Read Online Cuttlefish by Dave Freer - Free Book Online

But the finest place on Earth.”
    Westralia. She knew where that was. The rebel “Republic” of Western Australia that had declared itself independent when theCrown abandoned the colony after the Swan River dried up. A desert no one wanted, full of runaways and criminals, so she'd been taught. Well, a lot of what she'd been taught wasn't quite as true as she'd thought it was. “What are you doing here, so far from home, Mr. Cook?”
    He beamed at her. “You can call me Cookie; everyone does. It's a long story, missy. Submarines go everywhere, even if they's not supposed to. Westralia, they can sail on the surface and in the harbour too. I reckoned I'd see the world. So far all I seen is me kitchen.” He didn't seem too unhappy about it. “Some butter for her in the icebox there, Tim-o. And there is jam here, see.”
    The boy said nothing. Just went back to washing up when he'd given her the butter. Clara had not had much to do with boys. Well, there were knots of them who would tease the girls and whistle at them as she made her way back from school. Of course the other girls told stories. And some of them had brothers. Clara ate. It was more interesting to watch them from the counter than to go back to the tiny cabin. She wondered if she should offer to help, even if Mother had told her to stay out of the way. The boy looked like he needed some lessons in washing up. And in washing himself. He had grease on his nose. And he'd been crying. She could tell.
    But they seemed busy, so she ate, said her thank yous, and went back to her cabin. And now sleep came quickly.
    She was awakened by someone knocking. Her mother sat up sleepily below her and bumped her head on the upper bunk. “Ouch. Who is it?” Mother asked, plainly trying to get herself orientated.
    â€œTim Barnabas, marm,” said the odious boy from outside. “Captain's compliments, would you care to join him and the officers for breakfast?”
    â€œThank you. How long until you eat?” asked Mother.
    â€œOfficer's sitting in the mess in half an hour,” said the boy.
    â€œHalf an hour. How like men,” muttered her mother. “Very well. We'll be there. Can you come back and show us where to go?”
    â€œDon't worry, I know the way,” said Clara, then wished that she hadn't admitted it.
    â€œAh.” It was an “Ah” that heralded a lecture later, Clara knew. “Now where is the light switch?”
    Clara knew that too. And the way to what the submariner had called “the heads,” all of which was necessary to get them to the tiny “mess” on time. It wasn't really a mess, in fact, a very square and neat dining area, with tablecloths and silver, Clara thought. Clean too. Even the boy Tim had washed his face before serving in.
    It was a proper breakfast, with porridge—oats from Norway, and kippers from Greenland. Everyone seemed quite relaxed about their narrow escape from Stockwell Station. Well, there was sadness and worry, about what they'd left behind, but they were away now. Out in the open ocean submarines had little to fear.
    And then a lieutenant—the one who was so proud of his moustache—came down from the bridge and saluted. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. We've picked up sign of two armoured cruisers on our track. And Sparks is monitoring a Marconi message. He thinks they're talking to a dreadnought. They were being asked about depths.”
    The captain got to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, as he left in a hurry.
    A few minutes later a bell chimed and the captain's voice—odd-sounding through a speaker tube—said, “Crew to action stations. We're going to run into the Wash Fens.”
    â€œWhat's that?” asked Clara.
    â€œIt's the old flooded fen lands in around Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, and Norfolk,” said the other lieutenant, getting to his feet. “It's shallow, but our charts are better