Mr Gibber was most reluctant to come forward. He seemed to be trying to make himself invisible in the shadow of the column.
‘Come forward, Lye’s little helper.’
With every eye upon him, Mr Gibber had no option. He came out in front of the crowd and stood looking at his feet. Riff propelled him further on towards the dais.
‘Stand up there,’ she said. ‘We want everyone to see and hear you.’
Mumbling to himself, Mr Gibber stepped up next to Shiv’s table, alongside Victoria and Albert.
‘Speak out loud and clear, Mr Gibber. You wrote those signs on Bottom Deck, didn’t you?’
Mr Gibber’s eyes flicked towards Lye, then back to Riff. ‘Yes.’
‘You do all the writing for Lye?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’d do anything for her? Whatever she asked?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’d write a note if she asked you to?’
‘Yes.’
‘You die tomorrow. Attack at dawn. What about that?’
‘What about it?’
‘You wrote those words under Lye’s instructions?’
Mr Gibber shuffled his feet, licked his lips and grimaced as though he’d just swallowed a nasty taste. Everything about his demeanour showed that their deduction was correct.
Lye tossed her head and cried out in a loud voice, ‘Tell the truth, Mr Gibber!’
Col understood what she was doing. She didn’t want the truth, only her truth. She was trying to re-establish dominance over her devoted worshipper.
Mr Gibber’s lips moved, but nothing came out. Col wished that Murgatrude could have been there. Without the influence of his pet, Mr Gibber was falling back under Lye’s power.
‘Tell the truth, Mr Gibber!’ she called out again.
‘I don’t remember,’ he said at last.
‘You wrote those words for Lye,’ Riff insisted.
‘I don’t remember.’
It was so obvious, yet he wouldn’t confess it. He looked like a trapped rat.
Gansy spoke to Riff, sounding almost apologetic. ‘We need more evidence than this. I still can’t believe it.’
‘Nor me,’ agreed Padder.
‘No?’ Riff remained undaunted. ‘Okay. Stand down, Mr Gibber.’
Mr Gibber didn’t have to be told twice. He jumped down from the dais, smirking with relief.
‘Come forward, Sephaltina,’ Riff called.
Sephaltina performed a tiny bobbing curtsey, and came forward.
The crowd was baffled. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is our next witness,’ said Riff.
‘It’s the saboteur!’ cried Lye. ‘The wife of Colbert Porpentine! The saboteur!’
The crowd responded with angry hisses. White spots of rage had appeared on Lye’s cheeks.
‘Stand up on the dais, Sephaltina,’ said Riff.
Sephaltina mounted the dais and faced the crowd, oblivious to their hostility. She had her hands clasped before her and the most demure expression on her rosebud lips. Col was reminded of their wedding ceremony – she seemed ready to say ‘I do’ all over again.
‘Now, Sephaltina.’ Riff’s tone was stern and serious. ‘You have owned up to many acts of sabotage.’
Sephaltina smiled prettily. ‘Yes.’
‘It was you who smashed the wireless telegraph offices?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you wanted to do something to the cranes? You went to look at them?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t remember times.’
‘Was it at night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it when we were at the coaling station?’
‘What’s a coaling station?’
‘Mountains of coal. Huge metal structures.’
‘I remember. Yes, that’s where.’
‘Did you see someone going down in a scoop?’
‘Yes.’
‘All by herself in the middle of the night?’
Sephaltina pointed at Lye. ‘Her.’
There was absolute silence all around the hall.
‘She’s making it up,’ said Lye automatically.
‘Oh no,’ Sephaltina simpered. ‘I was brought up to always tell the truth. You went down in a scoop and came back up half an hour later.’
Although her smile was too sweet and her voice too sugary, Sephaltina had a childish simplicity that was somehow hard to doubt.
‘That’s . . . it’s . . .’ Lye appealed to the crowd. ‘This girl is the saboteur. You can’t believe anything she says. She should have been executed long ago.’
The crowd broke into an excited clamour, all talking and arguing at once. It was impossible to tell whose side they were on.
Lye advanced towards the dais. Sephaltina took a backwards step and bumped into Shiv’s table. Lye sliced the air with the side of her hand.
‘She should be executed!’ she hissed. ‘I say, put her to death right now!’
At her words, Shiv rose from his chair and reached in under his singlet. His hand came out holding the long-bladed knife with the pearl handle. He stepped forward around the table and stabbed Sephaltina in the throat.
Sephaltina’s mouth was an O of amazement as red blood ran down her neck and spread out over her chest. When Shiv drew out the knife, she staggered sideways, held on to the table for a moment, then sank with a soft swish to the dais.
Shiv looked down at her. Even he seemed shocked by what he had done. ‘I think she’s dead,’ he muttered.
Voices spoke up here and there in the crowd.
‘He killed her,’ someone said.
‘Murdered her,’ said someone else.
Shiv dropped his knife on the table as if it was burning hot. ‘I executed her,’ he said.
‘No, murdered her,’ the second voice said again.
Shiv flinched, and his eyes darted in every direction. ‘She was the saboteur. She deserved to die.’
‘He did it to shut her up,’ a third voice said.
‘Because of what she was saying.’
‘They didn’t want us to hear.’
The crowd was turning against Shiv and Lye. One Filthy reached up, pulled the red armband from her arm and flung it to the floor.
‘That’s what I think,’ she said.
Watching the crowd, Lye had swung away from Shiv.
‘She should’ve been executed long ago.’ Shiv repeated her phrase. ‘Someone had to do it.’
More and more people in the crowd began tearing off their red armbands, throwing them to the floor. Shiv stared at Lye’s back.
‘You said it.’ A note of desperation had crept into his voice. He was almost pleading for Lye’s endorsement.
When Lye turned to respond, her face was cold and expressionless. ‘I didn’t say to do that.’
Shiv stared at her in growing horror. ‘Put her to death right now,’ he quoted.
Lye shook her head. ‘Not before a proper vote of the meeting. Not with a knife.’
All movement in the hall had ceased, even the removal of armbands. Everyone looked from Shiv to Lye and back again.
‘Don’t do this,’ said Shiv.
‘You went too far,’ said Lye.
‘You need me. You and me together.’
Lye shook her head. ‘You always went too far.’
‘Only by your instructions.’
It had become a battle of wills. Lye was glaring at Shiv, trying to dominate him as she had dominated Mr Gibber. But Shiv wouldn’t be dominated, not this time.
‘I won’t be tossed aside,’ he growled. ‘I won’t.’
‘Be q
uiet.’
‘I’ll toss you aside first.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Watch me.’
Their eyes were locked on one another as though nobody else in the hall existed. Then Shiv broke eye contact and turned to the crowd.
‘This wasn’t the first killing I did for her,’ he said.
‘Be quiet!’ hissed Lye.
Shiv’s eyes glittered with a perverse kind of triumph. ‘I killed Zeb for her,’ he announced.
‘I . . . it wasn’t . . .’
‘You and me together.’ Shiv couldn’t stop himself now. ‘We talked about it. She was determined to be elected onto the Council, and there was only one sure way to create a vacancy.’
‘You did it. You swung the spanner. I wasn’t even there at the time.’
‘No, but you planted the idea in my head, and made it grow.’
‘That’s not true. You wanted to change the balance of Council votes in your favour. You did it for your own sake.’
‘My sake? You think I care about my sake? You know I only care about us.’
Padder broke in. ‘So you were investigating a murder you committed yourself?’ He stared at Shiv goggle-eyed.
‘We committed.’ Shiv didn’t so much as glance in Padder’s direction. ‘She helped afterwards too. She had the idea of blaming the saboteur. She was the one who unscrewed the nuts and bolts on the elevator to make it look like an interrupted act of sabotage. I couldn’t do it, I was shaking too much.’ Shiv held out his trembling arm. ‘Same as I’m shaking now.’
Then something in Lye snapped.
‘You weakling!’ she spat at him. ‘You never cared about the revolution. You’d never sacrifice anything for the cause.’
‘I sacrificed everything for us,’ said Shiv in a whisper.
‘Then you’re a fool as well as a weakling. There never was any us. Just feeble little dreams in your feeble male head.’
The Filthies in the crowd had had enough – and the convicts too.
‘They’re both mad!’
‘To kill someone just for a place on the Council!’
‘Monsters!’
‘Each as bad as the other.’
Now they were stripping off red armbands as though the fabric was infected with disease.
‘I won’t be a part of this.’
‘Not what we joined up for.’
Lye scanned the hall defiantly. She had never looked more beautiful: mouth drawn down, nostrils flaring, cheekbones like cut glass.
‘You don’t deserve this revolution!’ she cried.
But she didn’t go on. The crowd’s hostility was as palpable as heat, beating against her.
‘Cowards,’ she muttered.
She sprang across to the nearest convict and wrested his rifle from him before he knew what was happening. She swung the barrel towards the crowd.
‘No!’ warned Riff. ‘You shoot and you’re dead!’
Filthies and convicts were already raising their rifles. Lye’s mouth tightened.
‘I’m dead anyway,’ she said.
She redirected her aim – at Victoria. Victoria closed her eyes; Albert made a move to step in front of her.
But now Lye’s rifle was swinging again. This time it picked out Shiv.
‘You come with me,’ she commanded.
Amazingly, he obeyed. He stepped around Sephaltina’s body and came down from the dais. Then Lye spotted Mr Gibber lurking nearby.
‘You too, my little spy.’ She gestured with her rifle. ‘We’re leaving.’
She herded her collaborators at rifle point towards the doors at the back of the hall. When one Filthy tried to block their way, she curled her lip and aimed her rifle at his head.
‘You want more deaths?’
The events of the last few minutes had left everyone stunned. Nobody wanted more deaths. The crowd parted and let them through.
‘They’re dangerous!’ Col shouted. ‘Don’t . . .’
He was about to add, ‘Don’t let them get away’, when a new drama distracted him. Riff had jumped up on the dais and was kneeling beside Sephaltina’s body. She held Sephaltina’s wrist with one hand, while bringing her ear very close to Sephaltina’s mouth.
‘Not dead!’ She lifted her head and sang out. ‘She still has a pulse! She’s still breathing!’
Col was the first to rush up; then Dunga and Gillabeth and a number of Filthies from the front of the hall. In no time at all, the dais was packed with would-be helpers.
Riff rose to her feet and appealed to the crowd. ‘Someone with medical skills! Is Elber here? Or Hatta? Or Shayle?’
‘Hatta is.’
‘I’m coming.’
Hatta was a female Filthy with a raw, red complexion and a patch over one eye. She shouldered her way through the throng and mounted the dais.
‘Give her air!’ she ordered, and began whirling her arms like a windmill. ‘Stand back! Make room! Shoo! Go on! Further! Right off the dais!’
Col retreated with the rest. He had seen the dreadful gash in Sephaltina’s throat, and the blood bubbling out. Had the blade severed an artery?
Hatta seemed to know exactly what she was doing. She demanded towels, clean strips of cloth and some form of alcohol, and immediately Gillabeth hurried off to search. When it came to finding anything anywhere in the juggernaut, Gillabeth also knew exactly what she was doing.
Hatta wanted only one assistant, and that was Riff. Col watched and waited, feeling useless. The hall buzzed with a hundred animated conversations, but he took no part in them.
When Gillabeth returned with towels, cloth and alcohol, Hatta and Riff busied themselves over the prone body of the victim. At one stage, Sephaltina gasped and whimpered; a little later, she fell very quiet. After ten minutes, Hatta sat back and wiped her hands on a towel.
‘That’s all we can do for now,’ she said.
Riff also wiped her hands, then rose to her feet. Col wanted to ask about Sephaltina’s chances, but, before he could attract Hatta’s attention, there was a disturbance at the back of the hall.
‘Let me through! I need a member of the Council!’
Someone was pushing forward, shouting at the top of his voice. Riff looked out to the source of the disturbance.
‘What is it, Gart?’
‘Come quick! Tell us what to do!’
‘Is it Lye?’
‘Yes.’
Riff jumped down from the dais and ran for the back of the hall, weaving a way through the crowd. Col took advantage of the channel she created, and ran after her.
The Filthy who had shouted was probably the only person in the hall still wearing a red armband. He hardly waited for Riff to arrive before he turned and sped off.
He headed for the nearest elevator. Riff followed him and Col followed her. Other Filthies and convicts came running out of the hall too, but only Riff and Col made it onto the elevator. Col flung himself forward just as Gart pulled the lever. The platform rose up amid clouds of steam.
Gart had a shaved bullet-head and grizzled chin. He paid no attention to Col at first, but addressed himself to Riff. ‘She said it’s time to start the assault.’
‘Lye?’
‘Yes. With Shiv and some old Swank. It’s crazy. There’s only the three of them. Where’s the proper assault force? We’re nowhere near ready. Most of the teams are still building their catapults.’
‘Catapults?’ asked Col. ‘What catapults?’
Gart stared at him suspiciously. ‘Who —?’
‘He’s okay.’ Riff spoke up for him. ‘What catapults?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I’ve been busy. Is this the airborne assault?’
‘Yes. The catapu
lts to shoot the grappling hooks across. Lye and Shiv wanted fifty built, but we’ve only finished five so far. You have to stop them. You have to stop her.’
Riff chewed her lip and said nothing. The elevator continued to rise past deck after deck.
‘How high are we going?’ asked Col.
Gart seemed to have overcome his suspicion. ‘Fifty-Third Deck,’ he answered. ‘The catapults are on the terrace under the funnels.’
They came out at the top of the elevator and ran with Gart through one corridor after another. This part of the juggernaut was new to Col; he had never explored it even after the Liberation. There were many blank grey doors of what looked like offices or wardrooms.
Then Gart stopped and opened a more solid-looking door. Col blinked in the sudden hazy sunlight. It was like stepping out onto the platform above the Bridge, except that here they were at the side rather than the front of the superstructure.
There was no solid barrier, only a succession of descending terraces with railings at the front. Rows of white-painted, horn-like pipes stuck up on every terrace – ventilation ducts, presumably. Above their heads towered the black cylindrical shape of one of Liberator’s immense funnels. Aft of that was another funnel leaning ten degrees out of the vertical; aft again was the funnel that had collapsed in the collision. Crumpled sheets of curved metal splayed in all directions like a crushed black flower.
‘They’ve started!’ Gart cried, pointing.
Col followed the line of his arm and saw two parallel ropes that arced from Liberator to the Russian juggernaut. The grappling hook had already been fired across, and had snagged successfully in the Romanov’s masts and wires.
Gart set off running along the uppermost terrace, with Riff and Col at his heels. They passed a number of metal constructions hidden behind tarpaulins that had been thrown over the railings. Groups of Filthies crouched around the constructions; at present, they had all stopped work to watch what was happening.
Three figures came into view, moving slowly along the ropes. The ropes were about half a yard apart, and each figure balanced with a foot on either rope. Mr Gibber was at the front, then Shiv, then Lye. Lye kept her rifle trained on the other two.
‘Too late,’ groaned Gart, and eased his pace.
By the time they came up to the catapult, the trio were thirty paces away, suspended over the void. Five Filthies stood watching them go, one a muscular, sandy-haired woman with a red armband.
Liberator Page 24