Mark Hodder - Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon

“Then he has won!”

“Not a bit of it. Time in Africa is not the same as time in England. Where we can measure a journey in hours and days, in Africa, they must be measured in weeks and months and even years. And Speke is in incompetent traveller. He is certain to make mistakes, and they will cost him as much time as we have lost today.”

“I hope so. And what of me, Captain? I appear to be somewhat disadvantaged.”

“We've arranged transportation for you, lad.”

“How so?”

“If you follow this pipe toward the stern and turn right at the second junction, you'll find that it ends at a grille. When you are there, signal by tapping. The engineers will then saw through the pipe behind you, leaving you in a six-foot-long section, the cut end of which they'll immediately seal.”

“I do not want them to see me.”

“They shan't. I'll be there to ensure your continued privacy.”

“That is good of you. What will then happen?”

“The pipe will be loaded aboard one of our vehicles in the custody of William Cornish and Oscar Wilde. You'll travel to Jeddah by night-which will be cold, but that's better than being baked alive. It may take some time for Second Officer Pryce to arrange, but from the port you'll sail with the boys and the crew of the Orpheus to Cairo, and from there home to London. All those who'll accompany you have pledged to guard you en route. It will mean a long time in a cramped pipe, but you'll get home.”

“That is most satisfactory, Captain. Thank you.”

A little later, after Bloodmann and Bolling had cut and sealed the pipe, they and Burton carried it into the long tent-like structure that had been erected beside the ship. The six members of the explorer's expedition were resting there: Swinburne, Trounce, Honesty, Spencer, Krishnamurthy, and Sister Raghavendra; and so were the other nine surviving crew members: Pryce, Goodenough, Quaint, Beadle, Miss Mayson, the boys-Cornish and Wilde-and the injured men, Lawless, Henderson, and Butler.

Those who were conscious had a haunted look about their eyes-they'd all seen the tall column of smoke rising up from the other side of a nearby dune. They knew what it meant. They sat, silently bidding their friends goodbye.

Then they slept.

For the next few hours, the hottest of the day, the clockwork man kept lone vigil over the camp.

There wasn't a single sound from outside, but inside, the exhausted survivors shifted restlessly and gave forth occasional moans, for even in their trauma-filled dreams, they could feel the arid air scorching their lungs.

Five hours later, when they awoke, they felt as desiccated as Egyptian mummies.

“By Jove!” Trounce croaked. “How can anyone live in this?”

“Are Arabs flameproof?” Krishnamurthy asked.

“It will cool rapidly over the next hour,” Burton declared, pushing canvas aside and squinting out at the setting sun. “Then you'll be complaining about the cold.”

“Can't imagine cold. Not now!” Honesty confessed.

“This is a land of extremes, old chap, and we have to take advantage of those few hours, twice a day, when the climate shows an iota of mercy.”

One such period was soon upon them, and after a hasty meal, they stocked the two conveyances with fuel and food and water, and the aeronauts prepared to take their leave.

The vehicles were extraordinary. They were crabs-of the variety Liocarcinus vernalis -grown to gigantic size, their shells cleaned out and fitted with steam machinery, controls, chairs, and storage cabinets. They walked forward rather than sideways, as they had done when alive, and their claws had been fitted with razor-sharp blades, designed to slice and rip through jungle.

Wordsworth Pryce reached up to the underbelly of one of them and opened a hatch, which hinged down, steps unfolding on its inside surface. One by one, Captain Lawless, Charles Henderson, and Frederick Butler were borne up on stretchers by Doctor Quaint and Cyril Goodenough.

“I'm not at all happy about this, Captain,” Pryce said to Burton. “Could you not wait it out here? Myself and one of my men could drive back to you and ferry you south.”

“That would mean us tarrying for two days,” Burton replied, “and in that time, we could be well on our way. The Al Atif oasis is about five hours' walk from here. The chances are good that we'll be able to join a caravan to Al Basah from there. And you must bear in mind that, in travelling westward, you'll soon find yourself on firmer terrain, easy for the crabs to traverse. Southward lies only sand. It would quickly infiltrate the machinery and the vehicles would be rendered inoperable in short order. No, Mr. Pryce, this is the best way.”

Pryce shook the explorer's hand. “Very well, Captain Burton. I wish you luck, and rest assured that the Beetle's privacy will be protected and he'll be escorted all the way back to his chimney in Limehouse.”

With that, Pryce boarded the vehicle and pulled up the hatch.

Burton paced across to the second crab, into which Bolling and Bloodmann had just carried the Beetle's section of pipe. The stoker, Thomas Beadle, joined them.

Willy Cornish and Oscar Wilde lingered a moment to say goodbye.

“Quips, I'm sorry I dragged you into this,” Burton said. “I thought I was doing you a favour.”

Wilde smiled. “Don't you be worrying yourself, Captain. Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing, and if this is the price, I'm happy to pay it, for I'm having the experience of a lifetime, so I am!”

The boys entered the crab.

Burton turned to Isabella Mayson.

“Are you sure you want to remain behind and join our expedition, Miss Mayson? I warn you that we have many months of severe hardship ahead of us.”

“There is barely room for another aboard the vehicles, Sir Richard,” she replied. “And your group will need to be fed-a responsibility I'm happy to make my own. Besides, it will be better for Sadhvi to have another woman present. We must, at very least, tip our heads at propriety, do you not think?”

Burton pushed up the hatch and clicked it shut, then stood back as the two crabs shuddered into life with coughs and growls. Steam plumed from their funnels, and Wilde and Cornish and Doctor Barnaby Quaint waved from the windows as the two outlandish machines stalked away.

The sun sank.

Beside the Orpheus , eight people remained, standing in the gathering twilight watching their friends recede into the distance.

Pox the parakeet sang, “Crapulous knobble-thwacker!” and Burton muttered: “I couldn't have put it better myself.”

One foot in front of the other.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

Eyes on the ground.

Ignore the cold.

“How far?” Krishnamurthy mumbled.

“Soon. By sunrise,” Burton replied.

They were dragging a travois over the sand. It was loaded with food and water, cooking pots and lanterns, rifles and ammunition, tents, clothing, instruments, and other equipment. Krishnamurthy was certain it was getting heavier.

The Milky Way was splattered overhead, dazzling, deep, and endless. The full moon had risen and was riding low in the sky. The dunes swelled in the silvery light.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

A second travois was pulled by Trounce and Honesty.

The two women trudged along beside it.

Herbert Spencer, in his protective suit, limped a little way behind.

“Tired,” Honesty said. “Four hours walking.”

Trounce gave a guttural response.

Ahead, Algernon Swinburne reached the peak of the next dune and stood with his rifle resting over his shoulder. He looked back at his companions, waited for them to catch up a little, then disappeared over the sandy peak. Before the others had reached the base of the upward slope, the eastern sky suddenly brightened.