The Queen and the Nobody Boy

by Barbara Else

  “Blimmin’ civilians,” muttered the guard.

  “Boy with big cap!” shouted Glimp. “He has Queen of Fontania’s pendant around neck! He is thief, or Queen Sibilla in disguise!”

  The guard turned to Hodie, mouth open. Hodie yanked his cap down over his ears.

  “Not him!” the scientist cried. “Little boy. Big cap. Torn trousers. Runny nose.”

  The guard pointed up to the wind-train. “He is cook’s assistant!”

  “Stop him!” the scientist shouted.

  “Too late!” cried the guard.

  “Send message ahead! Alert army!”

  The guard pointed his arms in all directions. “But telegraph is down!”

  Could the passengers hear this? Hodie could see that the windows on the wind-train were closed. But Murgott and Sibilla might be captured at the next stop. The Queen would be examined, and all for nothing, because magic was nonsense!

  Three Um’Binnian officers were running over. The pulleys had wound the wind-train almost to the top of the towers.

  Hodie took a step back – this was nothing to do with him. Then he took a step forward, and another. Clammy with fear, he set a hand on the first strut.

  “Oi!” cried the guard. “Oi! Boy!”

  “Oi boy, yourself,” muttered Hodie. He took a deep breath and started scrambling, two rungs, three …

  “Come down! You will kill self!” yelled the guard.

  The officers and station workers clamoured too. Hodie, hands slippery with sweat, scrambled up another level. He heard his own voice clearly in his head: Another half-minute – I have to warn the little Queen. But his satchel snagged and wouldn’t tug free. The rolled-up blanket had hitched onto one of the struts. The pulley still groaned on its last turn.

  “You will be stowaway!” the guard cried. “Will be arrested!”

  Hodie nearly lost his grip, glanced down and saw an officer set foot on the first rung.

  He yanked the satchel again. The wind roared, and along with the roar was the high hissing scream of a squirrel dashing full-scamper over the platform and up the pulley tower. It hauled itself up Hodie’s leg (sharp claws!), onto his head (ouch!), then disappeared above him. For all Hodie knew, it had toppled off the other side.

  The pulley thrummed in the blast of wind. Hodie yanked the satchel a third time and it pulled free. He felt something tumble out, but didn’t dare look in case he followed. Then, just as the pulley hooks released the wind-train, Hodie jumped. His jacket snagged, but he grabbed a bar on the side of the luggage van and kicked around to find a step. He hauled himself up, found the strength to slide the door, and squeezed inside.

  ~

  how to travel

  to Um’Binnia

  13

  too late to change your mind

  Hodie lay on the floor of the luggage van. What a stupid thing he’d done. He was a stowaway. If he was discovered, he’d be tossed into the Stones.

  He crawled round to see through a crack in the door. Down was a very long way. He went clammy all over again. He glanced up and glimpsed yellowish sky, the shade he felt when he’d tasted something nasty by mistake.

  The wind-train rocked from side to side, and swerved without warning as it took advantage of the wind that channelled through the canyon. It sped so close to the rocky walls, Hodie saw birds squabbling in their nest. A creature with long ears but slinky as a rat crept up a crevice. When he dared glance down again, he saw craters of oily water strung along the canyon floor.

  He huddled against a pile of luggage, and faced the main fact right on the nose – every second, he was being whizzed further and further north, instead of south to a nice calm life. The next fact – each second whizzed him closer to his mother’s stuff. But he didn’t want it! He felt deserted by her. That might be silly, but that’s how it was.

  The third fact? Now he was here, he’d better finish the job and warn Sibilla about what he’d heard. As soon as the telegraph was fixed, the Um’Binnians would send word ahead. Then, when the wind-train stopped, that would be that for Queen Sibilla.

  Wind howled through cracks in the van. Fact four – he had to get from here along to the dining carriage while the wind-train hurtled through the air.

  He began to push through bags and boxes. Most things had labels: the biggest all said Property of Emperor Prowdd’on.

  The wind-sails sliced the gale and he heard something scratch on the roof. Slivers of light showed the outline of a hatch, and a shadow moved across it. A scary rabbit? The scratching came again, and something chittered, like a question. Rabbits didn’t chitter – perhaps it was just the ugly squirrel.

  He moved a box to stand on, fiddled with the catch, and the hatch slid open. The squirrel dropped and shivered on the floor like a heap of sweepings. After a moment it sat and perked its ears at Hodie’s satchel. Tck-tck?

  Hodie was surprised to find he nearly chuckled, but then his heart plummeted. A buckle on the satchel had torn open. His blanket had disappeared, and so had the food. His jacket pocket was torn too. So, he’d lost ten dolleros.

  The squirrel crept over and peered in the satchel.

  “There’s a smell left, if you want it,” Hodie said. “Oh, no – one small sausage. It’s all mushed up. You have it.”

  The squirrel scoffed down every morsel and a few bits of dirt by mistake. It spat out the grit. P-tah!

  “My pleasure,” Hodie said. He rubbed its neck. It looked very much like one of the squirrels from the Grand Palace. It was just as tame, anyway.

  “Look after yourself,” Hodie said to it. “Bye now.”

  He steadied himself in the rocking van and wondered about leaving the satchel. But the buckle still worked, more or less, and you never knew if you’d need to carry a few things. So he kept it, just in case.

  ~

  In tipping, turning darkness split with slivers of yellowish light, Hodie fumbled to the front of the luggage van. He tugged the door hard, and it rolled open. He didn’t like the look of the concertina grille that linked the van to the passenger carriage. There were several missing bars, and scary gaps. Below and around, air swirled with dust. A billow of grey steam surged up from the canyon. It smelled worse than soldiers’ laundry day back at the Palace.

  The Queen, he told himself. Get to the Queen.

  He stepped out on the grille, grabbed a safety bar on the back of the next carriage and began to shut the van door.

  The squirrel appeared there, bright-eyed. Chrr-tuk! It clambered out and up onto the roof.

  The wind-train lurched. Hodie bumped against the carriage door. The lock and handle were a sort he hadn’t come across before, but he didn’t dare let go to use both hands. He clung on tight. The wind whipped at him, so cold it froze his sweat. The yellowish light was disappearing as night fell. Gusts of steam and ashes tried to smother him.

  Something tugged his hair. He squinted up.

  The squirrel clawed down into the grille. It put its nose close to the door handle, then patted a little button on the lock. Tck-tck! With a flick of its tail it vanished again into the gloom.

  Hodie finally dared let go with one hand and pressed the button. The door swung outwards and nearly swiped him off through the gaps in the grille. Hodie wobbled, gave half a scream and snatched hold of a bracket. The wind-train whizzed into another canyon. And as it made the turn, the grille folded up and nearly squashed him. Just when he thought he would die if he couldn’t take a breath, the train straightened up again and the grille let him go. At last he hauled himself inside and shut the door.

  Shaking, still gasping, he stood at the end of a long passage. On the left was a row of closed compartments with little windows, most of them curtained and dark. He heard snores as he crept along, and someone slurping as if he ate a plate of dream spaghetti. When he reached the last cubicle, there was a glimmer of light
and the murmur of voices.

  Hodie put a hand on the door at the end of the carriage, then realised what he’d just overheard. A man had said something about his holiday on the Beaches of Summerland. Something about how if you were Um’Binnian it was a treat to bask in sunshine.

  Hodie’s heart chugged like an engine. The words had sparked a sudden memory of his mother. He tried to shake it away but it grew brighter …

  Her light brown hair was pinned into a knot on top of her head. Curly bits of it dangled, and her earrings were bright green. He was a baby on her lap, twisting his fingers in the curls while she sang a rhyme – something about going up a hill in sunshine to see the dragon-bird. They’d been in a room lit with lamps, and he didn’t know what she meant by ‘sun’ – then a man came in wearing a long velvet jacket with silver buttons. He had an Um’Binnian moustache. Hodie’s father.

  ~

  Hodie jerked the carriage door open, slammed it behind him and huddled out on the next grille. Wind and foul steam dashed around him. He clung on with one hand and pressed the other over his eyes. When Dardy was the odd-job man, he’d had no moustache. He’d worn old overalls in Fontanian denim, with his head covered in a faded cap. The man in the memory – was it Dardy? Was his father an Um’Binnian – but his mother Fontanian? If his father was an Um’Binnian who wore silver buttons, why had he become the odd-job man at the Grand Palace? Had Dardy been a spy? Hodie tried to make sense of it – but another turn in the canyon was coming up. Before he got squashed a second time, he wrenched open the door of the next carriage.

  ~

  14

  how to treat a

  present from your brother

  Hodie bumped open the door to the dining car – at last – and slid it shut behind him. There were bolted-down tables and chairs, and brass poles for hanging onto. The little Queen, in a stripy apron, carried a tray of salt and pepper shakers, and tried to keep her balance. Behind the counter of a tiny kitchen, the Corporal flipped pancakes. The wind-train jolted, the salt and peppers clattered to the floor, Murgott startled round, a pancake spun out of the pan onto the burner and – whoosh! – it was in flames.

  Sibilla screamed. Hodie yelled. Murgott threw the frying pan into the sink, trod on a salt shaker, skated into a cupboard door, tripped, and Sibilla fell on top of him. Pancake batter streamed down the cupboard doors. Mixtures in pans – one smelled oniony, the other like berries – slopped on the burner together.

  Hodie flung himself at once behind the counter. He banged open a window and used tongs to toss the burning pancake out. The air was thick with smoke and stink. Coughing, Sibilla dived over to flap the smell away. The gale whipped off her cap. She lunged for it and crammed the small haystack of her hair well out of sight.

  Murgott slammed the window hard. “How the devil did you get on board, boy?”

  “I grabbed hold. Scary.” Hodie hoped he wouldn’t throw up now in a reaction. “I came to warn you. The scientists recognised the Queen’s pendant. They know who she is. When the telegraph is fixed, she’ll be in danger. Get off. Hide. Quick.”

  “How do we get off a moving wind-train?” Murgott growled.

  “Then pretend like mad you’re just a cook!” cried Hodie.

  “I’ve cooked on a pirate ship. I’ve cooked in the army. I’m as good a cook as …” Murgott wheezed in the pancake-smoke. “Just watch it, boy. Don’t push me. Since you’re here, you can make yourself useful.” He threw Hodie a spatula to scrape up the mixtures – they had glued all over the hob. The Corporal crashed cupboard doors open. “Bread. Cheese. The provisions are pitiful.”

  “Is there nothing else? Nothing at all?” Sibilla buttoned her collar up to hide the pendant.

  The Corporal’s mouth moved as if he chewed a slice of curses. “A bag of tomatoes, all spotty. Cheese, not very mouldy. Five loaves of bread. I can manage toasted sandwiches. Where’s the proficiency in that? Where’s the skill?”

  “I’ll grate the cheese,” Sibilla offered.

  She’d probably grate her fingers too, if you asked Hodie.

  Murgott scowled. “Smile, the pair of you. You’ll put the customers off eating. The best disguises for you both are waiters’ aprons.”

  Hodie figured Murgott was right. Anyway, he had to stay till he had another chance to get away. Why, why had he jumped on the wind-train at all? Now he’d remembered a bit about his mother, all he could think of was that she must have sent him away when he was little. It felt like a clamp around his heart.

  “Is something else wrong?” Sibilla asked him.

  He lowered his face to hide under his fringe, tied on an apron that matched Sibilla’s, and scrambled to fish the salt and pepper shakers out of corners. He wouldn’t think about his mother. But if his father was an Um’Binnian spy, should Hodie help the Queen at all? He decided yes. Hodie liked King Jasper, and sometimes Queen Sibilla wasn’t too bad. He knew hardly anything about Um’Binnia except it had a vain and cruel Emperor, a silly Princessa, and its spies made dreadful parents. Dardy had stuck with Hodie for longer than his mother, but in the end he’d snuck off without leaving a message. He could at least have written something fatherly like, Off on a Spy Trip. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.

  The little Queen was looking at him strangely. “Don’t answer me then,” she said. “Murgott, Hodie can set the tables.”

  The Corporal pointed at Sibilla with a butter knife (had it been a sharper one, it would have been treason). “Don’t give orders to the cook. At the moment, you’re no more than the cook’s assistant. Now, you two, pay attention.” Murgott’s scowl was as black as the bottom of the ocean, black as thunder clouds at midnight, blacker than soot. “If war is declared, I’ll be the superior officer here, because the Queen is not Commander of the Army – King Jasper is. So in the kitchen, and at war, both the Queen and the odd-job boy take orders from me.” He whipped out his pocket- knife, flicked open the miniature saw and started slicing the tomatoes. “Wash your hands before you touch food. Keep those aprons clean.”

  A passenger’s head popped round the door from the front carriage. “What time is dinner?”

  “When it’s ready!” Murgott roared.

  The passenger’s eyebrows flew up, his head popped back out of sight and the door slammed.

  “It’s ready now,” said Murgott. He glared at Hodie. “Boy, if you betray the little Queen, I’ll have you skewered and fried. Orright?”

  Hodie thought the safest choice was to shut up and simply nod.

  Murgott jerked a thumb at the big brass dinner button. “Then orright, boy, give it a jab.”

  The button made a sound like ogre bees in a monster jar. King Jasper would be interested in such a good mechanism – Hodie remembered the metal bird in Sibilla’s bag. Broken, but it might still chirp. What if it said “Hello, Queenie!” while passengers were licking melted butter from their fingers?

  Before Hodie could ask where she’d stowed her bag, the door from the front carriages slid open again. Two men tumbled in, steadied themselves against the poles, sat down and called for menus.

  “It’s toasted sandwiches or starve,” Murgott announced. “Because of the weather.”

  “Weather is always bad over Stones of Beyond,” one of the men objected.

  “Sometimes is worse than others,” said his friend. “There is forecast for terrible storm. Train might tip over and fly backwards!”

  They roared with laughter. Hodie had overheard such talk in the barracks. They were trying to scare each other and show how brave they were themselves. These men were actually scared sick. So was he.

  The little Queen wiped her nose on the hem of her apron, checked her cap again, made sure her pendant was buttoned away, and put on her normal-little-boy expression. A flash of blue lightning made her jump (Hodie too, to tell the truth).

  “Weather,” Murgott called. “Told you.”

/>   The men ordered cheese-and-tomato toasted sandwiches (surprise, surprise). More passengers appeared, wide eyed and unsteady. The men’s moustaches bristled. The women gave nervous tugs on their fingerless mittens. Another flash of lightning lit the dining car, and set off a chain of screams from women and men.

  An old man grabbed the back string of Sibilla’s apron. “Boy, what time do we arrive at next station?”

  “He doesn’t know, sir,” Hodie called quickly. “He’s just the boy.”

  “He’s just the uvver boy.” Sibilla freed herself and kept her head down.

  “I have table-of-time,” said a woman in a sequinned hat. “It usually is very wrong.” She pulled it from an enormous spangly handbag.

  A third flickering blue flash lit the dining car. A gust rattled the kitchen window and it slid open. Sibilla reached to close it, but a little paw appeared, and a saturated squirrel struggled in.

  “Oo!” Sibilla said. “Shoo! Oh, goodness – you’re cold.”

  Tck-chrr. It jumped onto the bench, then to the floor where it crouched and shivered. Then it perked up, eyed something in the corner, and pounced – on the little Queen’s bag. Before Hodie could stop it, the squirrel clawed the bag open. Out fell the metal bird. The squirrel sat back and looked disgusted.

  A voice began to speak, buzzing and faint. “Come back… (erk)… Eastern Isles … Lady Beatrrrr… (erx)… Royal Traveller … (erk-zerk).”

  The squirrel swiped at it. King Jasper’s bird came apart in a pile of wires and springs. Sibilla flung a tea towel over it.

  Hodie tried to stand so that he blocked the kitchen floor from view, but a tall passenger had craned over the counter.

  “Mechanical parrot?” The man pushed past Hodie and reached down. “Youch!” he cried. The squirrel scurried off behind the rubbish, and the man dabbed blood from a squirrel-scratch.