Dr Morbury's Cargo Page 2
It had been difficult when her brother Frank had joined her inside her head. She preferred to think of it that way rather than the truth of it, that her brother had been forced in. It was not a pleasant memory and it had taken a lot of work to just let him be, and even let him take charge. There were times when she was no longer sure whether it was the original her or her brother that was in control.
He had always been bossy because he was older. When their parents died Frank had looked out for her, and he did not see why that arrangement should change just because he was now sharing her body.
Truth was he had been scared to start with—not that he liked to admit it—and she had been the one that had looked after him. But once he had gotten used to the way things were he just did what he always had. Told her what to do.
But that weren’t getting them nowhere.
They were the only ones still in command of their senses. The others seemed to have entirely lost theirs.
She felt the cords that bound her. Stockings, if she was not mistaken. She tried lifting her head. It throbbed mightily as she did so but she saw she was still in the captain’s cabin. This was Mrs Cameron’s bed. And she was here too, sitting on the floor with her back to the door, but asleep. When the ship was light sleeping became a lot easier, even in the oddest of positions.
Fanning’s throbbing head forced her to settle back. It must be the cargo doing this. That was the only explanation. She knew the passengers were plant collectors but she had not taken any interest in them or their cargo. Scientists made her uncomfortable.
As the only one still in charge of their reason it was up to her to save the day, which she would do but for the fact she had been beaten by the weakest member of the crew and was now restrained.
She tested the ties. There was a lot of play but the knots seemed firm. Somehow she had to get out. There was probably no way of doing that without waking Mrs Cameron, so she needed to get untied fast.
By sliding her body over, Fanning found she could get her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the box of matches. Silk was strong but burnt easily. Fanning twisted her hand and found that she could get her fingers under the cord so if she had a lighted match in her fingers she should be able to burn through it.
She jumped as Mrs Cameron snuffled and snored for a moment, muttering words. Fanning could not make them out exactly but they held the tone of someone pleading for mercy. The woman even cried out and moaned as if in pain.
Fanning managed to slide the small tray out of the box of matches. Fumbling, she dumped the contents onto the bed. She sighed and set about putting them into her pocket. She did not want them catching light and burning her to death.
Fairly sure she’d got them all, Fanning wedged the matchbox under her rear end to hold it firm. She retrieved one of the matches and dragged it along the strip on the side of the box.
She winced at the noise but Mrs Cameron did not stir at the sound.
The match did not light. Fanning tried again, striking harder and faster. She missed the box completely and cussed her own ineptitude. Third time’s a charm, she thought.
It wasn’t. Nor the fourth.
Finally the familiar hiss, and the burst of chemical incandescence lit the room. Awkwardly Fanning twisted her fingers and felt the heat on her wrist. She twisted her whole body to make it easier to get the match under the cord without burning her own precious skin.
I’ll have to buy Beatrice some new stockings, she thought as her hand came free. The heat from the match burnt her fingers and she dropped it. The light vanished.
She sat up and made sure the match had gone out. Her head pounded at the sudden movement and she wished she hadn’t. Mrs Cameron did not stir. Fanning managed to undo the other knotted stocking and then did the same for her ankles. She kept glancing over to Mrs Cameron against the possibility she might wake.
Then she was free, and jumped to the deck light as a feather.
Looking down at the sleeping form of Mrs Cameron, she weighed up her choices. Leaving by the door was best, which meant Mrs Cameron would awake. Frank would not hit a woman. Liza herself had no problem with it, but Frank made the rules.
She untied the stocking from the bed and stretched it out. Kneeling by Mrs Cameron’s feet she looped the stocking twice round her ankles, loosely, and made a slipknot. She was surprised how tight she had it before Mrs Cameron came awake.
Fanning yanked the slipknot tight as Mrs Cameron kicked out in reaction. She grabbed Beatrice’s left wrist before the woman had come fully to her senses. With her foot on Mrs Cameron’s ankle, Fanning yanked her arm hard. In a manoeuvre that would have been impossible in normal gravity, Fanning levered Mrs Cameron up and then over so she was face down on the floor.
Fanning nailed Beatrice to the floor with a knee in the middle of her backbone and wrenched her arm back. Beatrice squealed in pain. With her other hand Fanning grabbed the ankle-tie and pulled the woman’s feet up to her wrist. She looped the tie around the wrist and drew it tight. Then she reached over and grabbed the other flailing arm and did the same.
Mrs Cameron was hog-tied.
“I don’t know if it crossed your mind, but I wouldn’t shout none, Beatrice,” she said in the woman’s ear. “Everyone’s gone a little crazy and you wouldn’t want them to find you like this, would you?”
Mrs Cameron said nothing. Fanning rummaged through her skirt until she found Beatrice’s kerchief. She also fetched the other burnt stocking, then forced the cloth into the woman’s mouth and tied it in place.
“You just rest there awhile and keep yourself quiet.” Fanning lifted her easily and placed her on the bed. “I’ll be back.”
And if I’m not, she thought, it’ll be because we’re all knocking on heaven’s door together.
iv
Yesterday Afternoon
Mrs Cameron led the way into the cargo bay, the three men following.
“We do not have passenger quarters for everyone, this being a cargo vessel,” she said and headed towards the front part of the cargo bay under the bridge. “However, we are preparing temporary accommodation.”
Ichiro was holding a wooden frame while Terry pinned a cloth across it. Several similar frames had been stacked against the wall behind them. Vertical struts to hold the frames, thereby creating makeshift walls, were already in place.
“I realise it may not be what you are used to, Doctor Morbury,” Beatrice continued. “However, it is only for a couple of days.”
The professor harrumphed. “It might seem that way to you, Mrs Cameron,” he said. “We have trekked the wilderness of Venus to bring our specimens home. This represents luxury compared to those conditions.”
Beatrice smiled. “How nice,” she said. “Then you’ll be right at home.”
“As long as they are ready on time.”
Beatrice glanced at Terry, who nodded. “They will, of course, be quite ready.
“Would you like to inspect your cargo?” she asked out of courtesy, although she would have preferred to leave them. She had to remind herself she was trying to make a good impression so that the captain kept her aboard.
She knew she could maintain the illusion. Her husband had always been trying to make a good impression with his seniors by entertaining at home, requiring her to be the perfect hostess, a role at which she had succeeded. She had even continued to smile after Ellis Greatrix, one of the senior partners, had touched her inappropriately. He had always accepted her husband’s invitations. She even had the idea that her husband had wanted her to “accommodate” the man, just so he would be promoted. She had not done so.
“I understand you are transferring plant samples?” said Beatrice conversationally as they walked across the cargo bay. On this side, Remy was at work with Otto installing pipes through from the engine room.
The Frenchman usually wore his work clothes since he was to be found on the upper deck tending the balloons. This was the first time, however, Beatrice had seen the young German compu
tationer wearing anything other than a suit. In fact she was certain he did not own anything else. She concluded the overalls he wore must belong to Remy, as they were of the same design and were rolled up at the ankles. Remy was quite tall.
In response to her question the two younger scientists seemed to tighten up. The older man replied, “Yes. Living samples.”
“Is it as hot on Venus as they say?”
“Yes, Mrs Cameron, the planet is considerably closer to the sun and is thus much hotter.”
Remy grunted and muttered something in French under his breath. Mrs Cameron only caught part of it; it was not complimentary. She glanced nervously at the scientists, but if any of them had noticed they did not react.
Mrs Cameron turned away from the Frenchman. “So the plants need heat to survive?”
“That is correct,” said Dr Lambington. “Once your fellow has prepared the heating elements we must switch it on.”
“And you’re going to Calcutta?”
At her words Dr Lambington exchanged glances with the Curator of the Botanic Garden and then returned his attention to Beatrice.
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” he said, “it seems unusual for a lady of your quality to be aboard a vessel such as this.”
If he had intended to make her feel uncomfortable he had most certainly succeeded in his goal. She hesitated and found no convincing lie to tell.
“Allow me to show you the rest of the vessel so that you can get your bearings.”
* * * * *
Qi went over the chart again. This was a simple cargo trip. In fact, it was entirely possible this could become a new type of business for them.
Carrying ice from the mountains to the cities was as reliable as any trade, which meant they were victim to all the usual problems with taxes, cargo loading and unloading, working in freezing temperatures, navigating treacherous mountains in a balloon craft. Not to mention the competition from the individual traders with two or three ships, and the big companies with dozens of vessels and their ability to buy coal, and other necessities, in bulk at lower prices.
And buy more than they needed to drive up the price for their rivals.
It had been a stroke of luck when Dingbang had fallen into conversation with Mr Ketteridge. The fellow was not a fool; he had recognised that a ship insulated against heat to prevent ice from melting in transit was equally insulated against the cold.
Or rather, protected in such a way that the plants they were transporting could be kept hot more easily than on another vessel without insulation.
The journey from the Fortress in Ceylon up to Calcutta would not take more than a couple of days and the scientists were willing to pay well for it. Perhaps this was a business opportunity, transporting exotic plants from the planets to locations across India. And why stop at India? They could travel across the world delivering items that others would have more difficulty in carrying.
And where would that get her?
The Beauty was her life; it was her soul. If she succeeded in running a business carrying such things, they would have to expand. They would need a faster ship in order to compete, because as soon as it was clear they had found a new trade others would come in, offering cheaper and faster transportation. The big transportation companies would muscle in and force her out of business.
She shook her head.
No. This was not a good plan. Just take these fellows where they wanted to go and let that be the end of it. Nothing in this world would make her give up her ship.
Which brought her once more to the question of Calcutta. It was in Bengal, less than half a day’s journey from China. There were plenty of ice ships from the mountains that came down to that hell-hole.
They needed to be in and out as fast as possible.
She rubbed her right hand idly. It had been itching on and off for the last day; she tried not to scratch it because it just made things worse. He hadn’t commented on it but Dingbang had also been scratching. Must be something in the air.
v
Now
Fanning opened the door a little way and peered out.
The companionway was dark. The sound of Qi still shouting at Otto filtered down through the gloom. Fanning was surprised, but glad, that the captain had not shot him. How many hours had this been going on? Fanning wondered what was wrong with them; the symptom seemed to be some sort of mania. The captain was obsessed with arriving on time and with Otto, but he had seemed inordinately interested in Fanning herself.
Mrs Cameron had an equally undefined concern eating at her. The upshot was that she wanted to tie Fanning up and did not trust her. That was not an unusual reaction but the intensity was inappropriate, especially from someone who already knew Fanning well.
That this behaviour stemmed from their cargo was not in question. Something about these plants from Venus caused folks to behave oddly. Fanning had seen how careless the dock workers had been bringing the equipment and the plants on board. Obviously there had been an escape.
She shut the door on the quietly complaining Mrs Cameron and crept towards the rear. The door to the “cold-lock” stood closed at the end of the passage.
Should she head directly inside? She did not know if the scientists were affected. They should be, as they were the closest to the plants.
Fanning hesitated. What would be the problem with entering the cargo hold from the cold-lock? It was too obvious and, if there was any danger at all, it would come from there.
What were the options?
Go up on to the top deck and then down at the rear of the ship. There was no door from the engine room to the cargo hold but the newly installed steam pipes went through the floor.
Final option: Climb out onto the side of the ship and go in through the access door. It should be locked, though that would not present more than a minute’s delay. That seemed the most unexpected option.
Fanning decided, turning away from the cold-lock door. She returned to the ladder and climbed towards the top deck. After a quick look behind her, she slid back the bolt and pushed it up, making a gap of less than an inch. The sound of the wind rushing across the deck filled her ears.
She peered out and tried to take in as much as possible of the deck.
There was no sign of Remy.
She pushed the hatch up further and slipped out, keeping low to the deck, then let it down and bolted it on the outside. The wind from their forward movement flowed past her in a constant stream.
It crossed her mind that Remy might be untouched. Except for the fact he had spent a lot of time in the cargo hold when the plants were brought on board, making sure everything was working properly and at the right temperature.
Otto had assisted him and Otto was not his usual self, so it was best to assume the worst until she found matters to be otherwise. Avoiding Remy completely would be the best move.
Fanning crept towards the stern. Above her the envelope holding the seven giant balloons that kept the ship aloft rippled and flowed as the Beauty travelled through the air.
Remy was a genius with hot air balloons. Even Fanning, who was not technical, could appreciate the cleverness of the design. Rather than having fires heating the air inside the balloons—like all the other ice cargo vessels of this type—they ran steam from the engines through pipes into the balloons and heated the air that way.
She glanced out past the deck towards the horizon. Across the broad yellows and greens of India the sun was going down. They were several miles out from the coast. Fanning guessed that Qi was running them across a bay as a short cut. But if they lost the light, they would only be able to steer by their compass.
It was not that they were likely to bump into anything over the ocean at night; most air traffic except the really big ships spent the dark hours on the ground. But they were over water and, in Qi’s current state of mind, it was unclear whether she even think about the problems.
Two arms wrapped themselves around Fanning’s and pulled tight.
* * * * *
Inside Remy’s shed the steam gauges showed they were running at full efficiency. Remy had pushed her inside, not too hard, and bolted the door behind himself.
“Here,” he said and held out a glass of wine. “Vive la révolution!” Remy scratched his right palm, then lifted his own glass and repeated in English, though French was common enough where Fanning came from. “To the revolution, my friend, may it never end.”
Uncertain how to respond, but not wanting to upset the Frenchman, Fanning raised her glass and took a sip. “Long live the revolution.”
Any hope that Remy had not been affected had obviously been in vain, but at least he was not trying to kill her.
“I need to get into the cargo hold,” she said. “Without being seen.”
“Will you set a bomb?”
“No.”
The light in Remy’s eyes fell. “We must kill la bourgeoisie.”
“We would kill ourselves,” she said. “No, Remy, I want to destroy their cargo.”
“To bankrupt them and destroy them.”
She hesitated. “Yes, that’ll be a more fitting punishment.”
“How will you get there?”
“I thought you would know.”
“We cannot trust the British or any of their allies,” said Remy, drawing closer and speaking in lower tones as if they might be overheard.
“You mean Mr Montgomery?”
“Oui, he is a dangerous man.”
“So how do I get down there?”
The ship lurched. Remy glanced at the pressure gauges; Fanning followed his gaze. The needles were solidly at full pressure without a flicker. The engines on the port side roared and the ship swung to starboard.
“What’s happening?” shouted Fanning as she jumped to her feet.
Remy shouted something in a language Fanning did not recognise; it was not French. The engines shifted direction again.