Take Back the Skies (26 page)

‘I've spent most of my life sneaking around places I shouldn't be and listening to conversations I shouldn't overhear, so I think I have more experience in this area than you. I know enough information to ruin the careers of half the men in the upper echelons of government, and I don't care how often you want to have this argument with me, my answer won't change. You need me in this, but we won't get anywhere if you don't bloody well stop trying to protect me!'

‘You're a girl, it's my job to protect you!'

Furious, Cat slapped Fox across the face, leaving a bright red handprint on his cheek.

‘It's times like this I wish I'd managed to stay a boy!' she hissed, storming off towards the manhole. She didn't care where she went, so long as it was away from Fox.

Still raging, Cat glared at the floor as she walked, glad that Fox wasn't following her. Almost without thinking, she found herself in the engine room, heading straight for Fox's private workshop. She expected to meet resistance when she pushed the handle down, but the door swung open. Feeling very much as if she was doing something forbidden, she crept forward into the low-lit room, noticing it was just as neat as it had been the last – and only – time she'd entered. Very few of Fox's little projects were out of their boxes; some sat on shelves of their own or on the floor.

She shuddered as a loud crackling noise filled the room, and one of the mechanisms on a shelf to her left began emitting violent purple sparks. She reached for it, wincing as the sparks burned her fingers. Quickly transferring it to the workbench, she sat in the chair and grabbed a magnifying glass. It was a complicated little piece of machinery, with many intertwined pieces.

Eventually, she began to recognise some of the components. She gasped. It was a mecha, but almost spider-like in its construction. Being so tiny, it held just the very basics, but the spindles she assumed were legs had feet of rough wire cloth, and there was a single eye lens in the centre of its ‘head'.

The sparks resumed, this time accompanied by the telltale violet-grey smoke of an overheated tyrium core. She reached for a pair of needle-nose pliers and the soldering iron. It took a while to part the gear plate casing far enough to see into the very centre of the spider-mecha, and she hummed in dismay. Sure enough, the two gossamer-thin gear chains connected to the small cube of brightly coloured fuel were too close together, and kept rubbing against each other. That was going to be difficult to alter.

She worked in near silence, the only sound being the occasional splutter from the mechanism or thoughtful hum escaping her own lips. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't notice the door opening, and leather-clad feet crossing the room.

‘What are you doing?'

She squeaked loudly, jumping at the unexpected voice.

‘Bloody hell, Fox, don't
do
that! Not when I'm holding hot things!' she exclaimed, shaking the soldering iron at him for emphasis.

He gave her an apologetic half-smile.

‘I asked you a question,' he reminded, and she bristled.

‘I came down here to get away from
you
,' she said sharply. ‘I really wasn't going to touch anything, but then this started sparking and I figured I should at least attempt to fix it, rather than just leaving it to melt itself in a corner somewhere.'

‘Oh,' he replied simply, leaning back against a shelf. ‘And can you?' He nodded towards the upturned spider-mecha on the workbench.

She turned back to the machine with a nod, using the
pliers to feed a thin strip of solder wire into the crevice, pressing the tip of the wire to the tiny pinion and lifting the soldering iron against it. The gear slowed, fixing itself in place, and the two gear chains revolved – but didn't touch. She smiled to herself, carefully closing up the seam she'd created, flipping the spider-mecha back the right way up and balancing it on its thin legs. It shuddered for several seconds as the spark caught on the tyrium, before walking forward in a clumsy, uncoordinated manner. Small puffs of vibrant purple smoke escaped from the chimney on its back, showing that the tyrium was at the right temperature to burn as it fuelled the mechanism.

‘Does that answer your question?' she replied, slightly smug.

Fox raised an eyebrow.

‘What was wrong with it?'

‘Gear chains on the inside were in contact, so the poor little thing was shorting out,' she explained. ‘Did you not know?'

Fox shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

‘I've been trying to figure out why he was being so disagreeable. I suppose it just takes a fresh eye at times,' he relented.

‘Fresh eye, sure,' she said, trying to suppress a smile. She watched the spider-mecha wander across the workbench while the two of them stood in silence, occasionally redirecting it before it could wander off the edge and on to the floor.

Fox sighed. ‘I feel like I'm spending most of my time either arguing with you or apologising for arguing with you,' he told her resignedly.

‘There's an easy solution, then, isn't there?' she replied simply. ‘Stop arguing with me.'

He laughed, the sound loud in the small room.

‘Easier said than done, I assure you,' he murmured wryly. ‘I am sorry, though. I'm just … not used to girls like you.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?' Cat asked.

‘I'll try and stop being so overprotective,' Fox continued without answering. ‘But I can't make any promises. Just … tell me if I'm being an arse, and I'll try and stop.'

She chuckled, and he smiled back tentatively.

‘All right, then,' she agreed, supposing it was the best she would get. ‘We need to get back to the compound, don't we? It's getting late.'

‘It's about time now,' Fox agreed.

Taking a few moments to figure out how to turn the spider-mecha off, Cat stood and followed Fox, the pair of them heading up to the floor above.

‘What does he do, anyway? The little spider thing,' she asked Fox.

‘He's meant to clean the inside of pipes that neither Matt nor I can fit our hands into – that's why there's wire cloth on his feet. He's a work in progress, but … I'm sure I'll get him up and functioning soon. The biggest problem is trying to fit in enough components to get him to do his job, without making him so big that he'd get stuck.'

‘That's … actually quite clever,' she remarked, and he grinned crookedly.

‘Don't sound so surprised,' he retorted.

She laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully.

‘Kissed and made up, have we?' Matt teased, stepping out
of his bedroom just as they emerged from the manhole. Both of them blushed furiously, making Matt snicker. ‘I'll take that as a yes. Ready to get moving, then?'

‘If everyone else is,' Cat confirmed, thinking of all those children in cages, of Mary and James in their prison below the city. The sooner they got them out the better.

‘We're all set. Harry's got a friend who's a whizz with film and audio, and he's going to cut together your footage into something we can broadcast to the rest of the world. We'll get you two in, Benny and I will start setting up the canisters and make sure the newscast room is clear for you, then when Alice and Harry meet us with the footage we'll wait for you to get out with the kids.'

‘How is Ben?' Fox asked, voice low, and Matt's smile faltered.

‘Not taking it well. But … he's got a focus for now. It'll be later when it hits him hard. Storms, poor Sophie. We knew Collection was bad, but something like this never crossed our minds.' Cat reached out, squeezing one of his large hands in hers. If Matt and Ben had been friends since they were kids, he must have known Sophie too.

‘We'll make things right,' she said determinedly. ‘For Sophie, and all the others.'

When they got up to the galley, it was to find the three remaining members of their crew geared up and ready to go. Ben's satchel was bulging, and Cat could see the telltale outline of several guns on his person. Many more were lying on the table, and Matt broke away to start equipping them with frightening efficiency.

‘Matt tell you the plan?' Harry asked, his expression
serious. All of them were dressed in black, and his usual leather top hat had been replaced with a black flat cap.

‘Yes,' nodded Fox. ‘You'll sort out the newscast footage, Matt and Ben will plant the canisters. We get in, find out who's in charge, get the sprogs, get the monarchs, and get out as quickly as we can. Anything else?' Fox said evenly. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

‘The rest of it can wait until you have the kids out. You ready, Cat?' His brown eyes landed on her, and she swallowed, nodding. The clock was ticking.

‘As I'll ever be.'

Getting back into the compound was much easier than Cat anticipated; the four of them were in within minutes. Harry and Alice had gone to take the video and audio footage to their friend, Fox replacing the film cases with fresh ones before wiring himself and Cat up. Splitting up with Matt and Ben as soon as they were past East Gate, Cat followed Fox round to the window they had left through, helping him up to the sill. ‘It's clear,' he assured her, shifting on the ledge to hoist her up beside him. Cat was glad for the cloudy weather masking the lower rays of the sunset, making it near pitch-black as they slipped in through the window.

‘Where to first?' she whispered, and Fox frowned.

‘We'll head to where we haven't looked yet. We're on a time limit now, and we need to find something good. The closer we get to the stairs to the upper levels, the more likely we are to find out who's in charge.' That decided, he led the way further down the corridor, both of them as silent as ghosts.

A little way past the stairs down to the Lathams' prison, they came across a small crowd of people all leaving what looked like a conference room, a flood of chatter accompanying them. Cat flicked her audio recorder on. She saw Fox do the same, his body tensed. Latching on to the word ‘children', Cat attempted to follow a conversation between two men lagging at the back of the group, wishing she could step forward a little further.

‘They're bringing in another trainload of sprogs from the Greaves at the weekend,' the man on the left – a short, balding, rather chubby man by the name of Harold Woods – told his companion. Cat's brow furrowed. Since when had there been a train out to the Greaves Mountains?

‘Another lot already? Bloody hell, we're going through them fast. How many are even being sent skywards these days? Seems like we're taking as many out to bury as we bring in.'

Cat couldn't get a good look at the second man, but by his significant girth and the unique red and purple velvet coat he wore, she assumed he was Robert McCrae, the only man she knew with such interesting choices in clothing. She frowned at his wording; what did he mean by “sent skywards”? Making a gesture to Fox, Cat crept behind the migrating group.

‘Doesn't it just? Apparently they're confident about this lot, though. All Greystone kids, healthier than the street rats we got last time. Listen, I've got to split, I've got a meeting with the boss before I call it a night. He needs to talk expenses,' Woods told the older man with an annoyed frown.

McCrae snorted, patting Woods on the shoulder.

‘Good luck,' he remarked.

McCrae turned into a room off to the side. And glancing at Fox, Cat knew they didn't need to discuss which of the men to follow.

Woods walked through a door at the end of the corridor and, after waiting for several heartbeats, Cat and Fox followed. To their surprise, there was a narrow staircase ahead, and Woods was on his way up. Careful not to make any sound on the steps, they crept along behind the squat man, who was muttering to himself under his breath.

When they reached the top of the staircase there was another door, and Woods had to remove a key from his pocket to open it. Luckily, he didn't feel the need to lock it behind him, and after a long pause Cat turned the handle slowly, waiting for it to creak. She let out a sigh of relief when it didn't, pushing the door open and stepping through. Immediately, her heart sank, and her stomach turned to lead. She knew this corridor. This was the corridor in the north wing of the second floor of the government building; the corridor she had been left in many times while her father conducted important business meetings in his office. She felt a deep sense of dread in her gut, and stopped in her tracks, causing Fox to bump into her. His bright eyes were fixed on the ostentatious decor of the corridor; the lush purple carpets, the varnished dark wood walls lit with far more ornate silver lanterns than the ones downstairs. Portraits of famous past government leaders hung on the walls, and Cat vividly remembered the time she'd drawn moustaches on several of them.

‘What?' Fox hissed in her ear. Woods was still walking,
heading towards the worryingly familiar door at the end of the hallway.

‘No,' Cat was murmuring, shaking her head, as Woods knocked on the door, waited for a beat and then entered, shutting it behind him.

Glancing around the empty corridor, Fox grabbed Cat forcefully by the arm, pulling her forward.

‘Please!' she gasped frantically. ‘Turn around and go back!'

Fox ignored her, and she closed her eyes tightly as he hovered near the door. She didn't need to open her eyes; she'd spent a good deal of her life staring at that door, bored out of her mind. She could tell Fox that there were twenty-four squares of glass in the window. She could tell him that the door handle was brass, and jammed if you lifted it upwards first, locking the door from the outside; she'd had a lot of fun fiddling with the handle, and a lot of fun locking people inside for hours. And she could definitely tell him that there was a spelling mistake on the plaque just below the window – the plaque that, spelled correctly, would have read
Lord N Hunter II
.