The Clockill and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  Dressed in a white nurse’s uniform with a medical bag slung across her shoulder, Madame Mékanique stood next to the simulated casualty. “You ’ave discovered your mission partner ’as been injured. What do you do?”

  “Stop the bleeding,” said Claude Maggot, an eager-to-please look on his boyish face.

  Madame Mékanique nodded. “Please show us this, Monsieur Maggot.”

  Claude kneeled next to the manikin and leaned over the cut, examining it.

  From her medical bag, Madame Mékanique removed a short bamboo truncheon, with which she rapped Claude across the back of the head.

  “OW!” Claude’s hand went to his skull.

  “Step away from le corps Monsieur Maggot, you are dead.”

  Rubbing his head, Claude rejoined the rest of the candidates.

  “The première thing you do is check for danger.” Madame Mékanique returned the truncheon to her bag. “As COG Maggot ’as discovered, you are no good to your mission partner if what ’urt them, ’urts you. Remember. What does DR ABC stand for?”

  Zonda’s hand shot into the air.

  “COG Chubb, go ahead.”

  “Danger, response, airway, breathing, circulation.”

  “Correct.” Madame Mékanique kneeled by the manikin. “’ello, can you ’ear me?” Spookily, the manikin’s eyes opened, its glassy stare travelling about the room. Madame Mékanique continued: “Next, check the airway. From the fall and rise of the chest, I see the breathing is good so now I treat the injury. It is a ’ead wound, so what should I remember, COG Wagtail?”

  “Y’all can’t use a bandagesic, ma’am,” said Beuford.

  “Oui. And why is that so, COG Brazil?”

  “The analgesic painkillers impregnated into the cloth can affect the brain,” Lottie explained.

  “Tres bien. Now pair up and practise your bandaging. The best work will be rewarded.” Madame Mékanique began a circuit of the room.

  Sin partnered with Zonda. Across from them, Jasper stood on his own, there being an uneven number of candidates in the East Wing.

  “Jasper, come join us,” offered Zonda, beckoning him over.

  Biting back a comment, Sin scowled.

  “Don’t be grumparooney,” Zonda said.

  “If you must know, I’m actually excellent at first aid,” Jasper said, sitting down next to Sin and Zonda. “I wanted to be a doctor.”

  “So why didn’t you go to medical school instead of joining COG?” asked Sin, curious to know if Lottie was correct about Jasper’s father.

  Jasper frowned. “It’s complicated.”

  Although his question had gone unanswered, Sin recognised the pain in Jasper’s eyes. It was the same look he saw when he caught his own reflection while thinking about his mother.

  “His parents wanted him to join COG,” Zonda jumped in. “You should give him a chance.” She turned to Jasper, a bandage in hand. “Can you help me with this?”

  Sin had never known his mother. How much harder must it be for Jasper to bear, having memories of his father, having someone to miss? Perhaps he should give Jasper a chance.

  Sergeant Stoneheart pulled a shiny Zinc Acid Pyrotechnic Originator (ZAPO) lighter from a pouch on her flight suit and flicked it open. She touched the flame to the bottom of a set of curtains in the lavish airship State Room and took a step backwards.

  Sin watched, mouth agape, horrified at the speed with which the fire clambered up the fabric. By the time Stoneheart exited the cabin the flames were crawling along the ceiling, burning fingers of destruction scrabbling across the yellowed pine.

  “Fire, not pirates, is the biggest threat to an airship,” barked Stoneheart. She joined the candidates in front of the faux cabin. It had been constructed at the bottom of a quarry a mile from the palace and was an exact replica in every detail except for the one ironglass wall that provided the students with a view of the interior.

  “Speed, a sense of purpose and determination are essential when fighting fires aboard an aerostat.” Stoneheart hefted a brass fire-extinguisher from a trolley and held it out. “COG Ace, deal with it.”

  Jimmy Ace was a stocky steam engine of a boy. With seemingly boundless energy and an enthusiasm for life, Sin had grown to like him over their time in the East Wing together. Grabbing the extinguisher, Jimmy hurried into the room and sprayed the ceiling and walls with a steaming white cloud from the extinguisher’s conical nozzle. The flames drew back, leaving a thick ashen smoke in their wake. It appeared the fire was beaten. Jimmy began to cough. The extinguisher clattered to the floor and Jimmy bent double, clutching at his chest.

  “Fire will kill you, but the smoke will kill you quicker. The extinguishers are a steam and carbon dioxide mix, so in a confined space they’re going to add to your breathing difficulties.” Stoneheart rapped on the ironglass. “COG Sin, COG Chubb, rescue him.”

  Sin sprinted for the door.

  “Wait!” shouted Zonda. From the trolley, she grabbed two domed ironglass and brassanium helmets. “We don’t want to suffocate like Jimmy.”

  Sin eased the helmet over his head and the magnets in his flight suit’s collar snapped onto the ironglass ring at the base of the dome. A moment of claustrophobia spiked his pulse, the sound of his breathing loud in his ears. He’d worn face respirators before, when Coxford’s smog was particularly poisonous. This was different. He was enclosed in the bubble’s confines and although he knew he could rip the helmet clear at any point, it still unnerved him. It felt like being trapped in the fish again, with a dwindling air supply.

  He forced the fear away and tapped Zonda on the shoulder, giving her the thumbs up. They hastened into the flaming State Room. Smoke swirled all around, the toxic cloud stealing both oxygen and vision. The intense heat of the flames was more discomforting than damaging, the thick leather of their flight suits offering some protection.

  Jimmy now lay on the floor gasping. Sin grabbed him under the shoulders and dragged him towards the door. Gas hissed next to Sin’s ear and he momentarily froze. Had his helmet sprung a leak, poisoning him with toxic fumes? A valve clunked closed and the hissing stopped. He relaxed; it was only oxygen being released into the helmet, replenishing his air supply.

  Ahead, Zonda picked up the fallen fire-extinguisher and doused the flames, killing the fire. A brassanium cylinder ran from the rear of her helmet to the peak, acting as a protective crest and also as an oxygen reservoir to augment the air sucked in through the dome’s filters. Sin’s helmet hissed again, the carbon dioxide from the extinguisher triggering the valve in his helmet.

  An invigorating burst of energy surged through his body: his blue blood responding to the oxygen-enriched air. Jimmy now felt light as a ragdoll in Sin’s arms. He hoisted the stricken candidate onto his shoulders and carried him through the door to the medical post.

  Lottie Brazil rushed over to help and administered first aid. She loosened Jimmy’s collar, ensuring he could breathe, then lifted an emergency cup of Darjeeling to his lips. Jimmy swallowed a little of the tea and coughed violently, hacking up a blob of black phlegm.

  Stoneheart strode over and stared down at Jimmy’s ashen face. “In a real airship fire, you cannot afford to fail, or everyone dies.”

  “Yes, Staff.” Jimmy coughed again and spat more sooty phlegm onto the ground.

  “COG Sin has demonstrated the correct technique of the fireman’s carry.” Stoneheart raised her chin in Sin’s direction. While not exactly a compliment, it was still the most praise Sin had ever received from the surly sergeant.

  Stoneheart twirled the ZAPO lighter in her fingers. “Professor Barm has attempted to build fire-fighting watchmek, but they are not smart enough to deal with the ever-changing complexity of an airship fire. That requires a human brain.” She flipped open the ZAPO. “COG Nobbs, COG Jenkins, we have an engine-pod fire for you to deal with.”

  Catching Stanley’s eye, Sin bit back a snarky comment. He was going to give Jasper a chance.

  Thick, greasy smoke
billowed from the engine room, a by-product of the burning lubricants. Stanley advanced on a tower of orange flames, his extinguisher held ahead of him. He directed the nozzle at the base of the inferno and depressed the extinguisher’s handle. A cloud of white engulfed the fire and the flames died.

  His fists clenching and unclenching, Sin stood transfixed, watching through the ironglass panels in the side of the training rig. Stanley valiantly battled the fire in the mock engine pod, but as fast as he quenched one, another started. Sin felt powerless. He didn’t like seeing his friend in danger. He wanted to be in there, backing him up – unlike Jasper, who lurked well to the rear, peppering stray flames with small bursts from his own extinguisher.

  Stanley pushed further into the engine bay, shuffling past a blackened mass of pipes and gears.

  Stoneheart pointed through the ironglass at Stanley as she addressed the remainder of the candidates. “Fire-extinguishers are useless against industrial fires. You need to use chemical foam, otherwise you will fall victim to flashover.”

  On cue, flames spread across the ceiling and the smouldering machinery burst back into flames, trapping Stanley in the centre of a raging inferno. Jasper retreated, ineffectually worrying the flames with puffs of carbon dioxide.

  Sin fought the urge to grab an extinguisher and help. He had to give Jasper a chance.

  Enveloped by fire, Stanley sprayed carbon dioxide all around, barely able to keep the flames at bay. Jasper lurked at the engine room’s rear, seemingly unable or unwilling to affect a rescue.

  A churning unease twisted Sin’s stomach. Stanley had saved his life on the tower; it couldn’t be right to just watch him suffer. His friend’s extinguisher spluttered then died and the flames leaped higher. Sin thumped on the ironglass. “Get among it and help him,” he shouted at the cowering Jasper, but his voice was lost to the roar of the fire.

  “Stuff this.” Sin raised his hand. “Staff, permission to help COG Nobbs?”

  Stoneheart dragged her gaze from the flames. After what seemed like an age, she said, “Granted.”

  Zonda gripped Sin’s arm. “It’s not your exercise. You don’t always have to be the hero.”

  Sin pulled away. “Stanley’s getting cooked.” He rammed his helmet onto his head. Zonda yelled at him through the ironglass dome; thankfully, cocooned inside the bubble, her words were lost. He pulled the safety pins from two extinguishers on the trolley and, hefting one in each hand, stormed into the blaze.

  Oxygen hissed into Sin’s helmet and an exhilarating rush flowed through his body. With both extinguishers held at arm’s length, he depressed the handles. Clouds of carbon dioxide and steam billowed ahead of him, forming a corridor through the flames. Keeping the handles depressed, Sin charged through the smoky haze.

  Stanley crouched, hugging himself into a ball, trying to protect himself from the fire’s heat. Sin pulled a lever on the extinguisher’s side and water spurted from the nozzle, soaking his friend. Stanley looked up, his face splitting into a grin beneath the soot-smudged dome. He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed one of the extinguishers. Side by side the boys retreated, shooting bursts of steam and carbon dioxide left and right as they went. Stanley stopped, and half turned to the fire that still raged in the engine pod. Sin grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door to safety. It was only a training exercise and Stanley’s flight suit was already charred and blackened. Who knew what injuries he might be suffering? Sin wasn’t letting him stay in there. Someone else could deal with it.

  From her position at the window Stoneheart tracked Sin and Stanley’s progress to the medical post before returning her attention to the floundering Jasper.

  Sitting Stanley down, Sin helped him remove his helmet, then pulled his own dome free. The shrouded silence was instantly replaced by Zonda’s ranting.

  “You just had to interfere, didn’t you?” Her green eyes burned with a fury as intense as the engine fire. “You couldn’t give Jasper the chance to overcome his fear. No, you had to ride in on your white charger and save the day. You had to make yourself the hero again, didn’t you?”

  Sin glanced at Stanley, who shrugged as he peeled his smouldering flight suit from his reddened skin.

  “Yeah, I did,” Sin finally said. “Because Jasper hasn’t overcome a fear in his whole life and I wasn’t going to let my friend burn just to save Jasper’s feelings.”

  “You’re wrong about Jasper,” Zonda said, eyes ablaze. “Every day he stays in COG he’s braver than you are. Braver than you’ll ever be.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t about saving his feelings, it was about giving him a chance to prove himself.”

  Sin pointed through the ironglass screen to where Jasper was huddled in a corner, carbon dioxide trickling from his extinguisher. “I think he’s proved himself, all right.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Zonda thrust her helmet onto her head, nodded at Stoneheart and stormed into the engine room to join Jasper. She unleashed a maelstrom of carbon dioxide, shrouding herself in the fire-killing gas. Then, taking Jasper’s hand, she coaxed him towards the door.

  Sin watched through the glass.

  How was the coward still in COG? Certainly, he was clever, but surely that wasn’t reason enough? It wasn’t like Jasper even wanted to be here. Why didn’t he just quit, go and be a doctor? It would be better for everyone if he left, and took whatever he knew about the injections with him.

  The candidates gathered in the wildflower meadow to the south-east of the palace with Captain Hawk. The petals on the golden rod and dandelion that dotted the grass were nearly as bright as their flight suits. After the incident in the quarry Zonda was once again giving Sin the cold shoulder, so he waited with Lottie and Stanley.

  A klaxon sounded and above the palace a large white flag bearing a central red oval ran up the flagpole.

  “Who can tell me what that flag means?” said Hawk.

  Zonda’s arm shot into the air.

  “COG Chubb,” said Hawk.

  “Inbound airship, Staff.”

  Hawk pulled a dark steel telescope from the pocket on her flight suit. “Inbound airship, indeed. And what are the two main reasons we fly it?”

  Again, Zonda’s arm thrust skywards. Hawk ignored her. Instead, her attention turned to Stanley, who was the only candidate not to have raised a hand.

  “COG Nobbs, please enlighten us.”

  Stanley shuffled his feet, the chunky rigair boots squashing meadow flowers beneath them. “Certainly. Your actual basic inbound airship flag is flown for two reasons.”

  Hawk waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “I know it’s flown for two reasons,” she said. “I want you to tell me what they are.”

  “I was just coming to that.” Stanley clapped his hands together. “I wanted to make sure I had everyone’s attention for this important piece of information. I mean, if anyone didn’t know the two reasons, it could have terrible consequences, so I’m glad to be able to clear it up for everyone.”

  Stanley paused again without offering any further explanation. Hawk looked down her nose at him. “If you don’t tell me what the reasons are right now, you’ll be doing punishment laps around the lake for a week.”

  “Message received and understood, Staff,” said Stanley. “The two actual reasons are . . .”

  “Wind direction,” whispered Sin.

  “. . . to clearly establish the wind direction and . . .”

  Lottie brought her hand to her face and coughed. “Warning.”

  “. . . to warn any other craft of the inbound airship’s approach.” Stanley nodded. “Yep, those are the two reasons, all right.”

  “Thank you, COG Sin and COG Brazil. You are now at the top of my deuce list, just below COG Nobbs.” Hawk extended her telescope and, holding it up to one eye, she scanned the horizon.

  “What’s a deuce list?” whispered Stanley.

  “Dunno. I’m guessing it’s not the one she writes her Christmas presents on,” said Sin.

  Lottie s
hook her head. “From an etymological perspective, I expect it derives from deuce, being another word for two, and number two being a colloquialism for . . .”

  “Cark list,” said Stanley. “Why didn’t she just say?”

  Hawk twisted the focus ring on the telescope. “Candidates, if you look in the direction of Vanbrugh’s Grand Bridge you will shortly sight the Swordfish, the finest aerostat to sail the skies. It will be your home for the next two weeks.”

  The candidates watched in awe as the speck on the horizon grew bigger and bigger, the smoke clouds from the airship’s funnels leaving dark billowing trails. The whup-whup of the Swordfish’s engines drummed across the meadow, sending vibrations pulsing through their bodies.

  Sin had occasionally witnessed airships over the streets of Coxford. The way the giant vessels hung in the air seemed unnatural, defying Newton’s laws of gravity. The Swordfish steamed nearer, and it was easy to see how she got her name. A thick serrated prong jutted from the bow, and a spiked fin curved gracefully across the dorsal side of the balloon’s sleek silver envelope. Two engine pods protruded from her flanks, the shimmer of whirling propellers slicing the air, pulling the aerostat gracefully through the heavens. Beneath the balloon a streamlined gondola ran the length of the Swordfish. Man-sized brassanium and ironglass portholes dotted the gondola, where brown-suited aeronauts stood pointing excitedly towards the palace.

  “Designed by Sir George Cayley, the Swordfish is both a thing of beauty and the fastest ship in the Empire,” said Hawk with pride. Her gaze locked onto the airship and her eyes turned misty. It was the most human Sin had ever seen her. She was like a proud mother talking about her child, and just for a second the tough aviator exterior melted away, revealing a softer side. Hawk snapped the telescope closed and the moment was gone. “The dorsal fin prevents boarding from above and the nose spike has cost more than one pirate his ship.”