Ring of Fire II

by Eric Flint

  Mazalet looked suspiciously at him. "How do you know? I have seen pictures."

  "We know," said Per smiling. "You see . . . we must introduce you to our partner. At the workshed."

  It was barely ten yards away from the quayside where they had been talking, and Fermin Mazalet found himself being led out of the sun and into the half dark where Karl and Olof were working on the windlass, with a pair of local carpenters . . . and a familiar face.

  "Monsieur Mazalet. Perhaps you have some books you would like to return?" said someone he thought safely in Grantville Library.

  Mazalet's eyes nearly started out of his head. Then he started to laugh. "I have always said you could not cheat an honest man. Now I have proved it to myself, on myself. You out-thought me, mam'zelle. Well done."

  "You don't seem angry, monsieur," said Ginny. "I expected trouble, to be honest. Until we brought you to your senses, that is."

  Mazalet shrugged. "What would be the point? I have a project now that may well even succeed . . . and shares which have become vastly valuable. The local wealthy folk may not trust Fermin Mazalet. But they do believe in the technological advantages of Grantville. And you need me for my connections at least. But I wonder why you came out of hiding now."

  Per answered. "Because tomorrow we do our first test and she wants to be there. And this afternoon would be too late, because you have arranged for us to see Nya Nyckeln."

  "Good afternoon, fellows. I'm Lieutenant Sparre, the admiral's aide." The smallish officer looked none too pleased with his task, but there was no scorn in his voice. "Word's came down from on high that you boys need a guided tour to one of our largest ships."

  "The largest," Lars answered. "Or the one that looks most like Vasa anyway."

  Sparre made a tching sound. "Another attempt at a salvage!"

  "Is there a problem?" Per asked.

  "Well, yes." The young officer looked uncomfortable. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?"

  "Of course," Lars said gaily. "All Delsbo boys like to talk."

  "He means you should keep your mouth shut," Karl said.

  "No problem," Lars said. "We're real good at that, too."

  Lieutenant Sparre tugged his jaw. "Several of my peers lost friends and family when Vasa sank and there has been a lot of bad feeling about the whole thing."

  "Yeah," Lars said, "Like the ship not being seaworthy."

  "Shut up!" Per snapped. "I'll do the talking from now on." He pushed forward towards Sparre and bowed from the waist. "My brothers are fresh from the north," he said. "Please, forgive them some naive bluntness."

  "No matter," Sparre said stiffly. "Nya Nyckeln is waiting. Please follow me." He turned abruptly and walked down towards the half-finished hulls still propped up on their slipways.

  "Nya Nyckeln," Sparre said half proud, half sad. "Maybe the last of her kind."

  "Almost as big as a church boat back home," Lars murmured.

  Per stared. Nya Nyckeln, the New Key, was huge, almost twice the size of most naval ships, and sitting on her slipway, her entire hull towered over the group of people, reducing them into insignificance.

  "She's the size of Vasa?" he asked in a quiet voice.

  "Yes," Sparre said. "Somewhat broader of beam and with a little more draft, but close enough."

  "That's a tall order," Karl said. "Lifting her in one piece I mean."

  "It can't be done," a nasal voice interjected. "It was tried and nothing good came out of it."

  Per turned and looked into a florid face made no prettier by being drawn into a supercilious sneer.

  "Fellows," Lieutenant Sparre said formally. "This is Captain Stolpeskott." He shrugged. "Sorry, Captain, but I am acting on orders from the admiral himself.

  "Letting unlettered peasants aboard his majesty's ships," Stolpeskott sneered. "Well, I heard that it was that slimy frog Mazalet who's got the contract, so I probably shouldn't be too surprised. Drinking and whoring is all those papists are good for." He turned abruptly and disappeared toward the administrative buildings.

  "I'd ask you to forgive the captain," Sparre said quietly. "His brother was on the Vasa."

  "Of course," Per said looking along the stupendous hull. "Are those the gun ports?"

  "Why, yes." Sparre smiled. "Of course, the guns are added last, usually with a crane after the ship is already in the water."

  "Could we see a gun like those on Vasa?" Per asked. "One of those cranes would be interesting, too."

  "Certainly." Sparre motioned towards another building. "We'll get there in a moment." He smiled in an odd way. "Maybe I should ask to be assigned as the naval liaison." He shrugged in an eloquent way. "Anything to get away from Stolpeskott."

  It was an unusually quiet group of northerners that left the naval dockyard some hours later. Finally the enormity of their task had actually dented the confidence of Delsbo. Dented, but not broken. They were all there the next morning when the barge was towed out to the mast tops sticking out above the water.

  It appeared to be getting to the Frenchman, too. He might be a swindler, but Fermin Mazalet was no cold-blooded murderer. "Are you certain about this?" he asked, looking at the bell. "Shouldn't we test her somewhere else first?"

  "Where?" Per asked. "All shipping avoids this site. No one wants to run afoul of a sunken spar. That makes it a perfect spot." He grinned. "Also, as you've explained, it pays to advertise. No matter how it goes, people will know we've come this far, at least. The admiralty will see us out here."

  "There is that," Mazalet said with a quick nod. "Funding might become less of a problem."

  "Are we strapped for cash?" Karl asked.

  "Not really," Mazalet said, "but it never hurts to spread the risk. I plan to sell a few shares in the salvage project."

  Karl frowned. "Won't that decrease our share?"

  "Not really." Mazalet repeated. "To my knowledge, it never has, anyway."

  "All anchors are in place," Captain Sigismund reported. "We might drift a foot or two but hardly more."

  "Very good." Per nodded. "Start pumping air."

  "Is that really necessary?" Mazalet asked. "I mean, they'll be tired long before the bell even hits the water."

  "That's why we have replacements." Per lowered his voice. "It's my brothers going down there, and we're taking enough chances as it is already. Pumps start before anyone goes inside the bell and don't stop until the last diver is back on deck. Any man who forgets that will go along for the next dive. Outside the bell.

  "Divers to the bell," he shouted. "Check the air and keep your feet up." He waited as Lars and Olof ducked to get through the little port in the weighted edge of the bell and scrambled inside. The port was below the air-bleed holes, and if they wished to exit it once they were down, they would have to swim.

  Olof's voice sounded strange, coming from inside the bell. "We're ready to go."

  "Good." Per shouted. "Remember, we'll only lower you a few feet at a time so if something happens, you just go outside and swim to the surface." He turned around and signalled to Karl. "All right, remove the planks and go ahead with the crane when you're ready. Remember, just a few feet at a time."

  Karl grinned. "Don't worry, big brother. By now I can do this in my sleep." He watched as the last plank was pulled aside, and motioned his men towards the windlass.

  "Everyone got a hold? Good." Karl nodded. "Good. Can you feel the weight? My brothers' lives are hanging on your shoulders. Don't make me regret picking you for this job." There were tight grins from the men, but no one looked strained. "On my mark," Karl said, "you will all take one step backwards. Ready, steady, go."

  "Here we go," Lars said gleefully as the diving bell rose from the deck. "The first lads since Jonah to walk the bottom of the sea."

  "Don't tell our boss," Olof complained. "Thanks to you he really believes we've done this for generations. Don't make him change his mind."

  Lars face hardened in the gloom. "Don't you think we can do it?" he challenged. "There is
nothing we can't do if we really try."

  "We can't fly," Olof said.

  "Of course we can." Lars grinned. "You just wait and see. With all the money from Vasa, we can build some other machine."

  "One that flies?"

  "Why not," Lars said serenely. "We're from Delsbo, and Per is really clever. Nothing is impossible."

  Olof stood up on his seat. "The pump is still working anyway; I can feel the air coming in."

  "Told you so." Lars looked down into the water. "The counterweight is barely under the surface yet," he muttered. "What's taking Karl so long?"

  "He's being careful, Brother."

  "It's something he should try with women. Ah. That's more like it!" Lars chuckled as the bottom of the bell slid into the water. "It gets dark fast though," he noted.

  "Get used to it," said Olof gloomily. "Miss Ginny says it will be pitch black down there."

  "Good thing we have a lamp, then."

  "Ja." There was silence, only disturbed by the bubbling air coming up from the hose. The bell slowly sank, with the pressure increasing. "We will only go to five fathoms," said Lars, comforting himself. "We could swim up from that."

  "We could, but we are not going to," said Olof.

  "No," said Lars, "But I am going to swim outside, little brother."

  "But we are not supposed to. This is a test." As if to emphasise that the little bell connected by wire to the surface tinged. Olof tugged the reply ringer.

  "Ja. But I am just a little scared, brother. If I don't do it now, I will never do it. And we are promised to the enterprise." He took a coil of rope and tied himself to the end. "You can haul me back in if I get into trouble. I will tug hard, twice, if I need you to do that." He smiled ruefully, and pointed at the surface. "Besides, the Frenchman wanted something to prove we'd been down here. Let me see what I can find."

  "Does Per know of this plan?"

  Lars shook his head. "He probably guesses I will by now. He knows me. And I think he was planning to do the same thing if he had won at the drawing of the straws."

  Olof bit his lip "You have your knife? You remember Ginny said the greatest danger was from becoming entangled."

  Lars patted it. The bell's descent had stopped and he slipped down into the water. Olof also knew his older brother. For Lars to have admitted fear was unheard of. Olof knew nothing would stop him defeating it. So he held the rope and prayed.

  After what seemed a long, long time, just as he was ready to start hauling rope anyway, it went slack. He took in. He breathed a sigh of relief when his brother's head popped up. And then he screamed.

  "Ach. It's just the poor fellow's skull. It came loose when I started to cut him free of the rigging. He should have taken Ginny's advice and had a sharp knife with him."

  Olof shuddered and refused to take the skull. "What have you done with the body?"

  "Still out there. I will tie him on to the other end of the rope. His uniform is holding him together."

  There was a silence. Then Olof reached out and took the skull with its tatters of hair. "He needs a Christian burial," he said, "whoever he was."

  "Ja. Besides, this is exactly the kind of evidence Mazalet was looking for."

  Olof giggled suddenly.

  "What?" Lars asked.

  "I can't wait to see Karl's face when he first puts his eyes on the skull."

  "There is that, too," Lars admitted with a grin. "Wish me luck."

  "You don't need any," Olof said. "You'll be doing the Lord's work out there."

  "Then I wish that he made water just a little warmer." Lars sucked in a huge breath and slid down into the water. Working his way along the spar, he wrapped a rope around the corpse and pulled himself back into the bell.

  "A boat hook would work," he muttered, as he hung from the rungs taking huge gulps of air. "This bell hangs lightly in the water."

  Lars dived back outside and worked his way back to the corpse. It was harder this time. As Ginny had said, the water had turned misty with silt and Lars had to touch the body far more than he was comfortable with to make sure it was secured. Finally, after four trips, he climbed inside and, with Olof's help, pulled off his clothes. Shivering, he dried himself. "I've had my fill of water for one day. I need to feel the sun on my skin."

  Olof nodded fervently.

  * * *

  Fermin Mazalet looked around his crew and bowed deeply.

  "Gentlemen, lady", he said. "Today, we've made history. Tonight the beer is on me.

  "And tomorrow?" Lars Lennartson called out.

  "Tomorrow," Mazalet said slowly. "Tomorrow we'll follow that unfortunate sailor to his last rest. We'll probably never know who he was, but the Lord almighty knows his own and Lieutenant Sparre agrees that a member of the Swedish Navy deserves a proper burial."

  The small liaison officer nodded briefly. "I do so think," he said stiffly. "And I'll so inform the admiral." Then he smiled slightly. "Don't let that dampen your spirits tonight. My preliminary report will cite your exemplary conduct, and I do look forward to see what new miracles you can bring about."

  They were the toast of the town. Per flinched as yet another roaring reveller threw him a hearty backslap. Unlike his own free-living neighbours from the north, the people of Stockholm were staid and sober people, but tonight they had abandoned their usual reserve. Vasa's shipwreck had deeply affected many families, and Lars' spur of the moment decision to retrieve the drowned lookout had struck exactly the right chord with the whole town. The funeral, originally to be held at the naval yard, had been postponed until Sunday and would take place in Stockholm's largest church.

  Per winced again. The festivity was all very nice, but the sun had burnt his back and shoulders to flaking cinder and every movement hurt. Adding insult to injury, the locals had a real penchant for bracing backslaps, delivered with calloused hands and serious good cheer. Per had spent most of the evening with his back against the wall. He drained his mug and looked around. The tavern was packed to the rafters and there was more than the usual share of gold and lace about. Lars, slightly drunk, told tall tales of his underwater adventures, while Olof sat at a table talking earnestly to Lieutenant Sparre. Karl was nowhere to be seen, and Per made yet another mental note to investigate his handsome sibling's current love life. The brothers had the chance of several lifetimes, rising in society almost as fast as the bell sank towards the bottom. This was no time for indiscriminate dallying.

  Then a sudden current in the sea of people caught his eye. People moved aside as the tall and sombre Admiral Fleming strode into the room. Before Per could move, Mazalet disengaged himself from his company and bowed deeply before the admiral. Per could not hear what was said, but suddenly Fleming smiled and made his way toward him. Per groaned and steeled himself. Braving the pain, he bowed deeply, even as Mazalet waved him forward.

  "Your Grace. This is Master Per Lennartson, my chief diver," said the Frenchman.

  "Ah. The divers from famous Delsbo," Admiral Fleming said with an almost straight face, betrayed only by an irrepressible twitch of the lips. "You are fortunate to have found such experienced men, Mazalet. I hear you plan to go down with them yourself tomorrow?"

  Mazalet nodded. "I was just telling Captain Stolpeskott."

  "Well. You must take care, monsieur." Fleming held out a hand to Per. Slowly, hesitantly, not really believing his eyes, Per stretched forth his own hand. The admiral showed no hesitation. He grasped Per's hand in his own big paw and shook heartily. Then he turned back to Mazalet. "Tell the innkeeper to bring up some of his best. The crown pays."

  "Of course, Your Grace." Mazalet said. "I'll go look for the man myself."

  The admiral watched the departing Frenchman for a moment, and then he turned back to Per. "I met the last member of your partnership at a levee two nights ago," he said with a broad wink. "She told me how Mazalet obtained his books, and of the great divers of Delsbo." He started to chuckle. "It makes a pleasant change for us Swedes to enjoy a private joke at
the expense of these oh-so-sophisticated foreigners. And I have obtained copies of the agreement from Consul Boelcke. The crown is in your debt, boy. I shall see it is honored."

  "Thank you, Your Grace."

  Fleming patted him on the shoulder. "I have my own reasons," he said with a hint of sadness, "and we'll speak more in the future. Good evening to you, Master Per." And with that he turned to leave.

  Per stood a movement clearing his head. For reasons of his own, Sweden's highest naval officer had just given a promise to a rural nobody. They were fishing in deep waters indeed. He just wished Ginny was here to consult with. She'd spent part of every day with them now for the last month . . . and yes, he was a rural nobody, but one with whom Admiral Fleming had personally spoken. Even a nobody in that position could dream a little.