Read Isle of Man (The Park Service Trilogy #2) for Free Online

descend the short ladder into the dark submarine. I can hear Hannah climbing down after me. She places her hand on my shoulder and we creep along the narrow passageway. I begin to feel claustrophobic in the dark space, but soon a doorway comes into view, its hatch ajar and a triangle of yellow light slanting across passageway ahead. When we arrive at the doorway, I stand back and grip the knife in my hand. Hannah gets a hold of the heavy door and looks to me for a signal. When I nod, she pulls open the door, and I step into the room, leading with Jimmy’s knife.
    “Shazbit and sheetle stick!”
    The little old man sits in a control seat, mumbling strange obscenities as he fusses with nobs and levers. Junior is spread out on the floor at his feet, watching him intently.
    “Hello.” I don’t mean to whisper it, but I do.
    “You confounded fudderwacker!” The strange man slams the panel with his fist.
    Hannah pushes past me and steps toward him.
    She says: “You’ll respond this instant, rude sir.”
    Her commanding tone seems to get his attention, and he stretches out his arms and brings them together and interlaces his fingers behind his head, leaning back and turning to face us. He looks like some mad, frazzled scientist either surrendering or perhaps on vacation in repose.
    I step up beside Hannah.
    “Who are you?”
    He flashes us a strange and unsettling smile.
    “That’s an interesting question, young man. It could be answered in many ways. Who is anyone? Is anyone anyone? If a particle can be in two places at one time, couldn’t a person? Or even a fox?”
    “How about your name then?” I ask.
    “Benjamin,” he says. “Professor Benjamin Beckenbauer. But everyone just calls me ‘Moody’.” He slurs the word
Moody
while releasing his hands and holding them up, as if in some gesture of acceptance of a nickname which he hates. Then he spins around and returns his attention to the control panel in front of him, speaking over his shoulder to us. “Now, I’m not sure what you’re getting into, you two here and that other I saw on the boat, or what you have to do with this fragnabbled flood, but I have no time for shenanigans, or they’ll have me on the shock table again for sure. And if you see Dr. Radcliffe, please do tell him I’m working as quickly as I can.”
    “Dr. Radcliffe is dead,” I say.
    His hands freeze, and his head turns. He stares down for a moment, as if just now noticing Junior on the floor. Then he slowly swivels around to face us again.
    “I’m sorry,” he says, “but would you mind repeating that?”
    I cast Hannah an apologetic glance.
    “What I meant to say is that Dr. Radcliffe passed away.”
    He leaps from the chair, throws his hands in the air, and jogs a small circle around the room, surprisingly nimble as his spindly legs lift high off the floor in the manner of someone marching.
    “He’s dead,” he chants. “He’s dead. The old boy is finally dead.” He stops abruptly and turns to face us. “How do I know you’re not lying? Wait. You’re his daughter, aren’t you? You look just like your mother. Yes, yes, you do. You wouldn’t lie. Let me hear you say it. Tell me your father is dead.”
    “He’s telling the truth,” Hannah says. “He’s dead. And I am his daughter, so perhaps you could appear a little less happy about it. Now tell us who you are and what you’re doing.”
    He nods, seeming to calm down as he digests the news. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” he says, straightening up and standing formally before us. “They call me Moody because my moods are a tad bit unpredictable. At least I think that’s how it started. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Moody it is. I’m a professor of theoretical physics, but for the last several hundred years they’ve had me in charge of maintenance for our fleet. It’s quite beyond me as to why, really, except that no one else wanted the job. But I digress. May I assume, young lady, that you are in charge