Ketteridge grinned. As Fanning watched, the tattoo mark darkened and the skin rose in a dozen random pimples. The tip of each pimple darkened and broke open. Thin black tendrils emerged.
Fanning wriggled in an attempt to break free. Ketteridge slammed his palm down on her cheek and forced her head to the side.
She felt an itch in her neck.
Then Ketteridge flew from her. Sideways.
Beatrice stood over them, clutching a chair in both hands. She seemed disoriented. “He hurt me,” she said.
Fanning pushed herself up. Ketteridge was crawling a few feet away, shaking his head to clear it. They needed to move right now. She grabbed Beatrice’s skirt and used it to pull herself to her feet.
Confused, Beatrice decided to take a swing at Fanning as well, but Fanning saw it coming and ducked. The force of the swing ripped the chair from Beatrice’s hand and it flew off over Ketteridge’s head, forcing him to duck again.
Fanning knew they had no chance of getting to the door. Ketteridge was stronger than her, and Beatrice was clearly no help since she could not distinguish friend from foe. But they must escape.
Fanning’s desperate eye fell on the precious case of fungi, and she recalled Ketteridge’s behaviour. She ducked round Beatrice. She gave the case a kick, but whatever it contained to keep it hot was very heavy indeed.
She bent down and got her fingers under the case.
“Beatrice! Stop her!” shouted Ketteridge.
The threat galvanised Fanning and with her fingers under the case she straightened her legs hard, with her back straight, and the case and its contents went flying.
Ketteridge gave an incoherent scream. There was a crash and the sound of shattering glass.
Fanning grabbed Beatrice by the arm and dragged her by sheer force towards the stairs.
Ketteridge did not intercept them. Fanning reached the bottom step and allowed herself a moment to take in what he was doing. As she had hoped, he was busy with the case. He had already got it upright and was casting around for the items to put back.
Fanning pulled on Beatrice’s arms, but she was staring at Ketteridge. Fanning slapped her to get her attention and then pulled her up the stairs, round the two flights of metal steps, using her hand on the banister to pull them both up.
They got through the door into the relative coolness of the corridor. Without locks on the doors, there was no way to keep Ketteridge down in the hold.
At the bottom of the ladder she stopped and let go of Mrs Cameron, who seemed to have no will of her own remaining. It had all been exhausted when she struck Ketteridge.
Fanning tried to think what she should do. Her neck itched. Gently she investigated it with her fingertips. There were two or three raised bumps but nothing serious, not even any blood. She rubbed the place, but that just seemed to aggravate the itch. She forced herself to leave it alone.
The question of what on earth she was to do filled her. The problem seemed too big and too complex. She thought through Ketteridge’s words and the crew’s behaviour.
It seemed that she, Fanning, had been the only one he had not infected—at least until now. That was why she had been unaffected while the rest of the crew had behaved so strangely. Somehow Ketteridge had become an agent of the green fungus, and it was his task to infect them which he did through normal social contact—literal contact.
But that was only the first stage. The second stage required the fungus to infect the victim directly ... for what? To make them like Morbury and Lambington, to kill and eat them? No, it had not done that because it remained in the packing case. It was to breed.
They were the birthing ground for new fungus growths and Ketteridge was the means by which the fungus’s victims were acquired.
With the rest of the crew almost useless, it was left to Fanning to deal with the problem. She rubbed her neck again. And she needed to do it before she succumbed to the infestation. That the infection might kill them anyway crossed her mind, but at the very least she must stop the fungus from getting to land.
xv
Now
Beatrice whined again. She wanted to go back to Tom. “He’s a real man,” she said. “Not like you, just pretending.”
Then she squealed as Fanning’s palm stopped just before it struck her cheek.
Spoilt little brat, thought Fanning. Mrs Cameron was not in her right mind, of course, but Fanning could not push away the thought that this faux drunkenness revealed a person’s true thoughts. Is that what she truly believes?
Not the time and not the place for such thoughts.
Fanning gathered herself together, took Beatrice firmly by the shoulders, and shook her. “You will not go back to him. You will stay here with me and you will do exactly as I tell you. Or,” she paused for emphasis, “next time I will not stay my hand.”
Beatrice affected a miserable face.
“Do you understand, Beatrice?”
She nodded sullenly.
“Very well, we will find Remy and ... you can play with him.”
Beatrice brightened. “Will he speak French?”
“If you ask him nicely,” said Fanning. “Now come along. Look lively.”
She went to the base of the ladder, pulling Beatrice after her. She placed her directly beneath it. “Up you go, girl.”
“Tom wanted to look up my dress,” said Beatrice. “Do you want to look up my dress?”
“I want you to get up there as quick as may be, or I’ll tan your hide, Miss.”
Beatrice climbed without a further word.
Fanning glanced in both directions before she followed. Forwards to the bridge where Qi and Otto had stopped shouting; and back to the stern where Ketteridge would probably soon have rescued his precious masters and be on her tail once more.
Beatrice was dawdling. Fanning gave her a slap on the ankle.
“Ow.”
But she moved faster and Fanning followed. Fanning noticed she could see halfway up Beatrice’s elegant calf before the rest was lost in shadow. Part of her admired the view.
“Can you see up my dress?”
“I’m not looking.”
“I bet you are.” Beatrice continued to climb. In fact she stretched to take the steps two at a time, revealing considerably more of her lower limbs than could possibly happen by accident.
Fanning shook her head. If the woman had not been intoxicated, she might have taken advantage of the invitation.
The air on the upper deck was cool and fresh. A quick glance around the horizon showed they were somewhere in the middle of the ocean. But only Qi and Otto would have a clue as to where, exactly.
The moon had risen. No airships smaller than a British Sky-Liner or a German Zeppelin flew through the night. It was too dangerous. But here they were, thousands of feet up in the clear night. The engine throbbed, the propeller thrashed the air, while the wind sighed through the rigging of the envelopes and steam hissed through the pipes.
“It’s so beautiful,” said Beatrice turning round and around looking up into the sky filled with stars and the Milky Way a strip across it.
“Sure is,” said Fanning. But they had no time for that.
Fanning went to Remy’s shed and pushed at the door. It would not open. Fanning banged on it.
“Remy! Let us in.”
“Remy is not here,” came his voice from within. Fanning looked heavenward as if for guidance, or help. Or perhaps a lightning bolt to end all of her troubles permanently.
“Vive la révolution, Remy. J'ai besoin de votre aide, mon ami.”
“You can speak French too!” said Beatrice in delight. Fanning ignored her.
There was a pause and the door unbolted. Remy’s hand reached out to grab her and pull her inside, but Fanning evaded it. “Listen, Remy, you must protect Beatrice. The British scientists wish to perform unspeakable acts upon her.”
“Mais non!”
“Oui, vraiment.”
He pulled the door open but kept himself hi
dden behind it. “I will keep her safe,” he said. “Send her in.”
Beatrice was staring up at the stars again, Fanning took her by the hand and guided her inside.
“Lock the door, Remy,” Fanning said. “It is not safe.”
Remy went to close the door but Fanning put her hand against it. “The Beauty needs to descend, but gently so no one notices.”
Remy nodded. “I will do it,” he said. “Bon chance, et behatzlacha.”
The door closed on Fanning’s confused face: what on God’s green earth was behatzlacha? Was Remy too far gone? Had she just made a terrible mistake in entrusting Beatrice to his care? What if they became violent like Qi and Otto?
There was no time to worry. Fanning paused to look at the balloons. There was no way to know if Remy had remembered to carry out her instruction just by looking at them.
Fanning turned towards the stern. The next part of the plan required her to enter what could be a lion’s den. Montgomery had been a soldier and could be very dangerous, or as a pliant as a kitten.
It took Fanning less than half a minute to make her way to the ladder in the stern and climb down to the door. She went through and stopped in front of the engine room door.
After the coolness of the outside air the heat in the passage was oppressive, and it was going to get worse. The noise, filtering through the grill above the engine room door, was far worse too, with the thumping and hissing of the boiler, pumps and engine along with gears grinding one against another. There was little risk of being heard.
She looked at the three doors. It was not wise to leave unchecked rooms behind her; there might be someone, or something, lurking inside waiting for her to pass and then sneaking up behind.
The first door she opened stealthily. The room inside was tidy to the point of obsession. Terry’s cabin. The bunk was made; there were no personal possessions on show and nothing to distinguish this space from any other. No hint of personality except a single bell hanging in a wooden frame in the centre of the small table and a metal clapper resting in a hook with it. It swayed a little with the movement of the ship.
The room opposite was similar in its sparseness, but there were charcoal sketches on the wall. Paper and drawing implements lay on the table in a casual tidiness. One image in particular caught her attention: It was her own face caught in a serious moment of contemplation. All the other crew were there too, each one drawn with a sure delicacy.
Fanning left Ichiro’s room filled with astonishment. She did not think anyone knew that he drew. She did not understand why someone with such talent would keep it hidden away. Curiously she felt her desire to succeed in her mission redoubled; she did not want to see Ichiro’s talent destroyed.
The third door was locked. She knew that was for equipment. Pity, she could have done with something heavy to hit with.
She faced the entrance to the engine room. Despite the temperature here she could feel the greater heat from the door itself.
She tried the handle.
xvi
Now
The handle turned but the door did not budge.
Fanning took a step back. She must gain entry somehow. She glanced again at the workshop door. There would be tools in there, but they were as inaccessible as the engine room.
She studied the door once more, and the grill above it that carried the heat and noise from inside. A wooden grill set into a wooden frame that might, just possibly, come free.
Under the effects of the Faraday it was a simple matter to jump up onto the door handle and grab hold of the grill. The noise level increased and she found herself breathing air that was so hot she might as well have been inhaling the super-heated steam for the balloon heating elements.
She peered through the wooden slats. The view provided was not complete; she could not see directly below her, but the opposite side of the engine room was clear enough. The furnace and boiler occupied the far side; the iron hatch to the fire was shut.
There were two pairs of feet: the pair on the right were very large and wearing sandals. Ichiro. There was a binding around the ankles. So he was no concern.
The pair to the left wore heavy boots and were not bound. That had to be Montgomery. But in that position, although she could see nothing of his upper body, he would be able to see her clearly coming through the grill.
He might be asleep. She imagined that in this heat it would be hard to stay awake. When they were in flight, he and Ichiro often went up on the top deck.
She focused on the wooden slats that made up the grill. The frame was part of the main structure of the door so the slats would have to be removed one at a time.
Each slat was about one quarter of an inch thick and separated from the next by a gap of an inch and a half. They were angled downward towards her, which was the main reason her view of the interior was obscured. The slats were in grooves angled up and into the engine room. If there was nothing to prevent it, they should slide up and out.
She could not tell if the pieces had been pinned or nailed in place but the varnish used to coat the whole grill showed no break where the slat met the frame. It was as good as if they had been glued into place. She tried to move a slat but it was solid. At the very least she needed something to break the varnish coating.
She jumped down lightly. The air was noticeably cooler at this level. She thought for a moment and then hurried back to Terry Montgomery’s room. It felt sacrilegious but she went inside and took the bell hammer from the table. The handle was a thin iron rod.
Although it was hard to tell the true weight of things in reduced gravity, she had learnt the skill of moving an object in the air. Its resistance to the movement helped you judge its real weight. The hammer was heavy for its size.
As she exited Terry’s room she had another thought. She needed to make the Beauty as cool as possible, so perhaps she could open the stern door and keep it that way.
In Ichiro’s room she found one of his belt-ropes. She took it and went to the rear end of the passage.
Fanning tied the rope to the handle on the inside and then pushed it open. It was completely dark outside, but the ocean reflected the silver of the waxing half-moon. The cool air was refreshing. She had not realised just how tiring it had been in the heat.
She stared at the ocean for a long moment and then realised their altitude was considerably less than it had been. Remy had remembered. It was difficult to judge height over the sea and she had no idea how much time they had before they hit. Either she would deal with the problem or they would all drown, taking the Venusian fungus into the depths.
The pipes carrying steam up to the balloons were perfectly placed. She threaded the rope through and tied it off so that the door was now flung wide and would stay that way. It might help.
She took the bell striker from her pocket and went back to the door. She jumped up again. Choosing the highest slat she scraped around where the varnish glued it to the frame. It cracked easily.
Encouraged, she worked all the way around the slat, although the inner part was awkward. The curve in the handle proved a boon. Doing the other end, nearest her head, was harder because she could not see what she was doing, but eventually she was satisfied.
She pressed against the slat. The far end moved a little. She knew that both would have to move together or it would get jammed. Taking a chance she hit the heel of her hand in a sharp blow against the stuck end.
It shifted. She gripped the middle of the slat and pushed it up. It slid along its grooves, sticking every now and then but she was satisfied it would come out. Carefully she put it back in position. She would not remove it completely until she was ready.
The second slat came loose as easily as the first. She decided she did not have time for another. If she had been in her brother’s body instead of the other way around, she would not have been able to get through.
She placed the bell striker in her pocket and removed the first slat. She tossed it back and out of the ship throug
h the door. She watched it fly back and into the propeller, which chewed it to splinters. She took out the second one and did the same.
Grabbing the third slat, still stuck in place, she pulled the front half of her body up. In order to surprise anyone inside she gave herself a push that sent her flying through the gap.
Two facts struck her at about the same moment. One was that it would probably have been better if she had gone through the gap face up, and the other was that she was going down headfirst on to a fully awake Dingbang Hsieh lying directly in front of the door.
xvii
Now
Even falling at the Faraday-reduced speed there was nothing she could do to stop herself landing on Dingbang. In the time she had available during her descent she saw that the first mate was not tied up, as Ichiro was. That made it even more surprising that he did not attempt to move as she came crashing down on him.
She threw her arms above herself and her hands hit first; she managed to place them to either side of his knees. However, she was no acrobat and although she succeeded in preventing herself from landing on him directly, she toppled towards the door and her knees struck him in the face.
He made no sound. She finally came to rest lying half across his lap. She bounced to her feet expecting an attack from either Dingbang or Montgomery.
She glanced round. Montgomery’s eyes were also open, but he too was not moving. She looked over at Ichiro. He was awake but tied up. All their eyes had the same open irises that came with the crazy.
Taking care that she could jump away at the slightest sign of danger, she knelt at Dingbang’s side. His skin was mottled and discoloured around his neck and face. She pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to reveal fingers, hand and wrist with the same unnatural patterning. She did not touch his skin.
Dr Morbury's Cargo Page 6