The Eye of Neptune (3 page)

‘So you say,’ Dakkar muttered.

Oginski stopped wrestling with the bag and looked at Dakkar. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded.

‘If my father has so many enemies,’ Dakkar said, not meeting Oginski’s eye, ‘how will I fight them? I’m not learning the art of war here. Strategy, commanding troops – these are the things I need to learn. Yet you teach me how to swim, to build canals, to design machines.’

‘A great leader doesn’t just fight for his people – he cares for his people,’ Oginski sighed. ‘Do your people love your father or fear him? Do they have irrigation for their crops? Do they have steam engines to pump flood water out of their mines, to pull their loads?’

‘No, Oginski, but –’

‘I teach you the skills you need to build a modern, enlightened country,’ Oginski snapped, pulling his bag shut. ‘If you want to learn how to fight, then join the army. Afterwards, if you don’t die in one of Europe’s insane wars, you’ll be able to go home and die fighting there.’

‘I only meant –’

‘I don’t have time for this argument, Dakkar,’ Oginski said, striding for the door. ‘I’m going to Fullacombe to hear what rumours are circulating. I’ll be back this evening. In the meantime, stay inside. Don’t swim and don’t talk to anyone except the staff.’

Before Dakkar could reply, Oginski banged the door shut behind him.

Dakkar scowled at the door, arms folded tight against his chest. Mrs Evans laid a hand on his arm.

‘Come on now, Dakkar, dear,’ she whispered. ‘Come and have a piece of cake and some tea. You’ll feel better then.’

Dakkar allowed himself to be led away to the kitchen, where Mrs Evans sat him down at the scrubbed table.

‘It’s not fair, Mrs Evans,’ Dakkar said, sniffing. ‘I’m a young man now and yet Oginski treats me like a child!’

‘The count has always been a secretive man,’ Mrs Evans said, cutting into the thick fruit cake. ‘He’s the same with everyone. Folk around here don’t have much time for him. He never gives a “good mornin’ ” or a smile to strangers. He’s been worse lately, spending even more time down in his cellar.’

Dakkar nodded. Oginski had been spending so long down there recently that Dakkar had wondered what he was up to. Usually Oginski shared his projects and presented them to Dakkar as learning opportunities – together they’d built a pump for the local mine and fixed the clock in the church tower.

‘He’s always so nervous and agitated,’ Dakkar mumbled through a mouthful of sweet crumbs. ‘Like when I first met him.’

‘You led him a merry dance then,’ Mrs Evans chuckled. ‘Pardon me for saying so, Dakkar, but you were a little monster. You ran away five times, no less, clamberin’ out of windows, hiding in the coal shed . . .’

A grin spread across Dakkar’s face. ‘I wasn’t that bad, was I?’

‘We weren’t expectin’ you, see?’ Mrs Evans laughed. ‘When the count first brought you home, we thought he’d found a faery changeling on the road!’

‘But the way he changed this morning when he –’ Dakkar dropped his cake slice on to the table and jumped to his feet. ‘The squid, in the water. I forgot!’

‘What are you on about, lad?’ Mrs Evans said as Dakkar hurried out of the kitchen. ‘Here, come back! Where are you going? Count Oginski said you weren’t to leave the castle!’

Dakkar rushed into the hall and through the front door. Out across the flat cliff path he ran, muttering and cursing as he did. The grey, rain-filled clouds hadn’t broken and Dakkar could see the little village huddled around the river outlet where the cliffs sloped down to the sea. The stones crunched under his feet and the nettles that fringed the path whipped at his hands and legs, but he didn’t slow.

I’ve got to warn them about the thing in the sea
, he thought.
If someone died, I’d never forgive myself.

Soon the low cottages came into view and Dakkar was in the heart of the village. He hurried to the tavern and crashed against the door, tumbling inside. The hard tiles stung his knees and the smell of beer and tobacco smoke tickled his nose. A fire crackled in the hearth and scrubbed wooden tables and chairs filled the small room. A couple of toothless old men with leather-brown skin and matted white beards sat in the corner by the fire.

The taverner’s wife gave a squeal and slopped beer from the mugs she held.

‘What on earth are you playin’ at?’ she screeched, slamming the drinks down on the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dakkar panted, scrambling to his feet. ‘But I had to warn you.’

‘Warn? What about?’ one of the old men piped up in the corner.

‘I saw something,’ Dakkar gasped, slowly getting his breath back. ‘It was in the sea this morning.’

‘You’re the boy from the castle, ain’t you?’ the taverner’s wife said, narrowing her eyes.

‘Yes. My name is Dakkar,’ he said, rubbing his forehead. ‘You must listen.’

A chair leg scraped along the tiled floor and Dakkar turned at the sound, peering into the shadows.

A squat, hunchbacked man, with small, glittering eyes stood leering at him. One hand rested on the table, supporting him as he leaned forward. Dakkar could see that his middle and index fingers were missing. His wide mouth split into a grin that was too full of brown tombstone teeth.

Dakkar gave a gasp, trying not to stare at the man’s blistered, scarred skin and mutilated hands.

‘Well, Dakkar, you ain’t welcome here,’ the taverner’s wife said, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing at the man in the shadows. ‘Go on, get back home!’

‘But there’s something out there in the sea!’ Dakkar persisted. ‘It could be dangerous.’

The squat man shuffled forward and gave a sniff, and his grin widened.

‘Lots of fish, I shouldn’t doubt,’ one of the old men cackled.

‘Go on, shoo!’ the taverner’s wife snapped, and she bundled Dakkar out through the door.

Dakkar didn’t resist – the strange man disturbed him. It wasn’t so much his appearance as the look he had given Dakkar. Full of menace. Glancing back, he saw the man peering at him through the tavern’s small leaded window.

At least he’d warned the villagers. He couldn’t do any more. Dakkar ran back towards the castle, the wind battering him. Dakkar couldn’t help checking behind him.
Stupid! As if the man would follow me!
Still, all the way home, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

At last he reached the castle and slammed the heavy door behind him. Silence hung over the hallway as Dakkar scanned the oak panels, the suits of armour standing to attention, the stairs spiralling up to the next floor. He was just opening his mouth to shout for Mrs Evans when something caught his attention.

The cellar door was ajar. Located just under the staircase, it normally stood locked and flush to the varnished panels, almost invisible. Now Dakkar could see the edge of the door and the lock. Oginski must have left it open in his hurry.

Holding his breath, Dakkar tiptoed over to the door and peered down the short flight of steps. An oil lamp glowed dimly but there was no sound of movement. Slowly, he crept down, pressing himself against the wall.

The steps opened into a small room with a workbench, a number of cupboards and some tools scattered on the surfaces. A bookcase filled one wall. Dakkar sneaked up to the workbench and picked up a hammer that lay there. It felt heavy in his hand. He glanced up and what he saw made him gasp.

Pinned to the wall was a drawing of a boat. It was a strange boat, with a covered top and a wheel at the stern, rather like a paddle steamer. Written in neat copperplate above it were the words
Oginski’s Patent Undersea Submersible
.

An underwater boat!
Dakkar thought, running his fingers over the lines on the plan.

He read the legend under the diagram:
Ballast tanks within hull for submerging . . .

For some time, Dakkar stood, lost in the design of the craft.
So this is what Oginski has been so secretive about! But he couldn’t have spent all this time just drawing up this plan – maybe he’s actually making it!

Looking about, Dakkar could see a riveted metal door in the wall opposite. He pulled it open, wincing as it squealed on its hinges. This entrance opened on to a long flight of shallow steps. Through it Dakkar could smell the sea and hear the distant waves rolling against the cliffs. Pulling the door closed behind him, he took the first step and immediately slipped on the slimy green seaweed that coated everything. Dakkar’s backside went numb as he bumped down every step. He could feel the damp from the steps soaking through his trousers. Finally, he reached the last step and staggered to his feet, groaning and rubbing his aching bottom.

He looked up at the huge sea cavern in which he stood, his eyes widening in amazement. It towered above him, echoing with the roar of the tide. High above his head, daylight streamed through a hole punched in the ceiling. He stood on a platform of rock that rose above a natural pool. Somewhere below, he supposed, the sea had bored its way in through a seam of softer rock, making a tunnel.

But what really caught Dakkar’s attention was the strange craft that bobbed in the centre of the pool, tied in place by strong ropes. It reminded him of a cocoon. The deck was flat at the back and held what looked like a wheel from a watermill or a paddle from a miniature paddle steamer. Portholes lined the sides of the ‘lid’ and the hull of the boat.

‘The submersible,’ Dakkar whispered.

A plank bridged the gap from the rocky plateau to the craft. Dakkar tiptoed along it and, leaning forward, he pressed his palms on the polished wooden hull. As he did so, his knuckles grazed a brass lever. Without thinking, he pulled at it and scrambled back as the lid lifted with a hiss.

The submersible was open.

Two cushioned seats occupied the front of the craft. Dakkar could see the captain’s seat, inviting him to climb in.
What harm would it do just to sit inside?
He stretched a leg into the craft.

Chapter Three

The Ma
k
a
r
a

Dakkar sat in the boat and ran his hands over the wheel in front of him. He poked the black substance that ran along the edge of the lid.

‘Rubber from the Americas,’ he muttered to himself. ‘It must form a waterproof seal when the top is shut.’

A memory of Oginski melting rubber in a pan in the kitchen came to mind. Mrs Evans had gone mad and the smell had made Dakkar sick to his stomach.

‘This could be the best waterproofing for ships ever,’ Oginski had said.

‘It’ll be the death of me, Count Oginski,’ Mrs Evans had snapped back, pushing him out of her kitchen, shaking her head at her ruined pots and pans.

Dakkar looked behind him at the engine that filled half the craft. A central wheel with thick teeth sat in the midst of a mass of cogs and springs. Wires and tubes spiralled off around the inside of the craft, disappearing into parts of the hull and the control panel at the front. In the middle of this sat a box with a crank handle sticking out of it.

‘Surely it isn’t clockwork!’ Dakkar said, climbing out of his seat.

He heaved at the crank handle. It clicked noisily. Dakkar was panting by the time he felt he could wind no more.

‘It’s amazing,’ he whispered, staring at the complex mass of cogs and springs.
It must have some incredible gear system to generate enough power to move. I wonder how often it needs to be wound.

Steadying himself as the craft rocked on the water, Dakkar eased himself back into his seat and gripped the small ship’s wheel that poked out in front of him. Several levers and taps dotted the smooth wooden panel behind the wheel.

Dakkar closed his eyes and thought of the plan he’d seen in the cellar. The boat’s hull had two layers and a compartment between them could fill with water and submerge the craft. He reached for the lid, then stopped and bit his lip. He wanted to plunge underwater to see how deep the boat could go.
But Oginski will go berserk if he finds out!
If
he finds out!
Dakkar thought.
But he doesn’t have to. He has his secrets, so I’ll have mine!

The submersible felt cramped and stifling as Dakkar pulled the lid down and secured the watertight seal with a lever. Thinking back to the plan, Dakkar twirled a brass disc at the centre of the main wheel and the engine clanked into life, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

The craft didn’t move.

Dakkar frowned, his heart thumping. He glanced around and noticed a brass handle in among the levers behind the wheel. He whirled it round and heard a gurgling sound as seawater filled the hull of the craft. Gradually, the waterline crept halfway over the portholes, but there it stopped.
What’s going on?
Dakkar wondered.

It was then that he noticed the tight line of rope stretching to the side of the cavern. He laughed to himself.
I forgot to untie her!

Dakkar whirled the handle back, relieved to hear the bubbling gush of water as the hull filled with air once more and the boat floated to the surface. Quickly, he opened the lid and scrambled out, almost falling into the pool as he hurried to untie the ropes that held the craft fast.