Mark Hodder - Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon

Burton examined the landscape. To the north, behind the fallen Orpheus , to the east, and to the south, pale sand undulated all the way to the horizon in a sequence of large dunes. To the west, a thin strip of green and brown terrain clung to the hilly horizon.

“If I can recover my instruments from the hold-and if they're undamaged-I will be able to establish our position, Doctor. Then we can work out how to get to the nearest settlement.”

“But, as I say,” Quaint replied, “these men need a hospital.”

“I assure you, Doctor, the Arabians are masters at the medical arts. They invented surgery.”

“Very well. I'll trust your judgement, sir.”

Burton looked at the Sister. She gave a slight jerk of her head to indicate that she was all right. He moved away, feeling oddly detached. The front of his skull was throbbing, and the dry heat of the Arabian Peninsula was beginning to suck the moisture out of him. He knew that within a couple of hours it would become a furnace. Shelter was the priority now. The inside of the Orpheus wouldn't do-the sun would soon make a giant oven of it.

Swinburne approached with Oscar Wilde and Willy Cornish in tow. The two youngsters were wide-eyed and pale-faced. Wilde was cradling his right arm.

“Are you hurt, Quips?”

“Just a sprain, Captain Burton. I'm thinking it's my wits that are more shaken than my body. I'd only just left the bridge when the ship went down. Escaped by the skin of my teeth, so I did.”

“And you, Master Cornish?”

“I bumped my head, Mr. Burton. Really hard.”

“Me too. How is it now?”

“Not so bad, sir.”

“Good boy. Algy, you appear to have escaped without a scratch.”

“Don't ask me how,” Swinburne replied, glancing across at the Sister's patients. “My hat! I was bounced around like a rubber ball. What infamy, Richard, that our enemies are prepared to kill innocent men, women, and children in order to stop our expedition.”

“All the more reason why we must succeed,” Burton growled. He regarded the stricken Orpheus. “Algy, when the engineers have made it safe, I want you and the boys to search the ship. Locate the Beetle.”

“Is he alive, Mr. Burton?” Cornish asked anxiously.

“I don't know. But if he is, we need to get him out of there before he's cooked. Good Lord! What on earth is that?”

Burton gaped at an approaching figure. It looked something like an upright brown bear, but baggy and shiny and possessed of a strange, narrow head, upon which Pox squatted. The thing moved with an ungainly lurching motion, swaying unevenly from side to side as it drew closer. The parakeet held out first one wing, then the other, to stay balanced.

“Cripes! A monster!” Cornish exclaimed, diving behind Burton and clinging to his legs.

“Pestilent stench-monkey!” Pox whistled.

“Hallo, Boss,” the creature beneath the bird hooted.

“Is that you, Herbert?”

“Aye. I've busted me arthritic leg. Got a whackin' great dent in it. Can't hardly walk straight! Otherwise I came through with just a scratch or two. I'm itchin' all over, though. It's these blinkin' polymethylene togs.”

Swinburne snorted. “You can't possibly itch, Herbert. You're made of brass!”

“I know. But I tells you, I itch!”

Herbert was completely enveloped by the suit. Gloves encased his three-fingered hands, and his flat-iron-shaped feet were booted. The voluminous material billowed around his limbs and torso but was wrapped tightly against his head and held in place by two elasticated belts. There were three openings in the suit, through which the circular features of his “face” could be seen.

“I can't say your outfit is worthy of Savile Row,” Burton noted, “but it looks functional and you're protected from wind-borne sand. Come on, let's give the crew a helping hand.”

They moved to the back of the steaming hulk, from which supplies were being unloaded, and started to sort through them. Thirty minutes later, Swinburne, Cornish, and Wilde were given the all clear to enter the ship. They began their search for the Beetle.

Burton, meanwhile, found his surveying equipment, climbed to the top of a nearby dune, and took readings. He returned and approached Wordsworth Pryce, announcing: “We're about a hundred miles to the northeast of Mecca. Unfortunately, that city is forbidden to us. However, I'm familiar with this area. If the expedition travels south for a hundred and eighty miles, we'll come to the town of Al Basah, where we should be able to join a fast caravan that'll take us all the way to Aden.”

Pryce looked surprised. “Surely you don't mean to continue with your expedition? What about your supplies? How will you transport them?”

“We have no choice but to keep going. Our mission is of crucial importance. The supplies will have to be abandoned, apart from whatever we can realistically carry. We'll purchase what we can when we get to Aden, then more at Zanzibar. There's also a large shipment awaiting us in the Dut'humi Hills in Africa.”

Pryce shook his head. “But travelling nearly two hundred miles through this desert? The injured will never survive it.”

“They won't have to. I want you and your men to use the vehicles to transport them westward until you encounter the ocean, then south along the coast to Jeddah, which has excellent medical facilities and a British Consulate. It's not far. If we work fast, you'll be ready to leave at sunset and you'll arrive there before dawn.”

“But Captain Burton!” Pryce objected. “What about you and your people? You can't possibly walk to Al Basah!”

“If they don't receive proper attention soon, Lawless, Henderson, and Butler will die. Take the vehicles. I'm an experienced desert traveller and I happen to know that there's a chain of oases between here and the town. They're frequented by traders and there's a very high probability that we'll join a caravan within hours of setting forth.”

The aeronaut gripped Burton by the arm. “Come with us, sir! You can get a ship and sail from Jeddah to Aden.”

“We'll not all fit into the vehicles, Mr. Pryce. And strange as it might seem, caravans journey south far more frequently than ships do. Vessels sailing from Jeddah are normally bound for Cairo. We might wait for months for one that's going to Aden. But in Al Basah, camel trains leave on a daily basis and travel rapidly down through central Arabia. We might reach Aden in less than two months.”

“Two months! But by golly, sir-that's a huge delay!”

Burton shook his head. “It might appear so, but it's nothing compared to the hold-ups I experienced during my first expedition. Believe me, Pryce, Speke will be encountering many similar hindrances. I remain confident that we can catch him up, despite this setback. Now, let's get those vehicles out of the cargo hold.”

Frantic hours followed. Supplies were sorted and stacked beneath makeshift awnings, food and water were distributed, and two travois were constructed for Burton and his team to use to transport whatever they could manage.

The Beetle was finally located in a pipe in the heart of the wreck, which the desert heat had not yet reached. He was uninjured but hungry. Burton took him a bag of sausage rolls, some sliced meat, half a loaf of bread, and a canteen of water. He held the comestibles up to a panel in the pipe. It swung open, and a small pale-blue and mottled hand reached out and drew them into the darkness.

“Thank you, Captain,” came a whisper. “And I'm very sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“If I had warned you about the saboteur in London, you might have lost a week. Instead, my scheme has cost you the expedition.”

“No, lad. As I just informed Mr. Pryce, this crash has put us maybe two months behind Speke.”