The Steam Mole (28 page)

“Horse riding,” grimaced Clara. “It's for nothing I'll tell you, Linda, a riding school hack in a paddock in Ireland two years ago is no training for Australia. I didn't realize it until we slowed down. I don't think I'll be able to stand tomorrow, let alone walk.”

“Oh. I thought, well, I thought it might be something serious. Look, come quickly. Your mother is here.”

“What? Where?” Clara wasn't too sore to try running, and neither was her father. He virtually carried both of them along.

The two of them dropped to their knees next to Mary.

“What's wrong? Is this the coma she was in?” demanded her father. “Dear God, Mary.” He touched her face as you might the most fragile piece of porcelain in the world.

“No,” said Lieutenant Willis, who had come up, too. “Concussion, I hope. She was awake a little earlier. A bit confused. She's not to move.”

As if ordered, Mary Calland opened her eyes and blinked. “My glasses.”

“There love. You don't need them right now. Lie still. We're here. You'll be fine.”

Clara's mother tried really hard to sit up and was held firmly down.

“You're not to move, Mother,” said Clara.

“Being dead really is a better place,” said her mother dreamily. “Or am I just dying? I'm still sore, so I'm just dying. I thought I heard my Jack, and my baby.”

“If you're going to call me a baby, I'll go and get lost again,” said Clara fiercely, holding her hand. “You're not dying. You can't die. I've brought Daddy back to you.”

“Just what hurts?” asked her father, calm and caring.

“My head. And my hand. Is…is that really you Jack-love?”

“It is indeed. Our girl found me and brought me to you.”

“Clara. Little Tim. I'm so sorry…”

“Tim's fine, Mother. Actually, I think he found Daddy.”

“T'was a group effort, I think,” said her father. “Now lie still. Everything is fine.”

Tim saluted Captain Malkis. “I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, sir, no matter what kind of trouble I'm in.”

“I can't tell you how glad we are to see you, too, Barnabas. I'd half convinced myself they'd killed you. I gather your death was a bit exaggerated.”

“Only just, sir. It was touch and go that my own stupidity killed me. But we have found him, sir.”

The captain tugged his beard in the way Tim knew meant he was laughing. “And who have you found for us, Tim?”

“Clara's father, sir. We found him, a prisoner, and Lampy…uh, an aboriginal boy, sir. He'd be great on the crew. Um, the prisoner is quite injured, sir. He's lying in the steam mole. Maybe Lieutenant Willis could have a look at him?”

The captain nodded. “Of course. Is it possible to move him or should he see him there?”

“Well, moving him hurt him, and I think we'll just have to keep him there, sir, if we're going to take him anywhere. He can't ride. Mind you, I don't know what we'll do with transporting all these people. You don't have water, do you?”

The captain turned to one of the other submariners. “Nichol, will you ask the lieutenant to come to the steam mole, please?” He put a hand on Tim's shoulder and began walking them back to the steam mole. “I am a little sore from our crash. Now, tell me all of it, Barnabas, because I am the captain, and if there is any reason you might be in trouble, I need to get you out of it. When did Miss Calland find you?”

“Yesterday morning, sir. I was found by some aboriginals, and they were found by Clara. She saw their fire.”

They'd arrived at the steam mole, where Lampy sat on the step, looking wary. “Ah,” said Captain Malkis. “This must be one of the gentlemen who rescued you.” He reached up, offering his hand. “Thank you for looking after him. Tim is a valuable member of my crew, and I'm very grateful.”

Lampy looked confused, but he took the extended hand and shook it. “Not me, Mister. I didn't have nothing to do with it.”

“That wasn't Lampy. He's the one who escaped with Mr. Calland.”

“Oh. Well, I am still pleased to meet you. I see you're injured, too. Lieutenant Willis is our medical officer from the boat. He's not a doctor, but he has some experience.”

“He's good at it,” said Tim. “Let him have a look, Lampy. He's coming to see McLoughlin.”

Lampy jerked a thumb back into the cab. “He's out of it. Doesn't know where he is, Tim-o.”

“Cookie calls me that,” said Tim, grinning. “Is he here, sir? I've missed his food.”

Lieutenant Willis arrived as the captain shook his head. “We couldn't bring everyone, Barnabas. For which I am grateful. You bring up a good point about water for thirty-four people.”

“I think you need to go and talk to Jack Calland, Captain,” said the lieutenant. “He was telling the copilot about the troop build-up the British Imperial forces have in the desert. Calland is of the opinion they're getting ready for something soon.”

“Yeah,” said Lampy laconically. “Those jokers are up to something.”

“That's what the aboriginals who found me said, too,” said Tim. “They said there was a big army camp and a railway about three days walk away. Mind you, that's their walk, not mine, but it's quite close, really. And the Westralians back at the power station didn't know anything about them. Someone said there weren't even any people closer than this side of the dividing range, you know where the rivers either flow back to the east coast or into the desert. Well, Clara's letter, the one she got from her father, was from near Winton. Which is this side, a long way, from what Lampy says, and the railway the prisoners were working on…that's still further west.”

Captain Malkis turned to Lampy. “How good are you at judging distance, young man?”

“Reckon I know 'bout how long it takes to walk a mile,” said Lampy with a sketch of a grin. “We be maybe a hundred mile at most from the railway. An' that maybe…three hundred mile from the dividing range. That's where you find a few whitefellers again.”

The captain looked thoughtful. “Surely the Westralian authorities know all about this. I mean, if the aboriginals do…surely they'll tell them?”

“The people won't go tell 'em,” said Lampy, scornfully. “That's these Westralian blokes' problem. Make no difference to us, see.”

The captain nodded slowly. “I had gathered there was something of an issue,” he said. “I think we need to go and talk to the copilot, and Mr. Calland. No wonder they had airships out searching the desert. They really don't want this news getting back to Westralia.”

“Shows how stupid the Westralians have been,” said Tim.

“That, too. But we all do that. Some of us learn from it. Mr. Lampy, would you come with us to explain? By the looks of it Lieutenant Willis will be busy for a while.” The captain mopped his brow. “Phew, it is hot. I thought we might use the flying wing for shade, but that's probably fairly risky if there are going to be other airships.”

“It's Mr. Green, Captain. And he's got an injured foot,” said Tim.

“My ma called me Lampy. Everyone does.”

Lieutenant Willis raised his head from cutting aside the dressing. “I'll need hot water. What happened to this man?”

“Lampy speared him,” said Tim, unthinking. It was only when he'd said it, and saw Lampy's face, that he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

There was a moment's silence. “He tried to kill me. I stuck him with my spear,” said Lampy, his knuckles tightening on the rifle he held.

Lieutenant Willis didn't notice that. He just went on cutting carefully. “That explains it.”

“Um…I could use the mole to dig a shelter in that hillside, sir,” said Tim. “Make shade, and be safer from bombs. The airship bombed us, but we were underground and that seemed to protect us.”

“That would be a good idea. And if you drive it past the lieutenant's makeshift hospital, we can speak to the rest and maybe move those who can't walk. Can you operate the machine safely enough to stop there?” asked the captain.

“Oh, yes, sir. But Clara is a much better driver, sir.”

“You would say so, Barnabas. If you can let us up, Mr. Green, and the lieutenant can let us have the time it takes? How long will it take, Barnabas?”

“She's still warm, sir. Let me just see the pressure. Ah. Two or three minutes, sir.”

Lampy had expected trouble, real trouble, when they saw he was still holding the rifle. But they didn't even seem to notice. It was, he supposed, because they were Tim's people. He hadn't really quite understood all of what Tim had told him, but their accent was different from Australian whitefellers. So was Jack's to theirs. It was good that Jack had his family. Odd that Lampy felt a little left out about it.

Then he'd gone and told them he'd speared the soldier. He'd expected…he didn't even know why he'd admitted it, except that Tim had already told them. And they had acted like he'd said he had tea that morning.

Tim was busy getting the steam mole going, and the lieutenant was carefully cleaning and prodding the groaning soldier. And the captain said, “So, tell me about these soldiers. Can you describe their headgear?”

He didn't seem to care that a blackfeller had stuck a whitefeller with a spear. “Shakos. And black little hats with a pom-pom and little tassels, and checked ribbon, and big floppy green berets.”

“Hussars, Lowland Dragoons, and Inniskillen Fusiliers,” said the captain. “Some of the British Empire's finest troops.”

“He said he was a sapper,” said Lampy. The words came out in a rush. “I'm sorry I speared him. But he was shooting. He would have killed Jack or me, otherwise.”

The captain patted his shoulder. “There are times when we have to do these things, boy. I can see it upsets you, but it wasn't as if you set out to murder someone. You did what had to be done. We'll look after him as best as possible.”

The man didn't understand at all. And yet…the way he didn't understand was important. Lampy began to see why Tim was so lit up when he talked about the ‘
Cuttlefish
crew,' they were pretty good.

The mole trundled over to the lieutenant's makeshift hospital, Tim driving carefully. Lampy could see that he really wanted to show this captain how good he was. They pulled up, and the captain said, “After you, Mr. Green. You have a sore foot.”

So they got down from the mole, Tim last, as he was shutting things down. There was Jack sitting with a woman who was as blond as his daughter, lying with her head on his knee. All three of them looked as if they'd still be smiling next week.

“Lampy!” said Jack. “Come here, will you? Mary is not to get up, and I'm doing pillow duty.”

So Lampy did, feeling very awkward.

“Mary. This is the lad I was telling you about. Without him I would never have got here. Never crossed the desert, never managed to break out in the first place. I must tell you about what he did on that train!”

She beckoned to him. “They won't let me get up.”

He squatted down next to them. And she sat up and put her arms around him. “You're supposed to lie down,” said Jack, as Lampy tried to stay upright, too. “Here, Mary, lie down for heaven's sake.”

“I owe you more gratitude than I can ever repay,” said Jack's missus. She had one of those posh voices, like the nun who had
taught him back at the mission school, and that made Lampy feel a little odder than being hugged and thanked did, and that was strange enough.

“'S nothing, ma'am. But you lie down see.”

She did, but held onto his hand. “Jack tells me you're an orphan, and very worried about Westralia. Well, you brought my family to me. We're your family now. And if anyone, just anyone, dares to raise a finger to you, they'll have us to deal with.”

Lampy swallowed, shook his head, not quite knowing how to deal with this. “I'll be right, see. I got some cousins down near Jericho. I reckon Jack can spare me some horses now. They ain't going to catch me.”