The Island of Birds

by Austin Hackney

  “Blimey. Weren’t there no-one you could tell?”

  Annabel shook her head. “Not in the palace. Dr. Ravensberg tells me I have friends at Court, but if I do, I don’t know who they are. I am going to see him now. It’s a risk, but you must come too. He will know what to do.”

  “It’s too late to rescue me ship,” the captain said, “But if there’s any chance of saving me crew, I’ll take it, whatever the risk.”

  “I understand,” Annabel said. She turned to Sibelius. “Please accept my apology, sir. I have never met a talking monkey before and I fear I was rude to you.”

  “Ce n’est pas grave,” Sibelius said. “I am quite used to it.”

  They walked on in silence. Annabel wasn’t sure if it was because they had nothing more to say or because there was too much even to begin.

  Annabel stopped short. “I think this is it,” she said, slipping the backpack off her shoulders and pulling out the map. She examined the plan. “Yes I’m sure of it.” She looked up and pointed. “There!”

  Above their heads was another grille and beyond it Annabel saw the lights of the archipelago glittering in the Dark Sea.

  “Where are we, s’il vous plaît?” the monkey said.

  “This drain opens into a courtyard. Dr. Ravensberg lives near here. I need to warn him Cranestoft wants him arrested. And we need to ask him to help us, too.”

  “It’s high up,” the captain said.

  “Yes,” Annabel said. “I hadn’t thought of that. How are we to reach it?”

  The monkey turned to his captain. “It is not so dignified,” he said. “But if you would not mind permitting me to climb upon your shoulders, I can open the grate.”

  The captain nodded and braced herself. Sibelius leaped up, a foot on each of her shoulders, simian toes holding her like hands. He closed his fingers around the bars and shoved the grate. The grille squealed back on rusted hinges and clanked open. They listened intently, concerned the noise might attract attention.

  The monkey lifted his head and peered into the courtyard.

  “Il n’y a personne ici,” he said. “There is no-one here.” He jumped back into the sewer. Bowing to the captain, he said, “Mademoiselle?”

  He linked his hands together to form a stirrup. The captain lifted her foot into it. With a grunt of effort he propelled her upward. She grasped the edges of the opening and pulled herself through, turning round to look back at them. The monkey bowed to Annabel. “Votre Altesse Royale,” he said. “Your Royal Highness?”

  Annabel followed suit, clasping the captain’s hand as she pulled herself out the drain into the courtyard. The monkey leapt up and pulled himself through after them.

  The fountain bubbled quietly. The lovers had long since departed. Lights shone in the windows of the surrounding houses, and the tinkling of a piano echoed from an upper floor, accompanied by voices and laughter; but the streets were still empty of people.

  “This way,” Annabel whispered.

  She led them across the courtyard and up the steps to Dr. Ravensberg’s door. Checking they were still unobserved, she rang the bell. There was no reply. She tried again.

  “Looks like he ain’t here,” the captain said. “Now what?”

  The metallic clanking of a rooster-mounted soldier patrolling the streets sounded beyond the archway. If he turned into the courtyard, they would have no escape.

  “Do you still have the skeleton key?” Annabel said.

  “Yes,” the captain said. “It’s here.”

  Heart pounding, Annabel took the key and slipped it into the lock. She twisted it. The door sprang open. “Inside,” she said.

  They scrambled into the house and Annabel closed the door behind them. She flicked a switch. The hall flooded with light.

  Annabel gasped. Her right hand shot to her throat as her left gripped the captain’s arm.

  The internal doors were open, revealing scenes of violence and destruction in every room. Papers had been torn and scattered. Furniture had been upturned and paintings ripped from the walls. A hundred shards of shattered mirror glass sparkled on the floor tiles.

  “Blimey,” the captain said. “Either your friend don’t care for housework or someone got here first.”

  Too shocked to speak, Annabel staggered through the debris to Dr. Ravensberg’s laboratory.

  Equipment had been smashed, bent and broken. Several charred books still smoldered in the hearth. The rug between the armchair and the chaise longue, where Annabel and Ravensberg had talked, laid rumpled and stained with blood.

  “They’ve taken him,” Annabel said, tears choking her. “We’re too late!” Annabel slumped into the Doctor’s armchair. Her hands shook. As if listening to someone else, she heard a groan rising in her throat.

  The captain’s hand took hers. The girl knelt in front of her. “Listen, miss,” she said. “We’ll get me mates back safe and sound, right? And we’ll get your doctor friend too, don’t you worry. But we got to keep it together; get ourselves somewhere safe first, ain’t we?”

  Annabel looked at the alien’s earnest face. Such beautiful eyes, she thought. Full of intelligence and compassion. An old head on young shoulders, Dad would’ve said. She was still too shocked and upset to speak, but she nodded, sucking in a ragged breath, stifling the groans.

  “Good girl,” the captain said. Then she turned to the monkey. “Right then, Sibelius, now what?”

  “We need help,” he said.

  “Josephine?”

  “She is our best chance. But how to get there, je ne sais pas,” said the monkey. “I do not know.”

  As she listened to them talking, Annabel got up and wandered over to Dr. Ravensberg’s desk. A book lay open on the desktop. Red ink underlined several letters on the open pages.

  “I’ve found something,” she breathed. The others came to see. “Look,” Annabel said. “This is a coded message. A casual observer would think Dr. Ravensberg had been correcting the text, but my father and he often passed coded messages to one another in this way. Every scientosophist uses the same code.”

  Annabel snatched up a piece of paper and a pen. Following the lines of text with one shaking finger she scribbled down the underlined letters. Making rapid mathematical calculations, she re-ordered them. A minute or two later she put the pen down and read the message aloud.

  They are coming for me. I must make haste. I have prepared my balloon. Your Royal Highness, I know you will come here if you can. Forgive me. I want you to know…

  “Want you to know what?” the captain said.

  “The message runs out there,” Annabel said. “They must have captured him before he could finish.”

  Sibelius took the note and read it to himself. His face brightened. “His balloon?” he said. “A flying balloon?”

  “My father and Ravensberg were working on such a project,” Annabel said. The memory of her father together with Dr. Ravensberg’s arrest weighed her heart with sorrow.

  “He wrote he’d prepared it for his escape,” the captain said.

  The monkey clapped his hands. “Exactement!” To Annabel he said, “May we access the roof?”

  “He keeps a large vicinity scope up there,” Annabel said. “It’s this way.” Annabel led the others out of the laboratory and up a spiral staircase ending in a low door. It was unlocked.

  They emerged onto the flat roof of the house. The palace, built on the top of the mountain, dominated the city. Lights shone in every window. The Dark Sea above them was deep black, speckled with stars. The doctor’s vicinity scope rested on a tripod pointing toward the furthest reaches of the archipelago. But it was something else they found there which excited them.

  The monkey sighed, rubbing his hands together. “ C’est beau!” He exclaimed. “It is beautiful!”

  In the middle of the roof was a wicker basket attach
ed by ropes to a half-inflated leather envelope which bobbed in the breeze.

  “It’s a blooming proper air balloon!” said the captain. The monkey loped over and jumped into the basket. He worked quickly and soon the small steam engine pumped hot air into the balloon.

  Annabel said, “Do you know how to fly this contraption?”

  “Ah oui,” said the monkey, swiveling the propeller into position and flicking a switch. “I am quite at home in a vessel such as this! It is a primitive design but it will work. Jump aboard. Now we make our escape. Vite! Hurry!”

  Annabel frowned. She didn’t like being told what to do by commoners; and she resented this talking monkey disparaging her father’s project as “primitive.”

  The captain jumped in beside him. They both looked at her. “Mademoiselle?” said the monkey. When she still didn’t move, he skipped over the side and bowed low, extending an arm in invitation. “Votre Altesse Royale,” he said. When he glanced up, he was grinning. He winked at her.

  She felt like a fool. But she laughed and took his hand, allowing him to help her into the basket. The captain looked puzzled. “When you two have finished playing Lords an’ Ladies,” she said. “Maybe we can get out o’ here.”

  The balloon swelled above them, straining against its moorings. The monkey released the cables securing it to the roof, and the basket jolted into the air. Annabel grabbed the edge, struggling to keep her balance. Her head span as the city rushed away beneath her.

  “Where are we going?” Annabel said. She was nervous, feeling she had lost control. The monkey steered the balloon toward the palace.

  “We’re off to meet the rebels in the forest,” the captain said. “On the other side o’ the palace. Way out there. What do you call it? The Forbidden Territories.”

  “But what if we are seen?”

  “We’ll have to risk it, won’t we? We ain’t got no choice. It’s the only chance we got to save our friends.”

  Annabel nodded. She understood. But a knifepoint of anxiety stabbed in her gut. A princess could not expect to be welcomed by those her Royal House had enslaved.

  The palace spread out beneath them. Through the tall windows of the dining hall Annabel made out the glowing chandeliers above a laden dining table; ladies and gentlemen talking and laughing; servants carrying platters and bottles to and fro. The balloon swept onward.

  In one of the minor courtyards, Annabel saw Katy. The maid stood still, hands on hips, looking over the wall into the city. Is she looking for me? I hope she isn’t punished on my account. Annabel was ashamed. I’ve always been so selfish, she thought. I’m sorry, Katy. Everything has changed. She lifted her hand and waved, even though she knew the maid wouldn’t see.

  The balloon traveled fast through the night, the palace shrinking into the distance, darkness cloaking the little vessel. The captain stood by her monkey friend, her arm linked through his as he smoked his pipe and steered the craft.

  Annabel felt alone and exhausted. She slumped into a corner of the basket: tired, cold, dirty, wet, and afraid. Her hands clasped her knees. Her eyelids fluttered and then closed.

  The little balloon sped on into the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The basket swung violently, battered by branches as it crashed through the forest. Annabel woke in panic. “What’s happening?” she screamed, as the vessel slammed to the ground and bounced, tipping her out like scrunched-up paper from a wastebasket.

  The engine cut out and the propeller chugged to a standstill. The air was warm, stinking of engine fumes mingled with the scents of leaf-mold and fungi. As the fumes cleared, Annabel gasped, filling her lungs with air. Birds, disturbed by their landing, screeched overhead.

  The captain crouched next to her. “You all right, miss?”

  “I think so,” Annabel said. “Where are we?”

  She’d never been in the Forbidden Territories. How far had they traveled from the city?

  “We’re in the forest, close to the rebel village. It shouldn’t be hard to get our bearings. Sibelius is nifty at climbing trees, so we can check our position easy enough.”

  “I’m frightened, Captain,” Annabel said.

  The captain smiled. “I’d rather you called me Harry,” she said. “I ain’t your captain, am I? Not any more than you’re my princess.”

  “Very well… Harry. And you must call me Annabel.”

  “Listen, Annabel, we’ll be all right. We’ve been in worse fixes. We got friends here what’ll help us.”

  “They won’t like me. My family enslaved them.”

  “But you didn’t know nothing about it. We’ll tell ‘em the truth.”

  Sibelius had climbed a tree while they were talking. He swung down again, landing next to them. He smiled. “Bonjour, Votre Altesse Royale!” he said, bowing. “I trust you slept well. Sorry for the bumpy landing, but in a forest as dense as this…” He glanced ruefully at the battered wickerwork and torn envelope. “My heart is sorry for the state of this beautiful balloon. But I’m happy to say it will still fly. Perhaps a stich here and there.”

  “Please,” the princess said. “You may call me Annabel.”

  The monkey raised his eyebrows. “And you may call me Sibelius,” he said. He turned to Harry. “C’est facile. We are close. I saw the crater.”

  Annabel helped them to haul the deflated balloon from the trees, covering it with leaves and branches. Then they set out to the rebel camp.

  It was hard going and Annabel’s dress snagged and tore on the dense undergrowth. When she arrived at the edge of the crater, dressed in little more than rags, her skin scratched and her face smudged with dirt, leaves and twigs tangled in her hair, she wondered what Katy would say.

  They looked at the village below them. “They built all of this?” she said. “The children, I mean?”

  “They rebuilt it,” said Harry. “Seems before your lot took over the show, there was another culture here. This village was a ruin when the children found it. Come on, that’s Jo’s place down there. We’d best go straight to her.”

  Annabel hesitated, but Sibelius reassured her. “No-one will recognize you, n’est-ce pas?”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said. None of the children could have seen her. She looked down at her ragged and soiled clothing and pushed her fingers through her messed up hair. “I doubt even Katy would recognize me!” Sibelius took her arm, and they walked together.

  But Harry stopped abruptly. “Wait,” she breathed. “Look. There’s no-one here. They must’ve abandoned it after the roosters attacked.”

  Annabel and Sibelius scrambled down the slope after her. They picked their way through the village. It was deserted. Half the huts had been burned. Furniture had been thrown out and smashed. Rags of clothing hung on broken door frames. The hearth stones were smeared with blood.

  Sibelius knelt by the hearth and put his hand over the embers. “Les cendres sont froids,” he said. “The ashes are cold.”

  “Let’s go to Jo’s,” Harry said.

  They found the door swinging ajar. Inside everything had been turned upside down. The scientosophical instruments and books were nowhere to be seen.

  Harry ran her hands through her hair. “Now what?” she said. “This is a mess and a half, ain’t it? Out o’ the frying pan into the fire, if you ask me. There’s Davy, Sam and Barney stuck in that dungeon in the castle, if they ain’t killed ‘em already. The village has been destroyed and there ain’t no sign of any survivors. And to top it off, we’re stuck out here with no transport.”

  Annabel’s heart went out to her. She felt ashamed. This was what her island had done to these good people. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sibelius put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry drew a deep, ragged breath. She opened her mouth to speak. But an engine rumbling and snapping branches stopped her.
Annabel looked toward the noise, heart thumping.

  “It’s the kids!” said Harry as two clanking mechanical walkers lurched through the trees and into the village. Steam hissed as the legs lowered the body of one to the ground. The hatch at the rear creaked open and a young woman jumped out, running toward them.

  “Mademoiselle Josephine!”

  The young woman embraced first Harry and then Sibelius. She stepped back and acknowledged Annabel with a nod of her head before turning her attention back to the others. “I knew it would be you,” she said, smiling. “We saw the balloon approaching and came as quickly as we could.”

  “I thought you was all done for,” said Harry, tears welling in her eyes. “The others are still prisoners.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. But no, we’re not done for. It seems, aside from destroying the camp, the soldiers were only interested in capturing you. You’re just in time. There’s a big planning meeting today. It’s the final gathering before we attack the palace. But come, be quick. It isn’t safe here.”

  As they turned to the mechanical walker, the young woman said to Annabel, “My name’s Josephine. But I don’t think you’re an escaped slave, are you?”

  Annabel swallowed hard. “No,” she said. “I am not.”

  Josephine stopped dead. She looked her straight in the eye. It was all Annabel could do to stand firm and return that look. After a second, Josephine nodded. “I understand. You’re the princess aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in danger?”

  “They want to kill me to seize the Throne.”

  “You will be useful. I imagine you have information which will help us. You can introduce yourself at the meeting.”

  Josephine pointed up into the dark belly of the first walker. “In here,” she said.

  Annabel felt bile rising in her throat. She regretted what had happened to these children, but she would not be treated in such an off-hand manner. She was innocent, whatever this girl might think.

  “All right,” Josephine was saying. “Suit yourself. Walk if you prefer. You’re armed, I suppose? The forest is full of wild beasts.” She banged on the side of the walker and turned away. The hatch began to close.