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  “So that’s it, you let them attack us?”

  Nikola went back and helped Sebastian up. “Look, you’re dealing with things you don’t understand yet. There’s no source of unlimited power. In this city the laws of thermodynamics are obeyed. We must choose our targets carefully. You’ve done well, and achieved a lot for one so young and inexperienced, but you’re at the Steam Academy now. It’s different here and you need to calm down. You’re in a fortress.”

  “Is this an actual castle?”

  “Fortress. Yes.”

  “Why do you need a fortress? I thought it was all science-y stuff at the Academy.”

  “We are a hub of industry, supplying water and equipment only to the east. Some in the west don’t like our stance. Attacks are becoming frequent.”

  “Those things attack regularly? How regularly?”

  “Only a couple of times a year, although it’s been getting more frequent of late. Usually only one beast attacks. This is the first time we’ve had two.” He stopped. “But maybe they weren’t here to attack us.” He stared down into the boy’s eyes.

  Sebastian briefly considered telling Nikola about the cyborgs in the desert, but decided it wasn’t something he wanted the others to know. Yet.

  “Are you saying I brought them here?”

  “Or they followed you. Either way, you’ve had more impact than you know.”

  “It’s not my fault if they followed me. And just in case you didn’t notice, we were under attack from them.”

  “You’re too young to understand the complexities and machinations of the politics involved. I’ve been given instructions. You’ll be safe here.”

  “What about Melanie?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl who came in with me.”

  “Oh, her.” He waved a dismissive hand. “She’s being tended to. Her role isn’t that significant.”

  “Hang on. Who has given you instructions? How were you expecting me? What’s going on?”

  Nikola sighed and slowed his great pace through the streets. He spotted a couple of low stools in front of a small shop selling flowers and indicated Sebastian should sit.

  Sebastian looked at the wall. The rocks had been crafted to sit perfectly side-by-side, yet each face had remained irregular. Now that he had time to catch his breath, he looked around. The pathways were the same. The stones had been expertly cobbled together into a seamless stretch of roadway, but were individually uneven.

  Sebastian sat and leaned back against the rough-faced rocks. If his mother saw this place, she’d have a word or two to say about the lack of uniformity. The whole place appeared to have been constructed ad-hoc, by a bunch of very skilled artisans with no plan whatsoever. The buildings were of varying heights and stories. Some roofs were steep, some not so, but all were wide enough to provide adequate shade for the inhabitants. The windows were small, to keep out the fierce heat of the midday sun, with wooden sills and edging dried brittle by years of unrelenting heat.

  “Why are you here?”

  Sebastian’s attention was drawn back to the tall, muscular man. “My mother told me to come here and to ask for …” He paused as he looked up, “Nikola. That’s you.”

  “It intrigues me why a young boy, who I don’t know, would turn up and ask for me.” Nikola’s face remained impassive.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to. I was trying to get to my mother, but there was an incident at the train station.”

  Nikola nodded. “Do you know where she is?”

  “The doctor took her to Old Toowoomba hospital to recover.”

  “Recover from what?”

  “Being sick.”

  “You have to be sick from something.”

  “She got very thin and pale, then fell over. Just like my dad did before he died. And my aunt, but she got fat and pale.”

  Nikola tapped his fingers on his knee while he watched Sebastian. A refreshing breeze blew up the alleyway and cooled the sweat on the back of his neck. He extracted a strange device from his pocket. It had a long prong extending out the end. Nikola held it near Sebastian. It reminded him of the device Prevaricator held up at the train station. It clicked, which grew to a manic buzzing as he held it near. The closer the device was, the more it buzzed.

  Nikola stood. “I’ll organize word to be sent.”

  “What should I do?”

  Nikola glanced at his watch, a large brass affair covered in half a dozen dials. “You can move in with the other teslas. Head back to the gate and ask one of the guards to direct you to the tesla school,” he called over his shoulder as he hurried away over the cobblestones.

  Sebastian sat on the stool surrounded by potted flowers, watching Nikola retreat. Frustration and confusion rose through his exhausted mind.

  “Other teslas? What’s a tesla?”

  Sebastian was woken by a gentle nudge on his shoulder. A goat was trying to nibble his ear.

  “Getorff,” he shouted and shooed the hungry animal away. His stomach grumbled.

  Sebastian was still at the front of the peculiar flower shop on his stool leaning against the wall. He sagged back against the cool stone, letting his nerves settle and his vision clear. The pain in his head had passed, leaving him worn out. He took a couple of deep breaths and, with his arms and legs aching, staggered to his feet. The idea of a hot bath was almost amenable, as long as he didn’t have to wash his hair.

  He wandered back to the gates, spending time exploring the various little alleyways of the city. A low hum of industry bubbled underneath the sporadic, frantic arguments between shopkeeper and customer, rising up in the conversational pauses as he passed by. In a lifetime of farm living, he’d only ever seen small, wooden buildings and he was awed by the density and expanse of the industrial sheds, at the same time being squalid yet majestic and intricate. Signs arched over the alleys, advertising in excessively curly writing each shop’s wares, fighting for space in an overcrowded skyline.

  Building after building, street after street, a never ending maze of visual delights, although the overpowering smell of horse and the putrid, but familiar, stench of manure tainted the experience.

  This area consisted mainly of transportation shops. Things for horses. Things for carts. Things for people traveling on horses or carts. Blacksmiths, woodworkers, stables, horseshoes, bridles, repairers, vets, inspectors. The list was endless. Shops that smelled of beer like the Oakley’s house, although his mother had said it was the smell of impropriety, who Sebastian assumed was an Oakley sibling he’d never met. Hidden shops full of equipment for people doing strange things to other people in what would have been considered an embarrassing accident back on the farm. He looked up at one shop’s sign and reflected that telling everyone Victoria had a secret was defeating the purpose of having a secret in the first place. The sun reflected off brilliant metal to his right. He gasped as the wonder rolled before him, pushed into the street by four men in dark blue overalls.

  The gleaming steel and brass hood stretched out over half the length of the vehicle. Curved steel rolled over the wheels, which came up to Sebastian’s chest, and down into a step that allowed passengers to climb up into four luxurious red leather seats that took up the rest of the body. One of the men lifted the side of the hood and tinkered with the marvel that lay below.

  The engine started and the rotary pistons clattered noisily. Chatty Chatty Chatty Chatty. It backfired. Twice. The men coughed as soot billowed out from the engine. Three returned to the factory, disappearing into the dark and noise.

  Sebastian stood by the side of the vehicle. The man looked up and smiled at him.

  “It’s magical,” Sebastian whispered.

  “No magic here, kiddo, just old-fashioned quality engineering and craftsmanship.”

  A voice echoed out from inside the factory. “Oi, Carat, the door won’t fit.”

  The man, presumably Carat, called back into the factory. “Just hit it with your hammer.”

  Heat shimmered above the
hood as the boiler increased in temperature. Several dials decorating the top of the engine started to rotate as steam pressure rose. Carat was soon lost in his dials, writing figures on a clipboard. Sebastian went to touch the hood, but Carat coughed. “No touching. Fingerprints will rust the steel.”

  Sebastian withdrew his hand and turned away, slightly disappointed. Down the alleyway opposite he noticed a distant figure with a familiar gait. He ran off in pursuit.

  “Mr. Stephenson,” he called.

  Oliver spun around, his face first a mask of guilt, then amazement. “Sebby, what are you doing here?”

  He waved at his old teacher.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Where is Isabelle?” He glanced through the crowd.

  “She’s in hospital in Toowoomba. I was on my way to see her, but things went wrong. I’m still trying to work out how to get back.”

  “She felt she was sick and wanted you to come here, didn’t she?”

  “Can you help me get to Toowoomba?”

  Oliver swallowed nervously as he looked out toward the east. “It’s best that you stay here for the moment.”

  “But—”

  “No. It is very dangerous.” He lowered his voice. “Rumor has it the express has been destroyed! No survivors.”

  “I was on the express.”

  “Oh. Maybe the rumor has been exaggerated.”

  Sebastian went tight-lipped. “Are there any other trains?”

  “Some do come in from other areas, but the cyborgs are attacking trains now.”

  “So there’s a train station here? A big one?”

  Oliver nodded.

  “What’s up with this place? It was a bit like this back at New Toowoomba, but here it’s like totally maxed.”

  “Er, quite,” Oliver replied. “What do you mean?”

  “Like the clothes. Most of the people are in completely impractical clothes, frilly and stuff. I seem to remember my mom reading really old books with people on the cover dressed the same. Except for the man, who usually didn’t have a shirt.”

  “Oh, I see. You know about the reckoning?”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian replied sagely.

  “This city is founded on old-fashioned morality, principles, and idealism from before the technology split, before we lost our way. The Steam Academy represents the greatest period of intellectual endeavor and achievement in human history.”

  “Apart from the technology phase.”

  “Yes, well, that didn’t end well.”

  Sebastian’s stomach growled. He could feel it through his clothes.

  “Come eat with me, my boy, in my quarters. I’ve got a very nice place up on the top of the apartment buildings near Old Benjamin.”

  A multitude of questions spun around Sebastian’s head, but one was vying for attention. “Food?”

  “We can call into the kitchens and ask them to prepare something within the hour.”

  Oliver strode off toward the north. Sebastian’s stomach groaned. An hour was a long time, but he had questions to ask. “What’s a tesla? Nikola said I had to stay with the other teslas.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “He says I’m one.”

  “How has this happened? Talinga yielded no readings.”

  Oliver extracted a device similar to Nikola’s from his coat and waved it over Sebastian. The device buzzed noisily.

  “How interesting. So you’re destined to become a tesla. Fascinating and surprising. I will have to confirm it, of course.” He wandered on in silence, staring ahead. Eventually he spoke. “A tesla, at its simplest level, is someone who can sense magnetic fields.”

  “My head hurts when those beasts come near. Do you mean like that?”

  “Hmm. Hurts, you say? Today is a remarkable day.”

  “What are those beasts?”

  “They are known by the nomenclature of GSFB, which stands for various technical terms.”

  “What like great scary flapping beasts or something?” Sebastian pulled a face. It was an unexciting name, considering how terrifying they were. “Are there any other names for them?”

  Oliver chuckled. “We’ve been able to ascertain that the enemy’s name for them is digital reptilian airborne guardian ordnances network.”

  “D-R-A-G … dragons?”

  “Yes. It’s a stupid and inappropriate name.” He laughed again and shook his head.

  “I like it,” said Sebastian. He nodded his head in agreement with himself. He would decree it when he was king.

  “Ah, the folly of the young.”

  “It sounds like they look.” A question sat nagging at the back of Sebastian’s mind. “Mr. Stephenson?”

  “Hmm?”

  “On the last night you were at our place …” Sebastian trailed off, hoping his teacher would come to his aid. The memories of that night still hurt. It was the last time his mother had been the person he had known his entire life. As she had gotten sick, her identity had drained away with her body.

  “Hmm?” Oliver repeated.

  “What did you and my mother talk about after I’d gone to bed that night?”

  “Mainly the past, my boy.”

  “I heard someone writing. Was that about the past, too?”

  “Ah, no.” Oliver paused. He wiped some dust from his eye. “That was about the future. And the past. It’s complicated. Anyway, ultimately it shouldn’t be a concern for you. Let us proceed to the dining establishment for some nourishing sustenance.”

  “Can we get Melanie so she can come too?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl I came in with.”

  “Won’t she want to stay with the others of her … kind?”

  “What kind?”

  “Women. They all sit around discussing”—he paused, reflecting on the random conversations he had caught—“sewing, or baking, or stitching.”

  Sebastian gave him a look of surprise. Oliver had never spoken in these terms back home, and he could never have imagined him talking like this with his mother within earshot. His teacher knew her thoughts regarding what some considered proper behavior for women, as did their neighbors. They knew what she thought of Rapacity Oakley’s comments about “a woman’s place” and definitely heard the result of her left hook. He felt he had to express the appropriate respect.

  “I never heard Melanie talk about those kinds of things. She shouted a lot and killed some cyborgs.”

  “How many?”

  “I guess it was only one, really. We were in a hurry.”

  “I expect luck may have been with her. She didn’t stab it with knitting needles or an overcooked crème brûlée or something?”

  “No! She has a long blade and she’s deadly with it,” Sebastian snapped. “We have to find her.” He gave Oliver another glance. His teacher sure was saying some unexpected things.

  12

  THEY RETURNED TO the gates and Sebastian asked where Melanie was, much to the guard’s annoyance. The guard tried to brush him off as just another annoying teen that never made any sense until Oliver eventually stepped in and explained in what he called “adult words.”

  “You must remember the girl that came in earlier today.”

  The guard snorted. “She’s in the cells.”

  “Cells?” squeaked Sebastian. “But she’s a hero.”

  “Maybe she should act like one,” the guard said. “She came in looking fragile, like a damsel in distress, then a couple of words of sympathy and advice and she goes mental. My foot will be aching for a week. Andy had to go home. The old sergeant had never heard such language and he used to be a chef.” Reluctantly, the guard directed them to the cells.

  Sebastian and Oliver searched out the bleak residence.

  “I must admit, I’ve never been to any cells before,” Oliver said. “I’m not sure I approve of the kind of person you appear to be engaging with.”

  “We’re not engaged.”

  Oliver sighed. “Engage can mean things other than i
n reference to the acceptance and commencement of the matrimonial processes.”

  Sebastian nodded in a knowing way, too tired to ask what that meant.

  He led Sebastian into a low-set building that emanated solidity with its stone facade and heavy iron door. A short, fat man sat behind an old wooden desk. The man looked cranky, possibly due to being unimpressed with his professional achievements. He was wearing a frown so ingrained that his face resembled a dried prune.

  Oliver leaned forward and mumbled with his special talking-to-other-men words, which to Sebastian was a scattergun of grunts and half-finished sentences fired into the conversation.

  While the two men were deep in conversation and not paying him much attention, Sebastian slipped away into a dark passageway leading deeper into the building. He wandered down the long tunnel that looked more like a secret entrance to an underground tomb. It ended with an iron gate that covered the entire width of the corridor. Just beyond lay the cells. He could hear the murmurs, the sobs, the crazy laughing.

  To his right was a smaller gate, and behind it, a little room—the gatehouse—also locked. It contained a thrown-together collection of mismatched furniture, mugs, books, and half-eaten food currently being investigated by a rat. A large set of iron keys sat in the center of a table. They looked like a good fit to the gate.

  Sebastian reached through the bars, but the keys remained inches away from his fingertips. He waggled his fingers in an attempt to magic them over, stretching as far as he could until his arm hurt, but failed. A search of the area failed to uncover anything that gave him extra range, but he wasn’t going to be defeated.

  Closing his eyes, he reached through the bars, this time his fingertips grazed the tantalizingly close keys. He could imagine them on the table and his fingers nearly reaching them. Sebastian stretched and managed to lay a fingertip on the metal loop holding them together, tapping at it until his arm hurt again. He had another rest before trying for a third time. This time he found them within reach of his fingers. He pawed at them until he could clasp the rough metal between his fingertips, and lift them off the table and out.

  Sebastian put the whole episode down to the ‘stretching’ his sports teacher had gone on about endlessly in the once-a-week lesson where he’d told them what a bunch of ‘girly-girls’ they were. Who’s laughing now, Mr. Vanessa? he thought. But the image behind closed eyes was new. Mr. Vanessa had spoken about imagining yourself as a winner. Imagine the keys would come. It seemed to have worked.