‘Oh. Yes, I suppose so.’

He kissed her on the forehead. ‘That’s my girl. No doubts. No hesitation.’

‘Nigel, it wasn’t a decision. This is what we’ve been preparing for since we visited the Desert of Bone.’

‘Quite right,’ he said briskly. ‘Madeline, the car needs coal and water; get the livery people to bring it out – quickly. Fergus will show them what to do. Then you’ll be coming with us.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ll stay in Dios overnight, and load our equipment onto tomorrow morning’s express.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Kysandra said. ‘Akstan will deliver everything from the warehouses to Dios station.’ She glanced out of the livery yard. People were drifting along the street outside, anxious to get a real glimpse of the amazing steam car. A lot of them were kids. ‘There’s really no going back now, is there?’

‘No.’

*

It began a few minutes after midnight. The steam engine in the Holderness Avenue pump house suddenly lost pressure in one of its pistons, stalling the massive flywheel it turned. The cut-off valves worked perfectly, allowing steam to escape from the boiler, averting any kind of dangerous pressure build-up. The pump slowly rattled to a halt. Water pressure fell to zero across the whole district.

In the Hither Green Road pump house it was the pump itself which broke, its bearings seizing and disintegrating from the grit that contaminated the lubrication oil. Chunks of glowing metal exploded across the big hall, embedding themselves in the stone walls and punching clean through the roof. Pressure surges burst several feed pipes, sending water jetting out. A few minutes later, it poured into the idling engine’s firebox, extinguishing it in a blast of steam that shattered all the windows. Water continued to gush out, cascading down the road outside.

Chertsy Road pump house saw the engine regulator fail, allowing the pistons to increase speed, turning the pump faster and faster. The pressure in the pipes outside increased dramatically. Junctions sprang leaks, sending water fountaining up through the cobbles, breaking the valves on domestic tanks.

It was a domino effect that had been meticulously plotted. No one incident was enough to wreck Varlan’s water utility network, but the surges and dips had a cumulative result, affecting subsequent stations, forcing them to either shut down or suffer severe damage.

As pump house demand across the city fell drastically, the Watling, Highbrook and Ruslip reservoirs all had their sluice gates opened to maintain the correct levels. They were supposed to open only a few inches, but instead they kept going until they were fully open. Huge jets of water thundered out. As the small nightshift crews tried to shut them again, the mechanisms broke, jamming the gates in that position. Surge waves ploughed along the emergency culverts down towards the Colbal. But the culverts merged, and they’d never been designed to cope with three simultaneous releases. Water foamed up over the lips of the culverts, turning streets into streams, flooding into terraces and offices and factories.

By six o’clock in the morning, two thirds of Varlan was without fresh running water, and the reservoir sluice discharges had inundated the lower boroughs next to the river. Raw effluent, flushed out of the sewer pipes, bobbed along on the overflow, drifting into buildings on the eddies and swirls.

*

‘It is the radicals!’ the councillor for the Durnsford constituency declared, glaring at Slvasta from his position beside the First Speaker’s podium. ‘I say the sheriffs should round them up and send the lot of them to the mines.’

He was given a rousing cheer from across the tremendous marble chamber. Bienvenido’s National Council building was centred on the vast amphitheatre where councillors sat in tiers behind huge wooden desks to debate and scrutinize legislation. The walls were supported by thick fluted columns and hung with huge ancient oil paintings that depicted times from the world’s first millennium. Statues of past Captains and First Speakers gazed down from their high alcoves on the six hundred councillors. Five hundred and ninety-nine of them were members of Citizens’ Dawn. But, as Slvasta had discovered during the Captain’s opening ceremony, that didn’t actually mean uniformity. The chamber was alive with ever-shifting alliances clamouring for their ‘fair share’ of the national budget. Town against countryside, finance and industry, regions, the Varlan caucus, trains against boats, farming, the regiments. They all had their interests which had to be protected, urgent projects that needed funding, for which they required support. It was actually a lot more democratic (or at least balanced) than Slvasta had realized. That first day, he’d been approached by five separate factions, all eager to have him vote in favour of their bill in return for support on anything he wished to introduce to the Council.

But right now, differences had been put aside so they could all condemn him. He dropped the fist-sized red ball into the cup at the front of his desk, indicating that he wished to address the chamber.

The First Speaker, on the floor of the amphitheatre, rose from his ornate onyx throne. ‘Representative for Langley has the floor; pray silence and respect.’

Slvasta got neither as he walked down the aisle to stand beside the First Speaker’s podium.

‘Silence!’ the First Speaker’s voice and ’path declared across the chamber.

‘Mr Speaker.’ Slvasta bowed to the podium, as was tradition. He stared round at the ranks of desks, most of which had the yellow ball of challenge in their cups. The contempt and scorn radiating down on him was a psychic storm. ‘My honourable colleague from Durnsford has levelled a serious charge. I really don’t care that he slanders me with association; however, he does immense wrong to the people who simply speak up for a better life. He claims radicals are responsible for the calamity in this great capital city of ours. Could he perhaps name which pump house the sheriffs have confirmed was sabotaged? Of course he cannot, because we all know there has been no such declaration. We are also aware of the perilous state the city’s water utilities have been in for a great many years. Have the companies who own this precious utility which is vital to all of us, rich and poor alike, improved their pipes and pumps in the last ten years? Have they heeded the pleas of their engineers for funds and more repairs? Have their vast profits been invested wisely in new facilities that would alleviate any problem such as we now face? Has there been a debate or inquiry by this esteemed chamber in the matter by the very members who now claim to know so much about pipes and engines and reservoirs? Of course not. For complacency has become Bienvenido’s watchword – an example sadly set by this chamber. And for which this chamber must take responsibility.’

The torrent of vocal and ’pathed abuse was overwhelming. The First Speaker had to hold up the gavel of silence for over a minute before the honourable representatives quietened down.

‘I repeat my question,’ Slvasta said when the noise subsided. ‘Can you name an act of sabotage? No. This was a catastrophe waiting to happen. I say to you, my honourable colleagues, don’t try to cast blame outside; instead look where it truly lies. Any impartial inquiry will find where the fault for this disaster actually falls. If arrests are to be made, it should be among those who own the water utilities, whose uncaring greed is responsible.’ He bowed again to the First Speaker and made his way back up the aisle. This time there was no jeering, only sullen glances. Several of the yellow challenge balls were removed.

‘Brilliant,’ Bethaneve’s ’path reached him as he sat behind his desk. ‘You smacked it right back at them. Everybody who’s receiving the gifting from the Council clerk will know you’re the people’s champion now.’