by Gareth Ward
Sin rubbed a hand across his chin. “Guess I’ll stay. Just to see how tough you are.”
The final grains of sand dropped into the bottom of the hourglass. Nobody else had left the ballroom. Sin guessed they were all like him and had nothing to lose, or were like Zonda and Velvet who already seemed to know what they were joining.
Eldritch spoke again. “From this point onwards you do not talk about COG to anyone who is not a member. This is a Cast-Iron Rule. The consequences of breaking it will be terminal.” He leaped from the dais, his coat billowing. A grin spread across his face. “No need to look so terrified. Nobody dies on the first day.”
CHAPTER 6
PIPE-WAY TO THE PALACE
The candidates thronged after Eldritch as he hurried through the staff-only areas of the hotel. Here, there were no aquariums or elaborate decorations, just brick walls lined with service ducts and steam pipes. Although his counting wasn’t the best, Sin tallied sixteen other candidates, an even mix of boys and girls. He no longer held Zonda’s arm but he stuck by her side as they descended a narrow flight of steps beneath a low-arched ceiling. They emerged into a high-vaulted circular chamber, the clatter of feet echoing around them. Half-sunk into the floor, a heavily riveted pipe, the height of three men, bisected the room. The air was damp with a pungent tang that reminded Sin of his recent swim in the canal.
The pipe rattled and gurgled as a chemlight mounted in the ceiling swirled from red to green. Eldritch heaved on a sturdy iron lever attached to a console of fluctuating dials. Pistons hissed into life and the top section of the pipe rotated open. A brassanium and ironglass fish the size of a small steambus bobbed in the trough of water created by the half-pipe.
Zonda gave an excited squeal and shook Sin’s arm. “I told you Nimrod could make one.”
Sin stared at the fish, feeling a combination of awe and terror. He’d occasionally travelled by horse and cart at the Fixer’s bidding but never in the enclosed confines of a steamtram. And at least on a steamtram you could jump off at any time. In the fish he’d be trapped, underground, under water.
“That’s pure mental. I ain’t going in that.”
“Not so tougheroony, after all?” said Zonda.
Eldritch span a wheel on the console and the windowed side panels of the fish slid open allowing access to the plush cushioned seating inside. “Fill up from the front,” he shouted.
Zonda dragged Sin to the fish. His stomach knotted. Every instinct screamed at him to resist. He pushed down his fear, stepped inside and shuffled to the fish’s head. Dropping onto a padded curved bench opposite Zonda, he peered through an ironglass porthole representing the fish’s eye. Outside, none of the other candidates had moved.
“Don’t all rush at once,” said Eldritch, pushing the reluctant candidates towards the doors.
Velvet strode through the crowd and stepped into the fish, trailed by a clique of followers. She stretched her shoulders back, and her tightly corseted bodice creaked. Her boots tip-tapped against the metal chequer-plate floor as she sashayed to the rear of the fish.
Sin didn’t like Velvet and he didn’t trust her, but there was no denying she had a certain bad girl allure, and with her mother on the Committee, she had powerful connections. He returned his gaze to Zonda who squirmed excitedly in her seat like a kid in a sweet shop. Should he jump ship? He didn’t want to admit it but he probably had more in common with Velvet than Zonda. He could be self-centred and downright evil when provoked.
The last seat now filled, the fish’s side panels locked back into place and the chemlights in the roof brightened. Outside, Eldritch pushed the lever and the pipe rotated back into position, sealing closed with a clunk of finality. Across from Velvet, the foppish boy with the mop of curly white hair, who Sin had saved from the Red Blade, mumbled to himself, rocking back and forth.
Valves opened and water rushed into the pipe. The fish creaked, swaying as the murky water crept above the sill on the ironglass windows. The boy rocked faster, arms clutched around himself.
Velvet dragged a ringed hand against the ironglass, the gems eliciting a sound like nails on a blackboard. “Mother says the Committee refuses to travel by fish. Something to do with one sinking once.”
The boy leaped up, his eyes wild, his breathing fast and ragged. He yanked the door’s handles. “I need out, I need out,” he screamed.
Zonda pushed herself to her feet and glared at Velvet. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
Velvet smiled demurely.
The doors refused to budge and the boy collapsed to the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head and his chest rose and fell rapidly as his breath came too fast and too shallow. Zonda kneeled beside him, cradling his head in her lap. “Has anyone got a paper bag?” she asked, her voice squeaking with panic.
Sin had seen the Fixer deal with panicked gang members before. “Lift his chin,” he said. The prone figure was now shaking uncontrollably.
Zonda raised the boy’s head in her hands and tilted it upwards. Sin bunched his fingers into a fist and punched the boy in the jaw, knocking his head out of Zonda’s grasp.
“What the Hades are you doing?” she cried.
Sin flexed his hand. “Knocking some sense into him.”
The boy’s twisted body lay still. The convulsion ceased and his breathing returned to normal. Zonda rolled him onto his side and checked his pulse. “I think he’ll be okay.”
The boy stirred and Sin grabbed him under the arms. “Can you sit next to him?” he said to a rakish girl with a long, thin face.
She nodded, possibly too frightened to speak. Sin lifted the boy onto the seat and wedged him between the girl and Zonda. Massaging his knuckles, he returned to his place opposite.
Zonda glowered. “Did you have to punch him quite so hard?”
Sin shrugged. “It was just a tap. He’ll be fine.” He could feel his knuckles already beginning to swell but it didn’t harm to create a statement. This is how I help people. You don’t want to see what I do to the ones I want to hurt.
Dirty water now filled the pipe, swirling past the windows. The fish lurched, rocking from side to side as it started to swim. A gramophone horn lowered from the ceiling and began to broadcast a message. Despite the crackly quality of the recording, the Irish lilt of the woman’s voice was calm and soothing. “Welcome to the pipe-way. You are currently some fifty feet below the bustling streets of Coxford. The pipe-way was originally constructed to provide safe passage from the city during Zeppelin bombing raids. It is now used for travelling to the COG training establishment. We sincerely hope that in these troubled times it will not be required to return to its original purpose. The journey will take a little over fifteen minutes. Please enjoy this music while you travel.”
A scratchy silence followed as the shellac auto-changer swapped platters and the sound of Sir Jedwood Elgar’s “Steam and Happenstance”, played by the Londinium Pressure Pipe Orchestra, filled the carriage.
Zonda turned to the rakish girl. “Thanks for helping. I’m Zonda, and the Marques of Queensbury over there is called Sin.”
The girl pushed a barley sugar to the side of her mouth and said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Mercy Goose.” She thrust a paper bag at Sin and, reddening a little, said, “Sweet, Sin?”
Sin reached into the bag. “Nice one, Goosey.” He flashed her a smile and she reddened some more.
As the last of Sin’s barley sugar melted away the music stopped and the voice returned. “You will shortly be leaving the pipe-way to continue your journey free floating. Do not be alarmed; this hardly ever goes wrong.”
They shot from the pipe, black water now surrounding the fish. A weightlessness filled Sin’s stomach. The floor angled upwards and the fish began to rise. The water went from murky brown to mottled blue, then light flooded the interior. The fish breached the surface nearly leaping clear of the water before settling to an even keel. They were in the middle of a lake surrounded by rolling grassy sl
opes. Directly ahead of them, at the top of a hill, stood an impressively columned stately home the size of a small village. The stonework appeared golden in the summer sun and the long regal windows sparkled.
“Welcome to Lenheim Palace, former residence of the Duke of Marlborough, donated to COG by our leader Nimrod Barm. This will be your home for the next five years,” said the voice.
Sin stood and pressed his face against the window. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“It’s beautiferous,” said Zonda.
Velvet snorted. “It’s a hovel. Mummy’s castle in Ransilvainia is far more impressive.”
Sin’s gaze travelled along the length of the palace. It had more windows than he could count. How was it possible for one person to own all that? “I thought Nimrod Barm was a crackpot inventor. How can he buy a palace?”
Zonda tapped the window. “He invented ironglass. The patent for that alone would buy the palace with change to spare. He has over seven thousand other patents; he’s probably the richest man in the Empire.”
“Not richer than the King?” said Sin.
“Technology is the new King. Nimrod Barm could buy the throne.”
Guided by unseen mekaniks, the fish drew alongside a reed-bound jetty, onto which the candidates disembarked. A lady in a flounced layered dress welcomed them, her words flavoured by a thick Fromagian accent. “Bonjour. I am Madame Mékanique and I will be responsible for your welfare during your stay.”
She motioned towards the palace. “Your new residence has an East Wing and a West Wing and you will be divided into two groups accordingly. The first name I call out will go here, the next name here, and so on and so forth,” she continued, gesturing left and right. She pulled a list from a pocket and began reading: “Ace, Asp, Brazil, Carnaige, Chubb, Von Darque, Goose, Grundy, Hope, Irk, Jenkins, Maggot, Nobbs, Shank, Trimble, Wagtail.”
The candidates took their assigned positions and Madame Mékanique folded the sheet of paper. She looked up to see Sin standing alone.
“Candidate Sin. We are not knowing if it is your first name or your last name, so Monsieur, you may choose. East Wing or West Wing?”
Zonda smiled and waved eagerly at Sin. Next to her slouched the white-haired boy, rubbing his chin. Both groups were an even mix of boys and girls, but Zonda’s group, the East Wing, were a motley crew. Velvet was clearly the queen of the West Wing, by luck or some sort of scheming her cronies had been selected with her and they radiated an air of superiority. They were definitely the stronger group, the ones most likely to succeed, the group he knew he should join.
Madame Mékanique tapped her foot. “So, Monsieur Sin, what is it to be?”
CHAPTER 7
TESTING TIMES
Sin collapsed onto the bed in his newly assigned room. Despite his exhaustion, he took a moment to enjoy the blanket and the gentle bounce of the mattress. The day had been a whirlwind. Sin had arrived at the palace with only the clothes on his back, his keeper and his trusty set of lock picks. So the morning had been spent collecting clothes, books and equipment from the Quartermaster. Then in the afternoon they’d had exams.
Sin had never sat an exam before and would be happy if he never sat one again. They’d been told the papers had been individually assigned to account for the candidate’s varying levels of education, but even so he’d struggled to get the words to make sense or do the sums in the exam they’d called mathematics. In the end, while the other candidates scribbled away frantically he’d covered most of his exam papers with pictures, something he had a natural flare for. He’d drawn the brassanium fish they’d arrived in, the flowers in the Conserva-Observatory and his encounter with Eldritch on the canal bank. He’d also started to draw his new room with its giant arched window, plush carpeted floor and fabulous antique furniture, but the bell had rung and papers were collected before he could finish.
Afterwards, many of the candidates had eagerly compared answers. Sin had ignored them, he wasn’t bothered. So long as they didn’t throw him out before he could investigate Lilith and Noir’s connection to the photograph in his keeper, he was golden. He’d considered fronting up to the magician but the man petrified him. There was something about his white face and raggedy black clothes that exuded evil.
Sin started as a loud knocking rattled his door. “Are you decent?” yelled Zonda.
Was he decent? Well, that was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? And it had nothing to do with whether he was wearing his breeches. He was a thief, a liar, a bully and a cheat. Those were the cards he’d been dealt. Maybe if he’d grown up in a well-to-do family like the foppish Jasper Jenkins, or been the offspring of Olympic athletes like Mercy Goose, things would have turned out different. Instead, he’d been abandoned on the church steps in a box of Sinclair’s Medicinal Spirits and he couldn’t change that. The Sisters of the Sacred Science Church had never missed an opportunity to remind him of his sinful heritage and maybe they were right. Sin by name, sin by nature.
“I’m as decent as I’m ever going to be,” answered Sin.
Zonda pushed tentatively into the room. “Tomorrow’s itinerary’s been posted. You’ve got remedial maths and English. Six in the morning before brekker.”
“I guess they didn’t like my drawings.”
“I’m sure they thought they were fantabulous, I really do, but generally on an exam paper they prefer the answers to the questions.”
“I couldn’t even read the questions, so that was never gonna work.”
Zonda slumped into a leather-backed armchair adjacent to a Tedwardian desk and huffed. “It’ll be my turn to be humiliated after brekker because it’s an introduction to the assault course, and then later in the week we’ve got combat training.”
“They’ll probably go easy on us, first time out.”
“I think not. It says we’re going to be in competition with the West Wing and the losers get to do punishment duties. So not only do I get to be humiliated in a generalist manner, I get to be specifically humiliated by having my face rubbed in it by Velvet.”
“You don’t know, you could do all right.”
“If you’re serious, you’re delirious. I mean look at me.”
Sin shrugged. “You’ll just have to play to your strengths.”
“That was the point when a gentleman would have asserted I had an hourglass figure.”
“You do have an hourglass figure.” Sin rolled onto his front and grinned. “It’s just your hourglass has a few extra minutes in it.”
Zonda gripped one of the chair’s cushions, an expression of disbelief on her face. “At least I can calculate how many extra minutes, unlike some.” She hurled the cushion with surprising accuracy, landing it squarely on Sin’s nose.
Sin sat up, rubbing his face. “There you go, Zon, a bit of fighting spirit. So long as combat training is cushions at ten paces, you’ll be fine.”
“Sin, you are a complete and utter dough-brained maggot.” Zonda pouted, but her eyes were smiling. “Thanks for joining East Wing.”
Sin shrugged again, not letting on how close he’d been to choosing the West Wing. Only Eldritch’s advice directing him towards Zonda had swayed his decision. “As my test results showed, I’m not so smart,” he said.
“You were plenty smart enough to survive on the streets. That sort of courage has got to be good at COG.”
“It ain’t courage. I didn’t have no other choice. I joined COG because it’s the first time anyone’s given me a way out.” He gently tossed the cushion back to her. “That’s what I don’t get about you and Mercy and pretty much all the others. You had it all nice and cushdie. What you wanna leave that for?”
Zonda clutched the cushion to her chest. “It’s about doing the right thing. Stopping the war.”
“We’re just kids. How we gonna stop the war?”
“Using kids is the whole pointerooney. No one’s going to suspect us of spying or working undercover.”
“Don’t make no sense to me. The Fi
xer’s crew was mostly kids and the Sheriffs always suspected us.”
Zonda frowned. “There’s a considerable disparity between petty thievery and international espionage.”
“Do you like using big words because it makes you sound clever?”
“No. I like using big words because I am clever.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how clever you are on the assault course tomorrow.”
Sin ducked and the cushion hurled by Zonda sailed over his head. He may not be educated, but he was a quick learner.
CHAPTER 8
CHEATERS SOMETIMES PROSPER
“The Gears of Excellence trophy is awarded to the fastest candidate completing the assault course on test day,” barked Sergeant Stoneheart. A healthy few inches over six feet tall with the physique of a Zulu warrior she looked out of place dressed in a pristine white blouse, tan jodhpurs and shiny leather boots.
“Fail to complete the course on test day and you’re out of COG.” The metal plates on the soles of her boots clicked as she prowled between the candidates, sizing them up.
The assault course that filled the hangar-sized gymnasium started simply with a brassanium plated wall, monkey bars and a rope swing, but as it progressed the obstacles became more bizarre. Canvas umbrellas hung below a series of giant intermeshing cogs, rows of cannons guarded a rubber mat that ran up a steeply inclined slope, and two mekanikal horses sat on a set of rails that swept over a series of jumps.
Stoneheart’s face appeared, an inch from Sin’s nose. “Are you listening, boy?”
“Yes.”
The instructor’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?”
“Yes … I am … listening?” said Sin.
“You will refer to me as Staff, is that clear?”
“Yes, Staff,” answered Sin.