Noir (10 page)

Fi
fteen

Eyelet

I take a quick right turn after we clear the checkpoint, directing the team up an old dirt road along the back of town. The moustache drops in my lap.

“That was
brilliant
!” C.L. shouts, leaping up and down in his cage behind me. “Just
brilliant
!” He stops. “Wait. Where yuh going?” he adds as we glide past the windmills and scrubbers, into the woods at the edge of town.

“I can’t bear it any longer!” I holler, pulling the horses to an abrupt halt inside the trees and jumping from the mount. Hives have now hatched all over my body. I feel like I’m roasting in a fire. I race for the trees, guilt gnawing at me for holding up the mission, but I can’t go on like this. I’ve got to get these clothes off now. Right now. I run, kicking off the freakmaster’s boots and peeling his jacket from my back.

“What’s yuh doing?” C.L.’s voice squeals after me. “Yuh need that disguise!”

“I’m sorry!” I shout, ducking in behind a hedge. “But we’ll have to think of something else!” I peel off the rest of the freakmaster’s outfit piece by piece and toss it back over the hedge. I dance in a circle, ridding myself of the hive-inducing straw, plucking it loose from my armpits and underclothes, feeling instantly relieved. I’m swollen as if I’d been ingesting cricket balls, covered in raised, throbbing marks from head to toe. But at least now, with the straw gone, the throb is dulling.

“Something else?” C.L. appears on the opposite side of the hedge, sounding angry. “Oh my!” he gasps and steps back at the sight of the red, swollen hives on my neck.

“Oh, yes . . .” I glare. “Wanda!” I turn my eyes to her. “Would you be a doll and bring me my clothes?”

“What are we gonna do now?” C.L. paces.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, we need to hurry up.” I accept my clothing from Wanda and quickly dress, grateful for her help with my corset laces, stepping out from behind my hedge-leaf dressing screen moments later. “Perhaps if we make one of you, out of two,” I say.

“Make what of us?” C.L.’s eyes crinkle.

“You and you.” I point to C.L. and Martin. “Sit.” I shove C.L. down onto a rock and steer Martin in behind. “Martin, tuck up behind him, duck your head down onto his shoulders, and throw your legs into his lap.”

“Do what?”

“Just humour me, please.”

Martin crawls up onto the rock, wraps his legs around C.L.’s middle, and folds his chin to his chest.

“Now put your arms around C.L.’s front.”

Martin extends his arms out around C.L.’s compact frame, completing him as a whole person for the first time ever.

“This might just work.” I tap my chin and swoop in with the freakmaster’s jacket.

“What do yuh mean, this might work?” C.L. frowns, looking down at Martin’s hands on his knees.

“Hush,” I say. “Martin, push your arms through here.” I guide his hands through the armholes, then arrange the jacket over his back until he’s almost completely disappeared. “You look a bit like you’ve got a hunchback, but I think it’ll work.” I button the jacket up over C.L.’s front and stand back to have a look. Together they look like one body. C.L.’s head, neck, chest, and legs, and Martin for arms.

“Now, if we glove Martin’s hands . . .” I slip the gloves over his dried, mummified-looking fingers.

“This is ridiculous,” C.L. objects. Martin pokes him in the eye, groping the air for the reins. “He can’t possibly drive the cart like this!”

“Of course not. You’re going to direct him—”

“I’m to pass through the streets of Brethren mumbling to me back, am I?” C.L.’s brows knit. “Surely no one will notice that?”

“Can you think of another way?” My hands pinch my hips.

“I can’t breathe,” Martin murmurs from behind.

“Oh, good grief!” I huff and loosen the collar.

“Perhaps if it were me?” Sadar offers. “I’m a little smaller. A little more compact.” He waddles up and grins.

“No,” I sigh. “C.L.’s right. This is not going to work.” I clap my hand to my head and start to pace. We’re wasting precious time.

“What, then?” C.L. says, peeling himself off the rock.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. I sigh and turn, frustrated. My eyes fix on something across the clearing that takes my breath away.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” C.L. says.

“Unless there was another way . . .” I start up the road.

“Wait! Where yuh going?” C.L. chases after me across to the other side, but I’ve already slipped through the doors of a building left ajar: a factory, out here in the middle of nowhere—a tin-roofed, sprawling factory. Black smoke belches from its chimney. Twisted iron gates surround its premises, just like the ones at the Academy. Beyond the door, something draws me in, glinting.

“It can’t be.” I stagger forward through the doors, into the dark, dingy room. “What is
that
doing here?”

“Eyelet?” C.L. appears at my back. “Eyelet, what are yuh doing? Oh, good Lord in Heaven,” he gasps.

“It is . . .” I bring a hand to my chest. “It’s really you!”

Si
xteen

Eyelet

A brass mechanical elephant stands before me, glinting gold in the dim factory light. I can’t believe my eyes.
It’s him. He’s here.
The same elephant from my childhood. The carnival elephant.

I stand, blinking at him; memories of my father flood forward in my head. That last day we had together. Father’s promise to join us at the carnival. My mother. The elephant. The dastardly flash on the horizon that changed everything.

I wade deeper and deeper into the dark, dusty cavern, my curiosity driving me on. I must know if he’s real . . . or just a dream. I need to touch him.

I know we should be getting on to Brethren, but I need to know. How is this possible? Why is he here?

“What are you doing, mum?” C.L. appears in the doorway behind me, breathless, his brows are drawn like curtains over frantic eyes. “We ’aven’t time for this!”

“I know,” I snap. “It’s just that—” I jog the last few steps, closing the space between the elephant and myself, selfish thoughts driving me onward. I raise a hand, suck in a tortured breath, and stroke the elephant’s massive brass head. “It is you! You’re real! You exist!” I nearly weep.

It’s like a little piece of my history hasn’t died. The last memories of my father pitch forward in my brain. For an instant it feels as if I’m seeing the elephant for the first time, and my father’s still alive.

I wipe a tear from my eye and run my fingers over the elephant’s jeweled toes, clearing away the film. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” I say, petting its ruby-crested tongue, my fingers dancing along rows of ivory teeth.

“We gotta go, mum,” C.L. urges.

“Yes, I know, it’s just—” I swing round, reluctant to leave but eager to reunite with Urlick, when something stirs at my back.

A skitter, like a rat—only larger.

My heart trips. I spin back round, arming myself with a stone from the dirt floor, bracing for confrontation.

There’s a clatter of chains. Breath heaves in and out. My head swings in the direction of the corner. But I see nothing. And then everything.

In the gash of light that streaks the corner, a young man appears. He’s about my age, perhaps a little older; his arms and legs are in chains, bolted to the wall behind him. “Oh, good Lord,” I gasp.

He’s filthy, dressed in rags, and doesn’t wear any shoes. Hazel eyes peek out from under the trappings of dirty, wheat-coloured hair. It’s in need of a good washing and a cut and a brush, but otherwise he looks quite civil. He lunges to one side and turns his face to the wall, as if embarrassed I’ve discovered him . . . or frightened of me.

“Don’t come any farther!” He waves a threatening hand at me.

“Holy jumpin’ . . .” C.L.’s eyes bug wide as he slides in beside me. “Come on, we’d better get outta of ’ere.” He tugs at my arm with his toes.

“What do you mean,
get out of here
, we can’t just leave him!”

C.L. gulps and rolls back on his heels. He looks over his shoulder, and I can tell he’s worried about the others back in the freak train, about getting discovered, and foiling our mission, but there’s just something about the cruelty of this situation my heart won’t allow me to walk away from. Of all people C.L. should understand.

I look back at the captive. “He’s right,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You’d better get outta ’ere while the gettin’s good.” His voice is angry, plagued with a lisp.

“Do you have a name?” I say, ignoring his warning. “I’m Eyelet,” I add, offering him a hand, which he doesn’t take. “This is C.L. And you are?” I try again.

The young man hesitates then mumbles, “Masheck. Now
go
. Get outta ’ere.” He jerks his head toward the open door. “
Leave
while yuh still can.”

“Why are you here?” I stare at his chains, my curiosity a burning flame.

“Because of ’im.” His gaze shifts to the elephant and back. “And yuh will be too, if yuh stay.”

“What do you mean? What does your being here have to do with the elephant?”

“That big brass bull you was fawning over. Me father made ’im—”

“He did!” My heart leaps, and I can’t help it, I shoot bravely forward. “Was your father the operator?” My heart sings. I’m pulled from the tension of the moment by some strange nostalgic thread.

“No.” Masheck scowls and my heart sinks. “Me father is the one ’oo made the beast. Then he sold it. Then ’e drowned, and I wound up ’ere. They came for me shortly after ’is death. Stole me from me muvver, they did. I was just twelve, then. I’m nineteen now.” He shifts his eyes from me and hangs his head.

“I don’t understand,” I gasp. “How could anybody do such a thing?”

“Because
they
can.” He looks up at me.

“Who’s they?”

“The people from the Commonwealth. The Ruler’s henchmen.”

A cold shock shivers through me remembering the eye-patched man who worked for Smrt. “But why did they choose you?” I say.

“I used to ’elp me father build things in ’is shop before ’e died. Near as I can figure, that’s why they come for me. To force me to work for them. To build them things.”

“Like what?”

His eyes fix on something beyond, in the next room. I follow his gaze through the archway of the adjoining warehouse. “Go a’ead, ’ave a look.” He tips his head.

I take a step in that direction and C.L. yanks me back, his toes clinging to my sleeve. “I’m not sure we should do this, mum.” His eyes are round as bottle-bottoms.

“Then don’t. Stay here.” I tug loose, and stagger to a stop in the doorway. “Oh, good Lord,” the words escape me. My heart triple beats. My hands snap to my face.

Past the stream of dim light cast by the factory’s windows, stands an army of massive grey, steel mechanical elephants, lined up side by side, row upon row, as far as the eye can see. They’re positively monstrous. Twice the height of a fire-pump station. With shoulder spans as wide as eagles.

“Jolly Jehoshaphat.” C.L. jolts to a stop beside me, his maw drawn open wide. “There must be a hundred of them.”

“One hundred and thirty-seven, to be exact.” Masheck’s voice sneaks up behind us.

“What
are
they?” I whirl around.

“Killing machines,” Masheck answers, and his eyes flash in a weird way, like he hasn’t just said the most terrifying thing ever spoken. What was I thinking wanting to save this boy? C.L. was right. We
should
be going. I drop a hand to my floundering heart. For a moment I forget how to breathe. “For whom did you make them?”

“The Ruler of course.” Masheck lowers his head and his voice. “Who else does anyone make anything for.”

What need would the Ruler of the Commonwealth have for these? What on earth could be their purpose? Unlike their carnival-elephant predecessor, these are
not
enchanting . . . in their thorn-covered coats of armour and spike-lined helmets, with bayonet-embossed blankets, and guns for tusks.

“They’s as big as bloody whales, they is.” C.L. turns to me. “Are those steam-fuselage machine guns inside their tusks?” He turns to Masheck.

“Aye,” Masheck answers. “And they’ve steam torches for tongues to breathe fire, as well.”

Both C.L. and I swallow hard. The very idea of those things snap my spine straight. A cold chill rustles up my vertebrae. “Machine guns?” I repeat, weakly, the meaning still escaping me.

“A sort of jacked-up steamrifle of sorts,” C.L. clarifies. “Capable of shootin’ consecutive bullets at rapid speed, in a matter of just a few seconds.”

“And you made these?” I turn on Masheck, my gaze bullet hard.

Masheck lowers his chin and turns his face away. “The first one was a knock-off of me father’s original plans. The factory workers made the rest.”

I blink at him, astonished.

“It’s not like I wanted to make ’em.” His head swings back, his lips are quivering. “I was forced to do it, I was. At first, I thought ’e was just gonna be a novelty, y’know, somethin’ to show off at the carnival, like the brass one. Then they ’ad me add real guns and I knew something was amiss. Then they started makin’ others, and it became clear what was ’appenin’ . . .” His eyes grow teary. “There wasn’t anything I could do to stop ’em. I tried, believe me, I tried. I tried to get away. But it’s useless.” He rattles his chains. “And they’ll never let me go. They say I know too much. That the only way I’m leavin’ now is in a pine box. They’ll kill yuh, too, if they catch yuh ’ere!” His voice shoots up, trembles. “Yuh should go.
Now
! Trust me!”

Before I can answer, the door we came through whirs open in a rickety swish across the track at our back. It crashes into the sidewall, causing me to jump. Three strangers rush in.

C.L. reacts, bolting for cover behind the elephant. I turn to follow, when a hand clamps down on my shoulder, and drags me back. I whirl around, breathless, looking up into a gruesome scar that travels the length of the Brigsman’s face. Satisfaction glints in his eyes. A wicked smile tugs at his mouth.

“Well, well, well.” The silhouette of a full-figured woman appears behind him. Bottle-bottom sized lens distort a set of bulging stone-grey eyes. A nest of frazzled hair streams out in coils from the sides of her head.
Rapture. Professor Penelope Rapture.
It can’t be.
“My, my, my. What have we here?” The hair from the mole on her lip wriggles as she speaks. Her mouth twists up into a crooked smile. She stalks around me, holding out the horsewhip in her hand. The brittle sound of its bending leather rasps in my ears.

Her eyes flit toward Masheck, trying his best to stay hidden. “You do have a fetish for the pathetic ones, don’t you?” she says to me, rising a mocking brow, and I long to spit in her face.

“What are you doing here? Why have you come?” She snaps up close, her bugged eyes searching. “How did you find this place?”

When I don’t answer, she slaps me hard with her hand.

My head jolts to one side.

“Answer me!” Her slate-grey eyes flatten.

The young man gasps behind me.

“I didn’t mean to. I stumbled on it.” I raise a hand to my stinging face.

“What have you done? What have you told her?” She turns on Masheck.

“Nothin’, I swear.” He shakes his head.

“Liar!”
She cracks the horsewhip, splitting open Masheck’s cheek.

Blood squirts through his fingers.

“Don’t, please,” I gasp and lunge forward, as she raises the whip again. “He’s telling you the truth! He’s told me nothing!”

“Liars. Both of you.” She turns, training her whip on him again.

“It’s the truth. I stumbled in accidentally. He knows nothing.”

“Very well.” Her voice softens. “I guess we’ll call it trespassing, then.”

“Trespassing?” I scowl. “I just told you my being here is a mistake.”

“Yes.” She drags the tip of the whip beneath my chin. “The worst you’ve ever made. A wanted fugitive caught trespassing on the Ruler’s private property, no less.”

“What?”

“I own this factory.” She darts toward me. “Along with all the rest of Brethren. Now that
you
and your ruthless roving sweetheart saw fit to eliminate Smrt!”

“You what?” I stagger backward, breathless.

“You heard me. The whole bitter operation. Smrt left it all to me. Every deed, every title—it’s all mine now.”

“So that means you’re—”

“That’s right. The new Ruler of Brethren.” She grits her teeth. “In flesh, bone, and
blood
.”

The words shoot through my veins like ice. I cannot feel my legs.

“Guards!” She flits her hand, and he tightens his grip on my arm. “Take her away.”

“No.” I squirm. “You can’t do this! I’ve done nothing!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Penelope juts her chin toward me. “I can do anything I want.” Her stone-coloured eyes burrow through me, and a quick memory of Flossie buckles my knees.

“Take her away.” She tips her head and I tense, forcing back on my heels, struggling.

“Deliver her along with the rest of the inmates,” she smirks, dragging the whip through her hands. “Let them know she’s to be added to their permanent collection.”

“
What
? What do you mean?” I twist, wrenching my head to the side, the veins on my neck straining. “Where am I going?” I shout first at her, and then back to Masheck. “Where is she taking me?”

“Welcome to your greatest nightmare,” Penelope whispers through bared teeth, as she turns to leave. “To the castle,” she instructs quickstepping over the stones toward her carriage, and climbing in. The door shuts behind her and the horses clomp away, and my heart balls in my throat.

What does she mean, my greatest nightmare?

She’s already robbed me of Urlick, is that not enough?

Urlick.
Who will save him now?

“
No!
” I struggle and fight, kick and scream, as Brigsmen yank me across the yard. Looking back over my shoulders, I scan the woods for a way to escape, when my eyes catch on Wanda, nose pressed through the bars of the freak train, watching the Brigsman haul me away. She’s crying, reaching out for me. I shake my head, willing her not to scream, my lips tightly pursed to keep them from trembling.

The Brigsmen track my gaze, so I avert it quickly. Faintly, I hear Wanda whimpering.

We round the corner, and a carriage shimmers into view through the waffling cloud cover. My heart blooms with panic. “
No
, for the love of God, no.
No, please
!” I dig in my heels and writhe back from the black box on wheels with a cage mounted on top. The Loony Bin wagon. They’re taking me to the Brink. MadHouse Brink.

“No!” I scramble, twisting, trying to claw my way around the Brigsman that holds my arms, but he hurls me back under his control. With a quick thrust, he whirls me around and smashes me to his chest, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “Settle down,” he hisses in my ear. “Or I’ll break something.” He pushes me toward the howling faces trapped behind the bars. “Back, you animals!” he shouts, swinging at them with his baton, turbines clunking as another Brigsman undoes the lock. A buzzer sounds and the door blows open. Steam scorches the faces of the inmates, driving them back. They howl and fall away as I’m hauled up over his shoulder and shoved into the cage. I kick and bite and scream, but it’s no use, he tosses me anyway.