Infernal Devices

by Philip Reeve

"Help me," she whispered. "If you are there at all, give me strength. Give me courage. I'm so close to her. I could use the weapon now, if only I were brave enough. And it wouldn't be murder, would it, to kill someone who is already dead? I would only be smashing a machine, a dangerous, destructive machine...."

  She spoke softly, barely moving her lips. No human ear could hear her. But her prayer was heard, just the same. Crouched like a gargoyle on the chapel's ruined steeple, the Stalker Grike listened carefully to every word.

  "Have I the right to do it? It all seemed so clear before, but now I have seen her; how clever she is, and how

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  strong.... Maybe it would be murder. Or am I just making excuses for myself? Am I just looking for a reason not to do it so that I can live? Send me a sign, God, if you're up there; show me what I should do...."

  She waited, and Grike waited with her, but no sign came. The noisy, popular gods of the neighboring temples seemed to dish out comfort and counsel like advice columnists, but the god of this place was less scrutable; maybe he was asleep, or dead. Maybe he was busy with some better world off at the far end of the universe. Oenone Zero shook her head at her own foolishness and stood up, making ready to leave.

  Grike climbed quickly down the chapel wall and waited in an alcove by the entrance, where perhaps a statue of the Christians' nailed-up god had once hung. His suspicions had been right. Dr. Zero was a traitor, and although he had grown fond of her in his Stalkerish way, he knew that he must eliminate her before she could harm his mistress. His circuitry hummed and tingled at the prospect of a kill. She had taken his claws from him, but he was still strong, and merciless. One blow from his fist would end her easily.

  A footstep on the threshold. The young woman stepped out of the chapel, pulling up her hood against the cold wind. She did not see Grike. She went past him and walked quickly away along the Street of Ten Thousand Deities, hurrying back to her quarters in the pagoda before the curfew bells were rung.

  Grike lowered his fist, feeling startled and slightly foolish. What had happened to him? He was a Stalker, a killing machine, and yet, when his quarry's eggshell skull had been in reach, he could not strike.

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  I must warn the Green Storm's secret police, he thought, jumping down from the alcove and following Oenone out into the crowds on the street. He would let the Once-Borns deal with her themselves, down in their white-tiled torture rooms beneath the Jade Pagoda. But after a few strides he halted. He simply didn't have it in him to betray Oenone Zero.

  She has done this to me, he thought, remembering all those lonely night shifts in the Stalker Works. Somehow, the young surgeon-mechanic had built a barrier in his mind that made it impossible for him to harm her, or tell anyone what she was planning. He had been part of her plans all along. She had given the Stalker Fang a bodyguard who was not capable of guarding her.

  He should have hated Dr. Zero for using him like that, but he did not have it in him to hate her either.

  He barged through a festival procession outside the shrine of Jomo and climbed homeward through the darkness and the snow. He was not the puppet of Oenone Zero. He could not harm her, but he would keep her from harming his mistress. Somehow he would learn the nature of her plan, and put a stop to it.

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  18 The naglfar

  ***

  AS SOON AS HE had locked his friends and the children inside Gargle's quarters, Caul sprinted back up the stairs to the chamber of screens. He was shuddering slightly, and half inclined to go back down and unlock the doors again. He kept telling himself that he hadn't chosen Uncle over Freya and the others; he would find a way to stay true to both of them.

  "First thing we must do," said Uncle when Caul rejoined him, "is to get rid of those women. Bad luck, they'll be. You'll see." He had filled his screens with images of the captives in the room below: big, grainy close-ups of Hester and Freya. He said, "They look very pretty, I'm sure, and no doubt you think they're very sweet, but they'll twist round and betray you, like my Anna did me all those years ago. That's why I've always made it the rule that there ain't no girls in Grimsby."

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  Caul put down Hester's gun. He felt stupid, standing there holding it. "But what about the girl who was aboard the Autolycus with Gargle?"

  "Young Remora?" Uncle snatched the gun and stuffed it away inside his filthy clothes. "I know what you mean. Odd-looking lad. High-pitched voice. Long hair. Too much makeup. I had my doubts when Gargle first introduced me, but Gargle assured me he was a boy. A fine burglar. Poor Remora. I suppose he's dead too?"

  "Uncle, there are girls among those poor children we found downstairs. Lots of them are girls."

  "Girls? You're sure?" Uncle started thumbing his remote control, hunting for close-ups of the children. Caul saw his friends on the screens look up nervously as crab-cams spidered around on the ceiling above them, jangling Remora's mobiles. Uncle saw only grayish, face-shaped blurs. "Maybe Gargle's kidnapping squads have grabbed a few girls by mistake," he muttered grudgingly. "We'll have to get rid of them, too, if we're to make a new start. And we will make a new start, Caul, my boy. We'll rebuild Grimsby, stronger and better than it ever was before, and you'll be my right hand. You can move into Gargle's pad and look after things for me like Gargle used to do."

  One of the banks of screens behind him suddenly died, leaving the room even more dimly lit than before. There was a smell of burned wiring, and when Caul went to investigate, he saw that water was flooding down the surfaces of the screens and pooling on the floor below. He touched some to his lips and tasted brine. Uncle Knows Best, he told himself, and he wanted to believe it because it would have been good

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  l62 to go back to the old days, when he had been so certain about everything. Everybody had to believe in something better and greater than themselves. Tom and Freya had their gods, and Hester had Tom, and Caul had Uncle. He would not let Uncle down again, even though he was old, and blind, and confused; even though there was probably nothing that could save Grimsby from the sea.

  But he would not let his friends drown with him.

  "You look tired, Uncle," he said gently. It was true. How long had the old man been alone in this room, staring at the treacherous message from Brighton on his walls of screens? Caul touched his hand. "You should get some rest, now that I'm here to keep an eye on things."

  Uncle's head jerked round to stare at him, his eyes glittering with something of their old cunning. "You trying to trick me, Caul? That's what Gargle did. 'Have a nap, Uncle dear,' he'd say. 'Lie down for forty winks, Uncle.' And when I woke up, some of my stuff would be missing, or another boy I'd trusted would be dead, and Gargle would be telling me it had been an accident...."

  "Why did you let him get away with it?" asked Caul.

  The old man shrugged. '"Cos I was scared of him. And 'cos I was proud of him. He was a sharp one, that Gargle, and it was me who made him that way. He was like a son to me, I s'pose. I like to think that me and Anna might have had sons, if she hadn't tricked me and flown off in that homemade airship of hers. I like to think they'd have been as sharp as Gargle. But I'm glad he's gone, Caul, my boy. I'm glad it's you here now."

  Mumbling quietly to himself, Uncle let Caul lead him up

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  the steep stair to his bedchamber. The midget engine pods of the old cargo balloon whined and clattered as the ball of screens went with them, hanging a few feet above their heads so that Uncle could keep staring up at it, his half-blind eyes flicking nervously from one screen to another. The entrance to his bedroom had been made higher and wider to let the balloon squeeze through. "Gotta keep watching them, Caul," he muttered. "Never know what they'll get up to unwatched. Gotta watch everybody. Everywhere. Always."

  The room had been richly furnished once, for the Lost Boys had brought all the finest things they stole here as tribute to Uncle. But over the years, piece by piece, Gargle must have found excuses to move all the treasures downstairs
to his own quarters. All that remained was a bed with a threadbare quilt, some piles of moldy books, and an upturned crate that served as a bedside table; it held an old argon lamp and a faded photograph of a beautiful young woman in the uniform of an Arkangel slave worker.

  "I keep that to remind me," said Uncle, when he saw Caul looking at the picture, and quickly turned it facedown. "My Anna Fang. Pretty, weren't she? They've gone and made a Stalker of her now, and put her in charge of the Green Storm, and she rules over half the world, with airships and armies at her command. I've followed her career. Got a book of cuttings, somewhere. Gargle thought he could do a deal with her, but I knew it wouldn't work. Knew it would only lead to trouble...."

  "What sort of deal?" asked Caul. He had heard Uncle talk about his lost love once before, but he had never heard of the Lost Boys trying to do a deal with the world outside. "Is that

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  why Gargle came to Anchorage? Why he wanted the Tin Book?"

  Uncle sat down on the bed, and his moon of surveillance screens dipped until it was hanging just above his head. "Gargle said there was trouble coming. As soon as those first three limpets went missing, he said, 'There's trouble coming.' He was right, too, wasn't he? Only he didn't know how soon. He thought if he got hold of that Tin Book, he could give it to the Green Storm and ask for their protection in exchange, get them to smash whatever city came hunting for us."

  "But why would they want the Tin Book?" asked Caul.

  "Who knows?" replied Uncle with a shrug. "A couple of summers back, they sent an expedition to try and find the wreck of Anchorage. They didn't, of course. But Gargle got a crab-cam aboard their ship, and he found out what it was they was hoping to dredge up."

  "The Tin Book?"

  Uncle nodded. "They weren't ordinary Green Storm, neither. They were special agents, who reported straight to her. So Gargle thought, if she's ready to send ships halfway round the world in the middle of a war looking for this thing, she must want it pretty bad. And he remembered seeing something like it when he was burgling Anchorage that time, only he didn't think nothing of it then." He shook his head. "I told him it wouldn't work. I told him to stay put. But he was like that, young Gargle; once he got an idea in his head, there weren't no stopping him, and off he went, and now he's dead, and that wicked city's stolen all my boys away."

  "But what was it?" asked Caul. "The Tin Book, I mean? What makes it so valuable?"

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  Uncle, who had been sniffling miserably, blew his nose on a polka-dot handkerchief and peered at Caul. "Don't know," he said. "We never did find out. Gargle put about the story that it was the plans to some great big Ancient submarine that would save us all, but I think he made that up. What would my poor Anna want with a submarine? No. I reckon it's a weapon. Something big."

  He stuffed the handkerchief away and yawned. "Now, my boy. Enough about the past. We should think of the future. We should make plans. Time to start rebuilding. We'll need to nick some stuff. Lucky you brought the Screw Worm home with you--that'll come in proper handy, that will. And I've still got the old Naglfar. Remember the good old Naglfar?"

  "Saw her in the pens when we arrived," said Caul. He could see that Uncle was growing sleepy. He helped him lie down, and pulled the tattered quilt over him, tucking it under his chin. "You have a little sleep," he said. "You have a sleep, and when you wake, it'll be time to start."

  Uncle smiled up at him and closed his eyes. The ball of screens hung just above his pillow, and' in the cathode-ray glow of the crab-cam pictures, his old face looked luminous, a paper mask lit from within by the flickering light of his dreams.

  In the chamber below, some of the children had gone to sleep too. The rest sat quietly, watching with large, trusting eyes while Tom told them a story that he used to tell Wren when she was little and woke up scared in the night. They did not seem frightened by the groans and shudders of the dying city, or the dribbles of water creeping down the walls.

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  It had been scary when they were all alone, but now that these kind grown-ups had arrived, they felt sure that everything would be all right.

  Hester prowled the edges of the room, looking for weapons or ways to pick the heavy locks on the doors, and growing more and more angry as she found none of either.

  "What will you do if you do find a way out?" Freya asked her softly. "Sit down. You'll scare the children."

  Hester scowled at her. "What will I do? Get down to the limpet pens, of course, and away aboard the Screw Worm."

  "But we can't all fit aboard the Screw Worm. Even if we managed to squeeze all the children into the hold, there wouldn't be air or fuel enough to get us back to Anchorage."

  "Who said we were taking the children?" asked Hester. "I came to rescue Wren, not those little savages. Wren's not here, so we'll take the Worm to Brighton and try looking there."

  "But the children--" cried Freya, and quickly stopped, in case they heard her and guessed what Hester was planning. "Hester, how could you even think such a thing! You have a child of your own!"

  "That's right," said Hester. "And if you had, then you'd know how much trouble they bring. And these aren't even ordinary children. It's all very well, you coming over all nurturing, but these are Lost Boys. You can't take them back to Anchorage. What will you do with them there?

  "Love them, of course," replied Freya simply.

  "Oh, like you did Caul? That really worked, didn't it? They'll rob you blind, and then probably murder you. You've lost your edge, Snow Queen. You asked me once to help you protect Anchorage. Well, I'll protect it by making sure you

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  don't take a gang of burglar babies home with you as souvenirs of Grimsby."

  Freya took a step backward, as though she didn't like to be so close to Hester. "I don't think Anchorage needs your sort of protection anymore," she said. "I was glad of you once. I hoped all those years of peace would bring you peace as well. But you've not changed."

  Hester was about to reply when the door behind her opened and Caul came in. She turned on him instead. "Come to gloat over your prisoners?"

  Caul would not meet her eye. "You're not prisoners," he said. "I just didn't want anybody to get hurt. And I didn't want you to make Uncle leave. He's an old man. He'd die if he leaves Grimsby."

  "He'll die if he stays," said Hester. "Unless he's a really good swimmer."

  Caul ignored her and spoke to Freya and Tom. "He's asleep now. He'll sleep for hours, with luck. That gives you time to get away."

  "And what about you?" asked Freya.

  Caul shook his head. "I have to stay. I'm all he's got."

  "Well, you're more than he deserves," said Tom indignantly. "You do know he'll never really be able to rebuild this place, don't you?"

  "You don't understand," said Caul. "Seeing him like this, so old and mad and miserable ... Of course Grimsby's finished. But Uncle doesn't realize that. I'm the last of his boys, Tom. I've got to stay with him till the end."

  Freya was about to try to reason with him, but Hester butted in. "Fine by me. Now, how do you suggest we leave?"

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  Caul grinned at her, glad of a practical question at last. "The Naglfar. She's the cargo submarine we saw in the pens when we first got here. She's old, but she's trusty. She'll take you back to Anchorage all right."

  "Then you'll have to come too!" said Freya, relieved. "I can't drive a submarine on my own, or pilot it, or whatever you're supposed to do to them."

  "Tom and Hester will help you."

  "Tom and Hester are taking the Screw Worm and going after Brighton," said Hester.

  "No," Caul told her. "You've got to go with Freya. I have to stay with Uncle. I'll help you fuel and provision the Naglfar. You can take her back to Anchorage and then, once Freya and the children are safe, you can carry on to Brighton and find Wren.

  "

  And so, for one last time, the limpet pens of Grimsby were filled with t
he sounds of a submarine being made ready for sea. The Naglfar was a rusty, ramshackle old tub, but Caul said that she would swim, and there was room enough in her spacious hold for all the children. He did not tell them what else he knew about her: that she was the submarine that Uncle had stolen years before from Snowmad scavengers and used to begin his underwater empire. Nor did he mention where her name came from--in the legends of the Old North, the Naglfar was a ship built from dead men's fingernails in which the dark gods would sail to battle at the world's end. He didn't want to give the children nightmares.

  So Tom and Caul concentrated on testing the old sub's engines while Hester filled her tanks with fuel and Freya

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  made some of the older children show her Grimsby's food stores, where they collected armfuls of provisions to keep them going on the journey back to Vineland.

  Everything had to be done quickly. Metallic moans and grumbles kept rolling down the passageways of the building, as hull plates that had been damaged by Brighton's depth charges slowly shifted and gave way under the pressure of the sea and the bulkhead doors slammed shut to seal off the flooded sections. No one had forgotten that Uncle was still up there in his chambers with his mad dreams. But Uncle seemed to be sleeping soundly for the moment; at least when Tom opened the Naglfar' 's hatches and looked up at the shadowy roof, he could not see any crab-cams on the move.

  He leaned against the open hatch cover for a moment, glad of the cold, for it was growing hot and stuffy in the Naglfar's engine room. He had been overdoing it down there and worrying too much about Wren, and his old wound was hurting him again, sharp, jabbing shards of pain, as if his heart were full of broken glass. He wondered again if he was going to die. He didn't think he was afraid of dying, but he was afraid of dying before he found Wren.