Engn

XIX

XIXFinn's arm jerked sharply, wrenching his shoulder almost out of its socket. For a moment he couldn't understand what was happening. He swung there in the air, hanging by his arm, lights from the ground lurching around beneath him.

Metal bit into his wrist. The ironclad's grapple. It must have caught in the railings or the mesh of the walkway as he fell. He dangled there, his arm already tingling and numb. He thought about how slight the teeth of the grapple were. About the thinness of the chain that was stopping him plummeting to the distant ground.

Up above him, he could just see the shape of the ironclad against the orange glow of the night-sky, next to the telescope. He thought about calling out. But the ironclad wasn't going to just haul him up. His only hope was to stay very still, hope he wasn't seen. He spun slowly around, swaying in the gusting wind.

After long seconds the ironclad strode away, apparently satisfied. He made no sound, as if wearing rubber boots rather than the usual metal. Finn waited until the shape had faded into the night. By now, his shoulder throbbed alarmingly from supporting him at such an uncomfortable angle. It was hard to breathe, his chest squeezed by the weight of his body. He used his spare hand to reach up and grasp hold of the chain. He tried to pull himself up to the walkway, but it was useless. He didn't have anywhere near enough strength. Bitter, desperate tears came to his eyes. What was he going to do? He thought about trying to shake the chain free, let himself fall. The ground spinning beneath his feet was dark, but there would surely be some hard surface down there. At least, after a few bad moments, his torments would be over.

He did call out then, half sobbing, half crying. No one came. He wondered how long he could remain there, dangling, before unconsciousness overcame him. He almost wished it would.

The wind picked up again and sent him twisting around and around. He thought about their swing in the woods at home, the great leap off the bank over the treetops. If you had enough power you could get all the way back to safety. But if you didn't you could swing your way back by arching your body backwards and forwards in the right way. It was a chance. He could think of nothing else.

He waited for the wind to gust then kicked with his legs and waist. He began to swing. Agony shot through his shoulder. Perhaps he'd dislocated it. That had happened to one of the workers on Connor's farm while he was hefting hay bales up onto a wagon. Finn and Connor had watched from a hedge, fascinated, appalled. The man's scream of pain as they worked his shoulder back in had rung down the valley.

Another rush of wind hit Finn and he kicked again, swinging in a wider arc, gritting his teeth against the pain. If he timed it right, if there was another rush of wind at the right moment, he might just be able to grab hold of the underside of the walkway. A gust came and he kicked hard. But he spun too, maddeningly, so that he faced away from the walkway. He reached up and behind with his free hand and just managed to touch the metal before he fell back down and away. His stomach flew and heaved from the swinging motion. He wondered how many goes he had before the chain or the grapple came loose and he fell.

The wind rushed at him again, a powerful gust, and he kicked once more. His left arm was numb now, just dead flesh. He held his spare hand forwards, reaching upwards for the walkway. He touched it again and hooked a single finger through the mesh but he couldn't hold himself. Again, he swung away.

He almost reached the walkway again at the other end of his swing. But instead of trying to grab hold he bent his knees and kicked off with all his strength. He thought perhaps the wind had dropped but then it gusted into him, propelling him forwards. The underside of the walkway loomed suddenly near to his face. He grasped onto it with his free hand and held tight. This time he didn't slip off.

He hung by his fingers for a few moments, waiting for sensation and strength to return to his numbed left hand. He needed to work his way to the edge of the walkway so he could climb up the side. He knew he couldn't hang on for long, but he would need both hands to work his way across. He breathed ragged, panicky breaths. If he fell, he surely wouldn't have the strength to swing back up again.

He reached out with his left hand. His fingers felt swollen and clumsy. He clawed them through the underside of the mesh a short distance away, took a breath and let go with his right hand. The fingers of his left hand started to slip immediately. With a gasp he grabbed back hold with his right hand, hurting the tips of his fingers as he grasped. But he'd made some progress; he was an inch or two nearer the edge.

In a series of desperate, panicky jerks, he worked his way across. At the edge, the wind gusted again, threatening to pluck him back into the night air. He held on while it died down then swung himself sideways up the railing, reaching with his right foot. He managed to hook his toes through. Hauling himself upwards he reached up and got a hand over the top of the railing. There was a brief moment as he teetered there, thinking he would fall, that all his effort had been in vain. Then he threw himself forwards onto the metal walkway, landing hard on his back.

He lay there utterly exhausted, arms burning with pain. The walkway spun and lurch beneath him. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and thought himself back on the swaying bough of an oak tree, clinging on after a leap between trees that he'd nearly missed. He slipped into unconsciousness.

“Finn!”

Someone shook him awake. He thought at first it must be Connor with his catapult, then the ironclad come back to hurl him over the side. But it was a kind voice, a worried voice, one he recognized. It was his father, cross at him for getting his clothes dirty again. Then it was Mrs. Megrim and he'd fallen asleep in the Switch House, a missed connection blinking away. But, no, it wasn't her, either.

“Rory?”

“I'm here, Finn. I came after you. I couldn't just sit there. I saw the ironclad and I thought he must have caught you.”

“He threw me over the side. But the chain got caught up.”

“Oh, Finn.” The man kneeled and put his arms around Finn. Sharp pains shot through Finn's left shoulder.

“You shouldn't be here,” said Finn. “They'll get you, too.”

“No need to worry about that.”

Finn attempted to stand, steadying himself with a hand on Rory's shoulder. “No. You should go back before the masters see you've gone.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“What do you mean?”

Rory stood and began to examine the chain, its free end still tangled up in the metalwork of the railing. “It's a miracle this held you up. Just think, if I had been able to free the other end…”

“What do you mean it doesn't matter?”

Rory looked up at him. “Finn, getting you to the Vault is the important thing now. If there are other wreckers there, if there's a chance you could help them sabotage the machinery, then that's all that matters. This could be our chance, don't you see? I've been biding my time for so long, waiting for the great moment to arrive. Perhaps this is it. Or perhaps it never will. I've got nothing to lose by trying.”

“But if the ironclads catch you?”

Rory shrugged. “What if they don't?”

“You said you'd come home with me,” said Finn. “Once Engn is destroyed.”

“I know, Finn. But you have to get to the Vault and I have to help you. That's all there is to it.”

“You can't endanger yourself because of me. I don't want you to.”

“It's not because of you, Finn. Not only you, anyway. Now, enough arguing. Come on, we have to move.” He sounded more than ever like his mother.

Rory turned and unhooked the grapple from the railing. It came away easily. “How does your arm feel?”

Finn flexed his shoulder. It throbbed more and more as sensation returned. Perhaps that was a good sign. He let Rory examine it, his fingers pressing into the flesh of his arm. With a gentle click, the other grapple, the one locked around his wrist, came away. Rory held it up to his eyes to examine it in the dim light. “Teeth are all bent. It could have come loose at any moment.”

“Let me have it,” said Finn. He stepped to the edge of the walkway and hurled the chain over the side. It was briefly visible in the glow from the ground, snaking its loops in the air.

“I'll help you to the Vault,” said Rory. “Come on.”

They started to walk, arm in arm, Finn peering up ahead for ironclads, terrified of seeing the shape of another against the distant lights.

“You do remind me of your mother, you know,” said Rory.

“So do you,” said Finn. “Of yours, I mean.”

“How is my mother, Finn? How is she really?”

Finn thought about the last time he'd seen her, collapsed by the side of the road, defeated. And she wasn't well, Finn knew. Her absences from the Switch House had grown more and more frequent. He tried to decide how much he should say. “She hasn't slowed down much. Still running the line-of-sight network. Still bossing everyone around.”

“That's good. She never says anything about herself. It's the way she is.”

“I was terrified of her when I was young, you know. She used to teach me and Connor and we didn't dare to ever make a noise. Actually, I think everyone's a bit scared of her. Even my father.”

“Your father? I wonder if I know him. As far as I know my mother never said who your mother married and you look so much like her, it's hard to tell.”

“He's the blacksmith. I mean he does everything, really, but that's what people call him.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Oh, it's nothing. I'm just glad. I thought perhaps your father was someone else. There was a whole g**g of us and there was another boy who was keen on your mother. I thought perhaps she'd married him.”

“You mean Matt.”

Rory stopped and looked at him. “Yes, I do mean Matt. You know him? I'm glad you're not his. I didn't know your father that well. He wasn't really one of the g**g, but he was a good lad, I could see that. There were depths to him.”

“And you didn't like Matt?”

“Nasty streak in him. I wouldn't have wanted him for a father that's for sure. I wonder what happened to him?”

“You don't know what he did? Mrs. Megrim didn't tell you?”

“No. We don't manage to intercept all the messages. I have no idea.”

They resumed walking, Finn recounting everything that had happened, right up to seeing Matt on the road from the moving engine. When he'd finished Rory was quiet for some time. The gusting wind had dropped and the rhythmic crashing of the machinery had grown louder, as if they were nearer the centre of Engn.

“Well,” Rory said finally. “Now I'm very glad you're not his boy. You did well to stop him. We hear of people like him from time to time, sent out from Engn to spy on people.”

“I wonder what will happen to him, though. I suppose I feel a bit responsible.”

“Nonsense. He's to blame, Finn, not you. You didn't do anything wrong. As for Matt, he'll wheedle his way in somewhere and be just fine, I'll bet.”

They walked on in silence for a time before Finn spoke again. “I don't understand it, though, Rory. The old man said I was supposed to go to this Vault. Those are my orders. Yet the ironclads tried to stop me, tried to kill me. Aren't they on the same side?”

Rory sighed. “It's complicated. They should be, but Engn is so vast these days it's sometimes impossible to coordinate everything properly. The ironclads are given their orders and they carry them out. Different companies get different orders. Some of us think we just have to sit and wait for Engn to grow so huge it collapses by itself. Or perhaps, I don't know, the orders that you were to go to the Vault hadn't reached the ironclad who found you.”

Finn looked out over the fields of lights beneath them. “What's the point of it all, though? The machine is so vast and confusing and … pointless. I told you about the valves not functioning. Why do people go to so much effort doing things that simply don't matter? Why are more and more people being brought here?”

“Good questions. Perhaps there's no answer, and it's all because messages have become mixed up and garbled. Or, then again, have you heard the rumours of the hidden purpose, the original reason for Engn's existence?”

“What reason?”

“That's just it: no one knows. Something terribly important that's been kept a secret or even forgotten completely. Some say the purpose is more and more urgent, that things are nearing the point where the balance tips and the engine runs out of control. I don't know. Maybe that's just idle hearsay. And maybe that's why the masters are sucking in more and more people, draining the lands. They hope to find someone, anyone, who knows the secret and who can help them fix whatever it is that needs fixing.”

“But who? And how?”

“I don't know. I truly wish I did; it might be something we could make use of.”

Finn sighed. There was so much he didn't understand. “It's amazing how it all continues to function.”

“Yes.”

They'd reached another tower now, this one slender iron rather than stone. The walkway was slung from it by thick iron chains reaching up into the sky. A vast number of the electrical cables converged on the tower from all directions, swathing it in a thick cobweb of lines. A set of steps led down towards the ground.

“The Vault is down there,” said Rory. “One of the main timing wheels is directly below us. They built the Vault into the base of it. We're not too far from the Hub.”

“Do you think Lud is somewhere around here? Near the centre of Engn, I mean?”

Rory shrugged. “Perhaps. No one knows where he lives, what he does. He could be nearby and you wouldn't realize. They say he goes by other names, too, to keep his identity secret.”

“So, I might have met him already?”

“Perhaps. Now you'd better go.”

Finn set off for the steps. He wanted to have his feet back on the ground as soon as possible. His arm slipped free of Rory's.

“Aren't you coming down?” asked Finn.

“Best I don't.”

“But what will you do?”

“I'll go back to the drop point. Perhaps they won't have noticed I've gone.” He didn't sound convinced.

“Shouldn't you try and get away? There must be other groups of wreckers who can help you.”

“Perhaps. The wreckers have to be so secretive even we don't know who we are.”

“I could come with you. We could find them together.”

“No. You have to get to the Vault. It's too good a chance to miss.”

“But…”

“Go, Finn. Don't waste the chance. It could be our only one. I'll be okay.”

Once again, they hugged a goodbye. One again Finn didn't want to let go.

“Hurry along,” said Rory. “We don't want to be caught out here. Promise me you'll do what you can.”

“I will.”

“Off you go, then.”

He sounded just like his mother, telling him to run home after a long day at the Switch House.

Finn set off down the stairs, glancing backwards again and again. After a few moments he lost sight of Rory. The stairway descended steeply, each step very deep. Finn's thighs burned with the effort of it. The stairs wound around a stone column supporting the wheel. Spokes the size of tree trunks arced past Finn's head as he descended. A vast horizontal piston pumped the wheel round. The cam on the axle was the size of a boat on the millpond back home. One of the wide leather belts, gripped firmly by the serrated outer edge of the wheel, ran off to another, lower tower. From there, the belt was turned at an angle before heading off into the darkness.

Finn sighed. He would never understand any of it.