by Jasmine Walt
“Do all Passages lead to alleyways?” I asked. It was still daytime here, the midday sun blinding over the glittering skyscrapers piercing the skyline. I could see a street at the end of the alley, and Simon headed that way.
“The Alliance often uses the ones which are easily concealed,” said Simon. “There are five here in the Big Apple. I’d show you the sights, only we’ve got maybe an hour before the next patrol goes into the Passages. And I’m supposed to be on that patrol, so…”
“Dammit,” I said. “I always wanted to come here.”
“Come on, you got to go to Valeria,” said Simon. “And Kay said something about stolen hover boots?”
“One hover boot,” I said. Admittedly, that had been the one fun part of that whole fiasco. I didn’t mind discussing that. “I’d have preferred two. It was a bit lopsided.”
“I wanted to try out one of those hover bikes,” said Kay. “Next time, I’m hiring one.”
“You think the Alliance will let you go back there after you violated half their traffic laws?”
“Considering I just got promoted to Ambassador? I hope so.”
“Shit, Kay. You kept that quiet!” said Simon.
“Only happened today,” he said, with a shrug. “They lost a couple of Ambassadors in the fighting so there was an opening.”
“Wow,” I said. “Guess you get to see the Multiverse?”
“I could kill you right now,” said Simon.
“Well, you already know what to put on my grave.” Now his smile definitely didn’t reach his eyes.
“Damn,” Simon muttered. “That is not fair. Tell me you rubbed it in Aric’s face? Just a little?”
“I’ll send him a postcard.”
“I could send Nell a postcard from here,” I said, making a sweeping gesture at the towering skyscrapers. “It’d probably get there in a week.”
“Ha. You should do that,” said Simon. “Nell’s your foster mother, right?”
“Uh-huh.” I glanced at Kay again, but he didn’t seem to notice. “He told you everything about me?”
“Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me,” said Simon. “We’re here,” he added, leading us down a side road.
The apartment building was unremarkable, the same as its neighbours. I could see people inside. Offworlders—even some from Enzar. Children running around. I smiled. Dammit. I would not start crying in the middle of the street.
“Pretty cool, right?” said Simon. “Kay—oh, for God’s sake, he’s off again.”
Kay hadn’t come up to the house with us. He’d wandered down the road instead, looking up at the skyline.
“What’s up with him?” I asked, safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t hear us. “He’s acting… I don’t know.”
“You’re not what I expected,” said Simon, disregarding the question. “Kay said you were… look, I promise I won’t tell anyone this.” He drew in a breath, while I blinked, slightly confused. “I know you’re from Enzar. I know the Walker family gave your world a shitty deal. But Kay had nothing to do with that.”
Huh? Was that the problem? “I know. His father did, right? Did you ever meet him?” I checked again that Kay wasn’t within hearing distance. He wasn’t.
“No.” Simon shook his head. “Got the impression he cleared offworld before Kay came to the Academy. He never said, and I didn’t like to ask. Well, Walker’s reputation precedes him. But Kay, well, he might have been a total overachiever at the Academy, but he never used the Walker name if he could help it. I mean, his family owns properties across three universes, they were amongst the original founders of Earth’s Alliance. They’re billionaires several times over. Everyone at the Academy knew that. But in five years, he never brought it up once. Not a word.”
I stared. “He told me he’d never been offworld,” I said, because I had to say something.
“He hadn’t, until now, I guess,” said Simon. “It’s difficult to get answers out of him.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I asked what happened to his parents. He said they were dead or otherwise absent.”
“I thought his mother died. He never talked about that, either,” said Simon. “Nor his life before the Academy. He only ever talked about the future. The Multiverse, and the Alliance.”
Given that his father had volunteered him as a human experiment, I could put two and two together and get a hell of a painful answer. Maybe I didn’t want to know.
“Has he ever mentioned the wyvern incident?” asked Simon.
“Mentioned it,” I said. “What happened there?”
“He saved my life.”
“He did?” I asked, startled.
Simon nodded. “We were kind of idiots. Third year at the Academy, we got bored and decided to explore the Passages. Started out as a competition with Aric and his friends. Sneaking into the Passages, picking fights with offworld creatures. Then, well, it got complicated. Ended up with a wyvern getting loose in there. We never did manage to prove it was Aric who did it, but it must have been. Only Kay would throw himself into the path of a rampaging wyvern. He damn near died, and you know, the first thing the lunatic said when he woke up in the hospital was ask if everyone else was all right. I mean, how many people would do that?”
And now I wanted to cry. I’d been awful to him. The things I’d said—I couldn’t take them back.
“I saw the scars,” I said, instead.
“Wait, you’ve seen?” Simon whistled.
“It’s—it’s not like that.”
“Hmm.”
“Quit it,” I said feebly. “We’re probably going to be colleagues at Central. I’m not going to screw things up before I even start.”
“How do you know you’ll screw it up?”
“I have a terrible track record with relationships.” Why the hell did I tell him that? I couldn’t stop shouting my mouth off lately, apparently. “And an overprotective guardian who hates the Walkers.”
“Well, you’re the first girl he’s paid attention to for longer than a week since the wyvern incident, so that’s a start.” He paused, and I had the feeling that he’d been about to say something else, but had held back. “If I were you, I’d go after him before he gets lost.”
“Is that likely to happen?”
“God, no. Guy has a photographic memory.”
“I thought so,” I said. “All right.”
And I ran after him. I caught up before I reached the street’s end, though the crowded path had slowed him down. Kay stood apart from the crowd, gaze still fixed on the sky—until he saw me and turned his head. And, to my own total surprise, I wrapped my arms around him, tight. I felt him stiffen in shock.
“Ada—what?”
Dammit. I blinked back tears. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t seem to let go. The world disappeared around us, reduced to the sound of his fast-beating heart against mine, to the seconds as I tilted my head and our lips met in a surge of electricity infinitely better than magic. And I felt him smile, and I didn’t care that we were blocking the path and people were having to step around us, annoyed. Because I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the Multiverse.
“I think we should get out the way,” Kay said, breaking off the kiss.
“Spoilsport.” But I drew back. The question what now? hovered between us like a tangible presence. I drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m joining the Alliance.” I grinned. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
THE END
The Alliance Series continues with Nemesis, the second Alliance novel.
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The Sunken
Engine Ward, Book One
S C Green
Copyright © 2014 S. C. Green
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, found within are purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
About the Book
The Sunken
In the heart of London lies the Engine Ward, a district forged in coal and steam, where the great Engineering Sects vie for ultimate control of the country.
For many, the Ward is a forbidding, desolate place, but for Nicholas Thorne, the Ward is a refuge. He has returned to London under a cloud of shadow to work for his childhood friend, the engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel.
Deep in the Ward's bowels, Nicholas can finally escape his strange affliction – the thoughts of animals that crowd his head. But seeing Brunel interact with his mechanical creations, Nicholas is increasingly concerned that his friend may be succumbing to the allure of his growing power. That power isn't easily cast aside, and the people of London need Brunel to protect the streets from the prehistoric monsters that roam the city.
King George III has approved Brunel's ambitious plan to erect a Wall that would shut out the swamp dragons and protect the city. But in secret, the King cultivates an army of Sunken: men twisted into flesh-eating monsters by a thirst for blood and lead. Only Nicholas and Brunel suspect that something is wrong, that the Wall might play into a more sinister purpose--to keep the people of London trapped inside.
To the Bogans,
for your friendship and unfaltering support.
Prologue
1820
"This beam engine pumps water from the Thames directly into those reservoirs and the water tower. The mains run seven miles to Campden Hill and supplies water to most of West London – Nicholas Thorne, are you listening?"
Master Brunel fixed him with a withering stare. Nicholas, who had just turned fifteen and normally loved watching steam engines at work and hated to disappoint his teacher, shoved his crumpled Navy papers back into his pocket and tried to look interested as the Master led his four pupils into the pump house. But he couldn't think about steam engines today.
Inside the shed, Nicholas followed his teacher and the other three pupils onto the observation floor. He pressed his back against the wall of the thin wooden platform and tried to focus his attention. The beam engine was just approaching full speed, and he clutched his papers even more tightly as the floor and walls vibrated with each rotation. The fifteen-ton beam soared over their heads, crashing down with a sweeping stroke to slam the pistons into the condenser and release great clouds of steam.
"Father says this is the first engine to use a separate condenser," said Isambard, Brunel's son, his face lit up with excitement. "The engineers are really starting to get to grips with reciprocating engines—"
"I'm leaving London, Isambard." Nicholas said.
"I know. Tomorrow."
"I might never see you again. Don't you care?" He frowned at his friend.
Isambard looked hurt. "Of course. You and James are going to earn your fortunes at sea. And I must stay in the Engine Ward with the Stokers and repair furnaces for the rest of my life. But that's not ‘till tomorrow. Today …" He gestured to the beam engine, "I can pretend that maybe, one day, I would be able to create something like this."
"Isambard—"
"No. Just thank Great Conductor you weren't born a Stoker."
James Holman elbowed Nicholas in the ribs. "Isambard's right – we have plenty to be grateful for. We're going to see the world. We'll sail great ships across the ocean and have all sorts of adventures. Don't you want to go?"
"What I want has had no bearing on my life since my father disowned me. If I stay in London, I'll be a pauper. My money will run out sooner or later, and none of the engineering sects will take on an apprentice without family money. I'm not like you, James. I've had quite enough danger and adventure in my life already, thank you very much—"
"Out of my way, Your Lordship." Henry Williams shoved Nicholas into the wall as he pushed past, pulling his dragon Mordred behind him on a thick chain. Nicholas smarted at the nickname – given to him by Henry because Henry couldn't understand why anyone who was the son of a Lord would come to live in the Engine Ward of his own volition.
Henry Williams was also a Stoker – one of the "Dirty Folk," as the Londoners called them – but he was the favourite son of an important Stoker family – a long line of dragon-hunters. Nicholas hadn't met Henry's brothers – the priests Oswald and Peter and Henry's twin, Aaron – but he'd heard enough about the Williams family from Isambard to know he didn't want to.
When the Stokers first moved to London from the swamps, Henry's father had given him the juvenile swamp-dragon as a pet. Henry, who liked the fear the three-foot-high dragon invoked in his fellow Stokers, took Mordred everywhere, including places dragons shouldn't go, like on this field trip.
Mordred looked up at Nicholas with wide eyes, and Nicholas felt the familiar sensation of the creature's thoughts sliding into his own head. The dragon loved Henry, despite the rough treatment he received, and his mind hardened with determination to protect his master from the beam engine, which he perceived as a large, shiny predator. The noise and the steam inside the pump house clouded Mordred's senses, and that terrified the dragon. Every muscle in Mordred's body was poised for danger, and that unease was now mirrored in Nicholas' mind.
Nicholas reached out a hand to pat Mordred's snout, sending a calming thought back to the dragon. He hadn't told anyone in London about his sense, – his ability to hear the thoughts of animals as if they were his own – not even Isambard or James, his closest friends. It had cost him too much already. He'd chosen to come to the city – to cloister himself in the world of machines – to escape the voices and the pain they caused.
"Don't touch my dragon," Henry snapped, yanking Mordred's chain back so hard the creature yelped in protest.
"He's not technically a dragon," said James, clutching his books close to his chest. "Dragons have wings in all the books. And breathe fire."
"Those are make-believe dragons. English swamp-dragons stand on two legs, have cold skin, and could bite you in half with one—"
"Boys." Master Brunel rapped his stick against the metal platform. "The engine is up to full-speed now – six and a half rotations per minute. Would you like to go down and have a closer look at the condenser?"
James shook his head. He didn't share the others' fascination with machinery, especially if it involved descending into the bowels of an unflinching engine.
"Well, if you're too scared to come closer," said Henry, "hold Mordred for me. He won't fit on the platform."
James looked stricken, but he held out his hand, and Henry pressed the lead into it. Mordred stared at his master, confused.
"I want to look at the engine," said Isambard. "Nicholas, you should come down with me."
Reluctantly, Nicholas followed Isambard and Henry down a narrow ladder onto an even narrower platform, suspended just above the main cylinder. Above his head, the beam made another rotation, driving down the piston and sending up a cloud of steam that soaked his clothes in sweat.
He peered over the railing into the bowels of the machine, struck by the elegance of its simple function, and the simple line and symmetry of the frame. Beside him, Isambard leaned even further out, his face alight as he took in every rod, every cylinder, every bolt.
Master Brunel came up behind them. "Now, boys, who
can tell me how the condenser works?"
Behind him, James shouted. Something heavy jerked the platform sideways and crashed against Nicholas' ankles, slamming him against the railing. His vision spun, his scream caught in his throat as he swung out, dangerously close to the piston. The platform jerked again, and he fell back against the metal grating beside Isambard. Blood gushed from a cut in his friend's cheek.
"Where's Henry?"
Nicholas spun around, just in time to see Mordred, dragging his chain behind him, leap across the lurching platform, desperate to reach his master. How had he got free? The platform lurched forward as the dragon bowled into Henry, who sailed into the railing and toppled over the edge.
Nicholas grabbed the railing to steady himself as the platform lurched again. He pulled himself along the railing and peered over the edge. Henry, his face white with fear, clung to the outside of the railing.
His arms straining under his weight, Henry managed to pull himself up and hook his feet over the edge of the platform. Nicholas inched along the railing and extended his hand to Henry, just as a stray thought entered his head.
No, Mordred, No!
Nicholas tried to grasp the creature's mind, to stifle Mordred's thoughts with his own, but he was too frightened, too weak. Mordred's mind slipped through his and the dragon bounded across the platform again and leapt at his master, knocking Henry off the platform and sending him sailing onto the piston rod just as the beam came down.
Blood splattered Nicholas' face, clouding his vision. He couldn't hear Henry cry out over the slam and hiss of the engine as it tore the boy to pieces. More blood flowed over the platform, but the machine did not stop, heedless to the cracking of bones and the sizzle of blood and flesh dripping into the condenser.