“Coal for the furnace ignited—we suspect one of those spontaneous ignitings that occur from time to time, sir, “Lightoller volunteered. “Something to do with the chemical combustion, natural processes. It’s beyond me, but as they chuck out the coal, the embers will be found and extinguished—of that you can be sure.”
“So what’s being done?” asked Smith.
“Can’t do anything but close off the section, which shuts off two auxiliary furnaces in that area, sir.”
“Why am I just hearing of this now? You realize this means we can never get her up to 24 knots.”
“Well sir, I do sir, yes, but the firemen have had no luck with it; bloody smoke—pardon me language, sir—the smoke is too thick.”
“I see.”
“Some believe Davenport may be inside there—choked to death, sir.”
“Her maiden voyage and she’s fast becoming a ragged whore,” muttered Smith to no one in particular. “An expensive as hell whore but a whore, nonetheless.”
TWENTY SEVEN
Belowdecks, Constable Alastair Ransom, Declan Irvin, and Thomas Coogan looked over their shoulders and worked to catch a breath amid the crowd of second class passengers who strolled about the steerage deck, many at the portals that ran along every bulkhead; on this deck there were areas open to the sea at stern and bow but not elsewhere, not like the promenades of first class overhead. As a result, the over-booked, crowded lower decks made for a good place to hide in plain sight and with their clothes and appearance, the detective and the interns fit right in, so much so that it was unlikely they’d be recognized by anyone but those who had acted as their jailers, primarily Murdoch, Lightoller, and two crewmen.
The trio made their way to the aft open deck, all of them feeling ambivalent at this point over their latest decision; they’d been given the opportunity to gracefully exit from Titanic—an escape rather. They could have done so by getting off at Queenstown with the lady that their jailers were laughing about, someone named Mrs. Krizefieldt, her bird, her belongings, and her husband. It would have been so easy to have thrown up their hands and just left, but Alastair was not having any of it. He’d encouraged the boys to do just that—go along peacefully with the burly but unarmed pair of crewmen escorting them and find their way back home to Belfast, return to school, get their education, meet wonderful future wives, have children—lots of them—and a practice as surgeons, hell… just live a long and prosperous life. When they’d first got word of the captain’s plan to set them ashore in Queenstown they’d discussed it there in their cell. They had but moments to decide, so Alastair decided for them. “You two go along peaceably… get to the top deck and follow Captain Smith’s orders. This is a death ship. Save yourselves.”
Declan had asked, “What about you?”
“I’m going to make a break for it, try to uncover this thing aboard the way we uncovered it back in Belfast, rub Smith’s face in it so that he will understand that this thing is real, and that it is freely operating aboard his ship, killing as it goes, and—”
“What’re you bloody going on about, guv’ner?” asked one of the jailers who’d come to escort them to the waiting lifeboat Murdoch had told them about. Alastair turned away from his fellow prisoners and addressed both jailers. “We’ve tried to warn your captain; there’s a horrible plague aboard this ship that’s already killed one man that we know of… died a horrible death right here before our eyes last night. Man was mad with it, clawing his way into the cage to get at us, and this thing is attempting to reproduce itself here now aboard Titanic.”
“It’s the black plague and smallpox combined!” declared Declan, rushing the barred door.
It was all the two superstitious sailors needed to hear. It shook these men to their core to hear the word plague aboard.
“Are ye not missing two fellow crewmen?”
“No, we’re not!”
“Stokers—two of the black gang’ve disappeared!” insisted Ransom.
“Isn’t it true?” asked Declan.
“Are there not two men gone from among you?” shouted Thomas, hands raised.
“One a young lad named Burnsey,” added Declan.
“The other a tall gaunt fellow,” added Ransom, “with red iron for hair and rings on every finger?”
“You’ve seen Davenport?” asked one of the crewmen, slapping the other on the arm. “They’ve seen Davenport, Gil!”
“He’s missing all right,” said the other man who unlocked the cell door and bowed with a wave, actions meant to mock them. “Now gentlemen, cause us no trouble; captain wants you topside, he does. Come along. Davenport and Burnsey—they’re the captain’s problem, not ours!”
“But I tell you the man was mad with the disease,” countered Ransom, stopping before this crewman. “You men are at risk. Your captain is putting you all at risk of death not to heed us.”
“No one’s to speak badly of Captain Smith, you!” shouted the second crewman.
“Do you think when all hell breaks loose on this ship and people are dropping like flies from the plague that your captain up top is going to be concerned about you down here?”
“Plague, you say again—and are ye stickin’ to that story?” asked the stouter, shorter of the two crewmen.
“It’s the truth, you fools! Every bit of it!” cried Ransom, intentionally unnerving the two big crewmen.
“It’s no wonder that old girl wants off the ship!” said the first crewman.
Declan and Thomas watched as Ransom expertly continued the plan to unsettle these two. “Why do you think I brought two doctors with me when I boarded, eh?” asked Ransom. “This is Dr. Irvin, and this Dr. Coogan, and I suppose your captain didn’t tell you that I am a Belfast constable, or that we three have chased this disease from Belfast to here—and now your shipmates, Burnsey and Davenport are dead while your captain scoffs at us.”
“If it’s true, Jeff,” said the taller of the two crewmen, “we’re pur’t-near the bottom rung here, a cut above the stokers.”
“It’s a big if,” countered Jeff with an unconvincing wobble to his voice. “I mean Mr. Murdoch and Mr. Lightoller said this fellow Ransom is a sly one, and we’re to give no quarter.”
“I thought he said no credence; to give no notice to what he says.”
“Aye, that too.”
“But if they saw Davenport out of his head with black plague, we could be next.”
Declan and Coogan boarded the lift ahead of Alastair, and as the two crewmen continued to speak of one another’s misgivings as they herded the trio of prisoners to the lift, the pair didn’t expect the affable Alastair to turn and blow a handful of finely ground coffee into their eyes.
Alastair followed up with a second complete surprise to the blinded duo and to the young doctors. Spinning his cane in hand and allowing it to slide through his fingers so that the wolf’s head was at ground level, he hooked it behind the foot of the taller crewman, stepped into him with an outstretched stiff arm, and sent him to his backside all in one fell swoop. The boys marveled at seeing Ransom in action, seeing the unsuspecting man toppled by his bear-like prisoner.
The second crewman faired even worse than his now unconscious friend as Ransom weaved expertly on his feet to the right and threw himself then to the left. Using his considerable weight against his stockier opponent, Ransom slammed the big fellow hard into the steel doorframe of the lift—sending the boys backing into one corner. The thud made such a horrible noise that Declan imagined the skull-buster must be resounding throughout the ship. With evident planning for the next blow, Ransom pulled back with his wolf’s head cane, and whacked the crewman in the back of the head even as the jailer slid down the doorframe.