by Lucy Saxon
Cat felt a flutter in her stomach, and her cheeks grew warm.
The box slid off its shelf and into Fox’s arms. He quickly lowered it to the floor with a thud.
‘So what have you got in here, then?’ she asked.
‘Bits and pieces. I like to tinker,’ he said quietly.
Cat peered at the object on the workbench, running a gentle finger over a delicate gear plate, one of the chains still hanging loose, as thin as a thread of silk.
‘This is from a mecha,’ she realised in surprise. She remembered having to repair the tiny gear plate several times after her father had lost his temper and lashed out at Samuel. It was part of a brain – the part that helped register images. But she couldn’t see the thin, dark green film that usually accompanied the part. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘Found a couple of broken ones in a rubbish cart just outside of government. How did you know?’
Cat shrugged.
‘My family had a mecha, back home. Have – he’s still there. Father was rather … careless with him at times. I often repaired him,’ she explained.
Fox had an amused look in his eyes.
‘Ever the little gearhead, hmm?’ he teased lightly.
‘It was interesting. They’re very complex machines, to have some semblance of intelligence and understanding,’ she said.
Fox nodded, moving closer. He stood over her shoulder, leaning forward to point out a few things on the half-finished machine on the desk.
‘Look and see what you can recognise. Figure out what it is,’ he challenged.
Determined to pass his test, she turned back to the workbench to study the mechanisms closer. She recognised many basic components; they could have come from a mecha, but also from a delicate clock or something with equally small gear plates. Brow furrowing in concentration, she grinned triumphantly as she spotted the one piece that gave the game away. Then she gasped, realising exactly what Fox had built.
‘That shouldn’t be possible,’ she breathed. ‘You’ve built a video recorder. But … it’s so tiny!’
She’d seen a video recorder when a newscast team had come to their house, and her father had filmed newscasts in his office from behind his desk. The recorders they’d brought were huge, clunky things. Two people had been needed to carry one of those, whereas Fox’s device could be worn quite easily on a jacket collar, the small lens peeping through a buttonhole. It would never even be noticed.
‘This is amazing. How on Tellus …?’ She trailed off.
Fox’s hand reached out to cover hers on the machine, his index finger pointing to the lens and its backing mechanism.
‘That right there, that’s the lens in a mecha’s eye which allows them to “see” their surroundings and temporarily imprint the images on a dalivinite film, lasting long enough for the mecha to do its job, but without saving the images. If you adjust it to use the tyrium dalivinite film developed for newscasts, stored in here,’ he gestured to a small metal box set aside, about the size of Cat’s palm, with a hole in one end, ‘it’ll save the images permanently, so the film canister can then be inserted in the broadcasting machines over in the newscast building.’
Cat was gawping and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘That’s genius! You’re a genius, Fox,’ she insisted, bringing the faintest of red flushes to his freckled cheeks. He looked away, shrugging. ‘But … there’s no sound?’ she asked.
He knelt by the box he’d just pulled down. Cat swivelled round in her chair to face him, curious. He neatly set aside the multitude of spare parts in the box and pulled out a device even smaller than the video recorder.
‘You didn’t think I’d dismantle a mecha and leave the ears in, did you?’ he asked wryly.
She looked at him in confusion; mechas didn’t have ears.
‘Not literal ears,’ he added. ‘But the mechanism that allows them to process sound. I ripped that out, modified it a little, set it to store on a permanent yelenium core, and there you go. Audio recording device.’
He passed it to her carefully, and she cupped it in her hands, bringing it up to eye level. The thin strands of orange yelenium that made up the core were encased in metal-framed glass, buzzing with little violet sparks, stretched out between two strips of metal like a harp.
‘I’ve been working on them for a while – weeks before you showed up. It’s rather clever, really. The yelenium is so sensitive, the vibrations from sound create little ridges in it, so it remembers the pattern. If you make it a little thicker than usual, the ridges don’t stretch, and you can replay the sound back by letting a little wire brush over the ridges,’ he explained. He reached over, twisting the device so the small microphone pointed upwards, then ran a finger down one side of the casing until he came across a switch.
‘Say something,’ he murmured, flicking the tiny switch.
Cat bit her lip, glancing up to meet Fox’s vibrant blue eyes, which seemed almost to glow in the dim lighting.
‘This is brilliant,’ she said, somewhat awkwardly.
Fox smirked, flicking the switch in the other direction. There was a speedy whirring of the few exposed gears, before Cat heard her own voice, somewhat tinny, but recognisable.
‘OK, I’m impressed now. I can’t believe you made all these yourself. You’d make a fortune selling them!’ she breathed.
Fox raised an eyebrow.
‘Then I wouldn’t have the advantage in spying on government scum, would I?’ he retorted. ‘Besides, they’re already being made outside of Anglya. I got my idea from something similar I saw in a shop in Siberene. The problem with isolating yourself so completely from the rest of the world is that you don’t get to share in their advances. Did you know that in Mericus even the common people have newscast screens in their homes? Not just the aristocracy. Apparently they’re thinking about using them for things other than news.’
‘What else could they use them for?’ Cat asked in confusion, and Fox grinned.
‘Education, entertainment, all sorts of things. Think about it. If they can record news, why can’t they record a professor giving a lecture, or a performer doing a show?’ he pointed out.
Cat imagined being able to watch a performer on her newscast screen; it would be wonderful!
‘It’s a shame it isn’t like that here,’ she sighed.
Fox shrugged.
‘Not yet it’s not, but if we succeed it could well be. We’ll open up communications with the rest of the world, and they’ll probably be happy to bring us up to date. They really don’t hate us as much as the government likes to make out. They hate our government, and they’re bitter, but they don’t hate Anglya itself. They did originate here, after all.’
‘Yeah, several hundred years ago.’
‘Still, they respect the First Men, and the country they came from. If we succeed, we’ll be welcomed back with open arms, I’m sure of it.’ His eyes were intense and serious, and his expression sent a shiver down Cat’s spine. ‘I want you to be careful,’ he murmured, drawing closer. ‘Worry about yourself. If at any point it looks like you’re about to get caught, run and don’t look back. I can handle myself, and I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for me,’ he chuckled humourlessly. ‘I’m not worth you getting caught.’
‘I’d rather us both get caught and go down together than for you to get caught and me run,’ she argued.
He scowled, shaking his head firmly.
‘I don’t want you getting caught, Cat,’ he insisted. ‘Please, just promise me you’ll be careful.’
Cat folded her arms across her chest indignantly.
‘You don’t need to protect me, you know. Anyway, you’ve made it very clear recently that you’d be happier on this ship without me here to disrupt things,’ she replied.
He winced.
‘I never said that,’ he began, and she rolled her eyes.
‘You never had to.’
Fox sighed, turning away from her, and Cat go
t the feeling that they had just taken two steps forward and about thirty in reverse; a feeling that was becoming increasingly common with the enigma that was William Foxe.
‘I’ll be careful. But I’m not going to leave you behind.’
The answer didn’t seem to satisfy him, but quite frankly Cat didn’t care. Turning on her heel, she left. She was tired of arguing.
Chapter 14
The thick soles of her boots were almost soundless on the floor as she walked through the narrow halls of the skyship. Pacing the corridors was better than sitting in her room, waiting for breakfast. She’d been tossing and turning all night, and by half past four she’d given up on getting any real sleep.
She paused in the pale blue-grey light filtering in through the small portholes and sat on the edge of the manhole, her legs dangling down to the floor below.
‘Happy birthday to me,’ she sighed, somewhat wistful.
It had been a week and a half since she’d stowed away and she was, as of three o’clock that morning, fifteen years old. She didn’t feel it; at times she felt ancient, and at others – usually when Fox was around – she felt like an awkward, stuttering twelve-year-old, trying to make sense of those around her, jumping head first into waters far deeper than she could handle.
‘That you, Cat?’
She blinked, peering down the manhole, smiling when she saw Ben at the foot of the ladder.
‘Morning,’ she greeted him.
‘Good morning, lass. Many happy returns,’ Ben replied. ‘Come here, I’ve got something for you.’
Intrigued, Cat dropped down, following Ben around to the corridor where the rest of the crew slept. Ben pushed open a door, beckoning her closer. She hesitantly peered inside. Ben’s room was neat, with a few drawings pinned to the walls, all of different places in the world; some she recognised, some she didn’t.
‘These are beautiful,’ she murmured.
‘Why, thank you. I drew them.’
Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
He smiled sheepishly, tugging at a stray curl.
‘I didn’t have many friends as a sprog – except Matt, of course. I spent a lot of my time alone, drawing. Come here.’ He gestured for her to enter, and she did so, watching him pull a brown paper bag from his desk drawer. He pressed it into her hands, smiling.
‘I know I said I’d get Alice to bake you a cake, but in all the chaos it completely slipped my mind. So Matt and I got you this instead.’
Reaching into the bag, Cat’s face split into a wide grin as she pulled out a large cupcake, bigger than her fist, with raisins dotting the golden sponge. It had purple icing, and a slightly lopsided 15 iced in silver.
‘It’s not much, but I hope you like it.’
Cat beamed, hugging him tightly around the waist, careful not to drop her cake.
‘It’s the best,’ she declared. Her father had always bought her dresses and jewellery and perfumes on her birthday but she’d not had a present she actually enjoyed since she was young, when her mother had been well enough to buy them. ‘Thank you, and Matt.’
‘You’re very welcome. Happy birthday, lass. Almost a grown woman now,’ he teased, making her blush.
‘D’you think I could have this now, or should I save it for after breakfast?’
Ben chuckled, ruffling her hair.
‘Eat it now. I’ll see you at breakfast.’
Leaving the pilot’s room, she cradled the cupcake carefully in her hands, taking a bite as she rounded the corner and humming in contentment. It was delicious. Her next bite was far bigger, and she was so engrossed in the treat she didn’t notice Fox standing in her bedroom doorway.
‘There you are!’ he exclaimed, startling her. ‘Hurry up, we need to get moving. Where did you get that cupcake?’
‘Ben gave it to me,’ she replied, somewhat defensive. ‘It’s my birthday.’
He blinked, startled.
‘Oh. Happy birthday. Get changed – you’ll need darker clothes than that.’
She sighed, barging past him to get to her room, not expecting him to follow. She set her half-eaten cupcake on her desk and pulled her long-sleeved shirt over her head, standing in just her undershirt, whipping around when she heard a yelp.
‘Storms, girl, at least wait until I’m gone before you start prancing about in your undergarments!’ Fox exclaimed, squeezing his eyes shut.
‘Well, wait outside, then,’ she snapped, throwing open her wardrobe. She dressed quickly, taking her cake with her, and left her room only to find the corridor empty, and the galley silent. She stood there frowning – until the smell of the city caught her nose. Taking a large bite of cake, she went down the other end of the corridor, peering up through the manhole. It was lighter than it should have been up there; the trap topside was open. Hurrying up the ladder and continuing up on deck, cupcake cradled carefully, she wasn’t too surprised to see Fox climbing up the rigging to sit on the boom. She climbed up behind him, and he didn’t seem shocked when she shuffled out beside him.
The two sat in silence for several long minutes, Cat finishing off her cake and watching the sun rise over the city. When it became clear that Fox wouldn’t be starting the conversation, she spoke.
‘What’s your problem with the government, anyway? I mean, besides the obvious.’ Everyone hated the government, but Fox seemed to have a particular loathing. He remained silent, and Cat was about to give up and leave him to it when he spoke.
‘I used to live in Marleytown when my parents were alive,’ he told her, head turned in the direction of Marleytown itself.
Cat looked at him in shock; Marleytown was a fairly well-off middle-class area near Greystone, and Fox definitely didn’t seem like the type. ‘We had to scrimp a little, but we earned enough to get by and keep our house. When I was eight, Dad’s workshop in the basement caught fire, and our whole house went up in flames. Everyone assumed I’d been in there with them, and I let them – it was better than being taken into government care. They weren’t Collecting, then, but there were a fair number of orphan kids disappearing. I don’t think the monarchs knew about it. They were too caught up in the war, and it was only a year or so before they too disappeared. If they’d known, I’m sure they would have stopped it. Shame, really. If they hadn’t gone, none of this would have happened. The king wouldn’t have stood for it.’
Cat stared at him, listening intently. Was Fox actually opening up to her?
‘I lived in the slums for three years – nearly got Collected a few times – but the people in Danley helped out a lot. I saw a lot of things happen in those three years, things that taught me how cruel and heartless the government really is. Once I saw three government boys beat a fifteen-year-old girl to death because one of them had got her pregnant, and she wanted some money to help take care of the baby. They left her there, in the street, just … bleeding to death. I was nine and … and I couldn’t do anything, though storms know I tried.’ Cat was silent, horrified, but Fox wasn’t looking at her; he was staring out over the city with a look of disgust. ‘I expected to be there forever, but then one day I was wandering around the shipyard and Harry found me.’ He smiled bitterly, fiddling with a brass button on his coat. ‘Things have been great ever since. Then … then you turned up. I thought you were like me at first. An orphan. No home, no parents, no one to miss you when you left.’ He let out a hollow chuckle. ‘Look how wrong I was. You were a spoiled little princess, protected from the cold, harsh world and given everything you could ask for, and plenty you didn’t. It was hard not to hate you at least a little after that.’
Cat glared at him, half tempted to push him off the boom.
‘Don’t assume things about me just because of my name, and my birth status; we spoiled little princesses are allowed to have terrible childhoods too. You have no right to judge me by how you think I grew up, because I assure you, it definitely wasn’t as glamorous as you’re imagining.’ Her voice was quiet, but hard. He knew her life hadn’t been sunshine an
d roses before, so why did he continue to act like it had?
Annoyed, she swung her leg over the boom and jumped straight to the deck. Wrapping her coat around her against the early morning chill, she descended the trap, deciding to leave Fox to himself.
‘There you are, sprog!’ Matt’s cheerful voice called as she walked past the open galley door, and she stopped, doubling back.
Matt, Harry and Ben were all in the galley with Alice, all three men dressed in black and looking serious. Trying to wipe the scowl off her face, she joined them, eyeing the mass of devices piled on the table, next to satchels for her and Fox. She recognised Fox’s audio and video recorders, and the rest seemed to be Ben’s explosive devices. He had one in his hand, and was patting it fondly.
‘Where’s our dear little thundercloud, then?’
Cat’s scowl returned.
‘On deck, being a pillock,’ she muttered darkly.
Harry let out a low whistle.
‘That is definitely not a happy face,’ he murmured, frowning, and Cat snorted, despite herself.
‘Blame Mr Thundercloud,’ she retorted.
‘He’ll be down soon – with less of an attitude problem, I hope,’ Matt assured her. ‘Happy birthday, by the way.’
Cat smiled, hugging him briefly.
‘Thanks. I just want to get everything over with. The sooner we get this done, the sooner things will change.’
Ben smiled at her from across the table.
‘We’ll be coming with you past the gate, but you’re on your own after that. Mattie wants to have a look in the newscast building, see what kind of set-up they’ve got in there. We won’t plant the canisters yet, as we don’t know how long you’ll be in there,’ he explained.
The door opened, and a sour-faced Fox walked in; Cat thought the thundercloud nickname was rather apt. He didn’t look at her; just sat on the end of the bench furthest away from her.
‘We ready to go, then?’ he asked, his gaze firmly on Harry.
‘In a minute, lad, be patient,’ Harry told him, looking around the table at his assembled crew.
