B00DW1DUQA EBOK (26 page)

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 begin clanging, but there was nothing. He stepped inside.

He found himself on a balcony above an underground hall that stretched away 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 all lined floor to ceiling with metal bookshelves. To his right, the books were all blue while in the shelves on his left they were all red. Away in the distance, around a corner, he could see sections of green and orange and purple. Thousands and 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 these stopped, a mechanism within them pulled out or replaced a book with metal grips. The machines hissed and whooshed, carrying their cargoes up and down. Finn watched as a young woman operated a small control box at the foot of the blue bookcase, dialling in some number then hauling on a lever to activate the shuttle, sending it shooting upwards and across the shelves.

Great 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 opened books laid out on the tables, concentrating closely, measuring everything with callipers and rulers. At the nearest table, one of the huge 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 even 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 beneath the lights. Finn smiled and the young woman raised an eyebrow in return but didn’t smile back. She was - what - a year older then 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 on 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 had started a new drawing now, 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 this time, back to her work.

Reaching the two masters, Finn realised he didn’t have the yellow slip of paper any more. 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, the baron, than ever. Connor scowled then looked away, back to the older master. Finn wondered what his friend had been through to get this 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 rail around its edge. Three steps led up to 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 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 and down, with wooden benches like those in the Refectory. This room, at least, 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 a distant, ancient memory.

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

‘But Connor, I…’

‘Enough. You have your orders. You will 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.

Finn slept deeply in his wooden bed, and could have slept for twice as long, but a shake roused him from his slumbers. It seemed to be the start of a shift; people stretched and yawned and dressed all around the room. Finn did likewise, then followed the others into the long room where food had been set out: wedges of bread and cheese with hot tea to drink. He ate, feeling more and more hungry with each mouthful. There were no masters in sight. Finn looked around, hoping to pick out a friendly face, but he saw no-one he knew.

‘I’m Aelth. You’re to come with me.’

The blond-haired man from the night before had walked up behind him and now strode off without waiting. Finn rose and followed, his mouth crammed full of bread and cheese. Aelth led him back to the blue shelves.

‘What is this place for?’ asked Finn. ‘I mean, I don’t know what to do.’

Aelth glanced aside at him. ‘Runners come in from all over Engn with the code numbers of the drawings they need. Each mechanism, each component, each detail has its own master drawing, see. It’s our job to transcribe the required design at full size onto one of the rolls of paper. Then a runner can take it away to where it’s needed and a new part of the mechanism can be built. Or a worn-out part repaired. But any mistake, however small, can be disastrous. Got it? The whole mechanism depends on us transcribing the designs correctly.’

Finn nodded. He thought about the self-governing valves. Was the design for those somewhere here? Was it possible, then, that a simple mistake had been made in the copying of that design, perhaps years ago? That the valves really were, or should have been, fully functional? But surely someone would have noticed?

‘Watch,’ said Aelth.

A runner arrived holding a slip of paper, out of breath. Aelth took it, examined it, then showed it to Finn.

‘It’s a D code, see? That means structural, so it’s in the blue books, one for us. Red is wiring, black water and steam, green for the timing controls and so on. It’ll all make sense soon.’

‘So you dial this code into the book shuttle?’ said Finn.

‘That’s it. But first you dial in your own code, so they know who has pulled which design, then the code for the drawing. The machine gets it, you transcribe it, then you put the book back. Think you can do it?’

‘I don’t have a code.’

‘You just use the one they gave you when you arrived.’

‘I don’t have it. I mean, they didn’t give me one.’

Aelth looked puzzled for a moment, as if Finn was a contraption he’d never come across before.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Everyone has a number.’

‘So I’ve heard. But I don’t.’

‘Are you sure you’re even supposed to be here?’

‘Well, I don’t know really. I think so.’

Aelth examined Finn closely. ‘Well, we’d best see if we can get that sorted out first.’

He led Finn back past the blue shelves towards the raised wooden platform. Another scarlet-robed master sat on the chair, ruffling through a sheaf of papers. They stood and waited at the foot of the stairs for the master to look up. The wood of the steps was worn smooth, almost shining, by the passage of so many feet. Finn wondered what, exactly, he was
really
supposed to be doing here. What Connor’s plan was. Perhaps the idea was to sabotage some vital piece of the design. He could see how that might work. It wouldn’t have to be much. Some tiny but vital detail transposed or confused. An easy, innocent mistake and one of the bigger mechanisms could be made to flood or explode. Finn imagined fires spreading, explosions triggering further explosions like a chain of firecrackers. It would be dangerous, though, very dangerous. How would they destroy the mechanism without endangering everyone inside?

The master rammed a wad of papers onto an iron spike on his desk, then looked down at them.

‘Yes?’

‘Master, this boy has no number,’ said Aelth.

The master looked at Aelth, and then at Finn. He scowled.

‘That’s impossible. What happened to it, boy?’

‘I was never given one,’ said Finn.

‘Of course you were given one.’

‘Then no-one told me it, Master.’

The master stood and descended. Finn though he was going to strike him, but instead he pushed past and strode away to converse with a master in white some distance away. The two conversed for some time, their heads nodding. Finn couldn’t tell if they were arguing or laughing together. Eventually, the master came striding back, a slip of paper in his hand.

‘Here’s your new number, boy. I had to go to a lot of trouble to get it. Don’t lose this one as well.’

‘I ... I won’t, Master.’

‘Make sure you don’t.’

Finn and Aelth made their way back to the blue shelves. Aelth spoke when no-one else was close enough to overhear. ‘How
did
you manage to lose your old number? That’s only supposed to happen when you die.’

‘Like I said, I didn’t know I had a number,’ said Finn. ‘That’s the truth. But there was an accident yesterday. I don’t know, perhaps they thought I
was
dead.’

‘You’ve been lucky, then. If you haven’t got a number it’s usually easier for them just to kill you to keep the records straight.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Tell me: that master last night said he knew you. Was he a friend?’

Finn wondered what to say. ‘We just grew up in the same village. We didn’t know each other very well.’

‘I see.’

‘Why do you ask?’ said Finn.

‘Oh. No reason.’

Back at the tables, Aelth showed Finn how to operate the book-engine. Finn tried it for himself, dialling in the codes then pulling on the lever. The lever refused to budge.

‘You have to wait until the machine is idle,’ said Aelth. ‘It can only store two codes, the current and the next. It’s locked out at the moment. If it had three codes it would go haywire.’

‘What would it do?’

‘Best you don’t find out.’

When the machine was ready, Finn pulled the lever again. This time, the shuttle clattered up and across its cradle of rails, billowing steam, to pluck out a volume in the high, far corner of the bookcase.

Once he had the book in his hands, Finn crossed to the nearest table to set to work copying the required plan. It was very simple: a right-angle shaped piece of metal that looked like it slotted into something. He copied out the design carefully, drawing it life-size by using the scale marked on the drawing in the book. His first two attempts went badly wrong. On the first, he scored holes in the thin, crinkly paper, right through to the wooden table. On the second, his calculations went wrong and two lines that should have met didn’t. The black-haired woman, working next to him, glanced across to give him an instruction as he worked on his third attempt.