by Angie Sage
“Oh,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip like she always does—I mean, did—when she was really upset.
“And now,” I said, “you come back from work in a really weird mood and I just know something scary has happened and all you do is tell me to look after Jonno’s stupid bear.”
Mom put her head on one side and looked at me for what felt like forever. “Katie,” she said at last. “This is dangerous knowledge. Are you sure you want to know it?”
I nodded.
And so Mom told me. Everything. She told me that the only way to open the Orb was with what she called a Disc Key, DisK for short. There was only one of them now and it was kept in the Guardian’s office at the top of the Bartizan—and six hours ago she had stolen it.
I was so shocked I couldn’t speak.
Mom shrugged. “There was a party on the top floor. We nurses were being used as waitresses, can you imagine? Your father knew what I was planning to do. And I did it. I got the DisK and now it is inside Tedward instead of his growler.”
“Jonno won’t like that,” I said. “He and Tedward growl at each other a lot nowadays.”
Mom smiled. “I’m sure Jonno can easily growl for two,” she said.
Once Mom had started telling me things, she didn’t stop—even though I soon wished she would. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
She told me that the DisK operated the Bartizan skylon and that was how the Orb was opened. She said that now she had the DisK, this was exactly what she and some others were going to do: open the Orb. Forever. “Soon, Katie,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement, “we will set our city free.”
“Mom, you can’t be serious,” I said. “The Orb is our protection. We’ll all die of the Contagion.”
Mom shook her head and put her finger to her lips. “That’s what they tell you, but it’s not true.” I stared at Mom, stunned. I knew some people had weird ideas about getting rid of the Orb, but I didn’t know Mom was one of them. How could she be so stupid? But she just carried on, telling me her crazy plans. And then she finished up by saying, “So make sure you look after Tedward, Katie, because he is carrying our freedom.”
I felt really angry. There we were, on the run, living in that smelly dump and all, it seemed to me, because of Mom’s stupid obsession about the Orb. “You’re telling me you’ve messed up our lives because of some ridiculous, crackpot idea. That stinks,” I told her. “It really stinks.” And then I stormed out into the other room and slammed the door. Hard.
A few minutes later there was a quiet knock on the door and Mom said, “Katie? Katie? Can I come in?” And I told her to go away. Oh, I so wish I hadn’t. Because five minutes later, Mom did go away. Forever.
And now, here I am, alone with this DisK and I’m using it for the exact opposite of what Mom intended—I’m hiding it so that no one can ever open the Orb again. So the SilverShip will never leave and all our crew will stay safe. And even if they won’t set us free at least we won’t be sent out like canaries in a cage to test the air—which we all know is full of the Contagion.
So I’m sorry, Mom, but I have to do what I think is right. And at least I’ve kept your DisK safe.
Chapter 8
Friendship
M
I, Maximillian Fly, fly into the night. Through my precious green goggles, I see the darkness of the city spread beneath me. I think how beautiful the city must have looked before the Orb was created. They say Hope was vibrant and well cared for then, but since it has been cut off from the Outside world, it has become frozen in time, fading like an old photograph. Sometimes I feel as though Hope is slowly dying.
I glide over the rooftops—a sea of patched and battered carapaces shining with drizzle—and I breathe in the smell of the houses below—earthiness of vegetation and moldering brick and the faint sharpness of metal. There was a time, they say, when the odor of the Wingless after the rain was strong, but the SilverShip has taken so many away that the city is half-empty now and no more than a stale aura lingers above some of the roofs—the better-tended ones, I must admit. We who are Roach are not good on house maintenance.
I fly fast, alert for hostile movement, for I am uncomfortably close to the old grain silo, where there is a Night Roach Chapter—the name the Bartizan gives to the Night Roach roosts and nurseries. There are two Night Roach Chapters in this city—the Silos and the Steeples. My new friend, Parminter Wing, lives near the Steeples and I live near the Silos, which makes for interesting visits at times.
Something tells me that you, my inquisitive watcher, live in a place without Night Roaches. How lucky you are, for they are abominations that prey upon Wingless and Roach alike. Indeed, you may wonder why I risk flying so close to these predators tonight? Normally I would have taken the Underground, but due to the earlier, er . . . events to which you have been witness, I do not have enough time.
I am on my way to a meeting of the Friendship Society, an illegal mixed group of both Roach and Wingless people, whose aim is to promote understanding between us. Parminter introduced me some months ago. She told me I needed to meet people and she was, of course, right. To be truthful, I find most of them a little intense, but I have made a good friend, Andronicus, in whose house the meeting is tonight, and I am looking forward to seeing both him and Parminter. But, oh dear, I am so very late. . . .
So, young watcher, you are still here? Still watching? Well, I will describe to you how it is to fly. I know it is something that you Wingless ones would love to do and I suspect it is the only thing you envy us who are Roach. The air is cold now and as I stretch out my wings to their fullness I feel the chill creeping into me. I wish I had worn my flight vest, but with the events of the evening, I quite forgot it. So my carapace is bare and all I have on are my Roach leggings. And my beautiful night-sight goggles of course, which are made for those foolish Wingless who wish to venture out at night. They say you can see a Night Roach twenty yards into the fog with these, and considering that Night Roaches are the same color as the fog, that is impressive. I was very lucky to find them lying in a gutter. Someone will be missing them, I am sure.
I fly steadily on through the chill air, which is expectant and still as it waits for the night fog to descend. I have my wings spread wide and I am gliding about twenty feet above the rooftops and all around me I see the pallid haze of the Orb—the globe of the force field beneath which our city is trapped. Beyond the Orb they say there are the moon and stars—indeed, I have seen pictures of them—but all we can see down here is a faint fuzz of light. I long to see the moon clearly; it must be wonderful to have another world shining down upon you. And stars too, although I do not understand how there can be distant suns that show themselves as just a pinpoint of light in the sky. Indeed they say there are so many stars that in olden times people joined the shapes they formed and made pictures and stories from them. I am not sure that I believe in stars, but I do believe in the moon because tonight I can see the mysterious glow of something white and round beyond the Orb.
I am suddenly recalled from my dreaming by the glimpse of movement upon a chimney pot. I look again and a flash of compound green eyes shining out from a looming whiteness tell all—it is a Night Roach. You fool, Maximillian, Mama’s voice says inside my head. Always taking the shortcuts. Never thinking things through. I wheel away and commence a dive, but I am too late. The great pale wings of the Night Roach rise up into the attack stance. This is bad. I am not in good condition: I am stiff from the fall down the stairs and my torn underwing diminishes my speed.
I cannot outfly it. I must hide.
I alight under the arch of a recessed window on the top floor of one of the older houses. It is deep shadow with a wide ledge but it is not as ideal as it appears, for I smell Wingless ones inside. However, the curtains are drawn and I hear sleep noises. If I am quiet they will never know I am here. I settle on the ledge and lean back against the window, taking care not to rattle the panes. I fold myself into my wing cases to shield
my goggles and stop the Night Roach picking up their reflections.
I listen anxiously for the swish of wings, but I hear only snoring and drips from a broken gutter. However after some minutes I detect a noise on the roof above. It is nothing much: a light, scratchy shuffle; but I know what it is. It is the sound of wingtip upon slate. I know what has happened—the Night Roach can smell blood on me. And now it is no more than three feet above my foolish head, roosting and waiting . . . for me.
Frozen in panic, I huddle upon the window ledge. Drips from the gutter find their way into my underwings, and I fear that if they get much wetter I will not be able to fly at all. I feel despair creeping upon me. I do not want to end my life in the Night Roach Silo. I wonder how my young fugitives will fare when I do not return, and strangely the thought of them lessens my panic. I remember how they behaved when they were cornered and I now admire how calm they were. The girl methodically checked all escape routes and the little boy stayed silent even though he was hurt. As my dear friend Andronicus would say, they kept their cool. And so must I. I must also hope that something rescues me, as I rescued them. But in my head I hear Mama’s voice saying, You are a fool, Maximillian. Who will rescue a disgusting Roach squatting upon a window ledge?
I sense a change in the air: a chill, a soft silence. And now I see that I do indeed have a rescuer: the night fog. It falls fast and within minutes its tendrils curl around me like a white blanket. I drop from the ledge like a stone and I am away, flying for my life.
I can find my way to the house of Andronicus with my eyes closed. This is fortunate, for tonight the fog is making up for its tardiness with a choking thickness. I land awkwardly upon the roof, misjudge the chimney pot and send it bouncing down the tiles. This is not my first encounter with Andronicus’s roof furniture and I fear he will hear the smash on the pavement far below. Andronicus is a sensitive person and I do not wish to add to his troubles. Ah, young watcher, I sense you assuming that, because I called him a person, Andronicus looks just like you. But he does not. My dearest friend is Roach like me. We may look different from you now, but we are human-born and consider ourselves to be as much a person as you consider your squashy, noisy and emotional self to be.
I recover my footing and hurriedly give the coded knock upon the skylight. I am surprised—and not particularly pleased—when Cassius Crane pushes up the trapdoor and looks out with a sour face that reminds me of Mama. “Maximillian,” he says severely, “you are late. Extremely late.”
“For which, Cassius Crane, I am sorry,” I say. “However, I have an explanation. I pray you, let me in.”
But Cassius does not let me in. “The meeting is almost over,” he says. “There is no point to you coming in now.” Beneath Cassius I can see the warm yellow light of the attic room with its soft rugs and the dark forms of the group sitting in a circle. Not one attempts to countermand Cassius and I am surprised. I would have expected Parminter to object.
I am clinging to the roof tiles like a bat. I think of the Night Roach and wonder if it can track me by the smell of blood. I suspect it can. “For pity’s sake, Cassius, let me in,” I say. “I am in considerable danger out here.”
Cassius, nasty pie-weasel on stilts that he is, makes one of his sneering smiles. “Dear Maximillian, always the drama queen.” He pauses. “You stink.”
I am shocked. These are strong words.
Cassius sniffs loudly and I brace myself for what is coming. “Blood. Fresh blood. You stink of it.”
“Cassius, it is not what you think,” I say.
“Oh, that’s what they all say,” he replies. “And yet in my experience it always is exactly what one thinks. Go away, Maximillian Fly, you are not soiling our meeting with your stink.” To my horror, he begins to close the skylight.
“No!” I scream with my body and the air squeals through my carapace like a jet of steam. “Noooooo!”
I am indeed a fool: now every Night Roach within miles will know where I am. Surely Cassius must realize that? But he continues to close the skylight as I cling on, watching the edge of the hatch descend toward my hands. One inch above my distal metacarpals it is abruptly stopped. It is lifted up and the face of dear Andronicus appears. He looks strained. “Maximillian,” he says tersely. “Come inside.”
I need no further invitation. I drop in through the skylight and land lightly upon the floor. I rearrange my wings and look around. I do not like what I see.
There is a Vermin on the carpet.
The Vermin is crouched in the center of the meeting circle. Its attitude reminds me of young Kaitlin, who not so long ago was similarly at bay upon my doormat. I note the Vermin’s sleek form encased in its armor, which is a striking iridescent blue-green like a carapace wing. It is, however, marred by the absence of the visor, which has been pulled off to show a damp, squashy face topped by a tangle of dark brown hair. The Vermin looks up at me and I see the same fear in its eyes as I did in my Kaitlin’s. I am somewhat shocked to see that its shoulders are torn and there is blood trickling down its CarboNet suit. Cassius seems to have no problem with this stink of blood. I stare at the thick patches of congealing red, evenly placed just below each collarbone. The only explanation for this is that the Vermin has recently been carried in the talons of a Night Roach.
I take my empty place next to Andronicus and am disappointed to see that Parminter is not here tonight. I hope she is all right. Her journey here is not without its dangers. Andronicus whispers to me, “The Vermin fell through the open skylight while we were waiting for you, Maximillian. Be aware that Cassius therefore blames you for this situation.”
I flash my friend a quick glance of thanks for the warning and direct my gaze to the Vermin. It is now that I see, stuck to the top of its smooth and shiny foot, a tiny sliver of porcelain that shines a brilliant turquoise—the exact color of the wings of Mama’s darling cherubs. I cannot help myself. I jump to my feet and hiss at it. The Vermin whimpers.
Cassius laughs. “Be quiet, Maximillian. You’re not impressing anyone. We have made our decision about the prisoner. We will implement it forthwith.”
“Objection!” Andronicus says. My dear friend may be short in stature, but he has a substantial voice and it stops Cassius’s little whine most effectively. “We have made no such decision,” Andronicus continues. “For there is one member of our meeting who has not voted.” All eyes including those of the Vermin—which I notice are a glittering gray awash with fear—turn to me.
“Maximillian is not part of this meeting,” Cassius replies. “He arrived after Greeting and is therefore supernumerary.”
Andronicus turns to me, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maximillian Fly, I Greet thee.”
I reply quickly before Cassius can interrupt: “Andronicus Thrip, I Greet thee.” Cassius emits a hiss of anger but there is nothing he can do. He has been outplayed.
I now discover the nature of the decision my friends have made and I am shocked. They have voted to deliver the Vermin as a peace offering to the Night Roach Silo. The vote was even: two for and two against, leaving the decision with Cassius, who is our convener for tonight. But now Andronicus wishes to run the vote again. This is because he knows that I, like him, believe that all life is of value and he thinks I will vote to save the Vermin. Ah, but he does not have a splinter of blue to consider.
I look at the Vermin crouched upon the floor, its meaty, bloody hands straying up to its shoulders despite trying not to. I see that it is trembling and I understand that I am being asked to vote for murder. I also realize with dismay that two of this group must have already done so. Clearly Andronicus did not, so was it Marilla, Titus or Besander? Marilla and Titus are both Wingless and yet at least one of them must have voted to sacrifice one of their own kind. Times are strange indeed. But now Cassius is irritably calling another vote and my question is answered. The limbs of Marilla and Besander are raised for the killing. I look at them with disapproval, but they avoid my gaze. And then I vote with Andronic
us and Titus against the killing. There is a clear majority now and thus Cassius is denied his casting vote.
I suspect that you may well be muttering that I have already killed one Vermin tonight, so why the scruples now? But I killed to defend myself and two young ones just like you. This situation is very different. This has the nasty whiff of enjoyment about it—except Cassius is clearly not enjoying it anymore.
“Meeting closed,” Cassius snaps. He turns to Andronicus and waves his hand at the Vermin. “Your problem now, Andronicus Thrip. You get rid of it, and I suggest you make sure it can never identify this place where you live.” He smirks. “Good luck with that.”
I see the sudden understanding of the situation clouding the face of Andronicus.
Cassius throws the ladder against the skylight and turns to us all with a mocking smile. “Losers,” he says, and then in a light and fluid movement—Cassius is an agile Roach—he is out on the roof and gone. He does not have far to go, for he roosts in an attic three houses away.
Avoiding our gaze, Marilla silently climbs the ladder, her large brown boots clumping up the rungs. She is quickly followed by Besander and they leave together, Besander giving her a fly-lift back to her home near the northern skylon. Titus, a young Wingless man with a wispy beard, now excuses himself. His wife is waiting for him and she worries. He lives at the most distant end of the Underground and has a long trek ahead. Titus gives a quick bow of farewell, which we return, and he hurries away, light-footed down the stairs.
This leaves Andronicus and me alone with the Vermin. “Bother,” Andronicus mutters. “Bother, bother, bother.”
We look down at the Vermin and it returns our gaze with an insolent stare. It knows it has won.
Chapter 9
The Vermin
T
I, the so-called Vermin, have won. If you can call it that. Because actually, I am dead. It is only a matter of time. My first command is a failed mission: At least one SilverSeed is dead and very likely both. I have one crew fatality for sure and very possibly two, because the last I saw of my second-in-command she was being flown off to the Silo. We were snatched by a hunting pair of Night Roaches and I was extremely fortunate to be able to make my abductor drop me—albeit into this nest of vipers. Somehow I have to get out of here. But not through the skylight. I’ve had enough of heights for one night. I’ve got to get down to the streets. And then I’ve got to get lucky.
