by Y. S. Lee
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “I couldn’t reach you through the press.” He looked at the choking man on the floor in front of her and shook his head.
Reginald Pratt came running up. His voice was panicked. “Someone has sealed the pressure doors from the outside. We’re trapped in the ballroom.”
Harriet frowned. Why seal the doors? What good would it do to trap them all in here? She couldn’t see any more attackers.
The ballroom darkened. Harriet’s head snapped up in time to see something massive come rushing toward them through the water. She saw fins, a long tail, and extended jaws. It hit the dome, and the impact shook the whole ballroom. Metal creaked and protested. Water sprayed into the ballroom, hard enough to knock a grand lady from her feet.
Mosasaurus, Harriet thought, as the shape swam away. Then it turned. Hell! It’s coming back.
“Get that door open,” Harriet said, shoving Reginald towards it.
“It can’t be opened from the inside.”
“Find a way.” That was one of the British-Martian Intelligence Service’s maxims. Find a way. When she had first heard it, she had never imagined a situation like this.
The submersible pilot had told them the mosasaurus had no interest in the hotel or the ruins. Why was it attacking? Was it the lights? This could hardly be the first time the mosasaurus had seen the lights down here. Surely it couldn’t mistake them for its prey. Perhaps the sound of the ball had unsettled it. But it seemed too much of a coincidence that the doors should be locked just as the creature attacked. Perhaps this wasn’t an accident.
And that meant this was her fault. If the smugglers couldn’t get the package off her, they would drown it and her beneath untold tons of water and debris. The package would be destroyed and all evidence with it.
“This isn’t natural,” Colonel Fitzpatrick said.
Harriet agreed. Someone must have persuaded the creature to make this frenzied assault. Even as she thought it, the mosasaurus crashed into the ballroom dome again. More joints buckled, and more water sprayed into the ballroom. It was already an inch deep. Another impact like that and the whole dome might give way.
But how were they forcing the mosasaurus to attack? There must be something here that was attracting it. Something sending a signal.
The mosasaurus began to turn again, readying itself for another attack. Harriet squinted up at the dome. There. Something had been attached half way up the dome. A large box just where the mosasaurus had made contact. Whatever it was must be transmitting a sound through the water that had attracted the creature and driven it mad with fury.
“I need to get up there,” she told Bertrand.
“You think that’s what’s causing the creature to attack?”
Harriet shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”
“I’m not letting you climb up there. Amy would kill me.”
“She won’t get the chance unless you let me,” Harriet said. “I know what I’m doing, Bertrand.”
I hope.
Bertrand gave her an appraising look. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing at that university, but if you’re just Lady Felchester’s companion, I’ll eat my hat. Um. Although, you know, not my good one.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me. What do you need me to do?”
A week ago, Harriet might have said, “Keep out of the way.” But Bertrand had solved the murder without any help from her, and she knew she’d been underestimating him all her life.
“Help me stack some tables.”
A loud, protesting creak sounded from above, then more screams as the gush of water increased, pouring in like a mini waterfall. People were slipping on the slick marble floor. The dark body of the mosasaurus grew larger and larger.
This ballroom won’t take another hit. She would never get up there in time.
A glittering shape with lights blazing from its front and sides, and almost the size of the mosasaurus, powered into view from behind the ballroom. The submersible. The pilot must have seen what was happening and decided to intervene. The submersible drove into the side of the giant reptile. The mosasaurus flipped, distracted by the new attacker. Its tail smashed into the submersible, sending it into a spin.
The submersible might be fast and made of metal, but this wasn’t a battle it could win. The mosasaurus was bigger, more agile, and faster.
“Come on,” Harriet yelled to Bertrand.
They splashed their way across the ballroom to where tables had been abandoned in the rush to the sealed doors. Along with Colonel Fitzpatrick and a couple of gentlemen who had hurried to help, they dragged the tables over and began to stack them.
“These will never stay up,” Bertrand muttered.
“It’s your job to make sure they do.”
All she had to do was balance. She’d spent hours teetering across poles and along ledges as part of her spy training. Why hadn’t they practiced on stacks of wobbly tables?
The second table rocked as she pulled herself onto it.
“I should be doing this,” one of the gentlemen called. “This is no job for a lady.”
“Do you know how to disarm that?” Harriet nodded toward the device.
“Um…”
“Thought not.”
Colonel Fitzpatrick and Bertrand stretched up, holding the feet of the third table. If it slipped, they wouldn’t be able to stop it.
The submersible and the mosasaurus were still fighting their duel in and out of the Ancient Martian ruins. The submersible was clearly trying to draw the reptile away, but it was equally clearly losing. Most of its lights had been broken and it was maneuvering awkwardly. Even as Harriet watched, one of the photon-emission spotlights shattered in a burst of contained light, which made the reptile shy away and Harriet screw her eyes tight.
She didn’t have much longer. She crawled onto the third table and carefully straightened. The whole edifice felt unstable. She stretched for the box attached to the dome.
Nope. No good. She still couldn’t reach.
“Pass me a chair.”
“You can’t,” Bertrand said.
“I can.”
She would.
The chair turned out to be a terrible idea. It slid on the smooth surface of the table, not helped by the water that was soaking everything.
Perfect balance. Like an acrobat. She really wasn’t cut out to be an acrobat.
She raised herself inch by inch, swaying. Like a reed… The chair shifted. Don’t panic! She took a slow breath.
The metal box was right above her. It was twice the size of her head and it was attached to the glass panes around the crossed metal struts by suction cups. She could break the seals and pull it off. If it wasn’t booby-trapped somehow. She removed her thin, sharp knife from inside her sleeve and carefully levered the cover from the device. Inside was a tangle of whirring cogs, twitching levers, curling springs, and vibrating discs. Harriet peered closer. Behind the mechanism, heavy metal spikes rested against the glass. It was a booby trap. If she made the wrong move, those spikes would drive into the glass, shattering it, and letting the Valles Marineris pour in.
There were so many components all connected and interacting. Half of them must be fake, parts to trip her up and trigger the booby trap. If only they weren’t all moving so fast… She stared at them. Don’t try to follow them. It’s like a magician’s trick. Don’t let your eyes follow the distractions. See the whole thing.
She had trained for this. If only she’d actually managed to disarm any of those blasted traps during training.
“Harriet,” Bertrand shouted. “Look out!”
Harriet snapped her gaze from the device. There, in the water, heading right toward her, was the mosasaurus. The submersible was nowhere to be seen.
She was out of time.
She stared at the device. How could she stop it? No time to wonder, no time to second-guess herself.
That cog. It had to be the one. If it weren’t, she would never know. She
would be crushed beneath the water before she could even realize her mistake. She inserted her blade under the cog, then, with a quick prayer, flicked it out.
The mechanism stopped. Harriet closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and waited for the impact. It didn’t come. She opened one eye. The device was inert, the spikes still resting gently against the glass. The mosasaurus was swimming calmly away into the depths. Harriet slumped.
Which was the worst thing she could possibly have done. The chair went one way, the table beneath it another, and for a brief moment Harriet was flying. Then she crashed down, right on top of Reginald Pratt, Viscount Brotherton.
She struggled up, picking the random bits of clockwork that had come off Reginald’s jacket from her ball gown. Her back ached where she had bounced off Reginald’s shoulder and her head thumped. Reginald sprawled beneath her, blood streaming from his nose.
Bertrand helped her up. The crowd of panicking guests was still packed solidly around the entrance, shouting and calling.
“What the hell is going on, Reggie? Why aren’t you getting the doors open?”
He stared up at her, eyes white and wide. “I can’t do it.” He wiped his sleeve across his nose, smearing the blood.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? Is it jammed? The dome could collapse at any minute. Anyone locked in here will die.”
Reginald’s eyes flicked from side to side. Harriet saw the panic crouching in them.
“Did you even try?” Harriet demanded.
Reginald didn’t reply. His hands were shaking.
She swore. “Get out of my way.” She splashed off across the ankle-deep ballroom. Bertrand and Colonel Fitzpatrick ran after her. The crowd of people was so thick and so panicked that Harriet had to let Bertrand and the colonel drive a path through for her.
The pressure doors were made of heavy, thick steel with only a small glass porthole at head height. Harriet peered through, looking for any of the hotel staff who might be outside, but all she saw were two slumped bodies. Whoever had locked them in had made sure no one would let them out.
There were no obvious wheels, levers, or handles on this side of the pressure doors, and although some of the gentleman had been heaving at them, they had not managed to budge the doors.
“There must be a way to release them,” Harriet said. “They can’t be designed in such a way as to lock people in.”
Bertrand looked helplessly at her. “Don’t ask me.”
No mechanism that could be released accidentally, Harriet thought. Should the worst happen, it would be important that the doors could not accidentally spring open. A concealed mechanism, protected from the water and any debris or sea life that might happen to come in contact. That must mean a panel. She peered closely. There. Near where the two doors joined. The panel fitted tightly, no doubt to prevent seawater seeping in, but it was there. Using the blade of her knife, Harriet quickly unscrewed it and swung it open.
A crash sounded behind her. Harriet risked a glance back. A glass pane had given way completely. Water poured in faster and faster. It spread across the floor in a calf-high wave. Around the powerful jet of water, metal bent and glass began to splinter.
“It’s giving way,” Bertrand said, his voice breaking in alarm.
There was a single, heavy lever inside the panel. Harriet jerked it up and heard bolts release along the door joint.
“Now!” she called.
The men who had been trying to force the door heaved. Slowly, the heavy doors slid apart.
“Out!” Harriet shouted. “Everyone out!”
She didn’t have to give the command again. The crowd surged forward, pushing, jostling, and fighting to get through the entrance, slipping and falling, and scrambling to their feet again. The water that had been rising flowed rapidly into the hotel with them. Harriet saw Reginald Pratt elbow his way through and out, almost knocking Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s feather-topped from her head. Harriet looked back at the dome. If it gave way while they were evacuating, the whole hotel would flood and not a single one of them would escape. Come on. Come on. She pushed and hurried the guests onwards, not caring for propriety or station. She grabbed a duchess by one arm and swung her bodily at the gap.
“That’s it,” Bertrand said. “They’re all through. Come on, Harry. It’s our turn.”
They dashed through the open doors. Behind them, the dome gave an alarming creak. Glass splintered. Another pane burst, then another. Water roared down almost deafeningly. The men who had helped pull open the doors were gone, fleeing down the corridor.
“Come back!” Harriet shouted. “We have to close the doors.” But the men kept on running. Only Bertrand and Colonel Fitzpatrick remained. She met the two men’s gazes. “We’re going to have to do this ourselves.”
“I’ve got this one,” the colonel said.
Bertrand and Harriet took hold of the other door and together they rolled them shut. Harriet seized the locking handle and threw it down. The bolts jolted into place. And not a moment too soon. With a shriek like a dying leviathan, the dome gave way. Water hammered down, driven by the pressure of a hundred feet of ocean above it. It smashed into the marble floor and roared toward them. The impact of the wave hitting the massive metal doors knocked Harriet back. For a second, she thought they would give way, but they held and through the glass porthole Harriet saw swirling water, mud, and the debris of the broken ballroom.
She stepped away, raising a hand to her jacket. The package was still there. And although it was damp, it was still intact.
The submersible had sustained damage in its fight with the mosasaurus, but it was still thankfully functional. One group at a time, it evacuated the hotel guests back to Candor City. A tally of the guests showed that, in addition to their assailants who had fallen in the ballroom, two guests were missing, along with one of the smaller submersibles. They must have fled when they had sealed everyone in the ballroom. One was listed as a Mr. Smythe. Harriet recalled very little of the man, and Smythe undoubtedly was not his true name. The other, though, was the Comte d’Arcy.
I knew it! Harriet thought fiercely. If only she had been able to apprehend him. She doubted that she or anyone else would see either man again.
It took two days to return to Tharsis City. When they finally arrived, Bertrand took Emily to the police headquarters where she would be held for the murder of Mr. Strachan. Harriet headed with a deep reluctance to the School of Martian Entomology at Tharsis University and her meeting with Lady Felchester. She passed her report to Lady Felchester’s personal man of affairs, then waited an interminable three hours in her dormitory until she was finally summoned.
At least Lady Felchester was alone in her study when Harriet entered. If Reginald Pratt had been there, smirking, she didn’t know what she would have done. It had been supposed to be a simple mission. Make contact. Retrieve the package. Return home. Instead, her contact was dead, the Hotel Louros was half destroyed, and the smuggling ring knew the intelligence service was onto them.
Lady Felchester looked up from her desk as Harriet approached and laid the package in front of her.
“Miss George. I have received and studied the reports on your mission.”
Harriet tipped her head to one side. “Reports? In the plural?”
“Indeed. Colonel Fitzpatrick was kind enough to provide a report of his own.”
Harriet winced. She had blown her cover by telling the colonel what she was doing. In the eyes of the service, that was a worse sin than failing a mission. Now that people knew, she could never go undercover again.
“He was very complimentary. He spoke highly of your initiative and performance in the face of an unexpected and overwhelming situation. You should know that the service thinks highly of Colonel Fitzpatrick’s opinion.”
Harriet stared. Her face reddened. “But—”
“The colonel is a longtime friend of the service. I think we can trust him to keep your secret, and he has spoken to the other gentlemen who witnessed yo
ur exploits. One thing I will say for the dear colonel: when he speaks to someone, they remain spoken to. Which just leaves us with the matter of your brother-in-law. Can we trust him?”
Even a week ago, Harriet would have been sure Bertrand would let something slip. Now, though?
“Yes. Yes, we can.” There was more to Bertrand than she had been able to see until now.
“Good. Now, Viscount Brotherton also submitted a report.”
Every vestige of the thrill that had swept over her upon hearing Colonel Fitzpatrick’s report drained away just as quickly as it had appeared. Here it comes. Everything she had done wrong, committed to record, laid out so that her failings would be obvious for all to see.
She wet her lips. “Should I… Should I pack my bags?”
“Viscount Brotherton’s report was short. He tells us that family obligations require him to resign from the British-Martian Intelligence Service with immediate effect. He was of the opinion that the mission was carried out…adequately…for a trainee. Now, you are dismissed. I will expect you back in training in two days’ time. That will be all.” Her face was as untroubled as if she were issuing an invitation for morning tea.
“Yes, your ladyship.” Harriet’s back stiffened. Her chin lifted, as a bubble of excitement filled her chest. She’d survived her first mission. What more could be thrown at her? Whatever it was... “I’m ready.”
A Note From Patrick Samphire
A Spy in the Deep is the second of the adventures of Harriet George on Regency Mars. If you would like to read more about her, you can find her first story, The Dinosaur Hunters (The Casebook of Harriet George: Volume 1), on any ebook store. And if you want to read more stories set on Regency Mars but with different characters, why not try out my novels Secrets of the Dragon Tomb and The Emperor of Mars, which are available...everywhere.
As well as these Mars books and novellas, I've published a bunch of short stories for teenagers and adults. You can find out more about them and read several of them for free on my website.
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