Cuttlefish (21 page)

The captain raised his eyes to heaven and shook his head. “Now I see where this is going. No, Miss Calland. Just no. I appreciate that he behaved with considerable courage and saved your life—”

“And the submarine!” Clara thrust in.

The captain nodded his acceptance of this point. “And the submarine. But there is no wireless transmitter on the ship besides this one here. I'm—”

Clara surprised herself by starting to cry. “I did hear it. I know you don't believe me, or Tim, but I did hear it.”

He was obviously trying to be patient and gentle, but he was looking angry at the same time. “It's possible that you heard something. The range on those devices is very variable, and I believe you can occasionally get atmospheric conditions that will let you receive a signal from many miles off. Now, I am sorry, Miss Calland, but we have to hand over in fifteen minutes. Please go.”

So Clara went, dragging her feet down the steel narrow companionway, and along the gangway toward the officers' quarters. She felt that she'd just made matters worse. She was not ready to go back to their cabin. She was even less ready to make her way down to the workshop and tell Tim. She was so despairing that she almost bumped into the mate without seeing him.

“What is wrong?” asked Mate Werner.

“I picked up wireless transmissions from the spy and told the captain, and he won't believe me,” she said bitterly. “He just thinks I'm lying to help Tim.”

The mate was silent for a moment, looking at her. “I have thought the captain was a little harsh on the young man,” he said, slowly, at last.

“Harsh! It was just unfair,” said Clara furiously, letting it all burst out. “Tim would never take anything! Never. He was just looking for a wireless, which I told him to do. And he was right about where he was looking. It must be Lieutenant…Um.” She suddenly realised who she was talking to.

“But you picked up a signal, ja?” asked the mate.

“Yes. I made this crystal set. But the signal was in Morse code. I don't understand it,” said Clara. “And the captain, and my mother, they both wouldn't believe me.”

The mate smiled. “But I know the Morse code. So too does the skipper.” He nodded slowly to himself. “Ja, well. I do not think you are making this up. Say nothing of this, because we do not know who we can trust. But it is likely you will get another signal, maybe. You must write the pattern down. Or when I come off duty, I will borrow your little crystal set, and see if I can hear anything. If it is true, we will catch them. And you do not worry about the
junge
, the young man. I have spoken with the captain. I will speak again. Not until we reach Australia will he be put off. And now I must go. I am on duty.”

Clara felt as if all the cares of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you!”

He nodded. “But keep it to yourself, miss. Not even your mother must you tell.”

“She doesn't believe me anyway,” said Clara.

She walked on down the passage with a spring in her step, past the mess. Cookie waved at her. “You're looking a bit more chipper, missy.”

She nearly told him why. And then swallowed it and waved, and went on down to the little electrical workshop. Soon she was telling Tim. He was, after all, the one person on the ship she could tell. And she could tell him that the mate would speak to the captain about him. That he was safe until Australia.

C
lara had listened through the night, setting the little travelling chronometer to wake her when Sparks had finished his session. She'd picked up fragments of news and foreign languages, all faint. So she took the crystal set with her, when the mate had finished his watch, to his cabin in the bow area. Knocked.

He opened the door, smiled to see the crystal set. “Good. You have told no one?”

Clara could hardly say that she'd told Tim without having to explain. So she shook her head. It was a lie, but it was not going to hurt anyone.

“Ja. Well, you can leave the set with me. I will listen. I know wireless well. I have thought about it on my watch. They will most likely use a regular time. So what time was it when you heard the Morse transmission?”

“Um. Three quarters of an hour before changeover,” said Clara, thinking.

The mate nodded. “Good. You will come back then. Maybe quarter of an hour earlier. We will see if we can catch them at it.”

Clara did some serious catching up on her sleep that day, to the point that her mother noticed, and asked if she was well.

“Fine. Just tired,” said Clara airily. “I was listening to the crystal set late.”

“You've had it glued to your ear for days,” said her mother with a wry smile. “Have you finally had enough of it? I see you haven't got it here now.”

“I lent it to the mate.” Clara looked at the chronometer. “I think I'll go to the mess. I have been through this book too often.”

“Maybe you should offer to wash dishes,” said Mother. It was the job Mother had always been keen on volunteering her or her father to do. Mother didn't like doing it herself, Clara knew. Well, there were times when to have to wash dishes was fair, but this wasn't one of them.

“I did, but Cookie said I'd chip the plates,” said Clara, hastening out of the door. She went forward, not to the mess, but to the mate.

He had the crystal set set up, with the aerial wire spanned and had the earphone plugged into his ear. He opened the door with one hand, and beckoned her in, putting a finger to his lips. “Getting it. Hush.”

Clara wanted to listen too. But then she could not have dealt with the Morse. He nodded, held up a finger, tapped the small shellacked desk several times. And then took the earphone out of his ear. “Transmission ends. You were right, miss. And they were not even using code.”

“Good! We can go and tell the captain,” said Clara, the huge relief making her want to dance, and laugh and yell.

He shook his head, very slowly. “I am afraid the captain himself he may be implicated, ja.”

Clara gasped. “But he can't be. He's the captain. I mean…he could just have let us go or be caught a lot of times.”

“I am not sure. But there is more than one person on this
Unterseeboot
they referred to. They did not identify themselves. And it seems Captain Malkis did not wish to let you leave, when you could have left safely with the Americans in Rivas. He got a wireless message saying that they agreed to all of your mother's conditions. I was there,” said the mate.

Clara bit her lip. “And he wouldn't believe us about the spy.…No. But I still don't think it can be him, Mr. Mate.”

The mate shrugged. “We cannot tell. We still do not know who they are, and the captain, he will not authorise a full search. I tried, because if they find the ring of Lieutenant Ambrose's mother, they would find the thief, not your boy. But we will set a trap for them. We lie off Tutuila in the daytime, ja. They have said they will signal the precise position with a mirror at ten hundred hours. So we will go up the deck well, and they will be trapped. Caught red-handed. It is on my watch, so it will be easy to organise. I have my
Pistool
. I will meet you at the hatch door to the deck well.”

“And then, finally it will be over,” said Clara, clasping her hands together and biting her lip.

The mate nodded. “Ja. Do not tip our hand, though. We do not know who it is, so we must be quiet, quiet like mice.”

Clara knew she had four and a half hours to wait. She could hardly bear it. She ate almost nothing, to the extent that Cookie asked her if she was well. She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She waited until after changeover, then stole down to the electrical workshop. Inevitably she ran into Thorne, but all the artificer did was to smile at her. Knowingly. He looked a little worried. She had to wonder why. She hoped it wasn't him. She liked his muttonchop whiskers, and he was kind to her.

Still, he did nothing to stop her going into the little electrical workshop and closing the door.

Tim, in the brig, had got quite expert at telling just who was walking down the passage. He recognised Clara, easily. Thorne had just stopped at the cell, and quickly handed him something through the bars. A little wash-leather bag. “Put it in your pockets, sonny,” he said quietly. “Some fish hooks, some line, some copper wire. Some brass beads I've made with workshop scrap. You can at least feed yourself and trade with the natives. The skipper's going to leave you on Tau.” Then, before Tim could say anything, he'd walked off. That was the sixth visit Tim had had, including one from a very pale-faced Artificer McConnell, still on a crutch, doing his longest walk yet from the sick bay. Tim's pockets bulged with chocolate and even Big Eddie's precious clasp knife. The oddest visits by far were from a few people that he thought wouldn't care, or that he didn't like or he thought didn't like him. Submariner Jonas had brought him an envelope. “We had a secret whip round for you, Darkie. A little money will go a long way out here, when you can find some people. Slip it in your underdaks, on a piece o' string, to stop it falling out. They won't find it there.”

“By half past ten, you should be out of there,” said Clara, down the pipe. “We caught them at it again early this morning, the mate and I. We've got a trap set for them at ten o'clock, when they'll be signalling their friends on the shore. I can't stay. Thorne was looking very suspiciously at me.” She paused. “The mate thinks…the captain may even be involved.”

“That's impossible.” Tim might be bitter about the fact that the captain didn't believe him, but he was the captain. Straight in his dealings and…well, the captain.

“Indeed, that's what he said about the transmitter and the traitor,” said Clara. “Impossible. I'll be seeing you later, Tim. Got to run, or Mother will be asking questions.”

And Tim was left alone to wait.

Clara went back to their cabin and tried to be a dutiful daughter and not kick her heels against the bulkheads. She watched the time carefully, hoping her mother would turn in. But Mother was, as usual, working. So, at three minutes to ten, Clara got up and announced that she was off to the heads, hoping Mother would not notice she was wearing her breeches under her dressing gown. And, once out, she walked very fast, to the deck shaft door. The mate was waiting there. “Good girl,” he said. “I have my
Pistool
. Let us go.”

He opened the door for her. If they were on the surface—as they must be to open the door—there should have been a watchman in the cowling if the mast was not up. But there wasn't.

There was just bright sunlight, and something suddenly pressed hard across her mouth and nose.

Dizziness. And that was all she remembered.

Tim sat and waited. And then he lay and waited. And then he tried to read the nav textbook again. Then he looked at the contents of the wash-leather bag Thorne had given him. Hooks, wire, beads, a spool of linen line…just what you'd need to survive being dumped on an island. He'd just put them away when hasty footsteps came down the passage.

It was not someone he was pleased to see: Lieutenant Ambrose, and with him Gordon—one of the senior ratings.

Tim wasn't pleased to see Lieutenant Ambrose. But Lieutenant Ambrose was utterly amazed to see him. “What are you doing here, Barnabas?” he demanded.

“Lying on my back looking at the bulkhead. Which I'd rather look at than you.” Tim didn't feel he had to be polite.

“But…but you've run away!” exclaimed the lieutenant.

Tim snorted. “The door is locked and I'm in a submarine in the middle of the ocean. I can't run anywhere. Is that the next lie you'll tell about me?”

The lieutenant swallowed. “Gordon. Stay here. I am going to fetch the captain.”

“What's going on?” asked Tim, beginning to get worried now, as Lieutenant Ambrose left at a sprint.

Gordon shrugged his shoulders. “They thought you done a runner. We came down to see what damage had been done.”

Next thing the captain and Clara's mother arrived, also at the run. Both of them appeared stunned to see him. “Where is Clara?” asked her mother, as if she couldn't see that the little cell didn't have much in the way of hiding places for a mouse, let alone another person.

Tim felt his stomach sink. “She went with the first mate, to catch the spy with the transmitter.” He pointed at the captain. “He said he thought it must be you.”

Captain Malkis took a deep breath. Turned to the lieutenant. “Where is First Mate Werner?”

“I couldn't find him, sir,” said Lieutenant Ambrose. “That's why I called you when the hatch-watchman reported finding Miss Calland's dressing gown on the hatch stairs.”

It got through to Tim first. “He's kidnapped her,” yelled Tim. “And I
told
you there was a spy. You wouldn't
listen
to me!”

“Ambrose, Nicholl. Check the mate's cabin,” said the captain, ignoring Tim. “Search it thoroughly. And I want the hatch-watch to report to me on the bridge. Now.”

“She said she'd lent her crystal set to the mate,” said Clara's mother, wringing her hands.

“We'll get to the bottom of this,” said the captain. “I will speak to you shortly, Barnabas.”

And they went away, and Tim was left standing holding onto the bars, shaking them in frustration and fury.

A very little while later Lieutenant Willis came down, with the key to the brig. “You've been sprung, boy,” he said as he unlocked the door. “Captain wants you on the bridge.”