The Stolen Prince of Cloudburst

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  And he handed over packets of crisps, and bowed his head over his papers again.

  Shortly after that, a bell rang, brrrrring! Brrrring! And a train guard knocked on our compartment door and half-sang: ‘Bell means we’re coming into the shadow realm! Enjoy!’

  Father flipped to the next page in his notes and my sisters and I turned to the windows to watch.

  If you ever get a chance to ride the train through a shadow realm, take it.

  It’s astonishing.

  We flew by villages, towns, cities, through parks, woods, gardens, past mountains, fields and plains, through an Empire of Witchcraft, a Colony of Radish Gnomes, the Cailleach Kingdom of Sirens and Sterling Silver Foxes, and countless other kingdoms, empires and principalities—and there was always something to see, to make you gasp, or grab your sister’s arm and point.

  It was the strangest mixture of ordinary and unexpected. I saw ladders leaning up against buildings, and goats walking along paths. I saw a field covered in cauldrons, at least twenty Radish Gnomes lie down and roll across a tennis court, and a group of Sirens singing shrilly as they thatched the roof of a cottage.

  We plunged into a rainforest, saw shimmering waterfalls and then watched in amazement as tiny children plucked at the waterfalls, gathering strands of silver into their arms.

  ‘Not a waterfall,’ Imogen breathed. ‘A silverfall. Those are

  Sterling Silver Fox children.’

  We saw cities encased in walls of water, cities made from ice or glass, and the tallest, slenderest trees, reaching up, up, up into the clouds where they braided themselves together and plunged back down to the ground.

  We saw a field covered in pods, exactly the colour and

  shape of pea pods, only each the size of a large carriage. As we hurtled by, one pod slowly opened revealing a row of baby faces.

  In the Empire of Witchcraft, town after town was painted in oranges, beiges, and taupes: the Witches’ favourite colours. I glimpsed a Witch with a toddler sitting astride his shoulders, beckoning for another child, who had crouched to tie his shoelace, to hurry.

  A group of Sirens leapt from rock to rock in a stream.

  Further along the same stream, a gang of Radish Gnomes were doing target practice: their claws spun and whirled through the air, piercing and shattering rocks.

  We saw automobiles open to the wind that sped along cobblestone streets, and carts being pulled by lions. I can’t remember all the animals we saw, both inside city walls and on the plains, but I know I saw camels, tigers, antelopes, horses, monkeys and wolves.

  We passed three or four Sterling Silver Fox cities, and had to shelter our eyes from the glare. Buildings, trees, lampposts, everything was draped, studded, decorated with jewellery: silver, rose gold, white gold, chains and beads, heavy with diamonds, emeralds, amethysts and rubies.

  In one town, a straggling group of teenagers used spray cans to paint huge numbers along a wall. The train slowed as we followed this wall, and Astrid began to read the numbers aloud.

  ‘Seventy-two … Sixty-four … Twelve … Sixteen … Four hundred and—’

  Father suddenly dropped his notes and placed a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Stop!’ he exclaimed. ‘Astrid! Hush! Stop reading the numbers!’

  He pulled his hand away, and Astrid blinked up at him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ Father said, a little breathless. ‘I should be paying closer attention. Those teenagers were Cantalops. They want train passengers to read the numbers aloud—it’s part of a shadow spell. Just a moment—’

  Father rang the alarm bell and, a moment later, the guard arrived, very apologetic.

  ‘Yes, several other passengers have complained about those Cantalops,’ he said. ‘We’ve already sent word to the authorities.’ He checked that none of us had read the numbers aloud.

  Astrid gave a little yelp.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ the guard said soothingly. ‘Five or six of them, you say? That’s nothing. Won’t have caused any harm—you’ll all feel a bit hungry is all. Which is perfect timing, as we’re about to serve lunch. I’ll be sure you get extra.’

  He did too.

  He returned a few moments later with a banquet.

  After that, Father packed his papers back into his case and watched the windows with us.

  He became quite educational, but it was more interesting than usual. When we passed a series of towns with huge open fields in the centre, ringed by squat houses, Father explained that the spaces were designed for spell battles. The most beautiful reds and golds lit up the distance like a sunset, and Father said that was a Fire Siren victory celebration.

  ‘See that?’ he said, pointing.

  A crowd of people were throwing their hats into the sky, and watching with upturned faces, as the hats came spinning back down.

  ‘And there,’ he pointed again.

  A group of people stood in rows, each holding a teapot. At exactly the same moment, they all tipped the teapot and liquid streamed from the spout onto the grass. We craned our necks to watch as the train swept by.

  ‘Any time you see groups acting in concert like that, they’re practising spell enhancements. Witches are quite mesmerising when they—oh, there you go! Witches! It’s all right to look, they’re just practising.’

  Men and women were lined up by the track, each wearing corduroy trousers and cardigan, each holding a broomstick high and turning it in slow, synchronised circles.

  There was something very sinister about these quiet scenes blowing by the train. They sent pleasing chills down my spine.

  At one point, the train entered a tunnel in the side of a mountain and everything went black. We wondered if it was Ghouls and if we should light the extra lanterns, but then we whooshed back out into the light again. We were in countryside now, no people about, just fields of golden crops.

  ‘Shall we order lemon ices?’ Father suggested, and that was when the train slowed, slowed, slowed—

  —and stopped.

  Tick, tick, tick, said the engine. A gust of smoke drifted by the window. On distant trees, leaves fluttered.

  The guard knocked on our door.

  ‘No need to panic,’ he said, poking his head in. ‘Engine often stalls here. Old shadow mine deep underground, often messes with the engine. It’ll be sorted out in no time, you’ll see.’

  We watched the stillness outside, silent, waiting for the train to start again.

  It was strange because it was as if our silence was growing quieter and quieter. We were sinking deeply into it. The stillness outside seemed to be creeping into the compartment with us. A faint breath of wind. Father sighed suddenly and I jumped. Imogen whispered, ‘It’s okay. It’ll start.’

  Father pulled out his work again, and began to read.

  Each page he turned made a sound like a slap.

  Time sat very quietly with us, waiting.

  Waiting.

  And then the train gave a shudder, a clang, and set off again.

  My sisters and I breathed out all at once, in a whoosh. Father chuckled: ‘There was nothing to worry about, girls.’ But I noticed him smoothing his trousers down, once, twice, three times.

  I smiled and looked back to the window—

  And that’s when I saw it.

  Flashing by—

  —a dense thicket of trees, and a huge rock—

  —shaped exactly like a turtle—

  —a turtle standing on its side, and poking its head from its shell—

  The rock formation from my dream.

  ‘There!’ I shouted.

  Father and my sisters, still jumpy from the train’s breakdown, all leapt to their feet in fright.

  Which probably explained why, when I told them that we’d just passed a scene from my dream, they became a bit snappy with me.

  ‘Your dream,’ Imogen said, getting her breath back as she sat back down. ‘Where?’

  But it had gone.

  ‘What was it?’ Astrid
asked.

  ‘A rock shaped like a turtle. I’ve dreamed about it so many times! I dream I’m lying on a picnic blanket and looking up at the trees. I must have been here before! I’ve had a picnic here! There’s strawberry jam on the rug.’

  Even Father, who is usually interested by our dreams, was a bit short with me. ‘Esther,’ he said. ‘I can 100 per cent guarantee that you have never once had a picnic in this or any other shadow realm. With or without strawberry jam.’

  ‘It was just a dream,’ Imogen muttered.

  ‘But why am I dreaming about a landscape from here?’

  ‘Perhaps you saw a picture in a book,’ Father suggested. ‘You’ve never been in this region before, Esther.’ His voice became kind again. ‘Rocks come in all sorts of shapes. I’ve seen plenty shaped like turtles. It’s just a …’

  ‘A coincidence,’ Astrid filled in. ‘Oh, look, we’re coming into a town again—this one’s made of rocks! Perhaps there’ll be another turtle-shaped one for you, Esther?’

  Everyone was distracted by the views again.

  But I leaned back in my seat, a peculiar wash of cold and heat running rivulets through my heart.

  We arrived in the Kingdom of Vanquishing Cove in the late afternoon. The Kingdom is actually just a quaint seaside village, and our hotel overlooked the ocean.

  The next day, Father went to his conference and my sisters and I played on the beach. It was too chilly to swim but that was lucky because my ankle was in plaster. I would have been jealous of my sisters. Mostly I sat with my foot propped on a sandcastle while Imogen and Astrid ran and collected shells and seaweed.

  We were sunburnt and sandy when Father scuffed down the beach to collect us that evening, and all three of us had different suggestions about dinner.

  ‘It’s very important that we eat at the finest dining establishment in this Kingdom,’ Imogen reasoned.

  But Astrid wanted fish and chips, and I was in the mood for room service in the hotel.

  Father simply slumped onto the sand beside us and stared out to sea. He was still wearing his suit. Gradually we all stopped arguing and looked at him. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

  He was in a mood.

  He’s almost never in a mood.

  ‘What is it?’ Astrid asked, worried. ‘Are you sorry you missed a day playing on the beach? I could bury your feet now, if you like? Here, let me take off your shoes.’

  ‘Oh.’ Father shook himself, tried to smile, but the smile vanished almost at once. ‘Thank you, Astrid. Sounds lovely. It’s just the conference. Didn’t go as I’d hoped. Those pompous, patronising …’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘What was the conference about?’ I asked.

  Father sighed. He adjusted his position then apologised for spilling the sand that Astrid had already begun pouring onto his feet. ‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘Have you noticed that the oceans are peculiar lately?’

  We considered, and then nodded. The giant wave in Spindrift, obviously. The strange currents on the cruise ship that had kept our aunts so busy. The Aquatic Elves. (‘Impossible,’ Father had said).

  ‘That fishing town,’ Imogen remembered. ‘Bobsleigh. The one that ran out of fish so we had the fundraiser. Is that the ocean being peculiar?’

  Father nodded. ‘It is.’

  ‘And there are Shadow Mages wandering in our mountains because their homes have been flooded by rising tidewaters?’ I remembered.

  ‘Quite.’ I think Father was pleased to be talking. He finds it soothing to be educational. ‘Ocean changes are causing Shadow Mages to leave their kingdoms and drift to higher regions—Spellbinders have been stretched to the limit trying to protect everyone. Now, have you all heard of Tilla Tarpaulin?’

  Of course we had. Tilla Tarpaulin is often in the papers. She’s a stern-looking woman who dresses in black trouser suits, and wears strings of white pearls. She reminds me of a domino. She’s also the director of the K&E Alliance, the organisation that tries to patch up quarrels between kingdoms and empires, and to solve big problems like hunger, disease—and, I suppose, peculiar ocean conduct.

  ‘Well, Tilla directed experts from all over the Kingdoms and Empires to hold a conference, talk about the issue, and report back to her. Oceanographers, marine biologists, aquatic scientists, meteorologists, geologists, Magical-Sea-Creature specialists …’

  He carried on listing experts for quite a while, and both Imogen and Astrid lost interest. Imogen began to help Astrid in her work burying Father’s feet.

  Father didn’t seem to notice he’d lost most of his audience. ‘The experts all had different theories,’ he said.

  Imogen and Astrid glanced up at that, but then Imogen suggested they needed to dampen the sand on Father’s feet, to hold it in place. They both ran down to the shore with buckets to collect water.

  ‘But why did they need you at the conference?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘Oh, well, I suggested it,’ Father said, his face growing gloomy again. ‘They didn’t pay a bit of attention to me. Two Whisperers I know came along too and they spoke beautifully—they agree with me—but that didn’t help. Nobody trusts Whisperers, which is ridiculous. They shut the three of us down. Told me I was ridiculous; that I’d cause a Kingdom-wide panic. I had to swear not to repeat it! It was as if I knew nothing!’

  I was confused. I didn’t want to offend him but I was pretty sure he did know nothing about the ocean. ‘You’re a historian,’ I reminded him gently.

  ‘Yes.’ Father nodded firmly. He didn’t seem to take my point. ‘I mainly do modern history, of course, but my doctorate was in classical.’

  My sisters were back with their buckets of sea water.

  ‘One, two, three, go,’ Imogen ordered, and they both began to tip water—slowly, slowly, a fine trickle—onto the sandcastle covering Father’s feet.

  I watched the water falling—slowly, slowly—and as it fell, so did the word classical that Father had just spoken.

  Classical—

  It fell, with a thunk into my memories where it hit:

  —the classical history books I’d considered when I was writing my speech, with classical stories of Fiends chosen by nature for evil powers—

  —Stefan listing the names of Fiends—

  —‘The intriguing part?’ Stefan had said. ‘In the preface, the book said the classical stories were true.’—

  —‘Professor Lillian Joyce Armstrong would sit up in a tree,’ Stefan had said, ‘… Jonathan J. Lanyard clicked his fingers … Caleb Vincenza …’—

  —Last summer, me beneath the kitchen table, drinking lemonade, Father on the telephone.

  ‘Well, that sounds like Jonathan J. Lanyard, of course,’ he’d said, and asked another question, about the temperature of water, and then—

  —Father’s face had turned the greyish white of a late winter storm.

  I looked up.

  ‘Father,’ I said. ‘You think the stories from classical history are real. You think there’s a classical Fiend causing the problems with the ocean. Someone like the Fiend named Jonathan J. Lanyard. That’s why you went to the conference.’

  At this, Father’s legs jerked back, the sandcastle crumbled and my sisters wailed.

  He looked at me hard. ‘Not like Jonathan J. Lanyard, Esther,’ he said, speaking quickly. ‘But somehow—impossibly—

  Jonathan J. Lanyard himself.’

  Then he scrambled to his feet: ‘Right! Dinner! Fish and chips, was it?’

  And while Imogen argued and Astrid cheered, Father murmured to me, ‘Please don’t repeat that to another living soul.’

  When we arrived back at school, my feet were springy and I smiled at everybody.

  I had just had an adventure. I’d voyaged across the Kingdoms and Empires, climbed a mansion, glimpsed a queen through a palace window, fractured my ankle, had it plastered by a grown-up Child of Spindrift, attended a grand party, watched a wave tear the party apart, seen my siste
rs save the day, travelled by train through the Wicked and Nefarious Kingdoms, and had a pleasant day by the sea.

  I was a different person now: braver and stronger and with many more emotions.

  For part of our journey home, I’d worried about Father’s theory that a Fiend had returned from the past to play with the oceans, but then my worry had faded. The actual ocean experts would solve the ocean’s issues. Fiends were nothing but stories from long ago.

  Also, school was going to be great! No more defending against Shadow Mages—a Spellbinding encircled us and Spellbinders were now staying in the Old Schoolhouse. (Father had told me they were planning to be there for months!)

  (Principal Hortense told us they were filing clerks! Ha!) What could be safer? Nothing!

  Georgia and Hsiang were gone, of course, but I was used to that by now, and I had two new friends: Autumn and Pelagia.

  On Saturday, my sisters and I would take another journey, this time for the Junior Poker Competition; we would see our cousin Bronte and hopefully win another trophy. And then holidays would begin!

  And finally, I’d done so much extra homework the afternoon before we left that I was now two weeks ahead.

  I was so happy I slid down the banister. Mr Dar-Healey, who was passing by, said, ‘Esther!’ But then he winked at me.

  Sixteen days later I was lying in the mud in the gardens behind the school, rain hammering my face, sobbing.

  My first full day back, the classroom had changed.

  Instead of rows of desks, they had been pushed together to form four separate tables with chairs around them. Hetty and Tatty Rattlestone explained this to me as we walked in.

  ‘Each table is named after a Kingdom or Empire,’ Hetty said. ‘Rowan is that one there. That’s the top group—the smartest people.’

  ‘Kate-Bazaar is second-smartest, Ricochet is third, and Endiva is the bottom group.’ Tatty lowered her voice and stage-whispered, ‘The people who just aren’t smart.’

  ‘Mrs Pollock moves us around between tables,’ Hetty explained, ‘after each test. So you can go up or down. It’s ingenious because you have motivation to work hard.’