by Kit Downes
“By the Precipice Pelican!” said the Professor. He looked at Zal and Zara, clearly unnerved. “Could someone be planning to sabotage the Champions’ Race?”
Five
By now, it was lunchtime and the streets of Shirazar were busy. People were sitting at tables outside cafés and restaurants, and stalls were selling hot and spicy snacks. Camels, horses, mules and even a pair of elephants were eating from nosebags or drinking from the fountains as Zal and Zara landed on the pavement on one of the spare rainbow carpets.
“What makes you so sure they’ll have what we need?” said Zara, as they got off.
“Because they always do,” said Zal, as they lifted the ink-ruined rainbow carpet and rolled up the spare one. “There is nothing better for cleaning sword blades. They always have a few big urns in the cellars. Now stand back. I need to do the entrance test.”
Professor Maltho had provided them with three of the five ingredients needed to make Rivertree balm. Under her free arm, Zara was carrying a well-wrapped parcel containing dragon-tooth powder, flower-tree resin and lightning ashes. But – with the advanced alchemy students’ practical exam happening this week – the Academy had run out of quartz oil from the Crystal Deeps in the eastern desert.
They were standing in front of a narrow building, set well back from the street between two others. Ten stone steps led from the pavement up to the door, which was round and carved in the shape of a lion’s mouth. Two crossed scimitars were engraved into the wall above it. Set in the walls on either side of the door were two small fountains, also carved into the shape of lions’ mouths, facing each other across the top step. Water gushed from these into two small square pools. A large bronze doorknocker in the shape of a sword pommel was mounted in the middle of the heavy wooden door. They put the carpets down on the step and Zal knocked on the door five times.
“Who goes there?” boomed a deep and dramatic voice from inside.
“Zal Thesa of Azamed!” Zal called. “A foreign student returns to seek his teacher’s aid!”
Rip barked beside him. Zara raised her eyebrows.
“Then pass the Trial of Skill and enter, Zal Thesa,” said the voice. “Are you ready? Here it comes!”
A small hatch hidden behind the lion’s top teeth dropped open and a large pomegranate fell out. Fast as lightning, Zal whipped his sword from its scabbard in a perfect horizontal-draw-cut, slicing the pomegranate in half. The two pieces flew in opposite directions and into the mouths of the two lion fountains, just as their stone jaws snapped shut. The water gurgled as it drained out of the two pools below them. A mechanism clicked and the door swung open.
“Ha, ha! Perfect!” said the deep voice. “Enter and learn all the secrets of the blade! Welcome to the School of Swords! Welcome back, Zal. It’s great to see you.”
“Thanks, Marto. You too,” said Zal, pushing the door open to reveal a young man sitting at a desk next to a huge bronze speaking tube. “Is Mistress Shen in?”
“Teaching the advanced class right now,” said the young man, writing Zal’s name down in a visitor’s book. “Go straight through.”
Zara looked around with interest as they walked through the School of Swords, carrying the two carpets. Rip led the way along narrow corridors with bare floorboards. The rooms off the corridor had walls made out of paper screens and sliding doors, which were from Yamaroto. Through the paper, she could vaguely see classes of students sitting in disciplined rows and listening to their teachers in complete silence. They passed a small library that was full of fencing manuals and biographies of famous swordsmen. There was even a small blacksmith’s shop where the students could get their swords sharpened or learn to make their own.
“So this is where you used to train?” said Zara.
“Yes. It’s the greatest fencing school in the world,” said Zal. “Every technique in every sword style that’s ever existed is taught here. I used to want to move permanently to Shirazar just so I could live here.”
At the end of the corridor a green silk curtain, embroidered with another lion hung over the doorway and they could hear swords clashing on the other side. Rip scampered under it as Zal brushed it aside, and they stepped through onto the wooden balcony that ran around the walls of the main training hall.
Two dozen students of about Zal’s age, both boys and girls, were hard at work. Some stood before long mirrors, slowly practising basic sword manoeuvres over and over. Others were practising strikes and cuts on wooden posts or complicated training dummies that would spin around when they were hit. Several were rolling about in pairs in pits filled with sawdust, practising wrestling techniques. Two pairs stood on raised fencing platforms fighting practice bouts. Zara felt a ripple of magic as they walked onto the balcony. Around the edges of the hall were small training rooms that the school’s magician students had enchanted with different kinds of weather so they could practise fighting in all conditions. Thunder rolled and lightning crackled out of one, a snow-storm swirled inside another and torrential rain hammered down inside a third. In the centre of the room, a tall woman dressed in red was giving instructions.
“Relax your wrist, Jensa. It is a sword, not an axe. Move it like you’d move a paintbrush, not a meat cleaver.”
“Mistress Shen!” cried Zal. He dropped his end of the carpets and he and Rip hurried down the stairs to the training floor.
“Well, well,” said the woman, without turning around. “The Champion of Azamed returns to us at last. What took you so long, Thesa?”
“I’m sorry, my teacher. I would have come sooner, but… Oww!” said Zal, breaking off as Mistress Shen suddenly spun around and poked him in the nose with a wooden stick.
“By the Sparrow Gods!” said Mistress Shen, rolling her ocean-green eyes. “How can a student who can complete the Seven Colours Test and the Five Perfect Cuts at such a young age still be so slow? You haven’t improved at all since I last saw you, Thesa.”
Mistress Shen was tall and elegant, with porcelain-pale skin and shining black hair that hung down to her waist and was held in place by a large golden clip in the shape of a butterfly. She wore two scimitars through the belt of her scarlet robe, their scabbards decorated with dragons.
“I’m sorry, my teacher. I have been trying,” said Zal, bowing and rubbing his nose. “It’s just hard when I’m so far away from the school.”
“No, it isn’t, because I’m not talking about physical speed,” said Mistress Shen. “You still haven’t learnt to sense intentions. Your mind is as much a weapon as your sword. Your brain and your blade need to work as one. Your senses need to be as sharp as your sword’s edge so you can read body language, emotions and expressions and tell what your opponent is about to do. But you’re still not thinking any further ahead than your sword’s tip.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years,” said Zara, as she carried both carpets under her arms down the stairs.
“Then you’re wise beyond your age,” said Mistress Shen. “And I’m delighted to meet you at last, Zara. I’ve been listening to Thesa moan about you for years.”
“I’m sorry, my teacher. I’ll try to do better,” said Zal, bowing.
“Stop bowing, you look like a pigeon,” said Mistress Shen. “Just remember, Thesa, that being able to sense intentions is the only way to protect yourself against surprise attacks. It’s not that hard. Nocturne grasped it the first time I explained it to him.”
“Is Miles here?” said Zal, looking around at the practising students.
“No, I was about to ask if you knew where he was,” said Mistress Shen. “It’s most unlike him to miss a class.”
“Zal! Zara!”
“Ah. Speak of the Sparrow Gods.”
Zal and Zara looked around as Miles Nocturne ran panting down the stairs. He was red-faced from running and was carrying a sack over his shoulder and Fluffy under his arm.
“Miles!” said Zal.
“Zal!”
CLAAANG!
“Ha! Still slo
w!” said Miles.
“Camelpat!”
“Zal!” said Zara.
“Sorry. Force of habit,” said Zal, sheathing his sword.
“MEOW!” said Fluffy, as she pounced on Rip.
“WRAFF, WRAFF!” said Rip, as the two pets rolled away towards the sawdust pits.
“It’s unlike you to be late, Nocturne,” said Mistress Shen. “And it’s very inappropriate behaviour for one of my finest students.”
“I’m sorry, my teacher. I couldn’t help it,” said Miles, bowing. “I’ve been running all over the city looking for these two.”
“Why?” said Zara.
“Because I heard a magic carpet crashed in the southern market,” said Miles. “Was it you? Are you OK?”
“Yes, that was us,” said Zal.
“We’re fine,” said Zara. “The only casualty was the carpet.”
She knelt down and unrolled the Rainbow Carpet, which they had carried in with them. Rip and Fluffy, covered in sawdust, padded back to watch. Miles gasped as he saw the black and grey mess.
“Oh, Holy Stork!” he said. “I am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Zal. “It was those stupid octopuses. We should have bought them all so we could eat them.”
“I take it the carpet is not supposed to look like that?” said Mistress Shen. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” said Zara. “We think someone’s trying to sabotage the Champions’ Race.”
“What?” said Miles, staring at her. “What makes you think that?”
“Someone used a magical weapon to make us crash,” said Zal. “It was one of the items stolen in the crime wave. And everything that’s been stolen could be used to bring down different means of flight.”
“By the Spring Sparrow!” said Mistress Shen. “That would explain why they stole the Fire Scimitar from us three weeks ago.”
“Holy Stork, it would make sense,” said Miles. “Do you have any proof? Anything at all?”
“No,” said Zara. “Not yet, anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t tell anyone until we’ve fixed the carpet,” said Zal. “If we do, they’ll just say we’re making it up to try to get the race postponed until we can fly again. That’s why we came here, Mistress Shen. We need to borrow some quartz oil for the potion that can clean it.”
“You shall have it,” said Mistress Shen. “Jensa! Go down to the basement and fetch the oil urn.”
“But my teacher! I cleaned my sword last night!”
“Don’t argue with me! Go and get it!”
“Thank you so much, Mistress Shen,” said Zara.
“You can clean it? That’s good news,” said Miles. “I’d feel awful if you were kept out of the race.”
“We still need one more thing,” said Zara. She unrolled the recipe scroll Professor Maltho had given her. “I can mix the ashes, the resin and the dragon-tooth powder with the oil. But then we have to dissolve it all in river water that’s been collected as it flows over the roots of a tree growing by the riverbank. Where on earth are we going to find that?”
“Oh, no problem,” said Miles. “I know the perfect place.”
Ten minutes later, they were hurrying along the pavement towards the Shirazar museum.
“There’s a pear tree that grows beside a stream in the gardens around the back,” said Miles. “We used to play there when we were small. Don’t you remember?”
“I just remember losing,” said Zal. He and Miles had spent hours chasing each other around the museum gardens with their wooden swords during his first visits to Shirazar and it was the time Miles had started beating him at the diagonal-draw-cut.
“Is it a natural stream?” said Zara. “If it’s been dug for decoration, the magic might not be strong enough.”
“No, it’s a real one,” said Miles. “It was here before the museum was built and probably before Shirazar was built. Let’s just hope the museum’s not closed after the accident last night.”
“You know about it too?” said Zal.
“The fireworks woke me up,” said Miles. “Apparently, the caretaker’s dog knocked over the night-watchman’s lantern and it rolled into the fireworks room before they could catch it. But that shouldn’t take too long to clean up.”
“Good,” said Zara. “And thanks for coming with us, by the way.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Miles. “Dad’s going to be in the race too, remember. If someone’s trying to sabotage it, I want to know about it.”
They rounded the corner of the museum wall but stopped when they saw the front gates. They were tall and made of wrought iron, crafted into the shapes of flowers and butterflies and were closed and locked with a large padlock. Two Royal Protectors were standing in front of them in their blue armour, holding tall spears.
“What on earth?” said Zara.
“What’s going on?” said Zal.
“I don’t know,” said Miles. “Unless… Oh, Stork.”
“What?” said Zal, looking at him.
“Maybe last night’s accident wasn’t an accident,” said Miles.
They looked through the gates behind the two Royal Protectors, where they could see more blue-armoured officers, carefully searching the grass in front of the museum.
“Well, whatever it was, we still need the water,” said Zara.
“It doesn’t look like they’re going to let us in, though,” said Zal.
“Don’t worry. Leave this to me,” said Miles. “Just follow my lead.”
He straightened his tunic and marched smartly down the pavement, straight up to the gates and saluted.
“Good afternoon, sirs!” he said. “Cadet Nocturne, Miles. Number 5479. Royal Protector Cadets reporting for special duty.”
“What special duty?” said one of the Royal Protectors. “We weren’t told you were coming.”
“That’s strange, sir. I received the orders by carrier pigeon twenty minutes ago,” said Miles. “I’ve been on escort duty for our special guests, Cadets Thesa and Aura, from the Caliph of Azamed Guard Cadets.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir!” said Zal, standing up straight and saluting. “May I say what a great honour it is to be invited to assist our opposite numbers in Shirazar.”
“I didn’t know Azamed had a cadet corps,” said the second Royal Protector, frowning.
“Newly formed, sir,” said Zal. “Captain Burs, the head of the Caliph’s Guard, decided to found our branch six months ago on Shirazar’s example.”
“Never mind that. What orders?” said the first Royal Protector.
“They said you urgently needed a sniffer dog, sir,” said Miles. “Rip here is the best in Azamed.”
“Wraff, wraff!” said Rip.
“We haven’t been told anything about that,” said the second Royal Protector.
“Really, sir? That’s odd,” said Miles. “The message was signed by Captain Curta, Captain Danso and Captain Kalin.”
“OK! Right! Good! Come straight in!” The first Royal Protector spun around immediately to unlock the gate, looking nervously around for his senior officers.
“You’ll find the captains in the investigation tent,” said the second Royal Protector, as he ushered them through. “Report to them immediately, Cadets.”
“Yes, sir!” said Zal. “Understood perfectly, sir!”
They quickly hurried up the gravel path through the garden.
“Well done,” Miles whispered once they were out of earshot. “Just keep acting like cadets and we’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” said Zal. “So remember to salute next time, Zara!”
“You didn’t show me how!” said Zara, as they approached the museum buildings. The windows on the third floor of the east wing had been blown out. The edges of the wall were blackened where fire had raged out of control, before the Shirazan fire brigade had arrived with a flock of specially trained water dragons to put it out. Scorched pieces of wood from broken win
dow frames were scattered across the lawn along with globules of glass that had melted into strange shapes in the intense heat. A dozen or so more Royal Protectors were marking the positions of every single one of them with small blue flags stuck in the grass. Beneath the broken windows, a trio of officers were taking statements from the museum’s magicians, two of whom had bandaged foreheads.
“Holy Stork,” said Zal.
“They’re not treating it like any accident I’ve seen,” said Miles. “No doubt about it. This is something bigger. Maybe even—”
“Wraff, wraff!”
They looked around. Rip was snuffling in the grass at the edge of the path. He stopped and froze for a moment, with his nose pressed to the ground, his big brown eyes growing wider. Then he took off running across the lawn, barking again.
“Rip?” said Zal.
“What is it?” said Miles, as they followed.
“He’s found a scent!”
Ducking behind trees and bushes to stay out of sight of the Royal Protectors, they followed Rip through the garden and around the corner to the western side of the museum. He galloped across the grass, following the scent towards a flowerbed that ran in front of a tall apple tree. He stopped at the edge of the flowerbed and jumped up and down, barking at something in the middle.
“How has he found a scent? We don’t know what to look for,” said Zara.
“It must be something he recognizes. What is it, boy?” said Zal, as they caught up and he could see the object in the flowerbed too. “What is that?”
“Zal, wait!” Miles grabbed Zal’s arm as he reached towards it and several of the flowers snapped shut beneath his fingers.
“Holy Stork!” said Zal, snatching his arm back.
“Gothopari Feeding Flowers,” said Miles. “They planted them after the museum was burgled two weeks ago.”
“Never mind. We need to get that – whatever it is!” said Zal, peering at it.
He drew his sword and used it to reach into the flowerbed. Several of the blossoms snapped shut around it and sliced their petals off on the razor-sharp blade. Zal hooked the tip under the object and then lifted it up into the light where they could see it.
