The Wonder 2: Deep Blue
Contents
Map
Teddy’s Letter
Part 3
Prologue
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part 4
Prologue
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Glossary
Teddy’s Letter
Somewhere in the Glasslands
The Gramarye Region
Grand Quillia
June 1856
Dear Aunt Josette,
I’m not sure you’ll ever get this letter. I don’t have the money for a stamp and I don’t know where you live. Also, I haven’t seen a post box for months now.
You see, Professor Rickenbacker, who used to rent a room from you, well he’s not a professor any more. I mean, he is. It’s still his name. Professor Rickenbacker. But he doesn’t work at the university any more. Now he’s a terrorist. I don’t know if this is a promotion or not, or if the professor even wants to be a terrorist, but the Grand Quillian Empire says he is, and so that means he is.
Hence not having seen a postbox for months. We are now on the run, being chased by some soldiers led by a Colonel Quine and a Doctor Axelrod. We are in The Gramarye, which is a small and rather rotten part of the Empire that I doubt you have heard of, but there’s lots of Wonder here. You know what Wonder is, right?
Professor Rickenbacker and his friends, Sir Evan Mandell (dead posh), Pinkerton (a boxer) and Lady Elena Melody (she makes me feel funny) found something called a Gargoyle Key, which could get us into the Cathedral of Tales, which is in the Glasslands, which is where Pearly used to be.
Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself.
We had this Gargoyle Key thing and then these Reclaimers, mercenaries who work for the Empire, well not EXACTLY the Empire, the Trade, who are like this really big company who buy things for the Empire or something, yeah, so anyway, these Reclaimers chased us. They were led by this really ugly burnt bloke called Spicer and they were called Bunce (a girl that looks like a boy), Tork (a man who looks like a giant) and Conway (a dabbler who looks like a butcher). You know what a dabbler is, Auntie. It’s someone who uses the power of the Wonder to make things – you know, grenades, guns, lifts, buildings, street lights, toasters, everything really important.
We were staying in this lodge in the Glasslands (it’s not as nice as it sounds). It was an old hunting lodge in the middle of a forest made of glass that had these crazies called Humps living in it who attacked us and tried to bite me but then we escaped – and this lodge was where we escaped to.
It was owned by this really nice lady called Laurel Gleave, who came from a bad family but she’s not like that, and she had some friends, Mister Brennan, his son Alf, a smelly man called Kendrick and some soldiers called Beasley and Hilt. Hilt has a sword stuck to his hand, which is weird. It happened at something called the Meander Valley Massacre when all Hilt’s soldier friends, called the Torchlights, were killed by Reclaimers working for the Trade.
Yeah, so we thought everything was alright but then Lady Melody betrayed us and Spicer and his Reclaimers got in the lodge. Tork killed Alf and Hilt killed Tork and Spicer killed Beasley and next thing Kendrick ran off because we were surrounded by Colonel Quine and Doctor Axelrod’s soldiers so we went to hide in the basement. Sir Evan Mandell was shot in the head and it was really sad and then we found a secret passage that was all scary.
Then we found a hidden city (there wasn’t a postbox there either). It was called Pearly, like I said earlier, and we were attacked by this metal thingy but Brennan made it blow up and then Spicer and his Reclaimers found us again so we ran off and Conway, the dabbler, got squashed by the floor. Honest.
Then someone spoke to me in my head and told me I’m the chosen one, which was nice. I know you always thought I was little bit slow, Auntie Josette, but I think I’m really onto something with this chosen one thing. The someone who said I’m the chosen one was called Mister Elephantine and he was made up of all the people that ever lived in the city we were in, before they were all killed by the metal thingies. Mister Elephantine really hated Laurel because her family had helped the metal thingies or something, but I still really like her anyway.
Anyway, Mister Elephantine asked us to help him find some fairy so that he could help us do something or other about something called the Threat that made the metal thingies with the Gleave family and want to attack the Gramarye again. So we escaped to the underground city called Pearly.
Unfortunately Spicer and his Reclaimers found us again. Spicer wasn’t all ugly and burnt anymore and has turned into an Elf because we unlocked the city – Professor Rickenbacker mentioned it but I didn’t really understand. Yeah, the Reclaimers found us and started shooting at us and then Kendrick turned up with Sir Evan Mandell. Even though Sir Evan Mandell is dead! He’s still dead and he’s gone all nasty and wants to kill us too now, because Colonel Quine and Doctor Axelrod did something to him. Made him not dead but evil instead, basically. Mister Pinkerton is very sad because Sir Evan Mandell was his very best friend.
Hilt ran off and found some ponies and now we’re running away to Chinsey, the main town in the Gramarye. I think we’re going to catch an ice yacht on the slideways to take us all the way to Ashburton Station. Which is good because my feet are killing me from walking in the underground city called Pearly and my rear is chafing from riding the ponies.
Anyway. I hope Uncle Frank is well and that you don’t have lice as much anymore.
Best Regards
Teddy (Creslow) Esquire
Part 3
A Fairytale of Chinsey
Prologue
The Story of Mister Elephantine
Once upon a time there was a market. One day a farmer nobody had ever seen before came to market to sell his cattle. The stranger said his name was Mister Elephantine.
All the traders in the market were very nervous that day because the King was coming to visit the next day, and so they decided to ask the stranger to test their wares, to see if they were good enough for royalty.
First, Mister Elephantine visited the baker. The baker gave Mister Elephantine a cake to taste. There was not enough sugar, the icing was too hard and the bottom of the cake was burnt.
“What is it like, Mister Elephantine?” asked the baker.
“It is perfect,” Mister Elephantine answered, “Fit for a King.”
Next, Mister Elephantine visited the tailor. The tailor gave Mister Elephantine a suit to wear. The jacket sleeves were too short, the trousers legs were too long and the material was threadbare.
“What is it like, Mister Elephantine?” asked the tailor.
“It is perfect,” Mister Elephantine answered, “Fit for a King.”
Finally, Mister Elephantine visited the carpenter. The carpenter gave Mister Elephantine a chair to sit upon. The legs were different lengths, the back was too low and the cushion was too flat.
“What is it like, Mister Elephantine?” asked the carpenter.
“It is perfect,” Mister Elephantine answered, “Fit for a King.”
The traders in the market were very pleased at what Mister Elephantine had told the baker, the tailor and the carpenter. They helped Mister Elephantine sell all his cattle for a very high price and the stranger was very rich by the time he bid them all farewell.
The next day the King came to market.
First, the King visited the baker. The baker gave the King a cake to taste. The king took one bite of the cake and immediately spat it out.
“What is it like, your Majesty?” asked the baker.
“It is awful,” the King answered. “Nobody should eat this,” and he ordered that the baker be baked to death in his own oven.
Next, the King visited the tailor. The tailor gave the King suit to wear. The King put one arm in the jacket and one leg in the trousers and immediately took it off.
“What is it like, your Majesty?” asked the tailor.
“It is awful,” the King answered. “Nobody should wear this,” and he ordered that the tailor be hanged by the neck with rope made from his own material.
Finally, the King visited the carpenter. The carpenter gave the King a chair to sit upon. The King sat down but immediately stood up again.
“What is it like, your Majesty?” asked the tailor.
“It is awful,” the King answered. “Nobody should sit here,” and he ordered that the carpenter be buried alive in a box made from his own wood with his own tools.
When the King left the market, the traders were very sad and they decided to ask Mister Elephantine what had gone wrong, but nobody could find him. They looked everywhere but nobody saw the stranger again.
Which is why good little boys and girls should never listen to flattery from strangers.
Chapter 11
The Spirit of Bester
The Hodgkinson International Line
The Gramarye Region
Grand Quillia
June 1856
It has been said that the Grand Quillian Empire was built on the back of the slideways, an extraordinary network of iced tracks. The slideways were curved upwards on either side like a chute, the required frozen temperature maintained by Red Wonder, which also powered the spinning buffers on the ice yachts, which kept the slideways constantly slippery.
Originally created in Grand Quillia itself to carry goods from the centres of industry and sea ports to the capital at speed while minimising the risk of banditry by virtue of both the cold ice and the high velocity of the yachts, the slideways were rolled out across the growing Empire. Wherever the Empire planted its flag, the slideways were sure to follow, initially carrying troops, then colonists and finally commerce.
The ice yachts themselves terrified the less advanced natives and impressed on others Grand Quillia’s dominance over their land, nature itself and the power of the Wonder. Preceding the bulk of the yacht itself, an enormous V-shaped blade suspended from the prow by a great arc cleared the slideway of obstruction. Next, the spinning buffers, giant chamois leather balls at the ends of eight pronged propellers, perpetually spinning to keep the slideway as slick as an ice rink. Another set of buffers were in place either side of the yacht outside the hull and another at the rear, all powered by Red Wonder. As the cold air was pushed upwards by the buffers, it hit the warmer air and filled enormous sails which reduced the need to rely on the supply of Wonder the yachts carried, except for starting and stopping the enormous vessels on their journeys. Vents were positioned around the decks exerting force from the Red power generators below to keep the yachts on the straight and narrow, so a billowing stream of red smoke followed the yachts wherever they went.
The Spirit of Bester was one of the larger ice yachts in Grand Quillia’s Eastern Imperial Fleet, stretching to nine hundred and twenty feet and weighing forty thousand tons. She carried one thousand first class, six hundred second class, one thousand five hundred third class, all in insulated cabins, and three thousand steerage, who were crammed into the frozen bowels of the yacht closest to the ice. Two thousand crew kept the yacht at speeds up to eighty-four miles per hour. She was considered the pride of her line. Her older sister ships, The Spirit of Zelazny and The Brackett Flyer, although smaller and sleeker, were unable to boast the unadulterated splendour of their younger sibling.
The Bester started her journey in the Grand Quillian capital, its holds full of the joys of the motherland for homesick colonists, and more fodder to populate the Empire; farmers, traders, opportunists, mercenaries, bureaucrats, archaeologists, prospectors, hunters, missionaries, theatre troupes and labourers. Recently groups of tourists had started travelling to the more exotic reaches of the Empire to see the Pyramids of Maisy, the spice markets of the Gramarye and even the mysterious phenomenon of the Glasslands, garnered with the snowdrop spire of the Cathedral of Tales.
In the more remote areas, Captain Conrad, the Bester’s commanding officer, would keep the speed up between the larger towns to avoid the unwanted interest of wild natives or criminal elements, although he would occasionally slow at the edge of the Glasslands to watch the Humps flee in terror. Conrad had no idea that his junior officers would occasionally stop briefly if there were any local traders, as they could pick up an attractive financial incentive from both the native tradesmen and the more gullible tourists, eager to spend their shillings on crystallised leaf jewellery, glass apple paperweights and even jars of translucent grass, sometimes arranged into approximations of local landmarks.
The first officer on duty two days before the Bester’s arrival in Chinsey was Trevor Gower, who was made aware one bright sunny afternoon that some of the passengers and even a few of the crew had reported seeing the snowdrop spire of the Cathedral of Tales move. Now if these people were stupid enough to think an ancient building could shuffle about, then he would be happy to liberate them of a hard-earned shilling or two, so, after checking with the captain’s manservant that Conrad was sound asleep, he gave the order to reverse all vents and slow the ship, to allow passengers a chance to see the spire for themselves, and for any quick thinking locals to launch an iceboard to sell anything to hand. Obviously he would make it be known to all but the captain that he was the one to thank for this unique opportunity.
Hilt saw the red smoke burst above the trees as they reached the edge of the Glasslands, where they tied the ponies. It looked about four miles away, around the other edge of the woods, and would probably reach them in twenty minutes if it was slowing, as he suspected.
The Glasslands stopped abruptly, the glass trees giving way to verdant living plants. It had been a relief to smell the warmth of living vegetation again but it did not last. As they approached the enormous slideway, the plants had withered and died from the extreme cold emanating from the ice. In the more civilised parts of the Empire, there were barriers to protect the land either side of the slideways from the environmental damage, but nobody had ever considered doing the same somewhere like the Gramarye.
As they broke the tree line, they could see a small camp on the opposite side of the icy chute, a trickle of smoke smearing sadly into the sky from a paltry fire in the middle. At the edge of the slideway, a collection of large leather covered disks, about ten feet across and a hollowed out tree trunk with wooden stabilisers either side, like a rudimentary canoe, its base also wrapped in shiny animal skins, with one end attached to a coiled piece of thick rope, the other end topped with a winch.
A few figures wandered around the camp, unaware of the group that had just emerged from the woods. Brennan put his hands around his mouth and called to the camp, but nobody turned in their direction. Pinkerton pulled his pistol and fired once into the air.
“That should do it,” he said sagely.
One of the camp occupants looked across the slideway and raised their rifles.
“That did it, alright,” Hilt groaned.
“Hang on a minute,” said Laurel, “I think I know that one.”
“Is that Jobby Stern?” Brennan asked.
Rounds struck the trees behind them.
“So can someone let your friend Jobby know that we are friends please?” Rickenbacker suggested.
“Good friends, eh, Laurel?” Hilt mumbled.
Laurel rolled her eyes and started waving her arms frantically above her head.
“Jobby! It’s me!”
One rifle was lowered.
“Jobby!”
“I hope none of the others is his wife,” said Hilt.
“He isn’t married,” Laurel assured them.
“That’s what he told you.”
There was a glint of glass as Jobby raised his binoculars before indicating to his friends to lower their weapons.
“Your friends had better hurry up or we’ll miss our ride,” said Pinkerton, watching the red smoke above the trees.
The camp occupants picked up the canoe and carried it to the edge of the chute
“Here they come,” said Brennan, moving to the side of the ice despite the cold.
“About time,” grumbled Hilt.
Jobby climbed into the canoe and his friends launched him down the side of the chute. The hiss of the canoe’s belly on the ice got louder as it got nearer.
“Watch out!” Jobby shouted as the canoe began to slide up the side closest to them.
As the canoe started to slow, Jobby twirled the anchor above his head and let it fly towards the others. It landed with a loud pop of Wonder and sunk itself into the ground before the powered winch at the other end of the rope dragged the canoe up the final few yards of the slideway.
“Jobby!” said Brennan eagerly as the well-insulated man clambered out of the canoe and hugged the old man.
Jobby Stern was wrapped in layers of animal skins and fur, with a pair of enormous mittens he pulled off to reveal gloves underneath. He unwrapped the scarf from around his face and pulled back his hood to reveal a large, square head, tired eyes, a long moustache and a heavy set of jowls.
“Brennan, Laurel. We saw the smoke from the lodge and feared the worst,” Jobby said, nodding to the others in turn. “What happened?”
“The worst,” Laurel said. “How are you, Jobby?”
“Good. Fine. What are you doing in the woods? Where are the Humps? Did you see the snowdrop move?”
“Yes. We need your help, Jobby.”
“Name it,” Jobby said, grinning towards Pinkerton. “Laurel and I are special friends. She’s fed me and the gang several times. It’s amazing what she can cook up with so little.”
“We can swap recipes later,” Hilt interrupted. “We need to get on that ice yacht.”
“Hello, Hilt,” said Jobby without looked at the man. “As polite as ever I see. How’s the brigadier?”
“Dead. Alf is too.”
“Alf. My God, Brennan...”
“We need to get on that yacht,” Brennan said to Jobby, tears in his eyes. “We need to get to Chinsey before the people that killed my son.”
Kendrick was relieved that Mandell was riding so fast, and far ahead. He could hardly see the misshapen form of the dead knight galloping ahead through the crystal trees, which was good as Kendrick felt he had vomited up everything bar the content of his bowels as he had watched Axelrod yank out bones and slide in others between muscle and sinew, saw away limbs to slot others into place, hammer out jawbones and wrench in a replacement. What was left was less than human despite the fact that he was cobbled together from many different people. In place of bolts and screws, the Wonder kept the different parts of the corpse together, and any open pieces of skin were hidden beneath different pieces of armour Mandell had scavenged from the Hump camp. As the man thing had scanned the ground with his mismatched eyes, he had mumbled words that had taken Kendrick some time to translate, now that the knight was missing all but three teeth, had a jaw too large for his skull and a tongue to small for his mouth.
Evan was repeating his own mantra, “Kill the sniper, fuck her bones, kill Laurel, fuck her bones, kill Hilt, fuck his bones,” over and over again, and even as he climbed onto the back of one of the remaining ponies, he had kept it up. It was as if he had forgotten Kendrick existed, which was one of the few things in his life that Kendrick was pleased about. He hoped everybody else from the past few days would do the same.
As the troops left the empty lodge, Quine shook his head at Axelrod.
“I knew I should have killed that little man,” he said to the doctor.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Mandell will do that for us, if he hasn’t already.”
“Do you really think your patchwork killer will be able to find someone as sly as Rickenbacker when the man has evaded some of the best Trade agents?”
“Sir, I’m pretty sure I know where Rickenbacker is.”
“You do?”
Axelrod pointed above the trees at the cloud of red smoke from the ice yacht rising above the trees in the distance.
“Bring me a crow,” Quine commanded his second. “I need to send something by Murder.”
“But if the smoke is over there, why are we heading in this direction?” Elena asked, pointing at the red smoke.
“The train is slowing down,” Spicer replied.
“How do you know? From the smoke?” Bunce asked.
“It’s expelling more smoke as it slows down. I don’t know why it’s slowing down but it is. And the red Wonder it needs to slow down and then get started again it will need to replenish. And there’s somewhere to refuel in this direction.”
Elena and Bunce looked at each other, Elena shrugging as Bunce shook her head.
“I had no idea you were such a yacht spotter, Spicer,” Elena said, smiling.
Spicer spurred his pony on without looking back at the two women. All he knew was that the direction he had chosen to take felt right, as if it were a path he had taken before, despite the fact nobody but Hump had been this way for thousands of years. He had a feeling that he was going to catch the ice yacht from the direction he was heading, the way a child has a heady excitement when his parents take him out for a surprise and he suspects they are taking him somewhere he has always wanted to go. Everything else about the smoke from the yacht and the refuel point had fallen into his head as he spoke, like colours in a painting by numbers. He knew none of it made sense but everything was fitting together perfectly.
Crossing the slideway on the canoe had been terrifying enough for Teddy, especially when he had been told that if any part of him were to touch the ice, then it would be ripped off like the tender meat from a boiled chicken. But to sit on these leather encased round sleds that didn’t even have sides to keep you in, launch oneself onto the ice at a ship at least seven floors high, surely that was suicide, pure and simple. Jobby had assured them that the crew of the Bester would throw down netting for them to climb up, as they expected the traders to be there, and were keen for them to board for a cut of the profits, a cut the traders were happy to share as they had already made a profit when Laurel had provided them with the Trade ponies in return for their carriage across the ice.
The ginger trader on whose iceboard Teddy had been placed grunted through his scarves at him, and Teddy decided this meant he should ready himself.
The ice yacht thundered across the ice into view, its sails furled and Red Wonder pumping to slow the behemoth. The netting was cast through the smoke over the side and suddenly they were off, crackling across the ice with a loud swish. Teddy clung to the trader’s enormous back besides an enormous duffle bag that tinkled as though it were full of glass. The boy had premonitions of the iceboard flipping over, catapulting him onto the ice, strips of him being torn from his bones as shards of glass shaved off chunks of skin, the passengers of the yacht pointing and laughing.
But then they were alongside the yacht and slowing as the trader grabbed at the bottom of the netting until they were slowed enough to hold on and let the netting go taut. He tied the board onto the ropes and hauled himself upwards. Teddy’s hand was engulfed by the grip of the trader’s enormous mitt and he was heaved onto the netting, which the boy grasped with all his might.
“Good luck,” said the trader from beneath his scarves and hood and he was off, scaling the netting. The ropes swung and bounced against the side of the yacht as the man climbed, and tears crept from Teddy’s eyes as he was slammed against the freezing metal of the hull.
As the trader ascended into the red smoke above, Teddy stole himself to take a look. To his left he saw Pinkerton helping Rickenbacker up the ropes towards the first open walkway that could provide entrance. They had agreed to let the traders head up to the top decks so that they could display their wares to the first class with money to spend, while Rickenbacker and the others would enter the lower decks under cover of the red smoke. Steerage was found in the freezing bowels of the yacht, and the passengers were unlikely to report stowaways to the crew, so it was the best place for them to start. To Teddy’s right he could see Hilt struggling with his one hand to get up the ropes, ignoring Laurel’s offer of help so that she could concentrate on Brennan. Seeing the two old men, the woman and the man with one hand should have inspired him, he was sure, but Teddy still couldn’t get his legs to move and his body seemed to be getting heavier by the second.
“Mister Elephantine?” he whispered, “Are you there?”
But there was no reply, in his ears or mind. He could hear nothing but the whistle of the wind, the clattering of the sled against the ice, the ropes buffeting the hull and his own ragged breathing.
“Mister Elephantine?” he tried again.
“Teddy!” he heard, and looked up to see Rickenbacker calling to him from over a barrier, “Come on, Teddy, you can do it.”
“Get a move on, boy,” called Pinkerton.
Teddy looked up through a gap in the smoke and saw the traders clambering onto the top deck and felt a wave of nausea as the yacht’s height seemed to tilt towards him. So Teddy closed his eyes again and decided to die there, hanging on the side of this yacht that he couldn’t remember the name of, heroism and chosen one be damned. He’d eventually fall and his body and the stupid box holding Mister Elephantine would stick there until they were minced into the ice by the next yacht and that would be the end of it.
Then the ropes started juddering again. Teddy’s arms, legs and fingers started to quiver with the strain and he decided death would definitely be much easier. The decision seemed to free him and he held his breath, preparing to let go as the netting shook more violently. Then he felt a strong arm around his waist and opened his eyes to spy the whiskers and ruddy skin of Pinkerton beside him.
“Let me give you a hand,” said the big man, and they started to ascend together, the bulk of Pinkerton behind the boy. They reached the walkway and Pinkerton put his shoulders beneath Teddy’s feet to launch him to safety, feeling his wound open once more.
The Trade platoon had lost a third of its men in the Glasslands, and almost all its ponies. Quine and Axelrod took mounts and rode behind the men as made their way down the gravel path of the Gleave family lodge.
“I could holiday here, you know,” Quine said to the others, waving his hand over his shoulder. “No children, no women, a decent lounge.”
“Perhaps you should return here and renovate it, Colonel,” Axelrod suggested.
As they emerged back onto the road through the woods, Quine saw Franks on a steed ahead and called him over.
“What are you doing on a pony, Franks?”
“Riding, sir.”
“Get off that animal at once. I want you to lead the men on the march from the front,” Quine commanded, and he turned his pony to trot away.
Axelrod smirked at the little man’s horrified face and followed the colonel to the rear of the platoon as they formed up. Franks felt tears come to his eyes as he dismounted, not due to his embarrassment at being chastised in front of the men, but at the idea of marching miles back to Chinsey in a pair of knickers much too small for his girth and groin.
Laurel, despite the cold, had found herself breathless with excitement at the sled ride across the ice. After the oppressive murkiness of their journey beneath the Cathedral, it was a thrilling relief to feel the wind in her hair, to see people who were definitely real and not trying to kill her. And the opportunity to take a trip on the Spirit of Bester, one of the most well known and luxurious yachts of the Grand Quillian merchant fleet made her heart race as she envisioned a hot bath, a well cooked meal and clean clothes.
But as they stepped from the walkway into the dark stinking steerage decks, her heart sank.
The stench of rotten food, curdled milk, sweat, shit and piss hung in the air, filling her nostrils, throat and lungs like a thick soup. Icicles hung from the ceiling, from the ragged sheets hanging between the hard wooden bunks and the bunks themselves. The wretched passengers, men, women and families, accompanied by the occasional cat, dog, and one lone parakeet, shivered in the cold, their breath hanging in the air. Parents clung to their children beneath thick fur coverings, while a few small fires burned in old food cans, warming foul stews and broths. A vague red glow throbbed in the air from the nearby Wonder generators, with extra illumination provided by smelly candles crafted from the fat of animals that could never have smelt this bad when they were alive.
Large eyes peered out from dark sockets in sallow faces, yellow skin hanging from their skulls. Their clothes were frayed and filthy, some hinting at Sunday best, the poor reaching for the finery they hoped to attain in the new world.
“This is heart breaking,” Laurel mumbled, as they picked their way through the detritus of humanity.
“Welcome to real life,” Hilt said, and she wanted to hit him.
She had lived the life of an orphan, she thought, looking at the children wrapped in their parents’ arms. These people were trying to look after each other while they headed somewhere they hoped would offer them the chance to better themselves. She had sold herself when she was barely a teenager, sold her body and not just dancing either. And then she had tried to make things better, make people better. She had sown other people’s bodies back together with sheep intestines on the battlefield, young soldiers yet to shave who had signed up because life offered them nothing else but crime. She looked around and saw her real family, not her blood relatives, the mysterious Gleaves who had left her to rot until they were in the ground themselves. These were her kin who clung to each other for support, picked each other up and dragged each other back down again.
“Is there anything we can do for them, Professor?”
Rickenbacker reached into his bag to retrieve a scrap of material smeared with a gluey concoction of Wonder.
“This might help,” he said, handing it to Laurel. “Just knot it tightly and it should provide some warmth. It can be undone and used again.”
Laurel looked at the scrap and then looked deep into the gloom, spying a gaggle of children attached to one another under a stained cotton sheet. She approached them slowly, the material in her hand and they cowered away from her.
“It’s alright,” she assured them, “I have something that can help you warm you up.”
She took the two ends of the material and tied a loose knot, unsure how hot it would get in her fingertips. She pulled it tight and it immediately flooded the area with a fresh warmth, like morning sun, without burning her hand. One of the braver children crept forward, reached out tentatively and snatched it from Laurel’s grasp.
“There you go,” she said, smiling.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Hilt said, looking at the wide eyes turning towards them.
“That’s nothing,” said Pinkerton, before climbing onto the nearest bunk. “Listen up. If any of you take that scrap of warmth from those children, I will personally freeze you to death myself. Is that understood?”
Everybody turned away from the group and Pinkerton decided to take this as a good sign.
“Are we quite finished do-gooding?” Hilt asked, “as I would like to find some food that won’t kill me and a bed that won’t give me crabs.”
And with that, Hilt led the others through the huddled masses towards the only door they could see, hoping it would lead upwards.
The crow network was another backbone of the Empire, and it generally followed wherever the slideways went, so that the crows could follow them to other Imperial centres. Using Green Wonder to control their minds, crows would be given a message letter by letter that would be translated into caws, the language of the crows. Crows had been chosen as the birds were essentially pack animals, aggressive with crows from other areas and flocks, known as Murders, so the message could be kept within the Grand Quillian Murder. As the crow did not migrate too far, the Green Wonder enabled the already intelligent birds to pass the message on, and due to their incredible hearing, this meant the crows could pass on the message between each other across extraordinary distances.
Within the Empire, the crow network was known as the Murder and the phrase “as the crow flies” did not always mean the straightest distance between two places, as they followed the slideways, but it did generally mean the quickest, as there was no faster way to send a message within the Empire than via the Murder.
The message sent by Axelrod to the Chinsey Trade Headquarters took twenty minutes to arrive at the Headquarters’ Murder Exchange, and then took another twenty minutes moving up three floors into the A.I.R. office.
The Alien and Insurgent Research department was often seen as a law unto itself, especially in the colonies that were run by the Trade, as they reported directly to the Grand Quillian government as opposed to the Trade. Therefore most Trade officers and their ECOs were not very forthcoming in sharing information with them until they had to. Their bureaucratic powers were absolute, their physical and Wonder powers had never been advertised, but everybody in the know knew they were the concealed strong arm of the Empire. AIR was only aware of Rickenbacker due to their meeting with him at the Necropolis dig four years previously, when they had closed him down. His history as a troublemaker had only been of local interest, and they were therefore happy for him to be managed by the Trade in the area. But the news from Doctor Axelrod about Rickenbacker’s infiltration into the Cathedral of Tales and his pilfering of a Gargoyle Key, coupled with his knowledge of the mass grave at the Necropolis, troubled AIR. So they contacted two agents via the Murder who happened to be in the area of the Glasslands and told them to command the Spirit of Bester to stop for refuelling where they would board the ice yacht and detain this local problem named Rickenbacker, who seemed to have ideas above his station.
The door from the bunks led to steps up to the steerage refectory, where the long tables and benches were busy with families gossiping, arguing, gambling, playing chess, backgammon and drinking much like any village square, illuminated by large portholes on either side. The distance from the ice, the proximity of the kitchens and crush of people served to warm the area to bearable temperatures.
Rickenbacker and the others approached a large serving hatch into the kitchens as surreptitiously as possible, Hilt concealing his blade behind the bulk of Pinkerton. The hatch was secured with a barred shutter bolted closed with a padlock, so without a word, Hilt bent down and pulled the shim from his spurs. Within seconds he had popped the lock and Pinkerton slipped his fingers beneath the shutter to raise it.
“I haven’t seen you down here before,” said a man behind them.
“And you won’t see us down here again,” Hilt replied, without looking back. “Lift the shutter, Pinkerton.”
“Leave it where it is,” the man said again before spitting the last word, “Pinkerton.”
They turned to see three undesirable individuals, one armed with a club, the others with knives. Pinkerton turned back and lifted the shutter.
“Gentlemen, why would you care what my friends and I are up to?” Laurel asked, smiling.
“Because there’s a premium on grassing up stowaways, darling. Maybe we’ll let them have your friends and keep you for ourselves.”
“Why not give them a warm hankie to show we’re friendly?” Hilt said to Laurel.
“You’re an arsehole, Hilt.”
“I’m the arsehole you should be worrying about,” said the man with the club.
“Tell me, Sir,” said Pinkerton, “do you know what the opposite of a stowaway is?”
“Er...”
“It’s someone who should be on the yacht who isn’t. And that’s exactly what you and your friends are going to be when I throw you through that window.”
“It’s called a porthole,” Hilt corrected Pinkerton.
“Shut up, Hilt, or you’ll go with them.”
“I think we’re all a little overtired,” Rickenbacker suggested.
“Be quiet, old man,” said the man with the club.
“So when we get out of here, can we find a cabin? A good one?” asked Laurel, ignoring the men.
“I am still here,” the man with the club pointed out as his friends shuffled cautiously.
“Why?” Hilt asked as he raised his blade to the man’s throat.
Laurel slipped beneath the shutter, followed by Brennan and Teddy.
“Bye now,” said Laurel. “Nice to meet you.”
Pinkerton helped the professor through the serving hatch and turned to stand side by side with Hilt.
“I lost a dog today,” Pinkerton told the three men, who turned from staring at Hilt’s blade to look at each other.
“The dog is at the lodge,” Hilt told him, rolling his eyes.
“It might not be.”
“I promise you that dog is at the lodge.”
And when Hilt and Pinkerton turned from each other to confront the three men, they found they had already moved on.
Jobby and the rest of his traders disembarked and the Bester fired up her generators, unfurled her sails and slid slowly forward.
As they made their way further into the ship, steadily ascending through the decks towards warmth, a better class of passenger started to emerge. In third class Rickenbacker and his group met small time traders, skilled labourers, the occasional youngster in a brand new, ill-fitting Trade uniform, and some young families accompanying their junior bureaucrat fathers. The accommodation was broken into thin-walled cabins, fully insulated against the cold, lit by Wonder and made homely with mattresses, pillows and even sinks. The smell of smoked fish, onions and boiled cabbage permeated the decks, except for the rich throat burning scents around the smoking rooms.
“Can’t we stop for food?” Teddy asked, “Some toast or something?”
“Surely the Chosen One wants more than third-class grub,” Hilt chided him. “You can aim higher than toast.”
“I like toast,” Teddy mumbled back.
The doors between second and third class were not locked, and Rickenbacker suggested they find a cabin in the second-class decks, but something had stirred in Hilt. He was determined to get into first class, and Rickenbacker was certain it was not the need for the high life that spurred Hilt onwards, but more the pleasure he would take in depriving somebody in first class of their luxury. There was a zeal in his eyes, a bloodthirstiness that Rickenbacker did not find reassuring, so when Hilt said he would scout ahead for a first class cabin before coming to get them, Rickenbacker felt both a sense of relief for himself and a dread for whomever had whatever cabin they were about to inherit.
It was not that Captain Conrad was not a morning person, it was more that he hated being woken up. And he definitely didn’t like being woken with a message received via the Murder ordering him to stop at the next refuelling depot to pick up two AIR agents who would search his ship for a group of criminals who had apparently stowed away. AIR agents were generally arrogant and intrusive, liable to make the captain feel like he was relinquishing some command of the Spirit of Bester. But the consequences of ignoring an order from AIR did not bare thinking about, so he gave the order. He decided to stay in his cabin for the rest of the voyage and let that jumped up first officer Trevor Gower deal with the agents. It might teach him some manners.
The refuel depot nearest the Glasslands stood at the base of a steep incline, impassable to Humps, and offering no view of the snowdrop spire. It was known as Wyman’s Base and was manned by two Hodgkinson Line employees named Ed and Spike. Neither man was particularly blessed with intelligence, patience or charm, happy in their role of transferring Red Wonder from the company’s containers into the generators of passing yachts.