Liberator

by Richard Harland

  ‘A female saboteur?’

  ‘She doesn’t seem capable.’

  ‘She’s already confessed,’ said Gillabeth.

  ‘She didn’t know what she was doing,’ Col put in quickly. ‘She’s been a bit unbalanced. Not in her right mind.’ He appealed to Professor Twillip. ‘That makes a difference, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not in her right mind.’ Professor Twillip nodded. ‘Yes, that’s an old ethical principle. She’s not morally responsible if she’s non compos mentis.’

  ‘I like it when things go smash,’ said Sephaltina sweetly. ‘I like breaking things.’

  ‘You see?’ Col turned to the others. ‘And she was worse when we found her.’

  Sephaltina nodded agreement. ‘Yes, I’ve been a bit unbalanced. I think I still am.’

  ‘No, no, don’t say that,’ Quinnea moaned, and pressed her hands over her ears. ‘I can’t have these emotional ups and downs. They’re not good for me.’

  Sephaltina only smiled. ‘Of course, I won’t do any more breaking, now that my husband has found me again. Even though he took so long about it. I want to be charming and lovable and wifely. I was always very lovable in the past. I’m sure it will all come back to me.’

  Gillabeth scoffed. ‘You should’ve thought about being lovable before you bashed Zeb’s head in with a spanner.’

  ‘Spanner?’ Sephaltina pouted. ‘I wouldn’t dream of touching a spanner.’

  Col jumped in at once. ‘What, you deny it?’

  ‘Such nasty, dirty, metal things. I don’t even like to think about them.’

  ‘So you didn’t try to sabotage a steam elevator on First Deck?’

  ‘I’ve never been down as far as First Deck.’ Sephaltina shuddered. ‘Too close to Below.’

  ‘I believe her.’ Col nodded. ‘She’s the saboteur but not the murderer. Look at her. She’s too innocent to lie.’

  Gillabeth wasn’t swayed. ‘Well, we’ll let the Council decide that. We should hand her over now.’

  ‘They won’t give her a fair hearing,’ Col objected. ‘Not with Lye and Shiv in charge.’

  ‘I expect they’ll execute her,’ said Mr Gibber.

  ‘No-o-o-o!’ Quinnea had uncovered her ears just long enough to hear Mr Gibber’s ominous words. She let out a wail. ‘Not executed! Not my daughter-in-law!’

  She stood before Sephaltina protectively, defensively. Although she looked barely able to withstand a puff of wind, no one wanted to push her aside. Instead they tried to argue with her – and Quinnea argued back.

  It turned into a heated quarrel. Everyone except Quinnea and Col wanted to hand Sephaltina over and avoid further blame for the acts of sabotage. But Quinnea had hysteria on her side. She quivered from top to toe and shook her head until her hair flew out in a hundred wisps.

  ‘Look what you’re doing to me!’ she screeched.

  Col felt as if his head were stuck in a cage of parrots. Unlike Quinnea, he knew they couldn’t just continue to keep Sephaltina in the Norfolk Library. There had to be some alternative – but he couldn’t think for all the shouting and screeching.

  Then a different voice cut through the clamour. ‘It may be relevant to point out that not all members of the Revolutionary Council are as vindictive as Lye and Shiv.’

  The clamour fell away. One by one, the library’s residents turned to stare at Antrobus.

  ‘Was that . . . ?’

  ‘Did he . . . ?’

  ‘Antrobus?’

  ‘His first words!’

  ‘Yes, he only speaks in sentences,’ said Gillabeth. ‘We heard him a while back.’

  The quarrel was forgotten. For the moment, Col’s baby brother had become the centre of attention.

  ‘Say it again, Antrobus.’

  ‘Or something else.’

  ‘Say anything about anything.’

  But Antrobus was far too serious to speak merely for the sake of speaking. He remained silent in the face of all requests.

  ‘He worked out the clues and led us to Sephaltina,’ said Gillabeth.

  And perhaps he’s helped me again, thought Col. Now that his head was no longer in a cage of parrots, he followed through the implications of what Antrobus had said. There was one moderate who might still have influence on the Council – Riff. Maybe he could make a deal with her? He could offer to expose the saboteur if Riff promised she wouldn’t be executed.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Riff about Sephaltina,’ he told anyone who would listen. ‘Don’t do anything till I get back.’

  All the way to Riff’s room, Col tried to keep his mind on practicalities. He was going to see Riff because it was the only way to save Sephaltina. It wasn’t because he had changed his mind about their relationship being over. He wasn’t going to plead with her or appeal to her for his own sake. But still . . . he was going to see her!

  ‘Come in,’ said a flat voice when he knocked.

  She was sitting on her bed, with a pillow at her back, propped up against the wall. Half a dozen books lay beside her on the bed, but she didn’t look as though she’d been reading.

  She stared at him.

  ‘Colbert Porpentine,’ she said slowly.

  At least he wasn’t just another Swank in her eyes. He had cleared the first obstacle: this time she really recognised him.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he began.

  ‘There’s nothing you can say.’ She made a vague, weary gesture. ‘You can’t bring them back. Nobody can.’

  She was still brooding over her parents. Col’s first relief gave way to disquiet. She seemed sad and apathetic, a mood that wasn’t natural to her. He could never have imagined her like this.

  He repressed the urge to comfort her. Anything he said about her parents would surely backfire. Instead, he changed the subject. ‘It’s not that. I came about the saboteur.’

  ‘Oh? What about him?’

  ‘Her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Riff sat up a little straighter on the bed. ‘So you know who it is?’

  Col nodded. ‘I’ll hand her over to you if we can make a deal.’

  ‘You think you’re in a position to bargain? You must be mad.’

  ‘No, I’m not mad. She is.’

  Without giving away Sephaltina’s name, Col explained what she had and hadn’t confessed to. She was certainly guilty of repeated acts of sabotage, but she denied murdering Zeb and appeared to know nothing about the note pinned to the barracks door in Botany Bay. Riff listened and kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘And even with the acts of sabotage,’ Col concluded, ‘she hardly knew what she was doing. She’s been half-crazy ever since the Liberation.’

  Riff shot him a shrewd look. ‘You seem to know her very well?’

  Col drew back at once. ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Is she one of your people in the Norfolk Library?’

  ‘No. She’s a loner.’

  ‘She must have been living with other Swanks somewhere.’

  Col held his tongue.

  ‘Where is she now?’ Riff jumped up and stood facing him. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Will you make a deal?’

  Her eyes were flashing with anger. He wondered if she would slap him again. But no, it wasn’t the same out-of-control violence as last time.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked, subsiding.

  ‘No execution.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘And a fair trial. She can be guilty of the sabotage without being guilty of the other things.’

  ‘Lye and Shiv will want to execute her anyway.’

  ‘You have to win over Padder and Gansy, then.’

  ‘I don’t have as much influence as you th
ink.’

  ‘No influence at all, if you don’t attend Council meetings.’

  Riff almost bit his head off. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Will you promise to use all your influence?’ He kept his voice carefully calm.

  ‘Phah!’ She swung away, then back again. ‘I can’t guarantee anything.’

  ‘If you promise . . .’

  ‘Why would you trust my promise?’

  It was on the tip of Col’s tongue to say, Because I once used to trust you in everything. But he restrained himself.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I promise. Now tell me who it is.’

  ‘Sephaltina Turbot.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My wife. You met her at the wedding reception. The one with the jelly.’

  ‘Her! How could she do anything?’

  ‘She’s been hiding away on her own. It’s a long story.’

  ‘You can tell me on the way.’

  ‘The way where?’

  ‘To see her. Where is she hiding?’

  ‘She’s in the Norfolk Library now. I thought you’d summon a meeting of Council, and I’d bring her to you there.’

  ‘I want to see her first. Your wife.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘Let’s go.’

  Col hoped it would turn out all right. He was still wary of Riff, who seemed strange and unpredictable. But at least she had cast aside her apathy.

  They went out into the corridor. Col was about to start telling Sephaltina’s story when he sensed a sudden shift in Riff’s attention.

  Then he heard it too: a murmur of noise. The whole juggernaut was astir with excitement and alarm, with cries and calls and running feet.

  Col and Riff halted in their tracks. A moment later, a group of Filthies came hurtling along the corridor.

  ‘It’s the other juggernauts!’ they shouted as they rushed past.

  ‘Coming straight at us!’

  ‘They’ve arrived!’

  Riff took off running and Col ran after her. He could barely keep her in sight. There was no time to wait for a steam elevator to arrive – she went up the staircases from level to level. She was heading for the Bridge, of course.

  He was thinking of what Septimus had said about the superior armaments of the other juggernauts. What would they do? How many were there?

  He followed Riff up the final flight of stairs and through the door to the Bridge. The place was seething like an ants’ nest. Bells rang, whistles shrilled, orders were shouted. Everyone was far too busy to question or even notice him.

  Riff seemed hardly aware that Col had followed her. A dozen Filthies were on the main floor, and she joined in with them, operating the control units.

  Other Filthies stood on the raised level at the front, scanning through the windows and calling out everything they saw.

  ‘That’s the Russian flag!’

  ‘Why have they stopped?’

  ‘Changing to rollers.’

  ‘Not like our rollers.’

  ‘Not like us at all.’

  ‘What’s it pulling?’

  The Russian juggernaut? That was the Romanov, Col recalled. He had to see for himself.

  He moved forward to the steps that led up to the raised level. But before he could mount the first step, a Filthy above him swung round to shout an order to the operators.

  ‘Steer to the right! Why aren’t we moving yet? To the right!’

  It was Riff’s brother, Padder. He glanced down and his eye fell upon Col.

  ‘Why the —?’ His choleric face burned with anger. ‘What’s he doing here? No Swanks on the Bridge. Get him out. Now!’

  Col didn’t wait to be hustled. He spun on his heel and headed back the way he’d come. Seeing him leave, the other Filthies didn’t bother to escort him.

  He didn’t deliberately choose to walk close by Riff. In fact, he didn’t know she was there until she jabbed him with her elbow as he went past.

  ‘Up on the platform,’ she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  He was four paces further along before he understood. She was giving him an alternative suggestion: instead of returning the way he had come, he could go up to the viewing platform above. He veered away from the door and meandered casually towards the metal staircase at the far side of the Bridge.

  No one was paying attention as he ascended the stairs. He entered the turret at the top, unbolted the door and stepped out into the open.

  The sun was low in the sky like a molten orange ball. The light was fading towards dusk and the clouds had taken on a rich plum colour. It might have been an ordinary twilight except for the twin columns of yellow-brown smoke staining one quarter of the sky.

  Two juggernauts, then. One was too low to appear above the barrier that encircled the platform; the other showed out as a forest of masts, with what looked like a dozen tangled birds’ nests woven between them. And yes, there on one mast fluttered the gold flag of the Russian Imperial family.

  Col had just closed the turret door behind him when a mighty shudder shook the platform under his feet. The sound came a moment later: a deep, grinding rumble like thunder. Then the whole juggernaut started forward with a lurch and a sudden turn to the right.

  He found himself thrown through the air. He crashed to the deck, slid across to the side, and put out his arms just in time to avoid smashing headfirst into the barrier.

  He gripped the barrier and hauled himself to his feet. He was near the back of the platform looking out towards the buildings of Botany Bay.

  The end of the coal-loader had detached from the open flap on Bottom Deck. With a metallic screech, it scraped along the flank of the juggernaut, catching at the rope ladders and cradles where the Filthies liked to lounge. Luckily there was nobody outside now.

  As Col watched, buckets of coal like tiny thimbles tumbled down from the end of the loader. The entire structure was starting to topple in slow, slow motion. He didn’t wait to see it hit the ground. The view that mattered was on the other side.

  With nothing for support, crossing the platform was a challenge in itself. He reeled and staggered as the juggernaut pitched and swayed. He took the last fifteen paces in a single rush.

  The Imperialist juggernauts were side by side, facing in through the headlands of Botany Bay. The Romanov was the larger of the two, almost as large as Liberator. Col understood now why the Filthies had asked, ‘What’s it pulling?’ The Russian juggernaut was in three articulated parts, a main segment towing two smaller segments. The segments were painted khaki and appeared to be all slab-sided hull. There was no superstructure except for the bristling masts and birds’ nests on the main segment. The two towed segments were solid blocks, flat-topped and featureless.

  The second juggernaut was lower and smaller, but more sinister. It had a single domed shell of armour like a crab, painted a dull black colour that swallowed the light. Having no obvious front or back, it looked as though it might move off in any direction. Camouflage nets swathed its sides; higher up, its metal surface was dotted with blisters; higher again, four bulbous funnels stuck up in the shape of onions. Col read its name from white lettering on the black shell: GROSSE WIEN. It was the Austrian juggernaut.

  Col also understood why the Filthies had cried, ‘Not like our rollers’. The Romanov had caterpillar tracks under its segments of hull, a great many sets of them. The Grosse Wien had a smaller number of gigantic rubberised wheels that protruded beyond the edges of its shell.

  Even as Col watched, the wheels started to turn, the caterpillar tracks started to roll forward. On the Romanov, crackles of electricity flashed like lightning along the wires between the masts. Steam burst out from under the shell of the Grosse Wien. The two juggernauts had completed the changeover from sea propulsion to land propulsion. Now they were
commencing their final advance upon Liberator.

  Liberator continued to veer to the right, away from its enemies. It completed a lumbering half-turn, then straightened and surged forward.

  The Imperialist juggernauts came after it. They split up as they advanced, obviously aiming to cut Liberator off on either side. The Grosse Wien blew a blast on its horn, an unearthly, wavering sound that went tunelessly up and down the scale. It made the hairs prickle on the back of Col’s neck.

  He remembered how his grandfather had described the speed of their own juggernaut as ‘faster than a galloping horse’. But the Imperialist juggernauts seemed to be moving at least as fast, especially the Grosse Wien. Churning across the bay on their wheels and tracks, they threw up a great spray of liquid mud. Soon they were both more brown than khaki or black.

  The Grosse Wien had already taken a lead to the right. Steer left, Col willed, wishing he could communicate with the Filthies on the Bridge.

  Someone on the Bridge must have reached the same conclusion, because in the next moment Liberator altered course to the left.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crump! and a brightness in the air.

  Looking down, Col saw that their prow had ploughed over the steel tanks where he’d waited with the attack force nine days ago. The contents of the tanks had exploded, one setting off another all along the line. Liberator rolled on indifferently through the flames.

  Veering to the left had brought them closer to the Romanov – and now the Russian juggernaut was starting to overhaul them. A new sound boomed out even above the thunder of engines, the crunch and grind of rollers: a megaphone voice speaking in Russian.

  ‘Sdavaisya! Sdavaisya! Sdavaisya!’

  The words made no sense to Col, but the tone of menace was clear in any language.

  Little by little, the Romanov edged forward alongside. Its prow came up level with Liberator’s stern – then up to the back of Liberator’s superstructure – then level with the last of Liberator’s six funnels.

  Neither juggernaut swerved aside from the coal-loaders that lay in their way. Girders buckled and burst apart as they smashed into the huge spidery structures. Compared to the juggernauts, the loaders were frail as matchsticks. There was a scream of metal, a convulsion of upflung ribs and struts. Then the loaders went down and the juggernauts rode on over the wreckage.