Andrew Stewart - We Shall Sing a Song into the Deep

St. John has noticed. Of course he has.

He grins into his bowl. I can almost see the acerbic retort taking shape in his mind.

“You’ve been quiet, Ephraim,” St. John says. “I know Remy must be so tired from his nightly excursions—but you are normally not so staid.”

That grin. Sly. Devious.

I set down my spoon.

Ephraim’s eyes go wide.

St. John says, “I thought Caplain Marston was as… taken with you as old Caplain Amita, but that isn’t the case after all.”

He leaves no room for response.

“When I told him about Lazlo, about what I heard you two talking about in the balneary, he was taken aback. Dangerous ideas, Remy. I confessed to the caplain that I did fear dear Lazlo had… already corrupted your soul. He asked me to keep a close watch on you. To search for the signs of corruption.”

I fight the urge to jump across the table, to wipe the smirk from St. John’s face. I fight it with all my being.

“You two should take heed,” St. John says, nodding to Ephraim and Caleb, both of whom have been watching in tense silence. “After all, look at poor Lazlo… look where his association with Remy got him.”

How much does St. John know?

“Please, you don’t care anything about their souls,” I say. “You just care about position. You only removed Lazlo because you don’t have half his talent.”

“Jealous of that little worm,” he snaps, sitting up straight. Gives a fake, shrill laugh. But I know I’ve struck a nerve. I shouldn’t be risking an altercation. Shouldn’t risk being found out. Not so close to our final days. But I can’t help myself.

“Envious of his voice—of his position. And mine as well,” I say.

This does it.

He springs to his feet. Everyone in the mess has fallen silent. All eyes on St. John. “What I care about are the rules… and you’ve got away with breaking them too long. You think you’re special. That you’re above them. But you aren’t. I know Caplain agrees. Better keep your eyes about you, yeah? Because I think you’ve got a secret… and I’m going to find it out! ”

He whispers these last, fuming words, but they are still loud enough for all in earshot to hear.

Now I’m the one who stands. The table remains between us. Everyone watching.

“ Remy, ” Ephraim whispers, nervous.

I brace myself, ready to fight if I need to. Ready to throw a fist, until the compartment pitches suddenly downward.

I must latch on to Ephraim’s arm to keep my balance..

We are diving. Fast.

The red bulb on the bulkhead above the hatchway begins flashing. No alarm. A flashing light means we are running silent.

“We’re being hunted,” Ephraim whispers.

Brother Aegis slides down the ladder from the main deck, rushing aft, toward the chapel. Brother Dumas follows.

“What’s going on?” St. John asks.

“Enemy vessel,” he grunts with urgency. “Think it might be a sub.”

“I thought all the subs were destroyed,” Caleb says.

“That’s what I heard Ex-Oh Goines say,” Brother Aegis says, bracing himself against the bulkhead as the downward pitch grows steeper. Ephraim and I must do the same, to keep our balance. St. John and Caleb cling onto the table as dishes and cutlery spill to the deck in an enormous clang and clatter.

“What are you waiting for? All to their stations!” the brother commands, breaking all from our stupor. The mess erupts in a quick scramble—each of the brothers rushing away. Brother Dumas has ordered Ephraim to help Brother Ernesto secure the air system. St. John is sent to the lower deck of the chapel, to check for leaks.

Then a screaming, metallic shrieking wails past the hull. A few seconds later, an explosion. The deck lurches out from beneath me. I lose my legs. Am slammed hard onto the deck face-first, rolling, sliding down the steep decline, coming to a painful stop as my shoulder jams into the forward bulkhead. Electric pain lances down my arm. Breath knocked from my lungs. Taste blood. Squiggly points of light dance before my eyes. I feel my forehead. My fingers are slick.

It’s Ephraim who lifts me up. When the ringing in my ears stops, I hear spraying water. Smell acrid fume.

He says words that I can’t seem to hear. Not at first. I read his lips.

“The pumps. Take Caleb with you!”

I nod, am already breaking away, running up the tilt, despite my blurry vision, my uncertain feet. I move against the flow of the other brothers darting to their stations. I find Caleb hiding beneath one of the tables, clinging to one of the bolted-down legs.

The pitch of the deck has leveled somewhat. Easier to walk.

I snatch up his hand and drag him along with me.

One of the mains just above us has burst, jetting a torrent of water into the compartment. Brother Aaron is already trying to patch it.

Another passing shriek in the water outside the hull. A muffled explosion, much farther away than the last. The Leviathan still resonates. Rattles. Groans.

Not depth charges. These must be torpedoes. I’ve never actually heard them before. The Leviathan ’s stockpile was used up long before I was brought on board.

“ Caleb, stick with me! ” I shout over the roar of the water, the shouting, the thrum and knock of pressure against the hull.

Jumping down into the well, there’s barely room to move around the massive bank of batteries. The water has already pooled here to my ankles. I help Caleb down.

“There are two pumps—I need you to turn this one, back here.” I point to the pump handle aft, away from the water pooling at the forward part of the well. The motorized pumps burned out long ago, and they must be manually operated in order to clear the water through the bilge.

I glance to the metal strut, just above where Caleb has started pumping, to where I hid the missile key. No time to check on it now.

I inch around the side of the battery bank, forward to the other manual pump release. The water is deeper here—ever deepening. To my knees. We’re still diving. Leakage continues to spill in from the hatch above in a waterfall, dousing the batteries.

They’re made to handle being wet and not shorting out, but they can’t become submerged. If they do, they’ll fry. The batteries would be dead, and so would Caleb and I. Electric shock.

Another screech from the deck above—the sound of the trim main blowing. The water cascades down now, drenching me.

It’s already up to my waist when my fingers find the pump handle, just beneath the murky, salty, greasy surface. I begin working it, spinning the wheel valve.

Shouting. The clanging of feet scurrying on the decks above. The rushing of water. More and more spilling in. The Leviathan is still diving. Still dropping fast. I hear the entire boat groan from the pressure. We’re going to reach the crush depth soon at this rate of descent.

There might be a war raging on the upper decks, but here is the only thing that matters.

Turn, turn, turn.

The pump isn’t draining the water away fast enough. We’re barely keeping up.

“Caleb, I need you to speed up!” I shout.

I can’t see him around the battery cluster behind me, but I hear him. Hear him grunting as he turns his pump. I also see the bottom bank is already about to be fully submerged.

Not worth risking both our lives.

“Caleb, climb out,” I shout.

“But the water—” I hear him shout.

“Do it now. Find the tool kit. I’ll call down for something if I need it. Just stay up there!”

The water level continues to rise, but Caleb does as I instructed. I look up to see his legs disappearing through the hatch above.

Meanwhile, I spin and spin the pump valve. I’m dizzy. My eyes burn from the acrid fume. My lungs ache. I’m choking. My arm is numb, but I keep at it.