by Jasmine Walt
A crowd of Stokers had gathered, blocking all entry points to the square. Many of the women were crying as they recognised the body of Benjamin, and Aaron could hear Oswald toward the back, yelling for reinforcements, trying to get everyone to return to their homes.
"You're all in danger!" Aaron yelled, as heads turned toward him.
"Listen to me! Benjamin Stone didn't fall from this roof. He was pushed, and by one of Brunel's own priests." A ripple of disbelief coursed through the crowd, while Oswald, hemmed in by the press of people, roared his defiance. "It's true – and more Stokers will die if we allow that locomotive to run!"
William grabbed his wrist. "Aaron, you're scaring them."
"They should be scared. William, you have to listen to me. We're in danger – all the Stokers who worked on the railway, the locomotives, and probably the Boiler teams, too. Oswald will return with reinforcements – maybe constables, maybe Redcoats – and if they catch you, you'll end up like Benjamin. We need to gather the men and their families and hide them outside the Ward, or in the deepest, darkest tunnels. Warn everyone they're not to trust the priests, or any of the authorities. Gather what weapons you can."
"What about you? Where are you going?"
"Isambard threw me out of the Ward, and he'll not allow me to live much longer if I remain, but I have friends outside who can help us. I'll be back as soon as I can, and I need you to be ready."
"What will you do?"
Aaron's face was dark. "I need to find out how deep this goes."
"Aaron, I don't understand what this is about. Why have we left Engine Ward? What happened to poor Benjamin Stone? And why in Great Conductor's name are we disturbing this man in the middle of his supper? Aaron, answer me!"
Ignoring Chloe's protests, Aaron dragged his wife up the steps to Nicholas' house and hammered his fists against the door. His blood pounded behind his eyes.
Chloe tugged at his coat. "He's probably already left for the sermon, and besides, he won't hear us over the rain. We could return tomorrow—"
"What is the meaning of this?" Nicholas flung open the door. One sleeve of his pressed white shirt dangled, armless, from the neck of his half-buttoned frock coat. With his free hand he thrust out a candle, his mouth turned up in surprise. "Aaron? What are you doing here? The sermon starts in an hour—"
"That's exactly what I said," Chloe muttered, forgetting her manners. Aaron shot her a filthy look.
"We've been thrown out of Engine Ward."
"We have?"
"Quiet, woman! Nicholas, I need to speak with you about Isambard."
Nicholas gestured to his dangling sleeve. "I'll speak to you later. I'm already running late."
"This cannot wait. One of my men has been murdered."
His face grave, Nicholas ushered them inside, took their coats, and hurried them upstairs. Brigitte passed them in the hall, her hands tangled in her hair as she forced it into place with pins. She cried out as Aaron barrelled past, pressing herself up against the wall so he wouldn't upset her dress. Her eyes met Nicholas', and he shrugged.
Nicholas ushered them all into the dressing room. As he held open the door for Chloe, he met her eyes and gave her a sympathetic look.
"I welcome the pleasure of your company once again, Mrs. Williams," he said. "Even if it is under such perplexing circumstances."
"The honour is all mine, Mr. Rose. It is good that we acquainted ourselves on a previous occasion, since Aaron has not been so kind as to introduce us. And this must be Brigitte—"
"No time for that," Aaron snapped, marching back and forth across the dark room. Nicholas used his candle to light the lamps dotting the side-table, throwing an eerie, flickering light over his sparse furnishings.
"I don’t understand," Nicholas said, finally managing to pull his arm through his shirtsleeve. He set a bottle of brandy on the table. Aaron grabbed for it before Brigitte had even fetched a glass. "What has made you so upset?’
"Isambard. He's … you won't believe it—" Nicholas fixed him with a murderous stare. Aaron poured a mouthful of liquor down his throat, swallowed, and said, "He knew about the Sunken all along. He told me so himself."
Nicholas paled. "Aaron, this is your oldest and closet friend you're talking about. Are you certain?"
"He threw me out of Engine Ward! At best, he's a coward, and at worst, he's … inhuman. He knows the King plans to move the Sunken into the city. He has a plan to stop them, he says, but if it were true he would not have let it get so far. He knew, and he built the railway anyway. He let us both become a part of this. He made me build the railway with his cursed Boilers, and now Benjamin's blood is on my hands—"
"You must slow down. I can barely understand you. Have another drink. There, now, who is Benjamin?"
"One of my workers. He fell from a roof this evening, and died."
"So not a murder, then?" Nicholas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "In this weather, anyone could—"
"He was pushed. I saw a man up there with him." Aaron wiped his mouth, and caught Nicholas and Chloe exchanging a meaningful look.
"You don't believe me?" He leapt to his feet, throwing one of the glasses down on the table. Brigitte screamed as the shards rained down on the rug. Aaron balled his hands into fists, anger pulsing through his body as he stared down at his wife and friend. "My oldest friend evicts me from my home, my own brother points a gun at my head, one of my workers dies and you choose this moment to doubt my word." He glared at his wife. "Ask Mary Stone. Ask any of the Stokers. They all saw Benjamin die. There'll be trouble tonight, Nicholas, because word is spreading, and there won't be a Stoker alive who turns up to his post tonight."
"But that would mean—"
"—the entire Engine Ward will be unmanned, and unsafe. Isambard will have to call off his sermon. And maybe, maybe we can stop that locomotive leaving the Ward."
"You do realise how crazy you sound. You're talking about going on strike."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. It's high time all the engineers – Isambard included – realised the importance of the Stokers. Without us, the machines of this city will grind to a halt, and that's exactly what we intend to do. If Isambard won't stop the King from destroying this city, then I will. And you might think I'm as mad as George, but take these words to heart: if that train leaves the Ward tonight, you must flee the city, with or without Isambard."
From the look on Nicholas' face, Aaron knew he hadn't convinced him. "Well," he said, slowly, measuring his words. "I see that you've set your fate in motion. If you'll excuse me, Aaron, Chloe, we have a sermon to attend." He gave Aaron one last, cold stare, and left the room.
"Slow down, Aaron. I can't—" Chloe tripped over her skirts again, stumbling across the thin gangway and narrowly missing colliding with one of the overhead pumps.
"We have to act before Nicholas tells Isambard of our plans." Aaron didn't stop, couldn't stop. He dropped her hand so he could run faster, but sure enough, as he bolted across the gangway that bridged the next bank of pumps, he heard the clatter of Chloe's footsteps behind him. That's why I married you, he thought. Because you never give up.
The day shift men were still at their posts, preparing the fires of the evening's work. Voices filtered down through the air shafts – the muffled conversations of the men and women who crowded the streets above, with no idea what was stirring below their feet. Some of the men called out to Aaron as he flew past, but he didn't answer. He had to reach William, had to find the other men, to get them to safety.
Another pair of footsteps clanged behind him, and a rough hand clamped down on his shoulder. "It's too late," said William. "You're too late."
Aaron whirled around. "What do you mean?"
"Five of the lads worked the day shift down in C Deck. I thought it odd when Oswald swapped them all to work together, but I never questioned—" He shook his head.
"They're dead?"
William nodded. "Pipe burst – not half an hour after you left. We
've got some lads down there putting the fire out, but the men working there, they can't have survived—" He choked on his words.
"It might have been an accident," said Chloe.
"Aye, it might've been. But I checked those pipes myself but yesterday. And not one of them had a crack. The only thing that could cause one to burst like that was—"
"—if it had been sabotaged," Aaron finished. William nodded again.
"It's just you, me, and the two Nichols boys left from the railroad crew, an' all the men who worked on the locomotive. I've gathered who I could find an' hid 'em in the battery. Word is spreading through all the teams, and ain't no one man who wants to stoke the fires tonight."
"And no man should have to."
"What do you mean? What do you propose we do?" asked William.
"The only thing we can do," said Aaron. "The Stokers are going on strike."
Nicholas didn't know Aaron's secret passages into the Engine Ward, so he and Brigitte had to navigate through the crowded streets. After an hour of frantic shoving and squeezing, they were barely inside the gates. Nicholas looked up at Stephenson's cathedral to check the time, and at that moment, every street lamp in the Engine Ward flickered and went out.
The crowd erupted into confusion. Women screamed. Brigitte squeezed his hand, and Nicholas pulled her closer to him as the panic swelled around him.
We're too late.
Nicholas knew all the lamps in the Ward worked on a centralised system. A pump fed oil through a series of pipes strung between each lamp. The lamps were lit at the beginning of the evening and would, as long as the oil pump was maintained, burn all night long. The Stokers were in charge of monitoring the oil.
All around him he heard machinery crunching and seizing. The ground below him shook as pumps shuddered to a stop. Two of the chimneys behind the Cathedral belched out great clouds of black smoke, and a fire erupted from a nearby sewer grate, causing the crowd to surge back in alarm.
The panic spread through the crowd in moments, and the situation quickly became dangerous as the people pressed in on all sides, moving back toward the gates. Nicholas wrapped Brigitte in his arms and turned with the crowd – he could do nothing except move with the surge.
On their right, another fire burst from the vents, engulfing a Metic priest in yellow flames. He screamed and tore into the crowd, the flames leaping from wool coat to wool coat and singeing hair and blistering skin. A gap opened as people struggled to get away from the blazing man. Brigitte screamed, but Nicholas saw his chance.
He made a beeline for the Chimney, pulling Brigitte along behind him. Even in the darkness and confusion he could find it easily, for he had been there many times before, and it was lit with strings of flickering candles that still glowed brightly.
He strode up the steps and charged through the open door, startling the crowd of people huddled inside. He pushed through them ‘till he saw Buckland, and he dragged Brigitte over to his friend and flung her into his arms.
"Brigitte, Nicholas? Is something the matter?" the biologist said, resting his hand on Brigitte’s hair. She let out a great sob, and Nicholas felt his heart breaking. He wanted so badly to stay with her.
"A man caught on fire right in front of us," he explained. "The scene has left Brigitte quite shaken."
"A fire? I'm told something is amiss outside in the Ward."
"It's Aaron. He's done something stupid. Could you take Brigitte, please, and keep her close to you? Don't go outside – in fact, the safest place to be is probably right inside this church. I have to find Isambard."
"I saw him behind the altar not two minutes ago."
Pushing through the crowds of nobles and Council members, Nicholas ducked behind the altar and slammed his shoulder into the heavy door. Isambard, Oswald, Peter, and the other priests looked up from where they had been praying.
"Nicholas." Isambard stood. "You're early. We were just—"
"How dare you—" Oswald spluttered.
Nicholas crossed the room in two strides, ducked behind the tapestry of Great Conductor, and located the hidden lever there. He pulled it back, and the metal panel obscuring the window slid back, revealing the darkness beyond.
"The lights are out!" cried Oswald.
"And the gate mechanisms, too," said Nicholas. "And every engine and pump room from one end of the Ward to the other."
"By Great Conductor's steam-driven testicles," Isambard swore. "What has happened?"
Nicholas opened his mouth to explain, but the door flew open and an acolyte slumped against the frame, struggling to catch his breath. "The men, sir," he said. "They're all gone."
"What?"
"I've checked the locomotive shed, the Boiler factory, the engine rooms. There's not a Stoker in sight. Old Foxy who looks after the Metic shrine says Aaron told him the Stokers were going on strike. He said they won't work while they mourn those who died last night."
"Aaron? He's not meant to be inside the Ward!"
"Apparently, that message wasn't clear enough," growled Oswald.
"And that burst pipe in C deck hasn't helped matters." Added the acolyte. "The pressure in furnace rooms C and D is already critical. I've shut the fire doors, but that'll only force the fires up the ventilation shafts. There are blockages in most of the western conduits. If we don't get the Stokers down there soon, the whole Ward's going to be an inferno—"
"Stokers? No, Stokers are useless. We don't need men," Brunel growled. "Nicholas, Peter, go to the Boiler sheds and get as many stoked up as you can. Send them down to the furnace rooms. Oswald, I saw Stephenson arrive with a regiment of Navvies. Go and talk to them. Tell them there's a half guinea per man for any they can spare. And keep quiet – the King shall be here tonight, and I don't want a word about this getting out!"
In the 1780s, when construction of the network of tunnels beneath Engine Ward began, the design included a series of "safe rooms" – small magazines equipped with stores of food, water, blankets, and lamps, where the workers might go during a cave-in or other disaster to await rescue. As the tunnels expanded, many of these old magazines had been forgotten, save by the Stokers, who made it their business to know every inch of the Ward.
It was in these magazines that Aaron hid the men, women, and children who had dropped their tools and followed him into hiding. As they descended the levels, more and more workers raced from the furnace rooms and joined the exodus. They'd already packed as many as could fit into the magazines under furnace rooms F, G, and K, and Aaron was settling the remaining people into the deepest magazine, under the westernmost corner of the Ward.
The constant vibrating of the walls subsided as men abandoned their posts and streamed into the magazine, coming up from the furthest furnace bays under the Metic churches and the abandoned Navvy camps. The lanterns flickered and went off, but Chloe found a box of Argands and a few matches, and passed those around. Aaron found a crate of salted meat and a few bottles of some foul-smelling concoction, and shared those around, too.
"Are you certain we should hide here?" asked William as he fell in step beside Aaron. "We don't have enough food or water for all of us."
"Each magazine has enough food for thirty men for ten days," said Aaron. "We have many times this number, but we're not trying to last for weeks down here – we're making a point."
"Shouldn't we be marching through Engine Ward instead of hiding under it, and waving signs about and such?" asked Chloe. "When the Metics wanted to be recognised as an official English church they marched around Somerset House for a month, with signs and banners and all sorts—"
"—and the King had his guards open fire on that crowd," said Aaron. "If they want to dispel our protest, they'll have to find us first."
"And what if they simply lock us down here?" William asked. "Shut up all the entrances, block the vents, and suffocate us to death?"
"I know Isambard. He wouldn't allow it." But even as he said that, Aaron felt a chill run down his spine.
As
Nicholas ran after Peter toward the Boiler sheds, an avalanche of voices seemed to fall inside his head. Each individual voice was faint, as if the animal were reaching out from behind walls of iron, but together the whispers formed a cacophony like none he'd ever heard. Get out! He yelled silently back at them. I've no time to worry about you now.
Nicholas flung open the door to the Boiler workshops, and was taken aback by the rows of flat metal faces that glared back at him, unmoving, like dolls waiting to be dragged away by children. The deeper into the shed he ran, the louder and more frantic were the voices in his head. The pain of these animals was so intense that he slowed his step, his vision dotted with red as though he himself suffered the same torture.
Why are you calling me from such a distance? Why are you in such great pain? He guessed one of the furnace rooms deep below the workshops had already been compromised, perhaps engulfing a compie nest. Maybe the creatures were running through the pipes, inhaling smoke and losing their way in the flames. He tried to focus on one voice, to see through its eyes, but they were too far away, too faint.
Shaking his head in a vain effort to dislodge the voices, he searched the shed for the tools he needed. "Hurry!" he yelled at Peter. "Grab shovels and wood."
Like any furnace, the Boilers needed a long time to heat up to full capacity. Luckily, Brunel had ordered that several be kept stoked up constantly at a low temperature, in case they were needed for an urgent job. Forty-five units lined the sloping metal belts in front of the coal pit, steam rising from their twin chimneys and snaking along the iron rafters. The shed held a further two hundred Boilers, a number that had never made Nicholas feel uneasy until he was forced to look into the rows of their unseeing faces. Shoving his hands into thick gloves, Nicholas flung open the belly of the first Boiler and began to shovel in more coal.