It was an innocent question. Grandmother Ebnolia had decided the guest list for the reception. Professor Twillip wouldn’t normally have mingled in the same social circles, while Septimus hadn’t been invited at all.
‘At the reception,’ said the Professor with a small bow.
‘Do you remember the ceremony in the chapel?’ Quinnea turned to Col and continued her reminiscences. ‘You in your tailcoat, very smart and handsome. And your bride so pretty in her tiara and wedding dress. All beaded with pearls. And your baby brother too, with his own pink buttonhole. Like a proper little gentleman. Weren’t you, Antrobus?’
Antrobus’s only response was a solemn, owl-like stare.
‘Say something,’ Col urged.
Nobody expected an answer, and Antrobus didn’t give one. Only Col knew that his baby brother could speak, having heard his first words at the time of their grandfather’s death. But Antrobus had never repeated the miracle. The only other person present at the time had been Riff, and Col could hardly produce her as a witness. It was very frustrating and very annoying. Col’s family didn’t actually call him a liar, but he knew they thought he’d imagined it.
Then a whirlwind arrived out of nowhere. ‘This place is a pigsty!’
It was Gillabeth, striding forward with a broom in her hand. She pointed at the books and papers stacked up around the table legs. Professor Twillip and Septimus always accumulated vast quantities of research material for whatever project they were engaged upon.
‘Look at it all! Mess, mess, mess!’
Septimus sprang to defend their books and papers as Gillabeth made threatening motions with the broom.
‘No!’ He stood blocking her way. ‘You can’t! You mustn’t!’
‘Tidy it up, then.’
‘Where?’
‘On the table. That’s the proper place for books.’
Septimus and the Professor set to work lifting stacks of books and papers onto the table. Gillabeth stood watching with folded arms.
‘Set them out neatly,’ she warned.
Even on the table, the stacks had to be arranged symmetrically side by side. Gillabeth made her own contribution to symmetry by picking up Antrobus and arranging him more tidily on the tabletop. With his wide, unblinking eyes, he did look a little like a table ornament.
Then she went off with the snort of someone who still disapproved but couldn’t find anything more to criticise. She began bustling and busying around between the bookshelves, straightening mattresses, pummelling pillows and generally reorganising everyone’s personal possessions.
Col went after her. He had seen this mood in his sister before, though never quite so manic.
She was muttering to herself as he came up behind her. ‘Things get done properly when I’m in charge . . . no one can say they don’t . . . just let them try and say it, that’s all . . .’
‘Er, Gillabeth?’
She swung around savagely with a pillow in her hands. ‘What?’
‘There’s a Council meeting tomorrow at ten.’
‘So?’
‘Will you go?’
‘Phh! They chose to do without my help. Now they can look after themselves.’
‘But it’s in our interest to—’
‘You go, then. You can drool over black-haired beauty too.’
‘You mean Lye?’
‘Looks, looks, looks! That’s all it is for a girl. That’s all anyone cares about. Padder’s half in love already. Shiv’s the whole way there.’
‘Do you think Shiv and Lye . . . ?’
Gillabeth curled her lip. ‘He’s a fool. What does she know about running the engines? I bet she can’t organise herself out of bed in the mornings.’
‘She’ll take his side on the Council.’
‘Take his side? More than that. She’ll be his puppet. She doesn’t have the brains to make her own decisions.’ Gillabeth gripped the pillow in both hands as if wringing its neck. ‘If you think things are bad now, just wait and see what happens next.’
‘Worse?’
Gillabeth spoke with a perverse kind of satisfaction. ‘Much, much worse.’
The Council meeting took place over Gansy’s map-desk at the back of the Bridge. It was very informal compared to the meetings of the Executive under the old regime. The rest of the Bridge continued to function as normal. Two Filthies stood watch at the curved strip of windows at the front, while another four moved among the gleaming brass and polished woodwork of the control units, checking dials and gauges.
There was a seat around the desk for each of the six Council members – folding chairs of the type that had been used for picnics before the Liberation. Lye took a seat beside Shiv, while Dunga sat next to Riff. Compared to Shiv, Dunga and Riff were the moderate faction. Gansy swung between moderate and radical, while Padder voted sometimes out of loyalty to Riff, his sister, and sometimes out of an instinctive dislike of Swanks.
Col stood unobtrusively a couple of paces further back.
The meeting began with discussion of the murder. Inspection of the area around the crime scene had uncovered no new clues. As leader of the investigation, Shiv reported on his activities so far, mainly the recruitment of several dozen Filthies to his team.
‘They’ll need a mark of office,’ he said. ‘I suggest a red armband.’
Riff raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘To give them the authority to ask questions. So everyone knows they’re in the security force.’
Shiv preferred the term ‘security force’ to ‘investigation team’. There was some debate over the red armbands but no real opposition, and the proposal was passed.
Then Shiv brought up another topic. ‘We’re running out of coal,’ he announced.
‘How come?’ Padder demanded. ‘We’ve been travelling so slowly.’
Gansy nodded. ‘Only eighteen hundred miles. And all by sea. Surely that takes less coal than using our rollers on land?’
Shiv turned to Lye. ‘Would you like to explain? It’s your responsibility now.’
Lye had been sitting very quietly, keeping her views to herself. ‘I think you should explain. You’re the real expert.’
Shiv shrugged, though he appeared pleased. She’s playing up to him, thought Col.
‘We don’t burn coal only when we’re travelling,’ Shiv began. ‘We have to keep the boilers always heated. And even when we’re stopped, the turbines are still driving the dynamos to generate electricity. It’s been three months since the Liberation, and our bunkers were only a quarter full then.’
‘That’s why Zeb was coming down to meet us,’ Lye put in. ‘To see the problem for himself.’
‘How much in the bunkers now?’ Padder began by addressing Lye, then gravitated to Shiv.
Shiv pursed his thin lips. ‘Enough for a month if we continue like this. Or a few hundred miles of travelling.’
‘So.’ Riff swung and focused everyone’s attention on Col. ‘What did Worldshaker do about coal?’
Shiv repeated the question with a barb. ‘Yes, what would your grandfather have done?’
Col ignored the barb. ‘Coaling stations. The juggernauts go to coaling stations to load up with coal.’
‘Where?’
Col tried to remember what Sir Mormus had told him. ‘Singapore is one. And Hong Kong.’
‘Singapore!’ Dunga cried. ‘Didn’t we pass there ten weeks ago?’
‘Yes.’ Gansy nodded. ‘Let me think.’
Although her frizzy, unkempt hair and scatty appearance suggested otherwise, Gansy had a very sharp brain. After a moment’s thought, she dived into a box under the desk and emerged with a long scroll of paper.
‘Help me hold this flat,’ she said.
It was a map of the world, which she
unfurled on the desk. Col craned for a view over the shoulders of the Council members.
‘See, Singapore and Hong Kong!’ Gansy pointed. ‘Marked with red dots. I bet a red dot means a coaling station.’
‘Where are we?’ asked Dunga.
Gansy’s finger stabbed out again. ‘Here. And here’s the nearest red dot.’
‘What does it say?’
Riff read it out. ‘Botany Bay.’
‘Three hundred miles south,’ said Gansy. ‘We’ve been travelling down the east coast of Australia. All we need do is keep heading in the same direction.’
‘But faster,’ said Riff. ‘No more stops. No more fishing.’
‘Right.’ Gansy clapped her hands, releasing her end of the map, which sprang back and re-furled.
Col foresaw a problem, but he couldn’t speak unless he was asked. He made desperate hand signals to catch Riff’s attention.
At last she noticed. ‘Does that seem a good plan to our adviser?’
‘They may not want to trade coal with you,’ he said.
Shiv scowled. ‘Why not?’
Riff caught on first. ‘He means because of the Liberation. They may not want to trade coal with Filthies.’
There were mutters among the Council as the impli- cations sank in.
‘You haven’t communicated about the Liberation,’ Col pointed out. ‘You’ve been picking up messages by wireless telegraph from other juggernauts, but you haven’t sent any messages of your own.’
‘Why should that make a difference?’ Padder demanded.
‘It shouldn’t,’ growled Dunga.
But everyone could see that it might. There was a long, thoughtful silence.
‘Do they have to know?’ asked Gansy.
Riff snapped her fingers. ‘Just what I was thinking. We could behave as if the Liberation never happened.’ She turned to Col. ‘You could be our representative.’
‘Me?’
‘You could go on shore and negotiate with the Imperialists. Pretend you’re in command.’
‘A bit young, aren’t I?’
‘You and the old royalty. Victoria and Albert can go with you.’
A look of distrust sharpened Shiv’s already sharp features. ‘We can’t let them go on their own.’
‘Ah, but we’ll be there too,’ said Riff. ‘Pretending to be their servants. Disguised as Menials.’
Col remembered Riff’s old disguise as a Menial. She could play the part perfectly.
‘We shouldn’t have to do this.’ Lye spoke up suddenly. ‘It’s humiliating.’
Riff silenced her. ‘We’ll be proud as you like when our bunkers are full.’
‘How do I negotiate?’ asked Col. ‘What do I trade for coal?’
‘Hmm. What would Worldshaker have traded?’
‘I don’t know. Stuff scooped up from the ground, I suppose. We don’t do that any more.’
‘No, we barter and exchange. We don’t steal from native people.’
An idea popped into Col’s head. ‘We could trade Old Country antiques. There’s plenty on board, and you don’t care about keeping them.’
‘No use to us.’
‘But they’d be worth a lot to the Imperialists. Old furniture, vases, paintings – anything from the Old Country.’
‘Okay, problem solved.’ Again Riff snapped her fingers. ‘Everyone agreed?’
The others nodded. Riff’s energy had a way of sweeping people along.
‘Who’ll look after it?’ she asked.
‘I will,’ said Padder.
‘Excellent. Any further business?’
There was no further business. In spite of Gillabeth’s dire predictions, the Council hadn’t made any decision that immediately threatened the Swanks.
‘Then let’s get Liberator underway,’ said Riff, rising to her feet. ‘Full steam ahead.’ Her next words were directed to Col alone. ‘Find out all you can about coaling stations, and report back.’ She gave him a wink.
Col’s heart leaped. He didn’t know what it meant, but that wink was for him, a personal aside.
Padder, Dunga and Lye moved out among the control units. Padder and Dunga issued instructions to the Filthies on the Bridge, Lye spoke orders into a voicepipe. Shiv disappeared on other business. Gansy remained at her desk and set to work with ruler and pencil, plotting their route to Botany Bay.
‘I’m going to observe from above,’ Riff announced to no one in particular.
Now Col understood that wink. She was offering him the chance to talk to her alone. He tracked her out of the corner of his eye as she mounted the metal stairs to the platform above the Bridge.
He waited another minute before wandering in the same direction. Then quietly, casually, he made his way up the steps. He prayed nobody would notice or challenge him, and nobody did.
When Col emerged from the turret, his senses swam in the overpowering brightness. Out on the platform, the air was crisp and thin, and the sun seemed enormous. Riff was a silhouette against the steel barrier at the front. He hurried forward.
‘I should’ve known you’d find a way,’ he said as she turned.
She grinned. ‘Glad you got the idea.’
‘I thought you were brushing me off yesterday.’
‘Yesterday was a bad time. You need to trust me a little more, don’t you?’
They stood facing one another. Open space was all around, yet they were entirely private and alone.
‘I hate having to meet in secret,’ he said.
‘Yes, well.’ The grin vanished from her face. ‘Nothing I can do about it.’
He had been about to hug her – the hug left over from yesterday – but her sharp tone made him pause. Why did it keep happening like this? So many of their meetings lately started out on the wrong foot. He didn’t want to argue.
It seemed Riff didn’t want to argue either. ‘Anyway, we’re here now,’ she said, and the grin reappeared.
He loved that grin. It reminded him of the Riff of old, the daredevil risk-taker. He drank in the smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin . . .
The turret door clanged behind them.
They moved apart, trying not to look guilty. It was Lye. What did she want? Col could have shrieked at the unfairness and frustration of it. Lye of all people!
She showed him no look of hatred as she advanced; instead, she ignored him completely. Her black hair gleamed in the sunlight, her complexion so pale it looked white by comparison. She moved with poise and deliberation, almost a glide.
‘I thought I’d watch from up here,’ she said.
Riff nodded, and Col sensed that she was studying Lye with admiration and just a hint of envy. The idea infuriated him. Riff ought to know she was infinitely more attractive. Not more beautiful, perhaps – but Lye’s beauty was a cold, inhuman thing. Riff’s features were less perfectly proportioned, but they were more alive. Her face flickered with the same energy that made her body so lithe and quick.
Lye came up on Riff’s other side.
‘You’re not needed Below?’ Riff asked.
‘No, I’ve given the orders,’ Lye replied. ‘Shiv will be going down to keep a check.’
‘Fair enough.’ Riff turned and gazed out over the barrier. ‘You’ve come to the best place for a view.’
Col remembered Riff’s scowl when Shiv had manoeuvred his own supporter onto the Council. Lye had been the enemy then, so why speak pleasantly to her now? Was it all an act? If the friendliness in Riff’s voice wasn’t genuine, Col couldn’t tell the difference.
‘Look, they’re bringing up the scoops,’ Riff said, and pointed.
Col leaned over the barrier and focused on the scene that spread out below the Bridge. The superstructure dropped vertically for five
hundred feet, then widened level by level in tiers of grey metal. Over the tiers hung a webbing of rope ladders and cradles, newly added by the Filthies for climbing around on the outside of the juggernaut. There were hundreds of them on the webbing right now, enjoying the air and sunshine, watching the preparations for departure.
The lowest tier was Garden Deck. Once parkland, it was now used for food production, and Menials tiny as dots went about their work on a multi-coloured patchwork of vegetable plots. Below Garden Deck came the sheer drop of the hull, another five hundred feet.
All around, the sea was a beautiful turquoise blue, absolutely smooth and still. The scoops that had been lowered for trading with the natives were now being raised, and the natives in their canoes and rafts were paddling away. Other scoops that were used for fishing came up trailing lines and nets. It was a scene of swarming activity, yet curiously tranquil at a distance.
‘Won’t be long before we start off now,’ Riff commented.
‘I was looking at the Menials,’ said Lye.
Riff sighed. ‘It was the best we could do for them after the Liberation. The Council relocated them from their old dormitories to Garden Deck. At least they have fresh air and simple tasks to keep them active.’
‘But they can’t be liberated in themselves, can they?’
‘No.’
‘Because of what the Upper Decks surgeons did?’
‘The surgeons implanted things in Filthies’ brains to produce obedient servants who could never answer back.’ Riff spoke flatly as if reciting a lesson. Col recalled that she herself had narrowly escaped having limiters implanted. ‘And no, we can’t undo the process.’
A sudden vibration ran through the metal under their feet. Col looked back and saw a voluminous puff of smoke issue from one of the juggernaut’s funnels. A second puff blossomed from a second funnel, then all six funnels together. The boilers and turbines were building up steam.
Meanwhile, the native craft had put on speed and were scurrying away like water beetles. Turning forward again, Col saw that the scoops were halfway up the side of the hull, dangling on cables from the juggernaut’s great cranes. A medley of faraway sounds mingled with the blowing of the breeze.
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