by Rod Duncan
“Just a warning,” said Fabulo.
Yan nodded. In one movement, he tossed all three knives in an arc, as if he would juggle them. But instead he snatched them from the air, one after the other. The bull man braced himself for attack, switching his grip.
That was his mistake. Or perhaps it saved him. Yan’s arm shot out. The knife that had been at Tinker’s throat jumped as if it were alive. It clattered to the floor. Then everyone rushed forwards and all was reversed. Yah held a blade to the bull man’s throat. Tinker broke free and ran to my side. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my breast. His every limb was shaking. I pulled him closer, feeling a pang of emotion so strong that my heart put in a double beat.
The bull man’s knife lay on the floor, the tip of one of Yan’s blades embedded in its hilt.
I felt the boy’s muscles begin to loosen.
“Told you we’d be fine,” I whispered.
“Search him,” Fabulo barked.
Lara jumped to it. While Yan’s knife held him motionless, she patted around his huge shoulders and down his jacket, inside and out. She handed his pocket watch and handkerchief to Fabulo, then a bunch of keys, which Jeremiah took and began to examine in minute detail. Lara moved down to the bull man’s trousers. She frisked none too gently up the inside of his leg, the impact of her hand making him suck air through his teeth. Finally she yanked up his right trouser leg to reveal a sheath strapped to the calf, in which rested a second knife. This Yan took, testing its balance by tossing it from hand to hand.
Lara stood back and nodded.
“What’s your name?” said Fabulo.
The man’s eyes flicked from person to person, as if considering his options. “Chronis,” he said.
“Mr Chronis?”
“Agent Chronis.”
“What were you doing here?”
“Eating lunch.”
“It’s midnight,” said Fabulo.
“That’s when I have lunch.”
“He’s a night worker,” I said.
Chronis nodded. “Do you know you’re going to die?”
Jeremiah held up the bunch of keys. “What doors do they open?”
“I’ve given you my name,” said Chronis. “But I’ll not give more.”
“I could kill you right here,” growled Yan.
“If you must. But I won’t betray my vows.”
Fabulo made a shake of the head. “One more thing,” he said. “Are you the Custodian of Marvels?”
Chronis blinked rapidly, as if the question had caught him off guard. He closed his eyes and swallowed. I thought he was about to confess that he was, but instead he smiled.
Fabulo’s anger burst out in a shout. “Answer me!”
“My name is Agent Chronis,” he said.
Through this exchange, Jeremiah had been kneeling at the next door that barred our way. Now he stood and turned the handle. It opened onto another stretch of passageway. I was about to ask if he’d picked the lock, but saw him withdrawing one of the keys.
Once more we gathered our things and filed through, but slower this time because Yan had to manoeuvre Chronis through. Though unarmed, I didn’t doubt his capacity for destruction should he break free.
Jeremiah set to work unscrewing the end plate of the lock and disabling it as before. The machine noise had stopped. However fast we went, they’d been able to match us. I braced myself for it to start again, nearer and louder.
Instead, I heard a brittle hiss issuing from somewhere close by. Everyone but the locksmith stopped. I turned my head, trying to locate the sound. It was issuing from a small grille in the wall. My eye had passed over similar grilles in the corridors above. I’d taken them to be the covers of ventilation ducts.
I edged closer. The noise had been akin to dry sand being stirred. Now it changed to a sharp crackling, like gravel being ground under a boot. Then a man’s voice barked: “Attention Jeremiah Cavendish. Attention the performer known as Fabulo. Attention Elizabeth Barnabus. This is Agent John Farthing. You are instructed to lay down your weapons and surrender.”
CHAPTER 28
11.55pm
Alone among craftsmen, the bullet catcher must hide his skill. For, once glimpsed, the illusion would be gone forever.
The Bullet-Catcher’s Handbook
No magic could have amazed me so completely as Farthing’s voice issuing from the wall. In volume and immediacy he sounded close. Yet this impression jarred with the thin, metallic quality of the sound.
Fabulo’s eyes were wide. Lara held both hands in front of her mouth. Tinker pulled himself tighter against me. All were waiting for new words to break through the dry crackling.
“Best do what he says,” said Agent Chronis, his voice a dry whisper. Yan’s knife was still tight against his windpipe.
Jeremiah bent to bring his face close to the metal grille. His finger found the screws that seemed to hold it in place. But there was another detail I hadn’t noticed before – a button no bigger than a threepenny bit, flush with the rim and made of the same dull metal.
He was tracing the edge of it when the crackling changed and Farthing’s voice again barked from the wall.
“Attention, intruders. This is Agent Farthing. You must lay down your weapons. Failure to comply will result in lethal force being authorised.”
“It’s a speaking tube,” said Jeremiah. “Like on a ship. But with something else at work. Perhaps a fan to carry the words more perfectly.”
“And what of the lamps?” said Fabulo. “Do they work through tubes also? No. There are marvels here we’ve been denied. The Patent Office have been hoarding for their own good comfort!”
Farthing’s voice crackled through the grille: “Attention. Be aware that failure to respond will be taken as refusal. You have one minute.”
Fabulo spat at the wall. “Lethal force?” he shouted. “I’ll give you lethal force!”
“He can’t hear you,” said Chronis.
“Then how, by all the powers, does he expect us to respond!”
“You have to use the button.”
I prised myself free from Tinker’s arms. Fabulo nodded and I pressed it. The dry noise ceased.
“This is Elizabeth Barnabus,” I said.
I pulled my finger back and the crackling returned. Seconds passed, agonisingly slow.
“We’ll move on to the next door,” said Fabulo. “The bastard’s just trying to hold us up.”
“I’ll stay a while longer,” I said. “Lara, you’ve watched me. Could you work the machine if it’s needed?”
She nodded, grim-faced.
“You be careful, girl,” said Fabulo.
“I will.”
As they started away, I put my finger on the button again. “Attention Agent Farthing. This is Elizabeth Barnabus. Please respond.”
In my mind’s eye, I saw him standing next to a wall just as I was, his head bowed. He had said that we would meet as enemies, and here we were, the criminal and the agent of law. Yet there was something else. Behind and below the awful inevitability of the roles we were playing out, he was in pain. I’d heard it in his voice through the machine just as I’d felt it before in the darkened carriage. But, until now, I’d not understood his love for me with such blinding clarity.
There was a bitter irony in our situation. I found myself laughing.
Then his voice came through the grille. “This is John Farthing.” It sounded more intimate than before, as if he was whispering from very close. “Elizabeth? Are you still there?”
I pressed the button. “I’m here. And I’m alone.”
“Oh, what have you done!” he said. From the desperation in his voice, I knew he was alone also.
“I’ve done what I had to.”
“You must give up.”
“To be hanged?”
“At least that way there’s a chance.”
“It’s no chance at all.”
“Death penalties can be commuted, if you show good will.
Persuade the others, or… or come back and unlock the door.”
“So they can be hanged and I can spend the rest of my life in a prison?”
“It would be something!”
“Are you so desperate to save me that you’d have me betray my friends?”
He didn’t answer. In the distance I heard a door opening. There’d been no time for Lara to use the light machine, so one of the keys must have worked. If I didn’t follow soon, I’d be left behind.
I pressed the button again. “We have a prisoner,” I said. “Agent Chronis. I could persuade the others not to kill him, but you’ll have to let us run free.”
Seconds passed before he answered. “You have less to bargain with than you think.” His voice had returned to cold formality. “We have a prisoner also. I can authorise an exchange. But no more than that.”
“Who?” I asked, dreading the answer, for I already knew what it must be.
“She hasn’t told us her name, but she was driving the carriage that brought you.”
On hearing the news, Lara’s face whitened to ash. Fabulo was first to her side, doing his best to hold her upright, despite his stature. Then I took her other arm. Together we lowered her to the floor. She sat, face in hands, shoulders rigid, breathing too fast. I looked to Fabulo and knew that her reaction had been no surprise to him.
“His life must be worth more to them than that,” said Yan.
“They can’t bargain,” said Chronis.
“They’ll soon bargain if I leave them your ears to find!”
There was fear in the agent’s eyes. Enough fear for me to know he spoke the truth.
“It’s the law,” he said. “An agent’s life can’t be traded. They can only swap me for her because it’s not letting her go. There’s no way for you to get out.”
I looked to where Lara sat, bent forwards. Fabulo was rubbing her back and her breathing had slowed. “Let’s take the trade,” I said.
“Why?” asked Yan. “If there’s no way out?”
“We’ve got a bunch of keys,” I said. “While I’m holding them up negotiating, you can be pressing on ahead. In this place, who knows what you might find?”
Jeremiah let me through. “Good luck,” he said, then wedged the door ajar. Feeling intensely alone, I began to retrace my way along the passage.
All I’d said to the others had been true. By negotiating, I could slow our pursuers. They might try to grab me. That was a risk. But if they really believed we had no way out, there was nothing for them to lose in trading honourably. They would surely want to save the life of Agent Chronis.
All the minutes I occupied talking to them would be time my comrades could use. If we could find our way to the very end of the tunnels, we’d be in a stronger position. It was against the law for them to let us free in exchange for one of their own. The same might not be true to save the Custodian.
I had reached the door barring the passage ahead. The speaking grille was silent. I pressed the button.
“Attention, Agent Farthing. This is Elizabeth Barnabus. Please respond. We want to trade.”
I could feel my heart beating faster as I waited. Though my logic was faultless, that alone would not have been reason enough for me to take the risk.
The grille crackled.
“This is Agent Farthing. What do you propose?”
“You’ll have cut through to the next section soon enough. I want you to step through alone. I’ll do the same and we can parley.”
I turned the torsion bar in the lock, as Jeremiah had showed me and heard it click open. The noise of the cutting machine was suddenly louder as I stepped through. He’d also given me a sliver of wood, which I used to wedge the door.
“Don’t let it shut with you on the wrong side,” he’d said.
I advanced down the passage towards the noise. I could see sparks fountaining from the door ahead. Threads of smoke drifted close to the ceiling and there was an acrid smell in the air. With one final shriek, the machine pulled back. The engine noise subsided. Then there was a sharp impact and a rectangle of metal fell to the floor.
I stopped, feeling the queasiness of fear and excitement.
The door swung half open and John Farthing stepped through. There were other faces crowding behind him, but he turned and pushed the door closed again, shutting them out. Then he scooped up the rectangle of cut metal and fitted it back in the hole.
I’d intended to wait for him so we could meet halfway. But, as he closed the distance and I began to see the pain in his expression, my feet began to carry me forwards, one step after another. It was he that started running first. We threw ourselves into each other’s arms.
He held me.
For a moment, I knew nothing but the touch of his cheek against mine, the heat of him and the scent of his skin. I closed my eyes and pressed myself more firmly against his body.
“Elizabeth.” My name burst from his mouth.
“John,” I whispered back.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It should never have been like this.”
I don’t know how long we stood entwined. It may have been only seconds. The effort of will it took for me to pull away was like nothing I’d experienced before. We held each other at arm’s length. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, locked with mine. I stepped back.
“Remember,” I said. “Whatever happens next, what we just felt was real.”
He nodded, then looked down to the ground between us and would no more meet my eyes.
“It’s time to make the bargain,” I said, though speaking the words felt like driving nails into my own flesh.
“We have your driver,” he said. “You have Agent Chronis. Do you still wish to exchange?”
“Yes.”
“How do you wish to do it?”
“Can you control your men?”
“I can.”
“Then it’ll work. We each go back to our own side. You’ll send your prisoner walking towards us. When she passes the halfway point, we’ll send ours. But if he tries to grab her or if any of your men do anything stupid, then things will turn out bad. Do you understand?
“I do.”
“And do you agree?”
“I do. And I…” His words faltered. He was breathing heavily.
“What?”
“I must ask once more for you and your collaborators to put down your weapons and surrender. If you fail to do so, I’ll be obliged… be obliged to authorise lethal force.”
“I thought you’d done that already,” I said, then turned and walked away, though my legs and heart seemed made of lead.
CHAPTER 29
12.40am
The novice learns through ear, eye and mind. But to be a master is to weave your craft into muscle, sinew and bone.
The Bullet-Catcher’s Handbook
Yan held his throwing knives at the ready as we watched the exchange. Only when Agent Chronis had passed Ellie did he slip them back into their pockets. We pulled her through the gap and slammed the door closed.
“You’re safe now,” I said.
But Ellie was weeping and wouldn’t be consoled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry.”
We ran back along the passage then down yet another flight of spiral stairs, passing through three more doors on the way. Only one of them had been damaged by the light machine. It seemed that Chronis’s keys had speeded our progress. Each door had been wedged by Jeremiah. Once we pushed them closed behind us, he turned the torsion bar and they were locked.
When the others saw us, Lara ran and gathered her friend in her arms.
“I didn’t mean to be caught,” Ellie sobbed.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’ve ruined everything!”
“It’s the other way round. We were seen first. You were caught because of us.”
As they held each other, Fabulo beckoned me towards one of the side doors. “You’d better see this,” he said.
I followed him thro
ugh to another vast storeroom. Ceiling lights illuminated rack upon rack of shelves, receding into the distance. It was similar to the first storeroom, but the shelves were more closely packed one above the other. And where those shelves bore wooden crates, these were stacked with muskets.
The sheer scale of what I was seeing didn’t hit me all at once. I began to walk along the edge of the room, counting the racks. After ten paces, I gave up.
“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” said Fabulo, his voice a whisper.
“How many?” I whispered back. Somehow it felt wrong to let my voice disturb the air.
“Don’t know. Two hundred thousand? Three?”
“It feels like… a graveyard.”
“You got that too?”
He stepped across to the nearest rack and hefted one of the guns from its place. Dust drifted as he dropped it into my hands. “Your old man was a bullet-catcher,” he said. “What do you make of that?”
I rubbed my sleeve across the stock. It came away smeared black. Beneath the dust, the wood had a dull shine. The metal too. I could see no corrosion. “It was oiled before they stored it here,” I said. “I’d say it’s old. But the design’s strange to me.”
Fabulo turned it over in my hands. “What’s that?” he asked, tapping the barrel where it met the stock. A small catch projected from the gun. I pushed it and a section of metal sprung out, like a trapdoor, exposing a slot beneath.
“It’s a barrel breech,” I said, remembering what Professor Ferdinand had said. The phrase occurred sixteen times in my copy of The Bullet-Catcher’s Handbook. But he’d found it nowhere else, not in any book in any library.
“What’s a barrel breech?” asked Fabulo.
“It’s something the Patent Office have written out of history.”
“I mean, what does it do?”
“This gun wouldn’t be loaded through the muzzle,” I said. “It’s not like an ordinary musket. The bullet and charge must be slotted in here. Then the cover clicks back over it and they can fire.”