Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order)

by Kristin Bailey

Sure enough, bricks had dropped out once again onto the track, but I didn’t duck away as the train struck them. There was something in the tunnel. Something massive and white.

  White.

  It was chalk.

  “Brake!” I screeched, pulling myself around the controls and grabbing the heavy lever myself. “Brake! The tunnel’s collapsed!”

  Both Will and John Frank joined me, grasping the lever and pulling with all their weight. Together we strained against the engine brake. John pulled a second lever, and the gears within the cab strained as they shifted into a counter-rotation. The train screamed like a wounded beast as we fought against the momentum of the enormous monster.

  It thundered toward the pile of rock and debris ahead of us.

  We were going to slam into it. My arms shook with effort, and the entire engine shuddered with the force of the brakes. Sparks flew from the wheels.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  We weren’t going to stop in time.

  The train was going to crash.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE ENGINE WHINED, PULLING AGAINST us the way a panicked horse strains against the reins. I felt the burn of my effort through my chest and shoulders as I used what weight I had to hold the brake tight.

  The train squealed until the close-set bars of the pilot rammed into the pile of debris.

  The impact hurled us forward. I slammed into Will, who crashed into the machinery in front of us. The train continued to move, pushing the debris forward until the locomotive finally groaned to a stop.

  And like that, all became still. The train hissed in protest as I lifted my head. I lay across the top of Will, tangled in the small space to the side of the firebox.

  “Will?” I whispered. I expected his arms to be wrapped protectively around me. Instead they lay limply at his sides.

  “Will?” My voice sounded like a squeak as I pushed myself off him and took his face in my hands. His eyes were closed.

  “Will!” I grasped him by the lapels of his coat, afraid to touch him too harshly. He couldn’t be dead.

  No. No.

  Water from the boiler bubbled in the pipes. The heat from the firebox seared my cheek, and my ear felt on fire. Sweat dripped down my neck, and at the same time I felt cold, so very cold.

  “Will, please,” I whispered, my throat tight and aching. “Please wake.”

  Leaning forward, I touched his forehead. I lived a lifetime of pain and guilt in a single moment as I prayed I wouldn’t lose him. Not like this, one minute alive, the next gone.

  “Please.” I stroked his face and placed my hand over his heart.

  His chest rose beneath my palm. Oh, thank the dear Lord. He was alive.

  I felt John’s presence behind my shoulder. “Miss, are you harmed?”

  “Will won’t stir.” I turned to the Guildsman, desperate for help. John pushed in next to me. He gingerly felt Will’s head, then touched his neck and shoulders. “How bad is it?” I asked.

  “He’s taken quite a blow. Thankfully he hasn’t shattered his crown.” John pulled out his flask, and for a moment I thought he was going to force Will to drink from it, but instead he held it beneath Will’s nose.

  Will’s eyes blinked but remained unfocused. He pulled in a sharp breath and tried to sit up.

  John held him down with one arm. “Stay down. A knock to the head like that can kill. Can you move your feet?”

  Will’s boots turned side to side. He nodded, and then forcefully swallowed as if he felt ill.

  “What’s your name?” John asked.

  Will took a deep breath. “MacDonald.”

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  “Christmas.” Will chuckled weakly. “One of my more eventful.”

  “He’ll live. Keep him down as long as you are able,” John announced, then left the cab. I became suddenly dizzy with my relief.

  Will tried to focus on me, but his eyes looked strange. He reached up and touched my cheek. I took his hand and pressed my face into his palm. “Meg?”

  “I’m not hurt.” A hot tear slid onto his fingers before I could stop it. “Stay down. Everything will be fine in a moment.”

  I pulled my arms out of my coat. It didn’t seem like enough, but I bunched it together and placed it gingerly under his head. John had said it wasn’t cracked, but part of me didn’t believe that.

  “How is the engine? Can we still make it to France?” Will asked as he touched the back of his own head and winced.

  “Blast it, Will. You could have died.” My shock and fear from the crash rushed through me until I felt as if I were drowning. “We’ve wrecked the train. And needless to say, we’re in a really bad state.” We’d probably be expelled from the Order for this. It wasn’t as if we could hide a train wreck.

  “Hear, now,” Will said, sitting up. He grimaced, then swallowed hard and looked at me with clear eyes. “A bad state never stopped us before.”

  I gave him a weak smile.

  “That’s my girl.” He reached up and brushed my flyaway hair back from my face.

  I stroked his cheek. All of the rules and the caution over my reputation meant nothing to me in the moment. I needed to feel connected, no matter the consequences.

  Will heaved himself to his feet. He lost his balance for a moment and caught himself against the brake. “Where’s John?”

  “I think he’s inspecting the damage.” I reached out and helped Will down the step.

  The tunnel was like pitch, with only the headlight shining like a beacon. Chalk dust, steam, and smoke from the stack drifted through the air, turning the beam of light into a nearly tangible thing.

  John stood by the pile of rubble, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, this is a fine mess.”

  “How bad is it?” Will asked.

  “The engine is still functional, thankfully. There’s some surface damage to the boiler. We’ll be able to hammer it out. The pilot is ruined, though. I may need a favor from the Foundry, or two.” John laughed to himself, and I began to wonder about the older man’s sanity. “Perhaps three.”

  “I’ll put in a good word,” Will said. “I guess we start digging.”

  John shook his head. “No, we start walking. I’ll rally help from the French Guildsmen. We’ll get the engine through to the turntable on the other side. Then we can bring everyone back for the oath at once.”

  “But what will you tell Leader Octavian?” I asked. I felt horrible that I had gotten him into this mess.

  “Octavian?” John walked back to the cab. He climbed in and then came out with our bag, my coat, and his broken lantern. He tossed the bag and coat to me. I shrugged my coat on and looped the bag over my shoulder. “There’s an old rule of the Guild, Miss Whitlock. If we’re meant to keep a secret, we keep a secret. What Octavian doesn’t know, is a good thing.” He flashed me a smile and lifted the lantern. I had the feeling this wasn’t the first time John Frank had been responsible for a large-scale disaster.

  I took Will’s hand and helped him balance as we climbed over the pile of rubble and began the long march on the other side.

  What would have taken an hour or two in the speeding locomotive turned into a long hard climb that took ages.

  We stumbled through the dark, keeping close to the wall. None of us spoke. The silence began to seep into my consciousness. Thankfully, there were no rats, but with every unexplained sound that echoed through the tunnel, I expected the ceiling to come crashing down. If it had collapsed once, it could easily do it again.

  And so we continued on until the rough brick turned into a mosaic of intricately laced gears. I ran my hands over the connections, feeling how they all fit so seamlessly together.

  We reached a chamber much like the one where we’d found the locomotive, though this one seemed at once more pristine but also in worse disrepair. It looked as if no one had set foot in it since the moment of its creation. Lack of maintenance on the tunnel had led to a collapse. Any sort of disaster mig
ht await us here. John led us up a flight of stairs and through another locked door just like the first. A chill came over me. If neglect had sealed the door shut, we were well and truly trapped.

  When the door creaked open, I didn’t have long to enjoy my relief. Beyond the door was a shaft. I was never fond of ladders. I couldn’t help the shudder that suddenly overcame me.

  Will placed a steady hand on my shoulder. I needed to be out of the dark. John pulled a lever, and the ceiling above us disappeared, dropping down and then sliding into the floor of whatever was above us. Fresh air poured over us like cleansing water, and I breathed deep. It smelled like incense and candle wax.

  I sent a quick prayer of thanks that we’d survived. Even the short ladder couldn’t intimidate me as we climbed up to freedom, to France, and into a small country chapel, decorated for Christmas.

  We snuck out onto an open lane amid sweeping grasses, dried and dead from winter. The stars shone above, a brilliant blanket of light in the deep night.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, but I couldn’t keep out the cold. Suddenly I felt Will’s heavy coat on my shoulders. “Will, you’re injured,” I protested.

  “The cold is good for my head. Keep it, at least until we find shelter.” I wrapped myself in it, letting the heat still lingering from his body seep into mine. It was such a wonderful gift on this cold Christmas night. “John, do you know of an estate called Pensée?” Will asked. “We’re looking for a man named Maurice Durant.”

  John let his gaze drop to the ground before his feet. His lips pressed tightly together. Then he shook his head, but it was such a slight motion, I almost didn’t catch it. “No one has been to Pensée for years. Durant’s retired from the Order, and now he lives alone, if he’s still living at all. His mind is gone, which is a terrible shame. The last I heard he was no longer able to carry on a proper conversation. All he does anymore is peer at the stars.” John looked around. Hopefully he would be able to gain his bearings.

  “Can you take us there?” I asked.

  “The last time I was at Pensée, I was newly sworn to the Order. I forget where it is exactly.” He brightened a bit as he rubbed his thumb against one of his sideburns and smiled. “But there might be someone who can tell you more. We have to pay her a visit anyway. Come with me.” He lifted his lantern, now flickering for lack of oil, and we followed him.

  It was a long walk through the cold and quiet countryside. In spite of my excitement, I couldn’t help feeling a sense of foreboding. I didn’t know where it was coming from—the chill in the air, the desolation of the windswept fields so near the ocean.

  We continued to walk for miles toward the sea. Eventually we came upon a small home on the edge of a large field. A lingering trail of inviting smoke hung like a wisp above the stone chimney. I heard flapping wings and looked up as a glimmering bird flew across the sky. John knocked loudly on the door.

  There was no answer.

  He knocked again, and I feared the hinges might break.

  “She must be in the loft. Follow me.” John motioned to us, and we turned around the corner of the small house to a large pigeon loft in the back, nearly the size of the house itself. The loft had been built against the side of the house so that the two structures shared a common wall, but while the house had a pitched roof, the tin covering the loft was perfectly flat, and there were no windows in the structure, only a small covered hatch for the birds to enter and exit. To my astonishment, about thirty small silver doves rested on the roof.

  Real silver.

  The metal birds shimmered in the moonlight, perched on small wheels instead of feet. Occasionally one would flap its wings as if restless, while the gears embedded in its chest turned.

  “Gabrielle,” John called as he knocked on the door. “I need to speak with you,” he shouted into the shack. What shocked me is that he spoke perfect French.

  The door swung open.

  A striking woman with skin a shade or two lighter than John’s and thick hair tied back in a cloth stepped into the doorway. She stared at the Guildsman the way a viper stares at a mongoose.

  “Tell me why I should not shut this door into your face?” she asked with a strange accent. I wondered if she came from the Caribbean.

  John ducked his head in a courtly bow but ended up looking a bit like a jester. “Because you know you adore me, Gabrielle.”

  Gabrielle scowled in the way of a woman who had been putting up with nonsense a very long time. “Adore you? I’ve had greater affection for a pig.” Her full lips turned up in an acerbic grin. “And he was delicious. What have you damaged beyond repair this time?”

  In spite of her harsh words, she opened the door wider and allowed us in. Hundreds of pigeons waited in small boxes, each box neatly labeled with cities and sometimes the names of people. It was an astounding sight. Something thudded on the roof, and I jumped, until I realized it was the sound of another bird landing above me.

  John removed his hat and had the sense to look contrite as he entered and faced Gabrielle. “I may have taken the locomotive for a quick run to check the rails. It’s half-buried in chalk beneath the channel. Oh, and Merry Christmas to you.”

  She threw up her hands. “And I suppose you want my help to dig it out, yes?” Her fists landed on her hips. One of the birds let out a trilling coo.

  “Come now, Gabrielle. What would you have done if it had been languishing here on your side of the channel? It was a sin to leave it in disrepair, and you know it.” John gave her a charming smile. “What is the use of keeping these inventors around if we cannot play with their toys?”

  I was beginning to see the greater need for locking Amusements. John Frank was a menace.

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “And so you wrecked it. This is nothing new. I suppose you also wish for me to prevent any communication about the toy from reaching London.”

  “That would be nice,” John said.

  “You can forget you even asked. I won’t lose my position to save your hide.” Gabrielle pulled out a small piece of paper, jotted a quick note upon it, and carefully considered all the names of the unusual birds before she settled on one. “I have already received a panicked note from the Duke of Chadwick asking me to watch for his wayward charge.”

  Will glanced at me, and I felt suddenly contrite. I hadn’t meant to worry him. I should have known he’d be watching.

  Gabrielle tucked the note into a pocket on the bird’s belly, then walked outside. Once in the clear moonlight, Gabrielle threw her hands up, and the little silver bird took to the sky.

  “Come inside, Mademoiselle Whitlock, Monsieur MacDonald.”

  We gratefully entered the little house as I wondered what the note had said. Even though the fire had grown cold in the hearth, the house retained its warmth well. I tried to shake the cold from my clothes as I glanced around at the small but well-cared-for furniture and belongings in the single room that served most daily purposes. The door to the left must have led to a bedroom.

  Gabrielle stepped in front of me. “So, tell me, what brings you to France in such a desperate way that you would disobey the headmaster and seek the help of this imbecile?” she asked with a fair amount of censure in her voice and a sharp nod toward John Frank.

  “We’re searching for my grandfather.” I said.

  “Henry?” She switched over to English, though she pronounced my grandfather’s name with a heavy French inflection. “And you believe he is alive?” Her dark eyes were wide as she looked at me intently.

  “I believe so.”

  Gabrielle turned to the fire and built it back up until it blazed to life, but she didn’t say another word.

  “We need to call upon Maurice Durant. My grandfather may have visited him just before he disappeared,” I explained.

  “I do not know if Henry was ever at Pensée. I do know that for years the house was quiet but still open to visitors. Then suddenly it became a fortress. It is not wise to enter the gate.” Gabrielle carelessly tos
sed a log on top of the fire, and a shower of dangerous sparks burst out, rolling over the stone toward the wood floor.

  “Please, we don’t have much time, and this is our only chance to save him. Can you lead us to Pensée?”

  Gabrielle glanced down. Her brow creased. Then she looked back up, resigned.

  “I cannot. There are too many letters coming over the channel,” she said. I felt the sting of her words even as she said them. She stood and glanced out the window. “But my birds can.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GABRIELLE TURNED AND WALKED TO the fire. She stoked it with several hard jabs. “There is nothing to be done for the night. You will need the light to track the bird, and it is a long journey to Pensée.” She smacked her hands together, then came to stand by me. “You men sleep on the floor here and be grateful. Meg, come with me.” She ushered me into the small bedroom, then turned back to the men. “And, John, if I wake and all my cheese is suddenly missing, I blame you.”

  “It was the mice, I swear.” John held his hand to his heart.

  “Mice, my boot,” Gabrielle grumbled before she shut the door to the bedroom and locked it.

  The next morning we packed provisions and met Gabrielle out behind the loft. She held a small silver bird in one hand, and a large compass in the other. The bird had a fat little body that held a complicated set of gears in its breast. With a short copper beak and dark beady eyes, it was a cute little machine, but its long silver wings were delicate, and while the tenacity of a mechanical bird much like this one had saved my life once, it was still a fallible object. We had a long way to go, and if the bird failed, Will and I would be lost.

  “The compass will show you the position of the bird. He will land at the gate. I cannot help you from there. I have many people to contact if we are to recover the engine. Good luck.” She reached out and placed the compass in my hand. It felt heavy, and I could feel it ticking like a watch against my palm. Outwardly it looked much the same as any maritime compass, but the needle wasn’t pointing north. It pointed at the bird without wavering.