What was left of Alice’s ship—her home—her way of making her living in the world—plunged to earth with a heartrending crash, and all that marked the grave of her captain’s hopes and dreams was the plume of black smoke rising slowly into the air.
22
“Do you think the captain of the vessel will ask permission of your father first, before he takes us aboard?”
Claire couldn’t help her anxiety—the spectre of Gerald Meriwether-Astor discovering their purpose and realizing that it would likely jeopardize all his plans hung over them all. Add to this the fact that she had been separated from the Mopsies and from Alice, and it was a wonder she could stand here so calmly on the stone pier, instead of snatching up the lightning rifle and plunging off to make sure they were all right.
“I don’t see why he would,” Gloria replied, looking fresh as a daisy in a white linen walking suit trimmed in royal-blue grosgrain ribbon. “My message simply said that Father wished me to come aboard Neptune’s Fancy until the acqua alta has receded. I did not actually mention the two of you, but it is not likely anyone will question that, either. I go about frequently with large parties, though …” Her tone turned pensive. “I cannot really say that any of them are friends.”
“Well, we are,” Andrew said in bracing tones. “No matter what happens, we are here for you as you have been for us.”
Gloria’s face softened and Claire squeezed Andrew’s arm in thanks for saying exactly the right thing.
They had settled up their bill at the hotel earlier, with an air of people taking a step from which there could be no return. Their trunks had gone to Athena with Tigg, Lizzie, and Claude. Her lightning rifle, sadly, was in Tigg’s possession as her second, and already she missed its comforting presence. At their feet, damp from the puddles on the pier caused by the ever higher lapping of the waves, sat their valises.
Claire imagined that Gloria’s actually contained a change of clothes and her brushes and combs, but hers and Andrew’s did not. They bulged instead with the rocket rucksacks, a glass breathing globe each, and a quantity of hose connected to a small engine.
“We will not have much time,” Andrew had cautioned her earlier as he divided the equipment between their two cases. “The rucksack will propel us into the depths, but not back again. The breathing engine will produce air for about fifteen minutes, if the monograph I read on its experiments is correct, so we must surface well before then.”
Fifteen minutes did not seem to Claire much time to locate their friends, free them, and swim back to Neptune’s Fancy, where Gloria would conveniently find them in the stern should anyone have noticed their absence and mounted a search in the meanwhile.
But it would have to be enough. With the dismal failure of Ian’s Plan A, they did not have a Plan C.
“Here they are,” Gloria said suddenly, and raised a gloved hand to point at the wavering shadow that had appeared thirty feet off the pier, under the water.
Claire watched in awe as the undersea zeppelin caused the surface of the sea to distend in a dome the size of a cottage, then break free of the water to rise above it, sheets of seawater cascading from its sides like the gleaming, moving walls of a mermaid’s castle.
When the viewing ports were clear, the vessel floated slowly to the pier. It was a good thing they were some six feet above the water, for it washed ahead of the sides of the vessel in a wave that crashed over the top, making them step hastily back.
Though why they should have done this when they were shortly to be as wet as it was possible for human beings to be was a puzzle. Instinct, Claire supposed.
A hatch lifted on the side of the vessel and a gangway tilted out and down. An officer in a neat blue uniform appeared and strode down it, removing his cap in the presence of his employer’s daughter. “Miss Meriwether-Astor, it is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Captain Barnaby Hayes.”
He quite reminded one of poor Captain Hollys, with his direct gaze and upright bearing. But he was somewhat younger, and Claire wondered if his ship had been caught in the debacle that was to have been the French invasion not so many weeks ago. She hoped not. He looked too nice to have been a misguided criminal.
“I am deeply grateful to you, Captain Hayes.” Gloria’s china-plate eyes had never been used to greater effect, and her hand lay in his like a confiding dove. “Father is concerned for my safety during the acqua alta, but I am concerned that looking after me is taking you away from your duties.”
“Not at all,” he said gallantly. “We are on standby awaiting orders. Nothing will give us more pleasure than to act as host to you … and your friends?” He turned to Claire and Andrew.
“Doctor Andrew Malvern,” Gloria said. Andrew shook hands and indicated Claire. “This is my fiancée, Lady Claire Trevelyan. Miss Meriwether-Astor has been kind enough to offer us refuge. It seems our hotel is rather unprepared for the water levels, and we made the mistake of hiring first-floor rooms.”
“Space is tight aboard ship—the Fancy, as you see, is not as large as many in the fleet—but we will find accommodations for you. Come along. Do watch your step.”
He guided Gloria across the gangway and waited as Claire crossed, then Andrew. A short ladder extended into the interior from the hatch, and he proved he was a gentleman by looking the other way when Claire and Gloria climbed down, both having to tuck their skirts into their belts in order to leave their hands free.
Andrew could not very well drop the valises down with the glass breathing globes inside, so he was forced to slip the handles of both bags over his arms and descend carefully without being able to see where he was putting his feet.
“Do leave your luggage here,” the captain said, showing Claire and Gloria into a cabin with two metal beds one above the other that had clearly been recently vacated and freshly made up. “Doctor Malvern, if you will follow me, I hope you will accept a cot in my cabin.” Andrew handed both valises to Claire and she stowed them under the lowermost bunk until they should be needed.
At length they were shown into a salon and introduced to the other officers. “Our journey back out into the Adriatic will take about two hours,” Captain Hayes said. “Please make yourselves comfortable next to a viewing port. We may be fortunate enough to see dolphins, or even a kraken.”
At Gloria’s gasp, he smiled. “Do not be alarmed. They feed on mollusks and fish, not dirigibles.”
“It is not that,” Gloria said. “Did not Father tell you? I should like to see the gearworks before we go.”
The smile on the captain’s face was replaced by confusion. “The gearworks? Under Venice? Whatever for?”
“I am afraid her enthusiasm for the sight is my fault,” Andrew said, smiling in his self-deprecating way. “I am deeply interested in their operation, and prevailed upon Miss Meriwether-Astor to include a look at them in our brief journey. I do hope this will not incommode you?”
“Well … Doctor Malvern … certainly not. We will be honored to assist in the process of scientific research.”
Claire felt almost ashamed to have to deceive the poor man, he looked so delighted to have his ship chosen for the privilege. But deceive him they must, and soon.
The captain gave orders to submerge, and the three of them stood next to a wide viewing port, the urgency of their mission eclipsed momentarily at the awe-inspiring sight of the water racing up the sides of the vessel and then closing over the bridge. They plunged into the green gloom of the lagoon, leaving the pier behind and sinking into the depths with a motion that could hardly be felt.
“There to port, ladies, you may see the arm of the gearworks that holds up Zattere and your hotel.”
Since this had been the location of the unfortunate convict’s untimely death, it was all Claire could do not to shudder and find somewhere else to look. “Is there any danger of the arms moving while we are down here?” she asked instead. “I should not like to think we might be hit.”
“The watch is on deck,” the captain said in
reassuring tones. “And the gears move so slowly that with our greater maneuverability, we shall be able to get out of the way in time.”
“I am happy to hear it,” Claire told him, hoping her eyes and warm smile were at least as effective as Gloria’s. “How is this vessel propelled? I have just graduated this summer with an engineering degree, you see, so the gearworks hold only part of my interest. Transportation was the focus of my studies.”
“Ah, then perhaps once you have seen the gearworks, our chief engineer might give you a tour of the engine room.”
“I should like that very much,” Claire said, hoping devoutly that she would return to take him up on this generous offer. “Thank you.”
“Suffice it to say that the Meriwether-Astor submersible steam engine is the power that enables us to cross entire oceans in comfort. The technology is such that our two steam engines put out twice the thrust of the original models.”
“And is the vessel armed against attack?” Claire asked.
“Oh yes. That is only practical in any transoceanic endeavor—though if the truth be told, the only thing we have fired upon so far is a rather large kraken who became enamored of the vessel and would not let go of it.”
“Dear me,” Gloria said, fanning herself with one gloved hand. “How terrifying.”
“Fortunately it clung to the stern, and the aft torpedoes—which carry an eighteen-pound charge—gave it a fatal stomach complaint. Have no fear, Miss Meriwether-Astor. We will let nothing keep you from a reunion with your father once the water levels in the city recede.”
Claire exchanged a glance with Andrew. He had theorized that the best way for them to leave the vessel undetected was through the hatch where either refuse or weapons were released. With a nod, he confirmed that the torpedo tubes would be their goal.
Neptune’s Fancy sank even lower, and lamps came on to illuminate their way through the gloom. The lagoon was much deeper than it appeared—though she had heard there were ancient channels scored in the seabed that had provided a defense for the early inhabitants. Only mariners aware of the channels could bring a ship close to the city. All others wrecked on the shoals.
“There.” Gloria pointed. “What is that?”
“You have a good eye. That is the base of the gearworks, my dear young lady,” the captain confirmed. “Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece—though I suppose few but the convicts have seen it.”
Glinting in the lamps of the dirigible, the base on which the gearworks depended was massive—so vast that the mind could hardly take it in. Buckingham Palace was not half so large, and how far into the distance did it extend? Part circular track, part clockwork, the incomprehensibly complex system of cogs and wheels and balancing weights moved slowly yet inexorably on its appointed rounds. Not even a typhoon could move it down here on the seabed—though Claire supposed an earthquake might.
Slowly, their own vessel dwarfed to inconsequence by even the smallest of the cogs, they began to circle the gearworks. While the captain and Andrew discussed the miracle of its operation after five hundred years, Claire peered through the gloom for any sign of a diving bell.
Then— “Captain, my goodness, what is that?” she asked, pointing.
He joined her at the glass and squinted. “That, Lady Claire, is a diving bell containing convicted men. You are familiar with the justice system in Venice.”
“I am, yes. Dear me. Are those … skeletons caught in the track? Might we go a little closer?”
“What do you hope to see?” His gaze was curious. Too curious.
She must not give them away, not when they were so close. “I do apologize. That must have sounded positively ghoulish. I am only interested in the propulsion in the diving bell. One would not imagine it to be so sophisticated as to be able to transport men down to these depths.”
“There your guess is as good as mine—and probably better,” he said gallantly. “This is my first visit to the gearworks, as well. All my knowledge heretofore has been the result of my own study. Let us go a little closer. Perhaps we might be able to satisfy our joint curiosity.”
With relief, Claire watched him cross the room to give the order to the helmsman, before her gaze was drawn back to the diving bell. Could this be the one in which Jake and Ian were working? How many were there, laboring so deep under the water where everywhere they looked they saw only hopeless imprisonment and the impossibility of rescue?
Slowly, the engines cut nearly to an idle, the Fancy drifted closer. In the powerful glow of its forward lamps, Claire could clearly see the moment when the men within realized that they were being observed. There were five, not including the campanaro, and three seemed to be occupied in an effort to extract an enormous bone from between a cog and its toothed track.
The other two were pressed to the glass sides of the bell, watching the approaching vessel.
One was tall, with dark hair and a wondering gaze. And the other was shorter—thin and wiry—with reddish hair plastered to his skull, as though he’d been sent out into the water with no breathing globe to reconnoiter whatever problem the bone was causing.
Relief and joy swamped her in a wave as strong as any the city’s piers had ever seen. With a moan, she slumped to the deck in a pool of skirts, one hand outflung in an unconscious plea.
“Claire!” Andrew leaped to her side and gathered her tenderly into his arms. Standing, with Claire’s skirts hanging nearly to the floor, he said to the captain, “The sight of those unfortunates has overcome her. I will take her to her cabin.”
“Let me help,” Gloria said. “She may need … feminine assistance.”
The bathynauts who had moved to help checked at this unforeseen prospect. “Of course,” the captain said, his tone worried. “We have no medic aboard, but I will send for one.”
“That will not be necessary,” Gloria said quickly. “Claire is of a delicate constitution and is prone to being overcome, particularly at such a grisly sight as this.”
The unconscious form in Andrew’s arms twitched slightly.
“We will prepare to join the fleet, then, in case one is needed.”
“I am sure she will come around as soon as I administer my smelling salts,” Gloria assured him. “I would like just a few moments more of taking in the gearworks. Please hold the vessel here until I return. I will only be a moment, until I am assured she is recovered.”
Andrew carried Claire down the arched passage to the room she and Gloria had been assigned, and as soon as the door closed behind them, tipped Claire onto her feet.
“Well done, both of you,” Claire said breathlessly, patting her hair. “Jake and Ian are in that bell, and we haven’t much time.” She began to unbutton her walking skirt.
“Claire!” Gloria whispered, raising scandalized brows. “You are removing your clothing in the presence of a gentleman!”
“Not all of it,” Claire assured her. “But we would have more room if you were to step outside and stand watch. I am sure you will have no trouble at all providing a distraction—especially if Captain Hayes should happen to come to check on me.”
“You’re a very convincing fainter,” Gloria told her, slipping out the door. Then she said through the crack, “You’ll have to show me how you do it sometime.”
Under her skirt Claire wore a pair of Alice’s trousers and her leather corselet and blouse. “Should I remove my boots?” she asked Andrew anxiously.
But he did not reply immediately. Gazing at her, he said, “Dearest, I must ask you one last time to reconsider.”
There was no doubt as to what he meant. She shook her head. “I will not let you risk your life alone.”
“But Claire, think. If I take a breathing globe and a rucksack, then I can give it to one of them. That will leave only one man to face the uncertainty of holding his breath all the way back to the Fancy. And with the knowledge that you are safely inside, I may focus my resources on my task without distraction.”
“But if something goes wrong, yo
u will have no means of help. No, Andrew. My purpose is fixed. If you are to risk your life for our friends, then I will, too. And if by some dreadful mischance we are meant to lose our lives today, I would rather that we were together.” She paused, and her throat thickened with emotion. “I do not think I could bear it if I were left behind to grieve you.”
“Nor I you,” he said softly.
He took her in his arms, and in his kiss she felt his fear for her—and also his gratitude for her refusal to allow him to face this alone. When he at last released her, he cleared his throat and returned to the more prosaic subject of boots.
“I believe we both ought to keep our boots on. You might need to use your feet to cushion your arrival at the gearworks. The propulsion of the rucksack is easily controlled in the air, but I am not certain of the effects of my adjustments for underwater travel. I should not like you to be injured.”
He helped her on with the rucksack and then the breathing globe, running its hose under the strap so it would not be caught on an errant piece of metal or entangle her arms. All sound was then silenced except for that of her own breathing.
Andrew outfitted himself likewise, and then they opened the door.
“Good luck,” Gloria said, her words muffled and coming from a great distance, as though Claire were already under water.
It was indeed a stroke of luck that the tiny cabin was in the stern, and that their side trip to view the gearworks was as fascinating to the crew as it had been to Claire and Andrew. The men had all gone forward to the viewing ports, so they made their way unaccosted back to the defense station in the stern, and thence to the pressurized chamber containing the torpedo tubes.
A Lady of Integrity Page 17