Cuttlefish

by Dave Freer

  Dr. Calland smiled at him when she opened her door. “Hello, Tim Barnabas,” she said. “And what can I do for you?”

  “Um. Can I have a word, ma'am?”

  She looked a little perturbed. “Of course, Tim. Is Clara in trouble?”

  Tim blinked. “Er. No. It's a bit awkward this, Dr. Calland. But we were talking…about our fathers. And well…Clara doesn't think you want to talk about her father. But she does want to know about him. She doesn't even really know why he was jailed. It…troubles her, a lot.”

  Clara's mother blinked. Looked at him over the top of her glasses. “It was something I couldn't talk about back in Ireland, Tim. And to be honest with you, young man, not something I find easy to talk about now. I miss Jack very badly, still.”

  “But I thought you were divorced?” asked Tim, feeling as if he was trespassing on private property, but was determined to press on.

  She sighed. “On paper, yes. But paper really doesn't mean much, any more than being married on paper means much to some people. We'd agreed to divorce, for Clara's sake, if he ever got caught. And when things started to go awry, with Imperial security sniffing at his heels, we…we separated. It was safer for Clara. He made me promise to do it.…She always came first, for Jack, and for me. If I…if I had ever let on how I felt, or what I knew…well, Clara would have lost both parents. And I couldn't tell her, in case she accidentally gave it away. It was the hardest thing I have ever done.”

  “Oh. Well, I think you should tell her now,” said Tim. “Because, you see, she thought that the piece of paper was important.”

  Clara's mother nodded. “I'll try. It's not that easy, Tim. She's very like her father.”

  “Like her mother too,” said Tim with a grin. “You wouldn't always guess what she was up to.”

  “I can't tell her all of it,” said Clara's mother, seriously. “We could still be caught.”

  “Well, ma'am, she loves her father. And you. It would mean a lot to her, I think,” said Tim, wondering how he'd blundered into a world he didn't really belong in.

  Clara listened incredulously. “You mean you lied to me?”

  “Yes,” said her mother. “It had to be done, Clara. To protect you, and to protect others.”

  Clara stared at her mother, who was wringing her hands, with that creased look on her forehead. And it all erupted like a volcano inside her. “I can't believe that you…you lied to me like that! I thought you hated Dad for what he'd done. I told people that.” Clara knew she was shouting, and knew that in the submarine others could hear her. Didn't care.

  Clara's mother covered her eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, darling. We had to, Clara. Your father and I agreed…if he ever got caught, this is what we would do. And, darling, you've got Jack's temper. The first time anyone said anything you'd have…well, shouted. Like you are now. We only did it because we love you very, very much.”

  Clara had been about to start shouting again. She'd thought of a few choice things to yell too. She pressed her lips hard together. Stood staring at her mother in silence. Resentful. Finally she said, “It hurt me so much, Mummy.” She never called her mother that.

  Her mother nodded slowly. “I know. Oh, I know. I can't tell you how it hurt me too. But we did what we believed was best.”

  “You were wrong,” said Clara, gruffly. “Both of you.”

  “I know that too, now,” said her mother, giving her a hug. “I know now how brave you can be. And how you can keep your own secrets. You've showed me while helping young Tim.”

  Clara absorbed both this, and the unfamiliar hug. Her father had been the one who would hug her, and tousle her hair, just because he was walking past. “I had to. There was no one else there for him.”

  “That was what worried us about you, dear. That, and who would feed you, and who would give you a home.”

  “Cookie feeds me, and I have a home here. So you can stop worrying now.”

  Her mother smiled. But it didn't seem to have eased her worry entirely. She stood looking at her daughter's face with hungry eyes. Clara realised she was seeing someone else there too. It was…disturbing. She missed her father. But well, she was coming to understand just how her mother must have felt about a man. Not just Clara's father. A man she'd loved. And that was just…weird.

  Tim's stay in the brig had left him with another issue to deal with. When he'd got back to the submarine, and examined the contents of his breeches pockets, the salt water had done the clasp-knife and the chocolate no good. The knife was as good as new after a careful freshwater wash, a rubbing with some fine sandpaper, and a drop of oil. Nothing was ever going to revive the chocolate. It was a mess. “I owe you for that,” said Tim, returning the knife.

  “Worth it,” said Big Eddie, slapping his back. “I was a bit doubtful at first about a bloke with a touch of the tar brush on board, but you're all right, Tim-boy.”

  It had never occurred to Tim that the big diver might see him like that. It hurt a bit. He said so, as they broke off pieces of salty chocolate and pulled the paper and pocket lint off it prior to sticking it in their mouths. You couldn't waste chocolate!

  “Reckon it's a case of not knowing anyone else like that,” said Big Eddie, thoughtfully. “Now it seems a bit different, because you're one of us.”

  That wasn't all Tim had to deal with, or give back. Hooks, wire, beads…and a problem. The wet envelope he'd got from Jonas. It had a five pound note and five one pound notes. The wire, beads, and hooks were easier to deal with. Thorne grinned at him. “You know, I thought you'd nicked the lieutenant's stuff.”

  “Uh. So why did you give me this?” asked Tim.

  The big artificer shrugged. “Because long ago, when I was a cabin boy, I prigged ten shillings. And I got caught. But the captain that I was serving under settled for frightening me to death and punishing me with two dozen lashes and having to apologise and give it back. And giving me enough kitchen parade to put me off dirty dishes forever. I was lucky. I thought you weren't.” He looked at the hooks. “I reckon I'll give these to the first mate. I didn't like him, can't stomach what he tried to do, but I won't see a man starve for want of a hook.”

  It made Tim's decision easier. It still wasn't easy. He found Lieutenant Ambrose. “Sir. Can I talk to you, sometime? Privately.”

  The lanky lieutenant looked startled. “What about?”

  “I've got a problem, sir. I…I don't want to tell the captain. I think, maybe, you should deal with it.”

  Lieutenant Ambrose nodded. “Very well. Come to my cabin after I finish this watch.”

  So, nervously, Tim went to the lieutenant's cabin. He knocked. And was told to come in. He closed the door behind him.

  “I haven't apologised to you properly, Barnabas,” said the lieutenant. “And I feel I owe you that. So, what can I help you with? Only please don't say you've got that young girl into trouble. The old man has his red lines, and that is one of them.” He was half-smiling as he said it. But there was a wary watchfulness behind his eyes.

  Tim was quite insulted. Not that he hadn't thought about things like that, but…anyway that wasn't what he had come about. “No, sir. I've obeyed the captain's orders there.…And when I was searching your gear, I was doing something I shouldn't have been doing, sir.”

  “Under the circumstances I would have probably done the same, and it was just bad luck that you got caught,” said the lieutenant. “So, what can I help you with?”

  Tim took a deep breath. “Sir, the captain nearly put me off the ship, onto that island, marooned because he thought I was a thief. I know you asked him not to.”

  “So did a fair number of others, Barnabas,” said the lieutenant, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  “They hadn't had anything nicked from them, sir. Sir, could you tell me, that ten pounds you lost…was it a ten pound note?” asked Tim.

  The lieutenant shook his head incredulously. “No. But don't tell me you found one in your ferreting, Barnabas. You'll get into trou
ble all over again. It wasn't a tenner. It was—”

  “A five and a bunch of ones. And I swear I never stole them, sir, or dug them out of anyone else's gear. But,” said Tim, pulling out the still-damp remains of the envelope from his shirt, “someone slipped this to me when I was in the brig. I think it's your money.”

  The lieutenant took the envelope. “It…seems to have been places,” he said, looking slightly bemused.

  “Er. I forgot about it, when I went diving after Clara. Uh. Miss Calland. I had it in my pocket. The brown is just chocolate, sir. I think the money is still good, sir.”

  The lieutenant sat down on his bunk edge. He looked thoughtfully at the battered envelope and then back at Tim. “You say someone gave it to you in the brig. Well, I know you didn't have it with you when you went into the brig. I searched you myself. And it does seem a bit daft to soak the money and cover it in chocolate for no reason. It's so unlikely, I have to think you're telling me the truth, Barnabas. Besides, we didn't believe you before, and it turned out we should have. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me which someone? I'd still like my mother's ring back. It means a lot to me. More than any amount of money. I'd hoped to give it to the girl I'm getting engaged to.”

  Tim stood there. Indecisive.

  “I want the ring more than to punish anyone, Tim. If…if it was you, please just give it to me. Nothing more said.”

  Now indecision turned to anger. “I told you it wasn't me, sir! My mam wouldn't let me steal! I came to you to give you your own back as best I can. I'm not going to send someone else off to be dropped on an island and never get home. I know what that feels like.”

  Something about his anger must have got through to the lieutenant. “I'm sorry. I…you know, Barnabas, you're making me know what it feels like to be the skipper. I thought I wanted to be. I hadn't realised that it would involve making hard personal decisions.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing the money to me. It's all said and done now, and the matter is closed.”

  And it might have been, if he had not looked rather sadly at the picture on his little desk. The girl with the dark wavy hair had a nice smile.

  Tim sighed. “I'll try and get it back for you, sir.”

  “And get yourself into more trouble?” The lieutenant was quick at spotting things. “No, Barnabas. Tell me, and I'll try to work out a way of doing this that does not get you, or me, tossed off the boat.”

  Tim bit his lip. “Will you promise not to let the captain into this, sir? It was Jonas, sir. He told me some of his friends had had a secret whip around for me. I don't suppose he could tell me the truth, or anyone else, without getting chucked off the boat in my place. And he'd seen that that was what the captain would do. He felt bad enough to at least give me your money.”

  “Jonas…but he's one of my trainees,” said Lieutenant Ambrose. “I…I suppose I have sent him down to fetch things from my cabin on a few occasions. I didn't think of that. I assumed it had to be one of you cabin boys.”

  “And probably me, 'cause I'm a darkie,” said Tim.

  The lieutenant blushed. But he nodded. “We all make mistakes.”

  “I'm beginning to get why the old first mate was so hooked up on being loyal to Imperial Security because they didn't treat him like a foreigner. I was born under London, Sir. And I didn't exactly choose my dad.”

  “All I can say is that I got it wrong,” said the lieutenant. “I prejudged you, Tim Barnabas, and I kept doing so, for no fair reason. I didn't accept what my eyes and ears told me, that you were a good lad, because I didn't want to accept it. Well, I was wrong.” He sucked through his teeth. “I don't know how I'm going to handle this. But thank you for trusting me.” He stuck out his hand while looking at the picture of his girl. “If I get the ring back…or even if I don't, I'd like to ask you to come to the wedding. Sally's Australian, so I hope it will be this trip. I'd be honoured if you'd be there. You've taught me a lot about myself, about making judgements. And some more about command. I'm going to be acting as the mate. I was pretty pleased. Now I'm realising the joy of just being a lieutenant.”

  Tim took the offered hand awkwardly. “I guess you did try and speak up for me, sir. I'm sorry I thought it was you.”

  “And I am sorry I thought it was you. You're about as solid a crewman as the boat has got, youngster. You should try out for officer training.”

  Tim blinked. “I dunno, sir. I wanted to do the bridge hand ticket. I'm getting the nav. But, well, sir, to you, and to some of the crew…I am a darkie. Not to be trusted. There are no darkie officers on the submarines that I know of. Some people have a problem with it.”

  “Then it's about time they got over it,” said the lieutenant, firmly. “I've decided that I have. Listen, I'm going to have to ask Mike Willis and maybe one of the senior ratings to give me a hand with the search. That all right by you?”

  “Suppose he's going to know I split on him anyway,” said Tim, gloomily. “Oh well. It's better than living on a desert island.”

  “We'll work it out, subtly. Not search any one person.”

  The young major clicked his heels, Prussian style, as he saluted Duke Malcolm. The duke was in consultation with Prince Albert. The Canadian Dominion border incident was turning into a disaster—a disaster that could cost them the West Coast. And then there was this.…“Your Grace, we sent two agents in on the tramp steamer. Not only were all the American vessels in port, not steaming towards Prussian Samoa, but the hills were not being combed by marines either.” By the wary look, he was plainly expecting his commanding officer to explode. Or at the very least to shout and blame him.

  Instead Duke Malcolm brushed an errant strand of his thinning hair off his forehead. “So: either Avery—and he is an American and merely a paid informer—has taken advantage of our Agent Werner, or Werner himself has turned.”

  The major coughed. “Our men could find no sign of Avery either. He's been reported missing by his business partner.”

  “Whatever the case, it would seem likely that the Americans have her,” said Prince Albert, resignedly.

  “I don't think so. No ships, or airships, have left the island in the last three days, since our agent said he had captured Dr. Calland,” said Duke Malcolm. He hit the desk with the flat of his hand. “I think, Albert, the reality is that Werner must have been a double agent. He misled us, which is why we've failed to capture her, over and over again. That finally explains all the near-misses. I think this was just a red herring, while they fuelled up and left. Well, we know where they're heading now. We have one last throw of the dice. The submariners are unaware that their generators put out a very high-frequency radio pulse. They have to pass through the Bass Strait or around Tasmania. We already blockade all their ports. We will focus our effort there.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. There are a fair number of resources deployed in that area, already. We've had incidents of unrest and outlaw gangs attacking our soldiery. We've got another four squadrons of marines on their way down there now.”

  “It's the convict blood,” said Duke Malcolm. “Tasmania got some of the worst, and they got Irish rebels too. Transportation was a mistake. They should have hanged the lot of them.”

  “The worst problems are in the north of the state, which was not a convict-settled area,” said Prince Albert dryly.

  He always knew too much about everything, thought Duke Malcolm with irritation. “It's a contagion. It spreads. It needs to be cut out.”

  “It hasn't been helped by your heavy-handed attempts to do so, Malcolm,” said Prince Albert, irritably. “Anyway. Have you seen to it that sufficient vessels are equipped to pick up the pulses? It's a pity the range is so short.”

  “If it wasn't such short range, their Marconi operators would use those frequencies. More of the units have been shipped to Australia by airship from our manufactory in New Calcutta. Of course the real danger is that they decide to go south of Tasmania and run for a remote part of the Western Australian coastline. How
ever, if they aim for one of the ports, we'll get them, and if they come through the Bass Strait, we'll pick them up.”

  “It's to be hoped that you are correct this time, Malcolm,” said Prince Albert. “We're no closer to just how, or what breakthrough this woman made, with her work on nitrites? Have you had her ex-husband questioned? It would seem to me, to judge by her flight, that she may not have been as uninvolved in his activities as was previously thought.”

  “It was the Russians, not the Irish rebels that she was in cahoots with,” said Duke Malcolm. “And yes, we have had him questioned. The fellow is either too clever for his own good, or too stupid. I suspect the latter. He may be a lever to get the young girl away from the mother, but he was very loud in his anger with Dr. Calland, apparently. Called her a false Jade, and claimed she'd set his arrest up just to get rid of him. He ranted in that vein for quite some time. It is not true, but we've encouraged him to believe it. It seems our Irish section was very thorough in checking his story out. They engaged the mother of one of the other girls in the child's class to sound her out. Apparently the girl was very upset at the breach between her parents. It was a clever piece of work by my men: adults might be effective liars, but a child lacks the skill. The girl wrote affectionate letters in the permitted once-a-month mail. The mother never sent a word. He receives no other letters.”

  “The problem, of course, is communicating with the girl at all,” said Prince Albert, in his “drier than the Sahara” tone. “Or any of them. The Americans have made all sorts of approaches, since their muddle in Rivas. If you believe them, that was the overhasty action of a junior executive. That's what they've been telling the Underpeople, I gather.”