“Aye. I've busted me arthritic leg. Got a whackin' great dent in it. Can't hardly walk straight! Otherwise I came through with just a scratch or two. I'm itchin' all over, though. It's these blinkin' polymethylene togs.”
Swinburne snorted. “You can't possibly itch, Herbert. You're made of brass!”
“I know. But I tells you, I itch!”
Herbert was completely enveloped by the suit. Gloves encased his three-fingered hands, and his flat-iron- shaped feet were booted. The voluminous material billowed around his limbs and torso but was wrapped tightly against his head and held in place by two elasticated belts. There were three openings in the suit, through which the circular features of his “face” could be seen.
“I can't say your outfit is worthy of Savile Row,” Burton noted, “but it looks functional and you're protected from wind-borne sand. Come on, let's give the crew a helping hand.”
They moved to the back of the steaming hulk, from which supplies were being unloaded, and started to sort through them. Thirty minutes later, Swinburne, Cornish, and Wilde were given the all clear to enter the ship. They began their search for the Beetle.
Burton, meanwhile, found his surveying equipment, climbed to the top of a nearby dune, and took readings. He returned and approached Wordsworth Pryce, announcing: “We're about a hundred miles to the northeast of Mecca. Unfortunately, that city is forbidden to us. However, I'm familiar with this area. If the expedition travels south for a hundred and eighty miles, we'll come to the town of Al Basah, where we should be able to join a fast caravan that'll take us all the way to Aden.”
Pryce looked surprised. “Surely you don't mean to continue with your expedition? What about your supplies? How will you transport them?”
“We have no choice but to keep going. Our mission is of crucial importance. The supplies will have to be abandoned, apart from whatever we can realistically carry. We'll purchase what we can when we get to Aden, then more at Zanzibar. There's also a large shipment awaiting us in the Dut'humi Hills in Africa.”
Pryce shook his head. “But travelling nearly two hundred miles through this desert? The injured will never survive it.”
“They won't have to. I want you and your men to use the vehicles to transport them westward until you encounter the ocean, then south along the coast to Jeddah, which has excellent medical facilities and a British Consulate. It's not far. If we work fast, you'll be ready to leave at sunset and you'll arrive there before dawn.”
“But Captain Burton!” Pryce objected. “What about you and your people? You can't possibly walk to Al Basah!”
“If they don't receive proper attention soon, Lawless, Henderson, and Butler will die. Take the vehicles. I'm an experienced desert traveller and I happen to know that there's a chain of oases between here and the town. They're frequented by traders and there's a very high probability that we'll join a caravan within hours of setting forth.”
The aeronaut gripped Burton by the arm. “Come with us, sir! You can get a ship and sail from Jeddah to Aden.”
“We'll not all fit into the vehicles, Mr. Pryce. And strange as it might seem, caravans journey south far more frequently than ships do. Vessels sailing from Jeddah are normally bound for Cairo. We might wait for months for one that's going to Aden. But in Al Basah, camel trains leave on a daily basis and travel rapidly down through central Arabia. We might reach Aden in less than two months.”
“Two months! But by golly, sir-that's a huge delay!”
Burton shook his head. “It might appear so, but it's nothing compared to the hold-ups I experienced during my first expedition. Believe me, Pryce, Speke will be encountering many similar hindrances. I remain confident that we can catch him up, despite this setback. Now, let's get those vehicles out of the cargo hold.”
Frantic hours followed. Supplies were sorted and stacked beneath makeshift awnings, food and water were distributed, and two travois were constructed for Burton and his team to use to transport whatever they could manage.
The Beetle was finally located in a pipe in the heart of the wreck, which the desert heat had not yet reached. He was uninjured but hungry. Burton took him a bag of sausage rolls, some sliced meat, half a loaf of bread, and a canteen of water. He held the comestibles up to a panel in the pipe. It swung open, and a small pale-blue and mottled hand reached out and drew them into the darkness.
“Thank you, Captain,” came a whisper. “And I'm very sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“If I had warned you about the saboteur in London, you might have lost a week. Instead, my scheme has cost you the expedition.”
“No, lad. As I just informed Mr. Pryce, this crash has put us maybe two months behind Speke.”
“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
“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
