Fever Crumb

by Philip Reeve

  Nervously, almost shyly, Unthank beckoned him into the miserable little smoke-filled, scrap-plastic hut that was his home. His daughter, Katie, a scruffy-looking teenager, was scrubbing circuit shards in a tub of muddy water. Beside the fire a basket lay, and in the basket was a child, kicking its legs, jerking its tiny fists about. It stared up at Gideon with odd-colored eyes.

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  "Woman brought it here soon after the riots," said Unthank, from the doorway. "She kept her face hid, wouldn't give her name. Said she had to go on a journey, and couldn't take the kid. Said I was to send word for you."

  "Why me?" asked Gideon.

  Unthank did not reply. His daughter had stopped scrubbing and was watching Gideon curiously, as if waiting to see what he would do. Gingerly he reached into the basket and lifted the luggage label that was tied around the child's wrist.

  He knew the handwriting at once. Wavey Godshawk had been her father's assistant for a long time; each drawer and library shelf at Nonesuch House had been labelled in the same careful script that he saw on that brown paper tag, in the smoky light of Unthank's hut. There were just five words.

  Her name is Fever Crumb.

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  ***

  23 Under Siege

  Then you are my father?" asked Fever, when he had told her everything. She was shocked, of course; terribly shocked and disappointed that Dr. Crumb had ever given in to such fervid and unreasonable emotions. (And there was another feeling in her, too, a quivering, fluttering feeling that arose at the thought that he really was her father. But feelings did not matter, they were a distraction; all that mattered now was finding out the truth.)

  "That's what she meant, isn't it? Her name is Fever Crumb . Wavey Godshawk was my mother, and she was saying that you were my father."

  Dr. Crumb looked away, toward the rain-wet windows and the city outside them. He set down the cup he had been holding, and the sound made Fever start. "You are her child, of that I'm sure. It has always been thought that Homo sapiens and Homo superior could not have children together...."

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  "But perhaps Wavey was not like other Scriven," suggested Fever. "She had hardly any markings. Or perhaps Godshawk was telling you the truth, and there was never as much difference between us and them as they liked to claim...."

  "Both those things are possible," admitted Dr. Crumb. "But we have no evidence. All I know is that the label was in Wavey's handwriting, and that it said Her name is Fever Crumb. At the time I thought she had just written that to make me think that you were mine, hoping that would make me take care of you. I didn't mind. I would have taken care of you anyway. It was the only reasonable thing to do. But later, as you grew, you seemed so like me in so many ways that I began to wonder if you might be mine after all."

  Fever went to the mirror on the wall, which she had stood before so often to shave her head. She could see herself reflected there, and Dr. Crumb behind her. She saw now that they had the same narrow faces, the same sticky-out ears. But she hadn't inherited his small mouth or long nose. Her mouth and nose were echoes of another face -- the face of Wavey Godshawk.

  "Didn't you try to find her?" she asked. "After you'd found me, I mean. After you knew she must still be alive?"

  Dr. Crumb shook his head. "It was impossible, Fever. I had no way of knowing which way she had fled. North, south, east, or west? I had no contacts outside London whom I could ask about a fugitive Scriven. And if I did ask, and they had seen her, I

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  might only have caused her to be recognized, and killed. For all I know she died in the Marshes somewhere, after she left you at Unthank's hut. The Skinners still had patrols and watchers out there. She vanished, Fever. She was swallowed up by history, and we shall probably never know what became of her. I am just glad that at least I have you."

  "The other Engineers? Dr. Stayling? Do they know all this?"

  Dr. Crumb shook his head. "I have always told them what I told you. That I found you in a basket on the marsh ...

  Fever kept looking at herself. Half-Scriven, she thought. Wavey's daughter . Godshawk's granddaughter. She said, 'There's more. I remember things. Things that happened before I was born; things that only Godshawk could have seen ..."

  Dr. Crumb frowned. "Some sort of inherited memory? It does not sound likely...."

  Something slammed against Godshawk's Head with a sound like a huge bell ringing.

  Dr. Crumb went to the window. 'There is a mob out there!" he said.

  Fever joined him, looking down. The rain had slackened, but an ominous, end-of-the-world gloom still hung Over the abandoned factories. A tide of people was flooding onto the wasteland that surrounded Godshawk's Head. Sedan chairs bobbed upon it, and burning torches made bright points of saffron light behind the rain. Those at the front of the crowd were throwing things,

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  and a few of them threw hard enough to hit the Head. Tiles and half bricks clanged and sang against the metal, and from some neighboring room came the clash of a smashed window.

  Fever and Dr. Crumb ran from his quarters and down the stairs. Down on the library level they met Dr. Stayling and some others coming up. "The commons have surrounded us," said Stayling. "It is like the Skinners' Riots come again. But there is no call for alarm, gentlemen, or, ah, Fever. I have switched on the intrud-o-cutor; that should hold the troublemakers at bay."

  From outside came cries and curses, accompanied by flutterings of hard, blue light. The Engineers had not forgotten the attack on their old premises, and they had taken measures to defend their new home. The high fence which ringed the Head was wired to a 'lectric pile in the basement, and at the first sign of the rioters attacking, Dr. Stayling had turned it on. Once a few of the roughs outside had been blasted by the powerful current the rest drew back, scared of the Order's magic and content to hurl stones and insults up at Godshawk's impassive face.

  "Scriven lovers!"

  "Send out the Patchskin maid!"

  'Throw her out, or we'll climb up and get her!"

  Their words came thinly into the Head. Fever listened, and tried not to tremble. "I should go out there," she said. 'That would be the most logical thing, if I give myself up, they might leave the Head alone. The survival of the Order is more important than the survival of... of me."

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  "Nonsense!" said Master Isbister hotly.

  "Give you up to those unreasoning brutes?" said Dr. Stayling. "Never!"

  A movement on the stairs behind her made Fever start and turn, but it was only Kit Solent, still pale and weak looking, with Dr. Pither hurrying behind him saying, "You should not try to move, Solent. You will open the wound again. You should rest until we can find you a physician...."

  Kit waved him away. "Fever...You're all right?"

  Fever nodded, but could not take her eyes off his bloodstained coat.

  "Don't worry about me," he told her. "I can look after myself. I'm going to try and get back to Ludgate Hill...."

  "Impossible," said Dr. Stayling. "The Head is surrounded, and if we switch off the intrud-o-cutor that rabble will be over it in a jiffy"

  "But, Doctor, I must try! My son and daughter ..."

  "Oh, be reasonable, man! You will be no use to your children dead. Even if you did get out, that rabble would tear you to pieces. They've seen you with Fever, remember, or their leaders have. You would never make it to Ludgate Hill."

  A fresh surge of shouting and cheering came from outside. A barrage of stones rattled like hail against Godshawk's face. Even if Kit had tried to argue with the old Engineer, he would never have made himself heard. Dr. Stayling waited patiently for the din to subside, then went on.

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  "There is only one thing to do. We must get you and Fever to safety. Once they see that you are gone, the mob will lose interest in this place. There is little loot in it apart from books, and they do not look like bookish types. I shall send someone to fetch those children of yours, Solent, and you can retu
rn as soon as these riots are over."

  "But when will that be?" demanded Kit. "And where shall we hide in the meantime?"

  "I believe Dr. Collihole's balloon is airworthy," said Stayling. "The wind is from the southwest today. It will carry you north, where help will be waiting for you."

  "What help?" asked Dr. Crumb.

  "The Movement," said Dr. Stayling, glancing about fiercely to quell the startled murmuring of his Engineers. "Yes, gentlemen, I have been in contact with agents of the Movement."

  "You're in league with those nomadic ruffians?" cried Griffin Whyre, aghast.

  "I have talked with their agents," said Stayling calmly. "And I do not believe they are ruffians. They respect knowledge far more than most Londoners; their entire society is based upon the application of technology. I have received overtures of friendship from their leader, Land Admiral Quercus, who has given me to understand that once he controls London we Engineers shall be given the status of a Guild. We shall be consulted by our new rulers, and allowed a seat on council alongside the Guilds of Surgeons and Wig Makers and Perfumiers...."

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  The Engineers started to brighten at that, but the boom of some heavy object crashing against the outside of the Head reminded them of their predicament.

  "How long before these friends of yours arrive?" asked Kit Solent.

  Dr. Stayling shook his head thoughtfully. "They are coming to London because of the technology we possess. They have been waiting beyond the Moatway while their agents make contact with various important persons such as myself in the hope that they might achieve a peaceful takeover. But their patience has its limits, and once they learn that riots have broken out, I should imagine they will move fast to secure the city. I would expect them in a day or so, no more. Until then, you and Fever will be safe in their convoy. They will have surgeons there who can attend to your injury."

  "And the children?" asked Kit.

  "I shall send Dr. Crumb to make sure that they are safe," the Chief Engineer promised.

  "Why me?" asked Dr. Crumb.

  "You are our childcare expert, Crumb."

  "But I must go with Fever ..."

  "Impossible!" cried Dr. Collihole, who had been fluttering nervously behind Dr. Stayling all through his talk. "My balloon will not lift more than two persons. Indeed, we do not know for certain that it will lift anyone at all. I had planned to make the first ascent myself; I would not feel easy in myself entrusting

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  the lives of Fever and Master Solent to such an untested device...."

  "It seems we have no choice, Doctor," said Kit Solent, smiling weakly at him. "I do not think that your 'lectrified fence will hold off that mob outside for long. Those people out there don't think like Engineers. They are barely thinking at all. Once they've worked themselves up into enough of a rage they'll find a way in here, even if they have to bridge the fence with their own dead. I don't like Dr. Stayling's plan much, but I can't think of another."

  Dr. Stayling nodded, pleased that Kit had given in to reason. "As soon as this mob disperses," he promised, "I shall go straight to the Movement's chief agent, a woman named Madame Lakshmi who has a tower in the Astrologer's Quarter. She is in possession of a remarkable piece of old technology that enables her to communicate with our friends in the north. I shall ask her to warn them that you are on your way. Well, gentlemen?"

  The Engineers stood gazing at him. They were men of thought, not action.

  "Come on!" urged Dr. Stayling, starting to lead them up the stairs. "Come on! We have a balloon to fill!"

  They started after him, up toward Collihole's attic. Soon Fever and Dr. Crumb were left alone, except for Dr. Isbister, who had never placed any credence in either the intrud-o-cutor or old Collihole's dreams of flight, and intended to stand guard over his precious library.

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  Fever knew she should be concerned at Dr. Stayling's scheme -- she could already see a dozen flaws in it -- but her mind was too numb. She had come through so much madness that day that a little more seemed to make no difference. Why not take Dr. Collihole's air balloon, if that was the only way to leave? Why not seek shelter with the Movement, if there was none to be found in London? But there were things she needed to do before she left. She pointed toward the library doors.

  "Dr. Isbister, don't we have some of Godshawk's notebooks in the collection?"

  "We do," admitted the librarian, "but this seems hardly the moment ..."

  Fever turned to Dr. Crumb. "Perhaps one of them contains something about what he did to me...."

  "But Fever," he said, "we have so little time!"

  "It will take at least an hour to fill Dr. Collihole's balloon," Fever reasoned. "I would rather spend that time in the search for knowledge than sit listening to them ."

  The sound of the crowd outside rose to a bullish roar as she spoke. Then it died away. A single voice bellowed angry words that Fever could not make out. Some tub-thumper, she guessed, rousing them for another onslaught on the fence.

  "Please, Dr. Crumb!" she begged. "I remember such strange things. I thought I was going mad, but now I think...Now I don't know what to think."

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  "As long as you are thinking, Fever," said Dr. Crumb warningly. "As long as you are not giving in to emotion." But she could tell he was wavering. "I am sure Dr. Isbister will not approve of us rummaging through his collection," he said.

  "Oh, nobody takes any notice of Dr. Isbister, it seems," said the librarian peevishly, and waved them toward the library's tall doors.

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  ***

  24 The Library

  Through the crowds outside, an old-fashioned sedan chair came creeping. It was heavy and richly ornamented, and needed four bearers to carry it along. Ted Swiney, who was standing up on the roof of another chair with Charley at his side, shouted, "Let them through! Make way there! Let him through!"

  The crowd eddied, jostling Swiney's chair and making Charley fearful that he'd fall from it and end up trampled. But the mob were just obeying Ted's orders, pushing aside to let the big chair through. Its bearers set it down, and Thaniel Wormtimber stepped out of it, blinking in the glare of the torches which men held up all round him.

  "Is all this trouble your doing, Master Swiney?" the Master of London's Devices grumbled, squinting upward through the rain.

  "I didn't rouse this lot up," said Ted. "But now they're roused, I mean to make sure they keep on seeing me as their mate, and you'll do the same, if you're wise." He shouted to the crowd,

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  "Here we go, mates! This here is Master Wormtimber, our Master of Devices. One of the few men on the New Council who still cares how us commoners feel. That's why I sent for him. He's brought us what we need to winkle the Patchskin maid and her cronies out of that Head!"

  Wormtimber slipped a satchel from his shoulder and passed it up to Ted, who held it high.

  "This is old-tech!" bellowed Ted. "With what's in 'ere, our new Skinner can finish his work." He pushed the satchel at Charley. His face, with its eyebrows scorched off, looked more furious than ever.

  "Go on then! Take it!"

  Charley took the satchel from him and peeked inside. Folded paper, thick and white. The bag was stuffed with paper boys.

  "What do you want me to do, Ted?" asked Charley, feeling scared of Ted, of the crowd, of the magic fence that ringed the Head, scared of everything.

  "Use it!" said Ted, sounding fierce, but smiling as he spoke, because he wouldn't want to let the crowd see him treating Bagman Creech's heir as if he were a common pot boy. He looped the satchel's strap over Charley's head and seized him under both arms, swinging him down off the chair roof. Charley never quite reached the ground. Other hands took hold of him, lifting him high. He was passed from man to man across the crowd's heads until he reached its edge, where they set him down, cheering him, thumping him between the shoulder blades.

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  Ahead, a few score yards of sodden mud a
nd rubble lay between him and the Engineers' fence. The weeds that had grown there had been tramped flat by the crowd earlier, and the air was filled with the salad-y scent of their crushed stalks.

  "Three cheers for the Skinner!" shouted a voice behind him -- Ted's -- and three great waves of sound rolled and broke against the giant metal face that towered above him. Charley looked up at it. He thought of the girl with odd eyes, and imagined her crouching inside, terrified and doomed. Well , serve her right, he told himself. Best get it over with. He undid the fastenings of the satchel. Then he ran at the fence and, just before he reached it, flung the satchel as hard and as high as he could. He almost overbalanced as he let it go, almost reached out and grabbed those deadly wires, but he saved himself just in time. The bag landed with a dull flump among the weeds and rubbish between the timber props which supported Godshawk's massive chin.

  A half-dozen white shapes spilled out, like dropped sandwiches. They lay there for a moment. Then, with furtive, papery motions, they started to unfold.

  ***

  The Engineers had dragged Dr. Collihole's great paper balloon up out of his attic workspace and spread it on the Head's tar-paper roof. It looked like a giant's eiderdown, and it was growing plumper and cozier-looking by the minute as hot air, pumped through special tubes from modified braziers, started to fill the envelope.