Journey to the Heart of Luna - Andy Frankham-Allen [16]
“Ah, I see, then a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Staff Engineer Boswell. I am Nathanial Stone, your servant, sir.”
“Yes, I know who you are, Prof.” Boswell wiped his sweaty grey moustache with the back of his sweaty hand, a rather self-defeating move Nathanial thought. “The pleasure’s all mine. S’pose you come to see your baby in action?”
“My…baby?”
Boswell nodded profusely. “The governor, Prof,” he said, as if explaining something to a small child.
Nathanial was not sure whether to be affronted or amused by the informality. So, as usual when faced with a situation beyond him, Nathanial merely nodded curtly. “Yes, in that case I am indeed here to see my ‘baby in action’.”
“That’s what I like to see, Prof, an academic who don’t mind getting his ’ands dirty. This way then.”
Boswell turned and with one step he was enveloped by steam. Nathanial idly wondered if perhaps Boswell had also served with Folkard before, they certainly seemed to be of the same humour. Although clearly Boswell’s personal background was quite different from that of the captain. He glanced at Stevenson, who was looking up at him oddly, no doubt concerned by the bemused look on Nathanial’s face. Stevenson was young, out to impress his betters, a goal Nathanial agreed with wholeheartedly. Boswell could do with a lesson from Stevenson, he thought, and removed all appearance of mirth from his face.
“Well, then,” he started, “quite. Come, Stevenson, let me show you my baby!”
They stepped into the mist of steam. Reflexively Nathanial took a deep breath, and found himself coughing as the hot cloud of water hit the back of his throat. Stevenson threw him an understanding look, but Boswell glanced back with a look that showed his disapproval. Clearly he expected better of the “prof”. Nathanial said nothing. After all, it was not like he was well acquainted with fully functioning engine rooms.
“How do your men cope down here, Staff Engineer?” Nathanial asked once he had stopped coughing. “I have been here but minutes and already I feel lightheaded from the lack of clean air.”
“Short shifts, Prof, that’s how. Only way, otherwise I’d ’ave engineers out cold all over the place. And, as you see, we keep the entrance clear, in the ’ope that we get some of that clean air you spoke of.”
Condensation created a wet film all over the steel plated surface of the boiler before Nathanial, and he felt an instinctive urge to reach out and place his hand on the steel surface. Barely an inch away he pulled back sharply with a gasp. He looked at his hand, already blistering from the sheer heat emanating from the water bubbling away within. Boswell was by his side in an instant.
“What in the name of all that’s holy were you thinking, man?” he snapped, then called over to one his engineers. “Get me a cloth, and dunk it in some cold water!” The engineer saluted and rushed out of the engine room. Boswell, still scowling, turned back to Nathanial, and grabbed his arm. “Let me get a closer look.” Nathanial wanted to protest at the rough handling, but the pain in his hand won out over his propriety. “You’re very lucky you didn’t touch the boiler, Prof,” Boswell said, his tone mellowing back to his previous humour, “otherwise it would’a been a trip to the sickbay for you.”
“Perhaps I ought to go regardless?” Nathanial asked, wincing as Boswell manipulated his hand, testing the extent of the damage. He watched his now red skin blanch with the pressure applied.
“Stuff and nonsense. Second degree burn at best, that is. You’ll be quite okay, Prof, as long as you keep the ’and covered for a week or so.”
“I see, so a degree in medicine is included in Naval engineering training, Chief?” Nathanial asked, subconsciously finding himself slipping into the familiarity that was so prevalent