Phillip Reeve: Mortal Engines

“But that would leave London defenceless, in the middle of the Hunting Ground,” her father pointed out.

“So? We will have to carry on as we always have, chasing and eating, and if we meet a bigger city and get eaten ourselves… well, even that would be better than being murderers!”

She couldn’t bear to be in that room with him another second. She ran, and he did not try to stop her, or even call her back, just stood there looking pale and stunned. She left the house and ran sobbing through the rainswept park with Dog at her heels, until the whole of High London was between her and Father. I must do something! was all she could think. I must stop MEDUSA…

She hurried towards the elevator station, while the Goggle-screen loops began to blare the good news of Valentine’s return all over London.

London gathered speed, racing towards the mountains. Semi-static towns that had hidden for years on these high steppes were startled out of their torpor by its coming and went lumbering away, leaving behind them green patches of farmland and once a whole static suburb. The city paid no heed to any of them. The whole of London knew the Lord Mayor’s plan by now. In spite of the cold, people gathered on the forward observation decks and peered through telescopes towards Shan Guo, eager for their first glimpse of the legendary Wall.

“Soon!” they told each other.

“This very night!”

“A whole new hunting ground!”

Most people at the Museum were used to Katherine and Dog by now, and nobody paid very much attention as she hastened through the lower galleries with the white wolf trotting behind her. A few noticed the frantic look in her eyes and the tears on her face, but before they could ask her what was wrong or proffer a pocket handkerchief she had swept past, heading towards Mr Nancarrow’s office at a near run.

There she found a smell of turpentine and the lingering scent of the art-historian’s pipe tobacco, but no Nancarrow and no Bevis Pod. She ran back out into the hallway, where a fat Third-Class Apprentice was mopping the floors. “Mr Nancarrow’s in the store-rooms, Miss,” he told her sullenly. “He’s got that funny new bloke with him.”

The funny new bloke was helping Mr Nancarrow drag a picture out of the storage racks when Katherine burst in. It was a huge, gilt-framed painting called “ Quirke oversees the rebuilding of London”, by Walmart Strange, and when Bevis dropped the end he was holding it made a crash that echoed and re-echoed through the dusty store-room like a small explosion. “I say, Pod!” complained Nancarrow angrily, but then he too saw Katherine’s face and quickly restrained himself. “You look as if you need a nice cup of tea, Miss Valentine,” he muttered, hurrying away into the maze of racks.

“Kate?” Bevis Pod took a few uncertain steps towards her. “What’s happened?” He wasn’t used to comforting people; it was not the sort of thing an Apprentice Engineer was trained for. He held his arms out stiffly to touch her shoulders, and looked shocked when she flung herself against him. “Er …” he said, “there, there…”

“Bevis,” she sniffled, “it’s up to us now. We have to do something. Tonight…”

“Tonight?” He frowned, struggling to keep up with her rapid, half-sobbed explanations. “But do you mean just us alone? I thought your father was going to help us…”

“He’s not my father any more,” said Katherine bitterly, and realized that it was true. She clung to Bevis as tightly as she could, as if he were a raft that could carry her safe across this mire of misery and guilt. “Father’s Crome’s man. That’s why I’ve got to get rid of MEDUSA, do you see? I have to make amends for the things he’s done. . .”

Nancarrow came pottering back with two tin mugs of tea. “Urn! Oh! Ah!” he mumbled, embarrassed at finding his two young friends in one another’s arms. “I mean … yes. Paperwork. Must dash. Back in an hour or two. Carry on, Pod. . .”

As he left, he almost fell over the fat Third-Class Apprentice, who had been mopping the passage just outside the store-room door. “For Quirke’s sake, Melliphant!” they heard him snap. “Can’t you keep out of the way?”

But Herbert Melliphant could not keep out of the way. Ever since his demotion he had been looking for a handhold that would help him claw his way back up to First Class. This Pod person had caught his eye a few days ago; this stranger who seemed so friendly with the old Guildsmen; who went about with the Head Historian’s daughter; who dressed as an Apprentice but who didn’t sleep with the others in the dormitory or join them for lessons. He had heard on the Goggle-screens that the Guild of Engineers were still hunting the people who had infiltrated their secret meeting, and he was starting to suspect that Dr Vambrace might be very interested in Nancarrow’s little helper. As soon as the old man was out of sight he put down his mop and pail and stepped back to the door.

“. . .the Anti-Traction League can’t defend themselves,” Katherine was saying. “That’s what Father has been doing; spying out their cities and blowing up their Air-Fleet. That’s why it’s up to us.”

“What about the Historians?” asked Bevis.

Katherine shrugged. “They’re too scared to help us. But I can do it alone, I know I can. Father’s invited me to the Lord Mayor’s reception. I’m going to go. I’m going find Father and tell him I’ve forgiven him, and we’ll go to Crome’s party like a happy little family; but while the others are all telling Crome how clever he’s been and eating sausages on sticks I’ll slip away and find MEDUSA and smash it. Do you think a hammer would the trick? I know where Dr Arkengarth keeps the keys to the caretaker’s stores. There’s bound to be a hammer in there. Or a crowbar. Would a crowbar be better?”

She laughed, and saw Bevis flinch at the mad, brittle sound. For a moment she feared that he was about to say something like “Calm down,” or “It can’t possibly work:. . .” She touched his face, his blushing ears, and felt the quick pulse beating in his throat and the muscles flexing as he swallowed.

“A bomb,” he said.

“MEDUSA must be huge—it probably fills half of St Pauls. If you really want to smash it you need explosives.” He looked excited and scared. “The cleaning stuff Museum caretakers use has nitrogen in it and if I mix it with some of Dr Nancarrow’s picture-restoring fluids, and make a timer. . .”

“How do you know all this?” asked Katherine, shocked, because even she had not thought as far as bombs.”

“Basic chemistry,” said Bevis with a shrug. “I did a course, in the Learning Labs. . .” “

“Is that all they think about, your lot?” she whispered. “Making bombs and blowing things up?”

“No, no!” he replied. “But science is like that. You can use it to do whatever you want. Kate, if you really want to do this I’ll make you a bomb you can put in a satchel. If you can get to MEDUSA, leave it near the computer brain and set the timer and run away. Half an hour later…”

Outside, Melliphant’s ear flattened itself against the wood of the door like a pale slug.

Faster and faster and faster. It is as if the Lord Mayor’s eagerness has infected the very fabric of his city; the pistons in the engine-rooms beat as eagerly as his heart, the wheels and tracks race like his thoughts, rushing towards the Wall and the next chapter in London’s great story.

All afternoon Valentine has hunted for Katherine through the park, startling his friends from their suppers by suddenly looming up at the French windows, a dripping wraith in blood-stained clothes, demanding, “ Is my daughter here? Have you seen her?” Now he strides to and fro across the drawing room at Clio House, his boots dribbling water on to the muddy carpet as he tries to walk the wet cold of the park: out of his bones, the fear out of his mind.