by Peter Bunzl
Mama smiled and kissed Lily’s cheek. “Go back into the world and finish what you started.”
“But I don’t know how,” Lily said.
“Trust your heart. It will make the right choices.” Mama put a hand on her chest, and Lily felt a warm energy suffuse her. “And fight, Lily, fight for your life. It’s what I want for you.”
A wind blew up between them, and Mama’s hand retreated and was gone. Lily felt herself being sucked into a golden tessellating pattern of snow. It seemed to fill her head and the world around her. Then, she heard a sound: a sound that made one persistent, precise, needle-sharp noise…
The beat of the Cogheart, fighting to keep pumping, fighting through the damage done, fighting to keep its cogs turning. Fighting to keep her…
Alive!
With a hacking cough and a splutter, Lily opened her eyes and was greeted by a mist of sameness. She recognized nothing. None of the forms around her seemed familiar, and she couldn’t even separate them from one another. Then, gradually, they came into focus.
Her head lolled against a pillow. She was being wheeled on a stretcher along a corridor on an airship. Behemoth? With Papa walking bound at her side.
“You’re all right,” he whispered. “The perpetual motion machine – it still works, thank heaven!”
Lily nodded woozily. She was certain now all this had occurred before. Portholes dotted the walls and through their glinting glass she could make out the blue-grey waters of the Thames, the snakelike soul of the city.
“A terrible thing happened, my dear,” Professor Silverfish said, stepping alongside her and blocking her view. “I shot you in the heart. In the precious Cogheart. But the good news is it’s still functioning. You’re still alive. So now I’m going to take out your heart and use it to replace this one.” He tapped the machine on his chest. “After all, I need my upgraded machine.” Professor Silverfish laughed. “How does that sound?”
Drowsily, Lily wondered if she could run, but then she realized she wasn’t even standing. Dark figures gathered, their profiles ringed by halos – or was it the setting sun flashing in the portholes behind them?
Before she could decide, their hands reached down to lift her from the stretcher, and across a threshold into darkness.
Clouds streamed past Robert in streaks of grey and pink. He clutched Malkin to his chest as he arrowed towards his target, hurtling into Behemoth’s shadow. The gas envelope loomed large ahead. The line was skewing too close to the propeller. His heart pumping in his throat, Robert grasped the brake lever and squeezed hard.
The brakes screeched; refused to lock.
With seconds to impact, Robert pumped them again.
In a whiff of burning, they clamped the line, jerking him to a stop a hand’s-breadth from the zeppelin’s whirring propeller.
WHOOM WHOOM, WHOOM WHOOM.
The sharp turning blades glanced past, inches from his head.
Malkin whined softly as Robert gulped in great gasps of air and clawed at a metal maintenance ladder. His fingers brushed against the ice-encrusted metal. If he could just stretch a little further…
A crosswind knocked him sideways, but he managed to grasp the ladder. Clipping a grappling hook onto its frame, he climbed across and looped an elbow over the prop support strut, just as the storm finally hit.
A barrage of raindrops pounded his head and jacket, and pinged off the metal motor casing and the turning blades. Robert felt in his jacket pocket, beneath the lump of the fox, for his penknife. He cut his slide-rope loose and it fell away into the grey abyss beneath, with a noise like a flailing whip.
Under the whoosh of the prop blades and the tapping of the rain, he thought he could just make out the putter of Ladybird’s engines. He glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed her downwind, banking away. The broken shards of her windscreen seemed to wink at him.
Robert took a deep breath and pulled himself up onto the short maintenance platform between the prop and the side of the zep. Anna was right, there was a hatch into the balloon itself. By the time he reached it he was soaked through to the skin.
Robert grabbed for the handle at the centre of the hatch and yanked. It rattled loose, but one corner jammed. He prised at it with his frozen fingers as the icy wind knifed at his face, and the rain drubbed his body. Curled up inside his dripping wet flying jacket, huddled against his chest, Malkin shivered with the cold.
Finally, the hatch fell open.
Robert climbed through the gap, and slipped down a small metal shaft, dropping into the interior of the balloon.
Lily woke in a clean and airy vaulted space at the heart of the zeppelin. She was strapped down to a cold metal table. A row of globe lights hung from the tin-plated ceiling overhead.
Professor Silverfish loomed into view, examining a tray of medical equipment on a side table; a cotton mask hung loose around his neck. He picked up a needle and plunged it into her chest. Lily felt a sharp prick of pain and then the push of a plunger and everything softened into a blur of hazy shapes once more. She gritted her teeth. A queasy black tiredness flushed through her, but she wasn’t going to let herself go under. She willed herself awake, remembering Mama’s words: Fight, Lily. Fight for your life. That’s what I want for you!
The Cogheart rallied, responding to her request, and she felt its pulse beating stronger in her ears. With great difficulty, Lily raised her head. She could see Papa tied to a pipe on the far wall behind Professor Silverfish. She stared woozily at them both; it was almost as if their shapes were bleeding together. “Are there two of you?” she asked. “I can’t quite tell you apart.”
“What did you give her?” Papa demanded.
Lily could hear him, but it was as if his words were coated in cotton wool. She couldn’t quite make them out…wake it out…wake up.
Professor Silverfish picked up a bone saw and tested it against his thumb. “Just a small sedative to make the operation easier.”
“Operate?” Papa shouted. “On a moving airship? That’s insane!”
Professor Silverfish laughed. “Not quite. When we land, surgeons will be ready and waiting to implant the heart into my body. That part would be far too risky to take place here. But killing Lily and taking the Cogheart, that’s the easy part. And should be rather fun.” He stepped over to the gurney.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Papa said. “You’re supposed to be her godfather.”
Professor Silverfish’s lip curved into a contemptuous sneer. “And she’s got my heart.”
“Don’t let him put you to sleep, Lil!” Papa shouted. “I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”
Professor Silverfish laughed. “You, Sir, are the one who got her into this. You should’ve given me my heart the first time, then she’d never have been hurt. Two pieces of advice: always honour your debts, and let the dead stay dead.”
Lily tried to rally, shaking her arms and twisting her hands. Her bonds were a little loose, the leather straps around her had some give – if she could just stretch out and grab the knife on the table, she might be able to reach up and cut one of the tubes on Silverfish’s heart machine when he leaned over her.
Professor Silverfish turned back and saw what she was trying to do. He whisked the tray of tools away from her and placed them on a nearby table. Then he tightened her bindings until they bit harder into her wrists.
“What were you planning?” he asked. “To cut one of my metal arteries?”
Lily turned away, gritting her teeth, her blood pounding in her ears.
“I thought so,” the professor said. “The draught we gave you doesn’t appear to have worked. No matter, it’ll be far more interesting to do the operation this way. Don’t you agree? You’re an inquisitive girl. I’m sure you’d like to see how the Cogheart looks working inside you. If you can keep up, that is, once I open your chest. I’m told the pain can be quite immense. What do you think? Do you remember it from the first time?”
Lily shook her head, trying
to shake off the dizziness. Then she spat at him.
Professor Silverfish wiped his face. “Come, come, my dear. You’re being quite impolite.” He turned to Papa. “Did Miss Scrimshaw teach your daughter nothing at her prestigious academy, Sir?”
“Don’t do this, I beg you,” Papa gasped.
“Too late now,” Professor Silverfish told him. “You should never have reneged on our deal seven years ago when you ran off with what was mine.”
“I wasn’t going to use it,” Papa said. “I was going to destroy it, but then when you attacked my family, killed Grace, nearly killed Lily, I had no choice but to. I never would have given you the Cogheart. Never. And nothing you could ever say would change my mind. For I saw you for what you are: an evil man. You used to help people, yes, in small ways, but it was never worth the bargain, because you used them for your own ends. Even the soldiers you helped when we worked together. You used their gratitude, their willingness to work for you, to make them into your private murderous army. If all you really care about is your life, and you bargain away those of your friends, kill the ones they love, just to save yourself, I would say that I was right about you – your life’s not worth saving.”
Professor Silverfish laughed. “And who are you to say whether my life is worth saving or not? You don’t get to decide, John. No, like everything else, it’s survival of the fittest – and I may not be the fittest physically, but mentally I’m strong.
“Perhaps you thought I wouldn’t live long enough to make you regret your decision, but as you can see, you were wrong: life has a way of fighting through. And now it’s time for you to pay the price for breaking our agreement – with your daughter’s life.”
Professor Silverfish gripped Lily’s neck with his strong fingers. “There is one good thing about everything that’s happened, my dear: you’ve tested the safety of my device for me. By living with it inside you for seven years, you’ve proved it works. And look how well you’ve done – you’re a survivor.” He stroked her face. “A veritable little perpetual motion machine. You’ve cheated death twice. Thanks to my Cogheart, you’re practically immortal. But now you are about to die. How does that feel?”
Lily blinked at Professor Silverfish through her confused delirium. “Nobody’s immortal,” she muttered. “Everyone dies. So why are you doing this?”
“Everyone except the owner of the Cogheart,” Professor Silverfish corrected. “The machine I spent thousands commissioning, and more money and years searching for. Do you know what I’ve done to find it? I bought all of your father’s property and possessions, studied every single one of his papers. Paid to have him trailed, and found, and brought back to me. Why, the expense of it nearly bankrupted me. But it was worth it, because I knew if I got my hands on the Cogheart then, with one simple operation, I could live for ever…”
The professor’s chuckle transformed into a wheezing cough, which he stifled. He packed towels around Lily’s chest, and picked up a surgical knife, and Lily braced herself for the cut as he prepared to make the first incision.
Robert scrambled to his feet and glanced about. He was standing on a narrow catwalk that ran along the inside of the balloon. He fumbled to unbutton the wet harness, then his sopping jacket, freeing Malkin, who dropped to the floor on his four black paws, and pressed his nose to the metal grille of the gangway, smelling for Lily’s scent.
As Robert’s eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw more detail. Metal girders stretched across the zeppelin’s insides to keep the silk skin in place; their ribbed struts criss-crossed each other, creating a giant geometric frame, like an enormous rigid spider web that tapered at each end. In the huge central space, bags of gas floated above oil and fuel tanks, and bulging leather water bags hung by straps from various girders.
Robert and Malkin set off along the catwalk. A little way away, on the starboard side, was an outcropping platform where a spiral stairwell descended to a hatch in the floor. Beneath it, Robert guessed, was the gondola and passenger compartments.
Malkin reached the platform first, and darted down the stairwell; Robert limped behind, struggling to keep pace, drips of water scattering in his wake. As he reached for the metal stair rail, he heard the fox let out a strangled yelp from below.
“Malkin?” Robert called. He waited. But there was only silence.
Then, heavy footsteps – two sets of boots, and the tap-tap-tap of a cane. And Roach and Mould climbed into view.
Malkin struggled and squirmed in Mould’s arms, but Mould’s fat fingers were clamped around his jaw to keep him from snapping, and his big arm was looped around Malkin’s middle. He stepped forward, making himself as wide as possible, and blocked the gangway so Robert couldn’t pass.
Roach’s mirrored eyes gleamed blankly in their sockets. “We heard you clambering about, boy. Back for more, are we? Here to save your friends? Anyone would think you were the one with the metal heart.” He shuffled in front of Mould and slowly unscrewed the skull tip of his walking stick, withdrawing a rapier sword from the sheath of the lacquered cane.
Robert scrambled away. Pulling his penknife from his pocket, he unfolded the longest blade and, gripping the shaft in his sweaty, damp hand, swung it firmly at Roach and Mould.
Mould laughed. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Roach swished his rapier sword through the air, his mirrored eyes following its path as its tip whooshed past the end of Robert’s nose.
Robert stumbled back along the gangway, his eyes darting round for some means of escape. He groped behind for a weapon, anything he could use against them. And then he felt the cables.
They ran through rows of eyelets on the surface of the zep’s ribs. He glanced down the length of the craft and saw them disappearing into the tapering dark of the tail.
Of course: steering cables! Anna had told him about those the first day on Ladybird – how they connected the steering column to the rear rudder.
Her words came flooding back to him:
One of them breaks and the entire airship goes off course.
That was it! He grabbed a leather strap emerging from a hanging water bag for balance, and slashed hard with his penknife at the central steering cable.
The knife blade bounced wildly away, and it was all he could do to keep hold of it. When he looked at the cable, he saw his attempt hadn’t even made a dink. He tried again, slashing harder, but the corded fibres were wound strongly together.
“Stop your blasted flailing, clockmaker’s apprentice!” Mr Roach jabbed at his chest with the rapier.
Robert flinched and jerked away. The sword grazed the metal frame behind him, barely missing his chest and the silk skin of the airship.
That was it: Roach would cut the cables for him!
He tightened his grip on the leather strap, letting his legs loosen under him, so his arm took his full weight.
“Time to die.” Roach swished his rapier through the air.
Robert stared into his silver eyes and saw his own ragged, desperate reflection. “Come on,” he said. “Give it your best shot.”
Roach gave a shark-toothed leer and thrust his sword at Robert’s head.
Robert ducked sideways, swinging on his strap; the sword glanced past. Missing his ear by inches, it chopped into the cables and embedded itself into the metal strut.
A terrible groan juddered along the damaged cables as the threads inside them loosened and tore. Mr Roach cursed and tried to yank his blade free, but it was stuck.
Robert flattened himself against the wall as the floor of the gangway began to tremble.
Mould, still grasping Malkin, looked about warily. “What the—”
SNAP! The cable broke, slashing Roach’s cheek, and slicing across Mould’s mirrored gaze, before flailing away down the length of the balloon. Mould gave a cry and dropped Malkin. Roach was still pulling at the handle of his sword, clutching at his bloody face, when, with an earsplitting groan, the ship bucked them into the air.
Robe
rt grabbed hold of Malkin’s scruff as he tumbled past, and yanked him against his chest.
The side of the balloon ripped open as the flailing cable cut through the tail silks like a knife, and writhed out of the rear of the airship. Twisting in the wind like a snake, it wrapped itself round the rudder, jamming it into a starboard turn.
Robert heard the clang of a bell, and saw a vague silhouette through the silk of the prow – it was an approaching tower with moon-round clock faces embedded in each side.
He gripped tight to his strap and hugged Malkin close. “Lock your jaw onto something,” he told the mechanimal. “I think we’re going to crash!”
The point of the knife touched the mess of scars on Lily’s chest. Her eyes filled with tears and she gritted her teeth. Suddenly there was a massive bucking jolt and a mad screech – that sounded like a thousand metal forks being scraped down a blackboard. It came not from the knife, or her chest, but from the zeppelin balloon above.
Professor Silverfish pulled back and glanced over his shoulder. Lily let out a breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in.
Outside the porthole, a bright numbered clock face filled with roman numerals loomed large. They were about to hit Big Ben!
Behemoth’s nose reared abruptly upwards, and the clock face swept from view. With a massive bang, the airship careened into the roof of the tower. The portholes fractured, exploding inwards, and glass and grey roof tiles rained through the holes, shattering against the walls and floor.
Lily grabbed her bed rail and clung on tight as the room shook. The whole world tipped sideways; lamps, bowls and tools toppled from their tables and smashed on the floor.
Professor Silverfish let go of his knife and grasped at a window rail as dust and debris bounced off the heavy ticking machine on his chest.
With an almighty crunch, the ship came to a final juddering stop, her nose buried deep in the steep roof of the clock tower.
The impact seemed to have loosened the straps round Lily. She sat up and almost toppled from the table, but managed to steady herself and looked around for Papa. He was kicking back and forth on his rope – still tied by his wrists to a pipe on the other side of the room, he swayed in mid-air, his outstretched arms dangling him from what was now the ceiling. Lily thought she might be able to help him down if she could get closer.
