Episode 116: But Can They Make The Trains Run On Time?
"Would anyone care for some tea?" asked Jenkins.
"After you, gentlemen," said Captain Everett, nodding to his companions.
They'd gathered in the mess hall of the Flying Cloud, where he'd
called a meeting to review what they'd discovered. Outside the
windows, the scene shifted slowly, first one way then the other, as the
vessel swung from her mooring. A small island schooner had just cleared
the harbor and was standing out to sea. The captain studied it as his
signalman filled the cups, then turned to address the room.
"We have several new clues," he observed. "I believe itís time to see if
we can fit some together. Mister Iverson, would you care to summarize what
you and Miss Sarah learned here on Efate?"
"It appears that the German nationalists visited this place early in June,"
said the lieutenant. "According to an American couple we met in the hills,
they arrived by ship -- one imagines this was either the Duck or
the Inselmšdchen -- and asked around the port about a Ďlarge
airshipí that sounds very much like our mysterious cruiser."
"This suggests they knew about the vessel long before it attacked us," said
"I suppose we shouldnít be surprised," mused Everett. "There seems to be
some connection between that craft and this one. I wonder what it is."
"There was also a party of Englishmen, sometime in May, who represented
themselves as glassmakers," the lieutenant continued. "They were searching
for a mineral that sounds suspiciously like uraninite."
Everett raised his eyebrows. "In May? That would have been before the
Germans intercepted Karlov's shipment from Enterprise Creek. Those White
Russians donít seem to have been particularly good at keeping secrets. I
suppose we must assume that these people understand the mineralís
significance. Do we have any idea who they were?"
"No, but it seems they were led by some gentleman traveling incognito."
"There was that gentleman back in Darwin who led the hijacking attempt,"
said Abercrombie. "Could this hae been the same fellow?"
"Itís quite possible," mused Everett. "I donít imagine there are an
unlimited number of mysterious English gentlemen roaming the Pacific
searching for secret weapons designed by exiled Russian aristocrats. Did
you learn anything else?"
"We found out where those war clubs came from. One of the Americans was an
ethnographer. According to her, they were made by a tribe called the
Yora who live on Espiritu Santo."
"We had an encounter with the fellows," said MacKiernen
"Can you describe the circumstances?" asked Everett.
"Iíll try," said the Irishman, "but they're rather confusing." He paused
for a moment to marshal his thoughts.
"It all began in Luganville when a party of ruffians kidnapped Miss Perkins
and carried her off in a blimp belonging to the English logging concession."
Eyes widened around the table. "Really?" said Jenkins. "This isnít the
sort of thing that happens every day."
"Aye," said MacKiernan, "and then things began to get strange. We tracked
the kidnappers to a village in the highlands that belonged to a tribe called
the Hapuna. Someone seems to have been organizing these fellows into a
militia, for the men were wearing armbands with some strange insignia.
It appears that the Yora are enemies of the Hapuna, for shortly after we
arrived, some of their warriors attacked the place. We took advantage of
the confusion to rescue Miss Perkins and escape in the blimp."
"Well done!" said Everett, heartened to know his men were upholding the
traditions of the Royal Naval Airship Service. "Did you get a look at this
The Irishman reached for a pad of paper and drew a quick sketch. "It was a
blue circle, like this, divided by a white lighting bolt, all on a field of
"That looks oddly familiar," remarked Jenkins. He began to rummage through
"A blue circle?" said Pierre. "This is very strange."
"Youíve encountered this emblem?" asked Everett.
"Not until recently, but while I was in Luganville, waiting for the
Lieutenant-Commanderís return, I found this."
The Frenchman reached into his jacket to produce an article of feminine
apparel that had clearly never been intended to see the light of day. It
was a wisp of crimson silk, embroidered with two lace emblems similar to
the one MacKiernan had described, though circumstances of design dictated
that they be spherical rather than round.
"Begorrah!" muttered MacKiernan. Around the table, several faces were
turning red. But Captain Everett was made of sterner stuff.
"Was your informant able to tell you where this came from?" he asked.
"She was somewhat preoccupied," said the Frenchman, "but I gather it was
gift from a suitor who belonged to an organization she called
LíUnion Angleterre. This would translate to something like
'The British Union'."
"So thatís what they were talking about!" exclaimed Abercrombie. "Perhaps I
should nae hae pitched them over the side."
"Pitched them over the side?" said MacKiernan innocently. The Scotsman
frowned, reached into his pocket, and handed over a shilling. Everett
watched this transaction with a sigh.
"Could you clarify this statement?" he asked. "Who were these fellows you
"Four draghail mercenaries Loris and I met on the ferry
to Eretoka. They called us Ďpirates from the British Unioní so I had to
set them straight."
"Of course!" said Jenkins. "Thatís where I saw it! Sir, you might wish to
examine this copy of the Times I found back in Darwin."
The signalman produced a bundle of newsprint and unwrapped it to reveal an
offset screwdriver, a spool of sailmaker's thread, and several small bottles
of enamel. Setting these aside, he spread out the page so it could be
read. It was dated sometime in the spring. Near the bottom, a blurry
photograph showed a column of figures in quasi-military outfits parading
behind a flag. The emblem was difficult to distinguish, but it appeared to
be a circle divided by a jagged line. A smudged headline read,
'British Union Holds Rally at Olympia'.
"Interesting," said Everett. "What is this organization?"
"It's some sort of nationalist group, founded by a minor member of
Parliament. They appear to be inspired by the Fascist Revolutionary Party
of that Mussolini chap, over in Italy.
They claim that England was betrayed by the Peace when she was on the brink
"The brink of victory!" muttered Davies in amazement. "The fellows must be
daft!" Other veterans at the table seemed to share his sentiments.
"Judging from this article, that seems to be the consensus in England as
well," said Jenkins. "Perhaps that's why they're here in the Pacific. This
area seems to have become a refuge for many of Europeís failures."
"It appears we've found a new player in this game," said Everett. "Miss
Perkins, did your captors reveal anything that might shed light on their
objectives or connections?"
The woman was silent for a moment, as if deciding how much she should
reveal. "They wanted to know what become of your report," she said at last,
"the one about this weapon the nationalists tested to such dramatic effect
on Ujelang. So they can't be the people Lieutenant Blacker is
working for, since we know he stole that report when he made off with the
dispatches on the R-87."
"No he didn't," blurted Iverson without thinking.
"Yes?" said the secretary, in a voice like ice. "Please explain."
The lieutenant looked helplessly at his captain. Keeping his expression
neutral, Everett called on that mysterious ability some captains have to
project reassurance. Perhaps it worked.
"I needed to make some... ah... revisions to my portions of the report,"
said Iverson. He seemed to be hoping Miss Perkins wouldn't recognize the
magnitude of this understatement. "I was on my way to return it when we
encountered the fellow at his dirty work."
"So you broke into the stateroom of a superior officer and removed documents
from an official dispatch case to make a set of unauthorized alterations in
defiance of the regulations and procedures of the Royal Naval Airship
Iverson swallowed. "Uh... yes."
Miss Perkins smiled -- the smile of someone who has just drawn a winning
card and sees no need to conceal this fact.
Next week: The Wisdom of the Solomons...
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