Engn II

V

VDiane breathing quietly beside him, Finn lay awake thinking about everything that had happened. The things his father had said, and the things Connor's mother had said. He tried and failed to make sense of it all. He kept coming back to the unrestrained glee in Connor's mother's eyes when he'd told her the timing messages were being broadcast again. As if she'd been expecting it.

When he got chance, he would talk to Mrs. Megrim. She'd be able to make sense of it all. Either that or tell him to stop wasting his time worrying.

A low murmur of voices and coughs and the occasional whimper drifted through the air in the Moot Hall. Everyone was there, gathered from up and down the valley, lying side by side in the darkness of the night. Families from farther afield had continued to turn up throughout the day, some carrying nothing, others hauling carts laden down with supplies. The hall was now full. So far as they knew, only one person had died. An old man from way up in Ironoaks who'd been crushed by the falling beams of his house as he lay in bed. It could have been worse, everyone said. It could have been a lot worse.

Three more aftershocks had struck: brief grumbles rather than full quakes. Some people had fled the Moot Hall in panic, afraid it was going to collapse and crush them beneath its spars. But each time the old hall swayed and then settled back down, with perhaps a brief cascade of dust from the eaves. Just as his father had promised. They were as safe here as anywhere. A few days and maybe they could all go home.

At least the children were finally asleep. Worn out by excitement, they now lay strewn around the floor as if tiredness had come upon them mid-stride. For them, still, it was all an adventure. Finn envied them. He'd been like them once, he supposed, before he went to Engn. He missed living in an eternal now, free of worry, free of fear. Except, thinking back, it hadn't been like that, had it? Fear of the ironclads, fear of Engn, had been there since his earliest days.

An hour or so earlier, to get the children to sleep, one of the women had gathered them up and told them a bedtime story about the ironclads. How the unstoppable machines came for the children one night, intent on dragging them away never to be seen again. But they were foiled when a young girl threw water over them, rusting them in ridiculous poses. It was a variant on a story Finn remembered well from his own childhood. One Shireen used to tell him. The children squealed with delight at the story, although some of the younger ones hid under their bedclothes when the ironclads turned up.

The story was a way of laughing at fear. It was obvious now. One or two older people scowled at the tale, thinking it inappropriate. Real events too fresh in their minds. Finn found it amusing. They had nothing to fear from the ironclads now. If the soldiers of Engn had been reduced to ridiculous monsters in a children's story, he was happy.

He drifted off to sleep with visions of story ironclads and smashed clocks and collapsing houses whirling around in his mind.

A banging on the door awoke him. He sat up with a gasp. He'd been lost in some nightmare of his time in Engn, real ironclads pursuing him, chasing him down endless corridors. There was no clock in the hall, but he knew it had to be long after midnight. One or two of the older people sat around candles, playing cards to pass the time. Their faces were lines of anxiety as they looked up at the door, eyes hidden in shadow. Everyone had been accounted for. Of those who had survived, only Connor's mother wasn't there.

Finn climbed to his knees to peer out of one of the hall's slit windows. A gibbous moon lit the scene outside, the hard light etching everything in deep shadows. It was hard to make detail out; the window was all misted up. He could see something. A cart and a figure, he thought. He wiped a swirl clear with his palm and pushed his face against the cold glass to peer out.

“Who is it?” asked Diane, sitting up beside him, a blanket wrapped around her body for warmth. “Who's out there?”

The scene shifted as the cart moved. Shadows and shapes clicked into place and became identifiable. A figure swathed in a long black cloak standing next to a black horse. The horse stamped one great foot in impatience, steam billowing from its nostrils. Behind them was the cart. Except it wasn't a cart. He recognized those spoked iron wheels, the curving shape of that outline. It was a moving engine.

A moving engine with a master in control had come to the Moot Hall.

Diane caught the look of shock on his face as he glanced down.

“What is it?” she said. “Let me see.”

There came another rap on the door, a gruff call from outside. Was it possible? Was Engn sending out masters and ironclads once more, to harvest the land for fresh hands? But they had destroyed it. He had seen it collapse into its own pit. It couldn't be happening again.

Finn's father stood up, wrapping a gown about himself, a scowl on his face. He caught Finn's alarmed glance. Mrs. Megrim, over by the door, lay unmoving, but Finn could see she wasn't asleep. The candlelight glinted in her black eyes.

Diane stood and picked her way between the blankets towards the door. Finn followed, not wanting to go, but knowing it had to be done. It was warm and safe in the Moot Hall and opening the door was letting the world back in. But a master of Engn was out there whether they liked it or not.

It was only then it occurred to Finn he hadn't heard the moving engine. He remembered the machine's rushing, huffing roar only too well. This one had been silent. The thought gave him hope. Standing beside Diane he watched as his father unbolted the door.

“Mind if I come in? It is seriously freezing out here.”

Finn recognized the stranger immediately, although he'd last seen him the day he'd first arrived at Engn. Master Whelm, who'd taken Finn from his home, forced him into a moving engine, then transported him across the great grass plain to abandon him in the machine.

“You,” said his father, the threat clear in his voice. He'd recognized Whelm, too. Whelm that had given the ironclads instructions to strike his father when he tried to stop them taking Finn.

Whelm held up his hands as if to show he was unarmed. “Please, all I want is shelter for the night and perhaps some food for the horse. She's pulled a long way today.” He looked from Finn to Diane to Finn's father. Did Whelm recognize them? Or had he taken so many people he'd forgotten all their faces?

Finn stepped forwards. “Hello, Whelm.”

A look of confusion flashed across the stranger's face, along with a clear twist of fear. His gaze darted between them as if he expected them to attack him. He spoke quietly, warily. “Ah, I thought I recognized this place. It's years since I've been this way.”

“You remember?” asked Finn.

“Of course,” said Whelm. “Of course. Believe it or not, it's good to see you. I'm glad you survived.”

“You shouldn't have come back here,” said his father. “Alone, now, are you? No ironclads to protect you and carry out your orders?”

Whelm shrank back, a hunted look on his face. Finn could see the change in him. He was thinner. His face was scratched and bruised in more than one place. All that arrogance had gone. The Whelm who had taken him to Engn had feared no one except the higher masters. Now Whelm was a shivering, bedraggled tramp. Life as a former master of Engn would be hard; he'd be welcome nowhere. Yet Whelm hadn't tried to hide his former identity. It was brave, in a way.

Whelm had been cruel, it was true, but also friendly at times. In his own way. More than once he'd been on the point of confiding in Finn. His resentments. His fears. He'd been alone with only his ironclads to talk to. He'd loved Engn, but hated it too, so it had seemed to Finn. Fate had made Whelm a master, but Finn knew well that meant little. Being a master was better than not being a master, but it was still a role. A part.

Peering over Whelm's shoulder, Finn saw why he hadn't heard the moving engine. It was no longer a living machine. It was just the carriage and shell of one of the old vehicles. A cart made of rusting iron pulled by the horse. That was all.

“Come in,” said Finn. “We can find room for you.”

Whelm hesitated for a moment, remembering, perhaps, all he'd done to Finn on the journey to Engn. Or perhaps he didn't remember any of it and he'd simply learned not to trust people.

“No, I'll leave you in peace,” said Whelm. “My horse and I, we've slept out in the open often enough. One more night won't kill us. I'm sorry I woke you. Perhaps it's safer out of doors anyway with all these earthquakes.”

“You can sleep here,” said Finn. He glanced across at his father, who clearly disapproved. “You can pay for your lodging with news. And then tomorrow you can help us start to repair the damage.”

“Have you come down the valley or up?” asked Diane. There'd still been no word over the line-of-sight about her own village.

“I crossed the plain a week ago,” said Whelm. “I've been making my way up the valley ever since.”

“You passed through the villages near the plain?”

“I did. Although some I've learned to avoid.”

“And the earthquake?”

“I was much further up the valley when it struck. Every place I've seen today was hit by it. Most buildings survived, but one or two…”

He tailed off, reliving sights.

“I'll help you with the horse,” said Finn. “Then we'll find room for you.” He looked at Diane and his father, unsure if either would accept this. Diane shrugged. She'd never met Whelm, although she'd heard Finn describe him more than once. After a moment, with a dismissive grunt, his father nodded and turned away.

While Whelm unshackled his horse from the iron cart, Finn strode around the ruined engine. It was tattered with ragged holes where the metal had flaked away. He couldn't resist peering inside, recalling long days spent in one of the machines. Suffocating heat and the smell of burning coal still made his stomach heave. Was this the very machine perhaps?

Moonlight peered in through the holes in the engine's casing, allowing him to make out details within. A roll of bedding lay up the middle of the engine. Whelm, clearly, slept in there. Finn recalled a day of lashing rain, when Whelm had taunted him for being dry and warm inside the moving engine. The irony that the ex-master now lived inside one of the machines wasn't lost on Finn. For some reason it wasn't a happy thought. If anything, he felt sorry for Whelm.

There were piles of other articles in the engine, too, stacked around Whelm's bed like a nest. Broken fragments of machinery: cogs, cams, chains, cranks. Even, he was amused to see, a self-governing valve. Finn picked it up, hefted it, his hands remembering the weight and shape of the iron valve. The useless iron valve.

“They don't do anything, you know,” said Whelm, now standing behind Finn. “They could be used as thatch weights, maybe. Or ornaments. They're quite beautiful in a way.”

Finn considered his former tormentor. “So, this is what you do now?”

Whelm shrugged. “Not much else I can do since the wreckers struck and destroyed Engn. No one takes orders from me anymore. I scrape a living here and there, selling bits of the old machinery to any who will buy them.”

“So, you're free now? Free of the masters who gave you your orders.”

“Sure. Free to starve. Free to freeze. Wonderful. A real step up for me.”

“But you've been to Engn? Recently? You said you'd come across the plain.”

Whelm nodded. “I was there two weeks ago, scavenging for parts to sell. It gets harder each time to find anything useful.”

“But … it's all still there?”

“The ruins are. Lots of people still live among them.”

“Who?”

“People with nowhere else to go. Tinkers and tramps. People like me. People fighting each other.”

Was it Finn's imagination, or wasn't Whelm telling the full story? “Who? Who is fighting?”

Whelm shrugged and combed a hand through his unkempt hair. “I try to avoid them all. When Engn was destroyed and the old order broke down, the old rivalries bubbled up to the surface. All the old resentments. People who don't seem to have noticed it's all over. People who want revenge.”

“You mean the wreckers?”

“Partly them.”

“And who's on the other side? The masters?”

Whelm shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows? It's crazy there. It's not safe for anyone. I only visit when I have to, to find more things to sell. I get out as soon as I can, believe me.”

“But who's in charge? Is there a new Director controlling everything?”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” said Whelm. He sounded exhausted, spent. “It's late and I'm freezing.”

“And I don't want the others to hear it,” said Finn. “Tell me. Is there a new Director?”

Whelm studied him for a moment, puzzled. “I don't know. Some say so. If you ask me, it's just a few ironclads too stupid to realize Engn's gone.”

“You haven't seen a Director?”

“People say crazy things, invent wild stories.”

“What stories?”

“What does it matter? They're just fantasies.”

“Tell me what they say.”

“Oh, you know. Engn was destroyed so they could make it larger, more powerful. Or Engn wasn't destroyed, it was just a story people invented. Or there's a machine in charge now, trundling around giving orders to the remnants of the ironclads.”

“A machine?”

“Sure. A steam-powered machine like an old moving engine but with a person's head. That's the way it is now. No one knows what's going on and rumours and fantasies fill the void. I met someone down the valley the other day who swore blind the wheels of Engn were turning again. You only have to go there to see they aren't.”

They stood together beside the bulk of the moving engine, the night air sharp with cold. “Did you know the timing signals had started up again?” Finn asked.

The look of surprise flashing across Whelm's face was genuine enough. “When was this?”

“Just today. Do you know who would have sent them?”

Whelm shook his head. “I have no idea. Like I said, I keep my head down when I go there.”

“And yet you go about looking like a master. At least, not hiding the fact you once were one.”

Whelm sighed and looked around, combing his hand through his hair again. A nervous tic he hadn't had before. “I do, it's true. It's good for business. If people know I was once a master, they think I'll have better items to sell than all the other tinkers. People will pay for genuine Engn machinery. Some of it is actually useful.”

“But you're playing a dangerous game. Out here on your own among the people you once terrorized.”

Whelm didn't reply for a moment. The hunted look was back in his eye. “It can be difficult. Lots of people have scores to settle, I understand. But what can I do? All I had was Engn and that was destroyed.”

Did Whelm know about Finn's role in that? He'd known of Finn's plans, of course, but he'd said everyone taken to Engn had plans to destroy the machine. Even Whelm himself, once. And only a few people in the valley knew the truth. The people who had been there. People he trusted absolutely. They'd kept it quiet in case anyone from Engn wanted revenge. Whelm seemed to think the wreckers had been responsible. Best to say nothing now. If Whelm discovered the truth, there was a good chance the ex-master would blame Finn for everything he'd lost.

“Come on,” said Finn. “There's a shelter to hitch your horse in. Your stuff will be safe enough but bring your bedding. There isn't much to go around.”

Whelm nodded. “Thanks. I will do what I can to earn my keep.”

“Yes,” said Finn. “You will.” Then the ramshackle assortments of machine parts in the old moving engine gave him an idea. “Whelm? One more question before we go inside.” He fished the memory spindle from an inside pocket. “You know what this is, yes?”

Whelm held out his hand. Reluctantly, Finn passed the slim metal rod across. The ex-master held the silvery shaft up to the moonlight, examining it.

“It's a memory spindle. Quite a rare item. Full, too, by the look of it. Where did you get it?”

Finn was fully prepared for the question. “I found it while I was in Engn.”

“You found it?”

“The thing is, I'd like to view the images stored on it. I've been trying to build a reader. I was thinking you might have parts I could use.”

“Why do you want to read it?” asked Whelm. He looked puzzled.

Finn shrugged, trying to look like he didn't really care. “No reason. Just interested. It's all I really have of my time there. How do you know it's full?”

“These tiny spiral scratches are the recorded images. A diamond-tipped stylus etches them on. You need something similar to read them again. Similar but the opposite, if you see what I mean. Then some electrics to project the images into an orb.”

Finn held out his hand and, after a moment, Whelm returned the spindle.

“I've got an orb,” said Finn. “Bought it off a tinker a year ago. And the remains of a reader with some wires. But I can't make any pictures appear. Something's not connected right.”

“I might be able to help,” said Whelm. “They're tricky things. Delicate. I think I have some parts you could use. I used to work on the readers, years ago.”

Finn thought for a moment then came to a decision. He should have talked to Diane first, but surely she'd understand. “Look, why not come and stay with us? Once the earthquakes have stopped, I mean. We can give you a roof over your head for a few days and food to eat. Give your horse chance to rest. In return, you can help me get my reader working.”

Whelm looked wary. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. I'm not welcome here, that was pretty obvious just now.”

“They'll change,” said Finn. “If they see you're being helpful, they'll accept you.”

“No offence, but I've heard that before. More than once.”

“At least think about it,” said Finn. “Please. I'm sure I can persuade the others.”

Whelm looked thoughtful. “This spindle … it seems very important to you. Why do you really want to read it so badly?”

For a moment Finn was tempted to tell him everything. His family thought Finn was obsessed with the spindle and the secrets it might hold. Whelm might be more supportive. Still, he decided against it. The fewer people who knew his role in destroying Engn, the better. Some things should remain secrets.

“Like I said, there might be places or people I remember on it. And it could be useful. The moving images could even replace the line-of-sights.”

Whelm said nothing. Finn had the clear impression the ex-master didn't believe a word of it.

“Look,” said Finn. “Come inside, then tomorrow we can see what parts you've got and try and get the reader working, okay?”

After a few moments of calculation, Whelm relented. “Okay, Finn. It seems this time I'm in your hands.”