedly.

“No other way of doing it,” said Albert, chopping at another branch.

“Enough,” said Lieutenant Willis. “We haven't got more than ten yards into the jungle, and this is taking too long. Back to the beach.”