Liberator

by Richard Harland

  ‘Oh, be quiet,’ Gillabeth snapped. ‘You’re not helping.’

  The red armbands stood around waiting, rifles cradled comfortably in their arms.

  After a few minutes, a murmur rose up further down the line. Col heard the names ‘Lye’ and ‘Shiv’, spoken in fearful tones. The red armbands sprang to attention.

  Lye and Shiv walked the length of the queue and stopped before the new prisoners. Lye was perfectly composed, though she avoided looking at Riff.

  Instead she focused on Sephaltina, looking her over from head to toe. ‘And this must be the saboteur. Our secret enemy, the wife of Colbert Porpentine.’

  Sephaltina simpered sweetly at being referred to as ‘the wife of Colbert Porpentine’. Then a puzzled expression came over her face. She looked Lye over in her turn.

  ‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said.

  ‘Likely enough, if you’ve been sneaking around,’ said Lye. ‘But your days of sneaking around are over. Now you’re in my domain. This is where I rule.’

  ‘And rule like a tyrant,’ Riff broke in.

  Still Lye didn’t look at Riff.

  Instead, it was Shiv who answered on Lye’s behalf. ‘We expect a maximum effort from every worker. How else do you think we could make Liberator travel so fast? You asked for speed and we delivered.’

  He spoke in terms of we, Col noted, whereas Lye had spoken in terms of I. It was painfully obvious that Shiv was trying to have himself included.

  Then someone else claimed Lye’s attention. There was a clank and rattle as Mr Gibber stepped forward in his leg-irons. He almost toppled forward as the chain tightened behind him. He bowed his head and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ah, you have something to say, my little spy?’ said Lye. ‘What have you found out for me now?’

  Mr Gibber smirked from ear to ear, but he didn’t speak immediately. First he reached into his inside jacket pocket, brought out a key and held it up as if examining it. When he was sure that everyone was watching, he went down on one knee, swivelled the leg-iron on his left ankle, inserted the key and unlocked the cuff. Then he did the same for his right ankle. He pulled the cuffs open, kicked them aside and came up to stand next to Lye.

  He was making faces to himself, grins and grimaces of self-delight. Lye nodded and allowed him to whisper in her ear. He stood very close to her – closer than necessary. At least, Shiv seemed to think so.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Tell us.’

  Mr Gibber completed his tale-telling, then fell back with obvious reluctance.

  ‘Wait here,’ Lye said to Shiv. She snapped her fingers at two of the red armbands, who accompanied her back along the queue.

  After the initial shock, Col’s mind was working at top speed. If Mr Gibber was spying for Lye, then a great many things fell into place. It was no longer a mystery that Lye and Shiv had known about the saboteur. Of course – Mr Gibber had been there in the Norfolk Library when Col and Gillabeth presented Sephaltina and announced the news.

  A moment later, Lye returned with the two red armbands – and Victoria and Albert. Col’s spirits sank.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Shiv.

  ‘She’s pregnant,’ Lye told him.

  ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘A royal child.’

  Victoria tried to intervene. ‘Not royal. An ordinary child. A very, very ordinary child.’

  Lye ignored her. ‘We could make this work to our advantage,’ she said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  They turned aside and continued their discussion in lowered voices. Col caught only a few words: ‘Commitment . . . everyone responsible . . . no going back . . .’

  Mr Gibber hovered on the edge of the discussion. He wasn’t listening to their plans for Victoria and Albert, but he appeared very eager about something else. In his hand was a small tin, much like the ones in which he had once kept his blackboard chalk. He held it out hopefully in Lye’s direction.

  Lye paid attention to him only when she had finished her conversation with Shiv. ‘Ah, you want your reward? Very soon, my little spy. Business first.’

  By ‘business’, she meant arrangements for the new prisoners.

  ‘I need a selection of volunteers to go down Below and inspect the engines,’ she told them. ‘Inspect to see if repairs are possible. I think the saboteur and her husband can be our first volunteers. And his parents and sister and little brother. What about you?’

  The last words were addressed to Riff, who merely glared in response. Lye didn’t quite meet her eye to eye.

  ‘So be it. You too.’

  There was a loud, muffled roar, and the bandaged prisoner next to Gillabeth began jerking violently this way and that. Gillabeth planted her feet apart, and just managed to avoid getting dragged over by the chain.

  Lye curled her lip. ‘Her as well,’ she said. ‘She can go with the rest of the troublemakers.’

  Her? She? Col was still digesting that as the red armbands unfastened their leg-irons from the chain. Including the bandaged prisoner, there were now eight so-called volunteers. Two red armbands stayed with Victoria and Albert; the others propelled the volunteers forward, while Lye and Shiv led the way. Mr Gibber trailed behind like a faithful dog.

  They arrived soon enough at the nearest viewing bay. Shiv raised the hatch, and a cloud of white steam blew out in a gush. Curled up in Antrobus’s arms, Murgatrude stuck out his head and answered the hiss of the steam with a hiss of his own.

  As the prisoners halted in front of the hatch, Mr Gibber came forward, bowing and grinning like a goblin.

  ‘Now?’ he suggested to Lye.

  He twisted the lid off the top of his tin. Inside, Col caught a glimpse of something black – jet-black.

  ‘Hmm, how many this time?’ Lye studied Mr Gibber with contempt.

  He licked his lips. ‘Three?’

  ‘No, don’t be greedy. Three is what you got when you brought Victoria and Albert to me. Information about them is only worth two.’

  She reached up and plucked out two strands of her jet-black hair. When she presented them to him, he handled them like purest gold. With infinite delicacy, he placed them inside his tin, then snapped the lid shut.

  Col turned away from the scene. Mr Gibber’s expression of gloating avarice made his skin crawl. He found himself standing beside the bandaged prisoner – who, in spite of her close-cut hair, wasn’t a ‘he’ but a ‘she’.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  The answer was a muffled sound that might have been anything. But Col already had an idea.

  ‘Nod your head if I’m right,’ he said. ‘I think—’

  ‘Quiet!’ barked one of the red armbands.

  Lye must have been following the exchange with one ear, because she swung round suddenly to face Col.

  ‘He wants to know who she is.’ The smile on her lips came nowhere near her eyes. ‘Why not?’ She nodded to Shiv. ‘Cut away the bandages. Let’s show him.’

  Shiv shrugged, reached into his singlet and drew out the same knife with which he’d threatened the Botany Bay officer. He sliced through the knots, and two red armbands came forward to unwind the bandages.

  In a moment, the prisoner was revealed – exactly as Col had suspected. It was Dunga, the missing Council member.

  She was boiling with rage. She tried to hurl herself at Lye, but the leg-irons around her ankles brought her crashing to the ground. Perhaps fortunately, since Shiv had his knife raised and ready to strike.

  ‘She seems to have made an excellent recovery,’ he mocked.

  Lye indicated the open hatch. ‘Push her in,’ she ordered.

  The red armbands leaped to obey. Dunga had no time to clutch onto the ladder. With a crash and clatter, she dropped down into the wire cage of the viewin
g bay.

  ‘Now the rest of you,’ Lye ordered. ‘Climb down or be thrown down.’

  They chose to climb: first Orris and Quinnea, then Sephaltina, then Antrobus carrying Murgatrude. As Col, Riff and Gillabeth prepared to follow, Lye gestured to Mr Gibber.

  ‘You too, my little spy,’ she said. ‘You can keep an eye on them for me.’

  Mr Gibber looked up, surprised and not at all happy. ‘But . . . but they’ll . . .’

  ‘They won’t hurt you. You watch over them, and the security force will watch over you.’

  ‘But where are you . . .?’

  ‘We have to prepare for the trial of Victoria and Albert.’ Lye turned on her heel. ‘You can report back to me later.’

  The viewing bay hung down from the ceiling of Below, high above the immense engine-room. In the past, Col would have expected to see boilers and furnaces, turning wheels and rocking beams; he would have expected to hear a mighty din of pounding machinery. At present, however, the whole chamber was silent and shrouded in steam. Descending the ladder, he couldn’t even see the wire floor of the cage until he stepped on it.

  Mr Gibber was last to come down, and he kept very close to the bottom of the ladder. The red armbands remained on guard above. They sat around the open hatch with their legs dangling, the barrels of their rifles angled down.

  Col stepped across to where a wire door had been slid back at the side of the cage. Under the old regime, it would have served for hooking Filthies up from Below, as he himself had once been hooked up. Now, apparently, it was left open all the time. He looked through the opening at a system of pulleys suspended from the ceiling, just outside. Two taut ropes dropped down vertically and vanished into the steam; two loose ropes were tied on to the side of the cage.

  Presumably, the pulleys and ropes had been installed since the Liberation as a means of going down or coming up from the engine-room. It was a dangerous-looking system, but hardly a problem for the acrobatic Filthies. Not so easy for himself or Gillabeth or Sephaltina, though . . . and very, very difficult for his parents and baby brother . . .

  ‘Come over here,’ Riff called out.

  Col turned to see Riff and Dunga on the other side of the cage, sitting with their backs against the wire. He went over to join them.

  ‘Listen to this,’ said Riff. ‘Tell him.’

  Dunga pointed to a scar just above her knee. ‘I recovered from the bullet long ago. Just a flesh wound. But Lye and Shiv wanted me to stay injured. They had me moved to one of the dormitories and wrapped up in bandages. Pretending to take care of me, saying my wound might open up again. Huh! They even tied me to a bed.’

  Col whistled. ‘They dared do that to you! A Council member.’

  ‘That’s why they did it. They knew my vote would go against them on Council, so they found a way to stop me attending.’

  ‘What about the others?’ asked Riff. ‘All the Swanks in chains?’

  ‘Revenge,’ said Dunga. ‘Punishment. They’ve been sending groups Below to work alongside the Filthy workers. They want the Swanks to live and die as the Filthies did before the Liberation.’

  ‘Mostly die, then,’ said Col.

  ‘Yes, they don’t usually last long among the machinery. Even some of the Filthies have been dying. Lye makes them work longer and longer shifts, and confines them to the dormitories when they’re not on shift. The red armbands are always watching and driving them on. They made a free choice to work with the engines, but they’ve ended up as slaves again.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Riff.

  ‘I was selected to work Below a couple of days ago. I survived – in spite of all the bandages.’

  Riff raised an eyebrow. ‘Before the collision?’

  ‘Of course. Everyone’s been brought up since then.’

  ‘So why us?’ Col asked. ‘Why select us to inspect the engines?’

  Dunga shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Riff.

  Col wasn’t sure what to think. But at least Riff and Dunga had the skills to help them all survive Below.

  He surveyed the cage. Orris, Quinnea and Sephaltina occupied one corner, Gillabeth and Antrobus with Murgatrude occupied another, while Mr Gibber sat by himself at the foot of the ladder. Mr Gibber had his tin open in front of his chest, and was sneaking a peek in under the lid.

  Col frowned. He had never understood his old schoolteacher, but this latest revelation was the most incomprehensible of all.

  Mr Gibber must have realised he was being looked at, because he snapped the lid shut on the tin and stared back at Col with an expression that was half defiant and half cringing.

  ‘You don’t have to look at me like that,’ he said. ‘I know you all hate me anyway.’

  Col made no response, just continued to look at him. Mr Gibber grew more and more uneasy under the scrutiny.

  ‘You don’t understand about love,’ he burst out at last. ‘Love that knows no reason. Love that knows no bounds.’

  ‘Love?’ Col blinked. ‘What, you and Lye?’

  Gillabeth leaned forward and joined the conversation. ‘You sad little man. You’re nothing at all to her.’

  ‘Of course I’m not.’ Mr Gibber wasn’t crushed by the comment – on the contrary. ‘She’s everything and I’m nothing. Every strand of her hair is worth more than my whole body. Beautiful, beautiful hair! And her body! So tall and straight and elegant!’

  Thanks to her corset, thought Col, but he kept the thought to himself.

  ‘And what am I?’ Mr Gibber rolled his eyes in all directions as though seeking an answer – or, at least, everyone’s attention. ‘With my stupid nose and my stupid face and my stupid short little legs! Don’t think I don’t know! I’m just a washed-up, discredited schoolteacher. No one has any use for me any more. Everything I taught has been thrown in the dustbin. But I don’t need her to love me. My love expects no return.’

  ‘What started all of this?’ asked Col.

  ‘All of this? You mean my love?’ Mr Gibber put his hand on his heart. ‘Ah, she came looking for me at the Academy. She needed a signwriter, and I offered to help. She appeared before me as a vision of perfection.’

  It made sense to Col. The Filthies had mostly learned to read, but they couldn’t yet write. If Lye wanted new signs, she would need a Swank to write them. And where better to look than a school?

  ‘All the signs you see on Bottom Deck – all my handiwork,’ said Mr Gibber. ‘First I became her writer, and then I became her devoted worshipper.’

  ‘And her spy,’ Riff put in.

  ‘I was helpless. I had to do whatever she asked. My reason was drowned and overwhelmed by passion.’

  ‘You were cunning with it, though,’ said Gillabeth.

  ‘Oh, yes. Cunning enough to fool all of you.’ A kind of conceit mingled with the other expressions on Mr Gibber’s face. ‘You never imagined that a humble ex-schoolteacher could do such things. You never thought I had it in me.’

  ‘You’re the one who abducted Victoria and Albert,’ Col accused.

  ‘Of course, of course. I tricked them into leaving the library. I told them a fairy story about Beddle and Morkins getting into a quarrel with some Filthies out in the corridor, so they had to come and help. You should’ve seen their faces when the red armbands pounced!’

  ‘And Dr Blessamy?’

  ‘He was putty in my hands. I don’t even remember what I told him. I could make him believe anything.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘Where is he? He wasn’t with the other prisoners on Bottom Deck.’

  Mr Gibber looked a little uncomfortable. ‘I haven’t seen him lately.’

  ‘No, probably because he was sent to work down Below. Probably because he ne
ver came back up.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Mr Gibber grimaced and flung out his arms. ‘I can’t think of consequences. I’m weak, I’m weak, I’m utterly helpless. The victim of my emotions. You can’t blame me. My new love makes me do crazy things.’

  ‘Oh, we blame you all right,’ said Gillabeth.

  ‘Blame me, then. Blame me as much as you want. See if I care.’

  Col pointed to Murgatrude on Antrobus’s lap. ‘Your old love didn’t make you do crazy things. I liked your old love better.’

  Murgatrude stirred, raised his head and appeared to take an interest in events. Mr Gibber looked at his pet, then looked quickly away again.

  ‘He rejected me,’ he said, with a hint of petulance. ‘He stopped loving me first.’

  Antrobus rose with Murgatrude in his arms. He toddled across to stand in front of Mr Gibber. He was holding Murgatrude in such a way as to direct the animal’s amber gaze onto the ex-schoolteacher.

  Then he took a deep breath. ‘Have you considered the possibility that your pet may have rejected you only because he observed and morally disapproved of your new attachment?’

  While everyone worked out this latest sentence, Mr Gibber appeared almost transfixed by Murgatrude’s eyes.

  ‘In spite of which,’ Antrobus went on, ‘being both a loyal and high-minded pet, he kept your secrets and may now be willing to allow you an opportunity to redeem yourself.’

  Two sentences one after the other had exhausted Antrobus’s lungs completely. He leaned forward and deposited Murgatrude in Mr Gibber’s lap, then returned to his place next to Gillabeth.

  No one said a word. Murgatrude took up position on Mr Gibber’s lap, and continued to stare at his old master with hypnotic intensity. After a while, Mr Gibber reached out, very cautiously, and scratched him gently behind the ears.