Tin

by Padraig Kenny

  Christopher turned to see Manda stuttering towards them. As usual, she propelled herself by throwing her right side forward. It required great effort, and Christopher could hear her joints squeaking from where he stood. He heard another sound as well, but he was only dimly aware of it. He looked over at the stumpy snowman, with its wonky black eyes and smile.

  ‘Very good, Manda. That’s the best snowman I’ve ever seen.’

  Manda grinned, and as she threw herself forwards again, her teddy bear fell from her hand and on to the road.

  ‘Manda, Ted,’ said Round Rob, pointing, but she didn’t hear him – she was still beaming from the compliment, and the sound Christopher had heard in the distance was getting louder. She’d already taken a couple more steps before she realized what had happened to her teddy bear, and that was when Christopher recognized the sound. He turned to his left to look.

  A car was cresting the brow of the hill.

  Manda was turning back to fetch her teddy bear from the middle of the road.

  Christopher’s first attempt at a warning was a strangled yelp. He felt his legs lock and his throat constrict. Round Rob’s mouth was wide open in shock. Jack hit Christopher’s arm. ‘She’s going to . . . she’s . . .’

  Christopher put his head down and bolted towards Manda. It was almost impossible for his feet to get a proper grip on the slippery road. He cursed the patches of snow and ice. He cursed the driver of the car for not turning on his headlights. He tried to shout again, but the effort of running meant he barely had enough breath to raise his voice. Behind him he could hear shouting, and above it Absalom’s hysteria-tinged voice: ‘No, Christopher, no!’

  Manda picked up Ted and turned to see the car. It was halfway down the hill now, hurtling downwards at an insane speed, the steep incline giving it more and more momentum. She turned from looking at the car, almost in slow motion, the expression on her face transforming from horror to guilt as she saw Christopher bearing down on her.

  Christopher gave a roar of rage and frustration in the hope it would give him more strength, but he was struggling to run and keep his balance at the same time. He could hear clanking and squeaking behind him. Was it Jack?

  He shouted at Manda to get off the road. She turned to look at the car again, as if she’d lost the use of her legs. Christopher gave another incoherent roar, and managed to cover the distance left between them, so that now he was right on top of her. He grabbed her arm and swung her round with such force that she was propelled back in the direction he’d come from. She went flying off the road. Christopher was barely aware that he’d done it with such power that he’d ripped her arm from her socket. He saw Jack stumble towards her as she lay on the ground. He looked at the arm in his hand, he heard the roaring sound, the beeping horn. He just had enough time to turn and see the car rushing towards him, the white, terrified face of the driver over the steering wheel, the car turning, but not enough. Christopher felt an eerie calm. It’s going to hit me.

  A bang.

  A screech.

  Christopher’s world turned over and over, white snow, grey sky, white snow, grey sky.

  Crows shrieked and took flight. There was a burning – a pain – a skidding spinning world . . .

  Blackness.

  I’m dead, thought Christopher in the dark. I’m . . . de—

  When Christopher woke, he found himself looking up at the ceiling in the workshop. The only light in the darkness came from a small gas lamp in a corner. It was night, but he had no idea what day it was.

  This has happened before, he thought.

  He blinked and tried to speak, but he could only manage a dry croak which echoed back at him in the emptiness.

  There was no one else here.

  This has happened before.

  ‘Stop it,’ he moaned to himself, and he was surprised by the sound of his own voice. He turned his head to the right to get his bearings, but his vision was suddenly riven with lightning flashes of imagery.

  Round Rob’s crying face, his hands on Christopher’s chest.

  Don’t die, Christopher, he sobbed. Don’t die.

  Jack standing over him, shock and utter confusion on his face, and something else. Fear.

  Fear?

  Look at his arm, Jack said.

  ‘No,’ said Christopher.

  Look at his—

  ‘No!’ he shouted.

  Silence all around him. Christopher steeled himself. He could feel it like an itch. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. Just to see.

  Just a quick look.

  It couldn’t hurt to look, could it?

  He raised his left arm. He could feel a low burning sensation in it. He was wearing fresh clothes. His shirt cuff was unbuttoned. He rolled it back along with the jumper, slowly, carefully. He looked at his arm.

  He blinked to be sure he was seeing what he was seeing. The flesh on his hand was pale as far as the wrist. The flesh above his wrist was slightly darker and not as smooth. He pulled his sleeve up further. The dark patch stopped just below his elbow. It was a crude oblong shape, but there was no mistaking the fact that it was a different shade to the rest of the skin on his arm. Now he found the strength to sit up, and he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his arm. A sob came, but it sounded as if it belonged to someone else. He didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.

  And yet . . .

  As if they had a life of their own, the fingers on his right hand went to his forearm. He dug his nails in where the darker skin began above the wrist. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He jammed his fingers in deep, gave an angry scream, and ripped back the skin on his forearm.

  And revealed the gleaming chrome beneath.

  No blood, he thought.

  Of course there’s no blood, silly, said a voice inside his head.

  No blood, because I’m not . . .

  His legs didn’t feel like part of him, and he had to drag them across the floor as he made his way towards the door. Tears came.

  Tears? How can I cry? How can I cry if I’m not . . .

  He almost fell on the door and leant against it with his right forearm. He caught another glimpse of his left arm. His stomach roiled, and he felt the urge to be sick.

  He pulled at the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. He pulled again with as much strength as he could muster, but it still wouldn’t give. The door was locked from the outside.

  He started to pound on it with his fists. ‘Mr Absalom!’ he howled. ‘Mr Absalom!’

  There was no response. The silence mocked him and despite his fear, Christopher felt a sudden scalding rage that lent him strength. He hurled himself at the door and gave a roar of animalistic fury.

  There was only one possible question on his mind.

  Only one.

  Christopher screamed.

  ‘Who made me, Mr Absalom?! Who made me?!’

  Aterrified Absalom stood behind the table in his shed. He looked fearfully at the door, wringing his hands.

  Christopher’s screams of rage carried through the night and across the junkyard. Everybody in the room could hear them. Estelle was packing up her things. She looked nervous and slightly ashamed. Manda was crying, and Round Rob was giving Absalom a run for his money in the hand-wringing stakes. Only Jack was reacting differently; only Jack’s eyes were cold and distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘We should do something,’ said Estelle.

  Absalom’s head started to bob up and down. ‘That’s right, we should, we should. We should stay in here and not go outside, that’s what we should do.’

  Estelle frowned at Absalom, who immediately went on the defensive.

  ‘It’s the best thing for all concerned.’

  ‘Why?’ said Jack. He blinked as if waking from a dream. ‘Why is it the best thing for all concerned?’

  Absalom looked at him as if he were a stone that had somehow learnt to speak.

  ‘Because it just is, Jack.’

  Ja
ck looked at him incredulously.

  Absalom started to fumble through his coat. ‘I suppose you want to be paid, Estelle.’

  They were all stunned. Absalom never offered to pay without being asked. Estelle just looked at him.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘For his arm,’ said a distracted Absalom. ‘I’m sure you did a fine job.’

  ‘No!’ Estelle shouted.

  Both Absalom and the others were gobsmacked by Estelle’s furious reaction. Absalom tried to say something.

  ‘No,’ Estelle said again; this time she was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

  Absalom’s mouth fell open, and his eyes darted up and down in panic as he looked at Estelle. ‘You won’t tell anyone, Estelle, will you?’ he begged, his hands working against each other, over and over.

  ‘Why? What if I did? And who might I tell?’ said Estelle.

  Absalom licked his upper lip and swallowed. ‘No one, why there’s no one at all, no one at all who might be interested . . .’

  Estelle’s eyes darkened with malevolence.

  ‘No one who might be interested in an unregistered mechanical?’

  ‘Stop it, Estelle! Stop it right now!’ Absalom shrieked.

  Jack saw the fearful glances from the others. Absalom was biting his thumbnail now, his eyes darting between them. No one made a sound. They could still hear Christopher’s cries drifting across the yard.

  Round Rob looked towards the window. He whispered, ‘He’s not proper. I thought he was proper.’

  ‘So did Christopher himself, apparently,’ said Estelle, glaring accusingly at Absalom.

  ‘We should let him out,’ Jack said.

  ‘No!’ Absalom shouted.

  ‘Jack is right,’ said Estelle. ‘We should let him out.’

  Round Rob nodded, and even Manda made a little pleading sound.

  Absalom looked at them all as if they were mad. ‘We can’t let him out.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Because . . . because . . .’ spluttered Absalom. His clawed hands clenched and unclenched in front of him, as if the answer was there waiting to be gouged out of mid-air.

  ‘Because he’ll go to prison,’ said Estelle, pointing at the engineer.

  Absalom gave a whimper and looked at her. Estelle’s eyes were dark and angry. Jack saw Absalom give a little stumble forward, using the table to stop himself falling. The sight of an unnerved Absalom gave Jack a vicious little thrill of pleasure.

  ‘That’s not going to happen, Estelle,’ Absalom said, jutting his jaw out defiantly. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘You should let him out then,’ said Estelle.

  Absalom shook his head violently and turned his back on her like a sulking child.

  ‘Where did you get him?’ asked Estelle.

  ‘From the orphanage.’

  ‘What orphanage?’

  ‘Bartleby’s.’

  ‘You told me it was Saint Gabriel’s.’

  ‘No, no, I distinctly said Bartleby’s.’

  ‘Who brought him here?’

  Absalom narrowed one eye. ‘A nurse . . .’

  ‘Who? What was her name?

  ‘Her name . . . her name was . . . was . . .’

  ‘You told me it was two nurses, Mr Absalom,’ said Rob, all wide-eyed and innocent.

  ‘Robert!’ snarled Absalom.

  Estelle snorted. ‘You’re a liar. You were lying all along.’

  ‘I never lie,’ said Absalom, raising his index finger to the ceiling and waggling it. ‘I am, at all times, an ethical, good, moral man. Absalom Mechanicals is the finest—’

  ‘How can he not know what he is?’ demanded Estelle.

  Jack smarted a little at the ‘what’. It’s ‘who’, he wanted to say.

  ‘How can he not know?’ Estelle repeated.

  Absalom wouldn’t look at her. Estelle narrowed her eyes.

  ‘Have you been patching?’

  Absalom pulled his collar up in a feeble attempt to hide his face.

  ‘You have, haven’t you? You’ve been patching. You, who hasn’t even got the skill to stick arms and legs together.’

  ‘Now how dare you, Estelle. How dare you,’ said Absalom, rounding on her. ‘I am a master craftsman. My reputation—’

  ‘Where’d you get them? Where are they?’ Estelle demanded.

  ‘What’s patching?’ asked Round Rob.

  ‘Nothing, Robert, nothing. Ignore Estelle, lads. The fumes and chemicals of her barely acceptable work have finally gotten to her and driven her insane.’

  Absalom looked at her with an expression of victory, but Jack could see the glimmer of doubt in his eyes, and the uncertainty in the way he clutched his hands together.

  ‘How does he go?’ Estelle said; her voice was low and steady.

  Absalom flinched as if he’d just been slapped.

  Estelle closed her eyes. She rubbed her forehead. ‘Oh, Mr Absalom,’ she sighed, like a disappointed parent who’d just caught her child doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

  Absalom stammered. ‘I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . I never—’

  An explosive wrenching sound from outside interrupted him.

  Rob ran to the window and looked out. ‘Gripper’s just taken the doors off the workshop. They’re coming this way.’

  Absalom squealed, ran to the door and threw himself against it.

  ‘We can’t let him in,’ he shouted.

  Estelle sighed. ‘Don’t let him out, don’t let him in. Which is it?’

  ‘This all ends now. This nonsense. I won’t put up with any more of it!’ Absalom shrieked.

  Estelle’s voice was calm and ever so casual. ‘What are you going to do when Gripper comes bursting through the door?’

  Absalom looked at her; his head gave a little shudder. He stepped away from the door, and Jack almost had to stifle a giggle when there was a knock on it and Absalom jumped. Estelle opened the door, and Christopher stood outside, Gripper towering behind him.

  ‘Who made me, Mr Absalom?’ he said, as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  Absalom retreated backwards, shaking his head and looking at the floor.

  Christopher kept advancing.

  ‘Who made me?’

  Absalom shook his head.

  ‘Who made me?!’ Christopher screamed.

  There was a pause. Absalom finally raised his head and looked at him. His chin wobbled and he gave an apologetic shrug. His voice was a cracked whisper.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  Jack believed him. He had never seen someone look so utterly lost.

  Christopher turned to Estelle.

  ‘Did you know?’ he said.

  Estelle shook her head.

  ‘Did anyone else . . . ?’

  Christopher looked around the room at the others. They shook their heads. Manda stepped forward with her bear clutched to her chest.

  ‘I never knew you weren’t proper, Christopher. Honest. But I don’t care. I don’t care at all, because you’re still you.’

  Christopher seemed to nod gratefully, but Jack could see the dark, haunted look in his eyes. It was as if another Christopher had taken his place. He was a broken boy with a piece missing. Jack wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. He lost his chance, because in the next moment yellow lights slithered across the ceiling, and there was the low hum of an approaching engine.

  Estelle ran to the window.

  ‘Oh no, oh Lord, no,’ Absalom moaned, and he backed away even further into the shadows.

  Estelle’s face was whiter than usual as she turned to them. The words she spoke sent a chill through Jack.

  ‘It’s the Agency,’ she said.

  Jack ran to the window. A bronze-coloured van was pulling into the yard behind Gripper. There were no markings on the van, but there was no mistaking its official look. He’d never seen one before, but he’d heard enough stories about them. Two men got o
ut. Both of them wore the regulation macs and brown hats. One of them, a tall slim man, said something to his hulking companion, and they started walking towards the shed.

  ‘Oh no, no, no,’ Absalom gibbered.

  ‘Shut up,’ Estelle hissed. She grabbed Jack and pushed him towards the back of the shed.

  Manda and Rob started flapping their hands almost as much as Absalom. Christopher stood with his shoulders slumped, looking at the ground, as if he’d already accepted defeat. Jack wanted to go to him, but Estelle was still pushing him backwards towards the shelves.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he squealed.

  ‘I know what’s going to happen. Trust me,’ she said fiercely.

  Before Jack could say anything else she’d wrapped her right arm around his head and pulled.

  Jack only had time for one muffled ‘No’ before he found himself blinking at her at eye level. She was holding his detached head up to her face. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his body slumped on the ground. He hated being like this, and he was about to protest about the indignity of it all when Estelle cut him off.

  ‘Shut up and listen. I’m going to put you on that shelf,’ she said, jerking her head towards the back of the shed. ‘You’re to be our eyes and ears.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We need to know what’s going on. And Mr Absalom’s not going to tell us.’

  She plonked Jack, or rather Jack’s head, on the shelf. From his vantage point he could see the others looking panicked and terrified.

  There was a knock on the door, and everyone whipped around. Estelle gave Jack’s head one final look. ‘Remember everything,’ she whispered fiercely. She bent down to stuff his body under a pile of scrap. When she was finished, she stood up and walked back towards the centre of the room.

  There was another knock, and a muffled voice called through the door:

  ‘Mr Absalom? Mr Gregory Absalom? Could you open the door please?’

  There was a pause. All eyes were now on Absalom.

  ‘Why?’ he said weakly.

  There was another pause, and this time when the voice spoke its tone was casual, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of dark intent.

  ‘Mr Absalom, I really do advise that you open this door as quickly as possible.’

  Absalom went to the door and fumbled with the handle. He opened it to find the two men standing there. There was a brief moment while they took in what was before them, then they moved quickly into the shed. The slim one was wearing a trilby. He appeared to be in charge, and he brandished a black wallet with an identity card. He was brisk and businesslike in his tone.