But it seemed this pod was not moving south. For a time the milling white patch held position to the Snout’s left, but then it began to move north, in keeping with the ship. It was a large pod, Dow could now see. Perhaps thirty huge shapes were thronging on the surface, and spouting with unusual frequency.
‘Come left then, if they’re determined to be difficult!’ was the response from Commander Harp, and the Snout obediently turned again, seeking to slip south of the whales instead. But the whales changed course too; plainly they were making directly for the ship, and would not be swayed.
Dow studied the creatures in mystification as they drew near. They were Oil Whales, to judge by their great square foreheads. But they were behaving in a way he had never seen before; males, females and calves all rising and sinking rapidly, slapping their fins or their mighty tails against the water, thrashing it into a froth.
They came alongside and then surrounded the ship, making urgent huffing sounds as they spouted. Even more disturbing was their singing; it rose up clearly from the timbers of the deck, indicating that beneath the water the whales were in cacophony, calling not in their usual lilting manner, but in frantic groans, like cries of distress.
The crew, woken from slumber, were pouring topside now and crowding the rails to stare at the roiling creatures. ‘What’s wrong with them?’ a voice cried. But no one seemed to know.
Dow hurried to the high deck, and arrived just as the captain emerged from below. ‘What in all the oceans is this din?!’ Fletcher roared, bleary-eyed – and perhaps a little worse for the rum.
‘Whales, sir,’ reported Agatha Harp. ‘They seem to have fixed on us for some reason.’
Fletcher had reached the rail and was staring down aghast at the thrashing shapes, some of which were thumping heavily against the hull now. ‘Well – get us clear of them, woman! Outrun them!’
So the Snout turned west once more, and with the wind behind it tried to pull clear of the pod. But the whales, for all their disorder, would not be shaken. They slipped back to a position just off the stern, and there they remained, keeping pace no matter how much sail the captain piled on aloft.
At length Jake Tooth climbed up to the high deck and addressed the captain. ‘Sir, it’s no use. We won’t escape them this way.’
‘Why not? What’s the matter with the infernal things? I’ve hunted whales most of my life, and never beheld the like of it.’
‘I have,’ said Jake. ‘Once. Back in my harpooner days, on the Blister. We’d just killed the bull male of a small pod, but left the others alive, as we were full up by then – and when we set off, the rest of the whales latched themselves on to the ship and wouldn’t let go. It was days before they gave up and went away.’
Dow stared back at the whales. He knew that every pod was ruled by at least one bull – the leader, the largest and strongest male, the one all the others followed, surfacing when he surfaced, diving when he dived. But he could see no obvious candidate . . .
‘There should be two or three bulls in a pod this size,’ the harpooner continued, ‘but they’re missing; the only males here are juveniles. Without any adult males around the others are confused, and have seized upon our hull as protection. We’re the biggest thing they can see. No matter what we do, they’ll follow us.’
‘Damnation,’ swore the captain. ‘This is no time or place to play mother to a pod of lovesick whales. What if they draw something to us!’
Jake grinned blackly. ‘I’m afraid they already have, sir. It’s self-evident that this pod has been only a short while without its bulls, otherwise one of the juveniles would have taken over by now. Something snatched the adult males away – and only them – very recently.’
Fletcher was staring at the harpooner in dawning horror. ‘You mean . . .’
‘Aye, sir. These whales are marked and claimed as prey. The hunter has eaten their leaders as appetiser, and now, with the pod in disorder, it plans to eat the rest at leisure. It will still be nearby – and it won’t be happy that the whales have taken after us. We’re stealing its dinner.’
The captain swore again, more foully this time – but Dow could hear the fear in Fletcher’s curses, the realisation that this might well be the disaster of which his drunken premonition had warned.
The army officer, Colonel Oliver, had joined the others about the wheel. Now he addressed the harpooner levelly. ‘How do we rid ourselves of the whales, if we cannot outrun them?’
‘They must be driven off by force!’ said Captain Fletcher. ‘We’ll run the cannon out and blast them with shot. And musket fire too.’
Jake Tooth shook his head. ‘Our cannon will not be able to aim low enough. And musket fire would be no more to them than flea bites.’
Colonel Oliver was studying Jake with a measuring, challenging smile. ‘Tell me, Harpooner, do you have any of the tools of your old trade with you on board? A lance or two perhaps?’
‘Aye,’ said Jake warily.
‘Then the answer is simple. If you launched in one of the attack boats and got in close, then you could harry the whales with your harpoon, could you not? Kill them, or at least drive them away?’
Agatha Harp was frowning. ‘Now wait just a moment, Colonel. Launch amid the whales? I don’t think action so drastic as that is—’
Jake cut her off mildly. ‘No, he’s quite right, Commander.’ The harpooner was matching the colonel’s smile with his own, the two men appraising each other almost like players over a game of dice. ‘If I can drive away a few of the juvenile males; not kill them, mind, but sting them enough to make them leave, then the rest of the pod should follow.’
‘Well then, hurry to it, man!’ declared Captain Fletcher. ‘Take a boat and go!’ He glanced quickly over the junior officers; Dow raised his hand even as the other three lieutenants who commanded the Snout’s attack boats raised theirs. To launch against whales! Who would refuse such a chance? ‘Lieutenant Franklin – your craft will do. Quickly now!’
Dow dropped his hand in disappointment. Franklin was the ranking lieutenant of the four, and so perfectly entitled to it. Even so . . .
But then, ‘Captain,’ came an unexpected protest. It was Agatha Harp once more. ‘I think it should be Lieutenant Amber’s boat that goes.’
Fletcher stared at her in impatient surprise. ‘Dow’s boat? Why?’
The first officer hesitated, and Dow noted that her eyes, alight with some unidentifiable emotion, flicked to Jake Tooth, and then away again. ‘Did you not say it yourself, sir? If the fate of this ship is linked with Dow Amber’s fate, then surely our chances now would be best enhanced by sending him among the whales.’
‘It’s fine with me, sir!’ said Dow.
But the captain shook his head angrily. ‘Damn it all, Agatha – and suppose one of the whales swallows him up? What would be the use of getting to Banishment then, when he’s the one who’s supposed to be negotiating with this scapegoat girl of his?’
At Fletcher’s side, Cassandra had been following the debate. ‘Captain Fletcher is correct,’ she said in some alarm. ‘Dow should not be risked unnecessarily. The War Master has ordered it so.’
‘I concur,’ said Colonel Oliver flatly. ‘There is no need to hazard him yet.’
‘Oh, I see,’ observed Commander Harp, with uncharacteristic temper, ‘so the rest of us must be risked, but never the precious Young Admiral.’ She glanced vehemently at Dow. ‘I’m surprised you can stand it, being cosseted this way all the time. This entire mission is at your behest. I would’ve thought that anyone with true courage would insist on defending that mission now.’
Something was happening here that Dow did not understand. Nevertheless his own anger flared. ‘I do insist. I’m ready to go right now.’
‘Who commands this confounded ship?’ railed Captain Fletcher. ‘I do. And I say—’
‘Sir,’ said Jake calmly, ‘surely this has become a matter of honour now. Rightly or wrongly, I don’t see how Dow – having been challenged
so by the commander – could be expected to remain behind. I say let him launch if he wants to.’
Fletcher threw up his hands in disgust. ‘Fine! If we argue any longer we’ll all end up eaten! Launch both damn boats! Ride with whomever you please! Only go before we’re ruined!’
At that, Dow caught another glance passing between Agatha Harp and Jake Tooth. Was it triumph in the first officer’s eyes? Relief?
But then Jake was laughing, and clapping Dow hard on the shoulder. ‘Come, Young Admiral, if you truly have the nerve. Fire up your boat, and I’ll show you what whaling is all about!’
It had happened before Dow had a chance to think – and even as he was turning away, his attention was caught by Emmet Bone. The pilot had said not a word during the discussion, but now he was smiling strangely at Dow, his mouth kinked in wry meaning.
Dow remembered then their conversation on the night of the Miasma, and the pilot’s warnings of treachery and murder. And yet, Emmet Bone’s quirked smile seemed to say, look what had just happened. Dow had allowed himself to be convinced – by the exact two people he had been warned against – to leave the safety of the ship and set off into danger; offering by his own choice his head into the whale’s jaws . . .
*
They launched in haste, as the rest of the crew anxiously scanned the sea, watching out for the least ripple or unexplained wave that might signify the hunter of the whales rising from beneath.
Dow too studied the waters as the Sponge was lowered. The eastern sky was growing pale, but the ocean was black still, and he’d never felt so aware of how much lay hidden under its surface. When the boat splashed down he could scarce suppress a shudder, as if the sea might simply open to devour them, and they would fall endlessly into the mire and muck and eternal darkness of the abyss.
But they floated of course; and casting off, they peeled away in an arc to circle around behind the ship. The second attack boat, the Trivet, under Lieutenant Franklin, followed along in support.
Soon enough, they were coming up to the rearmost of the whales. The creatures were still in evident distress, spouting feverishly, and Dow found his disquiet only increasing. Normally, whales would dive often and deep as they swam, but none of these whales were doing so. They were being held on the surface, away from their native environment, by terror of the invisible hunter below.
In the bow, Jake Tooth stood at the ready, his pose far more relaxed than Dow felt. In his right hand he bore a long spear tipped with a lethal blade of sharpened steel. Several more of the weapons lay at his feet, with Nicky standing by to hand them up if needed. The harpooner was unmoving, gazing forward to the whales with a kind of combative fondness, it seemed to Dow, as if greeting an old enemy long after the war itself was over.
‘What do we do?’ Dow called.
The harpooner stirred. ‘Just bear up until we’re among them, then match their pace. We must find the strongest of the young males.’
Dow nodded to May at the wheel, and with its engine idling at half speed, she steered the Sponge smoothly between the trailing whales. These, Dow could see, were merely the mothers and calves – but even the smaller calves were as long as the attack boat, and the mothers were nearly twice that size.
‘Easy now,’ muttered Jake Tooth as he stared about, though whether he addressed the whales or May at the helm, Dow could not be sure. ‘Easy now . . .’
They had gained the centre of the pod, and the air about the Sponge was misted with the whales’ spouting. Dow could smell something like seaweed on their breath, and fish, and other odours of vast, warm, fleshy life. White water frothed all about, save for where great grey humps broke the surface, glistening iridescent in the gloaming light; and sometimes an immense fin or tail rose against the pale sky, before slapping down again with a splash.
Jake Tooth had crept with practised caution to the very prow of the boat, setting one foot upon the explosive barrels that rested there, his harpoon upraised. ‘Come left now,’ he called back softly. ‘You see him there, that young bull? Get me alongside his head, but forward of his fin.’
Her face set in concentration, May brought the Sponge closer in to the whale. It was the largest of the remaining males, over twice the length of the attack boat, broad-backed and strong. As Jake took aim, the bull rolled slightly, and Dow saw a flash of white near to where its great jaws met; an eye, wondering at this strange mechanical creature that had come swimming alongside.
Then the harpooner struck, a fluid throw of his lance, sinking the barb deep into the whale’s side, a few feet only behind that curious, staring eye.
Had this been a proper whaling venture, the harpoon would have borne a hooked barb to lodge itself fast in the whale’s blubber, and it would have been attached to a fixed rope so that the whale could not escape without dragging the boat behind, and Jake would have thrown lethal dart after lethal dart until the whale’s vital organs were pierced and it vomited blood in its last agonies and died.
But for now Jake’s barb bore no hooks, and the lance was attached only to a short leash, so that the harpooner could pull it back again. Still, as it sank in, Dow saw the whale’s white eye squint suddenly in pain and surprise, and the beast let out a bellowing snort.
‘Beware now,’ cried Jake.
The young bull gave a convulsive shudder and rolled away from the boat, its great flipper smashing into the ocean just to the Sponge’s stern. Spray splashed over them – and yet, for all that, Dow felt much as he imagined a fly might, when a man flaps at it in annoyance, but only annoyance; the whale was not yet truly enraged.
That changed when Jake stung it again, close to the first wound. The bull bellowed once more, and a spout of angered breath jetted from its blowhole. With a shake of its huge head it butted the boat – the Sponge canting alarmingly before righting itself – then swam on. Go away, annoying creature, it was saying. Leave me alone.
‘After it!’ cried the harpooner, and as soon as they were in range, he lanced it again.
Now the whale was enraged. Corkscrewing in the water, it reared its great tail high over the boat before slamming it down, and only fast work by May at the wheel got them out from under the attack. As it was, a frothing wave swept clear over the deck.
Jake was laughing. The dulled whale’s tooth embedded in his forehead gleamed wetly, as if fired to new life by the proximity of its own kind. ‘See? What did I tell you? Three stings and he’s had enough.’
It was true: the young bull was veering off now, away from the wake of the Snout. Some of the cows and their calves were peeling away with him – but not enough of them. Most swam on after the ship.
‘One more bull should do it,’ promised the harpooner. ‘That one there, May!’
The Sponge accelerated in pursuit of its new target – the only other large male left. As had the first, this second whale rolled its head to study the intruder as they came alongside – but was there something more hostile and cunning this time about the observing eye?
Jake hurled his lance, it sank in deep, and Dow braced himself for the assault. But instead of lashing out in return, the whale, expelling a single outraged puff from its blowhole, turned away and dived abruptly, leaving only spray and foam behind.
‘Damn him,’ cursed the harpooner. ‘He’s going under us. Nicky, take a harpoon and get in the bow. Mr Amber, your help here, please!’
Dow hurried forward from the wheel well. ‘What’s it going to do?’
‘Bite us clean in half, if he can. He’s diving deep so he can come up from beneath.’
‘He can bite an iron boat in half?’
‘Maybe not, but he can certainly crush us.’ Jake thrust one of the harpoons into Dow’s hand and pointed. ‘You stand that side, I’ll stand this. When he rises, his jaws will open on either hand – stab at the soft flesh within; it’s the only thing that’ll stop him.’
Dow did as he was told, stationing himself by the left rail, staring over the side, the harpoon heavy in his hands. Jake was at
the opposite rail, and Nicky was peering down from the bow. Slow moments passed. The water was still black in the pre-dawn gloom. Dow could see nothing. Where was the beast?
Then it came, a darkening of the darkness, and suddenly a white glimmering. Teeth! The water erupted, and a great bony mass rose before Dow like a wall – the lower jaw of the whale. Dow sensed, though he did not turn, another wall rising on Jake’s side of the boat, the upper jaw. They were caught!
He raised his harpoon, ready to stab at the inner mouth – but just then the deck heeled violently, the whale shaking the Sponge in its grip as a dog might savage a cornered rat. A heavy weight hit Dow in the back and he staggered forward, dropping the harpoon.
He teetered at the rail, staring down into the whale’s wide gullet. He smelled fish and hot innards; his hands flailed for purchase, but there was nothing, he was falling right into the creature’s gaping throat—
A hand clutched his shirt and hauled him back on board, threw him to the deck. Dow saw Nicky standing over him, jabbing at the whale’s mouth with a lance. There came a roar, and spray, then the jaws were gone and the Sponge was wallowing free.
Dow climbed to his feet. ‘Thanks,’ he nodded to Nicky, who only smiled grimly in return.
Jake Tooth was also climbing to his feet; and suddenly Dow understood. The harpooner must have stumbled when the boat tilted, and so fallen against Dow, nearly throwing him overboard. But Dow had never seen Jake lose his footing on any deck before, no matter how wildly it might be rolling. He stared in surmise. Had it been an accident? Or had the harpooner, having lured Dow out among the whales, actually just tried to kill him?
‘What are you gaping at?’ spat Jake. But was he merely embarrassed at having fallen over? Or was he angry at having failed to dispose of his intended victim? ‘Back to your post. The whale will return any moment!’
Dow opened his mouth – to say what, he didn’t know. To accuse the harpooner of attempted murder? But he never got the chance to speak.
The War of the Four Isles Page 15