The Lightning Key (Wednesday Tales (Quality))

by Jon Berkeley

  “Will she fit through the door?” asked Miles.

  “Certainly,” said Tenniel. “She’s measured to the millimeter.”

  “Never mind that,” said Baltinglass. “Does it look like it will fly?”

  Miles glanced at Tenniel, who was looking at him expectantly. “Well . . .,” he said, “it doesn’t look like it was made to do anything else.”

  “I’ve hic-tested two smaller models with only a fifty percent crash rate,” said Tenniel proudly.

  “Where’s the one that didn’t crash?” asked Miles, wondering if there would be time for a brief demonstration.

  “Ah,” said Tenniel, “I’m afraid that one blew up before-hic it left the ground, but I’ve made a modification that should prevent that from happening again.” He smiled at Baltinglass. “Don’t worry, old friend. In an hour or so we’ll all be soaring through the air.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” muttered Baltinglass. He commandeered Tenniel’s hammock and settled himself for a nap while the inventor set to work fitting an extra pair of seats. Miles and Little sat at the mouth of the cave, watching the faint shine of stars between the stars, and keeping an eye on the road. From the cave behind them came a muffled metallic ringing, like a saucepan hitting a kneecap, followed by an interval of frantic sawing, all punctuated by a steady stream of hiccups. Around midnight they saw three camels approaching, and they warned Tenniel to douse the lights and keep silent as the Great Cortado and his traveling companions passed by. Miles was sure he saw Nura glance over in his direction, as though she knew he was there in the darkness of the cave mouth.

  “What happens when we go back, Miles?” asked Little quietly, when they had passed out of sight among the houses.

  “Nura will bring the Great Cortado and Tau-Tau to Larde, where she can tip off Sergeant Bramley to arrest them,” said Miles. “The Great Cortado will be sent straight back to the secure hospital. As for Tau-Tau, I suppose he’ll end up in prison for a while.”

  “And your father?” asked Little.

  “Nura promised she would help me to restore him if she could.”

  Little looked at Miles, and he smiled back. He did not tell her how slim his grandmother had thought his chances of success. “We’ll have to stop off at Hell’s Teeth on the way to Larde,” he said.

  “Where the Fir Bolg live?” asked Little. “Why?”

  “My grandmother says the Tiger’s Egg can’t be unlocked until the promise my mother made is kept.”

  “Did she tell you how that could be done?”

  Miles shook his head. “I’ll just have to try to work it out as I go along. I don’t have any choice if I’m to bring my father back.”

  “Will Nura help you with that too?”

  Miles shook his head again. “Nura has to bring Cortado and Tau-Tau to Larde. There’s no way she could stop at Hell’s Teeth without arousing their suspicion. This is one we’ll have to figure out on our own.”

  Little was silent for a while as she drew spirals in the sand with a stick; then she said, “I’m worried about Silverpoint. He was nowhere to be seen at the Council. He wasn’t with Bluehart either the last couple of times he came for you.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” said Miles.

  “Not if he’s supposed to be with him.”

  A rumble of distant thunder came faintly on the breeze. “Maybe he’s just busy,” said Miles.

  There was a grinding cough from the cave as the engine burst into life. Baltinglass woke with a start.

  “Hic!” said Tenniel in delight. “The sound of genius! Help me hic-wheel her out onto the launchpad.”

  They paved the soft sand with an assortment of planks and wheeled the flying machine out under the stars, her folded wings just scraping the arch of the cave mouth. The engine ran smoothly except for the occasional hiccup, which made Tenniel beam at it with fatherly affection. He wound a winch here and hauled on a cable there, and the four enormous bat wings unfolded slowly against the sky.

  “Now all she needs is a name,” said Tenniel. He produced a dusty long-necked bottle of beer from a nook at the back of the cave. “I have a short list,” he said. He straightened out a piece of crumpled paper and perched a monocle in one eye. Miles looked at the ungainly machine, at the laboring pistons, the tangle of cables and the creaking frame. He cleared his throat loudly and said, “I think Little should choose a name.”

  “You do?” said Tenniel. He looked momentarily disappointed; then he smiled broadly and handed Little the beer bottle. “Of course-hic. I am forgetting my manners. As the youngest person and the only lady-hic present, would you care to do the honors?”

  Little thought for a moment. “I have a name for her, but you’d better get aboard first,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Tenniel.

  “Because it’s a cloud name, and once I’ve named her she will want to fly,” said Little. She looked at the brown bottle and wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to drink this stuff?”

  The Hiccup Man laughed. “I can see you haven’t made a hic-habit of launching vessels,” he said. “It’s supposed to be champagne, but that’s rather hard to come by. You smash the bottle on the bow, which would be”—he pointed to a spot on the rim of the machine’s circular base—“there, I suppose.”

  The rest of the crew climbed aboard, and Little raised the bottle. She opened her mouth and sang a name for the flying machine. It was a name that billowed and glowed like the ivory clouds of summer, and made everyone who heard it feel lighter than air. No one aboard could hope to repeat it, but it gave such a lift to the crossbred contraption that Little barely had time to smash the beer bottle and clamber aboard herself before the great wings had begun to beat the air and the enormous spinning screw had lifted the machine from the ground, creating a circular sandstorm on the launchpad beneath.

  “What kind of a hic-name is that?” asked Tenniel, beside himself with delight to be airborne and still in one piece.

  “It means . . . ‘runaway cloud,’” said Little, “more or less.”

  As they rose slowly and noisily into the night Miles looked down to see the slim figure of Temzi running toward them on the sandy road. She came to a standstill at the sight of them, her mouth open in surprise as she watched the ascent of Tenniel’s fabulous contraption. Miles leaned out and waved at her, wondering if she had returned early in the hope of seeing him. He watched her as she waved back, her eyes shining in the darkness of her face, until she was swallowed by the distance and the pale desert sands.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A NEW SECOND

  The Runaway Cloud, canvas-winged and piston-hearted, flapped through the night sky like a ragged mirage, brought to life by the stubbornness of its creator and the musical charm of a four-hundred-year-old girl. It was a triumph of optimism over gravity, but its flight was far from the stately glide of the Sunfish. The whole craft bucked and plunged with the complex rhythm of her four wings, and the roar of the engine rose and fell as it fought to master the currents of the desert air. Above their heads the rapidly spinning screw created a constant downdraft that blew the exhaust fumes out through a circular hole in the floor before they could suffocate the passengers.

  Miles gripped the sides of the wooden chair in which he sat, and wondered what kind of passing madness had made him volunteer them for this outlandish experiment. He watched Tenniel wrestle manfully with the levers and pedals that controlled the pitch of the wings. He felt the little swoop caused by the pilot’s every hiccup, and tried to calculate just how much fuel was held in the assortment of containers that was strapped around the rim of the machine. The machine tilted forward slightly, as though eager to get to its unknown destination. “How far will she fly?” he called.

  “Not-hic sure,” said Tenniel. “She may even make it to Al Bab at a pinch.”

  “We’re heading for Fuera,” shouted Miles into the wind. “We left Baltinglass’s car there.”

  Tenniel laughed. “For a
hic-moment I thought you said Fuera,” he said.

  “I did,” said Miles, “but I suppose we’ll have to refuel at Al Bab.”

  Tenniel did not answer. He looked at Baltinglass, who smiled benignly in his seat; then he shrugged and fell silent except for his frequent hiccups, bending himself with grim determination to the task of keeping the Runaway Cloud airborne. Between his feet was an ingenious compass housing in which several glowworms lived, lighting the compass with a soft glow, and the inventor consulted it now and then to maintain his course.

  Miles watched the stark landscape that passed below them. He had flown only over the sea before, but now he could see an ocean of sand with lines of dunes marching like waves to the distant horizon. Here and there an outcrop of rock sheltered an oasis, where the tiny sparks of cooking fires glimmered among the little model tents and the toy palm trees. Once they flew over a herd of migrating oryx, whose hooves trampled a broad trail in the sand. They passed by the finger of rock that rose out of the wadi, where Captain Tripoli had put Cortado and Tau-Tau to flight, and Miles in desperation had kicked the royal backside of the king of beasts.

  For a while the Runaway Cloud took the meandering course of the wadi before leaving it to follow the ridge. Three camels walked sedately below them. They were too far away to see the faces of their riders, but from their shapes Miles was almost certain they were Cortado, Tau-Tau and Nura. The camel riders looked up at the sound of the flying machine, and the largest of them pointed skyward. He could see them for some time before they dwindled into the distance.

  Baltinglass dozed against all the odds, and Little watched the sky anxiously through flapping wings and creaking cables. Ahead of them violet flashes of lightning played among storm clouds bulging with thunder, and now and then an escaping peal could be heard above the engine’s din.

  The Runaway Cloud’s flight became more erratic as they approached the troubled air around the storm’s edge. A sudden blast of thunder woke Baltinglass from his sleep. “Not yet! Too soon!” he shouted, and would have leaped from his rickety seat if Miles had not grabbed his sleeve and held on tight.

  The clouds loomed over them now, blocking out the stars. Dampness condensed on their faces. “Will she still fly in the rain?” shouted Miles.

  “I hope so,” yelled Tenniel. “She’s designed for desert flight. Rain didn’t enter my calculations.”

  “Maybe we should fly around the storm,” said Little.

  Tenniel shook his head. “Too far. We’d use-hic too much fuel. She’ll be fine!” he shouted. “They had thunder-hic-storms in da Vinci’s day.”

  The approaching storm clouds seemed to rush forward to meet them. The air crackled with electricity and the flying contraption plunged and bucked like a cork in a flood. Rain flew at them from all directions at once, and before long they were all soaked to the skin.

  There was no way of telling how long they flew through the storm, their engine coughing and catching, the cables creaking and the wood straining under the increased weight of the sodden wings. It seemed to go on forever, as though they were traveling with the storm wherever it was headed. Little clung onto Baltinglass and Tenniel clung onto the levers, but Miles stood and faced the storm, his hair standing out like a startled cat’s tail, feeling an exhilaration unlike anything he had ever known. He was the leader of the expedition, the unappointed captain of this mongrel ship. He was deep in the territory of the Storm Angels, yet he felt it was the last place Bluehart could find him, and what could happen to him if he was hidden from the Sleep Angels?

  He felt a hum of electricity running from his right hand, which gripped the Runaway Cloud’s frame, along his arm and into his shoulder. He turned to see a figure standing beside him. For an instant he feared he might be wrong about being hidden from Bluehart, but then he saw that the visitor was Silverpoint. The Storm Angel was staring straight ahead as though concentrating on keeping the storm on its course.

  “What are you doing here?” Miles shouted over the wind.

  “Where else would I be?” asked Silverpoint.

  Little looked up at the sound of Silverpoint’s voice. She opened her mouth to shout his name, but the Storm Angel put his finger to his lips. He indicated Tenniel, hunched over the controls and staring straight ahead. “Best not to startle the pilot, softwing,” he said. His voice cut through the din of the storm without his having to shout, but Tenniel seemed unaware of it, and Baltinglass was once again snoring through the danger. Little jumped up and embraced Silverpoint, and he smiled briefly.

  “Bluehart’s not with you?” said Miles.

  “Bluehart has disappeared,” said Silverpoint. “Apparently he appeared at a Council meeting behaving very strangely, and nobody has seen him since.”

  Little laughed, and the wind softened for a moment. “That wasn’t Bluehart; it was Miles! He pretended to be . . .” Her voice trailed off as she saw the icy look on Silverpoint’s face.

  “It wasn’t deliberate,” said Miles, “but I think it may have bought us more time.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Silverpoint. “The Sleep Angels no longer trust Bluehart to do the job properly, so they’ve made Stillbone his second. I’ve never heard of two Sleep Angels being put on one case before, but it looks more like your chances have been halved.”

  “Then we need your help,” said Little.

  “What do you think this is?” said Silverpoint. He waved his arm at the storm that surrounded them, and a searing bolt of lightning flew from his outstretched fingers and lit up the cloud like a Chinese lantern. “I can hide you in here for a time, but I don’t know how long this . . .” He struggled for the word.

  “Contraption?” said Miles.

  Silverpoint nodded. “ . . . will last,” he said. “If you fall out of the sky you can guess who’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Have you any idea where Bluehart might be?” asked Miles.

  “It’s a safe bet he’s looking for you,” said Silverpoint, “and so is Stillbone, now. You’ll be vulnerable again once you leave this storm. I presume from your direction that you’re headed home to Larde?”

  “Eventually,” said Miles. He was beginning to wish fervently that his mother had never made any promise to the Fir Bolg, but if she hadn’t she would never have acquired the Tiger’s Egg, and he would never have known Varippuli, and his father . . . . His entire life began to unravel in his mind, and he shook his head to clear it.

  “I have to get to The Null before the Sleep Angels can reach me,” he said. “But I have to stop at Hell’s Teeth on the way.”

  Silverpoint looked at him incredulously. “Do you think the Sleep Angels are going to wait while you make rest stops?”

  “It’s not a—,” began Miles, but he was interrupted by Little.

  “I have a plan!” she said, with a look of surprise on her face. Miles and Silverpoint turned to look at her. “Silverpoint,” she said, “you can go and tell Lady Partridge to meet us at Hell’s Teeth, and to bring The Null with her. She’ll get the sergeant to drive them in his van. He always does what she tells him!”

  “I’m not a messenger boy, softwing,” said Silverpoint with a scowl.

  “You’re the fastest flier I know!” said Little. “If you can do this for us there’s a chance that Miles will be done with the Tiger’s Egg before Bluehart and Stillbone find him. Then maybe the Sleep Angels will reconsider, you know . . . .”

  Silverpoint looked at Little for what seemed like an age; then he shook his head slowly. “Always trying to bend the rules, little softwing,” he said.

  Little smiled. “Rules are there for bending, Silverpoint. It’s how we know we’re alive.”

  Silverpoint smiled suddenly and turned to Miles. “You will reach Al Bab in a couple of hours,” he said. “The storm is blowing you in the right direction, but it will run out of steam soon after I’ve gone.” He stepped onto the edge of the flying machine’s base. “Good luck,” he said. He did a backflip into the wild night, and in an
instant he was gone.

  They flew on through the crashing storm, and Miles began to wonder if it would ever fizzle out as Silverpoint had promised. His earlier exhilaration had vanished, leaving him at the mercy of the sky’s fury, clinging to the fragile machine like an ant to a matchstick. Eventually the stinging rain subsided and the wind began to ease. A pale yellow light filtered through the thinning clouds, and all at once they emerged into the dawn. The great wings scattered sprays of water droplets that sparkled in the sun’s first rays, and below them bloomed desert flowers that showed their faces only every hundred years.

  Ahead and to the west they could see the domes and minarets of the port of Al Bab. Tenniel banked left to correct their course. The engine coughed, and the Hiccup Man tapped a fuel container with the toe of his sandal to coax the last few drops from it.

  “Is that the end of the fuel?” asked Miles.

  “Just about,” said Tenniel, without taking his eyes from their destination. “Be prepared for an abrupt hic-landing.”

  They came in low and fast, and half a mile from the outskirts of the port the engine began to stall. Tenniel throttled back and the Runaway Cloud tilted backward and made a hasty descent, narrowly missing a stand of palm trees that stood a little way from the road. She landed with a bone-shaking thump, almost tipping over before righting herself, and her great bat wings came to rest with a loud creak of relief.

  “My hic-pologies for the landing,” said Tenniel, leaping down into the sand and beaming proudly at his creation. He looked anything but sorry.

  “I take my hat off to you, boy,” said Baltinglass of Araby. “I thought we’d be fried, drowned or squashed like beetles. Are we all present and correct?”

  “We’re all here,” said Miles. He stepped down from the Runaway Cloud and walked around to the other side of the palm trees. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked back along the road, but there was no sign of anyone coming. The machine was well enough hidden by the trees, but after taking a critical look from various angles he collected some fallen palm fronds and attached them to the frame, making a shady place to shelter and ensuring that the flying machine was completely invisible from the road.