Cogs in Time 2 (The Steamworks Series)

by SJ Davis

  Hitch looked completely placid, staring in the direction they were headed, Susie in his peripheral vision.

  As they passed the entrances to the cave systems they had searched days earlier, something unusual caught Pen’s eye.

  “Susie! Stop!” he shouted, standing up on his knees.

  The motorcycle grinded to a halt, and the cart dangerously weaved back and forth. A hiss of steam escaped the chimney-like tailpipes. Without a word, Pen grabbed his pack and leapt out of the cart, running back up the trail as quickly as he could.

  “What in blue blazes got into him?” Susie shouted back to Hitch as she turned the bike around.

  “I have no idea, but something’s got him excited.”

  Pen could hear his heart beating in his ears as he ran as fast as he could push his feet to carry him, so fast that he nearly passed what he was so desperate to get back to. Veering off the path and running through the grass, he knelt down and picked up the fallen sign that he had caught a glimpse of moments earlier. Panting for breath, he turned circles as he searched for the direction the sign was intended to point in. The grass swayed in the trade wind, laying them flat against the ground for a moment, and he saw several dark colored rocks within the dry, yellowish grass.

  “Over here!” He shouted to his companions, waving his arm wildly over his head.

  Carefully descending the treacherously loose rocks and volcanic soil of the entrance, Pen squinted, trying to peer into the inky black without the aid of a lantern—Hitch would be there soon with that. While he waited for his associate, Pen dug into his pack and pulled out his headlamp. He wound the small watch-like wheel and the light began to flicker. After pushing the stem back down, the light would stay on until it wound down. After positioning it on his forehead, the narrow beam revealed the smoothly arched roof of the cave, which was actually a lava tube. A faint light shone from the opening at the other end of the tube, where the lava had exited to the sea. A shadow interrupted the brighter light from the entrance, and sliding gravel and dirt meant Hitch had arrived. He quickly lit the large lantern and placed it on the ground, illuminating the small cave.

  “I thought I had found something, Hitch, but now I don’t know.” He walked along the side of the cave, searching for any abnormality in the surface.

  “Are you coming down, Susie?” Hitch looked back up to the entrance and shouted.

  “Not a chance!” She called back down. “Be careful down there!”

  As he turned around, a dark area to the side stood out against the illuminated surface of the wall. Hitch ventured closer, and just above his head was a small side passage. A side tube, no bigger than a culvert drainpipe, too small for him to fit into.

  “Pen, come have a look at this.” He pointed it out to him. “Up there.”

  “A passage!” Pen exclaimed, enthusiasm flushing his face. He rushed over and immediately pulled himself into the opening. Had Hitch not brought the large lantern, the passage would have remained invisible.

  “Wait!” Hitch demanded, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him back down. He grabbed a rope and tied it around his ankle. “The passage is too tight to take the air tank. If you feel lightheaded, anything, you get out. Give it a jerk occasionally to let me know you are doing okay. If you need me to pull you out, if you start feeling faint, you yank that rope as hard as you can three times, and I will get you out of there.”

  “I’ll be fine, Hitch. Thank you.” He quickly leapt back up and scrambled himself into the tunnel. “I’ll be right back.”

  He dragged his body along the tunnel floor, pulling with his forearms and pushing with his feet like an infant. He didn’t have the clearance to rise up and crawl on all fours. The lava rocks rolled and scratched at his belly, slowly shredding his shirt. Beyond the light of his head lamp, the path before him was as black as deep space.

  He was startled when he caught a glimpse of movement to his right, just above his forearm. Willing himself to remain calm and still, he watched a huge cave spider scurried out of the light and into the black beyond. He followed behind it, excited that the passage continued, yet not so close that he might spook it. The thought of so many legs crawling inside his shirt or up the leg of his pants caused him to shudder. In such tight confines, he knew it would be impossible to get away, at least without squishing it. He knew Hitch would appreciate the specimen far more than he, and wished he was there to see and catalogue it.

  The tunnel became tighter still, so much that he could not hold his head up to see where he was going. Feeling at arm’s length and then pulling forward, Pen continued to crawl into the dark, unsure how he would get out.

  ***

  Hitch tapped his foot in the main room of the cave, watching the rope slip further and further into the lava tube. He wanted to call out to Pen, make sure he was alright, but he didn’t want to distract him. The rope continued on as if of its own will, slipping through his hands behind Pen. He felt a purposeful tug and sighed in relief. Wise or not, he was still alert and coherent, able to continue. He understood why Pen insisted on moving forward without first checking for an exit or any places where the roof might have collapsed, as had happened in the other cave systems.

  Suddenly, three distinct jerks pulled the rope. Hitch shot to the tunnel mouth, pulling himself up as high as he could, but the loose soil provided no grip for his metal hand and his other was not enough to support his hefty frame.

  “Susie!” Hitch cried out, scrambling up the entrance, temporarily blinded by the sun. “Susie! I need your help! I think Pen’s in trouble!”

  Forgoing her prior reservations, Susie carefully made her way down to Hitch as quickly as she could. She squinted in the darkness, turning a circle. “Where is he?”

  “Over here.” Hitch motioned her over and pointed to the lava tube above their heads. He took her tiny, corset-wrapped waist in both his hands and hoisted her up.

  “Pen!” She shouted as loud as she could muster. “Are you alright?”

  She quickly took off her top hat and stuck her head into the tunnel mouth, listening earnestly. Her ears strained.

  “I hear him!” She listened again. “Crawlers. He said he needs the crawlers.”

  Hitch sat her down so quickly, that he nearly dropped her. She stumbled in her slick soled boots, which were fashionable, but not smart for spelunking. She watched, unsure how to assist, as Hitch opened the crates and began to wind up the metallic scarabs. As he activated them, their little brushes and picks came out of their carapaces, ticking, whirling, and waiting for direction. Susie pulled the tail of her skirt taunt and Hitch dropped the miniature explorers into the makeshift basket. She carried them back to the lava tube entrance and one by one, Hitch adjusted their setting and set them loose toward Pen.

  “Always resourceful, Ms. Forge.” Hitch smiled, respectfully bowing his head to her.

  She smiled and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt over her abundant petticoat. “Thank you, Mr. Barnsley,” she returned with a cute, exaggerated curtsey.

  Hitch quickly reached for her hand, lifted it to his bearded lip, and kissed the back of it.

  Susie blushed, but smiled acceptingly, leaving her hand to linger in his.

  ***

  In the darkness behind him, Pen could hear the distinct chattering shuffle of the small army of crawlers headed his way. In front of him was the end of the tunnel, or so it would appear to a less determined adventurer. Great effort had been taken to disguise the false wall. It was comprised of the same type of rock as the tunnel, the small stones shaped so precisely that the seams between them were nearly invisible. They were arranged in such a way that it appeared natural, as if the lava has simply become too cool to continue flowing. If it had not been for the barely visible carving of the constellation Orion on the center stone, even Pen would had been fooled.

  He laid his head down, covered his face and ears with his hands, and let the wave of crawlers wash over him. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt and keeping his eye
s closed, he relied on the buzzing and drilling crawlers with their orthodontic precise tools to dismantle the small, cork-like wall before him.

  Inside the confines of the steaming hot tunnel, Pen could feel sweat roll out his hair, down his face, and drip off his nose. He grabbed the rope and pulled it once, just to let Hitch know all was going according to plan. He could hear the gears and springs inside the crawlers working like the mechanisms of tiny Cuckoo clocks. The noise was deafening, the dust clawed at his throat, but he dared not cough.

  The presence of the eight, egg sized crawlers and the mess they were creating all worked to make the tunnel feel that much more confined. Pen visualized the wide open terrain of the world above him, a cool breeze, and a cold drink. He felt himself begin to wan, the heat and tension of the intoxicating pressure cooker bearing down with unrelenting intensity.

  He straightened his arm out in front of him, pushing against the barrier to gauge the crawlers’ progress, and felt the stones move. He jerked up his head, smacking the back of it against the tunnel roof. After a moment of being stunned, he refocused his vision and lamplight on the wall, pushing until rocks fell inward.

  The crawlers, still set to excavate, swarmed over his hand and crumbling seal, miniature saws and drills buzzing, brushing sweeping. He grabbed them one at a time, careful to avoid their weaponry, and flipped the switch to ‘return.’ Instantly, the insect archeologists put away their tools beneath their carapaces and shuffled back to their cases. With his overzealous helpers out of his way, Pen extended both arms, pushed the debris to the sides and laid eyes on his prize. A simple black metal box, nearly the same size as the hole it had been hidden in.

  Sweat poured down his brow, stinging his eyes. Every time he tried to wipe them, they were filled with more dust. He struggled with the box, turning, sliding, and moving the rubble. The tunnel did not want to release its treasure. He could feel himself overheating, knew he was putting himself in danger of heat stroke, but he would not be denied and would not let Hitch down. He would not let Exeter win. He would make his father proud.

  Expending the last of his strength and focus, the case was liberated from its hiding place, leaving Pen panting and nauseous. After three failed attempts, he untied the bandanna from his neck, knotted the ends together and put his wrists through the loop. He twisted the slack around one wrist and clasped his hands as tightly as possible. With his arms around the box, he jerked his rope clad foot three times. He lowered his head, leaning his face against the cool lid of the box as his vision faded to black, entrusting everything to Hitch.

  ***

  Hitch leaned against the wall beneath the tunnel, Susie by his side. He didn’t know what to talk about; his nerves had stolen his words, so he simply enjoyed her presence. Despite first having an aversion to the underground space, she had decided to stay with him instead of returning to the surface. She had also left her hand in his, which he held ever so delicately, afraid his prosthetic grip might cause her discomfort. Immediately after taking her hand, he wished he had used his other hand, his human hand, to caress hers. However Susie, the amazing Susan Forge, did not seem put out by his metallic embrace in the least. Hitch only wished his prosthetic possessed the sense of touch, but it was enough to simply see her hand in his, and know she accepted him just as he was.

  The sweetness of the moment was interrupted by the scurrying of the crawlers as they exited the tunnel and swarmed to their crates. Only then did Hitch release Susie’s hand to grab the rope, holding it intently, waiting for a cue from Pen. Seconds passed like minutes, minutes like hours, as he waited for any kind of signal from his friend.

  “What’s wrong, Peter?” Susie asked, sensing his concern. She placed her hand on his shoulder, offering support.

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t like it,” he answered, pursing his lips. He leaned up to the mouth of the tunnel. “Pen! Can you hear me?”

  Hitch felt three weak, yet distinct pulls on the rope. He furiously began to pull, dragging Pen’s weight back out of the tunnel. Susie held her hands over heart, anxious and afraid to see Pen’s condition. Slow and steady, Hitch extracted his helpless friend.

  When Pen’s boots became visible, Susie rushed to Hitch’s side, and both of them pulled. Pen slid from the tube, limply draping over Hitch’s wide shoulder, as he briefly stumbled backward, the steam condenser in his knee joint hissing under the added burden.

  Susie pushed his hair out of his eyes, inspecting his flushed, clammy face. “Peter, he’s bad overheated. We have to get him cooled down.”

  Susie helped Hitch balance and progress as he plodded up the steep slope entrance to the cave, helping him. He carried Pen out to a nearby flat, grassy area and laid him down as gently as a sleeping child. Susie jetted of in the direction of the cart, returning quickly with a canteen of water. She took Pen’s handkerchief from his wrist and soaked it with the water before wrapping it around his neck again, letting the coolness rest against his arteries. She drenched his hair and shirt, but was careful to save a few drinks for when he awakened.

  “Susie, will you stay with him a moment?” Hitch asked, walking back toward the cave. Wearing Pen’s headlamp, he returned to the lava tube and looked inside. A metal box with welded seams waited for him, just at arm’s reach. He wiggled it out of the tunnel, its pointed edges scraping the walls when the space was too tight. Finally, he liberated from its tomb, and Hitch returned to Pen and Susie. He sat the box beside him in the tall grass, placing his limp hand on its top.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Susie asked, perplexed.

  “Nope. Pen nearly killed himself getting that box. He opens it.”

  ***

  Pen squinted, the sun blaring in his watery, stinging eyes. He tried to focus on the silhouettes over him, and make out their faces, but couldn’t just yet. He rubbed his face, hoping to remember where he was and what he was doing there.

  “The box!” he shouted, bolting straight up. He scrambled, trying his best to stand.

  “Slow down, Pen,” Susie said, gently guiding his hand and attention to the box beside him. “It’s right here.”

  Pen’s eyes widened with amazement when he realized his hand was resting on his treasure. He gently wiped the dust away with the same touch one might move hair from a child’s face. Unlike other artifacts of importance on the island, the metal box did not belong there, and its welded seams were years ahead of the time it had been placed in the tunnel. The latches on either side of the lid creaked as they flipped them open, grit scrapping against the inside of the mechanisms. He cautiously lifted the lid and gazed upon the artifact he had risked everything to have.

  “What is it?” Hitch whispered. The strength of his voice had been taken by anticipation.

  Pen sighed. “Hell if I know.”

  ***

  Susie studied the mysterious box from a distance, arms crossed over her thin frame. The constant breeze tugged her hair from her long double braids, leaving tendrils of amber to wisp at her cheeks. Pen paced in palpable distress, head down, hands on his hips, lost in thought. Hitch quietly walked to the box and settled himself in front of it. He studied it for a moment before opening the lid and looking inside. The large block of metal and wealth of wires led away from it, into the walls and lid, twisting and tangling like spaghetti.

  He inspected the lid closer, flicking the edge with his thumbnail, discovering a double layer of metal. Carefully he pried at the edge, separating it slightly before pulling it loose. The top of the lid peeled off like a shell, revealing what appeared to be a control panel. He took a soft bristle brush from his shirt pocket and gently removed the grit and time from the controls, gauges, and knobs. The writing on the instruments was illegible, both faded and written in a foreign language.

  Hitch scratched at his beard, irritated by sweat and dirt. He drew in a hesitant breath and flipped a switch to the opposite position. The box shuddered and began to hum.

  “Pen! Get over here!”

  “What’s
it doing?” He asked as he slid to the ground from a full run, sitting right beside Hitch.

  “I just turned it on.”

  Pen studied the faded script above the instruments. He chewed his lip, sick with indecision and anxiety. Finally giving in, he turned the knob closest to him. The needle on the gauge rose, but nothing else happened. He turned it further, the machine hummed slightly louder.

  Hitch leaned in and flipped another switch and without warning, his prosthetic hand and forearm were glued to the box. He skidded through the grass, his artificial leg drawn tightly to the side of the box.

  “It’s a magnet!” he howled in pain. “Turn it off!”

  Pen flipped the first switch, and the invisible pull released Hitch. He quickly stood and put distance between himself and it, rolling his shoulder to massage the point of attachment.

  Pen looked at the device, his brain whirling with every cause, every possibility. “We need the Harriet.” Pen smiled wide. “We’ve discovered the secret of the pyramids.

  ***

  The Next Day

  “Are you sure this is going to work? We could crash the Harriet,” Susie said, unable to hide her concern.

  “It’ll work Susie. I know it will,” Pen answered firmly, without a shred of hesitation. He looked up to the dirigible floating above them, giving a thumbs up. He could see Hitch looking out the window of the gondola, right by the pilot’s seat. “Alright Hitch, turn it on. All the way up.”

  Hitch turned to the box and carefully flipped the switch to turn on the magnet and put the other switch in its original position. He turned the dial as far as it would turn and waited. Susie and Pen watched anxiously for any sign of movement. Slowly, almost undetectable, the stone megalith rocked in its grave.

  Hitch began to furiously dig at the soil around its sides as Susie grabbed a shovel and followed his lead. With no force being exerted on it from the Harriet, the moai began to rise from the earth, suspended in midair as though a magician had spoken a word of enchantment to it. Soil fell from the statue’s revealed face.