by Jasmine Walt
"Aaron." William addressed him, quietly, questioningly. "We can't remain down here forever."
Aaron spoke nothing in reply.
"We will run out of food in two days," said William. "And every hour we remain away from our posts, and those Boilers stoke our fires and tend our furnaces, is an hour closer to the end of the Stokers. We are proving nothing, except that those machines can do our jobs better than we ever could.
"Today they have taken over our jobs, but who is to say they aren't capable of expelling us from this place by force." Chloe shivered at the thought. "Isn't it time we returned to the Ward and tried to salvage what we can of our livelihood?"
"We are in the Ward." Aaron hissed his reply through clenched teeth. "We are in the heart of the Ward – the very soul of this cursed place."
"Our homes are up there—"
"I said no!" Aaron spun around and kicked the table across the room. Chloe shrieked and buried her face in William's shoulder.
"By Great Conductor's steam-driven testicles, Aaron, you're scaring your wife," William snapped. "You're scaring everyone. What do you expect? That we will stay down here forever?"
"We don't even know what's happened up there," said Chloe. "What about the Sunken? What about Nicholas and James and—"
"They threw their lot in with Isambard. What happens to them is not my concern. As for the Sunken – if they even do exist, let them feast upon this ungrateful city ‘till her streets are piled high with bones. Why should we care for them—"
"This isn't you. This isn't my husband talking … the man who has such empathy for every living being. What's happened to you?" Chloe angrily wiped fresh tears from her cheeks.
"Isambard happened to me. He turned his back on the Stokers, and on me, the minute he fired the first Boiler. He—"
"But he was your friend, your oldest and dearest friend, and you abandoned him when you could have been his one voice of sanity. You could've saved the Stokers, Aaron. You could have stopped Isambard, but instead of showing him a better way, you let your anger overcome you, and you hid down here and sulked—"
"I'll not be talked to like that—"
"Enough." William pushed his chair back. "I will go to Isambard myself, and I will see if I can make him understand the Stokers' position."
"No. I will go," Aaron said. He pulled his shoulders back, and took a deep breath. Chloe caught his expression; saw him battling the anger, pressing down his temper so it did not impair his decision. She stepped back, wiping her tear-stained face. Aaron would not let his anger override his concern for the Stokers. He would do what was needed. He was still the man she loved. "It was my idea to strike, to hide down here, and it was our leaving that has caused Isambard to issue forth the Boilers. No Stoker will be put in danger because of me."
"You will talk to Isambard?" Chloe asked. "You will find a way to end this?"
"I will," he pulled his coat close around his face. "But first I shall find Nicholas." Chloe glared at him. "No, you don't understand. I have treated him poorly, but I must show him what we're up against. I must help him understand what I've done here, why I did it. And together we might be able to stop Isambard before he destroys the Stokers, and London, and everything we hold dear."
James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished
The carriages were closed on all sides, without windows to let in air or light. Anyone who might see the train as she made her clandestine journey would not know the contents of her cargo – would not see the fear that spread like a fire through every inch of the claustrophobic space.
It was standing-room only – maids and Knights and footmen and cooks pressed up against each other in the darkness. I had secured myself a spot in the furthest corner, my back against the wall, hemmed in on both sides by the stooped shoulders of my fellow Knights. The other carriage – longer still, but no less cramped – contained the courtiers, priests, handmaidens and the King's private staff. No one knew what was happening or why they were being moved to the new court like cattle on the way to market.
No one except me.
My mind raced with the memory of those horrid creatures, trying to discern a way out of this mess. Nicholas and Aaron must learn what I'd heard – they needed to know that Brunel could not be trusted. I knew if I reached Buckingham Palace, I would not be able to leave again, but the door to the carriage had been padlocked behind us. Besides which, I didn't fancy leaping from a moving train at this speed.
The train rocketed over a rough stretch of track, and everyone lurched backward, slamming me against the wooden wall of the carriage. I heard a crunch and felt a cold breeze blow past my elbow.
A breeze …
I felt along the wooden struts, hardly daring to hope … but my fingers slipped through a gap in the wood. When building the wagons the Boilers must've malfunctioned – or a programming error had caused them to miss adding the rivets on three planks in this corner. Now, the clattering of the train at high speed had forced the planks apart.
Twisting around in my crevice, I grabbed the planks and began wriggling them free. The first flew off in my hands, sending me stumbling backward into a fresh round of grumbles from my fellow Knights.
With a swift punch of my walking stick, the second plank clattered onto the tracks below. Another couple of whacks dislodged the final plank, and a cold gust of wind hit my bruised face. I felt the edges of the gap I'd created, ensuring it would be large enough for me to escape through.
Aaron had told me that the locomotive would slow when it reached the city, for too much speed in the underground tunnels could cause a cave-in. Judging from the smell of soot and excrement on the breeze, we were passing through the outer boroughs of London. Sure enough, the train began to slow, the clattering of the rails spreading out, and the whisper of buildings whooshing by less discernable.
Paying no heed to the protests behind me, I dropped to my knees, creeping forward and ducking my head under the limber so I crouched, like a frog, on the edge of the wagon. I manoeuvred my stick through the hole and clutched it tightly in my hand, and listened to the pace of the train, trying to gauge a speed that would ensure my survival.
The wind on my face grew suddenly colder, and the sound of the train changed, becoming hollow and amplified, as if it bounced back from a surface close by. We must have entered the tunnel. Now was my chance.
I took a deep breath and launched myself from the carriage, landing hard on the track and rolling clear as the train clattered away into the darkness. The shock jolted up my legs and back, and I lay in a crumpled heap between the rails for many minutes, trying to calm my racing heart. Slowly, I pulled myself up to a sitting position, my fingers tracing every inch of my body, looking for cuts or broken bones, but I could find none.
Standing on shaking legs, I realised I could only just hear the low rumble of the train as it disappeared deeper into the tunnel. I had to hurry. Thrusting my stick in front of me and tapping it against the rails to hear my way, I set off toward the entrance at a brisk pace.
After a few hundred yards I found it, emerging into a damp ditch between two rows of tenements on the edges of metropolitan London. I slipped into the street and found my way to a coach house, where I dug out two shillings and paid for a cab to Nicholas' residence.
When I arrived Brigitte answered the door, her voice registering her surprise. "James? By the Gods, what's happened to you? I thought you—"
"I need to speak to Nicholas. Immediately."
"Of course. Come in. Aaron is here also. He just arrived." She held open the door, and I stomped upstairs to Nicholas' study while she fetched Nicholas. He entered the room soon afterward, followed by Aaron. He told Brigitte to wait in the kitchen, and shut and bolted the door behind her.
"James Holman, just look at your face, all battered and bleeding! I'm not even going to ask if you went snooping in the castle, because I already know the answer. The question is, what did you find?"
"More than I ever wished for, and I barely escap
ed with my life. Brunel was there," I said. "And Banks." Quickly I recounted the conversation as I remembered it. I told them of my foiled escape, the pit of Sunken, and my subsequent ride on the train. As I described the deaths of Miss Julie and Rebecca and Cassandra, I thought I heard a sob come from the hallway, but no one else acknowledged it.
"See?" Aaron said. "We've been blind, Nicholas. We both believed Isambard had no part in this."
"He could merely be referring to the safe transport of some other royal children," Nicholas replied. "I don't see how this proves any of your crazy notions—"
"There are no other children," I said. "Banks had them thrown to the Sunken. I heard that, too."
"And what about my men?" I heard a crash as Aaron leapt from his chair. "Benjamin Stone thrown from a building, and five others burnt to death—"
"This is ludicrous," Nicholas shouted. "We have no proof. Perhaps Brunel had no choice."
"I know what I heard, Nicholas. For whatever reason, Brunel is helping Banks smuggle the Sunken into London," I said. "And if we're all agreed the King bringing his lead children into the city would be a bad thing, perhaps we should stop debating the motives behind Brunel's involvement in it, and come up with a way to stop them."
"Have any of us even seen the Sunken?" Nicholas yelled. "Perhaps they're not what we assume them to be. We have the testimony of James and Brigitte, but James is blind, and his observations cannot be given full weighting in this matter—"
His words hit me with the force of a blow.
"—and Brigitte is young and vulnerable and afraid. She could have mistaken what she saw."
"You're mistaken, Nicholas, if you insist on blindly believing Isambard means well for England! The only person he's looking out for is Isambard!" Snarling, Aaron yanked open the door, and Brigitte, who had been standing behind it, eavesdropping, shrieked as he stomped past. Nicholas called after him, but the front door slammed. Aaron had already gone.
"You doubt my word?" Brigitte addressed Nicholas, her voice rising with every syllable. "You claim to love me and then call me weak?"
"Brigitte, I—"
"Don't bother." She stomped down the stairs. Another door slammed.
"Nicholas, perhaps you should sit down."
"I've had just about enough of this!" Nicholas thundered. "Isambard is a brilliant man who's brought this country naught but greatness. Why must you and Aaron be determined to drag his name into the sewers?"
"I'm not denying his contributions to engineering, Nicholas, merely reporting what I know. And what I know is that Brunel’s transporting the Sunken – dangerous, blood-starved creatures – into this city, a city now surrounded by a high iron wall. What I heard was Brunel making a deal with Banks, the very scoundrel responsible for popularising all this religious fervour and making himself filthy stinking rich into the bargain!"
"And I say Brunel is a good man, without malice or corruption. If he has done such a thing, it could only be without the full knowledge of its consequences, or because he had no other choice. But we could sit here all night and argue, or we could settle this once and for all."
"How?"
"I'm going to speak to Isambard." He rose from his chair and collected his things.
"What, right now?"
"No time like the present. Do you wish to join me?"
"Someone should remain here to watch over Brigitte. It's a dangerous city out there tonight, and she's rather distraught."
Nicholas sighed in exasperation. "If you must." And without a further word, he too was gone.
I went downstairs and knocked on each door ‘till I found one that answered, "Go away!" in angry, strangled sobs.
"This is James. You can let me in. Nicholas has left."
"Of course he has," she sobbed, opening the door and collapsing into my arms. "He's left me, because I am weak and vulnerable, and apparently, a liar."
"I do not believe he truly thinks those things."
She snorted. "He said them, didn't he? And after all we've been through. Oh, James, this man came to kill him, and he had a sword and Isambard rescued us and Nicholas said … he said—"
"You must understand how difficult this is for Nicholas. Tonight he has heard proof that his oldest friend and most admired colleague, the man who gave him work, sheltered him from harm, who saved his life, is involved somehow in the most heinous of crimes. He wishes so badly not to believe it that he seeks any way possible to invalidate the evidence before him, even if it means hurting those he loves the most."
"Including me?"
"Especially you. But he'll come around." I tried to suppress the tight fear gripping my chest.
"Where has he gone?"
"To confront Brunel. He needs to know, tonight, of his master's part in this plot."
She bolted upright. "If what you say about the Sunken is true, he'll be killed. We must go after him, James. You must talk him out of such madness."
"I have sworn to stay here and protect you, and protect you I shall. Besides, what chance would a blind man and a weak woman have that an armed man would not?"
"He took his barker?"
"I heard him slip it from its holster and stuff it into the pocket of his coat as he left. Evidently, even Nicholas Thorne, Brunel's most ardent follower, believes I might be right, and his master is up to no good."
"Isambard?"
Brunel looked up from his workbench, and he recoiled in surprise to see Nicholas leaning against the pylon, his features drawn into a worried frown. One of the Boilers had been moving crates from Brunel's workshop to the upper floors, and Nicholas had snuck down on the elevator as it returned for another load.
"I understand you're busy, but if I could have a moment of your time."
Brunel nodded, gesturing for Nicholas to have a seat.
"I'd rather stand, if it’s all the same. I must ask you something, and I beg you not to take offence."
"Speak freely, Nicholas, but make it quick. I have urgent business."
"I have … friends, who have informed me about the situation at Windsor, of the King's lead-soaked children. I trust you know of them?"
Brunel nodded.
"My friends, they say these creatures – dangerous creatures – are being moved into Buckingham Palace in secret. They say that you are responsible for this, that you built the Wall not to keep the dragons out, but the people in. They say … you have a deal with Banks, that you will be named Messiah if you deliver these creatures safely into London, and ensure no one escapes. Is that true?"
Brunel stared at him, unblinking.
Nicholas slammed his fist down on the workbench. "Is that true?"
Brunel held up his hands. "Yes, Nicholas, it is true, and yet also not true, for there is much you do not know."
"I would really prefer to know now."
"Yes, the lead children, the Sunken, they are real, and they are terrible. Ask Dr. Joseph Banks, and he will tell you how several years ago, back when he was a regular doctor and not the Royal Physician or the Prime Minister or the head of the Council or any of his other titles, he was called to treat the King for acute syphilis – you know of his indulgences down at the dockside. He prescribed a tincture of lead, twice a day, ‘till the pain subsided. But the King had an unusual reaction to the lead, and became as the opium addict, feral and crazed, desperate for greater doses of the metal. And it came to pass that he no longer craved food, or wine, but only the acrid taste of lead. You saw his condition with your own eyes – the sunken skin, the boiling welts upon his flesh, the snarled teeth and the bulging, monstrous eyes. And this fetish led to another, even more unthinkable, abomination: the taste for human flesh."
Nicholas recoiled, his mouth agape.
"The King took unfortunates into his chamber – at first, he sought street walkers and homeless men, cripples and condemned prisoners, starved and weak. But then, he began to take those of his own household – footmen, soldiers, maids. Some he tore limb from limb, their screams muffled in his darke
st chambers, and the bodies buried by his guards. Others he took as his own, feeding them on lead and flesh and locking them away until they became as mad as he. The Sunken is an apt name for these unfortunates – the children of the Vampire King."
Nicholas thought of Brigitte, all alone in that castle, her pretty features marked for that fate. Anger bubbled within him. "And how did you become embroiled in this madness?"
"Because of the Wall. I was so pleased to win the contract; I ignored the signs of his approaching madness until it was too late. And with Banks' power to make or break my career, I admit I made several ill-advised decisions. By the time I had grasped the situation and had seen the King's lead children with my own eyes, I had made a contract from which I could not extract myself.
"Yes, I constructed the underground railway for a nefarious purpose. Yes, today we have moved the Sunken into Buckingham Palace. But if you were in my position, you would have done exactly the same thing. By earning the King's trust, I've been able to remain in favour, and thus, I have access to Buckingham Palace via my own underground passages. I have the means – should I wish it – to commit the ultimate treasonable act."
"You mean—"
"If I wished it. We are, of course, speaking hypothetically." He moved down his workbench, inserted a fresh plate into his press, and arranged the symbols of the code Nicholas and Aaron had invented. He pulled down the handle and handed the newly inscribed plate to Nicholas.
Nicholas stared at the message, his heart pounding. Brunel outlined his plan in the coded message. What they were about to do was treason, and Brunel wasn't taking a chance that one of the King's men might be listening to their conversation.
"When will this—"
"Tonight. It must be tonight. Go out to the streets and find us a cab. I'll meet you outside the Chimney in a few minutes."
Nicholas tucked the plate in his pocket, shook Brunel's outstretched hand, and left the chamber.