Engn II

XV

XVA valley between two mountains allowed access from Diane's village onto the great grass plain. A year previously, a wooden barricade had been erected by the villagers, a distance of nearly a mile. The plain was lawless and troubled, and the barricade had been an attempt to keep out marauding bands of looters. Looters and worse.

But now, after the quake, no one manned the wooden gates standing in the middle of the barricade. Diane and Finn lifted the heavy bar that kept the gates locked at night and pushed them wide. Beyond, the plain stretched into the hazy distance. In the wind from the mountains, the grass had become a sea, waves sweeping through it. The track leading to Engn cut through it in a straight line to the horizon.

They closed the gates behind them and stood for a moment. Taking the first step felt like crossing a line.

“Do we stick to the track?” said Finn. “Or cut across country?”

“The road will be quicker,” replied Diane. “If we see someone coming, we can always try and find somewhere to hide.”

“And you're sure you want to do this?”

She glanced at him, then back to the road ahead. “I'm sure.”

“Let's go then.”

Climbing back onto their horses, they set off.

Around midday they neared the first of the relay towers. Finn watched it approaching, remembering doing the same from within the choking heat of the moving engine. It soon became clear the timing signals hadn't come that way. The tower was a ruin, canted over to one side like a giant caught in the act of striding drunkenly across the land. By the look of it, someone had tried to set fire to it, one of its four legs burned right through.

“Does this mean the signals couldn't have come from Engn after all?” Diane asked. She sounded hopeful.

“Not necessarily. They might have crossed the plain on another line, going to some other valley, and been routed up to us from there. Thanks to people like Mrs. Megrim, messages find their own way through the network.”

Diane nodded but didn't reply.

They slept in a bowl-shaped dip in the ground just about deep enough to conceal the standing horses from anyone traveling on the road. Even so, they took turns to keep watch. Finn slept first and was roused by Diane in the depths of the night. They exchanged groggy smiles but no words. Huddling in his blanket for warmth, Finn sat and tried to stay awake, listening in the darkness for anyone approaching. Occasional rustling in the grass nearby sent alarm shooting through him, but he saw nothing, and nothing came near them.

Despite all his efforts, he must have slipped into a doze, because he awoke suddenly to the sound of shouts nearby. Shouts and cries of pain. It was already light, the sun detaching itself from the line of the mountains. He crawled to the lip of the dip and peered towards the road. After a moment, Diane joined him.

A group of people, maybe twenty, stood on the road. They were outlandishly dressed, some like masters, some more like ironclads. But they were such a ragtag assortment, their clothes patched and tattered, that it was clear they weren't real masters or real ironclads. One or two wore tall, chimney-like hats, a style Finn had seen a few times in Engn. Others appeared to be an amalgam of master and ironclad, wearing both grey armour and black cloaks. At first it wasn't clear what they were doing standing in a huddle. Then the agonized yelps came again, and Finn saw they had someone surrounded. A man lay curled up on the ground, arms covering his head while the circle kicked and kicked at him.

“We can't just let them do this,” Finn whispered. Perhaps these were the same people who had attacked Whelm.

Diane put a hand on his arm to stop Finn moving. “No. We'll only get ourselves attacked.”

“But they'll kill him.”

She nodded. “We can't stop them. We have to stay hidden.”

After a few minutes, the cries of terror faded and stopped. The ring of ironclad masters parted to reveal their victim, now just an unmoving heap on the ground. One of the group, the leader perhaps, stood over the figure, laughing. The left side of his face was badly burned, the light from the rising sun lighting up livid red wounds. He shouted some order and the others began to rummage through the clothes and possessions of their victim, handing anything of interest to the leader. Once they'd picked the carcass clean, they rolled it to the side of the road.

The leader with the ruined face looked around, and Finn and Diane ducked down. Had they been seen? Diane's face was so close he could feel her breath tickling his nose. Not daring to move, they listened for sounds of the attackers approaching. He just had to hope the horses didn't whinny. There was a low conversation from the group, words Finn couldn't hear. Then they moved, armour clinking. For a moment Finn thought they were coming nearer, and his hand went to the knife he carried at his belt. Diane did the same. But then he heard someone in the group laughing. A few moments later, slightly farther away, the laugh came again. The group was heading away, up the road towards Engn.

Finn and Diane waited for the best part of an hour. Before they left, they checked on the man waylaid by the mob, but there was nothing they could do. He'd been kicked to death, his face purple and alarmingly bloated. They left him there and moved off, avoiding the track and cutting across the green expanse, trying as much as possible to walk within the dips undulating across the plain. They saw no more of the ragtag ironclad masters.

That night, with Diane on guard, Finn tried to sleep. But all he could think about was the traveller on the road being kicked and kicked. One more death that was his fault? If Engn hadn't been destroyed, would that solitary figure, whoever it was, still be alive? It was impossible to say. Still, he lay there agonizing over whether they'd done the right thing in destroying the machine. Uselessly, he ran through the calculations again, trying to weigh lives saved on one hand and lives destroyed on the other. Trying to measure the amount of misery on each side of the scales. It was futile. Still, scenes such as the one they'd witnessed made him doubt what they'd done a little more. He couldn't get the vision of the unmoving shape on the road out of his mind. Despite his tiredness he tossed and turned restlessly until Diane roused him for his turn to take watch.

They reached the Halfway House two days later without encountering anyone else on the road. A heavy rain poured down as they approached, turning the ground to mud, soaking Finn and Diane as they surveyed the building from a safe distance.

The great yew still stood, its gnarled and misshapen trunk writhing out of the ground, branches draped over the white walls as if to shelter them from the rain. Everything else was very different. The building had survived the earthquakes but looked as if it could fall at any moment. Fires had clearly raged within them at some point, blackening the walls with fronds of soot. The glass in the windows was all gone, as were many of the roof tiles.

From within, voices shouted and roared. It was hard to tell if people were singing in there or fighting. As Finn and Diane watched, two figures appeared in one of the upper windows. At first, Finn thought they were lovers embracing. Then he saw they tore and punched at each other. They lurched their way towards one of the gaping window frames but continued to grapple. Then, with a cry, one toppled out and plunged to the ground with a crash. The other peered down from the broken window and roared with delight.

“That does not look like a safe place to stay,” said Diane.

He'd hoped the Halfway House might be a haven from marauding bands on the plain. It didn't look like it was. “There was a relay tower not too far away,” he said. “If it's still there, we could shelter for the night.” It was a risk. The towers were clearly visible for miles around. But perhaps they'd be safe so close to the Halfway House. Who'd sleep in a leaking wooden hut on stilts when they could be inside those stone walls?

Water dripped from Diane's nose and chin as she considered. “Okay.” The shiver was clear in her voice. “We'll die anyway if we stay out in this.”

This relay tower at least was largely unscathed. A rope, green with rot, hung down from the trapdoor. It seemed to be strong enough to hold them. They tied the horses to one of the legs, hoping once again no one would spot them. Then Diane shinned up the rope, followed by Finn.

Inside the tower, the 'scopes were smashed and useless, but most of the wooden planks of the floor and walls were intact. They laid out their blankets in the driest corner and changed into what dry clothes they had. Perhaps by morning their soaked things would be dry enough to wear again. Finn peered out through the round holes in the walls that, once, line-of-sight 'scopes had pointed through, relaying messages to and from Engn. He could see little out there. The Halfway House was a flickering glow in the distance. Beyond was a paler but much wider glow in the sky. It could only be the lights from the ruins of Engn. Fires burning in the wreckage perhaps. Apart from that, the whole world was darkness and rain.

They ate more of the supplies they'd brought with them from Diane's village: crusts of bread now as tough as leather; apples and pears from the recent harvests; rubbery wedges of yellow cheese. They lay down to sleep, arms around each other for warmth. Diane soon slept. She was good at sleeping whenever the opportunity arose, something she'd learned to do in her years of fleeing the ironclads. Finn, once again, lay awake, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof of the tower, feeling the whole structure sway beneath him as the wind gusted. Occasionally one of the horses whinnied. He wondered once again whether they'd done the right thing those years ago. And whether they were doing the right thing now. He was still thinking these troubled thoughts when sleep finally overcame him.

Sometime later, the rain awoke him again. It roared on the hut with renewed urgency. Except it wasn't rain. He sat up, suddenly alarmed. He'd been dreaming about the fire in the Blueprint Hall that day. The reek of the burning oil and the roar of the blue flames as they engulfed the shelves.

There was fire again now. The smell of oil and burning wood. Smoke roiled around within the tower as if trapped and seeking a way out. From somewhere outside he could hear the crackle of the flames. And then a babble of voices, shouts and cheers and laughter. The tower tottered to one side suddenly, as though one of its legs was giving way.

Diane was already on her feet, fingers through the ports to hold herself upright. “We need to get out of here!”

Finn pulled aside the trapdoor they'd climbed through, and then wished he hadn't. Flames licked at the underside of the tower and a plume of acrid smoke billowed in. Silhouetted figures, details impossible to make out, stood around the fire as if for warmth. He slammed the door shut again. He thought about crying out, telling them there were people trapped inside. But their evident delight in the destruction of the tower stopped him.

Diane kicked at one of the walls of the hut, the one farthest from the ground if they fell. The smoke was thick, making them both cough, the oily stench prickling the back of his throat. It was suddenly hard to see anything. The floor lurched again, and Finn thought they were going to crash to the ground. Somehow the tower remained upright. He too kicked at the wall, now sloping above them like an angled roof. They had to hold on with both hands to kick. They were trapped in a burning wooden box, and their only thought was of escape. Escape before the whole thing crashed to the ground in an inferno of blazing spars.

The rotten planks of the wall gave way to their blows, the wood soaked and soft. The sodden timbers up here hadn't yet caught fire. Their attackers must have soaked the legs in oil to start the fire but hadn't been able to reach that high. Between them, Finn and Diane tore and kicked open a hole big enough to peer out of. The night sky above was clear now, the stars looking quietly down. Smoke and dancing sparks filled the air all around. Sparks from their own funeral pyre.

“Jump!” said Finn. “We have to jump clear!”

They kicked their way through the broken wooden wall and stood on the lip of the drop. The ground was a long way down, but anything was better than burning to death. Perhaps, somehow, they could land safely and then get away without being seen. Another cheer came as the tower lurched again, dropping several feet.

Holding hands, Finn and Diane leapt into the darkness.

The ground met them with a jarring thump. Pain shot through one of Finn's knees with the impact. The stench of burning oil was strong down there. He pulled himself to his feet. He'd have to limp but all that mattered was getting away. Diane was already up, hauling Finn away from the flames and the ruined tower. In front of them lay the welcome safety of the night.

“There they are! They're running!” someone shouted over the roar of the flames.

“Take them!” shouted a deeper voice. “Bring them to me.”

Finn lurched forwards, not looking back, sharp pains shooting through his left knee each time he put any weight on it. Diane ran on ahead of him a short way. She, at least, wasn't injured.

They ran five steps, ten. He thought they were going to make it. Then a whirling, whistling sound flew towards them. Finn ducked. A weight struck his legs. He looked down to see it was a chain with round weights on its ends, wrapping itself around him with furious delight, locking his limbs together to pitch him forwards from his own momentum.

“Run!” he shouted to Diane. “Keep going!”

But then two more metal chains whistled through the air. Diane dodged one, but as she swayed out of the way the second caught her, locking her legs in a tight embrace. With a cry she, too, crashed to the ground.

Desperately, they tried to free themselves, tearing at the chains in panic. The weights on the end were brass spheres, heavy enough to coil tightly around their legs. Like the grapple an ironclad had once caught him with, the links of the chains had little teeth locking them together.

They half freed themselves and managed to stagger to their feet. But they were too late. The pretend ironclads and masters from the road stood around them, calmly waiting for Finn and Diane to disentangle themselves.

They truly were a motley assortment. Some wore rags, tattered assortments of scraps scavenged from somewhere and anywhere, faces filthy and scarred. One or two had ears or hands missing. Others in the throng were as well dressed as any master in Engn. All carried weapons – throwing-chains, metal clubs, swords. One of the masters whirled a large watch around on a chain as if he intended to fling it at them at any moment.

“Who are you?” said Finn. “What do you want?”

“We are the masters,” one of them said.

“There are no masters anymore,” said Diane. “Engn has been destroyed. Didn't you hear?”

A ripple of amusement circulated among them. One of the group, a man who'd been silent so far, strode towards them. He wore one of the cylindrical hats on his head and a black cloak flowed around his shoulders. He held his torch up to Finn's and Diane's faces, studying them. The heat of it made Finn's eyes hurt, but he could see immediately it was the burned man. Half his face was melted, as if it were made from wax. His left eye was milky and useless. But the other half of his face was normal. His one good eye peered sharply out. A grin curled up the good half of his mouth and Finn saw in that moment who it was.

“Graves.”

“Well, well,” said Graves. He spoke in a whisper, close to Finn's face as if he didn't want the others to hear. “Finn Smithson. What a very fortunate meeting. I thought you were long dead.”

“And I thought you were,”' said Finn.

“Oh, nearly, nearly, but I clung on. No thanks to you. Do you remember all the tricks you played on me? All your little games? The way your lured me down into the mines, just so you could use me in your escape plan. The way you left me to die down there while you got out. Do you recall all that, Finn Smithson?”

Finn didn't reply. None of that was right, but it wasn't going to help to say so.

“I'm afraid I had the bad manners not to die,” continued Graves. “When the roof caved in it was terrible. The world falling in. Everything was crushed. Everything and everyone except for one or two mangled wretches who managed to crawl out through the wreckage, hauling their useless limbs along behind them.”

“I'm sorry,” said Finn. “I'm sorry about what happened to you.”

“This?” said Graves, stroking the ruined half of his face. “Oh, this didn't happen in the destruction. I already had this. Do you want to know how? Shall I tell you?”

“Yes,” said Finn, although he didn't want to hear. But anything to keep Graves talking, buy more time. Perhaps, somehow, they could trick him again and get away. He was cruel but stupid.

Graves spoke more loudly so his band of followers could hear. “The masters thought I was in league with you. They thought I knew where you were going, what your plan was. Oh, I swore I didn't, but they wouldn't listen. I pleaded and begged, but it was to no avail. To encourage me to talk, they put my face to one of the braziers. Held me there while the hot coals ate away at me. So, you see, I have you to thank for all this, too.”

“I didn't mean that to happen,” said Finn. “I had no choice.”

“Oh, it doesn't matter,” said Graves. “It doesn't matter at all. Because now I can return the favour, can't I? I thought you were dead, but here you are. A gift from the universe. And, see, we have a nice fire going already. We are the masters and we do as we please. I wonder how much you'll scream when the fire starts to consume you? We can take it nice and slowly. Start with your arms and legs. We have all night.”

“I'll kill you if you touch him,” said Diane. She pulled a thin blade from somewhere and held it up to Graves. Graves laughed, looking around at the g**g surrounding them.

“Oh! She has a little knife. We'll have to be careful; she might kill us all with it.”

Laughter rang around the ring. Graves frowned with the good half of his face and now peered closer to Diane.

“And it's you, isn't it? The girl who was there, who escaped with him. Well, well. This gets better and better. The happy couple. How touching. Now we can really have some fun.” The half-grin reappeared on his face. He was clearly enjoying acting out the scene to his audience. “I'll tell you what, Smithson. You're clever. You're just the sort of person we'll need to build the new Engn. I'll make you a deal. Despite everything, I'll spare you. But we're going to take it out on her instead. Join in with us while we have our fun and I'll let you become a master afterwards. Think of it as a little … initiation. What do you say?” Graves seemed delighted with his idea.

“You were always an evil bastard,” said Finn. “Right from the start you had it in for me, from that very first day in Engn when we waited at the gates. You hated me for no reason. I know you were just a frightened kid like I was, but you know what? I don't care. You've brought all this on yourself by your own stupidity and cruelty. You lay a finger on her and I'll kill you.”

Graves laughed at Finn's words. He turned to Diane. “Then I'll make you an offer, girl. I'll let you go. Yes, I will. Let you scurry off to the hills or wherever it is you come from. I give you my word. All you must do is help us give him the punishment he deserves. Hold him down in the fire to show us you mean it and then you can leave unharmed. What do you say?”

Diane didn't speak. Finn could see from her eyes she was planning something. Trying to see a way they could both escape. Weighing ideas. Perhaps she could outrun their attackers at least, but with his knee he couldn't move fast enough. Hopefully she'd see that and make a dash for it. At least she might get away. Could he, somehow, hold them back while she fled?

Graves, meanwhile, assumed from Diane's hesitation she was considering his offer. Delighted, he stepped back to play to his audience. “See, she's tempted! What do you think, shall we let her? Shall we watch as she pushes him into the fire? Or shall we start slicing parts off both of them?”

Graves laughed while the mob bellowed and cheered their approval. There was a moment while he stood there, face upturned in triumph, the happy smile clear on the good half of his face.

Then a gunshot roared from somewhere in the night, a flash of red in the darkness beyond the ring. Something stung Finn's cheek, sharp like a wasp sting. And, three yards away, Graves' face dissolved into red pulp. In place of his features, a strange assortment of machine parts had suddenly appeared, as if they'd burst out of him: cogs, bolts, scraps of jagged metal.

It made no sense. Finn stepped backwards, trying to understand what he was seeing. Screams came from somewhere. In front of him, Graves folded and crumpled to the ground.