Mortal Engines

called Shaw who wants to kill Father…

She could hardly manage to force the words out, but at last she asked, “Did she have a child?”

“I think she did, I think she did,” the old man mused. “Yes, I remember Mrs Shaw showing me a picture once when she turned up with some ceramics for my department. Lovely pieces. A decorated vase from the Electric Empire Era, best of its kind in the collection…”

“Do you remember its name?”

“Ah, yes, let me see … EE27190, I believe.”

“Not the vase! The baby!”

Katherine’s impatient shout echoed through the gallery and out into the halls beyond, and Dr Arkengarth looked first startled, then offended. “Well, really, Miss Valentine, there’s no need to snap! How should I remember the child’s name? It was fifteen, sixteen years ago and I have never liked babies; nasty creatures, leak at both ends and have no respect for ceramics. But I believe this particular one was called Hattie or Holly or…”

“Hester!” sobbed Katherine, and turned and ran, ran with Dog at her heels, ran and ran without knowing where or why, since there was no way that she could outrun the dreadful truth. She knew how Father had come by the key to MEDUSA, and why he had never spoken of it. At last she knew why poor Hester Shaw had wanted to kill him.

28. A STRANGER IN THE MOUNTAINS OF HEAVEN

Valentine’s hand drew subtle, complicated shapes in the air above the girl’s bowed head, and her face was calm and smiling, little suspecting that she was being blessed by the League’s worst enemy.

Tom watched from behind a shrine to the sky goddess. His eyes had known who the red-robed monk was all along, and now his brain caught up with them in a flurry of understandings. Captain Khora had said that the 13th Floor Elevator had been haunting the mountains. It must have dropped Valentine off in the crags near Batmunkh Gompa, and he had come the rest of the way on foot, creeping into the city like a thief. But why? What secret mission could have brought him here?

Tom didn’t know what to feel. He was frightened, of course, to be so close to the man who had tried to murder him, but at the same time he was thrilled by Valentine’s daring. What courage it must have taken, to sneak into the great stronghold of the League, under the very noses of London’s enemies! It was the sort of adventure that Valentine had written about, in books that Tom had read again and again, huddled under the blankets in the Third-Class Apprentices’ dorm with a torch, long after lights out.

Valentine finished his blessing and moved on. For a few moments Tom lost sight of him among the crowds in the square, but then he spotted the red robe climbing on up the broad central stairway. He followed at a safe distance, past beggars and guards and hot-food vendors, none of whom guessed that the red-robed figure was anything more than one of those crazy holy men. Valentine had his head bowed now and he climbed quickly, so Tom did not feel in any danger as he hurried along, twenty or thirty paces behind. But he still didn’t know what he should do. Hester deserved to know that her parents’ murderer was here. Should he find her? Tell her? But Valentine must be on some important mission for London, maybe gathering information so that the Engineers would know exactly where to aim MEDUSA. If Hester killed him, Tom would have betrayed his whole city. …

He climbed onward, ignoring the pain of his broken ribs. Around him the terraces of Batmunkh Gompa were speckled with lamps and lanterns, and the envelopes of balloon-taxis glowed from within as they rose and fell, like strange sea-creatures swimming around a coral reef. And slowly he realized that he didn’t want Valentine to succeed in whatever he was planning. London was no better than Tunbridge Wheels, and this place was old, and beautiful. He wouldn’t let it be smashed!

“It’s Valentine!” he shouted, charging up the stairs, trying to warn the passers-by of the danger. But they just stared at him without understanding, and when at last he reached the red-robed man and pulled his hood down he found the round, startled face of a pilgrim monk blinking back at him.

He looked around wildly and saw what had happened. Valentine had taken a different stairway out of the central square, leaving Tom following the wrong red robe. He went running down again. Valentine was barely visible, a red speck climbing through lantern-light towards the high places of the city—and the eyrie of the great air-destroyers. “It’s Valentine!” shouted Tom, pointing, but none of the people around him spoke Anglish; some thought he was mad, others thought he meant that MEDUSA was about to strike. A wave of panic spread across the square, and soon he heard warning gongs sounding in the densely-packed terraces of shops and inns below.

His first thought was to find Hester, but he had no idea where to look. Then he ran to a balloon taxi and told the pilot, “Follow that monk!” but the woman smiled and shook her head, not understanding. “Feng Hua!” Tom shouted, remembering Anna Fang’s League name, and the taxi-pilot nodded and smiled, casting off. He tried to calm himself as the balloon rose. He would find Miss Fang. Miss Fang would know what to do. He remembered how she had trusted him with the Jenny during the flight across the mountains, and felt ashamed for turning on her in the council meeting.

He was expecting the taxi to take him to the governor’s palace, but instead it landed near the terrace where the Jenny Haniver was berthed. The pilot pointed towards an inn which clung to the underside of the terrace above like a house martin’s nest. “Feng Hua!” she said helpfully. “Feng Hua!”

For a panic-stricken moment Tom thought that she had carried him to an inn with the same name as Miss Fang; then, on one of the establishment’s many balconies, he caught sight of the aviatrix’s blood-red coat. He thrust all the money he had at the pilot, shouting, “Keep the change!” and left her staring at the unfamiliar faces of Quirke and Crome as he raced away.

Miss Fang was sitting at a balcony table with Captain Khora and the stern young Keralan flier who had been so angry at Tom’s outburst earlier. They were drinking tea and deep in discussion, but they all leaped up as Tom blundered out on to the balcony. “Where’s Hester?” he demanded.

“Down on the mooring platforms, in one of her moods,” said Miss Fang. “Why?”

“Valentine!” he gasped. “He’s here! Dressed as a monk!”

The inn’s musicians stopped playing, and the sound of the alarm-gongs in the lower city came drifting through the open windows.

“Valentine, here?” sneered the Keralan girl. “It’s a lie! The barbarian thinks he can frighten us!”

“Be quiet, Sathya!” Miss Fang reached across and gripped Tom by the arm. “Is he alone?”

As quickly as he could, Tom told her what he had seen. She made a hissing sound through her clenched teeth. “He has come after our Air-Fleet! He means to cripple us!”

“One man cannot destroy an Air-Fleet!” protested Khora, smiling at the notion.

“You’ve never seen Valentine at work!” said the avia-trix. She was already on her feet, excited at the prospect of crossing swords with London’s greatest agent. “Sathya, go and rouse the guard, tell them the High Eyries are in danger.” She turned to Tom. “Thank you for warning us,” she said gently, as if she understood the agonizing decision he had had to make.

“I’ve got to tell Hester!” he protested.

“Certainly not!” she told him. “She will only get herself killed, or kill Valentine, and I want him kept alive for questioning. Stay here until it is all over.” A last ferocious smile and she was gone, down the steps and out of the panicked inn with Khora at her heels. She looked grim and dangerous and very beautiful, and Tom felt himself brushed by the same fierce love which he knew Khora and the Keralan girl and the rest of the League must feel for her.

But then he thought of Hester, and what she would say when she learned that he had seen Valentine and hadn’t even told her. “Great Quirke!” he shouted suddenly. “I’m going to find her!” Sathya just stared at him, not stern any more, just frightened and very young, and as he ran towards the stairs he shouted back at her, “You heard what Miss Fang said! Raise the alarm!”

Out on to dark ladderways again, down to the mooring platform where the Jenny Haniver hung at anchor. “Hester! Hester!” he shouted, and there she was, coming towards him through the glow of the landing-lights, tugging the red shawl up across her face. He told her everything, and she took the news with the cold, silent glare he had expected. Then it was her turn to run, and he was following her up the endless