Betina Krahn (45 page)

Galvanized, Celeste flung the boom around to fill the sail and they began to move. “Prospero and Ariel … are they coming?” she shouted above the angry voices on shore.

“I can’t tell,” he called. “I can’t see them.”

“Keep pounding out the call,” she said, glancing frantically over her shoulder at the shore, where the startled horses were rearing and straining against their harness, trying to drag the hearse up the ramp; the Atlanteans were scattering all along the dock, steps, and street; and Bentley was shouting at the constables, demanding they give chase.

“Don’t you dare let those damned thieves get away!” Bentley’s fury rolled across the water toward them.

“Head for the hills, men!” the brigadier bellowed, leading the Bass brothers and the reverend down the street after a fleeing hearse.

“Don’t let ’em take you alive, sisters!” Lady Sophia cried, leading Anabelle and Penelope the opposite way, forcing the constables to split up to pursue both groups.

“Damnation!” Bentley stormed up and down the end of the dock, glowering after the boat. “Don’t just stand there—go after them!” The constable with the stripes on his sleeve said something, and Bentley roared back: “Well, I can. Get in a damned boat and I’ll do it!”

They were well out in the channel before Celeste could turn to see what was happening. Apparently the first boat Bentley and the constable climbed into was leaking badly. Cursing a blue streak, Bentley had to climb out and search for another, more seaworthy craft. As the distance between them and Bentley widened, Celeste turned her attention to the water behind the boat, praying for the sight of a dorsal fin. But in the dark water, being stirred and churned by the wake of passing steamers and trawlers, there wasn’t a fin anywhere in sight.

“Where are they? Do you see them?” she called above the increasing drone of boat engines and the slap of wakes breaking
against the hulls of boats. As they neared the main channel, their small boat began to roll and yaw in the heavy wash of the larger vessels.

“Hold it steady!” Titus called, lurching this way and that.

“I’m trying!” she yelled back. “Where are Prospero and Ariel?”

It seemed like an eternity before his exultant shout erupted. “There they are! They’re coming—they’re right behind us!”

Celeste glanced back and saw them, off to port, their dorsal fins bobbing up and down in the water. That motion, so very familiar to her, caused her heart to skip a beat. And suddenly she saw everything through a haze of moisture.

They didn’t have long to relish the sight. Titus soon called to her and pointed behind them. Bentley had located another boat, raised a sail, and was headed straight for them. She hauled up every inch of canvas they had and set the sail at the optimal angle.

“Where are Ariel and Prospero? Are they keeping up?” she shouted.

“They’re coming!” Titus pointed briefly, and went right back to banging, giving the dolphins a signal to follow in the murky water of the Thames. As their boat picked up speed, the dolphins did indeed keep up. But Celeste’s worry intensified when she saw two large ships running hard down the center of the channel, shoulder to shoulder, as if in a race. She would have to try to skirt them and pray that their wash didn’t swamp her borrowed boat.

Setting her course and her jaw, she steered hard to port and had to lean every bit of weight she possessed against the tiller to get it to respond. Slowly, the boat started the turn and she realized she was probably going too fast to take the wash of the boats smoothly. But, looking back, she found Bentley gaining steadily on her and realized she couldn’t lower the sail until they reached water that was deep enough to provide Prospero and Ariel protection.

For a moment, she glanced to the port side, and was
heartened by the sight of those fins still rising and falling in the water, keeping pace with the boat. They were shaking off the numbing effects of their captivity and their energy was returning.

But while she was absorbed in watching her dolphins, she missed the sight of a schooner straight ahead, cutting hard to starboard, impatient to get around those large ships before the channel narrowed. She was still running under full sail when she looked up and saw the schooner bearing down on her. Sailing regulations said she should head starboard, but she wasn’t sure if the captain of the schooner would count on her to do that. Worse still, a starboard turn would put her smack in the turbulent waters between the schooner and one of the large cargo vessels. Indecision gripped her, just as Titus turned and saw they were headed for a collision with the schooner.

“My God—turn, Celeste! Turn right, left … anything!”

She threw herself hard against the tiller and the bow began to turn starboard. The schooner’s captain saw her maneuver and came hard to starboard as well. The schooner was headed into clear sailing; she was headed into high waves and chop. She barely had time to call to Titus “Hold on!” before the turbulence hit and the little boat was tossed around like a jackstraw on the water.

Titus was sprawled in the bottom, and grabbed a seat board and hung on. But Celeste was standing in the stern, fighting with the tiller. She couldn’t brace sufficiently to deal with the wild pitching and rolling, and lost her balance.

With horror-slowed clarity, Titus saw her lurch, then snap backward to compensate … at the very moment the boat gave a sharp roll. She seemed to strike her head as she fell overboard. Titus heard a horrible howling “No-o-o-o!” and realized it was coming from his own throat.

The boat tossed wildly in the clashing wash of the two ships and, for a time, Titus could scarcely hold on himself. Then the craft shuddered, rolled back, and smacked the last
heavy wave, bow first. It stayed upright this time and minutes later everything miraculously calmed. Titus scrambled up to search the water for Celeste and she was nowhere to be found. Frantically, he called to her and lunged from one side of the boat to the other.

He began to tremble all over, feeling that old, familiar iciness creeping up his limbs and spreading through his body. His blood congealed in his chest, forcing his heart to pound violently as he repeated his calls.

“Celeste?” She had to be here, he thought. She had to still be alive. The water was her second home. “Celeste—where are you?” He couldn’t lose her just when he was learning to live and to love—“Celeste!”

He saw her floating, her face half in the water, her eyes closed. Panic gripped him. Old fears and memories surged up from the deepest regions of his soul. She was dying … or dead … and he would be alone again … always alone …

In one stark moment, the misery of a lifetime flashed before his mind’s eye. And the pain of it seared through the chill closing around his heart. He had to do something—anything. Acting on pure instinct, he began ripping off his coat and shoes.

“Dammit, I’m not going to lose you—do you hear—”

And he dived into the water. The cold and darkness closed in again, only this time, they were real and he was an adult, not a seven-year-old boy. This time, he knew how to deal with both water and fear. He wasn’t going to lose Celeste and his life with her before it started. Forcing himself to concentrate on how to swim, he held his breath and began to move his arms and legs in the way she had taught him.

It worked! He moved through the water toward Celeste and finally reached her. She was still breathing, but he quickly realized that he didn’t know how to hold on to her and swim for shore at the same time. In desperation, he tried to roll her over onto her back and succeeded, clamping a hand beneath her chin to hold her head up. With his other
arm he pulled toward shore, but made little progress in the cold water and was tiring fast.

“No, no—” he panted, “it can’t end here—I won’t let it.” But the next instant, it became a prayer. “Please, God—don’t let it end here—not like this—Swim, dammit—move—move—”

Then he felt something nudge him in the water and looked wildly around. He saw nothing, but the push came again … moving him a yard or so toward shore. His hand had found a sleek, hard surface next to him, bumping into him. “Prospero? Is it—
it is
you!” Struggling to keep both his head and Celeste’s above the water, he caught a glimpse of the dolphin’s body in the dark water. Spotting Prospero’s dorsal fin and remembering Celeste’s mode of travel, he wrapped his hand over the front edge of the fin and held on.

The dolphin whipped its tail flukes again and again; he could feel its sleek, muscular body flexing and straining, shuddering with determined effort. They began to move. Soon they were cutting through the water with surprising speed.

Near the riverbank, the dolphin slowed, and Titus found he could touch bottom. He released Prospero and stood up. He collected Celeste into his trembling arms, then carried her out of the water. There were weedy patches of grass here and there. He laid her down on one, sinking down on his knees beside her.

“Celeste?” He rubbed her shoulders and felt for her heartbeat. It seemed weak but still there. Hot brine filled his eyes. “Wake up, sweetheart. Are you all right?” He gave her a gentle shake and patted her face. “Celeste—”

She moved her head, then opened her eyes. She began to cough as if she had swallowed or inhaled half of the Thames. Smiling foolishly, half delirious with relief, he pulled her upright and gave her several bracing thumps on the back. When she waved a hand, he stopped and wrapped his arms around her. His heart beat wildly as he held her and let her
cough and spit out the foul taste of the Thames. He’d never seen her more beautiful. His Lady Mermaid.

“We did it, Celeste.” He tilted her pale face up and caressed her cheek. “They’re free. Really free. And for the first time in twenty years, so am I.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She buried her face in his chest and slid her arms around him, holding him as if she would never let him go.

That was where Bentley and the constable sergeant found them: on the muddy bank of the Thames, dripping wet, exhausted, and holding each other. Bentley headed the boat into shore, pointing at them, his eyes silver with fury.

“There they are, Sergeant. The dolphin thieves.” Bentley charged forward in the boat and gave an imperial snap of his arm to order the sergeant out to get them. “In my country we
hang
people for stealing livestock.”

“Fortunately, Sergeant,” Titus said, looking up with a tired smile, “we are not in his country. What is this nonsense about ‘livestock’?”

“He’s lying,” Bentley declared to the sergeant. “We saw the dolphins in the water. We could see their fins sticking up. These two took them and they’re damned well going to pay for it.”

“Dolphins?” Celeste said as Titus rose and then helped her to her feet. “What dolphins?”

“Those dolphins!” Bentley pointed to dorsal fins in the water some distance away, heading down the Thames. “You stole those dolphins from my exhibit!”

“You had better be prepared to defend those accusations, Bentley,” Titus declared, drawing himself up to his full height, formidable despite his drenched appearance. Then he turned to the constable sergeant. “I am Professor Titus Thorne, of Cardinal College of Oxford. I am holder of the Regents’ Chair in Ichthyology and a fellow of two royal academies of science. I am not a thief, and I certainly have no need to steal fish. The idea is ridiculous.”

“Then how do you explain being caught red-handed with my dolphins?” Bentley demanded.

“How can you say they were your dolphins?” Celeste said calmly, coming forward. “It is well known that river porpoises and even dolphins can be seen in the Thames. Professor Thorne and I came down to investigate those stories. Those creatures out there are merely dolphins we happened upon and hoped to study.”

“She’s lying,” Bentley said, seething. “You saw my dolphins, Sergeant.”

“Really, Mr. Bentley, this is beneath even you … trying to embroil me in a scandal simply because I refused your …
offer.”
She left the nature of that offer to the constable’s imagination and turned to him with a sympathetic smile. “Everyone knows it is virtually impossible to tell one dolphin from another, Sergeant. Mr. Bentley knows full well that
all dolphins look alike.”

“That’s n-not true,” Bentley exploded. “Just yesterday, she yammered on and on about how she could tell one from another, claiming they were her dolphins and I’d stolen them from her!”

“Have you ever seen Mr. Bentley’s dolphins, Sergeant?” She winced and shook her head. “Pathetic creatures. Scarred and malnourished and abused. He keeps them in tanks of putrid water where they desperately fling themselves against the walls of the tanks trying to escape. When I saw them last they were half dead. They probably are dead by now, poor creatures, and he’s trying to place the blame on someone … or find dolphins to replace them.”

The sergeant had heard enough.

“Everyone into the boat,” he ordered. “We won’t straighten all this out standing here.” He offered Celeste his hand and escorted her to the boat and helped her in as Bentley fumed.

“Dammit—can’t you see what they’re doing? I demand—”

“I believe,” the long-suffering sergeant barked back, “I
have heard quite enough of your demands, Mr. Bentley. Be so good as to keep them to yourself until we get back to the constabulary!”

W
HEN THEY ARRIVED
back at the dock, the other constables were waiting, with the Atlantean society in custody. The broad smiles on Celeste’s and Titus’s faces told the Atlanteans that their mission had been a success and they hugged each other, smiling all around, as they waited for the police vans that would carry them off.

By the time they reached the constabulary office in Kensington, Celeste and Titus were wrapped in blankets and gazing raptly into each other’s eyes, Bentley was red-faced with fury, and the Atlanteans—to a person—were leaning exhaustedly on one another in the van, napping.

Once in the constabulary offices, Bentley resumed his harangue of the sergeant. Titus, Celeste, and the Atlanteans, by contrast, were as genial and cooperative as it was possible for a group of humans to be. They gave their statements politely and were careful to thank the good constables for their offers of tea and blankets. They had to wait for the constables to search out Bentley’s employees so that they could identify Celeste and Titus and the Atlanteans as their attackers. Bentley paced and Titus and Celeste held hands and smiled at each other, determined to face whatever happened, together.