Engn

XI

XIMaster Owyn stepped towards the tall, dark-haired boy standing next to Finn. He pinched the fine hair at the boy's ear between thumb and finger and lifted. The boy's delicate skin stretched painfully. He cried out and tried to balance on tip-toes to reduce the tugging.

“I said, do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, master. Yes.”

“Better. From now on do as I say, yes?”

“Yes, master.”

Master Owyn released his grip on the boy. They stood in an eight-sided open space, the Octagon the master had called it, deep inside Engn. They'd marched for hours from the gates to get there. Finn's head throbbed from the terrible rush and noise of it all.

He'd have no chance of reaching the gates if he tried to retrace his steps. He could recall only an endless maze of clanging metal walkways, around and between and through the machinery. They'd walked beneath shining steel pistons the size of tree trunks, pumping in and out; over vast tanks of seething molten metal; through booming, echoing pipes that Finn expected to flood with roaring water at any moment. They'd walked in silence through immense halls of racketing machines moving at impossible speeds, snapping so fast Finn couldn't even blink quickly enough at each clack. Past vast wheels that drove metal axles revolving at alarming speeds, or else clattering metal chains, the links of which were as big as his whole body. Walking close to the wheels was a dizzying experience; their constant motion made him feel it was the solid ground that lurched and spun. Either that or the wheels had shaken themselves free of their frames and were cartwheeling forwards to crush everything in their path.

They'd ducked underneath or squeezed between ducts and pipes of all sizes, from the tiny to the vast, some freezing and some burning to the touch. All of them numbered. Somebody, somewhere, knew them all and where they went. At one point they'd worked their way around a circular construction with countless metal rods protruding from it, like a giant's crown. Sparks of blue electricity leapt between the rods, zig-zagging their way upwards into the sky. A spider's web of cables spread out from the tower, hundreds of them leading off in all directions, towards other parts of the machinery. Finn had tried to follow some of the wires with his gaze but there were too many, crisscrossing, splitting, joining. The cables, too, were all tagged with a number. How could anyone understand it all? Some of the cables led to silvery glass orbs, like large incandescent bulbs, that were embedded in the walls or sitting atop iron tripods. The lights didn't appear to function, however, as none were ever lit.

They'd walked in line through the machinery: around and over and under countless buildings whose purpose he couldn't begin to guess. Except they weren't buildings. They were housings, tanks, cylinders, casings. People lived and worked there, threading their way past spinning wheels, ducking beneath chains and belts, but these weren't buildings built for people. They were merely components. Parts of the machine.

The air was solid with crashings and roarings, the ringing of bells and the clashing of metal, the taste of smoke and burning metal. Lights blazed and fires roared. A growing pain in Finn's head banged along with all of it. Three times a nearby explosion made Finn jump in alarm. Once, deafened by some roaring flame, he didn't hear a shouted warning and was nearly struck by a swinging weight that swooped to and fro across the walkway like a giant pendulum.

Finally, much to Finn's relief, they'd stopped in the Octagon. He was utterly lost, utterly spent, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was rest his aching body.

Grey stone walls stretched up all around them. Halfway to the top, the walls blazed gold in the bright sunlight, but the ground was deep in shadows. Windows dotted the walls, without any apparent pattern. Occasionally there was a flash of blue light from them, as if something inside had exploded in silence. Here and there he could see doorways that opened onto the yawning drop to the ground without a railing to stop anyone falling out. Above each doorway a black iron bracket protruded, holding a pulley for hauling up heavy loads. One of the walls was clearly part of the housing for one of the great wheels. The Titan Wheel, according to an embossed iron plaque. The square, iron end of its axle protruded through the wall, rotating in its bracket.

The floor on which the boys stood was fashioned from flints: hard, sharp shards of stone set edgeways into the ground like knives. It was a field of knives, waiting to cut anyone who stumbled or tripped while crossing. Finn could feel the edges of them through the leather soles of his boots.

“What is your name?” the master said to the tall, dark-haired boy, who stood rubbing the side of his head. The master's voice echoed off the high stone walls.

“Graves, master.”

“Graves. Very well. You look like the oldest. Hopefully you've learned your lesson. I'm making you Warden. You're to keep order when I'm not around. Do you understand? You other boys must do as Graves says, yes?”

“Yes, master,” they chorused with little enthusiasm.

Finn glanced up at Graves. The taller boy was grinning now, his eyes narrowed. The two stocky cousins, the farm laborers, standing on the other side of Graves, whispered something to him. The tall boy nodded his head and muttered something in return.

“Tomorrow you join in the great work of building Engn,” said Master Owyn. “At sixth bell you are to gather here to begin your apprenticeships. Do you understand?”

Master Owyn nodded at the chorus of yesses.

One of the doors in the walls opened, some mechanism of black iron rods moving it from within. Two figures emerged to march across the flints towards Master Owyn. They wore scarlet robes, their features invisible inside their hoods. They stopped to speak to the master. They conversed for some time, Owyn occasionally glancing at the boys. At, Finn felt, him. He had the distinct impression the master was being given orders. Which wheel were these others from? He couldn't see their fingers to count their rings.

They finished their conversation and the two newcomers strode away. Finn watched them go. As they were leaving the shorter of the two turned his head to glance backwards, revealing the line of his chin and nose for a moment. He appeared to look directly at Finn. There was something familiar in the way the man walked, something about the outline of his face that Finn recognized. With a skip of his heart he saw that it was – it had to be – Connor.

His friend had been at Engn for four years now. If this really was him, he'd clearly already managed to work his way into a position of authority. He must have heard of Finn's arrival and come out to give instructions to Master Owyn, putting some scheme into action. Only, it was the other hooded figure, the taller, who appeared to be giving the orders. Connor had barely spoken during the conversation, merely nodding his head from time to time. He also, Finn noticed, walked slightly behind the other as they strode away. Perhaps he was only an acolyte to the other man. In which case, would he be able to control Finn's fate? He didn't know. He didn't understand enough about Engn to make sense of anything.

“This way,” said Master Owyn. He indicated a smaller, more ornate doorway in the wall to his right. Inside, they gathered in a cramped, cylindrical room. A flight of narrow steps wound up and up around the wall, the top of the stairs invisible in the gloom. A longcase clock stood against the far wall beneath the curve of the stairwell, its wooden case taller than Finn. A pendulum scythed backwards and forwards within it, picking through the seconds. In the very centre of the room hung a rope ending a short way off the ground. Its end was blackened and worn smooth. Like the stairs, the top of the rope faded away far above them.

Without pausing, the master bound up the stairs two at a time, putting Finn more in mind of a bullfrog than ever. Walking in line, the boys followed. As he climbed, Finn tried to understand how the spiral stairs stayed up without a central pillar of stone to support them. The edges of the steps were worn smooth and must have been there for years, but still he walked as close to the outer wall as possible as he climbed.

Master Owyn stopped at the top. He wasn't at all out of breath. He stood and waited on a narrow landing, a balcony with an iron railing around it and three wooden doors leading off.

“Come on, come on, hurry up. Do you good, toughen you up.”

Finn peered over the balcony. The circle of floor was a long, long way below. The rope dropped from a hole in the ceiling just above their heads down to the ground, just far enough away to be out of reach.

The master pushed open one of the doors and led the boys into a large, high room, its walls faded whitewash. There was a single window that rattled and rumbled in the wind. At Finn's first glance he saw rows of iron bars spaced out all around the room. But no, they were the black, metal railings of beds, twenty or thirty of them laid out with precise regularity all around the walls of the room. More beds, four of them, had been placed end to end down the middle of the room. On each bed was a small ziggurat of folded linen: blankets, sheets, a pillow. Next to each bed was set a square wooden cupboard, little doors open in readiness.

“Make yourselves at home, boys.” The master smiled his unconvincing smile. “Take a bed each. You will be inspected each day to make sure they are made and everything is tidy. When you hear the sixth bell tomorrow, descend the stairs to the Octagon and I will show you what you must do.”

Each boy ran for a bed, most of them already seeming to know which the better ones were. Graves ran for the far corner. The two stocky cousins took the beds next to him. Finn scurried off in the opposite direction to claim one of the beds at the opposite end of the room.

“Smithson! Not you.”

Finn, not recognizing his new name, paid no attention. He headed towards an unclaimed bed, determined to reach it first.

“Smithson! Don't you know your own name, boy?”

Finn turned in alarm to see the master staring at him from the doorway, his face flushing red with anger. The other boys sniggered or tutted.

“Yes, master.”

“Come with me. You're to ring the sixth bell to wake the others. You can pick a bed later.”

Finn could feel the other boys' gaze upon him. Why was he being singled out? Graves and his lieutenants already seemed to resent him. This could only make it worse.

“Yes, master.”

That night, when he returned to the dormitory, the only bed left was one of the four in the middle of the room, exposed on all sides. The others smirked when Finn dropped his bag onto it. Saying nothing, he unpacked and placed everything he owned inside the wooden cupboard. He unrolled his patchwork blanket and spread it over his bed. It was spattered with mud from his journey in the moving engine. But it made his bed seem like his own: a small, rectangular piece of home.

From somewhere outside, up above them, a cracked bell began to ring out. Finn counted twenty-eight. The other boys dashed for the door to clatter off down the stairs. Clearly someone had told them what to do. He ran after them, jumping two steps at a time to catch up. Outside into the darkness, across the flints and then back in through another door. The warm smell of food, stewed meat, enveloped him. He couldn't recall when he had last eaten, but he didn't feel hungry. The other boys sat down on long, wooden benches and began to eat voraciously. Finn, not wanting to be singled out again, sat and joined in.

That night, past the thirty-second hour, he lay in bed, listening and thinking. He was exhausted but couldn't sleep. He had his eyes open even though it was too dark to see anything. The slim brass case Master Owyn had given him while explaining his additional duties was clutched in his hand. He would be in terrible trouble if he missed the alarm and didn't wake at the right time. Perhaps anxiety about that was keeping him awake. The machinery of Engn still hummed in the walls. Some of the boys whispered to each other, although they were supposed to be quiet. He could also hear a boy he didn't know sobbing under his covers. A part of him felt pleased about that. It might distract Graves and the bigger boys from him. He lay and thought about everything that had happened. He tried to imagine the darkness was that of his own room, back home in the valley.

The attack when it came was sudden and unexpected. His covers were yanked from his bed and Finn was sent sprawling onto the floor. Three or four boys, laughing and whooping, kicked him and kicked him on the ground. One foot caught him on the nose, sending sharp pain through him. He cried out. He heard his wooden cupboard being tipped over.

“Give me his blanket! Give me his blanket!”

It was one of the two cousins. Croft and Bellow they were called, but he couldn't tell which it was who spoke.

“Out the window!”

Graves too was with them; Graves who was supposed to keep order when the masters weren't there.

The kicking and kneeing had stopped now as the scrum of boys moved away to the window. He heard it being pulled open and a roar of delight as something, presumably his blanket, was hurled out into the night. Finn tried to stand up, holding his nose with one hand.

The electric lights snapped on. Master Owyn stood in the doorway, open-mouthed shock on his face. The other boys jumped back into their beds. Some pretended, unconvincingly, to be asleep. Finn stood alone in the middle of the room, the sheets of his wrecked bed strewn about him, his possessions scattered on the floor.

“What do you think you're doing, Smithson?”

Finn swallowed, unable to find his voice for a moment. He tasted blood from his bleeding nose. He knew instinctively he couldn't say what had really happened. It would only mean more trouble from Graves and the others. He didn't understand why they hated him so much. He hadn't done anything.

“I fell out of bed, master.”

Snorts of laughter sounded from all around the room. Master Owyn scowled.

“Make your bed and get to sleep immediately, boy. I'll talk to you about this tomorrow.”

“Yes, master.”

In the darkness, Finn made his bed as best he could. But when he climbed back in, it was clear he hadn't made it properly. The sheets were twisted and knotted around him. He shivered without his blanket. He lay curled up in a ball, his stomach churning with anxiety, listening out for the sounds of further attack from the other boys.

He suddenly remembered the brass case. He had been holding it but must have dropped it at some point. He couldn't feel it anywhere in the bed. He slipped out and, shivering in the cold, began to crawl around, feeling for it with his fingers. He was just beginning to think Graves and the others must have thrown it out of the window when he felt it, hidden beneath his little wooden cupboard. He scrabbled it out and climbed back into bed, still shivering, heart still pounding away.

Eventually, he fell into a troubled sleep, his first day in Engn over. Tomorrow would be another day he had to somehow get through. Tomorrow and all the remaining days of his life.