Part 10 (1/2)
”Come on then, man? Let's hear it,” Major Horsley boomed encouragingly.
”See that bal.u.s.trade over there?” Ulysses said, pointing at the sidelong ladder-like structure of the balcony opposite that had been half broken off by a falling crystal light-fitting ”I reckon that if we could pull that free and slide it over we'd have something long enough and strong enough to let everyone clamber across.”
Appalled faces looked back at him from among the party, none more so than Miss Whilomena Birkin's.
”One at a time mind,” he added.
”And how exactly are you going to achieve this dramatic feat?” Carcharodon enquired pointedly.
”Well, if it were up to me, I would dive down there,” he said pointing at the ever-rising waters beneath them, ”s.h.i.+n up that pole,” his finger now followed the broken support column of one of the downed chandeliers, ”up to there and then it would only be a short scramble to the balcony. I'd need a hand of course.”
”Very well, that's agreed then,” Carcharodon declared, needlessly taking charge of the situation once somebody else had worked out what had to be done. ”Any volunteers?”
”I'll go,” came one bold voice amidst the embarra.s.sed silence of the majority.
”No, John, you can't!” Constance declared, horrified.
”My darling, I must,” Schafer said, taking her hands in his again. ”For your sake. For our sake, for the sake of everyone here.”
”But, John,” she struggled, unchecked tears running down her cheeks.
”I'll be alright. I was House swimming champion back in my school days. Top diving board and everything. I haven't told you that before, have I?”
”Jolly good show, what?” the Major said happily, clapping his hands together loudly in satisfaction. ”Knew you wouldn't let us down, old boy,” he said, nudging Ulysses in the ribs. ”Jackets off then, lads, eh?”
”Jackets off indeed, Major,” Ulysses agreed, arching a sarcastic eyebrow.
”May I be of service, sir?” Nimrod asked, taking a step forward.
”You just be ready to help at this end, Nimrod, old chap,” his employer said with a wry smile. ”Keep this lot in check and all that.”
”Very good, sir.”
”So, young Schafer,” Ulysses said, approaching the edge of the precipice. ”Ready to show this lot what you're made of?”
”After you, Quicksilver,” he said, rolling up his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, ready for action, receiving one last pa.s.sionate kiss on the lips from his betrothed before handing her his jacket and pus.h.i.+ng her gently back towards her anxious aunt.
”Right you are then. Here goes nothing.”
Feet together, Ulysses straightened, arms outstretched above his head, pointing at the dark gla.s.s ceiling as if in an att.i.tude of prayer. For a moment he stood there, poised ready to dive. Then, with one graceful bound, he launched himself off the edge and head first into the turgid waters below.
The speed and directness of his dive meant he pa.s.sed straight through the broiling surface fires and into the dousing embrace of the water beneath - a brief rush of heat following by the shock of bone-numbing cold. He heard the m.u.f.fled splash and rush of bubbles of another body entering the water after him. Glancing back he saw John Schafer kicking his way towards him, lit by the orange flames dancing on the surge above their heads.
Together, they made their way towards the great bulk of the half-submerged chandelier, feeling the dragging limbs of drowned men and women b.u.mping against them as they swam. Ulysses tried to ignore the bobbing corpses, tried to convince himself that he wasn't swimming through their watery grave.
And then they were hauling themselves beyond the reach of the rising water again, clambering up the gla.s.s-crystal boulder that was the chandelier, careful where they put their hands amidst the broken body of the shattered gla.s.s ornament. Only a few slight cuts later, with one another's support, they were negotiating the pole and scrambling the last few feet up to the balcony, opposite the spot from where they had taken the plunge only moments before.
Cheers and shouts of encouragement rang in their ears, audible over the crackle of shorting electrical cables and the bubbling and seething water, given voice by their fellow survivors.
”Now to work,” Ulysses said, slicking back his wet hair with a hand and clearing his eyes of water, as Schafer wrung as much of the water as he could from his sodden clothes, before they set to work freeing the broken bal.u.s.trade.
With the woodwork liberated from its splintered mountings, taking the weight between them, supporting it at one end, the two men pushed the ladder-like structure across the void until it sc.r.a.ped against the other side of the atrium s.p.a.ce. Eager hands pulled it up and secured it there with whatever they could find to hand. It was just long enough, Ulysses noted.
First to brave the perilous crossing was Mr Wates, who scrambled across in no time, the balcony-bridge flexing dramatically beneath him as he did so, although it still held. Once across he helped Ulysses and Schafer maintain a strong hold on their end of the makes.h.i.+ft crossing.
Bathed in electrical spark-flash and the ruddy glow of the emergency lighting, the rest of the party took it in turns to make their way across, cautiously, one at a time.
Captain Connor 'Mac' McCormack watched through intensely narrowed eyes as those men and women in his charge braved the perilous crossing of the flooding atrium, observing each one with the same intensity, determined that not one of them would be lost to the deep or the disaster continuing to unfold around them, giving direction where necessary as well as maintaining an order to their evacuation so that all might make it in the end.
So it came as no little annoyance to him when what had at first been simply an anxious tapping on his arm became an insistent tugging on his sleeve. ”What is it Miss Birkin?” he almost snapped, turning on her, his calm demeanour evaporating in the face of her relentless persistence.
The old woman looked terrible. He understood the stress that all of the VIPs were under. This was, after all, not what they had expected on a round-the-world cruise aboard the most advanced sub-liner to ever cross the Seven Seas. But he was under no little strain himself. However, ever since they had gathered in the dining room together, Miss Birkin's despairing disposition had worsened considerably more than that of the other pa.s.sengers.
”I need to have a private word with you, Captain.”
”Miss Birkin, can't it wait? In case you hadn't noticed, this is hardly the time or the place.”
''But it has to be now, Captain.” The ageing spinster was becoming more and more agitated, still tugging at his sleeve. ”You have to listen to what I have to tell you.”
”Miss Birkin, please. Let us get everyone across and then you can have my ear.”
”It won't wait a moment longer!”
”What won't, Miss Birkin?” McCormack suddenly found himself raising his voice more than he had intended. Others still waiting on the nearside of the gulf were turning to see what all the fuss was about.
”Because I believe the murderer is still with us!”
McCormack was abruptly aware of the uncomfortable silence that had fallen around them.
”And what makes you think that?” he said in a sudden, sharp whisper, seizing her arm tightly in his hand.
”Because I saw him!”
”That's quite enough, Miss Birkin. I would be grateful if you kept your voice down. You've got your private word.”
Lady Denning was next to cross and, as ever, she proved to be a stoical, no nonsense old bird. Ulysses respected her for that. But he was also curious as to what was happening on the other side of the gulf, the dull scratching at the base of his skull testament to the fact that there was something awry. Miss Birkin appeared to be in quite some state of agitation before it was even her turn to cross the wobbling bridge and, before he knew it, Captain McCormack was ushering her away into the shadows back the way they had just come.
Whatever the problem had been, McCormack seemed to have been able to resolve it just as quickly as only a minute or too later he returned with Miss Birkin firmly in hand. And it might have been his imagination but, as Ulysses helped Professor Crichton up from his crawl across the chasm, he thought he felt that unmistakable sense of someone's eyes on him, and looked up to see the captain watching him.
There were moments of doubt, panic and sheer vertiginous terror that required a great deal of patient encouragement and time, along with no small number of stopped breaths and missed heartbeats. Miss Birkin seemed particularly uncomfortable about crossing - he would liked to have believed that that was what all the fuss had been about - but somehow the old coot made it safely to the other side.
The most awkward crossing was that involving Jonah Carcharodon. Left almost 'til last, he was ever-so-carefully manhandled across by Captain McCormack himself and the purser, whilst the sprightly lithe and limber Thor Haugland made sure the magnate's chair made it over too.
And then there was only Dexter Sylvester left to cross, the ambitious young businessman insisting that the s.h.i.+pping magnate cross safely before him. Such a feat as traversing the void should have been no trouble for a gentleman of his obvious athleticism and his enthusiasm for the more adventurous pastimes, such as rock-climbing and abseiling. And it wouldn't have been, had it not been for the last chandelier.
As the immense hydrostatic pressures continued to work on the compromised structure of the liner, nerve-jangling metallic groaning and heaving sounds echoing throughout the vessel, something gave. The only warning any of them had that anything was wrong was when the erratic lighting failed. Ulysses, with his curiously heightened sixth sense was the only one to even look up and register a reaction to that one small fact, and so was granted a grandstand view.