Mark Hodder - Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon

“Is there a bar on board?” Swinburne asked.

Quaint smiled. “Yes, sir, in the lounge, though it's closed at the moment. I dare say I could rustle you up a tipple, should you require it. Would you care to follow me, gentlemen?”

They took their leave of Lawless, left the command cabin, and descended a metal staircase. A short corridor led them past the captain's quarters on one side and the first officer's on the other, and through decorative double doors into the glass-encased observation deck.

They were greeted by Detective Inspectors Trounce and Honesty, Commander Krishnamurthy, Constable Bhatti, and Mrs. Iris Angell, who was beside herself with excitement.

“Who'd have thought!” exclaimed Burton's housekeeper. “Dirty old Yorkshire-see how pretty it appears from up here, Sir Richard!”

He stepped to her side and looked out at the little villages and patchwork fields passing below.

“The northern counties have some of the most beautiful countryside in all of England,” he said. “Did you think it would be different?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I expected horrible factories everywhere!”

“You'll find plenty of William Blake's ‘dark Satanic mills’ in and around the manufacturing cities, Mrs. Angell, but as you can see, the horror of the North felt by those in the South is generally quite unjustified.”

Burton watched the scenery slide by for a couple more minutes then moved over to where Detective Inspector Honesty was standing alone.

“Hello, old fellow,” he said. “I didn't see much of you at Fryston. Are you all set for Africa?”

Honesty turned to him. “I am. Wife unhappy but duty calls. Must finish this business. Stop interference from the future.” The detective gazed back out of the window and his pale-grey eyes fixed on the horizon. “Africa. Exotic flora. Might collect specimens. Cultivate in greenhouse when we return.”

“Are you an amateur horticulturalist? I didn't know.”

Honesty looked back at Burton and the explorer noticed a strange light in the smaller man's eyes-an odd sort of remoteness about his manner.

“Should've been a landscape gardener. Always wanted to be. Joined the Force on account of my father. A Peeler. One of the originals. Very dedicated. Passionate about policing. Me-I'm just good at it. But gardening-well-” He paused and a small sigh escaped him. “There are different versions of history, Captain?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe in one, I made another choice. Thomas Manfred Honesty: Landscape Gardener. Hope so.”

He returned his attention to the vista outside.

Burton patted the detective's shoulder and left him. He felt troubled by his friend's detached air. Honesty hadn't been quite himself since last September's battle with the Rakes, when he'd had his fingers broken and been throttled almost to death by an animated corpse. It was, Burton thought, enough to unnerve any man.

Trounce approached him. “How long until we reach London? I'm eager to get back onto the trail of our murderer.”

“A little over three hours.” Burton lowered his voice. “I say, Trounce, what's your opinion of Honesty? Is he a hundred percent?”

Trounce glanced toward his colleague. “I'd say he's the most determined of us all, Captain. He's a man who likes everything to be just so. The idea that an individual can hop back through time and turn it all on its head doesn't sit well with him.”

Burton gave a small nod of understanding. “The steward is taking us on a tour of the ship. Join us?”

“I will, thank you.”

Leaving Honesty, Krishnamurthy, Bhatti, and Mrs. Angell-all of whom had been around the vessel earlier that morning-Burton, Swinburne, and Trounce followed Doctor Quaint back into the corridor. As they passed by the captain's rooms, a small, slightly pudgy boy emerged.

“All shipshape, Master Wilde?” the doctor asked.

“That it is, sir. Good morning to you, Captain Burton, Mr. Swinburne, Detective Inspector Trounce. Welcome aboard!” The boy grinned, habitually raising his hand to his nose in order to conceal his rather crooked and yellowing teeth.

“Hallo, Quips!” said Burton.

Quaint addressed the explorer: “I understand Master Wilde is with us at your recommendation, sir?”

“He is indeed.”

“And I'm much obliged, so I am, Captain,” Wilde said.

“By Jove, little 'un!” Trounce exclaimed. “If someone had told you a year ago that you'd be flying to Africa as a crewmember aboard the biggest rotorship ever built, would you have believed them?”

“I can believe anything provided it is incredible, Mr. Trounce.”

“Ha! Quite so! Quite so! And I daresay it's a great deal better than going to school, hey?”

“I wouldn't know, never having suffered such an indignity. While education may be an admirable thing, it is well to remember that nothing worth knowing can be taught. Now then, I must get myself up to the captain to have these acquisition orders signed. There's much to be done, so there is, if we're to depart the country without leaving unpaid debts behind us. I'll see you later, gentlemen!”

“Good Lord!” Quaint said as Wilde disappeared up the stairs to the conning tower. “Where does he get those nimble wits from?”

“I have no idea,” Burton answered. “Perhaps his diet of butterscotch and gobstoppers has affected his brain.”

They moved on down the corridor, passing the crew's quarters, and entered the lounge, a large space stretching from one side of the ship to the other. There were tables and chairs, a small dance floor and stage, and, to Swinburne's evident satisfaction, a bar in one corner.

“How many passengers can the Orpheus accommodate, Doctor?” Burton asked.

“Two hundred, sir. The smoking room is ahead of us, and beyond that the dining room, then a small parlour, and the first-class cabins all the way to the stern, where the reading room is situated. From there we'll take the stairs down to the rear observation room, pass through the cargo hold to the galley and pantries, then the engine room, and on to the standard-class cabins in the prow end of the ship. As you can see, those rooms have access to this lounge via staircases on the port and starboard sides. Of course, the ship has a number of other rooms, but those are the main ones.”

“Phew!” Trounce gasped. “Mr. Brunel certainly likes to work on a grand scale!”

They continued their tour, marvelling at the opulence that surrounded them-for every fixture and fitting, and every item of decor, had been handcrafted from the finest materials-and eventually came to the galley, where they found Isabella Mayson unpacking foodstuffs and stocking the larders.

“By heavens, Miss Mason!” Quaint cried out. “You're making fast progress! The last time I looked in, this room was chock-a-block with unopened boxes!”

“A place for everything and everything in its place, Doctor Quaint,” the young woman responded. “We took a great many supplies on board in Yorkshire and we'll be adding more when we get to London. If I don't have the kitchen in order by then, it'll mean more work and delayed meals. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

“Certainly not!” Quaint agreed.

Miss Mayson smiled at the steward and said, “I shall be serving an early lunch at half-past twelve, Doctor.”

“Good!” Swinburne interjected. “I'm famished!”

Quaint led them out of the galley, past cabins given over to various shipboard functions, and into the first of the huge engine-room compartments. After Daniel Gooch had shown them around the massive twin turbines, they moved on to the standard-class cabins, where they encountered Sister Raghavendra, who was organising a small surgery. As Quaint explained, it was essential to have medical facilities aboard the ship, not only to cater for any passenger who might be taken ill, but also because some of the engineering duties were exceedingly hazardous. It was the job of the riggers, for example, to maintain the flight pylons, which sometimes meant crawling out onto them while the Orpheus was in mid-flight. They wore harnesses, of course, but a fall could still be damaging. Riggers had been known drop then swing into the side of their ship, suffering a crushing impact.