Secrets of the Dragon Tomb (10 page)

“You and you.” Frog-face pointed to Papa and Mama. “You come with us. In front.” He tugged Jane through the door.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

The Martian cuffed me across the back of the head. “Shut up.” He shoved me toward the nearest chaise longue. “Sit there.”

I collapsed onto it, between Olivia and Putty. My legs were shaking.

“Now,” the Martian said, “if any of you three brats so much as move, I'm going to slit you from ear to ear. Hear me?” He fingered the back of his head and winced. “Especially you.” He jabbed his knife at Putty. She glared, and I laid a restraining hand on her leg.

After a couple of minutes, the faint gurgle of Papa's water abacus came from the basement.

I fixed the Martian with a cold gaze. “You're not going to get away with this.”

Papa had sent his note to the magistrate last night. Town was ten miles away, but surely the guards would be here soon? I was surprised they weren't already. Maybe the magistrate had told them to wait until after the garden party.

The Martian's eyebrows rose. “Really? Who's going to stop us?”

I didn't answer.

He grinned. “You weren't expecting rescue, were you?”

He reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a folded letter, and threw it to the floor. I recognized Papa's seal on the letter. It had been sliced open and read.

“No one is coming,” our captor said. “No one will rescue you.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside.

The Martian crossed silently to stand next to our chaise longue, his knife held out of sight behind his back. A moment later, the footsteps stopped. The door swung open, and Freddie sauntered in.

“There you are!” he called. His ever-present walking stick swung jauntily from his hand. “Thought I'd wandered into the wrong house again. Ha-ha. Did I tell you about the time when old Tuffy and I got completely…” He seemed to notice the Martian for the first time. “I say, have we met?” He took a couple of steps toward the Martian, shifting his stick to his left hand and holding out his right. “Jolly good to meet you. Frederick Winchester.”

The Martian stepped past me. In a single, fluid move, his knife darted out, stabbing toward Freddie's throat.

He didn't get a chance to finish his move. Freddie's walking stick whistled up faster than I could follow and struck the Martian on the hand. The knife spun away.

The Martian shoulder-charged Freddie. He was larger and heavier, and Freddie had no time to dodge. The impact knocked him back. They tumbled to the floor, but even as they fell, Freddie twisted in the air. They landed with a crash that shook the floorboards. The force of the landing stunned them both for a second.

I dived from the chaise longue, sprawling toward the fallen knife. My fingertips hit the hilt, sending it spinning away. I scrambled after it.

The Martian was the first to rise. He shook himself free of Freddie's grasp, drew back his fist, and thundered it toward Freddie's chin.

Freddie jerked his head aside. The fist smacked the floor. The Martian roared in pain.

The knife had come to rest not three feet from the fight. I lunged, but too slowly. The Martian saw me and kicked my legs away. I fell. He shoved me aside and reached for the knife. Triumphantly, he snatched it up.

Just as Freddie's walking stick whipped down on the back of his head.

The Martian collapsed on the floor.

The next second, Putty was at my elbow, helping me up. Olivia sat like a statue on the chaise longue, gaping at Freddie.

Freddie knelt beside the fallen Martian and, with one swift tug, tore the man's shirt from his back. He ripped the shirt into strips, then twisted them into ropes and tugged at one. “That should hold him.” He lashed the man's wrists together, then his ankles. He pulled the Martian's legs up behind him and tied his ankles to his wrists.

“Aren't you going to gag him?” Putty asked. “What if he calls out?”

“Best not,” Freddie said. “Not unless you want him to choke while he's unconscious. Anyway, if he calls out, that might be a distraction we can use. Now.” He climbed to his feet and pulled me to one side.

“They sent someone to look for you,” I said.

Freddie hefted his walking stick. “He was looking the wrong way. Those beetles are useless without anyone to command them.”

“Then I hope you hit him hard.”

“Hard enough. What did they do with Jane and your parents?”

“Frog-face took them with him,” I said. “They went down to Papa's workshop.”

Freddie tipped his head to one side questioningly. “Who?”

“The other intruder,” I said.

Freddie nodded. “It's going to be hard to get to them without being seen.”

“Impossible,” I said. We wouldn't even get close before Frog-face saw us. “Why don't we just let them do it? All they want is to use Papa's water abacus to decode that map. Give them what they want and let them go.”

The Martian groaned. Freddie hurried over, knelt beside him, and peeled back an eyelid. The Martian's eye was rolled back, showing the white.

“Still out,” Freddie said. He straightened. “The only reason they're keeping your father alive is because they need him to work the abacus. Once they've got their answers, they'll kill him and destroy the machine. They might take one hostage with them—Jane, probably—but the rest of you? They'd be happier if you were dead.” He shook his head. “These people aren't playing games, Edward. If the map really does show a hidden dragon tomb, whoever finds it will make a fortune. Every single dragon tomb has contained fantastic technology far beyond anything we could have come up with, as well as terrible weapons. The Emperor Napoleon's agents are all over Mars, sniffing after the secrets of the dragon tombs. There's no limit to how much they would pay. We can't let the emperor get his hands on a new tomb.”

I gritted my teeth. “So how do we stop them?”

Freddie scratched at his head. “What's on the other side of the workshop wall, behind the water abacus?”

“The winding room,” Putty said, coming up beside us. “You want to destroy the abacus, don't you? Papa isn't going to be happy.”

“He can rebuild it,” I said.

“You won't break through,” Putty said. “The wall's solid brick. Papa reinforced it when he built his workshop.”

“If the boiler explodes, it'll rip through that wall,” Freddie said. “The abacus will be torn apart.”

“And so will anyone in the laboratory,” I said. “Papa and Mama and Jane. Forget it, Freddie. We should go for reinforcements. Men with guns. Surround the place and tell the man down there to give himself up. He's on his own. He can't escape.”

“Too slow,” Freddie said. “Trust me, Edward. We can get your family out before the boiler blows.”

I sighed. “Fine. But, Putty”—I looked at my little sister—“I want you to get Livvy out of here, far away from the house. When the boiler explodes, everyone inside will be in danger.” I held up my hand as she started to protest. “You need to look after Livvy.”

I met Olivia's eyes over Putty's head, and she nodded minutely in understanding.

“Good,” Freddie said. “Then I'm going to need you to go down to the winding room. Close all of the valves from the boiler to stop the steam coming out and build up the pressure. You'll need to get the automatic servants shoveling coal into the furnace until the pressure is high enough for it to explode.”

“They'll be killed!” Putty said. “You can't do that.”

“They're not alive,” Freddie said brusquely. “They're machines.”

Olivia slipped an arm around Putty's back. “We have to go, Parthenia.”

Freddie met my gaze and held it. “When the boiler starts to overheat, just get out of here. Don't wait for me. You won't have much time.”

*   *   *

Most of the automatic servants had returned to the winding room, their springs run down by the garden party. They'd backed onto their spindles, and the slow grind of the powerful steam engine vibrated the room. I disengaged the spindles, and the servants jerked forward.

They weren't conscious. Their only thoughts were switches and gears and fine cogs, and a series of commands stored on punch cards that sent them about their duties. But these servants had been here for most of my life. They'd always been around, doing all the work that we didn't want to do. It seemed wrong to do this to them. But Freddie was right. Without them, the chute that fed coal into the furnace would be too slow. We'd never build up enough pressure.

Reluctantly, I crossed to the brass speaking tube. “Shovel coal into the furnace,” I said. “As fast as you can. Don't stop. Ten copies.” Inside the machine, cogs whirred and levers pinged, translating my voice into a pattern of holes on cards. The punched cards shot into the tray. I collected them.

A couple of the servants were absent, still working out on the lawn or in the house somewhere. Maybe when the boiler exploded, they'd be all right. The ones down here wouldn't have a chance.

One by one, I fed the punch cards into the servants' command slots. Without a word, they turned from me, picked up shovels, and began to pile coal into the front of the furnace. I felt the heat in the room rise.

I crossed to the boiler and closed the valves that let the steam reach the turbines. Now it had nowhere to go. As more water boiled, the steam would build up, increasing the pressure, until the boiler couldn't hold it anymore. Then it would erupt.

Almost immediately, steam began to whistle from the safety pressure-release valve. I could try to jam it with a piece of metal or stone, but would that hold it? Before the metal-bellied boiler exploded, the pressure would be enormous.

Our ro-butler was lined up with the other automatic servants, a shovel in his hands, lifting scoop after scoop of coal and tossing it into the furnace. The glow of the fire reflected from his metal body, turning it a deep red. His movements were awkward, though. His worn cogs kept slipping.

I trudged across to the speaking tube.

“Hold the pressure-release valve closed,” I said. “Tight. Don't let go. No matter what. One copy.”

With a whir, the machine spat out its punch card.

The ro-butler straightened, dropping his shovel, when I fed him the punch card. I had to turn him to point him toward the valve. His body was hot under my hands. I wanted to cry.

His fingers clamped around the valve, shutting off the escaping steam. I imagined the pressure building up, the steam shrieking past his metal fingers. Then the explosion, tearing through him.

The ro-butler had never been alive, but he'd seemed it. He'd felt like part of the family.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

The ro-butler didn't reply. He just kept on holding with those strong metal fingers. I turned away.

*   *   *

The thrumming of the boiler grew louder and louder around me. The heat from the furnace became so great I couldn't bear it. I backed away. Steam shrieked through seams and around valves.

“The boiler is going to explode,” Freddie shouted down the workshop stairs, mimicking the voice of the native Martian. “Get out of there!”

There was a moment's pause, then, faintly, the other man replied, “Then stop it.”

“I can't,” Freddie shouted back. “Someone's jammed it. It'll destroy the house.”

Frog-face cursed.

Another seam sprang on the boiler. Steam punched out, splitting bricks apart and scattering fragments across the wet floor. I backed away. The automatic servants were grinding to a halt now, their delicate mechanisms overwhelmed, but it was too late. The furnace was roaring too fiercely. No one could stop it.

I turned and ran.

The boiler's shriek increased behind me as I raced up the servants' stairs. I burst into the corridor just as Frog-face came up the stairs leading from the workshop. Freddie grabbed him around the neck with one hand and punched him in the stomach. Frog-face folded over. Mama, Papa, and Jane emerged behind him.

Freddie had done it! He'd freed them. I started to cheer. Then something cold touched my throat. I smelled sweat. A rough hand grabbed my arm.

The native Martian had somehow managed to free himself and had found a weapon. The serrated edge felt like a kitchen knife.

“Edward!” Mama screamed. The native Martian pushed the knife harder against my throat. Papa laid a hand on Mama's arm, his eyes never leaving me.

“Step away!” the Martian shouted at Freddie. “Keep your hands above your head and get against the wall.”

Freddie did what he was told.

Frog-face took a long club from his belt. In a single, vicious movement, he drove it into Freddie's stomach. Freddie's breath exploded out. He fell to the floor and curled around his stomach. Jane shrieked. Freddie gasped as he fought for breath.

The Martian dragged me toward the door of the house. Frog-face followed, herding Mama, Papa, and Jane ahead of him.

A sharp crack sounded below. The house seemed to lunge to one side. The movement knocked me forward. I turned the motion into a roll as the Martian shot out his arms for balance. I hit the floor, still moving, came up onto my feet, and ran. Spitting fury, the Martian chased after me.

We came out onto the lawn, into the clear, steam-free air.

I cut suddenly left, and the Martian missed me by an inch. He was taller and faster than me, but he couldn't turn as easily. I dodged under a thrown-out arm. Mama, Papa, and Jane stumbled out of the house, followed by Frog-face. There was no sign of Freddie.

“Leave him!” Frog-face shouted at the Martian. “Look.”

The Martian slackened off. I tore away from him.

An airship lifted over the fern-trees. It blotted out the setting sun. Its huge, spring-powered propellers pounded the tops of the canopy, sending the fern-trees into a cacophony of sleepy protest.