by Jasmine Walt
Jacques' scream echoed from every metal surface. The men holding Nicholas cried out, slackening their grip as they took in the horrid scene.
As quickly as it had come upon him, the dragon's mind left Nicholas, expelling with it the gleeful rapture to hunt. He fell to his knees, his head devoid of thought, his body without sensation.
The dragon swung his head up again, bones cracked, and the scream was cut off abruptly. The men seemed frozen, unsure of what to do. With a final heave, Nicholas freed himself and took a step across the swinging platform toward Brigitte.
Brigitte got on her knees and crawled across the grating – now slick with Jacques’ blood – to collect Nicholas in her arms. The scent of her – warm with sweat, and very much alive – slowly brought him back from the blur of his thoughtlessness. He clasped her to him and pulled her down, shielding her body with his in case the dragon should return for another meal.
Jacques’ men, their confusion giving way to terror, fled back the way they'd come, only to find the corridor blocked with Isambard and two of his Boilers, short hoses attached to their blow-off valves. Isambard reached behind and pulled a lever, and a shower of scalding water met the men, sending two of them sailing over the crumpled railings to meet their deaths twenty feet below. The dragon growled, snapped its teeth, and the men no longer screamed.
One man remained twitching on the grating, his chest, arms, and the right side of his face turning as the scalding water worked its way through his skin. His screams resonated around the chamber, like some horrifying spectacle of industrial worship. Isambard stepped over his writhing body, and the Boilers simply rolled over him, mangling his corpse into a bloody pulp.
The Presbyter's face appeared before Nicholas, his mouth drawn in concern. Isambard's hand – always impossibly cold, despite the heat in the room – cupped Nicholas' forearm. "Go back up the ladder to the room," he said. "The Boilers will take care of our friends here."
After helping a shaking Brigitte up the ladder, Nicholas clambered back up himself, his thoughts slowly returning, and the full horror of what he'd just seen finally reaching him. The way that dragon had risen up from deep in the Wall, filling his mind and body with its malice. The sensation of feeling what it felt as it closed in on its meal. The sound it made as its teeth closed around Jacques.
"Great Conductor be praised you both are safe," said Isambard, swinging himself up the ladder after them. "I'm only sorry I didn't arrive sooner."
"You arrived perfectly on time," Brigitte said, gathering her torn skirts around herself and burying her head in Nicholas' chest.
"I brought you that blade for a reason," Isambard said, pointing to the rapier still lying in its scabbard against the wall of the room. "You should've guessed he'd come down here after you."
"But how could he know we were here?"
The Presbyter's eyes darkened. "Stephenson has been helping him, which means Jacques had access to the extensive network of Navvy spies operating throughout London. One of them would've seen Buckland bring you here, or me coming to find you."
"And the dragon? Why are you keeping a dragon inside the Wall?"
"He was a present from Quartz and the Stokers in the swamps. The King wishes only to keep the dragons out of the city. But I wanted to understand why they desired to come here in the first place. If the Council caught wind of my experiments, it would be the end of me, so I hired Buckland and set up workshops inside the Wall, so he might conduct his experiments without interruption—"
"What experiments? Why the sudden interest in biology?"
Isambard smiled. "Your friend Buckland once said something that stuck with me – that if man ever wanted to create the perfect machine, he had only to look toward a living body. The intricate workings of vessels and veins, the heart like a great bellows, pumping blood around the body, the reactions and behaviours of the four humours … these are machines created by the Gods. If I can understand them, think of what I too can create."
Nicholas crossed the room and shone the lamp into the corner. "There's a vent here," he said. "And this goes out across the gangway and down to the floors below. Your dragon must have caught the scent of men from his pen." He pressed his hand against his temple, remembering the sensation of the dragon inside him, but one look at Brigitte's tearful face and Isambard's glazed, faraway look told him it was not yet time to reveal his secret.
A bang and crash outside revealed the dragon was still wandering around under the gangway. Isambard picked up the sword and made to return down the ladder. "I must see to my dragon," he said. "The cages will need reinforcing."
"I mean no disrespect, Presbyter," sniffed Brigitte. "But we've had quite a fright, between our fight with Jacques and that dragon … all that blood .… But now there's no question Jacques is gone. I wonder if you think it safe for Nicholas to return to his home?"
"Of course," he offered his hand to her. "I forget, sometimes, that there are more pressing matters than my engineering projects. With Jacques dead, Stephenson has no argument against you – at least, not one that will hold up in court. He certainly won't risk the lives of any of his Navvies. I will have two Boilers watch your lodgings – did I tell you they can now be set to perform basic guard duties? – and you should be safe in the city."
James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished
I crouched in one of the sculpted flower beds that lined the road leading to the King Henry VIII gate. The sun hadn't yet risen, and a crisp breeze rustled through the leaves. Fresh dew dripped onto my trousers, much rumpled from my night's sleep on the scullery floor. Beside me, little Cassandra held my hand tightly, her breath coming out in nervous gasps. Rebecca clutched my other hand, her warm fingers stroking my palm.
"I see him," Miss Julie said, from the branches on the other side of me. "Quiet now, we mustn't alert him to our presence."
A night sleeping next to the cellar door and listening to the snarling below had convinced me I could not have escaped that way, but Miss Julie's plan was no less foolhardy. "A farmer from the village comes every morning at 5am," she explained as she roused me from my fitful sleep. "He brings a delivery of fresh blood from the abattoir, stored in barrels to prevent suspicion. The blood feeds the Sunken, though they are never sated. That is why they snap and snarl so, all day and night. The farmer unloads the barrels and loads the empties, then leaves by the same entrance. But tomorrow when he passes through the gates, we shall all be hiding inside the barrels."
"But why would they feed the Sunken on this, of all mornings?"
"You don't know the strength of them! If they're not fed before they're moved to the train, they'll tear apart the carriages before they're even out of the station," Miss Julie said. "I heard the Prime Minister place this morning's order with my own ears. Hurry, we don't want to be late!"
Her original plan had relied on her either bribing or threatening the man into allowing them to hide amongst the barrels. Having met Miss Julie, I could immediately see that she had great skill in both these areas. But with me joining their party, we now had another option.
"Here he comes," Cassandra whispered, squeezing my hand.
The wheels rolled past, slowing as they rounded the corner toward the castle. Miss Julie sprang up, and raced after him.
Seconds later, I heard the thud of a familiar rolling pin, and something warm and heavy was pushed down beside me. Miss Julie and her girls worked quickly, tossing the unfortunate man's garments into my arms. "Quickly now." Hands yanked at my sleeves and grabbed at my buttons.
I pulled on the man's coarse clothing, bundling my lieutenant's jacket into his satchel and covering it with his paper-wrapped lunch. I left my other clothing items in the garden, and climbed up on the footplate. My three passengers had already concealed themselves inside the barrels. It was up to me to drive them from the grounds without attracting suspicion.
And therein lay the plan's greatest flaw. I'd never driven a carriage in my life, nor indeed even ridden a horse, and to begin now
, a blind man charged with rescuing not just himself but three plucky ladies who'd placed their lives in his charge, had me paralysed in fear. I sat for some minutes, the reins slack in my hands, the horses snorting in impatience, wondering how I could possibly manoeuvre the carriage through the garden complex without attracting suspicion.
"Mr. Holman, you really must get a move on." The muffled voice of Miss Julie from the barrel behind me jolted me out of my stupor.
"Of course, of course." I clenched my fists over the reins and pulled them toward me. The horses sprang to life, jerking the carriage forward so hard I nearly slipped from the bench. Steadying myself, I held the reins loose in my fingers, focusing on the tugging as the horses trotted away.
"Steady now," said Miss Julie from inside her barrel. "If we dash away the guards will think something's amiss."
I found the clop of the horses' hooves against the wide path served the same purpose as the tap of my walking stick, and I managed to navigate down the path toward the gate without running over the flowerbeds. I was just beginning to enjoy myself when Miss Julie hissed at me to stop the carriage.
"We've reached the gate," she said. "A guard is approaching on your right."
Panic rose in my throat as I pulled the reins up, bringing the horses to an abrupt halt. Heavy footsteps approached the carriage, and I felt the weight shift on the axles as a man leaned against the footplate.
"What do you think you're doing, aye, chappy?" barked a Royal Guard. Stray droplets of spittle splattered against my cheek. I fought to keep my voice calm as I spoke my answer. "I'm returning these barrels to the abattoir—"
"Not today you ain't. No one leaves the castle grounds. That's a direct order."
"But—"
"I'll draw this sword on ye if I have to."
"Lieutenant Robbins, what seems to be the trouble?"
All the swagger left his voice as he replied, "Nothing, sir. This man, sir, he wants to leave the castle grounds."
"Well, is he a servant of the King or isn't he?"
"I'm a farmer," I cut in. "I deliver barrels from the abattoir every morning, and I'm returning—"
"Let him through," the officer barked. I let out the breath I was holding.
As I bent down to pick up the reins, the officer's voice rasped close to my ear. "When you're outside, give those horses hell, do y'hear? Don't stop no matter who comes after ye. I aim to save one life at least today."
"Thank you, sir." I picked up the reins and drove the horses forward, listening to the clop of their hooves against the cobbles. I sensed the great arch of the gate and we drove under it, then the turn in the road as we passed over the threshold of the castle and continued down the hill.
"Are we outside?" came a muffled voice from behind me.
"Ssssh!" I strained my ears to listen. The gate hadn't been locked. I could hear the soldiers arguing. I drove the horses into a trot.
"We need to turn right at the—"
The thunder of hooves erupted from the gate behind me, followed by the clap of a cannon that landed on the road beside the carriage, cracking the cobbles and starting the horses into a run. I grabbed the reins and gripped them tightly, and behind me Cassandra screamed as the carriage tore around the corner at speed. Two of the empty barrels tumbled out and crashed against the ground.
Hooves beat toward us, single riders, probably cavalrymen with rifles and sabres. They would overtake us easily. Another cannonball buckled the ground beside us, and my own horses squealed in protest and careened off the path. We bounced over green lawn, and I gripped the reins as tightly as I could. I had lost all control – we were completely at the mercy of the horses.
Miss Julie threw off the lid of her barrel. "They're gaining on us!" she cried. "Quick, toward the village. If we dump the carriage we may lose them in the crowds. Cassandra, Rebecca, get out of those barrels."
My teeth clattered together as we rumbled over the rough ground. We rattled over a steep drop and landed hard on a cobbled road, the wagon groaning in protest. Men yelled obscenities at us as they swerved their vehicles to avoid a collision. Miss Julie clambered in next to me and tore the reins from my hands.
Hooves pounded on either side of the carriage. I heard a swoosh as a blade hissed through the air, missing my head by inches. I pulled myself down, pressing my head against the dasher, hoping Miss Julie could keep us on the road.
Our carriage swerved hard right, and a horse cried out in pain as our wheels collided with its flanks. I heard the crunch as the rider was thrown to the ground. "Sterling work, Miss Julie!" I cried. That only left one more soldier, the man who swung his sword wildly, and who now drew up beside us for another swing.
"Use this!" Cassandra passed something flat and heavy to me – a barrel lid. I flung it at the man, and heard him yelp, but he didn't give up his pursuit. "Hand me another." I cried. She dumped another in my hands and I lobbed it in the direction of the man, hoping to knock him off his horse.
I heard a crunch, followed by the sound of splintering wood, and our entire carriage pitched violently to the left, toppling me bottom over bootstraps onto the hard ground. I landed on top of Miss Julie, and the wooden ash of our flipped carriage landed on top of me, pinning us to the earth.
"What do we have here?" It was the voice of the young lieutenant. "I recognise both your faces. You're the kitchen maid, and you're one of them Windsor Knights. Well, your escape attempt didn't fool me. It's back to the castle for all of you."
I cried out in protest, begged them to take me and spare the girls, but they heard none of it. Rough hands grabbed me, bound my arms, threw me into the back of a carriage and sent us all back up the hill. Miss Julie lay beside me, warm blood from a wound in her face trickling onto my sleeves. Neither she nor Rebecca uttered a word. Cassandra wailed, clutching her hand, which they had broken.
They took us in through King Henry's Gate, but instead of returning us to the castle proper, they took a meandering path through the garden, down toward the southern corner, ‘till I had no doubt in my mind where we were headed.
The carriage stopped. I knew at once we were in grave danger.
The smell hung thick in the air – blood and piss and excrement, and the unmistakable tang of rotting flesh. But it was the sound that turned my blood cold – a chorus of animals, snarling, hissing, barking, fingers clawing at each other in their frantic attempt to crawl closer to us.
"What have you brought me, Lewis?" a familiar voice asked. Joseph Banks, the Prime Minister, leaned against the carriage and rapped his stick across my back.
"We found these four trying to escape, sir. I figured you'd best know what to do with 'em."
"Right you are, Lewis. Bring them down to the pit."
Hands grabbed us again, and pulled us out, threw us on the ground. I tried to stand, but the butt of a rifle slapped me across the face, and I fell to my knees, whimpering. I could hear them, smell them. The Sunken – hundreds of them, in a pit only a few feet from me. Each one had once been a person, but the sounds the emanated from that hellish pit were not the sounds of men. Miss Julie landed beside me, and she reached out and felt for my hand.
"The girls first," said Banks, as his men wrenched Cassandra and Rebecca high in the air and tossed them, screaming, into the pit.
I tried to stopper my ears, to take my mind far away, but I could not turn away from the screams of those girls as they were thrown down to the beasts. The Sunken pounced, and their howls enveloped the screams as they supped their full. Cassandra's scream rang out. Every tear of her flesh, every squelch of her innards pierced by their bony fingers, every snarl as they fought over the morsels of her body reverberated off the sides of my skull. I forgot myself in my panic, giving my body over to my terror. Something warm ran down the side of my leg, and from my mouth spewed forth an incoherent stream of delirium.
Someone kicked me in the head, and I toppled over, unable to bear up my own feeble weight. Miss Julie's hand was torn from mine, and she yelled at me to b
e brave as they heaved her over the side. The Sunken took much longer on her, as if the delights of her ample body should be savoured.
One of the soldiers leaned over beside me. "They're not clawing the sides anymore," he said, puzzled.
"That's what the flesh does to them," Banks said. "They get lethargic once they've had their full. I remember the day I came down with the body of the Crown Prince and two of His Majesty's other children. They could hardly move at all after that feast!"
"That won't do," said Lewis. "We're meant to keep 'em somewhat stimulated before they go on the train. I don't want my own self to be thrown in there amongst them for disobeying orders."
"Very true, very true," said Banks, thinking. Behind us, up at the castle, a horn sounded.
"Time to move out, lads," Banks said.
"What about this one? Shouldn't we—"
"Toss him in the train with the others," said Banks. "He'll be in the hands of the Sunken soon enough."
Chloe watched Aaron pacing the length of the magazine, his face twisted into a ferocious scowl. She sat at the table beside William Stone, her shoulders knitted with tension, watching her husband as he made that silent trek from one end of the narrow room to the other. Above their heads, the engines purred, the familiar vibrations punctuated with a new sound – the low rumble of more Boilers entering the tunnels, making their way to the workstations abandoned by the Stokers.
She was prepared to admit to herself that she was afraid of Aaron. Ever since Brunel had been made Presbyter, her husband drank more than ever. He came home with wild eyes and strange ideas. His advances, which had once been tender, were now fuelled by a kind of inner fury that made her dread their nights together.
After only a night of self-imposed imprisonment, he seemed ready to snap at any moment. She feared he had become utterly lost to her – his mind consumed by hatred for Brunel. William met her eyes across the table and she knew he shared her fears.