Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker

by Richard Harland

  Col hadn’t finished. “You have to give all Upper Decks people a chance to surrender,” he said. “Otherwise you make them fight to the finish. They’ll get wiped out, but you’ll have deaths and casualties. How many more Fossies do you want?”

  “What happened to Fossie?” The question came from a second girl who’d been guarding the officers.

  “She’s dead,” Col answered.

  “Trella too,” said Riff. She turned to Col. “So how do we give ‘em a chance to surrender?”

  Col considered. “Maybe the Queen herself. I think she has the power, if I can get her to use it. I’ll negotiate with her on behalf of the Filthies.”

  “No negotiation!” barked Shiv and Dunga in unison.

  “No, we don’t negotiate,” Riff agreed. “They lay down their weapons and hand over the juggernaut. In exchange, no executions. That’s all we’re offerin’.”

  “And after?”

  “If they don’t like us in charge, they can leave. Clear off for good.” She appealed to the Filthies at large. “Right?”

  There were nods of approval from all sides. Seeing they had no choice, Shiv and Dunga nodded too.

  Riff swivelled back to Col. “Go and make your Queen see sense. Unconditional surrender, or it’s no deal.”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Seventy

  Col formed a plan along the way. With luck, the Queen would still be on her throne in the Grand Assembly Hall. He rode the steam elevator up to Forty-Fourth Deck.

  On the way up, he tidied his hair and used spit and handkerchief to clean the coaldust smears from his face. To pass among Upper Decks people, he needed to look more like them and less like a Filthy. But he was still barefoot, and unclothed and dirty above the waist.

  He stepped off the platform at Forty-Fourth Deck and came out through another screen of green curtains. He didn’t recognise any of the corridors at first. But his sense of direction told him this last elevator was aft of the one he’d descended with Gillabeth. He headed forward and the corridors soon began to look familiar. He was in the neighbourhood of the Norfolk Library.

  Someone was walking ahead of him, with a huge leather-bound book under his arm. Col guessed who it was from the back of his head.

  “Septimus!”

  Septimus turned and almost dropped his book at the sight of Col.

  “Why are you…?”

  He was goggling at Col’s bare chest and feet. In that moment, Col hit upon a solution to the problem of his appearance.

  “Lend me your jacket and shoes,” he said.

  “What happened to yours?”

  “Too long to explain. Just do it. Please.”

  Septimus took off his jacket and passed it across. Col did up the buttons from top to bottom. Septimus knelt and unlaced his shoes.

  “What about socks?” he asked.

  “No. No time.”

  “Is this something big happening? I’ve been hearing noises from the library.”

  “It’s a revolution. Filthies against Upper Decks.”

  Septimus handed over his shoes. “A real revolution? Wow!” He was hopping with excitement. “Like in the books! This is history happening! Where do you fit in?”

  “I’m making it happen.” Col knotted his new shoelaces. “Come with me if you want.”

  He sprang up and ran on down the corridor, clip-clopping awkwardly in Septimus’s shoes. He didn’t turn to see if Septimus was following.

  As he approached the Grand Assembly Hall, he ran into more and more people. All in a hurry, all flustered and busy. One time, a whole troop of officers rushed past and he was forced to flatten himself against the wall. No one paid him enough attention to see that he had no socks in his shoes or shirt under his jacket.

  Outside the hall was a gathering of familiar faces: Sir Mormus and members of the Executive. They were still in their finery from the wedding reception, but there was no mood of celebration now. Officers scurried up, reported, listened to instructions, then scurried off again. Sir Mormus boomed out a constant stream of commands and curses.

  Col only wanted to speak to Queen Victoria, but Sir Mormus saw him go past.

  “You, boy! Stop there! Come here!”

  Col couldn’t shrug off the habit of a lifetime. He obeyed automatically.

  “Where have you been? What happened to your shirt?”

  “I need to speak to our Queen, sir.”

  “You? You don’t talk to her. You tell me if you have anything worth telling.”

  Col felt himself pinned down by the weight of Sir Mormus’s will. Yet Queen Victoria was his only chance. Looking into his grandfather’s implacable face, Col knew he had absolutely no hope of persuading him to surrender.

  He struggled to break free – and suddenly the spell dissolved. He turned his back on Sir Mormus and marched on into the Grand Assembly Hall.

  The reception was still in progress and the band played on. But all of the younger males had left, leaving women, children and the more elderly men. Many held glasses or plates in their hands, and attempted to maintain an air of festivity. But there was a haunted look in their eyes and a hectic edge to their conversation. Panic eddied through the hall like a cold draught.

  Col caught snatches of talk as he crossed the room.

  “My son’s gone down to fight.”

  “My husband too.”

  “They’ll soon put things to rights.”

  “No reason to worry.”

  “None at all.”

  He headed towards the side of the hall where the Queen and her Consort sat stiffly on their thrones. Two security guards now stood behind them on the dais.

  He made a deep and respectful bow. When he straightened, there was an expression of commiseration on Queen Victoria’s long horse-face.

  “Ah, Colbert, what an unfortunate development on your wedding day.”

  Prince Albert appeared puzzled. “What did you do with your clothes?”

  Col dismissed the question with a shake of the head. “Your Majesties, the Filthies are armed with rifles.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” boomed the unmistakable voice of Sir Mormus. He came forward through the crowd, puffing and blowing like a beached whale.

  “They can’t be stopped,” Col went on.

  “He’s a liar!” Sir Mormus thundered.

  Queen Victoria frowned. “He’s your grandson.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure he is. You just married him to Sephaltina Turbot. I just performed the ceremony.”

  “I disown him.”

  Queen Victoria was shocked. “Oh! You mustn’t do that!”

  “No, no.” Prince Albert twiddled his moustache. “Poor form, Porpentine, poor form.”

  “Your Majesties.” Col raised his voice. “It’ll be a massacre if you don’t surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Sir Mormus gave the Queen no chance to speak. “Never! Over my dead body! I’ll blow Worldshaker up first!”

  “Why can’t they be stopped?” Queen Victoria asked Col.

  “Because they control the armoury.”

  “What’s an armoury?”

  “How do you know what they control?” demanded Sir Mormus.

  “I’m here to speak to the Queen on their behalf.”

  “On their behalf!” Sir Mormus swung round to the two security officers. “Arrest him! Take him away!”

  “Calm yourself, Sir Mormus,” said Queen Victoria.

  But Sir Mormus wouldn’t be calmed. “Take him away and execute him!”

  The security officers advanced from the back of the dais, until Queen Victoria raised a hand. “Wait. Stay where you are.”

  Sir Mormus’s face went blotchy, white on purple. “Do as your Supreme Commander commands!”

  The officers looked at one another, and stayed where they were. They were in the habit of obeying Sir Mormus, but they couldn’t ignore their Queen.

  “No,” said Queen Victoria. With firm-set chin and level gaze, she had never looked
more majestic.

  “I’ll kill him myself!” roared Sir Mormus, and lunged at Col with outstretched hands.

  Col could never have imagined it in his wildest dreams. He dodged and avoided Sir Mormus’s blundering rush with ease. Sir Mormus collided with the dais and fell forward. He clutched onto Queen Victoria’s legs as he fell.

  Prince Albert jumped up at once. “Take your hands off the Queen!”

  Sir Mormus was beyond hearing. He pulled on the folds of Queen Victoria’s dress as he tried to haul himself upright.

  Prince Albert raised a foot, planted it on Sir Mormus’s shoulder and shoved. Sir Mormus staggered backwards and returned to an upright position.

  “Move away!” ordered Prince Albert.

  Sir Mormus stared at him with outrage and disbelief. “Don’t tell me what to do! You – you figurehead!”

  The Queen drew herself up. “That’s enough, Sir Mormus. You are speaking to the man I love. You will address him as ‘Your Imperial Highness’.”

  “You too!” Sir Mormus’s veneer of convention and propriety had gone. “Don’t start thinking you can make decisions for Worldshakerl You don’t have the brains!”

  Queen Victoria’s firm dignity was the opposite of Sir Mormus’s bluster. “Kindly step away, Supreme Commander.” She turned to the security officers. “See to it that Sir Mormus remains ten paces from this dais. He can wait until I wish to hear from him again. If I wish to hear from him again.”

  The officers advanced to do her bidding. Sir Mormus saw and let out an inarticulate bellow. He was more like a madman than the unshakable, imperious figure of Col’s childhood. He retreated of his own accord before the officers could step down to him.

  Queen Victoria leaned forward to Col again. “Please go on with what you were saying.”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Seventy-One

  By now a packed crowd had gathered around the dais. Sir Wisley Squellingham, Rear Admiral Haugh and Chief Helmsman Turbot had come forward to follow the drama, and so had Professor Twillip. Septimus was there too, his shoeless, jacketless state unnoticed amid the excitement.

  Col told Queen Victoria about the Filthies climbing up through a food chute, fighting their way to higher and higher decks and capturing the armoury. He explained about the guns in the armoury and how some of the Filthy leaders wanted to kill every last person on the Upper Decks. He didn’t draw attention to his own role, but he didn’t deny it either.

  “It’s now or never,” he said. “Order a surrender or the killing will become unstoppable.”

  “But I don’t understand.” Queen Victoria shook her head and winced under the weight of her crown. “These Filthies sound so organised. And learning how to fire our guns. I thought they were more like…well, animals.”

  “No, nothing like animals.” Col turned to Squellingham, Haugh and Turbot. “Even the members of your Executive know better than that.”

  “Perhaps not animals,” said Turbot. “But hardly human.”

  “Yes they are!” a voice called out.

  It was Septimus. He stepped forward, looking almost stunned by his own effrontery.

  Prince Albert frowned. “Who’s this?”

  Professor Twillip stepped forward to support Septimus. “A humble scholar and researcher, Your Imperial Highness.” He bowed. “As I am myself. We have researched the historical origins of the Filthies and can prove they’re exactly the same species as ourselves. The separation goes back less than two hundred years.”

  “I never heard of that,” said Queen Victoria.

  “Begin at the beginning,” Col suggested.

  So Professor Twillip and Septimus began at the beginning. They held forth upon the Old Country, the French Revolution and the start of the Fifty Years War. Since talking to Col, they had learned new facts about vast prison camps where the Filthies had been confined after the Battle of Crawley.

  Sir Mormus rumbled, the other members of the Executive muttered and scowled. The Queen and Prince Albert listened in fascination.

  Col was soon wondering how to change the subject. He needed to get back to the present and the business of surrender. When Septimus and the Professor spoke of the building of Worldshaker and the construction of an impassable barrier between Below and the Upper Decks, he jumped in at once.

  “But now they have passed it, Your Majesties. They’re spreading up through deck after deck as we speak. You have to decide. Unconditional surrender or a massacre.”

  Prince Albert bristled. “I don’t know about unconditional.”

  “Think of everyone in this hall.” Col focused his appeal on Queen Victoria. “Look around and think of the slaughter. A sea of blood.”

  “What happens to them if I order a surrender?” she asked.

  “There’ll be no more killings, no revenge. That’s the Filthies’ side of the deal.”

  “But what do we do?” asked Rear Admiral Haugh.

  “You can stay and take orders from the Filthies. Or leave.”

  “Leave? You mean, go on the ground?” Haugh was appalled. “Live like natives? Live in the jungle?”

  Col ignored him. “Think of the lives you can save, Your Majesty.”

  The Queen and her Consort exchanged troubled looks.

  “Follow your sense of duty, my dear,” said Prince Albert.

  “But which duty?” Queen Victoria spread her hands in a gesture of despair.

  Sir Wisley Squellingham spoke up. “If I might offer a word of advice, Your Majesty.”

  He stepped up onto the dais beside the imperial thrones, bent over Queen Victoria and whispered in her ear. Col didn’t trust him an inch – especially when he caught the words pretend and for the time being.

  “No pretending, Your Majesty,” he warned. “It’s too late for playing games.”

  His words came true even sooner than he expected. There was a disturbance on the other side of the Grand Assembly Hall, cries of shock and horror. Then a two-tone whistle – and six Filthies sprang onto the food-serving tables. Riff was one and Shiv was another. Perhaps they had come up by steam elevator, perhaps they had raced up the staircases unopposed.

  They kicked aside dishes and glasses, and pointed their guns at the crowd.

  “Last chance!” shouted Riff. “Unconditional surrender, or we start shootin’’.”

  Queen Victoria gasped, though not with horror. “Oh, they speak our language!” she exclaimed.

  “And always did,” said Col.

  The crowd shuffled away from the menace of the guns.

  Children screamed and whimpered, several ladies fainted.

  Professor Twillip squinted over his spectacles. “Just like us,” he murmured. “No signs of regression at all.”

  The Queen came to a decision and rose with dignity to her feet. Meeting her gaze, Prince Albert rose too.

  “I accept the terms of surrender.” She spoke in a loud clear voice. “Let every officer and citizen of the Upper Decks lay down their arms. Spread the news. As Queen and Head of the Imperial Church, I hereby hand over power to…to…”

  “The Revolutionary Council,” prompted Col.

  “To the Revolutionary Council.”

  The two security officers on the dais produced their batons and laid them on the ground. Queen Victoria nodded approval.

  “That is my last order as your Queen. I shall now abdicate.” She reached up for her crown and struggled to lift it. “Help me, my dear.”

  Prince Albert took hold and together they managed to raise the massive weight of steel and gold from her head. The creases disappeared from her brow.

  “That feels better.” She actually smiled. “No more Queen.”

  “No more Prince Consort.” Prince Albert removed his own much smaller crown.

  “And no more Executive or Supreme Commander.” Without her crown, Queen Victoria was more sprightly, almost youthful. Suddenly she looked no more than thirty years old. “Let Sir Mormus hand over his keys of office to Worldshaker’s new masters.
Where is he?”

  Everyone stared at the spot to which Sir Mormus had retreated, ten paces from the dais. But he was no longer there.

  “I saw him leave,” cried a voice from the crowd.

  “Me too.”

  “He was muttering about vengeance.”

  Gillabeth spoke up from the middle of the hall. “I heard him say he was going to the Bridge.”

  Col had a flashback to a phrase Sir Mormus had used earlier. “He threatened to blow up Worldshaker rather than surrender.” He turned to the members of the Executive. “That’s not possible, is it?”

  “No,” said Sir Wisley.

  “I don’t know how,” said Rear Admiral Haugh.

  “I do,” said Chief Helmsman Turbot.

  The smile had vanished from Queen Victoria’s face. “Explain.”

  “He’d have to increase to full steam, shut down the turbines, halt the rollers and allow the pressure to build up in the boilers.”

  “But the safety valves,” Sir Wisley objected. “They let out the steam when – ”

  “They can be overridden,” said Turbot. “Then the pressure would keep building until the boilers explode.”

  “How long?” asked Queen Victoria.

  Turbot shrugged. “Perhaps twenty minutes. Perhaps thirty.”

  “He has to be stopped!” Col spun on his heel.

  “I’ll come!” cried Septimus.

  “The blackguard! The madman!” Prince Albert snorted and jumped down from the dais.

  “Be careful, my dear,” called Queen Victoria. “But brave and…”

  Her words faded away. Something had changed. Everyone became aware of it in the same moment.

  The juggernaut was always in motion, the turbines always turning. For as far back as anyone could remember, the vibration in the decks had been a constant condition of their lives. They noticed it no more than they noticed their own heartbeat. But now it had stopped.

  They looked at one another in silence. The strange stillness continued.

  “Come onl” cried Col, and rushed for the exit.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Seventy-Two

  The six armed Filthies joined the rush, along with Professor Twillip, Orris Porpentine, the two security officers and Gillabeth carrying Antrobus. Col headed for the nearest steam elevator. But there was a problem.