Freaks by Kieran Larwood

tied up to a series of rickety pontoons.
    In the middle, looming over the other craft, was what might have been an old warship. Now it was a rotting hulk, stripped of its masts and rigging and left to slowly dissolve in the poisonous water. Faded letters on its stern read
HMS
Swiftsure
, but in fresher paint was
Guiseppe Farfellini, Fabricator of Clockwork and Mechanical Automata Made to Your Precise Specifications. Inquire Within
. A narrow gangplank led up to a little wooden door, built into the clinkered wood of the hull.
    â€œWell,” said Gigantus, “it does say ‘Inquire Within.’” And with that he kicked the little door so hard it burst off its hinges.
    Mama Rat stayed outside to keep watch, and the rest of the Peculiars made their way onto the ship.
    Sheba could feel the boat rocking to and fro on the water, and didn’t enjoy the sensation. It seemed oddly familiar to her, although she couldn’t think why. As far as she knew, she’d never set foot on a boat before.
    Inside the workshop (or work
ship
) was a wide-open space with benches lining all the walls. The place was full of powerful aromas: metal, oil, wood shavings, and varnish. There were mechanical animals everywhere, and every available surface was covered with tools, parts, and sections of half-finished creations. She saw foxes, birds, butterflies, crocodiles, lobsters, and turtles. Some of them were so intricate and beautiful, she couldn’t help but admire Farfellini’s skill. But had he turned it to poor use? She couldn’t see anything that looked like a crab. The biggest pieces in the room were two giant wooden puppets. Bearded and dressed in chain mail and helmets, they seemed to be medieval warriors. One held a ball and chain; the other a shield and spear. The wood was bare, as if awaiting a coat of paint, and Sheba could see metal cogs and ratchets gleaming at the joints.
    â€œGog and Magog,” said Gigantus, sounding impressed.
    â€œWho are they supposed to be?” Sheba asked.
    â€œThey’re the guardians of London,” said Gigantus. “It’s an old legend, but they have puppets of them in the Lord Mayor’s Show every year.”
    â€œMaybe that’s what these are for,” suggested Monkeyboy.
    A heavy door at the far end of the room opened, and a little man dashed out. He had olive skin and quick, dark eyes. He was wearing a waistcoat with countless pockets, each holding tools. Sheba spotted tiny pliers, tweezers, rolls of wire and clippers, and cutters of all sizes.
    â€œWhat is this?” he cried. “What do you
ruffiani
do to my door?”
    â€œWhere is it, puppet man?” Gigantus demanded. “Where’s the machine?”
    â€œWhat machine? My boat is full of-a machines!”
    â€œThe crab machine,” said Sheba. “The one that’s been snatching children from the river.”
    Farfellini blinked at them for a moment. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, as if he was trying to think of something to say. Then he turned and dashed back into his private quarters, slamming the door behind him.
    â€œWell, that’s a guilty reaction if ever I saw one,” said Monkeyboy.
    â€œHe must have the machine in there!” Sheba shouted.
    â€œShouldn’t be a problem,” said Gigantus. He began to stomp over to the doorway when there was the sound of a loud, metallic
clank
, followed by a grinding of gears.
    â€œBe careful,” said Sister Moon. “Little man switch on trap.”
    Gigantus stopped. The Peculiars looked warily around them, but the workshop seemed quiet and still. Then a trapdoor in the ceiling slammed open.
    Down came a cascade of metal constructions, each one spooling on a length of wire thread. They were the size of saucers: bodies of tin segments, spindly legs jutting, and single glowing red eyes. Windup keys jutted from their backs, and slung low at the front were long, sharp needles.
    â€œWhat