The Eye of Neptune by Jon Mayhew Page B

Boring details.
    ‘Look at more recent entries,’ Georgia suggested.
    ‘Here, what’s this?’ Dakkar held the page up to the light and read aloud: ‘ Somehow my dealings with Lafitte have drawn the attentions of C. Had I known that the two did business together, I would have found another supplier, no matter how rare some of the components I needed proved to be .’
    ‘Lafitte?’ Georgia gasped. ‘Surely not!’
    ‘Who is Lafitte?’ Dakkar said, shaking his head.
    ‘A pirate,’ Georgia spat. ‘He’s wanted from here to the Bahamas! What would my uncle want with him?’
    ‘It sounds like Lafitte was supplying goods to him,’ Dakkar said, raising his eyebrows. ‘If Fulton’s anything like Oginski, he doesn’t like to be too public about his inventions. Maybe this Lafitte was able to get things quietly with no questions asked.’
    ‘I can’t believe that Uncle Robert would trade with such a man!’ Georgia whispered.
    ‘Your uncle seems more concerned about this ‘‘C’’, whoever he is,’ Dakkar said, turning the page over. ‘Here, listen to this. C’s shadow grows longer. I saw something out to sea this morning that quite terrified me. From his letters, I can tell that Oginski is worried too. It may be wise to halt the submersible project and destroy what I have made. It would break my heart but if it fell into the wrong hands . . . ’ Dakkar paused and looked up at Georgia. Her face was pale and she bit her lip.
    ‘What does he mean about shadows and seeing something out to sea?’ Georgia said faintly.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ Dakkar replied, thinking about the time he and Oginski saw the giant squid. ‘But whoever this ‘‘C’’ is, he also deals with Lafitte. If we find Lafitte, then maybe we stand a chance of finding ‘‘C’’ and Oginski.’
    ‘And my Uncle Robert,’ Georgia added, narrowing her eyes.
    ‘But where can we find Lafitte?’ Dakkar said, slamming the diary down on the desk. ‘He could be anywhere in the world!’
    ‘No,’ Georgia said, leafing through the papers again. ‘Lafitte keeps to this side of the Atlantic, if the rumours I’ve heard are true.’
    ‘It’s still a large area to search,’ Dakkar grunted.
    ‘These letters here are bills of sale,’ Georgia muttered, holding one up. ‘They aren’t from Lafitte.’
    ‘Of course not,’ Dakkar snorted. ‘Pirates don’t write out receipts!’
    ‘No, but they’d use go-betweens, wouldn’t they?’ Georgia said, waving the paper. ‘Mr Abercrombie Woolford-Potts, The Lime Tree Hotel, San Teresa . . .’
    ‘San Teresa?’ Dakkar said. ‘That might be a place to start, wherever it is.’
    Georgia scrabbled through another pile, pulled out a sea chart and rolled it open on the table.
    ‘Here! It should take us three or four days to get to San Teresa Island,’ she said, sweeping her finger across the map. ‘We’ll need food, water and spare clothing.’
    She turned and hurried over to an old sea chest and began rifling through the contents. She scrunched up a red bathing dress and threw it behind her. It landed on Dakkar’s head and he wrestled to pull it off. More clothes flew at him – trousers, undergarments – and he narrowly missed being hit by a boot.
    ‘Put these in that trunk there,’ she said, pointing to the corner. ‘Here are some dry clothes for you.’
    Dakkar felt his cheeks flush but he began to stuff the clothes into the trunk. Georgia stamped around the shed, grabbing tins and boxes from shelves and throwing them in. Dakkar sidled off into the shadows, dragged off his damp clothes and pulled on the dry ones. They hung loosely on him but weren’t too oversized.
    They must belong to Fulton , he thought.
    Shafts of moonlight shone through the open door to the sea. Once the trunk was full, they dragged it down to the Liberty and manhandled it through the hatch along with two barrels of drinking water.
    ‘Shouldn’t we check we have everything we need?’ Dakkar murmured, looking