The Best of Penny Dread Tales (6 page)

“And this machine can travel to the surface?” I ask.

“It’s never been tested, but I have designed it to withstand the elements and insulated it against the temperature. I don’t think she could stay on the surface indefinitely, but a day … yes … maybe even a week … long enough to repair the steam pipes in the tower.”

“Yeah, but I can’t repair the pipes from inside that … that … thing! And I will freeze to death the instant I step out of it!”

“No you won’t. I have a suit for you. I’ll show you.” Turning a wheel on the outside of the ship, a hatch opens, and the Professor disappears inside.

I’m uncertain that this contraption can go to the surface, but that isn’t going to stop me from checking it out. It’s too cool! I find the Professor pulling pieces of a strange, bulky suit out of a trunk. It’s so thick I don’t think I will be able to move once I have it on, and it would be impossible to do precise work with the thick gloves. He pulls out a giant, bowl-looking thing that I guess would go over the head. It looks ridiculous to me.

“Once, man not only traveled the surface he flew through the sky. He even went beyond that, travelling out of our atmosphere. He used a suit like this one to protect himself from the vacuum of space. I believe that it will protect you as well.”

“But I can’t work in that thing. I won’t have any range of motion or the ability to do precise work.”

“If we can get to the towers before too much heat is dissipated, then it should be warm enough for you to remove the suit once you are inside the tower. We just need to get you in there.”

As we spend the rest of the afternoon going over blueprints of the towers and studying maps of the terrain, the Professor’s strange hat reappears from someplace. The tube, it turns out, is a straw, and he sips tea through it non-stop. The Professor tells me about an access tunnel that actually leads to the surface but had long ago frozen over. Thus he designed the gun turret on
Pandora
with a super-sized drill.

Just as Rose declares that food is ready, Davie wakes up, which makes perfect sense if you know Davie. His burns aren’t as bad as we initially feared, and the burn cream worked wonders. He hardly has any pain. When we tell him all that has happened, he insists on being part of the expedition. “It won’t hurt to have an extra hand,” he argues, and he’s right. Luckily, the Professor has another suit.

***

Less than twenty-four hours after the earthquake hit, Davie and I find ourselves sitting in the cockpit of Professor Higgs’ contraption as he “
fires her up.”
The cockpit is a conglomeration of dials, buttons, and levers, and I’m not certain that the Professor knows what they all do.

“She runs mostly on steam power,” the Professor announces, “but the instrument panel is powered by solar-generated electricity just like all tablets. Hydraulics work the track, but it’s the constantly expanding and contracting of water vapor that generates the power.” With that he throws a lever, and
Pandora
surges to life, jerkily pulling herself forward along her tracks. The city disappears behind us slowly, and the Professor guides
Pandora
through a large tunnel in the rock. I have never been outside the city before. I have never seen the rock walls of the cave that sequester humankind deep within the earth. I know that we are underground, but it is quite another thing to come face to face with the boundaries of human existence and then surpass them.

It isn’t long before we encounter an enormous door that looks very much like the door to a safe. I recognize Mayor Campwell standing with several others at a control panel to the side of the door. He waves to us and then punches a code on the door. The vault door opens slowly, with the groan of hinges that have not moved in at least a lifetime. Behind the door the tunnel continues, and we pass through out into the unknown. The tunnel begins to slope upwards, and then, after nearly a kilometer, we encounter a wall of ice.

“Here we go!” Professor Higgs throws the switch that starts the drill, and I can see the bit begin to spin. It makes an awful wail when it connects with the ice, but it works. Slowly we push through the ice. “Another kilometer or so of this and we will reach the surface.”

With a splintering crash the ice ahead cracks and shatters as
Pandora
breaks through to the surface. It doesn’t look at all like I had imagined. In the pictures the Professor had shown me the sky was blue and light. Yet, all that I can see in every direction is gray and dim. White flakes drift in the air, tossed about on gusts of wind. There is nothing appealing at all to me. The look of disappointment in Davie’s eyes mirrors my own.

Checking the readouts on the screen, Professor Higgs adjusts our course and takes off across the vast plane. I hope he knows where he is going. More importantly I hope he knows how to get back.

“There …” he points as a looming structure emerges out of the gray fog. “Each tower is nearly a hundred square meters, and on the top of each tower are five solar panels, each twenty square meters in size. It appears that this tower is partially retracted.”

“How can you tell?” Davie asks.

“I can see the top of it. When it is extended, it stands nearly two kilometers high. We have to find the entrance point, get you two inside to fix the pipes and then move on to the next tower. There are four towers. Suit up.”

I never thought we would even make it this far. The thought of going out into that frozen wasteland scares the crap out of me. I can tell Davie isn’t so keen on it either. We shrug at each other. What else can we do? Without the solar towers we will all die anyway.

Professor Higgs pulls
Pandora
to within three meters of the tower. Pressing a button, he shoots a harpoon out of
Pandora’s
hull, which imbeds in the side of the tower. A cable attached to the harpoon now stretches from the hull to the tower.

“Attach your safety lines to the cable. The wind is so strong out there it could blow you away. Don’t release your safety line until you are both inside the tower. I have installed temperature gauges on the wristbands of your suits, so you will know if it is safe to remove them.” Professor Higgs gives us the thumbs-up sign before pushing us into the hatch and sealing the inner door behind us.

With a deep breath, I release the outer hatch, hook my safety line to the cable and take my first steps onto the planet’s surface. The white ground gives a few centimeters under my weight, but it holds me. It is only a few steps to the tower door, which, as we suspected, is frozen shut. I am prepared; I take my mini torch from my bag of tools. It takes a few minutes, but I get the door open relatively easily. Once we are both inside, we remove our safety lines and close the door. There is another inner door, and once through that, we discover that it is indeed warm enough to remove our protective suits. Now, it isn’t warm by any means: 5° C by our gauges. We each wear thick woolen clothing and heavy gloves. Hopefully, it will get warmer the closer we get to the pipes.

I pull up the schematic of the steam tubes the Professor has downloaded onto my tablet, and we are able to locate the access tunnels without incident. The tubes are different than the pipes that run under the city. These are flexible, but the basic principles of how to fix them still apply. Davie and I are in our element as we silently set about checking for leaks and ruptures, making repairs when we come across them. It takes nearly two hours to check all the tubes, but satisfied, we head back to the
Pandora
.

The next two towers go just as smoothly as the first. The last, however, takes longer. Many areas of the fourth tower have already begun to freeze due to the loss of heat. Davie and I have to use the torch to break through the inner tower door as well as the access tunnel door. An entire section of tubing has split down its length. We have excess tubing aboard the
Pandora
, and I have to wait for Davie to return with it. As I wait, I explore a bit. I find a hatch in the ceiling of one of the tubing chambers. It’s frozen, so I put my suit back on—I have no idea how cold it is on the other side of that door—and use my mini-torch to open the hatch. Crawling through I realize that it is much colder on this side. My suit’s gauge says it’s -15°C. I think this is an observation area. Two of the walls are made of thick glass. I can see the
Pandora
waiting below. If the fog wasn’t so thick, I think I could have seen forever.

I close the hatch behind me as I return to the tubes. Davie has returned with the extra tubing, and in no time we will be back on our way to the city. The repair is easy, but since it is such a long length of tubing, it takes both of us to fix it. Thank goodness Davie is with me, otherwise I would have needed the Professor to help me. We test the last seal for leaks before re-pressurizing the system.

No sooner is the system back up and running than a vibration shakes the tower. The entire structure seems to move. I grab the tablet just as the Professor pops onto the screen. “What’s happening?” I ask.

“I just got word from the Mayor. The city engineers want to test the towers before we return to the city. We can’t leave if they aren’t fixed.”

“They’re fixed I tell you!” Davie comes to stand next to me, nodding his head in agreement.

“They won’t listen to you! Hell, they won’t even listen to me! They are extending the towers. You just have to hold on. Clip your safety lines to something and hold on!”

I motion for Davie to follow me. If I am going to be two kilometers in the air, I want to see what it looks like up there. I push open the hatch I found to the observation room and crawl through it, turning to help Davy behind me. Looking out the window, it’s hard to believe that we are moving. The fog has intensified, and all we see is a wall of gray. But as we ascend further up into the sky, the gray begins to lighten. Suddenly, the wall is pure white. And then it happens. We break through the clouds and the air is clear.

We sit atop a bed of clouds, and the sky above is the most brilliant blue. A bright yellow orb hangs on the horizon, turning the edges of the clouds pink and orange.

My first sunset.

I can’t breathe. I forget to breathe. I have found my dream; and I know that I will dream of this moment again and again for the rest of my life. I feel Davie touch my arm. He is as awe-struck as I am. We are the only people alive who have seen this wonder. My heart fills with a joy I have never known. After today we will never be just “tunnel rats” again.

The Professor’s voice comes over my helmet com. “It worked! Now let’s go home!”

***

The Cutpurse from Mulberry Bend

Gerry Huntman

“I want you to teach me how to pick pockets,” the girl said, intensity flaring in her cultivated voice and brown eyes.

“Whoa, girl, what makes yer tink I have that craft?” the gang leader replied, surprised at the young stranger’s impetuousness. He was enjoying reading the tattle in the
Manhattan Enterprise
and soaking in the spring sun on the steps of 21 Baxter Street, lovingly called by the locals as
Grand Duke’s Theatre
. The address was considered no more than a dive bar by others, but it was his job to make sure the Baxter Street Dudes weren’t interrupted, and to be the eyes and ears of the Boss for this section of Mulberry Bend. He never hesitated to crack skulls when push came to shove, but the little girl—
surely no more than fifteen
—took him completely by surprise.

“I’ve been watching you, Mr. O’Rourke, and I know you work for O’Gilvy. He’s the top dog in the Five Points, and especially here in The Bend, so you must be pretty good. There’s something I’ve got to do, and I need some help. I reckon you’re the best man for the job, and I can pay.”

Now Seamus O’Rourke was doubly taken aback. He took off his well-worn spectacles to take a proper gander at the girl and realized she was small for her age and more like eighteen years old. She wasn’t a local by any account. She wore a dainty pink dress modestly to her ankles, only slightly soiled by the streets, and her face was clean and tanned, signifying that she came from the west, for all the locals who lived in the slums were pasty-faced, if not jaundiced and pock-ridden. She had a way with words that signified tutoring, possibly in one of those refined New England Girls Schools.

For a moment Seamus wondered what sum he would make if he introduced her to Madame L’Orange, or whisked her onto a steamer bound for the Far East, but something about the child caused the Irishman to pause. He wasn’t sure if it was the intensity of her voice and gaze, or whether the fine lines on her somber face spoke of some solemn, if not tragic, tale. Her dark brown hair was long and tied back as was the custom with the young women of today, and she wore finely crafted gold earrings set with small rubies. Seamus was genuinely surprised she didn’t have them ripped from her ears by now.
She’s capable
.

“Young lass, it ain’t wise to speak suchlike in the open. Yer’ve my attention—why is a girl from a good family traipsin’ about in Mulberry Bend? Where’s yer escort? Why would yer want to learn a scabby occupation like pickin’ pockets?”

“I lived in Arizona … got caught up in the Chiricahua War … most of my family was killed. Lived in New Mexico with my uncle and aunt over the last two year—”

“Jesus, Mary’n’ Joseph!” Seamus exclaimed. “I’ve read in the papers ’bout that bloody conflict with Geronimo an’ all.” He recalled reading about how Geronimo and Juh got hold of accelerator rifles and grenade launchers, which caused a lot of grief for the Federals as well as the homesteaders. Many people died at San Carlos. It took General Crook and his fleet of dirigibles filled with the latest firepower to turn the tide of the war. They bombed settlements, killing many warriors as well as their families, to clip Geronimo’s wings.

He studied the girl again and realized why her face hadn’t smiled in years. She was a war orphan. Seamus O’Rourke pitied her, an emotion he rarely experienced.

On mentioning “Geronimo” her face grew sterner than ever. “I have money, Mr. O’Rourke. I just need to know how to pick a man’s pocket.”

“And why, child?”

“General George Crook retired recently, hurt in the line of duty,” she spit venomously. “He has something I want.”

“Saints alive! Yer wantin’ to pick the pockets of a war hero? In broad daylight? Do yer even know where he lives?”

The girl glanced to her left and right, to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, and whispered, “I’ve been told he walks down State Street and spends time at The Battery each morning. He also has a few companions … bodyguards. I need to get past them.”

Seamus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A young girl, obviously from a good family, wanted to steal from a national hero and escape capture. It was lunacy, and yet it warmed his heart. This girl had pluck and determination that seemed to have no peer.

The gang leader was about to ask the girl’s name when three rough looking men came into view, and on spotting him, tramped quickly in his direction.

“Who are they?” the girl asked.

“Trouble. They’re from the Rummugger Gang, and I’d say they’re wantin’ to settle a score with me.”
And this is only goin’ to get worse when the Brooklyn Bridge is opened
, he mentally noted.

Seamus lifted his right hand and made a sign to Slim Bill across the road to urgently fetch some men. He considered running but had to show these shites who was running the Five Points.

“Girlie, stay clear. When it’s over I’ll give yer a hand with yer mark.” He felt for his trusty Colt in his pocket.

The three intruders caught the Irishman’s full attention when they broke into a trot and pulled out truncheons and knives. They meant deadly business, and he realized he wasn’t as prepared as he wanted to be—
looks like the Colt’s in order
.

The girl suddenly rushed toward the three in a blur. It caught the Rummuggers by surprise, but they shrugged her off as inconsequential and continued their charge toward the gang leader.

Seamus pulled out his bowie knife, deeply concerned over the strange girl. He couldn’t use his gun for fear of hitting the girl.

Before he could take two steps, the girl deliberately dived sideways to the road, while swinging her right leg into the shins of one of the assailants. There was an almighty crack as she inexplicably broke both of the man’s legs—he crashed to the cobblestones in screaming agony.

The other two men skidded to a halt, shocked at what had occurred. The girl was already back on her feet, hitching the left side of her dress up to her waist. Part of her left upper leg sprung out, revealing metal and whirring cogs, and she reached in and pulled out a long, deadly knife. She switched it to her right hand and marched toward the men.

The remaining Rummuggers stared at each other in disbelief and closed in on the girl for no other reason than self-protection. Seamus stood back, rooted to the spot by the sheer insanity of what was playing out before him.

In the blink of an eye the girl jumped for the right hand assailant, moving so fast she was impossible to follow. The thug swung his truncheon like a veteran, but it was blocked by the girls left arm, echoing the familiar sound of hollow metal. She swiftly buried her foot-long blade into his stomach, retracting it as quickly while turning to face the last man.

The remaining Rummugger lost heart, and scampered away.

She turned to the gobsmacked Seamus, wearing the same sober visage as she had before, as if nothing had happened. “Can you show me how to pick pockets now?”

He nodded and quickly led her away from the carnage.

***

“Who are yer?” O’Rourke asked, after the unlikely pair had settled in his apartment, accessed via Ragpicker’s Row.

“If I tell you, will you help me with my task?” she asked, shyly.

“Of course. I owe yer, girl. Yer probably saved me life. First, tell me, what’s yer name?”

“I’m Isabella Johnson. My father was Jebediah Johnson—he was an engineer, and inventor. So is his brother, Aaron, who took me in after—” She gulped, showing a sliver of emotion for the first time. “My father married an Apache, and he chose to live near the reservation. It was easier to live that way than to be treated like dirt by the white settlers, and almost as badly by the Indians who lived on the reservation.

“Dad didn’t meddle in the war, and most folk understood why he didn’t take sides, but the war came to us, and our home. Geronimo holed up nearby, and Crook’s dirigibles came and started to bombard everything, and everyone. One bomb hit our home and blew it apart.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t remember much except a bright light and terrible pain, and then darkness.

“I woke up in Crook’s army hospital. My left arm and both my legs were blown to bits. I had other injuries but they healed quick enough. My uncle came a few days later and took me to New Mexico where he and my aunt cared for me. It took a long time, but Uncle Aaron made me a clockwork arm and legs. Clockwork mechanics is what he is best at, and he made a lot of money from it.”

Seamus realized then what he thought to be a miracle, was instead the wonders of modern science. Everyone had heard of clockwork machines, and in the British Empire the rich had servants made from machinery, known as automatons.

“Tell me,” he said, “what is it that yer want to do? What is it that Crook has that makes yer want to nick it from him?”

She shook her head slowly. “This is the one thing I can’t divulge, Mr. O’Rourke. The one thing. Please, show me how to get to General Crook so I can take what must be claimed.”

Seamus stared long into her eyes and found them unwavering; her willpower was made of the same stuff as her limbs. “Righty-o, Isabella. How long do we have? Pickpocketin’ is like any craft, it takes years an’ years to perfect, maybe months if the student is talented and young.”

“I want to take what’s owed to me tomorrow.”

“What?” he cried out in dismay. “Impossible. Yer can’t learn the techniques, the readin’ of people’s actions, the deftness of the fingers, the lightness of the touch, the slittin’ of pockets and purses without a sound … yer just can’t learn that in a
day
!”

“Then … then how can you help me?” she asked, for the first time her voice faltering.

“I can get one o’ the best to do it for yer … not a problem,” Seamus said, relieved.

“No, I have to be the one to do it.” What little light that was in her eyes, darkened like storm clouds.

He ran his fingers through his beard in frustration. “Then it’s impossible. The best I can offer is to have some o’ the lads cause a distraction—then you can do yer best. I’ve seen yer run, girl, yer won’t have a problem gittin’ after the deed.”

“Alright,” she said, with her usual subdued tone, although the Irishman could detect a hint of buoyancy, “tell me your plan.”

So he did.

***

State Street was busy with human traffic and carriages, both horse and steam driven varieties. O’Rourke wanted to witness the caper, having had a feeling deep in his guts that it was going to be a remarkable morning. The trouble was he wasn’t sure it was necessarily going to turn out happy for the girl. He stood some distance from the point where Isabella was going to mark General George Crook.

As he waited, he thought about what motivated him to support such an odd girl, beyond what he owed when she had beaten the ruffians. He ran his fingers through his beard again, and his steely blue eyes unfocused, instead swiftly travelling time, punctuated by the wasted opportunities where he could have settled down and had children—even possibly a girl with such pluck as Isabella. A trace of moisture was quickly blinked away and he smiled. “You old softy,” he muttered.

The plan was simple, and one used by the most experienced pickpockets in the city. In fact, the caper went back centuries, to the Old World. It required a team effort. He had two experienced boys and a young mother with child in tow work with Isabella. The baby would cry at the best moment for the caper, which would cue one boy, who was positioned on the perimeter of the point, to shout “Mark!” at exactly the same moment another boy would run in the opposite direction from where Isabella would approach Crook. Between the baby crying and the two boys distracting the party, Isabella would have the best chance to grab what she can. It would then be up to her to scamper off into the side streets.

An uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty was mounting in Seamus’ stomach, and yet there was also a thrill. He genuinely wanted her to pick the general’s pocket without being seen doing it. He wanted her to pick his pocket like a professional.
Like father, like daughter.

Isabella approached the group head-on with close to perfect timing, while the others moved to their designated positions. George Crook was in the center of the group, deep in discussion with a hanger-on, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. O’Rourke smiled.

To the Irishman’s continued admiration, Hattie got the baby to cry with immaculate timing, and very loud indeed. People’s heads turned from all points on the street within fifty yards. A few steam carriages stopped. Young Sam cried “Mark!” as if he was trying to attract a friend’s attention while Freddy the Cutpurse’s running distraction commenced. It easily carried to Isabella’s attention, and for the first time since meeting her, Seamus noticed something akin to a satisfied look on her face.

Isabella easily closed in on Crooks. Out of plan, she moved in front of the general, directly facing him. She whispered something and he laughed, extending his hand to condescendingly pat her on her shoulder.

Her clockwork hand shot up and grasped his upper right arm. Crook yelped in pain, and the entire street heard a bone break. Two bodyguards, who were finally focused on what was happening to their charge, grabbed her and tried to pry her loose from the general, but to no avail.

She laughed as her upper right leg opened like it did the day before with the Rummuggers.

The bodyguards, forgetting decorum, punched her—one hit her arm and fell backwards with an injured hand. The other punched her in the side, which caused her nearly to collapse, but her clockwork arm held firm.

The bystanders who were near her stepped back, shocked at what was happening and afraid of the strange contraption coming from her leg, boldly outlined through her dress. Isabella quickly lifted the folds of cloth with her right hand, revealing several sticks of dynamite secured in the hollow of her leg. A small switch was conspicuously placed on top.

A few bystanders shrieked in panic but most of the people who were near her—Crook’s bodyguards and entourage—were oblivious to what she had concealed within the metal limb.

A bodyguard tried to clip Isabella on her chin, but in mid-flight she flipped the switch.