The Island of Birds

by Austin Hackney

  Sibelius winked. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was gesturing, pointing. Hundreds of fearful faces had turned to look at them. The kids!

  “Blimey,” she said, giving him the thumbs up to show she’d understood. “You’re right. There’re blooming hundreds of us!”

  The guards whipped the children nearby, who had seen them plummet into the cistern, back to work. At this level the soldiers, wearing visors and ear protectors, hadn’t noticed what had happened at all. The guard from the balcony would alert the others, Harriet was sure, but he’d have to get down first and she guessed he wouldn’t jump after them into the cistern. Dunno how long it’ll take him to get here, but we got a bit o’ time, she thought. “How’re we going to get all of that lot unchained?” she shouted, miming manacled wrists.

  “If we can unchain one who can unchain another,” Sibelius shouted back, “then we can start a chain reaction!”

  “But how can we break the chains?”

  He held up the skeleton key.

  “Ain’t there some other way?” Harriet put her mouth right up to his ear. “I mean, we’ll use it if we have to, but that might be our only hope o’ rescuing Davy, Barney and Sam. If we lose it…”

  Sibelius looked around. And suddenly he had gone. He climbed out from beneath the pipes and swinging down the side of the scaffolding he unhooked a ring of keys from a guard’s belt. The guard remained oblivious.

  A moment later and he was back. “It is quite within my line of work!” Then he had gone again, loping along a line of slaves, ducking out of sight just when a guard turned to look in his direction. He released their chains and handed the keys to the last child on the row, indicating that he should release himself and pass the keys up to the next line. He pick-pocketed another guard’s keys and started the process again.

  Information spread among the children by gestures and signs as they grabbed whatever they might use as weapons – crowbars, spanners, even their chains.

  Harriet saw the guard from the balcony slam through a door on the other side of the factory. He was speaking to another soldier and pointing toward the cistern.

  Sibelius jumped back under the pipes next to her. “Now,” he said, “we must provide a decoy.”

  The guards were approaching fast along an iron walkway, their guns lowered but at the ready. “We’ll jump out. They may shoot, but I think we have the advantage of surprise. When attention is on us, the children will attack.”

  Harriet nodded. “Ready when you are,” she said.

  “Un, deux… trois!”

  Harriet’s heart leapt as she sprang onto the walkway. “Hoy,” she yelled waving her arms. “Over here you dunderheads!”

  Three guards spinning round toward her. The barrel of an electrostatic gun. A blinding flash of light. Harriet threw herself from the walkway, landing hard on metal. She scrambled to her feet and span round. Blimey, I’m still alive!

  The children, seeing their moment, threw off their chains and fell upon the guards: grappling, biting, beating, thrashing with all their strength. They outnumbered the guards a hundred to one. It was a short battle. The guards barely had time to work out what was happening before they were wrestled to the ground, their weapons removed and their hands and feet chained.

  Sibelius stood by Harriet’s side. He grinned, his gold tooth flashing. Harriet smiled, too. “Reckon this lot can take care of them now,” she said. “We got to find our own.”

  Harriet and Sibelius bolted along the walkway, dodging the hordes of liberated children. They stopped when they came across a guard, bruised and bleeding, slumped against the cavern wall near a steel door. Harriet knelt down and shook his shoulders. “Hello mate,” she said. “You all right?”

  The battered man grunted. “They got free,” he managed wiping blood from the corner of his mouth before opening his eyes. “It’s you!”

  Harriet and Sibelius held him down as he struggled to resist. Sibelius took the guard’s gun and pointed it back at him. Harriet said, “Where can we find our mates – the aliens from the starship? How do we get to the prison?”

  The guard laughed, closing his eyes again, his head falling back against the stone. “You’re too late,” he said. “They’ve already been taken for hanging.”

  Harriet’s blood ran cold. She and Sibelius exchanged anxious glances. She could not speak. Sibelius rested his hand on her shoulder and grabbed the guard by the scruff of his neck.

  “Where?”

  “You’re too late.”

  Sibelius tightened his grip. “Where?” he said again, leaning closer to the injured man’s face and baring his teeth.

  The guard blanched, choking, and stammered, “In the Place of Assembly, opposite the front of the palace where the gallows are.”

  “Which way?”

  The guard lifted his weakening arm and pointed toward the steel door. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he slumped back, his body loose and his jaw slack.

  “Maybe we still got time,” said Harriet. “This way!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After Harriet had vanished down the pipe, Annabel had stared at the dark opening of the downpipe, dumbfounded.

  She had shouted down the tube. She had kicked it and stamped her foot. How dare she ignore me? They abandoned me! How could they do that? That wasn’t the plan. The plan was to stick together and… But she couldn’t deny it had been her choice not to go with them. And it was her jealousy at their friendship which had made her so obstinate. They have friends worth risking their lives for, she thought. And what do I have? Dusty old books, cold marble, servants and subjects.

  She kicked the pipe again. Her shoulders slumped. She recalled Sibelius’s gentle voice. “You are lonely, Annabel. Yet you are among friends.” How pitiful to resent their friendship because I’m lonely. How could I have been so senseless? They would be my friends if only I would allow it.

  She ran up to the downpipe and peered into the darkness. Maybe it’s not too late to follow them.

  “Welcome home, Princess,” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

  No! She span round to face him. Cranestoft stood two paces away, flanked by two armed soldiers. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard them approaching.

  “We saw you coming from a long way off,” he said, his eyes glittering beneath his craggy eyebrows. “With the aid of this.” He held up the vicinity scope. “Useful device,” he added, tapping it against his thigh. “Oh, and don’t worry, your alien friends will be… taken care of.”

  “What happened to the children, the rebels at the camp, to Josephine?”

  Cranestoft smirked. “There are no children; there is no camp, no… Josephine.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “No, I am not. There were children. They are no more. Rebellion will not be tolerated.”

  Annabel felt limp, as if her flesh would slip off her bones, too tired to cling to life. They’re all dead, she thought. All those poor children.

  Cranestoft waved a gloved hand. The soldiers marched forward. One carried a bottle, the other a dripping rag.

  “What’s that?” Annabel said. Then she recognized the smell. She’d used the stuff countless times in her lab.

  A strong arm grasped her around the waist. Another hand pulled her hair, bending her neck back. A damp cloth pressed over her nose and mouth. The sweet, floral odor of chloroform filled her nostrils, set her tongue tingling. But it was too late to struggle. Even as her mind signaled her body to fight or run, her limbs melted into lifelessness and the world blurred into sleep.

  Annabel woke in bed looking at a ceiling she had known all her life. She smelled soap, perfume and the comforting scent of cotton sheets. She blinked at the stucco plasterwork, at the ornate, gilded cornicing.

  Her body ached. Her mind was foggy. She wondered if she had dreamt th
e horrors of the last few days. For a brief and beautiful moment she dared to believe her father was still alive, and this was the beginning of a normal, happy day.

  But when she lifted her hand from beneath the bedclothes to brush a lock of hair from her eyes, she felt a bruised swelling on her forehead. Her fingers played over her face, tracing the cuts and scratches she had suffered in the forest.

  Am I alone?

  A deep and resonant voice answered her question. “Good afternoon, Princess.”

  Annabel’s chest tightened. Her heart fluttered, her hands trembling. She pushed herself up against the headboard. Pain shocked her, like an electrostatic current down her left side.

  “I hate you!” she said. She drew saliva into the back of her mouth as Cranestoft stepped toward her. She spat. The gobbet of spittle hit him square in the eye.

  The Regent flinched at the impact. He paused and then sighed as if indulging a toddler in a tantrum. Withdrawing a silk handkerchief from one of his pockets he said, “I see you have become as wild as the company you have recently kept, Princess.” He dabbed the spittle away, folding the handkerchief and returning it to his pocket. “Did you sleep well?”

  “What do you want? Why am I here?”

  “This is the palace. You are the princess. Must I explain?”

  “What have you done with the others?”

  The Regent stepped closer, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning in toward her. She smelled his peppermint breath. “Which others?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “My friends,” Annabel said, trying not to flinch. “The alien captain and her monkey friend. What did you do with them?”

  The Regent’s eyes narrowed. His lips pressed tight. “Alien captain? I see. That is what we thought. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She will soon languish in the palace dungeon. Just long enough for the hangman to prepare a noose. We might put the monkey in the city zoo.”

  “I know you want to kill me,” Annabel said. Her eyes flashed around the room. Apart from the Regent she was alone. His hand flexed on the hilt of his sword. “It is not proper,” she said, heart pounding, “that I should be with you without a chaperone. I demand my ladies-in – waiting. At least have Katy called.”

  The Regent straightened and took a step back. “You need not fear on that account,” he said. “I will leave you now. Your ladies-in-waiting will come and attend to your toilet. They will dress you in preparation to perform your royal duty.”

  “What is this?” Annabel said scrunching the bed sheets into her clenched fists. “I know you plan to kill me! I know you plan to kill me on the grounds of treason & scientosophy! You had me captured. Am I supposed to go on as if nothing has happened?”

  The Regent smirked, almost laughing, although his eyes were dark. He did not answer. He bowed, clicked his heels, turned and walked away.

  “Wait!” Annabel pushed back the covers and ran barefoot across the tiles, grabbing at his sleeve. Without turning round he yanked himself free. He dusted her touch off his garment as if batting away a fly.

  Annabel withdrew her hand, stung. The Regent walked to the door, opened it and left. The door closed behind him.

  Annabel looked about her. The room was as it had always been. She ran to the window. Her bedroom was at the top of a tower. She had a view over the Place of Assembly, across to the Throne Room balcony, and in the other direction, the State Prison. She shaded her eyes but could see little at that distance. The gallows remained and there was activity down there now; soldiers moving to and fro, the citizens gathering.

  I can’t stay here. What is he doing with me? she thought. I will not stay. I’ll escape again. This time he has made it easy for me.

  She ran from the bedchamber through her dressing room, throwing her wardrobe doors open. It was empty. She stamped in frustration. Where are my clothes? I don’t understand…

  There was a quick knocking at the door before it opened. Katy came in with two maids-in-waiting.

  After composing herself, Katy made a formal curtsy and then, propelled by an impulse she could no longer control, rushed to the princess, embracing her and kissing her on both cheeks.

  “Oh my! Oh my! Whatever have you been doing? I was beside myself with worry, Your Highness. And when they brought you back… Well, you should have seen the state you were in! I’m just happy to see you back safe and sound.”

  Annabel accepted the embrace. Dear Katy, she thought. I trust in your affection. She said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I have seen and heard terrible things, Katy.”

  “I’m sure you have, my poor lamb. But that’s all behind you now.”

  “I do not believe I am safe. Not even here. I cannot stay. I must get away as soon as I can. You must help me, Katy. You must.”

  The maid flushed, took a step back and looked at the marble floor. Her hands patted down her apron. “Whatever are you saying, Your Highness? You are upset that is all. You will soon be yourself again.”

  “Katy, don’t you understand? They mean to kill me. He means to kill me. Lord Cranestoft!” Annabel looked beyond the little huddle of maids, and then she understood. They were not alone in the room. Either side of the door stood two armed soldiers, their faces impassive. No doubt, she thought, they have their orders should I try to escape.

  Annabel backed away. “Where are my clothes?” she whispered.

  Katy flicked her wrist, indicating to the other two maids to step forward. They had her underclothes and a silken dress. One carried a jewelry box, and toiletries.

  “Here are your things,” said Katy. “But come now, behind the screen here.” She looked disapprovingly at the soldiers in the princess’s bedchamber. “We have little time. You still have your duties to perform, Your Highness.”

  Katy’s hands trembled as she fiddled with the corset. You’re lying, Annabel thought. There’s something you’re not telling me!

  “What duties? What do they want me to do now?”

  “I don’t know, Your Highness. You know, duties. Signing things, making speeches. Oh come, let us not make matters worse.”

  “I see,” Annabel said. “So I am a prisoner in my palace.”

  Annabel, defeated, allowed Katy and the other maids to lead her to the screen. Her body was numb and her mind anxious. The servants chattered and fussed as they removed her nightclothes, powdered her body with talcum, sprayed her with perfume, tied on her corsets and pulled the silken dress over her.

  I still don’t understand why they have not already killed me. Perhaps Lord Cranestoft doesn’t have support within the Court. Perhaps he has changed his plan.

  The maids brushed and plaited her hair, curling the braids, pinning them in place and decorating them with diamonds and pearls. They covered her bruises with powder and make-up.

  “There!” said Katy, stepping back and clasping her hands at her breast, admiring Annabel as if she were a work of art. “Now you look yourself again! Beautiful! Quite the proper princess!”

  “I have never been myself,” Annabel said. “I am not allowed.”

  But Katy’s face had changed. It had become pale and her lip trembled. “Whatever is it, Katy?” Annabel said.

  Katy only shook her head and turned her back to the princess, lifting a handkerchief to hide her face. Her shoulders rocked with silent sobs.

  “Katy?” Annabel put her hand out towards her maid, but the guards marched forward, and a stronger, rougher hand clasped her wrist and restrained her.

  “Unhand, me, soldier!” she said. “Katy!”

  Neither the soldiers nor Katy said a word. The soldiers flanked her, each gripping one of her upper arms tight enough to bruise, shoving her toward the door.

  Annabel twisted back toward her maid as the soldiers dragged her away. “Katy!” she shouted. “Katy!” But the ma
id did not turn back to her.

  She was out in the hall. The door to her chambers slammed behind her. A growing sense of unease turned to visceral dread. The guards escorted Annabel along the hallways of the palace and down a sweeping staircase to the ceremonial antechamber. Beyond the great double doors lay the Place of Assembly.

  A Royal Guard in ceremonial dress awaited her. Black and yellow flags bearing the phoenix hung from ornate flag poles. A mechanical trumpeting machine tooted the State Anthem. A red carpet rolled out down the flight of steps that led to the doors where servants in livery stood ready to haul them open.

  With their backs to the doors, in ceremonial military garb, replete with corded epaulets, badges of honor and plumed helms stood the Regent, Lord Cranestoft, and the Master of the Guard. They smiled. A drum roll sounded. The Music Master rewound the trumpeting machine. It tooted a processional marching tune.

  The soldiers escorted Annabel along the red carpet, lined on either side with the lords and ladies of the Court. They applauded her and bowed or curtsied as she walked past them. Through force of habit, despite her pounding heart and the perspiration breaking out beneath her cottons and silks, Annabel smiled and nodded in return.

  The music machine unwound. The soldiers released her and stepped back, bowing. She stood between the Regent and the Master of the Guard.

  “Your Highness?” said Cranestoft, offering his arm.

  In a kind of dream, a daze of sleepwalking easiness, Annabel slipped her arm into Cranestoft’s and walked with him, as the great doors swung back and the hall flooded with daylight.

  The Place of Assembly was dazzling. The sun blazed in the sky. The sand was blindingly white. A crowd of thousands had gathered around the periphery of the Place, perched on and behind the walls. Another machine wheezed and trumpeted and everyone sang the State Anthem.

  Mechanical birds of exquisite design rose into the skies and flew in formation, creating beautiful patterns in the air, spilling colored confetti in clouds over the heads of the applauding masses.