Word of Honour

'Sir, sorry, sir, I don't know. It's all hands to stations, so that's where I was going.'

'But what's happening?'

'The engines have stopped. Topper and Badger said there's been some sort of explosion. That's all I know. Please sir, I need to get to the torpedo bay.'

'Yes, of course,' Sir Darius said distantly. He let go of the young officer, who scampered out the door.

'What happens now?' George asked. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, ran his fingers through his hair and finally jammed them in the pockets of his jacket. Aubrey had rarely seen his friend so anxious, but when he thought about what lay only inches away, he decided George had a right to be concerned.

'Not being an expert in submersible engineering, there's not much I can do,' Sir Darius said. 'What about you, Aubrey?'

'Now, Darius,' Rokeby-Taylor said, 'this isn't the time to panic.'

Sir Darius speared him with a look. 'Clive, your machine may have stranded us at the bottom of the sea. If you don't have any constructive advice, don't interrupt me while I talk to someone who may be able to help.'

Rokeby-Taylor opened his mouth, then shrugged. 'As you wish.'

Captain Stephens appeared at the door to the wardroom, frowning. He had a smear of grease on one cheek. 'No injuries?'

Sir Darius shook his head impatiently. 'What's going on, Captain? Are we in danger?'

'Well, we've lost our batteries and our air won't last forever.'

'That sounds like "in danger" to me,' George muttered.

'Lieutenant Atwood's been badly injured. We need someone with magical skills.'

'Aubrey is your man, then,' Sir Darius said. 'And what about you, Clive?'

'I'm rusty, but I'll see what I can do.'

'Both of you,' Captain Stephens said. 'Quickly. This way.'

George and Sir Darius went to accompany them, but Captain Stephens shook his head. 'It's a mess down there, I'm afraid. Not much room at the best of times, but now, you're better off here.'

Sir Darius nodded. 'We don't want to be nuisances. Be careful, Aubrey.'

Aubrey turned, moved by his father's concern and confidence. He sought for words, but finally settled for holding up a hand in acknowledgement before hurrying after Captain Stephens.

At first, as they struggled through the crowded passageways, Aubrey thought the submersible was in a state of chaos. Men charged pell-mell, dragging ropes and chains or carrying crates. Orders boomed off metal bulkheads. Painful hammering echoed along the walkways. But he soon realised that the expressions of the sailors were tense, not panicked. They were the faces of trained men going about their duties in extreme circumstances.

Just the sort we need if we go to war, Aubrey thought. When we go to war.

Aubrey was buffeted as they hurried along, but he gamely kept right at Captain Stephen's shoulder. Finally they reached a hatch.

Inside, the electric lights were sputtering. A pale, lambent glow ran across the banks of switches and dials. Steam whistled from a pinprick in a pipe to Aubrey's left. The whole room was overlaid with a throat-scratching burnt smell, while a faint magical residue set Aubrey's senses jangling.

Along one wall, metal straps hung loose on dozens of tall, narrow compartments, like doorless closets.

'The batteries.' Rokeby-Taylor pointed. His face was deathly white. 'Where are they?'

'I said we'd lost them,' Captain Stephens said. 'It's exactly what I meant.'

LIEUTENANT ATWOOD WAS STRETCHED OUT ON A TABLE. He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, and the entire left side of his uniform was scorched. He was tended by a brawny gunner's mate, who was strapping his leg with surprisingly gentle hands.

'Atwood,' Captain Stephens said, softly.

Atwood raised himself on one elbow. His gaze drifted across Aubrey's face, then rolled back again, as if he were hard to focus on. 'I never wanted to go to sea, you know,' he said in conversational tones. Then his eyelids dropped and his head fell. It was only the quick reactions of the gunner's mate that stopped his skull from bouncing on the bare metal table.

'No help there, I'm afraid,' Captain Stephens said to Aubrey and Rokeby-Taylor. 'Any suggestions?'

'I've been in a submersible for less than an hour,' Aubrey said, 'and you're asking me what to do?'

'I hate to say it, but it looks as though it's magic that's the problem, not the submersible,' the captain said. 'The machine is sound, but there's nothing to propel it.'

Rokeby-Taylor glanced angrily at the empty racks. 'How could they just disappear?'

Aubrey needed more information. 'Captain, what would you do if the problem weren't magic?

Captain Stephens rubbed his chin. 'The batteries power the electric motors that propel us while we're under the water. They power the pumps, too, so that means we're in real trouble.'

'Why do we need pumps? We don't seem to have sprung a leak.'

'A submersible rises and dives because of buoyancy. When we pump more water into the buoyancy tanks, we dive. When we pump water out, we rise.'

'Like a dirigible.'

'Just like a dirigible. Except when an airship loses buoyancy, it crashes to the ground. We sink to the bottom of the sea.' He touched his cheek, found grease on the end of his fingers and looked at it quizzically. 'I don't know which I'd prefer.'

Aubrey could almost feel the weight of the water outside, pressing on the thin shell of the submersible. Black, dense and cold. He shuddered.

'But what happened to the batteries?' he demanded. 'They couldn't just disappear.'

'That's just what happened,' Captain Stephens said. 'Atwood was fiddling with them, inspecting them, whatever he does. A flash of light, a crack like thunder that knocked me off my feet, and suddenly Atwood's on fire and the batteries are gone.'

'Impossible,' Rokeby-Taylor muttered.

'What about the diesel engines?' Aubrey asked Captain Stephens. 'Can't we run them and pump the water out?'

'Can't run diesel engines underwater. Not enough air for them and the exhaust would kill us.'

'So we need to power the pumps with no batteries.' Aubrey felt the increasing horror that comes from having only a few possible outcomes – and none of them favourable. 'Muscle power?'

'All hands to the pumps? Sorry, we left that behind when we moved from sails to steam.'

Aubrey looked up, then he had it. 'The lights. Where are they getting their power from?'

'Good thought, but pointless, I'm afraid. It's a separate battery system. Small. Nowhere near powerful enough to shift the pumps or the motors. And they won't last long.'

'I see. Just because I'm curious,' Aubrey said, 'how many submersibles have been rescued in a situation like this?'

'In the Albion fleet, or worldwide?'

'Worldwide.'