Engn

XV

XVThey came for him again that night. Finn was drifting away to sleep, exhausted, his thoughts a jumble of hands beckoning to him and fists swinging at him. He heard whispers and sudden running feet. Before he could do anything, he felt his bed lurching onto its side. He was thrown onto the floor. Graves, Croft, Bellow and several others stood around him. They kicked at Finn as he rolled around on the ground.

“Have you managed to remember your own name yet?” shouted Graves. “Master Owyn's little pet.”

“Let's use him as the ball,” said Bellow.

Bellow had lost the tops of two of his teeth when Finn had tackled him on the flints of the Octagon. Since then the bigger boy had gone out of his way to make life miserable for Finn. He'd held him under the water of his bath, keeping him there even as Finn struggled frantically. When Finn had finally escaped, n***d and spluttering, Bellow had laughed and walked away. Once, he'd nearly managed to push Finn down the spiral steps. Finn had only saved himself by grasping hold of the banister. Bellow had then tried to tip him over the side. Finn, terrified, had managed to kick himself loose and sprint away, half falling down the stairs anyway in his desperate hurry to get away.

Now, as he huddled on the floor, trying to protect his head from the kicks, he suddenly knew he'd had enough. He was powerless to fight all these bigger boys. Graves, who was supposed to keep order, was the worst of them. No one was going to come to protect him. The masters didn't care. It wasn't some game of scrum where there were rules of a sort. He'd hoped things would get better if he stuck it out for a while but he could see they weren't going to.

In that moment he found he no longer cared what happened to him. Didn't care about Engn or Connor or any of it. His heart pounded away but his mind was clear. He knew what he had to do. His father had told him not to take any messing from anyone. They were easy words to say and, so far, he hadn't dared follow them. Now it was time.

The alarm clock lay on the floor where it had fallen from beneath his pillow. Finn grasped it in his right hand. It was heavy, solid brass. With a shout he fought his way to his feet and turned to face his attackers.

“You dungbrains,” said Finn. “Don't you see what you're doing? We should be fighting them. The masters. Engn. They're responsible for everything. Are you too stupid to understand that?”

“You see,” said Croft. “Told you he was a wrecker. Told you he was one of them.”

“Filth,” said Bellow.

“Come on,” said Graves. “Let's get him. Let's sort him out for good.”

It was dark in the dormitory, but enough light slanted in through the window for Finn to see roughly where the other boys were. Graves, the tallest, stood right in front of him. Without a sound, clenching the brass clock, Finn swung his right hand at Graves' face.

He connected with a satisfying crunch. The boy's nose, perhaps. The taller boy screamed and bent over. Croft and Bellow charged at the same moment, pounding at Finn's head and back with their fists. But Finn vaulted over his upturned bed and ran a short way down the dormitory, between the lines of beds. His attackers were between him and the window. He could see their outlines clearly, but they wouldn't be able to see him nearly as well. He crept forwards. Graves' muffled screams came from somewhere nearby on the floor. Croft and Bellow roared that they were going to kill Finn when they caught hold of him. Finn crept up behind one of them – he couldn't tell which in the low light – and dashed the brass clock against the bigger boy's head. It was Croft, judging by the scream. He staggered backwards, roaring with rage.

Bellow charged then, his outline clearly visible against the window. Finn stepped aside and thrust out a leg to trip him up. Once again, as on the Octagon, Bellow was sent sprawling to the ground.

Finn stepped away from them, back around to his bed, awaiting their next attack. He'd been lucky, but he wouldn't be able to fight them off again. The bed gave him some sense of security and safety. He thought about trying to prize one of the iron struts free to use as a weapon. It was futile really. He'd had it now.

At that instant, once again, the electric light flicked on and Master Owyn stood in the doorway.

“What is going on in here?” A livid scowl contorted his face. Finn, kneeling by his bed, didn't speak. Graves, Croft, and Bellow, he could see, had all staggered to their feet, each clutching wounds on their face or head.

“It was Smithson, Master,” said Graves, his voice muffled by the b****y hand covering his nose. “He attacked us.”

The master glowered at Finn, still crouched next to his upturned bed.

“Is this true, Smithson?”

The master would surely find it hard to believe Finn had beaten the three bigger boys. He barely believed it himself. “No, Master Owyn. They were fighting each other. They turned my bed over then started hitting each other. I don't know why.”

“You little…” Graves charged at Finn. But Master Owyn's voice stopped him dead.

“Graves! Come with me. You other boys too. It looks like you all need stitches.”

The three boys filed out after Master Owyn, a trail of blood drops on the floor behind them. Each glared at Finn as they passed. Finn simply smiled back. It didn't matter now.

When they'd gone, he righted his bed and lay down. He put the clock to his ear. He could still hear faint ticking. Hopefully it would wake him up. He could hear excited conversation and laughter all around him as the other boys marvelled at what had happened. Finn ignored them and tried to sleep. He would be safe enough for one night. Even if Graves and the others came back before morning, they wouldn't dare cause any more trouble just then. They would bide their time, thinking they could get their revenge any time they liked. But they were wrong.

Finn's head pounded as he rested it on the pillow. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

The next morning, he was already awake when the little clock buzzed away in his ear. He felt stretched taut as if he hadn't slept at all. Graves, Croft, and Bellow were back in their beds, white bandages visible around their heads. Finn grinned at the sight of them. He had the strangest urge to walk over to them, shake them awake, taunt them. Or bludgeon them while they slept. It was delicious to think they couldn't touch him anymore.

His right hand throbbed from one of the blows he'd dealt them with the brass clock. It was swollen when he compared it to his left hand. He shrugged and dressed himself as quietly as he could. He slipped the clock and a few other possessions into his pockets before he left.

“Smithson! What are you doing?”

It was Boyle in the next bed. They'd become friends, of a sort. Boyle was clever, witty – but he suffered because he struggled with the valves and was useless at scrum. Finn wished he'd helped him more, stood up for him more.

“Nothing,” said Finn. “Just pretend you're asleep.”

“But you're taking everything. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, okay?”

Finn set off for the dormitory door. After a few steps he stopped.

“Boyle, listen. If they give you the Sixth Bell duty next, make sure you look outside. Through the skylight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just remember that, okay?”

“Okay, Smithson.”

At the door, Finn looked back at the dormitory and its rows of iron beds. It was only a few weeks yet it felt like he'd slept there for months and months, almost as if he'd always been there. Quietly, he closed the door behind him.

Instead of crossing to the other door up to the little attic, he crossed to the edge of the balcony and reached out for the rope that emerged from its slot in the ceiling. He'd tried previously and knew he could just reach the rope with his fingertips. He didn't dare look down as he leaned over the balcony, the iron rail digging into his waist. One foot left the ground as he reached. He clutched the balustrade tight with his other hand. Alarm flared inside him at what he was doing but he kept at it, wobbling on his tiptoes.

Finally, he had the rope in his fingers. He scrabbled it into his hand then pulled it towards him. He began to haul it up onto the landing. Its length made it very heavy and he had to stop two or three times for the strength to return to his arms, but finally he had it coiled in a great mound beside him.

He pushed the end of the rope through the handle of the dormitory door and hauled it through. Then he threaded it through the handle of the door opposite, pulling the rope taut between them so that neither door could be opened from the inside. He knotted the rope to hold it in place then lifted the remaining coil back over the balcony. It unwound itself with an angry hiss before snapping back into place. Distantly he could hear the clock chiming the Sixth Bell. He was supposed to be ringing the alarm now to wake them all up. Instead, he walked slowly down the stairs. As he always did, he looked for the secret door, the one the clock-winder must have used. He could see no sign of it. The rope, when he reached the bottom, now finished twenty feet or so off the ground.

He wasn't hungry, but he knew he should eat if he could. Sitting alone at the long wooden table, he ate bread and butter and drank two cups of milk. Boys and girls from other dormitories clattered in, filling the air with the clinks and scrapes of cutlery and crockery. None of the boys from his dormitory arrived.

Before they could, he hurried across the Octagon and into the Valve Hall. He was a little early, but he could just wait inside until it was his turn at the table.

He worked for half an hour, assembling two complete valves, before Graves and the rest finally appeared. Master Owyn shepherded them inside, fury visible on his face. Bellow glared at Finn, eyes narrowed, as he sat down. Finn smiled back and even dared to wave. The master strode around the table to Finn. He was shaking with anger; Finn expected to be struck in the back, thrown to the ground.

Instead Owyn spat words at him. “Come to me when you have finished your work. You will pay for this, boy.”

Finn nodded in assent, knowing he would do no such thing, knowing it didn't matter now. He worked for another hour, and then another, losing himself for a time in the comforting, humdrum familiarity of constructing the valves. He could put them together with his eyes shut now. Sometimes he did, just to vary what he was doing. He knew the weight and feel of each individual component so well he could feel them, sometimes, when he was asleep, his mind continuing to work on them all night long.

He put his tenth valve down on the table and murmured to Tanner beside him.

“Tanner. Listen. I'm going.”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving today. Now.”

“Don't be an i***t, Finn. Of course, you're not. You can't leave.” Tanner's eyes were suddenly fierce. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it. I'm going to talk to Master Owyn. You know what about, don't you? You're no fool. You've worked it out too, right?”

“Finn, didn't you listen? I've told you what happens. The mines. You won't stand a chance down there.”

“I don't think the mines are on the other side of that door. How do you know if no one ever comes back? I think there's something else. And I'm going to find out what.”

“Finn, you fool. Don't do this!” Faces were turned to watch them, now. A low hubbub of muttering spread around the room. Finn could see Graves grinning, as if this were all some scheme of his own invention. The older boy still wore a white bandage around his forehead and ears. Bellow and Croft sat next to him, not understanding what was happening, but happy simply because they thought Finn was in trouble.

Tanner seized Finn and pulled him close to speak into his ear. “Finn, listen. I know a name. If you're going to do this, try and find Lud. He's your only hope.”

“Lud?”

“The leader of the wreckers.”

“How do I find him?”

“He'll find you if he wants to. No one knows who he really is.”

Tanner released him and returned to his valve just as Master Owyn strode up to them. “What are you doing, boy? You're in enough trouble as it is.”

“Master,” said Finn, standing. “May I speak to you?”

“Are you ill? Can you not work?”

“I must speak to you.”

Master Owyn yanked him away from the table, pinned him to the wall and all but shouted into his ear.

“What is it, boy?”

“Sir, it's the valves. I've known for a long time. They don't work. They can't work. They're all useless, aren't they, sir?”

Finn regretted his words instantly. They were, they should have been, unspeakable. He felt as if it were someone else saying them, someone he was simply listening to. But he had said them. They could not be unsaid. His heart thumped and thumped in his chest. He watched as Master Owyn stared at him, jowls bobbing, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, anger building to a sharp point in his pig's eyes.

And Finn understood, in that moment, that Master Owyn was not a part of the conspiracy. That he was not going to congratulate Finn for his cleverness. That he actually believed the valves worked as he had explained to them on the first day. Master Owyn's role was to cow the artificers with his bluster and brutality, keep them in line, keep them working. But he knew nothing. His ignorance, his piggish stupidity, was clear on his face. They called him Master but he was no master. He was a slave too, controlled by those who really controlled Engn. The Inner Wheel. Master Owyn was as much a cog in the machine as Finn was, scarcely above him in the great scheme of things. Despite everything, Finn found himself feeling sorry for him.

“I never would have thought it of you, Smithson,” he said. “Bellow or Croft, perhaps, but not you.” He spat out the words, his distaste clear. Finn had to stop himself laughing. What did it matter?

Croft is too stupid to work it out, he wanted to say. Bellow too. But he managed to hold his silence. One of the ironclads clanked up to him and placed a heavy gauntlet on his shoulder. He turned to look at the guard, seeing his darting eyes through the thin slit of his helmet.

Finn glanced around the room. Graves, Croft, Bellow, Tanner, Scowl, Sigh. He would never see any of them again. It was a wonderful, dizzying thought. He'd been happy there, in a way, but it was a prison.

So it was that, with a wide grin, the ironclad urging him forwards, Finn pushed open the postern door.