The Sunken (39 page)

Beside me, the other Knights murmured to each other, and I caught snippets of their whispered conversations that filled me with dread. “… his face covered by a red cloth … hands tremble … arms strapped to chair … Banks holding him upright …”

What do you have in store for us, George? Is this visit to the chapel to convince us of your frailty, or to frighten us?

After mass had finished, Banks bade the Naval Knights march in single file past the altar, so the King could shake our hands and speak to us personally. When my turn came, and his cold hand slipped into mine, I felt the rough outline of lesions and burn marks across his palm, and I knew Brigitte and Nicholas spoke the truth.

“The Blind Physician,” he said, pronouncing each word with care, as though they came to him with difficulty. “Our humble country life must seem quaint compared to your worldly experience.”

“It is an honour to serve you, Your Majesty, wherever I may reside.”

“You are packed, then, for our little move to Buckingham? I’m tired of living so far from London, tired of travelling so far to attend Council sessions. Now that the shell of my Wall has been completed, the city is safe for kings once again. Buckingham House might not be as grand as this castle, but do not worry, I’ll see to it you receive fine accommodations. The finest.” He chuckled, and I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine.

“Whatever His Majesty has arranged,” I said, trying to keep my voice pleasant and even, “I am but a humble servant.”

“Yes, Blind Physician, yes you are.” Banks hurried me on, and I hobbled out of the chapel, snuck around the back of the building, and headed toward the castle.

I wanted to see the Sunken for myself.

Nicholas hailed a coach to Belgravia, arriving at a quarter past eleven just in time to see the Boilers riveting the last of the steel plate on the double-height Wall. He relieved the night foreman and set about conducting his final structural tests and inspections, while two men cooled the Boilers and loaded them on heavy wagons ready to be returned to the Engine Ward.

A crowd of residents gathered, resplendent in silk pantaloons and fashionable hats, eager to see the completed Wall and the machines that had built it. Nicholas gave them a demonstration of the Boiler’s capabilities, showing how it could be used to nail rivets in a pattern.

A well-dressed lady stepped forward. “I am the owner of Lady Vivian’s Millenary over on Cross Street, and I’d like to purchase this Boiler to make hats for my store. The two young ladies I employ are lazy and their stitching is crooked—”

“I’d take one for the butchery,” said a man in a leather apron at the back of the crowd. “I could use a hand at the chopping block now my shoulder’s seizing up.”

“These Boilers are even more ingenious than his locomotive design,” declared a banker. “I could use one to guard the safe.”

“I’ll take two!”

“I’ll have seven!”

Fists clenched wads of pound notes under his nose. People threw purses down at his feet. Nicholas raised his hands and backed away.

“I’m sorry! The Boilers are not for sale.”

“That Presbyter of yours ain’t right in the head,” said the butcher angrily. “What good’s a great invention if ain’t no one able to use it?”

Others grumbled their assent.

“The Presbyter says …” Nicholas thought fast. “He says to spread the word that anyone wanting to know more about the Boilers should come to Engine Ward tonight to hear his sermon.”

That seemed to satisfy most of the people, who walked off back toward their homes, clutching their purses and kerchiefs and talking in excited voices ; all save one man, who leaned his impressive bulk against an ornate walking stick as he beckoned Nicholas over. His features — the smooth cheeks, unruly whiskers, and top hat with bright sash — seemed unnervingly familiar.
Where have I seen you before?
Nicholas wondered.

“Excuse me,” the man asked, shaking Nicholas’ extended hand with a firm grasp. “If I may ask some questions, Mr—”

“Rose,” Nicholas replied. “I’m the architect of the Wall. Well, the outer shell, at any rate. And you would be?”

The portly man smiled, ignoring Nicholas’ question. “A pleasure, Mr. Rose. And a fine job you have done as far, I see. You must work for this Brunel, then? He’s done a fine job, a fine job. And I understand a locomotive will run through the Wall at some later date? Can you tell me what he’s done to compensate for the friction in the rails—”

He fired question after question at Nicholas, hardly giving him time to think. Nicholas, who had only a rudimentary understanding of Brunel’s engine, could not give any satisfactory answer, and so the interrogation continued. The man clearly possessed a great engineering knowledge, especially about locomotion, but still his identity remained a mystery.
Who are you?
Nicholas racked his brain, but could come up with no answer.

“I am sorry,” he said at last. “I am not possessed of much knowledge about locomotion. But if you come to Brunel’s sermon this evening, you will learn many of your answers there. Perhaps the Presbyter will even grant a private audience to a learned man such as yourself.”

“Oh,” the man smiled. “I doubt very much he would do that. But thank you anyway.” He gave Nicholas an odd sort of smile. “Our paths shall cross again, Mr. Rose.”

Nicholas returned to his coach and rode the entire length of the Wall, staring up in awe at the towering metal edifice that now enclosed the city. The rows of columns, angular and elegant like ancient temples, stretched between the houses, over the streets, as far as the eye could see.
His
design sheltered the city, wrapping London in an iron embrace.
If only Father could see what I have achieved …

But he knew he could share his triumph with no one, save Aaron and James and Isambard. And Isambard had a far greater triumph to celebrate.
To think that four weeks ago such a structure did not even exist … Isambard has singlehandedly transformed industry as we know it.
And he knew, better than anyone, that the Wall was a success. He had heard not a peep from a dragon within the city for the past two weeks, including that dragon Quartz had brought in from the swamps.
Perhaps I was mistaken about the contents of that crate. After all, Aaron never mentioned hearing any dragons inside the Ward.

He stopped at each of the ten iron gates, checking the guards were on duty, and found the steam-powered lock mechanisms working perfectly. Traffic in and out of the city was already being monitored, and a long line of coaches carrying tourists from the countryside to see the Wall backed up for miles.

Finally, satisfied that everything was in order and the shell of the Wall was finally complete, he returned to the Engine Ward to give Isambard his final report. As they crept toward the black clouds of the Industrian district, traffic slowed, and finally ground to a halt four miles from the gates, where omnibuses, coaches, wagons, and food carts blocked the streets while frustrated drivers yelled insults at each other. It started to rain. Sighing, Nicholas grabbed his coat and umbrella, paid his driver, and made his way down the crowded footpath toward the Ward.

All about him, voices rose over the rain, talking excitedly about the Wall. He rubbed shoulders with priests in coloured robes as they slapped waterlogged tracts into outstretched hands, loudly extolling this and that theorem. Newspapermen in wide-brimmed hats dragged pedestrians from the fray, pens fluttering across cheap paper as they jotted down quotes for the daily editions. The press of people was so intense Nicholas got caught in a crowd outside Stephenson’s cathedral and didn’t move for several minutes. While he waited, rain pounding against his umbrella and rolling down his trouser legs, he glanced up at the statue of Stephenson adorning the courtyard of the cathedral, and gasped.

You fool,
he cursed himself as his eyes sought out every feature of the statue. The rounded figure, the soft hands, the small eyes, and lofty chin were all identical to the man who’d spoken to him earlier about the Boilers.
How could you not have known?

Robert Stephenson was in the city. And that could only mean one thing — if he’d come all this way to see the Wall and the Boilers for himself, he considered Isambard’s presence a very real threat.

James Holman’s Memoirs — Unpublished

Naval Knights are not supposed to enter the castle grounds, but despite the late hour, such a bustle of activity greeted me that it was easy to slip through the hubbub unnoticed. Twice only did a guard stop me and ask my business, and I resorted to pretending I was lost, a trick which evokes only pity when employed by a blind man.

At first, I stuck to the outer courtyards, each step building a map of the grounds in my mind. Growing bolder, I began turning into some of the lofty hallways and drawing rooms, listening for clues to discern the purpose of each room. I cursed myself for not thinking to attempt this before now. The physical exertion and mental challenge it presented gave me a renewed vigor — if I couldn’t embark upon adventures outside England, I could at least have one within the confines of the castle.

I passed through a maze of winding corridors, and found myself in an internal courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a covered colonnade leading off into a series of lofty, opulent halls. I stood still and listened. Maids bustled by, pulling down drapes and packing away boxes of fine china. Workmen hauled giant wooden crates onto wagons parked in the centre of the courtyard — these would be taken to the station Aaron had built at the bottom of the gardens.

In the madness, no one paid me any heed as I slipped into an antechamber and pressed on, further and further into the depths of the castle. I laid my feet down carefully, making as little noise as I could on the polished marble floors, listening to the echoes in the cavernous rooms, finding my way to doors and archways by sound. I passed by a doorway, and heard a familiar voice boom from within.

Isambard? What is he doing here?

I flattened myself against the wall and inched my way toward the frame of the door, straining to hear the conversation.

“The first of your children have been loaded onto the carriages, Your Majesty. We will be moving those in the cellars at intervals over the next two days to avoid detection. There will be twenty wagons in all.”

The reply came not as words, but as an animalian hiss that stood my hairs on end. Remembering what Miss Brigitte had said about the hundreds of Sunken locked in the cellars, I gulped down my fear and inched closer.

“And we have your guarantee they cannot possibly escape from the wagons? It’s vitally important their movement remains secret.” That voice belonged to Joseph Banks.

“Of course,” Brunel answered. “All the wagons are secured with thick bolts and my own steam-release system. We will move the children only after every last soul has gone from this castle. All the public will see of the train is a brief glimpse of it churning across the countryside, and a few puffs of steam rising from the sewers in London. I’ve arranged a separate lift shaft to move the children from the underground station to their prepared chambers. My men have laid out a feast of scrap lead for them upon their arrival.”

“And your men?”

“When the work is complete, they will be seen to, as per Your Majesty’s orders.”

“Good.” I heard footsteps echo across the room and Banks’ voice again, from the furthermost corner. I then heard the sound of liquid falling into a glass. “If the next few days go smoothly, your reward will be handsome.”

“I wish only to serve His Majesty and the Industrian Gods. Consideration of wealth and power do not occupy me,” Brunel said modestly. “When I have completed the Wall to His Majesty’s satisfaction, then and only then is it time to talk of such things.”

“The Wall stands, upright and gleaming, after less than a month of construction. It is truly a miracle of engineering. The Royal Society has every confidence in your abilities, Isambard,” Banks said, “and in your new thinking machines. If all this goes successfully, you’ll be receiving an order for several Boiler units from the Council, and the sum offered will make you very rich indeed.”

Their conversation was broken by a snarl, like a hound sniffing out a tasty fox, followed by a shout and something smashing against the marble floor. Banks sighed, and said, “A pity! He was so placid this morning, too. The madness comes more frequently now, and he grows more violent and erratic each time. I am hoping his children will calm him again. Maybe it is the only thing. Will we see you at the palace?”

“No. I will be busy with arrangements in the Engine Ward.”

“As you wish.” Wheels creaked across the marble floor, coming towards me. Forgetting my silence, I bolted, the echo of my shoes against the tiles alerting Banks to my presence.

He shouted and gave chase, but he had the King with him, confined to a wheelchair, and he had no hope of catching me. I ducked through room after room, down one corridor, then the next, ’till at last I could smell the fragrance of the flower beds. Not far now. I slowed, panting, searching with my ears for the sound of Banks’ footsteps.

Nothing but the songs of nightingales and the gentle rustle of the flowers fluttering in the breeze. I had lost him.

What is Isambard doing at the castle?
Although the boy I’d known was a stranger to me now, thanks in large part to my own simmering guilt, I could not imagine Isambard allowing such a blasphemy to continue. But my ears did not deceive me — Isambard not only knew of the Sunken’s existence, he was implicated in their relocation to London.

My thoughts turned to Nicholas, who worked with the Presbyter day after day, and had not even entertained the possibility that Isambard might be tied up in this madness. Aaron had suspected something, and I had heard with my own ears the proof that he was right — Isambard had built the Wall and the underground railway in full knowledge of their intended purpose.

Nicholas will not believe me. He quarrels with Aaron over Isambard’s motives, and every day he seems to fall deeper under the Presbyter’s spell. If I tell him what I’ve heard, I will only drive him away, force him closer to Isambard, closer to danger.