Chapter 77 - The Kraken Gate
Three days later, Chancellor Gordon arrived back in the Council’s airship, bringing with him Colonel Pawlish and the head of the Special Information Services, a grey-looking woman who stood ramrod-straight and was only referred to by the name “Max”. Lastly there was the minister for Homeland Protection, a tall, thin man with a bushy moustache, beady eyes and a walk like a chicken.
We were all in the mansion’s main drawing room. Everything had already been explained to them once, but they kept going over parts of the story, wanting more detail.
‘Is this Second Lieutenant Overstrand also a traitor?’ Max asked.
‘I don’t believe so, ma’am,’ I said. ‘But without orders covering the loss of his commanding officers, he took what he believed to be the right decision. All he knew was that Harman was planning to hit back at our enemy, and my attempts to stop him were misguided at best, or traitorous at the worst.’
‘And how, exactly, did you succeed in retaking control of Director Harman’s estate?’ Colonel Pawlish was scribbling everything that was said in a tiny notebook.
I explained again how I’d passed a note to Dr. Onacar, the hydrologist, asking her to get it to the estate’s butler. Rigsby had taken it into Lannerville where he had personally handed it to Captain Hanta-Kildair. Although we had only met twice, the captain had developed something of a crush on me, so he had come to the mansion at the double. With his help, we had rounded up Overstrand and the rest of the marines and put them under lock and key, until Emberland’s military high command worked out what to do with them.
This morning’s arrival of a company of Emberly’s Second Fusiliers, dispatched by the Council, meant that Hanta-Kildair’s platoon had been allowed to return to the town of Lannerville. Before leaving though, the captain had asked me to dine with him in town, and recognising that he had now bailed me out twice, I had graciously accepted.
The Head of S.I.S. insisted we go over the whole thing once more, this time latching on to the fact that Harman had hooked up a poison gas container to the Koulomb Gate’s portal chamber.
‘Did he really think he’d need to kill people inside the machine?’ asked Max.
‘No, ma’am. I don’t believe he did. It was a genuine attempt to devise a secondary line of defence against anything unwanted coming through the gate.’
‘So he and his niece decided to use it on you.’ Max looked disgusted. She said, ’Even the Nallians haven’t resorted to gassing our troops yet. You were lucky that your man, Rendish, recognised the cylinder and disconnected it.’
‘Yes, ma’am. We are. He’s a resourceful man is Mr. Rendish.’ I glanced at Tyrone who was inspecting his fingernails. He and Dr. Onacar had been watching the stable block courtyard, as per Inigo’s instructions when Ty had spotted what looked like an oil drum covered with warning labels. Curiosity turned to outright alarm when they noticed that it was attached by a hose and some kind of lever mechanism to the portal chamber’s ventilation shaft, so they’d run over and disconnected the lever from the cable that controlled it as soon as they had the chance.
‘Had they survived, they’d have faced the death penalty for that alone,’ growled Chancellor Gordon.
Colonel Pawlish asked some more questions about Captain Banks. None of us knew how he’d managed to signal the saboteurs, but our best theory was that he had had just enough time between seeing Ellen, and organising the marines for the night patrol. It would have been tight, but possible, if he had prepared a number of encrypted messages, and sent the appropriate one as soon as he gained access to Evershed’s room in the mansion.
Eventually Pawlish and Max were satisfied, and so they returned to the topic of how to use the gate to bring an end to the war. At that point Ellen took over. Although I had slept well the last two nights, the relentless questioning was taking its toll. Ellen was fully up to speed with what I had in mind. She and Mahkran had helped to flesh out the detail.
Neither the chancellor, or the other two from S.I.S. had been able to take in the magnitude of what we’d proposed first time around, so we had delayed a full account until now. Ellen told them what we had in mind. Secretary Lampton was present, of course, and wrote furiously in a notebook the whole time.
Mahkran had to step in twice, once to explain that he spoke Nallian because he’d grown up close to the border, and the second time to translate back into Emberlandish word-for-word the speech that we had worked on. He and Ellen did a great job. Even so, I could see that Chancellor Gordon and Max were far from happy.
‘This could spark a diplomatic incident!’ said the chancellor.
Ellen pointed out that we were already in the midst of a diplomatic incident, what with the Nallians having annexed a chunk of our country.
The colonel wasn’t convinced we’d get out alive. ‘What if they capture you, or shoot you on sight?’ he grumbled.
Na-Su could be enormously patient. It’s a cultural thing that you learn when you frequently have to wait by a hole in the ice for three or four days in sub-zero temperatures for a meal to happen by. In spite of this, she couldn’t help but interrupt.
‘You not thinking straight,’ she said, jabbing a finger at Emberland’s higher-ups. ‘Emberlanders already been shot at. We already been shot at and nearly die. Now many more die if we don’t do something.’
Ellen looked to me, wondering whether to ask Na-Su to calm down, but I just shrugged. Na-Su’s famous dislike for nonsense was the trait that I admired the most in her, so we let her build some momentum.
‘We need steel, we need pipes, we need mechanics and many complicated things, and we need them now to get gate working again! Every turn you waste means more people die. Already your people make trouble for us. Why you not know Banks is crazy man, eh?’ Ellen stepped neatly back in when the Omolit had vented.
‘Na-Su’s right,’ she pointed out. ‘This is our best hope for peace. Harman wanted to use the gate to end the war, but he was just going about it the wrong way. Imagine if a delegate of Nallians appeared like magic in your council hall, the very centre of Emberland’s government. I suggest it would be very troubling. You might listen carefully to what they had to say.’
We argued with them for over a bell. They wavered, but fear of the operation going wrong and rebounding on them was too much. At last it was Inigo who delivered the breakthrough.
‘What if this is a rogue operation?’ he asked. ‘If this isn’t sanctioned and it goes wrong, you can’t be blamed. At least, not if you spin it correctly.’
Chancellor Gordon, Max and the colonel looked at each other. Some understanding passed between them.
‘Go on,’ said the Head of S.I.S.
‘Well, you’ve explained the impossibility of a trip to the Nallian capital, so your position couldn’t be clearer. Anyone defying your instructions doubtless faces a lengthy prison sentence, or worse. Am I right?’
‘You have the shape of it.’
‘History will record that you did everything in your power to prevent an unauthorised operation. So when we leave this room in a few moments time, it will be obvious to you… to everyone in this room, that the matter is closed. Any prospect of the gate being opened without your say-so is manifestly unthinkable. Are we all agreed on this?’
The grey S.I.S. woman squinted at the chancellor. Then the chancellor turned to the Secretary Lampton.
‘Lampton, be a good fellow,’ he said. ‘Pray find the location in your notes when Mr. Forbes suggests a rogue operation.’
Lampton turned back one page and looked up. ‘I have it, sir.’
‘Excellent! Tear out his words and everything from that point forwards.’
‘Sir?’ Lampton was being particularly slow today.
‘Be a good fellow and just do it, eh?’ The chancellor watched as his secretary excised the last nine turns of history. ‘Right. Now, please resume taking notes and record everything I say most carefully. Do you understand?’
‘I do, sir.’
Chancellor Gordon turned back to me. ’Ms. Derringer.’
‘Chancellor?’
‘My colleagues and I must return to the capital. The war makes unjust demands on us, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Chancellor.’
‘Therefore, since I can spare no deputies to manage things here, I leave you in charge of getting the Koulomb Gate repaired. I shall instruct Professor Maddison to follow your orders. The Second Fusiliers will report solely to you. I entrust you keeping this facility safe, and with getting it operational again, but - and Lampton will faithfully record this - my instructions expressly forbid any unsanctioned transits.’
‘And the materials and supplies we need?’
Chancellor Gordon waved a hand. ‘I’ll arrange things with the Finance Councilman. The state will commandeer the late Director’s estate and use it as collateral. You’ll receive a letter of credit tomorrow via heliograph. How long will it take to fix?’
‘Professor Maddison is confident that it can be operational in two Meniah-cycles, perhaps less, if we can source all the materials and components we need.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Please proceed as fast as possible.’
‘We will, Chancellor.’
‘And remember, Ms. Derringer…repair, but nothing more.’
‘Of course, Chancellor. Of course.’
I was still thinking about the magnitude of that lie as sat down to write three letters that evening; one to Ankush’ parents, one to the Prince of Gulreimia and one to Benjamin’s family. It wasn’t my duty to write to Benjamin’s family, but I did know them, and I thought they would appreciate a heart-felt letter from someone who they knew their son had been in love with.
The letter to Prince Zhou-Anrah Drelahk was much tougher. I knew that Ankush would not have blamed me for what had happened; his brother didn’t, but I couldn’t help feeling that I had missed opportunities to avert the tragedy. The prince would be displeased, of that I was certain. Even harder than the job of breaking the news of Ankush’s death was that of convincing His Majesty to allow Mahkran to return to his family, without sounding as though I was sending him away. I tore up what I had written three times before I had something that I felt would not cause offense.
When the letters were finished, I stared out of the window. It was near midnight, so I could see nothing except the snow that was falling. Emberland was in the grip of Wintersole now. This was thick snow, the kind that drifts downwards for many bells and leaves a perfect white blanket over the houses and fields. Some of the flakes caught on the window pane, still for a moment until the warmth of my room melted them through the glass and they moved again, trekking slowly down to merge with the growing puddle at the bottom of the frame.
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