Trent Jamieson - Night's engines

“Of course,” Medicine said.

They moved onto the gantry and David stopped, and his breath stopped in his throat.

“Here it is,” Medicine said. “I bet you never expected to see it.”

“No,” David said. “But I think we all expected things to end badly. And who could say that it hasn't? The Roil was coming, whether we did anything or not. All the denial in the world could not stop it.”

“A lot of people made it here, David. Because Stade had constructed this place, more people survived then we had a right to expect. Whatever I think of the cruel bastard, I have to give him that.” Medicine regarded David a little more closely, though David wasn't sure how the man felt about what he saw. “You look different, and not just that scar.”

“I feel different.” He looked down at the ring on his finger. It was just a ring now, its mechanisms worn out, soldered together by the final engagement of the Engine of the World. “It's the Carnival, I guess. I stopped taking the Carnival.”

David took it all in, the extent of the Underground. Surely this city was as big as Mirrlees, maybe bigger. Tunnels ran wider than football fields deep into the mountain, stretching further than he could see, scaffolding covering their walls, surrounding other tunnels, leading deeper into the belly of the world. Machines worked non-stop and everywhere there were people. Some paused to watch them curiously, then got back to their work. Life hadn’t stopped just because the Engine of the World had turned.

David, for all his exhaustion, watched them intently. Here was the seed of something. Not his own redemption, but a world’s.

Margaret’s stomach still pulled where the stitches had been, she was still weak. But finally they had let her see this Underground with David and Medicine Paul.

He'd prepared her a little for the world beyond the infirmary's walls. But, it still proved a surprise.

Margaret sighed, her eyes widening at what she saw, the curvature of streets, the whine of machinery, the distant glimmer of ice shields, the chaos of pipes — all with arcane uses, though ones she knew she could guess at. All of it familiar.

“I know this place. I know this place,” she said.

Medicine chuckled. “Of course you do, Miss Penn. Where do you think they got the blueprints? This last great project of Stade and the Council of Engineers would be nothing without the city of Tate, and the Penns. We have survived because of your family.

“It can be a dismal stink hole of a metropolis, too hot in some of the caverns, too chilly in others; and the lice, let me not start on them. But until the cold passes, when and if it passes, we can survive here,” Medicine said.

“No,” David said. “We must do more than survive. This must be the start of something new. I’ve seen what our people have done, what we’re capable of. And I know what we must do. Just how to do it? That's the question.”

“And what is that?” Medicine asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Build ships that cross the dark above,” David said. “And leave this place. All our industry, all our work, must be directed towards that one task. It is more than a lifetime's work, and we must complete it in less. We do not belong here, and every day that we remain is a continuation of an ancient evil. It must end.”

“Then where do we belong?” Medicine asked.

“Maybe we don't belong anywhere but up there. Cadell's people designed us for this world, or the world that they constructed at any rate. But that world itself was a lie, something they built on and from the bones of another.” He smiled. “And those bones will never rest, nor should they. This is the Roil’s world. If there is anywhere for us, it is out in the greater darkness. It is time to dismantle the Engine of the World, and build instead Engines to the Stars.”

“It’s a dream worthy of Travis the Grave,” Medicine said.

David smiled at Margaret, and it was a grin as patronising as any of Cadell’s, but she could forgive him it. “Not at all. This is no tale in which just a few face the perilous journey, this will be a story of an entire people. All of us have suffered, this whole world is a world of suffering, but we will see an end to that. We have to.”

When she was strong enough, Margaret spoke to the head horticulturalist — after all, she was well acquainted with the difficulties of subterranean agriculture — who was at first sceptical, then excited by her suggestions. They talked until she was exhausted. Margaret left him scrawled notes, only allowed to leave once she promised she would return the next day.

She'd already remembered and modified her parents' lighting system and she knew that they would be proud.

That afternoon Medicine had shown Margaret her room, it wasn't much, but it was hers. And she knew that she wouldn't be going anywhere for some time. She imagined the stark walls covered with her designs.

In a few months she knew she would travel with David to Drift. He was anxious to explore that ancient city's catacombs, perhaps study the workings of its grand engines.

David had changed and it wasn't only Cadell's influence there.

She sat in her room, holding her father's notebook. He had loved her, as had her mother. Even at the end she was certain of that, the Roilings had never attacked her as hard as they could. Perhaps even then her mother had had an inkling of what was about to happen. Perhaps they had seen the end and desired her survival. She found some comfort in the thought.

She looked at her guns, and that book: all that she had left of Tate. She closed her eyes and tried to visualise the city. It did not come to her as clearly as she would have liked. She could feel the memories fading, the horror of it all, but also the good things of that life. Sometimes she'd pause and wait for the rumble of the Four Cannon, but it did not come. But even that did not happen so often now.

Tate remained alive in her, and while she lived, she could not lose it completely. And if David was right, if the metropolis would grow again, then she would see it once more, though it would be different, it wouldn't be her city.

She should be resting; there was so much to do.

But being a Penn, she put her father’s book down, got up off the bed and sat at her tiny desk, so unlike her parents' grand table in the library. She took a deep breath and began to modify another one of her parents' designs — she was finding them so easy to remember now — and as she worked, thinking of her mother and her father and their old vast library, she began to cry.

THE UNDERGROUND

David's new room was small, far smaller than the one he had had in his father’s house, or even the room at the Habitual Fool. But it was his, and somehow, unlike the others, it did not feel like a cage. He'd already managed to find a few books he hadn't read and these were piled up, all wonderful potential, next to his bed.

One day, David knew he would sit down and write his own story. It would be a rough-and-ready work, that writing, for he did not possess the finer points of art and history, but it might help the pain. That was the worst thing of all, the pain of what he had done and the guilt that came from wanting it gone. He'd destroyed a world: he didn't deserve to lose the way it had marked him.

He’d worked all day, helping Medicine in the infirmary. It was little more than getting things when Medicine demanded them, but it was good work, and the sort that meant you met a lot of people. David was never going to be a doctor, but it was a start at building something. And, as they worked, he could talk to Medicine Paul. And they had. Catching up on each other's lives, both adjusting to just how much the other had changed in just a few months. With Medicine, Veronica, Margaret and Kara, it was like having a family again. Though that was only the beginning. He had a whole people to care for, and to protect.