Iron Lights

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoThe prison was quieter after that. Almost a quarter of the inmates had escaped, and most of them stayed free. It was Fei Fei’s second prison break, and this time she didn’t come back.

Weeks passed, and I tried to be cheerful on her behalf. I hoped her conscience let her stay away this time—but I missed her. Not many people would share their rations in prison, but her survival of a serious illness had only made her more generous when others were weak.

Dry and I no longer exchanged friendly insults, and as a result I felt sorely lacking in conversation despite receiving regular visits from several true friends in the Melbourne area. It wasn’t the same, and Matilda wasn’t among them.

She didn’t write; not even to tell me where she had gone or why. I didn’t let the other prisoners see me crying. Some of the younger girls had the notion that I was much stronger than I was, and I didn’t want to let them down.

The tower was rebuilt with difficulty as most of the city was caught up in preparations for the Grand Expedition. I was questioned at length about the escape incident, and was glad I hadn’t known about it in advance. Apart from anything else, I was able to cheerfully confess that Dry knew more than I did. For once, the mayhem was nothing to do with me.

My emancipated friend Lizzie visited as usual, bringing a secret stash of twice-baked coal for my heart and reporting on all the gossip of the city in exquisite detail. Prison life had suited her; filling in her thin frame and keeping her out of sunlight so her skin was more like porcelain than ever. I didn’t like to think what her life in London had been like before she was caught stealing. Some said the whole point of transportation was to rid London of its poorest class—but of course that didn’t apply to me. I had been rich, once.

‘Is it true that the bombers begged you to leave with them, and you refused?’ she asked.

‘Hardly!’ I said, uncomfortable with the idea that I was the subject of city gossip, however briefly. ‘I never saw them, and we certainly didn’t pause to shoot the breeze.’

She couldn’t help looking a little disappointed, and I couldn’t help laughing at her.

‘You do know you’re a hero, don’t you?’ she said. ‘The woman who single-handedly brought about universal suffrage in all of Victoria.’

‘That’s not even slightly true,’ I said, alarmed.

She just grinned, and I knew she was amusing herself by adding to the myths about me. Hopefully it would all calm down by the time I finished my sentence.

We spent the rest of our hour talking about the Grand Expedition. The governor had insisted on having a building made for the purpose, but was sure to be regretting it now as costs spiralled out of control. Meanwhile, hopeful inventors and investors spread their own rumours of amazing new contraptions and devices that would be revealed for the first time when the enormous copper doors finally opened. I adored hearing about it, and then cursed myself later for dwelling on an experience that I could never hope to have.

Days passed much like the others: food and exercise and long hours spent in my cell. Then one day everything changed.

I was walking back inside from yet another uninspired session of so-called exercise.

‘You,’ said one of the female guards, jabbing her finger into my chest. ‘Emmeline Muchamore. Stay.’

I stood with my head obediently bowed, barely curious about what would happen to me next. My crimes were well known, but thanks to Lizzie’s nonsense there was a chance I would be set free.

At that thought, my heart stuttered again, and I resisted the urge to take the Lord’s name in vain as steam jetted from the vent between my shoulder blades, scorching my skin and leaving my prison-issued dress hot and wet. I shouldn’t have let myself hope for good news.

Fortunately no one was watching me, and the guard who had stopped me was looking at one of the towers near the main entrance. I followed her gaze and saw that the tower guards were stoking the winch engine in preparation for opening the prison. It had been far too long since I’d seen a glimpse of Melbourne outside the stone and iron walls, and I felt a second unexpected stab of excitement. The gate engine hissed as it strained to move, and the tower guards threw the switch to set the barrier rumbling upward. I breathed deeply as the smoke of the engines drifted across the empty yard. It smelled of home to me, reminding me of the various underground laboratories I’d made my own since childhood; coal and iron with subtle notes of mould and ash.

The gate clanked and shuddered mightily, making a rumbling counterpoint to the sounds of the city beyond. I saw fine ladies in tin-striped skirts, their chatter underlined with the cheerful bings of their attire; men in brass waistcoats striding by and pretending they weren’t glancing into the prison as they passed; and courting couples gazing raptly at one another. Costermongers banged spoons on iron pipes to loudly advertise their wares, their faces wreathed in smoke and steam. Delicious smells drifted inside to meet me.

I drank it in, as captivated by the Melbourne street as I had once been by the London Opera. It took me a long time to see the young woman standing facing me, patiently waiting for the gate to lift fully before she stepped inside.

She wore her blond-streaked hair up in a bun under a fine bowler hat, and looked at me through a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. Unlike all the other women on the street, she was attired in full rational dress: dark navy waistcoat, jacket, and rather distractingly well-fitted trousers. Her collar was high, pushing up her chin, and starched and bleached to opalescence. She wore a white bow tie, and the cufflinks peeking from her jacket sleeves shone black. Her shoes shone black as well, but ruined the apparent perfection with a fine coating of Melbourne dust. She rested one hand in the same pocket as her fob watch, and with the other she held a lit cigar. I noticed the hand holding the cigar was trembling. She saw me staring and brought the cigar to her mouth … but in that same moment her mouth dropped open. The cigar fell to the ground and was forgotten, and the woman walked inside, staring at me as if she’d seen a ghost.

I didn’t know whether I should curtsey, bow, or back away. She fetched up in front of me, and in an instant her eyes were brimming with tears.

‘It’s true,’ she breathed. ‘It’s all true.’

‘Pardon me?’ I asked, frightened by her intensity.

She blinked away her tears and turned to the guard next to me. ‘This is the one?’

‘Yes, Miss Venture,’ said the guard. ‘Emmeline Muchamore. I gather you’ve heard of her?’

Miss Venture paused, and stared at the hand that had been holding her cigar. ‘What might I have heard?’

The guard blinked. ‘This is her: Emmeline Muchamore. The one who delivered the women’s suffrage petition to Parliament last year.’

‘I see,’ she said, giving me a sharp look.

‘Do you still want her?’ the guard asked.

‘Yes please,’ said Miss Venture. ‘As soon as possible.’

‘What a shame you can’t take one of our men,’ the guard said, leading both of us toward the cells. ‘Naturally Miss Muchamore isn’t allowed any activated metals here, but you’re welcome to supply her with some magical iron if her natural strength isn’t sufficient.’

I gathered I was going to be set to work. Since I had no strong opinions on whether that would be more or less pleasant than prison, I did not comment. Nor did I mention the iron in my shoe, the tin-and-silver spiders in my pocket, or the silver and brass of my heart. Lizzie had been bribing the guards for months to turn a blind eye to my small-scale magical experiments.

‘My entire home is made of iron, and it has saved many souls—and failed to save others,’ said Miss Venture. ‘The iron activated almost immediately when it was completed, presumably because the builders took such joy in its creation. I do not lack strengthening magic.’

The guard hesitated, then braced herself and commented, ‘I cannot answer for Miss Muchamore’s mental strength.’

A laugh burst into my mouth, and it was all I could do to keep it from leaving my lips. It turned into a fit of coughing. I had been called many things, and wider society didn’t even know about my mechanical heart. Being called a madwoman is, on the whole, preferable to being burned as a witch.

Miss Venture did not reply but gazed at her with an eerie blankness, hardly blinking behind her spectacles. The guard flushed profusely, and visibly searched for a change of topic. She remembered that I was being fetched, and we headed inside.

My cell was easy to spot: it was the only cell with a door still hanging open. The others laughed and threw shredded newspaper as we passed, and I took my chance to clasp hands with the women who had been kind to me. I had a feeling I would not see them again, and since they couldn’t read there was little point in writing letters. But we all knew the score. If any one of us was taken to a work camp, the rest would wish them a lenient master and better food. I wondered how soon the men’s cells would know that I was gone. For an odd moment, I wished I could say a proper farewell to Mr Dry. I wondered if he would be happier to hear that I had struggled and wept, frightened by the change in my circumstances—or would he be pleased that I was pleased? After all, I was British. So was he, despite being born in Australia.

His opinions no longer mattered, in any case. Miss Venture was my master now. I entered my cell, a place familiar to the last unidentifiable wall stain, and hurried to gather my things, taking care to slide Ethel and my other spiders into the canvas bag the guard gave me. There, at the bottom of the bag, was the dress I had worn the day I was arrested. A dress Matilda gave me. It still smelled of her, and for a moment my carefully tended calm deserted me utterly and I caught my breath in a sob.

What if she couldn’t find me?

I shook myself fiercely. Matilda was resourceful. When she wanted to find me, she would. I wrenched my mind away from the fear that she didn’t want me anymore. If that was true, she would tell me. Or if she didn’t, Patrick O’Connell would—her adopted brother, and my friend.

Patrick had been very busy lately, so I hadn’t seen him since the prison break. When I was first arrested he took shelter in a local hotel. Since then he’d tried his hand at honest work and ultimately bought the entire hotel. So he was relatively close by, but visited less often. It turned out being an honest man was more time consuming than his previous career as a horse thief.

I followed Miss Venture and the guard to the main office, and signed where they told me to sign—promising not to attempt to escape Miss Venture’s care. Matilda and Patrick had helped me to escape indentured servitude before, but this time I was determined to stay within the law. I glanced at Miss Venture, unable to stop myself thinking that she didn’t look able to keep me imprisoned if my own sense of honour didn’t hold me. Well, I could always change my mind and break my promise. Australia was my country now, and I knew plenty of places to hide.

Behind me, the inner door closed, ending my stint in Melbourne Gaol.

Skrrr-clang!

‘Are you ready, Miss Muchamore?’ Miss Venture asked me.

‘I am,’ I said.

‘Follow me please.’

She walked down the stairs, across the dusty yard, and under the open gate. I walked after her, keeping a respectful step behind, out into the blazing sun of a Melbourne day.