The Straining Tower

Journey to the Straining Tower

Brace trudged on despite his hunger and the cold. He stopped worrying about whether anyone saw him and walked in the middle of the lane. The bleary sun put out little heat and the lower it sank in the sky, the colder the wind became. After a while, the cottages became sparse and the land began to rise sharply in steep hills and open pastures. The road he had been following petered out to two ruts with grass between them. As the ground became rockier, even the ruts lifted and eventually disappeared.

He stopped, turned and looked out across Woking Dell. The grim factory city sat like a stain in the otherwise verdant valley. A cloud of haze enveloped it, fed by the smoke from the factory stacks. The River Hiver snaked down from Lake Hiverdam, running silver and clear to the city limits where it then took on a greasy darkness.

Turning away, he crossed the high foothills. The frigid wind chilled his shaved head and churned the purple and pink heath into a trembling sea. The air was far above freezing, but he was accustomed to the factory's warmth and kept his hands tucked under his armpits. A gloom rose from the dell as the sun dipped below the mountainous horizon, yet he kept trudging along, following the course of the aqueduct. He had gained enough altitude that its usual four tiers of arches were now reduced to one.

At last he came to a cliff-like rise in the land below where the aqueduct bridge began. It was low as far as cliffs were concerned, yet high enough to be barrier. He tried to climb the hillside, but he distrusted his handholds on the crumbly stone. He couldn't afford to fall and injure himself. He considered following along the cliff to where it might level out. The screes and gullies made that option treacherous and the coming of night made it more so.

The best option, Brace decided, was to climb the pier of the aqueduct bridge. The rough-hewn ashlar masonry was no more difficult to scale than a ladder, and before long he was atop the bridge looking down its long course across Woking Dell and through the hills beyond on its way to the capital. Strangely, only a trickle of water ran in the channel. Behind him, the top of the Straining Tower's slender spire appeared over the ridge of the hill holding back Hiverdam Lake.

The western sky deepened into crimson while stars began to wink into view in the darkening firmament. The earth cooled under the clearing skies and soon Brace could see his breath in the dying light. Hurrying now before night set in, he walked atop the aqueduct toward the tower. When he came to where the bridge met the mountain, the watercourse disappeared into a small tunnel. A gate across the entrance barred his way so he scrambled up the rocky slope above it.

From atop the crest of the hill, Lake Hiverdam spread out below him. The gloom of twilight had already wrapped the land in shadow and mist. The lake's still water lurked darkly like glass imbedded in the long, snaking basin formed by the surrounding steeps that rose against the sky, thick with evergreens. Beyond them, the mountains piled higher, stony, their caps dusted with white.

The Straining Tower stood in the water at the end of an elegant bridge, now only a short walk away. Brace thought the painted plates that Crayton Bros sold didn't do it justice. The main body of the tower was round, built of white stone and topped with a slender conical roof of copper that had turned bright green. A turret for a spiral staircase ran up the tower's side, also capped with a pointed roof. A wrought-iron balustrade encircled the tower near the top. A dormer projected from the main roof from which ran a chain that ran down the height of the tower and disappeared into the water.

Brace skidded down the hillside and pushed through the dense bracken that choked the lakeshore. The vegetation thinned until it gave way to a clearing at the bridge to the Straining Tower. He hid in a stand of dark fir to observe the tower in case anyone was about. Its windows stood dark and the only sounds were that of water lapping against the rocky shore, the cricks and croaks of frogs, and the distant hooting of an owl.

After no sign of any occupants for several minutes, he slipped across the bridge and approached the tower's only door. It was solid wood with no handle—only a keyhole. He pushed against it, expecting it to swing open. His heart sank when it didn't. For all of his daydreaming about running away to the Straining Tower, he had never fully considered what any of it meant. Of course it would be locked!

Now, no longer afraid of being caught, he slammed his fist against the door. The wood was so thick that his efforts made less noise than the gentle sounds of the lakeshore. He might as well have been knocking on a brick wall. Exhausted, hungry, and cold, Brace pressed his back to the door and let himself slide down until he curled into a ball on the threshold. He hugged his knees to his chest and started crying. How could he have been such a fool? On the road, he had chosen to die rather than return to the factory and, now that death was a real possibility, he decided he didn't want that after all. He knew that he could do nothing more until morning, so he tucked himself against the door where a trickle of warmth seeped out from around the jamb and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

Behind him, the door of the Straining Tower opened slowly and a large eye peered down.