The Secret Abyss

by Darrell Pitt

  ‘Check the walls,’ Jack said, pounding on the stonework. The men upstairs could come charging in at any moment.

  There had to be a secret door. There had to be!

  ‘Here it is!’ Scarlet hissed.

  It was in full view under the stairs!

  A voice reverberated from above. ‘Could they be down here?’

  Easing the door shut behind them, they raced down the uneven passageway. Jack fell over his dress and went sprawling.

  Damn dress!

  The room ahead was dark. If the inventor wasn’t here…

  ‘It’s you!’

  ‘Mr Slate!’

  ‘How did you find me?’ Olinka Slate sat despondently on a stool in a chamber even darker and more gloomy than the other basement. ‘The grime in this place is terrible. I dread to think of the germs…’

  ‘There’s no time for that,’ Jack said. ‘Ashgrove and his men will be here in a minute.’ The inventor had a manacle around his leg. ‘How are we going to get you out of here?’

  ‘Do you have the Whip of Fire?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Jack had forgotten all about it and now shivered as he remembered the stone’s terrible hypnotic effect. He retrieved the weapon from his petticoat and handed it over.

  Mr Slate manipulated the control and within seconds a small arc of electricity hit the chain. A metallic smell filled the chamber and the chain melted to nothing.

  Scarlet examined the inventor’s face. ‘Your cheek—’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ A black bruise surrounded his eye. ‘Charles Ashgrove tried to force me to finish my work on the Excalibur’s weapon. I refused.’

  ‘We have to get out of here.’

  Slate pointed to a metal door on the other side of the room. ‘That’s how I got here,’ he said. ‘It leads to the barn.’

  Jack and Scarlet almost dragged the inventor to the door. Footsteps clattered down the passageway behind them. Slate closed the metal door, pausing in the threshold.

  ‘Mr Slate!’ Jack said. ‘We’ve got to—’

  ‘Just a moment.’ The man focused his device on the lock and it fused. ‘That should slow them down.’

  They ran along the corridor. Someone struggled to open the door behind them, shouting and hammering with frustration. A ladder stood at the far end. Mr Slate and Scarlet went first, opening a trapdoor at the top. Jack went next. He came out into a barn containing a steamtruck.

  ‘Mr Slate,’ Scarlet said. ‘Can you drive that?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Jack touched the bonnet. It was cold. There was no way they could heat the boiler in time.

  ‘We’ll have to run for it,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll make it work,’ Slate insisted, directing them to the cabin. ‘It’s impossible to cheat the laws of physics, but we can help them along.’

  Pulling out the Whip of Fire, he manipulated a switch and touched it to the boiler. Within seconds, Jack heard the familiar rumble.

  ‘Instant boiling water.’ Slate climbed in behind the wheel. ‘Now, let’s leave this terrible place.’

  Yelling came from outside. The barn doors crept open, but Slate already had a foot on the accelerator. The steamtruck jumped and they smashed through the timber doors, sending men flying in all directions. Shots rang out.

  ‘That way!’ Jack pointed.

  They followed the road away from the house. Jack spotted two men at the checkpoint, guns raised.

  ‘Down!’ Scarlet yelled.

  They took cover as the men opened fire. Bullets shattered the windscreen. The vehicle hit something—presumably one of the men—but kept going.

  Jack peered over the bonnet. He could not see any more checkpoints. They were safe.

  ‘I think we’ve done it.’

  Slate grimaced. ‘I’m afraid Charles Ashgrove is most resourceful. It’s only a matter of time before he catches up with us.’

  They reached a road but within minutes two other vehicles appeared in the rear-view mirror. They were T77 Steamtrucks, barrel-shaped with short chimneys above the cab. Mr Slate steered with one hand as he manipulated the controls of the weapon. ‘I’ve altered the charge for wide dispersal. Just aim and fire.’

  Jack leaned out the window. Another shot rang out. The steamtruck weaved and Jack almost lost his grip on the weapon. Steadying his aim, he pulled the trigger. At first nothing happened, and then an arc of electricity surged from one end, cutting through the rear of their steamtruck, which fell away and crashed onto the road.

  ‘Oops,’ Jack said.

  The T77s swerved around the debris.

  ‘Did you get them, Jack?’ Scarlet yelled.

  ‘Uh, not yet.’

  Jack steadied himself at the window. He took careful aim, pulled the trigger again and this time a beam of light slammed into the engine of the truck behind them. It exploded, sending pieces everywhere. The vehicle veered off the road and rolled.

  ‘That sounds like victory!’ Mr Slate yelled.

  Before Jack could respond, the second steamtruck accelerated and more shots rang out. He heard a bang and the truck shuddered.

  ‘That was one of our tyres!’ he said.

  Mr Slate gave a cry as the truck swerved towards an embankment, catapulted over it and bounced down a slope towards a river. Jack almost fell out the window, but Scarlet dragged him back.

  They watched in horror as Mr Slate struggled for control. He almost had it—then something under the truck snapped. The steamtruck swung to one side and flipped into the river.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  How many times have I almost drowned? Jack thought, choking on a mouthful of river. At least Bertha’s not with us this time!

  The cabin was upside down. Catching a glimpse of Scarlet, he heard her cry, ‘Mr Slate! Where is he?’

  Slate was trapped underwater. They dragged him out through the smashed windscreen, surfacing a short distance away.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Jack said.

  ‘629,145 is divisible by 3,’ the inventor coughed. ‘As is 514,821.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Jack said.

  ‘Do you still have the weapon?’ Scarlet asked Jack.

  Bazookas!

  Jack had dropped it when the truck crashed. He dived back into the cabin. The collision had stirred up the dirt at the bottom of the river and visibility was poor. Jack’s hands raked the bottom of the cabin. Where was the Whip of Fire?

  He climbed back through the shattered windscreen into the river. The water was flowing quickly through here. Could the Whip of Fire have been dragged away by the current? He felt about on the river bottom. The water cleared momentarily and he spotted something poking from the bottom, a wand-shaped device made of bronze.

  The Whip of Fire!

  Back to the surface and gasping for breath, Jack joined Scarlet and Slate on the riverbank. He had only just evacuated a fish from his petticoat when men appeared on the hill.

  Pressing the button on the weapon, Jack spent a few anxious seconds waiting for it to build a charge. Then it fired a crackling whip of electricity at the hillside, carving a deep channel into the earth. The men shrieked and ran away.

  ‘Well done,’ Mr Slate coughed.

  ‘Let’s move,’ Scarlet said. ‘Come on!’

  They grabbed the scientist and hurried along the stony bank. After about a mile the river became shallow and they crossed with water up to their knees. Jack couldn’t see the men in pursuit, but he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. They won’t give up.

  ‘I want to thank you both,’ Mr Slate said, breaking the silence.

  ‘For what?’ Scarlet said. ‘We haven’t done anything.’

  The inventor laughed. ‘You saved me from Charles Ashgrove. You broke me free from that filthy jail. If not for you, I would have been imprisoned forever.’

  ‘Glad we could help,’ Jack said.

  ‘I spent my days in confinement pacing,’ Slate said. ‘I walked 22,364 steps in the fir
st prison, 4334 in the second and…’

  ‘Do you ever lose count?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘Never,’ Slate said. ‘It helps me keep the world under control. I have taken 429 paces since we escaped the overturned truck. Make that 430. 431…’

  ‘I get the idea,’ Jack said.

  ‘It must be difficult for you,’ Scarlet said.

  Olinka Slate gave her a wan smile. ‘I think it must be hard for everyone else. How can you live without dividing your food into equal portions? Without knowing the distance from one place to another? Without guarding yourself against germs?’

  ‘You have an incredible mind,’ Jack said. ‘How do you come up with such inventions?’

  ‘I focus on a problem until a patch of light forms in my vision. It is as if my whole brain is working in perfect harmony. The invention appears in my mind. Every part of it. Every function required to make it operate.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘The Whip of Fire should have provided free energy. Instead it has brought only misery.’

  ‘That’s not your fault.’

  ‘Someone has to pay for what has happened.’

  ‘Someone will.’ Scarlet’s face darkened. ‘Charles Ashgrove.’

  They reached a forest by the side of the river. Its canopy was thick and green. It would provide cover if Ashgrove sent airships out looking for them. But no-one was following them. Could they have lost their pursuers?

  ‘I’m not sure that life can always be measured,’ Scarlet said to Mr Slate. ‘Some parts of it are just too big.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ the inventor replied. ‘Those parts scare me.’

  ‘In the Brinkie Buckeridge novels, she says that “We can’t choose the path we walk, but we can choose how we walk.”’

  ‘I remember that,’ Jack said.

  Scarlet turned to him. ‘You’ve been reading it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Jack sighed. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘Only good?’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of flexing of pectoral muscles. Waxy Dugalot does it every chance he gets.’

  ‘It’s Wilbur Dusseldorf,’ Scarlet corrected him, pouting.

  ‘He seems to have them all over the place,’ Jack said. ‘And if Blinkie’s not punching men, she’s kissing them.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘And some of it is hard to believe.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, she just turned a washing machine into a steam engine. How silly is that?’

  ‘Not silly at all,’ Mr Slate said. ‘I’ve done that myself.’

  Jack stared at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. One must be resourceful when resources are limited.’

  Scarlet poked out her tongue and they trudged on in silence. Jack wondered how they must look, bedraggled, their clothing filthy and shredded. He had lost his sunflower hat in the river—not that it was any great loss. Scarlet had retained her hat, but her hair poked out from under it like an old broom. They reached a dirt road.

  ‘Do you think we’re still on Ashgrove’s estate?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mr Slate said. ‘He owns so much land it’s hard to tell where his territory ends and the real world begins.’

  Jack was starving again. He wished he had his green coat. The beef jerky in the pocket was barely edible, but now his mouth watered at the thought of it.

  The drone of a steamtruck came from further up the road. They took cover as it trundled past. Inside, the men were carrying guns. Jack did not move a muscle until the sound of the vehicle faded.

  ‘8,821,377 is divisible by 3,’ Mr Slate said.

  ‘Why is the number three so important to you?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve always had a funny feeling that it’s holding the universe together…’

  ‘I thought there was a glue for that.’

  Scarlet interrupted. ‘I suggest we cut through the forest until we reach the other side. Ashgrove’s estate can’t stretch on forever.’

  They crossed the road to the forest. It was a beautiful landscape. Birds whistled in the undergrowth. A small animal scampered under a fallen log. America really was an attractive place. Jack would have loved being there under different circumstances. After a few minutes, they heard a distant drone and ducked beneath the canopy. A navy airship passed overhead.

  ‘They must be searching the entire countryside,’ Mr Slate said.

  Scarlet said, ‘We must get clear of this forest to get their attention.’

  ‘Just as long as Ashgrove’s men don’t see us first.’

  They kept walking. The ground was uneven and crisscrossed with small streams. Jack suddenly realised how exhausted he felt. Every minute of the past few days had been spent either running for his life or trying to save Mr Slate. He exchanged glances with Scarlet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, although he didn’t feel it. ‘The sooner we’re out of here, the better.’

  Meeting another road, Jack heard a familiar drone from above.

  ‘It’s an airship!’

  The huge grey balloon passed overhead. They ran out into the road, waving their arms, but the airship sailed on.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ a voice yelled.

  Two men burst from the forest, guns trained on them. One had a thick moustache. The other wore a patch over one eye. Jack reached for the Whip of Fire.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ Moustache yelled. ‘One move and you’re dead.’

  He ordered them to their knees and Patch searched them. The weapon was taken. ‘The President will be glad to see this,’ Patch said.

  Jack felt like bursting into tears. They had come so close to escaping. Now two vehicles rumbled down the road towards them and stopped. A group of men climbed from the first truck. They congratulated one another before laughing at the sight of Jack in his dress.

  A bearded man stepped from the second vehicle’s cabin. He was tall and wore glasses. ‘You’ve got them! Good!’ He slapped his hands together. ‘I need them in the back of my truck, handcuffed and ready for interrogation.’

  ‘We’re taking them in,’ a man from the group said sullenly. ‘These are our prisoners.’

  ‘Not anymore. I’ve got orders from the president to deliver them to him personally.’

  The men exchanged glances. ‘It’s the first we’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Are you carrying your identity cards?’ the newcomer asked.

  ‘Identity cards?’

  ‘You don’t have identity cards?’ The man stared at the group as if they were stupid. ‘Northerners have infiltrated our ranks. Every man is being issued with an identity card. You’ll be shot on sight if you’re not carrying one.’ He produced a card. ‘I have mine. Where are yours?’

  ‘We don’t have them,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Then hightail it back to headquarters and get them! But I need these prisoners in my vehicle quick smart. And that weapon of theirs.’

  Jack, Scarlet and Mr Slate climbed into the rear of his truck. The driver laughed as they sat down miserably on the benches.

  ‘The president is gonna be real pleased to see you!’ He slammed the door shut. ‘I hear they’ve brought back hanging!’

  Jack heard the newcomer giving instructions to the other men before starting the vehicle. Jack kept his face unmoving before the others. Mr Slate looked worried, and while Scarlet held her head high, her bottom lip trembled.

  Mr Slate would be all right—if being held captive by Ashgrove could be considered all right—but Jack wasn’t so sure about himself and Scarlet. He kept thinking about the driver’s last comment. They’ve brought back hanging. Jack swallowed hard.

  What would Mr Doyle do?

  Jack tried to think, but his mind was frozen. His thoughts strayed to his parents. One winter, the circus had gone through a bad patch when a customer had been injured by one of the lions. The
entire troupe had been forbidden to leave town until the investigation was completed. After a week they began running out of food. Jack remembered how his father put an arm around him one night before bed.

  ‘Tough times don’t last,’ he’d said. ‘Only tough people.’

  The next day, the police cleared the circus of any wrongdoing and they were allowed to continue on their way.

  I’ll try to stay strong, Jack thought. No matter what.

  The truck picked up speed. It bounced along the road again for several minutes until it again drew to a halt. Jack caught Scarlet’s eye. She gave him a small nod. The same thought had occurred to her. The driver is going to dispose of us.

  Jack made up his mind. If the end was imminent, he would throw himself at the man in the glasses as a diversion, giving the others the chance to run. At least Scarlet and Mr Slate might survive. Worried Mr Slate might blame himself, Jack recounted his father’s words.

  ‘It sounds like your father was a wise man,’ Mr Slate said.

  But before anything more could be said, the canvas was pulled back and the driver peered in. He studied Mr Slate, then turned his attention to Jack and Scarlet.

  ‘It’s a delight to see you both,’ he said. ‘Would you like some cheese?’

  The face was different, but the voice belonged to someone they knew well.

  ‘Mr Doyle!’ Jack cried.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jack had never been so exhausted, but somehow he managed to describe everything that had happened over the last few days as they bounced down the road in the truck. Scarlet interjected here and there with vital points while Olinka Slate filled in the gaps. Mr Doyle produced some beef jerky and handed it around.

  ‘I was completely lost after the battle,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Somehow I had ended up on the far side of the valley. I saw Ashgrove’s airship come in to land. At first I thought it was a navy ship coming to rescue us. Then I realised who it was. I tried to get to you in time, but he took off too quickly.’

  ‘We worried you had been killed,’ Jack said.

  The detective gave him a smile. ‘It’ll take more than a man like Ashgrove to finish me off.’ He continued, ‘The escapees from the ammunitions factory are alive. Thanks to you. They abandoned their ship before it was destroyed by Ashgrove and took refuge in a cave until night fell. Then they escaped and made contact with the authorities.’