TimeStorm

by Steve Harrison

  Travis had to stop himself cheering when he saw the boat. It was tiny, big enough for perhaps only four men, but perfect for his mission. But then he suffered a mild panic. There were no oars! The man must have taken them with him. And a huge metal weight was on the stern of the boat, possibly some kind of anchor, though surely too big for such a tiny vessel. Travis tried to pull it off, but it was bracketed on to the boat and beyond his strength. Stop and think, he told himself, a lesson he learned from Mr Blaney. You can’t see clearly when your mind is whirling.

  He pulled the boat toward the water and found it slid easily, despite its heavy, metallic appearance, and then looked around for something he could use as an oar. There was nothing in sight, so he would have to search the shoreline. He listened carefully and was relieved to hear the couple were not approaching. They’ll be too worn out to stop me, he thought happily.

  He jumped over a boulder and saw with joy a plank was wedged underneath, a piece of driftwood. He had a difficult time freeing it, but finally it came loose. It was a foot wide and four feet long. Crude, but workable. He hurried back to the boat and wasted no time pushing it into the water and jumping in. Very careful not to make any noise he worked the clumsy oar slowly and pulled away from the shore.

  Once into the channel he put more effort in, but it was a waste of time. The metal weight on the stern made the bow rise up out of the water and he could not control the vessel. The incoming tide through the Heads prevented him from making any headway.

  He tried once again to free the metal object. A closer inspection showed it was bolted in place and impossible to shift without tools. He bashed it in frustration with his oar.

  There had to be another way. Travis took a very deep breath. The urge to panic was almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to stop and think again. What would Blaney do? he wondered.

  The metal object was fastened to the boat with strange, six-sided nails. All he had to do was loosen them. But how? He began wriggling the object, shunting it back and forth and sideways. The boat lurched alarmingly, so Travis controlled his movements to counter the waves. He stopped to check if it was any looser, but alas it was still solidly attached to the boat. He grabbed the nail heads using his fingers, but they quickly slipped and part of a thumb nail tore off.

  The pain caused him to swear long and loud, using every choice word he had learned from the sailors, but then he looked around in case anyone heard him. He cursed again at his stupidity. He was alone in the vast mouth of the harbour.

  In frustration, he grabbed the long rod poking out from the metal and wrenched it sharply to the left, then the right, but the boat tipped so far over water washed over the side. His hands slipped and he fell backwards, grabbing the thin rope hanging from the top of the object. But the rope was not fixed and he felt it give as he crashed onto the benches. There was a sudden almighty roar and he was enveloped in a cloud of black, acrid smoke. The boat lurched beneath him and the smoke was instantly blown away.

  Travis was tossed about as the boat crashed through the waves as though being dragged by a whale. He scrambled to his knees, too shocked to be frightened. The boat was bouncing erratically from wave to wave and the metal object was twisting back and forth, the rod whipping across the stern.

  Instinctively, he grabbed it and the boat steadied, even though it still crashed over each wave. His eyes opened in wonder. He moved it slightly and changed direction. He tested it the other way and another wave, this one of relief, washed over him. Then he tilted the rod and the boat slowed. Tears came to his eyes.

  Travis released the pressure and sped forward at tremendous speed. “Thank you,” he screamed at the heavens. He turned the boat to the gap between the Heads and opened the throttle, bouncing over the waves. He was too low in the water to see the distant ship, but he remembered exactly the position he had last seen it. He powered out into the open sea.

  KITE

  Henry Kite followed Karen and Blaney down the hill to Lavender Bay. It was obvious to the young Lieutenant that the couple were fond of each other. He watched carefully, but they did not touch once during the walk, though they leaned close together when they talked. Blaney had evidently had a very busy morning.

  After spending most of the day in a cell or in the carriage, Kite turned his face up to the sun. It was a glorious day and he breathed the lush fragrance of the many exotic plants which grew wild along the path. All that was missing, decided Kite, was a charming female companion. Someone a little less...forthright than Karen, but he would be happy to settle for a woman who looked just as attractive.

  Kite’s mother had picked out the handsome, yet vacuous, Jessica Hunnicut to be his bride, a perfect match in terms of his career and her connections. Her grandfather was an Admiral, no less. But Kite had little interest in her. He had not written once during the voyage and hoped she had found someone more suitable. Truth be told, Christine Carter, the footman’s daughter, was much more to his taste. Their respective social stations made a match impossible, of course, but he had worshipped her from afar for some years. It was all academic now, he realised, remembering where he was.

  Blaney and Karen were twenty yards ahead and had arrived at a small wharf. Kite detached himself from his memories and hurried to catch up, just in time for Karen to point out the vessel she had secured for their escape. It was the most incredible craft he had ever seen. Her lines were perfect, sleek and sturdy, and shining so white it hurt his eyes. He turned to Blaney, whose jaw had comically dropped. Kite found his own jaw was at half mast and quickly closed his mouth. Words were unnecessary. He could not wait to go aboard.

  A man who was standing at the end of the wharf approached them. He was in his fifties, Kite guessed, and bald, with only a silver tuft over each ear looking as thought they had forgotten to fall off with the rest of his hair. “Karen Jamison?” he asked.

  “That’s me,” she said cheerfully and shook hands with him, like a man. Kite raised his eyebrows at Blaney, but the older Lieutenant merely smiled.

  “Good,” said the man. “I’m Alec Crowley. I skipper the Newshound for Mr Decker.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Alec,” said Karen. Manners in Sydney had Kite puzzled. “These are my friends, Chris Blaney and Henry Kite.”

  “G’day,” said Crowley, shaking hands with both men, Blaney first. Kite winced as his fingers were crushed. Blaney gave him a sympathetic look as he flexed his own hand.

  “May we go aboard?” asked Blaney, echoing Kite’s eagerness.

  Crowley nodded. “Sure, but I was expecting a crowd.”

  Karen hesitated. “What did Mr Decker tell you?”

  Kite watched the man for any sign of deviousness. For some reason Karen was suspicious. But Crowley was quite open. “Only that you and a bunch of men would be using the boat and I am to help in any way I can.” He laughed. “Oh, and I’m not to say anything to anyone else if I value my internal organs.”

  Karen smiled too. “There are about fifty of us, the rest need a change of clothing. Is there any spare gear on board?”

  “Yes, there are plenty of spare clothes for the crew, and, if necessary, there is Mr Decker’s wardrobe. There are no crew aboard, by the way, only me.”

  Kite decided that this Mr Decker was a most accommodating gentleman. “Then we can go?” he said.

  Crowley turned and led them to a small row boat, which gave Kite a shock when it spluttered into life and propelled the four of them across the water like a sea-going carriage. Karen explained the boat was powered by an engine and propellers, whatever they were. Kite was fascinated.

  As they approached the giant boat, Kite admired the Newshound. The magnificent white ship was moored in the middle of the bay, its bow pointing toward the gigantic harbour bridge. Crowley informed them she was one hundred and thirty feet in length, with a fully equipped galley, a master bedroom, four guest cabins, three toilets and showers and a number of other features incomprehensible to Kite. Closer, he was almost breathless with e
xcitement. To be back on the water and to have such a vessel. It looked as though it had been carved from a single piece of marble!

  A metal platform jutted out at ninety degrees from the stern, only a few inches above the water mark. Crowley tied up the boat and led them aboard via the platform and a small ladder to the aft deck. It was a large open space with two chairs close to the aft rail, which were bolted to the planks. Between them, a flagpole was draped with a green and gold coloured flag, a combination Kite found strikingly ugly, but it did not detract from his enjoyment.

  Turning his attention forward, Kite saw there was a bulkhead twenty feet from the rail and a set of stairs leading to a higher, partially enclosed level. He could see the top of the wheel there. At the foot of the stairs, to the right, was a hatchway and more stairs, these going below.

  Crowley led them to these stairs. “I’ll show you the main cabins,” he said.

  Unbelievable! thought Kite, descending the stairs. A beautiful drawing room filled with sumptuous couches and chairs took up the width of the vessel.

  “Where’s Decker’s cabin?” asked Karen.

  “At the end of the corridor.”

  Karen hurried off. “I’ve heard about this.” Kite and Blaney followed her.

  The cabin was large, almost as big as the drawing room. It was dominated by a huge circular bed covered by a gold bedspread. The curtains and carpet were a rich red and the handles and fittings were gold. The mirrors covering the ceiling made the scene even more overpowering.

  “Christ!” exclaimed Karen. “It’s like a Turkish brothel!”

  Kite and Blaney exchanged glances behind her back.

  “Not really, is it Kit?” said Kite.

  Blaney turned red and treated Kite to an angry look.

  Karen tried to stifle a laugh.

  Crowley coughed politely and they all turned round. “Mr Decker asked me to explain the operation of the vessel.”

  “You’re not staying?” asked Karen.

  “No. I’m to leave you to it. If you’ll follow me to the wheelhouse, I’ll show you what to do. Then we can fetch the clothes and you can leave me ashore.”

  Kite was suspicious. This Decker person was being extremely liberal with the ship, a vessel worth at least several thousand pounds. He said nothing. They needed a ship.

  In the wheelhouse, Crowley explained how the ship worked. Kite could not believe how easy it was and assumed he was missing something. There were no sails, only engines and thrusters and buttons and switches and suchlike. He was pleased Blaney shows no signs of confusion. The senior Lieutenant nodded and asked questions as though this were second nature to him. He repeated all the instructions and convinced Crowley he understood each one. Even Karen looked impressed.

  Kite had an idea. He clapped Crowley on the back. “Alec, old man, why don’t you help me with the clothes. Karen and Kit here could do with a rest.”

  Alec shrugged. Blaney was speechless. Karen smiled. Kite felt very pleased with himself. If Blaney had any sense he would have engineered the situation himself, he thought. There was obviously something between them, but knowing Blaney, Kite was sure he would have let the opportunity to be alone with Karen pass. Fool!

  “Good idea, Henry,” said Karen. “I’m going to freshen up. Why don’t you boys load up the boat with clothes.” She left them and went down the stairs.

  “What the devil are you up to, Henry?” demanded Blaney.

  Kite was feeling cocky. “You could have easily stopped me,” he answered.

  Blaney’s face broke into a grin. “Let’s get those clothes,” he said.

  A few moments later Kite and Crowley jumped into the boat laden with dozens of sets of clothes. “Let me operate the boat,” said Kite, clambering into the stern. “I’ll have to get back myself, you know.”

  Crowley showed him how and the young Lieutenant was again surprised by the ease of operation. The boat surged away from the Newshound and Kite directed it toward the jetty. He turned back and saw Blaney leaning on the rail. Karen joined him and stood by him. Were they touching? wondered Kite. He could not be sure, but, he noted, they really were very close.

  WATKINS

  Doctor James Watkins was not a patient man. He knew this to be so, and when he saw Rufus Redmond, Noah Lockwood and Silas Hand standing at the wharf barrier, his heart missed a beat. It would be hours before dark and his next attempt at a rendezvous with the Governor seemed such a long time to wait. Here was the chance for some sport.

  Overcome with curiosity, Watkins thought frantically. The three convicts had done well for themselves, clothed in fine, though stained, suits of clothes. Redmond was clean shaven, though the surgeon thought he looked as ugly as ever. They also must have money, he decided, to purchase berths for the boat at the wharf. What the devil were they up to?

  He could kill two birds with one stone, by following them to kill some time and then by alerting the authorities. He would be a hero and no doubt be richly rewarded by the governor. The perfect introduction to his new life. Watkins closed his eyes and saw himself at the ball that would be given in his honour. A queue of the finest people in the colony lining up to meet him and hear his thrilling story, pushing their young, buxom daughters at him as prospective wives.

  He opened his eyes to reality. Redmond and his men were closer to boarding and – he could no longer fool himself – this was no young colony. He believed it to be Port Jackson and, from his encounter earlier, there was still a governor. But everything else: the buildings, the people, the strange, dangerous carriages, was bizarre. All he had were his wits and the deed in his pocket, which was undoubtedly worth a pretty penny, and by God he would exploit them.

  But first things first. He had to follow Redmond. Yet how? He did not have a farthing and all his belongings were at the bottom of the harbour with the Marlin. He wore nothing he could sell, though he would have no idea how to do so if he had. There was little time; people were going through the barrier to the boat, Redmond and his mates with them. Aha! thought Watkins, suddenly remembering a vendor further down the wharf. He hurried off to the east and found the man sitting against a wall. He was blind and next to him was a board with trinkets and badges pinned to it. On the other side of him was a spotted mongrel dog with its tongue hanging out as it panted. But the object Watkins remembered lay just in front of the blind man, a tin box half filled with coins, most of them silver, but many of gold. The surgeon edged closer, mindful he was running out of time.

  “Badges...” shouted the blind man, “...kangaroos, koalas, emus, only a dollar!”

  Watkins pretended to study the board carefully and squatted down. He reached into the mug and gingerly picked up ten of the gold coins and a banknote without making a sound. He prayed the man really was blind, but there was no reaction to his movement. Relieved, and mindful of the other people around, Watkins tossed a coin back into the mug. “I will purchase a kangaroo, if you please, my good man,” he said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  The blind man appeared happy and reached to feel for the right badge. But the dog bared its teeth and launched itself at Watkins. The surgeon turned defensively and the animal sank its teeth into the seat of his pants and would not let go. He tried to beat the dog off, but to no avail. “Get off me, you idiotic mongrel!” he yelled, feeling a fang graze his backside.

  The blind man realised what was going on and swung a stick at the noise. It rapped painfully across Watkins’s shins, causing him to cry out.

  “Put the money back, you thieving bastard!” ordered the man.

  Seeing he was beaten, Watkins retained enough of his bruised senses to drop only two of his remaining coins back into the mug. The blind man called a halt to proceedings. “OK, boy, come on, sit.” The dog obeyed, but still growled at the surgeon. The blind man turned to him. “And you can fuck off quick, or you can have some more.”

  Watkins did not hesitate, pushing his way through the amused onlookers to the wharf. Running to the gate, he saw the fe
rry was about to leave. “Wait!” he cried, but a man stopped him.

  “Ticket?”

  “Damn it man, I have to catch that boat. I have money.” He showed the man his three gold coins and banknote. “Take them.”

  The man looked at the money and his eyes opened wide. “OK, off you go.”

  Watkins ran and jumped as the boat pulled away from the ferry and immediately sat down on a green bench on the starboard side to catch his breath. Oh God! he thought, have they seen me? He carefully looked around and through the windows to the interior. Many of the seats were empty, but there was no sign of the convicts. A little luck at last, he thought hopefully. He saw stairs leading up, so he went inside and climbed them. He was dreadfully exposed, so he poked his head carefully up the stairwell as he got closer to the upper deck. Still no trace of Redmond. He had a horrible feeling he had caught the wrong boat. After all, he had not actually seen the men come aboard.

  But then he did see them. The deck had an outdoor seated area at the stern. Redmond, Hand and Lockwood sat on a bench with their backs to the surgeon, no doubt admiring the view of the city. The boat had been berthed stern first at the wharf, so it would have been impossible for the convicts to see him when he made his inglorious arrival. Watkins sat down behind a pillar, where he could keep a safe eye on the men, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  The three convicts did not seem to talk much, Watkins noticed. He was surprised when Lockwood seemed to slump in his seat and was instantly hauled up angrily by Redmond. Was he hurt? But then Lockwood turned and Watkins saw his slack features. Good God! The man was drunk!

  The surgeon licked his lips, recalling the last time he had tasted a drink. In the officers mess. Yesterday? No, the day before. How could three foul prisoners fare so well, while he, a respected professional surgeon lived like the meanest beggar? Watkins felt his indignation rise. He looked back at the city as the boat passed under the shadow of the massive harbour bridge. Perhaps when he returned tonight his fortune would have improved.