Ratcatcher

water had seeped inside the tube, the mirrors would mist over with condensation. Lee hadn’t yet managed to solve that problem. He’d tried various methods of prevention and, although each successive attempt had been an improvement, he was still some way from devising a foolproof, not to say waterproof, solution. But for the time being it would suffice. At a distance of eighty yards from the target, the eye enabled him to observe the ship in close proximity. He could even see the name board at her stern. Lines were being hauled on board and made fast. The fleet of support craft was dispersing. Through the glass he could see the bunting and the flags in fine detail. He searched and picked out the one that marked his target: the standard of the Prince of Wales. It meant the Regent was on board, probably among that group of men at the stern, he reasoned.

“Closer, Mr Sparrow, if you please.”

The hull of the ship rose broad and sheer out of the water like the side of a cliff.

Lee lowered the eye. He discovered that his mouth was as dry as sand.

He looked at his watch. It was time.

“Take her down easy, Mr Sparrow. Gently does it.”

Lee adjusted the rudders. Narwhale crept forward.

Hawkwood pulled impotently at the bonds securing his wrists. There was some give in the rope, but not nearly enough. He glanced towards Sparrow. The seaman’s scarred back was towards him. Carefully, Hawkwood eased himself into a sitting position and drew his knees towards his chest.

“Rest easy, Mr Sparrow. We’re almost there.” Lee’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Sparrow stopped turning the crank. Lee’s hands continued to move gently on the rudder controls, relying on the submersible’s momentum to carry them forward. Slowly, a dark shape moved across one of the windows. One by one, the tiny slivers of light illuminating the interior of the hull were extinguished as the Narwhale slid beneath the warship’s great hull.

A chill ran down Hawkwood’s spine. Was it his imagination, or had it become colder inside the darkened compartment? He heard the strike of a flint. A pale, spluttering orange glow told him that Lee had lit the lantern.

There was a bump, followed by a scraping sound. Hawkwood realized what it was. The top of the sub- mersible’s tower had made contact with the bottom of the warship’s hull.

It was Lee’s signal.

Suspending the lantern from a rib in the roof, Lee worked quickly. He didn’t have much time. Thetis would be underway within minutes. It would be impossible to drive the spike into the warship’s hull while the vessel was in motion. Lee lifted two items from hooks on the bulkhead. One was a small iron maul. The other was a thin, rounded T-shaped piece of metal. The stem of the T was threaded and resembled an auger. Lee lifted his head and probed the roof of the tower with his fingertips for the hollowed base of the Narwhale’s horn. Using his left hand for support he screwed the auger into the end of the horn. Ensuring that the join was tight, he reached for the maul.

It took four firm strikes with the maul to drive the barbed tip of the horn into the ship’s hull. Satisfied that the horn was firmly embedded, Lee reached up and unscrewed the auger from the shaft. From his pocket he removed a small wax plug and, using the maul, tapped it into the end of the shaft to seal it. Satisfied that there was no seepage, he resumed his seat.

Hawkwood was astonished at the ease and speed of the operation. It had taken less than a minute to attach the horn to the belly of the ship.

“Stand by, Mr Sparrow.” Lee leaned forward and released the lock on the forward windlass. “Now, take us down and out, if you please.”

Sparrow began to crank. Slowly, painfully, inch by cautious inch, the Narwhale began to nose forward. The click of the windlass could be clearly heard as the line running from the winch through the cleft in the horn to the torpedo at the stern of the submersible was reeled out. As the vessel emerged from beneath the shadow of the warship’s hull, light from the surface began to filter into the compartment once more and Lee extinguished the lantern.

It was in those few seconds, between the snuffing out of the lantern and the ingress of natural light, that Hawkwood was finally able to reach down, tendons stretched to breaking point, and remove the knife from the inside of his right boot.

Hawkwood had no idea how much time he had before the torpedo was set to explode. The count down to detonation was dependent on the length of the trigger line, and that, he suspected, given the diameter of the windlass, wouldn’t be long. And while he was sitting there thinking about it, vital seconds were ticking away. With Lee and Sparrow preoccupied with making good the Narwhale’s escape, he knew it was the only chance he had left. Reversing the knife and gripping the shaft precariously in his left hand, Hawkwood began to saw at his bonds.

Sparrow was cranking hard. The muscles in his shoulders and forearms bulged as he powered the submersible through the dark water. His back and chest looked as if they had been smeared in oil. The sweat dripped off him as the submersible began to pull away.

Counting steadily under his breath, Lee took out his pocket watch once more and squinted at the dial.

The Narwhale was travelling at two knots. Two hundred feet from the warship, the submersible checked. The movement was barely noticeable, but it was the moment Lee had been waiting for. It meant the line on the windlass had reached its full length and the submersible’s forward motion had been transferred to the keg at the stern. The torpedo had been released. It was heading unerringly for its target.

Ten seconds later, there was a second tug as the torpedo made contact with the warship’s keel, severing the line and its last connection with the Narwhale.

Lee gripped the bulkhead. “Brace, Mr Sparrow!”

The last strand of rope parted. Hawkwood reversed the knife and came off the deck with the blade angled towards Sparrow’s throat.

And the torpedo detonated.

20

Hawkwood knew he had failed. He knew it the moment he launched himself off the floor. He heard Lee’s cry of warning, saw that Sparrow was already turning. The sound of the blast enveloped the boat, but it was the shock-wave, nudging the Narwhale off its axis as it moved out from the centre of the explosion, that tipped the balance, sending Hawkwood slithering across the deck as his feet shot out from under him.

Sparrow, accustomed to the pitch and roll of a ship at sea, was first to recover. With a bellow of rage he reached down, twisted the knife from Hawkwood’s grip, tossed it aside, hauled the Runner to his knees by his hair, and took the pistol from his belt. The ratchet sound of the weapon being cocked was unnaturally loud. Helpless, Hawkwood watched Sparrow raise the pistol.

“Bastard!” Sparrow hissed. For the second time that morning, his finger whitened on the trigger.

The sound of the second detonation was ear shattering.

Sparrow’s eyes widened in shock as a sliver of copper from the ruptured air cylinder sliced through his jugular, releasing a fountain of blood across Hawkwood’s face and shoulders. Hawkwood looked up, awe-struck, as Sparrow, teeth bared in a silent, choking scream, buckled at the knees, the pistol dropping from his hand. There followed a second of blinding pain as the hair was ripped from his scalp by Sparrow’s involuntary death spasm. There was barely enough time for the hurt to register before the incoming torrent of water slammed into him, driving the air from his lungs and hurling him against the starboard hull with the force of a mule kick.

The Narwhale’s bow dipped sharply and the submersible heeled violently to port. It was as if the vessel had been picked up by a giant hand and hurled against a wall. Hawkwood made a desperate grab for one of the iron ribs. As he did so, Sparrow’s body, still pumping blood, fell forward, trapping him against the