The Steam Mole (11 page)

“Can we go west?”

Young Lampy scowled again. “Hard country, that. Can take you west a bit, if you want to go that way. They not going to look west till they finish looking east. Then they find the tracks. Give us a few days maybe. But I ain't going near them Westralians. They're a bad lot. Shot me uncle.”

“I wouldn't go either if it wasn't for my wife and my child,” said Jack. If it wasn't for them, he'd be trying to get back to Ireland.

“Fambly come first,” agreed Lampy, who was barely more than a boy himself in Jack's eyes. “I c'n understand that. Let's move along. We don' want to be this close when they turn the dogs loose. They'll smell us anyway, even if they can't smell our trail.”

Jack hadn't thought of that. How far did the smell of human carry on the desert wind?

He walked faster. Jack had always thought himself a strong walker. But soon he realized that he was a toddler compared to this aboriginal boy, who walked easily barefoot where Jack struggled in his wet sandals. The cloaking rain was slacking off, and already the heat began to bake through it. The land streamed with water, but soon it would be steaming and humid, then hot and dry again. Jack wondered if the search was underway yet. The guards made sure the prisoners saw the big hunting dogs they kept. They didn't want to encourage escape, but Jack wondered just how effective they could be.

Well, Lampy obviously thought they were a real danger, and he ought to know.

For Dr. Mary Calland the turning point had come when she swam into a sort of dizzy consciousness just as the doctor was there on his rounds. In her giddy eye he'd looked…less than pleased to see her looking back at him. “I thought I was to be called if she regained consciousness,” he said to the sister.

That crisp woman in whites and a mask looked down her nose at him. “I've had one of the nurses sitting watching her for the entire time, doctor. This is the first time she's opened her eyes, or done more than moan. How are you feeling, Mrs. Calland?”

Mary Calland's mouth was very dry “'ater, 'ease,” she said.

The sister lifted her and held a tumbler to her lips with gloved hands, smiling encouragingly. “Just a little, now.”

Mary sipped. “What's wrong with me?” she asked, feeling as if the answer should be “everything.”

“We're not sure, Mrs. Calland,” said the sister. “Some tropical illness. We're keeping you in quarantine, although no other cases have been reported.”

Mary could remember now. Pills, and feeling worse.

“Well, obviously the medication is beginning to work,” said the doctor. “See that she continues with them, Sister. Immediately. She's missed several doses.”

“Yes, Doctor.” The sister nodded.

A few minutes later the sister arrived with the tablets. Four instead of the usual two. “The doctor said to double the dose. It's all we've got, but he said he'd bring more in the morning.”

“What is it?”

The sister shrugged. “I don't know. Dr. Foster had them made up for you.”

Mary took them with a very welcome drink of water, the sister supporting her trembling hand. She knew she shouldn't drink so much water, but she was so thirsty. And a minute later she paid for it by being sick.

The sister looked at the result. By the wrinkled eyes above the mask, she pulled a face. “I'll have to try to reach Dr. Foster.”

A little later a young doctor showed up, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I'm afraid we can't find Dr. Foster. If you don't mind, I'd like to examine you.”

Mary, despite having thrown up, was actually feeling a little better. She put up with the prodding quite well.

“The rash you had seems to have gone, and while your liver is enlarged and tender, and your pulse is a little fast, you seem to be doing better than the charts indicated. I'm afraid there is no proper entry of what the medication was that Dr. Foster prescribed. I believe the hospital has sent runners to look for him. In the meanwhile, we'll keep you under observation.”

Mary was glad enough to rest. But she didn't sleep. And now that her mind was less cloudy, she was recapturing how she'd got here. Dinner with several officials and scientists…and then, just after the tea tray had been brought in, feeling unwell. Fortunately, one of the Republic's leading physicians, Dr. Foster, had been there…and then it got murky. She did remember something about quarantine.

“How long have I been here?” she asked the nurse watching her.

“Two weeks. You've been unconscious for nearly four days.”

“My daughter…can you let her know I'm conscious?” asked Mary. Clara must be beside herself with worry.

The young woman hesitated. “I'll speak to Sister Beatrice.”

“She'll be worried stiff. Please, I'm sure she won't mind being
awakened. And I know I was sick but I am dreadfully thirsty. Can I have some more to drink? I think I just drank too fast.”

“I'll ask Sister Beatrice, Mrs. Calland,” said the nurse, getting up.

“It's
Doctor
Calland.”

“You're a doctor?” she asked, as if a woman couldn't possibly be. Mary had found Westralia was odd like that in some ways. Free of the Empire, technologically ahead…socially very conservative.

“Of chemistry, not medicine.”

Mary got her drink of water. She took it very slowly, it stayed down, and she felt considerably better. The sister took it on herself to offer her patient a little custard. And that, too, eaten very cautiously, stayed down and seemed to give her a little strength.

A little later Mary had a visitor. Without a mask or a cap, but with a very worried expression, she recognized him: a major figure in their government, the minister for science and agriculture. Maxwell Darlington was a mine engineer who had originally built the desalination plants. The man who had escorted her to that dinner.

“Dr. Calland, I am relieved to hear that you're doing somewhat better,” he said.

“So am I, Mr. Darlington. I wanted to at least send a message to my daughter Clara.”

Darlington bit his lip. “That's…rather what I've come to talk to you about, ma'am.”

“Don't say she got this disease, too. My God, is she…?” Mary thought she was going to faint, but still tried to get up.

Darlington put a strong hand on her and pushed her gently down onto the pillows. “She has not been sick. And, Ma'am, evidence is emerging that you may not have been either. You may have been poisoned.”

“What?”

“When you vomited up the pills you'd been given, the hospital attempted to call Dr. Foster. When they failed to find him, they put out a call to the Westralian Mounted Police. His gig was spotted at
a premises and two of our men went to ask him to attend to you. The one officer involved happens to be involved in counterespionage work. When they entered the premises, armed and in uniform, they caused, shall we say, some consternation. Foster and the individual he was closeted with did not know the officers were merely wanting him for an emergency call to the hospital. And the police officer recognized the man Foster was with as an Imperial agent. Shooting followed, ma'am. Foster won't be attending anymore patients.”

He drew a deep breath, then continued, “In the midst of all of this, I had received a call that you were awake and looking for your daughter. You see, while you were ill, my wife and I fostered her in our home with our own daughter.”

“That was very kind of you, Mr. Darlington.”

“It seemed the least I could do. But I have…more to tell you, ma'am. When I got the call, I attempted to contact Dr. Foster, too, to check on your condition before speaking to you. Which is why I got to hear about the death of Foster from the commissioner of the Westralian Mounted Police. Evidence of blackmail had emerged, and although Foster and the Imperial agent are dead, and one of ours wounded, we, um, began to suspect you had been poisoned. British Imperial spies have been very busy. And I'm afraid…please try and take this calmly, Dr. Calland, they may have kidnapped your daughter.”

Mary tried to stand up again. She nearly fell over, only to be caught by Darlington, who sat her down and handed her some water. She drank a little and calmed slightly, though her heart still hammered in her chest. “Tell me all of it.”

“There is no evidence to show that she's been hurt, and it is not easy to leave Westralia. We control the metal smuggling routes, which are how most people enter and leave Westralia. We don't mind them doing so, but the British do. So our side is well controlled. Other than that, we've been hunting night and day. I'm afraid I took the liberty of looking in your belongings, and hers—those she left behind. It appears she left of her own will. There was
a letter from Jack Calland—I believe he is her father? We think the girl was tricked into meeting an Imperial agent.”

Mary blinked. “Why? I mean…I was dying. Being poisoned by them.”

“Er. We don't know. Perhaps something of a delay, and the left hand not knowing what the right was doing? The letter from Jack Calland claimed to have been from a prison in Queensland.”

“Jack
is
in prison, but in Ireland. And we have a code…so that I can know that what he wrote was not forced out of him.”

“I will get it for you to look at, ma'am.”

“When did this happen?”

“Nearly three days ago. The day after you lapsed into unconsciousness.” Darlington pulled a face. “It's…actually more complicated, ma'am. You see, we're not absolutely sure she has been kidnapped. A bandbox of her possessions was recovered from a very bad area.”

Mary felt faint again. “Just tell me. Are you saying my daughter…”

Darlington shook his head awkwardly. “No. I'm saying we just don't know. Look, ma'am, generally speaking a girl or a woman out here is safer than anywhere else in the world. There are three men to every woman in Westralia, and the result has been, shall we say, a degree of chivalry you don't see much of in the Dominion. Touch a respectable woman against her will here, and you're likely to get lynched. Touch a young girl and you will be. Of course there are always exceptions, ma'am, but, well, it's not something we worry about a lot.” He grimaced. “Which is why when her bandbox was found it caused such consternation.”

Mary Calland clutched the brass headboard. “Go on.”

“The bandbox was found on Solitude Beach. It's a place the tramps and metho drinkers hang out. The police have been searching and questioning. They eventually got some answers out of a half-blackfeller called Hans. He's trouble, but he swears she dropped it when she ran away from him. Not even calling on some of the elders
from his tribe got him to change his story,” explained Maxwell Darlington.

Mary had warmed to him, slightly, after he'd broken the news to her. He didn't look like he'd slept much in the interim period either.

“I've been pushing for more effort from the Westralian Mounted Police, ma'am. And for the army to do some searches. But, well, they claim they're doing all they can. Getting labor in the Republic is a difficult job. Everyone is employing, mining companies and those who deal with them are awash with mineral money, they recruit everyone, and we're short of policemen as a result.”

“So does the money not flow into the coffers of the Republic? Surely they can hire more men and keep them?” demanded Mary.

Darlington shrugged. “A fair bit of the wealth does, yes. But no, ma'am, they're not going to pay troopers more. My own sector, science and agriculture, gets a far better share than the police do. Westralians don't have a lot of time for constituted authority. After all, when we were in trouble, it was taken over by the British Empire, and the police got their orders and mostly ran off on us. But we do need it sometimes.”

“If money is what it takes,” said Mary grimly, “then I will have to make them part with it. Mr. Darlington, I am sitting on a secret that is worth billions, that the British Empire wants to own, and suppress. I wanted to use it to help the people of the world to feed themselves. The Empire wants to keep their dominance over nitrates, as weapons of war. I want my daughter. If the Republic of Westralia wants the secret of ammonia synthesis—beyond the information I have already provided…”

“Professor Henderson and his team haven't got very far. The professor claims the work was invalidated by another great German chemist, Nernst.”

“The professor's brain is back in 1905, and his mathematics, and Nernst's, are wrong. I can make it work.”

“It would appear that the British Empire, or at least Duke Malcolm believes that, Dr. Calland. But we'll need to convince a few more people.”

“Are they people with a lot of money, Mr. Darlington? Westralia has some mining and rail magnates who would pay me very well. They'll see the value in this and be willing to back it. And I need that money in a hurry.”

He smiled a little, for the first time in that shattering interview. “I can see the value, too, ma'am. I have the agriculture portfolio, too. If there is one thing we need nearly as much as water, it's fertilizer. And the miners need explosives. I'm not without influence, ma'am. I'll burn all my bridges and ask the prime minister and the finance minister to an urgent meeting. They're both in Ceduna right now, busy with other business, but I think I can swing this. And I owe it to you and your daughter. She was in our care when it happened.”

“Clara, as I have learned, is never in anyone's care but her own,” sighed Mary Calland. “She's her own person. And in the meanwhile, if I could have her things—and mine? There may be some clue that I may read into them as to where she's gone. I would have thought she'd go to the
Cuttlefish
if there was trouble, or to young Tim Barnabas. But he's a sensible boy and would have brought her back, or talked to Captain Malkis, if not to me. I assume you have checked with Malkis?”

“I've spoken to him myself on the telephone to Roxby. He's attempting to get a leave of absence from the work he's taken on to help the search. A very honorable man, your Captain Malkis. Unfortunately, the mining work contracts are just not flexible. It's something the government is trying to legislate.”

“Work? Why is he at this Roxby place? I would have thought he was with the submarine?”

Darlington pulled a face. “It appears that the crew of the
Cuttlefish
have taken various jobs to pay for the repairs to the submarine. Someone from the Westralian government ought to have stepped in.”