by Tim Tilley
“Look – who – is – back!” she cries out, emphasizing each word. “Have you come to rescue the others or did you miss the meals?”
I don’t answer.
“Padlock told me you were asking questions. I knew you were coming.”
The orphans look up. Some don’t look happy to see me. Others stare in wonder, and I think back to the moment they last saw me, leaping over the wall on a tree-stag. Petal appears alongside Old Ma Bogey.
Relief rushes through me. “Petal, you’re alright—” My voice breaks.
“Wick!” cries Petal. She looks more shocked than pleased to see me.
Old Ma Bogey knocks Petal aside. “Let us give Wick a welcome!” she snarls as she raises her pistol. “If anyone helps him, there will be more punishments.”
She aims and fires. Gunshots punch the air.
Bang.
Bang.
Ricochet sparks spray from the brickwork beneath my feet. Instinctively I duck.
The bird-riding Hobs swoop down over the yard. The blackbirds’ wings are outstretched, their long feathers like fingers. I can’t help but think that together we carry all the hope of the forest.
As Old Ma Bogey watches the blackbirds swerve away from the crane, I silently thank the Hobs for their distraction. I catch Petal’s eye and point to the small cabin housing the crane controls.
Petal nods. She slips away from Old Ma Bogey and dashes over to the cabin, ducking inside. She pulls on the levers and moves the crane arm. It stutters with stop-starts, then swings round towards me on the wall. When the claw is near enough, I take a deep breath, reach out and grab hold of the chain. Then I’m circling over the yard – a moving target standing on top of the claw. Old Ma Bogey and the orphans sweep past beneath me.
My old fear grips me again. I’m a breath away from falling.
There’s a crunching sound. The crane stops, then starts up again.
Papa Herne, Nox and Nissa circle in the air astride their blackbirds.
Old Ma Bogey takes aim.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
There’s an explosion of feathers and all three blackbirds drop from the sky like overripe fruit.
My blood turns cold. “PAPA HERNE! NOX! NISSA!”
The Hobs tumble through the air. I’m plunged into a world of horror. This isn’t happening. How can everything go wrong so fast?
Old Ma Bogey shouts to the orphans. “Catch the little people! I want them alive!”
Why alive?
Petal is still in the crane cabin, but the rest of the orphans race wildly to catch the Hobs.
Fear clenches my heart. “No!”
Old Ma Bogey reloads her pistol and lines me up in her sights.
I hold onto the chain tightly and wait for the death-strike. My heart pounds wildly – it’s not ready to give up on life just yet.
I look down.
The crane arm spins me in a wide arc, across the yard and towards the main building…
As I near a low section of the factory roof, I see the iron walkway across the back wall of the Machine Room. Then I spot large twin trapdoors. This must be where the trees are dropped in. It’s madness to jump.
I look back down to the yard and see Nissa. One of the orphans is holding her, but it doesn’t stop her pulling her catapult back to her ear, aiming a stone at Old Ma Bogey, who’s still pointing her gun at me.
As Old Ma Bogey squeezes the trigger, she jolts.
Bang.
There’s a sting in my shoulder. Blood blooms on my cloak.
I lose my grip on the chain—
And fall—
It’s about a ten foot drop through the air—
The closed trapdoors break my fall temporarily, before they slam open and I drop down again into half-darkness. A searing pain shoots through my ankle as I land in what could be a giant’s thimble. I stifle a cry. I won’t give Old Ma Bogey the satisfaction of knowing I’m hurt. I unbutton the top of my shirt and see that the shot didn’t go through my shoulder. It’s just a graze. The bleeding isn’t too bad.
Nissa saved me. She was right. Small things can make a difference.
I take a corner of my cloak and press it down on the graze, then peer around at the high metal walls that rise up on all sides. There’s no escape door or ladder. Only scars and dents, where trees have scraped and knocked. And there’s a smell of resin.
A whirring noise starts up. The Machine is waking up from its sleep. The floor beneath me gives way. I’m funnelled into a narrow chute, then fall onto a conveyor belt with high sloped sides. When I was a packsmith, I never really thought about where matches came from. But this is where trees come to be made into Everstrikes.
Panic hits me. My heart thuds even wilder – a bird in a bone-cage trying to get free. With shaking fingers, I try to get to my feet, but jagged pain crumples me. My ankle won’t take my weight.
A circular blade carves through the middle of the conveyor. I roll out of the way but I’m not quick enough. Part of my Forest Keeper cloak is cut away. A shudder runs through me as I feel the heat of the spinning blade at my back.
Then another chute drops me down into the next section. I lie rigid – wincing and terrified – as an arc of ferocious blades fall into place all around me, making a tunnel of death. The blades pass by, inches away, shaving off imaginary bark. I sit up, needing to see what’s next, to see what deadly pieces the Machine will put into play and how – or if – I can avoid them. I press myself flat just in time, clenching my teeth as more blades come slicing sideways out of the wall.
Ahead in the darkness, there’s a thunderous sound. I can’t see anything but I know what’s coming. Here must be where the wood is cut into smaller and smaller pieces. I won’t be able to dodge the blades much longer. I reach up, fumbling for the high side of the conveyor, but it is unexpectedly low. Agony screams in my ankle as I haul myself up the side, heave myself over.
I collapse onto the deck plate, and take staggering breaths, relieved to be away from the blades. Then it dawns on me how double lucky I am. Not only am I still alive, but I’m inside the Machine Room. Now I just need to find the controls.
I force myself up and limp my way along a dark passageway that weaves around and through the Machine. I’m in the belly of a giant beast – the metal beams overhead are the bones of its ribcage. Steam hisses as it rises from the floor. It feels as if the Machine is breathing. Somewhere nearby, the thunder and thrum of cutting blades is replaced with a threshing sound. I stop a moment and rest against one of the metal panels. It’s warm and humming, almost alive.
At the end of the passage, I step out into light and turn a corner. There, by the cauldron, is the furnace with huge snaking pipes. There’s something else – the control panel. And by its side is an open toolbox.
I limp over and heave up a long spanner.
As I’m about to strike down on the dials and valves that run everything, there’s a blast of steam from a vent. Then a hand with an unmistakable metal thumb reaches through the wall of vapour and grabs hold of me.
I recoil in terror, but my wrist is locked in an iron grip.
“OH NO YOU DON’T!” barks Old Ma Bogey over the hiss of steam.
I crumple as Old Ma Bogey squeezes my wrist in her crushing grip. I drop the spanner onto the deck plate.
Clang.
“So, you came back to smash my Machine!” She’s breathing heavily and her eyes are filled with fury. There’s a cut on her cheek, where the stone from Nissa’s catapult must have struck. I wonder if Padlock had the guts to tell her about the Timber Goliath in the lake.
Someone else moves in the shadows: eyes wide, skin pale as paper. I can hardly believe my eyes.
Bottletop is dressed in mechanic’s overalls and a cap.
He isn’t trembling. Instead of a matchbox, he’s holding an oil rag.
“Get back to work!” barks Old Ma Bogey. “Check the valves!”
Bottletop flinches.
I wonder how many times she’s beaten him since I left.
I lift my twisted ankle as Old Ma Bogey drags me past the furnace at a brisk pace. She’s very strong. It’s as if she’s a human machine that runs on anger.
“Where are you taking me?” I try and wrestle free from her grip, but she squeezes tighter.
“To see your little friends,” she growls.
I know Nissa was caught when she fell, but what about Papa Herne? And what about Nox? I picture Scratch licking his whiskers.
My insides tense. Even if they’re alright, we’ll never be able to escape. How could I have brought them here?
We pass something odd – a brass telescope, its sight-end pressed against the wall.
I stare at Old Ma Bogey.
“Spyhole. I’ve got them all over Harklights. I see everything.”
“The matchbox models,” I breathe. “You saw me making them…”
Old Ma Bogey nods. “I wanted to see how far you would go. You are quite a maker. Reminds me of how I was as a girl. Making steam-powered toys. Clever engines that walked.”
“But you told me one of the orphans snitched on me. You tried to tell me it was Petal!”
As I turn, the jagged pain flares in my ankle. I take a sharp breath, but Old Ma Bogey continues to drag me down a flight of metal stairs to the ground floor. I know where we are. These are the stairs I passed every day going to the Match Room. She wrenches open the green door and we step into the corridor that runs past the dining room and Old Ma Bogey’s office. We turn into the hall with the grandfather clock, then into Old Ma Bogey’s drawing room. The high-backed armchair is still by the fireplace. But now there are more weapons hung on the wall.
Petal is shut in the cabinet with wire-mesh panels. Next to it is a birdcage.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” says Petal.
“I had to,” I reply. “I wanted us to escape together—”
“Wick!”
“We thought you were dead!” It’s Nissa and Nox, crying out through the cage bars.
“I’m alright. Where’s Papa Herne?”
“Somewhere safe,” says Old Ma Bogey, her mouth twisting.
I try and pull myself free from her grip but it only makes my wrist burn. “Let Petal and the Hobs go. It’s me you want. I was the one who ran away… I’ll stay this time. I’ll be a packsmith again.”
Old Ma Bogey laughs. It’s a scary high ringing sound. She tilts her head right back and I can see the upside-down horseshoe curve of her teeth.
I’ve never heard her laugh in all the years I can remember.
“Who said anything about you packing more matches? I’ve got other orphans who are faster packers than you.”
She studies me, her sharp eyes skewering me like pins. “Father told me that machines are nothing but cogs and wheels. Operators are their hearts, and you are going to be the heart of the Machine. You are going to be responsible for chopping up every tree in Havenwood Forest. Then all your cut-to-pieces trees will be boxed and shipped across Empire Britannica!”
I picture the matchboxes as cardboard coffins and feel the strength go out of my legs. All the hope goes out of me too. “No…no.”
“And if you don’t, I’m going to let Scratch play with your little friends. And we all know how that ends.”
Nox, Nissa and Petal are horror-struck.
Old Ma Bogey leans forward, her eyes searching mine, then she smiles as if a light in my eyes has died.
At this moment, Bottletop hovers in the doorway.
“Why aren’t you with the Machine?” barks Old Ma Bogey.
Bottletop flinches again. “I came to tell you something,” he whispers. “Miss Boggett, I…er…” Then from somewhere his voice suddenly gathers strength and he stands straight-backed. “I tipped over the cauldron. I reckon we’ve got a minute before the Machine explodes.”
“WHAT?” roars Old Ma Bogey.
She lets go of me. I duck away from her as she grabs a shotgun from the wall and aims it at Bottletop, her fingers trembling. It’s as if her rage is so big she can’t even think properly.
Bottletop disappears into the corridor.
I lift the cabinet latch to free Petal, then grab the crossbow off its resting hooks.
Petal climbs out and grabs the birdcage with Nissa and Nox. “Wick! It’s time to go!” she says. “We’ve got to get the other orphans to safety!”
“Petal – stop!” yells Old Ma Bogey. The shotgun wavers.
Petal freezes by the door.
“Let Petal and the Hobs go.” I lift the crossbow and aim it at Old Ma Bogey. It’s not heavy, but it’s loaded and has weight. The weight of ending someone’s life.
Old Ma Bogey growls. “You couldn’t shoot me.”
I don’t answer. The tip of the crossbow bolt shakes. I can’t keep it still.
She puts down the shotgun. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out Papa Herne, dangling him by his Forest Keeper cloak. “Oh, don’t worry, he’s still alive.”
His body hangs limp, his eyes are shut. His magic staff is missing.
There’s a madness in her eyes. “But if you want him, you will have to try and stop me!”
I tense up, get a firmer grip on the crossbow. Line her up in my sights. But she’s right, I can’t do it. There has to be another way.
She drops Papa Herne back into her pocket and strides through the door, turning towards the factory.
She’s going the wrong way. Heading towards the Machine that’s about to explode.
Petal and the Hobs give me a worried look.
“Go,” I say firmly. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Petal nods and leaves with the birdcage.
I chase after Old Ma Bogey, ignoring my ankle, which feels like fire. She barrels through the green door and up the metal stairs. When I catch up with her, she’s by the tipped-over cauldron. Thick match-tip mixture, like red porridge or lava, creeps towards the furnace. It’s too late – there’s no way she can stop it.
With a crazed look in her eyes, she runs down the dark corridor that weaves through the Machine.
Where’s she going? Is she heading for another exit? Or is she leading me into a trap?
I grit my teeth and limp after her. I hope Petal and the others are somewhere safe.
I’m halfway down a passage when there’s a wild roar. A solid wall of force blasts me off my good foot.
This is the dragon.
I curl into a ball as fire and shrapnel whistle past my head.
When I look up, there’s a gaping hole that runs through the middle of the Machine and out the end wall of the factory.
The passage is filled with smoke, steam, rubble and dust. The grey silhouette of Old Ma Bogey staggers to her feet and clambers, coughing, through the hole. I can’t believe it. We both survived.
I grab the crossbow and get to my feet with ringing ears.
At the end wall, the view through the hole has me reeling.
The iron walkway outside no longer clings to the wall. One end leans out like a gangplank, overhanging the yard. And the Bottomless Well.
The walkway tilts. It’s not safe. But Old Ma Bogey is there on it, stepping further and further away. She knows about my nightmares. I know what she’s doing. This is punishment – she wants to make me suffer as much as possible.
My old fear of heights sticks to my bones, but it’s only for a second.
“Stop!” I yell.
Old Ma Bogey grunts and keeps walking – then she loses her footing and slides along the sloping walkway.
“Papa Herne!” My heart leaps to my mouth.
For a sickening moment, she slides over the edge—
Then – clang – her iron-thumbed hand grabs onto the walkway’s end.
With my heart kicking wildly, I step onto the walkway. There’s a metallic creak as it sways.
I’m not sure it can take our combined weight.
I drop the crossbow. Instead of pushing my fear away, I hold onto it t
ightly. I realize my fear of the Well was never just about heights, it was about losing others.
I won’t lose Papa Herne. He’s family.
I soak strength from the Keeper cloak around my shoulders, strength from all the love the Hobs have given me.
Using the handrail for support, I hobble to the end of the walkway.
“Quick – give me your hand,” I cry. I never thought I’d ever try and save Old Ma Bogey. But I need to. It’s the only way to save Papa Herne.
As I get closer, Old Ma Bogey holds up Papa Herne by his cloak.
“You want this?”
“Miss Boggett, don’t…”
“Then go and get it!” She throws Papa Herne up in the air—
I’m seized by horror as I raise my arm—
Fingers outstretched—
For a flickering moment, he’s out of reach—
Then something deep within takes over, an instinct that will always be part of me.
A machine instinct.
I grab Papa Herne. The same way I grab a handful of matches.
I sink to the walkway, cradling him in my hands.
“You took everything from me!” bellows Old Ma Bogey. She grabs at my sleeve, pulls and leans back. “Now, I will take you…from everything!”
I stow Papa Herne in my shirt pocket and hold onto the handrail with both hands. My fingers begin to lose their grip. There’s a tearing sound. My sleeve splits at the shoulder. As the split widens, so do Old Ma Bogey’s eyes.
I can’t help but watch as she falls—
Through the air—
Into the open mouth of the Bottomless Well.
The orphans are shell-shocked from the explosion. At first they have the same blank faces as the Hobs did when the stag destroyed their nest-huts. But these soon turn into grins and crooked smiles.
The Machine is broken.
Old Ma Bogey is gone.
Padlock and Scratch are nowhere to be seen.
Petal, Bottletop and the others fill me in on how Padlock came back to Harklights to tell Old Ma Bogey that I’d be coming and then left quickly. I tell them about the Timber Goliath, the one that sank, and rescuing Padlock from Grey Lake.