by Peter Bunzl
Robert gulped. “I hate heights, remember?”
“It’s only a few feet.” Lily pushed the bundle over the top to land safely in the snow on the other side, before jumping down beside it.
Shakily, Robert pulled himself up. The icy flakes wet his gloves, and made them slippery as he climbed up onto the parapet and hung from the far side.
“Now let go,” Lily said. He let his feet dangle, kicking against the frozen bricks, before he dropped and rolled to the ground. He picked himself up and dusted the snow from his breeches.
Lily swung the bundle over her shoulder.
“Come on,” she said, and ran off through the deep drifts.
“Er, if you want the village,” he called after her, “it’s more to the west. That way.”
As they stole across the countryside towards Townsend’s Horologist’s, the sky darkened and a heavy snowfall began, the flakes settling on their clothes and soaking through to their skin.
Robert led the way, taking Lily round the edge of the village to come in via the North Lanes, all the time keeping an eye out for the men.
He’d a horrible feeling they were watching everything he did and at any moment might jump out from behind a hedge and grab Lily and her bundle before he’d time to stop them.
When they’d crossed the green and passed the village chapel, he allowed himself the briefest flicker of a smile. “Everything’s going to work out fine, Miss,” he said, keeping his voice bright. “Not long now and we’ll be safe at my shop.” They reached the top of Bridge Road and he sighed with relief at the familiar snow-covered street. They’d made it without encountering anyone. But when they crossed the brow of the hill, things seemed distinctly less rosy.
Fifteen feet ahead, leaning against his parked steam-wagon, his face hidden under the dark canopy of a batlike umbrella, was the orang-utang shape of Mr Mould. And with him, leaning on his walking cane, was the knife-thin silhouette of Mr Roach. The pair were huddled in conversation.
Lily’s face paled. She shivered and clutched the bundle to her chest. “They’re here,” she said.
Robert’s breath caught in his throat.
Just then Mould’s cigar went out. He took out a lucifer, turned away and, striking it, held the flickering flame to the cigar’s tip. His fat cheeks glowed with its fiery red sheen. Roach watched, his mirrored eyes shining orange in the shadowy sockets of his face. He was waiting to finish whatever it was he had been saying, and both men were so intent on Mould’s task that they failed to notice Robert and Lily at the far end of the street.
“Quick,” Robert spluttered. “This way.” He grasped Lily’s hand and pulled her down a side alley.
They stopped behind a whitewashed gable wall. Meltwater dripped onto Robert’s cap from the snow-frosted eaves of the cottage.
Lily dropped her bundle between her feet and hugged her arms. “I thought we’d lost them,” she said. “What are we going to do?”
“Give me a moment,” Robert replied. “I’ll think of something.” He tried, but he could not, and the red glowing vision of the men hung about in the dark, filling him with a feeling of despair.
“Is there any other way into the shop?” Lily asked.
“If you go to the end here,” he said, “there’s a path leads back onto the road further down; from there you can cross over and sneak through the gate into the backyard.”
“Then let’s do that,” Lily said.
“You can’t, not without… I mean… They’d see us.” Robert stepped away from her and headed back towards the mouth of the alley.
“What are you doing?” Lily asked.
He gulped and gestured at the street. “I’m going to go out there and distract them so you can get past. When I’m shot of them both, I’ll go in the shop and let you in the back door.”
Lily nodded. “Very well, but be careful.”
“And you,” he said brusquely, trying not to let the fear show in his voice.
His mouth dry and heart beating hard in his chest, Robert strolled out onto Bridge Road. He took off his flat cap and stuffed it into his pocket. When he glanced back, Lily was edging towards the far end of the alley. He sauntered along the street, approaching the men, listening to the crunch of the melting snow underfoot, and trying to seem as calm as possible.
When he was sure they’d seen him, he did a double take, and turned smartly on his heels; and, as he’d hoped, they rushed to follow.
Mr Mould grabbed Robert’s shoulder and spun him round. “Master Townsend, so glad we’ve bumped into you. I was having a word with my colleague, Mr Roach, about our encounter the other day, where you sent me off on a wild goose chase.”
Robert shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh I think you do.” Mr Mould frowned and leaned towards him, and Robert’s face grew big and distorted in his mirrored sockets. “Tell you what, son. Mr Roach and I are on important business, looking for a lost soul, and your little ‘misdirection’ prank cost us.”
“And didn’t we see you at the big house earlier?” Mr Roach added. “You were wearing a cap.”
Robert shook his head. “House? What house? And what would you characters want with a runaway girl?”
Mr Roach pounced on this. “I don’t believe he mentioned we were looking for a girl.”
Robert gulped. “Er, your colleague did a moment ago.”
“I find that unlikely,” Mr Roach said, but he wasn’t sure, he turned to his mutton-chopped companion. “Mr Mould, did you say a girl?”
Mr Mould scratched his head. “I said soul.”
“Oh,” Robert said. “I must’ve misheard.” In the corner of his vision, he noticed his da watching from the shop window. Then he caught a fleeting glimpse of Lily, with her bundle, running across the road to head down the alley beside the shop; and under his breath, he let out a sigh of relief.
“What are you looking at?” Mr Roach asked suddenly.
“My da,” Robert said. “He’s watching you, so you’d best let go of my arm.”
Mr Mould released his iron grip and made a pretence of brushing some dust off Robert’s jacket.
“Remember, son, we’ve got our eyes on you.” Mr Roach tapped the bare metal in his raw eye socket with one finger. “All four of them.” He prodded his companion on the shoulder with the handle of his stick, and the two of them walked back to their vehicle. The engine growled and, as they got in, a sputter of steam spurted from the chimney.
They didn’t drive off straight away, and Robert wondered if they were watching him through the tinted glass windscreen. He tried to ignore the panic that rose inside, telling him to run, and instead walked calmly back to the shop.
When he opened the door he found his da standing by the window, twisting the thin frames of his glasses between his fingers. “Where were you, Robert?” he asked. “You’ve been gone hours.”
“I went for a wander,” Robert explained. Distractedly, he watched the men’s vehicle drive off down the street. When all that was left of it was thin wheel tracks in the snow, he bolted the shop door and locked it with the key.
“Who were those fellows?” Thaddeus asked. “The large one came in to ask after you.”
“Never mind that,” Robert said. “There’s someone out back I want you to meet.”
“Who the devil have you brought now?” Thaddeus demanded.
Robert led his da through the rag curtain. At the end of the passage he slipped the deadbolt on the back door and pulled it open.
Lily waited nervously on the steps outside, clasping her bundle in her shivering arms, her red hair filled with melting snowflakes.
“This,” said Robert, “is Miss Lily Hartman, and she needs our help.”
Lily dried her hair with the warm woollen towel Robert had found her, and when she was finally done, Thaddeus beckoned her through to the workshop.
The room was dimly lit, the skylight in the ceiling frosted with snow. She looked around the walls, hung with brass tools and clo
ck bodies. Something stirred in a box full of blankets in the corner making a low ticking sound. It pricked up its ears and raised a foxy head.
“Lily!” Malkin jumped up and hobbled over shakily.
Lily was so relieved to see Malkin alive, she put down her bundle and fell to her knees, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him close. “Malkin! You’re here. I was certain you’d been destroyed by that terrible air crash.” Lily stroked Malkin’s scruffy fur until his tongue lolled out the side of his black-lipped mouth, and his bushy tail swept back and forth. It was good to see him. If he’d found help, surely Papa could have too, couldn’t he?
She was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know the truth. “What happened that night, Malkin?” she whispered.
Malkin’s ears drooped, and he shook her hand away, hanging his head sheepishly. “So John did not return?” he asked. “I had hoped he might’ve escaped the attack. A silver airship harpooned Dragonfly and tried to board, but I thought they might… I thought John maybe survived.” He stopped and pawed at his snout with one black forepaw.
Lily felt a pang of despair. It was true then – what everyone said about Papa. He was probably dead. Her hope faded.
Malkin must have sensed it, for he tilted his head and gave her a foxy smile. “By all the cogs in Christendom, Lily, it’s marvellous to see you! I would jump for joy if it wasn’t for my injured leg.”
“Was it the men with silver eyes?” Lily asked, though she’d an inkling it must’ve been. “Roach and Mould?”
The fox gave a mechanical growl. “So those are their names. The clanking vagabonds chased me from the crash site. They’re after something of John’s, I’ll warrant. They must suppose I have some tick-tock of its whereabouts. The truth is, I know nothing.”
Lily sighed. Her gaze strayed to the bundle on the floor. Was all this because of some invention hidden inside that box? Was that why those men had attacked Malkin and Papa? And, if so, what could she do to stop them? She wasn’t strong or clever. She hadn’t even managed to find the key yet.
“They came to our house,” she told Malkin. “Roach followed me from school on the commuter zep. Then they took Mrs Rust and the rest of the mechanicals away; Madame even helped them. But I think what they’re after is in here – in Papa’s old box. Do you have the key?”
Malkin snuffled at the box under the blanket, prodding at it with his nose. “‘Fraid not,” he said. “But perhaps you might clock some clue in John’s correspondence?”
Lily looked up. “Correspondence?”
“Yes. Did this gangly pup not tell you?” Malkin bared his teeth at Robert and gave a stern growl. “Your father left you a letter. I have it here, in my pouch.”
“Oh,” said Lily. And then she didn’t know what to say. Because there was a finality to it somehow. Whatever the words were in that letter, they were very possibly Papa’s last goodbye. She gave a sniff and wiped a hand across her face. Then, steeling herself, she reached out and stroked Malkin’s chin, while she untied the pouch from around his neck with her other hand.
The leather felt soft and damp, but when she smoothed out the folds she was dismayed to find the centre of the pouch was singed with a small hole; evident on both sides.
Malkin’s dark eyes rounded at the sight of it. “Crankshafts!” he said. “It must be from that clanking bullet that got me.”
Fingers shaking, Lily fumbled with the drawstring and pulled an envelope from within the pouch.
Her name was written in its centre in Papa’s hand. To her relief she found the bullet hole had only passed through the corner of the envelope. Perhaps the contents were still readable?
She turned it over and on the other side, covering the flap, she found her papa’s scrawled hieroglyph, intact.
She opened the envelope and unfolded the single-page letter, but it was not as she’d hoped – the bullet had singed a hole in the folds of paper, burning straight through the heart of Papa’s words and, though she peered closely, many were unreadable.
“What’s it say?” Malkin’s ears flicked forward and he waited expectantly.
“Yes, what does it say?” Robert asked.
Lily looked at them both and at Robert’s father, standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with the desire to help.
She took a deep breath, and read Papa’s words aloud. At least, the ones she could make out, round the big black hole…
Dark images whirled in Lily’s head as she finished reading the letter. The crash, her injuries, Mama’s death – they’d all been deliberate. A planned attacked.
Roach and Mould, or men like them, had murdered Mama trying to get hold of Papa’s machine. That’s why he’d changed their name and moved them to the countryside, and that’s why he never spoke of the past – – not to try and forget the horrible things that had happened, but to hide from them.
But if Papa’s enemies were capable of murder, then they were capable of anything. They’d made Papa disappear, and now they were coming after her. They were more dangerous than she could’ve possibly imagined.
Lily felt a dizzying fear. She took a deep breath. When she finally looked up, the others were watching her with silent concern. She glanced once more at the letter and three strange words jumped out at her:
“Perpetual motion machine. What does it mean?” she asked, looking around, hoping one of them might know.
“It’s a device which requires no power,” Thaddeus explained. “It runs on its own momentum for ever without stopping. But, as far as I know, such a thing is only an idea, it hasn’t actually been invented. Unless your father created one.” He glanced down at the box in its bundle. “If there truly is one in there, then it’s certainly a compact machine. And probably the most valuable thing that currently exists in this world.” He laughed nervously.
“Valuable enough to kill Mama for,” Lily said, grief heavy in her chest. “It’s true. Papa had that box with him on the night she died. I remember. I saw it in my dream.”
She glanced at their faces, full of horror.
“He always told me it was an accident,” she mumbled, “but it was something much worse. And now it’s happening again.” She laid down her letter and stared at Malkin.
“You must tell me what occurred on that airship,” she said. “And I want the truth this time, not the rubbish Madame Verdigris told me.”
Malkin eyed Robert and his father suspiciously. “I don’t know whether I can speak frankly in front of them.”
“Us? But we saved your life!” Robert blurted.
Thaddeus shushed him. “Do you want us to leave, Miss Hartman?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“It’s not a pleasant story,” the fox said. “In fact, it’s positively tocking awful.”
Lily took a deep breath. “Tell me anyway,” she said. “I have to know the truth.”
“All right,” Malkin said, “but I imagine no good will come of it.” He sat up and shook his head from side to side, rattling the loose parts in his skull. It was as if he was trying to get what he wanted to say clear in his mind before he spoke.
“We were flying home to Brackenbridge, John and I.” Malkin gave a sniff. “We’d been on a secret trip to buy mechanical parts. Upon our return journey we were attacked by a silver airship with a pointed hull. I remember jumping up at the window to look back at it. It was bristling with spikes like some weaponized—”
“I saw that ship,” Robert interrupted, “it flew over the village the night you first came here.”
Malkin gave him a pointed look. Lily knew this was because he didn’t like to be interrupted. “Go on,” she prompted.
“Well,” the fox continued, “Dragonfly couldn’t fight such air power. She’s not a warship, after all. Our only option was to try and outrun them. Unfortunately, we failed. John was able to get me into the escape pod, but he stayed with the ship. I tried to argue with him but he wanted to get it down safely. He released the pod and as I fell, I saw the other airship drag D
ragonfly in, as if they intended to board her.
“In a crunching explosion, I hit the ground. The pod was bouncing and twisting, turning and spinning, shaking me up like a stone in a tin can, until I thought every cog inside me would be crushed. Then, with a jolt, I came to a stop.
“The pod’s door had burst open on impact, and hung loose on the inside wall. Gyros spinning in my head, I crawled towards the door. My hackles raised, I peered over the rubber seal, and out of the opening.
“A deep groove stretched away from the pod, cutting across frosted fields, leaving a trail of broken branches and debris. I heard the screech of clashing metal, and glanced up. The two airships were locked tight together.
“Suddenly, Dragonfly was cut loose and drifted, in a fluttering tailspin.
“When she reached a distance of three ship-lengths, the other zep fired, and I saw Dragonfly explode in a whoosh of flames. My heart-cogs skipped as I watched her burning fragments fall.
“Whether they took John prisoner, I cannot say. But either way, it didn’t look good. And from what he says about your mother in the letter…” Malkin paused and gave a snuffling cough.
“I was winding down fast, couldn’t hang around any longer. The moment I crashed, I knew they’d send a ground crew out looking for me.
“Quickly, I stepped over the door seal and darted into the foggy night. And then I ran. I knew I couldn’t stop until I found you.” Malkin shuddered. “But it seems my journey’s been as futile as a broken cam-spring. For I have no real solutions, Lily, and my arrival’s put you in even more danger as I have led the enemy to you.” He tipped his head apologetically at her.
Lily reached out and stroked his chin once more. She felt Papa’s absence more keenly than ever. He would’ve known what to do. “Roach and Mould would’ve found me eventually,” she said. “I think Madame Verdigris is working with them. She told them our real name and where we live.”
“That gear-grinding woman,” Malkin growled. “I always knew she was a bad lot.”
