‘Miss Rabbit gets foolish notions into her head,’ Snell continued. ‘I wouldn’t want her to take advantage of your kindness.’
‘I am not burdened by an excess of kindness.’
Snell chuckled. Faber stared back silently.
‘And I, um…’ Snell coughed uncomfortably. Faber had that effect on people. ‘And nobody saw Miss Rabbit about the building during your show.’
‘Do you accuse me of lying? I sent her on an errand,’ said Faber. ‘She is my assistant. She was needed to assist me. Leave me now.’
Tig could only imagine the indignant expression on Snell’s face as Faber slammed the door on him. She relaxed away from the wall.
‘That was close,’ said Nelson.
‘Thank you,’ said Tig.
‘For what?’
‘Getting me out of trouble.’
He shrugged and turned back to his machine. ‘It would be inconvenient to train a new assistant.’
‘Right.’ Tig smiled.
‘You can leave now,’ he said. ‘Forget what Euphonia said. Don’t do anything foolish.’
But Tig had heard two predictions now, one of which had already come true. Of course she was going to investigate.
* * *
Back in the Minshull Gallery, sitting on the floor behind the cross-eyed bear, Tig and Nelson went over the evening again, trying to make sense of what had happened. Nelson lit a candle and Tig carefully wrote down the words Euphonia had spoken.
Follow the rabbit through the flames.
The circle breaks, the chamber falls, the widow wears red.
And then this evening’s prediction:
Both precious things held captive below and behind and within the machines.
‘I’ve got to get a look under that stage,’ Tig said, grimly. ‘Tonight.’ She needed to know if Euphonia really could see the future. And if there was something valuable hidden down there, it could solve all their problems.
‘Do I have any hope of talking you out of it?’ asked Nelson.
Tig shook her head and he sighed.
‘In that case, I’ll come with you. Just in case.’
* * *
They waited until the theatre fell quiet, the doors were locked and the lights were out, then went exploring.
Nelson walked ahead with the candle as they descended the stairs into hell. That was the name of the cavity directly below the stage, so called because it was hot and dark and crowded, and a wretched place to be working during a long performance. The ceiling was low and there were a hundred things to trip over and bump into.
The stage machinery was a series of trapdoors and moving platforms, operated with chains and thick ropes and great wooden wheels like parts of a great ship. When a play required an actor to appear as if by magic, or a piece of scenery to sink out of sight, a team of four or six men would be hired to work them. It was heavy, physical work and the children weren’t big enough to do it themselves.
Cautiously, Nelson and Tig tiptoed around the space, shining the candle into every dark corner, examining all the spaces behind and beneath. They had to be quiet – Eliza and Snell’s apartment was down on this level too, on the other side of the storage rooms. Tig’s thoughts galloped like a racehorse, trying to guess what the precious things Euphonia had predicted might be. What if they were jewels, or money? She imagined Eliza’s delight as Tig presented them to her, and Snell’s disappointment that the theatre had been saved.
‘Maybe we’re here too soon,’ whispered Tig. She had no idea how Euphonia worked – maybe she was predicting something that happened far into the future. Tig was cross that she hadn’t thought of this earlier.
‘The grave trap is directly beneath Euphonia,’ said Nelson. ‘That seems the most likely spot if you’re going to find anything.’
The grave trap was the biggest piece of machinery they had. When the huge wheel was turned, the platform was raised and a hatch opened on the stage. It was called the grave trap because of the size and shape of the trapdoor, just big enough to lower a coffin through.
Tig walked all around it, but saw nothing unusual. She climbed up onto the platform and peered over each edge in turn. Both precious things. What could they be?
‘I see something.’ There, beneath the corner of the platform, something shiny. The candle beam had touched on something silvery. A tingly feeling cascaded from her scalp, right through her body. She reached down, but the platform was in the way. Something precious. She had found it.
Leaning out over the edge of the trap, Tig uncoiled a thick hemp rope from its cleat.
‘Careful, Tig,’ said Nelson, sounding worried. ‘I don’t think you should do that.’
‘Come round to the side. Hold the candle low so we can see what’s there.’
If she could release the rope, the weight would drop and shift the platform slightly. It was an awkward angle – the mechanism was designed to be operated by several men. The last loop came loose and the platform jolted upwards.
She was caught. Her arms were stuck.
All the breath went from Tig’s body and a wave of sickness spread over her. She had time to think I’m in trouble before the pain washed over her, ice-hot and crushing.
The platform had shifted unevenly because the weights had only been released at one side. Now it was wedged at a strange angle and she was wedged with it, her forearms jammed between the guard rail and the frame.
‘Tig!’ Nelson was on his feet straight away.
Somehow, she didn’t scream. If she screamed, Snell might hear, and she had no doubt he would fire her for interfering with the machinery. Possibly Nelson, too, and she couldn’t do that to him. She gritted her teeth through the pain.
She tugged at her left arm, the wood pinching her skin. Her eyes were watering.
‘Don’t pull,’ hissed Nelson. His face was a painting of panic, and that scared Tig more than the pain. ‘Try not to twist, you’ll break your arms. I’ll get you out. We can do it.’
What if they were already broken? The pain was hot and cold. Tig wouldn’t be the first person to lose a limb in a theatre accident.
Both precious things. Nothing was more precious that her arms.
Nelson grabbed the rope and pulled, but he was skinny and the platform was heavy – especially now that Tig was on top of it.
She took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn’t help. She wiggled her hands – the right side had a little more space. She twisted from her shoulder, contorting into an uncomfortable half-crouched position, and turned her wrist backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.
Something shifted, and it gave an inch. Another deep breath, and a pull and a scrape. One arm was free, but now the pressure on her left arm had doubled as the platform tried to rise up further.
‘I can almost do it,’ she hissed through her teeth. ‘So close. Just a little more.’
Nelson twisted the rope around his forearm and yanked down with his full weight until he was swinging from it. It worked. She pulled her other hand free and sat trembling on the platform.
Nelson dropped the rope and the platform jolted and settled. ‘Are you all right?’ He sounded shaken.
‘You saved me,’ said Tig. ‘If you hadn’t been here… if I’d been alone.’
Stupid. What a stupid thing to do! She knew how dangerous the traps could be. She wriggled her fingers and rubbed her aching arms. Somehow she hadn’t broken them, but a thick red stripe was already appearing across the skin.
Euphonia was predicting the future. Tig had misunderstood, but it had come true all the same.
Nelson offered his hand to help her down from the platform which was now wedged at an awkward angle – somebody would have to fix it. Hopefully no one would know it was Tig who’d broken it. She held the candle close to the raised corner to see what the silvery thing was that she had endangered her life for.
A broken piece of chain. That was it. Nothing precious at all.
Costume Call
Tig had bee
n waiting for ever for Faber to finish checking his temperature and swallowing his various health-promoting tonics. He was the same greyish shade as when he first arrived, so they clearly weren’t doing him much good. A bit of fresh air and sunshine would do more for his health, but he wouldn’t hear of going for a walk. Something about factory fumes and robbers.
The Royale was noisy today. Snell had insisted the boys make some new scenery flats ready for future shows and there was a great deal of hammering and sawing. Of course, if he had his way, there wouldn’t be any future shows. The truth was, Snell was in a bad mood and enjoyed ordering the children around.
It was a warm day, but Tig rolled down the sleeves on her coat to cover the tender bruises on her forearms from last night’s narrow escape. She wasn’t in the mood to explain that.
In fact, she was determined to put it out of her mind entirely. So far nothing good had come out of Euphonia’s predictions. Every time the machine spoke, Tig was distracted from her true goal of saving the Royale. Besides, if she failed to fill the seats, Snell would send Faber away within the week. Then she’d never find out the truth about Euphonia. Her investigations would have to wait. It was the sort of sensible decision Nelson would make, so Tig knew it was the right one.
‘Confounded noise,’ muttered Faber. He was flicking through the pages of his notebook and mumbling to himself. ‘…the bellows were still, that’s the real mystery…’
Tig had brought him up some bread and dripping, which, to her surprise, he ate without questioning her on the cleanliness of the preparation. He must be in a good mood, so it seemed like the right time to suggest more improvements to the show.
‘We need to find you a proper costume.’
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’
‘On stage, you want something that helps you stand out.’
‘I don’t have anything else. And I won’t go out to a tailor.’
‘There might be something in the costume room that fits.’ Tig tilted her head to one side. She couldn’t begin to guess what size he might be, being so tall and skinny. ‘A jacket, at least. Come on.’
Faber left the room very reluctantly. ‘I don’t want anyone in my room while I’m gone.’
‘We won’t be long,’ said Tig.
She led him through the backstage corridors and held open the door to the costume store.
‘Someone has been sleeping in here,’ said Professor Faber.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Tig. She hurriedly gathered up her bedding and nightclothes and shoved them into a corner. ‘It’s me.’
‘I see.’ Faber wrinkled his brow and Tig felt a flush of embarrassment at her pathetic lodgings.
‘Let’s try one of these.’ She took down a jaunty red jacket with a fur-trimmed collar.
‘No,’ said Faber.
‘This one?’ She held up a long green cloak, embroidered with stars, which had belonged to the sorcerer in the last show.
‘Certainly not.’
She ran her fingers along the rows of outfits. ‘Ah. Here.’ She pulled out a dark blue jacket with a subtle vine-leaf pattern all over it in a lighter blue. It wouldn’t stand out the way the first two might, but it certainly looked fancier than any of Faber’s plain clothes, and the shiny threads would glitter under the theatre lights.
‘Hmmm.’ Faber didn’t seem impressed.
‘Try it on,’ Tig urged and he reluctantly put his arms in the sleeves.
‘Well?’
‘Lovely,’ said Tig. ‘You just need…’ She stood on a stool to reach a high box of cravats and rummaged until she found a bright yellow one. ‘Aha!’
She passed it down to him, but he didn’t take it.
‘What’s that?’
The loose sleeves had fallen as she reached up, and he was staring at the bruises on her arms.
‘Nothing.’ She pulled the cuffs back down to her wrists.
‘What happened? Did somebody hurt you?’ The concern on his face seemed so genuine that Tig felt guilty. She had to tell the truth.
‘It was an accident. Last night… Euphonia’s prediction. We went down under the stage to see if we could find what she was talking about. I got caught in the moving platform.’
‘You could’ve broken your arms.’
‘Yes,’ said Tig. ‘That’s what she meant. Both precious things. It was true.’
‘Oh dear.’ Faber took the cravat and began putting it on.
It was so tempting to point out that she was right about Euphonia telling the future. But she mustn’t. From now on, all her energy would go into saving the Royale.
‘What do you think?’ said Faber.
‘Now you look like a performer, not an inventor,’ said Tig.
‘I am an inventor.’
‘You need to be both. Let’s go to the stage, so I can see how it looks from the audience.’
They returned to the auditorium. As Tig passed Euphonia, she began to speak.
‘On the third strike the blade slips. Splintering wood. A scream.’
Tig froze. Her sore arms throbbed as if reminding her of what happened last time.
‘Don’t do anything,’ the professor warned. ‘We don’t understand it. Let me get my notes.’
‘Blades. Screaming.’ A little voice inside Tig’s head told her to ignore Euphonia’s words for the sake of the Royale and her own safety. But she could hear her own real voice already saying urgently, ‘We’ve got to act – something terrible is going to happen!’
‘I won’t allow you to endanger yourself again. Give me chance to study what’s happening…’
‘Sounds like someone is going to get hurt. And we’re the only ones who know. We’re the only people with a chance of stopping it!’
There was a moment’s silence as the last notes of Euphonia’s voice echoed and disappeared into the auditorium. Then from the workshop, the sound of hammering and sawing resumed.
‘The workshop,’ said Tig. ‘It must be about the workshop. That’s the only place with blades.’ She scrabbled for her pencil and paper and quickly wrote down the exact words, before she forgot them.
‘Please don’t.’
Faber sank down onto the stool behind Euphonia.
‘Third strike. That must be the clock.’ It was beginning to make sense. She could do this. ‘Three o’clock. That can’t be far off. What time is it now?’ She looked at Faber expectantly until he sighed and pulled out his watch.
‘Five until three.’
‘That hardly gives us any time…’ Tig was pacing up and down now. ‘No, actually, that’s perfect. If there’s going to be an accident in the workshop at three o’clock, I just need to be sure it’s empty then.’
She was giddy, light-headed.
‘And what if it doesn’t work? Haven’t you learned?’ The professor gestured towards her arms.
‘I have to try.’ She left him behind and ran to the workshop. The familiar smell of sawdust and wood glue permeated the air.
‘What do you want, Rabbit?’ said Gus. ‘I don’t need you getting in my way.’
‘Where’s Nelson?’
‘Down in storage, looking for brackets.’
Only Gus to worry about, then. Nelson was busy, and sausages would grow on trees before Eliza or Snell picked up a tool in the workshop.
Gus had a long piece of wood balanced across the sawhorse and was holding a large saw. This must be how he was going to hurt himself.
‘Isn’t it time for a tea break?’ asked Tig, innocently.
‘I’m busy,’ said Gus. ‘Mr Snell says this has to be finished by the end of the day, and until I cut the support beams, we can’t do anything else.’
‘Since when were you so worried about your work?’
‘Since Mr Snell promised me a raise.’ Poor, stupid Gus. She almost felt sorry for him. He spent so much time sucking up to Snell, but Snell didn’t care about him. Gus had no idea that he’d lose his job along with the rest of them if Snell got his way.
‘Right,’ sai
d Tig. ‘It was Mr Snell who sent me, actually. He needs you to go down to the paint shop and pick up an order. He says it’s urgent.’
‘You do it, then.’ He lined the saw up on the wood and took a first, cautious stroke backwards.
Curse his stubbornness. ‘Mr Snell wants you to go.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ Tig forced a smile, hating her words before she spoke them, ‘he thinks I’ll mess it up.’
She had Gus’s attention now. As much as she disliked him – and she really, really did – she couldn’t bear the thought of him getting injured. He needed to work just as much as the rest of them did.
‘That’s true,’ said Gus. ‘You mess everything up. Fine.’ He set down the saw. ‘Where’s the money?’
‘What money?’
‘For the order. Carter’s doesn’t let us pay on account.’
‘Of course,’ said Tig. ‘I forgot.’
She took out the coins she had in her apron pocket – her meagre wages – and hesitated for a moment before handing them over to Gus.
‘Course you did,’ said Gus. ‘Like I said. Useless.’
Tig bristled at this, but kept control of herself. She forced a polite laugh. ‘That’s me,’ she said. ‘Silly old me.’
She hopped back and held the door open for him as he strode out without a backward glance. As soon as he was out of sight, she skipped back to Faber. He had moved into the Green Room, where he was lying flat on his back on the chaise, staring blankly at the ceiling.
‘I did it!’
‘Is that so?’ said Faber, without looking at her.
‘I got Gus to put down the saw and leave the building. He won’t be here when the clock strikes three, so he won’t be hurt.’
‘You didn’t tell him, did you? You didn’t tell him that the machine could talk?’
‘I didn’t.’ Tig was frustrated. ‘I thought you’d be happy! We saved someone!’ She smiled, full of the warm feeling of success.
‘I wouldn’t celebrate yet. The clock hasn’t struck.’
As if in answer, the muffled bells of St Anne’s began striking the melody. Tig gestured into the air at the sound.
The Incredible Talking Machine Page 10