Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [101]
His question was answered by a different voice. ‘Ethan!’ Lucille was with Ianthe, and now ran over, carrying Jontney in one arm and Maskelyne’s blunderbuss in the other. She had already fitted a frozen void-fly cartridge to the stock. She gazed up in wonder and horror at the dark hulk of the Unmer ship, before evidently remembering the gun.
‘I thought you could use this,’ she said, handing the weapon to him.
He took the gun and examined the mechanism. ‘Where did you learn how to load it?’
‘It’s not that difficult, Ethan.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Then he reached over and fussed with Jontney’s hair. The boy looked up at him and smiled – the sort of open, trouble-free smile that Maskelyne hadn’t seen in the child for a long time. ‘Keep him safe,’ he said to his wife. ‘Mellor will look after you both. Do whatever he says.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to board that ship,’ Maskelyne replied. ‘It looks like it’s our only way out of here.’
Granger tried the engine-room hatch, but found it to be locked from the inside. He placed the powder cartridges on the floor against the hatch and took out his knife, flint and fuse. But he stopped. The metal hatch opened towards him, its rim resting against the metal bulkhead. He wasn’t sure the explosives he’d brought were enough for the job. He stood there for a moment longer, while his mind ran through the naval ballistic tables for this thickness and grade of steel as it compared it to the sort of brisance he could expect from high-grade cannon-powder. It couldn’t be done without shaping the charge, and he had no time for that.
He hammered his fist upon the hatch.
After a moment, a voice came from the other side. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Who am I speaking to?’ Granger demanded.
‘Able Seaman Fletcher, sir.’
‘Don’t open this hatch to anyone, Able Seaman,’ Granger said. ‘That’s an order. Not to me, not to anyone. And do not under any circumstances take orders from the bridge. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. What’s going on?’
‘Revolutionary militia have taken control of the Excelsior. They’re holding the first officer hostage on the bridge.’
‘Revolutionaries?’ Granger then heard a second voice behind the hatch, conversing with Fletcher, but he couldn’t make out what was said between them. Fletcher said, ‘We can shut the engines down from here, sir.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Granger replied. ‘Let them burn through the reserves. That’ll give us some time to get the emperor’s Samarol aboard. Do you have pistols with you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Swords?’
‘No, sir.’
‘How the hell do you expect to protect the engines without arms?’ Granger yelled. ‘You can have my own pistol for the time being. Open up a minute.’
He heard the locking lever clunk back, and the hatch opened.
Granger – still clutching his knife in one fist – stepped through.
Maskelyne climbed across a boarding plank onto the Unmer dead-ship, closely followed by two of his most stolid crewmen. Kitchener was an old soldier who had watched Maskelyne’s back during the Poppy Wars – a good man to have at your side whenever swords were drawn. Roberts was younger, but sharp and quick-witted and less superstitious than most. A good head on his shoulders. The rest of the crew held back to make whatever repairs they could, and to try to cut down to the men trapped in the Mistress’s flooded engine room. Many of them had baulked at the very idea of setting foot aboard the Unmer vessel. Maskelyne did not take this to be a good sign.
Bloody vapours drifted through tangled cables. A layer of ash covered the warped iron deck, filling the air with an odour like that of an old, damp fire-pit. Booming sounds came from the metal under their boots as the three men approached the ship’s huge electrical tower.
‘You hear that?’ Roberts asked.
‘Hear what?’ Kitchener said.
‘That whine.’ He pointed up at the toroid atop the tower. ‘It’s coming from that thing.’
‘It’s still receiving power from somewhere,’ Maskelyne said.
The men fell silent. Maskelyne placed his