The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (26 page)

Nichols cut him off. “I don’t need to know the details Landover, just tell me what to do now.” The truth was that Nichols did not want to know, his imagination was bad enough.

“She is ready to swing Sir, hold on a moment. I will try to tell you what I am doing.”

A moment passed and Nichols saw Landover yank twice on the rope. He looked up to see one of the lights swing slowly away from the hull. All at once Landover began hauling on the rope, hand over hand, drawing the light towards the roof of the ship.

“This is the easy one Sir.” The big man spoke between deep breaths. “I am feeling the pull of Gopal’s rope through her body Sir. He’s pulling from above and I am pulling from below. My line runs through one of the struts at the top Sir, Gopal is hauling her up with direct contact. We have to keep the rope taught to balance her between us you see, neither rope can go slack.”

The little light wavered as it reached the top of the ship. Nichols was not comforted when he realized that Landover seemed to be holding his breath.

“What’s happening?” Nichols murmured.

Another tense moment passed before Landover answered. “She’s secure now Sir, here’s her rope.” He handed the rope to Nichols and showed the man how to hold it so that a slack loop was formed behind his back. “Nothing to it Sir. Just hold on, one jerk means stop what you are doing, two means go. If the rope gets tight all of the sudden just try to hold it still Sir.”

“Why? What does that mean?”

“It means that her secondary rope did not hold and she is falling.”

Nichols swallowed hard and nodded praying the rope did not tighten. He turned his eyes to watch the dim lights above. He felt sure that Landover could hear his heart pounding in his chest, it was so loud that it beat out the sound of the rain and Nichol’s fear of the leaking hull.

The second light against the hull now swung free and Nichols heard Landover swear softly. As Landover began his pull on deReuter’s rope Nichols turned so that his back was to the big man. He braced his feet and pressed his back firmly against Landover. Realizing Nichols was helping, Landover allowed himself to lean into and accept the help offered. With balance restored the bobbing light seemed to move quicker toward the stationary pair above.

Both men were sweaty and breathless by the time Landover announced that deReuter was secured. Although Nichol’s back and legs were aching he kept a firm hold on Tash’s rope, waiting impatiently for the next signal.

“I want to take her rope back Sir.” Landover said gently as he turned to face Nichols again.

“Ok…” Nichols said hesitantly, suddenly sure that he was not going to like what happened next. “Give me deReuter’s rope then, so you don’t have to deal with both of them.”

“Very good Sir.” Landover said snapping off a quick salute. They exchanged ropes and Nichols observed Landover yanking twice on Tash’s line and then his fingers went loose. The rope snaked through the man’s hand and stopped on its own. Landover bent his knees and took a firm grip on the rope and then closed his eyes.

“What are you…?” Nichols caught sight of one of lights as it seemed to drop suddenly towards them. “Nooooo!” He shouted, not really sure what he was looking at, knowing only that the lights were attached to bodies. No, not bodies, Tash!

The slack in the rope jerked tight and the two men were sprayed with water. Landover was lifted briefly off his feet as they slid over the wet, slick catwalk. The light above stopped falling and began to slowly swinging back and fourth. Nichols tried to grab Landover but was rebuffed.

“Look to your own rope Sir!”

Nichols felt a single tug on his rope. “Just one tug!” He shouted, “Stop there!”

Nichols watched Landover bend his knees and brace himself. The light above them started to swing…in a circle…like a plumb bob. Nichols knew he was muttering but he was not aware of the words as he watched the light swing around and around, appearing and disappearing behind the still flapping gas bag.

Tug-tug! Nichols was startled out of his watch. “What?” He said aloud as he realized that he had received two tugs of the rope; he quickly shouted the information to Landover.

“She’s got it!” Landover cheered and gave a mighty haul on his rope.

The circling light began to move upwards and Nichols thought he heard a cheer from above. We’re not through yet old boy he reminded himself, they still have to secure that mooring line. Instinctively Nichols resumed his position of back to back with Landover, realizing that they would have to hold Tash in place while the other two worked to secure the rope.

Tense moments followed. After an age Landover finally announced that Tash was coming down. And sure enough the little light detached and floated towards the men.

Nichols caught Tash before her feet touched the catwalk and swung her around. “That was fantastic my dear!” He chortled.

“True.” She replied. “But I am afraid I have worse news. Let’s get the men down and we’ll explain.”

Nichols’ exhilaration was stamped out as he looked at the tired woman’s face. The two remaining lights seemed to be moving along the side of the hull. Nichols’ grabbed deReuter’s rope up from where he had let it fall and felt it was slack. Slowly he pulled up on the rope until he could feel deReuter at the other end. Feeding out the rope, pacing the light’s progress toward their position.

A sudden fierce gust of wind slammed into the side of the Discretion, twisting the ship uncontrollably. The four standing on the wet catwalk were thrown to their knees. A loud ripping sound could be heard from above. Tash lost her grip on the slippery metal and seemed to slide over the edge in slow motion.

With combat hardened reflexes, Landover grabbed at her ropes to stop her fall. “Got her.” He grunted, as the other three men scrambled for purchase.

A shrill whistle had Lance Nichols dropping back down to his belly and peering over the side. Tash had only fallen a few feet and dangled precariously near the rounding curve of the hull. “Get her back up!” He shouted.

“She’s asked to be lowered down Sir.”

“What?” Nichols shouted confused.

“She’s pointing at something Sir.” deReuter said.

The four men watched as Landover slowly lowered Tash and her light. It appeared that she had removed it from her belt and seemed to be waving it in an up-and-down motion.

Watching the light Nichols could seen that the scorch mark not only traveled up but down as well. He then caught sight of the reason for the up and down motion. The ship was taking on water.

It was deReuter, sitting back on his heels that voiced what everyone seemed to be thinking. “We’re taking on water! This is no ordinary ship, we’ve got no bilge pumps! What can we do?”

Gopal spoke into the silence left behind by the dire declaration. “Might I suggest we haul Tash back up here? While I do believe she enjoys playing in the ropes, I am thinking that our next order of business is to repair the leaks.”

“Leaks?” Nichols asked emphasizing the ‘s’.

“Yes Sir.” deReuter answered. “There is a large split in the canvas were I believe to be the lightning’s point of impact. You see Sir, the metal seems to be twisted there. It was the heat in the metal that shore off the first gas bag line. I think from there the upper line just broke….

“Yes, yes,” Nichols waved the explanation away. “And I can clearly see that the heated metal burned the canvas for nearly the entire length of the ring.” Nichols leaned down to help Tash up onto the catwalk. “What I don’t understand is how so much of the hull could be leaking.”

“I have a theory.” Tash chimed in. “The lightning obviously heated the metal of the ring, maybe it was hot enough to burn away the hull’s dope?”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing...but your theory does fit. The problem is that I doubt we have enough canvas to repair the entire leaking area.” Nichols sighed and ran a hand through his wet locks. “And even if we did, it wouldn’t matter. The new canvas will be immediately soaked.”

Nichols stood and offered a hand to Tash. The other three men also got to their feet in silence.

“Still we must get the burned bit covered as I don’t want to see her split wide open.” Nichols looked around. “Where the devil are the others with the repair supplies?”

“I’ll go and see Sir.” deReuter volunteered.

“No, no, you four rest a bit. There’s obviously more climbing to be done, as much as I hate to admit it.” Nichols cast an apologetic glance at Tash. “I’ll go.” He finished, holding onto the ship’s struts he trudged off. “I’ve also got to report this new development to the Captain,” he muttered. “He’ll not be liking this.”

****

“Message from the lift bag chamber Sir.” Jones shouted. He snatched the note out of the tube and nearly tore the damp paper. Jones looked at it in surprise.

“Is there a problem Mr. Jones?”

“Uh...no Captain, sorry Sir. I guess I was surprised the paper felt damp.” Jones replied handing the note to Phillips.

“Why would that surprise you Mr. Jones? It is raining cats and dogs outside.”

Jerard took the slightly damp piece of paper and frowned as he read it.

“Well this explains things gentlemen. The report says that gas bag number 15 has been re-secured and has taken no visible damage. And that our hull has indeed been breached and we are leaking, however repairs are underway.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon Sir, but is that all it says?” Wallace asked.

“Yes, why Mr. Wallace?”

William Wallace’s face went pale as a sheet. “Well Sir, I must tell ya then. I’ve been a flyin’ with our Mr. Nichols for nearly a year now. Loves his job t’ man does.”

“Yes Mr. Wallace?” Jerard wished the Scot would get to the point.

“Well ya see Sir, if there’s one thing our Lance loves more n’ this ship, it’s talkin’ about ‘er.”

Jerard felt the color drain from his own face as he was starting to understand.

“That lil’ short note means Sir that our engineer is a stallin’ for time. He’s usually quite verbose our man is.”

“What exactly are you saying Mr. Wallace?”

“I’m sayin’ that we can trust Mr. Nichols to take care o’ the problem but that it’s probably a lot bigger than he’s a lettin’ on.”

“Damn.” Jerard swore under his breath. He crumpled up the note and tossed it onto his chair where it promptly rolled to the floor.

“I’d better go and have a look for myself.” Jerard announced, noticing that the crew were all staring at him.

“Sure that’s a good idea Captain? Fred asked.

“No but it is what I'm going to do Sir.” Jerard replied sternly. He turned on his heel and strode towards the bridge door. A drop of water hit him right between the eyes. “What the...?” Jerard wiped the water away and looked around for the source of this irritation. The bridge ceiling looked fine but the upholstery on the walls to the left of the bridge door looked odd. He moved to the spot and touched the wall. Water welled up around his finger and made a hasty trail towards the floor. “Ye gods!” He breathed out.

“Captain?” D'Arcey queried having seen Jerard's odd behavior in poking the wall but not the resulting water fall.

“Engineer! Get up into the crawl space man! We’ve got to see where this is leaking from!”

Responding to his orders the second engineer jumped from his chair and moved into the ante-room. Jerard could hear the man’s boots on the ladder on the other side of the flimsy wall. He listened as the ceiling hatch was pulled back; the stream of French invectives was even louder than the sound of the huge amount of water that splashed to the deck. Jerard’s bark of laughter was cut short when he realized just how much water was up there. Dear God, Jerard thought as his eyes followed the sound of D’Arcey crawling above his head.

The sound finally stopped somewhere over Mr. Jones’ head. The entire crew seemed to be looking up and holding their collective breath.

Another muffled stream of French could be heard as the sound of D’Arcey’s returning moved over head. Moments later D’Arcey appeared in the doorway; cap missing, soaking wet and covered in a grayish mud from the knees down.

“I could not find a single leak Sir.” D’Arcey said before he glared past the captain at his snickering crew-mates.

Fred Randall laughed out loud. “I respectfully disagree Sir!” he shouted and began to sing in a high clear tenor: “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There’s a hole in the bucket…”

“That’s enough Fred!” Jerard ordered, with a look that dared him to open his mouth again. He struggled to keep his own grin hidden while thinking that Fred’s wicked sense of humor would get him killed one day.

He turned back to address D’Arcey. “I am sorry Sir, I do not understand. You could not find a single leak?”

“Non Sir, what I tried to say is z'ere is no
single
leak, the whole of the top and the bottom of the crawl space is wet.” D’Arcey shrugged. “I had to punch a drain hole in the hull to keep any more water from coming into the bridge Sir.”

Jerard nodded. There was not much else the man could do he admitted to himself, but the thought of another hole in the hull was fairly disconcerting. “Thank you Mr. D’Arcey. I had no idea that…” Jerard waved at the man’s wet dirty clothes “…that would happen and I apologize for the soaking. You are dismissed Sir to change into a dry uniform.”

D’Arcey turned on his heel and left the bridge.

“Mr. Jones, will you please tell me what is so funny Sir? And when you have finished can you get that speaking grill thing working? I need to try to contact Mr. Nichols.”

Aneruin Jones made every effort to affect a neutral mien and answered his captain in a fairly deadpan voice. “My apologies Sir. I was laughing at our drowned rat of a Frenchman.”

“Mr Jones!” Jerard said sternly, trying desperately not to smile at Jones’ description. D’Arcey did have a narrow face and a long pointed nose and standing there dripping on the floor he did look rather like the a fore mentioned rat. “I will not tolerate prejudice on this…”

Mr. Jones waved a hand as he interrupted Jerard. “Please Sir, it was not prejudice, I would have laughed even harder if it had been Mr. Randal!”

“Oi!” Fred Randal shouted.