Liberator

by Richard Harland

  Quinnea didn’t miss a beat. ‘Everyone has to take a risk sometimes. I know he’ll discover resources in himself that he never expected.’

  Col almost dropped the bowl of water. His mother was a changed personality! Her success in pulling a red armband down by the legs seemed to have given her a new perspective on life.

  ‘You’ll be surprised at what you can do when you have to,’ she told her husband, encouragingly.

  ‘It’s a pity you can’t come, Colbert,’ Orris said. ‘I suppose you have to look after your wife.’

  If there was a hint of hesitation in Orris’s voice, there was none in Quinnea’s. ‘Of course he must. Oh, and I nearly forgot. We brought her some lovely flowers and sweets.’

  Antrobus stepped forward and held out the bunch of flowers and the pink-wrapped box.

  ‘She likes sweets, doesn’t she?’ Quinnea asked Col.

  ‘Dotes on them.’

  ‘We cut the flowers from a pot in the Westmoreland Gallery.’

  Accepting the gifts on Sephaltina’s behalf, Col placed them on a nearby cabinet. He couldn’t help wondering what deep thoughts were circulating behind Antrobus’s eyes. Did his baby brother understand that Col’s only feelings for Sephaltina were responsibility and a kind of guilt because he didn’t and couldn’t love her? But Antrobus uttered not a word, for which Col was thankful.

  When they left soon after, Col went out and found a vase for the flowers. The rest of the morning passed by in a monotonous trance. At least there was no sound of any attack by the Romanov or the Grosse Wien.

  Later in the day, Victoria and Albert paid a visit. Col gritted his teeth as they asked questions about his wife and sympathised with him over his misfortune.

  ‘She’ll recover, no doubt of it.’ Albert clapped him on the shoulder. ‘No doubt at all.’

  The fact that their sympathy was so very genuine made it somehow harder to bear. Why couldn’t they understand that his marriage had only ever been an alliance between families?

  He had questions of his own to ask, but somehow he didn’t like to ask them in Sephaltina’s presence, even though she was sleeping. Instead he waited until the end of the visit, then accompanied Victoria and Albert out into the corridor.

  ‘When you abdicated as Queen,’ he asked Victoria, ‘did you also abdicate as Head of the Imperial Church?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Victoria seemed bemused. ‘I just abdicated. Why?’

  ‘Well, marrying people would’ve been something you did as Head of the Church, wouldn’t it?’

  Victoria nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that sounds right.’

  ‘So if you’re still Head of the Church, you could still marry people?’

  ‘Oh!’ Victoria’s face lit up with a smile. ‘You know someone who wants to get married?’

  Col skirted the question. ‘Or unmarry them?’

  The smile disappeared. ‘Unmarry them?’

  ‘I know someone who wants to get unmarried.’

  Col tried to sound as casual as possible. He was relying on the fact that Victoria and Albert were known for having the best of feelings rather than the best of brains. He hoped they wouldn’t make the obvious connection.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Victoria. ‘What a shame. Do we know this person?’

  ‘I can’t tell you who it is. Is there a way to do it? There ought to be a way.’

  A look of distress had appeared in Victoria’s large, liquid eyes. ‘I’d hate to have married anyone who didn’t want to get married.’

  ‘Perhaps if they both wanted to get unmarried?’ Albert put in. ‘Do they?’

  Col had a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll need to find out.’

  ‘Have to be both of them,’ said Albert. ‘Wouldn’t be fair otherwise.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Col.

  He walked on with them another twenty paces, as far as one of the steam elevators.

  ‘I’d better be getting back to Sephaltina, then,’ he said.

  He turned back with a bitter taste in his mouth. Riff had said that reversing a wedding ceremony ought to be as simple as saying ‘I don’t’, but he’d always known it couldn’t be so easy. Now he knew just how difficult. He felt as if he was ravelled up in a thousand strings – and they were tightening round him all the time.

  Col would hardly have dared ask Sephaltina her views on getting unmarried, but he found out anyway. Later that afternoon, she began to babble random phrases.

  ‘Yes, Mamma.’

  ‘I will be good.’

  ‘I’ll wear the pink ribbons.’

  ‘I have to be pretty.’

  Col wished Hatta would put in an appearance. Sephaltina’s voice had an odd, breathy quality. Was babbling a good sign, or was it bad for her throat?

  ‘Shush . . . shush . . .’ he said.

  Instead of shushing, Sephaltina suddenly opened her eyes very wide and looked straight at Col.

  ‘My husband,’ she breathed. ‘Back again.’

  He managed a smile. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

  ‘I don’t need to remember. My husband is taking care of me. Everything is just as it should be.’

  ‘You’re recovering well. The nurse says—’

  ‘Of course I am. I have to get better for my husband.’

  Her eyelids flickered and closed, and she seemed to be falling back asleep. I’m glad she’s getting better, Col told himself.

  A few minutes later, her eyelids flew open and she looked straight at him again. She remained silent while he bathed her forehead with cool water.

  ‘You’re happy being married, then?’ he said after a while.

  ‘Silly,’ she murmured.

  ‘Even though it was an arranged marriage?’

  Sephaltina’s lips puckered in a smile. ‘I arranged it.’

  ‘You . . . ?’ Col didn’t understand.

  ‘When we received your proposal. The Turbots from the Porpentines. Daddy didn’t want to give his consent, but I made him.’

  Col had a distant recollection of Chief Helmsman Turbot saying that his daughter had been very insistent. ‘How?’

  ‘I held my breath until I fainted. I threatened to keep on doing it and doing it. I said I’d do it until I died. I’m very strong-willed, you know. I always get whatever I want in the end.’

  Col stared at her. With her heart-shaped face, rosebud mouth and cheeks so prone to blushing, she was sweetness and prettiness personified. But perhaps sweetness and prettiness didn’t rule out a very strong will.

  Soon, she dropped back into a deeper sleep, and Col was left alone with his unhappy thoughts.

  He’d never really expected Sephaltina to give up on being married, but he’d forgotten that she’d pushed her father to agree to it. And even before then, what about all the little presents that she’d left in his desk at school? Packets of fudge, bars of nougat and boxes of chocolates – always with a note bearing the enigmatic initials S.T. Every memory was like a twist of the knife. She must have loved him long before he was ever aware of her existence. Even if it was a slightly strange kind of love . . .

  He felt ashamed of himself for probing her on her commitment to marriage. He should never have asked Victoria about getting unmarried. The strings that wound around him felt tighter than ever.

  Ten minutes later, Septimus Trant stuck his head in at the door.

  ‘Hi! Sorry I couldn’t look in sooner. I’ve been so busy on the project.’ He came up to view Sephaltina on the divan. ‘How is she?’

  Col hadn’t seen him since Botany Bay. Septimus was aware of Col’s feelings for Riff, so he was one person who could share and understand Col’s dilemma. Right now, though, Col didn’t want any sharing or understanding.

  �
��She’s getting better.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Septimus said neutrally. ‘She helped us, did you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If Sephaltina hadn’t smashed up the wireless telegraph offices, we’d never have known where to find magnets. They were inside the equipment, in the casings.’

  ‘Magnets?’

  ‘For the project. It was a lucky accident for us.’

  When Septimus said ‘project’ before, Col had assumed he was talking about the mission. But why magnets?

  ‘You’ve been stuck in here a long time, haven’t you?’ Septimus asked, as if the thought had just struck him.

  ‘I only hear what visitors tell me.’

  ‘You heard about the other juggernauts turning up?’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘The French Marseillaise and the Turkish Battle of Mohacs.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Half an hour ago.’ Septimus half-swivelled towards the door. ‘Come and look.’

  Sephaltina lay sleeping peacefully under the quilt. Col considered the time it would take to reach a place to look out, then return. If they moved fast . . .

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  The lookout they chose was one of the sorting trays on Thirty-First Deck. They descended by elevator, hurried along corridors and came out finally into the open.

  There was no hint of a breeze, and the air was hot and heavy. It was already close to sunset, and the sky was streaked with orange and yellow bands. Hundreds of birds wheeled in circles, climbing higher and higher.

  Col and Septimus went around the scoop that rested on the tray, and stood close to the edge at the front.

  ‘The Battle of Mohacs.’ Septimus pointed. ‘And the Marseillaise.’

  While the vast bulk of the Romanov loomed before them, the other juggernauts were visible at a distance left and right. They appeared in silhouette against the lurid sky like crouching beasts encircling their prey.

  The Battle of Mohacs was on the left, along with the Grosse Wien. It was even smaller than the Austrian juggernaut, with a curiously old-fashioned silhouette rising in steps to a great square poop at the back. At the front, the tops of two enormous spoked wheels showed out above the level of the deck. Both deck and poop were crowned with battlements like a castle.

  On the right, the Marseillaise was a monster at least as big as Liberator. Two conical towers dominated its silhouette fore and aft, with a dozen strange cigar-shaped objects floating above them. Massive tethered balloons, Col guessed. The prow dropped away to a low snout or proboscis that stretched forward over the ground, half as long as the juggernaut itself.

  ‘Now we know why the Russians and Austrians were waiting,’ said Col.

  ‘For reinforcements.’

  ‘They won’t wait much longer now.’

  ‘No.’ Septimus frowned suddenly and snapped his fingers. ‘Time I got back to help the Professor.’

  He hurried off without another word. Col stayed on a few minutes longer, but there was less and less to see in the dwindling light.

  Then he too turned, and headed back to Sephaltina in her sickroom. On the way, he realised with annoyance that he’d forgotten to ask Septimus about this project involving magnets.

  Would Riff come for him? Col went over and over their last exchange. Although he’d asked her to come back, she hadn’t actually said yes. Now the sun had set and it was time to launch the mission . . . Perhaps the team had already left without him?

  He could have whooped when the door swung open and Riff appeared. Unfortunately, his jump of excitement woke Sephaltina from her slumber. A tiny frown formed on her forehead, as though someone had done something offensive in her presence.

  ‘Okay,’ said Riff. ‘Last chance. We’re about to go.’

  Sephaltina answered first. ‘My husband is taking care of me,’ she said haughtily.

  Riff ignored her and addressed Col. ‘It was your plan. Are you going to be a part of it or not?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘You can’t take him away,’ said Sephaltina. ‘He’s mine.’

  Col turned to her. ‘It won’t be for long. You’re improving all the time.’

  ‘Am not. I’m getting worse. I’ll get much, much worse if you leave me.’ It sounded like a threat.

  Riff stood by the door, ready to leave. ‘Well?’

  ‘Go away!’ Sephaltina shouted suddenly. ‘You don’t understand about marriage. You’re only a Filthy. A marriage is forever and ever. Through thick and thin. In sickness and in health.’

  Riff eyed her coldly. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘In craziness and in sanity. Nothing matters more to him than me. It’s not allowed.’

  Col tried to explain. ‘I can help save Liberator and everyone on it.’

  ‘Don’t fib!’ Sephaltina’s shout became a shriek. ‘You’re not doing it to save people. You’re doing it for her. You want her instead of me!’

  Sephaltina might be crazy but she wasn’t stupid. Col looked around, completely at a loss what to say.

  Meanwhile, Hatta had entered the room. She stood with folded arms a couple of paces in from the door.

  Sephaltina drew breath and returned to the attack. ‘If you go on this mission with her, I’ll die and it’ll be your fault.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You want me to die so you can be with her!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. You want me to die, so I’ll die. Then you’ll be sorry for what you’ve done.’

  Hatta chose that moment to stride forward. She took hold of Sephaltina’s shoulder and pushed her back down on the divan.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you are getting better, aren’t you? Much stronger, to be making all that noise. Even trying to sit up.’

  ‘I need lots and lots of looking after,’ Sephaltina pouted. ‘From my husband.’

  ‘Lots and lots of sleep, that’s what you need. Haven’t you tired yourself out with all your shouting?’

  Indeed, Sephaltina did seem tired. She sank back into her pillow, closed her eyes and opened her mouth.

  ‘I want a sweetie,’ she said. ‘I want my husband to give me a sweetie.’

  ‘There are no sweeties,’ said Hatta.

  ‘Actually, there are.’ Col pointed to the box wrapped in pink paper on top of the cabinet. ‘My mother left some this morning.’

  ‘Yes!’ It was as though Sephaltina had already sensed their presence. Her eyes flew open, her gaze homed in instantly on the box. ‘Sweetie, please.’

  ‘Stabbed in the throat, and she wants sweeties!’ Hatta rolled her eyes. ‘Sweets are one thing you must not have. Big, sticky lumps getting stuck in your throat? You can sip water, and nothing more. Absolutely out of the question.’

  Sephaltina’s tongue played daintily over her lips. ‘Sweetie, please.’

  Hatta’s answer was to scoop up the box from the top of the cabinet. The cabinet had a glass front and a key; she opened it up, deposited the box inside, then closed and locked it.

  ‘There!’ She removed and pocketed the key. ‘You can have your sweeties when you’ve fully recovered, and not before. Do you understand?’

  ‘Please can I have a sweetie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want a sweetie.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, you silly girl.’

  Sephaltina screwed up her mouth in a very tight expression. ‘Not very nice to me,’ she huffed, and turned away on her side.

  Hatta beckoned to Col with one finger. He followed her in the direction of the door, where she spoke to him and Riff together.

  ‘She really is much improved,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There’s no problem about leaving her.’

&nb
sp; ‘It’s all right for me to go on this mission?’ Col asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She won’t die?’

  Hatta pulled a face. ‘As if.’

  Col swung to Riff with a broad grin. ‘I’m in. Let’s go!’

  The members of the team were Riff, Dunga and Padder from the Council; Orris and Col; and three other Filthies, Jarvey, Cham and Cree. Cree was the woman with red spiky hair who’d quizzed Col on the Bridge and made a face at the mention of Shiv’s security force. Col liked her already.

  Orris had been converted into a passable imitation of a Filthy, with tousled hair, loose-fitting clothes and greasy smudges on his cheeks. In an odd way, the change suited him. ‘The Russian Filthies won’t talk to me if they think I’m a Swank,’ he explained.

  Col had to undergo a similar transformation. Cree surveyed him critically, and grinned. ‘Nah. Your father’s ten times the Filthy you are.’

  The preparations had gone far beyond Col’s planning in another respect too. Along with their rifles, everyone carried a canvas bag containing fancy foods and luxury items. The idea was to present small gifts to the Russian Filthies.

  ‘To win them over?’ Col asked.

  ‘Yes, and show them how well we live,’ said Riff.

  ‘As they could too, if they liberate themselves,’ added Cree.

  Twenty minutes later, the team descended in a scoop lowered by one of Liberator’s cranes. The oppressive air weighed down like a fist and held the whole world trapped and still. Dry thunder grumbled in the distance, a continuous deep roll; sheet lightning lit up the horizon like a light switched on and off. No storm, no rain, no climax – just the menace without the fulfilment.

  Some kind of activity was taking place up on the Romanov’s flat deck, but the high, fortress-like sides of the juggernaut made it impossible to see what it was. The other juggernauts were mere black masses visible only in flashes of lightning. Col could swear they’d moved in closer yet again.

  He smelled the ground even before the scoop touched down. A hundred scents rose to his nostrils, full of mystery and promise. Sharp scents and sweet scents, woody scents and herbal scents . . . he had never been close to so much natural vegetation in his life.