by Angie Sage
Parminter looks at me doubtfully. “He’ll be very heavy,” she says. “Those cuffs weigh a ton.”
Tomas stares at his wrists in disgust. “Please. I must help them. Please.”
“If we don’t take him,” I tell Parminter, “they’ll come for him and put him in another Astro.”
A strangled groan comes from deep inside Tomas.
Parminter gives in. “Okay. Fly-lift. Let’s get ready.”
A noise like the ripping of a thousand sheets zips overhead. A myriad questing fingers of blinding flashes of light spin out from their respective skylons. They split and multiply across the sky, traveling fast and heading toward one another like iron filings to a magnet. They meet, they merge, there is an earsplitting crackle and the Orb becomes a shimmering net of light, enclosing us below like bewildered fish in a pond. The air fizzes with charge and my carapace buzzes as though a thousand bees are trapped beneath it. Tomas’s hair is waving like weeds beneath water—even his eyebrows are sticking out. And then, just as I feel that my wing cases are about to explode, the lights vanish and silence enfolds us. I look up and see a clear, shining, emptiness of blue—blue, it really is blue—with small dabs of white fluff floating in it. It is the Outside. And it is beautiful.
“Let’s go,” says Parminter.
With opposite wings from the ones we used for Andronicus we form a platform for Tomas. He scrambles up and gingerly lies flat upon us, spreading his arms across our wing cases. Parminter takes my hand. “Ready?” she asks.
“Ready,” I tell her, a little nervously.
Slowly we rise up, heading toward the brilliant, breathtaking blue of the unveiled sky. We fly up past Parminter’s skylon, which stands quiet and watchful, and in a few wingbeats we are Outside. The air tastes so sweet and clean and I feel Tomas take a deep, shuddering breath. We head away from the skylon as fast as we can, afraid of what will happen when the Orb is reactivated. Slow and steady, we rise into the blue and I cannot believe how bright and clear the Outside is. I feel as though I have lived my life behind a dirty pane of glass.
“You see,” Parminter shouts to me. “The sky is blue!”
“And the clouds are so white!” I say. But the thing that truly amazes me is the sun. It sits in the sky just above the line of hills in the far distance with a ribbon of pinkish cloud lying across its middle. Parminter has told me very firmly not to look the sun in the eye, but even if she had not I would never dare, for its brilliance is awe-inspiring.
Directed by Tomas, we are heading toward the SilverShip. It is much closer now, a giant sky-fish with little fat fins sailing serenely above the line of fluttering silver pennants that mark its path out of Hope.
“Hurry!” I hear Tomas’s anxious croak close to my ear.
He is right; we must be quick. The SilverShip has just crossed the perimeter ditch and its shadow is now a dark fish swimming through the rolling green grass of the outside plain. It is moving fast toward us and we must hurry if we are to meet it. A loud craaaack behind us makes me jump and I glance back to see the first jagged fingers of light shoot out from the tops of all the skylons, which surround the city like the points of a crown.
“Maximillian!” Parminter yells, her voice sharp with panic.
I have lost the rhythm of our wingbeats, and Tomas has slipped over to Parminter’s side. I quickly adjust myself, and Tomas moves to the middle once more. Don’t look back, Maximillian, I think. From now on, look only forward.
We hear a long, snapping crackle as the Orb reforms behind us, and we fly as fast as we can toward the oncoming SilverShip. At first I think how beautiful it is but then, hanging beneath its belly like a piece of frass, I see a small, silvery capsule, from which comes the sound of young voices singing an eerily sad song—and I know there is no beauty here. Only terror.
The SilverShip is so close now that I can see the seams on the balloon and the numbers stenciled on different parts of it. I hear a whirring sound and beneath the ship’s tail I see a propeller slowly turning, sending it forward with remarkable speed. The ship is heading across our path fast and we must take care to judge our landing well. If we miss we won’t get a second chance. We’ll never be able to catch it.
“We’ll land on the capsule roof!” Parminter shouts. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
The capsule is attached to the ship by two thick struts. It has a flat top but this is not going to be easy, especially with Tomas weighing us down. We coast in, swooping beneath the silver belly and in complete harmony, Parminter and I glide onto the roof of the capsule, which sags alarmingly beneath us. I lose my footing and we all roll into a heap in the middle beside the struts. A terrible screaming starts up from under us.
“They put them in a bag,” I say, disgusted. “A flimsy little bag.”
“Vile,” Parminter says. “Just vile.”
The screaming has stopped and I can hear a murmuring of anxious voices beneath. Slowly and somewhat shakily we sit up, and I think how bizarre this is: two Roaches and a Vermin perched upon the top of a bag full of young ones that is hanging beneath the fat belly of a flying silver fish. I am musing upon the strangeness that I have discovered in this world—ever since, young watcher, I began to talk to you—when something sharp pokes me in a delicate place and I leap up with a yell, only to fall backward as the canvas wobbles alarmingly beneath me.
“Look,” Parminter whispers, pointing to a sharp sliver of a blade sticking up through the roof.
I smile. I have seen that businesslike little blade somewhere before.
Chapter 31
In the Bag
K
I am sitting on Mattie’s shoulders and I can just reach the roof. The tip of my blade hits the bump and I hear a strangled yelp. It is very familiar. But surely it cannot be who I think it is? “Maximillian?” I call out. “Is that you?”
And above us I hear a laugh and then the delighted voice of Maximillian. “It is I, Maximillian Fly. Your brother!”
Mattie’s eyes are shining with hope. “Your brother? Tomas?” she whispers. “Tomas is here too?”
I have no idea what Maximillian means. How can Tomas be here? But then I hear a croak. “Kait? Mattie?” and I know it is indeed Tomas, his voice wrecked by the ReBreethe.
“Oh, Tomas,” Mattie calls up. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.” And then she looks back at me. “His voice. It was an Astro, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say quietly, “it was an Astro.”
Another voice is talking to us through the roof now, and I begin to wonder how many people are up there. This is another Roach, who I am sure I also recognize. “We’re going to cut a hole in the roof,” she says. “Keep out of the way, please.” It is Parminter Wing, our old neighbor. I’m sure it is. This is so very peculiar that I wonder if maybe I am dreaming.
I slither down from Mattie’s shoulders, lose my footing, and as I fall into the soft side of the cabin I know I’m not dreaming—there is a long, thin blade sawing a hole through the roof. “Are they going to set us free?” Jonno asks. It seems even Jonno has realized we are prisoners.
“Yes, they are,” I tell him, smiling like I can’t stop. A familiar head pokes down, antennae waving jauntily. “Maximillian!” I yell out. “Maximillian!”
Maximillian’s round Roach face draws one or two cries of dismay—not everyone on board is comfortable with Roaches. But Maximillian does not notice. “Hello, my Kaitlin Drew,” he says. “Hello, my little sister.”
Whatever does he mean?
J
It is the Roach with the bent antenna. He is smiling. And so is Katie. And Nettie too. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Mr. Maximillian asks. This is what you say on ships.
Nettie and me stand up and I say, “Permission granted.”
K
Maximillian drops down into the capsule, followed by Parminter Wing and then, amazingly, Tomas. The kids gasp—suddenly there are two Roaches and an Enforcer in this tiny space, so close they can reach
out and touch them.
Tomas stares at me with the very same expression as he did through the glass. He looks awful—haggard, battered and bruised. I don’t know what to do, what to say. But Tomas does. He hugs me tight, and his vile Astro cuffs stick into me. “I’m so sorry,” he says.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell him. And then I let him go to Mattie and she just holds his hands, staring at those terrible cuffs.
I introduce Maximillian and Parminter to the kids, but they hang back, wary of two Roaches at such close quarters. Maximillian, being so tall, is particularly overpowering in such a confined space. But to my surprise Jonno goes up to Maximillian and takes his hand. “You made my foot better,” he says.
The ice is broken and in seconds the kids are bombarding Maximillian with questions and chatter. And as I listen, I find I cannot stop smiling because the Maximillian I see now, surrounded by admiring children hanging on his every word, is so wonderfully different from the Maximillian I last saw cowering in the darkness of his own home.
J
Nettie wants to see the Outside, so I ask Katie if she will cut a hole in the wall too, so we can look out. So she cuts a little triangle and I look out and I see two big white horses, just like in my picture book and there are people riding them very fast. I think they are chasing us. I stick my arm through the window and wave. Because one of them is my daddy.
K
“It’s Daddy down there,” Jonno says, as casually as if he is telling me that the grass is green.
I don’t want to upset Jonno by telling him that his daddy is dead, so I look out of the window while I decide what to say. Below I see two horses with riders—a man and a woman—cantering along behind us. I have never seen the woman before, but . . . no, it can’t be, I think. But it is.
“Dad!” I scream out through the flap. “Dad, Dad!” Suddenly Tomas is by my side looking out and he gives a loud whoop. “Look, Jonno,” he says, “see the man on the horse? It’s Dad!”
“I know,” Jonno says. “I told you it was.”
M
Kaitlin and Tomas are laughing like crazy people. And now Tomas is beside me, saying, “Maximillian, would you like to look Outside?”
The young ones also want to look. “Me too, me too!” they clamor.
“In a minute,” Tomas tells them. “But first Maximillian.” They don’t argue with Tomas in his Enforcer’s CarboNet and Astro cuffs. He really does look quite alarming.
I do as my brother asks. I crouch down to look out, and far below I see two most ugly creatures with four legs and two heads—one long, one round—apiece. I have no idea what they can possibly be. And then Tomas says the strangest thing. “Maximillian, it is our father.”
Well. I am horrified. How could Tomas say that our father is one of those abominations? “He might be your father, but he is not mine, thank you very much. My papa does not have two heads and four legs,” I say with some dignity.
Now Parminter is by my side, peering out. “Of course he doesn’t have two heads and four legs, Maximillian. One of those heads and all four of those legs belong to a horse. Which your papa is riding.”
Oh. I look again and I see that the abominable creature is indeed a man on a horse.
“Maximillian,” Parminter says softly as I gaze down at the man below. “Your papa is alive. I wanted to tell you yesterday evening, but you didn’t want to know. For the last few months he has been living with my grandma.” Now Tomas and Kaitlin look as surprised as I do. “He escaped from the Night Roach Steeple,” Parminter tells us. “He hypnotized the Night Roaches with his flute playing and climbed down the carvings on the Steeple. He turned up in the middle of the night at our farm begging for help. Ma took him straight out to Grandma’s.”
Suddenly Papa calls out, “Maximillian? Is that you?”
He knows me. Even from so far away, he knows me. And I call down, “Yes! Yes it is I! It is I, Maximillian Fly!”
K
We are going too fast. The wind is blowing harder now and the fishlike shadow of the SilverShip is racing over the ground. Dad and Parminter’s grandma are chasing us, galloping along a dark green band that bisects the rolling plains below. But they are steadily falling behind, and already they seem so much smaller.
Tomas draws me away from the window. “Kait,” he says in a low voice, “Max and Parminter can only fly two away from here. Just two. Because once they’re on the ground they’ll never be able to catch up with us again. How are we going to choose who they take?”
I shake my head. I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that the faster we are moving, the sooner we will reach the ocean. And then there will be no way anyone can help us.
J
Maximillian and me are watching Daddy. He has a bow and arrow and I think he is going to make a hole in the SilverShip balloon so that the air will come out and we will go down to the ground and be safe. Because we are not safe up here. I know that now.
Daddy shoots the arrow. It flies up high, chasing us fast, but it doesn’t reach and it falls back down on the grass. Daddy shoots another arrow but it falls down even farther away than the last one. We are going too fast for arrows to catch us.
“You could do that with your dagger,” I tell Maximillian. “It would be even better than an arrow because you could make a really big hole and lots of air would come whooshing out.”
Maximillian smiles at me, and his bent antenna dances up and down. “So it would,” he says.
M
Parminter and I are outside, balancing on top of wobbling canvas. Two thick wooden struts attach the bag of children to the ship and we each cling to one of them. In the distance I see a dark blue line on the horizon that sparkles. It is, Parminter tells me, the ocean—and every second it is getting closer.
I look up and see the fat silver belly of the ship. It is not far to fly, but we dare not let go of the struts because the air that whistles past would tear us away in an instant. Parminter tells me that this singing, moving air is called wind. I do not like it very much, I must confess.
Clinging to the struts, slipping and sliding, using our wings for lift, we progress upward at a snail’s pace. As I climb, I cannot help but consider how only two days ago I was living my dull little life in the dull little world beneath the Orb. And now I find myself in the Outside, clinging beneath the fat belly of a flying silver fish, with the wind whistling in my ear tubes like a demon. And I would not change it for anything. I draw my dagger out from its holster beneath my wing. “Ready?” I call over to Parminter.
“Ready!” she shouts. She flips open Kaitlin’s little knife and we plunge our blades into the tough skin of the SilverShip.
Nothing happens.
“There’s another skin beneath!” Parminter yells. “This knife’s too short. It won’t reach!”
And so it is up to me. I push my dagger in deep and I feel the second skin shy away from its tip, unwilling to be caught. I think of my brothers and sister and all the little ones with fear in their eyes, I think of the wide ocean ahead that is waiting to swallow them up and I know I must do this. And so, clinging onto the strut with only my knees, keeping steady by beating my wings, with the power of all my three hands I push my dagger in deeper and deeper until at last I feel the second skin give way.
“Make a big cut so it doesn’t seal up!” Parminter shouts.
With all my strength, I do just that. I saw into the stiff silver fabric, bringing my blade zigzagging down, widening the cut. My blade is sharp and I am pushing and twisting with all my strength and yet nothing is happening. Where is the gas? I begin to fear that maybe there is yet another skin to cut through.
And then I hear a ripping sound and suddenly there is gas—too much, too fast. A strange-smelling blast hits my chest and throws me back with such force that my dagger goes flying from my hands and I lose my grip on the strut. And then I am dropping backward through the air like a rock. I try to open my wings but the rush of the air prevents me. I try to right myself
but without the use of my wings, I cannot. And so, limbs flailing, I hurtle toward the ground. I know what has happened, for Parminter explained it in our flying lessons. I am caught in a backstall. This is very bad. Indeed, it is fatal.
As I fall, I stare up into the ridiculous blue above me and suddenly I see Parminter, swooping down. A moment later she is gliding beneath me, tipping me over so that my wings flip out and I too am gliding, safe in the air once more. Immediately, I ascend, heading back to the ship, but it is far away now, the importunate wind sending it speeding through the sky. Parminter and I look at one another in despair. “Oh, Parminter,” I whisper. “What have we done?”
We become aware of a thudding noise below and we look down to see a white horse galloping toward us. Upon it is my papa. “Wait!” he shouts. “Wait!” And so we glide down to the long grasses and we wait. The horse is an even stranger creature close up and I am not sure that I like it. It looks wild and angry and it blows noisily through its huge nostrils. But astride it is my papa. His unruly hair is dark and flecked with gray and he wears his bow slung across his shoulder along with a quiver of arrows. I take a deep breath and walk over to him. Papa smiles. “Maximillian,” he says. “My boy.”
And then he is off his horse and holding me tightly to him. And I lay my head upon his shoulder and we are utterly still. He is the man with the sad eyes and the books and the bear. He is my papa.
And I am his boy.
Chapter 32
Nettie
K
I saw Maximillian fall. If Parminter hadn’t caught him he would have been killed. I can see them now, dark against a sea of green with two white horses beside them. I cannot even begin to think how much I wish I were there too.
I know this is goodbye. Tomas has told Mattie and me what will happen to us—it doesn’t surprise me—but we have not told the others. We’ve cut more windows and the Bears and Wolves are taking turns to look out. I listen to their excited chatter and all the while I watch two people whom I love and will never see again grow ever smaller.
