by Paton, Chris
“But it was you who activated the machine, was it not?”
“Yes,” I noticed the chest containing the controller as I nodded.
“Electrons?” Whistlefish frowned.
“Magnetite.” I bent down to open the chest. Pushing aside the straw I pulled the controlling device out of its protective oilskins. I put on the chest harness, adjusting the leather straps and metal buckles over the hunting jacket I had found among my new clothes. I clipped the controller to the harness and opened the lid. “Is it fuelled?”
“Aye,” Archie took a step forwards. “Bhàtair had us chop up several cords of wood. There's plenty inside the tank, the boiler is full af water and ah’m ready to light the furnace when you say the word.”
“Good,” I beckoned to Whistlefish. “This is one of a pair of lodestones. The other,” I pointed up at the emissary’s head, “is in there.”
Whistlefish peered inside the wooden box housing the controls for piloting the emissary. “How does it work?”
“Well,” I nodded at Archie to light the furnace. “I send simple commands between the magnetite cores in each of the lodestones, changing the polarity of the lodestones in the controlling box depending upon what I want the emissary to do. By manipulating the iron particles in the air and deposits in the ground, I can communicate with the emissary across reasonable distances.”
“And what about unreasonable distances?” Whistlefish looked up at the first puff of smoke from the emissary’s twin exhausts.
“When the distance is too great the emissary will continue to perform the last command it received.”
“But if the last action was to lift its right foot...” Whistlefish paused as I pressed and pulled at the levers inside the control box. The emissary nodded.
“A good question,” I smiled at the mix of amusement and wonder spreading across the Inverkirkaig staff as I walked the emissary in a tight circle around them. “There is a slave function that will repeat the last set of commands.” I slid the metal switch between each lever to the right, locking them in position. The emissary continued to circle around us as I removed my fingers from the levers, letting my hands dangle at my sides. “Of course, you can't slave the controls to repeat complicated sets of actions like dancing.”
“Dancing?” Whistlefish grinned up at the emissary.
“Yes,” I flicked the switches to the left and released the levers. “I was instructed to make it dance.” With a combination of pressing and tugging and twisting of the left and right levers inside the control box, I turned the emissary through a slow waltz, its arms tucked around the waist of an oversized and rather rotund imaginary partner. “If it can dance...”
“It can fight,” Seffi walked up to my side. She pointed at the smoke rising from the exhausts. “Will it smoke as much as that when walking?”
“It depends on the terrain.” I slowed the emissary to a stop in front of Archie. Lifting the lever on the left and pressing down on the one on the right, I bowed the emissary before the young gillie, extending the emissary’s right hand with an invitation to dance. Archie turned to look at me as the staff urged him on. “It shouldn't smoke too much on the flat.” I lowered the emissary’s left arm, circling it around Archie's waist and shuffling the machine's great cloven feet but an inch from the ground to save Archie's toes in the dance.
“Amazing,” Whistlefish smiled as the emissary led Archie through a slow twirl.
I glanced up as a window on the third floor of the main building, above the kitchen, scraped open. A young woman, the colour of her hair the same deep bronze as the emissary's armour, leaned out of the window and waved. Whistlefish looked up and waved back.
“What do you think, Abi? Isn't it marvellous?”
“Aye,” Abigail's voice drifted down to the courtyard. “It is indeed a wonder.”
Whistlefish waved. “I'll be up in a moment. Don't get cold now, Abi.”
“Oh, hush,” Abigail rolled her eyes. “It's a fine morning. It's no even cold.”
“Abi,” Whistlefish ignored the emissary as I slowed it to a halt.
“Oh all right,” Abi reached up and took hold of the window frame. “That is a pretty thing you have their Mr. Finsch.”
“Thank you,” I dipped my head towards Abigail.
“Aye, if only my husband could dance so,” Abi stuck out her tongue and pulled the window closed. Pressing her face against the glass, she watched as I walked the emissary closer to the building and dipped the machine into an elegant bow. Abigail pressed one hand to her mouth and pointed with the other, her hair bouncing on her shoulders as they shook.
“Thank you, Mr. Finsch,” Whistlefish placed his hand on my shoulder. “I do believe you have lifted my wife's spirits this morning. She was more tired than usual at breakfast.”
“You are very welcome.” Walking the emissary back to the staff, I let it idle in front of them.
“I have seen enough, Karl.” Seffi waited as Archie approached. “You'll lead us up the track?”
“Aye,” Archie looked at Whistlefish, “that ah will.”
“Yes,” Whistlefish glanced at the kitchen window. “I have agreed half a day's head start with Macfarlane. He will wait here with his men and his hounds until later this afternoon. Then,” he sighed, “I am powerless to intervene.”
“But you can help us in the meantime?” Seffi looked from Whistlefish to Archie.
“Whit do ye need, miss?” Archie straightened.
“A musket or rifle. A flintlock pistol at the very least.”
“Ah can do that,” the young gillie nodded.
“And Beatrice has packed three day's food in your knapsacks,” Whistlefish added. “There is a set of spare clothes for each of you. You can drink from the streams and lochs along the way. Even bog water is potable this far from civilisation.”
“Where is Bhàtair?” I looked around the men and women as they drifted back to their duties.
“He is, ah,” Whistlefish paused. “Resting,” he glanced at Archie.
“Aye, resting,” Archie nodded. “It was a late night, as ye ken,” he smiled. “Ah'll get that pistol for ye, miss.”
I watched Archie as he jogged in the direction of the stables, past the hounds and out of sight behind the granite buildings.
“Archie will see you up the track and onto the mountainside. After that,” Whistlefish stifled a yawn with a grubby hand. “You'll be on your own, I am afraid.”
“You were up late, Herr Whistlefish?” Seffi nodded at the laird's hand. “Busy working?”
“No, no,” Whistlefish tucked his hand inside his trouser pocket.
“Grease and coal dust can be difficult to remove. Wouldn't you agree, Karl?”
Frowning, I looked at Seffi. Despite all we had been through in the past month, I still floundered when interpreting her subtle words and inflections. “Yes...”
“That might be,” Whistlefish took a step towards the kitchen, “if I was permitted to work with such materials, but alas, I am not.” He gestured at the kitchen. “I will have Archie collect your knapsacks from Beatrice.” He took my hand. “Thank you for amusing Abi. For that alone, I am forever in your debt.” Letting go of my hand, Whistlefish nodded at Seffi. “Good luck to you both. I truly hope to see you again in three days' time. Remember, at noon on the third day you will have completed your trial and will be free to return to Germany, as per the agreement with Mr. Schleiermacher.”
“And Macfarlane?” Seffi pointed at the man drinking tea in the kitchen doorway. “He will honour that agreement?”
“He will,” Whistlefish nodded.
“Then we will see you in three days, Herr Whistlefish.” Seffi waited until we were alone, her eyes narrowing as she watched Whistlefish pause to talk with Macfarlane on his way into the kitchen. “Well, Karl. I have to admit I am impressed with your skill with the emissary.”
“Yes,” I smiled. “I didn't sleep much in the fortnight before we sailed.”
“And neither wil
l you sleep much over the next three days.” Seffi took a last look at Macfarlane before gripping my elbow and leading me in the direction Archie had taken. “Come, bring your friend, and let's get started.”
Turning to the emissary, I pulled and pressed a short sequence of commands, slaving them with the switch beneath each lever as the emissary clunked and whined alongside us. Macfarlane emptied his mug, splashing the remains of his tea on the doorstep as he watched us leave.
Archie was waiting behind the stables, two knapsacks at his feet and a flintlock pistol in his hands. Seffi took the pistol from him as I slowed the emissary to a stop. She checked the hammer and barrel, running her fingers over the wooden handle, scratching at a spot of rust with her nail.
“Ah cleaned it as best ah could,” Archie handed Seffi a small leather bag of musket balls and a horn of black powder. “We havnae any muskets and the men wouldnae give up their rifles.” He looked away. “This is whit ah have.”
“This is yours, Archie?” Seffi slipped the pistol into her belt, the handle pressing into her flat stomach.
“Aye.”
“Thank you,” she took the bag and horn.
“Here, ah’ll help you,” Archie picked up one of the knapsacks, feeding my arms through the straps.
“Where is the track?” I wobbled on my feet as the gillie tightened the knapsack around my shoulders.
“Just ahead,” Archie pointed past the dog pen at a swathe of peaty soil cutting between the boulders and patches of heather by the side of Fionn Loch, the surface of the water tufting in the breeze blowing in from the sea.
Seffi shrugged her knapsack onto her shoulders. Adjusting the straps, she nodded at the loch. “At least the wind is blowing in our direction. There will be no scent for the dogs.” She looked down at the emissary's massive cloven feet. “Not that it will make much difference.”
“Aye,” Archie stopped fiddling with my pack and walked over to the emissary. “There's no hiding this beast. Ah cannae think how you are going to hide out there.” He scratched his head. “There's no even any trees between here and Bonar Bridge.”
“How fast can it walk, Karl?” Seffi prodded my shoulder and pointed at the track.
“Walk? Do you not remember when I crashed through the factory wall? The emissary can run if we want it to.”
“Good,” Seffi took a last look at the buildings of the Inverkirkaig Estate. “Then we had better run.”
Chapter 5
“This is as far as ah go,” Archie leaned into the wind, locks of black hair flicking across his forehead. “There's a bothy aboot a mile along the track.” He pointed to the north-east. “Do ye see it?” Looking in the direction the gillie was pointing, I saw a slate roof sloping out of the landscape, almost lost within the browns and greys of the highland terrain. Looking up and beyond the bothy roof, Suilven, the mountain, like a giant molar and accompanying canine cuspid, breached the landscape. Fiddling with the levers inside the control box, I lifted the emissary’s left arm to point at the mountain.
“Stop that, Karl,” Seffi brushed past me. She walked up to Archie. “Turn out your pockets.”
“What?” Archie took a step backwards.
“You're a gillie. You're bound to have something useful on you.”
“Ah gave ye ma pistol.”
“Yes,” Seffi nodded. “And I am grateful. Now empty your pockets.” She held out her hand.
Archie turned out a piece of flint, seven strips of dried mutton, a small tin of kindling and another of snuff. Seffi pocketed all of it.
“Well, yous fleeced me for all whit ah oon. Ah may as well be on ma way.” Archie sniffed at the wind. “It smells like rain, and if the wind drops the midgies will test ye.”
“Midgies?” I lowered the emissary’s hand. “What are they?”
“Wee bastards, that's whit they are. A third the size of a pin head, they're all teeth.” Archie wiped strands of hair from his eyes. “This wind will keep them at bay, but once it dies doon. Well...” he shrugged. “That's me. Ah'll be ooff.”
“Wait, Archie,” Seffi called out as he started down the track towards the estate. “Is there a bog nearby? A big one?”
“A bog?” Archie paused to think. “Aye, just over the next rise.”
“Good.” Seffi started along the path.
“Good luck,” Archie waved and disappeared down the track.
I thought about having the emissary wave back, but the gillie was gone. Instead, I walked the emissary in front of me, following Seffi as she moved quickly across the track, often leaping from one side to the other onto flat rock surfaces, or boulders standing proud of the highland grasses and heather covering the ground. She left no footprints in the soft mud of the track. She bent none of the grasses to either side. I looked down at the emissary’s huge footprints on the track before me. Like some monstrous goat the emissary left a trail so clear one could follow it from an airship. I wondered if Macfarlane intended to use one.
The emissary and I crested a rise in the trail and found Seffi by the side of a large peat bog. She pointed at it as we approached and I slowed the emissary to a stop.
“No, don't stop, Karl. Walk it into the bog.”
“What?” I shook the emissary’s head.
“Stop fooling around and walk it into the bog.” Seffi dropped her knapsack onto the ground and strode towards me. “There,” she pointed. “Into the middle where it is deepest.”
Working the levers through a series of short commands, I walked it into the bog, its great cloven feet disappearing into the thick tar-brown mud. The emissary wobbled as I struggled to move its heavy limbs deeper into the bog.
“Can you get it to lie down?”
“Yes,” I lifted the emissary’s hands, arms locked straight out, and leaned it over until its fingers sank beneath the surface. “The hands are pushing against the bottom of the bog. I don't want to let it sink any further. I might never get it out again.”
“Fair enough.” Seffi walked behind me, unclipping the control box from the leather harness. I took the weight of the box in my hands as she removed my knapsack and tugged the harness from around my shoulders.
“Seffi?”
“I'll hold this,” she took the control box.
“But you don't know how to use it.” I gripped the box. “Don't play around with it, we'll never...”
“Get it out? I heard you the first time, Karl. Now,” she prised the control box from my hands. “I need you to trust me.”
“Okay,” I watched as she set the control box down on the ground. “What are you going to do?”
“This,” Seffi thrust the palms of her hands into my chest and pushed me into the bog.
Too startled to cry out, I fell into the bog, the oily surface of the mud sucking at my hands as I floundered by the side of the emissary. Seffi laughed, safe on the grass.
“Why?” I flicked mud from my hand.
“Because we stick out, Karl,” Seffi grinned. “We need to blend in with the terrain. We have to get rid of the smell of Beatrice's kitchen.”
“We?” I stabbed a muddy finger in Seffi's direction. “There's not much we in this bog. What about you?” I watched as Seffi unbuckled the belt at her waist. Coiling it around her fist she placed it at her feet, resting Archie's pistol on top. Seffi emptied her pockets of all the useful items we possessed. She tugged off her boots and peeled off her hunting jacket. I swallowed at the sight of her white shirt and the way it hugged her body. Removing her socks, Seffi slipped into the bog beside me.
“I could have removed my jacket,” I turned my head to see Seffi press her body beneath the surface, the mud clinging to her shoulder-length black hair.
“You would have thought too much about it, Karl,” Seffi smoothed the foul pudding through her hair and over her face. Smearing the mud in a thin layer on one side of her face, she left a thick layer on the other.
“My boots at least.”
“Stop moaning, Karl. Help me cover your friend.” S
quelching through the bog towards the emissary, her sodden shirt clinging to her breasts, Seffi scooped piles of mud onto the emissary's steaming metal carapace. I joined her, careful not to scald my hands on the emissary's boiler, nor my eyes on Seffi's body.
“What are our chances, Seffi?” I slapped another handful of mud onto the emissary's back. “I mean how likely are we to outfox Macfarlane?”
The mud slipped down the emissary's armour as I waited for Seffi to answer. She tied her mud-streaked hair in a knot, lifting her feet high to get out of the bog. I squelched my way towards her, steadying myself with one hand on the emissary's body until I could crawl onto the heather, stirring tiny black insects onto my hands as I pushed myself to my feet.
“Midgies,” Seffi squashed an insect at the corner of her eye beneath the tip of her finger.
“They're awful,” I brushed at the insects as they bit at my lips. The brush of their wings and the prick of their tiny teeth tickled with venom.
“Come on,” Seffi grabbed her boots and pointed towards higher ground. “We need to get in the wind.”
I picked up the controller and followed Seffi back onto the path. The wind brushed the midgies from my face as I sat down. Seffi smoothed mud from her feet with slender hands. She pulled on her socks and tugged on her boots, tightening the laces through all the but the very last eyelet.
“We can't beat Macfarlane on his home ground.” She pointed at the mountain. “And we won't be able to outclimb him or his dogs. The best we can hope for is to frustrate him long enough that he runs out of time, or get him angry enough that he becomes reckless.”
“The dogs?” I remembered Beatrice's story about Macfarlane's favourite bitch.
“Yes, one dog in particular.” Seffi scratched at the mud running in thick peaty streaks on her face. “Kill it or capture it. Either way, we will piss him off. Perhaps long enough to stay alive.”
“Seffi,” I thought for a moment. “How are we going to capture his dog if we are running away? Aren't we trying to get as far away from Macfarlane as possible?”
“Well,” Seffi laughed, “that's the tricky part. One of us is going to have to convince Macfarlane that we went directly towards the mountain.”
