Inferno by Julian Stockwin

boomed.
    She hurried up and fussed at his coat. ‘Toby’s got something he has t’ discuss wi’ you,’ she said firmly.
    â€˜Oh, aye? I’ll tie up yon dogs an’ be with him directly.’
    Stirk exchanged significant glances with his sister, nodding to where Widow McGillie sat in her rocking chair, sewing, her beady eyes missing nothing.
    â€˜Would ye excuse us, Ma? The men have some talkin’ to do.’
    It was tough going. The hard-bitten man of the land washaving no truck with tales of buried treasure and declared surprise at one of Stirk’s years being taken in by such old sailors’ yarns.
    Only after it was explained that a respectable Tobermory merchant was putting his own money into it and, should the McGillies not be found wanting, he would be enabled to take a significant share did he see his way clear to discussing it further.
    The door burst open. ‘Be damned to ye for a puckle-headed loon, lad!’ his old mother threw at him in shrill fury. ‘Ye has a chance t’ fill y’r boots wi’ Spanish gold from the Tobermory galleon. Are ye a-feart to open y’r purse for that?’
    It was eventually settled that he would go to Auld Mackie, tell him all and, if the canny village elder himself put down hard coin, so would he.

Chapter 17

    K ydd wasted no time in setting to work on the packets from the chest, eager to find out just how the contrivance worked. The writing was strong but unlettered, and had the curlicues and phrasing of his father’s day. However, it was well diagrammed, intended for humble workmen. It detailed the parts, then listed assembly and checking routines. There was a section for attendants in the boat, another for the intrepid diver, and one more for the master of supporting vessels.
    Kydd sorted the instructions into their sections.
    The essence of the engine was clear. It was in effect a closed watertight barrel with two thick windows and sealed leather sleeves that allowed the diver’s naked arms to protrude. The whole apparatus was suspended by ropes under one or two substantially sized boats or ships anchored over a wreck.
    He skipped the detailed preparations and went straight to the diver’s instructions, curious as to what it would be like to go into the sea and be at one with the fishes in their own kingdom, but they concentrated on procedures and weredisappointingly short on vivid descriptions. It seemed that the diver would be lying full length, angled down, and peering through the portholes as the engine was gently lowered.
    He had an external cord buoyed by corks that was his only communication with the surface and, using it, he could signal that he wanted to be moved forward, that he had artefacts in his netting sack to be hauled up – or that he was desirous of more air.
    Time on the seabed would be limited by depth; ten minutes working on a wreck could be expected in ten fathoms if the man were not called upon for strenuous activity. Stirk’s careful soundings had shown no more than five fathoms, which presumably would translate to a whole twenty minutes. The implements a diver had to work with were simple but effective. Short picks, crow-bars, rakes, the netting bag for small and precious articles and a range of claw hooks lowered down for affixing to larger objects for hauling up.
    Kydd found it impossible not to be stirred by these bald statements, written for men who had actually gone on to bring up treasure trove. He leaned back, picturing the scene. Down and down to the ocean’s depths and the sea-bottom with all its mysteries, no doubt thronged with curious fish. Then poring over the scattered relics of the wreck – and over there, a half-open chest with glittering contents, an octopus gliding over it, other creatures looming …
    Damn, but he envied Stirk his undersea adventure!

Chapter 18

    T he wait for Wrackman’s diving engine was hard to bear. Excitement had seized