Gilded Lily

by Delphine Dryden

  “You saw me take a dunking,” Barnabas reminded her. “Never go for a swim in the river, even the mouth of it. And especially not under a pier.”

  “Must we go very far? You’ll leave a permanent odor in the cabin if you’re in here too long.”

  “We ought to return to Tilbury and collect the cart.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “We can’t take this all the way to Tilbury. The river’s too shallow there. Even if we didn’t run aground or get our propeller fouled in something, we’d be sure to be spotted before we found any safe place to dock. And where would that be, in Tilbury? It’s a bustling port, not like the one we came from. We can’t just tie the Gilded Lily off under my father’s shipping pier and hope nobody notices it.”

  “Why did you have to steal it in the first place?” Phineas sounded genuinely curious. “And why bother with a sub? If the Agency wanted to surveil inside the factory there are far easier ways to put a man—or woman, begging your pardon, miss—on the inside. The whole enterprise is run on whims and guesswork. Rollo Furneval’s men fear him, but they’ve nothing like the rabid terror that Orm commanded from his minions. They make mistakes constantly, the discipline is quite lax, and I’d think some basic observation would have revealed that.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” Barnabas assured his brother. Freddie rolled her eyes, unseen. He’d certainly assisted. “And my assignment isn’t related to Orm’s operation, or this Carnival fellow.”

  “Furneval. Then what the hell are you doing here? Again, pardon, miss.”

  “I followed Miss Murcheson.”

  “Why?”

  “That was my assignment.”

  She didn’t think he was still following her because of that, but again she thought better of saying this aloud.

  After a dubiously long silence, Phineas leaned over Freddie’s shoulder, taking in the navigation panels. “Once you’re out of the trench, bear north. I’ll work a heading out for you. You’re absolutely right, we can’t go to Tilbury. But I know a place on Mersea we can risk. You should have sufficient fuel. And once we’re there, we can work out what on earth we ought to do next.”

  SIXTEEN

  TO THE EXTENT that Barnabas had a plan anymore, none of this had gone according to it. He’d imagined an emotional reunion with Phineas, and either a revelation regarding the true nature of his brother’s work or perhaps a filial epiphany and renunciation of the demon opium from which Barnabas had rescued him.

  Instead, Phineas had rescued him and seemed to be taking charge of their little operation, with Freddie according him a respect that had nothing to do with the knife he’d briefly held to her throat.

  God, she’d been brave. Never batted an eye, just kept piloting and talking calmly, doing what she needed to do. Had he anticipated hysterics, fainting? He was no longer certain what to expect from a girl. Freddie had taken his existing notions and tossed them out on their ears. He knew plenty of strong, capable women already—the Baroness, for one, and Eliza Pence for another. Not to mention his own mother, who’d have brooked none of that knife nonsense, thank you very much. But Freddie’s responses just seemed remarkable, because everything she did was remarkable.

  He didn’t care for the way she listened to Phineas without challenging him. It was an issue for another time, however.

  They were nearly to Mersea when he remembered to ask Phineas about the sabotage and whether he’d played any part in it.

  “Sabotage? There’s been no sabotage.”

  “But the seismograph. We saw the chart, all the spots where it’s out. Freddie heard her father talking about somebody sabotaging the glass octopus.”

  “She just happened—”

  “Yes, I just happened to hear him,” Freddie interjected. “Because I was in a secret compartment, eavesdropping. I’m not proud of it. But he did say they’re having trouble with early detection of the quakes because of sabotage. It’s why Father wanted another sub besides the Gilded Lily, to test a larger hydrophonic array. To find the saboteurs. So we know about them, and I’m not at all comfortable with knowing you’re lying to protect them.”

  Queasy, unsure who to believe, Barnabas looked to Phineas for his reaction. “There was a quake while we were down in that station thing. The alarm did sound, but with very little lead time for the crew to escape. Perhaps that’s normal; I mean it’s astonishing enough they can detect it in advance to begin with. But then we saw the control panels for the seismograph, with so many areas marked in red. It seemed to back up what Freddie had relayed from her father.”

  “I don’t doubt any of that. I’m sure the seismograph is in shambles, but it isn’t smugglers. It’s giant squid. Or perhaps cuttlefish. Cephalopods, anyway. Gigantic, glowing ones that can also apparently camouflage themselves until they’re all but invisible. They’ve been attacking boats as well, and . . . why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, Phineas. I was so hopeful. But it was opium after all, wasn’t it? All this time. You’re going to be a ruined shell of a man. Mother will be devastated.”

  “Good God. I’m not hallucinating the squid, Barnabas; they actually exist. And I’m not an opium addict. I’ve never actually used the stuff at all, except the occasional dose of laudanum tincture when I was ill as a child. Same as you.”

  “But . . . giant squid that are invisible but also glow?”

  “A whole shoal of them, yes. Apparently the camouflage properties are common to those creatures, and the glowing may be some sort of communication or perhaps a method for enticing their prey. I’ve been doing some reading up in my spare time. One of Rollo’s men is a savant of sorts, with all sorts of arcane knowledge about animals. He’s utterly mad, and a little frightening at times, but he has quite the library stashed in his quarters, and he lets me take books out in exchange for toffees.”

  Barnabas saw his little brother there, beneath the disguise, the earnest and deeply good brother he’d protected for so many years. Of course it would be Phineas who found a secret library, who established a currency of sweets with its lunatic keeper, like placating a fairy-tale monster in order to steal its treasure. That childlike wonder, wielded with adult power, helped him navigate the treacherous waters he’d elected to live in. For a moment the idea of Phineas back in the real world was jarring. Where would he fit in, after all this time? Would he even want to return? But since he had biffed one of his boss’s men on the head and potentially exposed himself to save Barnabas, did he really have any choice? It wasn’t as though he could return to the smugglers.

  Freddie seemed more concerned with the practicalities of the moment. “So the smugglers aren’t doing the sabotage, but they probably aren’t displeased by it either.”

  “Not when it’s happening to the Navy, no. But the squid don’t discriminate. They’ve taken down more than one of our boats—Furneval’s boats. They seem to be attracted to the flashing signal lanterns, and by ‘attracted’ I mean ‘inclined to do damage.’ Which might explain their attacking the sensor points of the Glass Octopus as well. The seismograph, that is. It uses light to communicate the seismic data from the collection points back to the central terminal. I gather the idea was to make it invisible to hydrophones and the like, but it seems to have acted as a beacon for these creatures instead. Furneval wouldn’t mind that part if they left his fleet alone, but as it is he’s decided he’d rather destroy all the squid to ensure his own operation’s safety. He’s assembling his submersibles to do that.”

  “That could benefit the Navy even more than it benefits him,” Barnabas pointed out.

  “What’s his time frame?” Freddie asked.

  “Soon. He’s probably meeting with the pilots as we speak. Or perhaps not, if they’ve discovered I’m missing by now. Somebody’s bound to run across Nick eventually and raise the alarm. I really should have . . . well, but perhaps he won’t remember enough to hurt us.”

 
“You should have what?” Barnabas demanded, though he didn’t think he’d like the answer. “Should have rendered him incapable of remembering anything?”

  “Should have killed him, yes. It would have been the smarter thing to do. Leaving him alive created more risk for us.”

  “But you don’t like wet work,” Freddie said softly.

  “No, I do not. You really are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? No wonder you didn’t seem to mind my knife at your throat. You never believed I’d use it.”

  “Oh, I minded. I’d forgotten all about the wet work business until now. And I suspect you would have used the knife if you had to. You have used it, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. Barnabas could see the truth all over him, see how haunted he was by it. But that too was probably an issue best dealt with at another time. “We’re getting close to Mersea Island, aren’t we? Are you going to navigate from where you’re sitting, Phineas, or steer us in yourself? Might be simpler.” And might demonstrate trust and teamwork, going both ways.

  “Miss Murcheson is doing just fine. I’ll navigate. Where do we go once we’re ashore, though?”

  “Won’t you want to check in with somebody, even if it isn’t Murcheson? Make an official report of what you know about the smugglers?”

  Phineas snorted, the ends of his ludicrous mustache puffing away from his face. “When I do report in, it’ll be to my old commanding officer, Admiral Nealy. But if I show my face now, after all this time and with no solid evidence about Furneval, they’d hang me as a deserter without even listening to what I have to say. No, my first priority is to stop Furneval from eradicating all the squid, that’s the pressing problem. After seeing the creatures, and going back over the maps, I believe it’s a mistake to kill them. I’d need better information to be sure, the kind I could’ve gotten from the Glass Octopus. Specific times and so forth. But it almost seems as though the attacks have started to precede the tremors. Not just in a general sense, but specifically, one by one.”

  “Invisible, glowing, clairvoyant squid?”

  “They’re very intelligent, but I don’t think they’re cephalopod spiritualists, no. I think they may be acutely sensitive to the vibrations, that’s all, and able to detect them earlier than even our instruments can. But don’t you see the progression? The Navy builds the station, then installs the Glass Octopus some time later. The system works, the lights go off, and some time after that, after a period of unusually high seismic activity, these creatures start to make themselves known. They see the lights flash every time a tremor begins, then over time they begin to attack the lights as they’re triggered. And now to attack them before they have a chance to go off.”

  “So they are sabotaging the thing?” Freddie asked.

  “I don’t think so. I believe they may be attempting to communicate, to express their alarm over the impending quakes. Or perhaps they think the lights are causing the quakes, and they’re trying to stop them. I’m not so sure they’re being deliberately aggressive, though it’s obviously had that effect. It warrants more study, is all. We might even be able to use the squids’ quake prediction ability to our advantage. But not if Furneval takes a drastic approach like slaughtering them all. Besides, we can’t be sure there’s only the one grouping of them. Killing some may only anger the others. He doesn’t look ahead well, Furneval.”

  “Why not go to the Admiral, then,” Barnabas suggested again, “and have him apprehend Furneval before he gets the chance to do away with the squid?”

  Phineas sighed. “Because I’ve been in the military, and I haven’t forgotten what that’s like. Look, from the smugglers’ intelligence, Furneval gathers that the Navy still thinks it’s sabotage by either political enemies or smugglers. I’ve seen nothing to tell me they have any idea about the squid. The Navy appears to be focusing all their efforts on hydrophone development to catch the malefactors, but they don’t have sufficient funding, so their equipment is still on too small a scale to be useful, even when they cooperate with other agencies to pool resources. Then of course there are the internecine disputes about whether to continue operating Atlantis Station at all, continue the soft blockade at all, now the war is over. The Glass Octopus is a primary reason for keeping the station open, because it has scientific value beyond military applications. But the funding for that project doesn’t extend to experimental sound detection equipment for nonseismic purposes on military vessels. It’s all complicated. Nealy and Murcheson are both having to juggle to pay for everything, so they can keep all their toys. They have tunnel vision, literally and figuratively. Furneval killing the squid off would only mean one less financial worry for them, and for Atlantis Station. They wouldn’t gamble that the squid might prove useful in the future; they’d let him do his hunting before they brought him in just to spare themselves the expense.”

  Barnabas could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Phin, you have to turn yourself in! You have a head full of knowledge about a major opium smuggling ring, and every reason to think the smugglers will come after you once they realize you’re missing. You left a witness whom you knocked out to save an intruder, then absconded. They’ll know you’re up to something. Going to either the Agency or the Navy is the only way to protect yourself. Besides, it’s your duty, isn’t it?”

  “Turning himself in? That makes him sound like a criminal,” Freddie protested. “Father may have ignored him, but to my way of thinking he’s still an agent of the Crown and he should be able to decide for himself how best to serve his mission. Which isn’t necessarily over. Besides, Father seemed to suggest that there’s a bigger quake coming, that the scientists have somehow been able to use the Glass Octopus to predict that. But what if these creatures could do an even better job of warning us? Isn’t that worth investigating? If Phineas tells the Navy what he knows, either they’ll go after the smugglers too late to prevent the squid from being slaughtered, or they’ll go after the smugglers and then kill off the squid anyway because the one thing they know is that the squid are responsible for the damage to the Glass Octopus. The squid will be just another threat to eliminate. That’s what they do. And none of that will happen quickly. There would be more funding squabbles first, probably, more arguing about who gets credit for what. If a larger quake is on the way, people ought to be warned. The system needs to be repaired at the least, and improved if possible. Time might be of the essence, and the smugglers won’t be wasting it arguing about the budget. They ought to be stopped, and quickly.”

  “Blast.” He didn’t want their logic to be correct. He wanted to get Phineas safely to the proper authorities and return Freddie to her home, and for himself he wanted a hot bath with a set of clean, dry nightclothes at the end of it. In the chilly, dank air of the miniature submersible, his soaked garments had remained sopping and odoriferous, and he had been shivering so long he was growing physically exhausted from it. Most of his thoughts centered increasingly on how pleasant it would be once he was dry and warm and had a stiff drink or two inside him. “When are they going after the squid, then? How long are we talking about?”

  Phineas shrugged. “They won’t argue the budget, but there will be plenty else for them to work out. As long as a few days, possibly. At least one of the subs still needs to be fitted with a torpedo launcher. A few of the others will need some repairs to make sure they’re truly seaworthy for an extended trip with a possibility of having to fire weapons or take serious evasive actions. It’s hard on the structure of the sub, all that jolting. He’ll want a thorough check to make sure the ship-to-ship communications are functioning properly as well, I’d imagine. Usually those things get taken care of over time, not all at once, because apparently the fleet’s never been assembled like this. Furneval doesn’t have many dedicated sub mechanics, so it will take them some time to work through it all. Which still leaves us with the question of where to go once we’re ashore.”

 
Barnabas drew his knees up to his chest, trying to conserve what little heat he was able to generate. “Anywhere I can obtain a bath. Or even a warm blanket.”

  Frowning, Phineas peered into his face, then picked up one of his hands by the wrist. “Your lips are blue, and your words are slurring a bit. Your pulse is strong, and you’re still shivering, which are both good signs. I don’t think you’re hypothermic, it isn’t quite cold enough in here for that, but there’s no need to take chances. Here, take your shirt off and wear this.” He stripped his jacket off and held it out for Barnabas, who eyed it suspiciously.

  “Do I need to fear fleas?”

  “Can beggars be choosers? Quickly, while it’s still holding some of my body heat.”

  It was just one more humiliation to add to the list. One more didn’t matter at this point. He peeled off his tinker’s shirt and vest, wanting to whimper at the sting of the sub’s channel-cool air on his exposed, damp skin. But Phineas was right. His jacket, though scruffy and dubious in appearance, was deliciously warm from the second he pulled it on. Large, though, all through the shoulders and at the sleeves. His baby brother had grown taller and broader even since his last Navy uniform was fitted. Smuggling had apparently treated him well in some respects.

  “Sadly, we have another swim ahead of us. There’s a long pier on the western side of the island that should provide us enough depth and cover to escape detection, but once night falls and the dock is clear, we may need to swim to shore. I’ve no idea if there’s a ladder or stairs. I won’t hold out any hope for a fortuitous trapdoor either.”

  “So,” Barnabas summed up, “we’ll all be soaked in seawater, freezing our . . . selves, and stranded in an unfamiliar fishing village in the dark.”

  “But there’s good news. Just across the road from the pier, there’s a tavern.”

  • • •

  NOT ONLY WAS there a tavern, but Phineas seemed on quite friendly terms with one of the barmaids, a young woman of roughly Freddie’s age with buoyant yellow curls and dimples. She seemed less than happy to see him, however. No sooner had they walked into the common room than she was shuffling them right back into the hall where the other patrons wouldn’t see them. Not that any of the pub’s denizens looked interested in anything other than their pints, but Freddie supposed any of them might be a covert operative, just as Phineas was. She might have to start viewing everyone with suspicion, in fact.