Tin

by Padraig Kenny

  Jack stared at the painting. He paid particularly close attention to the First. His nose was a stubby thing plonked in the middle of a round head. His hair was painted on, and two bulbous nodules either side of his nose appeared to be painted to resemble eyes. He was dressed in clothes much like Runcible’s. He had a carved, lopsided mouth which made it look as if he was about to speak.

  Estelle stood beside Jack and gazed in wonder at the painting.

  ‘They burnt the First, Estelle. Imagine.’ Jack shivered, unable to take his eyes off what was contained within the display case. ‘I wonder—’

  ‘Shhh!’ Cormier hissed in the gloom. He was now standing at the end of the room with his ear placed against a large wooden double door.

  ‘Is this it?’ he asked William.

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ William replied. ‘They don’t tell us about this part of the building. Nor do I have a key for the door.’

  Cormier grinned. ‘Then this is it.’ He beckoned Gripper forward and smiled up at him. ‘Mr Big, if you would be so kind.’

  Cormier stood aside. Gripper looked at the door, then looked at Cormier.

  ‘Well, go on then,’ Cormier growled.

  Gripper looked questioningly at Jack.

  ‘Do it, Grip,’ Jack said.

  Gripper stepped towards the door and pulled his right fist back. Jack could see the coils and wires in his shoulder contracting and tensing. It never ceased to amaze Jack, that for all his shortcomings as an engineer, Absalom had somehow managed to make an efficient machine out of Gripper. Indeed, it made him wonder if Absalom had any part in his construction at all.

  Gripper held his arm in position for a moment, and then suddenly it sped forward in a grey blur. It was like watching the unleashing of an elastic band that had been stretched too far. His fist punched through the wood of the door with an explosive crash, then he stepped forwards and grabbed the edges of the splintered hole with his claws and wrenched it apart until all that was left of the door were jagged pieces of wood and warped hinges.

  Gripper cleared the debris as Cormier squinted into the gloom that lay beyond. Light from the exhibition room seeped in, but only reached so far. ‘It’s in here,’ he said. ‘It has to be.’

  They all stepped over the threshold and Cormier turned to William.

  ‘Do you know anything about this room?’ he asked.

  William shook his head. ‘No, sir. It’s out of bounds to mechanicals and all staff members below Grade Seven.’

  ‘And I take it Mr Hibbert is the only Grade Seven in the building?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  Cormier chuckled to himself.

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ said Jack.

  ‘It’s dark in here,’ said Estelle. ‘Surely there’s a light.’

  ‘Like those two green ones?’ said Rob.

  A puzzled Jack didn’t have enough time to ask him what he meant, because something sharp and silver sprang out of the blackness and whipped Rob clean off his feet and back out through the door.

  The air was slashed with a high drilling shriek as a towering, mantis-shaped machine with green eyes rose up before them. It started to flail its scythe-like forelimbs at the intruders.

  ‘Damn you, Hibbert!’ roared Cormier, before he was dashed against a wall.

  Jack saw the mantis bearing down on him and was tensing his limbs when something hit him in the side and sent him sprawling beyond the creature’s reach. He looked up to see Estelle, who had pushed him out of harm’s way, raise her arms to defend herself. The sharp point of one of the mantis’s legs was buried in a floorboard, and it was twisting this way and that, its five other legs scrabbling and slipping madly behind it in an effort to free it. With a great heave that almost threw the creature on to its ridged back, the leg was free. It brought it down again, but this time it was William’s turn to be selfless. He threw himself in front of Estelle and the point tore through his belly. There was a jagged screech, and William wobbled on his legs and fell to the ground.

  ‘Gripper? Where’s Gripper?’ Jack screamed. Then he saw him on the periphery. His legs seemed frozen in place, and he looked on, his head moving back in forth in agitation, as if he was unsure about what to do.

  ‘He’s useless,’ a voice roared. Jack turned to see Cormier scrabbling towards him on the ground. ‘There’s no point,’ he shouted at Jack. ‘We need a distraction.’

  Cormier put two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle that made the mantis turn its head towards him.

  Another flash of silver. This time from the wreckage of the door they’d all entered. George sprang through the air. Cormier’s right hand shot straight up to catch the tiny machine, and the engineer whispered fiercely: ‘Jump!’

  He threw George at the mantis just as it scuttled towards him. Jack thought he could almost see curiosity in the creature’s eyes, along with something else. Yes, there was something else in the green – a sensation of a rolling, panicked motion, as if something in there was trying to escape, like a trapped animal.

  Then the eyes were covered and the creature screamed as George dug his legs into its neck. The mantis writhed frantically. It shook its head violently, but the tenacious George hung in there, and there was a terrible rending sound as he dug his legs in deeper. The mantis started to scrabble and roll madly in every direction. Jack had to scramble out of its way and narrowly missed being impaled on the point of one of its legs.

  With a violent whiplash motion, George was finally thrown from the creature’s neck and landed a few feet away on his back, his legs scrabbling at the air.

  The creature’s long neck convulsed up and down as it screamed with rage. Jack was too frightened to move and he could see Gripper’s cowering shape in the gloom. Up and down went the creature’s head as it continued shrieking, advancing towards William, who was the nearest target but was being pulled out of harm’s way by Estelle. Jack saw the creature rear backwards. He saw the look of defiance in Estelle’s eyes. Estelle threw what looked like a door hinge at the creature’s head and it clanged off it, causing the monster to shake its head and shriek some more. That won’t be enough, thought Jack. It’s going to move in for the kill.

  That was when Cormier stepped forward.

  He was holding a plank of wood he’d fished from the wreckage of the door. He stepped in front of the creature and its head snapped towards him. It gave one great dipping motion, and for a terrifying moment Jack thought it would collide with Cormier and send him straight off his feet.

  But it was Cormier who connected first.

  He brought the plank of wood down on the creature’s head, and while it was stunned he swung it across in a broadside that hit the creature clean on the left side of its skull. That was the defining blow. The metal at the base of the creature’s neck, which had already been weakened by George’s assault, tore with an awful grinding sound as its head flew across the room and smashed into a wall, before falling on the floor and seesawing there for a few moments until it came to rest. The lights in the creature’s eyes dimmed and faded. Its body spasmed and jerked, its feet thrashed in and out like those of a skater scrabbling for purchase on ice, and then it too crashed to the ground.

  The only sound in the dark was Cormier’s panting. He looked at the creature’s neck, wires like shredded veins peeking out from where its head should have been.

  ‘Shoddy workmanship,’ he gasped. He wiped a hand across his forehead and gave a short sharp yelping laugh, and in that moment Jack hated him.

  Estelle must have felt the same. With her head lowered, and still trying to catch her breath, she looked at him as if she’d decided he was the next most likely candidate to be struck with the plank. An oblivious Cormier was too busy grinning and feeling self-congratulatory to notice.

  Jack picked himself up. His first thought was for Rob, but someone else was already ahead of him on that score. George flipped himself back up on his legs and skipped and scuttled through the wreckage of the door.
He arrived back seconds later, nestled under the jaw of a dazed-looking Rob.

  ‘Rob, you’re all right,’ said Jack, running towards him.

  ‘Something hit me,’ said Rob, blinking frantically as if trying to readjust himself to the world around him.

  ‘It was that,’ said Jack, pointing to the creature’s motionless body.

  Rob stepped towards its remains and gaped at it. ‘Where’s its head?’

  ‘Over there,’ said Estelle, wearily pointing to the wall where Gripper was still cowering.

  Cormier was attempting to help William back to his feet. There was a long gash in the bellboy’s torso. Cogs and sprockets and wires gleamed in the darkness of his chest, and there was a low grinding sound as he got to his feet, like a motor trying to start.

  ‘I think I might need some repairs, sir,’ he said to Cormier.

  ‘I’ll see to it that you’re as good as new,’ said Cormier. He ruffled William’s hair, and just as quickly seemed to forget him as he turned towards the rear of the room. He moved further into the darkness.

  Jack went to William and helped him straighten himself up.

  Estelle felt along one of the walls and found a light switch. The lights blazed into life, and with them came a loud ‘Aha!’ from Cormier.

  He was at the back of the room standing before a black plinth. There was something silver placed on it. Cormier held his cupped hands forward and gingerly picked the device up. He stood there for a moment, his back turned to them, his head bowed. Nobody said anything until Cormier himself uttered a low, victorious ‘Yes’. He spun around and marched towards the door.

  ‘Right then, off we go.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Jack. ‘Is that it?’

  Cormier turned to look at him. He was cradling the Diviner in his hands as if it were a newborn baby. It was a silver pyramid about six inches tall. Apart from its glossy silver sheen there was nothing even remotely special-looking about it.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cormier, ‘this is most certainly it.’ He stood in the doorway and looked at them. ‘Well, come on then.’

  Nobody moved. Jack in particular was having difficulty trying to come to terms with what had just happened. His mind was spinning. The terror of the thing leaping out at them from the dark. The awful fear as he watched Round Rob being thrown from the room. Gripper seizing up, as if he couldn’t handle what was happening.

  ‘Well?’ said an impatient Cormier.

  ‘What happened to it?’

  All eyes turned to Rob, who’d asked the question. He was standing over the monster’s head looking perturbed. He glanced from the head to the body and back again, confusion written all over his face. Then he nodded to himself as if he’d just realized something. He turned around in a waddling motion so he could get a good look at Cormier.

  ‘You killed it,’ he said; his tone was almost conversational, but there was no mistaking the look of accusation in Rob’s eyes.

  Cormier looked at him, his eyes narrowing reflexively in confusion.

  ‘Why?’ said Rob.

  Cormier shifted on his feet. He looked distinctly uncomfortable with the question. ‘Never mind the why. We need to get going.’

  Cormier stepped out of the room, but Rob waddled back around to look at the head. He still looked perturbed.

  ‘Come on, Rob,’ said Jack.

  Rob looked like he was about to say something else, but then he ambled out the door after Cormier. Estelle helped William, and they were making their way through the display section when she turned back towards Jack.

  ‘Its eyes,’ she said. ‘Did you see its eyes?’

  Jack nodded.

  For a moment, Estelle looked troubled. She paused and then shook her head, as if she wanted to say something else but had thought better of it. She turned and headed for the stairs. Jack held back for a moment and stood in front of the painting of Joshua Runcible and his wooden boy. He looked again at the display case and the plaque above it which read REMAINS OF THE FIRST, and his eyes turned to the blackened and charred pieces of wood it contained.

  The marionette sat on the edge of a table in the lab with its hands under its legs. It looked like it was paying close attention to Christopher in the chair, despite not having any eyes. In the absence of Jack and Rob and the others it was the nearest thing he had to a friend in this forsaken place.

  ‘He was a good man, you know,’ said Blake.

  Christopher was surprised by Blake’s conversational tone as he picked at another patch.

  ‘What?’ said Christopher.

  ‘My father. He was a good man,’ said Blake. ‘You asked about him. The mannerly thing to do is to give you an answer.’

  There was a pause as Christopher wondered how to proceed.

  ‘He had this country’s interests at heart when he did what he did.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Christopher, trying his best to sound innocent.

  Blake gave a quick disdainful laugh. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. The results of that particular experiment are public knowledge and have been for quite some time. It’s why Refined Propulsion is outlawed and why we have Article Five.’

  Christopher remembered the story Absalom had told him and the others. There was always a certain sadistic relish in the way he told it, as if he was deriving some pleasure from the failure and suffering of others. Perhaps he embellished it all a little, Christopher didn’t know for sure, but what Absalom told them sounded horrific. The display had been carried out in the Royal Horticultural Hall. ‘Hope was in the air. We were told we would win the war in a matter of days,’ Absalom had said. He’d told them the sense of nationwide anticipation was overpowering. Hundreds of people had gathered to see what the Prime Minister was calling ‘Britain’s crowning glory’. Of those hundreds, dozens were killed. Absalom always tried to deliver this part of the story with a suitable air of sorrow, but his genuine glee at someone else’s failure was unmistakable. ‘And he was licensed,’ Absalom would say smugly. ‘Imagine that. Licensed. It goes to show you, licensed or unlicensed, it all means nothing. All that matters is how good an engineer you are.’

  ‘Is it true that it spat fire?’ Christopher asked Blake.

  Blake gave a little chuckle. ‘Yes. It’s true.’

  ‘Did you ever see it?’

  There was a slight pause before Blake gave a hesitant ‘No.’

  Christopher was about to say something else, but Blake spoke first.

  ‘I saw sketches, and I saw some components.’

  ‘And what were they like?’

  ‘Magnificent,’ said Blake, with a very obvious tone of pride in his voice.

  ‘Is it true your father designed most of it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Blake, sounding very pleased. ‘My father said it would be the war machine to end all wars. It and its brethren would stride across battlefields, and men would be like leaves in the wind in their wake.’

  He came round and fetched an instrument from the table to Christopher’s right. He could see the light in Blake’s eyes as he reflected back on his father’s achievements.

  ‘You must have been very proud of him,’ said Christopher.

  Blake stopped what he was doing for a moment, as if remembering something. A muscle twitched in his left cheek. ‘Yes, very,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Even afterwards?’ said Christopher.

  Blake’s voice hardened. ‘Especially afterwards.’ He stepped back behind the chair.

  Christopher considered what Blake had said for a moment. There was something else he needed to know.

  ‘Is it true it had a soul?’

  There was a tense pause before Blake said, ‘Yes.’

  He was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning and Christopher felt he’d gained some kind of advantage. He decided to press it.

  ‘Why would anyone want to ensoul a mechanical?’

  ‘Well, you’re an inquisitive sort,’ said Blake, trying his best to sound light-hearted, but Christopher could
hear the hint of steel in his voice.

  ‘I mean, what’s so important about Refined Propul—’

  Christopher didn’t get to finish his sentence. There was a ‘plik’ sound, and he felt a whooshing sensation in his head.

  Blake looked at the patch he held between his tweezers and said jauntily: ‘A small one, that. A vague memory of a spring morning. Useless really.’ He tossed it into a tray where it came to rest among the growing pile of patches. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Christopher.

  He was lying, of course. The work to trace his original memories had continued, and with each false memory that was removed, Christopher felt as if he was being hollowed out. He wasn’t frightened by this feeling any more. The sense of loss he’d felt at the diminishing of his memories was something that was so short-lived he was almost used to it – the way someone becomes used to the quick, sharp bite of a needle. If anything, he was oddly calm about the whole process, as if the stripping away of layers was allowing him to feel more like himself.

  He was also afraid to reveal too much about his state of mind, particularly since his experience in his cell overnight.

  He hadn’t told Blake yet, but since some of the patches had been removed he’d felt something else change inside him. During the night, he’d experienced strange episodes which gave him a blooming sensation, as if new knowledge was becoming his, and the world was opening up before him. The feeling was both terrifying and exhilarating. He’d had several of these episodes during the night, some with images and some without. Each one was like opening a long-forgotten and locked room in an empty house. Christopher found himself getting utterly lost in these strangely invigorating moments.

  He was reluctant to tell Blake because he really didn’t believe that the engineer’s main focus was on finding out how Christopher had ended up in Absalom’s hands. Christopher had spent enough time around Absalom to know when someone was lying, and he could tell that Blake had some other goal in mind. Christopher was certain of it, but for now he thought it best to play along with Blake’s charade.