Twenty Trillion Leagues Under the Sea (20 page)

He locked his gaze with the ensign, and began to speak. But as the words emerged, there flashed upon Lebret’s inner eye a vivid image of the scowling captain, struggling with him upon his bunk. He recalled the feeling of the small pistol discharging his hands, and the abrupt stiffening and twitching backwards.

‘I am innocent of murder,’ he said.

Billiard-Fanon nodded slowly, and stepped back. ‘He’s lying,’ he said, and then, once again, for the benefit of the assembled audience, ‘He’s lying!’

‘Of course he is,’ growled Pannier. ‘Does anyone doubt it?’

16

SENTENCE

Lebret took a breath. ‘Listen to me, everybody,’ he said, in a loud voice. ‘Is this truly what you choose? This insanity? I am the only person on board the
Plongeur
who can ensure we all get back safe to port. Only I!’

This announcement had a gratifying effect. Nobody contradicted it; and as Lebret cast his gaze about he could see on the face of several of the sailors that they believed him.

‘And what assurances can you provide,’ Billiard-Fanon demanded, ‘that you can truly do this thing?’

‘I do not pretend to be a saint,’ said Lebret. ‘But I am no
traitor –
and most of all I
am
the only person who even begins to understand the nature of the place in which we find ourselves. I say only this: let me help you. Hold off your trial and sentence until we are docked again. Then, by all means, stand me before a court martial, convened upon French soil and presided over by a French judge, to arraign me for what I have done. But until that time
you need me –
you need me alive.’

‘He has a point,’ muttered Capot. ‘Does he? Does he have a point?’

‘If you believe him,’ countered Le Petomain.

‘And why should we believe him?’ snarled Pannier. ‘He’s the kind of treacherous dog would promise to rescue a comrade from a drowning room and then abandon him to his fate.’

Sensing an advantage, however slim, Lebret pressed, ‘I do not ask you to like, or even trust me. Judge me by how effectively I
can guide you through this place. Because,’ he repeated, playing his trump card again, ‘only I have any idea of what we’re dealing with.’

‘You didn’t help when the cuttlefolk attacked our vessel!’ Pannier called.

‘I don’t pretend to know everything,’ Lebret agreed. ‘But I know something. Which is more than any of you can say!’

‘No,’ said Billiard-Fanon, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t trust you, Monsieur. Put ourselves in your hands? Who’s to say you won’t navigate the
Plongeur
straight into the heart of one of these undersea suns, and kill us all?’

‘I know how to get us home …’ Lebret insisted.

‘At least let’s discuss this,’ suggested Le Petomain. ‘Put him back in his cell, and
test
what he says. Get him to explain this place, whatever it is, and test what he says against observations. That way we can ascertain how useful he will be to us.’

Capot and Jhutti nodded at this. Pannier stared at the wall in disgust. Billiard-Fanon seemed to ponder the variables. Then he straightened his spine. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m in charge now. I have passed sentence.’

He lifted the pistol, and pointed it at Lebret’s head.

‘Wait!’ Lebret cried, his mouth wide, his eyes bulging.

Billiard-Fanon pulled the trigger and shot Lebret in the mouth.

Lebret’s head snapped backward in a splash of vivid red. He lurched, flying back, hitting the angled wall with a thud.

In the enclosed space the retort of the pistol’s blast was ear-stunningly loud. It left a residual tinnitus whine in the hearing of those present. Ghatwala shrieked in surprise. Pannier grinned. Billiard-Fanon flipped his left hand up to grab at the punchy recoil of the weapon, and stop the gun jumping out of his hands.

There was a loud gong-like chime, and a serpentine hissing sound.

Billiard-Fanon yelled with joy. ‘Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy!’ he cried.

‘You’ve breached the hull!’ shouted Le Petomain, in horror.

The look of triumph froze on the ensign’s face. He looked round
– it was true. The bullet had pierced not only Lebret’s head and the wall of the mess, but the outer hull of the
Plongeur
too. A thin spike of water protruded in through the gap, spraying droplets in every direction. Everybody stared at it, horrified. The water died away. There was a gulping sound, and the jet started up again. A thick mist of water roiled around the mess.

‘What have you
done
?’ Le Petomain shrieked.

‘Plug it!’ yelled Castor.

Capot began to clamber down from his vantage towards the point of the breach, but Billiard-Fanon was closest. He stepped awkwardly over Lebret’s body and tried to scrabble up the sloping wall to where the hole was. But the wall was slippery-wet, and he made no progress.

Capot got to him. ‘Tiny little pinhole,’ Billiard-Fanon announced, in a loud, brittle voice. ‘A strip of chewing gum would block it … give me a leg-up, Capot.’

‘It’s gone straight through the outer hull,’ yelled Castor.

Billiard-Fanon was lifted closer towards the breach. It was alternately spurting out water and sucking back, almost as if alive and breathing – or at least sputtering. ‘It’s,’ he said, bringing his eye up to it.

Then something quite unexpected happened. A claw poked through the hole, and pulled upwards, tearing the metal as easily as if it had been paper.

Billiard-Fanon yelled with sheer terror, and fell from Capot’s supporting hold. He banged his spine against the edge of one of the angled tables, rolled off, and fell into the V of wall-and-floor next to Lebret’s body. He was screaming ‘the devil, the devil!’

‘What was it?’ yelled Pannier.

‘I didn’t see—’

‘The breach,’ Castor boomed. ‘It’s a rip – it’s a tear—’

‘The devils! They’re outside, trying to get in!’ howled Billiard-Fanon, writhing in the metal cleft.

Le Petomain was already clambering up to the mess hatch. ‘Out of here,’ he called. ‘Everybody! Before the whole panel gives way and this space floods completely.’

The other sailors needed no further encouragement. Even Castor, who was calling out ‘We can mend it!’ nevertheless scrabbled up the sloping floor and out through the hatch.

‘The water is scorching me!’ screamed Billiard-Fanon, struggling to get to his knees, his face contorted with terror – or pain. His eyes were tight shut. ‘It’s the
opposite
of holy water! The unholy water – that burns me! Burns me! The devils!’

The water was certainly swirling about the space as if possessed; although none of the other men remarked upon its heat. But the uncanny motion of the fluid filled their hearts with fear.

Le Petomain had already leapt through the hatch, and away from there. Pannier bundled Ghatwala through and Jhutti was not far behind.

‘Don’t leave me!’ Billiard-Fanon yelled. ‘Capot – I hurt my back when I fell.’

Water was surging into the mess now, through the enlarged breach. It flew around in a diabolic frenzy like a monsoon rainstorm. The claw, or beak, was no longer visible – if it had ever been there. But whether the claw had been a real phenomenon or a hallucination, something non-human had certainly expanded the hole.

Capot put his shoulder under Billiard-Fanon’s armpit, and helped the ensign to his feet. Together they used the bolted-down tables and chairs as a stairway to climb up towards the hatch. Jhutti on the far side, was leaning through, his arm out. ‘Come on! Come on!’ he called.

‘The devils,’ Billiard-Fanon wept, struggling upward. ‘They’re all about the ship! They want to break in! A cursed vessel, a haunted vessel … we must pray to God! Let us pray!’

‘I pray you to shut up,’ grunted Capot, shrugging the ensign’s body through the hatch. He climbed up after and through. Jhutti slammed the hatch door shut, and spun the wheel to lock it.

They were all wet. Billiard-Fanon lay on his back, sodden, moaning. ‘The devils, the devils!’

‘What were you
thinking
?’ Le Petomain shouted at him.
‘Discharging your pistol inside the vessel like that? What were you
thinking
?’

But Billiard-Fanon was laughing, now; and there was a maniac in the laugh.

17

WHO’S IN COMMAND?

They all struggled through to the bridge. The entire vessel shook and rolled suddenly, spinning ninety-degrees and more. Everybody lost their footing and fell. ‘The devils!’ yelled Billiard-Fanon, as the seven men tumbled and fell against the sides. ‘They spin us and roll us – but they cannot snatch our souls!’

‘Take the gun away from him!’ Jhutti urged Le Petomain. ‘He has lost his mind.’

The
Plongeur
bucked, abruptly, and all seven men fell again. As they struggled to get back to their feet Le Banquier glanced over at Billiard-Fanon. The latter read his intent. ‘No you don’t, Monsieur pilot.
I
am in command and I won’t stand for any insubordination!’ He brought the gun up. Ghatwala yelled out in alarm.

The
Plongeur
rolled yet again, and the seven men tumbled and sprawled. Several of them shouted in pain. The fabric of the vessel trembled and made terrifying hooting and keening noises. Grinning, Billiard-Fanon picked himself from the mass of bodies. ‘They are all about us – the devils are all about us!’ He aimed the gun at Le Petomain, as if to shoot him, but just at that moment the
Plongeur
shook with an earthquake motion, and rolled again – back again. Everybody fell. Billiard-Fanon’s arm struck the edge of a bank of equipment and he yelped. The pistol fell from his hand.

‘Though I walk through the valley of death …’ howled Billiard-Fanon. ‘Rejoice not against me, o mine enemy!’ He lurched towards where the gun had fallen, but the
Plongeur
rolled again, and the
gun clattered chimingly upon the metal of the bridge’s control panels.

The vessel shook once more, but then – finally – it settled, having rolled through a quarter-turn. The walls were now the floor, the seats and controls of the bridge projecting from the wall.