The Steam Mole

by Dave Freer

Captain Malkis stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, the second part of my discoveries may provide a clue. I have had my lieutenants buying up the contracts of the Cuttlefish crew, as per your instructions, and contacting them where possible. Mostly, at least, they’ve been reachable by telegraph. We have nineteen of the crew back here, most of the others on their way. We’ve now been successful in buying all the contracts…bar one.”

  Clara’s mother closed her eyes. “Tim Barnabas.”

  It didn’t take Linda a second to join the dots. More the dots between what Clara hadn’t said about her Tim, than what she had.

  “Correct, ma’am,” said Malkis. “He’s at Dajarra Power Station, working on the steam mole there. And, yes, that is accessed via the northern line, via Alice Springs. It’s part of the new line they’re building. The final station in the current push south…and yes, it would have been in Queensland before the melt. It is within two hundred and fifty miles of the location your husband was supposed to have been at when he wrote that letter.”

  “Clara…I don’t think she has a particularly good grasp of just how far two hundred and fifty miles might be, especially across the desert. Her…her own travels beyond a mile or two have all been by train, or airship, or submarine."

  “The desert is considered to be our barrier between the British Empire and Westralia, Dr. Calland,” said Linda. “I’ve never been there, of course. But I have been told it’s very bleak. They can’t cross it. There is no transport of any sort going that way.”

  Dr. Calland sighed. “I don’t think ‘can’t’ is a word my daughter understands.”

  “It’s a family failing, ma’am,” said Captain Malkis, with just a hint of a smile.

  “True,” admitted Dr. Calland. “And she got a double dose of it. Jack was worse than I am, by far. Well, I suppose we now need to get to this Dajarra place.”

  “It’s a two-day trip on their underground cable-train, ma’am, and there isn’t another departure scheduled until tomorrow. Look, Lieutenant Ambrose said there was something very, very odd about the behavior of the Discovery North Rail Company. They were ‘business as usual’ until he said just whose contract he wished to buy. The clerk looked it up…and went to consult his superior. That individual came back and said that contract was not for sale, goodbye. Ambrose reported this to me immediately, and I went around to their offices with him, in the hope of reasoning with them.” Captain Malkis grimaced. “We were actually forcefully ejected from the premises and threatened with police action if we came back. I have sent a message to Maxwell Darlington to enlist his help with this matter.”

  Linda’s father arrived a few minutes later, accompanied by another man in the uniform of the local police, with added gold braid and the green slouch hat with its dingo badge. “Colonel Matthew Clifford. Westralian Mounted Police,” said Max, introducing him.

  “Are we in trouble with the WMP already?” asked Captain Malkis mildly. “I did specifically tell Lieutenant Ambrose he wasn’t to take the crew to the offices of that railroad company.”

  Her father smiled. “I brought Clifford around to try to avoid you doing that.”

  “You might have no choice,” said the policeman wryly. “See, they don’t have to sell you the contract. It’s not normally an issue, but if a company wants to be difficult, they can.” He scratched his head. “But we can work around it, sir. I can draft the boy into the force. We’re still technically at war with the British Empire, and the state may demand the surrender of a contract, for the contract valuation. I’d be willing to do so. I might tell you that we could have problems with this crowd. Their general manager, Rainor, thinks he’s a law unto himself. He’s got a lot of money and rides roughshod through the law, and lets his lawyers clean up the mess. He’s got a lot of influence here, even within the WMP. People have relatives working for the company, and he’s a vindictive piece of work.”

  “I see,” said the captain. “Kidnapping is a crime here, isn’t it?”

  “Of young women?” said Colonel Clifford. “My word, yes. We’ll hang someone for that. And that’ll be because we couldn’t keep them alive in jail or out of it.”

  “And dealing with spies?” asked Dr. Calland.

  “That comes under the heading of treason,” said Colonel Clifford. “You could get twenty years breaking rocks in Alice for that.”

  “So, Colonel, how do you feel about drafting several of my crew?” asked the captain. “On a temporary basis, of course, and seconding them to this investigation?”

  The colonel smiled. “A three-month drafting? Easily done, but the pay is terrible.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about that,” said Dr. Calland. “I will match their earnings, of course. But it will save them calling on the police for help. Captain, if you would find, say, ten of your men that you consider suitable, and meet with Colonel Clifford to do the necessary paperwork, I think we could meet at the offices of this company at…should we say ten o’clock? Linda, you could show me where they have their offices? Do you know where they are?”

  Linda nodded, hoping her father thought those were just ladylike blushes. Nicky worked there. She was still getting used to the fact that Clara’s mother simply made decisions. Neither her mother—from what she remembered—nor her stepmother ever directly told anyone what to do. Dr. Calland did exactly that in her laboratory, and she wasn’t that much different out of it.

  They took a jarvey down to the offices of the Discovery North Railroad Company, so really, Linda’s direction-finding skills were not needed. Linda noticed two familiar-looking men in telephone corporation uniforms up a ladder against the side of the building. One of them was definitely a submariner. She recognized him as having been with the captain that morning.

  “I thought they were joining the police?”

  Dr. Calland shook her head. “Submariners! One thing I’ve learned about them, Linda, is that they seem to be selected to be both audaciously daring and preventatively cautious at the same time. They’re cutting the telephone line, I would guess. I think we should carefully not notice what the top-mast men are up to. Hold your parasol in the way, so that we can truthfully say we didn’t see what they were doing.”

  The captain arrived with several men, and bowed to them. “If you’d like to follow Lieutenant Ambrose, special constable of the Westralian Mounted Police, we have deployed men at the other exit too. Let’s see what answers we can get.” There was steel in his voice.

  They followed. Knowing that something was about to happen, Linda could see men quietly converging on the door. She wondered if anyone who didn’t know would notice.

  The railroad office was, for Ceduna, an impressive place, with fake marble colonnades and a doorman. Well, it had always impressed Linda, especially the doorman.

  The doorman took one look at Lieutenant Ambrose and grabbed him by the arm—to find himself seized from the sides and behind by three more of the Cuttlefish’s crew and propelled away from the door. Ambrose took a letter out of his pocket and held it under the doorman’s nose. “This is my appointment to the Westralian Mounted Police. I haven’t had time to collect my uniform. Do you want time inside what they call ‘stir’ around here, for assaulting a police officer?”

  The doorman looked at the lieutenant, then left and right at the solid submariners. “Er. No, sir. I was given orders that I wasn’t to let you back in, sir. Just obeying orders, sir.”

  “Your orders, I’m sure, do not permit you to assault a police officer. Who gave you these orders?”

  “Uh, Mr. Adam Manuel, sir. He’s, he’s…the assistant to the boss.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” said the lieutenant pleasantly. He gestured to the men who had somehow just drifted closer. “Right, boys, move in, and fan out. Keep them peeled.”

  Linda had never found an excuse to actually go into the front office of the railroad company. She was surprised to see her Nicky behind the large slab of Tasmanian oak, gaping at her, blood draining from his face
. The other clerk didn’t seem shocked, just irritated. “What’s going on here?” he asked frostily as Linda, the captain, and Dr. Calland followed the Cuttlefish crew up the front desk. Two of the crewmen calmly lifted the barrier and walked through to the other side of the desk, flanking him. Her Nicky edged toward the door, only to find a third crewman was there already, shaking his head.

  “We’re from the Westralian Mounted Police,” said Lieutenant Ambrose, plainly enjoying himself very much. He slapped a piece of paper on the desk. “We have here a drafting order for one Barnabas, Timothy. We need his contract surrender dealt with…now.”

  The clerk stuck his finger in his collar. “I will go and call my supervisor, sir.”

  “We’ll accompany you,” said the lieutenant. “And before you even think of arguing, we’re investigating both kidnapping and possible treason. I am sure you’re eager to help.”

  They all walked through, and Nicky was swept along with them. He seemed to be avoiding looking at her.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” said the clerk, nervously. “Orders from Mr. Manuel…when I couldn’t find the contract in our files, I asked him what to do. He said I was to get rid of you immediately, sir. He gave orders to the doormen about keeping you out. He’s going to be very angry about it.”

  That idea plainly terrified both the clerk, and, by the way he was sweating, Nicky. Linda wondered if she ought to help him. She was about to say something when Dr. Calland spoke in the sort of tone that could cut glass. “It sounds like this Mr. Manuel has some explaining to do,” she said. “If those explanations are good enough, he may end up not being hanged.” She could sound quite terrifying, thought Linda.

  She obviously did so to the clerk, who nodded as if his head were on springs, but said nothing. Nicky coughed. “I’m sure you don’t need me,” he said, his voice a little high-pitched. “I…I am just a junior clerk. I know nothing about it.” But before he could escape he was pushed with the rest into a plushly carpeted office containing a large brass and mahogany desk…and a startled, flush-faced, bald little man with a big nose, who looked more like a crow who’d fallen into a pot of red paint than someone to be terrified of.

  Still, he did his best to try. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he demanded, staring at the mob pushing into his office. Or being pushed, in the case of the clerk and Nicky. Then he plainly recognized the captain and Lieutenant Ambrose. “I thought I warned you…I will have the police…”

  “Sir. They’re from the police,” interrupted the clerk. “I tried …”

  “Hush,” said the captain. “Don’t get yourself a longer sentence.”

  Blood drained from the man’s florid face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” asked Mr. Manuel in an entirely different tone.

  “We’re needing a contract surrender for a man in your employ who has been drafted into the WMP, in accordance with Proclamation 322. We have reason to believe he can assist us with an ongoing investigation,” said Lieutenant Ambrose.

  Manuel bit his thin lip. “Sir. I must inform you that Mr. Barnabas,” he made no pretense that he didn’t know who they were talking about, “is dead.”

  Linda looked at Nicky. Had he known about all of this when she’d asked his advice about Clara? Surely not. She hadn’t known more than Tim’s first name.

  “So why the secrecy?” asked the captain.

  Mr. Manuel continued, obviously trying to look both respectful and sad. “We didn’t want to sell his contract until the next of kin had been notified.”

  Dr. Calland looked as if she’d been hit with a wet sack. Some of the other submariners looked just as shocked.

  “How did he die?” asked Linda. She didn’t quite believe him, and it might have come out in her voice, because Mr. Manuel looked as if he was about to speak harshly to her for her impertinence. And then he obviously realized that putting down a chit of a schoolgirl, right now, would be a bad idea.

  “Um. An industrial accident with the cutting head of the drill,” he said. “Much regretted. We’re having an investigation, but it appears that he willfully breached safety rules,” said the man, tugging his earlobe.

  “His body will have to be taken back to the Cuttlefish, for a submariner’s burial,” said the captain heavily.

  “Er. The body was buried. In the heat, you know…”

  “Just one question,” said Lieutenant Ambrose who had plainly got his wind back after the shock. “Just why hasn’t this been reported to the WMP?”

  Now it was Manuel’s turn to look as if he’d been hit with the wet sack. He certainly started sweating. “Er. Accidental death. We’re in the process of filling in the forms.”

  “We’re going to have to exhume the body, and then get witness statements,” said the lieutenant.

  The official could have broken a drought with his face. “We don’t know where the body is,” he admitted. “Look. We had problems. Rioting at that station. We couldn’t afford to lose more construction time. We’ve had to fly up a new station manager. I’m…I’m sure it’s all something that can be dealt with. I…I really need to consult my superior.”

  “Good,” said Lieutenant Ambrose. “I think we’ll talk to him, too. Perhaps before you explain. Let’s go.”

  “Uh. We can’t just burst in on the general manager!”

  “Watch us,” said the captain grimly.

  Someone had, however, obviously run to warn the man. His secretary flapped at them ineffectually, but the office was empty. The telephone’s ear horn lay on the desk, and the speaking horn dangled from its cable. “Where has he gone?” asked the captain. It was politely said…but in such a way that it would have cut through a force ten gale.

  “Uh. He just stepped out…” The secretary swallowed, looking at the hard faces around his desk. “The back exit.”

  “Who was he trying to call?” asked the lieutenant.

  Obviously the secretary decided lying wasn’t worth it. “Uh, Senator Wattly. But the telephones are out.”

  “Who did you have on the back door, Ambrose?” asked the captain.

  “Gibb and Nichol, sir.”

  The captain smiled savagely. “I think we’ll conduct our interview down there. In the meanwhile, Willis, I think this young man will help you to find any documents relating to this matter, and will tell you and Thorne all he knows. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be hanged next to his boss.”

  Linda didn’t know much about the law, but she was sure this wasn’t the way the Westralian Mounted Police normally operated.

  On the other hand, Clara was her friend, and this smelled of something very nasty that they were trying to bury, and the Cuttlefish crew were getting results. It might be yet another false lead. Whatever happened, Linda knew there’d be real trouble from the crew of the Cuttlefish, and from Dr. Calland, if Tim really was dead. She could tell by the expression on their faces, and the tone of their voices, that they liked him too.

  The bluster and demands for a lawyer and complaints about police brutality from the general manager of Discovery North Railroads were met by the captain’s most unpleasant, tigerish smile. “Who said we were the police? You say you have friends in high places. We’re submariners. Barnabas was one of our own. He had friends in low places. We might even have to take you to join them…unless I get answers now.”

  They got them. But they didn’t help much. Mr. Rainor knew nothing about Clara. He didn’t care if his station manager reported that a contract worker had been possibly murdered and that he had problems with a riot. He’d told his staff to make the problem go away and get the drilling going again. The Westralian Mounted Police would take days to get there, days to investigate. Drilling would be interrupted, and might even be stopped. Rainor didn’t, plainly, care, so long as that didn’t happen. “We can’t afford any delays. I sent one of my best men up there, my troubleshooter, Adrian Ness, to replace McGurk and get it all working as fast possible.”

  “And what about this death?”

&n
bsp; “Um. I’m sure Ness will get to the bottom of it. Look, we can’t afford delays. I will see that compensation is paid—generous compensation—if we can just let it go.”

  “Brush it under the carpet, you mean?” said the lieutenant, dangerously.

  “Not, not really. Just deal with it expeditiously. Who is it going to help to hold the work up? Ness is a good man. He’ll fix it up. Barnabas’s family will be well compensated.”

  “What have you heard from this ‘troubleshooter’?” asked the captain.

  “Er. Just that work had resumed. He wouldn’t trouble me with details.”

  “I think we need to speak to him,” said the captain, in a voice that said “now” if not sooner.

  “Impossible, I’m afraid. You could send him a telegram. There is a train from Sheba every day.”

  “How much compensation are you prepared to pay if we don’t pursue enquiries about what happened to Barnabas?” said the captain.

  “Oh. Should we say, a hundred pounds?” said the managing director, looking like a weasel who has just spotted a way out.

  “I think that very cheap for one of our own,” said the captain evenly.

  “Um. Five hundred? But I’ll need a signed agreement you won’t pursue it.”

  “Ten thousand,” said the captain. “And we’ll have that agreement signed right here. Get me paper, pen, and ink, boys.”

  It was brought. “In your own hand,” said the captain. “Write ‘I, Robert Rainor, do hereby agree to pay the Cuttlefish and her crew the sum of ten thousand Australian pounds not to pursue the matter of the suspicious death of Timothy Barnabas.’ Sign it.”

  “What’s to stop you pursuing it anyway?” asked Rainor.

  “We’ll sign a similar document, you can choose the wording, on our receipt of the money,” said the captain.

  “But I don’t see that I have to sign this at all. I’ll get you your money right now.”

  “Of course you do need to sign it. We’re not making you do so, but we won’t believe you unless you do. We can’t take the money, because we don’t know if Barnabas is dead or not, until we hear from your man Ness. Unless,” snarled the captain, “you are lying to us about being able to talk to him.”