The dead weight of crystal-glass and metal dropped like a boulder out of the crimson darkness, collided squarely with the balustrade spanning the space - Sylvester still only half way across - and smashed through it. The splintered balustrade tumbled after the chandelier into the gloom, now just so much matchwood, as the huge light fitting plunged into the roiling inferno beneath.
Of the man from Umbridge Industries there was no sign. Ulysses didn't even see him go. One minute he was there on the bridge, the next there was nothing but the immense bulk of the darkened chandelier, and then... nothing at all.
The shock and horror of realisation took a while to sink in amongst the party, some not realising what had happened at all until they witnessed the horrified reactions of their fellows, so concerned were they with their own intense personal struggles for survival.
So it was that, accompanied by stupefied silences, child-like sobbing and angry denials of what had happened, Ulysses Quicksilver and Captain McCormack eventually managed to herd the party - already minus one - to the lift doors on the other side of the Grand Atrium, their target all along.
Ulysses was about to push the button to call the first of the two lifts when he paused.
"What is it, sir?" Nimrod asked, at his shoulder once more.
"Look," Ulysses said, pointing at the row of still glowing lights above the elevator doors that showed the progress of the lift through the ship. The lights were blinking on and off, one after another. "It's already on its way."
With a delicate chiming the progress of the lights stopped and a moment later, with the grating of opening mechanisms, the lift doors opened. Ulysses stood and stared in dumbfounded amazement.
"Please accept my humblest apologies," Harry Cheng said, bowing deferentially. 'We would have been here sooner, but matters rather overtook us somewhat.'
The hulking Mr Sin stood at his side but, at a hissed command in Chinese from Cheng, the brute shuffled back to make room for more.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, join us."
Without needing any further invitation, the VIPs began to pile into the lift. Ulysses hung back with those who would have to use the second elevator, rendered speechless by the miraculous arrival of his rival.
"Going up?" Cheng asked the Captain.
"No, Mr Cheng. Down, to the sub-dock."
"Ah, I see. Very well," he said, his hand at the deck selector panel. "Down it is."
With a slightly different chiming timbre, the second lift joined them. With a grinding clanking the doors eased open.
A torrent of seawater flooded out, washing across the carpeted floor of the balcony level and soaking the feet of everyone standing there.
"Ah," said Ulysses, finding his voice at last, "perhaps down isn't the best idea after all."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Deep
"Quick! Into the lift!"
"Everybody move!"
At Captain McCormack's urgent command and Ulysses' cajoling, the party of survivors piled into Cheng's lift. As the Neptune's officers herded the anxious and the uncertain between the doors, Ulysses dared a glance back at the flooded atrium. Something must have given or blown somewhere - part of the hull, a compromised bulkhead, a porthole, who-knew-what? - the result being that the space below was filling more rapidly, the chandeliers vanishing beneath the surge of white water and bobbing bodies. The water, still finding an outlet through the second open lift, poured off the edge of the balcony, cascading down to meet that which was surging upwards from the drowned atrium below.
There was only one way out of this and that was up.
As the last of the VIP party crowded into the brass and glass box of polished mirrors, Ulysses' eyes fell on the smart plaque that stated no more than a maximum of ten persons should use this lift at any one time. As the purser hammered a button on the deck selector panel and the doors grated shut behind him - the last one in - Ulysses closed his eyes and held his breath, offering up a quick prayer to whatever saint it was that watched over the workings of elevators, that the carriage would be able to take the strain.
There was a rising hum and a series of systematic clanking sounds, then a terrible split-second sensation of dropping, which made all those trapped within the small box gasp in unison. But then the lift carriage began to rise.
Gears grinding, it felt to Ulysses that the elevator was making heavy weather of the journey. He thought he could hear the bubbling rush of water somewhere below them and wondered which was rising faster, the lift or the level of the seawater flooding the elevator shaft. He was trying hard to ignore the hot-wire stabbings of prescience in his skull; he did not need any unearthly sixth sense to tell him that they were in constant mortal danger for the foreseeable future.
The smell of fear permeated the human sardine tin; fear and sweat and brine and burning. In any other situation such enforced proximity to others would not have been tolerated by those who were now forced to huddle together so closely. There was not an inch between any of them, from the Chinaman Cheng and the massive Mr Sin, to Lady Denning or the chaperoned couple, or the billionaire owner of the ship, the current crisis having robbed him of practically any difference in status he had beyond the least of them, his own PA being forced to sit on his lap to make sure that everyone could pack into the lift.
The realisation suddenly struck Ulysses that the lift could all too easily become a ready-made coffin, should the water level rise more quickly than the struggling elevator, or should some part of the beleaguered machinery fail under duress, or should the - whatever is was - that attacked the Neptune decide to come back for another go.
But, despite the obvious risks and inherent dangers associated with their current predicament, Quicksilver's spirit wouldn't let him be beaten by such overwhelming odds. He would keep fighting to save himself - to save these people - until the deep, or the horrors that inhabited it, forced the last breath from him as he went down kicking and screaming. Just as there had been nothing in his power that he could do to save the wretched Glenda, he would do all in his power to save those who remained. He would not let another Glenda Finch or Dexter Sylvester be taken by the dying ship, the cruel sea or the monsters that dwelt there.
The lift ground onwards as the gears of Ulysses' mind worked over the problem of how they were going to get out of this mess. The further the elevator rose up its compromised shaft, the more he found himself dwelling on the fact that the plan had been to head down to reach the sub-dock and the submersibles Ahab and Nemo, to escape the wreck of the Neptune as swiftly as possible before the sea or the drowned liner claimed them all.
The plan. It was worthless now. All that stood between them and oblivion was adaptation, improvisation, spontaneity, ingenuity, inventiveness and cold, hard animal instinct. Or, to look at it another way, the plan had to evolve or they would die.
And what of the sub-dock and its two transports? Ulysses had to believe that it was still attainable, the craft operable. To think anything else would mean the end of all hope for them.
The lift was slowing now - horribly quickly - the ratcheting gears clunking away the last few inches. For a moment the carriage heaved and there was that horrid feeling that the lift was at the apex of its ascent and was about to commence its all too rapid descent again. Then the whole thing seemed to lurch upwards. There was the rattle and clunk of clamps locking the elevator in place, the steel cables holding it up held tight in the steel teeth of the riser's locking mechanisms. The chiming of the lift arriving at its destination cut through the numb silence inside. All on board gave a collective sigh of relief.
The doors ground open once again and, without having to be invited to do so, the VIPs piled out of the carriage. Ulysses led the way, enjoying the sudden sensation of space around him.
"Where are we?" asked a shaky Dr Ogilvy.
"Top deck," Ulysses read from a sign screwed to the wall next to the open lift doors. "Casino Royale, the Bistro, Shopping and the Promenade Deck."
"So wh
ere now, McCormack?" Jonah Carcharodon asked.
But the captain and his staff were already examining another passenger ship plan. Ulysses joined them, the rest of the party, left without guidance, milling about behind, taking in the wreckage and devastation apparent on this level as well, lit by the sparking lights hanging from the ceiling.
"So, Captain, any ideas?" Ulysses asked.
Captain McCormack breathed out noisily. "Well, we're here" - he indicated Level 1 on the plan in front of them - "having travelled from here" - he identified the point where they had crossed the devastated Grand Atrium - "and we need to get to here." His finger alighted on the outline of the sub-dock at the bottom of the ship.
"Indeed," Ulysses mused.
"We know that chances are that the bulkhead here" - the captain pointed out what should have been a watertight section below the level of the Grand Atrium - "is no longer intact and so from here to here" - his outstretched finger swept across the plan taking in several compartments of the sub-liner - "will be underwater."
"But that leaves the sub-dock still untouched."
"Hopefully," McCormack said guardedly.
"But how to get there."
"Precisely. If the compartment under the atrium's gone, we can't be certain which other compartments may also have been breached."
"Have you consulted with the AI again yet?" Ulysses asked, eyeing what he now understood was the comm-button hidden beneath the trident logo on the panel.
"We can't."
"What do you mean?"
"Try for yourself, Mr Quicksilver," Mr Wates said.
Ulysses tried the comm-alert for himself. There was the click of the button being depressed but nothing more, not even static. Ulysses tried again, pushing the button harder this time. Still nothing.
"It would appear that ship-wide communications throughout the Neptune have failed," Mr Wates explained.
"Which only goes to prove that this is not some static problem, but that the crisis is worsening the longer we remain trapped down here," McCormack added for emphasis.
"Okay, so what you're telling me is that we're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way - ourselves?"
McCormack nodded, turning his attention back to the plan.
After some minutes huddled deliberation, recalling to mind what they had learnt from the AI the last time they had been able to communicate with it, Ulysses and the Neptune officers came up with something approximating a modified escape plan.
"So, I ask again, McCormack, what now? How are you going to get us out of here?" Major Horsley said.
"Our target destination is still the sub-dock," the captain began.
"But that's bloody well down at the bottom of the ship and you keeping taking us further and further away from it!"
"I realise that, Major," McCormack pointed out, with all the patience he could muster, "but it's the only way. There are no other usable lifeboats in reach of our current position. That hasn't changed."
"Look, we're going to work our way towards the rear of the ship," Ulysses said, taking over explaining the plan, "and go through the engine halls to the sub-dock."
"But I thought the engines were on fire!" Miss Birkin suddenly spoke up in alarm.
"Only some of them, Miss Birkin," McCormack stated. "And there's always the possibility that some of the fires might have burnt themselves out by now, starved of oxygen."
"Starved of oxygen?" Professor Crichton exclaimed and took another pull on his hipflask.
"It's all right because when we open the bulkhead door through to the engine hall it will let in the air from the rest of the ship. We're not going to suffocate down here on top of everything else," McCormack said giving a snort of mirthless laughter.
It still took another few minutes of encouraging, fear-allaying and cajoling before the party was ready to continue. During all that time, Harry Cheng and Mr Sin kept themselves to themselves at the periphery of the group, neither offering advice or criticism. The double agent's face was knotted in concentration whilst his silent aide, seemingly unperturbed by the unfolding disaster, was happy simply to follow Cheng's instructions.
With all brought to order, the group of desperate VIPs followed the captain's lead now in the opposite direction to which they had been travelling, heading towards the stern of the ship. However, it was not long before they came to a sealed door at the end of the smashed and shattered remains of what had once been one of the bars.
"I know where we are," Thor Haugland suddenly piped up. "Captain, you can't be serious?"
"Oh but we are, Mr Haugland," Ulysses said with a hard smile, "there being no other way."
"What's the problem?" Lady Denning asked. "Where are we?"
Captain McCormack pulled open the door. "Here," he said.
With everyone straining to peer through the doorway, but without any of them wanting to take a step forwards, the Neptune's honoured guests gazed at the awesome vista before them.
What was probably most incredible to them of all, Ulysses considered, was the fact that the dome over the Promenade Deck was still intact, considering what had befallen the ship in the last few hours. This probably came only slightly ahead of the fact that the party leaders were planning on taking them out across the Promenade, along its entire length to the far side, when there was nothing but the oppressive blackness of the deep ocean above their heads, the same ocean that was exerting immense hydrostatic pressures on the Neptune now trapped on the sea-bed.
"We're going out there?" John Schafer asked, and from the earnest looks the rest of the VIPs threw Captain McCormack and Ulysses, it was obvious that he wasn't the only one who was wondering whether their next course of action was such a good idea.
"Well, technically we won't actually by going 'out' at all," Ulysses said, trying to allay their fears.
Lady Denning took a step towards the opening, peering up into the darkness above the ship, almost as if she was looking for something. Lights were still shining on the Promenade Deck but their halo of illumination only penetrated a little way out into the trackless depths of the ocean. "But if we go out there," she said pointedly, "whatever it was that brought the ship down - and which might well be waiting for us, out of our immediate field of view - will see the movement and be drawn back to the ship in search of prey."
There was a sudden rumbling judder and every member of the escape party, except for the wheelchair-bound Carcharodon, was forced to grab hold of somebody, or something, for support.
"What was that?" Crichton snapped, darting eyes shooting paranoid glances at all of them, comforting himself with the next breath with another swig from his flask.
"That was why we don't have any choice but to cross the Promenade," Captain McCormack explained. "The Neptune is still flooding even as we stand here deliberating as to whether we should take the quickest route to get off this ship."
"If we hang around here arguing the toss for much longer it won't make any difference what we decide," Ulysses added bluntly. "And there won't be much time for regrets either as the Neptune goes over the brink and into the trench."
Almost as one, the party shuffled towards the open doorway, steeling themselves for their flight along the length of the exposed Promenade.
There was another groan and the sub-liner moved again. This time some among the party lost their balance altogether and even Jonah Carcharodon had to grab hold of something to stop his chair rolling backwards through the wreckage of the bar.
Was this it? Ulysses wondered as he held tight to a steel pillar. Had they dallied too long? Was the Neptune even now making her very final voyage to the utmost depths of the Pacific Ocean?
The seismic rumblings abruptly subsided and the ship settled down again. The polished boards of the Promenade Deck, incongruously marked out for traditional deck games, still stretched out ahead of them, only now they would have to ascend to the stern of the ship. The prospect seemed even more daunting to the already strung-out escapees, but there was no other opti
on open to them.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Captain McCormack declared, "it really is now or never."
And so, without needing any further encouragement, the party of VIPs and associated hangers-on began their ascent of the Promenade Deck.
Mr Wates and the Purser led the way, with the wrung-out Dr Ogilvy taking the mantra of 'every man for himself' as his personal ideology, followed by an almost equally desperate Professor Crichton. Then came the trio of John Schafer and the two women in his charge, the role of chaperone having noticeably switched, and after them Lady Denning and Major Horsley. Ulysses and Nimrod insisted on helping the reluctant Miss Celeste push her employer's chair up the incline, making an otherwise virtually impossible task that much easier. Then came Thor Haugland, closely followed by Captain McCormack, and last of all the odd couple of Harry Cheng and Mr Sin, at a discreet distance.
When the party hadn't yet covered half the distance they needed to to get to safety, feeling a resurgence of that oh-so familiar itching inside his skull, Ulysses looked up.
"Bloody hell!" he gasped, pupils dilating in terror.
Something was approaching out of the darkness of the deep above them, preceded by a glowing azure light. Something monstrous, a malign shadow uncoiling from out of the abyssal black of the smothering ocean. Something that was heading straight for them.
Hearing Ulysses' expletive, close behind him, McCormack looked up. The colour drained from his face in an instant as his eyes locked onto the horror torpedoing out of the black murk towards the Promenade Deck.
He gasped, his lilting Scots voice no longer calm: "We're going to need a bigger sub!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Nature of the Beast
Emerging from the sucking black void, to Ulysses' eyes the monster looked primarily like a giant squid. Only the creatures he had seen pictures of, when they were washed up dead on the shores of Greenland or hauled up in the nets of a Japanese fishing trawler, even with their tentacles extended, had been no more than fifty feet in length. As the creature torpedoed towards the stricken Neptune, Ulysses took a rough guess and decided that this beast was at least two hundred feet from tentacle tips to the end of its arrowhead tail.
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