Brass lamps also burned on either side of this second door, making it appear as if its mercurial surface was on fire. This had to be the cargo door. Perhaps if she found out what cargo they were carrying, she would have a clue as to what was going on.
The first lamp seemed to stare at her like an eye as she passed. But if it was an eye, then the door was a mouth and it would devour her if she opened it. Yet in a way she had been already eaten whole, rattling around in the belly of the steel snake that was the train. She had willingly travelled down its gullet.
Snakes were predators, but they were also prey, to everything from cats and boars to birds. If the Engine wanted to throw something else at her, it certainly could. In the belly of a snake. She grinned, wryly. James, she was positive, would never appreciate the analogy, but would Charles?
She took a deep breath then placed the tips of her fingers on the door handle. Cold prickled up the length of her arm. Her breath came in noisy heaves as she squeezed back the lump of fear in her stomach, lifted the latch then teased the door open a fraction.
Radiant white light blazed along the crack. Bits! She slammed the door shut. This was a data train! Argh, of course! The payload of the data train was bits! That arrogant ass and his puns! The last thing she wanted was to be attacked by any more, so she whirled around. And squealed.
A silvery ball was racing furiously towards one end of the corridor. Its desperate efforts to flee left zigzagging tracks of gold burning upon the air, long after it had passed.
It must have escaped from the compartment!
But the corridor was sealed. There was no escape for the ball. Both she and it were in an enclosed space, and sooner or later — more likely sooner — at the speed the ball was travelling, it would end up crashing into her.
Petrified, she shrunk against the wall.
The ball veered recklessly away before impacting the closed door. It made a tremendous zap noise and then bounced off and zipped past her.
She flattened even further against the wall.
It crashed into one of the lamps, extinguishing the flame before it pinged off again. This time, it angled straight for her.
Before she could react, it grazed the hand she held over her face. Berd flinched as its tiny feet snagged against her fingertips. The taste of charred metal stung the tip of her tongue. Her mouth opened in a scream, her eyes widened in terror, her muscles clenched in anticipation of pain, but to her amazement, there wasn’t any...
Instead light, glorious shimmering light blossomed like a rose before her.
Knowledge.
Illumination.
Exploding like a firework within her brain.
Tiny truths twirled, star-like, through her loose hair, whispering in dulcet harp notes before winging off like comets as fast as Hermes.
Her hand fell limply to her side.
Intelligence. Understanding. For a split second, she knew everything. Nothing was beyond her.
The brightness drained away and she was herself once more, only duller, humbler. After the brilliant performance, the shining metal passageway seemed dim. She squinted as her eyes adjusted.
But she was not the only one trying to escape. Something buzzed by her feet, spinning in smaller and smaller circles, trying to burrow its way into the floor. She picked it up, cradling it in the palm of her hand. The ball hummed vigorously, tickling her — an electrical firefly in the last throes of life, barely larger than a tennis ball, gasping.
Whatever it was, it was more than a bit.
Berd pulled open the passage door she had come through and slowly slid it out into the next passage. It trembled and then as if it had found new strength, flew off. Hopefully one of them would be successful in their escape attempt.
Charles had said this was a data train. Data. This must have been how the Engine passed data from one section to another. Or, even within a section. What the ball had shown her was surely a sample of the knowledge the Engine held. No wonder she had felt intelligent. This was possibly what a computerised future would bring: knowledge on hand.
But the ball had been larger than the bits and contact with it held no pain. This must have been what Charles had been trying to show her only he had confused the attacking bits with these spheres. But what of the doppelganger...
She brushed her tongue across her teeth. This was no dream. She would not be waking up from this. When she saw Charles again, if she saw him again, she would have a lot of questions. But would he tell her the truth and would she be able to recognise it if he did…
Berd shut the door and padded down the passageway before stumbling into the next carriage. Her steps grew heavier. Shadows grasped at her. Though she had been in trains before, she had never experienced this nightmare. In the trains back home, opening doors did not lead to disaster, to being electrocuted, or to being killed.
She eyed each lamp she passed, unable to blink in case she missed some significant change. When she gathered the courage to proceed, she would turn back to stare, to make sure the lamp had not transformed into something gruesome once her back was turned.
At the door of the eleventh carriage, Berd paused. If she had expected to find something, she was not disappointed. Here was proof finally. Evidence.
Two voices drifted from the eleventh carriage.
Strangely, both voices sounded like Charles.
Bitter disappointment mixed with anger filled her at this discovery. He had said there was no twin, but here he was, deep in conversation, with whoever the second figure was. This was simply more confirmation he had lied.
Yet, though he had shown himself not for the first time to be untrustworthy, she was disappointed.
It made no sense that it should matter so much to her.
Chapter Nine
SOMEONE WAS CONVERSING with Charles.
Whoever the speaker was, he was on the other side of the door. Leaning in, she found the second voice to be identical, like one person having two sides of a conversation. It had to be the doppelganger.
Berd’s heart raced as she wrenched the door open, but instead of hard yellow lamplight, soft golden rays poured over her. What she saw almost caused her heart to stop.
She was seeing the whole of the bright green enamelled computerscape through which the train travelled. At the same time, she was also seeing the whole of the interior of the carriage. In some spine-chilling fashion, the outside had flowed into the inside. Her breathing quickened and her stomach twisted, and she clung desperately to the lintel as if clinging onto reality, as she gaped at the ghostly outlines.
Berd took a moment to let all the information filter in, like with the ball of light, and the secret came to her. And she decided that it was not meant as a trick after all, but simply a whim of the Engine’s creator.
She was looking at the last carriage or, more correctly, through it. Except for the floor and door, the last carriage was composed entirely from glass: the four walls, the door opposite, and the roof, a thick glass dome. Just like the elevator.
Only, here everything vibrated gently, thanks to the rattling motion of the train. This was what had given her the initial uneasy feeling. She felt more exposed than if she was riding in an open-top carriage, and was not sure if she liked it. A single glance revealed everything, and yet nothing.
The sole piece of furniture in the carriage was a lime-green Chesterfield perched in the middle of the room. It blended effortlessly against the verdant backdrop as it faced the back of the train. A lone figure was seated in it. As she stumbled forward, the figure turned and stared at her.
Charles.
His gaze lingered on her face, before he stood and gestured elegantly to the opposite end of the sofa. “Ah, princess, didn’t you find your cabin suitable? I’m afraid we can’t offer first class accommodation.”
If this was a joke, she was not impressed. Berd glared at him, and he shrugged good-naturedly. The tension in the air was palpable as she scanned the carriage.
She had heard vo
ices nearby, so it had to be a trick: an illusion, or a portal. It was impossible for anyone to duck out through the opposite door without being spotted. No one clung to the dome outside. No carriage followed. Yet the second person had disappeared. Again.
The uncanny feeling in her stomach doubled. She forced her voice to remain steady, and for her face to show no fear. “I heard voices.”
“All the way from your cabin?” Charles’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “You must be tired, princess. Or did you find a pea under your mattress?” He patted the sofa accommodatingly. “I suggest you take a seat.”
Furious, she remained standing. “I want answers, Mr Fotheringay. The truth.”
He met her gaze, his eyes smooth blue seas. “When have I not? You make it sound as though I have been lying to you all along.” He actually appeared wounded.
“You said we were leaving.”
His mouth tightened as if she had accused him of lying. “We are.”
“But we can’t be. The sign said the train was heading towards the Store.”
“We are leaving and it is,” he said, full of confidence.
She almost stamped her foot. “Leaving to where.”
Charles shrugged. “Very well. As you keep on insisting, I will tell you. We are stopping by the Store to get the settings we need. That way, when we leave, we don’t end up blowing ourselves up.”
The sod was actually serious. She stared at him, unsure if she should believe him.
“If we don’t escape soon, we will find ourselves trapped in the Engine forever.” He held out one hand, calculating as he ticked off long, elegant fingers. “We have 202 battery beasts. According to my calculations, we need 100 each at least in order to leave. Remember, it’s not one person, but two to attempt this journey. That’s 200 beasts all up. The Engine uses the energy from one battery beast a week.
“I give us a week to ten days with the energy from the two spare battery beasts. Then we start eating into the energy we need.”
She had wanted answers. Now she had them. Her voice was thin when she spoke, “Can’t the battery beasts be topped up?”
He smiled patiently. “I triggered the first lightning strike. A year later, you triggered the second. Do you envisage that happening in the near future?”
Again the sod was right! Even though the Engine was now hooked up to the lightning rod, there was no guarantee that there would be another lightning strike. “But if we have two hundred, couldn’t one of us at the very least go first?”
“Then try to get the other out?” He gazed at her searchingly. “Would you trust me to go first? Or say you went first. Would you know what to do to get me out? Or what if, as we speak, the Engine is being sold for scrap? Or worse, dismantled.”
That was true. If she knew James, he would get rid of the Engine immediately, or perhaps even dismantle it. She still had problems forgiving James for having their home renovated when their mother passed away. His reason was that it hurt him to live in a house where almost everything reminded him of Mother.
Berd pressed one hand against her chest, in hopes of quelling the pain within. It was in vain. The trouble was everything Charles said made sense.
“Do not worry, my lady.”
She looked up to find his gaze locked upon her, intense.
“If it does come to that, I have made the decision that you will be the one to leave.”
There was no reason that he should do that. Especially when she had told him she didn’t trust him. Such an accusation did not normally make for cordial relations.
As if exhausted, he sank onto the Chesterfield. “What happens when the Engine runs out of energy?” he muttered, gazing out the glass dome.
She stared blankly at him, thinking he was asking her, but then he answered his own question.
He sounded almost comfortable as he said, “When the Engine runs out of energy, it will die. And if we are in it when it dies, we die with it.”
***
For a long time, Berd stared out the glass dome, seeing the endless emerald computerscape as the train chugged on.
When the Engine runs out of energy, it will die. And if we are in it when it dies, we die with it.
If anybody knew what it was like to live within the Engine as it slowly ran out of energy, it was Charles.
He was seated on the opposite end of the lime Chesterfield and gazing into the distance.
“Is there nothing else we can do?” she asked.
He looked at her, and she thought his eyes appeared unfocused. Then he blinked, and the brilliant blue clarity returned to them. She must have been mistaken about the earlier green, but it made no sense why she could never tell what colour his eyes were.
“We’re doing everything we can. At the Store, we’ll get the settings needed to ensure our safe departure.”
“Why did you not tell me of this earlier?”
He cocked one brow. “How could I? We know the Engine allowed us both to enter successfully. Leaving the Engine, however, has never been done. I was willing to sacrifice all to get out of this place at a moment’s notice, but suddenly, with another person here, it feels like I must question everything again. I could not give you my uncertainty, as that was not what you were asking for.” He shook his head. “I don’t wish to find I’ve left something out of the equation and thus jeopardise the endeavour.”
“Were you ever going to mention it?” she persisted.
“Of course! But following the encounter with the bits, had I told you immediately, I doubt you’d have believed me.” He paused and scratched a brow. “I felt perhaps after a little rest you’d be in the right frame of mind.”
Charles probably thought because she was a woman, she would not be able to handle the strain.
But it was all too much, though she doubted it was because she was female, judging by Charles’s appearance. She had been sucked into an engine and was now dealing with what was the supposed ghost of said engine. Most people would have gone mad already. No, she simply needed time alone to process what was happening. Time.
“How long will it take us to do everything we need before we can leave?” she asked.
“About a day. Another day to get to the Output.”
Two days. If nothing went wrong. If the ground didn’t shake again. If blocks didn’t explode, and if they weren’t attacked by another swarm of bits. She wanted to be out now.
What else he was he not telling her, she wondered. She rose and approached the glass wall at the back of the carriage, some vague idea in her head that if she pressed herself against it, she might see a glimpse of the world outside the Engine.
Instead, she saw only her own troubled reflection.
Was she in the eye of the train looking out, or in an upside-down glass bowl? If so, who might be looking in? And why could she never catch sight of him?
Her breath formed a wall of condensation, hiding her like a fish behind its own bubbles.
She could see nothing outside but flat, green, enamelled emptiness unrolling to the computer’s horizon under a gold sky. Even the blocks were gone. It only she could see her world again with all its trees and mountains. Crush real grass beneath her feet, and smell its sticky residue in her hands...
She turned to Charles, who was draped over the couch, brooding. “To whom were you conversing to earlier?”
Charles set his shoulders, appearing determined to answer, but as he opened his mouth, the train whistle screamed. He sprang to his feet, holding one hand palm-up towards her, every muscle in his body tense.
Danger.
By the time he reached the door, she was right behind him. Just before he stepped over the threshold, though, he braced himself in the doorway. She ran into him full-body and he whirled on her in the moment of confusion.
The siren was so loud, she wasn’t sure whether he had actually shouted or mouthed the word ‘No’.
But he was a fool if he believed she would just wait here; she had seen the terror in his face. Though she ha
d made up her mind to escape without him, she would be an idiot if she didn’t find out the cause of the whistling. She had to know what was going on, or more precisely, what was going wrong.
He tried three times to turn her back.
She smiled daintily at each attempt, and in the end, she followed him.
As he hurried through the first freight car, he scrubbed his hand through his hair then threw his hand down in contempt. She thought a flash of sound went by her head, some curse of his, but comprehension was stolen by the siren’s shrill, which seemed to palpate the air.
Let him seethe.
As they reached the next car, she expected the whistle to stop.
It didn’t.
It shrilled on and on and on, shrieking through her head like a banshee, regardless of which car they were in. Regardless of time.
The train slowed.
Charles quickened his pace, flinging open doors in his path, and she, following through, neither bothered to shut them. And still the train slowed.
Each time they entered a carriage, she felt that the front of the carriage deliberately shot away from her, growing distance between her and Charles. By the time she entered the fifth carriage, she saw only the heel of his boot as he raced out the door to the next one. By now, her breath was coming in long gasps. She had to stop. Blasted corset!
She slowed to a brisk walk, digging her fingers hard into her side to ease the pain of the stitch. When she reached the sixth carriage, Charles was nowhere in sight.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She knew where he was headed. The Engine was obviously malfunctioning. That was probably the explanation for everything going wrong. No wonder Charles always looked haughty when she tried to ask him questions; he must think she was trying to find fault.
Insulting his Engine was insulting him.
No doubt he was proud of the Engine, and he had every right to be. He and his late father had come further than any other inventor, but it was clear the Engine still had a few flaws. A few bugs in it. She smiled at a vision of the battery bugs. The swarm of bits had to be a symptom of the Engine’s malfunction, an energy leakage.
The Ghost Engine Page 8