Attard nodded. ‘The overseers. Most of all, Emlyn Price, head of said overseers. The Ironmaster, we call him. He became Minister for Industry last year,’ she said. ‘He usually lives in London in his fancy townhouse, but he’s been up here for months now. Even brought his spouse and kids with him. They stay in a gated community in Altrincham.’
‘And the people working under him don’t want to fight back?’ Maria demanded. ‘They don’t want to stop living in this hell?’
I had always liked Maria for her willingness to give anyone a tongue-lashing, but I could sense she was riling Attard.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ the Scuttling Queen said, staring her out. Maria folded her arms. ‘None of my Scuttlers work in the factories. That’s exactly why my family created the network: so voyants could stay out of them. So they wouldn’t get so desperate for money that they were forced to be workhands. We steal our money. We earn it with our gifts.’
‘I understand, Scuttling Queen,’ Tom said gently. ‘I used to work in a cotton mill myself, in Glasgow. I ken what it’s like.’
‘It’s worse than you remember.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. ‘But surely we should at least investigate what the Underqueen suspects. If it’s true, it has implications for us all.’
‘I disagree. And I’m not letting you to do this.’ She thumbed the buckle of one of her belts. ‘You’re not going to break into a factory, potentially bringing hell on us all, on the off-chance that you might be able to find out how Senshield works. I won’t have my people die for a pipe-dream.’
‘People like your sister?’ I said.
‘Do not talk to me about my sister.’
Her tone was razor-edged. I glanced towards Hari, who shook his head.
‘Are you saying you won’t allow us to stay?’ I said.
‘Oh, you can stay, Underqueen.’ She laughed a little. ‘Stay as long as you like. Just don’t try getting into one of those factories, or I’ll send my Scuttlers after you. And you won’t much like that.’
I tried to think of how someone else would handle this situation. Nick would ask her questions, try to get to the root of her reluctance to fight, but I didn’t have time for that. Wynn would demand to know why she was refusing her duty of care to her people, but that would get her back up. Warden was both soft-spoken and forthright in a confrontation, which, coupled with a pair of chilling eyes I didn’t have, tended to get people to listen to him.
In the end, I could only do things my way.
‘Freedom of movement in your citadel will eventually be crushed if we don’t act. Sooner or later, the Scuttlers will be forced into hiding.’ I stepped forward. ‘Help us. Let us do what we need to do here. Just one soldier, with one portable Senshield device, could devastate your community.’ I was about to snap. ‘My syndicate has been forced underground, unable to move for fear of detection. It will get worse, and soon, if we don’t fight back now. We never thought it would happen to us. We ignored it for months, and now we’re paying for it.’
Attard drew in a breath.
‘You’re a leader. It’s your responsibility to protect the Scuttlers,’ I said softer. ‘Do you want to see them buried alive?’
Her head turned sharply. ‘Don’t you swan up here and question my ability to lead, Londoner.’ She fixed a hard stare on me. ‘I mean to protect them. I mean to protect them as my father did, by keeping them out of harm’s way. If we don’t get involved, Vance won’t come.’
Maria sighed. ‘Try to stop lying to yourself.’
‘You’re the one lying to yourself if you think provoking Vance is going to bring you peace.’ She cast a scathing glance over Maria. ‘You sound Bulgarian. How did rebelling turn out for you?’
Maria shut her mouth, but the look she gave Attard was murderous.
Was everyone in the world in denial? Everything we knew was changing, washing away the safety of tradition, and her solution was to stand and wait for it to pass. She would be waiting her whole life.
‘Cause any trouble on my turf, and you’ll live to regret it,’ Attard finished, turning away. ‘And don’t contact my sister, either. She can’t help you.’
I inclined my head and made for the stairs. ‘Then I guess we’re done here.’ No point wasting any more time at a dead end.
Roberta Attard said nothing as we left.
‘She’s just like Hector,’ I seethed. ‘Does she really think the trouble’s going to stay in London?’
Maria blew cigarette smoke out of the train window. ‘There were hundreds like her in Bulgaria. Some people believe that if they keep their heads down and stick to their safe routine and trust that nothing bad will befall them, then it won’t. They see things happening to others, but they think they’re different; they’re special; it could never happen to them. They believe that nothing can get better, but also that nothing can get worse. They’re cowards, in one way, because they won’t fight, but they’re also brave, because they’re willing to accept their lot in life. Glupava smelost, we called it. Foolish courage.’
My boot tapped out a furious rhythm. Part of me didn’t blame Attard for wanting to avoid Vance, but I couldn’t listen to it.
‘Hari,’ I said, ‘there must be someone else who can help us get into a SciPLO factory.’
‘She’s right about the security, you know. You’d be mad to try and get into one of those places.’
‘I am mad.’ I sought his gaze. ‘You work for Roberta. Would you help me if I kept trying?’
Hari sank deeper into his jacket. ‘I do work for her,’ he admitted, ‘but not exclusively. She just gives me the odd bit of money to run the safe house, like I said.’
‘Is that a “yes”?’
It was a while before he said, ‘I was told to help you however I could.’ Another pause. ‘I guess what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’
Maria patted his shoulder. ‘Good man.’
The Red Rose was thick with customers by the time we got back to Hari’s district. The place had a homely smell of gravy and nutmeg and coffee, tinged with the pervasive stench of factory smoke, which clung to the patrons’ clothes as they entered. A whisperer with braided hair was serving the food, calling out orders in a musical voice. Sensing her aura stiffened my resolve. If she were in London, she would be at risk of detection.
We found a peaky Eliza sipping cola in the safe house. ‘How was it?’ she croaked.
‘Useless,’ I said.
She frowned. Without another word, I went up to the attic and sat on the windowsill.
Sallow grey mist swirled past the glass. I stared into it, allowing my mind to wander.
When you dream of change, it shines bright, like fire, and burns away all the rot that came before it. It’s swift and inexorable. You cry for justice, and justice is done. The world stands with you in your fight. But if there was one thing I had learned in these last few weeks, it was that change had never been that simple. That kind of revolution existed only in daydreams.
Someone knocked on the door. Tom the Rhymer’s grizzled head appeared a moment later.
‘Everything all right, Underqueen?’
‘I’m fine.’