Engn

VII-1

VII“What's this, boy? Give it to me.”

He'd been twisting Diane's ring around and around on his finger, lost in his memories. The master let him out of the engine twice a day, morning and evening. He liked to sit where he couldn't see the engine or the ironclads and pretend, for a few moments, he was free, even though his ankle was still shackled to the machine.

“It's nothing,” said Finn. “It's worthless, it's just wire.” He unscrewed the silver spiral over the joint in his finger, to hide back in his pocket. It came off much more easily now.

Master Whelm stood over him, his mouth twisting as if he was trying to smile but didn't know how. The ironclads sat nearby around a fire, watching what was about to happen. They had taken their helmets and masks off and the skin of their unfamiliar faces was baby pink. With a kick, the master sent Finn's food, a bowl of potatoes and greasy stew, spilling over the grass. Finn hadn't eaten any of it, but he wasn't hungry anyway.

“Give it to me,” said the master, holding out his hand.

“It's nothing. It just reminds me of home.”

“Give it to me. Or I'll cut your fingers off so you can't wear it again.”

Finn studied the master, trying to decide if he was serious in his threat. He might be. But what use would a fingerless boy be in Engn? Finn thought about pretending to hand over the ring but punching the master in the face instead. If he caught him hard enough, like Connor had taught him to do, he might be able to knock him out for a moment. Grab the keys, unlock himself and be free. But, of course, there were the ironclads, watching everything. They would never allow such a thing to happen. This idea was like the thousand other plans for his escape he'd come up with on their journey. It would never work.

Reluctantly, Finn handed the ring to the master.

“Made it yourself, did you, boy? Think you're an artificer, do you?”

“Yes. No.”

The master shook his head. “What are they going to do with you in Engn?” He spoke loud enough for the ironclads to overhear, enjoying his little scene. “Throw you into the furnaces within a week I'll bet.”

The master stood very close. He looked angry and bored at the same time.

“The furnaces?” asked Finn.

“The furnaces?” The master mimicked Finn's voice. “Don't you know what furnaces are?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“The furnaces are where they throw you when you're no use to them anymore. Or when they just want to get rid of you.”

The master held the silver ring to his eyes, examining it. Could he identify it? Did he know it had come from Diane's village?

“Means a lot to you, does it?” he asked. “Did your mummy gave it you so you wouldn't forget her?”

“No. Please, it's just wire. It's nothing.”

The master smiled and dropped the ring to the floor. With his boot he ground it into the grit of the lane. His boots were studded black leather. Every day, one of the ironclads polished them to a shine. When he moved his foot, the ring was a flattened lozenge of wire on the ground.

“Must have been a pretty piece, your mother, once,” said the master. “Starve some weight off her and she'd just about do. I wonder how grateful she'd be if I went back and promised to look after you in Engn?”

Finn's fist clenched. The master was certainly close enough for him to strike. But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? He was goading Finn, trying to make him attack. Perhaps he wanted an excuse to punish Finn. Perhaps he was just bored. Whichever it was, Finn restrained himself. Not now. He would pick his own time to fight back.

“I don't know.”

The master considered Finn for a moment, then seemed to give up in his attempts. He laughed and strode away, shaking his head, saying something to the ironclads that made them laugh.

Finn stooped to prize the ring out of the ground with his fingernails. It was ruined, squashed flat. He tried for a time to work it back into shape but it was useless. He slipped it into his pocket, looking around. The mountains were just hills, now, much farther apart as the valley opened out. The river, fed by all its side streams, was a wide sheet of water, glass-still, barely moving, far too wide to bridge.

They had passed a village earlier that day. The master had demanded food and drink from the silent villagers, who had supplied it without arguing. Finn wondered if it was Diane's village. If, even, Diane was somewhere there, hiding behind a building or a tree, peering out to grin at Finn. He'd seen no sign of her.

He lay back on the ground and closed his eyes. Where was she now? He thought about her often. Was she still alive? Had the ironclads ever caught her, or was she still living wild somewhere, still running?

The moving engine snorted and sighed, heat blasting from the fires within it. The shackle tethering Finn's ankle pulled at his skin, cutting into him where his flesh was red and swollen. His lips were dry and cracked. At home, his mother would have given him beeswax to soothe them.

Finn put it all out of his mind and lost himself in a fantasy of finding Diane in the wilds somewhere, the two of them running through the woods and fields together, laughing and shouting. They plotted ways to bring down the walls and towers of Engn as they had promised. The people inside stumbling from the ruins, blinking into the light…

“Get up, boy.”

It was the master again. He kicked Finn in the side to stir him from his doze.

“Your carriage awaits. We'll travel until it's dark.”

Not looking up, Finn made his way on hands and knees back into the moving engine.

No one moved for a moment. On the ground, forgotten, the ruined butterfly's wings lifted in the breeze.

“I have to get away,” said Diane. “I have to leave here now.”

“But all your stuff,” said Finn. “Your knife and blankets. It's all still in the barn.”

“I'll manage without them. I'll go up into the mountains. They might not follow me up there.”

“No,” said Finn. “You're safe for a bit. They won't find you here. We'll go and fetch your things.”

“It's not safe,” said Diane.

“Give us half an hour. You'll have no chance without your knife.”

She said nothing. She looked terrified.

“Come on, Conn. We'll have to hurry,” said Finn.

“Make sure you're not followed!” she called after them as they ran out of the glade.

They raced through the woods to peer out over the valley. No ironclads in sight. The water of the river sparkled as if nothing had changed. The breeze sent waves rippling through the golden fields of wheat in front of them.

“We should split up,” said Finn. “I'll go through the woods. You cut across the farm. One of us will make it.”

“Right,” said Connor. “Bet I get there before you do!” He scrambled down the slope, half-revealed tree roots forming a series of rough steps. Finn turned and fled along the path, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low branches.

He didn't stop until he reached the point where the finger of woodland reached out towards the barn. Once again, he paused and peered out. His heart pounded away and his lungs burned as he breathed ragged breaths. Still no one to be seen. Perhaps Connor had already made it and was inside, or was on his way back to Diane.

Finn trotted out across the field, across the muddy triangle of bare soil trodden out by the doorway, and on into the warm darkness of the barn. He stood while his eyes adjusted a little, then gave the low whistle they used to call to each other in the woods. No one whistled back.

He clambered up the haystack staircase to the upper floor. The slit windows let in little oblongs of daylight and by them Finn could see Diane's stuff was all as she had left it. He had beaten Connor. As quickly as he could he bundled everything into a blanket, tied up its corners, slung it over his shoulder and leaped back down to the ground.

Standing outside he tried to decide what he should do. It had taken him longer to get there than he thought it would. What if Diane gave up and left? The quickest way back to her was up the lane, but that meant he might be seen. He might even meet the ironclads. If he took the path through the woods again it would be safer, but then he might be too late. He stood for a moment, fighting back the urge to just start running. He had to think.

The lane. He half walked, half ran along the field track, moving as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a desperate hurry. If anyone asked him, he could just say he was on his way home. The blanket was just an old blanket, there was nothing suspicious about it. He kept expecting to meet Connor but saw no sign of him. Where had he got to?

Lines of hoof prints lettered the dust of the lane. Heavy horses, lots of them, had passed up the valley recently. There were no wheel-ruts this time. No paw marks either. Perhaps the dogs were ranging through the woods. He'd made the right choice. It was much safer on the road.

He began to run again, holding his side to try to ease the stitch tugging at him. No one would think it odd he was in such a hurry, would they? He was just racing home because there were ironclads in the valley.

He reached the crossroads and stopped for a moment. It was still very quiet. The hedgerows hissed in the breeze. He began to think everyone else had been taken, everyone in the whole valley carted off to slave in Engn. He wanted to rest but dared not. Diane had to get away.

He set off again, running as fast as he could now, up the sloping lane towards home, past the path to the Switch House and on. He was running so fast he careered round a bend and nearly ran into the ironclads. Two of them rode abreast, their horses' great hooves stamping forwards, their metal armour glinting in the sun. Finn stumbled to a halt in front of them. The ironclads kept on coming, saying nothing. He should stand aside and let them past. Anything else would look suspicious. He had to pretend he had nothing to hide. He was just a boy on his way home. They weren't coming for him.

The ironclads trod nearer, a great wall of snorting horse and shining metal. Finn turned and hared back towards the crossroads, anywhere to get away from them. He ran and ran, Diane's bundle dangling around his legs, threatening to trip him up. He expected to hear the horses stir into a thundering gallop after him, the metallic call of their horn. He was nearly back at the crossroads when he half stopped and glanced over his shoulder to see if they were pursuing him.

A hand grasped his shoulder.

“Finn! Come here this moment!”

It was Mrs. Megrim, standing at the foot of the Switch House path, grabbing his arm with iron fingers.

“Let go of me! Let go!” He squirmed and pulled but couldn't get away from the old woman.

“Listen to me, you young fool,” she said. She shook him hard and spoke in a low, jabbing whisper. “You can't just run around with the ironclads here! They're not stupid. They'll see you've been helping Diane, and what then? Listen to me!”

In an instant, everything made sense to Finn. She had seen them, spying on them with a line-of-sight. She must have sent trunk messages through to Engn, telling the ironclads where they were.

“They know because you told them! I hope you're happy now.”

She let go of him at that and stepped back as if she'd been struck.

“Me? You think it was me? Haven't you been listening all this time I've been teaching you?”

“Of course. But who else would have told them?”

“Oh, it wasn't me, little boy.”

“Of course, it was! Now let me go!”

She glanced up and down the lane for a moment. Finn could hear the clank and thud of the ironclads approaching around the last curve of the lane.

“Finn, listen to me,” said Mrs. Megrim, shaking him once more. “It's not safe out here. Come up to the Switch House. You'll be safe there. Please.”