A Game of Battleships by Toby Frost Page B

eighth Republic of France, you are all under arrest!’
    *
    ‘So,’ said Carveth, looking around the cell, ‘what happens now?’
    ‘Well,’ Smith replied, ‘if my knowledge of French history is right, they’ll probably cut off our  heads.’
    ‘Not mine,’ Suruk growled. He crouched on the far end of the bench, coldly furious. ‘I read their  menu. I know what they do to amphibians in the name of cuisine. Should they ransack our ship and  interfere with my spawn, they will die.’
    ‘We’re not in much of a position to do anything about that,’ Carveth replied.
    ‘My spawn are. They will strip them to the bone.’
    Rhianna stood at the door, looking through the bars. ‘I can’t believe Amsterdam isn’t in France,’  she said. ‘How could I not know that?’
    Carveth sighed. ‘You were too stoned to figure it out?’
    ‘Oh, yeah.’
    Smith grimaced. He was finding it hard to think. It didn’t help that there was a radio playing in  the empty room outside the cell. On it, a woman who sounded as if she was slowly drowning was singing  about how she didn’t regret Ryan. Smith wondered who Ryan was and whether he was the one drowning  her and, if so, whether he could get on with it.
    ‘Right, men,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘I have a plan. We have been left with no other choice  than to escape. I’ll ambush the guard and if he refuses to release us, we’ll add Tannhauser Gate to the British Empire.’
    ‘How?’ Carveth demanded.
    ‘We will work out the details as we go. Step One, however, is to overpower the guard.’ Smith  moved over to the bars. ‘I say, guard! What about la liberte and all that?’
    The room outside remained empty. The radio gargled on.
    Smith tried to think of some French words that didn’t involve the pen of his aunt. ‘I’m British,  damn it! Let me out!’
    A figure stepped into the corridor outside, and Smith paused. The fellow wore tight black  clothes, almost like a wetsuit, a striped shirt and a small white mask. As Smith looked on, astonished, the newcomer turned to check the corridor behind him and crept towards their cell with high, exaggerated  steps.
    ‘There’s someone there,’ Smith whispered to his crew. ‘Strange chap.. ’
    The man in black stopped just outside the door. He raised a finger to his lips, squatted down and  began to pick the lock. Suruk got up, flexing his fingers.
    The lock clicked and the cell door swung open. The man in black stood up and gave them a  deep, elaborate bow.
    ‘Hello,’ said Smith. ‘Thanks.’
    The man leaned back and scrutinised him, stroking his chin as he did. Then he seemed to relax.
    ‘Monsieur, Mesdemoiselles, monstre hideux et bizarre , I bid you good evening. I am Le Fantome.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Smith. ‘What are you, some kind of spy?’
    ‘ Mais non! ’ Le Fantome laughed behind his mask. ‘I have come here to rescue you. We have a  shared enemy. It is vital you board the ship at once. Come,’ he added. ‘It is time to escape this –’ he gestured around himself with his gloved hands as if patting invisible walls, ‘prison.’
    ‘Amazing,’ Rhianna said. ‘A real tribal dance.’ Her interest in other cultures did not seem to be  diminished by the fact that one of them had locked her up.
    ‘We must be quick,’ Le Fantome replied. ‘I used ancient French arts to reach you in silence. Now  we must depart.’
    ‘Good Lord,’ said Smith, ‘You’re a mime!’
    Le Fantome nodded several times. ‘But not just any mime. I am a mastermime.’
    ‘Go to space, meet a loony,’ Carveth said. ‘There’s a surprise. On the other hand, the door is  open.’
    Le Fantome led them into the corridor. They crept past the gurgling stereo and down the  hallway. Smith glanced to the left and saw a spectacled detective in an office, busy filling his pipe.
    ‘You are lucky it was I who found you,’ Le Fantome whispered. ‘There are plenty here who  remember the part your secret