The Porpentines clamoured to be told, but Ebnolia only turned to her husband and whispered in his ear.
“Discussion with family heads first,” he announced. “Everyone else to leave the room.”
All the Porpentines filed out except for Morpice, Rumpley, Leath and Oblett. Col left too. He had the impression that his grandmother’s gaze followed him with special attention.
Was he involved in her solution? He couldn’t imagine how.
It wasn’t a question that stayed in his mind for long. He had other, more urgent things to think about. With no social engagements outside his own family, he was able to spend more hours in his room, sharpening his fighting skills in front of his full-length mirror.
He felt that he was improving all the time. His reactions were quicker, his timing more precise. Riff was impressed with him, he was sure, though she didn’t say so.
He was certainly impressed with her. Once she’d stopped being annoyed over the different sounds for the same letter, she made amazing progress. Already she could read through whole sentences, slowly but accurately, in an imitation Upper Decks voice. It was like dealing with two different people when she swapped from one voice to the other.
He practised in every spare moment, determined to keep up with her.
∨ Worldshaker ∧
Forty-Two
Back at school on Monday, Col discovered that his place in the classroom had changed. His own desk had been emptied out. No one spoke but everyone was watching him.
On the other side of the room, one of the grindboys cried out in surprise, “I’ve got someone else’s books on top of my desk!”
Mr Gibber bounced across. “Your desk, Hattimer? I don’t think so.” He pulled a succession of grimaces, trying to keep a straight face. “Why do you think it’s yours?”
“Because, because…”
“Because because, sir,” Mr Gibber corrected. “Whose name is on the books?”
Hattimer took a look. “Porpentine’s, sir.”
“Well, then.” Mr Gibber turned to the rest of the class. “Let’s use our brains and work it out, boys. Name on books, books on desk, desk belongs to…”
“Porpentine!” came the general response. “Sir!”
Col understood that he had been moved to sit among the grindboys. He didn’t mind. He was sick of sitting with the Squellingham group. The grindboys might not be friends, except perhaps Septimus, but they weren’t enemies. He collected his satchel and stood up.
The final rearrangement of desks required a complicated series of hierarchical swaps: Haugh shifted back into the desk that Col had occupied, a climber shifted into the desk that Fefferley had occupied, a crawler shifted into the desk that the climber had occupied, and Hattimer finally shifted into the desk that the crawler had occupied.
Col didn’t expect the grindboys to make him welcome, not in front of the other students. But they did much worse than that. They shifted as far away as possible from Col on their benches, as though avoiding infection. They were putting on a show for the rest of the class.
Septimus was in the desk directly behind Col. Col had more sense than to appeal for his support. But in Mr Gibber’s Geometry lesson, Septimus asked if someone could lend him a ruler. Other students, even grindboys, were always stealing Septimus’s possessions. Right now, they were busy with their own rulers.
“When I’ve finished.”
“Wait a minute, Trant.”
Col had two rulers. He dug into his desk and brought out his spare.
“Here.” He turned round and held it out.
Septimus kept his arms at his sides and stared at a spot over Col’s shoulder. Col waved the ruler in front of his nose and still he refused to see it.
“Don’t touch it,” said one of the grindboys. “You don’t know where it’s been.”
There were guffaws on all sides. For one moment, Septimus’s eyes met Col’s. Then he deliberately looked the other way.
Col gave up. He had shared secrets with Septimus, taken him to the Norfolk Library…and now it counted for nothing. His mouth compressed to a thin, tight line. He was angry and hurt.
He kept to himself through the school day. A few times he caught Septimus looking at him with a shamefaced expression. Col made no response. If Trant wanted to run with the pack, so be it.
During break times, Col took a book with him and pretended to read. He sat by himself on the ramp leading up to the first-floor gallery and stared unseeing at page after page. Sitting on the ramp was probably forbidden, but the master on duty ignored him in the same way as everyone else.
At least there was an end to his ordeal. In the afternoon, Mr Gibber announced that exams would be held this coming Thursday, and school would break up on Friday.
Col’s spirits lifted. Starting school in mid-term, he’d never thought about the end of term or holidays. With Professor Twillip, his studies had continued all year round. Now he had only four more days to go! If he could survive to the end of the week, he’d have all the holidays for training and perfecting his fighting skills.
He was heading back home after school when he heard footsteps hurrying behind him. He turned and saw Septimus Trant.
“Don’t be hard on me,” Septimus pleaded as he came up. “I’m not as strong as you.”
Col kept walking.
“I’m a coward. I know it. I deserve everything you’re thinking.” Septimus was almost as tall as Col, but there was something frail and shrinking about him. “Please talk to me.”
Col scowled. “You have to stand up for what you believe.”
“I can’t. You can. You never back down or suck up to anyone. I’d give anything to be more like you.”
He sounded so hopeless and wistful that Col couldn’t stay angry with him. Though nothing was said, Septimus must have sensed the change in mood. He matched Col’s pace stride for stride.
“I’ve got some good news,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all day.”
“What?”
“Our History project. Me and Professor Twillip have been working on it.”
Col took a moment to remember. “Oh, right. Where the Filthies came from. The beginning of juggernauts.”
“Yes. It took ages to find any books at all. We made the big breakthrough two days ago.”
“You found out the truth?”
“Yes. Enough.”
“So tell me.”
“Not here. Professor Twillip wants to tell you too. Come along to the Norfolk Library.”
∨ Worldshaker ∧
Forty-Three
Professor Twillip was sitting at the central table under the electric light. He looked up over the top of his glasses. “Well, well, here you are, Colbert.”
“I said you wanted to tell him too,” said Septimus.
“Ah, a small vanity on my part, I’m afraid.” Beaming, Professor Twillip gestured towards some books spread out on the table. “We’ve been gathering material for your History project.”
“That’s all? Six books?”
Professor Twillip nodded. “And only two of them are really on the topic. It’s hard to believe so little was written on such important events.”
“Or so little preserved in this library,” said Septimus.
“True.” Professor Twillip pursed his lips. “Perhaps nobody thought to bring the history collection up to date when Worldshaker was launched. Everyone was so familiar with recent events, they didn’t realise that later generations could forget.”
“Or there were books and someone destroyed them,” said Septimus.
“Oh no, no, no.” Professor Twillip was genuinely shocked. “I’m sure no one would ever destroy books on purpose.”
“These were the two with the most information.” Septimus drew Col’s attention to one volume titled Europe in the Age of the French Revolution, and another titled Napoleonic Warfare: Strategy and Tactics.
“Most of the others had only bits of chapters,” Professor Twillip agreed. “We
had to assemble the facts with a degree of conjecture.”
“I bet we got it right,” Septimus insisted.
“Your friend has real talent as a scholar.” Professor Twillip directed a smile from Col to Septimus. “Whereas, I confess, I’d forgotten the few facts I did know. I didn’t even remember the Peace of Brussels until I read about it again.”
“184.2,” said Septimus. “Ended the Fifty Years War and launched the Age of Imperialism.”
“Yes.” Professor Twillip’s smile broadened. “And I knew the names of many major battles in the Fifty Years War. Jemappes. Wattignies. Marengo. Esternay. Liegnitz. Magdeburg. Bratislava. They were only empty names to me, though.”
“You’d never heard of Dartford,” Septimus put in.
“No, not the Battle of Dartford. Nor the Battle of Crawley or the Surrender of Aylesham.”
“Hold on!” Col shook his head. “Begin at the beginning.”
“The beginning? Yes, of course.” Professor Twillip steepled his fingertips and rested his chin on them. “I suppose the best place to begin is the French Revolution.”
“The what?”
“A revolution by the French people against their King. Britain was rapidly industrialising, but France still had an old-fashioned economy and a semi-feudal system of administration.”
“Britain? That’s the same as the Old Country, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Perhaps I should have begun with the Industrial Revolution…”
“No, go on, go on.”
“Well, in 1789, the French middle classes seized power through a National Assembly. Then the middle classes themselves were overthrown by the lower classes. Workers and the urban poor. Uneducated people.”
“But not stupid.” Septimus spoke directly to Col. “They demanded equality.”
“Hmm.” Professor Twillip frowned. “Perhaps not stupid, but they behaved very brutally. They executed their royal family, then they started executing anyone who disagreed with them. They called it the Great Terror. They wanted to overturn everything. The new ideas spread to Britain and unsettled the lower classes there too.”
Septimus pointed silently to one of the open books. Col read a chapter heading: ‘Robespierre and the Reign of Terror’.
“Then a general called Napoleon Bonaparte took over the revolution,” Professor Twillip continued. “He waged war against every other country in Europe.”
“And kept beating them,” Septimus put in. “The start of the Fifty Years War.”
“By 1802, Prussia, Russia and Austria had all pulled out and only Britain still stood against him. So he invaded.”
Col gasped. “How could he? That’s…that’s…” He couldn’t find the words to express how wicked it was.
“I know.” Professor Twillip was blinking behind his glasses. “But he didn’t care because he was a revolutionary. He couldn’t beat the British navy, so he had an alternative idea. Or an engineer called Albert Mathieu-Favier did. The French dug a tunnel under the English Channel from Calais to Dover. It took two and a half years, working in secret. No one in the Old Country had any suspicion until a hole suddenly appeared in the ground, half a mile inland.”
Septimus leafed through to a page in the other book, where a map showed the tunnel as a dotted line from France to Britain. He pointed to an X at the end of the tunnel on the British side. “September 1804,” he said. “The French troops came pouring out.”
“Who won?” asked Col. “We must have defeated them, didn’t we?”
“Not as simple as that,” Professor Twillip said. “Napoleon marched on London and issued proclamations promising liberty, equality and fraternity. The lower classes in London believed him and rose up against King George III. So the British army was betrayed behind its back and lost the Battle of Dartford. They retreated north, but then the lower classes in Birmingham and Manchester went over to Napoleon too.”
“Birmingham and Manchester were new industrial towns,” Septimus explained. “Coal mines, steam power, factories.”
“Only one thing saved the Old Country.” Professor Twillip’s cheeks were glowing with excitement. “Prussia and Austria saw their chance to attack while Napoleon was away over the Channel, so they declared war and marched on Paris. Napoleon had to rush back to defend his capital. The French troops left in southern England lost confidence, and Britain discovered a great general of its own, called Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.”
Col felt as if his head would explode from so much new information. He could hardly keep up. “So this Duke of Wellington beat the French?”
“Yes, but not at first. First he marched against the lower classes, while the French stayed put and did nothing. All the people who’d betrayed their King – Wellington defeated them at the Battle of Crawley.”
“1805,”said Septimus. “The same year Napoleon crushed the Prussians at the Battle of Esternay. It’s all in Napoleonic Warfare: Strategy and Tactics.”
“Napoleon still couldn’t return to the Old Country, though,” Professor Twillip resumed. “Wellington spent the rest of 1805 dealing with the lower classes, then he turned against the French. Outflanked them and took control of the mouth of the tunnel behind Dover. First he filled it in, then he flooded it. The French troops finally laid down their arms at the Surrender of Aylesham.”
Col remembered Professor Twillip’s earlier reference to the Surrender of Aylesham. He also remembered why he had invented this History project in the first place. “What about the Filthies?” he asked.
“Coming to them, coming to them.” Professor Twillip sat back on his chair. “Britain had to assist its Continental allies, so the whole nation was put on a war footing. Industrialisation was the path to victory. Factories turned out more and more guns and ammunition, new inventions, new machines, amazing progress. Napoleon was getting left behind.”
“Until he started to industrialise too,” said Septimus. “He exploited coal seams in northern France and the Low Countries, and copied our iron and steel industries.”
Professor Twillip nodded. “By the 1820s, Prussia was also industrialising, and Russia and Austria by the 1830s. France couldn’t defeat the allies and the allies couldn’t defeat France. For all the great advances and retreats, it always ended up in stalemate.”
“But what about the – ”
“Filthies? They weren’t given that name until much later. They were the labour force that made mass industrialisation possible. They became the factory slaves.”
“Yes, but where did they come from? How did they arrive in the Old Country?”
“They’d always been there. They were the lower classes.”
“What?” Col thought back. “You mean the workers? The urban poor?”
“Yes, them. In the Old Country, they were the ones who’d betrayed their king. The other European countries simply followed the British system. Even Napoleon. He was hardly different from any other ruler by the end. More interested in winning the war than in being a revolutionary.”
Col struggled to stop his emotions from showing on his face. The urban poor! Born and bred in the Old Country!
He turned to Septimus. “So the Gibber was wrong.”
“Yes. Not loaded on Noah’s Ark.”
“Less than two hundred years ago.”
“They were the same as everyone else. But without money.”
“Extraordinary, isn’t it?” Professor Twillip pushed up his spectacles to perch above his eyebrows. “I’m sure your teacher will be fascinated to hear the real facts.”
Septimus gave an ironic grin, but Col remained deadpan.
“Yes, the Fifty Years War turned history upside down,” Professor Twillip went on. “The endless battles had made Europe into a wasteland. Along with the smoke and pollution from the factories. By the time of the Peace of Brussels, agricultural production was decimated and vast areas were uninhabitable.”
“The Peace of Brussels ended the War,” Septimus explained. “After the first Napoleon died, the second
Napoleon gave up trying to expand his empire, and the other countries recognised the Bonapartes as the royal family of France.”
“Then they started building juggernauts,” said Professor Twillip. “The Age of Imperialism.”
Col’s head was in a whirl. So he’d been right all along, ever since he’d let Riff hide in his cupboard. His instinct had told him what his mind couldn’t accept. Filthies were just as human as anyone else. The Upper Decks people were living a lie. They were wrong, wrong, wrong!
He was only half-listening as Septimus and Professor Twillip continued the story into the Age of Imperialism. He took in the facts: how the population of Europe had escaped from their ruined continent in vast juggernauts, travelling and trading over the rest of the world…the British had built Worldshaker, the French the Marseillaise, the Prussians Frederick the Great, the Austrians the Grosse Wien, the Russians the Romanov…
But his thoughts were elsewhere. What would Riff say when he told her tonight?
∨ Worldshaker ∧
Forty-Four
As it turned out, the revelation didn’t excite Riff at all.
“Yeah? What did you expect?”
“Don’t you understand? It proves Filthies and Upper Decks people are all the same.”
“Right. Except we’re better.”
“Why better?”
“‘Cos we’ve had to learn to be faster and smarter. Your lot’s had two hundred years of takin’ it easy.”
It was after midnight in Col’s room and they were sitting on the side of the bed. Col had been ready to say, ‘It proves you and me are the same’, but somehow the moment had passed.
“Anyway,” said Riff, “I’ve made a bigger discovery than that.”
“What? You’ve found the Changing Room?”
Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker Page 17