Annabel shoved a handful of small tools and two manuals into a backpack. She fought back the lump in her throat.
I wish I hadn’t changed out of my hunting clothes, but I can’t risk going back and changing again. At least these boots have flat heels.
A bell tolled the hour, its dreary resonance sounding through the walls. Annabel counted the strikes. Nine o’clock. They’ll all be at the dinner table. And it will be dark outside. It’s a good time to go.
At the door, she turned and looked back at the laboratory. On impulse she dropped the pack and rushed to her father’s workbench. She knelt, resting her hands on its surface. Her cheeks were wet with tears as her lips brushed a kiss on the edge of the bench. “Goodbye, Dad,” she said. “Am I doing the right thing?”
She stood again as her sorrow turned to anger. You’re on your own, she thought. He’s gone. And now you have to go. That’s all there is to it.
Annabel snatched up the backpack and slung the straps over her shoulders. She locked the door behind her, dropping the key back into her bodice, and walked to the end of the corridor, listening a moment at the tapestry before lifting it and ducking into the Throne Room.
The sky beyond the windows purpled like a bruise, a bloodied sun sinking beneath the darkening forest. Annabel paced over the tiles, through the door, and then ran along the hallways.
It was too risky to leave by the usual exits. She had another idea in mind. Her father had taken her once, many years ago, to help with one of his experiments. He had a theory that the vile miasma of fetid air rising from the sewers beneath the palace caused disease. He believed infection could be carried by the rats which populated the stinking underground tunnels. So he’d made automata to cycle through the sewers, cleaning debris into the water flow and exterminating vermin.
Annabel didn’t know if the mechanicals still worked, but she knew she could get out the palace through the drains. No-one expected a princess to do that. All she had to do was remember the way. It was through a maintenance hatch in the cellars, she recalled.
Annabel’s memory served her well. The cellars were easy to find. She wished she had brought a light. It was dark in the cellars but she stumbled across the damp flagstones, her hands stretched out in front of her.
At last she found what she sought. Her fingers touched the rusting iron bars of a grate. She slid her fingers in-between the bars and clenching her fists, tugged them. To her surprise the grille came away easily. She hitched her skirts above her bloomers and tied them in a knot at her waist.
The princess put her right foot forward until the heel of her boot settled on the rung of a ladder. Here goes, she thought, wrinkling her nose at the stench. Annabel twisted round and climbed into the drains.
At intervals electrostatic lanterns emitted a dim glow. The tunnels were made of undressed stone, greased with slime and unspeakable detritus. A steady flow of stinking fluid bubbled onward through the pipes, slopping around her ankles.
Annabel set off, determined to get out the sewers, into the city, and to Dr. Ravensberg’s house as soon as possible. Tradition was a powerful force in the city, she knew, and customs adhered to. Everyone would be in their homes at this hour, surrounded by their families, for the evening meal.
After dinner the streets would fill with people. Ladies and gentlemen out for an evening stroll or revelers bent on a night of pleasure. I must get there while the streets are still empty.
She examined a map of the sewerage system she had found in the laboratory when she was packing. No doubt it interested her father when he designed the cleaning automata. Checking her location against the map, she set off again with confidence.
But she had only waded a few paces, lifting her handkerchief to her nose to mask the foul smell filling the air, when she halted in her tracks.
Something was moving up ahead. The automata? No, there were voices, too. Who in the world could be in here at this time of day? Her father’s mechanicals had obviated any need for personnel.
Annabel stood still, her heart jumping, breath quickening, mind racing. Should she turn and flee? Should she head back to the cellars and wait? But her indecision cost her valuable time. It was already too late.
Two dark figures splashed round the corner. They were heading straight toward her, their faces ghastly in the lurid shadows cast by a lantern swinging above their heads. The figures halted. Annabel tensed, bracing herself.
They had seen her.
Chapter Fifteen
With a quick flick of his tail, Sibelius sent the skeleton key spinning into the air. Harriet snatched it to her breast. She slipped the note from around it.
“What does it say?” Barney whispered.
Harriet looked back at the door. A belch followed by muffled snoring rumbled in the passageway.
“Go on,” Sam said. “You’d best read it. I never learned me letters.” Then, nodding towards the guard, “’E’s out for the count, I reckon.”
Harriet unrolled the note, taking the key in one hand. She scanned the elegant handwriting, reading aloud.
My dear friends,
I realize now you have done no wrong. I send you this key, which will open every door, in the sincere hope you can make good your escape. I can do no more. My life is in danger. I must leave. Forgive me. Good luck!
Sincerely,
HRH Princess Annabel
Harriet’s hand trembled as she pictured the strange princess’s anxious face. My life is in danger. Her heart skipped. She shook herself.
“Blimey,” she said. “That’s a twist, ain’t it?”
Sibelius coughed. When Harriet looked up, he was smiling at her with mock pleading in his eyes as he lifted his manacled wrists. “Mademoiselle?”
“Yeah right,” Harriet said. “Sorry.” She inserted the skeleton key, turned it and the manacles sprang open.
Having freed herself and her crew, Harriet led them to the door. She pressed her face against the grille. The guard perched on his stool, back slumped against the wall. He was snoring. His head lolled on his shoulder. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. His right hand folded round an empty bottle.
“I reckon we should open this door as quietly as we can and sneak past this fella without waking him. Then we’ll have to figure out which way to go.”
“Mais, c’est facile, mademoiselle,” whispered Sibelius. “I memorized the route.”
Harriet couldn’t conceal her surprise. She smiled. “That’s a clever monkey skill, I s’pose?”
Sibelius shrugged. “To remember ways, places, information, is quite within my line of work,” he said.
Harriet eased the key into the lock and turned it. She half expected it not to work; but the bolts, each connected to the vertical bar, rattled back easily. The guard grunted, muttering something in his sleep. Harriet held her breath. One. Two. She opened the door.
With the others behind her, she snuck past the slumbering soldier, slipping the key into her jerkin pocket. A few yards into the tunnel, she turned back to the others. They were through, with Sibelius bringing up the rear. Looks as if we made it, she thought. No – wait a minute – we forgot something.
As Sibelius caught up she whispered, “We’d best get that bird. Dunno if it’s any use, but we don’t want to leave evidence. You lot wait here. I’ll go get it.”
She crept back to the cell and picked up the fallen mechanical. The guard woke up, leaning forward, kneading the heels of his palms into his eyes. Harriet froze. The soldier blinked at her, confused.
“Evenin’, guv,” said Harriet, speeding past him.
“Evening,” he replied.
Then he shot to his feet. “Oi!”
Harriet pitched herself forward. The guard lurched after her. “Run!” she shouted. “Peg it!”
Too drunk to give chase, the guard pulled a cord at his station. The tunnels filled
with the sound of alarm bells.
Barney, Davy and Sam pelted ahead toward a junction. But Harriet skidded to a halt next to Sibelius. Her heart slammed in her chest. “No!” she shouted.
A dozen armed soldiers had appeared in the tunnel and her crew had run straight into them. They hadn’t a chance. The soldiers butted them to the ground, guns pressed against their heads.
“Mademoiselle! Vite!”
Harriet froze. Me lads, she thought. I can’t leave ‘em.
Davy twisted his head around beneath a soldier’s boot. “Run, Cap’n! Go!” he said. “We’ll be grand. Go!”
Sibelius’s leathery fingers closed around her wrist. He dragged her toward a different tunnel. “We’ll be back, lads,” she called as he pulled her away. More soldiers were jogging into the tunnel, slinging guns from their shoulders.
“Go, Cap’n, go!”
Me brave and hearty lads! What’ve I done?
“Courage, mes amis!” said Sibelius. Then, to Harriet, “This way!”
A bullet pinged past her ear, exploding in the tunnel wall, spitting chips of stonework.
Sibelius yanked her after him. Harriet ran. Another junction; another passage; soldiers thundering after them, catching up, shadows looming and vanishing against the walls; the stomping of military boots rumbling at their backs.
“Mademoiselle, vite!” Sibelius called over his shoulder. “It’s too late,” Harriet panted. Her legs ached and her lungs burned. “They’re on us!”
“A little further… is another passage… concealed and narrow…”
Cripes, she thought. That’s a sky monkey’s memory for you.
Sibelius loped ahead until… he vanished. Harriet skidded to a standstill. Blazes! she thought. Where’d he go?
“Mademoiselle, ici! In here!”
He’d sidestepped into a narrow tunnel, the entrance concealed by shadows. Harriet dashed in after him. But her hesitation had cost them. As she ran into the darkened passageway, she caught sight of soldiers from the corner of her eye. Someone shouted. Stone chips exploded around her as bullets ricocheted by her head.
“Run!” she shouted, as if they had planned to do anything else. “Run!”
They ran.
Right on Sibelius’s heels, the soldiers pounding behind, Harriet dodged left, then right, then left and left again. Sometimes she was sure they were heading upwards. Other times she was sure they were descending again. Can’t tell no more which direction we’re heading.
Gunshots cracked the air. Bullets ricocheted around them. Sibelius ducked into another tunnel and Harriet followed, plunging into darkness.
Harriet felt Sibelius’s rough fur ahead of her. He had slowed, his hands fingering along the walls, feeling the way forward. The guards were closing in.
“Light the flash lantern!” barked a gruff voice behind them. “We’ve got them cornered now.”
Sibelius’s muscular arm wrapped around Harriet’s waist. He hauled her off her feet. What the blooming…? She touched the floor again as her friend’s hand closed over her mouth.
“Shhh!” he hissed in her ear.
She stood, still locked in Sibelius’s arms, blood throbbing at her temples, aching in every limb; smelling damp stone and monkey fur; seeing only darkness.
Light flashed. They were hiding in a deep alcove. A torch beam arced through the main tunnel, sweeping the walls and floor with light.
“Can’t see them,” said the same voice she’d heard before. “Must have pegged it faster than I’d thought. Come on! One-two! One-two!”
Sibelius’s arms tensed and his hand tightened over her mouth as the soldiers trotted past, their profiles two feet away from her own face.
When silence had again consumed the trudging of military boots, Sibelius relaxed, releasing Harriet. She felt dizzy and leaned on him for support.
“Nice work,” she whispered into the darkness. “Now what?”
“I do not think we can return to the others,” Sibelius said. “If they have taken them back to the dungeon, there will be more than one guard at the door now.”
“Even if we could find the way back,” Harriet said, still clutching the clockwork sparrow. “Even you must be lost now. This ain’t the way we came.”
She felt him shrug. “C’est facile. With experience comes understanding. The manner in which places are built follows typical rules. I cannot say I know the way. But I am sure I can find it. The human imagination is very predictable, mademoiselle.”
“Hey, I’m human, you know!”
“Je sais, mademoiselle. It is your only fault.”
Harriet frowned. “Sometimes I can’t tell when you’re serious and when you’re jokin’,” she said. “But human or not, we ain’t going to rot away in here. We need to come back for the others later. But first we’ll have to take our chances and get ourselves out o’ here.”
Harriet followed Sibelius in silence. Her mind was on the welfare of her crew. And she was worrying about the princess, too.
“Mademoiselle,” Sibelius said, stopping and pointing up a narrow, winding staircase. “At the top we should find ourselves back in the palace. And there we will find what we need.”
“C’mon, then,” Harriet said, eager to be free of the dungeons. “Let’s do it.”
As Harriet spiraled upwards, weariness in every step despite her bravado, light filtered toward her. Bells clanged; the noise reverberating around her. I don’t like the sound o’ that, she thought.
They emerged into a gloomy vestibule. The bells were deafening. But not deafening enough to mask a soldier’s shouted orders. “Search every room! Kill them on sight!”
She shuddered. That’ll be us they’re to kill on sight, no doubt. Her heart ached. Maybe they already done me mates in. Sibelius’s leathery hand squeezed her shoulder.
They were on ground level. A narrow window looked over an inner courtyard. The palace’s high windows, soaring towers and golden cupolas glittered above it. The courtyard was busy. There were stables and workshops; open fronted warehouses with double gates swung wide. There were dozens of people busy repairing mechanical roosters; others unloading supplies. I s’pose the slaves can’t do everything, she thought.
Then her heart skipped a beat. “Sibelius!” she hissed, tugging at his arm. “Look!”
In the middle of the yard was Harriet’s starship, or what was left of it, a team in overalls busy dismantling it. “Now that’s enough to make a girl cry, Sibelius,” she whispered.
“Je regrette, mademoiselle. There is nothing we can do to save the ship. But we may still save our friends.”
“Yeah, well you make sure you remember how to get back here in that clever hairy head of yours, just in case we get the chance.”
Sibelius’s hand tightened its grip on her shoulder. She looked into his deep, simian eyes. “We must have hope, mademoiselle,” he said. “And we must escape.”
Harriet laid her hand over his and squeezed. “You’re right, Sibelius. Let’s get out o’ here, shall we?”
Soldiers stomped along the corridor beyond the vestibule. They were very close. Harriet and Sibelius threw their backs against adjacent walls, pressing flat against the stone. The soldiers ran past them. Edging forward, Harriet peeked into the corridor.
There were soldiers in both directions. They worked systematically, opening doors on either side of the hallway. One guard remained outside while the others searched, to reappear a moment later, slamming the door shut and moving on to the next.
“We’re trapped right in the middle,” Harriet said. “How do we get out there without being seen?”
“We don’t, mademoiselle,” Sibelius said. “We go in there.” Her friend pointed to an iron grille embedded in the floor.
“But that’s a drain,” Harriet said.
“Oui, mademoiselle,” Sibelius said, unhookin
g a lantern from the wall and passing it to her. “It is.”
Chapter Sixteen
Annabel stood her ground as the figures splashed toward her. She recognized them. “Captain!” she said. “Mr. Sibelius.”
“Hello, miss,” said the captain. “What’re you doing here?”
Annabel laughed. The situation seemed absurd. “I believe I am doing the same as you: escaping.”
It was only as she let go she realized she and the captain had embraced. Tears welled in her eyes. As they pulled apart, she saw tears in the captain’s, too. Annabel looked over her shoulder at the monkey. A frown creased her forehead. “Where are the others?”
“We got the key,” Harriet said. “But the others didn’t make it.” The alien girl’s eyes searched Annabel’s. Her voice cracked as she said, “What’ll they do to them, miss?”
“I don’t know,” Annabel said. I do not wish to tell her they will hang. “I’m so sorry I didn’t do more when I had the chance. I was so confused.”
The alien held out her clockwork sparrow. “We hung on to it,” she said.
Annabel took it. “Thank you,” she said. She put it in her backpack.
“D’you know how to get out o’ here?” the captain said.
“Yes,” Annabel said, splashing forward, relieved to be doing something again. “Follow me.”
They pushed on. The stench was foul. Annabel avoided looking at the heinous slime through which they waded. The tunnels were cold. She was weary to the bone.
“You wrote your life’s in danger, miss,” the captain said.
“Yes,” Annabel replied, surprised at her matter-of-fact tone. “I overheard Cranestoft and the Master of the Guard plotting to kill me. Cranestoft wants to usurp the Throne.”
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