The Kidnap Plot (The Extraordinary Journeys of Clockwork Charlie)

by Dave Butler

  “Charlie!” Bob grabbed at Charlie’s fingers but missed.

  The rain gutter banged Charlie’s knees and then his belly as he rattled over it. He grabbed at the lip of the roof—

  missed—

  fell—

  looked down into the rushing darkness—

  and was caught.

  Something wrapped around Charlie’s wrist and stopped him with a jerk. His arm felt like it might rip out of its socket, and he heard a groan of metal overhead, but he didn’t fall any farther.

  Charlie looked up. Ollie, in snake form, was wrapped tightly around Charlie’s forearm and also around the rain gutter. He was a strong snake, Charlie thought gratefully.

  “ ’Urry up an’ climb!” Bob yelped. Charlie couldn’t see the other sweep. He couldn’t see anything past the rain gutter but the stormy evening sky.

  The gutter groaned again and bent. Charlie dropped six inches.

  He climbed. Quickly Charlie got one hand and then the other onto the straining rain gutter, and he hoisted himself onto the roof. Bob grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into an angle formed by a window gable.

  Ollie the Snake slithered up to join them, and in a puff of stinking smoke he was himself again. “Ow!” He clutched his stomach.

  “Thanks, Ollie,” Charlie said.

  “You’re surprisingly heavy,” Ollie complained.

  Bob patted Charlie on the shoulder. “ ’E’s just a good ’ealthy lad.”

  “Huh” was all Ollie said.

  Bob scooted around the gable to the window. “Locked,” he announced, after trying to pull it open. “Can I borrow your knife, Ollie?”

  “I ain’t got a knife anymore, remember?”

  “Use mine,” Charlie said. Bob opened the blade, slid it down between the two halves of the window, and quickly unlatched it.

  “You’d think a businessman would be a little more careful with ’is place of business,” the sweep commented. He gave Charlie back his knife with a wink, and the three boys climbed in.

  The top floor of the factory was a storeroom. There were drums with the word OIL stamped on them and brass pipes and boxes of gears. There were stacks of lumber and metal rods. There were spare pistons and blades and pulleys and springs, all spilling out of open boxes.

  Light came up from a stairway against one wall.

  The boys stripped off their rain slickers and dropped them in a pile by the window.

  “I don’t see anything here.” Charlie shrugged.

  “What are we looking for?” Ollie asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “Clues. I don’t know. Anything about the Anti-Human League, or the Iron Cog, or my father.”

  “Or the Articulated Gyroscopes,” Bob added. “Except first we ’ave to scout this place out, see if it’s safe for the others to join us.”

  “What about ‘Nobels Extradynamit’?” Ollie asked. He stood over a stack of short, stiff paper tubes in a dark corner of the attic room, squinting to read the labels pasted on them. “Hold on. ‘Blasting powder,’ it says?”

  “I don’t think they use blasting powder for making ’ats.” Bob picked up one of the tubes and examined it. A short fuse was stuck into one end of the tube.

  “Looks like a firework to me,” Ollie said. “Or a bomb.”

  “Right.” Bob pocketed it. “We’ll just borrow one, to discuss it with the ’ulder. Anything else up ’ere, gents?”

  There wasn’t. They crept down the stairs.

  The stairs brought the boys down to a small mezzanine floor and a tangle of catwalks inside the big main room of the factory. Dim light came from gas sconces in the walls and pillars on the factory floor, all turned down low. Street noise from outside—the rattle of wagon wheels on the cobbles and the barking of warehouse men—echoed inside Cavendish Hats.

  The main floor was divided into four parts. One part was underneath their feet: a room separated by walls from the rest of the floor. Charlie wondered what could be inside until Bob pointed down and nodded wisely. “Office,” he whispered, and Charlie nodded back. A second quarter of the floor was taken up by piles of hat components and a third by stacks of finished hats.

  In the fourth quarter, between the components and the finished product, squatted the machine. It looked like a giant brass insect skeleton with a hundred arms, each arm ending in some sort of tool used to make hats. A disturbingly large number of the arms ended in blades, but there were also pincers, chalk fingers, open pipe mouths, cloth buffers, blocks of pumice stone, steam jets, and things Charlie couldn’t immediately identify. The long body of the insect wound back and forth across the room and was made of spinning wheels, flexing pistons, pumping bladders, and a central track of upright rods like a spinal column. When the machine was turned on, Charlie guessed, hats were assembled on rods at one end of the spine and then passed along, buffed and precision-cut and folded and shaped by the various tools as they went, until they ended in the stacks of finished headgear. The machine wasn’t on, but the beast seemed to be only sleeping: from the middle of the works a faint plume of steam curled up into the air.

  “I don’t see how that thing could use tubes of blasting powder,” Ollie mused.

  “Maybe it doesn’t,” Charlie murmured. “Maybe the powder is for a bomb.”

  Bob pulled Charlie to the floor. The chimney sweep put his delicate-fingered hand over Charlie’s mouth and whispered in his ear. “ ’Ush, Charlie. We ain’t alone.”

  Ollie lay down, too. Charlie nodded, and then the three of them crawled to the edge of the mezzanine. Charlie poked his head up the tiniest bit so he could see down onto the floor below.

  Bob pointed, and Charlie followed his finger.

  He was right; they weren’t alone.

  Charlie now saw the big double doors that must be the front entrance, across the room by the finished hats. On either side stood men with naked cutlasses in their hands. Charlie quickly counted four, crouched in the shadows and behind hats.

  One was the big man with the pouchy eyes, the one who’d been called captain. Charlie shuddered.

  There were more men with cutlasses by a back door, and others by a window. They all hunkered down to hide from the view of anyone coming in by the front door.

  “The pixie was right,” Bob whispered. “It is an avocado.”

  “Do you mean an ambuscado, Bob?” Ollie asked.

  “An ambush?” Charlie offered.

  “Yeah.” Bob scratched his head. “But what ’ave the Cavendish people got against us? I don’t even wear a Cavendish.” He tugged on the chin straps of his aviator cap. “I wear a bomber. An’ what ’ave they got against the queen?”

  “Maybe that’s the problem.” Ollie snickered. “They’re angry you and the Queen of England ain’t wearing their hats.”

  “Maybe Cavendish is owned by, I dunno, trolls or something. An’ they can’t stand humans, so they formed the Anti-Human League, an’ they’re going to kidnap the queen.”

  Ollie pointed at the men around the door with his umbrella. “Only those are humans. The story don’t seem right, does it?”

  “Maybe it’s me,” Charlie guessed. “Maybe they were unhappy that I got away the first time, so they left the Cavendish Hats broadsheet to bring me here.”

  The other boys were silent for a moment. “That sounds less crazy the longer I think about it,” Bob admitted. “Except it seems an unusual caper for an ’at manufacturer.”

  “Well, that’s our clue, anyway,” Ollie said. “The kidnappers have something to do with the hat people, and the hat people have a big pile of blasting powder and a gang of toughs with swords. Too dangerous to lie around here all night, old sons; let’s get up top and get back. We’ve got to warn the others. Maybe Grim can round up a gang of hulders like he said, and we can come back in the morning.”

  Ollie inched away from the edge. Bob stayed put.

  “I don’t think I can wait until morning, Ollie,” he complained. “I’ve run out of time. Day after tomorrow
is the Jubilee an’ the flotilla an’ the display. I need the gyroscopes, an’ I need ’em now.”

  “I know, Bob,” Ollie agreed. He looked sadder and more sincere than Charlie had ever seen him. “Only I don’t know what to do. Let’s tell the troll anyway and see what he says.”

  Crack!

  Charlie and the chimney sweeps ducked again.

  “I think that was the door,” Ollie whispered.

  Creak.

  “Right.” It was Grim Grumblesson’s voice. “Told you the door was no problem, Clockswain. Now let’s find out what happened to our boys.”

  “Ambush!” Bob yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Bang!

  Smoke curled up from the kobold’s pistol.

  Cutlasses flashed.

  BANG! Grim’s Eldjotun roared like a lion.

  The nearest charging swordsman crumpled backward. Charlie’s eyes opened wide, and he dropped lower to the floor.

  “De Minimis and Underthames!” Gnat zipped to the attack. She shot up into the air, nearly straight, and then dropped like a hawk back into the battle. Even though she wobbled, she was very fast. Spearhead-first, she slammed onto the shoulders of the captain. He staggered sideways, swatting at Gnat and dropping his cutlass.

  Bang! Henry Clockswain fired again. Thunk! His bullet bit into the wall behind Charlie.

  BANG!

  A second cutlass-wielding thug dropped to the floor. He fell like a chopped tree.

  Then the other men closed in to attack Charlie’s friends, and Charlie couldn’t see clearly what was going on anymore.

  He felt a cold lump of fear in his chest. “We have to help them!”

  Bob pulled his sword from its scabbard. “You’d better ’old this,” he said, handing Charlie the Extradynamit. “I don’t want to get knocked about with blasting powder in my pockets. An’ these, too, just in case.” He plunked down his little wooden box of matches. But he hesitated, while Ollie hefted his umbrella like a club.

  Bob and Ollie were just as afraid as he was. They were bigger than he was, probably older, and more experienced. They were chimney sweeps and burglars, a shape-changer and an aeronaut, but they were still boys.

  The men standing at the factory’s other entrances charged to join the fight. Grim ripped a curled sheet of metal off the hat machine. Slinging it over his arm like a shield, he turned to face his attackers.

  BANG!

  A window shattered, and the hat-making machinery let out a gong! as a bullet from the Eldjotun pounded a dent into one of its steam tanks. The attackers’ swords flashed yellow-white in the gaslight. Grim swung his big gun like a club now, and scooped men away from him with his improvised shield.

  Bang!

  Mr. Clockswain fired again. Charlie wished that Henry Clockswain were a better shot, because as far as he could tell, the kobold hadn’t hit anything. On the other hand, Charlie didn’t really want to see any more people shot. He just wanted his friends to escape.

  “Kill the troll!” one of the men shouted.

  Five men rushed Grim Grumblesson. He swung with his gun and knocked one aside, then scooped his shield beneath a second and hurled the man straight up into the air.

  “Aaaagh!” the flying man screamed, until he came down—crash!—and flattened one of his friends.

  The other two stabbed at Grim. Charlie saw red flowers of blood sprout on Grim’s white shirt and turn the yellowish rain slicker into a greasy brown. Charlie felt ill.

  BANG!

  One of Grim’s attackers dropped. Reinforcements swarmed the troll.

  “Come on, Ollie!” Bob shouted. “It’s now or never!” He jumped up and sprinted down the stairs.

  Ollie followed Bob to the edge of the mezzanine, but there he took a different route. Stepping onto the railing, he hooked the curved handle of his umbrella over a cable that stretched at an angle from the ceiling down to the front doors. Leaning out over the fight, he slid down, faster and faster—the captain stood at the bottom of the stairs, with swords in both hands, grinning as Bob charged him—and at the last second Ollie raised both his feet and kicked the man right in his pouchy eyes.

  The captain went down, and Bob and Ollie both charged into the fray.

  Gnat dodged and dived and danced like a mad, wobbling ballerina. The men she fought staggered and bled, but they didn’t give up. Then one of them caught Gnat with a big swing of his sword. It wasn’t a direct hit, just the tip of the cutlass nicking the pixie, but Natalie de Minimis was little. The blow sent her spinning through the air.

  “Gnat!” Grim bellowed, and he was stabbed again. He had lost enough blood to kill any human, but the troll was as big as a bull. He waded through the tide of his attackers, knocking aside cutlass blows to get to his fine-print clerk. He raised his big gun, and a cutlass swipe knocked his aim wide.

  BANG!

  Grim’s bullet blew a crater in one of the factory walls, shattering a gas sconce on the wall. All the lights in the room snuffed out. Pounding and grunting sounds told Charlie that the hulder was still fighting.

  Charlie wanted to be as brave as the chimney sweeps, but all he had was a rotten little knife. It was one thing to crawl around in the sewers alone; that hadn’t been so bad, really. Dirty and stinky and lonely, but no worse than that. And hitting the furnace with a length of pipe hadn’t been any great act of heroism; it was just what had to be done.

  It was another thing entirely to run straight into gunfire.

  Charlie patted around on the floor and found the tube of blasting powder and the box of matches. He pushed open the box and drew a match out, to be ready. Just in case, Bob had said.

  Chaos raged inside the front doors. Charlie started to be able to see in the shadows; the night outside was gloomy, but it wasn’t black. Bodies twisted and flailed; metal drew clang! from metal.

  Bang! Bang!

  Charlie couldn’t tell who was firing the shots.

  BANG!

  That was Grim, of course. In the muzzle flashes Charlie saw an attacker collapse. He also saw Bob trading sword blows with a cutlass swinger until Ollie stabbed the man in the back of one knee with the umbrella and he fell. Gnat was still airborne, though she moved like she was dizzy. Grim had attackers crawling on him like barnacles on a ship, so he charged the hat machine itself. Men screamed and fell off him as they were stabbed with hatting scissors and knives.

  Charlie began to hope his friends might win.

  He noticed a soft, steady hiss, barely audible under all the fighting sounds.

  Then a rattle from the hat-making machine dragged his attention away. He peered into the gloom and found that his eyes had adjusted.

  “Watch out!” he yelled. He meant to yell, at least, but it came out as more of a squeak. “Watch out! Trolls!”

  Two hulders charged. They had been hiding among the arms and pistons of the machine, and they had been the source of the steam, Charlie now realized. He had thought the machine was emitting small amounts of vapor while it idled. In reality, he now saw that it must have been the smoking jotun, the one with the scentless tobacco.

  Grim turned, flinging off an attacker with one arm and throwing the man into a wall. Two others still clung to him and pounded, one on his shoulders and one wrapped around a leg. He looked like a grown man wrestling children.

  Grim lowered his head and charged.

  Bang! Bang!

  Henry Clockswain crouched in the corner, firing. Gnat fluttered her wings, grabbing a man’s shirt and pulling it up over his face while Bob punched him repeatedly in the stomach. Charlie didn’t see Ollie for a moment, and he worried that his friend was down, but when he saw one of the thugs stumbling around in circles, slapping at his feet, he realized what had happened.

  Ollie was in snake form and was tripping the man.

  Crash!

  Grim and the first hulder rammed horns-first into each other, like giant billy goats. The noise was almost as loud as the gunshots, and then they grappled, arms locked on shoulders, each try
ing to throw the other to the floor. For a moment Charlie’s heart lifted at the sight of his mighty friend in action.

  Then the second hulder collided with Grim. He rammed his head and his big bull horns into Grim’s chest, under his arm. Grim Grumblesson stumbled back, bellowing. His arms windmilled, he tried to regain his balance, and the second hulder punched Grim in the face.

  Grim fell. Charlie’s hopes fell with him.

  “Grim!” Natalie de Minimis shouted.

  Bang!

  Ollie, Bob, and Gnat were still tripping, stabbing, punching, and dodging. The trolls lumbered in their direction now, though, and Henry Clockswain stood near the door, fidgeting with his weapon and dropping bullets to the floor in his efforts to reload.

  Charlie struck one of the matches against its box. He couldn’t bring himself to throw the explosive directly at anyone, but he thought that if he threw it close, he might frighten his enemies. He could do that much to the men who had kidnapped his father and hurt Grim Grumblesson.

  He lit the fuse on the tube of blasting powder, raised it over his head, and hurled it at the hat-making machinery—

  and as the sparking, fitzing stick of Extradynamit wobbled through the air toward its target, Charlie remembered the hissing sound he had heard, and it occurred to him to wonder whether it might be gas—

  KABOOM!

  The Extradynamit exploded within the brass arms of the machine. Rods and plates flew in every direction. Charlie ducked. The building shook, wheels spun, levers dropped, and what was left of the machine coughed into motion.

  Scissor arms snipped, blades swooshed through the air, and pincer hands grabbed for raw materials that weren’t there. The machine was missing parts now, and it was off-balance. Arms swung in the wrong direction. Top hats and hat parts began to spew from the output end of the machine, piling on the fighting trolls like huge black snowflakes.

  The air over Charlie’s head burst into flame.

  He ducked. Feeling the heat on his skin, he covered his face with his hands. The stink of scorched hair filled his nostrils, and he hurt all over. When he uncovered his face and looked again, the scene had changed.