by Dave Butler
“A butcher’s,” Charlie said. Nobody laughed.
Charlie heard muttering and scraping sounds. “Charlie,” his bap said, “I must tell you something.”
“Aye, tell him everything,” Gnat agreed. “Only get this sack off my face first.”
“It’s about what you must do when you escape,” Bap continued.
“I’ll help,” Ollie offered.
More scraping sounds, and shuffling, and then Gnat gasped.
“We’re in a tunnel,” the pixie announced. “I think an unfinished train tunnel. There are tracks.”
“I can feel that,” Ollie agreed. “Right in my back.”
“There’s a door, the one we came through. And the tunnel ends in a wall in one direction, and bars in the other. Close together; I’d not be able to squeeze between them.”
“Not a very good train tunnel, then,” Grim snorted.
“The Iron Cog must have barred off the end of this unfinished section,” Charlie’s bap guessed. In the darkness his hand found Charlie’s and squeezed it. “Is there any other way out? And is there anyone watching us?”
“One of the sets of bars has a door in it. ’Tis shut with a lock. There’s nobody else here but us…except…”
“What is it?” Charlie asked Gnat. His arm gave a twitch, sudden and herky-jerky. That had never happened to him before. He must be tired.
“There’s folk beyond the bars,” Gnat said. “Rotten-smelling, nasty folk.”
“Rats?” Ollie asked. “We can handle rats.”
“They smell like dust and dead flesh,” Natalie de Minimis answered. “Ghouls.”
Mr. Pondicherry squeezed Charlie’s hand again. “I have to tell you something.”
“Bob can pick that lock,” Ollie said. “Or a snake could get through.”
“They stole my tools,” Bob complained, “so I don’t think I could. An’ if there’s ghouls, I don’t think I want to. An’ you don’t want to either, mate. Not alone.”
“If it was the only way out?” Grim pressed.
“I think it is the only way out,” Gnat said.
“What is it, Bap?” Charlie asked.
“Remember,” Mr. Pondicherry said. “If anything happens to me, and if you can escape—”
“I’ll go to Cader Idris,” Charlie answered, “in Wales. I’ve got a good memory, Bap.”
“Good,” Mr. Pondicherry continued. “So you remember I told you to find Caradog Pritchard? He’s an old friend of mine. He’ll help you.”
“Yes.” Charlie’s arm twitched again. He tried to ignore it, but he felt out of sorts. “Is it true, Bap?” he asked. He knew the answer, but he hoped his father would deny it. “Am I like her? Like that Queen Victoria?”
“No.” His bap laughed. “No, Charlie, you’re a good boy. And you’re nothing like her. That Queen Victoria the Iron Cog have made, it is a thing. It is nothing more than a thing. They’ve made her to obey orders, and that’s all she can do. That’s the plan, you see? They will replace the real queen with a fake queen, who will do everything they tell her.”
“I’m a natural boy,” Charlie whispered, but he didn’t think that was what his father was really telling him.
“You, my boy, you are different. You don’t obey orders. You have a good heart, and you want to do right, but you have a hard time obeying.”
“That doesn’t make me a good boy,” Charlie objected. “That makes me naughty. I get in trouble for that. I get pinches.”
Mr. Pondicherry chuckled. “I try to keep you safe,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around Charlie and gave him a hug. “But I can’t really be angry with you, Charlie. I made you that way. I gave you a good heart, and I made you just a little bit disobedient. I did it so you would never make my mistake and follow orders when you shouldn’t.”
Charlie’s legs jerked this time, kicking straight forward. He wasn’t sure how to feel about what his bap was saying. So he was a machine. But his father didn’t hug the Articulated Gyroscopes.
“I don’t want a good heart,” he said. “I don’t want to be disobedient. I don’t even want to have adventures anymore. I just want to be a real boy.”
A shuffling sound. Someone was standing up.
“You are a real boy,” Charlie’s bap said, and hugged him tighter.
“A natural boy,” Charlie insisted. “I want to be like you.”
“You are like me, Charlie,” Mr. Pondicherry said. “Handsome is as handsome does, and that makes you a very handsome boy. How many boys could have organized a rescue party like this for their father?”
“Is that a light you’ve got there?” Gnat said. Charlie barely noticed the question. The only real thing in the whole world was the hug that held him tight, and that hug held a tiny bit of a lie inside it.
Wrapped in his father’s embrace, Charlie felt his father’s pipe in his pocket, squeezed against his side. He should give it to him now.
Charlie’s legs jerked.
“Oh, no!” his bap exclaimed. “Haven’t you been winding Charlie?”
“Winding Charlie?” Ollie asked.
“His mainspring!” Bap said.
“ ’Oo knew as we ’ad to be winding ’is mainspring?”
“Is that a gun?” the pixie asked. There was a sudden fluttering of wings.
A light snapped on in the darkness. Charlie couldn’t see the source. Then his legs kicked spastically again, and the violence of the kick threw him out of his father’s arms.
“Charlie!” Mr. Pondicherry wept.
“Come on, Raj,” said Henry Clockswain. Charlie’s vision was jerking like his body now, but he thought the voice came from behind the bright light that shone on him. “Don’t make a fuss. Let’s go get the queen ready for her Jubilee.”
There was a terrible moment of silence.
“You…Henry? You’re with the Cog? Henry Clockswain, my friend?”
“Heinrich Zahnkrieger,” the kobold said, and he pronounced the name with a foreign accent. Charlie’s hearing was also starting to splinter into nothing. “Thank you very much for telling me how to find our other missing engineer.”
Charlie’s bap scrambled to his feet.
Bang!
Brick dust fell onto Charlie’s head, and a bullet whined away into the darkness.
“Don’t make me shoot anyone,” the kobold said. The door creaked open, letting in more light and men with swords. “Come along, now.”
“But…but Charlie,” Mr. Pondicherry objected.
“Really, Raj,” Heinrich Zahnkrieger said, “I thought you would have realized by now that I don’t care about your Charlie.”
Then Charlie fell, into darkness and silence and nothing.
Charlie opened his eyes to darkness.
His father had been taken from him. Again.
“He’s awake,” he heard Gnat say.
“Charlie, you there?” It was Bob’s voice. “What do you remember?”
“I’m not a real boy,” Charlie said.
The darkness felt absolute. It was dark inside Charlie.
There was an awkward silence.
“ ’Ere now, that ain’t right,” Bob said finally. “You’re a real boy, same as me.” She chuckled. “Maybe even more of a real boy than I am.”
Charlie didn’t laugh, even though he knew Bob was telling a secret joke, just for him. “You don’t have to be wound up or you stop working.”
“No, but I ’ave to eat, drink, sleep, an’ breathe. I think if I ’ad a choice, I might rather be a wind-up boy.”
Bob’s words only made Charlie feel worse. A cruel trick had been played on him. How was it even possible? He didn’t have to eat or sleep; he knew that was true now. He had thought of himself as a boy who didn’t sleep much and didn’t eat a lot, and now he knew that his father had given him food only so they could share the experience of eating. And at night, while his father slept, Charlie had only rested between reading books because he thought that was what one did.
But Cha
rlie could smell; he could taste—machines didn’t do those things.
He had feelings. The brass door owl in Pondicherry’s Clockwork Invention & Repair didn’t have feelings, did it? Did Lucky Wu’s steam presses have feelings? Did the Sky Trestle?
Still, Charlie knew he was just a thing. In his heart he’d known it since Bob and Grim had tried to tell him, outside Cavendish Hats, but he’d refused to face the fact.
Only, he didn’t have a heart, did he? He had gears.
Charlie sobbed. His weeping sounded harsh and metallic to his own ears.
“ ’Ere now.”
Charlie felt a hand patting at his side, and then an arm wrapped around his shoulder. In the darkness he felt Bob hug him and kiss his cheek.
His bap, Charlie thought. Charlie might not have to eat, but his father had shared food with him anyway. His father had called Charlie his son.
Charlie’s bap had never treated him like a thing.
And his bap needed to be rescued.
Charlie shuddered, tried to clear his thoughts. “What time is it?”
“Grim, show me the watch again.” It was Gnat’s voice. Scuffling sounds. “ ’Tis half two.”
“Two thirty in the afternoon!” Charlie exclaimed. “We’ve lost the morning!”
“Two thirty in the morning, mate.” Ollie’s voice was gentle, for Ollie.
Charlie was stunned. “But that means that…today is the Jubilee!”
“And the progress flotilla and the garden party.” Grim sighed. “And yesterday was the bar exam.”
“What happened? Why have I been…uh…knocked out so long?”
“Easy, Charlie, you ain’t missed anything,” Bob told him gently. “We ain’t seen nobody nor nothing since your dad and Clockswain left.”
“Rotten little kobold,” Ollie growled.
“Aye,” the pixie agreed.
“Spent time looking for any other way out,” Grim added. “There is none. And we debated whether we should, ah, wake you up. Might have been kinder to let you…sleep.”
“At least Charlie ain’t hungry or thirsty,” Ollie grumbled.
“An’ then it took a long time to figure out your mechanism, Charlie,” Bob finished. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it any faster, but I ’ad to do it in the dark, with the pixie telling me where to put my fingers.”
“My back rubs. That’s what bap was doing when he massaged my back, he was winding my…mechanism.” Charlie focused. He had to get out and save his father. “There are two doors, right?”
“One’s barred, and I’ve already tried to knock it down,” Grim said. “No good. The other is locked. Can’t break it, either.”
“An’ I ain’t got my tools,” Bob finished. “Clockswain ’ad ’em taken from me, I guess, since ’e knew I could pick locks. Must ’ave been giving ’is boys directions while I ’ad a bag over my ’ead. Filthy kobold.”
Ollie laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “Now you see it my way.”
“What do you need?” Charlie remembered seeing Bob pick the lock of the maintenance door on platform thirteen. “Two long pins, right?”
“Yeah. Sounds like nothing until you ain’t got it.”
“And if you open the door, what then?” Grim pointed out. “We’re unarmed, and on the other side of that door is a passage full of ghouls.”
Charlie had an idea. “How smart are ghouls?”
“Motleys are as dim-witted a folk as Britain ’as,” Bob informed him. “I reckon as they’re somewhere between a stupid dog an’ a really clever turnip.”
“Still terribly dangerous,” Grim said.
“Motley fool, ghoul,” Charlie guessed. “Do they have language?”
“What, like English? Not as I ever ’eard.”
“Maybe they can be tricked. Bob, do you know how to open me up?” Charlie had an idea. In his own head it sounded crazy, but it was the only idea he had.
“What?” Bob sounded startled.
“Maybe there are pins inside me you could use to pick the locks. Could you stop me, open me, use any pins you find to pick the locks, and then restart me again?”
If he was a thing, Charlie thought, at least he could be a useful thing.
Bob considered the question for a few moments. “Probably. With Gnat’s ’elp, yeah. But why?”
Charlie explained his idea. He whispered, just in case the ghouls could understand.
Afterward there was silence.
“I don’t know,” Grim said.
“But do you have any better ideas?” Gnat asked, and there was silence again.
Charlie laid himself carefully facedown on the ground. The rough gravel of the railroad bed dug into his face and hands. “Right. Get going, Bob.”
—
Charlie opened his eyes to darkness again. He smelled troll stink, strong. That was good; that meant that Grim had done his part.
“Any luck?” Grim’s voice called. He sounded far away.
“His eyes are open!” Gnat answered.
Charlie heard an explosive sigh of relief. “Charlie!” Bob said. “Charlie, can you ’ear me?”
“Yes,” Charlie said.
“Thank ’eaven! I thought I might ’ave killed you!”
“You can’t kill me. I’m a machine.” Charlie sat up. “Did it work?”
“Yeah, the gate’s open,” Ollie said. “Grim’s holding it shut right now.”
Charlie heard pawing and snuffling noises. “Grim, are you all right?” he called. “Are they attacking your hands?”
Grim laughed, the sound booming loud in the prison. “Trying. If they were taller, they might succeed.”
Charlie stood up slowly. “I smell like a hulder,” he said. “How about everybody else?”
“I rubbed my coat on all of you,” Grim said.
“Yeah, we all smell like cows now.” Ollie laughed. “It’s making me hungry for steak and kidney.”
“I ’ope this works,” Bob added. “If it does, Ollie, I’ll buy you a pie.”
Ollie laughed dryly. “And if it don’t, we’re all food for the motleys.”
“Which way to the gate?” Charlie asked. “No sense waiting.”
“Turn left and walk in a straight line.”
Charlie turned, stepped—
and stumbled. He fell to the ground.
“What’s that?” Ollie asked.
“Something’s wrong with my leg,” Charlie said. “My left leg is…it doesn’t work the same.”
“The ’eck!” Bob cursed.
Ollie muttered darkly.
Charlie climbed back to his feet. He stepped again, slower this time.
Once more his left leg buckled, but this time he was ready for it and didn’t fall. He took a few experimental steps. “I can walk.”
“I twisted one of the pins,” Bob said. “They’re brass, not steel, an’ not really made for sticking into locks. I’m so sorry, Charlie; I mucked it up.”
Charlie kept walking, carefully. He could move all right, but it would take some getting used to the way his legs worked now. The right one functioned just like it always had, but the left one was jerky. It moved in quick lurches. As he picked up speed, he became lopsided, like a rickshaw with one enormous egg-shaped wheel and one tiny round one.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Bob repeated. “Your dad’ll fix you up in no time. Or maybe I could do it, I reckon, with decent tools.”
“Good.” Charlie kept lurching forward.
“Come on, lads,” the pixie called. “This way.” Charlie heard the scuffling of his chimney sweep friends standing up behind him, and the grinding of their boots on the gravel under the tracks. “Left, Ollie,” Gnat called, directing the sweeps.
Just as Charlie had worked up enough confidence to move at something like a walking pace, he smacked into Grim Grumblesson’s back.
“Be careful,” Grim said. Charlie heard snuffling and scratching noises, very near. “Don’t get any closer to the
bars, not just yet.”
“Sorry about the pin.” Bob was still apologizing as she caught up.
“It’s okay, Bob. Now we’re all injured. It’s only fair. And if my plan doesn’t work, three minutes from now it won’t matter anyway.”
“Here are a couple of rocks.” Grim pressed them into Charlie’s hands. They had a comforting weight, and one of them had a sharp edge. “I wish they were a brace of pistols.”
“Thanks.”
“Be careful,” Gnat told Charlie.
“ ’It ’em ’ard,” Bob agreed. “You know, after they munch on you a bit.”
“If you’re wrong,” Grim said, “yell for help. We may be able to get you out.”
“If I’m wrong,” Charlie disagreed, “then I made you unlock the gate for nothing, and you’re probably all doomed. So if we don’t talk again, then I’m sorry, and thank you. You’re all brave, and you’ve been very good friends to me.”
“Just good client service. Ha!” Grim rumbled.
“Think nothing of it,” Bob said.
“No worries, mate.” Ollie’s voice was as gentle as Charlie had ever heard it.
“Get on,” Gnat added. “Enough of the chitchat. In five minutes we’ll all be racing down that passageway and clapping you on the back.”
“Right.” Charlie felt good. He was happy to be surrounded by friends. He was almost happy enough to forget that his bap was a prisoner and that Queen Victoria was hours from being replaced by an automaton, which would then turn around and massacre a group of foreign leaders to start a war. Also, he almost forgot that he himself was most likely about to be torn to shreds by ghouls.
Almost.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Five,” the pixie said. “Still in the morning.”
“You ready?” Grim asked.
“Let’s go.”
Grim roared. The noise was shatteringly loud. At the same time, the troll swung a big rock across the bars, sending up a row of sparks and a deafening clang-ng-ng-ng-ng!
In the weak light of the sparks Charlie saw the faces of the ghouls. Although they were his size, and roughly his shape, they looked totally different. They were naked, with leathery skin and big white eyes. They had big ears too, and practically no noses. Their mouths were enormous, and bristled with teeth like inside-out hedgehogs.