Tin

by Padraig Kenny

  ‘Never you mind,’ he said, pretending to look at the Diviner.

  ‘It’s a fair question,’ said Estelle, giving Cormier an insolent look.

  Cormier glared at her. ‘The principles of mechanics are very complex. And besides, you only make skin. Explaining such matters to the likes of you would take too long.’

  ‘Try me,’ said Jack.

  Cormier’s head whipped round and he licked his lips. He had a hunted look about him, and Jack felt more of that deliciously victorious sense of rage.

  ‘You?’ he said, giving a nervous laugh. ‘You’re too young to understand. I mean, look at you. When were you constructed? You’re little more than a baby.’

  ‘I’m twelve,’ said Jack defiantly.

  ‘Bits of you are,’ whispered Rob.

  ‘Christopher remembered having parents,’ said Jack. ‘How can he have had parents if he’s one of us?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ grunted Cormier. ‘Don’t care. Why don’t you ask your know-it-all friend there?’

  Now it was Estelle’s turn to blaze with fury.

  ‘I know plenty,’ she said.

  Cormier raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you now? An unregistered skin-maker, with probably only the most basic of skills. I bet you even have ambitions to become an engineer.

  Estelle’s cheeks flushed red.

  ‘Aha! You do, then. Bless you. You know that girls are forbidden from becoming engineers and have been since Runcible handed down his edicts?’

  ‘You sound like my dad. He was an idiot too,’ said Estelle.

  ‘And what about your mother? Did foolishness run in the family?’ Cormier grinned.

  Estelle stood up with her fists by her side. ‘You take that back,’ she said.

  Even Gripper turned at the tone in Estelle’s voice. Rob forgot he was warming his hands and let them hang by his sides as he looked at Estelle. The only sound was the sound of the crackling of sticks in the fire.

  Cormier shook his head and smirked at Estelle. ‘You’re a very silly young lady.’

  ‘I said, take it back.’ Estelle was quivering now, and her eyes were dark.

  Cormier had a half smile on his face, but it was the nervous smile of someone who knows they’ve overstepped the mark and is too stubborn to back down. He seemed to reconsider for a moment, and he looked down and flapped a hand at Estelle.

  ‘Tell us about your mother.’

  Estelle swallowed hard, and she kept her fists clenched by her sides. ‘Why?’

  Cormier looked up at her with a conciliatory expression on his face. ‘Just tell us.’

  Estelle looked around nervously. Jack could feel the tension in her, the anger, the uncertainty.

  ‘My mum was the most important person in the world to me. She’s the reason I make skin. She’s the reason I’m as good as I am because she always said, “Estelle Wilkins, whatever you do you must always do your best.” So I do, to honour her.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘How?’

  Estelle’s head shook for a moment, and she grunted as if stifling something and turned her face away. She shook her head and looked out into the darkness.

  Cormier nodded in sympathy.

  Estelle turned back to glare at Cormier. Her steely composure reasserting itself for a moment.

  ‘My mum taught me everything. She knew knowing your history was important. She told me how those who followed Runcible made people of copper and steel and how it changed everything. She told me about the first adult mechanicals and how they were banned because people were frightened of them. She told me how they made children then who could work in factories and go up chimneys, and when I left home I used to watch all the engineers, even rubbish ones like Absalom, and I learnt. I did all this because she told me I had to find my place in the world, and I’d already decided that my place was going to be with mechanicals, and making them some day, illegally or not. I know all this because a person needs to find their place in the world.’ Estelle shrugged. ‘But then again, what do I really know? I only make skin.’

  Estelle sat down and clasped her knees up to her chin and glowered at the fire.

  Jack had felt the surprising urge to run over and hug her, but he knew that would probably involve him getting a smack in the face, so he resisted it.

  There was silence. Gripper shifted his weight slightly, still eyeing them all curiously. Rob raised his hands towards the fire again, but he kept looking from Cormier to Estelle and back again. Cormier said nothing, and simply sat there running his fingers over the Diviner. His gruffness was gone, and his mouth was half open as he shaped silent words.

  It was Estelle who spoke first.

  ‘See, the thing is, you don’t get to lord it over anybody and you don’t get to understand anything until you’ve lost somebody.’ She looked at Cormier defiantly. ‘Who have you lost, Mr Cormier?’

  Cormier gave a sad half smile, and he continued stroking the Diviner. When he spoke his voice sounded cracked and broken: ‘I’ve lost everyone.’

  He stood up and cleared his throat. He cradled the Diviner and held it to his chest and walked off into the forest.

  Rob looked from him to Estelle and back again rapidly. He was as gobsmacked as the others. Nobody else said anything until Cormier had disappeared from view.

  It was Rob who broke the stunned silence:

  ‘You made him cry, Estelle.’

  Broken was how Christopher felt. Broken and alone.

  When he was brought back to the lab in the morning, he’d only been able to sit slumped forward in the chair. He never looked up from the concrete greyness of the floor, and the constant pain that hummed in his head and limbs never left him. He wanted to cry, but it felt as if the grief and pain was just lodged in his throat. The cold grey pain grew and grew and consumed him.

  Until the anger returned.

  Blake was still tinkering away with patches, all pretence of civility gone as he pushed Christopher’s head this way and that. Blake never spoke to him, but he spoke to Reeves, who was occasionally present during this new session.

  Blake referred to Christopher as ‘it’ now, saying, ‘It would reveal its secrets soon’ while he spoke about something he called ‘deep excavation’, which he said would help him uncover Christopher’s memories. It would take a little longer than he’d expected, he said, but the outcome would be ‘splendid’.

  Christopher kept himself in check and looked at the ground, feeling the dark vortex of anger whirl within him. The more Blake spoke about him as if he wasn’t there, the faster the vortex of fury within him span.

  His anger gave him strength and hope. He had made his decision. He was going to escape, and there was nothing they would be able to do to stop him.

  The next couple of days brought the same thing. Dunlop escorting him to the lab. Blake working on the patches, questioning Christopher incessantly about his first moments of consciousness. Was there any special machinery present? Did Christopher remember any special symbols or glyphs? The same questions were asked over and over, with Christopher giving evasive answers as he waited for his opportunity to escape.

  It came at the most unexpected moment.

  Blake was tinkering with the cap when the new bloom hit Christopher with the force of a tidal wave. It was so strong he almost threw himself forwards off the chair. He gulped deep as he tried to catch his breath.

  The laboratory disappeared, and he was in the kitchen of his home again, and the boy was there. He watched him as his eyes roved hungrily over the small piece of machinery in his hands. This time Christopher saw the light in his eyes, the simple joy of someone working on something he loves. Christopher smiled at the boy, and the boy looked up and returned his smile.

  It felt strange this time. Christopher wasn’t just an observer. It felt as if he’d travelled back to this moment and was visiting with the boy.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello,’ said the boy.

/>   He was a little older than Christopher, but something about the boy – the way he carried himself, the way he spoke and smiled – made him seem younger somehow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Christopher asked.

  The boy held up the piece of clockwork for Christopher to see. It was an intricate piece filled with dozens of cogs and wheels.

  ‘I’m making a machine,’ said the boy. ‘I like making machines. Machines make the world a better place. That’s what my dad always says.’ He seemed very proud of his creation. ‘Would you like to see?’ he said, handing the piece to Christopher.

  ‘Yes,’ said Christopher. He reached his hand out, but as he was about to touch the contraption his vision wavered, and the world started to shimmer, then darken . . .

  Christopher was back by the door now, observing the boy. It was the same scene he’d witnessed before, when Blake had placed the cap on his head. This time he could hear sounds. It was gloomy in the kitchen, and rain was sizzling down outside.

  The boy looked towards the door as before. The man entered and stood in front of him. The boy was clearly terrified. The man bellowed at the boy:

  ‘What have I told you before about playing with toys?’

  The boy mumbled something to the man, and that was when the man slapped the piece of clockwork machinery from the boy’s hand.

  ‘They’re secrets for a reason, boy!’

  Christopher could feel his chest and throat tighten. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of him. He gave a strangled gasp, and he sat forward in the chair.

  He was back in the laboratory, and Blake was fussing around him.

  A wide-eyed Christopher looked at him. He was still stunned by his realization, but examining Blake’s face now he couldn’t believe how he’d missed the evidence of his first bloom. He had the same dark eyes as the boy, and the hair might have be more tightly cut, but there was no mistaking the fact that Blake and the boy in his vision were one and the same person.

  He blinked rapidly, and found he had to bite back his words. And then, as if by pure instinct alone, Christopher let his eyes glaze over and looked around as if dazed.

  A strange sense of inner calm descended upon him as he took in his surroundings, realizing that this was his moment. Why else would he have had that particular vision? He felt the inexplicable urge to laugh, but he fought that too. Instead, he said:

  ‘I can see . . . I can see . . .’

  Blake was in front of him now. ‘What is it, Christopher? What do you see?’

  Christopher narrowed his eyes, as if concentrating on something that no one else could see.

  ‘It’s something important . . . I know it is . . .’ he said woozily.

  Blake was wringing his hands expectantly. ‘Go on, Christopher. Tell me what you see.’

  Christopher waved him away with his hand and signalled that he needed to get off the chair. Blake helped him down. Christopher looked around like someone seeing his surroundings for the first time, but really he had already taken in what he needed to know.

  Dunlop was leaning against a table and eating his sandwich. Blake had become so engrossed in his work that he’d forgotten to ask him to take his lunch outside. Dunlop had briefly cast an eye over what was happening and then returned to gobbling his sandwich.

  Christopher started to wheel round, as if he was lost in one of his visions, and was seeing things no one else could. Blake was following a few feet away from him, entranced, and almost too terrified to interrupt him lest he lose some valuable insight. And all the time Christopher was moving circuitously towards Dunlop.

  That was the other thing about Dunlop. As well as his stupidity, and his inability to realize that there was anything else going on in the world besides his sandwich, there was also his predictability.

  It was this predictability that meant he came in at the same time every day, put his coat in the same place, and scratched his backside and his chin before settling himself against the same table for the morning.

  And it was the very same predictability that meant he left certain items in the exact same place every day.

  Christopher reeled backwards, then made a great show of doubling over, as if in agony.

  ‘I can see it! I can see it!’ he roared.

  ‘See what, Christopher?’ Blake cried.

  ‘I can see . . .’

  Christopher straightened up and twirled around. He’d judged it just right. Dunlop was still munching his sandwich a few feet away and staring into it as if it had some great secret to impart. Christopher was by the table and he saw exactly what he needed. He took his opportunity.

  He leapt for the stun gun and grabbed it.

  ‘NO!’ Blake roared.

  Christopher had just enough time to flick the switch as Dunlop bore down on him. He still had his sandwich in his right hand, and its contents – lettuce, tomato, chicken – flew through the air as Christopher plunged the stun gun up and into his breastbone.

  Dunlop stiffened with his arms down by his side, shuddering like a child trying to contain a tantrum, his eyes bulging in disbelief and pain. Then he started to flop forward. Christopher could suddenly feel the weight of him press down on the tip of the stun gun, and he had just enough time to whip it around to point it at Blake before Dunlop hit the ground with a great big wet slap and spasmed for a few moments before becoming still.

  ‘Christopher!’ Blake shouted, his hand clawed and outstretched.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ said Christopher. He shoved the stun gun forward, and pressed the button for good measure. Blue sparks crackled along its tip, and Blake took a step back with the palms of his hands raised.

  ‘Christopher, listen to me,’ he said quietly.

  Christopher shook his head and gave a nervous bark of laughter. ‘No, you listen to me.’

  ‘Christopher, I’m warn—’

  ‘“They’re secrets for a reason, boy!”’ Christopher roared.

  The effect of those words couldn’t have been any more dramatic than Christopher actually using the stun gun on Blake. The engineer looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. His mouth opened and his eyes widened in terror. It was real terror that Christopher saw, and he gained some delicious satisfaction from it.

  ‘I know you. I saw you in my house. I know who you are, Richard Blake. I spoke to you. You made clockwork toys. I’ve known you since you were a child. You told me you wanted to be like your father.’

  Blake shook his head in disbelief. Christopher looked in his eyes, and he saw the same pain and incomprehension that he’d seen in those same eyes all those years ago.

  ‘You and your father came to my house. Why?’ Christopher demanded.

  ‘Christopher . . . I . . . Christopher, please . . .’ Blake inched forward.

  ‘Don’t!’ Christopher snarled.

  He looked at Blake and saw the pleading expression on his face, and for a split second he again felt pity.

  Blake must have seen it on his face, because his own expression hardened, and he took the opportunity to lunge forward.

  Christopher sidestepped his flailing arms and thrust the stun gun upwards just underneath Blake’s chin. It made contact, and there was a FRRZAAK as Blake’s eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed on to the ground inches from Dunlop.

  Dunlop was moaning and trying to get up. This time Christopher shoved the stun gun into his throat. Cords sprang out on Dunlop’s neck and it was if all the flesh on his body was tightening to one single point. Inside his head, Christopher roared That’s for Jack! and he gave a bellow of exultation. As soon as Dunlop went limp again Christopher bent down and took the key chain from his belt. His hands were trembling and he dropped the keys twice. He stood up and took some breaths to steady himself, then he took one last look at Blake, contorted on the floor in a foetal position, before he made a run for it and exited the lab.

  It seemed to take for ever to get to the first door, and with each step he took he expected Reeves to jump out and gra
b him. He was holding his breath the whole way and when he reached the door he had to unlock it while holding the stun gun between his knees, his hands trembling all the while. The key jittered in the lock, and the door opened with a squeal that made his eyes water. He stepped through to the other side, and tried to close the door as slowly and quietly as possible, but it still groaned in protest. With that door locked he headed down the corridor towards the outer door.

  The corridor was cold and seemed somehow larger and more threatening than when he’d first walked its length. He could scarcely believe it when he reached the outer door, and he fumbled in a panic at the key chain when he realized he couldn’t remember which key he needed. He tried one which was too large, and the second he picked was the same one he’d already used on the inner door. He cursed himself, and then took a deep breath. Calm, he said to himself, calm.

  He picked another key. He put it in the lock.

  It turned.

  Christopher wrenched the door open and sunlight flooded in. He felt as if his legs would only do a shuffling motion to get him outside, as if they were afraid to respond to the most basic commands. He walked a few feet into the courtyard and felt the sun on his face. He couldn’t help himself giving a nervous giggle as he turned towards the gate.

  But Reeves stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

  Christopher felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. He stumbled back, fumbled for something, and realized with shock that he’d dropped the stun gun on the other side of the door.

  Reeves smiled. ‘Well, well, aren’t we the clever one.’

  Christopher looked towards the gate. He leapt forwards, but Reeves grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’

  He’d already grabbed the keys and bunched them in his fist. For one terrifying moment, Christopher thought Reeves was going to hit him, but instead he pushed Christopher back towards the door. The henchman’s grip loosened while he fumbled with the lock. Christopher twisted left, then right, and suddenly he was free once more.

  He ran towards the gate, but Reeves lunged, snagging Christopher’s arm. It was enough to knock him off balance, and there was a clang as his head hit the ground. He blinked, raising his head, vaguely aware of Reeves towering over him. He glimpsed movement behind him, and felt icy coldness in his guts as Blake stumbled through the outer door.