Ironheart

by Allan Boroughs

  ‘That rig had rolled straight out of the Valley of Death.’ He fell silent, but when he saw her worried expression he gave her abroad grin. ‘Hey, don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘Riggers are just like sailors. They drink too much vodka and they start to see mermaids.’

  They both laughed, but India shivered, as though something cold had touched her heart.

  That night, her dreams returned.

  She was riding the back of a great eagle, rising into the air on winds as cold as a blade. She gasped at the colours of the land as she soared over blue-pink mountains with peaks that seemed to float on the air like ghost ships. Then the bird plunged into the shadow of icy ravines, skimming the surface of the lakes and twisting through steep-sided valleys lined with green-black spruce dressed in their winter snows. She clung to the eagle’s back, exhilarated by the powerful pulse of its muscles and breathing in the smell of the high nesting places that lingered in its feathers.

  ‘They will leave you alone here,’ it said, ‘but you must not give up. Already the bringer-of death rises in the East. If you stop now then it will be forever winter in this land.’

  ‘But what should I do?’ she said.

  You must feel for the spirit in the earth and it will lead you to me,’ said the eagle.

  And as it spoke, her senses stretched out into the landscape and she could feel the frozen river running through her blood.

  ‘How will I know you?’

  ‘By the sign of the shamanyou will know me,’ said the eagle. It turned to look at her and she saw that it had one eye of blue and one of brown.

  She woke in a sweat and couldn’t get back to sleep. There could be no doubt now, the further east she went, the stronger the dreams were becoming. She couldn’t escape the feeling that they were not her dreams at all, but that they belonged to someone else entirely.

  The next morning was crisp and sun-washed and all thoughts of ghosts and spirits were banished by the smell of frying meat and eggs coming from the galley. After a relatively good-humoured breakfast, Tashar started the main engines and they got under way. It would be less than a day’s journey to Gorki Station.

  They turned off the main trail and headed south along a winding river. In the summer the area would have been impassable marshland but now, at the start of winter, the ground was hard frozen and easy going. What caused Bulldog more concern were the lakes. They had not yet become what he called ‘iron-hard’: frozen to a depth of a foot or more and able to take the weight of The Beautiful Game when it made the crossing to Gorki Station. India realized that the prospect of crossing the ice was worrying him deeply.

  After an hour they reached a wide lake bounded at both ends by deep and impassable ravines. They parked on the shore and Bulldog and Pieter inspected its icy surface while the rest of the crew unpacked emergency rations, signal flares and additional warm clothing, which they hauled to the far side of the lake.

  ‘Perhaps it would be wise to let me drive The Beautiful Game across the ice,’ said Calculus.

  Bulldog shook his head. ‘That’s the captain’s duty, my friend,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘If this baby is going through the ice, then I want to be the one driving her when she does.’

  They stood in the sunlight and watched Bulldog climb back into the rig by himself and start to drive slowly forward. The ice groaned like old timbers under the weight of the great machine and India found herself making tight fists inside her mittens. At one point there was a loud crack as the surface of the ice fractured and one of the rear tracks crashed through into the black waters. Pieter shouted urgent orders to Bulldog and, to everyone’s relief, the rig lurched forward again, pulling clear of the hole. The Beautiful Game hauled herself up the snowy bank on the far side to a burst of applause.

  Then Bulldog was out of the cockpit in great humour, slapping backs and telling tasteless jokes. He fetched a cold slab of chocolate from one of the outside food lockers and shared it out. India had heard about chocolate from the older villagers at home. She cracked the brittle bar with her teeth and savoured the wonderful, rich, melting sensation as it dissolved slowly in her mouth. All the worries from the previous night seemed to have evaporated. Even Tashar was smiling. At that moment, India thought there was surely nothing better than the life of a rigger, free to roam the wilderness in search of adventure. But almost at once a small cloud passed across her sky and she sat down on a nearby rock with a heavy sigh.

  ‘Cheer up, India, it might never ’appen,’ said Bulldog, his face still beaming in triumph.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking about Verity. It doesn’t feel right to be celebrating when Stone’s still holding her prisoner.’

  Bulldog nodded thoughtfully and sat down beside her. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the Company do bad things to good people too many times. But we already gave them a poke in the eye when we escaped from Salekhard and we’ll do it again when we find Ironheart. After that, Lucifer Stone will give us whatever we want. We’ll get Mrs Brown back, no problem.’ He gave her a reassuring grin.

  ‘Thanks, Bulldog,’ she said with a small smile. ‘How much longer until we get to Gorki Station?’

  ‘Not far now,’ he said, ‘just over the next rise and . . .’

  His voice tailed off and she followed his gaze to a gap in the mountains where a thick column of black smoke was rising into the crisp, blue sky.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE LONE WOLF

  Gorki Station was little more than a dirt road with some rough shacks and a few corrugated sheds arranged around the shores of a frozen lake. A small herd of reindeer were held in pens beside the main street and a lazy bullock wandered listlessly in the road. The wooden buildings in the centre of town had been reduced to smoking shells and there was no sign of human activity anywhere.

  ‘What happened here?’ said India, dismayed.

  ‘I believe I may have an explanation,’ said Calculus. ‘Do you see those bullet holes in the side of that building? That’s a heavy-calibre weapon, the same sort of gun we saw on the rigs in Salekhard. I think the Company has been here before us.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Tashar. ‘The only advantage we had was that we were one step ahead of the Company. How could they know we were coming here?’

  ‘We don’t know that they do,’ said Bulldog.

  ‘We know it well enough,’ she said. ‘You’ve put us all in danger, Bulldog, and for what? Some dream you have about finding treasure. I say we dump these damned tourists of yours and head south now.’

  Bulldog turned on her. ‘What’s the matter with you, Tashar? Do you really want to spend your life running from the Company? We’ve got a shot at finding Ironheart – but not if we keep bleating about how dangerous it is every time the going gets tough! Now go and find an oil tank so we can refuel and get out of here.’

  ‘I think we have a more immediate problem,’ said Calculus. ‘Listen!’

  They fell quiet and strained their ears to listen over the breeze. India thought she heard something, but it was more of a vibration than a noise.

  ‘It’s a rig,’ said Bulldog. ‘A big one, and it’s coming this way. Whoever did all this is still here. Pieter, Rat, go and start the engines. Tashar, I need you up front!’

  He held Tashar’s stare for a moment before she turned and clambered up the steps.

  As the engines burst into life another large rig appeared over the brow of the hill. There was a man on the roof sitting behind a heavy machine gun. The sleek machine began to turn slowly in their direction, revving its engines.

  ‘It’s a Company rig, the Lone Wolf!’ shouted Bulldog, heaving himself into the captain’s chair. ‘Get us into the trees, Tashar, or we’re sitting ducks.’

  The Beautiful Game lurched off at a wild pace and India pressed her face anxiously to the mess-room window She heard a distant rattling noise followed by a metallic spattering on the outside of the hull.

  ‘They’re aiming for the fuel tanks, Captain,’ shouted Ra
t from the back of the rig.

  The trees were still half a mile away up a steep slope.

  ‘We’ll never make it before they catch us,’ said Bulldog. ‘Tashar, take a sharp right, now!’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ she shouted. ‘That will take us across the lake. We’ll go straight to the bottom.’

  Another volley of bullets clattered off the hull.

  Bulldog stuck out his jaw ‘Sometimes crazy is the only smart thing to be,’ he said. ‘The trees on the other bank are nearer. Do it, Tashar!’

  Shaking her head, Tashar yanked one of the tall levers and The Beautiful Game swerved and plunged down the steep bank. The ice groaned as the enormous weight of the machine slammed on to it. India thought of the great care they had taken crossing the lake earlier. The Lone Wolf followed them down the bank, slipping and sliding as it tried to get traction but gaining on them all the while.

  The ice gave way with a noise that echoed across the lake. From the window, India watched the other rig break through the surface and the front half of the machine plunge into the water.

  Bulldog pulled The Beautiful Game to a shuddering halt on the opposite bank and threw open the cabin doors. ‘They’re in the water! Pieter, get your gear on and follow me.’

  ‘You’re not going to help them?’ said Tashar. ‘They were trying to kill us!’

  Bulldog was already hauling on his coat. ‘I’m going to get some answers,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe they turned up here by coincidence. They knew we were coming and I want to know how.’

  Then he was out of the hatch and down the steps, closely followed by Pieter and Calculus. India was still wearing her own cold-weather gear and plunged out of the door after them.

  On the lake it was bitter. The sun had disappeared behind a leaden cloud and a cutting wind blew across the ice. The front of the Lone Wolf was completely submerged by the time they reached it and the back rested precariously on the edge of the ice hole so that the rig was pitched forward at a steep angle. Deep cracks in the ice were visible in every direction.

  Bulldog and Pieter climbed on to the roof and pulled at the hatch while Calculus hooked his arm around one of the rig’s sturdy supports to prevent it from slipping forward completely into the black water. The hatch appeared to be jammed and, try as they might, the two men could not shift it. From the corner of her eye, India spotted a movement. In the belly of the rig was a second hatch, partially submerged, and a lone hand flapped weakly against the glass porthole.

  ‘There’s somebody trapped down here!’ she shouted, but the others were too busy to help.

  She sized up the situation and then hopped across the fractured ice to the hatch. Grasping the locking wheel, she heaved at it with all of her weight. The broken ice threatened to pitch her into the freezing water and all the while the hand clawed more desperately at the glass. Then the door burst suddenly outwards in a rush of black water and India found herself grasping at a pair of arms. Gradually a spluttering, bulky figure inched its way from the narrow opening. It looked like some strange creature being born on to the ice.

  ‘I can’t hold on any longer,’ called Calculus. ‘Stand clear!’

  Bulldog and Pieter leaped away and India gave a last desperate heave to pull the man free from the hatchway. The rig juddered and began to slide forward into the water. India grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket and used all of her remaining strength to drag him along the ice to safety.

  With a last uprushing of air, the rig plunged into the foaming waters, carrying the remainder of its crew into the black depths. The group from The Beautiful Game stood in silence, looking at each other from opposite sides of the giant hole. The man India had rescued lay face down on the ice, groaning.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said, leaning over him.

  He rolled over and his eyelids flickered. He had an odd moustache that seemed to be peeling away from his face. She peered at the pale face under the hood of the jacket and then she jumped backwards with a shriek.

  Doubting what she had seen, she leaned forward again to get a second look. He looked paler than she remembered and wore several days of beard growth, but looking at his weaselly features, there could be no doubt.

  The man she had rescued was Thaddeus Clench.

  CHAPTER 16

  AKA ARCHIE FENTON

  India stared at Clench from the corner of the mess room and chewed her lip. She had not yet had a chance to tell the others who he was. Now, as he sat wrapped in a blanket, shivering and drinking Bulldog’s brandy, the need to know why he was here was gnawing at her. Bulldog too had questions.

  ‘Who are you and why did you attack us?’ he demanded.

  ‘I wasn’t with them,’ stammered Clench. ‘I tried to get them to stop, really I did. India will vouch for me, she knows who I am.’

  The others turned to stare at India.

  ‘Is that true?’ said Bulldog. ‘Do you know him?’

  India folded her arms. ‘His name’s Thaddeus Clench but he’s no friend of mine. I don’t know why he’s followed me here, but one thing’s for sure: you can’t trust him.’

  ‘I can verify India’s story,’ said Calculus. ‘And I agree that Mr Clench does not seem particularly trustworthy.’

  A black look flashed briefly across Clench’s face, then he forced a tight smile. ‘Captain, surely you’re not going to take the word of a tin robot and a child against mine?’ he said. ‘The girl’s a runaway, I tell you, a wild child, and she’s caused her family no end of grief.’

  ‘Actually, I’m a—’ began Calculus, but Bulldog raised his hand for silence.

  ‘Half the people I know are running away from something, Mr Clench,’ he said, ‘but I judge people by what I see.’ He moved closer so they were eye to eye. ‘And this “wild child” has just saved your life. Now tell me, why do you look so familiar to me? Have we met before?’

  Clench shrank back. ‘Er, no, I don’t think that’s possible.’ He licked his lips. ‘I’ve never set foot in Siberia before.’

  Bulldog snapped his fingers. ‘I’ve got it!’ he said. ‘Your name’s not Clench, it’s Fenton, Archie Fenton. You’re wanted in over half of Siberia.’

  ‘He’s Archie Fenton?’ said Tashar incredulously. ‘Well, he doesn’t look that much, does he?’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said India. ‘Who’s Archie Fenton?’

  ‘They used to call him Archie Cheap-as-Chips,’ said Bulldog. ‘He supplied mining equipment to the Company at rock-bottom prices. Then some of his drilling equipment caused a big accident that killed over a hundred people. It turned out that Archie was using faulty parts and selling them as new. They tried to arrest him but he skipped the country about a year ago.’

  ‘That was when he came to London,’ said India. ‘He told us he was an explorer.’

  Bulldog chuckled. ‘Explorer, eh? I wouldn’t say that. They tried him in his absence and sentenced him to hang. I’d say he’s got a nasty surprise waiting for him when he gets back to Angel Town.’

  Fear was written large across Clench’s face. ‘Please,’ he said, clutching at Bulldog’s jacket, ‘don’t send me back there.’

  Bulldog scowled. ‘A lot of us lost friends in that accident,’ he said. ‘The first inhabited place we get to, I’m turning you in.’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ begged Clench. ‘If you take me with you, I can be useful. I can tell you how the Lone Wolf found you.’

  Bulldog looked at Clench with renewed interest and India could see what was on his mind.

  ‘Captain, you can’t take him with us,’ she said. ‘He’s a liar! He’d say anything to save his own neck.’

  ‘Really now, India,’ said Clench. ‘You told these people you weren’t a runaway but you left home in the middle of the night and your robot friend injured more than a dozen of your neighbours before you went. So you tell me which one of us is a liar?’

  India’s face burned.

  ‘All right,’ said Bulldog, ‘enough of that. Clench, Fenton, wh
atever your name is, tell me what you know and I’ll let you off somewhere you can hitch a ride on another rig. After that you’ll be someone else’s problem.’

  Clench adopted the smug look of a man who knew the balance of power had just shifted in his favour. ‘You’ve got a spy on board, Captain,’ he said. ‘An agent working for the Company. Someone on your crew is not what they seem.’

  A Shockwave ran round the little room.

  ‘India was right,’ said Pieter. ‘He will say anything to save his skin. Let’s throw him out now before he poisons the air with his lies!’

  Bulldog raised his hand for silence. ‘Who’s the spy?’ he said.

  Everybody went quiet as Clench reached for the brandy bottle and poured himself another drink. ‘I heard things,’ he said eventually, ‘while I was on the other rig. They said someone on The Beautiful Game had been sending them messages but they didn’t say who. Apparently the Company has spies on lots of rigs and they’ve got some sort of dead-tech machine that lets them speak to each other over long distances.’

  ‘How convenient,’ said Pieter. ‘A story you can’t prove that gets you a safe passage out of here. Let’s not waste any more time on him, Captain, let’s just shoot him now.’

  ‘You seem very keen to get rid of him all of a sudden, Pieter,’ said Tashar, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m just saying that if we have a spy on board then I’m looking at the man who was the last one to join the crew.’

  ‘Only eight weeks after you did,’ he snapped back. ‘And haven’t you been very keen to undermine the Captain lately?’

  ‘Stop it, both of you!’ cried India. ‘Can’t you see he’s making you turn on each other?’

  Clench sat quietly in the corner wearing a half-smile.

  ‘India’s right,’ said Bulldog. ‘He’s probably just lying to save his skin. Lock him in the spare cabin and let’s keep a close eye on him. If he’s spent a week on a Company rig there may be other things he can tell us.’