"Why, my good fellow, the bell will be suspended a few feet off the bottom of the sea and she will be able to just duck under the edge and be off to do his ... or her ... work and come back every minute or so to sit on that bench there for a refreshing breath of air. Oh, what a brave new world, to have such wonders in it!"
"Ahem," says the Doctor. "Yes, brave and all, but I must point out that many of us have a certain affection for said ... occupant ... and we do not wish to see her hurt."
"Now, now, my good Doctor, put your mind at rest. My diving machine is perfectly safe and thoroughly tested..."
Where have I heard that voice saying exactly that before?
And it hits me—"My flying machine is perfectly safe and thoroughly tested."
I am astounded. Tilly? Oh no!
Oh yes. I drop Jaimy's arm and duck under the edge of the dreadful Thing and stand up inside. Before me I see Dr. Stephen Sebastian holding up a lamp and beside him, none other than Professor Phineas Tilden, our old schoolmaster.
Aw, Tilly, you tried to kill me with your damned kite, and now you've come back to finish me off with this! Oh Lord, please, no!
I feel Jaimy slip up beside me and take my hand.
"I don't like this," he mutters, tightening his grip. Then loud enough for all to hear, he says, "I don't like this at all."
"Ah. What have we here? Why, it is our little Jacky Faber," says Tilly, ignoring Jaimy's concerns. He peers out at me through his tiny spectacles, as fat, unworldly, and befuddled as ever. "I see by your dress and your manner that you have benefited from your time at Miranda Pimm's school and I am glad that I was able to place you there. And is it James Fletcher that I see standing there beside you? Well, good ... good to see that two of my former students have profited by my early tutelage and have come up somewhat in the world as a result. Ahem, yes ... Now, Jacky ... er ... Miss Faber..."
Tilly has never, it seems, gotten over the fact that Jacky Faber, the ship's boy he once tutored—and used in his experiments—turned out to be a girl.
"Professor Tilden," I say, "I think—"
I think you are quite mad is what I start to blurt out. Two hundred and fifty feet in this iron coffin! But I don't get to.
"And I think it's getting rather stuffy in here," says Dr. Sebastian before I can say anything. "I rather think the four of us and this lamp have used up most of the available oxygen in this thing"—the lamp indeed does start to sputter—"and we had best step out before we all pass out in a heap."
We do it and it is a relief to suck in a lungful of fresh air—or as fresh as air exists down here in Three Hatch, which ain't very fresh at all, considering we ain't very far from the bilges. Still, it's better than being inside that thing.
I am surprised to find myself somewhat woozy and I lean against Jaimy sayin', "Oi'm sorry, Jaimy luv, but I seems to be a bit unsteady on me pins, I am."
He puts his arm around me and holds me up. "Sir," he says to Captain Hudson, "I must protest. You see how frail she is. How can she possibly be sent to the bottom of the ocean in that thing?"
Captain Hudson casts a jaundiced eye upon my frail self, thinking, no doubt, of the many reports of my distinctly non-frail behavior in the past.
"Now, Jacky," says Tilly, "we will take things very gradually, only going down, say, six fathoms on the first descent."
I fake a slight faint.
"I insist, Sir, that I be allowed to take her place," says Jaimy.
I straighten up upon hearing that—I cannot let that happen.
"You are too big, James," says Tilly, shaking his head. "Look at the size of her—she would require very little air at all, while you would require much."
"Plus, it is reported that she can swim like a fish," says Captain Hudson. "Which you, sir, cannot."
"And just think of the specimens we shall collect from down there," says Dr. Sebastian. "Just think of the glorious specimens!"
And with that I know I am doomed.
"Well, now," says the Captain. "Now that we have seen this wonderful device"—and he gives it a rap with his knuckles—"let us go topside and prepare for dinner."
As we emerge back into the light, the Captain says, "Mr. Fletcher, you and your lady have a bit of time before dinner ... enough time for, say ... a ten-minute promenade about the deck." Unable to restrain himself, he then chortles, "And remember always, Lieutenant, to keep your pistol on half cock, for safety's sake." Exit the Captain, laughing over his own joke.
Jaimy's face turns a surprising shade of red. "The Captain is apprised of the ... agreement by which you and I are bound and finds it most hilarious," he says through clenched teeth. "I have been the butt of many jokes by those officers senior to me. The junior ones dare not, but I know what they are thinking, the dogs."
"Ah, let it go, Jaimy. We must enjoy the moment," I say, linking my arm in his and leading him off to what I hope will be a more private place.
"I like and respect the Captain and the Doctor, but I hate the fact that Naval Intelligence seems to feel that they ... own you."
"Well, maybe this mission will clear that up."
"A scientific expedition is going to clear your name so they will bother you no more?"
"Well, maybe there's more to it than that." And more than that I cannot tell you just yet. "Now, come around here behind this bulkhead and give your lady a bit of a kiss."
When we separate from that kiss—a particularly good one, involving wet lips, open mouths, and some gentle panting, at least on my part—I say to him, "It was most noble of you, James Emerson Fletcher, to volunteer to go into the bell in my place when you cannot even, as far as I know, swim." I brush back a lock of hair from his forehead.
"Ah, but I can swim, Jacky," he says, pulling me tighter to him. "I taught myself when I was on the river. Since I was navigating a sometimes very rough stream in a very unstable Indian canoe, I thought I should be able to swim should I capsize."
"Ah, so you taught yourself, then?"
"Aye. You see, Jacky, you were not the only one to ... enjoy ... the waters of the Mississippi."
I put my hands on his chest and push him a bit away. I know he is referring to the time he came upon myself and a certain Captain Richard Allen enjoying a bit of a skinny-dip in a tranquil pool on that same river.
"That was explained, Jaimy," I say, frowning and putting my full gaze upon him. I want to say, Perhaps in return, James Emerson Fletcher, you'd like to explain a certain Missus Clementine Fletcher, hmmmm? But I don't. Why wreck the moment? Boys, after all, will be boys, and as such, they generally require a good deal of forgiving on the part of us girls. And hey, I take some forgiving, too.
Ummm, I breathe, moving myself against him. "Just kiss me again, Jaimy, and we will forget about everything else in this world and—"
"Mr. Fletcher," says a very young and very red-faced midshipman, who is suddenly standing next to us. "Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but you—you and the la-lady—are called to dinner in the Captain's cabin. Sir."
Jaimy drops his hands from my waist, takes a deep breath, and sighs. "Thank you, Mr. Thorpe. We will be right there."
The thoroughly embarrassed middie salutes, does an about-face, and quickly leaves.
"One more, Jaimy, and then we shall go, and then later we'll go off to the Pig and Whistle and, oh Jaimy, it'll be such fun, and I'll get to show off my fine young sailor boy lieutenant to all my friends."
"Yes, we shall," he says, taking my arm and leading me aft to the Captain's cabin. I see that Three Hatch is now closed, the line suspending the bell gone, leaving that thing below to rest in darkness. I suppress a chill as we pass.
I enter the cabin and find the table set and five men standing about in conversation—Captain Hudson, Mr. Bennett, Dr. Sebastian, Professor Tilden, and that Flashby—all those, I presume, who are privy to the real mission of this expedition.
I am given my place next to Jaimy, and I silently thank the Captain for that. Mr. Bennett is asked to give us the King, and he does, and we all repeat, "The King!" at the end of his toast. Then we sit down and dig in. I am quizzed about my recent experiences in France and Germany, my meeting up with Napoleon and my Legion of Honor medal. I throw in the bit about me falling asleep in Bonaparte's lap and then delivering the letter to Empress Josephine, and I sparkle in the telling of it all—I do love being the center of attention.
I notice that Flashby is also doing his best to be a hail-fellow-well-met, and he seems to be good at it. The other officers, Jaimy excepted, seem glad of his company. I am not, however, and never will be.
The dinner being over, we get down to business.
"Mr. Thorpe, if you will wait outside," orders the Captain, and the midshipman bows and leaves. The Captain's stewards as well are ordered out.
Hmmm ... Since they're not asking Jaimy to leave, I guess they're going to let him in on the plot. Probably they figure I would tell him, anyway, being a stupid blabbermouth girl.
"Now then, Doctor, will you please tell us of the Santa Magdalena?"
Dr. Sebastian reaches inside his coat to bring out a folded paper, but before he can answer the Captain's request, I pipe up with, "Do you think we might be overheard, Sir?," pointedly looking up at the windows that encircle the cabin, several of which are open. "We all know there are no secrets on a ship."
"There will be on this ship, Miss, you can depend on that," says the Captain firmly. "Rest assured, all is quite secure."
Right, I'm thinking. I had seen sailors out on deck who were plainly from many different nationalities. Wouldn't be too hard to believe that there might be some Spaniards—or even some former pirates—among them.
I nod, but reserve judgment on that score.
"This is a translation of a letter that has come into the hands of Naval Intelligence," says Dr. Sebastian, passing the letter to me. "It was written by a Carlos Juarez, a young officer who was one of the few survivors of the wreck of the Santa Magdalena in 1733."
I take it up and read it to myself. After introducing himself, Juarez goes on to describe the terrible storm and the noble but fruitless efforts of him and his shipmates to save the vessel. Then, as the ship foundered and was clearly headed down, the young man had the presence of mind to try to mark the spot. He goes on:
I looked across the face of our compass to the end of the Key of Bones and saw that it bore away at about 010 degrees—that was the best reading I could get, as our poor ship was listing so badly. Then I took a bearing on a house that was built on the shore some distance to the east and that bearing was about 075 degrees.
Below that he had drawn a crude map showing the south coast of Key West, two lines of bearing—one from the tip of the island and the other farther up—and where the lines crossed, he had penned a large X marking the grave of the Santa Magdalena.
By my reckoning we were about two miles from the shore, but I cannot be sure, as the storm was so fierce.