“How the devil’re we going to convince the captain and officers of this ship of anything from down here in this cave?” asked Thomas, his cynicism of earlier having returned full-blown.
“We need to locate the brig,” said Ransom.
“The brig? What the hell for?” Thomas shot back, their voices bouncing off the iron walls here. Only dimly lit, the corridor might as well be an underground cavern save for the sound of rushing seawater against Titanic’s outer hull.
“If you recall, Thomas, it was while we were in that cage that we heard the barking of dogs; I suspect that Retriever is back in his holding cell, and I mean to get control of that animal. To start our search of the ship for Burnsey and Davenport—or rather their remains.”
Declan nodded. “Excellent plan, and once we have an actual person killed by this thing and dissected before O’Laughlin and Captain Smith’s eyes, they can’t possibly laugh us off, Thomas.”
“How far do you suppose we are from Queenstown?” asked Thomas.
“Wishing now you’d gotten off when I told you to?”asked Ransom.
“Hell no! I just want some idea of how far, so that when they decide to turn the ship around… I know how far before we reach port.”
“I suspect we’ve been running at between 18 and 21knots, Thomas, so even if Smith miraculously turned Titanic for Queenstown, it would take perhaps seventeen, maybe eighteen hours.”
“And every hour we go further into the North Atlantic, the more isolated we are with this thing aboard,” added Ransom. “I wish to God you lads had disembarked at Queenstown and left this to me.”
“What would you do without us?” joked Thomas and their laughter echoed down the chamber they traversed.
“Are you quite sure we are pointed in the right direction, Alastair?” asked Declan.
“No… not entirely, no.”
They shared more laughter as it was the only tonic they had at the moment. But Alastair suddenly shushed the boys. “Some men ahead! Step in here!”
A group of four or five raucous, back-slapping stokers, looking as if they were going off shift, passed within inches of Ransom and the lads, who’d taken refuge, backs to a wall in an alcove. Their niche hideaway was painted in black shadow.
The stokers moved on, swearing as they went. Ransom’s party then moved on as well, but in the opposite direction. Here they passed successive giant coal bins the size of buildings; these bins alternated with huge boiler after boiler. There were more and fresher stokers feeding each boiler, their muscles, backs, and shovels in rhythm, keeping them far too busy to notice the trio walking among them.
Soon they found a stairwell that took them up to a catwalk, and below them squatted the mightiest and largest turbine engine any of them had ever seen. It was breathtakingly large, giving them all pause. “What a marvel of invention; how far we have come, eh lads?” Ransom swallowed hard.
Moving past the giant turbine, they saw the towering four reciprocating engines—gigantic monsters that dwarfed the turbine engine.
“I have no idea how we got to this side of the ship,” said Declan, “but it feels to me like we’re going in circles.”
Engineers passed them on the catwalk, one stopping them to tell them that no passengers were allowed in this section of the ship.
“We’ve come down to find our pets in the holding area but seem to’ve gotten ourselves hopelessly lost,” lied Ransom. “Can you point us in the right direction?”
The man smiled and then quick-sketched a map that would take them back to where they needed to be. “There’ll be a stairwell right here,” he marked it with an X, “that puts you back on the deck you want to be. Now please, out of this area, gents.”
The trio soon found familiar territory, the area of the cargo holds where they had been detained. “No one will be looking for us here,” Ransom remarked.
“Damned if I don’t hear barking—the dogs,” added Declan.
“Thank goodness!” Thomas wiped his brow. “I thought we’d be lost down here forever.”
Ransom checked his watch. “They’ll be having breakfast served in the third class dining saloon just above us here, boys. What say you? Are you game for a meal before we go to work?”
“First things first,” balked Declan. “We need to know if the Retriever is down here with us.”
They found the holding pen for the animals. Water bowls freshly filled, tell-tale signs that the animals were being tended to on a regular basis. Someone was coming down from time to time to feed and care for them all.
The place was a cacophony of noise, enough to get on the nerves of anyone with hearing, but for the time being, the trio proved the only creatures moving on two legs here.
“Do you see him?”
“Where’s that damn dog?”
“There he is!” said Ransom. “The same as we saw on deck, Varmint, I heard him called.”
“Look here, Constable,” came a voice from behind them. He’s a good dog and neither he nor I want any trouble.” It was the dog’s peg-legged old master. He’d been in deep shadow and only materialized now. “Varmint’s been agitated enough for one day. Now you leave ’im alone.” The old man held a broad serrated knife on them.
“How’d you get him aboard?” asked Declan, petting the animal though the bars. Varmint reacted calmly to Declan’s touch.
“I come down to keep my dog company and to feed him. They won’t allow Varmint back on deck, but he gets agitated. Other day when I freed ‘im, well… I saw how upset he was, downright fear in his old eyes there was! Someone had to’ve been mistreatin’ me dog, I decided. Got mad, I did. Well then I thought to give him some air, so… He’s an old fella, you see—like… well, like me.”
“Agitated eh?” asked Ransom. He turned to the lads and near whispered, “Wonder if he’s gotten a whiff of that thing we’re chasing.”
“Thing you’re chasing?”
“Rats!” said Thomas in a knee-jerk reaction to the old man.
Ransom countered this with, “We need your dog to hunt down a… a missing person… for us, Mr. Farley.”
“A missing person aboard ship?”
“It’s a big ship, sir,” replied Declan.
Ransom asked, “Is your Varmint… is he any good at sniffing out bad odors?”
“He’ll show ya how smart he is. Catch every rat aboard Titanic, he will. I warrant it’s true! How much’re ye willing to pay?”
“Send a bill to the Belfast Royal Constabulary care of Belfast, Ireland. It’ll get there. I’ll sign it to authenticate your claim.”
“You gotta be joshing! An IOU? Do I look like a man who takes IOU?”
“You can name your price, Mr. ahhh…”
“Farley, Robert Eugene Farley. You say I can name my price?”
“You set the price, Mr. Farley.”
“Well now you’re talkin’, Constable.”
“Good… good then, and if you don’t mind lowering that pig sticker, I’d be obliged.”
Farley frowned at he knife he’d forgotten was in his hand. “Took me for a good fall up on deck, Constable, when you snatched my pine leg out from under.” He reminded Ransom, pointing to his cane. “Sure a damn, pretty cane.”
“I’ll see to it you get a decent replacement leg when we disembark in New York.”
“Do I have your word on it?”
“My solemn word, yes, and hey, Mr. Farley, I am sorry about earlier—tripping you up, taking advantage of your leg.”
Farley scrunched his face. “Not even my leg. Won it in a poker game. Still, it serves me well.”
“You remind me of a fellow in Chicago who was my snitch, Old Bosch… had a wooden leg like yours in fact, but the man could disappear in a wisp. Worked the streets for me, he did.”