Umberland

by Wendy Spinale

  A school of scarlet-colored fish flit by the window, and Maddox adjusts to avoid them before he continues.

  “Then one day, the Bloodred Queen comes storming from the castle in a fury, seeking my parents.” Maddox shakes his head.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “The Bloodred Queen’s son wandered into the orchard and picked an apple to give to his mother, which was forbidden. It was supposed to be a gift. That was the day she left him blind in one eye. He was never the same after that,” he says. “In the middle of the night, a band of the Bloodred Queen’s soldiers came for my father and mother, claiming it was their fault that her son nearly poisoned her. I hid beneath the wooden floorboards, and when they shoved my father to the floor, I could see his bloodied face. Through a knothole in the wood, he whispered for me to run. That was the last time I saw either of my parents.”

  “How awful. I’m so sorry,” I say, unsure of how else to comfort him.

  He gives a slight nod. “The tree was removed from Lohr’s grounds and replanted far enough away that the mistake would never happen again. Once planted, the soldiers poured growth accelerant from my mother’s laboratory over the entire grounds surrounding the tree so no one could gain access to it again. Nor could anyone leave.”

  “What about you? How did you get away?” I ask.

  “I gathered a few meager belongings and did as my father said. I ran. I made it to the machine my father used for traveling and gathering his plants, this machine.”

  “And you came to Northumberland?” I ask.

  Again he nods.

  “Why there? Why not take refuge somewhere close?”

  “My parents taught me everything they could with the hopes that I wouldn’t end up becoming a Tinker or Forger,” he says.

  I bite my lip, piecing together the information. In a world dominated by machines, most ended up working with tools to build or repair them. They were commoners among us. But to have the opportunity to practice the ancient arts of horticulture and medicinal herbalism, those labors were only granted to the prestigious.

  “The Alnwick Garden was one of my father’s favorite gardens in the world. So much so that he had paid a hefty price to set up an apprenticeship when I came of age. With nowhere else to go, it was the only place I could think of. I was thirteen at the time. It took some convincing, but shortly after my arrival to Northumberland, the groundskeeper brought me on as an apprentice early. And the rest is history.”

  “What about your parents? What happened to them?” I ask.

  Maddox shakes his head. “I assume they were executed.”

  “You don’t know that, Maddox. They could be her prisoners as we speak,” I say.

  “Perhaps, but how was I going to rescue them? I was just a kid. Even if that were the case, what means do I have to defeat the Bloodred Queen and her soldiers? And I don’t even know that they’re still alive. Between her cruelty and the disease, they’re more than likely dead.”

  “You are the bloody caretaker with access to the Poison Garden,” I say, my voice harsher than I intended. “Can’t you do some hocus-pocus nonsense and put the soldiers under some sort of sleeping spell? You could just pass out those Eat Me cakes, storm the castle, and rescue your parents.”

  “You’ve been reading too many fairy tales, Your Grace,” he says.

  “And that’s another thing,” I say, my annoyance fueled by his complacency. “Quit calling me that. My name is Alyssa.”

  Maddox lifts an eyebrow and smiles. I find myself smiling back at him.

  “As you wish, Alyssa,” he says.

  Heat burns my cheeks as I catch myself staring into his gold eyes.

  A blow to the side of the ship breaks the moment of awkward silence. I slide, falling into Maddox’s lap. He catches me, keeping me from tumbling headfirst into the ship’s console. His arms wrap around me like a warm blanket. My pulse quickens as I turn my gaze to his and find his face merely centimeters from my own.

  Seeming flustered, he helps me to my feet.

  “Belt yourself in,” he says, gesturing to the passenger seat.

  A hint of disappointment comes over me as I flop into my seat. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but whatever it was, this is certainly not the time for it.

  The ship shudders against another hit. I fasten the harness and grip the armrest. When I turn back toward the window, I feel the blood drain from my face. In the distance, an enormous snakelike creature slithers through the water.

  “What is that thing?” I say under my breath, unable to take my eyes off the approaching beast.

  Maddox pulls a lever. The ship picks up speed as the flippers propel us forward. “That is one rather large sea serpent.” When the creature matches our speed, Maddox shoves the acceleration lever as far down as it will go. The ship jolts and lets out a loud clang. The engine stalls, leaving us floating for just a moment. Alarms blare from the back of the hull. Maddox tries the lever again as the ship begins to slowly sink. The sea serpent rams the front of the ship, and the vehicle lists to the side as loud scraping sounds run across the top. More alarms blare from behind us. “Take the wheel,” Maddox says, unbelting himself.

  Reluctantly, I do as he asks. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as he taps on dials, turns wheels, and switches levers, mumbling to himself. When I glance back to the window, the serpent circles around and heads toward us again, growing larger the closer it gets. It opens its hinged jaw, sharp teeth dangling. I realize it must think we’re a real turtle—its next meal.

  “Maddox?” I say, trying to turn the wheel, but to no avail. Without any sort of thrust, we’re dead in the water, literally.

  The serpent speeds up, its forked tongue flicking the water as if trying to smell our whereabouts. Maddox curses beneath his breath as he tugs on a wheel that appears to be stuck. Again the beast rams the front window, this time leaving cracks throughout the glass.

  Maddox is thrown off his feet by the impact. He falls back, smacking his head on one of the wheels. Crashing to the floor, he moans.

  “Maddox!” I scream, my voice barely audible over the blaring alarms. He doesn’t move. “Get up, Maddox!”

  The ship jostles again, only this time the tail end drops, tilting so the front window faces the surface of the water. Maddox’s body slides, colliding against the back windows.

  We plummet toward the ocean floor. Frantically, I start switching levers and pushing buttons. The pressure causes the cracks to spider out, leaving the front window in a web of fissures. The lamps flicker and go dark, so there’s just the moon’s reflection on the water’s surface, glittering like diamonds. Unsettling quiet slices through the thinning air, silencing the alarms. Only the sound of the window splintering, the hull succumbing to pressure, and my rising pulse are left.

  Suddenly, the ship stirs and lights flicker. I let out an audible sigh as I hear the machine parts grind and the flippers slowly pull back, but not nearly fast enough.

  Above, the sea serpent glides toward the ship. I scan the console and find a switch labeled AQUA ROCKET just above the myriad of dials. Without hesitation I slam it. Two barrels lift from beneath the ship. With a clang they lock in place. As the sea serpent draws closer, my hand hovers over the launch button. When it is only thirty meters away, I squeeze my eyes shut and punch the button.

  A roar louder than any I’ve ever heard violently shakes the ship. I cover my ears, hoping the windows don’t shatter. My body is thrown back against the seat as the ship jets forward. After a few moments, the Mock Turtle stills, and all is quiet again. When I open my eyes, a faint pink cloud is dissipating in the water before me. The blast is not nearly enough to have killed the beast, but it doesn’t appear to be around. I must have frightened it off. The ship has somewhat leveled itself and is moving forward, although slowly.

  “Well done,” Maddox says.

  I put the ship on auto and look back to find Maddox sitting up, holding a handkerchief to his head.

  “Maddox! Are
you okay?” I ask, unclipping the harness and bolting from my seat. Kneeling next to him, I take in his injuries. A bruise is beginning to blossom on his cheek and blood drips from a gash on his forehead. “You’re hurt!”

  He wipes at the blood on his forehead and puts pressure on the wound. “It’s not bad. I’ll have a whopper of a headache, but I’ll survive.”

  I bury my face in my hands and breathe a sigh of relief. “I thought you were dead.”

  He pats my back and chuckles. “It’s going to take a lot more than a scratch and a twenty-meter sea monster to do me in, Your Grace.”

  I pull back. “It’s Alyssa. Just call me Alyssa.”

  Maddox reaches for his hat and places it on his head. “Forgive me, Alyssa. Now, let’s get to the Labyrinth.”

  He stands and offers me his hand. In spite of his injuries, he is undeniably handsome. I take hold of his hand, glad to have his company. He resumes his place at the cockpit, and I return to my seat.

  “Ready to get that apple?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Good, because time waits for no one,” he says.

  Having been dismissed by Gwen, I’m antsy and need something to hit in order to quiet the unbearable frustration within me. The stone walls of the castle won’t suffice. I’ll only break the bones in my hands, so I opt to pay Doc a visit. As is often the case, many of my troubles lead back to him. He is the underlying source of my anger. If it wasn’t for him, Gwen would be fine right now, Bella would be with me instead of lying in the infirmary, and none of this chaos would be happening. If he’d just gotten the diagnosis right the first time, I’d have been able to keep my promise to Gwen that she and her family would be safe here in Northumberland.

  And so, itching for a fight, I enter the laboratory. Doc is in the same position I’ve seen him in nearly every time I’ve stopped by. He sits on a stool, hovering over a blood specimen. His medispectacles extend out as far as they can go so he can observe the sample amplified in the lenses. He rubs his neck as if trying to work out the stiff muscles.

  Despite myself, I decide to let him off the hook … for now. I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms. Disappointed that I can’t knock him into oblivion for all the ways he’s let me and the rest of the Lost Boys down, I clear my throat to get his attention.

  He sets the specimen on the counter and lifts the medispectacles onto his head. He clearly isn’t in the mood for a spat. Dark bags line his eyes, his face sallow and thin. It appears he hasn’t slept or eaten in days, and it’s not a good look on anyone, much less on our only physician. Who doctors the doctor when he is ill? It’s the sickest I’ve seen him, and I almost feel sorry for him. But, as my mum used to say about my adventuring, you can sleep when you’re dead. And we’ll all be dead soon enough at this rate.

  “You look like something the Plungers pulled from the latrines,” I say.

  “Nice to see you, too,” Doc says, his tone sounding aggravated by my presence. “How’s Gwen doing?”

  I bristle. He doesn’t need to know that she more or less threw me out of her sleeping quarters. “How do you think she’s doing? She’s just lost her mother.”

  “Sorry. I guess that was insensitive of me,” he says.

  Strolling over to the sample, I pick up the slide and inspect the drop of blood, as if this droplet is different from any of the others. “Any luck?”

  Doc pulls the medispectacles off his head, then tosses them onto the counter and leans up against it, seeming as defeated as I feel. “Until Alyssa gets back from the Poison Garden with information, I’m afraid there isn’t anything more I can do.”

  Caught up as I was with the death of the Professor and my encounter with Gwen, I’d forgotten about the plan to inquire with Maddox Hadder about the poison apple. “Did she take anyone with her?”

  Weary, Doc rubs his eyes and yawns. “How in heaven’s name should I know? I’ve been bent over examining slides for”—he slips his pocket watch from his waistcoat—“sixteen hours straight now, aside from the few minutes you decided to turn my best shirt into a dust rag. Last I checked, the Lost Boys were all asleep.”

  “When did she leave?” I ask, a small spike of worry shooting up my spine.

  “I don’t know, a few hours ago maybe?” Doc says.

  Hours? Panicked, I step up to a metal cabinet and punch it, leaving a dent, but it’s not big enough. I pound my fist into it again and again, welcoming the rush of pain.

  Doc grips my shoulder and shoves me from the cabinet. “Blimey, what is wrong with you? There’s valuable equipment in there.”

  “She shouldn’t have gone alone,” I say, jabbing a finger into his chest.

  “Let me get this straight: You wanted someone to babysit the Duchess of Alnwick and tell her that she couldn’t go where she pleased?” he asks, gaping.

  “Actually, yes, Doc. I do expect you to stop the duchess from entering a poisonous garden all alone where no one ever bloody returns from,” I say. “I should’ve gone with her.”

  Doc waves me away and stomps back to his workstation. “You’re right, Pete. Not only should I try to find a cure for all these sick people on three hours of sleep, but I also should be taking care of the sick, and chasing after the duchess.”

  Furious, I storm out of the laboratory. Doc’s footsteps pound the floor behind me.

  “Just wait a second; where are you going?” Doc asks.

  “I’m going after the duchess. Her place is here in the castle, not gallivanting out there with that crazy caretaker,” I say.

  Doc huffs. “Oh, how archaic of you. The little woman can’t defend herself so we’re going to lock her in the highest tower of a far-away castle? Shall we get a dragon to protect her, too? Duchess Alyssa is capable of handling herself, which is far more than I can say for you at the moment.”

  Whirling on him, I throw a punch but miss. Doc shoves me hard against the wall, grips me by my collar, and gets in my face. “Stand down, Pete, or I will give you something to be pissed about, oh valiant leader of the Lost Boys.”

  “Go back to your lab before I show you what kind of leader I am.”

  Doc releases my coat collar and points a finger in my face. “You want to know what kind of leader you are, Pete? With the Queen ill, Katt off her rocker, and Alyssa gone, you’re naturally the next to rule. Until the duchess returns, Alnwick needs someone to keep things calm and, as much as I hate to say it, you’re the best thing. So stop whining and step up.”

  Doc whirls around and heads back to his laboratory. I follow.

  “You know that no one returns from the garden,” I say. “That is why you should’ve been sure someone was with her to be sure she got back here safely.”

  “Guess you’ll have to go save the day again, won’t you?” Doc stops, turns back toward me, and bows. “As always, I’m here for your service, leader of the Lost Boys and now Alnwick. Try not to ruin everything. Again.”

  He heads in to his lab, leaving me alone with the embers of rage broiling in my belly.

  He’s not wrong; Alnwick needs a leader. I’m just not all that sure that I’m the best choice—but I may be the only choice.

  Nausea grips my stomach, threatening to make me vomit. After battling the sea serpent, we puttered along for hours in the battered and broken Mock Turtle, oftentimes losing power and suddenly sinking only to regain power and lurch forward. After leaving the North Sea, we traveled up rivers and canals until we finally made it to the Weise River. I’ve never been so happy to finally be on land. With waves lapping at my boots, I lie on the bank, staring at the night sky above, doing all I can to keep my last meal inside of me. I don’t know when we’ll next get to eat.

  Under a brilliant full moon, Maddox rips a plant from the greenery just beyond the beach and munches on the root. He stumbles toward me and offers me a bite, but my face flushes as queasiness taunts me again.

  “Eat it,” he says, shoving the dirt-clad plant in my face.

  I brush it away. “Just leave me
alone. I need to get my land legs before I eat anything, much less a weed.”

  Maddox pulls a multitool from his belt and cuts the tip of the root off. He rinses it in the river and brings it back to me. “Eat it or I’m going to tie you up and force-feed you. Trust me, it won’t be pleasant, but we don’t have time for this weak-belly nonsense.”

  His black-lined eyes glitter gold in the moonlight, but somehow there is a darkness within him that I don’t dare challenge. I take the brown-and-gray piece of root, tentatively placing it on my tongue. Its flavor has a bite, but it doesn’t take long before I feel somewhat better. He offers me another piece, and I chew it up.

  He stashes the rest of the root in his pocket and heads toward a thick forest.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Just south of the Labyrinth,” he says, inspecting the woods. With his hand he brushes away scrub from beneath the trees, as if looking for something. Finally, he finds a path. “This way.”

  He strides through the forest, disappearing beyond the dense trees.

  Reluctantly, I stand, dust the dirt off my wet cloak, and follow him.

  We travel for an hour, not saying much at all. With having to climb over fallen trees, through overgrown brush, and over newly formed streams, it proves to be a strenuous journey. Something buzzes by my ear. When I turn toward it, a mechanical bee settles on my shoulder. Carefully, I cradle it in my hands.

  “A bumblefly,” Maddox says, sounding irritated as he glances down at my palms. “That means we’re close.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, watching the intricate machinery spin within its body.

  “My parents weren’t the only ones who worked for Lohr Castle. The Apiarists along with the Tinkers created hives of those vile beasts to keep the plants thriving in Lohr. They’re three times more efficient than your average honeybee.”

  Its copper wings beat just once. “It’s lovely,” I say, tracing a finger along one wing. The wire that serves as a stinger pierces my finger. “Ouch!” I squeal, tossing the insect into the air. It flits away toward Maddox, its machine parts buzzing loudly.