Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker

by Richard Harland

  “Do you know what every control does, sir?”

  “Enough, enough. I control the controls.” He touched the keys on the gold chain around his neck and a complacent smile passed across his features. “These aren’t just ceremonial, you know.”

  Then he turned and snapped his fingers at the nearest officer. “My grandson needs your jacket, Mawser.”

  Mawser took off his jacket, embellished with the gold braid of a Master Lieutenant. Col was big enough to fill out the arms and shoulders, though not the breadth of the chest.

  “Today we’re going to look out from on top,” Sir Mormus announced.

  Col followed him to a staircase that went up steeply at the side of the Bridge. The metal steps shuddered under Sir Mormus’s weight.

  They went up through the ceiling and into a small round chamber like a turret. Then Sir Mormus unbolted a door and strode out.

  It was incredible. Following his grandfather, Col walked out into a world of fresh air and sunshine. Openness on every side! He had never known anything so glorious. The cold wind fanned his hair and made his cheeks tingle. He opened his mouth and let the freshness fill his lungs.

  They had come out onto a platform above the Bridge. All around were masts and wires, which sighed and sang in the wind. Col watched half a dozen small puffs of cloud – so close, it seemed he could reach out and touch them. He could have stayed there for ever, just feeling the sun and air on his face. It was like sailing in the sky.

  But already his grandfather was striding forward to a waist-high barrier of solid steel that ran round the front of the platform. Col hurried to join him. He too leaned forward and looked out.

  His vision swam with the vast scale of it all. There were the grey metal decks of Worldshaker, far, far below – but even more, the landscape spreading out all around, unfolding into the distance! A panorama of forests, hills and seas!

  “What do you think, my boy?”

  What did Col think? He didn’t know how to put it into words. It was as though the maps in his atlas had come to life. He traced a winding boundary between the blue of the sea and the colours of the land.

  “Where are we, sir?” He pointed. “What’s that?”

  “That? The east coast of southern India. We’ve travelled over the Nilgiri Hills and the Amaravati River. See those light green and brown patches?”

  Col followed his grandfather’s gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Cultivated plains. Primitive agriculture. See those paler yellow patches?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Native towns and cities. Little centres of tinpot kingdoms. We’ll reach the coast in another three hours and cross Palk Strait to Ceylon.”

  Ceylon was a dim shape of low-lying land, barely visible on the horizon.

  “The water is so shallow we can cross it on our rollers, without changing to propellers,” Sir Mormus continued. “As a future Supreme Commander, you’ll need to understand these things.”

  Col was puzzled. “We don’t seem to be moving at all.”

  Sir Mormus rumbled with amusement. “We’re thirteen hundred feet above the ground, my boy. On the ground, we’re travelling faster than a galloping horse. Keep your eyes on that dark line there.”

  “What is it, sir?”

  “The Vaigai River. We’ll be rolling over it in a couple of minutes.”

  The dark line ran across just a little way above the juggernaut’s blunt prow. Col stared and saw how the interval between them grew less and less. For one moment, he glimpsed the glitter of the river itself; in the next moment, the prow had blotted it from view.

  “Sir, what do our rollers look like?”

  “Three hundred and forty of them, each weighing eight hundred tons.”

  Col tried to picture the rollers rolling over the Vaigai River, but his imagination failed him.

  “We have them cleaned whenever we stop at a coaling station,” Sir Mormus went on. “Do you know what a coaling station is, my boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It’s a base where we take on coal and raw materials. We have to re-stock every eighteen months. Next due in three months’ time.”

  Col remembered the red dots on different continents in his atlas. “Is that like Gibraltar and Hong Kong, sir?”

  “Yes, and Singapore and the Cape and Botany Bay. Outposts of the Old Country. Forts and depots.” Sir Mormus’s hands clamped down on Col’s shoulders and turned him around. “Now take a look the other way.”

  The view to the stern was largely hidden by a huge black funnel at the back of the platform – and an endless row of similar funnels behind it. They were all pumping out smoke, leaving a long, dirty trail in the sky.

  “Look at our cranes,” said Sir Mormus. He meant the steel arms that stuck out at various angles from the side of the juggernaut. “That’s what we use for loading coal.”

  Even from this restricted angle, Col could see dozens and dozens of cranes. Mighty scoops like jaws swung out on cables through the air. They were swivelling and lowering even as he watched.

  “What are they doing now, sir?”

  “Trading, my boy. Our juggernaut lives by trade. We exchange manufactured goods for raw materials. Trade and profit, the imperial principle. A Supreme Commander plans the route where the trading will be best. Do you want to do that, Colbert?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Still gripping his shoulders, Sir Mormus rotated him through a complete circle. The busy cranes…the tremendous superstructure…the landscape spread out like a map…

  “All yours, Colbert. You will rule this juggernaut and everyone in it. Ten thousand people.”

  “Including the Filthies, sir?”

  “Ten thousand people and two thousand Filthies.”

  Another rotation. The wind roared in Col’s ears and made his eyes go blurry.

  “This iron colossus, Colbert, this mechanical mountain, this predominator. You will be it and it will be you. Do you want that?”

  “Sir, I do.”

  And he did, he did. He felt dizzy and drunk with the greatness of it all. He wasn’t thinking of his duty to the Porpentine family or Queen Victoria. This was what he was born for, this was his inheritance! Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Sir Mormus released his shoulders. “You’ll do, my boy, you’ll do.”

  Col leaned back slightly, planted his feet and drank in the tremendous panorama all around. Iron colossus. Mechanical mountain. Predominator. His heart filled with pride.

  But his grandfather was no longer beside him. Col turned and saw that Sir Mormus had returned to the turret. Reluctantly, he followed.

  “Do we go down to the bottom now, sir?”

  “Are you ready to see Below, my boy? Ready for the engines and the Filthies?”

  “Sir, I believe I am.” Col felt ready for anything.

  Sir Mormus uttered a grunt of approval. “Good. But not today.” He ushered Col into the turret and closed the door. “I shall take you to a viewing bay tomorrow morning.”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Seven

  Col didn’t go for lessons with his tutor that morning. When he returned to Forty-Second Deck, his mother summoned him to be measured for a school uniform. She had even decided to take him to the tailor herself. They set out accompanied by Quinnea’s favourite Menial, Missy Jip, who carried her mistress’s bags, spare clothing and fold-up stool.

  Col’s mother was a wispy, ethereal woman with flyaway hair the colour of dead leaves. Her skin was so pale that the veins showed through, and even her teeth had a glassy appearance. Col loved her, of course, but she had always been a vague, ghostly presence in his life.

  The tailor was Mr Prounce on Thirty-Third Deck. Thirty-Third Deck and the two decks under it were the manufacturing area of the juggernaut, where every kind of light industry was carried out, from clockmaking to bootmaking, stonemasonry to joinery. The corridors had bare lightbulbs and the workshops smelled of paint, glue, leather and a hundred other powerful odours.

 
Quinnea held her nose pinched shut and walked with exaggerated caution, as though stepping on eggshells.

  Mr Prounce occupied one of the grandest workshops. He had a dozen Menials working for him, bowed over clacking machines on long, narrow tables.

  So this is how clothes are made, Col thought to himself, and was surprised to realise that he’d never pondered the question before.

  “Two complete school uniforms.” Mr Prounce stroked the thin line of his pencil moustache. “Of course, of course, my lady.”

  His hands were infinitely respectful as he held the measuring tape across Col’s shoulders, around his waist and down his leg. Quinnea averted her eyes.

  “Before Monday,” she told him.

  “I shall deliver them personally by Saturday evening.” Mr Prounce bowed as he presented the chit for her to sign.

  “What a vulgar man!” she remarked afterwards. “Such low standards one meets among the artisan class!”

  She insisted on escorting Col back to his cabin. She behaved like a mother about to lose her beloved son for ever.

  “I must take another look at your dear little room,” she said. “How many more times will I get to see it now?”

  While Missy Jip waited in the corridor, Quinnea entered. She was out of breath from the walk and the stairs.

  “No chair? I shall have to sit on the side of the bed. I’m feeling so faint.”

  She perched herself on the edge of his bed and patted her hair.

  “Oh, Colbert, Colbert,” she murmured. “To think of you wearing a school uniform. It seems no time at all since I was dressing you in baby clothes.”

  So far as Col could remember, he had always been dressed by Missy Jip or some other Menial. But perhaps when he was very, very small…

  “I’m afraid for you going out into the world,” she went on. “Growing up, becoming a man…it’s all too much.”

  “I hope you’ll be proud of me, Mother.”

  “Oh, I will. Terribly proud. But a mother’s heart…a mother’s care…a mother’s panic attacks…”

  “And I have to finish school first.”

  “But school, Colbert! Do you know how many other pupils there are? Hundreds! Hundreds! Boys and girls!”

  “What school, Mother?”

  “Dr Blessamy’s Academy, of course. The only school for children from superior families. But not as superior as ours. Who will look after you?”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “Oh, they can be so rough, Colbert. So boisterous! Playing games at break time! Running around! Shouting out! I’ve seen them!”

  She was working herself up into a fit of nerves. Her hands shook and she patted her hair so hard that one of her haircombs fell out. The left side of her hairdo immediately collapsed into loose, straggling strands.

  “I had to be taken out of school, you know. I couldn’t bear the chalk. And all the desks…the pencils…”

  Col bent down to retrieve the fallen comb. He was about to say he didn’t mind about chalk and desks and pencils – but gasped instead.

  Quinnea jumped and gasped ten times louder. “Oh! Ooh! What is it?”

  Col straightened up with the comb in his hand. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Is it my feet? Is it my ankles?”

  “No, mother. You’re fine. Your ankles are fine.”

  He tried to appear calm and forced himself to look away. But in the corner of his eye, he could still see the Filthy girl’s face peering out from under his bed. Horror gripped him. It was a nightmare come to life.

  He held out the comb to his mother, who took it but didn’t know what to do with it. She adjusted her dress over her knees and brought her ankles closer together.

  “Oh, my poor head! I shouldn’t let myself feel so much. Strong feelings aren’t good for me. I’m all over the place. Look at me!”

  Col was desperate. “Do you want your smelling salts?”

  “No. Yes. No. Yes. No.” Quinnea couldn’t decide. Her hands were still fluttering, her knees still quivering.

  Under the bed, the Filthy girl looked out around the side of Quinnea’s legs. She was grinning at him!

  “You must be tired,” Col told his mother. “You should go back to your rooms for a long lie-down.”

  The girl pulled a face and mimicked a yawn. Col’s blood boiled. The mockery!

  As if from a distance, he heard his mother sigh and say, “Oh, Colbert!” over and over again. She didn’t seem opposed to the idea of a long lie-down.

  “Come on, then.” He helped her to her feet. If she glanced down now…He kept up a constant stream of chatter as he steered her tottering steps towards the door.

  “Here we go. Very good. Here’s the corridor. Are you all right to go with Missy Jip?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. With a hasty goodbye, he swung back into his room and closed the door.

  The Filthy girl was still under the bed. He dropped down on all fours to confront her.

  “What…you…how dare you!” The words came out in a splutter.

  “And hi to you, Col-bert. Just passin’ by, so I thought I’d drop in. Ain’t yer pleased to see me, Col-bert?”

  She pronounced the name as his mother had done, in a quavering, drawn-out tone. He couldn’t believe her impudence.

  “How dare you make fun of my mother!”

  “Oh, ah. The son defends his mother, is it?”

  “I love and respect my mother.”

  “Didn’t look very loving to me. Strange sort of family you have, Col-bert.”

  “What would you know about families? We’re Porpentines. The most important family in this whole juggernaut.”

  “Is that right? So your name is Col-bert Porping-tine?”

  “Porpentine. My grandfather is Supreme Commander and I’m going to be Supreme Commander after him.”

  “Well, ain’t you the fortunate one.”

  The sarcastic grin never left her face as she slid out from under the bed and stood up to face him. He noticed something different about her appearance…then he noticed the book in her hand.

  “Hey! Where did you get that?” It was his book, a book about mountains and volcanoes. “You’ve been stealing from my bookcase!”

  “Just lookin’ at it. Keep yer hair on.”

  “Looking? Why would a Filthy look at a book? You can’t read.”

  “Only ‘cos I never got a chance to learn. If I’d learned, I bet I could read ten times better’n you.”

  Col snorted. “If you’ve dirtied it…”

  Then he realised what was different about her appearance. She was no longer dirty! Her skin was glowing, even her hair seemed softer and silkier…

  “Yeah, I had a wash,” she said, and pointed to his washstand. “Don’t mind, do yer?”

  She was sneering at him. He stared at the marks on the white enamel basin, the smears on his towel. He was amazed to think that a Filthy would actually want to wash.

  “Get out!” he snapped. “Go back down where you belong!”

  “I will when I find a way.”

  “Go back the same way you came up.”

  “Don’t be stupid. They fished me up on their hook. It don’t work the other way. I gotter find a ladder or steps or somethin’.”

  “Get looking, then.”

  “What do you think I been doin’?” She frowned. “Searchin’ all over your lower levels is what. Kitchens and laundries and storerooms.”

  Col had never been to any of those places. “You’ll get caught. You’re lucky you’ve lasted so long.”

  “Lucky? Don’t make me laugh. Who’s goin’ to catch me? You Upper Decks people are too slow. I see your officers long before they see me. I’m speedy.”

  She performed a kind of boastful dance, arms flickering. She was speedy, Col had to admit, almost faster than the eye could see. But flashy, mere slickness and show. A proper person would have more dignity.

  “You’re all a waste of space,” she jeered. “Just standin’ around l
ookin’ pompous.”

  “We do the planning.” Col quoted his tutor. “The role of the head is to make plans for the body. We’re the head and you’re the body.”

  “That’s just your excuse for hoggin’ all the good stuff.” Her gesture took in the furnishings of Col’s cabin. “Books an’ beds an’ pillows an’ carpets…you don’t deserve any of it! It oughter be taken off of you!”

  Col was horrified. “Right. That does it. I’m calling the officers.”

  “Call away.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I’ll tell ‘em what you did before.”

  “What?”

  “You hid me in your cupboard. So’s they wouldn’t find me.”

  This was a trap Col hadn’t foreseen. “They won’t listen to you.”

  “Wanna bet? They’ll think we got partnered.”

  Col was nonplussed. She gave him a malicious smile.

  “I’ll be goin’ now,” she said. “Maybe I’ll drop in again soon.”

  She moved to the door. Just in time, Col saw that she still had his book – deliberately hiding it behind her back!

  “No!” His frustration boiled up in a burst of rage. He sprang after her and grabbed the book with both hands.

  Still she refused to let go. He wrenched at it, wrestled her for it. Arm to arm, hip to hip. In the heat of the moment, he forgot about being disgusted by the touch of a Filthy.

  She was wiry, and twisty as a snake, but he had the better grip on the book. He pulled it away and held it safe against his chest. She turned away with a shrug.

  “Okay, Col-bert. Now I’ll drop in again for sure.” She opened the door a crack and peered out into the corridor. Then she glanced back round at him. “By the way, you never asked, but the name’s Riff.”

  Next moment she was gone.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧