by Lian Tanner
And for the rest of the morning she comforted herself with dreams of heading south, back to the ice, and of penguins and bergs and the sweet flesh of toothyfish.
It was past noon, and the snow had melted away at last, when Scroll suddenly grew restless, bobbing up and down on the captain’s wrist, as if something was wrong.
Petrel shaded her eyes and stared at the horizon. ‘What’s that, Cap’n? Looks like the sun coming up, only nowhere near as big and bright.’
The captain was already on his feet. ‘It is a hot air balloon with a basket underneath. And there is another one. Look, they are tethered to sailing ships!’ He turned to Fin.‘You did not tell us that the Devouts used hot air balloons.’
Fin’s face was ashen. ‘But they do not! At least – they did not when I was with them. I have never seen such things before!’
‘Those two men must have sent a pigeon for them,’ said the captain. ‘We will have to conceal the front of the cave or the people in the baskets will see us.’
‘It’s not just us they’ll see,’ growled Krill, pushing himself up onto his elbows. ‘That water’s a mite too clear for my liking. Petrel, send a message to Missus Slink, quick smart.Tell her about those balloon things, and the Devout ships. Claw mustn’t come in, not yet. Not in daylight.’
Petrel tapped out a warning on the telegraph device. But although she waited and waited, there was no reply.
‘They said they would be travelling underwater,’ said the captain. ‘They will not receive our message until they surface.’
‘Then we’d best keep sending it,’ said Krill, ‘and hope like blazes they get it in time.’
By the time Claw came to the edge of the Great Puddle, the ocean floor was shelving upwards and there were reefs everywhere. Sharkey kept his eye on the dark green water outside the porthole, and didn’t share his thoughts with anyone.
At the helm, Gilly said, ‘Sir, we’re coming up to the channel entrance.’
‘How long?’ asked Sharkey.
‘Ten minutes, sir.’
‘What’s our depth?’
‘Eighty-five feet, sir. And we’ve got forty feet of water under the keel.’
‘Steady as she goes.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Sharkey glanced at the chronometer and raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. ‘We’ll make the entrance to the channel at 13.20 hours. All stations!’
The two rats scurried to the dive-plane wheels. Cuttle stood by the motors, feet braced on the metal decking. Rain sat on the berth above the batteries, her eyes closed, her mouth moving silently.
At exactly 13.20 hours, Sharkey said, ‘Helm, make your heading due west. Two degrees up bubble. Dead slow ahead.’
The voices came back to him in rapid fire.
‘Due west, aye sir,’ cried Gilly.
‘Dead slow ahead, aye sir,’ shouted Cuttle from the motors.
The rats stood on their hind legs and hauled at the dive-plane wheels. As Claw swung around, her bow rose and her running lights fell on the entrance to the channel.
It was like a gorge cut out of rock, and even narrower than Sharkey had expected. But other than trying to make it all the way across the Great Puddle in shallow water, and probably grounding themselves in the attempt, he could see no other way of getting close to the shore.
‘Make your depth seventy-six feet,’ he said.
‘Seventy-six feet, aye sir.’
And when they reached seventy-six feet:‘Ease your bubble.’
‘Ease bubble, aye sir.’
As Claw nosed forward between the rock walls, Rain began to sing, very quietly.The words whispered across the little cabin and curled around Sharkey’s head.
‘Hobgoblins tiptoe through the night
And imp and ghost and evil wight—’
Sharkey had no idea what a hobgoblin was, but he knew all about tiptoeing.That’s what they were doing now, tiptoeing into dangerous waters.
‘They do their best to give us fright,’ sang Rain,
‘And fill us with dismay.’
Outside the porthole, the sides of the channel were so close that seaweed and sponges wavered as they passed. The running lights touched clamshells and rocks and schools of fish. Sharkey saw a crab frantically kicking up sand to conceal itself, and bag-trout dashing into the weeds, as shy as oysters.
‘But will we cower, will we hide?
Will we lock ourselves inside?’
As they approached the coast, the channel grew shallower, though nowhere near as shallow as the waters on either side of it. The skin on the back of Sharkey’s neck tightened every time he gave the order to go up a few feet. He didn’t want to go up. He wanted to hurry back to deep water and dive, down down down, so far that the Ghosts’d never find them.
He knew that Cuttle and Gilly wouldn’t say a word against him, if that’s what he decided. They’d just nod and keep on believing that he was a hero.
‘Or will we hold ourselves with pride
And chase those ghouls away?’
Sharkey gritted his teeth and said,‘Up five.’
‘Up five, aye sir.’
At 15.40 hours, Sharkey took another look at the chart. If they kept following the channel they’d end up too far north of the rendezvous.Which meant they had to leave its relative safety and go up into the really shallow water. The tide was on the rise and sunfall wasn’t far away, but still he didn’t like it one bit.
Maybe we should wait till after sunfall. Except that’d make us late, and if anything slowed us down we’d miss the tide.
He realised he was chewing his thumbnail, and quickly glanced around to make sure no one had noticed. Rain was still singing. Gilly was tapping the gyroscope, while Cuttle oiled the drive shaft. The rats were watching Sharkey with eyes that were too knowing for comfort.
He flushed and said, louder than he’d intended, ‘Take her up to twenty-five feet.’
The rats turned the dive-plane wheels, and Claw began to rise.
‘Fifty-five feet,’ sang Gilly.‘Fifty feet. Forty-five. Forty. Thirty-five.Thirty.’
Outside the porthole the water went from deep green to pale blue. The sides of the channel gave way to a sandy bottom.
‘Twenty-five—’
‘Zero bubble,’ cried Sharkey.‘Keep your trim.’
The upward movement stopped. And there they were, easing into the sandy reaches of the Great Puddle, as quiet as a flounder, with no more than ten feet of water under them. And unknown dangers above.
The Devouts’ ships sailed up and down the coast all afternoon, with the balloons drifting high above them. Petrel and her friends crouched in the cave, hardly daring to move. The captain held Scroll in the palm of his hands, stroking her gently and occasionally whispering in her ear.
Late in the day, the wind turned. Now it blew offshore, and no matter how close to land the ships sailed, the balloons pulled out to sea.
It might have been funny if it wasn’t for the Claw on its way, and the water in the bay so clear and shallow that there was nowhere to hide.
‘Go away, stupid Devouts,’ whispered Petrel. ‘Give up. Go away!’
Krill glowered at her.‘How long since you sent that message, bratling? Send it again, and keep sending it.’
She did. She tapped out warning after warning on the telegraph, her fingers slipping in their haste.
But then Fin groaned.‘Listen!’
‘Someone is shouting,’ said the captain. ‘I think it is the people in the baskets.They have seen something!’
And as Petrel watched in horror, the sailing ships turned away from the shore and headed out across the bay. Out across the clear shallow water, where there was nowhere to hide.
NOWHERE TO HIDE
Sharkey had said that he wouldn’t use periscope or aerial until he had to. But now the moment had come. If there was danger ahead, he needed to know about it.
The casings rattled as he cranked them upwards. Water gurgled past the hull. A shadow
passed over the water.
Sharkey put his eye to the periscope and turned in a circle. It was one of those times when he wished he had two good eyes. He felt as if there was something creeping up on his blind side, something nasty that he needed to spot before it surprised him—
There was a clatter of sound from the comm behind him. ‘A message!’ cried rat Lin Lin. ‘Danger! Balloons! Devouts!’
At the same time, Sharkey roared at the top of his voice,‘Hard astern!’
Cuttle threw himself at the switches, and Claw shuddered into reverse. The words Flood the quick dive tank! were burning on Sharkey’s tongue, but he couldn’t let them go, not yet, not until they were over the channel again.
He felt as if someone had glued him to the periscope. There were two skimmers coming straight at him, their sails growing bigger by the second. Behind him, Cuttle was coaxing the propeller to greater and greater speeds. The rats were poised beside the dive wheels, ready to throw themselves into action.
‘What’s happening, Sharkey?’ cried Gilly, all formality forgotten.
‘They’re gaining on us. How far to the channel?’
‘Nearly there.’
The propeller rattled louder than Sharkey had ever heard it. ‘C’mon, Claw,’ he shouted to the little submersible. ‘Come on!’
He was afraid they wouldn’t make it, but at last they were over the channel. He whipped the periscope back into its housing and shouted, ‘Half-ahead! Flood quick dive tank, twenty degrees down angle!’
The rats threw themselves at the wheels, and Gilly’s hands took them down to safety. Except they weren’t safe, not yet, and they all knew it.The Ghosts wouldn’t give up so easily.
As Claw rumbled past seaweed and rock faces, Sharkey gnawed his thumbnail, no longer caring who saw him. ‘Not deep enough,’ he whispered, through gritted teeth.‘Not fast enough.’
But they were already going too fast for such a narrow channel. Any faster and they’d run into one of the rock walls, and then nothing would save them.
Sharkey thought he saw another of those dreadful shadows pass overhead. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He could almost feel the skimmers gaining on them . . .
And then it happened, the thing he’d been dreading ever since Rampart was attacked. Something clanged against the hull right above his head, so hard and loud that his ears rang. He yelped with the surprise of it, and so did Rain.
Gilly swore,‘Blood of the ancestors!’
Another clang – and the thing that had hit them exploded.
Claw bucked under their feet, and slewed sideways. Gilly fought the helm, trying to get control. Rain fell off the berth. The rats clung to the dive wheels, their little paws skidding on the deck.
As the reverberations died away, Rain picked herself up and began to sing. ‘H-H-H-Hobgoblins tiptoe through the n-n-night—’
Sharkey wished he could sing with her. He’d never been so afraid, not even in the Up Above. But future adm’rals didn’t sing. They didn’t yelp either, and he would’ve taken that dreadful sound back if he could’ve. He clenched his teeth, and gripped the overhead locker so tightly that his hands cramped.
Dodge? he thought. But there’s nowhere to dodge to, not until we get back to open water.
Clangggg! Something else hit them. Sharkey waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come. Maybe they don’t always work, he thought. All the same—
‘Cut running lights and switch to instruments,’ he said, trying to stop his voice cracking.
The lights went off, and the water outside turned dark green. ‘We need to get deeper,’ he said. ‘What’s under us, Gilly?’
‘Only five feet, Sharkey.’
Which meant they were already running so close to the seabed that they risked tearing the submersible open from bow to stern. They couldn’t go any deeper. They couldn’t go faster either. Not with the lights off. Not with those rock walls looming on both sides.
‘And imp and g-g-ghost and evil w-w-wight—’ sang Rain.
Up to this point, the two rats had said nothing. But now Sharkey felt small claws scrabble from the chart table up onto his shoulder.
A rough voice in his ear said, ‘We ain’t gunna lose ’em like this, shipmate. Water’s too clear. Reckon it’s time for a bit of clever thinkin’.’
‘What’s Great Granfer saying, Sharkey?’ shouted Cuttle.
A third impact, somewhere near the stern. Clanggggg! This one did explode – whoomp! And despite Gilly’s desperate grip on the helm, Claw slewed sideways again.
‘We’ve lost steering,’ cried Gilly.
‘Hard astern!’ shouted Sharkey.
Cuttle threw the motors into reverse. The submersible slowed, but not quickly enough.
Sharkey shouted again.‘Grab hold!’
Small claws dug into his shoulder. Cuttle grabbed the nearest pipe, while Gilly still clung to the helm. Rain hung on to the berth, and rat Lin Lin hung on to Rain.
With an ugly crunch, Claw rammed the channel wall.
Sharkey’s bad shoulder hit the locker. The inside lanterns flickered.The bow bulkhead, right next to the porthole, crumpled inward.
We’ve been breached, thought Sharkey. There’ll be water pouring in any second!
But Claw, for all her great age, was a strong little vessel. Gradually, as the expected surge of water didn’t come, Sharkey realised that although they were battered, they weren’t yet holed.The pressure hull had survived the collision.
All the same, we’re done for, he thought. We can’t go anywhere, not without steering. All the Ghosts have to do is sit up there and drop their explosives one by one until our hull gives way altogether.
He couldn’t bear it. The thought of the little submersible lying broken on the seabed, like Rampart, made his throat hurt.The thought of Cuttle and Gilly dead or captured—
‘Didn’t you hear me, shipmate?’ said a rough voice, and with a jolt Sharkey realised that the rat was still there on his shoulder.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Clever thinkin’, shipmate,’ said the rat. ‘That’s what we need now.’
Sharkey shook his head wordlessly. There wasn’t a scrap of cleverness left in him. If he’d been a real hero he might’ve been able to get them out of there. But he wasn’t real. He was as fake as rat Lin Lin and rat Cray.
Behind him, Rain was trembling violently. Even Gilly and Cuttle were shaking, which was something Sharkey had never thought he’d see.
‘Can you sing a bit more, Rain?’ asked Cuttle. ‘Sharkey’ll c-come up with something, I know he will, but—’
Rain raised her voice. ‘But d-do we cower, d-do we hide?’
Gilly and Cuttle sang along with her. ‘Do we l-lock ourselves inside?’
But the rat adm’ral dug his claws deeper into Sharkey’s shoulder, saying, ‘Clever, shipmate. That’s what we want. Clever.’
‘Or do we hold ourselves with p-pride,
And chase those g-ghouls away?’
Sharkey felt sick. For all Cuttle’s faith in him, he knew he was helpless. And Rain’s song was wrong. Sometimes hiding was the only sensible thing to do. He’d hide Claw like a shot if he could.
He thought of the crabs that stirred up the sand as the little submersible passed. And the others that dropped a leg if they had to, if it gave them a chance of getting away.
Wish WE could drop a leg, thought Sharkey. Make the Ghosts think they’d killed us already—
The impossible idea and the next explosion hit at exactly the same moment. Clannnnggggg! Whoooooomp! Poor old Claw shuddered like a jellyfish, and Sharkey’s mind shuddered with it. He gripped the locker, feeling stunned and frightened and hopeful, all at once.Was it impossible? Was it?
There was only one way to find out.
He dragged himself upright. ‘Cuttle,’ he snapped. ‘Drain some oil off the diesel engines into a bucket. And find some bits of – of stuff that’ll float to the surface. The berth – yes, the berth. Smash it. And take anything els
e you can think of. Anything we don’t need. Rain, you help him.You too, Lin Lin. The more the better.’
The boy, the girl and the rat hurried to do his bidding.
‘Gilly, give me power to the little claw,’ said Sharkey.
As Gilly threw the switch, Sharkey slid into the retrieval seat and grabbed the lever. On his shoulder, rat Cray was silent.
There was sand beneath them, for which Sharkey blessed his ancestors. Lots of sand. As soon as he dug the little claw into it, it swirled against the porthole. Behind him, Rain was banging away at the berth with a hammer.
‘More,’ he mumbled to himself, and dug the claw into the seabed again and again, until there was sand everywhere, hanging in the water like a shroud.
Sharkey turned to the rat on his shoulder and said, through gritted teeth, ‘They won’t be able to see us now.’
‘Mebbe not, shipmate,’ said the rat. ‘But sand won’t stop bombs.’
As if to prove his words, there was another clannngggg and the whooomp! that they had come to dread. A terrible grinding sound told Sharkey that part of the outer hull had gone.
‘Quick, Cuttle!’ he shouted, scanning the bulkhead for leaks. Nothing yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Cuttle dashed for’ard with a bucket half-full of oil. Rain and rat Lin Lin trailed behind him, dragging the remains of the berth, a pile of clothes, the blades of a broken propeller, two plates and an ancient saucepan.
‘Cuttle, give me the oil and take the little claw,’ snapped Sharkey, jumping up from his seat. ‘Keep stirring that sand up. Rain, come with me.’
He climbed the ladder to the double hatch, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Rain handed the bits of bunk up to him, and the propeller blades and everything else. Sharkey dumped it all above the inside hatch, and rested the bucket in among the clothes.
‘More sand,’ he cried to Cuttle.
He sealed the inside hatch and climbed down. Then, with everyone watching him expectantly, he waited.
His heart hammered against his ribs. His belly was hollow. If this didn’t work they were gone. Everything was gone.