Engn

XX

XXThe entrance to the Vault was unmistakable: two tall iron doors set into the base of the stone column. A pair of ironclads stood guard in front, unmoving. Finn watched them, unsure what to do. There was no way he could sneak past. He wanted to sit down on the stairs and close his eyes, shut everything out.

In the end he descended slowly, one step at a time, watching the guards in case they jerked into life and came for him. They didn't move. They must have seen him, but still they didn't react. Perhaps they weren't real, just statues or empty suits of armour. Or machines. The others back in the dormitory had told stories after dark of the automatons they'd seen stamping about Engn, breathing smoke and fire, their bodies cogs and chains. Or perhaps these ironclads weren't like those up on the walkway. Perhaps they were from one of the different companies Rory had mentioned.

Finn reached into his pocket for the yellow slip of paper the old man had given him. For a moment, heart thudding, he couldn't find it. He imagined it fluttering through the air from the walkway, lost when he'd been tipped over the side. But then he found it crumpled and creased in the corner of his pocket. He took it out, smoothed it open and walked up to the two ironclads.

They were definitely real. Their heads swivelled to watch him approach. Finn held the yellow paper out at arm's length as if it would protect him. When he was within touching distance, the two figures towering over him, one reached out a gauntlet. Finn flinched but the ironclad merely took the paper between metal thumb and finger. The other held something that made a grinding noise as he wound it up. Blue sparks flickered, then light flared from a small glass bulb attached to a thin metal tube. By its light the two ironclads examined Finn's scrap of paper through the narrow slits in their helmets.

After a moment, they stepped aside to let Finn through. Neither spoke. Finn hesitated, fearing some trap, then pushed open the iron doors. He expected armoured hands to seize him, alarms bells to clang, but there was nothing. He stepped inside.

He found himself on a balcony above an underground hall that stretched into the distance. Slender iron pillars supported the weight of the workings up on the surface. A web of wires had been strung between the pillars and hundreds of naphtha lamps hung down from them, suffusing everything in the hall with a bright, even glow.

In the distance, other halls rambled off in different directions, slanting at odd angles to each other as if fitting around the foundations of the machinery up above. The tall walls were lined floor to ceiling with metal bookshelves. To his right the books were all blue, while in the shelves on his left they were red. Away in the distance, around a corner, he could see sections of green and orange and purple. Countless thousands of books.

A framework of rails spanned each set of shelves, upon which something like a small, vertical engine shuttled up and down, backwards and forwards. Each time one of the engines stopped, it used metal grips to pull out or replace a book. The machines hissed and whooshed, carrying their cargoes up and down. Finn watched as a young woman operated a control box at the foot of the blue bookcase, dialling in some number then hauling on a lever to activate that shuttle, sending it shooting upwards and across the shelves.

A number of square tables had been set down the centre of the room at which many people worked, sketching drawings on huge sheets of paper. They copied diagrams from open books laid out on the tables, concentrating closely, measuring everything with callipers and rulers. At the nearest table, one of the sheets was being rolled into a scroll taller than Finn and handed to a young boy, who scurried off somewhere with it.

The girl who'd finished the drawing shut her book with a hollow thud that Finn could hear up on his balcony. She looked around and saw him staring down at her. Her eyes narrowed. Her hair was pure black, glossy like a blackbird's feathers. Finn smiled and the young woman raised an eyebrow in return but didn't smile back. She was, what, a year older than he was? He wondered where in the world she'd come from. Where they'd all come from. The young woman nudged the person working next to her, pointing out Finn with a nod of her head. Her neighbour, a young man with yellow hair, glanced up briefly from his work, pen poised over the paper.

Perhaps some sort of message had been sent by the ironclads at the door, because at that point two masters strode down the hall towards the balcony. One wore scarlet robes and the other white, a colour Finn had seen only a very few masters wear.

“You, boy,” the white master shouted. “Come down here!”

Finn hurried down a spiral of worn stone steps. It was warmer down on the floor, muggy, the sound of the machinery louder. It reminded him a little of the Valve Hall. The bookshelves loomed tall over him as he walked. The steam shuttles whizzed overhead at alarming speed, looking like they could fly off their thin rails at any moment.

Finn made his way around the great square table where the black-haired girl worked. She'd started a new drawing, copying out the design of some wheeled contraption from another blue volume. She concentrated on the line of her pen but glanced up at Finn as he passed. She wore the same grey robes that all the workers wore. He smiled at her again, but she frowned and looked away, back to her work.

Reaching the two masters, Finn realized he didn't have the yellow slip of paper anymore. The ironclad at the door had taken it. He was about to explain when the scarlet master threw back his cowl and Finn saw who it was.

“I know this one,” said Connor to the other master. “He's a good worker. He could be useful here.”

The white master removed his hood, too. He was older, his head bald, a keen, calculating look in his eye, like a crow or a starling.

“He looks like he could drop dead at any moment.”

“He's clever, though.”

“How did you get here?” the older master asked Finn.

“I … I came along the walkway,” said Finn. “I had a piece of paper.”

Finn glanced at Connor. His friend had aged; his features were sharper, harder. He looked more like his father than ever. Connor scowled then looked away, back to the older master. Finn wondered what his friend had been through to get that far, what adventures he'd had, what sacrifices he'd made. He looked every inch the master now. If Finn didn't know he'd have been terrified of him. Rory had said becoming a master changed people. Finn could see just how much Connor had changed in order to play his part.

He wanted to say something, do something to acknowledge his boyhood friend. A smile, a wink, anything. But he dared not. Connor was playing a dangerous game, laying this careful trail. He mustn't do anything to give that away. He had to play along.

The older master stroked the lobe of his left ear between finger and thumb, thinking. Finn counted seven rings on his finger. First Wheel, very powerful. Only one step away from the Inner Wheel itself, the ultimate masters of Engn. Connor, he could see, wore five rings. He'd gone a long way in a short time. Did he also have Diane's ring hidden somewhere about him? It wasn't on his fingers, at least.

“Very well,” the older master said. “Let him eat and sleep or he'll be useless. Tomorrow set him to work. The expansion works are progressing too slowly. But we can't afford any more mistakes, understood?”

“Yes, Master.” Connor turned and with a nod of his head indicated that Finn should follow him. Finn said nothing and followed. Connor led him past the blue shelves and into a hall of orange books. At the far end of this, where three halls met, there was a raised wooden platform with a chair upon it and a wooden rail around it. Another master sat there, also scarlet, ticking off something on a roll of paper and occasionally glancing up at the activity in each of the halls. Connor nodded at this figure but he didn't stop. He led Finn towards the shadows at the end of one of the bookcases. There was a low doorway there, leading to a bare room lined with low, wooden beds. All but two or three were occupied.

“Sleep here,” said Connor.

Finn nodded but didn't reply. He didn't dare speak in case one of the people in the beds was awake. Connor turned and led him through another doorway, into a long, narrow room. This was clearly where people ate: long tables stretched up the room with wooden benches like those in the Refectory. It was deserted. Finn glanced up at Connor and could resist speaking no longer.

“Connor. Isn't it strange? I mean, here we both are.” The image of the ironclads taking Connor away came to Finn. That terrible day he'd lost both his friends. It was only four years ago, but it seemed like an ancient memory.

“Eat in here,” said Connor. “The others will tell you when. Understand, boy?”

“But Connor, I…”

“Enough. You have your orders. You'll begin work tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master. Only, I don't know where to go or what to do.”

Connor stepped closer to Finn so that he was only inches away. He sounded angry when he spoke again. “You will be shown the way, boy. Do what you are supposed to do and all will be well. Understand?”

For a moment, the briefest moment, it was the old Connor standing there. A look of recognition in his eye. Then the stern master's scowl returned, and Connor turned and stomped away.

Finn watched him go, wondering if he'd imagined it.