The Secret Abyss

by Darrell Pitt

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  One of Scarlet’s heroes was Emmeline Pankhurst, a noted suffragette. Scarlet always took great pleasure in pointing out to Jack and Mr Doyle the inequalities that remained between men and women, the most glaring of all being the right to vote. More women were protesting for equal rights every day. Most of them were peaceful, but some demonstrations became violent and resulted in arrests and jail.

  Mr Doyle had let both Jack and Scarlet steer the Lion’s Mane on more than one occasion. Jack expected Scarlet one day to add the title of airship pilot to her list of accomplishments.

  Mr Doyle grabbed their bags from the platform and handed them to the team. He pointed at the Challenger. ‘She’s quite a ship,’ he said. ‘I’ve travelled on her once before.’

  ‘Really?’ Jack said.

  ‘It was a strange case involving a one-legged dwarf, a box of onions and a ventriloquist dummy. It all began when…’

  Jack’s attention faded as Mr Doyle led them through the vast domed terminal to a connecting train, passing under a mural which depicted the history of airships, from the hot air balloons built by the Montgolfier brothers to the most recent high-altitude airship—the Captain Cook—that sailed at a height of twelve miles.

  People were everywhere. Porters transported bags on trolleys. Whistles blew and conductors urged people onto trains. The cage in Jack’s left hand shook. Mr Doyle had insisted Bertha travel with them to the United States, and now Jack had to chaperone the vile creature.

  Bertha had hardly moved on the train journey, preferring instead to stare out at the changing landscape. Now Jack noticed her beady eyes were on him.

  I wonder if she’s hungry?

  ‘…so the clue really lay in the dwarf’s shoe,’ Mr Doyle concluded. ‘If he had not forgotten to change his shoes, then the death of Lady Carstairs may have remained forever unsolved.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Jack said. ‘That’s amazing.’

  Climbing aboard another train, they were whisked along the yard to the hangar holding the Challenger. A porter led them up one of the gangways, guiding them through a maze of corridors until they reached a room on the second deck from the top.

  ‘Bazookas,’ Jack said.

  Even Scarlet was impressed. ‘Quite beautiful.’

  The walls were covered in pressed metal with an ivy pattern, hand-painted white and green. Between the panels, lengths of mahogany ran from floor to ceiling. A floral design, gold and red, decorated the cornice and matched the ceiling rose surrounding the chandelier. Furniture—sideboard, breakfast table, mirror and chairs—complemented, while a shamrock-green and crimson upholstery of cogs and wheels adorned the seats. Copper and brass trimmed everything in the chamber.

  ‘And here are your bedrooms,’ the porter said.

  They glanced inside. The rooms were identically decorated. Each had its own en-suite bathroom.

  ‘This must have cost a mint!’ Jack exploded, once the porter had departed.

  ‘Knowing the captain has its advantages,’ Mr Doyle admitted.

  Jack’s mouth fell open. ‘You know the captain?’

  Mr Doyle was puzzled. ‘I just told you. You remember my story about the dwarf, the box of onions…’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  The detective took a piece of cheese from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. A quizzical expression crossed his face. ‘What an odd piece of cheese,’ he said. ‘Or was it a slice of onion? It’s hard to tell sometimes.’

  There was a knock at the cabin door. Mr Doyle shot them a glance before opening it.

  ‘Ignatius!’

  ‘Philias!’

  The man in the doorway wore a dapper white uniform with gold epaulettes. His white cap was decorated with a blue band and a gold emblem. The men gave each other a hearty handshake as Jack almost swooned.

  ‘Captain Haze!’ he cried.

  ‘Ah, these must be your young protégés.’

  Scarlet introduced herself, but Jack had now lost the power of speech.

  ‘Contrary to appearances,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘Jack has rather a liking for airships. Perhaps a tour could be arranged?’

  ‘More than happy to.’ The two men chatted for a moment. ‘And I hope you’ll join me as my guests for dinner?’ After the captain had said goodbye, Jack stared at Mr Doyle.

  ‘Is everything all right, Jack?’

  ‘You know Captain Philias Haze.’

  ‘Er…yes. We were just speaking to him.’

  ‘The Captain Philias Haze.’

  ‘Is there another?’

  ‘But he’s the greatest captain on earth! He’s the captain of the Challenger!’

  Mr Doyle grew serious. ‘Then I must tell you that the man we have met is an impostor. I have reason to believe he has swapped places with the real Philias Haze with the intention of stealing the Challenger and taking us to Antarctica.’

  ‘What?’ Jack and Scarlet yelled simultaneously.

  ‘I am joking.’ Mr Doyle grinned. ‘Now pack your things away and we’ll go on deck for departure.’

  Jack placed Bertha’s cage near the window to ensure the tarantula had a view. He gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. Bertha just stared at him. ‘Is that a happy look?’ he asked. ‘Or are you just hungry?’

  He dropped a few dead insects into the cage before joining Mr Doyle and Scarlet in making their way to A Deck. From here they could see most of the enormous hangar. Jack’s eyes almost fell out of his head. He had forgotten how high they were—and they had not even left the shipyard.

  A series of bells rang out. Jack leaned over a rail. A train, with towlines attached, positioned itself under the ship and began dragging it from the hangar. Once clear, the engines kicked into gear, and the paddles started to turn.

  A soul-shuddering horn sounded from the bridge as the vessel lifted higher into the air. Jack and Scarlet smiled at each other, the sun shining on them as they peered ahead at the endless sea.

  Mr Doyle grinned. ‘Excited?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Allow me to introduce you,’ said Captain Haze. ‘Lady Susan Thompson, Dr Renshore Phillips, Professor Barnabas Smith, and his niece, Gabrielle.’

  They were in the dining room of the Challenger at the bow of the great ship. Brass chandeliers dotted the ceiling, while impeccably dressed waiters served meals. Hundreds of people were seated for dinner, the sound of silverware and conversation creating a deafening clatter. Jack and the others were seated at the Captain’s table on a raised platform near the windows.

  The guests were all American, except for Lady Thompson; she was an heiress living in London. She was thin and as stately as an old house, but her smile was friendly. She spent her time painting landscapes for her six grandchildren.

  Dr Phillips came from Baltimore. A thickset man with sausage-like fingers, he had a bristly handlebar moustache that covered much of his face. His nose was red and his eyes rheumy, as if he drank too much.

  Sitting near Jack was Professor Smith. He had been born in Los Angeles, but spent his days researching ancient history at Oxford. His accent was an odd mixture of British and American. He had white hair and a long beard. His glasses had dense lenses and he wore a dark coat, so worn and ragged it could have been on display in a museum. He had an odd habit of jerking his head about in a bird-like manner to examine things that most other people wouldn’t look at twice.

  ‘They need to make these menus easier to read,’ he said, holding one close to his face. ‘Or I need new glasses.’

  His niece, Gabrielle Smith, was twenty years old, with an hourglass figure and brown hair and eyes. Jack found he couldn’t stop looking at her. Her green dress was tied with a maroon bow at her neck. She had arranged her hair into a bun and decorated it with a comb made of cogs and gears. A resident of Washington, she had travelled to England to retrieve her uncle. He was intending to retire in America as his eyesight had deteriorated in recent years, resulting in a number of falls.

  �
��What intriguing case are you working on now?’ Professor Smith asked Mr Doyle.

  ‘None at the moment. My assistants and I are heading to the States for a small holiday.’

  ‘I have not heard of you,’ Dr Phillips called out from further down the table. ‘I’m not sure I know what a consulting detective does.’

  Once Mr Doyle had explained, Lady Thompson cried: ‘Why, you’re quite famous! I remember that situation with the Pumpkin Killer and that other chap…who was he? The Fly?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Mr Doyle recalled. ‘He was a burglar who shared some traits with Robin Hood.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes—he stole from the rich, but he only gave to himself. As I said, he shared some traits.’

  They all laughed, except for Dr Phillips, although his moustache was so enormous he could have been poking his tongue out and no-one would have noticed.

  Gabrielle leaned close to Jack. ‘You must have heard about some interesting cases.’

  ‘We have,’ Scarlet said, glaring at Jack.

  ‘Please tell me about one.’

  ‘Yes, Jack.’ Scarlet’s expression was so sour she could have curdled milk. ‘Tell Gabrielle about one of them.’

  Jack wasn’t sure why Scarlet was annoyed. To make matters worse, Gabrielle Smith’s eyes seemed to have some sort of hypnotic power that turned his mind to porridge. All he could think of was a neighbour’s cat that had wandered into their reception area by accident. Not the cat, he thought. I will not mention the cat.

  Gabrielle waited.

  ‘Uh,’ he said, ‘there was this cat…a missing cat…’

  ‘What about the Tetley Diamond, Jack?’ Mr Doyle suggested.

  God bless Mr Doyle!

  ‘Oh! Yes! The Tetley Diamond!’

  ‘Do tell,’ Gabrielle said.

  Jack recounted the story and by the time he revealed the mystery—the diamond had been hidden in the chandelier all along—the entire table had fallen silent in rapt attention. But when he finished they all cheered, and Jack felt himself turn red.

  ‘It’s magic!’ Lady Thompson said.

  Mr Doyle smiled. ‘I do not believe in magic. I believe in the world of science.’

  Dinner was served and cleared, and drinks and cigars made an appearance. Mr Doyle produced his three-chambered pipe. He rarely smoked, but used his own special blend when he did, made up of herbs, poppies from Asia, wood shavings, tea leaves and a specially imported lawn clipping from France.

  Dr Phillips rather indiscreetly turned the conversation to politics. ‘Science does not run the world,’ he said. ‘Politicians do.’

  ‘At least democracy allows its citizens to choose their politicians,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Democracy seems to have failed us.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘The President of the United States is not competent to run the country,’ Dr Phillips said.

  Professor Smith had spent the last few minutes examining the pattern on the ceiling. ‘He is very popular,’ he murmured. ‘Much loved by the people.’

  ‘Popularity means nothing and the people often do not know what’s good for them.’ Dr Phillips glowered. ‘The nation would be better divided in two.’

  Everyone fell silent.

  ‘You sound as if you support the Southern Liberation Army,’ said Mr Doyle carefully.

  Smith peered around the table through his thick lens. ‘Does the SLA still exist? I thought it had been declared illegal.’

  Captain Haze confirmed that the SLA was still in operation. American law allowed its citizens to belong to whatever organisation they wished—as long as they were peaceful and followed the law.

  ‘But there are splinter groups within the SLA that have carried out violent acts,’ Philias Haze continued. ‘They have blown up marketplaces. Destroyed railroads. Killed innocent people.’

  ‘Such deaths are regrettable,’ the doctor said. ‘But what other tools do oppressed people have at their disposal?’

  ‘The American people are hardly oppressed,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘I believe the SLA even have their own flag,’ Lady Thompson said.

  ‘Many tyrants have hidden behind a flag.’

  ‘Do they have a leader?’ Smith asked.

  ‘They are still awaiting their leader.’ Dr Phillips smiled unpleasantly. ‘Sometimes people are only waiting for a leader to rise among them and when that happens…’

  ‘The United States must remain as one nation.’ This time it was Gabrielle who spoke. ‘Our ancestors already suffered terribly in the Civil War. It took another five years, after the assassination of President Buchanan, for President Lincoln to rebuild our country.’

  ‘A woman with an opinion on politics,’ Dr Phillips said. ‘How interesting.’

  ‘Many women have political opinions,’ Scarlet said. ‘Emmeline Pankhurst and others have been actively engaged in politics. Many of us even want the vote.’

  ‘The vote?’ Dr Phillips laughed. ‘What are you? Some kind of child suffragette?’

  Scarlet looked ready to explode. Mr Doyle’s face went dark. Even Jack wanted to launch himself across the table and punch the doctor in the mouth—if it could be found beneath all that hair.

  Lady Thompson cut in. ‘I was once involved in a women’s rights march.’ A stunned silence greeted this revelation as all eyes turned to her. ‘I was trying to cross the street to Barkley’s department store.’

  Gentle laughter eased the tension and dinner was concluded. Jack offered to walk Gabrielle and the professor back to their cabins.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Gabrielle said.

  Scarlet drew near. ‘Will I come with you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, thank you,’ said Jack.

  Scarlet muttered under her breath: ‘I thought you would say that.’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  She glared at him.

  Gabrielle and her uncle were staying on a deck two levels below Jack’s quarters. He shivered against the cold. The Challenger was soaring hundreds of feet above the sea. Normally it would have afforded a spectacular view, but a fog had rolled in, swathing the ship in mist. Gaslights hung along the length of the deck. Gabrielle farewelled her uncle at his door and strolled to the next cabin with Jack. ‘You and Scarlet are quite amazing,’ she told him. ‘Mr Doyle did well to choose you as his assistants.’

  Jack could not stop himself. ‘Are you a suffragette?’

  ‘I am indeed. It seems your friend Scarlet is too.’ She peered at him. ‘Don’t you think women should have the same rights as men?’

  Jack admitted he had not thought much about it.

  ‘The world is changing,’ Gabrielle said. ‘It’s better to ride the wave than be drowned by it.’

  Jack bade her a good evening. Once she closed her door, he started back down the deck. Since he had joined Mr Doyle, Jack had met so many different types of people and encountered so many ideas. It was as if a new world was being revealed to him.

  He wished he could speak to his parents about his wonderful experiences. He touched the pocket containing the locket and the compass. What would his parents have thought about women’s rights? They probably would have been in favour. After all, his mother and father had been equal partners on the trapeze, one always supporting the other.

  Women voting, he thought. There could be female politicians one day. Maybe even a female prime minister.

  Incredible.

  He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the footsteps behind him until the last instant. Jack started to turn, but someone had already slammed into him. He felt himself being lifted off the deck and hurled over the railing. He screamed as he fell towards the rolling waves.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jack’s hands raked the side of the Challenger, his fingers just catching a ridge where one plate overlapped another. His body smashed against the hull, and for a terrifying instant he thought he was going to bounce off. Then his other hand seized the edge and he
held tight.

  Jack hung on, the boiling sea far below him. Fog raced past him like a procession of ghosts. He wanted to reach up to the hand railing, but it was too far away. He could not go up. He could not go down. His fingers were slippery with sweat and the hull plating was moist from the fog. He began to slip.

  ‘Help!’ he bellowed. ‘Help!’

  Gabrielle appeared over the rail.

  ‘Jack! Take my hand.’

  Gabrielle reached down and began hauling him up, over the top rail. She was incredibly strong. Jack fell onto the deck, shuddering.

  The sound of a cabin door shutting floated along the mist. ‘My God!’ Professor Smith came shuffling across the deck. ‘What happened?’

  Jack explained through chattering teeth.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Smith shook his fist. ‘I will report this to the captain! We will turn this ship upside down until the culprit is found!’

  ‘Uncle Barnabas,’ Gabrielle intervened. ‘Allow me to walk Jack back to his cabin. We will advise the captain in the morning.’

  The professor reluctantly agreed. Jack felt a little silly being chaperoned, but he was still shaking.

  ‘Could the attack be the result of a case you’re working on with Mr Doyle?’ she asked him.

  Jack hesitated. He didn’t want to lie to Gabrielle, but he also knew that Mr Doyle wanted their investigation to remain a secret. ‘Mr Doyle has many enemies,’ he said tactfully. ‘Maybe one of them wants revenge.’

  They arrived at his cabin and knocked. Mr Doyle appeared and within seconds was quizzing Jack about the assault. Scarlet made hot chocolate for everyone, grabbing a blanket for Jack. Mr Doyle took Gabrielle back to her room, returning a minute later.

  ‘It appears our enemies have followed us onto the Challenger,’ he said.

  ‘You think the Chameleon is on board?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘Possibly. He can make himself look like anyone.’

  Jack and Scarlet peered more closely at Mr Doyle.

  ‘Well,’ the detective blustered, ‘almost anyone.’

  When Jack suggested Dr Phillips and his voluminous moustache, Mr Doyle said, ‘I suspect the good doctor has his own secrets. But I do not believe he is the Chameleon.’