Inferno (9 page)

K
ydd wasted no time in setting to work on the packets from the chest, eager to find out just how the contrivance worked. The writing was strong but unlettered, and had the curlicues and phrasing of his father's day. However, it was well diagrammed, intended for humble workmen. It detailed the parts, then listed assembly and checking routines. There was a section for attendants in the boat, another for the intrepid diver, and one more for the master of supporting vessels.

Kydd sorted the instructions into their sections.

The essence of the engine was clear. It was in effect a closed watertight barrel with two thick windows and sealed leather sleeves that allowed the diver's naked arms to protrude. The whole apparatus was suspended by ropes under one or two substantially sized boats or ships anchored over a wreck.

He skipped the detailed preparations and went straight to the diver's instructions, curious as to what it would be like to go into the sea and be at one with the fishes in their own kingdom, but they concentrated on procedures and were
disappointingly short on vivid descriptions. It seemed that the diver would be lying full length, angled down, and peering through the portholes as the engine was gently lowered.

He had an external cord buoyed by corks that was his only communication with the surface and, using it, he could signal that he wanted to be moved forward, that he had artefacts in his netting sack to be hauled up – or that he was desirous of more air.

Time on the seabed would be limited by depth; ten minutes working on a wreck could be expected in ten fathoms if the man were not called upon for strenuous activity. Stirk's careful soundings had shown no more than five fathoms, which presumably would translate to a whole twenty minutes. The implements a diver had to work with were simple but effective. Short picks, crow-bars, rakes, the netting bag for small and precious articles and a range of claw hooks lowered down for affixing to larger objects for hauling up.

Kydd found it impossible not to be stirred by these bald statements, written for men who had actually gone on to bring up treasure trove. He leaned back, picturing the scene. Down and down to the ocean's depths and the sea-bottom with all its mysteries, no doubt thronged with curious fish. Then poring over the scattered relics of the wreck – and over there, a half-open chest with glittering contents, an octopus gliding over it, other creatures looming …

Damn, but he envied Stirk his undersea adventure!

T
he wait for Wrackman's diving engine was hard to bear. Excitement had seized everyone in the know, and there was eager speculation about the outcome. The two McGillie boys, sworn to secrecy, were open-mouthed in awe at the adventure to come, and even their father allowed there might be interesting times ahead.

Kydd knew that his role in the affair was at an end but was drawn nevertheless into the ferment of expectation. There was no way he wanted to miss the proceedings. Perhaps he could find himself a quiet corner in the boat and take it all in.

A week went by.

One evening, the McGillies were quietly finishing their supper when there was a knock at the door. The room fell quiet: visitors at that hour invariably spelled trouble.

The gamekeeper got to his feet, glancing at the blunderbuss above the mantelpiece.

‘Why, Mrs Finlay!' he said, in astonishment. ‘Come in.'

A sharp-eyed woman in a shawl against the cold entered quickly. A young girl followed her, eyes wide.

‘Is there something amiss, m' dear?' McGillie asked, with concern.

‘Aye, well. We came t' see if there's owt we can do for you, Mr McGillie.'

‘Do – for me?'

‘Aye. We just heard o' how youse are a-goin' to dig up the Tobermory galleon an' we thought—'

‘Where d'ye hear this?'

‘In course, y'r Jeb. He's down at the Lion a-sayin' as how he's t' be rich as a prince in a brace o' weeks. My, he's right blootered an' b' now it's all around the village, I ken.'

Stirk shot to his feet, his fists working. ‘That poxy shicer! He's blabbed, an' we're done for when the laird hears o' this!' He snatched up a coat and flung himself out.

‘Just that I thought yez goin' a-rovin' after treasure, someone should stay wi' Connie an' the bantlings an' all,' Mrs Finlay added smoothly. ‘Ain't that the case, love?'

More brazen was the blacksmith, who turned up demanding a job with the engine whatever the task. He was sat down with a mug of beer while Connie dealt with the others flocking up.

Soon the little cottage was a-buzz – the secret was out.

At the Lion Stirk found Jeb out cold from drink. The entire tavern was alive with red-faced folk avid to hear more of the fabulous tale. He looked about in despair and spotted Kydd in the corner, quietly reading a book over a whisky.

‘Mr Paine!' he called urgently. ‘A word wi' ye.'

Kydd came over. ‘Yes, Toby?'

‘An' we're dished, ain't we?'

‘Not as I'd noticed.'

‘All th' world knows now! The laird'll be down on us like lightnin', an' you …'

‘I don't think so.'

‘This'n is a small village, I knows it. Some wicked dog beds a wench an' every bastard hears on it afore the sun's above the yard the next mornin',' he spluttered bitterly. ‘We's scuppered!'

‘No.'

Stirk peered at Kydd suspiciously.

‘It's a small village, that I'll grant – but that's why your secret's safe. They all know your family, Toby. What do you think'll happen to any who run to the laird with a tale? No, cuffin, they're all afire for your big adventure.'

W
ord finally came.
Maid
, followed by
Aileen
, slipped to sea and made Tobermory under all sail. They found a discreet mooring and waited for the cloak of night.

Meares was nervous and fidgeted as the boats were brought up to the quay. ‘I'm saying as how this is a load of coffins bound for Iona,' he confided. The engine was well concealed under a canvas shroud but there was no hiding its great weight as the dockside crane took the strain. ‘That one will need the other boat,' he muttered, indicating the remaining cargo. It was a small but extraordinarily heavy item, which caused
Aileen
to sink nearly a foot and McFadden to swear in alarm.

Meares turned to Kydd. ‘I'd be obliged if we could be gone, Mr Paine.'

‘Directly. But you are addressing the wrong man. It's Mr Stirk who's in charge of this enterprise.'

In the safety of the open sea the principals of the company crowded into
Maid
's little cuddy for a conference. It was
brief and led to a unanimous conclusion: there was nothing to be gained by procrastination. The good weather was likely to hold for a day or two more, but in these waters it could easily take a turn for the worse.

Nowhere was free from prying eyes for trials of the equipment that anyone could think of – except the Armada wreck itself.

During the remaining hours of darkness they kept to the open sea to the south, and when dawn finally came they set course for Tiree.

The dark cave and the patch of sea before it had a repellent, cold feel. Kydd wondered if they were being given warning that trespass on the subsea kingdom would not be forgiven.

There were grave expressions and Kydd saw he wasn't the only one with qualms.

‘Um, sir, how should we …?' muttered Stirk, drawing him aside.

‘I'm a bystander only, Toby,' Kydd answered quietly. ‘I can have no part in this.'

‘I – I read th' writings, but … but what do we first?'

‘I'm sorry, but you're in charge. You'll have to—'

‘Bugger it, Tom! Don't top it the gent wi' me now – I'm askin', mate!'

Kydd grimaced. By insisting on keeping his distance he was pushing his old friend into public humiliation or worse. There was no lack of courage in Stirk's stout-hearted character, but Kydd as an officer was trained in the cool analysis of a situation to its elements and the devising of a course of action to meet it.

He gave a friendly pat on Stirk's shoulder. ‘You're in charge,
Toby, sure enough – but if I were you, I'd set a kedge and stream killicks out to each side, then rig a stayed traveller and purchase between, so …'

In an hour they were ready. The two boats lay thirty feet apart with shared hoisting gear and were held in place by anchors spread to the four quarters.

The huge bulk of the barrel lay along the deck of
Maid
ready for swaying out into the cold green depths. Its copper staying bands and glass eyes flashed in the sun and the varnish of the new timbering shone gaily. To its underside was now clamped the massive black-painted long lead weight that had been the other load.

‘We'll dip th' beast in, see if it leaks,' Stirk decided.

All hatches and stopcocks were closed, according to the list. Then, with curt seamanlike orders, he had it suspended at the right angle and began lowering.

‘I make no warranty, Mr Paine. None at all,' Meares said, his hands wringing. ‘We filled it with water overnight to test it, but in the sea, well, it might be different, is all.'

The barrel touched the sea but as it was lowered deeper it twisted and writhed, refusing to go further, heaving and bobbing half submerged.

In despair Stirk turned to Kydd in appeal. ‘It don't want to,' he croaked.

‘And neither should it, Toby. There's nobody aboard. Should you weigh it down heavier with something?'

A body's weight of anything that could be found was stuffed inside and it was lowered again – this time to sink obediently below the waves. Every eye followed it until the diminished shape faded from view in the depths with nothing left to tell of its existence but the taut ropes plunging straight down.

In silence it was raised again, the squeal of the block sheaves startling in the quiet, until its glistening bulk broke surface.

Meares pressed forward gingerly and worked the stopcock. A runnel of water dribbled out, then ceased. It had not leaked. Hatches were opened and the barrel was cleared. There was now every reason for the first dive to take place. All turned to Stirk.