Mark Hodder - Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon

“Who?”

“Bingo Stokes. He was ten years old, and one of the few not an orphan. But his father mistreated him terribly, and Bingo often sought refuge in a chimney.”

“Ah. Now I understand. He cleaned the chimney of a house in Ilford, then went back there to steal food and spend a night in the flue.”

“That is correct, Captain. And while he was there, he overheard four men plotting. Three were Prussians, but, fortunately, they spoke in English on account of the fourth man. That individual was instructed to bring down this ship, if he couldn't kill you first. Unfortunately, Bingo's presence was detected, and though he got away, he was shot. By the time he reached me, it was too late to save him. He bled to death, but not before repeating to me everything he'd heard.”

“So there is still a saboteur at loose?”

“Yes, but I do not know who it is. I arranged to be smuggled aboard and I instructed Vincent Sneed to steal the bearing cradle.”

“You're conversant with the engineering of the Orpheus?”

“I had already read a great deal of material pertaining to her construction.”

Burton thought for a moment, then said, “So you alerted us to the fact that a saboteur was aboard by arranging a fairly harmless act of sabotage yourself?”

“Exactly, and in doing so, I made it difficult, if not impossible, for the Prussian agent to act, for your people were all on the lookout for suspicious behaviour. The first leg of your voyage was thus protected. I then placed the cradle in your room, knowing that Sneed would be recognised and accused.”

“Why do that?”

“Because now Sneed's been dealt with, your enemy will think that you consider yourselves safe. He'll be of the opinion that he can act with impunity when, in truth, you'll be watching out for him.”

Burton pondered this, then said, “You've done me a service, and I thank you, but I don't understand. Why such an extravagant scheme when you could've got a message to me before the Orpheus left Battersea?”

“If I had, what would you have done?”

“I'd have dismissed the entire crew, hired a new one, and had every inch of the ship thoroughly checked.”

“And how long would that have taken?”

“Perhaps four days. Maybe five or six.”

“Bingo Stokes learned something else. The man who owned the house, Steinruck, was taking care of some business in Yorkshire-”

“His real name is Zeppelin and he went there to arrange my poisoning.”

“I see. I'm glad he failed. Upon completing this business, he was going to fly to Prussia to join an expedition to Central Africa led by Lieutenant John Speke. I realised, therefore, that warning you would result in a delay you can ill afford, for you are in a race.”

“Bismillah!” Burton cursed. “I thought a rival expedition might be a possibility! So Speke and Zeppelin are already on their way?”

“They are, and that is why I chose the removal of the bearing cradle as my means of false sabotage, for I knew that it would result in a dangerous turn of speed. Maybe it will get you ahead in the game.”

Burton smacked a fist into his palm and paced up and down. “Damnation!” he muttered.

“You have no time for this stopover in Cairo,” the Beetle urged. “You must get this ship back into the air at once. The saboteur will make a move but he will undoubtedly lack the appropriate caution. Catch him, then catch up with your opponents.”

Burton hurried across the room and snatched up his clothes. “What of you?” he asked as he started to dress.

“I will watch and listen and try to identify the agent. After you are delivered to Zanzibar, I'll remain with the ship while it returns to London. Willy Cornish-who, incidentally, has been following my orders-will facilitate my return to Limehouse.”

“And Sneed?”

“He has a history of bullying my lads. This was his chance to redeem himself. He performed his part well and will be compensated for the inconvenience he is currently suffering.”

Burton quickly buttoned up his clothes and tied his bootlaces. He stepped to the door and grasped its handle. “I have to tell my people what you've done, then get us moving,” he said. “Thank you, lad. I'm in your debt.”

First Officer William Henson had just dropped off to sleep when a hammering at his cabin door awoke him. Swearing under his breath, he pulled on a gown, yanked open the door, and was confronted by the captain.

“Sleep is cancelled, Mr. Henson. I need all hands on deck.”

“Right away, sir. Is there a problem?”

“A change of schedule. No layover in Cairo. We're departing immediately. Mr. Gooch and the riggers will be recalibrating the four stern engines while we're in mid-flight. That means four external doors are going to be wide open in the sides of the engineering bay. We'll keep a low altitude, of course, but nevertheless I feel uneasy flying so exposed. I'd like you to oversee things down there until we're properly sealed up again.”

“Certainly, sir, though I'm sure Mr. Gooch-”

“Will have everything under control. I don't doubt it, Henson, but since we have only three riggers and there are four engines that require attention, Mr. Gooch will be out on one of the flight pylons.”

“Ah. I see. I'll get down there at once.”

“You can shave and tidy yourself up first. There are some internal repairs and adjustments to be made before Gooch and his team go outside. Get down there within the hour, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henson's door was the first of a number to be knocked upon over the course of the next few minutes, and in very short measure the majority of the Orpheus's aeronauts found themselves unexpectedly back on duty.

It was a few minutes past midnight.

The rotorship's flight crew gathered on the bridge. Sir Richard Francis Burton was there, watching each of them carefully. They looked bleary-eyed and dishevelled. Captain Lawless did not. His uniform was buttoned, his eyes were bright, and he was all efficiency.

“What's going on, sir?” Arthur Bingham, the meteorologist, asked.

“I'll have your report, Mr. Bingham, not your questions,” Lawless snapped.

“Yes, sir. A wind has picked up. Rather strong. Easterly, currently at a steady twenty knots. No cloud.”

“You heard that, Mr. Playfair?”

“Yes, sir,” the navigator responded. “Taken into account. Course plotted to Aden.”

“Good man. Mr. Pryce, call down to Mr. Gooch and have him start the engines.”

“Aye, sir.” Wordsworth Pryce, the second officer, moved to the speaking tubes. Moments later, a vibration ran through the rotorship.

“Engage the wings, Mr. Wenham.”

“Engaging. Opening. Rotating…and…up to speed.”

“Take us to two thousand feet.”

On an expanding cone of steam, the Orpheus rose into the night sky and began to power into the southeast, leaving the ill-lit city of Cairo behind her. Above, the Milky Way arced across the heavens, but below, the narrow Red Sea and the lands to either side of it were wreathed in darkness, so it seemed that the ship was sailing through an empty void.

With her stern engines still operating abnormally, the huge vessel rattled and shook as she ate up the miles, speeding at almost 150 knots toward Aden, on the tip of the Arabian Peninsula.

In the engine room, the bearing cradle had been refitted, but it took Daniel Gooch and his fellow engineers almost four hours to reset the synchronisation system, which they achieved by shutting down the four rear engines one at a time while adjusting the various components to which the cradle was connected.

Now all that remained was to recalibrate each of those stern-most engines.

Gooch and the riggers Gordon Champion, Alexander Priestley, and Winford Doe, positioned themselves at the four hull doors and buckled themselves into harnesses. They clipped safety straps to brackets above the portals.