Engn II

IIII

IIIIFinn stepped through the echoing halls of Connor's boyhood home, drawn by the ticking sound of the clock. Each time he stepped into another new room he thought he would find it, but each time he found only abandoned rooms, tattered furniture, moth-eaten curtains.

The house was huge, and Finn soon lost track of how many halls he'd crossed through, how many shadowy corridors he'd walked along. He wondered why anyone would need all this space. A family could live there and never meet each other from one day to the next. It must have been grand once, a sight, but now everything was abandoned and fraying. A smell of dust and damp rose from the faded carpets and the wood panelling. A smell of age. It seemed no one had been there for years. And yet, there was the ticking sound. He could feel it in the walls when he touched them, as if he was inside the mechanism of a giant clock. A clock that had been recently wound.

He crept through a long, echoing room, the walls lined with paintings. Even the pictures were dim and faded, their details lost in a mud of greys and browns. Here and there he could make out the disembodied face of someone long dead, eyes peering out through the mire. In one big picture, he could see a building, a tall metal clock tower. It stood upon a wide plain and there were lines of people all around it, although what they were doing, he couldn't tell. The tower looked like it could have been part of Engn, but he was sure he'd never seen it before.

Finely carved stone was everywhere, the lines sharp inside the house. Doorways, fireplaces, pillars, all beautifully sculpted. Finn brushed his fingers over the smooth, hard surfaces, taking pleasure in their clean lines.

He came to a wide oak staircase leading up into the darkness. There was another whole floor above him. The staircase groaned and complained as Finn ascended. The clock sounded nearer, the ticks more distinct, as if encouraging him on.

At the top, it took his eyes time to adjust. The windows were shuttered, only the thinnest slivers of sunlight sliding in. The air was a fog of dust and cobwebs. Feeling his way with outstretched arms he crept around. The old floor creaked sharply beneath his feet with each step.

In each room he entered it was the same story: shuttered windows, bed and chairs draped with white sheets, the air a fug of must, the floors thick with dust. He wondered which room Connor's had been. There was nothing in any of them, no toys or books or carvings, to suggest his friend had ever slept there.

Eventually he found the room the ticking was coming from. Putting his ear to the door, the sound became immediately louder. He was about to knock when a voice called from within.

“Connor? Is that you? Where have you been all this time? I told you I wanted to see you hours ago.”

Finn's hand froze on the doorknob. Once again, he considered bolting, out of this crumbling house of ghosts and back into the light. A few years ago, before he went to Engn, he might have done so. But not now.

Turning the handle, he pushed open the door.

Connor's mother – it could only be her – sat on the floor amid the flowing folds of her white nightgown. Her hair was long and grey and straggly. All around her were the remains of broken clocks: a jumble of cogs and springs and dials. She held some of the pieces in her bony hands as if she'd been trying to connect them together.

By the shuttered window stood a line-of-sight 'scope on a brass tripod. It was old, a design Finn didn't recognize, the tube held in place by an elaborately decorated brass mount. By the look of it, it had been knocked completely off-kilter by the earthquake; it now pointed in completely the wrong direction for the Switch House. Thanks to some trick of the light, the lens glowed red. Near it, in a shadowy corner, stood a tall clock in a coffin-like wooden case. This was where the ticking sound came from: this clock picking its way through the seconds with its whirr and pause for thought and clunk. The heavy sound filled the room. How did she sleep in there with it? How did anyone sleep in the house, with that constant sound in the walls? Connor must have grown up with it: the seconds of his life being counted through. Perhaps he'd stopped hearing it after a while.

All around the walls were more of the sombre portraits, their details hard to make out through the grime. One large painting over the bed had been kept clean, though. From it stared a dour-looking man in ancient robes, a gold chain around his neck from which dangled a small clock. He had to be some forebear; the similarity to Connor was quite clear.

The woman, meanwhile, looked up at Finn with startled eyes. “You? What are you doing here? Where is Connor?”

What should he say? He saw, now, the real reason Connor had never brought him here. His friend had never talked about his mother much. The whole valley knew she wasn't well, stayed in her room, rarely saw anyone.

“Connor isn't here, I'm afraid,” he said. It was a ridiculous thing to say. Connor was dead. Was it kinder to say that or not? He didn't know. Diane would know. He wished she'd come with him.

The woman looked puzzled for a moment, examining the clock pieces she held in her hands as if she'd never seen them before, or as if piecing them back together would clear the confusion in her mind. When she looked back up at Finn, a sudden rage burned in her eyes.

“And see what you've done! You've smashed all my clocks. They're ruined. Now I can't make any of them work. I don't know what the time is any more.”

Finn thought about pointing out the tall clock in the corner. There was no way she couldn't see or hear it. “I … I just came to check if you were okay,” he said. “I haven't touched your clocks.”

“No, you've ruined them,” she replied, half shouting now, her anger burning. “They were all safe on their shelves, ticking away together, keeping perfect time. Then the earthquake came and knocked them off and now they're all smashed. It's all your fault. I knew this was going to happen as soon as I heard what you did.”

“I haven't done anything,” said Finn. “I know the earthquake was frightening, but they're just something that happens. They're no one's fault.” He found himself talking as if to a child.

“Of course, they're someone's fault,” said Connor's mother. “They're your fault. You disabled the machine and now the earthquakes are starting again. Don't people understand? I told them this would happen and now it has. People don't listen. And there'll be more coming, you'll see. This is just the start.”

Finn tried to make sense of her words. “You think destroying Engn caused the earthquake?”

“Isn't it obvious? What else did you think the machine was for? Used to be lots of tremors in the old days, before the beginning of time. Then we built Engn to stop them, didn't we?”

She was mad, that was clear. Unhinged. Finn had to get away. Get out into the light where there was air he could breathe. He'd done his duty, made sure she was okay. No one could expect him to do more.

He was about to make his apologies, turn and leave, but then he stopped. Something she'd said puzzled him.

“You said we.”

“Hmm?”

“You just said we built Engn.”

“Yes, of course. The Clockmakers, the Ironmasters, the Silversmiths, the Switchers, the Steamwrights, the Lensmen and the rest. The twelve Guilds. We constructed Engn between us. Don't you know anything?”

“But Engn was ancient, centuries old. You can't have been involved.” He regretted saying it. It wasn't fair to challenge her delusions. But perhaps underneath all her ramblings she would reveal something useful.

The woman waved her hand. “Not me, obviously. Are you mad? I mean the twelve city-states. The Mechanical Guilds. Obviously.”

He was about to reply, ask her what she meant, when the floor lurched beneath his feet. Another earthquake or an aftershock? Finn grasped the doorframe for support, half expecting the great old house to collapse on top of them both. Connor's mother shrieked and clutched the broken mechanisms to her as if to protect them. The great clock in the corner rocked forwards. For a moment, Finn thought it was going to topple over and crush her beneath its weight. He saw it all happening, imagined her pinned beneath it, the pooling blood. He called out to her in alarm. She watched the clock, not making any attempt to scurry out of its way. For a moment, balancing there on a corner of its case, it stopped its ticking, as if it, too, were waiting to see what happened.

Then the room ceased its dancing and the floor became solid once more. After a moment, the clock settled back and began ticking through the seconds. An accusing look came into Connor's mother's eyes. “See?” she said, as if the tremor confirmed all her explanations.

Finn kept hold of the doorframe. He had to learn whether she really knew anything useful.

“So, your family, you were part of this Guild?” Finn asked.

“We were the guildmasters. My forebears, generation before generation.” The rage had all gone from her voice now, to be replaced with pride. “We constructed the machine. We and the others in the alliance. Many years ago. Many, many years ago. We fought the war, too, against those trying to stop us. All the crazy people wanting to turn back time.”

“The war?”

“The Long War. The Clockwork War.”

A phrase from old story books. Was she so deluded she thought she was living back then?

“That was centuries ago,” he said. “The Twelve Guilds lost. Everyone knows that.”

She looked delighted for a moment, as if she knew a secret he didn't. “Sometimes in war it isn't clear who has won and who has lost for a long time afterwards. We lost those battles, you're right. And yet here we all are with our clocks and calendars. Talking to each other with the line-of-sight network and lighting the darkness with electricity.”

“That's not much of a victory. The old guilds took what was useful from those they defeated.”

“Or perhaps that's what people were supposed to believe, eh? There are those who'd say you can't tell who won the war because it hasn't ended yet.”

“But it was all so long ago. No one goes off to fight and die anymore.”

She studied him for a moment, as if unsure how much to tell him. “You're sure of that, are you?”

Finn regretted getting into the whole argument. Whenever he tried to pin her down with his questions she danced away on some other stream of thought. He tried to make sense of her words. “You're saying Engn was built to stop earthquakes happening?”

Connor's mother shook her head, as if this was a troubling idea, like a buzzing fly was stuck inside her skull. “No, no. That's not it. That's not right at all. You mustn't say that.”

“So why did the Guilds build it?” asked Finn.

She glanced around, as if people would be listening in. “You don't know?”

He thought back to Mrs. Megrim's history lessons. He should have paid more attention. “It was built as reparation for all those who suffered and died in the war, wasn't it? Some say there was no great purpose. Or, if there was, it's been forgotten. People stopped wondering about it, stopped asking questions, the way they do. They stop seeing the really big things and accept the world as it is.”

The woman snorted, as if this was a ridiculous idea. She whispered conspiratorially. “We mustn't tell people the truth, must we? No one must know. That's why it all had to be kept a secret, wasn't it?”

“What did? What was the secret? Stopping the earthquakes?”

“No, no,” she said. “Not that. Obviously not that.”

“Then what?”

“Unlimited power,” she whispered, savouring the words.

“Engn … gave you unlimited power? To fight the war?”

“No! Shh! Of course not. No, it was built to keep the whole world working. That was it. Those vast waterwheels generating electricity, powering the whole world. And then, later, the great steam engines. Such a glorious achievement.”

“But … Engn didn't do that. I mean, there were wheels and engines, but they didn't send out power. They didn't do anything.”

She ignored him. “A network of wires spreading across the plains, bringing light to all the lands.” She stared into the middle distance, as if she could see the lines spanning the world. “Before Engn everyone lived in darkness and confusion. Engn brought order. That was what we gave them. So they thought.”

“Who?”

“The old guilds. The Temple Guilds. The Twenty-Four.”

“And Connor's father. The Baron. His family were on the other side.” The words were out before he'd realized what he was saying. The idea had only just occurred to him.

Her expression changed immediately, from elation to sadness. She looked down at the shattered clocks surrounding her.

“Such a beautiful man, he was. So strong. He was on the wrong side, the other side, yes, but what could we do?” She looked back up at Finn. “It was love, you see. The ancient resentments still burned, smouldering deep, and sometimes we strayed into them together. Then the flames raged, and the days were bad, but still we loved each other. Our families disapproved, disowned us, but that wasn't our fault. Our differences were irrelevant because we were in love.” She sighed, reliving happy memories, seeing things in the distance he could not.

“I'm sorry,” said Finn. “I didn't know. I mean I … didn't think.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now. He's gone for good. He was quite mad, you know.”

She'd become suddenly matter of fact. He couldn't keep up with her changes of mood.

“He was?”

“Oh, completely. We used to have terrible arguments. He thought Engn threatened everyone. He hated the machine, said it endangered the whole world. Can you believe it? It was once a common superstition. I tried and tried, but I'm afraid he couldn't be convinced of the truth. It wouldn't have applied to him, would it? I wouldn't have let it.”

“What wouldn't?”

“He was old guild, yes, but I was new. He'd have been spared it when the war resumed. Connor, too, of course.”

She was making no sense. Perhaps she hadn't for a long time. “Do you know where he is now? The Baron?”

“Oh. He's dead. When Connor took my side and went off to Engn, it was too much for him. Poor man. It's just a good job I stayed here to hold everything together.”

“You're saying Connor wanted to go to Engn?”

“Of course. Our Guild is still very powerful, you know. Very important. They still need us to run the place, don't they? Thinking they've won all this time. Ours is an important name among the masters. Connor went to assume his rightful place.”

Finn thought back to the day Connor had left. No, been taken. He'd been shackled to a horse. And as he'd left, he'd shaken his finger to remind Finn of their pact. A tiny act of defiance that meant his mother had it all wrong. She was clearly deluded. Still, her story explained Connor's rapid rise in Engn. He must have played on his family name. Made use of it so he could get to the centre and destroy it all. That had to be it.

He decided not to say anything more. There was no need for her to be told what had really taken place. There was comfort in delusions.

“Look,” he said. “Everyone is gathering at the Moot Hall. Until the earthquakes stop. Will you come?”

The woman didn't reply. She studied some delicate piece of clockwork in her hands. Her head was bowed as if she herself were a mechanism that had wound down. Her pale shoulders rose and fell as she sat there slumped in her heap of white cloth.

“Will you come?” Finn asked again. “We'll be safe there. Just for a few days.”

She shook her head without looking at him. Could he just leave her? He didn't see what else he could do. He couldn't drag her away. But he also didn't relish the thought of having to come back there all the time to check on her.

His gaze fell on the 'scope at the window, peering through the shutters. He'd seen another device downstairs; it appeared she had her own private line. He wondered whom she talked to. He didn't recall ever seeing any messages from her.

“The line-of-sight,” he said. “If we get it working again, line it up with the Switch House, we'll be able to talk to you. You'll be able to tell us if there's a problem. Would that be okay?”

This time she didn't reply, as if she'd fallen asleep there on the floor. Finn stepped into the room and made his way past her, making very sure not to tread on any of the tiny cogs strewn around. He was about to touch the 'scope when she snapped back to life.

“No! Don't touch it!”

“But it will never work pointing up there.”

“I said leave it alone!” She sounded furious once again, a flush of anger on her face.

“But you won't be able to get any messages. There are timing signals now, you know. You won't be able to receive them.”

“Timing signals?”

“Yes. They started coming through again today. The start of day timing signal from Engn. Or at least, from someone pretending to be Engn.”

Excitement and alarm chased each other across her features. “And was there another signal? Has the Clarion been transmitted too?”

“The Clarion?” said Finn. “I don't know what that is.”

“Of course, you do. The signal for the end. The muster.”

Finn shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. “No. No, I don't think there's been anything like that.”

She stood, suddenly full of energy. “Very well. At last they're rebuilding it! Now everything is going to be all right.” She babbled like an excited child, the flow of words unstoppable. “Now we'll all know what time it is again. Know properly. Now the mechanism is ticking again, I must get these clocks fixed so I can set them all. Oh, this is wonderful. Wonderful! I knew he would do it. Knew it.”

She grabbed at handfuls of cogs and wheels, dropping more than she picked up.

“If you bring all the pieces to the Moot Hall we can help,” said Finn. “My father, everyone. Perhaps between us we can get the clocks working again.”

But she was ignoring him again, holding up delicate flywheels to the shuttered light from the window as if counting their tiny teeth. Finn picked his way back across the room to the door. She paid him no more attention, didn't even seem to see him. She scrabbled around for more and more pieces, trying to fit them together, her movements urgent as if every second counted.

There was nothing more he could do there. He stepped back from the room and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Finn?”

She still wasn't looking at him, her attention caught up in the coiling of a spiral spring. It was the first time she had used his name.

“Yes?”

“When you see Connor, tell him I said to hurry home, won't you? He should have been back hours ago.”

He nodded, although she didn't see. “Yes,” said Finn. “I will.”

Quietly, he shut the door behind him.