Engn II

VII

VIIFinn's breathing was ragged, the stitch in his side sharp, by the time he reached home. He'd never really recovered from his ordeals in Engn. It didn't take much to wear him out, and some days he had no energy at all. Diane always assured him it would take time, that he'd get over it. It had been three years now.

He took a moment to let his heaving chest calm a little. He didn't want Diane or Whelm to see him like that. When he was ready, he pushed open the little wooden gate to their garden and made his way towards the workshop, threading between the vegetable beds. This time of year, with nearly everything harvested, they were little more than oblong mounds of bare earth.

“Finn.”

Diane stood on their doorstep of their cottage. For some reason she was still in her stained work clothes. She should have been lying in a steaming tub of water.

“Whelm wants me,” said Finn. “In the workshop. I think he's found something.”

“It was me who sent the message, Finn. Not him.”

He stepped closer to her. Something was wrong, he could see. There was a knot of anxiety about her eyes.

“What is it? What's happened?”

“Come inside. I'll show you.” Finn saw her glance over at the workshop, as if she was afraid Whelm would overhear. The ex-master was still in there; he could see the flicker and glow of electric lights. Was the reader finally operating? Perhaps. The urge to go and find out was almost too much to resist.

Instead, he turned and followed Diane inside their house. Whelm would have to wait. Diane led him through the kitchen, all sign of the smashed glassware and crockery now swept away. Into the west-facing room they sat in together each evening. Their line-of-sight 'scope was there. Finn saw straight away this was what she wanted to show him.

“I see we've had messages,” said Finn. “More news from home?”

Diane stooped to pick up the rolls of printout unfurled upon the floor. “No, not from home. And we've only had one message. The same message every ten minutes, repeated over and over. Someone really wants to make sure we get it.”

“What does it say?”

Diane held out a sheet of the paper for Finn to see. “I don't know. It's encrypted.”

“You obviously tried our key.”

“Obviously. And your old one from your parents' house. And my old one from back home. Even the one Mrs. Hampton used when she lived here. I tried them all, Finn, but none of them worked.”

“Who's sending it? Let's just ask them to switch to plain text.”

Diane shook her head. “No, Finn. See.” She handed him the piece of paper. Finn suddenly knew what the source address would be before he even looked. 1A11. And below it, before the garbled stream of random characters, a heading in clear text. For Finn and Diane.

He looked back up at her. The alarm was clear in her eyes now. Finn looked back at the message, but it was completely undecipherable without the key, of course. And it was a long message. Several pages.

“You're sure it's the same message over and over?”

“I haven't checked every character, but they look the same. I'm guessing they're giving us a chance to get the key right.”

“How many times has it come now?”

“Five. It should come through again in two or three minutes.”

Diane had already tried all the keys he knew. Except she hadn't, had she? He could think of two more. Two that had been stuck in his memory for years, numbers that would rattle around in his brain until the day he died. One was Matt Dobey's, the number Finn has tricked the old lengthsman into providing. The other was the one Mrs. Megrim had given him, scribbled on a scrap of paper before Whelm – Master Whelm – threw her to the ground.

“Let me try,” said Finn. He dialled in Matt's old number on the little brass wheels beneath the 'scope.

“Whose number is that?” said Diane.

“Matt's.”

“Matt's dead, Finn. We both saw it.”

“I know. But maybe someone knows we'd know his number. It's…”

The lights flickered in the 'scope, then, cutting Finn off. They waited for the paper to start spooling out of the little slot in the bottom of the machine.

1A11. For Finn and Diane, it said. And then it came: line after line of meaningless characters.

“Okay,” said Diane. “Not Matt.”

“I've got one other number to try.”

“You can change the key mid-message?”

“You can. It'll be garbled for a few seconds as the code mechanism switches around, but it's perfectly possible.”

“And what key is this? One you learned inside Engn?”

“The one Mrs. Megrim gave me.” This one would work. He knew it. Someone must have found out about it, would have known Finn had memorized it. He dialled in the familiar list of ten digits with his thumb.

When he'd finished, they stood together again, watching the printout from the machine. It stuttered for a moment, paused as if confused, and then resumed. More lines of indecipherable nonsense spooled out. Finn watched it for long seconds, unable to believe it. He'd been so sure. He kept expecting it to begin printing out words he could understand. But it didn't.

Diane seized a sheet and studied it, as if she could wring meaning out of it by sheer willpower.

“We could just reply and ask them to send the key,” said Finn.

Diane shook her head as she studied the printout. “They're hardly going to do that, are they? Anyone could intercept the key and read the message, and they've gone to a lot of trouble to keep it secret.”

“I suppose.”

“You know what I think we should do, Finn?”

“What?”

“I think we should burn these messages. And I think we should tell Rory never to route through any more claiming to be from 1A11.”

He didn't say anything. The truth was he had to find out what these messages were. The spindle and the timing signals and now these. They were all vitally important. How could she not see that?

“You don't agree,” said Diane.

“I don't think we can ignore all this,” said Finn.

“I think that's exactly what we can do. Ignore it completely.”

“And if we're meant to do something?”

“Meant by whom, Finn? We spent enough time chasing cryptic trails when we went to Engn before. I don't want any more of it.”

Finn looked down at the paper. If only they had the key. The words, surely, would be enough to persuade her.

“You know what's odd,” said Finn.

“What?”

“It's addressed to us at this house. How did they know we live here?”

“Everyone knows we live here,” said Diane. “It's hardly a secret.”

“Everyone in the valley. But how does Engn know? Rory would have said if anyone had sent out any encrypted messages. If there was another Matt in our midst.”

“Perhaps he missed a message.”

“I don't think Mrs. Megrim's son would fail to notice an encrypted message being sent through. Especially one sent there. And obviously everything has to go through him to…”

He trailed off. A memory had been niggling at him for a few days now. Could it be? Was it possible?

“What, Finn? What is it?”

“It's … just something I saw at Connor's house.”

“What?” She sounded wary, as if this was simply the latest in a long line of mad ideas. Perhaps it was.

“You know I said Connor's mother had her own line-of-sight? The completely misaligned one?”

“What about it?”

“Well, what if it wasn't misaligned? What if it was pointing exactly where it was supposed to be pointing? What if she has her own line directly to Engn that we don't know anything about?”

“Is that possible?”

Finn shrugged. Was it? He didn't see how. But why else would she have her own 'scope? And she'd been very clear he wasn't to touch it. “I don't know. Maybe. The messages would still have to bounce off mirrors to get around the mountains. Perhaps they're hidden all down the valley and out across the plain.”

Diane shook her head. “You know what I think? Do you want a much easier explanation than secret mirrors and alternative line-of-sight networks?”

“What?”

“That Connor's mother is lost in her own fantasy world. And as for these messages, someone passing through the valley must have reported back to whatever remains of Engn. Told them everything about us.”

“Who would do that?”

“Let's see. How about an ex-master pretending to sell useless scraps of machinery?”

“You think Whelm is spying on us?”

“Do you think he isn't?”

Finn didn't reply for a moment. The idea hadn't occurred to him. He knew Diane didn't trust Whelm, but he'd assumed it was because of what happened before Engn.

“Whelm's changed,” said Finn. “He's not the person he was. He seems … broken somehow.”

“Which means he'll be all the keener to fix things. Get Engn working so he can become a master again. Don't you see, Finn? This is the person you've invited into our home. He and all the others must have been reporting back all this time.”

“But there's no one to report back to. Engn is in ruins.”

“Is it? You're sure of that?”

“I thought you wanted to forget all about the place. Now it sounds like you think it's working again. I don't understand what you're saying.”

He was half shouting. They both were. They realized it in the same moment, caught themselves. Finally, Finn looked down. He hated to argue. They both hated to argue. They'd seen too much fighting.

Finn stepped away to look out of the window. One thing was clear: Whelm was causing tension just by being there. He'd have to go. First thing tomorrow, he'd have to leave.

“You've had a message?” Whelm stood in the doorway. They hadn't heard him enter. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

Finn shook his head, thrown by the ex-master's presence. “Yes. It's nothing. How's it going with the reader?”

Whelm grinned. “Come and see. I think I got it working.”

“You've got pictures?”

“I haven't tried it yet,” said Whelm. “I thought you might want to be there. The whole thing could blow up at any moment and never work again. That earthquake did a remarkably good job of bending the cogs inside the mechanism.” He glanced at Diane as he said this.

Diane said nothing. She returned her attention to the garbled line-of-sight messages, a scowl on her face.

“Coming?” asked Finn. “Surely you want to find out what's on the spindle at least?”

“Not really. Sometimes you're better off not knowing things.”

“Look,” said Finn. “I'll tell you what. If there's nothing on the spindle, if it's just random old pictures, then I'll leave it, okay? I'll do what you said. Destroy it, ignore the messages, everything. Get on with my life. With our life, I mean.”

She studied him for a moment. “And you can do that, can you? Just set it all aside. Or will you just find something else to get obsessed with? Some new, terrible secret you have to uncover?”

Finn didn't reply for a moment. Could he set it all aside? He'd never really thought about it properly, because he didn't believe he'd have to.

Eventually, he nodded. “If there's nothing on the spindle then I'll forget it all,” he said. “I promise you. But if there is something there, if there is something we're supposed to do, will you do it? Will we do it together?”

Now it was her turn not to answer for a moment. Finally, she, too, nodded.

They had their agreement. Their new pact. One of them would be right about the spindle and one of them would be wrong, and whichever it was, they would each go along with it. Once they'd needed rings and blood and spoken vows. Now it needed only these two nods and the look of understanding passing between them.

Finn grinned at her and she gave him the look of exasperated indulgence she kept only for him.

“So, are we going to switch the reader on or not?” asked Whelm. “Because I can see there's more going on here than just one little picture spindle.”

Diane set aside the sheet of paper she held and swept forwards, past them both and through the door.

“Come on,” she called back. “We'll settle this one way or the other. Let's see what's on the damned thing right now.”

Bare copper wires snaked from the electrical switchboard into the mass of valves and arms and cogs making up the dismantled spindle reader. Finn and Diane watched as Whelm gently pulled the brass lever opening the connection to the machine.

Immediately there was a smell of burning metal. A growing hum came from the mechanism. Finn could feel the sudden heat from it on his face.

“It'll take a minute or two,” said Whelm. “Once the orb is warmed up, I'll engage the reader.” He turned from the mechanism to look at the two of them, standing over him in the cramped workshop. “The thing is, I had a good look at the spindle when you were gone. Inspected it closely all the way along.”

“And?” asked Finn.

“There are some quite long sections of unencrypted etching in the middle. It's as if, I don't know, whoever made this didn't know what they were doing.”

“Or maybe they were in such a hurry they had no choice,” said Finn. “They had to copy the pictures from another spindle and didn't have time to set up all the encryption.”

Whelm nodded. His look of suspicion had returned. “Maybe. The question is, why? And why would they be doing it in secret?”

Finn shrugged. “I don't know. Just a thought.”

“You think we should start in the middle?” said Diane.

“No, let's start at the start,” said Finn. “Things will hopefully make more sense that way.”

“There are some unencrypted pictures at the beginning of the very first section,” said Whelm. “I'll start there.”

“Will there be sound?” asked Finn. Thinking back to that day in the Control Room, he remembered only pictures, flickering silently away in the line of glass orbs.

“Could be,” said Whelm. “At least, the orbs have the means of recording sound. It's impossible to say whether there's any on there. Perhaps a voice commentary added later. Like a diary of events.”

Whelm turned to study the humming machine, peering inside. In the depths of the mechanism, something glowed red hot. Whether it was supposed to, Finn couldn't tell.

“I think it's ready,” said Whelm. “The thing is, I've had to cobble together scraps and parts from a load of other mechanisms. I can't actually guarantee any of this will work.”

“If it fails, could it damage the spindle?” asked Finn.

Whelm considered for a moment. “It's unlikely, but I can't guarantee it. Do you want me to engage it or not?”

“We have to try,” said Finn, not looking at Diane.

Whelm turned a brass knob on the front of the dismantled machine. Immediately something whirred and buzzed, the sound of a motor spinning up to speed. There was a clunk and a series of clicks and then a silvery light flickered in the glass orb, as if it was nothing more than a weak incandescent bulb. Finn found himself peering nearer, gazing into the misty depths. His own features reflected at him, weirdly deformed by the curved glass. Diane was there, too, all nose and chin as she studied the orb.

An image appeared. Faint and shaky, it shook and disintegrated into a blur of lines as if being blown to pieces in a high gale. Then it solidified again. A man standing in a room. Finn recognized him immediately.

Connor looked wary, glancing around him as if afraid of being interrupted. Behind him, unmistakably, was the Control Room. The lines of orbs and the panels of controls were just as Finn remembered.

The voice, when it came, was distant and hushed, as if shouted through a high wind, but the words were there.

“Finn. There isn't much time. This spindle will explain everything. Everything you must do. I'm told you're here in the Directory now. You'll understand it all when you see. We had it so wrong, Finn. I mean, we were right, of course, but we knew nothing. Everything depends on this, Finn. On you and Diane. Everything. What we're going to do is just the start. Engn is…”

The images abruptly ceased, replaced by a swirling fuzz of black and white dots. They watched for five seconds, ten, but there were only more dots, accompanied by a discordant squeal of sound. Finally, Whelm pushed the lever, and the light in the orb died.

Diane was staring at the orb with a frown on her face. “You heard?” asked Finn. “You heard what he said?”

She didn't speak for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, she seemed to emerge from herself to return Finn's gaze. “I heard.”

“Do you believe me now? You see we have to do something? Something important?”

“Perhaps. It doesn't really prove anything. Perhaps he was talking about something we were supposed to do years ago, when we were there.”

“I don't think so. He said that was just a start.” Finn turned to Whelm. “You heard, right? Connor said we have to do something.”

Whelm didn't reply. He was considering Finn with narrowed eyes. “The Director's apprentice gave you this spindle? Your boyhood friend who became so high and mighty in Engn. You didn't find it. You went to the Directory and he gave it to you.”

“It was … something like that, yes.”

“Why would he do that, Finn?” said Whelm. “That doesn't make any sense at all. What's going on here?”

“Truly, I don't know,” said Finn. “That's why we need to see the rest of the spindle. Connor didn't get chance to explain very much. Things were … rushed at the end.”

Whelm didn't look satisfied. He was clearly suspicious. He didn't speak for a few more moments as he weighed up Finn's words. Finally, he said, “You'll need the key to see all of it. Connor must have given it to you. He went to a great deal of trouble to give you the spindle. He wouldn't just forget a thing like that. He wasn't stupid.”

Finn looked up at Diane. “Do you remember anything? Anything Connor said about a key?”

Diane shook her head.

“Wait, wait,” said Whelm. “You were there, too, Diane? All three of you in that room in the Directory?”

Now no one spoke for a moment.

“Yes,” said Diane finally. “I was. We were all there. The three of us.”

“How is that possible? I mean, why? Why were you there?”

“It's a long story.”

“Which means you're not going to tell me, right?”

“Not right now, no,” said Finn. “You said there were longer sections of unencrypted pictures. Let's watch them. Perhaps they'll make things clearer. Clearer for all of us.” He glanced at Diane, who nodded reluctantly.

“Okay,” said Whelm. “Since you're obviously not going to tell me anything, I'll skip to the next readable section on the spindle.”

As the machine crackled and buzzed once more, the three of them leaned in closer to the glass orb to see more of the indistinct images forming. It was a scene Finn recognized from his time in Engn. A voice spoke, too. No one Finn recognized. An older man, seeming to narrate the events portrayed by the flickering pictures…