Consequences

by Carla Jablonski

  “What is it?” Tim asked. Then he saw the heap in the corner. He had thought it was just a pile of rags and more metal scrap, but it wasn’t. It was—

  “Slaggingham.” Daniel gasped. “He ain’t all there.”

  “No, I guess you could say that.”

  Someone—something—lay sprawled in the corner. This Slaggingham must have once had a face, Tim noted, but whatever the creature had used for skin had peeled off in large chunks, revealing silvery metal underneath. Its chest was sprung open, so Tim could see the inner workings. It must be some kind of robot, Tim realized. Or some combination of cyborg and human. Bolts, sockets, and nuts crunched under their feet as Daniel and Tim moved closer.

  “Daniel, is that you?” the creature rasped. “You’re right as rain. I’m not all here. Look at me, boy, I’m brokenhearted. Short-circuited.”

  The sizzling sound that they had heard came from the electrical units shorting out Slaggingham’s inner workings. Tim was afraid if they got too close they’d get singed by the random sparks shooting out of its head and chest.

  “Let this be a lesson to you, lad,” Slaggingham wheezed. “Never trust a machine. Or try to be one.”

  “I won’t, sir,” Daniel replied, sounding choked up.

  “Still, you put that Hunter brat down like the dog he is just for me, didn’t you, lad? Sent him off to meet his maker in a perishing fountain of sparks, eh? That’s my boy. You done good, lad. You make me proud.”

  Tim glanced at Daniel and saw tears in the boy’s eyes. Daniel cleared his throat. “You bet I did, Reverend.” He looked at Tim, a weak, sad smile on his face. “He won’t be bothering you no more, and that’s the gospel truth.”

  Tim backed up into the shadows so that there was no chance that Reverend Slaggingham would spot him. He knew that Daniel needed this man to be proud of him—to think that Daniel had accomplished the task he’d been asked to do. It was a harmless lie, one to make an old—well, not man, exactly, but father figure—happy before he expired. What’s the harm in that?

  A groaning, screeching sound filled the air, followed by a deep rumbling.

  “Blimey, what’s that?” Daniel asked.

  “That would be the river ripping back through the tunnels,” Slaggingham creaked. “You see, the infernal flood-control system is dysfunctional, since—since…”

  With a droning, whirring sound, each of the pulsing lights in Slaggingham blinked off. A few sparks shot out, then silence.

  “He’s gone,” Daniel murmured.

  Tim gave Daniel a moment. When he saw the sooty chimney sweep wipe his eyes, Tim laid a hand on his shoulder. “I guess we’d better get out of here. That water sounds like it’s getting pretty close.”

  “Aye.” Daniel whirled to face Tim again. His jaw was set and there was a strange glint in his eyes. “I’m going to hotfoot it out of here, just in front of the flood. But you, you girl-stealing slacker, you can just stay down here and drown. You may have had me fooled for a while there, but Slaggingham reminded me of what’s what.”

  “But—”

  “He’s the only one who’s ever believed in me, and I’ll be danged if I’m going to let him down. So when you sees old Slaggingham in the next life, you tell him who fetched you there. Just like I promised.”

  Daniel raised his broom in front of Tim and twirled it. Soot and dust flew everywhere, blinding Tim and setting him coughing. When the dust cleared, Tim was alone in the tunnel.

  Chapter Ten

  TIM SHOOK HIS HEAD. “This death wish of yours, Tim,” he scolded himself. “You’ve really got to do something about it.” The sound of the water grew closer. And do something about it soon.

  Giving Slaggingham one last glance, Tim began to explore the tunnels. There were a few flickering lanterns still hanging from the walls, but most of the electric lights had burned out. Steep shadows blanketed everything, making it hard to tell where there were doors or new tunnels, or where any sort of exit might be.

  “Why did you do it, Tim?” he asked himself. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: Never trust anyone who has at any point wished you dead. Especially juvenile delinquent chimney sweeps.”

  His voice echoed in the dark passageway. The only other sounds were the lapping water rising and his sloshing footsteps.

  “Oh, calm down, Tim,” he continued. “Things could be worse, you know. After all, it’s not quite pitch-dark in here, and the water isn’t up to the ceiling. Yet.”

  He came to an archway and peeked through. Another huge machine loomed in the center of the room. Spotting a metal ladder, he hurried around the machine and climbed up onto a catwalk. That should keep him above the water for a while.

  “I’d be all set if I had a torch and a pair of swimming trunks. Oh, and someone who would kindly show me the way out of here.” He came to a dead end. “Gosh, Tim. I don’t know. That seems like a lot to ask for.” He turned around and walked back the way he had come. Hang on, something looks different here. He felt along the wall and found a handle. He grinned. “Would you settle for a door?”

  It was so dark he hadn’t noticed the door the first time he passed it. He pushed hard against it, but it didn’t budge.

  “Yeah, I’d settle for a door if it weren’t locked,” he said. He kicked the door in frustration. Unless…he thought. He felt himself suddenly edgy with nervous energy. Should he or shouldn’t he?

  “Come on, this is really stupid,” he admonished himself. “You shouldn’t be afraid of trying to magic your way out of this. You did all right up there with Daniel.”

  He slumped against the damp wall. “Yeah, but you blew it big time with Molly and Marya—freezing them like that,” he reminded himself. “You were just lucky you were able to undo whatever it was that you did.” He shook his head irritably. “Listen to you, Tim, you’re babbling. Are you going to drown here? Or are you going to take Molly out for ice cream?”

  He knew he couldn’t take too long. Molly was going to come after him in an hour. And she was always as good as her word. If she came down here looking for him now…

  His heart thumped hard in his chest—fast and then faster as he thought of the danger his absence would put Molly in. He had to get out—if only to save Molly.

  A grate suddenly popped open beside him, making him jump. A strange little guy with tools for hands, nails for hair, and a body composed of all kinds of sprockets and stray parts climbed out of the grate. The creature had goggles instead of eyes, but wore regular clothes: dirty jeans and a filthy T-shirt.

  Tim stepped back. This thing looked like it could be related to old Slaggingham back there. Did this creature also want him dead?

  “Master Tim!” The little guy grinned. “Why, hello! It’s just me, Awn the Blink. I brought that torch you were hoping for. Couldn’t arrange the swim trunks for you, though. Sorry.” The guy handed Tim a big, reassuring flashlight.

  “Thanks, Mr., uh, Blink. Mr. Awn.” Tim clicked on the flashlight and instantly felt better. Now he could see his surroundings more clearly, although the sights didn’t exactly fill him with joy. He peered over the side of the catwalk. The water was up to about six feet now.

  “Don’t mention it,” Awn the Blink said. “It would have been pointless to scrap old Slaggingham if it was just to watch you drown, sir.”

  Tim swung around the flashlight so that it shone on Awn the Blink. “You scrapped Slaggingham?”

  “Yes, indeedy. He was dead set on having you murdered, see. And I couldn’t stand for that, naturally.”

  “Uh, naturally. I certainly wouldn’t.”

  “So I put him out of commission. Took me a while to figure out how, but I did. I broke his heart, see. So then he broke his heart, too. First I did it conceptually, then he did it for real. If you follow me.”

  “I don’t actually follow you, but I’ll take your word for it. And thank you.”

  “Any time, any time. We can’t have you dying on us, can we? After all, if you go, we all go.”


  “Mr. Blink? One question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly, lad. Wait one moment though—this will most likely drown you out.”

  Holding up one hand to stop Tim from speaking, Awn the Blink stuck one of his mechanical digits into the lock, twisted it, then pulled the door open.

  “Wow.” Tim whistled. “Good job.”

  “Thanks, my boy.”

  “Listen, do we know each other? I have the strangest feeling I’ve met you before. And you sort of seem to know me, too.”

  “Good one, Master Tim. I’ve noted the query, and the answer will be forthcoming ASAP. Namely, once you’re out of danger. Should have upward of five minutes before the river really comes slashing through here.”

  “Ah, loads of time, then.”

  “Enough, Master Tim. Just enough, I’d say.”

  Tim followed Awn the Blink along the catwalk. Every now and then Tim peered over the railing. The water was rising faster now.

  “You’re quiet, Master Tim. Calculating revenge on that grubby little chimney weasel?”

  “Nah. I feel sorry for the bloke,” Tim replied. “I was really thinking how glad I am that I didn’t have to swim in that muck. Thanks to you.”

  “No doubt. Be surprised if there weren’t a ravenous boa constrictor or two down there.”

  “A boa constrictor? Down here?” Tim asked.

  “Why, if I were a betting man, sir, I’d lay odds on it. Didn’t you believe that there were boas down here when you were a sprout? Your old mate Jackie Frost had a baby one, remember? Kept it in the bathtub, till it had a go at his mum’s cat one day. Then ker-flush! You and Jackie carried on something fierce once you found out. So Mrs. Frost told you that the sewers were a regular playground for boa constrictors and your old chum Squirmy, he’d be happy there. And you being a trusting lad, you believed the lady.”

  “Mr. Blink, are you trying to tell me that everything I used to believe in is real now? I mean, I’ve seen the Wobbly and the Narls, but—”

  “And me, sir, don’t forget me!”

  “And you…That’s why you seem so familiar! I remember you now!”

  “Righto, I knew you would. You were three, maybe four, and your telly wasn’t working. So you asked your dad, what’s wrong with the telly. ‘It’s awn the blink’ he says. And you, being an imaginative young sprout, you imagine me.”

  He gave a little bow. “An extraordinarily talented un-repairman. Coming and going as I please, disabling appliances with the greatest of ease.”

  He spun the tiny drills on the ends of his fingers, making a soft whirring sound. “And since the times I’m interfering with your telly seemed to be the only times your old dad paid attention to you, you figured I must be your friend. On your side, like. Which I am, young master, never doubt it.”

  “Gosh. Well, thanks.” So it’s true, Tim realized. My imaginary friends have all come back to life, now that I’ve tapped into my magic.

  “Don’t mention it,” Awn the Blink said. “Besides, since you done me the favor of inventing me, I feel obliged to protect you, seeing as you are my creator and all. Kinda my life’s work, as it were.”

  “Wow. Some people have guardian angels; I have Awn the Blink.” Tim eyed the odd tool-configured fellow and grinned. “I think I got the best end of the deal!”

  Awn the Blink smiled back. “Now, let’s get you topside where you belong.”

  Chapter Eleven

  BROTHER SALAMANDER WAS ABOVE Gwendolyn on the ladder, grunting heavily as he shoved open the manhole cover. Gwendolyn squinted as the unaccustomed daylight broke into the darkness of the tunnels. Despite her trips to the surface, Gwendolyn was far more used to the environment underground. There were work lights below, of course, but the artificial illumination cast an eerie yellow-green glow, giving the factory workers the pallor of the sick and the dead. She could smell the change as the air from above ground made an effort to work its way down and as the contained atmosphere worked its way up.

  Brother Salamander hoisted himself up and out onto the street. He peered back down at Gwendolyn. “Hand me up that lamp and my bag, girlie. And your basket. You’ll need both hands to climb.”

  Gwendolyn did as she was told, then climbed up the ladder. Her skirt was soaked past the knees. She knew there was little time left before the river reclaimed its original territory below. She pulled herself out onto the sidewalk.

  Brother Salamander squeezed water from his coveralls, and zipped open his soaking bag. “I hope they aren’t all ruined,” he muttered. He glanced at Gwendolyn, eyeing her basket. “What did you get out with? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “My pride.”

  The man snorted. “Wouldn’t have thought that would have fit in a little basket like that.”

  Gwendolyn ignored his comment. It was none of his business that she’d brought her sewing tools with her. It was how she would keep her pride; she could go back to being an honest working girl like in the old days. “What have you got?” she asked him.

  “I made out the best I could. There wasn’t time to pick and choose.”

  “No, there wasn’t.”

  He rummaged in his bag. “These should keep me in grog and victuals for a fortnight at least. What do you think, girlie?” He held up a crystal globe. “Shall I sell ’em as paperweights? Lucky charms? Gypsy fortune-telling balls?”

  “Oh no!” Gwendolyn gasped. “The gents!”

  Grabbing the lantern, Gwendolyn quickly clambered back through the hole leading underground.

  “Hey! Hey! That’s my carbide lamp, you minx!” Brother Salamander shouted after her. “Bring that back!”

  “I will!” Gwendolyn hurried through the tunnels. She tripped on the hem of her soggy dress. “Confound these skirts. And these ridiculous shoes.” She sat on the wet walk. “You can’t climb in them and you can’t run in them. And you certainly can’t swim.”

  She opened her sewing basket. She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the skirt of her dress to a shocking length above her knees. Sometimes a girl had to forget modesty for practicality’s sake, she reasoned. She unbuttoned her heeled boots, and ripped the bottoms of her tights so that she wouldn’t slip.

  “Surely I can’t have been the only one who remembered that the gents can’t fend for themselves,” she hoped out loud as she ran.

  She raced to the main room of the factory, where hundreds of men normally worked as drones tending the machinery, stoking the fires, oiling the gears, flipping the switches, loading, unloading, starting, stopping, restarting. Over and over and over again.

  She arrived at the catwalk, where Reverend Slaggingham usually observed his workers, and she gazed down. Her stomach clenched and she felt a sob rise in her chest.

  “Drowned like rats,” she murmured, looking at the floating bodies. The river had flooded into this area first, and the water had risen over twelve feet. The men weren’t capable of thinking for themselves, not once their souls were removed. They could do only as they were instructed, and all they were instructed to do was work. So despite the rising water, none of them had left his station.

  Gwendolyn buried her face in her hands. “And who swindled them out of their souls and their free will with a smile and a flash of stocking? Who was the little jezebel who—” She cut off her self-recriminations as she remembered there was a very special prisoner on one of the platforms down here.

  He’d been different. Not because he was blue, but because he had tried to help her when that man had been so forward. Sure, he was like the rest of the spoiled and pampered aristocracy, but he’d extended himself to intervene on her behalf.

  Could he still be alive? “Lovey-horns!” She raced along the catwalk through archway after archway. “Auberon! Auberon, can you hear me?”

  She climbed down the metal stairs to where Auberon had been stationed. It was just barely underwater. There was still hope. She placed the lantern and her basket on a step and dove in.

  She immediately spot
ted him. Maybe he’d only just gone under. Maybe she really could rescue him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and kicked hard. With a huge effort, she burst through the surface of the water. He was so big and his water-laden velvet clothing made him so heavy. He weighed her down, threatening to sink them both with his dead weight.

  “Swim, lordship!” she ordered.

  Without a soul, he was dazed, useless. But he didn’t seem to be suffering from the lack of air, at least. “Swim?” he repeated.

  She struggled to keep her head above water. “You may not need to breathe, but I do! Swim. That’s your new order.”

  He took such a strong stroke that he pulled out of her grip. She quickly swam to the steps and climbed out of the deep pool. Auberon continued swimming around the space.

  “Oh, gracious sakes, Lovey-horns,” she said with exasperation. “Come out of there.” While Gwendolyn wrung some of the water from her skirts and pushed her long wet hair out of her face, Auberon swam to the steps and climbed up onto the catwalk. He stood silent and imposing in front of her.

  “Well, aren’t you going to thank me, your majesty?” Gwendolyn asked. “Or were you enjoying yourself down there?”

  “I have not been instructed to thank you,” Auberon replied, “or to enjoy myself. So I do neither.”

  “Oh, dear. This will never do.” She studied the amazing creature. He was beautiful, in his own peculiar way, and even without a soul he still carried himself with dignity.

  “There’s no work for you here now, Lovey-horns,” Gwendolyn explained. “So be a lamb and come along. You’re going to help me find your soul. You probably have more use for it than anyone else is likely to.”

  Auberon nodded gravely, though Gwendolyn knew that all he comprehended in the state he was in was that she’d given him orders.

  “Now, you’ll probably have to swim for it, since the waters will have risen in that portion of the factory,” Gwendolyn explained, leading him along the catwalk. “But since you managed being submerged far more efficiently than I, that should be right simple.”