Journey to the Heart of Luna - Andy Frankham-Allen [8]
Nathanial turned to Captain Folkard. “I still think that this is…”
“Exhilarating? Quite right, Professor.”
The man was off his chump! The iron door opened and a gust of wind, strong enough to force Nathanial back against the wall of the gondola, blew in. With effort he forced himself forward once more. The door men held firm, secured by their own ropes, while Captain Folkard stepped outside.
Nathanial edged closer to the open door, his hand grasping the handle ever-tightly, and watched as the captain walked the gangplank that stretched out from the Sovereign. He made it look so easy, and once he reached the broadside of the Sovereign two seamen, themselves tied together with rope, leaned forward of the gangway to secure their captain to them. The thick rope was untied, and it dropped. Nathanial looked down, but he didn’t see the rope as it was gathered up by the man just behind him. All he saw was the sheer drop beneath. There was a small gap between the edge of the gondola and the gangplank, but enough for Nathanial to get a good view of the North Sea thousands of feet below. Suddenly the Cliff Platform didn’t seem so high.
“Your turn, sir,” said a voice behind him. Nathanial glanced back and saw the gap-toothed face grinning at him. The man pointed towards the Sovereign, where Folkard and the seamen stood, secured with rope, standing safely behind the deck railing.
Nathanial closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. Instantly his lungs were on fire and he gasped.
“You probably don’t want to be taking deep breaths up here, sir, air’s a bit thin.”
Praying that the men behind him were stronger than they looked, Nathanial took a step forward, his hand still firmly on the handle of the iron door. His foot found the gangplank and, despite his better judgement, he brought his other foot beside it, at the same time releasing his grip on the handle. For a moment he stood there, swaying precariously, feeling the winds battering at him. His top hat flew off, and immediately his head felt cold. He looked around, and either side of him there was nothing but sky. Sky and a very long drop.
Some strange sound reached him, and it took him several moments to work out that it was a voice. The words made no sense, thrown about as they were by the wind, but he was, with some effort, able to make out their origin. Directly ahead of him Captain Folkard stood, one hand holding the railing, the other beckoning Nathanial forward.
Slowly, but determinedly, Nathanial began the long journey along the plank. With only a few feet to go, Nathanial stopped, his vision distracted by the Union Flag which was bolted to the hull of the Sovereign just below the plank. He was suddenly hit with the urge to sing the National Anthem, and even went so far as to salute the flag, when a hand gripped his arm and pulled him forward. He blinked, and found himself looking down at the windswept visage of Captain Folkard.
“Are you with us, Professor Stone?” he shouted.
Nathanial couldn’t find his voice; all he could do was nod.
“Good,” the captain said, and helped Nathanial on to the deck. Once both his feet were on the deck of the ship, more seamen move forward from the companionway and untied the thick rope from his waist. He paid it no mind; instead, holding onto the railing, he looked around him. The gun turrets, which looked so small when viewed through the window of the Zeus, were much larger close up. He could probably lay his body along the length of the guns and still have room for more of him.
He laughed.
“That’s the spirit, Professor,” Captain Folkard said, and turned to a seaman. “Get him inside, Leading Hand, I suspect it is more delirium than high spirits that have taken hold of him.”
“Yes, sir!”
The Hooky, as Nathanial believed the leading hand was colloquially known, gently guided Nathanial down the companionway to the door which led inside the great battleship. Distantly, behind him, he heard Captain Folkard issuing orders.
“Get these bitter ends tied together. The