Ironheart (12 page)

His ears began to feel warm, as they always did when a money-making opportunity presented itself. Perhaps, he thought, a journey to the eastern mountains might be a worthwhile investment after
all. ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘If you’re determined to ignore what I say, I reckon I may as well profit from the deal.’ He stroked his bristly chin. ‘I’ll have
me own expenses to think about, not to mention my crew, who’ll want a cut of whatever we find. So here’s what I’ll do. Give me the pendant and I’ll take you to find
Ironheart. But once you’ve got what you need to bargain for Mrs Brown’s life, I get to keep whatever else we find there.’

‘We’ll split what we find evenly,’ said India, narrowing her eyes. ‘The pendant stays with me and Calculus will give you directions as soon as he cracks the
code.’

They stared at each other across the carriage.

‘All right, missy, you got yourself a deal.’ He spat noisily on to his palm and held out his hand. ‘But you be mindful now! This is a free-rigger’s contract you’re
shaking on and we takes it serious in these parts.’

She nodded solemnly and held out her own grubby hand. She couldn’t help wondering what Roshanne and Thaddeus Clench would think of her making her own way across Siberia and doing deals
with pirates. She grinned as they shook hands. ‘It’s a deal.’

Meanwhile, outside the relative warmth and comfort of the carriage, the big android clung grimly to the axles of the moving train. He ignored the fearsome shaking and rattling that threatened to
throw him off like a piece of rotten fruit, and focused instead on the message he had finally finished deciphering.

John Bentley had wanted the location of Ironheart kept secret for a good reason. There was treasure hidden there all right, but there were other things too. Terrible things. The worst products
of a paranoid age. These were things that Calculus had hoped were gone forever and that he would never have to see again. Part of him wished that he had never seen the message, or that he could
destroy the pendant so that the location of Ironheart would be forgotten for eternity. But he knew that would never happen. Ironheart was like a genie that would not go back into its bottle, and
Stone and his army wouldn’t rest until they’d found it. There was only one option: he would have to go with India and hope they got there before Lucifer Stone. If they failed, it was
entirely possible that what was hidden at Ironheart could destroy every living creature on the face of the Earth.

And if that happens, he thought, I might be the only one left alive.

The rig yards of Salekhard marked the point where the Ural Mountains met the frozen mouth of the Ob river. It was here that the mammoth prospecting rigs rolled in off the ice
to disgorge their cargoes of tarry crude oil and red iron ore into waiting goods trains for transport to Angel Town. The yards themselves – an untidy scattering of cranes, oil tanks and heavy
machinery – had been built by men with an eye for practicality over beauty.

It was late afternoon and already dark when the
Tolstoy
clanged and hissed to a halt. The passengers shielded their faces against the freezing sleet as they collected bags and packing
crates. India and Bulldog climbed stiffly from the carriage on to the wooden platform.

India was desperate to look beneath the train and check on Calculus. She chewed her lip nervously while heavily clad riggers unloaded the trucks and the crowd thinned. Then she ducked down
quickly while Bulldog kept watch. ‘Calc, are you all right?’ she called. ‘Oh please be all right.’

The underside of the carriage was black with grease and soot and, for a desperate minute, she thought he had fallen from the train. But then, slowly, a grimy block of darkness detached itself
and began to crawl towards her.

‘Calc! Thank goodness you’re OK!’ She threw her arms around the big android and hugged him tightly, covering herself in grime in the process. ‘I’m so sorry,’
she said over and over. ‘I thought there was nothing more important than getting on this train but I never meant to put you through such an awful journey.’

‘I am fine, thank you, India,’ he said getting to his feet. ‘Although I would not recommend it as a way to travel.’

They followed Bulldog across the open sidings to a low, concrete building. He made them stand out of sight while he tried the door to an office and stepped inside. While he was gone, India
quickly told Calculus about the deal she had struck with Bulldog.

‘I need to tell you something, India,’ he replied. ‘I have deciphered most of your father’s message. It provides a map reference for Ironheart and it describes what he
found inside. It contains treasure all right, but there is something else there too, something that must never fall into Lucifer Stone’s hands.’

‘Well, what was it, what did he say?’ said India, hungry for information.

‘It contains weapons, India,’ said Calculus. ‘The sort of old-world weapons that would give Lucifer Stone the power he craves more than anything else.’

‘Are you saying we shouldn’t go there?’ India had never known Calc to sound this serious.

‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I was a soldier, India. I have seen what those weapons can do. I think it is essential that we get to Ironheart before Stone does.’ He
dropped his voice as they spied Bulldog emerging from the offices. ‘One more thing. I think it is best if we do not share this information with these pirate riggers just yet. If they know too
much then they may refuse to take us.’

Bulldog returned carrying a large hooded coat which he held up against Calculus to check for size.

‘It’s amazing what people will leave lying around in an empty office,’ he said. ‘Here, son, wear this so you look a bit less conspicuous.’

Calculus put it on. Far from being less conspicuous, he looked like a giant android wearing a coat.

‘Perfect!’ declared Bulldog. ‘No one will look twice at you in that. Now stick close to me.’

He led them past rusting oil tanks and overhead pipe gantries that leaked steam and hot liquids. They emerged on to a wide expanse of frozen ground, lit with harsh electric lamps. Despite the
fierce wind blowing off the bay, the yard was swarming with men attending to more than a dozen rigs.

India stared open-mouthed at her first sight of the immense prospecting rigs. The nearest one towered above them like a huge mechanical insect, heavy and greasy and leaking sticky puddles from
its belly on to the ground. It had a blunt head section, a thick central body and a vast abdomen at the rear which, Bulldog told her, was used to store the oil and minerals it extracted. The whole
rig rested on steel tracks that compressed the frozen ground beneath them.

Maintenance crews clambered over the rig like industrious monkeys and a cutting torch sent showers of blue sparks into the night that hurt your eyes. The air was filled with diesel fumes, and
burning rubber mingled with the cold smell of the mountains. India breathed it in deeply and it made her heart beat faster. It smelled of adventure!

On the far side of the yards India spied a group of rigs that looked sleeker and better maintained than the others. Their tracks gleamed with an oily sheen and they carried heavy guns on their
roofs.

‘Company rigs!’ said Bulldog, spitting on the ground. ‘The big one is Stone’s personal rig, the
Prince of Darkness.
Officially they’re supposed to protect
the fleet from pirates but they’re not above piracy themselves. If they come across a lone rig they don’t recognize they’ll steal the cargo and send the crew to the slave
factories.’

India shivered at the thought of the
Prince of Darkness
bearing down on them in the wilderness.

Bulldog led them on to a remote corner of the yard where the rigs looked older and more dilapidated, each one a patchwork of spare parts bolted crudely into place. ‘This is a less
glamorous neighbourhood, where people don’t ask too many questions. And this,’ he said, spreading his arms wide in front of the last rig on the row, ‘is my baby. Say hello
to
The Beautiful Game
!’

India stared.
The Beautiful Game
was smaller than most of the other rigs. Long ago it had been painted red and white but now it was streaked with rust. The upper decks were a
rat’s nest of equipment and cables that spilled over the sides, and the entire hull looked as if it had been pounded with a giant hammer.

‘Does that thing really move?’ said India.

‘Steady on, that’s my pride and joy you’re talking about.’ Bulldog looked offended.

‘It really is very impressive, Captain,’ said Calculus.

‘Well thank you, my mechanical friend. At least someone here appreciates true beauty.’

‘In fact,’ said Calculus, ‘I believe parts of it may be even older than I am.’

India bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Bulldog led them up a set of steps and through a low hatch where they gathered in an uncomfortably small living area. There was a table with bench seats and the walls were lined with navigation
charts, crew rosters and a poster for a bar in Shanghai. A photo on the wall showed Bulldog’s face peering from the hood of a bright-red parka trimmed with white fur. It was simply labelled:
‘North Pole, Christmas Day’.

‘Ahoy there!’ A young man with a friendly smile stuck his head out of a doorway. ‘Welcome aboard
The Beautiful Game
.’ He started when he saw Calculus. ‘My
God!’ he cried. ‘A mechanical man. Well, aren’t you a beauty!’

‘Thank you,’ said Calculus, ‘although I think I may be a little past my best.’

The young man looked at him blankly for a moment and then roared with laughter. ‘“Past his best,”’ he says. ‘A mechanical man with a sense of humour!’ He
wiped his eyes and shook hands with India. ‘Assistant Engineer Pieter Von Braun, at your service.’ He bowed low ‘Tashar went to the bar,’ he said to Bulldog, rolling his
eyes, ‘and I’ve been preparing some goulash, my mother’s recipe. Are you all hungry?’

Bulldog’s sandwich was now a distant memory and India nodded enthusiastically. Pieter disappeared back into the galley.

‘Where’s Rat?’ shouted Bulldog. ‘I need him to run an errand.’

A hunched creature appeared at the doorway, wearing a flight suit that was too short for him. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Calculus. ‘Matsushito 5000 combat
droid,’ he said quickly.

‘That is absolutely correct,’ said Calculus, ‘you clearly know a great deal about—’

‘Height, two metres, weight one hundred and ten kilos without armaments, four parallel-track neural processors, sealed power unit with—’

‘Rat!’ snapped Bulldog.

The boy silenced himself immediately. He looked like a small mammal that was afraid it would be eaten.

‘You’ll have to excuse Rat,’ said Bulldog. ‘He likes facts and figures but he’s not so good with people. Rat, go and find Tashar and tell her to drink up –
we’re leaving.’

Rat backed out of the door, still staring at Calculus, then fled down the stairs.

Bulldog gave them a guided tour of the rig while they waited. Behind the living area was a small galley, now fully occupied by Pieter and his pan of goulash. Beyond that were the crew’s
sleeping quarters and the main engineering section where several pairs of Bulldog’s baggy underpants had been hung out to dry on the hot pipes and a hammock had been strung between the
pressure gauges. (‘Rat’s sleeping quarters,’ explained Bulldog.)

At the very front of the rig was the cockpit, which Bulldog showed them with relish. It was a cramped space, crammed with brass dials, lights and heavy levers, and it smelled of hot oil and
sweat. Bulldog explained that when the rig was under way, he and Tashar would sit up front and manage the throttles and levers that controlled the caterpillar tracks. The equipment in the cockpit
had been salvaged from a dozen different vessels.

‘That pressure gauge came from the
Giselle
after an onboard fire. The drilling controls came from a Chinese rig that went through the ice in Dudinka, and this,’ he said,
sitting in a tatty, leather captain’s chair, ‘came from the
Excellent
after she blew up in the Urals.’

India felt increasingly nervous as the tour continued. The parts list of
The Beautiful Game
read like a catalogue of death and disaster. Calculus, however, seemed quite taken with the
rig and was ready to accept Bulldog’s invitation for an extended tour outside when Pieter called them for dinner.

Pieter produced huge quantities of potatoes and goulash from the galley and he and Bulldog attacked the meal like ravenous wolves. While they were eating, Tashar returned from the bar carrying a
half-empty bottle of vodka and looking rather the worse for wear. She was very beautiful with high, Slavic cheekbones and long blonde hair that fell forward over her face. She was clearly
displeased to find strangers on board her rig.

‘So what is this, Captain? Now we have become a passenger ship?’ She lit a black cigarette and poured herself a measure of vodka. ‘You expect me to be a kid minder now? This is
not in my job description, I think. You want us to be kid minders then we should get a bigger share.’