Rémy’s hand struck something other than stone. She stopped and reached out again to touch whatever it was. She found metal, rough and old — a thin bar.
“Claudette,” she said, “wait a moment.”
In the gloom she saw the murky figure of her friend pause and turn back. Rémy reached out with her other hand and found another bar. Crouching, she ran her hand down to where it met the stone floor, and then, standing again, reaching up to where it disappeared above her head.
“What is it?” Claudette asked, her lilting voice fractured by anxiety.
“A cell,” Rémy told her. “I don’t know how big.”
“Amélie!” Claudette shouted, again. “Are you here? Please tell us! Please!”
They listened for any hint of an answer, but there was nothing.
“What if she’s not here at all?” Claudette asked, tearfully. “What if the soldier was lying and we’re just wasting time?”
Rémy couldn’t answer that question — it was one she’d been asking herself, too. But what if the soldier had been telling the truth? Turning around and abandoning Amélie to this terrible place was too awful to think about.
“We’ll go a little farther,” Rémy decided. “See how many cells there are, yes?”
She saw a slight movement in the darkness — Claudette nodding. They carried on, arms outstretched, hands brushing against cell after cell. The farther they went, the harder it became to breathe, and Rémy became aware of a strange smell in the air. The faint reek of old eggs mixed with musty air.
{Chapter 44}
METAL MEN
The Comte hustled Thaddeus toward the edge, the point of his sword jabbing viciously at the policeman’s back. For a moment Thaddeus thought he was about to be thrown from the edge, but then through the dusty eyeglasses, he saw steps hewn into the rock. Thaddeus lurched down them, putting one hand out to steady himself while the other clutched his oxygen tank. It was difficult to see properly in the mask, but he drank in the sights around him, the terrible power of what he saw sinking deep into his bones.
From the lake of liquid fire flowed small, carved channels, directing the lava from its source and into passages that vanished from view. Vast slabs of rock kept these smaller lava flows in check, redirecting and restricting their flow as required. Each of these was connected to a huge metal arm that was in turn connected to a massive metal chamber that Thaddeus assumed must hold machinery to control the arms. It had been built into the roof of the cavern, and at one end was a square metal cabin with glass windows. As Thaddeus looked up at it, he saw movement; there were men inside. In fact, he realized as he looked around, there were men everywhere, dressed in strange golden armor and with the same blank visors as worn by the mountain patrol.
“They don’t have oxygen canisters,” he yelled. “How do they breathe?”
The Comte laughed. “Look again. Why would they need air when they have no noses, no mouths?”
The policeman frowned. “But . . . but they must need ventilation,” he said. “Unless . . .”
“Ah,” said the Comte. “Now the truth of my brilliance occurs to you. Why employ human soldiers when you can build ones that will never tire, never disobey, never wear out?”
His heart pounding, Thaddeus thought back to the Professor’s illustrations of mechanical soldiers. If this was true, if the Comte had somehow managed to turn sketches like those into reality . . .
“This is your army?” he asked, a chill creeping over him.
The Comte laughed again. “This? No, this is not my army, peasant. These are merely the workers. I will show you my army.”
He bundled Thaddeus forward, following one of the smaller lava channels, its heat bathing Thaddeus in a thick sheen of sweat. The policeman flinched as he looked up and saw the giant machine overhead reaching down to grasp an impossibly huge slab of rock. As he watched, it lifted the stone, swinging it around and placing it into the path of one of the smaller lava flows. The burning stream bubbled against it for a moment before turning to flow into a different channel.
“Lava,” the Comte shouted over the clamor of industry that seemed to emanate from every corner, “is the most extraordinary natural resource in the world. It is a fire that never goes out, yes? With its power, I heat my people’s homes and warm their water, for which they love me. And,” he added, pushing Thaddeus through the cave mouth, “it allowed me to build . . . this.”
Thaddeus found himself not in a stone corridor, but in another adjoining cavern. The stream of lava they had followed cascaded down a short drop into a small pool that then fed into another channel like the ones in the first cavern. At the other end was a great door built into the wall, leading who knew where. What else he saw below him, though, made Thaddeus sick with fear.
“You see? That,” said the Comte, “that is my army, Englishman.”
The Comte was pointing at what was row upon row of silent men. Their bodies were formed of metal — smooth, lean, and indestructible — because what Thaddeus had taken to be armor was in fact their skin. Each of their faces were golden and as blank as a new sheet of paper. And there were hundreds of them. Perhaps it was because they were so silent and so very still, but the sight of so many automatons in one place was even more terrifying to the policeman than the sight of Abernathy’s human army had been all those months ago. There was something particularly chilling about these soldiers: Thaddeus knew without touching them that their bodies would be as cold as the stone of this mountain in which they had been created. He remembered J’s words about the sketch in the Professor’s book; the way the boy had shivered as he’d imagined a soldier who couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, and never became tired.
“Your silence does you credit,” yelled the Comte. “For truly, there is nothing to say in the face of this wonder. You must see, now, how useless it is to disobey me, yes?”
Thaddeus swallowed, pulling himself together. “How do they work?” he asked. “How did you even build them?”
The Comte pointed again, this time to the lava flow they had followed from the first cavern. It flowed toward a large metal chamber that sat over the boiling stream. The chamber was curved and set with a chimney in its roof. For the first time, Thaddeus also realized that he could hear water — a lot of water, crashing and rolling as its thunder added yet another sound to the riot of noise. He looked up, his vision still obscured by the mask, and saw that the noise came from a waterfall that splashed through the wall of the cavern, close to the ceiling. This, too, flowed toward the metal chamber. What Thaddeus had first assumed was smoke smudging the air was actually steam.
“It’s a steam engine,” he said aloud in amazement. “You’re using lava instead of coal to heat the water!”
“Well done,” said the Comte approvingly, as if he were talking to a promising student. “This engine is the most powerful ever built. It drives both the machine you have already seen and that one over there.” He pointed to another large contraption that stood silently behind his gathered army. “When that is running, it can press out one of my soldiers every thirty minutes. Their armor is formed from a single sheet of metal, heated and molded into form. They are then assembled, insides and all, by other such soldiers who have been designed specifically for such work.”
“And what about the men?” Thaddeus asked, his mouth dry. “How do they work?”
“A combination of miniature friction engines and clock work,” said the Comte. “They have taken a long time — and my entire fortune — to perfect.”
“Comte, I don’t understand,” said Thaddeus. “Surely, all you need to do is sell one of these mechanical men, and you will be the richest man on the planet! Why do you need Claudette at all? Why can’t you just let her go?”
The Comte narrowed his eyes inside his mask. “I will never part with a single one of these soldiers,” he hissed. “Not one. I can’t risk lesser men getti
ng their hands on my mechanical marvels. All my soldiers are needed, all necessary for what is to come.”
“And what’s that?” Thaddeus asked, his heart thumping. “Comte? What is to come?”
“We are wasting time,” said his captor. “I begin to think you delay me deliberately. Move.”
The Comte pushed him up a flight of steps and toward a wooden door. Thaddeus stumbled through it and found himself in darkness.
“Take off the mask,” The Comte ordered, pulling off his own and dropping it to the ground. “No sense in wasting oxygen when it’s not absolutely necessary, eh?”
Thaddeus did as he was told. The Comte’s sword pricked his spine, forcing him forward once again.
{Chapter 45}
A CHINK OF LIGHT
“Amélie!” Claudette shouted, again, and Rémy could hear the fading hope in her friend’s voice as they continued along the passage. “Little one, if you can make a sound — any sound — please tell us where you are!”
There was more silence. Then a loud but distant clanging started up somewhere ahead, the sound of metal hitting metal. It echoed around them and then stopped as quickly as it had begun.
“Amélie!” Claudette cried. “Is that you? We’re coming!”
The clanging started up again as Claudette and Rémy hurried toward the sound. They passed cell after cell, and as they did so, Rémy realized that the light ahead was getting brighter. It was easier to see what was around them — how small these chambers were, how miserably bare. The chemical smell in the air was also stronger now, making them both cough.
Ahead of her, Claudette disappeared around a corner and cried out, skidding to a halt. Rémy reached her and saw what had caused the cry. They had indeed found Amélie — but she was not alone.
The Comte de Cantal lounged lazily against the bars of her cell, a metal cup dangling from one elegant hand. His other held a sword, which was crooked around the neck of someone he had forced to kneel on the floor before him — someone Rémy had never expected to see again.
“Thaddeus!” Rémy couldn’t believe her eyes. “But how did you . . . ? Where did you . . . ?”
The policeman looked up at her with a faint smile. “Don’t ask.”
“You’re alive,” she said, still trying to take it in. “I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“Yes, yes, yes,” barked the Comte impatiently. “We’re all very touched, I’m sure. Now do shut up, or I may be sick. You,” he said, standing up straighter and jabbing the metal cup toward Claudette. “You’re the one I want.”
Claudette’s tearful gaze was fastened on her daughter, who sat at the back of her cell with her arms wrapped around her thin knees. Amélie’s face was streaked with dirt, her hair was matted, and her eyes were large with fear.
“It’s all right,” her mother told her quietly. “Amélie, I’m so sorry. But everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”
“Oh, really?” said the Comte. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to promise anything of the sort. Ah, ah, ah,” he said to Rémy, who had taken a step toward Thaddeus. “I don’t think so. Stay right there.”
“I told you,” Claudette said tiredly. “I never had any intention of leaving you, Comte. My friends were mistaken.”
“They destroyed my castle,” said the Comte coldly. “I think that’s rather more than a mistake.”
“Take my money,” Claudette told him. “Once you have that, you can rebuild it. You can make it twice, three times as big, if you want to. Just let my daughter and my friends go, and you can have it all.”
“What makes you think I need to bargain with you?” the Comte barked. “I believe I will take exactly what I want, when I want it.”
Rémy was staring at Thaddeus. He was looking directly back at her, his eyes alight with a fierce internal fire, and she had a feeling he was silently trying to tell her something. The problem was, they had spent so much time actively avoiding looking each other in the eye that she wasn’t sure what it was. It made her tense, though, that fierce look. Thaddeus still had the Comte’s sword at his neck — if he tried to move, de Cantal would slit his throat. But Rémy had the feeling that Thaddeus was poised, preparing to act.
She glanced around. The walls were uneven but otherwise featureless — there were no handholds, nothing to cling to. The bars of Amélie’s cage were rusted, but firm. The curved ceiling of the roof offered no suggestions, either.
Claudette stepped forward and dropped to her knees on the cold floor. “Sir,” she begged the Comte, “dear sir, I know you have a wise heart in your noble body. Please — please — let these two take my daughter far away from here.”
The Comte merely laughed, apparently amused by the sight of the pleading woman. “Oh?” he said, “and why on Earth would I do that, when I already have you all within my power?” He twisted the sword against Thaddeus’s neck. Rémy winced as she saw the policeman flinch.
“You have no need to show us mercy, I know that,” said Claudette in the same beseeching tone, scrambling closer on her knees. She was close enough now that her pleading hands could reach the Comte’s legs. She scrabbled at them feebly, her dusty fingers brushing at his thighs, at his naked waist. “We are indeed in your power,” Claudette went on, “which will only go to prove how great you truly are should you honor this one request. I will do anything you so wish, my lord, anything — but please, let my child and my friends go. This wish only you can grant, and in your great mercy, I beg you will do so.”
Rémy watched her friend uncomfortably. She was about to tell her to stop, that this was accomplishing nothing but humiliation, when she realized what Claudette had done. Her heart leaped. Once a pickpocket, always a pickpocket. Rémy saw the movement, as quick and as light as it was — with one hand, Claudette continued to paw pleadingly at the Comte’s body. With her other, her fingers slipped into the pocket of his tattered trousers. There was a flash of silver in the dim passageway as she deftly pulled the keys from his pocket.
“Enough,” said the Comte, still laughing, “get back, woman, before I lose my patience.”
“But Comte —” Claudette reached for his arm — the one that held the sword against Thaddeus’s neck.
It was all the intervention Rémy and Thaddeus’s needed. In the fraction of a second that Claudette pushed against the Comte’s hand, the policeman lifted his own to intercept the sword. Rémy ran forward, aiming a kick high at the man’s arm, while Claudette flung the keys into the cell.
“Amélie,” she shouted, back on her feet in an instant. “Quickly!”
The little girl knew exactly what to do. She scooped up the keys and in the next moment was fitting each key to her cell’s lock in turn, trying to find the one that would release her.
“Treacherous imbeciles,” the Comte screamed in rage, realizing that he was no match for a combined attack from the three of them. “You will all die for this! You will die!”
He lashed out at Thaddeus with the sword, almost scoring the policeman a nasty gash across his stomach. Rémy responded with a kick to his sternum while Thaddeus went for the blade. The weapon tumbled to the ground as the man wrenched himself free, stumbling backward.
Claudette turned at the sound of the cell door squeaking open — Amélie had freed herself. She threw herself at her mother, who picked her up and hugged the little girl tightly.
“Go!” Thaddeus shouted, “Claudette, take Amélie out of here, now!”
Claudette hesitated, looking at Rémy.
“Yes, do it!” Rémy nodded. “Go, quickly!” She watched as her friend fled back down the passageway toward the prison’s entrance as she and Thaddeus blocked the way for the Comte.
“Fools!” the thwarted nobleman screamed, backing away into the darkness behind him. “You imagine you can defy me? You will rue the day you even tried!” He turned from them and ran, disappearing along the da
rkened passageway.
“Rémy, we have to stop him,” Thaddeus told her. “What he’s got back there — it’s worse than Abernathy. A hundred . . . a thousand times worse.”
Rémy was out of breath, but nodded. “D’accord,” she said. He was alive and Claudette and Amélie were free. Right then, she felt as if anything were possible. “Show me.”
{Chapter 46}
NEVER ENOUGH TIME
When they reached the engine room, it was clear something had changed. The machine that made the mechanical men’s armor had fallen silent. Rémy stared at the scene before them with a horrified look on her face, ignoring the hideous fumes.
“What are they?” she asked of the rows and rows of silent soldiers.
“Mechanical soldiers. The most fearful fighting men ever created,” Thaddeus said. He looked around as the sulphur began to burn his lungs. He’d left the masks the Comte had discarded where they lay in the passageway, hoping to find new ones with fresh stores of oxygen. “Where are they?” he muttered and then spied a glass cabinet riveted into the rough stone a few feet away. Thaddeus smashed it, pulling out two of the breathing masks and canisters. He held one out to Rémy. “The fumes — you don’t want to breathe them for long. This will help.”
Rémy pulled it on. Thaddeus reached over and twisted the valve cog so that she could breathe. “I can’t see him,” she said, her voice muffled beneath the hiss of air. “The Comte, where did he go?”
As if in answer, there came a loud, booming screech that almost deafened them despite the leather covering their ears. Then they saw him, standing among his golden army. The Comte de Cantal was wearing one of the breathing masks. He was also holding a silver box beset with colorful switches and antennae.
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