THE REBEL CHAPEL
FOUNDED BY DR JONATHAN BLOOM, YEAR +287
FOR THE PRESERVATION OF TRUTH AND
KNOWLEDGE
AND THE REBEL WAY
Bruno didn’t speak.
‘Wait till ye see this,’ said Nic, taking a key from his belt. ‘Genius, that’s what Dr Bloom was.’
Nic inserted the key, wound it tight, and then let go. The tapestry of brass threads began to tug and shiver, the key slowly unwinding as a collection of locks and bolts clattered inside the door, the sound reminiscent of the Passing Gate. The opening took minutes but Bruno could’ve watched longer, burning to see inside but enjoying the anticipation. Because in those moments, there was nothing to contradict his hopes. Behind the door could be anything he imagined: an army primed to challenge the Elders; dozens of Rebels in waiting, armed with all the resources needed for battle … and as many copies of Tall Tales from Pitch End as he wanted…
The door eased back. Nic smiled, blew the match out and on his belly squirmed through the gap, blackened and bare soles vanishing inside with Bruno following behind, as close as he could get.
XX
Fathers
Ahead, Bruno saw Nic stand. Moments after he stood too, and in the darkness, in a firm whisper, Nic told him, ‘One wee minute, don’t be moving. I’ll show ye what we’ll be using to defeat those Elders,’ and then left his side.
Alone then. But Bruno had the surest feeling of being far from by himself; the dark held things, he could feel their waiting. And as the slow creep of anticipation reached its peak there was a widening of light from many sources like many waking eyes – a thrum of energy that shook Bruno’s nerves.
On the edge of a cavern, Bruno stood and saw things above and below as light everywhere graced metal. The scene rose like a returning wreck: domed and angled heads, open mouths, teeth and claws, eyes and ears, limbs and yet more limbs – wings and spines and horns and tails. Metallic animals numbering hundreds, some species known to Bruno but more not; most he thought must be imagined, couldn’t possibly exist anywhere.
‘Sentries,’ said Bruno, to himself. And then he remembered what Pace has asked Louise – ‘How’s the army coming along?’ ‘An army of Sentries,’ he murmured.
Nic was back beside him. He was breathless, saying nothing but smiles.
Bruno’s eyes watered against the brightness. Not since he’d read Tall Tales from Pitch End had he felt such a desire to absorb, to note and remember and relish each detail as though at any moment the spectacle and reality of it all might leave him.
Bruno swallowed.
‘I don’t recognise some of them,’ he whispered.
‘Dr Bloom travelled rightly-far,’ said Nic. ‘Probably made these when he was remembering creatures he’d seen elsewhere. He had a great imagination on him too though. I reckon it’ll scare the Pitch clean outta those Elders when they see all these heading for them. Come.’
A rough slope led them into the midst of the clockwork army.
Bruno saw lamps with three gnarled branches, each topped with a naked bulb.
‘Miner’s lamps,’ said Nic. ‘Me da was down the mines, before they all got flooded in +277.’
Bruno moved faster, further into the assembly, soon leaving Nic and looking up to see figures stacked high on circular chandeliers ascending into darkness, tier on tier bearing Bird-Sentries. Bruno recognised a raven, an owl and something smaller, maybe finch or robin. Then storm-petrels, in unaccountable numbers.
His foot struck something. A Fox-Sentry? Stoat? Rat? Then a thing like a pheasant with needles down its back, then a hare, then a rabbit. Open caskets were packed, the small circle on the head of each Sentry where its winding key should be, empty.
‘We’ve been working on them for ages,’ said Nic. ‘Most were just bits and pieces after the last battle they had ten turns ago, had to use whatever we could be finding or nicking – metal scraps we had to beat at and cut down to make clockwork. Me and Louise got lots of them back together. Should be good to go rightly-soon. Well, they’ll need to be now, after what’s happened.’
Bruno noticed Nic’s eyes flicker to his satchel.
‘We like to think,’ said Nic, still staring at the satchel, though with eyes glazed, ‘that they’re all just only sleeping. But soon we’ll be for wakening them up.’
Bruno saw one Sentry then that attracted him more than any, which dwarfed all others. He moved towards it, reached for it with caution. But what was it? A feline form, but not like the bandy-legged Cat-Sentries used by Elders. Size of a small horse. Bruno set his own human proportions against it: a mouth packed with teeth twice as long as his hand, paws twice as long and many times broader than Bruno’s own feet when settled alongside. Its eyes were on the same level as his, colour the kale-green of a summer sea. And Bruno at that moment felt sure of Nic’s words: ‘only sleeping … soon to be wakening …’
‘That’s the best one of all,’ said Nic, and he crushed his eyes shut for a moment, as if searching his memory. ‘It’s like a cat. Now what did he call it? A … tiger!’
The word resounded, the cavern in unanimous agreement.
Nic added, ‘Yer da used to ride that one into fights with the Enforcers, would ye believe it?’
Bruno didn’t immediately believe anything, usually. But with this army around him, Nic beside, and out of Pitch End, part of the Rebel movement opposed to the Elders, for the first time he wanted to believe in everything.
Nic said, ‘There’s something else ye need to be seeing.’
He moved off fast, picking a path between Sentries.
At the farthest end of the cavern a platform had been hacked from the wall, high, with steep, uneven steps rising to meet it. Nic had already bounded up and stood, looking down. ‘Come on!’ he shouted to Bruno.
Bruno began to climb, the steps sharp and with no support. He looked down: the army of Sentries wavered like sunspots, the cavern rippling in miners’ lamplight.
‘Come on, Atlas!’ shouted Nic, and Bruno moved quicker. At the top he stood straight, and stared into the face of Dr Jonathan Bloom.
‘Impressive, int it?’ said Nic. ‘And not a bad likeness of the man hisself.’
A good likeness right enough, thought Bruno. A clockwork statue, face just similar enough to the face depicted in the posters Bruno had seen in Old Town to be recognisable – the leader of the Rebels had been rendered in brass. Bruno examined – Dr Jonathan Bloom’s nose here was a faultless, tapered slope, brow considerable, but unlike his posters in Old Town it boasted intelligence, not animalism. A mane of fine brass filaments – not wild but pinched at the back – was snaking over a broad shoulder. Bruno looked to the eyes: they were directed up and out, and were not quite lifeless. On his chest was the Rebel symbol, inlaid in bright silver.
‘Genius of a man,’ said Nic, again.
But Bruno had gone beyond the statue of Dr Bloom. Passing more rough wounds to the wall he counted ten, fifteen more Sentries in the form of clockwork men, all with the Rebel symbol on their chest. He glanced at faces, dismissing, moving quickly along to the next, in anticipation of one figure, one face –
‘He’s the last one!’ he heard Nic shout behind. ‘Right beside me own da!’
But Bruno was already there. He’d found his father.
Like Bloom, the likeness was sharp and true. He stepped closer, wanting to touch and scrutinise. But he stopped himself, and tried to be content with just looking.
Nic arrived beside him at a run.
‘They don’t move,’ he said. ‘Don’t think they were designed to, not like the animals. But they do one thing.’
He stepped forwards and reached a hand up behind the head of Bruno’s father, biting his lip with effort, straining on grubby toes. After a few moments, a sharp click made Bruno and Nic step back. The mouth of Bruno’s father opened. Slowly though, and with so much grinding and creaking it gave Bruno unexpected pain to hear and see. The jaw eased down. Bruno’s heart raced him i
nto new places, wild wonders of his father alive again (or close to). With him once more, guiding, protecting…
A crackle of static, words buried in a cloud of white noise, and his father’s recorded voice went: ‘Remember the first virtue of the Rebels: Fight, even when believing ye’re rightly being beaten. Fight, and ye’ll never know such a thing as a shameful death.’
The static ceased.
Bruno didn’t know what to feel, except that he needed to hear more. And then he did; Bruno’s father set conversation spinning and all the Rebel statues – all fathers? – began to relate Rebel Virtues:
‘Never betray a Rebel. Not under torture, coercion, blackmail nor barter. Never, ever, never!’
‘Sacrifice sets us apart – we would die for one another. Treat all Rebels like brothers, fathers, as though the self-same blood rushes through our veins!’
‘Never forget a thing, never give in, never be forgetting yer kin!’
Continuous and on, in a clamour that reminded Bruno of the Discussion Chamber, words flung, sentences lapping at one another…
‘… forgetting…’
‘… brothers, fathers…’
‘… blood…’
Bruno had to shut his eyes.
Minutes, and then one after another the statues quietened, a final voice consoling itself with – ‘Never be forgetting yer kin!’
A silence like sound.
Bruno opened his eyes. His own voice feeling worthless, too weak, he asked Nic, ‘Is that all they say?’
‘Dr Bloom says more,’ said Nic. ‘Sometimes he says so much it’s like he’s still here, speaking to us, helping and telling. It’s good having their bits of wisdom. Keeps the Rebel way living on. Comforting.’
Bruno looked at him, wanting to know what Nic was really thinking, whether he really believed in his own words.
He turned back to his father. Bruno reached out at last and touched – the metal was the coldest thing.
In the hush of the chapel, Nic said, too loudly, ‘Louise should be back soon!’
Then another realisation came for Bruno, sudden and undeniable –
‘It’s just us,’ said Bruno. ‘Me and you, David and Louise. We’re the only Rebels left, aren’t we?’
Nic nodded.
‘And what do numbers matter? Doesn’t stop ye if ye have a rightly-strong heart! It’s the fight in us, not how many of us there are!’
Bruno turned to see David marching towards them, bypassing Sentries as though they were unseeable to him, crossbow close in his arms. His words were like some piece of Elder rhetoric, thought Bruno. No – Rebel rhetoric, if any.
‘Has anyone been checking what’s going on down in Pitch End?’ David asked, reaching the steps to the platform, taking himself to the top in three long strides. He stopped, and almost grinned. ‘With Atlas here with that book, we won’t be safe for much longer.’ Another pause, then – ‘I want to see it. I wanna see The Book of Black & White.’
‘When Louise comes back,’ said Nic, ‘then we can be looking at it together.’
‘No!’ said David.
Bruno looked to Nic, but he offered no support.
‘Here,’ said Bruno, thinking he didn’t mind who looked at the book; better to let David have his way. He took the satchel from his shoulders and enjoyed some relief in its removal. He crouched, undid the buckles and with both hands lifted the book free.
David moved closer but didn’t take it.
‘Just want to look,’ said David.
Bruno felt an urge to fling it from his hands.
‘Ye hear so much about a thing,’ said David, wetting his lips. ‘Bout how rightly-nasty and evil and all it is, and soon ye want to see it in the flesh to be rightly-sure. Dr Bloom said it was the most impressive, powerful thing he’d ever come across. And the most indecent thing he’d ever come across too.’
‘That’s what Temperate Thomas said about it as well,’ said Bruno.
Same as other times, Bruno couldn’t stop the words leaving him. David looked up. Moments later, every sound amplified to alarm in the cavern, another voice arrived –
‘I’m here!’
Louise Green materialised out of a dark pocket between miner’s lamps.
Bruno saw David shut his eyes and keep them that way, like they’d been injured by the sight of The Book of Black & White. Bruno returned the book to his satchel and hauled it to his shoulder once more. Once more sank under it.
‘How did ye escape?’ Nic called down. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Took the track past the wall,’ shouted Louise, running towards them. ‘Went east, through Mickleward Marsh, across the sloggs and then left em far behind me! Most Enforcers went into the mountains after the two of ye, but they got rightly afeared when they saw one of their own dead. Turned back then. It was quite funny actually, I—’
‘What else, Louise?’ asked Nic.
She remained at the bottom of the steps, eyes bright, possessed of the same energy Bruno had seen in her in Pitch End. Something different though, he thought (and Nic must’ve thought too): her energy all in a twisting of hands, feet fumbling on top of one another. He couldn’t say why, but it worried Bruno. He had to ask, ‘Are they looking for me still?’
Louise took her emerald cloak in her hands, balled
it up.
‘What’s happening down there, for Pitch sake!’ cried David. ‘Tell us!’
Louise swallowed, then formed the words: ‘I went back into Old Town to spy. Saw the Marshall giving a report to that Temperate. Temperate wasn’t happy. Said that the Enforcers were all children themselves, too wet behind the ears. Said more rightly-drastic things needed to be done to get at the heart of things – “the black heart”. Aye, that’s what he said. Said an example needed sending to the lower parts of Pitch End, the lower life. Then he organised to send one group of Enforcers into the Elm Tree Mountains, to come after Bruno.’
‘Never worry,’ said Nic. ‘They’ll never find this place. Not a body knows how to get in except us.’ Bruno looked at him, thinking Nic’s dismissal too careless, too quick.
‘And another group,’ Louise went on, ‘he’s keeping in Pitch End. He’s gonna use them to search. He was saying he’ll stop for nothing till he finds Bruno and that book, and the pocket watches. Even if it means destroying Pitch End in the process…’
‘All talk,’ said Nic, and he half-turned away. ‘Usual rubbish.’
Bruno looked to David. Both were perched on the brink of the platform and Bruno knew their thoughts weren’t far from the same thing, from knowing there was more in Louise to be discovered. It was Bruno who asked, ‘What else? What is he going to do first, Louise?’
Nic turned back to face her. Bruno and David remained still.
‘I heard Temperate Thomas giving the Elder Order,’ said Louise, her voice breaking. ‘Tonight, they’re going to set fire to Old Town.’
XXI
The Tall Tale of the Locksmith’s Sanguine Son
‘Won’t anyone stop him?’ asked Bruno.
‘No one cares about Old Town,’ said Nic. ‘Temperate’ll just tell everyone he thinks the Rebels are hiding there, being kept safe by gypsies or whoever, and no one will give a damn if it burns.’
‘Either that or he’ll just be saying the Rebels started the fire,’ said Louise. ‘He’ll tell Pitch End whatever he likes, just like last time.’
Last time, wondered Bruno.
‘Ten turns ago,’ explained Nic, staring at Bruno. ‘Did it then too. Kept the Pitch Enders scared, on edge.’
Bruno thought back – the Marshall shouting to neighbours whilst Bruno’s home burned, ordering them back indoors, that the blaze needed to be left as a reminder of what the Rebels were doing, of the ongoing war. Left, or else. Bruno felt fear even at the recollection of it: he knew what it was to obey, too frightened for any disagreement. But he had known anger that night, remembered too that feeling – rushing at the Marshall with childish fists, childish passion propelling him
forwards.
‘Very clever of him,’ said David.
‘Clever?’ shouted Louise.
‘Very clever,’ said David, his voice level. ‘No wonder we couldn’t get him beat ten turns ago.’
‘I’ll beat him alright,’ said Louise. ‘Put a few bullets in him!’
‘If we’re ever gonna get the better of Temperate Thomas II,’ David continued, almost maddening in his calmness, ‘we’ll have to be smarter than him, not be shooting more bullets than him.’
Louise didn’t reply. Bruno silently agreed.
Nic looked to him and said, ‘Don’t worry, Bruno. We’ll soon be at the mouth, then we’ll be seeing things better.’
They were rising, had been for a long time and still no light above, moving upward through a narrow shaft Bruno thought like a throat, a passage from belly to ‘the mouth’, as Nic had called it. They’d climbed each into a harness of knotted twine and leather, each easing back, Nic tugging on a lever, starting clockwork that wheezed as it took their weight, protesting but lifting them slowly, leaving the cavern of Sentries deep below. Bruno kept adjusting his position but couldn’t find comfort – the shaft was so narrow their legs kept striking the walls or one another. He focused on above, wishing for the top and an end to it.
Louise began to sing to herself, and Bruno was surprised at the softness in her voice, as low and gentle as a lullaby –
‘When times are raging,
And lights go dim;
When prayers, when pennies
Are dropped on the whim.
When tide and time,
Takes trouble to come;
When memories are stubborn
And babbies struck dumb.
There’ll be a sure way,
From foul to free;
Clear as the stars,
And bright as the sea.’
‘We’re there,’ said Nic.
They were lifted into an evening clean and cold. Their ropes stopped, Nic and David reaching for the walls, pulling themselves clear of the drop then undoing their harnesses. Louise tried to copy but needed helping –
Tall Tales From Pitch End Page 16