A Clock of Stars

by Francesca Gibbons

  ‘I dunno. What do you usually take to kill a twelve-year-old?’

  ‘Something quick and quiet. Nothing too fancy.’

  ‘That’ll be the Vrach,’ said Jan, removing a double-edged sword from the rack. Petr picked a weapon too and the brothers set about sharpening their blades in silence.

  When they were done, they began their walk across the castle to the prince’s tower. They took a meandering route, avoiding the places where the other Royal Guards would be stationed. Petr had no desire to answer his men’s questions about what he was up to, armed to the teeth and off duty.

  The brothers crossed a courtyard from which the light of the second tallest tower was visible. ‘Do you see that?’ said Petr.

  ‘Candles are lit,’ said Jan. ‘Boy must be home.’

  Something landed on Petr’s bald patch. ‘What was that?’ he cried, smacking his head. In the palm of his hand there was a squished moth with pale green wings.

  When the men reached the bottom of the prince’s staircase, they paused. Petr drew his sword and was surprised to see that the hand holding it trembled. He took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s all right,’ whispered Jan. ‘The boy’s probably asleep. Won’t even know what’s happening till it’s too late.’

  ‘What if he screams?’ said Petr.

  ‘It’s a long way up … a quick cushion to the face and no one will hear.’

  Petr grimaced. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Imogen and Miro left Marie at the top of the steps that led down to the Hladomorna Pits. She was in charge of the packs. They were in charge of rescuing their guide, Lofkinye Lolo.

  The first guard was asleep again. Miro removed the keys from the man’s pocket with expert skill. ‘Have you done that before?’ hissed Imogen, trying not to look impressed.

  ‘Going places you shouldn’t is one of the best games you can play on your own,’ said Miro.

  They tiptoed down the staircase, but the next guard was awake. ‘What can I do for you, Your Highness?’ he said, getting to his feet.

  ‘Ah, Vlado,’ said Miro. ‘My visitor is curious about the Hladomorna Pits. We’d like a tour.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the guard, without hesitation. He’d clearly had stranger requests.

  The children followed the guard down the staircase with the slimy green walls. ‘We’re pretty full at the moment,’ said the man in a jolly voice. ‘The king wants the city cleaned up before the wedding and where do you think all that dirt goes?’

  ‘The Hladomorna Pits,’ said Imogen, keen to keep him talking.

  ‘Got it in one, miss.’

  The guard walked into the first cell on the left and Miro slammed the door shut behind him.

  ‘Imogen, the bar!’ cried the prince. She grabbed a plank of wood and slotted it across the door, securing it so the man couldn’t get out.

  The guard didn’t even resist. ‘Is everything all right, Your Highness?’ he asked from inside the cell. Miro didn’t reply.

  He and Imogen hurtled along the corridor into Lofkinye’s cell. They crouched down at the edge of the Pit. ‘Lofkinye,’ said Imogen. ‘Are you ready?’

  The human firework’s face appeared in the darkness. ‘As ever,’ she said.

  Miro fumbled with the lock that held the bars across the Pit. He tried all the keys until one of them worked and the lock sprang open. It took both children to pull the bars back. Imogen tied one end of the rope to the door and lowered the other end into the hole. ‘You can come out now!’ she called.

  Lofkinye climbed up the rope with ease. ‘You were serious, then,’ she said. ‘I had my doubts.’

  ‘I always keep my promises,’ said Miro, winding the rope round his shoulder.

  Banging and shouting echoed down the corridor. ‘What’s that?’ asked the huntress.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Miro. ‘The other guards will find him in the morning.’

  ‘You’ve locked up the guard,’ said Lofkinye, suddenly understanding. ‘Did he see your face?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Your name will be mud.’

  ‘Uncle will get over it … in a few weeks.’

  ‘You have a higher opinion of the king than most.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Imogen. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  They ran up the slimy green staircase, tiptoed round the sleeping guard and climbed up the final set of steps. ‘You did it!’ cried Marie. ‘You freed Lofkinye!’

  ‘We did,’ said Imogen. ‘Now what?’

  The girls looked at Miro. Miro looked at Lofkinye. ‘I don’t know why you’re looking at me,’ she said. ‘I said I’d guide you up Klenot Mountain, not out of your own house.’

  ‘You mean you don’t have a plan?’ said Miro.

  ‘How was I supposed to come up with a plan from the bottom of a Hladomorna Pit?’

  ‘You had plenty of time to think.’

  ‘Think? Think! There’s more to escape plans than pure imagination.’

  ‘Can we borrow some horses?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘The stablemaster would catch us,’ said Miro. ‘But we can’t just walk through the city at this time of night. It’ll be crawling with skret.’

  ‘I don’t like horses,’ said Marie.

  ‘I don’t like skret,’ said Miro.

  ‘We’ll have to sprout wings,’ said Imogen, making a chicken movement with her arms.

  Lofkinye held up her hand for quiet. ‘That’s exactly what we’ll do,’ she said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We’ll take the giant birds.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Marie. ‘What giant birds?’

  ‘The king keeps them in his garden,’ said Lofkinye. ‘Surely you’ve heard of the velecours?’

  ‘Oh, them,’ said Marie. ‘Yes. Sometimes we race on them. They go fast. It’s scary.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Lofkinye. ‘And how long has it been since the last velecour delivery?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Miro. ‘Probably a few days.’

  ‘We could be too late,’ said the huntress.

  ‘Too late for what?’ said Miro.

  ‘Have their wings been clipped?’

  ‘I doubt it. Everyone’s been so busy getting ready for the wedding …’

  ‘That’s perfect too. Lead the way, little prince. Tonight we leave by velecour.’

  The children and Lofkinye walked through the castle towards the velecour stables. They crossed a hall where the king kept his collection of statues, passing between stone knights and lovers and other people’s gods.

  ‘That one’s my father,’ said Miro, pointing to the statue of a stern-looking man with wide-set eyes and an angular face.

  ‘He has your eyes,’ said Marie.

  ‘That’s what Uncle says!’ said Miro.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Lofkinye. ‘Keep walking.’

  Imogen tucked her thumbs under the straps of her pack. She wondered if the velecours would be fast enough to outrun skret. The skret might be small, but she’d seen how quickly they could climb houses and disappear over rooftops.

  She wanted to ask their newly acquired guide, but she was afraid of looking stupid so she kept her mouth shut. Miro didn’t have any such concerns. ‘Velecours aren’t like ponies,’ he said. ‘You can’t control which way they go. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Hush,’ said Lofkinye. She grabbed Miro’s shoulder. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Hear what?’

  There were voices. Grown-up voices. Imogen turned to see two men enter the hall. One was fat and the other was thin, with a black eye and very little hair. They were dressed like Royal Guards, but they weren’t wearing helmets and their swords were drawn.

  Dozens of statues stood between the guards and the children.

  ‘Your Highness,’ said the fat man. ‘We were looking for you.’

  Imogen had seen that red face before – all scrunched up and stuck down an alley. Those were the guards who’d attacked Lofkinye.
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br />   ‘They’re bad men,’ Imogen whispered to Miro.

  ‘No, they’re not,’ he whispered back. ‘I know them. They’re called Jan and Petr. They work for my uncle.’

  Miro turned to the guards. ‘What do you want?’ he said. ‘I’m busy.’ It was an absurd response.

  ‘We want you,’ said the fat guard. He took a few steps towards the children.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ shouted Lofkinye.

  ‘That lesni poacher is a wanted woman,’ said the same guard. ‘Does your uncle know you’re with her?’

  Miro looked at Imogen. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ said Miro. ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The guards took another step closer.

  ‘I said stay where you are!’ cried Lofkinye.

  ‘It’s your uncle who sent us,’ said the guard with the black eye.

  ‘We can’t fight them,’ muttered Lofkinye, peering at the men between the statues. ‘They’re too well armed. I haven’t even strung my bow.’

  ‘My uncle sent them,’ whispered Miro. ‘He wants to see me.’

  The thin man with the black eye lowered his sword and extended his hand. ‘Come with us, Miroslav.’

  ‘But your uncle never wants to see you,’ whispered Imogen. ‘Why now? What’s he after?’

  Miro turned back to the guards. ‘What does my uncle want?’

  ‘He wants to talk to you,’ said the fat guard. ‘Man to man.’

  Miro hesitated. The guards hesitated too. For a moment, they were all statues.

  Miro opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by the first chime of the evening bells.

  The spell was broken. The men rushed forward. Lofkinye rushed back. The girls followed, pulling Miro with them.

  The children and the huntress hurtled out of the hall of statues and down a corridor, packs jangling. ‘We need to get to those velecours!’ cried Lofkinye. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Left,’ said Miro. ‘Turn left!’

  They veered to the left, sprinting through a maze of walkways. Behind, the men were shouting at them to stop.

  ‘In here!’ cried Miro, taking a sharp right. He opened a door into an unlit room and the girls and their guide rushed through. Miro followed and pushed the door shut, sealing them in the dark.

  It smelled like straw, and Imogen could hear Marie panting nearby. ‘Are you okay?’ she whispered.

  ‘I think so.’

  Something rattled. ‘What was that?’ said Imogen.

  ‘Me,’ said Miro. ‘I’m trying to unbolt the doors to the garden.’

  Something soft brushed against Imogen’s hand. ‘Marie, was that you?’

  ‘Was what me?’

  ‘There’s something in here.’

  ‘The velecours,’ said Miro. ‘This is where we keep them when they first arrive from the forests – before they’ve been broken in and had their wings clipped. Can you give me a hand with these bolts?’

  Imogen followed his voice and felt for the garden doors.

  The guards were talking in the corridor. ‘Where have the little twerps gone now?’

  ‘They can’t have got far.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ whispered Miro. ‘I dropped the latch when we came in. They won’t be able to follow.’

  Imogen’s fingers found the bolts at the bottom of the garden doors. She tried to wiggle them free without making any noise. All around, the velecours began to fuss.

  ‘That’s strange,’ said one of the guards. ‘This door doesn’t open.’

  ‘Here, let me try,’ said the other.

  The velecours were getting worked up. Lofkinye made clucking noises and it seemed to calm them – until a heavy thud set them off. The birds squawked and one bumped into Imogen, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  ‘We’ve got to get these bolts open,’ said Miro. ‘It’s our only way out.’ But the bolt Imogen was trying to undo wouldn’t budge.

  There was another thud and Marie whimpered. The guards were kicking the door down.

  Imogen’s bolt slid free. Miro must have unlocked his too because the garden doors swung open. Moonlight poured in. Velecours stampeded out. Imogen stood aside to avoid getting trampled.

  When the last velecour had left the stable, Imogen looked around for Marie. She found her on her back, covered in straw. ‘I can’t get up,’ cried Marie. ‘My pack’s too heavy!’

  Imogen helped her to her feet. ‘Marie, you need to grab a bird and climb on. Can you manage that?’

  Marie looked unsure.

  ‘Can you try?’ pleaded Imogen.

  Marie nodded.

  ‘Okay. Good enough.’

  The girls ran out into the moonlit garden. Behind them, the door between the stables and the castle was about to give way. Thud, thud, thud. The guards were smashing through.

  Ahead, the velecours ran across flower beds, squawking with delight. One tore through the shrubbery. A couple more disappeared into the rose garden.

  Lofkinye caught a tall bird by the neck, swinging herself on to its back. Imogen cornered a smaller one by the fountain. It was drinking, but when it saw Imogen approach it clucked and fluffed up its feathers as if preparing for a fight. Imogen lunged at the bird as quickly as she could with her heavy pack and missed. She went for it again. This time she grabbed handfuls of feathers and scrambled on to the velecour’s back, narrowly avoiding a peck on the head. Holding on to its neck, she tucked her legs behind the wings, just like she’d done when she was racing her sister.

  The bird screeched and ran in a circle, giving Imogen a full view of the garden. She couldn’t see Miro, but back near the castle Marie was struggling to mount the smallest of the birds. The guards were racing towards her, swords glinting.

  ‘Marie!’ shrieked Imogen.

  Her bird bolted to the right. She tried to make it go back, but it wouldn’t. The bird ran in a wobbly figure of eight and, when it faced the castle again, Imogen saw Lofkinye jump down from her velecour and lift Marie up. Surely the guards were going to get them. Surely there wasn’t enough time, but Imogen was powerless to help.

  Her bird squeezed its wings, as if trying to crush her legs, then it started running – running at the hedge. It extended its wings and beat them up and down. The hedge was too close. Imogen could feel the bird’s muscles straining to be airborne. Just when she thought it was too late, just when she thought they’d crash, Imogen was lifted up. Her belly did a flip. The top of the hedge kissed the soles of her boots. She was flying.

  Lofkinye, Miro and Marie were flying too. Imogen leaned forward and held on to her velecour’s neck. Below, she could just about see the outlines of the guards as they slashed at the air above their heads. The birds were out of reach. The men howled with rage.

  The velecours lifted the children and the huntress higher. Imogen looked down again and she saw the silhouette of the castle falling away. The whole earth was sinking and she was rising up, gliding on currents of air.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered into the hole that served the velecour as an ear.

  The night air was cool, but the bird’s body was warm and the glossy feathers were as soft as could be. Imogen was surprised to discover that flying was not that scary, once you got used to it. She sat back, letting go of the velecour’s neck. It clucked appreciatively. Its wing movements were slow and confident and it didn’t seem to mind having a passenger any more.

  How amazing to think that a creature that was so frantic and ungainly on the ground could be so at ease in the sky.

  Soon they were flying with the moon. The birds pulled into a V-shape formation, with Lofkinye’s bird taking the lead. Imogen looked to her right. Marie was pale and her eyes were wide.

  ‘Are you okay?’ shouted Imogen. Marie nodded in a mechanical sort of way.

  Miro flew behind the girls, followed by a couple of riderless birds. He was beyond pale. He was green. Imogen didn’t ask him if he was all right. If he’s coming along on our adventure, she thought, he’d better be able to look after himself
.

  ‘Where are we going?’ cried Miro.

  ‘Wherever the birds want to go,’ replied Lofkinye. ‘They know what they’re doing. The forests are their home and free things always return home.’

  Miro shouted something incoherent over the roar of the wind. Perhaps he didn’t like the bird being in control. Perhaps, thought Imogen, it was because he was leaving his home behind. For a fleeting moment, she felt sorry for him.

  Some of the stars were so excited to see the children escape that they shot across the sky, leaving glowing arcs in their wake. The trails burned bright above the snow-capped mountains.

  ‘Look,’ cried Imogen, ‘shooting stars!’

  ‘I’m not looking at anything!’ shouted Miro. ‘Until we land, I’m keeping my eyes shut!’

  ‘But you’re missing so much!’ cried Imogen.

  ‘That’s fine by me …’ said the prince.

  The velecours flew on, carrying their riders towards the Kolsaney Forests. Imogen’s hands and face went numb. She wished she’d worn her fur coat instead of tying it to her pack. Miro shouted complaints about the wind and the cold and the height at which they flew.

  ‘I thought you had your eyes closed!’ said Imogen.

  ‘I’m trying,’ he called back. ‘But it’s scary when you can’t see too.’

  Marie was tight-lipped, but shivering.

  ‘How much further?’ called Imogen.

  ‘Ask the velecours,’ replied Lofkinye, without turning round.

  Below, the meadows turned to forest. From this great height, the treetops looked soft, as if the canopy was cushioned. Imogen knew that this wasn’t the case. She knew that if she slipped sideways she’d fall to her death. She stroked her bird’s feathers as if it was the one needing reassurance.

  ‘Imoooogeeeeen!’ called Marie as her bird folded back its wings and accelerated towards the forest. Imogen didn’t have time to respond before her bird did the same. The treetops flew closer and Imogen squeezed the bird with her knees. Her hair whipped back from her face and she pressed her body as close to the velecour as she could.

  Somewhere behind, Miro was screaming shamelessly.