chained to the machine. The Ironclads stood some distance away, removing the saddles from their horses. They were too far away to overhear.
‘Ah, how I hate the outdoors,’ said the master in a quieter voice. ‘Give me the comforts of Engn any day. If I could spend the rest of my time there rather than wasting my life rounding up strays like you I’d be happy.’
‘Then why don’t you?’ asked Finn. ‘You’re a master. You can do what you want.’
The master looked at him. His name, Finn knew from the Ironclads, was Master Whelm.
‘You don’t know a thing do you?’ Master Whelm said. ‘The Iron Wheel doesn’t work like that.’
‘The Iron Wheel?’
‘The masters that control Engn. Don’t you know anything? I’m Seventh Wheel and that means I have to do whatever the Sixth tells me.’ He held up his hand to indicate a single iron ring adorning his index finger.
‘Sixth Wheel masters wear two rings. They in turn obey the Fifth, who have three rings. That’s the way it works. Masters of the First Wheel have seven rings and they obey only those in the Inner Wheel.’
Finn knew none of this. But he needed to find out all he could about the workings of Engn. If he couldn’t manage to escape before they got there, any piece of information could prove to be useful.
‘So, the eight wheels together are called The Iron Wheel?’
‘That’s what I just said, isn’t it?’
‘And the Inner Wheel wear eight rings?’
‘Of course they don’t, idiot! They don’t need rings. They do as they please.’
‘So how do you become one of them?’
The master shook his head, staring out through the drizzle as if he could see something out there.
He shrugged. ‘It takes years. Most people are old men by the time they make it. If they ever do.’
‘But the Ironclads, all of us, we do as you say.’
‘It’s all different in Engn.’
The master looked young, then, little more than a sullen, bedraggled boy. His sodden cloak hung off his shoulders.
‘Then why do you want to get there so much?’ asked Finn.
‘Because I just do!’ The master was angry now. ‘Enough of this, boy. Leave me in peace.’
He stamped off to shout at the Ironclads. Finn sat down, his back to one of the wheels of the engine. He studied the iron ring around his ankle one again, but it was no use. He could never hope to crack or bend the metal, or to slip his foot free. An Ironclad came over and handed him a bowl of lukewarm stew and a flask of water. Finn ate and drank, watching Master Whelm, who sat alone, gazing at the road ahead. When he’d finished, another of the Ironclads – Finn could easily tell them apart now – came over, unshackled the chain from the engine, and led Finn into the woods so he could relieve himself.
Back at the engine, the chain once more secured, Finn lay down and tried to sleep, slipping in and out of dreams as he tried to get comfortable on the hard ground.
*
‘Are you working for them?’ asked the girl, keeping the knife pointed at their faces. ‘Did they send you after me?’ Her gaze darted between them.
‘You mean the Ironclads?’ asked Connor. ‘Of course not. Are you a wrecker?’
The girl looked confused. ‘Me? No. I’ve never been anywhere near Engn.’
Finn lowered his knife. She didn’t look dangerous. She looked starving if anything. Starving and exhausted. Green and black smudges covered her face, as if she had attempted to camouflage herself. Her eyes were wary, like those of a panicky horse. A bush of tangled hair straggled out from her head. Dried blood from an old cut stained her forehead. She was maybe a year older then Connor.
Finn and Connor lowered their knives.
‘Why are they chasing you?’ asked Finn.
The girl shrugged.
‘How long have you been out here?’ asked Connor.
‘Eighteen days now. Maybe nineteen. I’ve lost count.’
‘Here.’ Finn fished the pasty out of his backpack and broke off a lump. The girl looked wary but her hunger was
‘Ah, how I hate the outdoors,’ said the master in a quieter voice. ‘Give me the comforts of Engn any day. If I could spend the rest of my time there rather than wasting my life rounding up strays like you I’d be happy.’
‘Then why don’t you?’ asked Finn. ‘You’re a master. You can do what you want.’
The master looked at him. His name, Finn knew from the Ironclads, was Master Whelm.
‘You don’t know a thing do you?’ Master Whelm said. ‘The Iron Wheel doesn’t work like that.’
‘The Iron Wheel?’
‘The masters that control Engn. Don’t you know anything? I’m Seventh Wheel and that means I have to do whatever the Sixth tells me.’ He held up his hand to indicate a single iron ring adorning his index finger.
‘Sixth Wheel masters wear two rings. They in turn obey the Fifth, who have three rings. That’s the way it works. Masters of the First Wheel have seven rings and they obey only those in the Inner Wheel.’
Finn knew none of this. But he needed to find out all he could about the workings of Engn. If he couldn’t manage to escape before they got there, any piece of information could prove to be useful.
‘So, the eight wheels together are called The Iron Wheel?’
‘That’s what I just said, isn’t it?’
‘And the Inner Wheel wear eight rings?’
‘Of course they don’t, idiot! They don’t need rings. They do as they please.’
‘So how do you become one of them?’
The master shook his head, staring out through the drizzle as if he could see something out there.
He shrugged. ‘It takes years. Most people are old men by the time they make it. If they ever do.’
‘But the Ironclads, all of us, we do as you say.’
‘It’s all different in Engn.’
The master looked young, then, little more than a sullen, bedraggled boy. His sodden cloak hung off his shoulders.
‘Then why do you want to get there so much?’ asked Finn.
‘Because I just do!’ The master was angry now. ‘Enough of this, boy. Leave me in peace.’
He stamped off to shout at the Ironclads. Finn sat down, his back to one of the wheels of the engine. He studied the iron ring around his ankle one again, but it was no use. He could never hope to crack or bend the metal, or to slip his foot free. An Ironclad came over and handed him a bowl of lukewarm stew and a flask of water. Finn ate and drank, watching Master Whelm, who sat alone, gazing at the road ahead. When he’d finished, another of the Ironclads – Finn could easily tell them apart now – came over, unshackled the chain from the engine, and led Finn into the woods so he could relieve himself.
Back at the engine, the chain once more secured, Finn lay down and tried to sleep, slipping in and out of dreams as he tried to get comfortable on the hard ground.
*
‘Are you working for them?’ asked the girl, keeping the knife pointed at their faces. ‘Did they send you after me?’ Her gaze darted between them.
‘You mean the Ironclads?’ asked Connor. ‘Of course not. Are you a wrecker?’
The girl looked confused. ‘Me? No. I’ve never been anywhere near Engn.’
Finn lowered his knife. She didn’t look dangerous. She looked starving if anything. Starving and exhausted. Green and black smudges covered her face, as if she had attempted to camouflage herself. Her eyes were wary, like those of a panicky horse. A bush of tangled hair straggled out from her head. Dried blood from an old cut stained her forehead. She was maybe a year older then Connor.
Finn and Connor lowered their knives.
‘Why are they chasing you?’ asked Finn.
The girl shrugged.
‘How long have you been out here?’ asked Connor.
‘Eighteen days now. Maybe nineteen. I’ve lost count.’
‘Here.’ Finn fished the pasty out of his backpack and broke off a lump. The girl looked wary but her hunger was
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