by Darrell Pitt
A minute later they had the lid off the second box. Inside another dead man lay encased in ice. Mr Doyle lit a lantern and held it over the ice tombs to inspect both bodies.
“Who are they?” Jack asked.
“Two very famous men, one whose face is known to the general public. The other is unknown. May I introduce you to Douglas Milverton, the creator of Milverton’s Bacteria, one of the most astounding creations of our age. The other gentleman is James Partington. You may recall –.”
“The amazing submersible,” Scarlet exclaimed.
“The amazing…what?” Jack asked.
“A submersible,” Mr Doyle explained. “A vessel constructed to go under the water. In the last year a number of these have been commissioned by the Department of Defence. The war office believes these may have made a real difference in the war if they had been developed earlier.”
Once again a cloud seemed to pass over Mr Doyle’s face. He shook his head as if to clear it.
“Both these men went missing in the last year. We have obviously discovered what happened to them. The question is – why?”
“Who were those men who delivered the bodies?” Scarlet asked. “And are they responsible for the disappearance of my father?”
“We can only speculate,” Mr Doyle said. “However –.”
Jack happened to look past Mr Doyle at that moment. Beyond his mentor lay the door through which they had entered. A face filled the glass panel set into the door – the man who had been snapping orders at his companions. He held a gun at the ready, his face filled with fury.
“Watch out!” Jack yelled.
He threw himself at Mr Doyle – not a moment too soon. A gunshot rang out, blowing out the glass. Jack knocked the detective to the ground.
Scarlet pulled out her gun and fired a single shot at the door. The bullet hit the door frame.
“Run!” Mr Doyle cried.
They raced towards the rear of the warehouse. More shots whizzed past them as they took refuge behind a stack of crates. Jack glanced around the corner and saw the lantern had tipped over in the confusion and a smouldering fire had begun in the hay. The flames raced rapidly across to the nearby shelves.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Scarlet said.
Jack peered behind them. The only exit to the warehouse lay before them. There was no other way out. He peered back towards the front and a bullet slammed into a box near his head. Jack cried out as splintered wood struck his face.
“My boy –,” Mr Doyle started.
“I’m alright,” Jack said.
Mr Doyle leaned around the corner and fired off a few quick shots. He looked around and then towards the ceiling.
“The only way out of here is up,” Mr Doyle said. “You two go first.”
Scarlet lifted her skirt and started up the shelving. A moment later Jack followed. The older girl impressed him. There had been some rough and tumble girls at the orphanage, but none had the pluck that Scarlet seemed to carry with her in abundance.
When they reached the top, Scarlet lay flat and fired her weapon at the gunmen, allowing Mr Doyle to climb after them. Jack eased open one of the nearby windows and peered down. The Lion’s Mane was parked just next to the building.
“With a bit of luck we should be able to jump onto the balloon and slide down the side,” Mr Doyle said.
Jack looked down the side of the building again.
Bleeding Hell, he thought. That’s going to take more than a bit of luck.
He did not voice his opinion.
“We need to create a diversion,” Mr Doyle said. “Jack, lend me a hand. Scarlet, continue firing if you will.”
Scarlet continued to fire intermittently at the men at the far end of the building. Each time they tried to manoeuvre the centre aisle, she fired a pot shot at them. Smoke and fire continued to spread and their assailants yelled to each other in their foreign tongue as they tried to draw closer.
“The boxes are not too heavy,” Mr Doyle said. “But this will require our combined strength if it is to work.”
The detective sat on the edge of the top of the boxes and braced his feet against the line of boxes on the shelf in front of them. Jack did the same.
“We’ll push on the count of three,” Mr Doyle said. “One, two…three!”
They applied all their strength to the towering shelf. At first Jack thought nothing was happening, and then he realised the shelf was beginning to tip forward.
“Release!” Mr Doyle said.
They pulled their legs back and the stack rocked back towards them.
“And again!” Mr Doyle cried.
They pushed the shelf and this time it seemed to hover, balanced as if on a knife edge. Then in the next instant it fell away from them, slamming into the next shelf.
“Quickly!” Mr Doyle yelled. “Out the window!”
Jack shoved the window open wide. A small ledge ran around the outside of the building. Just before Jack climbed out onto it, he glanced back inside the warehouse. The shelves were falling away from them like a row of dominoes. He heard screaming and crashing as boxes toppled into their assailants.
He leapt from the window, throwing his arms out in front of him and landed face first against the airship’s balloon. Using the friction of the surface, he slowly slid down the side until he slipped off and landed on his feet. He saw Scarlet follow his lead. She leapt across to the balloon and slid down the side – too quickly. Scarlet suddenly became airborne and landed on him.
“Oomph!” Jack gasped.
The girl rolled over. “Oh, Mr Mason. I apologise most sincerely.”
“That’s quite alright, Scarlet,” Jack said. He had momentarily seen the underneath of Scarlet’s dress – no man’s land – and realised he was blushing furiously. “And please call me Jack.”
Mr Doyle landed next to them rather more adeptly. “Hurry you two. We’d better move before those chaps recover.”
They scuttled into the gondola of the Lion’s Mane and Mr Doyle untied them. A moment later they rose up above the buildings. Jack looked back at the warehouse. Behind them, the building burned. The rain had stopped during their time inside the building and now the fire continued unabated. A window exploded and smoke trailed up into the late afternoon sky.
The men ran away from the scene like ants deserting a nest. The steam truck made a hasty getaway from the scene. After that the fog closed in again. By the time the Lion’s Mane had climbed high above the city, the building had became a star fallen to earth, burning and radiant in the heart of the darkening landscape.
They watched until the whole scene was swallowed by deep shadow and fog. The last light of day played along the horizon like the pieces of a broken bottle. Only the London metrotower was visible rising up from the fog enshrouded city.
Scarlet let out a sob.
“My dear,” Mr Doyle set the rudder to autopilot on the Lion’s Mane. “Are you alright?”
Jack felt as if his heart were about to burst from his chest. Scarlet had been so strong during this whole ordeal. It seemed impossible that such a powerful girl was capable of so feminine a display as tears.
“No, I fear I am not.” Scarlet dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “We have been through this ordeal and we have not moved ahead one inch.”
“On the contrary,” Mr Doyle said. “A fortunate clue has landed in our laps.”
“A clue? What clue?” Jack asked.
Mr Doyle returned to the steering panel of the airship. “The fellows back at the warehouse were speaking German.”
Jack remembered the foreign tongue of the men. “And you could understand them?”
Mr Doyle nodded. “Fortunately it is among the twelve languages of which I have a passing knowledge.”
“What did they say?” Scarlet asked, sitting forward.
“One of them was looking forward to his cheese and sauerkraut sandwich,” Mr Doyle said. “I must confess I salivated at the thought –.”
&nbs
p; “Mr Doyle!” Jack interrupted.
“The fellow in charge told the others they had to hurry. It seems their next target is Jon Harker.”
“Jon Harker!” Jack exclaimed. “Why, he’s –.”
“The inventor of the Space Steamer,” Scarlet finished.
“And our first astronaut,” Mr Doyle said, looking up into the night sky.
Chapter Nine
As the sun set and the final light of day drained from the sky, Mr Doyle set their instruments for the London metrotower. Harker was famously known to own the entire two hundredth floor. Mr Doyle produced bedding and nightclothes. He tied a sheet across the middle of the living room so Scarlet could change into a sleeping garment and have her own room.
“I fear I only have men’s night apparel,” Mr Doyle said, looking slightly embarrassed as he handed the clothing to Scarlet.
“I should be most concerned if you kept women’s apparel in your drawers,” Scarlet raised an eyebrow.
“Quite,” Mr Doyle said. “Quite.”
The detective turned the lamp down low as Jack climbed into his bunk bed. Sleeping in such a confined space reminded him of the orphanage. Sometimes when the lights went out Charley Spratt and his cronies would roam the dorm rooms, randomly searching for one of the smaller boys to bash.
Jack shivered. He had been at the receiving end of Charley’s bashings on more than one occasion. At least he had always tried to fight back – the worst error was to curl up on the bed and do nothing.
Sometimes waiting for the attack was almost worse than the actual attack. He would hear footsteps and whispering in the hallway. Sometimes they talked for so long he was almost asleep by the time they attacked.
Jack lay in his bed and looked through the window up at the sky. Circling the globe at this very moment were space steamers, travelling between metrotowers. It was hard to visualise. Jack had heard about the wonders of space flight and even seen the occasional sketch in a newspaper, but imagining it was an entirely different thing. Entire fleets of trading vessels moved supplies from one tower to another – and that did not include the military ships patrolling the borders between the nations.
“You’ve done very well, Jack” Mr Doyle’s voice suddenly broke his reverie.
“Thanks, Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “I like it here.”
Mr Doyle laughed. “Being shot at is fun, is it?”
“Sure beats the orphanage.” A sudden thought occurred to Jack. “Do you have any children, Mr Doyle?”
In the darkness now there was only the light of the moon whispering through the curtains and the dim glow from the fore and aft lamps. At first Jack thought Mr Doyle must have slipped off to sleep, but after a time he cleared his throat.
“I had a son,” he said. “His name was Phillip. He was killed in the war.”
Jack remembered the uncomfortable silence from the detective when the war was mentioned. He cursed himself. He was an absolute idiot sometimes. Scarlet was two years older than him, yet she was so much wiser. She knew when to speak and when to remain silent.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t –.”
“That’s alright, Jack,” Mr Doyle said. “I also have a grandson, although I have not seen him for some time.”
“Why is that? Does he live a great distance away?”
“No. Just on the other side of London.” Mr Doyle paused. “His name is James. His mother’s name is Amelia. When the war began, my son, Phillip signed up. So did I.”
For a moment the only sound was the drone of the steam engines.
“Phillip believed what they told him about king and country, but I had no such illusions. I knew there would be bloodshed. I had fought in the Boer conflict, and had heard the lies that politicians tell and I already knew the tragedy that war brings.
“The pacts drawn up prior to the Great War were built on a house of cards. Great Britain was allied with France and Germany with Austria and every country held similar alliances with other nations. Many naively believed there would be a clearing of the deck.
“Not I. My only interest was in protecting my son and with my previous military service I was able to enrol as an officer. Phillip was in my regiment. We were sent over to France to fight.”
Mr Doyle’s voice had become so ghostly in the darkness that Jack could not resist the urge to break his dialogue. “What was it like?”
His mentor gave a bitter laugh. “A bloodbath. Pure and simple. Phillip and I were stationed in the Somme, buried in mud and filth and blood. It was an impossible situation. Men were dying all around us, but we both knew we were expected to do our duty.
“One morning we were ordered to charge a German emplacement. I led the regiment across the muddy field. I thought we would both die. That would have been a tragedy, but at least we would be together. Mortar fire started all around us as we charged across that terrible field.
“I suddenly tripped. I tried to stand, but I found myself caught in barbed wire. It was all over the place. Impossible to avoid. The more I struggled to free myself from it, the more I became entrapped. I could see Phillip running ahead with the other men in the early morning gloom.
“In desperation, I screamed for him to slow down. I continued to struggle with the barbed wire until I finally tore free. Racing after him, I was only about twenty feet behind when the mortar attack hit him and his companions.
“The explosion threw me backwards. I lay there unconscious for God knows how long. It could have been minutes. Or hours. Finally I woke up and crawled over to where Phillip had been.”
The airship carved a path across the sky. Jack felt tears on his face as he watched the stars rotate out of view.
I should not have intruded on Mr Doyle’s privacy, Jack thought, his stomach turning over. He has already suffered enough without me making things worse.
“There was nothing left of him,” Mr Doyle said. “I found pieces of clothing. His dog tags. Nothing else. His friends had also been killed. Sometimes people have asked me what it was like, the war, I mean and I simply tell them it reduced men to nothing. That’s what the war did for Phillip. It reduced a brave, strong young man to nothing.
“One minute he existed. The next, he ceased to exist.
“His mother was already dead, thank God. But when I returned to England Phillip’s wife, Amelia, was embittered towards me because of his death.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jack said.
“I know,” Mr Doyle said. “It was the war. I still carry Phillip’s dog tags around my neck. They remind me of that barbed wire. If only I had not been caught on that wire…”
“You would have probably been killed too, sir.”
“Probably.” The silence ticked on. “War is a great injustice, my boy.”
“I know, Mr Doyle.”
“Injustice must be fought.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night moved across them and before sleep claimed them, Jack looked up into the sky and watched the stars. Sometimes he saw them linked by barbed wire and before he slept he imagined himself caught on them, legs caught on blazing embers, stuck fast in the night.
Chapter Ten
Jack awoke to the sound of frying bacon.
He opened bleary eyes to see Mr Doyle moving bacon around in a pan and cracking eggs.
“Wake up, my boy.” He said, smiling. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Jack threw clothes on. A moment later he heard Scarlet call from beyond the curtain.
“Is everyone decent out there?”
“We are, Miss Scarlet,” Mr Doyle said. “Please enter.”
Scarlet Bell removed the screen and appeared looking remarkably refreshed.
“I’m afraid I am wearing the same attire,” she said.
“As are we,” Mr Doyle said. “But at least none of us carry malodorous odours.” He placed bacon and eggs onto a plate. “With the exception of Jack.”
“Mr Doyle!” Jack cried, but Scarlet laughed.
They ate br
eakfast around a small fold out table, chatting about the events of the previous day. Jack was reminded of his own family and how many times they had eaten together. Their time at the circus had been hard – circus life always was – but breakfast was usually the one time of the day when they could relax together and talk. After breakfast they would normally help the other men prepare the tents for the day or practice their routines.
Mr Doyle made no comment about their conversation of the previous evening and Jack wisely did not raise the subject.
“Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said. “What do you think Jon Harker’s involvement is in this matter?”
“It is impossible at this point to say,” Mr Doyle replied. “Although if we extrapolate the course of events from yesterday, it is fair to say his life may be in danger.”
“When will we arrive at the metrotower?” Jack asked.
“Within the hour,” Mr Doyle replied. “As a matter of fact, we are now drawing quite close.”
They finished their meal and grouped around the viewing window. The metrotower already filled most of the screen. Airships of all shapes and sizes were arriving and departing from decks all up and down the structure. Jack had read everything he could about the metrotower. A book at the orphanage had been filled with pictures taken from the first ground breaking ceremony to its completion. Measuring some twenty miles across at the base, the structure narrowed as it rose all the way into space, eventually measuring only a mile across at the top.
“I’ve heard it said the London metrotower still remains the largest of all,” Scarlet said.
“I wish that were true,” Mr Doyle said. “As a matter of fact, ours has slipped quite some way down the list.”
Scarlet looked shocked. “Really?”
“Yes, unfortunately. The American tower is larger, and the Chinese and even the German tower is larger now that the war is over and their renovations complete.”
“General Churchill says that the next war will be fought in space,” Scarlet said, frowning. “Does that mean we are already on the back foot?”
A shadow crossed Mr Doyle’s face. “General Churchill is too zealous for battle. I would have thought he and others would have learnt since the Great War.”