The idea of the helio was simple. In the daytime it reflected the rays of the sun. In the darkness it directed its own light through lenses so as to be flashed over many miles with undiminished brilliance. But the marvel of the technology lay in its gimballed mounting, which perfectly counteracted the movement of the ship. It was a means of aiming, without which the helio would have been useless.
Perhaps reasoning that it could equally have been employed to steady a gun, the International Patent Office banned its use. But the ban had jurisdiction only within the Gas-Lit Empire. Thus the Company could manufacture helio machines in workshops on the mother ship, far from the borders of any nation.
With the other officers of the Iceland Queen drunk, it was left to First Mate Ryan to mount the helio on its stand. He primed it with a measure of methylated spirits, from which the main burner ignited. Next he pumped pressure into the oil chamber. The flame roared and the quicklime at its focus began to glow, becoming brilliant as it heated. Swivelling the mirror into place, Ryan looked through the sighting telescope and took aim at the mother ship’s control room.
The shutter chattered as he sent three slow flashes. He repeated the signal over and over until three flashes came back.
“We’re ready,” he said.
It was just dusk and a band of yellow still hung in the sky above the western horizon. The commodore had offered Elizabeth twenty-four hours. That time had slipped past.
“Signal this,” she said. “Report written. Send launch to collect officer Barnabus.”
The helio chattered with each opening and closing of the shutter. Though Ryan wasn’t a signalman, he worked with marvellous speed.
“Done,” he said.
“Is that it?”
“We must wait for their signoff.”
So they waited. The yellow streak in the sky faded to cream, then to grey. The constellation of Orion became visible above them in a gap between the clouds.
She was about to question him further, but saw the angle of his shoulders change. Eye to telescope, he began writing on his notepad. Even with the naked eye, she could see the flickering of helio light on the mother ship, but not clearly enough to have been able to read the sequence of flashes.
At last, Ryan took his eye from the telescope and stood tall. He twisted a valve, releasing the oil pressure with a hiss. The flame died and the brilliant light began to fade.
“You’re to remain on the ship,” he said, reading from the pad. “They’re sending us a new captain. And new orders. Do you think we’ll be going home?”
Home was the one place Elizabeth knew they couldn’t be going. She’d been placed in the fleet in the hope that it would help her infiltrate the “nation of eels”. The fleet might be far beyond the border of the Gas-Lit Empire, but the commodore would never go against the desires of the Patent Office. He might send her into danger, but he’d not bring her back to Mother. And if the worst thing happened – if the Iceland Queen suffered the same fate as the Mary May – then the ocean would claim all those inconvenient witnesses that had so worried him.
“They’ll be sending you back to face the monster,” she said.
Ryan hesitated before answering. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then why do they give us a new captain? You know Woodfall. He’d refuse to do it.”
“He could be ill?”
“He thinks it was a monster took the Mary May. He drank laudanum because the fear of it was too much for him to carry. He couldn’t order the crew to steam south. But a new captain might.”
“The crew wouldn’t do it.”
“Under a new command? A new hand at the lash?”
But Ryan shook his head; more in an attempt to dispel fear, she thought, than in disagreement.
“You said it was an explosion in the magazine.”
“I said I didn’t see a monster.”
Elizabeth regarded him. He was an honest man. And honourable. She imagined he would have thrived if all was orderly. But he was ill equipped to cope with the overthrow of reason.
“I’m scared too,” she said. “But I’ve a way of making things safer for us. When the launch comes, I may tell you to do something. If it happens, you must act immediately and without question. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He seemed almost relieved.
Perhaps the hangovers had softened. Or perhaps fresh rum had been found to soften the edge. Either way, the crew set to work with a level of energy she hadn’t previously witnessed, hanging lamps off the starboard bow, preparing the Iceland Queen to receive the mother ship’s steam launch.
First Mate Ryan had let the officers know that a new captain was on his way. The news swept through the ship, leading to a frantic bout of cleaning and the destruction of incriminating evidence. By the time they steamed in closer to the mother ship, the Iceland Queen was almost presentable. To a casual glance.
“Could you point out three troublesome men,” Elizabeth whispered to the first mate.
“Only three?” he asked, with the first smile she’d seen him wear.
“Troublesome, but they must be able to handle a small craft.”
The first mate pointed. “Him, him and him over there.”
“Keep them in sight,” she said.
With the ship turned so that the swell was hitting it abeam, it began to wallow. Elizabeth held tight to the gunwale. One of the watch officers shouted and pointed into the dark. It took several more seconds before she too made out the shape of the approaching launch, heading directly for them. As she’d guessed, there were three figures aboard.
At the last moment the boat turned parallel to the Iceland Queen and came alongside. Someone threw down a coil of rope. Then a team of men hauled it back until two sea chests came crashing over onto the deck. One of them was hers. She watched as two more lines were thrown. The men in the launch gripped the ropes rather than securing themselves with harnesses. Each timed his jump so as to be lifted clear of the small boat and arrive dry on deck.
Elizabeth grabbed Ryan’s arm. “Get your three men onto the launch and have them take it back to Mother,” she said.
Then she leaned over the gunwale and shouted to Steward Watkins, who was at the helm of the little boat. “Climb up! I’ve the report for you!”
He seemed bewildered. But men were already clambering down, so he gave up his place at the helm. So graceful was his jump from launch to ship that he could have been a trapeze artist.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded in that shrill voice. “Where’s the report?”
Elizabeth drew him away into the lee of the wheel housing. The light of a wildly swinging storm lantern made their shadows dance.
She leaned in close and whispered: “The Mary May was sunk by a machine.”
“I need it in writing!”
“Then I shall write it.”
He must have sensed the trap because he spun and ran back to the gunwale. But too late. The launch was already slipping away from the Iceland Queen and heading into the dark.
Elizabeth had but a moment of satisfaction before the other two men from the launch stepped towards her. The first was Captain Woodfall, as she’d expected. His expression showed bewilderment. The commodore was indeed getting rid of all the inconvenient witnesses. But then the second man came into the illumination of the swinging lamp: Captain Locklight, master of the whaling ship Pembroke, her old tormentor.
“Scientific Officer Barnabus,” said Locklight, spitting the words. “It seems I’m fated to command you again. And straightways you’re mixed in a strange business. Tell me, man, why is it the launch is sent back without the commodore’s steward?”