Read Online Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve - Free Book Online
Authors: Philip Reeve
Tags: sf_fantasy
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about her any more. Come on." He stood up quickly. "We have a few days more together before I set off; so let's make the most of them. We'll sit by the fire and eat buttered toast and talk about old times, and not think about... about that poor disfigured girl."
As they walked back hand in hand across the park a shadow slid over them; a Goshawk 90 departing from the Engineerium. "You see?" said Katherine. "The Guild of Engineers has airships of its own. I think it's horrid of Magnus Crome, sending you away from me."
But her father just shaded his eyes to watch as the white airship circled Top Tier and flew quickly towards the west.
8
THE TRADING CLUSTER
Tom was dreaming of Katherine. She was walking arm in arm with him through the familiar rooms of the Museum, only there were no curators or Guildsmen about, nobody to say, "Polish the floor, Natsworthy," or "Dust the 43rd Century glassware." He was showing her around the place as if he owned it, and she was smiling at him as he explained the details of the replica airships and the great cut-away model of London. Through it all a strange, moaning music sounded, and it wasn't until they reached the Natural History gallery that they realized it was the blue whale, singing to them.
The dream faded, but the weird notes of the whale's song lingered. He was lying on a quivering wooden deck. Wooden walls rose on either side, with morning sunlight glinting through the gaps between the planks, and overhead a mad confusion of pipes and ducts and tubes crawled over the ceiling. It was Speedwell's plumbing, and its burblings and grumbles were what he had mistaken for the song of the whale.
He rolled over and looked around the tiny room. Hester was sitting against the far wall. She nodded when she saw that he was awake.
"Where am I?" he groaned.
"I didn't know anybody really said that," she said. "I thought that was just in books. 'Where am I?' How interesting."
"No, really," Tom protested, looking around at the rough walls and the narrow metal door. "Is this still Speedwell? What happened?"
"The food, of course," she replied.
"You mean Wreyland drugged us? But why?" He got up and made his way to the door across the pitching deck. "Don't bother," Hester warned him, "it's locked." He tried it anyway. She was right. Next he stumbled over to peer through a crack in the wall. Beyond it he could see a narrow wooden walkway that flickered like a Goggle-screen picture as the shadow of one of Speedwell's wheels flashed across it. The Out-Country was rushing past, looking much rockier and steeper than when last he saw it.
"We've been heading south by south east since first light," explained Hester wearily, before he could ask. "Probably longer, but I was asleep too."
"Where are they taking us?"
"How should I know?"
Tom sat down in a heap with his back to the shuddering wall. "That's it then!" he said. "London must be hundreds of miles away! I'll never get home now!"
Hester said nothing. Her face was white, making the scars stand out even more than usual, and blood had soaked into the planking around her injured leg.
An hour crawled by, and then another. Sometimes people went hurrying along the walkway outside, their shadows blocking out the skinny shafts of sunlight. The plumbing burbled to itself. At last Tom heard the sound of a padlock being undone. A hatch low down on the door popped open and a face peered in. "Everybody all right?" it asked.
"All right?" shouted Tom. "Of course we're not all right!" He scrambled towards the door. Wreyland was on hands and knees outside, crouching down so he could see through the hatch (which Tom suspected was really a cat-flap). Behind him were the booted feet of some of his men, standing guard. "What have you done this for?" Tom asked. "We haven't done you any harm!"
The old mayor looked embarrassed. "That's true, dear boy, but times are hard, you see, cruel hard these days. No fun, running a traction town. We have to
As they walked back hand in hand across the park a shadow slid over them; a Goshawk 90 departing from the Engineerium. "You see?" said Katherine. "The Guild of Engineers has airships of its own. I think it's horrid of Magnus Crome, sending you away from me."
But her father just shaded his eyes to watch as the white airship circled Top Tier and flew quickly towards the west.
8
THE TRADING CLUSTER
Tom was dreaming of Katherine. She was walking arm in arm with him through the familiar rooms of the Museum, only there were no curators or Guildsmen about, nobody to say, "Polish the floor, Natsworthy," or "Dust the 43rd Century glassware." He was showing her around the place as if he owned it, and she was smiling at him as he explained the details of the replica airships and the great cut-away model of London. Through it all a strange, moaning music sounded, and it wasn't until they reached the Natural History gallery that they realized it was the blue whale, singing to them.
The dream faded, but the weird notes of the whale's song lingered. He was lying on a quivering wooden deck. Wooden walls rose on either side, with morning sunlight glinting through the gaps between the planks, and overhead a mad confusion of pipes and ducts and tubes crawled over the ceiling. It was Speedwell's plumbing, and its burblings and grumbles were what he had mistaken for the song of the whale.
He rolled over and looked around the tiny room. Hester was sitting against the far wall. She nodded when she saw that he was awake.
"Where am I?" he groaned.
"I didn't know anybody really said that," she said. "I thought that was just in books. 'Where am I?' How interesting."
"No, really," Tom protested, looking around at the rough walls and the narrow metal door. "Is this still Speedwell? What happened?"
"The food, of course," she replied.
"You mean Wreyland drugged us? But why?" He got up and made his way to the door across the pitching deck. "Don't bother," Hester warned him, "it's locked." He tried it anyway. She was right. Next he stumbled over to peer through a crack in the wall. Beyond it he could see a narrow wooden walkway that flickered like a Goggle-screen picture as the shadow of one of Speedwell's wheels flashed across it. The Out-Country was rushing past, looking much rockier and steeper than when last he saw it.
"We've been heading south by south east since first light," explained Hester wearily, before he could ask. "Probably longer, but I was asleep too."
"Where are they taking us?"
"How should I know?"
Tom sat down in a heap with his back to the shuddering wall. "That's it then!" he said. "London must be hundreds of miles away! I'll never get home now!"
Hester said nothing. Her face was white, making the scars stand out even more than usual, and blood had soaked into the planking around her injured leg.
An hour crawled by, and then another. Sometimes people went hurrying along the walkway outside, their shadows blocking out the skinny shafts of sunlight. The plumbing burbled to itself. At last Tom heard the sound of a padlock being undone. A hatch low down on the door popped open and a face peered in. "Everybody all right?" it asked.
"All right?" shouted Tom. "Of course we're not all right!" He scrambled towards the door. Wreyland was on hands and knees outside, crouching down so he could see through the hatch (which Tom suspected was really a cat-flap). Behind him were the booted feet of some of his men, standing guard. "What have you done this for?" Tom asked. "We haven't done you any harm!"
The old mayor looked embarrassed. "That's true, dear boy, but times are hard, you see, cruel hard these days. No fun, running a traction town. We have to
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