The Steam Mole (27 page)

“I suppose we'd have to help, then. I was thinking we should go to that flying wing. It must have landed hard,” said the girl.

“These people are nearer,” said the blackfeller on the cab of the machine. “Who are you?

“My mother was Tialatchari. Who your people?”

The bloke looked at the girl and laughed. “
Cuttlefish
, I guess. We'll follow you, we just need to get the steam up.”

“There anymore o' you?” asked Lampy, staring at the windows of the machine.

“No, it's just us,” said the girl. They climbed down the iron and brass ladder and into the cab, and a few moments later the big machine gave a belch of smoke and began to move.

Lampy trotted the horse back toward Jack and McLoughlin. Puffing and clattering, the steam machine followed.

“Well, that was clever of you,” said Clara. “Looks like you found us a trusty native guide after all.”

“More like he found us. He had a rifle, don't know if you noticed. This could be trouble, Clara.”

“When is there ever anything else?” she said wryly. “It's more empty than I thought it would be, this desert in the middle of Australia.”

“When you're walking around lost in it, it's pretty empty,” said Tim with feeling. “Ah. There's someone else there, waving. Didn't even realize this fold of land was here. It's much less visible than where we were out on the plain.”

Clara slowed the steam mole. “We'll not quite stop until we can see them, and all around them.”

But that wasn't hard, once they got closer. If there was an ambush it would have to be a very clever one. There were a bunch of tired horses, and a man knelt next to another fellow lying on the ground with a bloody bandage and a pallid, almost yellow face. The man seeing to him had a ragged beard and a gaunt face, with very blue eyes. He raised a hand to them. There was something oddly familiar about his face.

“Looks harmless. Like the real thing. Better let me go first,” said Tim.

“Don't be silly,” said Clara. “I'm coming, too.” She pulled the dampers down, stood up, and they climbed out of the cab together. Tim did manage to be first out. Just. She'd have to train him better.

The man who'd been seeing to the injured fellow stood up and dusted off his hands. “I wasn't expecting a young lady out here. I'm glad to see you. My name is Jack. Jack Calland. And this lad's Lampy Green. We've got a wounded soldier here.”

Clara felt the ground go wobbly under her feet, and it was only Tim's arms catching her that stopped her falling over.

“What's wrong?” asked her father, stepping forward.

It was him. He was older, exhausted, gaunt, bearded…but the
eyes. She would always recognize those eyes. She couldn't say anything, the lump in her throat was too big. But she could smile and reach for him.

He blinked. “Er…” His face was a study in confusion.

“She's come a long way to find you, sir,” said Tim. “This is your daughter, Clara.”

“Clara?” he said as she took his half-outstretched hands.

She nodded. “It's me, Daddy,” she managed to croak around the lump in her throat.

He folded her in his arms then, saying her name over and over. Then he held her away from him, looking at her, his eyes wide, as if he wanted to see as much of her as possible. “It's big you've grown, girl,” he said thickly. “I didn't even recognize you at first. Is…is your mother here, too?”

There was such hope in his voice that Clara couldn't speak again, Just shake her head. It was left to Tim to say, “I'm afraid Dr. Calland is sick. Um. She may be dead, sir. That's why Clara came on her own.”

“Mary? What's wrong?” His voice was desperate, shaken to the core.

“We don't know,” said Clara quietly, misery rising into her happiness and flooding it. “She…was in a coma. They…they think it's some tropical disease. She was in quarantine and…and they said she was never going to get better. And they said you were dying, too. Your letter…I thought you were.”

She closed her eyes. “Mother's dead, Daddy. I know it, I just didn't want to admit to it to myself. She loved you so much.” Which was enough to start both of them crying again, holding onto each other.

There were still tears streaming down Jack's face, and Clara's, when he pushed her away a little. He squeezed her shoulder. “I've lost the love of my life,” he said quietly. “I hoped…prayed that I'd see Mary again before I died. But at least I've found my girl. And that was more than I ever really thought to do. But for now…we have an injured man here, and we'd better go and see if anyone survived that crash. And you'd better introduce me to this gentleman.”

Clara nodded and looked at him again, the new image putting itself firmly over the cloudy one of long, long ago. “Daddy…Oh. I never thought I'd be saying that again. Daddy, this is Tim. Tim Barnabas. He's my…friend. My
boy
friend.” She saw the look on his face and added, “And Mother
approved
of Tim! Just so you know.”

Tim awkwardly extended his hand. “How do you do, sir? I was one of the crew of the submarine that brought your wife and daughter to Westralia.”

“He saved my life. A couple of times!” said Clara.

Her father took his hand. “Then I am in your debt, but I think she's rather young for a boyfriend.”

And Tim, the traitor, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I am not!”

Her father shook himself like a dog coming out of the water. “I suppose it has been some years since I went to jail, and you are older now, little one. Now, Lampy injured his foot, so do you think you can give me a hand getting McLoughlin into the cab, Mr. Barnabas? Is there space for him to lie down? What is this thing, anyway?”

“It's a steam mole, sir, a scout mole, to be exact. And yes, there is some space. There are some swags we can put him on. I've got some laudanum in the cab, too. What's wrong with him? His hands seem to be tied. Is he…confused?” asked Tim, joining hands with Clara's father to carry the semiconscious man.

“He's delirious. He's tied up because he was one of the soldiers chasing us. We couldn't just leave him, so we brought him along.”

With difficulty they got him up into the cab of the scout mole and laid him down on the swags.

“Right. I wonder, what we should do with the horses?” said her father. “It's a very smart machine this. How did you come by it?”

“I stole it,” Clara said.

“Ah,” said her father. “I did wonder how you and Tim came to be wandering around the desert alone.”

“I stole it because they wouldn't go to look for Tim, and then
when I eventually found him, we went to go and get you from Queensland.”

Her father blinked and shook his head. “You're so like your mother.”

“That's what she said to me, but about you, every time I did something outrageous,” said Clara.

“Yes, but every time Mary did it to me, I just didn't expect it. She didn't look like she would. She looked so…well, angelic,” said her father. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Well, sir,” said Tim. “I've never been on a horse in my life, but how about if Lampy and I ride and you talk to Clara? She's a really good driver.”

Her father looked tempted. “No. I'd like to, but if you've never ridden, it would not end well. I'm sore enough, and I used to ride almost every day, once.”

“I'll ride,” said Clara. “Tim can drive. It's been a few years since those riding lessons, Daddy, but at least I have ridden a horse before!”

“Skirts,” said Tim. “Dunno if you can ride in those.”

“Pooh. They're broad enough to spill over.”

“There are some spare breeches back in the locker there. You could put those on,” said Tim.

“I'll do that. I hope they're not too big.”

“Keep your skirts on, too.”

“You want to boil me?”

Her father nodded. “Boiled will be better than chafed. We could try it for a little anyway. Lampy could come and put his foot up. He's sore, poor lad. Now, you said you had some laudanum drops. We could try some on McLoughlin here. Can't make him worse, surely.”

Tim set the steam mole in motion. He was not as familiar with it as Clara was, but he liked machinery, and he noticed things. Clara and her father had already mounted fresh horses and were ahead and to the right. Tim didn't have a lot of concentration to spare for her, but it looked as though she was a lot less comfortable on a horse than in the steam mole. He said so to his new companion, who chuckled. Lampy had a warm laugh that reminded Tim of the aboriginals who had rescued him after he'd failed to catch the mole.

“I reckon she needs to ask for her money back from that riding school,” said Tim with a grin.

“Too right,” said Lampy, putting his foot up against a strut on the wall. “Didn't know there was any blackfellers working on the railway.”

“They tried to kill me for it,” said Tim.

“That sounds like them bastards to me. Shot me uncle,” said Lampy.

It was hard to know what to say to that.

Eventually, Tim said, “I hope they caught whoever did it.”

“They don't care. We blackfellers are like 'roos to them.”

“That's not right. Mind you, that Vister seemed to think he could kill me. It's different where I come from. Tough in the tunnels, and I had some fights because of it. But not just…killing.”

“Yeah? So where you come from, man?”

He and Lampy fell into easy talk, both finding the other's world so different from their own, and oddly fascinating. And Tim did a little fishing about Clara's father.

“Jack's a bonza bloke. Madder than…I dunno, the maddest thing you ever met. But he's decent, see. Buried the bloke what got killed, did his best for McLoughlin. Wouldn't let the others kill that Quint.” Lampy looked askance at Tim. “Wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him with his daughter, though.”

“She's fairly crazy, too. I mean, she came up here to cross the desert to get her old man out of stir. And she'd have probably done it, too. She doesn't know what ‘give up' means. She'd be loyal to her last breath. Best girl in the world,” said Tim fervently. “I hope her father doesn't mind me…Well, I don't know what I'd do.”

Lampy grinned at him. “Sounds like you're in deep.”

Tim didn't pretend not to understand. “Yep. Mind you, we've had some good fights. She won't admit she can't do anything. She usually can, too.”

“Looks like some smoke over there,” said Lampy, pointing. “Maybe that's where the flying thing came down.”

They headed toward it.

Duke Malcolm listened, stony faced, to the transmission from Australia. Then he turned to the head of the Australia section, who, like himself, showed signs of having hastily donned his uniform. The duke had had a sleepy valet to help him, but Major Simmer, by the looks of him, had done it himself. “So. The vehicles have already left Camp Baltimore?”

“So the general said,” replied the major. “They should be ready to leave the railhead by four o' clock this afternoon, their time, Your Grace.”

“It's not certain that the flying wing was able to communicate, or would grasp the significance of one airship. But they're bound to send more up to search for the crash. And it is possible that they will have put these ‘power stations' and Sheba onto an alert footing.” He picked
up the microphone. “General Von Stross, this is Duke Malcolm Windsor-Schaumburg-Lippe. You are hereby instructed to have your troops use the tunnel option. I hope your sappers are up to it.”

The general reassured him.

Duke Malcolm was too wise to military doublespeak to believe him entirely.

He wondered just how much the crew of the airship actually knew. They'd lost their motors and part of the gondola and were now drifting west. Into the desert and into Westralian territory. Territory the Westralians relied on the desert to hold.

For a few moments after the wing had come down, Linda just sat there, holding onto her knees. Then she sat up.

The copilot, bloody-faced, said, “Right. Better get everybody out, in case of fire.” He looked rather as if someone should get him out.

Linda could see the rocky ground through a hole in the fuselage. She already had the rope knot loose, and dashed into the crawlway to one wing. “All
out!
” she bawled at the top of her voice. And then she did the same on the other side, before coming back to the navigation nacelle. Dr. Calland lay very still in her seat, with a little blood on her forehead. Horrified, Linda knelt next to her, wishing she knew more about medicine. She felt for a pulse and was rewarded by feeling one. Then a submariner shooed her out and carried Dr. Calland out. The hatch was jammed onto the ground, but someone had broken open part of the wing, and they took her out of that.

Linda saw the advantage, very quickly, in the fact that almost all the men were submariners and used to working to orders and keeping calm. Lieutenant Ambrose and the captain directed the evacuation of the people from the wing, Lieutenant Willis had already set up a first aid station, and he was doing his best to deal with injuries.

Linda went over there to help. There didn't seem much wrong with her, besides some bruises.

“Nearly made it down,” said the copilot. “We'd have done it in one piece if the undercarriage had come down. But those first shots must have hit that. Still. What a piece of flying! I hope Dan is all right.”

“I can't believe what you did on that engine,” said Linda.

He sighed and shook his head sadly. “Mickey, the starboard engineer, didn't have time for a safety line when they hit the engine and he had to get out. I couldn't have detached the engine without him. He was pretty badly burned, and he came off with the engine. A good man gone.”

“So brave!”

“I was scared out of my wits,” he said. “Yes, Lieutenant?” Lieutenant Ambrose had come up to them.

“Captain wants to know what the risk of fire is, and whether we can try to get supplies out of the plane, and if there's a system for signaling distress.”

“I got a Marconi message out. Said we were under attack. There'll be fighter wings coming, I would guess. Poor old Wedgie was just a transporter due for retirement. I can't believe what Danny managed to do with her.”

“You fliers did magnificently. But the captain needs to know how safe it is. And whether we can make a fire for signaling.”

“If she hasn't caught fire yet, she probably won't,” said the copilot, getting to his feet and staggering a little. “I cut off the fuel to the port engines. There's a fair amount of fuel there if we need to make signal fires. But I'd like to get to the Marconi set…”

“Sit down, man,” said the lieutenant, sitting him down firmly, “and stay there. I know a Marconi set when I see it. I'll bring it out if it is intact. Not going to generate sparks in there. And we'll keep the number of men going in to a minimum. The captain's got most of the men backed off to a hundred yards now. There's no one still on board.”

“I could use a fire, Amby,” said Lieutenant Willis, binding a nasty gash, “and some boiled water and sterile dressings. And a couple of men as runners.”

“I'll get some men onto it, Bob,” promised Lieutenant Ambrose, leaving at a run.

“Can I help?” asked Linda. “I don't know anything about bandaging, but I could do the smaller cuts and things. I could try, anyway.”

“If blood doesn't worry you, I'd like another set of hands,” said the lieutenant. “I like to at least see the patients, Miss. I've got them ranked in priority here.”

“Is Dr. Calland going to be…? I mean, is she…?”

“Hard to tell. She's concussed, at least.”

The Marconi set was in fragments. The fire that Lieutenant Willis wanted for sterile dressings was kindled and tended with amazing speed as they worked their way down the line of patients.

“Except for the pilot's nacelle, the landing did us less damage than you'd think. The pilot stalled the wing almost perfectly at the last moment. Most of our injuries come from that loop-the-loop. I know why he did it, and I know it took great skill…but I wish we'd all been strapped down. I got out unhurt by being squashed between Gordon, here, and Tamworth, and they ended up with Big Eddie on top of them. I prefer softer cushions,” said the lieutenant, feeling Gordon's nose. “Yes, it's broken. There is a lady present. You don't have to use words like that. You'll live.”

So far, with the exception of the poor engineer, and possibly the unconscious pilot and Dr. Calland, it looked as if most of them would live.

Linda knew just how lucky they'd been. Or rather, how good their pilot had been, and how brave the copilot and the unfortunate engineer had been.

It made her little troubles back in Ceduna seem so small.

Her relief at seeing Dr. Calland trying to sit up and being made
to lie down again, as some of the crew constructed a sun shelter over the patients, was enormous. So was her relief when one of the lookouts called, “Looks like the Westralians are onto it all quicker than we thought. Steam car coming.”

The steam car—Linda recognized it for what it was, a scout mole in the colors of the Discovery North Railroad—slowed as it came closer. There were some horsemen with it, too, riding just out of the dust.

Only one of them wasn't a horse
man
.

She had blond plaits under a straw hat, and one of her plaits had come undone.

“Clara!” called Linda, as the door to the mole opened and a young man bounced out “Ahoy,
Cuttlefish!
” he bellowed.

“I see we found Tim Barnabas, or he found us,” said the lieutenant with a smile, as several of the crew carried him on their shoulders up to the captain.

“Over here,” yelled Linda, waving as someone helped Clara down from her horse. She looked like she needed help. And by the looks of the way she walked, holding on to the bearded man with her, she might need Lieutenant Willis's medical skills, too.

Clara was surprised, but not amazed to see
Cuttlefish
crewmen around the wreck of the flying wing. Captain Malkis had obviously done his magic with her letter. She
was
amazed to see Linda. Was Mr. Darlington also here? Or her stepmother? Or had they…the thought was put aside. Linda looked far too happy. She bounded toward them like one of those kangaroos. “What's wrong, Clara?”