Brightstorm

by Vashti Hardy

“Good, that refuelling stop will gain us time,” Harriet said. “Now let me settle our great debt to you for these wonderful supplies.”

  Both Batzorig and Temur raised their hands. “No, no, we will not hear of it, with all that your good parents did for us during the siege of Gamutte. Their gravity irrigation system saved our lives!”

  “No, really,” Harriet tried, but Temur would not let her protest.

  “Think nothing of it, dear friends,” he said.

  Harriet smiled. “Well, I have more books for you.” Seeing Arthur and Maudie’s panicked expressions, she added to them, “Don’t worry, these have been in crates – they’re not from the ship’s library. Welby, if you could show Batzorig’s good people where to find them.”

  Batzorig clapped his hands together. “How exciting – books are the greatest gift.”

  A guard approached Temur and spoke in his ear. Temur turned to Harriet. “The bandits are giving nothing away. We don’t have more answers for you at this time, I’m afraid.”

  Harriet nodded, then said her goodbyes.

  “Be careful, and make sure you win, for your good crew, and for Ernest Brightstorm.” Temur made a whirling gesture to the sky and closed his eyes in a moment of thought.

  Arthur and Maudie turned to leave the hall, but Batzorig stopped them.

  “Before you go, you must tell me of your silver arm, Arthur.”

  Maudie jumped in. “The original arm was eaten by a huge crocodile in the Spice Islands in the west – you should’ve seen what he did to the crocodile.” She gave a knowing nod.

  Batzorig laughed heartily. “I meant, who made this wonderful construction?”

  Maudie’s freckles blushed brightly on her cheeks. “Oh, it was me.”

  Batzorig nodded, clearly impressed. “Why, of course you did. See, I am never wrong, Temur.” He put an arm around Temur and hugged him close. “She could teach the Citadel ironmongers and engineers a thing or two, don’t you think? And so well maintained; why, the metal shines like a mirror!”

  Maudie smiled proudly.

  “If you ever need work, we would welcome you here. Our universitas may not be as grand as Lontown, but in engineering and mathematics you will find no finer teachers,” said Temur.

  “Did you hear that?” Maudie looked at Arthur.

  He nodded and smiled at her – there was that Maudie-shaped hole in the world again, waiting to be filled by his sister. But his wasn’t there – he only had the hole inside of him, the void of not knowing what happened to Dad, of not knowing where he fitted in the world any more. And the way Batzorig had looked at him earlier hadn’t helped with his doubt.

  The crew made their way back to the Aurora, each to their own position on the ship.

  A voice suddenly called out, “Wait, there’s still a load of lemons!”

  “Fresh lemons?” Felicity called, her eyes wide.

  Someone dashed up the gangplank with a great basket of lemons and handed them to Felicity. Arthur breathed in the scent. Dad used to make the best lemon iced biscuits whenever they had the fruits in Lontown market, but they were rare in the First Continent.

  “Twice the size of any lemons I’ve ever seen! They’ve positively made my toes tingle! Thank you, King Batzorig!” Felicity called.

  Suddenly, a thought flashed through Arthur’s mind about Ermitage Wrigglesworth’s book.

  “What is it?” Maudie asked. “You’ve got that look where I can see the cogs of your brain turning.”

  “There’s something I need to check in the library. Meet me there after duties,” he said.

  The crew of the Aurora waved goodbye, then hurried to their positions, ready for take-off.

  Nobody noticed the large silver insect scuttle along the bow, take flight and speed away.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE LAST POST

  That evening after leaving the Citadel, Arthur hurried from his duties to the library. He found Ermitage Wrigglesworth’s book and turned to the section on explorer families.

  Maudie rushed in. “Sorry, Meriwether needed me to fix her weather glass.”

  “I’ve only just got here. Felicity wanted to try some of the new spices we got from the Citadel – she’s calling them Citadel cookies, and she’s now working on a new recipe, Batzorig buns!”

  “Oh, that sounds wrong!”

  Arthur flicked through the journal until he reached Vane.

  “So, what’s your revelation?”

  Arthur examined the family’s meticulously drawn explorer symbol.

  He saw instantly what had been bothering him about the drawing. Something he was certain wasn’t meant to be there – the tiniest lemon had been drawn in the centre of the rose. He smiled.

  “Look at that!”

  “What?”

  “Well, you saw Madame Vane’s tattoo when she visited us at Beggins Hall. I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a lemon in the middle of the rose!”

  Maudie laughed. “Why would anyone do that?”

  The natural light was fading. Arthur lit a candle and moved it close to the page. That’s when he saw the strange marks shining in the candlelight, in the spaces between the lines. He held the candle nearer. “Curious,” he mumbled and moved his eyeline flat to the page. The mysterious markings were letters – hidden writing, not clear enough to read. “Of course!” he suddenly cried. “Wait here, Maudie. I need to pop to the kitchen.”

  Soon Arthur arrived back with lemon juice in a cup and Felicity’s pastry brush. He dipped the brush, wiped a little on the side of the cup, then ran it over the paper wherever he could see the glint of hidden letters. Slowly words appeared. Beside the characteristics, it now said:

  Ambitious

  Shrewd

  Ruthless

  His heart thumped as more words revealed between the lines.

  This rare dye is collected from the accumulation of crushed shells (note: the creatures must be alive when crushed in order to secrete the deepest of colour – only produced when the beetle is in a state of distress). The cruellest of exploits.

  A cold shiver ran through him – the thought of crushing living creatures to colour fabric was horrible. The seemingly innocent passage about how the Vanes had traded with the Spice Islands and formed relationships with them now informed that they’d used excessive force to take from the indigenous people. The Vanes had even made some of them leave their homes to become servants and had stolen children from their families, setting them to work in pitch mines. The hidden truth revealed that the real Vanes explored by stealing and forcing their authority wherever they went.

  “But Eudora seems so…”

  “Nice,” Arthur finished.

  Maudie shook her head. “What a horrible heritage.”

  “I wonder if she knows about her family’s terrible past.”

  “What if she does know, and…”

  “What if she’s like her ancestors?”

  “That means she might be…” Maudie looked horrified.

  “The one behind our kidnapping.”

  “Think about it.”

  “The offer of a new life.”

  “Then, when that didn’t work…”

  “She really didn’t want us to go.”

  “Then the bandits were paid by someone.”

  “She’s trying to stop us from looking.”

  “Or finding something.”

  Their eyes met.

  *

  The Aurora flew relentlessly. There wasn’t much time to enjoy the Second Continent flashing by beneath them, as the reality of keeping up the checks and routine of daily life while trying to keep on schedule meant not much time for fun.

  At nightfall, a week after leaving the Citadel, there was still no sign of the Victorious. The temperature continued to drop rapidly the further south they flew, and any sign of people completely faded away. They were at the most southern point of the Second Continent, where they needed to land and replenish the water supply. Harriet was looking for the place on the map called th
e Last Post. Arthur remembered the name from the day at the Geographical Society. It was where the fuel had supposedly been stolen from the Victorious. Below, there came into view a huddle of buildings glowing orange in firelight, the only sign of life in the vast, star-speckled, moonless bay.

  They landed and were greeted by a friendly young woman called Solongo. She was so pleased to see them, Arthur thought it must have been ages since she’d seen another person. Harriet said she’d met her once before when she’d travelled this far south a few years ago. After embracing every member of the crew, Solongo made them a fishy soup in a big pot on the bonfire. The sea lay motionless and the sky cloudless. The dark was so thick at the edges it was as though the rest of the world had been erased and all that existed was the small cluster of huts on the shoreline, and the crew of the Aurora grouped around the blaze, faces bathed in warm cinnamon light.

  The sound of the sea tickling the beach disappeared beneath the deep baritone of Welby’s song and the jolly twang of strings. Welby was so different the further away from Lontown they were, more relaxed, as though he was someone else. The crew sat on great rocks which looked as though they had been placed there by giant hands in a forgotten time. Solongo fluttered around the group like an excited butterfly, filling their glasses with her akhi hut brew, while heads bobbed and feet tapped to Welby’s banjo, his white-haired head bouncing with the rhythm of the song.

  My name is Welby Wild-o, my hut’s in Solongo’s bay

  Here she makes her akhi brew that’ll take your breath away

  The walls have holes and the roofs are shot,

  The rafters blow and the floorboards rot,

  But nevertheless, you must confess, and hear this from my mouth,

  It’s the most palatial dwelling you will find this far south.

  Arthur watched from a short distance; he put his hand to the locket which he kept around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt. The hull of the Aurora felt warm against his back – even though the engines weren’t running, she watched over the group, keeping them safe. He could almost feel her breathing with him as though she was a living being.

  Maudie glanced over, frowned curiously and beckoned him. She mouthed Are you all right?

  He smiled and nodded, but tonight he felt on the outside.

  Solongo bounded over to him with her akhi. “Come drink, warm for your long journey.”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  She smiled and began walking back to the group.

  “Solongo.”

  The young woman turned back.

  “Were you here when the last expedition passed?”

  “Always here, ten years.”

  “Did you see anything when the last expedition was here? The two sky-ships?”

  “What you mean?” She frowned.

  “One of the ships, the Victorious, her fuel was stolen in the night. Did you see anyone take it? Did you hear anything?”

  Solongo paused for a while as though working out his words, then shook her head. “Sorry. Solongo sleep, always long! When I wake, all ships gone.” She shrugged and laughed, then returned to the group.

  Behind the disintegrating huts of the shingle shore, white stones stood sentry in a picket-fenced enclosure. Arthur stood and wandered over, drawn to them, and carefully opened the gate. He ran his hand over one of the stones and felt the indent of symbols.

  “They’re gravestones.”

  Arthur jumped. He turned to see a figure behind him, wild hair tipped orange with the soft glow from her torch flame.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was seeking a moment of calm,” Harriet said. The gate creaked shut and her feet crunched across the scattered pebbles.

  “Why do the stones face east?” he asked.

  “They face their last journey. Some were whalers, others explorers. Before the sky-ships, attempts were made in sea-ships but none survived – the waters close to the Third Continent are too unpredictable, with terrible fierce waves and areas filled with icebergs.”

  “Not quite the Silent Sea, then?”

  “It was named not for the movement of the waves, but the silence of death for those who dare attempt a crossing,” she said.

  He rested his hand on one of the stones. “Solongo was here the night the Victorious and Violetta were. She didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Ah, the fuel theft.”

  “He wouldn’t have done it.”

  “I knew your father from universitas – he gave the occasional lecture on geology – fascinating, they were. He was a kind professor, and he knew his subject inside out. And he seemed a true and honest man.”

  “So, you don’t believe it?”

  “People sometimes do things out of character when driven by high stakes.”

  His heart sank.

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “But my instinct tells me he didn’t.”

  Arthur smiled.

  “The brief time our paths crossed you must’ve been very young, but I do recall him mentioning his children. When you came to Four Archangel Street I recognized something in you. At first I couldn’t place it – then I realized there was something in the slant of your eyebrows, the freckles, the windswept hair, that determined stare. You look so like him, less the beard, of course!”

  A cheer came from around the campfire as Welby finished another song. Arthur looked up at the clear sky speckled with stars. The night breeze carried an ice chill ashore.

  “I think Eudora Vane had something to do with what happened,” he said.

  “It was certainly no accident that someone didn’t want you to come looking for answers, and after the incident before the Citadel it has certainly been on my mind, but what makes you suspect Madame Vane?”

  “Do you know Ermitage Wrigglesworth’s book in the library?”

  “Ah, his handwritten journal that preceded the book. My great-aunt was good friends with Wrigglesworth. It’s one of my favourites.”

  “I found hidden writing between the lines. It tells the truth about the awful things the Vanes have done, things that have been kept secret from Lontown.”

  “Hidden writing?”

  “It’s revealed with lemon juice. There was a clue in the drawing.”

  “I’m impressed, Arthur Brightstorm. I had no idea!”

  He told her what he’d read in the secret writing.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “The Vanes are an explorer family who go back a long way. They’re notoriously secretive. One hears whispered rumours, but they are quickly brushed away. The Vanes have sovereigns and a powerful name. If they want things hidden, I imagine there is always someone to bribe.”

  “Just after we received your letter, at Beggins Hall—”

  “Yes, I was surprised that my note was not delivered successfully to Brightstorm House. It wasn’t easy working out how to find you.”

  “The Begginses are the horrible people we were sent to live with in the Slumps after we found out about Dad. Our guardian, Mistress Poacher, sold us to the Begginses. They treated us as their servants. You see, the insurer told us there was some clause in Dad’s insurance and we lost everything.”

  “How terrible for you. I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

  “Well, after we received your letter, we were visited by Madame Vane. She offered us a chance to live comfortably. She also tried to dissuade us from joining this crew by telling us you didn’t have a worthy sky-ship.”

  Harriet’s eyes narrowed. “Curious behaviour, indeed. But we must be careful of accusing without hard facts. What you have found out sets off alarm bells about Madame Vane, but I’m afraid it’s not enough.” She paused. “Even so, best we keep our distance from their ship where possible.”

  Arthur nodded.

  They stood in silence for a while before Harriet said, “This is the last post south of the world we know. Beyond this point there are no people, no traders; we enter the frozen Third Continent. The journey ahead will be tough. Are you ready for that, Arth
ur? If you have any doubt, now is the time to say.”

  “I’m ready, Harriet,” he promised.

  “You are a solver of problems, Arthur. I see it every day – you find a way. We will get to South Polaris, we will finish what your father couldn’t, and you will restore honour to your name.”

  Her assurance was contagious. It reminded him of Dad – he’d always made him feel confident.

  “I’m so glad you and Maudie made it to the ship. Thirteen is a very unlucky crew number, and we’re going to need lots of luck in the coming moon-cycle!” She held the gate open for him. “Come on, let’s stop Solongo drowning the crew in her akhi or they’ll not be fit to fly.”

  CHAPTER 18

  GREAT GLACIES

  Later they waved a sad goodbye to Solongo and took off across the Silent Sea towards the Third Continent.

  Harriet looked ahead, a huge smile illuminating her face. “As of this moment, I’m somewhere I’ve never been before.” She turned to Arthur beside her. “Thrilling, isn’t it?”

  Arthur knew how she felt. He was leaving the human world behind, going where Dad had stepped into the unknown. It was the closest he’d felt to his father since he’d left for the expedition.

  Harriet estimated ten days to cross the Silent Sea. By the third day the sea was moody, with waves as high as the Lontown Chronicle Tower. Arthur couldn’t believe anyone had attempted to sail to the Third Continent on a sea-bound ship. The crew carried on through the relentless wind and driving rain, doing their best to keep dry below deck whenever they could, but mostly it was all hands on deck to keep the ship from being blown off course.

  Arthur was on bailing duty, sweeping the build-up of water towards the drains. It wasn’t the easiest task for him, as one-handed, relentless sweeping soon made his arm ache, so he’d managed to clamp his iron arm around the broom which worked better. There was a rare break in the wind, although the rain was unforgiving. He caught sight of a dark shape coming towards them. He paused.

  “Ahoy there!” Harriet called.

  There was an inaudible call back.

  Arthur rushed to the bow. It was the Fire-Bird. One balloon was deflated and her mast was bent.

  The stricken vessel steered close to the Aurora, where they could see a man holding a brass megaphone. He shouted, “We’re heading back – our mast has fractured, and we’ve already used half our fuel fighting the wind! Turn back, if you know what’s good for you and the crew!”