“Where is the balloon?”
“Where you left it, in that direction. There’s a nice big hole now for your ascent, remember? The envelope’s patched up. Not perfect but it should hold. It’s fueled and ready. Take this lantern and go. Good luck!”
Another explosion threw them apart, the heat blast scorching Annabel’s skin. There was no more time for talk. She wanted to embrace Josephine. She wanted to say sorry for the things she’d said before, for her selfishness, but there wasn’t time.
Jospehine headed back to the cannon. Annabel ran after Sibelius and Harry who were already ducking low under the trees toward the concealed balloon.
She caught up with them as they arrived at the craft. It took a few minutes to clear away the camouflage, but she soon understood what Josephine had meant. Their descent had ripped a great hole in the tree cover and through the gap in the canopy Annabel saw the twinkling lights of the most distant islands of the archipelago.
Sibelius and Harry set about rigging and inflating the balloon, Annabel helping where and when she was instructed. She was embarrassed by her lack of skill. Her heart thumped into her throat every time the ground shook or another round of gunfire tore through the trees.
She was surprised how quickly the balloon inflated. “Vite!” said Sibelius. “Be quick! Climb in!”
Annabel jumped forward as the basket was already lifting from the ground. Sibelius and Harry both helped haul her aboard. As she stabilized herself, she was aware of rushing air, leaf and branch flying past her, and the open sky hurtling closer.
“Won’t they see us?” she said, choked with panic. “The ornithopters will shoot us out the sky.” Sibelius blew out the lantern. He shrugged and grinned at her, enjoying being back in a balloon despite the circumstances. “There are no options without risks, je crois.”
With an astonishing whoosh! the balloon broke free of the forest and shot upward, swinging wildly into the night sky.
Sibelius pulled his goggles over his eyes, busy adjusting valves on the craft’s small engine, the propeller now whirring at full speed. Harry leaned over the basket’s edge, scanning the skies below with something which resembled a vicinity scope. But my father invented it! “Where did you get that?” Annabel said.
“Me telescope?” the captain said. “I’ve had it ages. Watch out!”
Harry pushed Annabel down into the basket as a stream of bullets whizzed over their heads, leaving a fading heat trail in the air behind them. Harry muttered, “Heat bullets, I hate them.” Then she said to Annabel. “You’d best keep your head down. Don’t want them seeing you.”
Annabel nodded, too frightened now to do anything else. For the first time in her life, she thought, she didn’t resent obeying orders.
Through the cracks in the weave of the basket she could still see the forest although they must already have left the rebel camp behind them. Through the basket-work, she saw an ornithopter streaking out of the dark, heading straight for the balloon.
“Captain!” she screamed. In the same instant something bright and hot shot from the ground like lightning in reverse and the ornithopter exploded in flames, a shooting star spiraling out of the sky. Annabel let out her breath.
“Seems your cannon thingy works, miss,” Harry said.
Annabel closed her eyes. People are dying, she thought.
“Nous allons plus élevé!” called Sibelius. “We are going higher. Hold on tight!”
Annabel grasped the sides of the basket. The little engine whined and chugged as if it were about to explode as the craft shot up higher into the inky dark.
But they were free of attack. After an hour, Harry said she was sure they were no longer being pursued.
“Oui, we have lost them,” Sibelius agreed. “They do not expect us to travel without light. Did you see they have lanterns on their ornithopters?”
“Whereas as we got our beautiful map,” said Harry. “You’re safe to get up now, Annabel.”
Annabel accepted her hand and stood up shakily. “What map do you have?” she said.
The captain lifted her arms to the skies above and around them. “This beautiful map!” she said.
“Les etoiles! The stars,” Sibelius said.
After a while exhaustion overcame them all. Sibelius and Harry took it in turns to navigate the little craft or try to sleep in the cramped conditions.
Annabel could not fly the balloon and while she tried to stay awake in a show of solidarity, she must have fallen asleep, because she woke to a warm breeze, a stiff neck, and somebody’s arm wrapped over her.
She stayed still a moment, enjoying the embrace, even if she guessed it was unintentional. At the end of the arm enfolding her, Harry’s hand was limp with sleep. Annabel felt warmth rising in her. It was more than the warmth of the breeze or the first rays of sunlight tipping over the horizon.
The moment passed as the captain stirred and Sibelius’s furry face appeared above them both.
“Mes amies,” he said. “Nous sommes arrivés.”
They were both on their feet in a moment, looking over the basket’s edge.
It was dawn. The Dark Sea was visible above them even as the local atmosphere brightened in the morning light. Annabel’s heart fluttered and hopped in her breast. They were near the city. She could see the palace.
“They will see us!” she said, leaning against the basket and clasping her hands together.
“We’ll land on the roof,” Harriet said. “That big flat bit over there looks about right, don’t it Sibelius?”
“C’est parfait,” he said, already letting air out of the balloon and steering the craft downward. “It is a perfect spot.”
“Right on top of the palace?” Annabel said.
“That’s it, miss,” Harry said. “Right on top of the palace. That way, see, there’s still a chance that if needs be we can get away again. Bringing the balloon down in the city, well that would be too dangerous, and if we bring it down in the forest, it’ll be a wreck. We’re good if they ain’t seen us. If they seen us, it don’t make no difference. Get it?”
“I suppose…”
“Prepare to land!” Sibelius said.
They were losing height and Annabel held on tighter than ever. “Just before we land, Annabel,” Harriet said, “lift your feet off the ground like this.” She demonstrated, pulling herself up on bent arms as she held fast to the sides of the basket. “And keep your arms bent. Bit like a spring. We’ll land on stone, see, and we don’t want no broken legs.”
Annabel hardly had time to nod her understanding before Harry called out, “Up! Jump up!”
As it was, the landing wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. And Annabel grinned at the others, sharing their relief.
“Nous avons de la chance,” Sibelius said. “We are lucky. That could have been worse.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope the luck holds,” Harry said, jumping out the basket. “Best get this big inflatable hey-look-we’re-here bag out o’ the way soon as.”
“Mademoiselle!” the sky monkey said, feigning offense. “Ce n’est pas un sac, c’est un ballon beau!”
“Well, I don’t care what you want to call it – bag or balloon – we need to get it away.”
Once they had deflated the balloon and slung the ropes over it to hold it down, they crept to the edge of the roof and looked over the marble balustrade. They were overlooking the Place of Assembly.
“We must be above the Throne Room,” Annabel said. “That’s good, at least.”
“Mais, qu’est-ce que c’est? What is that?”
Annabel followed the line indicated by Sibelius’s leathery finger. He was pointing to the grim building on the other side. In front of it was a platform. Gallows stretched its entire length, and from the gallows hung five hempen nooses.
“It’s the State Prison,” she said.
Annabel’s breath caught in her throat. “Your friends.”
Harry seemed puzzled. “Davy, Sam, Barney. That’s three. What about the other two? Me and ‘im, maybe?” she gestured to Sibelius. “But that can’t be right. I mean, they ain’t even caught us!”
Annabel shook her head. “I don’t know. Dr. Ravensberg, and maybe…” the thought made her cold, “maybe Katy, my maid. They may have blamed her for my escape.”
“Right. We’d best get on to the dungeons fast and get ‘em out.”
“But they won’t be in the dungeons. If they’re to be hanged today, they’ll be in the prison.”
“Well, the prison, then.”
“No,” Annabel said. “The most important thing is to get to my laboratory. It’s right below us here.”
Harry shook her head. “No, Annabel. We got to go to the prison first.”
“Listen,” Annabel replied. “We need to save the palace, the city, and give access to the others; we’ll need ground-plans, devices, mechanicals, the equipment to disable the roosters, open the gates…”
“I know what you’re saying but you’re wrong. The first thing we got to do…”
“Once we know we can do what we came to do, then we can rescue the others. This is my island! This is my palace! I don’t want it destroyed!”
Harry turned her back and said to Sibelius. “What d’you reckon’s the best way down there to the prison? We should go by the sewers again, right?”
“Oui. Look, these downpipes from the guttering are huge! They must lead straight to the drainage system.”
Harriet peered into the tube. “I s’pose you’re right.” She shuddered. “Looks like a trasher chute, though.”
Annabel was furious. “You can’t just ignore me!”
The captain span round on her. Annabel had never seen her angry. “I ain’t going to ignore my crew, miss. I don’t care who you think you are or who this blinking island belongs too, neither. Get it? Now you can stick together with us, or you can go off on your own. But I ain’t got time to argue with you.”
Sibelius was already sliding into the downpipe.
“Annabel,” Harry said, calmer now, as Sibelius vanished from sight and she climbed in after him. “We all got a lot to learn, I know. But now ain’t the time for me to teach you. Listen, do what you have to do if you don’t want to come with us. Soon as I know me crew is safe, we’ll come an’ look out for you, too.”
Annabel, confused and angry, said nothing. “We can do both,” she managed at last. “That’s the point!”
“Are you coming, then?” Harry said.
Annabel shook her head. “It’s a mistake.”
“I reckon,” the captain said. “Good luck, miss.” And she had gone. Annabel was alone.
Chapter Twenty
No one had noticed them. A shaded loggia shadowed the interior wall to their left. They made a dash along it, keeping low behind the marble wall, until they got to the end.
Luck o’ the blinking gods so far, Harriet thought. About blooming time something went our way.
Harriet and Sibelius had made their way through the drains, but were forced to climb out again by rising effluent as the system flushed through. But fortune had smiled on them at last. They had emerged close to the prison. Even if, as Harriet realized once they arrived at the end of the loggia, it was difficult to get to unseen.
“Oi! You! Stop there!” The voice was angry and close. “Whaddya think you’re playing at?”
They ran.
“I can’t see anyone!” called a different voice. “You been at the rum again?”
“There was a boy and a monkey!”
Laughter.
“I swear… hey wait a minute! It’ll be those aliens! We’d best call the guard.”
They’d dashed through another archway and up a short flight of stairs. “Which way?” said Harriet, conscious they had only a heartbeat before the guards would be after them. Ahead was another door set in a deep recess in the ground. It looked as if it might lead back into the dungeon. Harriet loathed going back down there, but if that was where she had to go to save her friends nothing would stop her.
“Down?” Sibelius said.
Harriet nodded. “Seems we don’t have no choice.”
They dashed across the open space and threw themselves down the ramp to the door.
“It’s locked,” Harriet said. Shouts and stomping feet echoed toward them.
Sibelius crouched in front of the door, peering into the lock. “We still have the skeleton key, oui?”
“Yes!” Harriet handed it to him. He inserted it into the keyhole. The door clicked open, and they slipped inside. Sibelius closed the door and locked it again. He and Harriet pushed their backs against it and listened.
Muffled voices. Someone tried the door. The handle rattled. A voice said, “Locked. They can’t have gone through here.” Footsteps faded away as the guards took their search elsewhere.
“Nice work,” Harriet breathed. “An’ just in the nick of time, too.”
Sibelius grinned. “Now, let us make haste.”
They were in a passageway. Lanterns hung from iron hooks running along the barreled ceiling. The floor sloped downwards.
“Are we back in the dungeons, then?” Harriet whispered.
“I am not sure,” Sibelius said.
“I don’t fancy heading off without the foggiest idea where we’re going. But I suppose it’s our best bet, ain’t it.”
“It is – comment dire? – a choice between two evils. We go back out or we go down again.”
“Down,” Harriet said.
But after a hundred yards they came to a dead end. The passageway resolved in a stone balcony overlooking a cavernous underground chamber.
They crouched low and crawled forward until they could peer over the top of the wall and look below.
“Blimey,” Harriet breathed. “What’s this, then?”
“It is a factory,” Sibelius said.
The cavern was vast. From the level of the balcony it plunged into a vertiginous drop, the floor a hundred yards below them. It was longer and wider than it was deep, stretching away into the distance. A huge structure of scaffold and walkways divided the chasm into various levels. Machines clanked, pipes rumbled, pistons pumped, flywheels span and valves hissed.
“It’s steam driven,” Harriet said, raising her voice. The thundering of the machines was amplified by the acoustics of the cavern. “One rule for the masses and another for… who?”
Sibelius shrugged. “For the Royal House. The authorities are deceitful and corrupt.”
Hundreds of children operated the machines, toiling in the intense heat generated by the boilers and engines which drove them. Some were suspended in harnesses on long chains, cranes hoisting them to different parts of the structure. It’s a wonder they ain’t deaf as well as mute, Harriet thought.
Guards patrolled the area, barking orders and cracking evil looking whips. They wore helmets with ear protectors and had guns slung over their shoulders. The children worked in silence. Their ankles were chained together, with enough slack to allow them to work but heavy enough to stop them running away.
Harriet’s early childhood hadn’t been a bed of roses. She’d worked her hands raw in the Laundry where she’d been raised and the woman who’d raised her hadn’t been shy of clouting her if she put a foot out of line; but she’d always had enough to eat, clean clothes to wear, soap to wash with, a bed to sleep in, and books to read.
Harriet huddled closer to Sibelius. She interlocked her fingers with his. The sight of these wretched children caused bile to rise in the back of her throat. Her vision swam and her limbs trembled. It ain’t right, she thought, and then said aloud, “It ain’t right and I’m go
ing to do something about it.”
Chack-chack-chack.
“Is that so?” said a voice behind them. Harriet span round, breathing hard. An armed guard stood at the mouth of the tunnel, his gun trained on her. He smiled.
Chapter Twenty-One
It seemed to Harriet that time stood still. The clanking machinery pumped in rhythm with her heart. The guard’s smile broadened.
Harriet saw his finger squeezing the trigger of his electrostatic blaster. Sibelius yanked her aside as the gun’s charge exploded into the balcony, sending hot chips of stone flying. Her friend dove forward, tackling the guard at his knees. They crunched to the ground, but Sibelius wrenched himself free and leaped onto the balcony’s edge. Harriet clasped his outstretched hand, and he hauled her up beside him.
The guard dragged himself upright. Another flash illuminated the tunnel as a bolt of electrostatic energy shot toward them.
“Mademoiselle, sauter!”
“Jump?” she said, incredulous. The electrostatic bolt destroyed the stone beneath her feet. Sibelius pulled on her hand, flinging her out into the cave.
Not… his… best… idea, she thought, arms and legs flailing as machinery, scaffold, lights and faces whizzed past her in a confusing blur. Then she slapped into a vat of water.
Harriet wasn’t sure which way was up and which down. It was dark and silent. She kicked, struggling to find a place to break water. At last she splashed through the surface. Noise and light smashed on her senses. She kicked down with her feet but they didn’t reach the bottom. A mouthful of acrid water left her choking.
“Sibelius!” she spluttered. “Sibelius, I can’t swim!”
A sodden, hairy arm hooked round her and dragged her onto wet stone. They had landed in a cistern for storing the water for the steam engines pumping around them. Another electrostatic bolt seared the air, sizzling as it hit the water.
“In among the machines,” Harriet shouted. “They won’t want to damage them!” They ducked under cover, tucking themselves beneath a complex of pipes. “We ain’t got a chance,” she said, raising her voice over the noise and ripping off a few strips from her shirt. She passed two to Sibelius before scrunching the other two up and stuffing them in her ears. “Not just the two of us.”
The Island of Birds Page 11
