Cuttlefish (26 page)

“Y
ou going to give that money back to me, Darkie?” asked Jonas, in the fore'ard gangway, as Tim returned from the gray tank. It was the officers' quarters up here—the quietest part of the ship at this time of day. Tim had never really understood why the gray tank for dirty slurry should be up near the nose, but that was the way it was set up.

Tim had been doing a fair amount of worrying about the outcome of his talk to Lieutenant Ambrose. A few days ago the lieutenant had spoken to him in this very piece of passageway. “We searched his kit—Willis, Nicholl, and I—during the fire drill. It's not there, I'm afraid. Any ideas where else he could have hidden it?”

Tim had none. He'd been wondering, since he had worked out where the money had come from, where Jonas might have hidden it. But it hadn't even occurred to him that Jonas might ask for the money back.

“You said you got it from a whip around with your mates?” he asked, thinking hard.

“Yep. Only seeing as you're not going to end up put off on an island, but you're the old man's golden little boy again, I figure you may as well give it back to me,” said Jonas.

Tim nodded. “I should give it back to the people who chipped in. I owe them a thank you. Tell me who it was again?”

Jonas looked briefly as if he'd swallowed something nasty. “I'll do it for you. They wouldn't want it known about.”

“Oh, don't worry. I won't tell a soul. Just tell me who they were.
That was a lot of money for ordinary submariners,” said Tim, earnestly. “I was very grateful. I would have done something about it before, only it got very wet.”

“What? How did you get my money wet?” said Jonas, grabbing Tim's shirt front.

“Oh, so it was yours, was it?” said Tim, getting angry himself now.

“Yep, but I didn't want to tell you that. Now give it back.”

“I will. For a ring,” said Tim.

Jonas's eyes went wide. Then he slammed Tim back against the wall. “I'll kill you, Darkie!” he hissed, pulling his fist back.

Tim kicked him, hard and below the belt. As the man doubled forward he hit him as hard as he could. And then they were at it, hammer and tongs, with punches flying. Fortunately for Tim, they were a noisy hammer and tongs, as Jonas was quite a bit bigger than he was.

The first on the scene was McConnell—they were just outside the sick bay, and seeing as Mac was still needing dressings on his wounds, and he was not up to deck work or the engine room yet, he'd been acting as the boat's trainee medic. He had no real ability at medicine. But he hit Jonas hard enough with his crutch to stop him strangling Tim, which cured one of Tim's problems, not being able to breathe.

And next on the scene was a sleepy-looking Lieutenant Ambrose himself, in pyjamas, as he was off duty. He grabbed the two of them and hauled them out of it, holding them apart. “What's going on here!?” he demanded.

“Barnabas fell over and I was helping him up, sir,” said Jonas, blood dripping from his nose, looking at Tim. “Bit of a misunderstanding, sir. Nothing else.”

It was a look that said “play along or you'll really get hurt.” And suddenly Tim knew where the ring would be hidden. Jonas had told him to hide the money there. Tim turned his earnest gaze instead on the lieutenant. “We were having a fight, sir,” he said, his voice
gravelly from his throat having been squeezed. “Better send us both to the brig to cool off.”

Lieutenant Ambrose blinked. This was not quite what he had expected, obviously. But Tim knew him for a very quick thinker and one who picked up on details. A third person had arrived on the scene, a senior rating, and then behind that, a fourth. It was Clara with a bucket of slops from the kitchen. Tim could have skipped her being there too.

“Marquard, get the sergeant-at-arms,” snapped the lieutenant. “McConnell, back to the sick bay. Miss Calland, get along with you. There is nothing that need concern you here.”

They all did as they were told. The lieutenant's tone was not one that brooked argument, although Clara looked almost ready to try it. She might have started, if Tim had not shaken his head at her. And winked. He had never felt less like winking, but he had to get her out of there. Tim would bet McConnell's ear was to the door, and that Clara had ducked into the forward stairwell…but there were no witnesses.

Lieutenant Ambrose proved that, in pyjamas or not, he was a quick thinker. “I'll come along to the brig and oversee the search of the two of you. Every inch of you. You'll both go in irons or you might hurt each other further.

Jonas turned ghost-pale at the mention of the word “search.” His hand went instinctively to his crotch and just as hastily pulled away.

“I'd give it to the lieutenant now,” said Tim quietly. “If they find it when they search they can't keep it quiet. Give it over now. Otherwise you will be put off the boat onto some island.”

Jonas's face crumpled. He stuck his hand down into his trousers and pulled out a string tied around his waist, and with it, the ring. “I…I…”

Lieutenant Ambrose let go of Tim, took the ring, and snapped the string with a vicious wrench. “I'll have to have it well cleaned after that,” he said grimly. “Jonas, you'll be up at a captain's mast…explaining
why you attacked this cabin boy. Without provocation and with intent to beat him senseless. It's that or be charged with theft, and you know how the captain feels about that. And you'd better work out how the captain, and I, feel about a crewman who'd let someone innocent take the fall for him. You'll be in the brig until we get to Westralia, I'd think, and you will be lucky to be on board at all.”

“I didn't mean to let him get put off for me. It just happened,” said Jonas.

“And you didn't have the courage to put it right,” said Lieutenant Ambrose. “For someone who had stuck his neck out for you. Well, Barnabas. I think you're so badly hurt you'd better lie down in the sick bay. It's that, or put you in the brig until the mast, and I won't have that.” He tapped on the sick bay door. “McConnell, you can stop listening at the door and open it. I think that you heard Barnabas being attacked, right? The boy was struck from behind and didn't raise a hand.”

Tim stepped into the sick bay…just as a small blonde figure came dashing past and flung a bucket of kitchen slops. “You toad! You piece of filth! You scumbag,” she yelled, as she hit Jonas with the empty bucket.

Lieutenant Ambrose pulled her back. He was smiling more broadly than Tim had ever seen him smile. “I see the sergeant-at-arms is on his way. I think you should see to the injured”—he jerked a thumb at Tim—“before you clean this up.” Then he led Jonas away.

“What a piece of work,” said Mac, sitting down. “You sit down too, missy. Good shot, though.”

“So he stole that stuff!” Clara was fuming. “Well I hope the captain will leave him on an island to starve!”

“Not if I can help it,” said Tim, feeling his throat. “I reckon he'll either learn a lesson, or not find a berth again.”

“But he was going to let you be thrown out. Marooned on some island.”

“Yep. But he did try and make up for it a bit,” said Tim. “And
then he got greedy again. And anyway, I once prigged something too. Sweets from a shop Under London. My mam caught me, and made me take them back. I thought I'd die doing that. I didn't, but I learned. Maybe he didn't get lucky enough to be caught.”

“It's an interesting way of looking at it, Tim-boy,” said Mac. “Happened to me too, sort of, as a wee kiddy.”

“I still think you're far too nice,” said Clara, stormily. “But it's you being it, I suppose.”

At this point Lieutenant Ambrose came back. “Get to cleaning up, Miss Calland,” he said firmly. “Even if I am grateful to you. The gangways need to be clean and safe.” He looked at Tim. “Did you have to orchestrate that without giving me any warning?” He asked, taking out the ring, inspecting it.

“Um. Actually, sir, I didn't plan it at all. He just came and asked me for your money, right there. And then it kind of grew into a fight. And then I suddenly worked out where he must have it. But I am really glad you've got your mother's ring back.”

Lieutenant Ambrose shook his head. “If I'd known that…well. I have my own back. And I'll get it professionally cleaned in Westralia. And I will be forever grateful to you for that, Barnabas. I haven't much left from my own family. The skipper will smell a rat, of course. But I think he'll back me up.”

And so it was.

In a mysterious fashion, of course, quite a few of the crew seemed to know the real story.

But they weren't talking to the captain about it either.

Several days later Tim and Clara were in the mess, working, and Clara got to asking about where they were going. “What's it like?”

“Westralia!” said Cookie. “Well, yous know what the Americans say about Texas, missy?”

“Um. No,” admitted Clara.

Cookie grinned in delight at having a joke that they hadn't heard before. “They say that all Texas needs is a few good people and more water to make it heaven. Which is all hell needs too. Well, we've got the people. But it's mighty dry. We're working on it, though. There are big desalination plants on the coast, and we've got water drip-feeds that deliver water just to each plant. The Royal Navy have shelled a few of the desalination plants, so they have big sand-walls—we've got lots of sand, and batteries of rockets to defend them.”

“Big sandcastles,” said Tim, busy peeling vegetables.

Cookie laughed. “Something like that, yes. The newer ones just pump seawater in through the caves on the Nullarbor, so they can be further from the sea, see. But we'll probably head for the big plant they made at Eucla, or even to the new one at Ceduna. Used to be in South Australia, but the British pulled everyone back from the Nullarbor and the Eyre Peninsula. You see, the east got wetter, but the west got drier, in the Great Melt. When the Australian Commonwealth Government collapsed in 1941, and the governor-general called for direct rule for the duration of the emergency, the British Empire ran the government. Then after the Big Dry from '40 to '48, they just evacuated everyone—well, everyone who would go—to east of the Yorke Peninsula…Eh. I can see it means nothing to yous. I'll show yer on the map, Missy. But it meant that only the real Ozzie battlers stayed on, see. And now blokes who don't like direct rule keep moving to Westralia. At this rate the east coast will be left with nothing but a lot of city-born bludgers.”

“What's a bludger?” asked Clara.

“A scrounger, someone who don't like to work much,” said Cookie, pointing with an elbow at the sink. His hands were full of knife and potato. “Someone who asks questions instead of doing the washing up.”

So Clara scrubbed pots. Still, it was on her mind. They'd sighted Cape Howe, as well as a Royal Navy ship, yesterday, which was why
they were running below the surface by day again. Australia, and the end of their journey, loomed close. Simply because of Cookie, Westralia didn't seem quite so unfamiliar and scary as America had. That country she'd only known from the bioramas. It still meant she would be parting from the crew, and the submarine, which felt more like home than anything she'd lived in since her father had been arrested. It was just, well, good but difficult.

She really didn't know quite how to go on with Tim, though. It would also mean saying good-bye to him, and she didn't want to think about it. Yes, her mother had given her a long lecture about the dangers of getting pregnant. She hadn't even thought of going anything like that far anyway. She would settle for working on the kissing part, right now. No matter what Mother or the captain said. Except…she wasn't going to get him into trouble again. But another part of her didn't want to even touch him. The part that knew that she was going to get off the submarine in Westralia, and that their lives would carry them apart, didn't want to let him or anyone else get too close. She knew she'd probably never ever see her father again. That hurt more than she could bear to think about. So also did the fact that Tim would stay with the submarine and be carried away…maybe never to come back. And there was nothing she could do about it. That hurt already.