Consequences

by Carla Jablonski

“Would you fancy a spot of tea before we put those clever hands of yours to work?” Slaggingham asked. “I was just on my way to the factory.”

  So that was it. Slaggingham was going to put him back on the assembly line. In the old days, it was Reverend Slaggingham who set the boys to work, farming them out at tender ages to other masters and then collecting their wages, tossing them the spare penny as recompense. Well, Daniel would make up his own mind about that. But much as he hated to admit it, it was nice to be with someone he knew. After so much that was new and unfamiliar, it was a relief to look upon a familiar face—and one that was much friendlier now than it had ever been before. And he could sure use that tea. He’d had so little to eat since leaving Free Country.

  Without Daniel even noticing, Slaggingham had been walking him along the tunnels, Daniel now realized. He could see light streaming from an archway up ahead. Sounds, too, were echoing around the tunnels—clanging and whirring and clanking, just like the old days.

  “Ah, here we are,” Slaggingham announced. They stood in the archway, and Daniel gaped at the sight.

  In this part of the tunnels the ceiling was high and vaulted, higher than the clubhouse tree back in Free Country, higher than the houses along the quiet, tree-lined street where Daniel had walked earlier that day. In the center loomed a tall monster of a machine. Valves, gauges, and dials whirred, while wires sizzled and smoke rose around it. Metal scaffolding allowed workers to reach out with long metal sticks to manipulate levers and to poke at cinders.

  Daniel watched the workers for a bit. They were a mixed lot—mostly men, but from their clothing they seemed to range from rich to poor, and the many styles indicated they came from different time periods. Sort of like Free Country, Daniel observed. In Free Country, kids came in wearing whatever they had on, whether it was medieval tunics or blue jeans.

  Only there don’t seem to be much “free” about these blokes, Daniel thought. They moved in rhythmic patterns, as if they were part of the machinery itself. Only the ones in charge, like Slaggingham, and a man the reverend greeted in passing as Brother Salamander, seemed to have any life to them. The rest were silent drones.

  No way am I becoming one of them lot, Daniel vowed silently.

  “Isn’t it a beauty?” Slaggingham rested his arm lightly on Daniel’s shoulder. The reverend still towered over him, as he always had, but Daniel noticed his touch was gentler.

  Perhaps old Slaggingham is a new man, sure enough, Daniel thought. He ain’t calling me a “foul heathen” now. And he ain’t raised a hand to me once, much less a stick. He don’t whiff of rum like he used to, neither. Now he smells like grease and oil, like you’d get working with machines.

  “It’s a treat to have you here, lad,” Slaggingham said. “To be able to square things with you at last.”

  “What do you mean, square things?”

  “Wasn’t I bad to you back in the old days? Didn’t I bully you, thrash you, and call you names?”

  “You did.” Daniel shrugged. “But so did every other cove with a pocketful of bills. Compared to some others, what you done was nothing. You never shoved me down no chimneys to get scraped raw as meat. You never soused me with pig’s brine when I came out bloody. You never starved me to keep me willing to work.”

  “Stop,” Slaggingham moaned. He patted his chest. “You’re wrenching my heart, lad.” He reached out suddenly and pulled Daniel into an awkward embrace. Then he held the boy out at arm’s length and bent down so they were eye to eye. “I was going to take you on at the factory,” Slaggingham confided. “Make you an extractor operative grade one. But I know you better now. You’ve fire in your eyes, my boy, and steel in your heart.” He waggled a finger in front of Daniel’s face. “I want you to be my partner, young man.” He stood straight up again and shot out his hand. “Give us a shake on it.”

  Daniel hesitated. For all of Slaggingham’s big act, he still didn’t trust him. Besides, Slaggingham had never done anything that didn’t serve himself best, no matter the consequences for the other bloke. “What precisely is an extractor operative? What is it that you are planning to extract?” He hoped it wasn’t teeth.

  A whistle sounded and the silent workers moved from one part of the machinery to another.

  Slaggingham got a glint in his eyes, and he grinned broadly. He stuck his thumbs in his suspenders and his chest expanded like a pigeon’s. “Why, happiness!” he crowed. “We will be extracting happiness from those who have too much of it, and giving it to those who have too little. Haven’t you noticed that there is an unfair distribution of happiness in this world, lad?”

  “True enough,” Daniel conceded. It sounded pretty ridiculous to him, but what did he know compared to the old reverend? “How do you plan to be doing the extracting?”

  “Ahhhhhhhh, my boy, my boy.” Slaggingham rubbed his hands together. “Wait until you feast your eyes on my pride and my joy. My crown jewel of all my stunning creations.”

  He led Daniel up a metal ladder bolted to the brick wall. This brought them up to a catwalk suspended high above the floor. They clattered along the catwalk and through another archway. Steam and odorous vapors rose from the extensive machinery below them.

  In the dim light Daniel could make out silent figures moving in unison around the machine. Daniel was impressed. Slaggingham had a major operation going down here. And he wants me to be a part of all of it, Daniel mused. Me! Like he thinks I’m worth something.

  Slaggingham stood by a control panel built into one of the walls. “Let me adjust the lights so you can better witness the genius of modern times.” Slaggingham grabbed a lever and pulled it. It creaked and groaned as he pushed it down, then several lights shorted out.

  “Confound and blast it!” Slaggingham smacked the lever in frustration. “It’s jammed again!”

  “Wants oiling?” Daniel suggested.

  “Wants protection.” Slaggingham growled. He turned and grabbed one of the lanterns hanging on the wall.

  Daniel’s eyebrows rose. “Protection from what?”

  “Sabotage!” Slaggingham held the lantern out over the railing of the catwalk and scanned the area.

  Daniel followed his gaze. He was startled to see a small fellow who seemed to be made entirely of tools disappearing around a corner.

  “You!” Slaggingham cried, waving his fist in the air. “You blighter! You will regret this! I shall have you, I shall!”

  “Who is that bloke?” Daniel asked, intrigued by the odd creature’s appearance.

  “A saboteur. An enemy of progress! Awn the Blink is the tool-fingered troublemaker’s name.”

  “Where did he come from?” Daniel asked. He’d never seen anything like Awn the Blink before. And what a peculiar name. “How did he get down here?”

  “He’s here because some slurry-brained high-city magic brat used to believe in him. Thanks to his shenanigans we’re behind schedule.” Slaggingham paced back and forth, muttering oaths and curses.

  Daniel’s stomach growled. “Didn’t you say something about tea?” Daniel asked. “That ain’t going off the schedule, is it?”

  Slaggingham stopped prowling the catwalk and peered at Daniel. He glanced again in the direction Awn the Blink had vanished, then back at Daniel. “You wouldn’t care to inspect the Extractor first?”

  Daniel crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a bit of it.” He’d been offered a proper tea, by gum, and he was determined to have it.

  Slaggingham seemed disappointed, but he shrugged. “I shall tell you more about it over tea then…partner?”

  Daniel still wasn’t sold on the partner idea, so he said nothing.

  “Come with me, lad.” Slaggingham climbed down the ladder, and walked Daniel around the Extractor. Once more, Daniel wondered about the workers. He couldn’t precisely say what was wrong with them—he’d certainly seen dronelike behavior among the factory line workers back in the old days—but they disturbed him anyway.

  As they walked, Slaggingham slung an
arm across Daniel’s shoulders. “There are two kinds of people in the world, Daniel,” he said, “the happy ones, curse them, and us. And why is that, I ask you?”

  That was a daft question, the answer being so obvious. Daniel ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “They eat regular, and we don’t. That’s one thing. They has places that belongs to them. And we don’t. They ain’t got to lurk or drudge like us. And they have things. Lots of nice things.”

  “Jolly good!” Slaggingham acted as though Daniel had aced an exam at school. “That brain of yours is a ticker, my boy. Give this a tick then. Slaggingham’s law informs us that there’s a finite amount of happiness floating around in the world. Finite meaning limited, as you know.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” Daniel muttered. “I ain’t stupid.”

  “Oh, I know, lad. You are indeed the brightest sweep I have ever known. Now, let’s say you wanted to free up some happiness for you and your mates to grab. How would you do it?”

  Daniel was stumped. He bit his lip. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted. It seemed impossible. After all, if folks could do such a thing, wouldn’t they all be doing it by now?

  “You’d manufacture misery, that’s what you’d do!” Slaggingham crowed. “Then you’d sell it to happy people. Which would make them unhappy, of course, as sure as Christmas comes once a year.” Slaggingham stopped walking and began gesturing dramatically, illustrating his vision. “When the happiness came trickling out of their punctured hearts, you and your mates would catch every last drop of it with Slaggingham’s Anti-Tantalic Extractor Apparatus. Patent pending.”

  Daniel’s head swum. It made no sense, did it? But, coo, wouldn’t it be the staggers if it could be done? Be a way to bring those swells down a peg. And he’d be there to swoop in to soak up all that happiness.

  “How do you manufacture misery?” Daniel asked. “And why would anyone buy it?”

  A grin creaked its way across Slaggingham’s craggy face. “That’s the easiest part of all. Consumerism. It’s the capitalist system. Advertising. It’s been going on for ages. Now we can tap into the existing system and use it to our own purposes.”

  As appealing as this amazing plan sounded, Daniel didn’t think it was something he really wanted to be a part of. There was something wrong in the logic, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it or find the words to explain it to the old reverend.

  Besides, Slaggingham still hadn’t coughed up that tea. Had his offer for refreshment been a sham? How can you trust a man who not only should have died ages and ages ago but who tantalizes you with a promise of a spot of tea, only to produce nothing? Instead, he walks you about the endless tunnels, through another archway, and to yet another gigantic machine.

  “About that tea—” Daniel began, but Slaggingham cut him off.

  “What’s this?” Slaggingham demanded. “Why aren’t you all at your stations?”

  Daniel noticed that here, instead of working busily, the workers were all standing around in a large circle, away from the machine. Tools lay scattered on the floor, as if they had simply dropped them.

  “What is going on here?” Slaggingham bellowed.

  As the workers registered Slaggingham’s voice, the circle slowly opened up.

  Slaggingham grabbed Daniel’s shoulder with a viselike grip. “Impossible!” he cried.

  “Ow!” Daniel yelped.

  Slaggingham didn’t notice Daniel trying to shake out of his clutches. He was frozen, staring at something straight ahead. Daniel peered through the group and gasped. A unicorn stood gazing up at the happiness-extractor machine.

  “Grease and burning gaskets, it can’t be!” Slaggingham cried. “A unicorn, drat its shiny hide. Well, get the ridiculous thing out of here.”

  None of the workers moved. It was as if the unicorn had them all hypnotized.

  Daniel stared at the creature and felt his heart flutter. It was beautiful, and hopeful, and had no right to be there amid all their dark squalor. It was too white, too clean; it made him angry. He understood Slaggingham’s rage. Seeing it was a reminder of what they were not. Was the thing laughing at them? Did it come here just to make them feel bad about their lot in life?

  Slaggingham scanned his workers and must have realized they were useless in this situation. “It’s the glue shed for you, you scurvy agitator,” he shouted at the unicorn.

  With several clicking sounds, Slaggingham popped a strange metal eyepiece into place. Daniel was startled: The weapon seemed to have grown out of Slaggingham’s coat. He’s been armed the whole time, Daniel realized. Glad I didn’t cross him.

  Then, by merely blinking his eye, Slaggingham set off a round of ammunition straight at the animal.

  The unicorn reared up and galloped away down one of the branching tunnels. Every single bullet missed its mark. No one made a move to follow the creature.

  “Confound you, you popinjay!” Slaggingham bellowed. “You fairy-tale jumping jack! Drat you and that meddling Timothy Hunter!”

  Daniel’s face grew hot, and his heart thudded double time in his chest. “Did you say…did you say Timothy Hunter?” he gasped.

  With several clicks, Slaggingham’s weapon folded back into his coat. Slaggingham looked down at Daniel. “I did.”

  “Are you telling me that he’s the one who is causing the trouble down here? Stopping work and making little blokes out of tools?”

  “That is the villain. Do you know him?”

  “I’ll say I do. He stole my girl, Marya.” Daniel took a deep breath. “If you’re against Timothy Hunter, then I’m your man. I hate him.”

  “So does that mean we have an agreement?” Slaggingham asked eagerly.

  Daniel nodded, then thrust out his hand for the man to shake. “We does indeed.”

  Chapter Six

  TIM STARED AT MOLLY and Marya, both frozen mid-step. He balled his hands into fists, squeezed his eyes shut, and banged his temples.

  “You’ve really done it now, Tim,” he admonished himself. He opened his eyes again. Unfortunately the scene in front of him hadn’t changed. Proof of his supreme idiocy—as if he needed any further evidence.

  “But what exactly have I done?” he asked out loud. “And how do I undo it?”

  He walked in a slow circle all the way around Molly and Marya. It was as if they were statues in an art museum. They looked completely alive.

  “Of course they look alive—they are alive!” Tim hated the sound of the terror in his voice. It went all squeaky. He studied them again. “They’re just…on pause.” He fiddled with the junk in his pockets, hoping the familiar action would help him think.

  It didn’t.

  Tim slumped onto the curb, his eyes never leaving Molly. He got into this mess because he freaked out, and instead of facing the situation like a man, like a hero, or maybe like his dad, Tamlin, would have, he just tried to stop it so he could pretend it wasn’t happening. Which made everything much worse, because something else happened instead—and he was the one who had done it!

  He stood back up again, pacing back and forth in front of the girls. He had wanted to tell Molly himself about the magic; he had even planned a demonstration. But this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind.

  He planted himself next to Molly, taking in her sparkling eyes. What was the expression on her face? She seemed excited and urgent. She didn’t look angry; that was a relief. Of course, that was before she knew he could freeze her, and might not be able to unfreeze her.

  He glanced up and down the street. Luckily, he had ducked into an alley and the girls had followed, so there were no cars, no people, no witnesses. He wondered—if there had been, would they all be frozen, too? He had no idea how wide a range this freezing power had.

  He took a deep breath. He was afraid to try to undo what he’d done because he didn’t know how he had done it. What if he made things worse?

  But he had to do something. He worried that the longer they were frozen in time, the harder it would be to undo. Or
that there would be side effects or something, if they stayed this way too long. And even worse—if he kept Molly out too late her dad would kill them both.

  “I’ve got to quit rabbiting around and get to work,” he declared. Every time I try to play it safe, he realized, things turn out worse. Well, there’s no one here to help me, so this is up to me to fix.

  He remembered his first real magic, the time he had kept the snow from falling on Kenny, Tamlin’s friend. The secret to that had been concentration, focus, relaxation, and will.

  He stood in front of the girls. “I’ll undo Marya first,” he decided. “She’ll need less of an explanation. And she can get me up to speed on what Molly already knows.”

  What had the Trenchcoat Brigade told him? Magic answers need. He needed a moment to think when the girls came after him. He felt it really strongly and it happened. In Free Country, he was angry at being used, and that energy nearly blasted the world apart. What he had to learn was to use his brain, not just his chaotic feelings. That’s why the snow trick worked. All right. Focus.

  He waved his hands in front of Marya. “Undo!” he declared.

  Nothing happened.

  “Great,” Tim muttered. “Just great.”

  Underground London

  Slaggingham clapped his hands. “All right, all right, comrades. The sideshow is over. Back to work. Every last Jack and Jill of you.”

  Without a murmur or question, the factory workers turned and shambled their way back to their stations.

  Slaggingham grinned at Daniel. “Now, I believe we were about to have tea.”

  About time, Daniel thought. For a while there it looked as if the tea was merely a figment of the reverend’s imagination.

  Slaggingham pushed open a door, and ushered Daniel into a small office. A hot plate sat on the counter and shelves lined the walls, full of dented canned goods. It seemed as if Slaggingham had decorated his office with discards and found his supplies in the rubbish.

  No matter, Daniel decided. Food is still food, even if the tin it comes in is dented and the label pulled off. He’d had far worse in his life.