Engn II

XVI

XVI“I have two more muskets loaded” came Whelm's voice from the darkness. “I can't kill all of you, but I can take down another two. Who will it be?”

Nobody from the ring of masters moved. On the floor, Graves twitched, his feet working as if he was trying to run away, like a dog dreaming of the chase.

“Take their weapons,” called Whelm.

Finn watched their attackers warily as he reached for their blades and staves. “Don't get too close,” said Diane. “Make sure he has a clear shot.”

“Throw your weapons on the ground,” Finn said. “Then step back. Let us go and no one else will be harmed.”

Faces in the circle glared with fury and hatred. But also, with fear. There was more than one among them who hadn't been shouting and laughing. More than one who was there, most likely, for their own safety. Better to be hunter than the hunted. One threw a crude sword to the ground and stepped backwards into the darkness, face down. After a moment the others followed, metal weaponry clattering to the earth. Soon there was a jumbled pile on the ground. Beside them, Graves lay unmoving.

Whelm threw a coil of rope to the ground. “Tie them up so they can't follow us.” He stepped into the ring, holding two of the wide-mouthed muskets, one on each arm. Diane helped Finn uncoil the rope and between them they wound it about their attackers, yoking them together. Several of the masters in the group resisted at first but were persuaded by the sight of the muskets. Finn had to push aside the troubling thought he was helping a master – or at least an ex-master – hand out punishment. It was all different now, wasn't it?

There was no sign of their two horses. They'd either been released or had fled in panic when the fire started. Diane took the muskets while Finn and Whelm lugged the pile of weapons away to Whelm's cart. The line-of-sight tower was a burning hulk, the heat from it still intense.

“We should kill them,” said Diane. “Shoot them all so they don't come after us. It's the sensible thing to do.”

Whelm took one of the muskets from her. “You're right. Only way to be sure.”

“No,” said Finn, stepping in front of them. “No more killing. We can be far away by the time they get free.”

Whelm didn't look convinced. “We might regret it. And they were going to kill you, you do know that don't you? Kill you slowly.”

“I know,” said Finn. “Even so, I don't want this on my conscience as well.”

Whelm lowered the two muskets. “Just as well. I used all my shrapnel in the first shot. And this g*n hasn't worked for years. If they had attacked, I wouldn't have been able to stop them anyway.”

“You tell us this now?” said Diane.

Whelm grinned. “I was hardly going to mention it before, was I?”

“Why are you even here?” asked Finn. “Why have you done this?”

Whelm climbed up onto the cart. His face was still swollen from the beating he'd taken, and he moved awkwardly, muscles stiff with pain. “Several reasons. Do we need to go into them now?”

“Yes.”

“Can we at least get moving?” He offered them a hand. After a moment Diane took it and hauled herself up onto the cart. Finn followed.

Leaving the tied-up masters by the smouldering tower, they headed into the darkness. The iron wheels of the cart squeaked as they rumbled over the rough ground.

“So, why?” said Finn. “I thought we wouldn't see you again. I thought you blamed us for everything.”

“I'm here for revenge, partly,” said Whelm.

“Revenge on us?”

Whelm indicated the tied group with a backwards nod of his head. “On them.”

“Those were the ones who attacked you?”

“The burned man was the worst of them. Took great pleasure in what he did to me.”

“Even though you were once a real master?”

“He said I was a traitor to Engn.”

“But why rescue us?” asked Diane. “You didn't have to do that.”

The cart bumped and rattled over the ground for a good minute before Whelm replied. “You know, Finn, when you let me sleep in your Moot Hall, you were the first person since the day Engn fell to show me any kindness. The first person since long before that, if I'm honest. I was angry back there in the woods. Humiliated. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you.”

“We were to blame for destroying everything,” said Finn. “That was the truth.”

“Maybe so,” said Whelm. “And perhaps that ruined a lot of things for me. But perhaps it set me free, too.”

“Are you're going to come with us to Engn?”

“I'm going that way. Might as well travel together again if you'll have me.” He chuckled under his breath. “Plus, there's the money.”

“What money?” asked Diane. Her usual hostility to Whelm was clear in her voice, despite the way he'd just rescued them.

Whelm shrugged. “Okay, since we're telling each other our secrets, I'll be honest with you. I was offered money to bring you back to Engn.”

“What?” said Finn. “By whom?”

“I truly don't know. A figure dressed as an ironclad in the wreckage. Could have been anyone. But they were very clear. The two of you were to be brought together. Alive and unharmed.”

“So that's why you were in the valley,” said Diane. She sounded like all her suspicions had been confirmed.

“Yes. I thought I might have to drag you away, tied up or drugged. I didn't expect kindness.”

“But now you're taking us there as agreed, to claim your reward?”

“If I were doing that, I wouldn't be telling you, would I? No. I want to know what's going on. The images on that spindle and the earthquakes – I need to know what it all means. Believe it or not, being a master wasn't always easy and it wasn't always pleasant. I want to know why any of it happened. What we were doing there. And that spindle of yours is the only way I've got of finding out.”

When Whelm had first taken Finn to Engn, the master had seemed ill at ease at times, troubled by what he'd become. It seemed possible he was telling the truth now.

“You think you can get the reader working again?” asked Finn.

“I have got it working again. Just about. The whole thing is lashed together with frayed wires and rusted valves and cracked glass, but it should function. I've been trading for parts while I waited for you. It's in the cart. If you've got the spindle, we can take another look.”

“Surely you don't have power out here?” said Diane.

“I have a little electricity,” said Whelm. “Stored in voltaic cells in the cart. I charged them up at your house. Without telling you, I'm afraid. There's not much juice in them, but it should be enough for a few minutes. If we can find any more scenes on the spindle. You have it here?”

“I have it,” said Finn. “Where do we go? Is there somewhere safe?”

“Nowhere is safe out here. Nowhere is safe anywhere. Maybe we can find cover. Then we can rest, and I'll show you.” He paused, glancing across at the two of them. “So, anyway, there's my terrible secret out in the open. Anybody else want to share anything while we're talking?”

“What do you mean?” asked Finn.

Whelm looked back to the way ahead. “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to be sure we were all being completely honest with each other. Now we're traveling together again.”

“No secrets,” said Finn. “You know as much as I do about what's going on.”

Finn's words seemed to amuse Whelm, but the ex-master said no more.

They stayed away from the road, cutting across country once again. Behind them, the sky shaded from black to purple, then glowed with oranges and pinks as the sun rose. They pressed on until it was fully light, keen to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Halfway House. Finn glanced back repeatedly, looking for signs of being followed. They were leaving a clear trail across the grass of the plain, the twin lines of the cart's wheels crisp. He just hoped the knots they'd tied would keep their attackers from pursuing them for a while.

“How did you even find us?” asked Finn. “How did you know we were here?”

“I figured you'd pass by the Halfway House at some point. Didn't see you, but I did see the flames from the tower, so I came to investigate. Fortunately, the sound of the fire covered the noise of the cart. I crept as close as I could and saw it was you and them together. Pretty lucky, really.”

“It was a good shot,” said Diane. “A musket isn't a very accurate weapon.”

Whelm shrugged. “It wasn't that good. I was trying to hit him in the legs. I…”

A metallic sound cut through the morning light. A discordant trumpeting, as if someone was blowing through some cracked and battered horn. It made Finn's heart pound; it was a sound he knew well. A sound he still heard in his nightmares. Diane knew it too, of course. She'd heard it often enough while being pursued, echoing through the trees to find her. She looked at him now with clear alarm on her face.

A master's hunting horn.

Whelm stopped, too, and stood listening, head c****d on one side, a frown on his face.

“It's coming from back there,” said Finn. “They're after us. They must have got free.”

“It could be anyone,” said Diane. “Anyone could have found one of those horns in the ruins.” She didn't sound convinced.

With a practiced leap, Whelm hopped onto the wheel of his cart, using it as a steppingstone to leap on top of the moving engine. He stood there surveying the scene, pulling out an old brass 'scope from a coat pocket and sweeping it around the plain.

“Can you see them?” asked Finn.

“Nothing,” said Whelm.

“They'll be able to track us easily,” said Diane. “It's obvious where we're going.”

Whelm looked the other way now, scanning all about as if they were on a boat in the middle of some vast body of water and needed to find the safety of land. “There's a cobbled road half a mile or so farther on. One of the old trade routes heading north into the mountains. If we hit that, they won't be able to follow our tracks.”

“They'll know we've gone way or the other,” said Diane. “If they split in two, they can still follow us.”

“There's a whole network of tracks, laid out when Engn was first being built. Or, I don't know, before that even. Most run north south, but there are crossing tracks, too. There must have been lots of traffic into the far north once, but they're not used much these days. They're broken and overgrown in places, but we can use them. Zigzag around. They can't keep dividing their forces. Sooner or later there'll be only one person following us.”

“Then let's go,” said Finn. “If we stand here, they'll see us sooner or later.”

They hit the cobbled track half an hour later, just as Whelm had said. A strip of smooth, rounded stones running straight across the plane, directly north to a distant horizon that was part white mountain and part white cloud. Here and there, tufts of grass and clumps of moss grew from the cracks between the stones. Enough for someone to spot a mark and track them? They had to hope not.

“Let's heard north,” said Finn. “South is more obvious. The main road to Engn is that way.”

At Whelm's instruction, the horse heaved forwards again, hauling the metal cart up the gently curved side of the ancient road. Whelm manoeuvred the carriage backwards and forwards so both wheels were on the road. There were ruts there, ruts the ancient stonemasons had lain so the wheels of a cart would ride within them, like the rails of the steam shuttles of Engn in reverse. To Finn's surprise, the wheels of the moving engine fit the span of the ruts exactly.

“I thought you said these roads were ancient,” said Finn.

“They are,” said Whelm. “Back then, cartwheels had a standard width and the roads were built to match them. When they built moving engines, they copied the gauge of the old carts.”

They trundled along the road, the iron wheels much louder on the hard stones, grinding and rumbling. Surely their pursuers would be able to hear. For the twentieth or thirtieth time, Finn peered backwards, looking for signs of pursuit. He could see nothing. They didn't hear any more from the horn.

Despite the ruts in the road, the cart lurched and bucked around as it rode the cobblestones, but progress was a little quicker than through the soft grass of the plain. Normally, Whelm rode on the footplate of the moving engine, steering the horse with leather reins, but now he didn't need to. The ruts kept the cart moving in the right direction. He leapt back on top of the machine and stood there gazing backwards, swaying nonchalantly as the cart moved around beneath him. He had clearly done so many times before.

“No sign,” said Whelm.

“How far until the next junction?” asked Diane.

Whelm considered. “A mile or two. We could throw them by heading back east when we get there, then cutting west again further north. It'll make the journey longer, obviously.”

“Let's do it,” said Finn. “Anything's better than being captured.”

It was early afternoon when they finally stopped. They'd turned four times onto crossing roads, Whelm working the horse to and fro each time to point the cart in the new direction. Once or twice they'd crossed sections of road that had crumbled away, or else been consumed by the slow invasion of the grass. At these points, their trail became briefly clear again. They just had to hope their pursuers – if there were pursuers – didn't come that way to see.

Whelm led them off the road and down into a dip in the ground he'd spotted. They'd seen more and more of these depressions over the past few hours. Diane had suggested they might once have been entrances to tunnels. They'd searched one or two but hadn't found any sign.

“I doubt they'll track us all the way out here,” said Finn. “We're miles out of our way.”

Diane peered around, as if still expecting attack at any moment. There was only the hissing of the grass in every direction, a sound so familiar you soon stopped hearing it when traveling on the plain. She nodded. They were all tired. The horse, especially, needed to rest after her exertions. Her brown flanks glistened with sweat.

Whelm tethered her to a stake he hammered into the ground while Finn and Diane prepared food. All theirs had been lost, left to burn in the line-of-sight tower, but Whelm was well-provisioned. They ate salty, dried meat and crisp red apples, none of them talking.

“Shall we look at the spindle now?” said Whelm once they'd eaten and drunk some of the water he carried.

“It's not safe here,” said Diane. “We should move on.”

“There's no sign of them,” said Finn. “I don't think they were ever even chasing us. And resting for half an hour won't make much difference.” He looked at Whelm. “I think we can risk it.”

“It's darker inside the engine,” said the ex-master. “The images will be faint, but we should be able to see them in there.”

Finn and Diane exchanged glances. Neither of them wanted to get inside the moving engine.

“We should leave the hatch open a little,” said Finn. “For the fresh air. And to keep watch. Just in case.”

Diane consented with a nod of her head. Whelm removed the numerous contraptions and metallic scraps he kept strapped to the walls of his iron cart. Then they crawled inside. The airless, rusty smell was immediately familiar to Finn. He tried to ignore it. The three of them sat together in the gloom while Whelm wound up something electrical, then took cables and clamped them to contacts on the reader. Lights glowed within the device. The smell of burning dust wafted over them.

“Do you have the spindle?” Whelm said.

Finn plucked it from the inside pocket he kept it hidden in. Whelm, holding it up to the light from the circular hatch, studied it with the cracked lens of an old eyepiece, frowning in concentration.

“Ah, here we are,” he said after a few minutes. “Looks like a brief snatch of clear pictures. And then a longer section a bit farther down.” He looked up in triumph at them. “Okay. Let's see what we can see.”

Muddy swirls of light filled the glass orb, and, for a moment, Finn thought Whelm had it wrong. The section he'd lined the reader up on was encrypted after all. Encrypted or corrupted. There were lines and shapes in the fuzz, but it was impossible to make out any detail.

“Is that smoke?” said Finn.

“Rock, I think,” said Diane. “It looks like the mines, but everything's lurching around so much it's hard to see anything.”

The picture stopped swirling for a moment, and he saw she was right. They were looking down into the mines. Not the vast caverns he remembered, with their great pillars of rock holding up the machine. These were smaller delvings, the caverns only ten feet high. Perhaps the very first tunnels that later became the mines he'd laboured within.

They saw figures, then a band of ragged diggers pushing a low cart around a corner and directly towards them. They were all stick thin and covered in grime. They moved with the dogged determination of the exhausted. Two guards walked behind them, something like the ironclads they were used to but different, their faces visible, wearing less armour. The guards pushed at the figures wheeling the cart, urging them onwards.

The images blurred again, as if someone were violently shaking the orb taking the pictures. When they settled down again, the scene had changed. The cart was still there, but all the figures lay sprawled around on the floor. Dust and rock rained down on them from above. At first Finn thought the diggers were all dead, but then they moved, hauling themselves back up to their feet, the guards kicking at them to make them stand. One of the figures didn't move, however much the guards kicked.

Finn understood what was really happening. An earthquake had just struck and the seeing-orb had captured it. Connor must have found the moment in history and added it to the spindle.

People ran in and out of the flickering scene, mouths open wide. There was no sound, but it was clear they were screaming. More rock crashed down, a huge boulder striking one of the figures and pinning them to the ground. The pictures shook again.

Then two more figures approached, running towards the cart, veering from side to side as if the tunnel were throwing them around. These were neither miners nor guards. Masters. Their clothing looked archaic, more like that worn by the masters in the other scenes they'd seen in the orb. He thought the masters were going to help the stricken miners, but when they reached the cart, they pushed everyone aside, dashing them to the ground. The guards joined in, keeping the miners back, preventing them escaping. Meanwhile, the masters unhooked one side of the cart and opened it up. Finn expected to see an avalanche of rubble fall out, but the cart was empty. Empty except for a single pebble, little more than a dot in the hazy picture.

The masters picked up the stone and walked back up the corridor. They moved with exaggerated care, as if the fragment of rock was incredibly fragile, or as if it might explode if dropped. One of the masters held a metal sheet over it to protect it while the other cupped it in his hands. Shuffling forwards, they moved towards Finn and Diane and Whelm. Behind them, as more rock showered down from above, the two guards stood, preventing the exhausted miners from following.

The masters had nearly reached the seeing orb when another tremor hit. This was a big one. Everything became blurred and confused again. Large amounts of rock and stone sleeted down, filling the tunnel. The shaking continued for long moments.

Then there was a single moment of clarity. The tunnel became visible again. It was filled halfway to the roof with boulders. The cart had gone, and the people had gone, all swamped by the rock fall. Here and there an outstretched arm reached from the rubble, bruised and bloodied. Incongruously, one of the masters' chimney-like hats sat upon the rocks, as if someone had gently laid it there. No head was visible beneath it. No one – miner, guard, or master – had survived.

Then more violent shaking came, and the pictures in the orb winked out.

In the gloom of the moving engine, Diane looked up at Finn while Whelm plucked the spindle from the machine and examined it.

She looked puzzled. “When you were down there in the mines, what were you actually digging for?”

“We weren't digging for anything,” said Finn. “We just had to dig, deeper and deeper down. No one ever told us to look out for a particular sort of rock or anything like that. I assumed the whole thing was all one more pointless activity. Like the valves. It didn't make a lot of sense, but then not much did.”

“There was no gold?”

“None that I saw.”

“Whatever was in that cart, it was clearly precious. Even the masters risked their lives to get it.”

“It must have been the seismium the other scenes mentioned.”

“It seemed such a small amount, though,” said Diane. “They risked their lives for that tiny speck of it. And why didn't they run when they had it? Why did they walk so slowly when they knew the roof could come down at any moment?”

“It must have been unstable somehow, I guess. Maybe it could have exploded – or whatever it is this stuff does.” He turned to look at Whelm, who was still peering at the spindle through an eyepiece, turning it around slowly while he studied it.

“Can we see the other section you mentioned?” asked Finn.

Whelm continued to peer at the spindle. “I'll line it up now. Hopefully the cells will have enough power.”

“I'll go check we're still alone,” said Diane. She crawled through the hatchway. Finn and Whelm waited together in the darkness. The iron tank surrounding them tinged gently in the heat of the sun. Neither spoke.

After a few minutes she climbed back inside. “No sign of anyone.”

Whelm nodded and, carefully, placed the spindle back into the reader. He lined up the tiny stylus that would read the next set of pictures. A scribble of lights flickered in the orb. This time there was a voice, too. A narrator. It was, unmistakably, Connor.