by Dave Freer
“We find him if he get lost,” said the older man, smiling now. “You run.”
She did. And Tim ran after her. He had much longer legs. She might still have won, though, if she hadn’t lost her grip on her skirts and tripped over them and managed a full, if unintended, somersault. Tim skidded to a halt. “You all right?” he asked, helping her up.
“Fine,” she panted. “Well, I think I skinned my knee a bit. And I tore a flounce. But it got them laughing at us.”
And so it was that they walked back to the mound spring with the aboriginals around them, talking, asking questions, and behaving as if they hadn’t been a hair’s breadth away from being speared. They all helped refill the water tank and inspected the scout mole. The older man appeared doubtful, looking at the deep indents of the endless tracks. “How you go brush that out?”
“I thought we might tie some branches behind it,” said Clara. “I’d only have to go back to where I turned, and then on, as if I didn’t come here.”
“I’ve a better idea,” said Tim. “We make a brush and tie it to the drill head. That’ll wipe it out.”
“I’ve worked out how to make it go up and down, not round and round. Besides, it would make a groove in the middle before it took out the tracks.”
“Oh, it’ll be like the big mole. It’ll need to be fired up and got spinning. Look, there are igniter holes…”
“It’s still not going to work.”
“We could make it do an elliptic.”
“It’s not going to work,” she said firmly. “We need some leafy bushes.”
They bickered amiably and eventually settled on trying his method—which made a lot of dust and thrashed the branch to pieces, and then her method, which with a bit of weight on the branches worked quite well.
They left with waves and goodwill and even some seed-cakes and a piece of cooked meat.
Back on Clara’s track, and well away from the spring mound, Tim sighed. “You drive really well.”
“Of course I do,” she said cheerfully. “I taught myself. I’ll be getting Captain Malkis to let me drive the Cuttlefish next.”
“So…where are we going?” asked Tim. “Because to be honest with you, I don’t know where we are.”
“Australia.”
“You’re a great help, Clara Calland,” he said, laughing. “A natural navigator. Now where are we going?”
“I thought I was. I can take you back to your friends at the spring. They need a junior submariner,” she said, avoiding the subject. She just wasn’t quite ready to explain, to tell of the disasters and her decision just yet.
She should have known better with Tim, though. He read her better than most. And he was a lot harder than the average teacher ever had been to lead off on a tangent.
“That doesn’t explain why you needed my help or what you’re doing here. Not that I’m not glad to see you, because I always am. Especially when you find me in the desert.”
“I saw their fire. I came up to Dajarra because…because you understood about my father. He’s a prisoner in Queensland. The letter said he’d been sick. His handwriting was all shaky. He said he loved us and missed us. He…always sent me his love. Never to Mother. And now I know, well, know they pretended to be divorced for me. If he said that…I know he must be really, really sick, so it doesn’t matter anymore. And the man in Hansmeyers Emporium said…said if I wanted to see him alive and staying that way I needed to cooperate, and fast. Only I couldn’t. And when I went back later, and the next day, he wasn’t there.”
“It’s a trap, Clara. They want you for a hold over your mother.”
“Except Mother is in hospital. They wouldn’t even let me see her. She was unconscious and they said…well they didn’t say, but the doctor told Max Darlington that she wasn’t going to recover. He said it was best if I remembered her alive,” said Clara, tears coming now.
Tim held her. They steered a rather wobbly course onward. Eventually, when she’d sniffed and dried her eyes, he said, “So where are we going?”
“Queensland. To break my father out of jail.”
“You’re just a little bit mad, you know that?” It was said with a squeeze of the shoulder, so she couldn’t really take offence.
“Someone has to do something. And it was best it was something they wouldn’t expect.”
“So you came to get me and stole a steam mole?”
“Um. The steam mole just happened. I don’t steal. I’ll give it back. I came to you…because you were my closest…person.”
He was silent for a while; he just kept his hand on her shoulder as they bumped across the plain. “Well,” he said eventually, “we’ll need more fuel if we’re to get to Queensland. Not that it’s that far. The aborigines say the soldiers and prisoners are about three days’ walk away, working on a railway.”
“The aborigines know where the soldiers are?” asked Clara, incredulous. The country here was just so vast it seemed to her that it could hide anything.
“If it happens out here in the desert, they’ll know. They were watching me. And you.”
“I should have asked them. We’d better go back,” she said, beginning to turn.
Tim shook his head. “No point. They won’t be there, and we probably won’t find them. You could see they were getting ready to leave just as soon as we were gone. And they never told us where they were going. They’ve had some pretty bad experiences with the railway-men. And I know first-hand they’ve got reason.”
“The railway-men were very nice to me,” said Clara, feeling guilty for no good reason. “They looked after me, hid me, and fed me on the journey up.”
“It wasn’t so bad until Dajarra,” said Tim. “But no one even really talked to me on the clanker. It was creepy.” He sighed. “I wish I could talk to the captain about what to do. I’m responsible for you.”
“No you’re not! I’m responsible for me.”
“Not as far as the captain is concerned,” said Tim with a grin. “You’re part of his crew, sort of. And I’m a senior crew member, compared to you.”
That gave her a bit of a glow. They were a sort of extended family. Like the cousins and uncles and aunts she didn’t have. “I told him. At least, I sent him a letter.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing, anyway. Now look, your steam-biscuit supply is a bit low, but these fire boxes, they say they can burn anything. While I was lost I saw some big piles of old deadwood that must have come down here with the floods.”
“Why didn’t you set fire to them? I could have found you so easily then.”
“I didn’t have anything to start a fire with. I did think about it—when I ate that raw bird.”
The major was sweating visibly in his green and gold uniform. “Your Grace, the news from Queensland: As best they can establish, Jack Calland and three of the aboriginal prisoners and an Afghan—they were brought over as camel-drivers—are still loose. One of the recaptured men said Calland talked of going southwest. He was behind the breakout, Your Grace. They got twenty pairs of men, and aboriginal trackers and dogs, all out scouring the southwest. It’s desert or semi-desert out there. The officer commanding insists that everything that can be done is being done. But if Calland is with the aboriginal escapees…well, that is their terrain. If anyone can find water, they will.”
Duke Malcolm steepled his fingers. He sat silently while the officer sweated and waited. “Well,” he said. “We will have to modify the orders. I think if Calland or the others are sighted, and there is any chance of their escape, shoot first. Only attempt to capture if the prisoners are unable to flee. Now, what news of the state of readiness of the strike force?”
“Uh. They’re still waiting on more fuel. Otherwise they’re ready, Your Grace.”
“And news from our spies in Ceduna?”
“Well, they evaded capture, Your Grace. One of them works in a railroad office and actually observed Dr. Calland. She seems to be in a vendetta against one of the railroad companies, but
…but if rumor is to be believed she displayed her ammonia synthesis technique to some high officials of the Westralian government.”
“I see. Well, it becomes paramount to weaken them rapidly, then. Order an airship deployed from the nearest base to assist in the search for Calland. He is an intelligent man, and it’s possible he has worked out just what the railway is for. Obviously, the airship is to shoot to kill. They cannot capture.”
Linda felt rather forlorn that afternoon, when they were all making plans for the flight to the north—her father had been successful, and it appeared the cost, while exorbitant, was not ruinous. “We have the use of a flying wing called Wedgetail for eight hundred pounds a day, and a bond of ten thousand pounds against damages,” announced Dr. Calland after the call.
Ten thousand pounds sounded ruinous to Linda. You could buy two respectable houses for that sum, but it appeared that it did not seem ruinous to Dr. Calland. Then Linda had to leave her and the captain to it, and go home
At tea, while they ate, she tried to draw her father out about just what was happening. He smiled and shook his head. “The corridors of power sound a bit more like a schoolyard at the moment. There are a few of the captains of industry who are clamoring for Rainor’s release and measures to rein in the police. Others are being, well, privately well pleased. He isn’t a widely liked man, and not just by his competitors. I’m not in favor of government interfering too much in business, but business needs to behave in such a way that people don’t want the government to do that. There’ll be all sort of legal jumping around tomorrow, and I think some dismay when they find that they can’t interfere with Dr. Calland and her plans, as she’ll be airborne. It’ll take them a while to establish that, by which stage, with any luck, it will be too late. Now, I was going to say, I’ve been looking at your school reports, and I hadn’t realized just how well you’ve been doing. But you slipped last term. I’ve spoken to Leonid Borin at the university. He’s got a promising young mathematician looking for some extra work, so I’ve signed you up for some lessons with him in the next few days. I went and had a few words with him.” He looked at her with a hint of amusement. “You’re too young for him, miss. He must be three years older than you.”
What would her father say if he ever found out about Nicky, who was a lofty twenty-four?
“But Maxie,” said her stepmother, “being thought too clever could ruin her chances. And our friends Arthur and Jane and their dear little Melanie and Walter are coming back to Ceduna. I’d hoped—”
“Ha. ‘Chances,’” said her father expansively. “She’ll have as many as she needs. Anyway, she’s far too young to even worry about that, and any man who doesn’t appreciate her mind doesn’t deserve her.”
“I don’t think this woman scientist has been good for either of you,” said her stepmother, repressively. “A girl needs to think of her future.”
Linda was tucked up in bed, half-asleep, when someone tapped at her window. She nearly called out. Then it occurred to her it might be Clara. She wouldn’t know her mother had recovered and was home. She leapt out of bed and, in her nightdress, opened the window.
Only to find it wasn’t Clara, but her boyfriend.
“Nicky! You can’t come here. My father…”
“I need to talk to you, Linda. It’s urgent. Really important,” he said.
“But you can’t come here. I’m in my nightdress. Tomorrow. We can meet in the gardens at the Tivoli at nine.”
He shook his head. “I need to talk to you about tomorrow. Mr. Rainor’s lawyers need you to testify. That stupid magistrate threw the bail appeal out.”
“What?”
“Hush. We need you to prove that statement was obtained under duress. I…er, told them I could arrange it, when they were asking me about the terrible incident. Mr. Cheswick was delighted. It’ll mean a big promotion for me.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Yes, that should let them have countercharges pressed to get that vicious woman and those submariners arrested.” He sounded very pleased about that.
“Go away. Go away, or I will call my father.”
“Oh no you won’t,” he grabbed her arm. “You need to testify tomorrow at ten o’clock. They’ll come around to subpoena you in the morning. You’ll tell them they threatened to kill him if he didn’t write that statement. That he tried to refuse but that captain twisted his arm and threatened to break it. And if you don’t do it…I’ll, I’ll send your letters to your father.”
“Let go of me!” she yelled.
“What’s wrong, Linda?” called her stepmother, from somewhere in the house.
Nicky fled, leaving Linda to fall back into her bed as the door opened. “What’s wrong, Linda?” repeated her stepmother worriedly.
Linda could still feel the imprint of his fingers in her arm. Her heart raced and her mouth was a little dry. “Just…just a nightmare. I…I was being chased.”
“It’s all right dear. You’re perfectly safe.”
“I know. It was just a bad dream.”
“There, there,” soothed her stepmother, comfortingly. “This is Ceduna, safe as can be. Do you need a hot drink?”
“No, thank you,” said Linda, her heart still hammering. She realized she wasn’t scared, just furious. Furious and…and used. Betrayed. And…just a little worried already. “I’ll be fine. It was just a shock.”
The door hadn’t been closed for more than two minutes before Linda was up. She didn’t put a light on, but the moon was bright. She dressed, collected her supply of money from the little drawer, and left a note in its place—written by moonlight and in pencil. Hopefully it would be reassuring and not helpful.
She knew her way to the station, and if luck was with her, the trains were still running out to Mandynonga.
If being airborne would keep the lawyers away from Dr. Calland, then it would keep them away from her.
She was certain Dr. Calland would not agree to this. But she’d been to Boomerang Fields a number of times. She knew where the vast hangars were, and she knew the name of their flying wing.
What she hadn’t known, an hour later, was just how far it would be to walk, in the dark, on her own, by moonlight. She’d hidden from several cyclists and three carts, ducking down and kneeling in the fields, getting mud on her dress from the drip-irrigators. Fortunately, she could hear the carts and see the bicycle lamps—and everyone had been coming toward her. Her beautiful red calf-skin mules were never going to recover from this…if her feet did. The gates of Boomerang Fields were welcome…and a problem.
The gate was, naturally, closed. It was a lovely ornate iron double gate, with stylized eagles pressed out of the metal.
For a moment she was stopped. Then she worked out that, in Westralian style, the gate was just latched, not locked, and it was not that difficult to unlatch it, push it open, and squeeze through. Unfortunately, it didn’t latch from the inside—at least that she could see in the moonlight. She hurried on as it swung open, ponderous and creaking the alarm. Only no one seemed to hear it, which was just as well because she could see nowhere to hide.
Then came the next complication. She knew the name of the flying wing, but there were many hangars. She could still be busy moving from one to the next until the day started. But there was one light on. She walked quietly toward it, and sure enough, there were three engineers doing final preparation to the Wedgetail. The name and picture were on her engine nacelles. Two of the men were just starting to pack away tools, while the other finished off. Now it was just a case of waiting for them to go, and she let herself in through the small side door they’d left by.
Inside the huge hangar she realized her next mistake. It was dark in there, away from the moonlight. She would never have been able to see the name of any flying wing in this. It was a huge craft perched on its wheels. She’d seen a ladder in her sneak-peek at it. But had they taken it down?
It seemed to take forever, and severa
l bumps and bruises, to find it, but she did. Climbing blindly in the dark, she felt her way around, looking for a hiding place. Eventually, she just gave up and lay down on a sheepskin for a rest…
Mary Calland had asked the captain if they could have a meeting of all the Cuttlefish crew who had arrived in Ceduna—a good two-thirds of them—and they gathered at the bungalow. The meeting had to be held outside, but fortunately in the predawn it was still cool.
“As you all know by now, we’ve identified that something is rotten at the station where Tim Barnabas was sent, a place called Dajarra in the north, some eight hundred and fifty miles from here, only accessible by two days’ worth of travel. They claim Tim was killed in an accident, and we think this may in some way relate to my daughter Clara, who, it appears, set off for there. We’ve been informed by Discovery North that, alas, there is no space on their regular trains going north. They’re being as obstructive as possible. They’ve flown a special manager up there, presumably to try to cover up.”
She smiled at her audience. “I thought if they could fly someone to this Dajarra place, why couldn’t we? It seems there, or Alice, or Sheba, are the places we need to check now. Not here. So, gentlemen, I’ve hired us a flying wing. It took some intervention from Mr. Darlington to get permission to do so. They’re all owned by the Westralian government and they don’t want them to fall into the hands of the British Empire. Most of them are kept for military use and for patrols, although they do have some transport vessels, which the state does hire out in an effort to keep their costs down. They’re faster and more maneuverable than airships and have a far longer range. We have to, of course, take their pilots and engineers, but there is space for some twenty men. I’ll need volunteers. It may be grim work, and it will be out in the desert. It’s hot out there.”
Hands shot up. “I volunteer!” was an almost universal chorus.
