Veronica regarded the jump with trepidation. Then, shrugging, she fixed her eyes on Newbury, bent her knees and leapt forward. In her haste she nearly overshot, but Newbury was able to catch her firmly, staggering back a few paces before setting her down beside him. Their faces were only inches apart. He could hear her ragged breath. "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
There was a choking sound from deep beneath them, fol owed by a long, mechanical purr. The Methuselah began to gently vibrate. Newbury's and Veronica's eyes met. "He's started the engines.
He must have heard us. We need to move, fast. If he dives, we're done for. We need to get inside."
Newbury moved quickly. He shot around the deck, searching out the hatch that would al ow them both access to the decks below. It was nothing but a round hole in the decking, covered by a thick metal lip and a rubber seal. Crouching, Newbury ran his fingers around the edge of it until he had located the catch. He pulled it free, and the metal plate eased open on a creaking hinge, revealing a steel ladder that disappeared into the shadowy depths below.
Veronica stepped forward. "I'll go first."
Newbury shook his head. "No, Miss Hobbes. I'll go first." His voice was firm.
Swinging himself down, his feet catching on the metal rungs, he began his swift descent of the ladder. Moments later, Veronica fol owed suit, pul ing the hatch closed behind her. Their feet echoed in the confined space as they climbed.
Below, they found themselves in a smal antechamber, which branched off in three different directions. The decor was functional, at best; the walls and doorways consisted of grey, featureless steel. Everything was quiet, aside from the gentle slapping of the water against the sides of the boat.
There was a light, pleasant aroma, such as that of burning incense, lavender and rosemary.
Newbury looked around for something he could use as a weapon, but could find nothing. Giving up on that idea, he decided to fol ow his instincts. "This way." He whispered to Veronica, nodding towards the prow of the vessel. Cautiously, they edged their way through the smal opening, careful to ensure that their footsteps did not immediately give away their position. Newbury kept his back to the wal. They crept further into the depths of the ship.
The smal passageway terminated in an open doorway. Newbury peered through the opening.
On the other side of the bulkhead was the main cabin. It was a relatively small space, with a single bunk, a square table fixed to one wal, and another open hatchway, which he supposed led through to the control pit. The room was sparsely furnished, but nevertheless cluttered with books, jars and strange artefacts, in much the same manner as Newbury's Chelsea study, but filled also with the paraphernalia of normal life: clothes, a top hat, a pocket watch laid out on the table. The bedclothes were ruffled, slept in. This place, this boat – not only was it Knox's means of escape, it appeared also to be his home.
The scene on the floor told an even more bizarre tale. A large pentagram had been marked out with string, pinned to the floor within a large circle. Between each of the five points of the star lay a curled, aged fragment of papyrus, each of them covered in an inky black scrawl. These, Newbury presumed, were the contents of the ushabti figures that Knox had fought so hard to obtain. The last words of Khemosiri. The instructions for how to perform the Osiris Ritual.
At the centre of the pentagram were arranged three tall, glass phials, filled once again with the brown, brackish fluid that Knox had extracted from the brains of the women he had killed. Aside from this there was a jar of thick, gelatinous blood, the clay effigy of a man, rudely formed, and a leather-bound book which lay open to reveal bright, illuminated pages. There was no sign of Knox.
Gesturing silently to Veronica to fol ow, Newbury stepped careful y over the threshold, dipping his head careful y to avoid banging it on the bulkhead. He heard Veronica steal in behind him. "What now?" she whispered.
"Now, my dear Miss Hobbes, you listen to me." The voice was a familiar, sensuous purr. As if on cue, Aubrey Knox appeared in the doorway of the submersible's control pit. He was dressed in an immaculate black dinner suit and was wearing a scabbarded sword on his left hip. In his left hand, he bore a pistol, and his scarred left eye twinkled as he regarded the two investigators. His right hand was bandaged where Newbury had run it through at the theatre. He was about to launch into another oratory, when Newbury launched himself forward, carelessly trampling the delicately arranged ritual on the floor. He charged towards Knox with wild abandon, driven by a fiery passion for revenge. Grasping Knox's gun arm at the wrist, he twisted the weapon away from him whilst bringing his other fist down hard against the side of Knox's head. Knox had not expected such a bold move, and he floundered under the impact of the blow, his finger twitching, firing off a shot over his shoulder, which pinged off the toughened glass of the Methuselah's viewing port, causing a spidery crack to open in the glass.
"Fool!" Knox shouted as he kicked out at Newbury, catching him hard in the calf and causing his leg to buckle. Newbury stuttered backwards and Knox swung the gun round in a fierce arc, cracking the butt of the weapon into Newbury's temple. Pain ignited in Newbury's skul. Lights danced before his eyes. He tumbled to the ground, disorientated, unable to prevent his fal. Knox kicked him once more, this time hard in the gut, and then turned the pistol on Veronica. He pul ed the trigger.
There was a loud report, that seemed to echo throughout the entire ship, and Newbury rol ed to the side in horror to see blood spray in a wide arc from Veronica's back, spattering the wall as she screamed in pain, the front of her jacket stained by a spreading blot of crimson. She collapsed in a heap, whimpering with pain.
Numb with shock, Newbury turned to find himself staring down the barrel of Knox's gun. The rogue doctor was grinning. He didn't need to say anything; the look in his eyes did the gloating for him. Newbury knew he couldn't move in time. Knox's finger squeezed the trigger. The chamber clicked round in its housing.. .. and stopped. It must have jammed.
Newbury tried to scramble to his feet, but Knox struck out again, whacking him hard across the back of the head with the gun, before tossing it, frustrated, into the control pit. By this time the vessel was beginning its slow dive, and water was lapping at the bottom of the portholes. The crack, caused by the errant shot, was beginning to groan. Soon the water pressure would cause it to give in altogether, flooding the vessel with river water. It would sink like a stone.
Newbury needed, to get to Veronica. All he could think about was helping Veronica. But stars were stil dancing before his eyes. He shook his head. He heard footsteps. Knox was standing over him. "What a terrible disappointment." The former agent spat at him in disgust. Then more footsteps, fol owed by the sound of Knox mounting the ladder in the antechamber. Let the bastard get away. There would be more opportunities in the future. For now, he needed to get Veronica to safety before she bled to death or drowned. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his head spinning. He got to his feet, shakily, and crossed the cabin. Veronica lay unconscious, a dark pool of blood forming all around her. He hoped he wasn't already too late.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Groggily, Newbury stumbled across the lurching vessel towards Veronica. She was a mess.
There was blood everywhere, staining her clothes, spattered over her face, pooling on the deck beneath her. He stooped over her and she stirred, semi-conscious. He dropped to his knees, scooping her up and cradling her in his arms. "Oh, Veronica.. " He held her like that for a moment, his heart breaking. Then, suddenly realising that he needed to act, he stood, carrying her across to the daybed, where he propped her upright, trying to keep her wound higher than her heart.