James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Professor Challenger,” she said, addressing the big man. “Captain Burton. I’m very happy you decided to join us. Please toss your bags down the hatch and climb down. We must hurry, lest we be spotted.”

“Who’s going to see us out here?” said Challenger. “At this time of night?”

“My traveling companion takes no chances, Professor.”

Challenger positioned his bag over the hole and dropped it in. A muffled thump sounded from within. Burton did the same.

“Now,” said Marsh, “one of you climb down and through the hatch, moving as far as you can to the rear of the craft.” She gestured at the vehicle’s farthest end with her left hand. “I’m afraid it’s quite cramped.”

“We’re not going to journey across the ocean in this, are we?” Burton asked.

“No,” she said. “This isn’t the main craft. The Thames isn’t wide enough or deep enough to allow my companion’s ship passage.”

Not sure how he felt about being in cramped confines underwater, especially with a man-bear like Challenger, Burton waved to the zoologist to go first. The explorer watched as Challenger lumbered down the creaking ladder and stuffed himself through the hole in the top of the craft. He heard a faint echo from within as the larger man moved toward the vehicle’s rear as instructed.

“Now you, Captain Burton,” said Miss Marsh.

“Please, I’m not a captain anymore. Just Burton.”

Miss Marsh nodded. “As you wish.” She gestured to the wharf’s ladder once more.

Burton twisted around, his feet finding the wet, wooden rungs and bringing him to the top of the bizarre contraption. It looked much smaller than it had from above, and Burton once again had misgivings about climbing into the thing. But Miss Marsh helped him inside, where his feet met with plush, crimson carpeting. A set of lanterns hung above the inner chamber of the tiny vessel, casting wan light about their spartan surroundings.

“Back here,” said Challenger, gesturing. He sat on a couch that looked close to buckling beneath his bulk. “I took the liberty of stacking our baggage there,” he said, pointing to his right. “I’m glad we packed light.”

In a moment Miss Marsh appeared and seated herself at the fore of the vehicle before a panel of instruments and a thick square of glass through which murky water was visible. Burton sat down next to Challenger on the couch—which was quite cramped—and watched as Elizabeth Marsh pulled a lever, causing the open hatch above them to seal.

“We’ll be off now, gentlemen. You might want to hang onto something.”

She opened a valve, pressed a few more levers forward, and Burton felt the submarine craft submerge as it surged forward. More lights appeared visible on the outside of the craft, illuminating the murky waters of the Thames.

“Miss Marsh,” said Burton, his voice echoing in the tiny cabin, “how long will this journey take?”

“Not long,” she answered without looking back. “We will rendezvous with the main craft in six minutes.”

“We’ll reach the Thames Estuary before then,” said Challenger thoughtfully, “and pass into the North Sea. Miss Marsh’s traveling companion no doubt awaits us there.”

“That is correct, Professor,” said the woman, keeping her eyes on the controls.

Burton noted the remarkable skill with which she guided the small craft through the dark water. “You seem to be a capable pilot, Miss Marsh.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Burton. I could not have had a better teacher than the man who built it.”

“What is it called?” asked Challenger.

“I call it Errand Boy .” She giggled at this and opened up what Burton assumed was some sort of engine throttle, as the craft seemed to pick up speed.

“We have now left the Thames and have entered the North Sea. Hold on.”

A moment later Burton could see through the poorly illumined darkness a vast black shape growing larger in the viewing window. Miss Marsh slowed the tiny submarine, and a dull thump indicated they had somehow docked with the much larger craft. Miss Marsh killed the craft’s engine.

“What now?” bellowed Challenger.

“We must wait a few more moments.”

Burton felt the vibration of churning water on the other side of the vessel’s hull, and they heard a loud gurgling. “The water’s being pumped out,” said Challenger. “Errand Boy must be in some kind of airlock.” Marsh nodded to them, moving the lever that opened the hatch. The cabin was suffused with warm light from above.

“Gentlemen,” she said, standing and moving beneath the glowing portal, “welcome aboard the Nautilus .”

This time Burton went first, the fresh air hitting him like an arctic blast.

“Your bags will be brought to your rooms, which I will show you now,” he heard Miss Marsh say, but he was too busy taking in his new surroundings to hear what she said. They were in a metal clad, cylinder-shaped room. A man in plain blue coveralls without any military insignia or ornamentation helped Burton out of the hatch and onto a metal gangway that extended over the vessel, which had been winched up into the larger vessel with heavy chains. Seawater ran down the sides to collect in reservoirs in the floor that carried it out of the craft and back into the ocean.

Led down a set of metal steps, Burton waited at the bottom for Challenger and Miss Marsh while he admired the machine they had exited.

An ironclad submersible. Sleek and compact, it could easily pass for a fish to anyone who happened to see it. It was shaped like a shark or a dolphin, right down to metal dorsal fins and a razor-edged tail that held twin propellers. The design was extraordinary, and Burton imagined the vessel sliding through the water with great speed and agility, perhaps matched only by the underwater creatures it was intended to mimic.

“Most impressive, Miss Marsh,” said Burton when she and Challenger had both alighted beside him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she said. “Follow Mr. Murgal through that door there, and he’ll escort you to your quarters so you can freshen up.”

Burton fell in behind the tall, swarthy man Miss Marsh had designated Mr. Murgal, who said nothing as he led them away from the dripping submarine and into a narrow corridor lined with pumps and other equipment. At the far end stood another door, which Mr. Murgal twisted open with a metal wheel set into its face. The two men followed Mr. Murgal through the doorway and into a corridor more lavish than the finest sailing ships had to offer.

The walls were paneled in ornate wood and fitted out in gleaming brass. The floor was covered in plush red carpeting. Soft lights shone down on them at regular intervals. “Remarkable,” murmured Burton.

Challenger nodded in approval as they followed Mr. Murgal through a maze of such corridors before stopping before opposite doors. He motioned to them. Burton took the one on the left, and Challenger the room on the right.

“Breakfast is at seven,” said Murgal in heavily accented English.

“And what of our host?” said Challenger.

“You will meet him at that time.” Without another word, he walked up the corridor and disappeared through a hatchway.

Burton and Challenger regarded each other for a long moment before the burly zoologist turned and entered his room. Burton was about to turn the brass knob of his own door when he heard someone talking back the way they had come. A young man in a brown tweed suit was coming up the corridor, accompanied by another dark-skinned, blue-uniformed attendant, who ushered him through a door at the far end on the same side as Burton’s room. The young man glanced in his direction, nodding once before stepping into what must be his quarters. “Who in the devil is that?” Burton mused aloud. It couldn’t be their host. Another adventurer?