‘How long were you outside altogether?’
Faber consulted his pocket watch. ‘Twenty minutes.’
‘So, plenty of time to steal Euphonia,’ said Tig. ‘But suspiciously quick for the gas fitters to arrive and check all over this big building.’
‘Perhaps whoever Snell sold the plans to realized it was too complicated to build, so they decided just to take her for themselves.’ Faber sighed.
‘Why didn’t Euphonia warn us?’ said Tig.
‘It wouldn’t have mattered,’ answered Faber. ‘The predictions can—’
‘Never be prevented, I know.’ She glanced at the clock and was struck by an idea. Tig scrabbled for her list of predictions.
‘She did predict it! “A quarter to nine precisely the theatre thief will strike.” I thought it meant quarter to nine at night, when the pickpocket was working, but actually it was this morning. The theft of the machine. Of her!’
It all fell into place.
Tig felt sick. For the first time since she arrived here, the Royale didn’t feel safe. First Snell had tried to sell the theatre, and then, when he found out about what Euphonia could do, he had found another way to make his money.
Every nerve in her body was screaming. The whole time Euphonia’s words ‘the day is here’ echoed in her head. She needed Nelson here to keep her calm.
‘Nelson is missing,’ said Tig. ‘Snell said he fired him, but I’ve checked his house and he never went home.’
‘Did he run away?’
‘No,’ said Tig. ‘Nelson would never do that. He loves his family too much.’
She stared at the list of predictions. The answers were here. Euphonia had been trying to warn them.
‘Both precious things!’ She grabbed Faber’s arm. ‘My friend, and your machine. Our most precious things. They’re both missing. It has to be connected! Held captive below and behind and within the machines. The prediction wasn’t about me getting hurt in the stage machinery.’
Faber sank down into a chair.
‘Professor, we got it all wrong. All of these predictions – I think they might all be about the same thing. The rescuer – Euphonia knew I’d try to rescue Nelson if he was captured, and that’s when the fire is going to start.’
‘You must not try anything of the sort,’ said Faber. ‘You’ve both already been hurt and Euphonia is gone. Isn’t that bad enough?’
Tig’s mind was working faster than it ever had before, and all the fear and panic were crystallizing into pure and shining hope.
‘Behind and beneath and within the machines – they’ve hidden your machine somewhere with lots of other machines? Most of the machines round here are… the worker bees! The hive of the worker bees – it has to be the mills! There’s hundreds of workers in the mill… smoked out… We need to go. We need to find Nelson and Euphonia and stop the fire.’
‘I can’t.’
‘We have to try! We’re the only people in the whole world who have a chance! No matter how small. We have to take it!’ She grabbed his sleeve. ‘I’m just a child. My chances of finding Nelson and Euphonia and saving everyone are so much better if you help me. Please!’
‘No.’
‘Why? Why won’t you try?’ Despair and fury and frustration crashed in great waves over her.
‘The other prediction. The one I didn’t translate for you.’ His eyes were unfocused, and his voice was almost drowned out by the roaring of blood through Tig’s veins.
Tig fell silent, seeing the fear on Faber’s face.
‘It said that I am going to die here in Manchester.’ He dropped his head and covered his eyes with his hand. ‘And Euphonia is—’
‘Never wrong.’ A million thoughts flooded Tig’s brain, vying for her attention. All this bother about health tonics and malaria and chimney fumes – all this time he had been expecting his own death, wondering what was going to kill him. It was as though the world slowed down for a moment, and in the gaps between heartbeats Tig felt a rush of sympathy for him. Imagine knowing with absolute certainly that death was on its way, and that you could do nothing to prevent it.
‘She’s never wrong,’ Faber repeated.
‘We don’t know for certain,’ said Tig.
‘She told me the first night I was here. It didn’t scare me much at first, but then one by one every other prediction has come true.’
‘Well then,’ said Tig. ‘If you’re so certain that you’re going to die today, you might as well help me. Wouldn’t you rather die a hero than a coward?’
He opened his mouth and paused on the verge of speaking.
‘Please,’ said Tig.
‘I can’t.’
Rising Action
Tig left Faber behind. Perhaps he was right, and they were doomed either way. But if she was going to lose, then she’d rather go down fighting.
Nelson was being kept in a mill, with Euphonia, she was sure of it. Euphonia had disappeared from the theatre in less than twenty minutes, and Faber would have spotted it if they carried the machine down Spring Gardens. So the thieves must have used the back entrance.
The most logical place for it, then, was the mill directly behind the Royale. They could easily have carried Euphonia out of the stage doors and into the mill in a matter of minutes. That’s what she hoped, anyway. Not to mention the fact that nasty Mr Albion was a friend of Snell’s, and wanted to buy the building. Of course it would be in his mill.
Despite living next door to one, Tig had never been inside a cotton mill before.
Getting in was easy enough. She simply joined the line of girls making their way back into the building after their dinner break, and kept her head down so no one would notice that she didn’t belong there. She needn’t have worried – the mill was so full of people, most of them around Tig’s age – that she blended right into the crowd.
As they passed through the doorway she noticed a bee carved into the stonework above. This was the right place – the worker bees. Euphonia had said beneath and behind the machinery, so she would start her search on the lowest floor, where the loading bays were. The mill was built on a slope, so that the employees entered on the floor above.
It was uncomfortably hot inside the mill. Her skin felt damp very quickly. Cotton grew in hot, damp places in the colonies, and would get soon dried out and brittle in the cold. It was also extremely noisy. On the main floor she was greeted by rows and rows of weaving machines, each one reaching from floor to ceiling, great mechanical monstrosities which roared and clattered like a thousand horse-drawn carriages at once. Metallic beams swung backwards and forwards at great speed, shuttles slammed from side to side, reels spun round releasing cotton thread, and wheels on the ceiling spun, driving the belts that made the whole machine work.
Between and beside and beneath these machines children worked, darting from one loom to the next, occasionally stopping to refill a bobbin or prise apart a piece that had jammed. Some of the children were no more than eight or nine, skinny, pale, underfed little things. Tig tried to get the attention of a little boy with a broom.
‘Which way is the loading bay?’
The boy pointed to his ear and shrugged – he couldn’t hear her over the din.
‘Where do you take the cloth when it’s finished?’ she tried again, but he glanced over her shoulder and suddenly dashed off round the other side of his machine. Tig looked behind her – an older lady was pacing between the rows, keeping an eye on the children. Tig took the boy’s lead and stepped between two looms, out of sight. She must be some sort of supervisor, and Tig didn’t want to explain what she was doing in here.
She waited until the supervisor was out of sight before slipping through a large blue door. She found herself in a brick-lined stairwell. It was completely empty of people.
She took a deep breath and held her head high. She had to keep her nerve. Somewhere, Nelson was counting on her. If she couldn’t rescue him, at least she’d know she tried.
The noise of the mac
hinery muffled the sound of Tig’s footsteps as she descended. It was so loud, the brick walls only serving to echo and amplify the rattling. She couldn’t imagine having to work in this heat and noise for twelve hours a day.
At the bottom of the stairs she came into a long, narrow warehouse, with wooden crates covered by sheets standing in neat rows. She peered around the corner of one. Right down at the end, two men were sitting on boxes eating sandwiches. She veered the other way. On her left, the large arched double doors led through to the street. On the right were four smaller doors.
Creeping towards the first one, she opened it just a crack, peering through. She couldn’t make out what was inside – big stacks… no, bales of cotton. This must be where they stored it when it first arrived. But she couldn’t see how far the room continued beyond the bales, or whether anything else might be hidden at the other end. Her heart sank. She’d have to search every inch of the place. And if she found Euphonia and Nelson, then what?
The sort of person who would kidnap Nelson probably couldn’t be reasoned with. She could hardly fight her way out, and there was no hope of retrieving the machine on her own.
But then she heard a noise. Almost inaudible over the drone of looms on the floor above, but unmistakably different.
Euphonia’s voice.
Tig moved further along the wall, listening hard. She crept to the third door along, labelled ‘Carding’, and pressed her ear up against the wood.
Yes, that was Euphonia for sure, but her voice was garbled, strings of nonsense sounds. She wasn’t making a prediction – someone was trying to play her. Someone who didn’t understand how she worked.
Tig hesitated with her hand on the door handle. Perhaps she should go back and once again ask Faber to help her – perhaps they could raise the Peelers and report that the mill was hiding stolen goods.
A hand landed on her shoulder.
Exeunt
‘Tig Rabbit. Never could mind your own business, could you?’
‘Gus? What are you doing here? Get off me!’ She shrugged his hand away but he caught her wrists instead.
‘Mr Snell asked for my help. Should’ve known you’d turn up and get in the way.’
‘Where’s Nelson?’ she demanded. ‘If someone has hurt him, I swear—’
‘Shut up, Tig.’
‘You stole the plans for Snell, didn’t you? I knew it had to be someone in the theatre.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘None of your business.’
‘Why are you helping Snell? He’s a horrible, horrible man!’ She twisted around, trying to yank her wrists free, but Gus held tight.
‘You’re jealous because he likes me. He’s going to make me deputy theatre manager once all this is done.’
‘He’s lying to you! There won’t even be a theatre to manage. That’s what all of this is about – he’s selling the theatre to Mr Albion.’
‘You’re the one who’s lying,’ Gus said, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. ‘He promised.’
‘He doesn’t care about you.’ She still hoped to persuade him to help her, but she was ready to kick him in the shins if she needed to. ‘He’s got you stealing for him – you could get in real trouble!’
‘It felt wrong, taking the whole machine,’ he admitted. ‘But Mr Snell said we had no choice. Him and Mr Albion – they’re a bit scary.’
‘Yes!’ Tig nodded furiously. ‘You can’t trust them.’
‘I don’t trust you either, Rabbit. You just don’t want me to get my promotion.’
There wasn’t time to explain all the ways that Snell was manipulating him. Nelson was in danger. They were all in danger. She changed strategy. ‘Fine. Don’t believe me. But there’s going to be a fire – the machine told me. Please. Let’s get Nelson and go.’ She could see he was softening. ‘I don’t know how long we’ve got. Come on. Help me.’
He let go of her left hand.
‘Yes! Thank you, let’s go!’
‘Mr Snell!’ Gus bellowed. ‘Rabbit’s here!’
He opened the door and shoved her through it. She almost lost her balance on the rough stone slabs but caught herself. ‘Mr Snell!’
There were several machines in this room, though none of them seemed to be currently working. Unlike the looms upstairs, these resembled huge barrels laid on their side, or the wheel of a water-mill, with nine or ten smaller rollers stuck to it all around. Fluffy white cotton coated the rollers like hair caught in a hairbrush, and the air was thick with cotton dust that made Tig’s throat itch.
‘Come on, Gus. Don’t be stupid. We’ve got to get to safety.’
‘I’ll show you where Nelson is.’ He grabbed her by the elbow and marched her down between the machines. She pulled away from him with all her might but he was older and stronger.
Snell appeared round the corner.
‘She was snooping around, Mr Snell,’ said Gus.
‘Of course she was,’ said Snell. ‘Good work, son.’
Gus made a smug, told-you-so face as he handed her over to Snell, who took her by the forearm and started walking.
‘I never liked you,’ said Snell.
‘Oh, really?’ said Tig. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Shut up.’ He coughed. ‘Wretched child. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I told Eliza not to take you in, silly woman, it was only because she felt guilty about Antigone.’
‘What do you mean, Antigo—’
‘Shut up, brat. Since you’re here –’ he turned sharply behind the last machine to where an open archway led into a side room, ‘you can make yourself useful.’
He gave her another shove and this time she did fall, tripping down the two steps onto the lower level and landing with a stinging slap on the floor.
‘Tig!’
Nelson was in the corner of the room, sitting with his back against the wall. His eyes were puffy – it looked like he had been crying.
‘Nelson, what happened? Did they hurt you?’ She scurried across the floor towards him.
‘No, I’m fine. He grabbed me outside the theatre last night after I locked up.’ He pointed to Albion. ‘They think I can make Euphonia talk. He says Gus saw me.’
Euphonia stood in the opposite corner. Her rubber face had been peeled back, and lay on the grubby floor with the tangled wig. Obviously they had been trying to figure out how she worked. Behind Euphonia was Albion, standing in a menacing posture with folded arms and a glowering stare.
An oil lamp sat on the flat tabletop section by the keys. It would leave a mark on the polished wood. Faber would be furious.
Snell brushed some cotton fluff off his black jacket sleeves. ‘This is the girl that’s always skulking about with Faber.’
‘Give the professor his machine back,’ said Tig. ‘And let Nelson go.’
‘Make it talk,’ said the man.
‘No,’ said Tig.
‘Show some manners,’ said Snell. ‘Mr Albion is the owner of this fine mill. Soon to be owner of the Royale, too.’
Gus flinched at this. Tig almost felt sorry for him.
‘Well, Mr Snell? Get her to make it talk!’ Albion yelled.
Snell strode over to where Nelson sat and pulled him up by his ear. ‘Make it talk.’
‘Let go of him first, and I’ll do it,’ said Tig.
Snell and Albion exchanged looks, but after a moment Snell released Nelson.
Tig approached Euphonia. She stroked the mechanical skull and murmured, ‘It’s me, Tig.’
She placed her hands on the keys. There was no stool to sit at, which made the angle awkward, but she put her foot on the bellows and pressed down firmly. Euphonia made a humming sound. Tig eased down the lever which opened the throat and allowed the air to pass through fully. The hum opened out into an ‘ahhh’ sound.
She wished she knew how to operate the machinery. She had seen Faber do this many times, but still didn’t understand how he knew what keys he needed to press to form a word. The one furthest
to the left made Euphonia clamp her lips closed, and open them once it was released. Euphonia made a sound which was a bit like ‘mama’.
‘Not like that,’ said Snell. ‘Make it tell the future.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Tig. He thought he was so clever. Selling the machine would make him extra money, and guarantee Faber’s show would fail and the theatre would close.
‘Oh yes?’ said Albion. ‘Then how come your snivelly little friend was bragging down in the Three Arrows about how it predicted him getting his hand cut open?’
‘It was a story, right, Nelson?’
‘Right, just a story!’ Nelson nodded.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Snell. ‘And Mr Albion here has paid good money for this thing. So you’d better make it work.’
‘The dogs,’ said Albion. ‘Make it tell me which dog to bet on tonight.’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Nelson.
‘She only speaks when she wants to,’ said Tig. ‘And she usually predicts bad things. Accidents.’
‘I’ve paid for a machine that talks, so make it talk!’ said Albion. He was scary in a different way to Snell. Where Snell liked to use his power to make them miserable, Albion seemed like someone who solved most of his problems with his fists.
‘I can’t,’ said Tig.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ said Snell.
Albion crossed the floor, opened a chest and pulled out a hatchet. ‘I have no issues with hurting you. Show me how to make it work or you’ll be sorry.’
Even Snell went pale at this. ‘Come now, Albion, there’s no need for that.’
‘I can’t control her,’ Tig insisted.
Albion snarled, his knuckles white around the hatchet handle.
‘Let Nelson leave.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Snell.
‘And Gus. Let them go.’
‘I’m losing my patience!’ growled Albion.
Tig kept her eyes on Snell. There had to be some scrap of reason in him that she could reach. ‘Faber knows it was you,’ said Tig. ‘He’ll go to the Peelers.’
‘Liar,’ said Snell. ‘If Faber knows, then where is he? Hmm? Why did he send his maid to fight his battles for him?’
The Incredible Talking Machine Page 16