Aubrey couldn't help but join in the laughter. It was hard not to, when someone was laughing at themselves so unselfconsciously.
Rokeby-Taylor cocked an ear. 'D'you hear those engines, Darius? Most modern diesels, they are, but wait until we switch to batteries. That's where our real advances are.'
George gripped the table. 'We're moving.'
Aubrey could feel it. The sound of the diesel engines increased until it was a deep, throaty pounding, enough to set off a thousand different rattles in the wardroom alone.
After half an hour the diesel engines changed their note.
They rose in pitch, turned almost to a thunder, before rumbling and then ceasing entirely. In its place was a deep hum, almost a whine, that set Aubrey's teeth on edge.
A bell rang and immediately the deck tilted beneath them.
George yelped, but caught himself before he fell off his chair. Rokeby-Taylor swayed for a second, but managed to stay upright. He looked proud of himself.
Aubrey held onto the table, his excitement rising. 'Here we go, then.'
'Interesting experience, isn't it?' Sir Darius said, raising his voice over the noise. 'Putting yourself totally in the hands of someone else.'
'Well, if we can't trust the navy,' George said, having recovered his balance, 'who can we trust?'
'I'm glad we have your confidence.' Captain Stephens appeared at the door, hands behind his back. 'The navy is here to serve, you know.'
'Shouldn't you be steering this thing?' George asked, staring.
'Lieutenant Stone, my First Mate, is at the helm. We're in good hands.'
The deck beneath their feet shifted again, then levelled. Aubrey noted how Captain Stephens altered his stance to accommodate the change in orientation, easily, without having to steady himself with a hand. It was an efficient, capable display of expertise.
'Everything running smoothly, Captain?' Sir Darius asked.
'Topnotch,' Captain Stephens said. 'I thought you might like tea once we'd reached our cruising depth.'
'Cruising depth,' Aubrey asked. 'How deep is that?'
'About ten fathoms. Deep enough to avoid enemy detection.'
'How do you find your way along when you're this deep?' George asked. 'Must be pretty murky out there.'
Captain Stephens stood back from the doorway and ushered in a steward with a tea tray. 'Pitch black. But we don't have any portholes anyway. We rely on compass headings and good charts. And we're trying out a new gadget, too.'
Rokeby-Taylor grimaced at this. 'I was saving that for a surprise.'
'Ah, more magic?' Sir Darius said.
'Partly,' Captain Stephens said. 'You should ask Atwood about it. Something to do with bouncing echoes off things. It's not working at one hundred percent efficiency as yet, but we're aiming to test it over the next few months.'
Rokeby-Taylor smiled broadly. Sir Darius glanced at him. 'What other surprises do you have for me?'
'Wait until you see the torpedo guidance system. It uses the Law of Similarities for targeting. Spectacular.'
Aubrey was alert at this but, before he could ask anything, the light overhead blinked. Then it flared a sudden blue-white before dwindling to a sickly yellow. At the same time an electrical roar came from the bow, a baleful hissing that Aubrey felt as much as heard. Suddenly, his breath was taken away as he was buffeted by a wave of complex magic. He clutched at his chest, struggling to breathe, and tried to make sense of what had struck him.
'Stay here,' Captain Stephens snapped, then bounded out of the door to the shrieking of a klaxon.
'I say,' George began, but stopped abruptly as the floor tilted again and the submersible began to plunge.
Immediately, Aubrey knew this was no controlled dive – test or not. The deck dropped away and it was suddenly like looking down the side of a tall building.
At that point, everyone scrabbled for handholds.
The klaxon continued, a harsh metallic braying that overrode a cacophony of shouting, rending and shattering. The chairs in the wardroom started to slide. Books fell from the shelves. The table was bolted to the floor, an island of solidity, but the tea service – cups, teapot, sugar bowl – crashed to the deck.
Aubrey had an awful instant where panic offered to take over; he decided that gibbering and running in circles probably wasn't going to be useful so he declined. His body had other thoughts, however. His heart accelerated, his breathing slipped straight into 'rapid and shallow' mode, his palms somehow decided that copious amounts of sweat might be useful when it came to clinging for his life, and his stomach tried to turn itself inside out in a demented effort not to be left out of the general uproar. Aubrey closed his eyes for a moment, gritted his teeth, and refused to surrender.
He clung to the table while his father wedged himself in the corner of the room. George had fetched up against the door. The walls around them shook. Deep, tortured groans came from deep in the bowels of the vessel, but these came from no human throat – they were the protests of the craft itself as its walls resisted the mounting pressure of the depths.
A colossal shock racked the submersible. Aubrey was thrown to the deck. He lay there, alert, his mind racing, wondering what was happening.
The next moment, the Electra was rocked by another immense impact, much greater than the first. Aubrey was hurled against the leg of the table. He gasped as he took the blow on his shoulder and bit back a cry of pain.
Then the lights went out.
Three
AFTER A MOMENT OF INTENSE, TERRIFYING DARKNESS, the electric light flickered and came on again. Dull orange, it wavered ominously.
His heart still racing, Aubrey tried to take stock. The deck seemed to have levelled. In the corners, piles of books, broken china, chairs. He saw his father, face down, arms spread.
Fear muscled panic aside. Then Sir Darius lifted his head and scanned the room. Relief nearly turned Aubrey's muscles to rubber. 'That second thump would have been the stern hitting the sea bed,' Sir Darius said. He rose – knees bent, arms away from his side, ready for any further shocks.
Aubrey helped George up. 'I wish they'd turn off that klaxon,' he said. It might help us hear if we're leaking or not.
George looked around uneasily, as if he expected the walls to collapse at any second. 'What happened?'
'Clive?' Sir Darius demanded. 'What's going on?'
Rokeby-Taylor stood and straightened his jacket. He licked his lips nervously. 'I have no idea.'
'Then let's gather some information,' Sir Darius said. A stream of sailors and officers stampeded past the open doorway. Sir Darius waited, then shot out an arm and seized a collar. The young officer squawked and Sir Darius guided him into the wardroom.
He was short, about as old as Aubrey, and his dark eyes were very, very fearful.
'What's going on?' Sir Darius demanded. 'Are we in danger?'