Inferno (10 page)

He paused, then threw back his shoulders and marched to the main hatch as if to his execution. At the opening he hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder, then to the heaving water. For a long moment he stared out, his face working.

‘Can't do it!' he burst out, in a hoarse cry, looking round with a face of blind horror. ‘Not in there, f 'r Chrissakes. I can't!'

Shocked, the waiting crew drew back, confused.

Kydd felt for the man but tried to encourage him. ‘Toby, you have to. It's your duty.'

Stirk stared at him wildly.

Kydd realised he must have a horror of confined spaces – and there would be nothing more calculated to bring him to the edge of madness than to be hammered shut into an underwater coffin. ‘Don't worry, Toby. It's really your job to be in charge, not go diving. We'll ask Laddie to go down and get the gold. Right?'

‘S-sorry, Mr Paine. It's m' arm, like. Been gripin' me an' it wouldn't be right if 'n I couldn't haul in the cobbs, leaving 'em all lying there, like.'

‘Jeb?' The younger man shook his head mutely, his face chalky white.

Kydd turned finally to Meares. ‘So it looks as if—'

‘Not me! On my life, not me!'

‘But if it's not you, then—'

‘It's your share.' He gulped. ‘Supply the boats – and that means crew as well! One o'
you
goes down!'

I
t was the end of the adventure. So close and …

Kydd shared their terror of the unknown, but this was a unique chance to enter an underwater world, the other dimension of the sea.

What lay below? Reason led one way, myth and fantasy another, but if he went down in the diving engine he would find out. ‘So it appears it shall be myself,' he found himself saying.

Stirk came over, his face set. He took Kydd's hand and shook it, looking deep into his eyes. ‘I won't forget this of ye, Tom. Never!'

Twice they went through routines, including communications, then Kydd challenged them to repeat every one back. When he was satisfied he indicated he was ready.

Laddie had the checklist up. ‘Oil!'

Kydd stripped to shirt and trousers and was well soused in train oil before he was helped up to the main hatch. With mixed dread and excitement he let himself be fed into the contrivance, moving down into the dark recesses with only
the bright discs of the windows ahead to relieve it. He reached them, just remembering to ease his arms one at a time into the leather ports before he felt his legs held, then secured with straps as he manoeuvred to get the windows each side of his chin directly in his line of sight.

Within the engine it was cool and damp, yet his arms outside were feeling the morning sun – it was a disturbing sensation, but there were things to do. He felt the side of the barrel to the right for the cord that was his communication to the surface.

A double thump on the barrel was a question. He was as comfortable as he was going to be so he slapped the side twice in return.

There was a rattling and heavy
thunk
s as the main hatch was closed, then the cocks. He was sealed in.

The lurch as the engine was raised caught him by surprise. Suspended full-length and tilted down he saw through the windows the deck under him move away to be replaced with a view of green waves dancing in sunlight. The transit stopped with a swing and, with wildly beating heart, he watched the surface close with his gaze until suddenly the glass eyes met it. In an instant his world changed to a dull blue-green immensity.

He was conscious that his arms were submerged and impulsively he waved them across his vision. They seemed pale and feeble in the eerie light, not his own, and at the neats-leather seals he felt an uncomfortable constriction. Once again he felt for the cord that was his only connection to the world he had left. Vague particles flitted upwards as the engine sank further, and fearfully his eyes searched for meaning in the vastness all around. The cold was rapidly clamping in – no doubt why he was smeared with oil.

A dim shape flicked in and out of existence at the corner of his vision and his heart began a manic bumping, made worse when a sudden deafening crack and prolonged creaking sounded as the timbers took up under the pressure. Then, without warning, he became aware of a rumpled grey plain under him, stretching away into a blurred nothingness in every direction.

The bottom of the sea! He was living and breathing in the kingdom of the fishes … and, dare he admit, mermaids and all of Neptune's creatures? Kydd held his breath at the stark wonder of it, and knew he would never forget the moment as long as he lived.

Descending slowly he saw it take form and colour – a drab silty undersea moorland with the bulk of rocks protruding from the side, covered with the green and brown of sea-growths and in the central plain suggestive hummocks and rises as far as the eye could see.

Almost in a panic as the seabed rose quickly in the last few feet he remembered to tug the cord to indicate lowering was to stop.

The barrel ceased its descent abruptly and he was left suspended and swaying gently just a foot or two clear of the ground. He saw his hands reach out – and touch the bottom. He could feel it: soft silt that rose up in clouds and within it a hard object – but it was only a small shellfish that promptly clamped shut in his fingers.

A crab scuttled indignantly away and Kydd's fears fled in the enchantment. He reached for another lump to one side and felt the whole diving engine obediently rotate to conform to his desires. He found it possible to pull himself along a yard or two, giving increasing manoeuvrability. In rising excitement he oriented himself – over there dimly was the
darker bulk of the nearer buttress of the cave rearing up. Scrabbling around, he saw the suggestion of another: he must be exactly where they had planned, in the slight gradient down from the wreck.

If the contents had been washed out of the ship over the centuries they had to be here. Any one of the many bumps and irregularities in the muddy silt could be …

Kydd clamped a hold on himself: he was there to do a job. He would begin at this spot, work over to the left then up a yard or two and return across, making his way up to the wreck.

A subliminal movement – a flash in the strange half-light. Primeval fears slammed in until he spotted a small shoal of fish flitting past the rocks. Spellbound, he watched their synchronised swooping and darting.

Back to work, damn it!

He addressed himself to the first likely lump, feeling its hardness, an irregular length. He fumbled in the tool net slung under him for the pick. The concretion yielded and he caught the dull brown of what could only be man-made iron. It had no value but he stuffed it into his finds net. It would be his souvenir of a lifetime. Another, close by. It was rounder and set slightly deeper in a cranny. It wouldn't come away and he teased all around it with the pick, panting at the effort.

It was worth it: waving aside the turbid cloud he saw a dull gleam and attached to it a dark rod of some kind – and then its form yielded itself. In a delirium of joy he touched the remains of a rapier of the Spanish kind of centuries past.

The encrusted blade bent and lost its concretions as he worried it clear of a crevice and then he held it before him
in reverence. Barely recognisable, but for all that a stunning confirmation of their purpose. Feverishly he stuffed it into the finds net and moved on, sweating with excitement.

An unmistakable semi-circle protruded up, and more work in the cloudy water revealed a pewter plate, battered and worn, with crude engraving that he couldn't make out.

Panting deeply, he rested for a moment, ears ringing. The inside of the barrel was running with condensation, puddling not far from his chin and it was getting difficult to breathe.

It was time to surface.

Three quick tugs on the cord and he was smartly yanked away from the magical scene.

The barrel broke surface into blinding sunlight and swung about dizzily as the crew hastened to bring him up with the boat. By now he was panting in shallow gasps, desperate for air, his whole being in need. If they forgot the procedures he was done for.

Kydd felt panic build as the stuffy air gave up its last vitality and he saw the deck of
Maid
slide past as at a distance. There was activity: knocks, thumps, scrapes. Then the round port under his chin fell away, the water gurgled past, and into his prison came cool, fresh life. Thrusting his mouth crudely over the opening he drew in huge gulps of air, hanging there in a delirium of relief.

The larger port above his head was next and the nozzle of a bellows was thrust in and applied, forcing more of the precious coolness inside. He pulled back from the opening and lay exhausted as the last of the water trickled away.

There were faint shouts outside. They'd found the articles in the net and were joyously celebrating. And so they should, Kydd thought weakly. It was working: not only had they entered the magic realm but had found what they were looking for.

After a few minutes he became aware that Stirk was bending under to see into the glass eyes. He caught sight of Kydd, who winked at him. In huge relief the big sailor spoke into the port. ‘We saw what ye found, cully!' he hailed, in humble admiration. ‘How do y' feel?'

Kydd was suffering nausea brought on by the rapid change in air conditions and replied in a voice he hardly recognised as his own, ‘Leave me to rest for a few minutes, Toby, there's a good fellow.'

‘Tom, does ye want t' get out?'

One half of him was desperate to escape his confinement but the other yearned to slip back to his newly discovered undersea world. ‘No, I'll be down again shortly.' This time he'd make damn sure he watched for the signs of his air giving out.

Kydd managed two more dives, staying in the engine as it was refreshed on the surface.

When he was below he had no idea of the weather conditions above but knew that Stirk would never risk anything. Then he realised that the gentle up-and-down motion on the seabed was the boat's rising and falling with the waves; it was slight, which indicated continued balmy summer weather.

Punctiliously, he worked his way crossways up the slope. His little haul grew, and with it the likelihood that, sooner or later, he would make the big find. It was astonishing how many relics of familiar life at sea were scattered around: combs, buckles, common oil lamps, spoons, trinkets, carpenter's tools. He didn't bother putting these in the net and went after the larger, more suggestive lumps.

By the end of the afternoon he was exhausted, his nose
bled and he had a ferocious headache. But undoubtedly they were closing in.

The prize find came unexpectedly. While he was extricating what was probably a navigational instrument an irregular lump instantly caught his eye: a glint of gold! It was heavy and he quickly recognised it: two doubloons welded into an encrusted mass of silver coins.

At dusk, it was time to return home for the day. As
Maid of Lorne
, followed by
Aileen G
, entered the bay they saw that the little waterfront was crowded with people. More were coming down the steep road from the village. Faintly the skirl of bagpipes could be heard on the air, and lights gleamed in every house. This was a welcome!

News was quickly shouted across as willing hands took their lines, and then it was off to the White Lion in a ferment of elation to hear the details. Mr Paine was cheered as the hero of the hour, and in the bedlam his fatigue and headache fled.

An embarrassment of ladies clustered around him with wide eyes as he tried to tell of the magic allure of an undersea world, and the moment he had held gold that had last known a Spanish nobleman's hands. He spoke guardedly of his hopes for the treasure chest itself – after all, if the little baubles he'd found had survived it couldn't be that far off.

A glowering fisherman had to be reassured that the diving engine was not about to put him out of business – he couldn't see how Kydd, right there in the middle of the fish, wouldn't simply reach out and snatch them one by one as they passed.