by Andrew Mayne
Smith shouted back to her. “If you smell ammonium, then you know it’s near.”
“Are you sure?” She smelled lots of things on the breeze.
“No. I told you to wait in the harbor master’s office anyway.”
April shook her head and wrapped her hands around a wooden piling. She watched as Smith went below deck. She could see the deck-mounted harpoon gun on a riser near the broad flat stern. There was a small piece of cord still tied around one of the handles. It was hard to see through the mist, but the rope had an almost black sheen to it like dried blood. That was where Webb died, she thought.
The planks of the deck had gouges and stains where whales had been slit open and desiccated. The whole vessel had a dark color from the boilers that rendered the whale fat. They sat silent now. The smokestacks looked like black pillars, in her mind.
She tried to imagine what this vessel must have looked like to a sea creature as it plowed its way through the waves, rumbling with its boilers and sending up trails of black smoke that ran for miles. The shouting men, the bells, the sharp harpoons, it must have looked like a fearsome creature itself. A wave splashed against the side of the boat and it rocked gently, startling her for a moment.
What kind of animal would go against this beast of a machine? She’d heard the stories of angry whales taking them on and sending them to the sea. To her mind, that was more like an angry bull smashing something apart that was in its way. But a creature that would follow and hunt the men on this vessel for hundreds of miles? She turned to look at the pale yellow lights of South Boston behind her. To find its way there? Under the city itself?
April’s supernatural inclinations didn’t extend very far beyond the church steps, but she had rational fears of the unknown. As she waited for the mysterious Smith to return, she wasn’t sure what was rational or irrational anymore. If a man could live as long as he has and look like he does, along with all his other secrets, maybe the devil could send a creature to do its bidding, to seek out revenge and to terrorize those around it.
Another wave splashed on the side of the John Jackson. April smelled the air. The only scent that stood out was the smell of salt and dead fish. She let go of the piling and tucked a lock of hair back under her cap. The disguise didn’t have much purpose now, but she was always mindful of her appearance, even when she was dressed like a boy in a secondhand pair of trousers and peacoat.
“What are you doing out here, Miss Malone?” she said to herself, while listening to Smith’s sounds below deck. She knew the answer. She was too smart and too curious for a woman in her time. She’d fantasized about going to Paris or perhaps being a missionary in some far-off land. Neither one had much interest in themselves. It was just the idea of adventure that intrigued her.
She placed the umbrella under her arm and shoved a hand into a pocket and felt a coin. She pulled it out and looked at it. Napoleon’s face stared back at her. So many questions. The boat rocked again and pulled at the ropes tethering it to the pier.
April noticed as something splashed in the water. She was certain it was a fish, but her mind kept playing tricks on her. She tried to take a nose full of air but the cold wind was making her sinuses shut.
She gazed down the pier to the harbor master’s office. There was a dull light from the gas lamp in the window. It was 300 hundred yards away. So far away. There was another splash. April looked at the waterline on the boat. The vessel was so dark, it was hard to tell where it ended and the sea began.
She heard a loud sound and had to stifle a scream. At the stern of the boat, Smith had just dropped the harpoon gun as he climbed up the ladder from below deck.
“You OK, Miss Malone?” he said as he heaved the heavy gun over his shoulder.
“Yes. Fine. Just admiring the night air,” she replied. She shot a glance back to the waterline. Nothing stirred.
Smith walked up the gangway with the gun over his shoulder. With the pointed shaft in its barrel, it was as tall as he was. To April, it looked like a rifle made for a giant.
“Nice gun,” she said.
Smith reached the pier and set the butt end of it down. He looked it over. “I guess so. Not too much corrosion. I hope the charge fires.” He looked at April. “Looks like I get one shot.”
She reached a hand up to touch the sharp tip of the harpoon. “What happens if you miss?”
Smith bit his lip. “That would be bad.” He reached down to pick up the gun.
April grasped the barrel and held it in place. Smith looked up at her, confused. “What happens if you miss?” she repeated, worried.
Smith shook his head. “I run. I swim.” He tapped the metal plate of his armor with his chest. It made a clang. “I’ve got this on, too. Don’t forget.”
April let go of the gun. Smith threw it over his shoulder.
“What do these things normally eat?” asked April.
“Whales, sharks, other squid, I suppose,” said Smith as they walked back down the pier.
“Are they like an octopus?”
“Superficially, maybe. We don’t know much about them, let alone this one,” replied Smith. “I trust your memory on this better than mine.”
“Could they eat things like an octopus would? Lobsters and clams, shellfish?”
Smith thought for a moment. “Sure. Its tentacles are probably strong enough to pry them apart.”
April tapped the metal armor on his back. “Big shellfish, Smith?”
Smith stopped and turned. “Miss Malone, what are we supposed to do?”
“Not get killed, for a start.”
“As you are aware, I’m very keen, you could say an expert, on not getting killed. We can’t go to the police or anybody else until we have some sort of proof of what’s going on. Right now you and I are fugitives because Dr. Lindestrom has convinced them I’m some kind of killer maniac. We don’t have many options.”
April shook her head. “More than you want to see right now. The lawyer, the lawyer that hired me, Mr. Coen, he could get the warrant straightened out tonight if you wanted.”
“Barring them finding any bodies in my basement,” said Smith.
“Are there any bodies in your basement?” April took a step back.
“None that aren’t supposed to be there,” he snapped.
April decided not to push that issue any further.
“Mr. Coen is an excellent attorney, but I don’t think filing a lawsuit against a kraken is going to help. I doubt he’ll show in court,” continued Smith. “That’s the real problem.”
“My brother knows people over at MIT. We could get an expert tonight. Someone who could verify what we know,” said April.
“Verify what? That drunk sea dog’s guilt-ridden story? We have nothing other than stories and innuendos.”
“You’re impossible, Mr. Smith!” shouted April.
“Smith. Just Smith.”
“Whatever. Use your elliptical problem solving to come up with a better solution then your one-shot harpoon,” said April. She admired the man’s bravery but was frustrated by his stubbornness.
Smith shrugged. “You’re the computer.”
“Fine.” April thought for a moment. “If it’s living down there, that means it’s feeding down there, too. It has to take the people somewhere, unless it’s dumping the bodies out at sea.” April looked out at the fog-covered harbor. “But the bodies would be washing up on shore. And they haven’t. So that means it’s leaving the bodies in the sewers, either sporadically around or in a nest.” She remembered something. “They’re pelagic creatures most likely, not living on the floor, so that means that they’re not likely to nest. So that means it probably leaves its prey near its hunting ground after it feeds.”
“The bodies could be anywhere,” said Smith.
April turned off to the side as she recalled the map of the missing persons in her mind. “Accepting the distribution on the map, there should be a body within a four- or five-block area of each vanishing point. Far e
nough away that if anyone poked their head in the sewers to look, they probably wouldn’t have seen anything. Close enough that you shouldn’t have to spend too much time down there to find one.”
“So now you’re sending me down there?” asked Smith.
“If we can get a body ….” April shuddered and put the thought out of her mind. “Whatever is left after the squid is done, then I’d imagine a marine biologist could tell the difference between what a squid would do and what a man would.”
“Fine. But I’m still bringing the harpoon gun,” said Smith.
“But you’re only going down there to get a body.”
“Sure,” agreed Smith.
“Meanwhile, I’m going to contact Mr. Coen and find someone at MIT to meet us at the police station. That’s if you won’t reconsider your stupid expedition.”
“You can use the telephone in the office. Coen has one at his home as well. He and his firm are paid well enough to be bothered at this hour.”
“There’s been a telephone in there all this time?” asked April.
Smith looked down at his watches. “Yes, but there are still too few people around to talk to on the device that they’re not much use.”
“Maybe in a hundred years,” said April.
Chapter 16
Smith and April rode the moto-cycle through the fog to a small warehouse two blocks away from the office.
“What are we doing here?” asked April, eyeing the decrepit-looking buildings.
“I don’t think it’s safe for us to go through the front of the office. I’m sure Lindestrom has more people waiting, maybe even the four police officers I ran into.” He opened the door and wheeled the contraption inside.
April followed him, closing the door behind them.
“There’s a tunnel here that leads to the basement of the office.”
Smith struck a match and lit a lantern. April looked around the interior of the warehouse. The floor was littered with large crates filled with machine parts. Smith walked over to a small wooden closet and opened the door. He reached inside and pulled a lever. The back wall of the cabinet slid backward, revealing a set of stairs.
“This way, Miss Malone.” He guided her down the steps, holding the lantern aloft. “Don’t worry, I’m fairly certain my tunnels are free of sea creatures.”
Tunnels? April hesitantly stepped down the stairs and walked into a narrow corridor. The walls were lined with large rocks. It had an almost natural look to them. Almost as if they’d always been there.
“Ahead about a hundred yards,” said Smith.
April let Smith take the lead. They passed several junctions that led off into dark places. She counted at least a half-dozen metal doors that looked like weather-beaten versions of the one in the office.
Pipes and conduits ran through the corridor, suggesting that the entire block was actually one structure. Behind some of the doors the low rumble of machinery could be heard. She reached out to touch one of the doors. It felt cold.
“What’s behind these doors?” she asked.
“Other buildings. Other offices. Other Miss Malones.” Smith let out a laugh. “Just kidding. There’s only one April Malone, bless her brave spirit.” He paused and regarded the doors. “Part of the machinery. A giant clock.”
“What kind of clock?” she asked. Her fingers touched rivets on one of the larger doors.
“A clock that tells when it is time for just men to take action.”
“Like now?” she asked, not quite understanding what he meant.
“The shape of things is always hard to know, Miss Malone. My elliptical geometry can only tell us small parts. But what we’re doing will play some difference. Set things right for now.”
They reached a metal door and Smith pulled out another key. He unlocked the door and held it open for April. She looked at the flight of stairs leading up and then back at him.
“This will take you up to the office. I have to go get a few things. Don’t worry. I’ll be only a few minutes.”
“I could help,” said April as she looked down another dark corridor.
“I know. Lots of mysteries. The truth is much more boring. In time, maybe I can show you some of the more interesting things.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry,” said April.
“Don’t ever apologize for your curiosity, Miss Malone. Never. I’ll be up in a bit. You’ll find the telephone in the drawer to the left of my desk. I believe you already know where the directory can be found.”
April nodded and walked up the steps. Ahead of her, a large metal door began to open. When she stepped through it she realized this was not the same door he’d stepped through that morning. This was the storage room. Curious, she thought.
April called Mr. Coen first. It didn’t take her too long to explain the situation. He seemed to be expecting something like that. He made a comment about rousting a senile judge and said he’d be at the police station in an hour.
She next called the operator at MIT and spent twenty minutes trying to get her to find someone in the marine biology department who was still awake and could take the call.
Smith entered from behind the door, holding a large duffle bag. He overheard her talking to the operator. He placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Tell her you’re Mr. Eddington’s assistant and that you’re calling on his behalf.”
April looked at him, confused.
“He’s a very big donor,” whispered Smith.
April nodded and then spoke into the telephone. Ten minutes later she managed to reach someone in the aquarium and explained the matter to him. She hung up and looked over at Smith. She’d been too busy talking on the phone to notice what he was up to.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed, noticing some kind of weapon strapped to the armor. “What is that on your chest?”
Smith looked down and smiled at his creation. “It’s basically a modified Gatling gun with much shorter barrels.” He reached up and gave it a spin. Ten pistol-sized barrels arranged in a circle the size of a tea saucer spun around with a click. “It seemed like a clever idea at the time, when I mounted it to the armor.” Smith looked up. “Hurts a lot.”
“I’d bet it does. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of that,” said April.
“Actually I meant ... oh, never mind. I think you’re right and that I shouldn’t go in there with just that.” He motioned to the harpoon gun leaning against the door. “To be on the safe side, I was thinking we could flush it to one end of the sewer.”
Smith walked over to a drawer and pulled out a rolled-up map. He unfurled it on his desk. “You can see the new sewer works and the older ones on this.”
April traced a finger along a line that ran down South Boston.
“I need to know where to put my tunnels and where not to,” said Smith. He picked up a pencil and set it on the middle of the map. “Could you mark out all the places people went missing?”
April drew an “X” over the location for every missing person they had an address for. All of them were over major sewer lines.
Smith traced a line with his finger across the middle of the map. “I want to create a distraction to drive it away from here, long enough for me to find some kind of evidence. A body or ....” His voice trailed off.
“A signed confession.” April smiled.
“He can use his own ink, at least,” said Smith. “Or is that octopuses that have ink?”
“Octopi, Smith. And squid have ink, as well.” She looked up. “And nasty parrot beaks and razor tongues they use to devour adventurers.” She reached out and gave the Gatling gun a spin. “Please be careful. I’d hate to lose my employer the same day I met him.”
“I will be,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with her electric blue eyes.
“It would look dreadful on my resume.” She saw where he’d drawn the line. “So how do you plan on creating the distraction?”
“With those,” said Smith as h
e pointed to a dozen bottles poking out of the open duffle bag. “They’re incendiary devices with a fuse of my own design.”
“Of course.” The man was endlessly clever, she thought. Perhaps too clever.
“I plan to drop them along here.” He pointed to a sewer line that ran north and south. “I’ll place them into drains here through here, and they’ll all go off at the same time, give or take two seconds. That should create a wall of fire.”
“Trapping the creature?” asked April.
“Not so much trapping as giving him a reason to stay clear of the area while I look for the signed confession.”
Smith drew a map for her of how to leave the office and make it to the warehouse exit. “I’ll leave the door open here. If you run down the corridors in either direction, you’ll find an exit. All of them open from the inside.”
Smith walked toward the door they’d entered through. April followed him to the doorway. They stood there for a moment in silence.
Smith stared at his boots. “Miss Malone, if something should happen, Mr. Coen will ....”
April put a finger to his lips and shook her head. “You’re an odd man, Smith. A little brave and stupid. But most definitely odd.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “For luck.”
“For luck,” said Smith as his face broke out in a blush. He grabbed the harpoon gun and duffle bag and walked down the stairs.
April watched him step into the darkness. She thought she heard him stumble as he reached the bottom.
“I’m OK!” he shouted.
He reminded her of her brothers and his friends when they got all bundled up to go on one of their hiking expeditions. Only Smith was going to be facing creatures worse than bears and an angry moose. From his confidence, she assumed this was the kind of thing he was used to doing.
Chapter 17
Smith was still thinking about Miss Malone when he missed his turn on the moto-cycle. He drove around the block to return to the route. A carriage driver did a double-take when he saw the man in metal armor with red eyes stop the two-wheeled contraption and get off.