by Susan Moore
He’d been in her life ever since she was born. Her parents had chosen him to raise her. All the things he’d taught her, and was still meant to teach. Who was going to do that now? A sharp stab of pain pierced her heart.
Chapter Eighteen
URGENT MESSAGE
“What time is it?” said Nat, stirring in her bunk.
“Four sixteen am,” said Fizz.
She opened an eye. Outside it was still dark. For a moment she comforted herself by imagining everything that had happened was just a nightmare. She’d get up, Jamuka would be on deck meditating, Gobi would be—
“Where’s Gobi?” she said, sitting up.
Fizz disconnected from his Spiderwire charge-up and swooped on to her shoulder.
“Ah Ping put her in the galley last night and gave her extra bugs for supper.”
Nat swung her legs off the bunk and made her way across the rug towards the door. She reeled into the corridor wall with a bump.
“Careful!” said Fizz, flapping his wings.
“Rats’ tails, I’m not having any more medication off that doctor,” she said.
She was about to walk into the galley when she stopped, turned back and headed to Jamuka’s cabin. The door stood ajar. She took a deep breath, pushed it open and flicked on the light. Someone had stripped the bed. Bare wooden slats stood on view where once there had been a mattress. Everything else was where it always was – the black lacquered frame mirror above his desk, the blown-up photograph of Dragon Khan crossing the finishing line in first position on the wall, his leather slippers on the shelf below his wardrobe. Even with the porthole wide open the cabin still smelled of the jade incense that he burned each evening.
She walked over to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that his FastPad was still there. She picked up the wafer-thin tablet and closed the drawer. She turned, averting her eyes from the empty bed, and strode quickly out of the room, closing the door behind her.
In the galley, Gobi was asleep on her perch, her head tucked under her wing, her feathers plumed out to keep warm. Nat reached over and closed the porthole. Fizz landed on Gobi’s cage and mimicked her chirping. She peeped up over her wing but didn’t join in. Nat noticed that her feeding tray was still full of bugs.
She unhooked the cage and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl.
“Let’s head back to my cabin. It’s warmer in there.”
She landed the cage on her bunk and climbed under the duvet. Fizz had stuck his snout through the bars of the cage and was blowing warm air at Gobi.
The banana didn’t look appetising but Nat peeled it and made herself eat it, even though she still felt sick. She washed it down with the rest of the glass of water that sat next to her bed.
Jamuka’s FastPad lay in front of her. She picked it up, running her fingers over the screen. A photo of them both in Mongolia on their horses popped up. Snow was falling, they were standing in a clearing in a pine forest, dressed in thick, long coats, curved-toe boots and big, round fur hats. Jebe, the wolf, was in the background, his black fur making him more shadow than real against the white snow. She wished she could go back in time to that very moment.
“What am I looking for?” she said.
Fizz lifted his snout. “Your future.”
She looked at him. “Zoinks! That’s deep.”
His eyes glowed purple. “I learned it from Star Wars Episode Twenty-One, ‘The Beginning of the End’. Do you think it’s appropriate that I have used it in this context?”
She paused, asking herself why she was really doing this.
“Yes, but I need to unlock the past before I can find my future.”
“That’s deep too.”
She began to navigate through Jamuka’s messages. It was the usual load of administrative stuff that he was always dealing with. She was about to move on to his file system when a new message came pinging in, with an “urgent” sign flashing in red. She clicked on it.
From: Philippe LaPlante
To: Jamuka Borjigin
Subject: Re: Urgent – BlackCod
BlackCod is still in development. Max’s architecture is challenging. Not ready yet for Natalie. Thought we still had three years to go to get it ready. I can maybe accelerate to get it done in two more years, before that it is a half-baked game that would be impossible for her to navigate. Sincerely, Philippe.
Sent: April 14th 11.58pm
To: Philippe LaPlante
From: Jamuka Borjigin
Subject: Urgent – BlackCod
Philippe, there have been some developments regarding the sword. What is the status of BlackCod? Regards, Jamuka.
“Do you know who this is, Fizz?” she said, holding up the FastPad.
Fizz scanned the message. His eyes flashed red while he searched the Net.
“Negative. The email address is to a blocked domain, so I don’t have access to who owns it. There are eleven thousand six hundred and eighty-two people by the name of Philippe LaPlante. They mostly reference addresses based in France.”
“What about BlackCod?”
His snout twitched.
“Black cod is a fish.”
“Send Philippe a message from me, but copy this one in as well. Tell him what has happened – your short version, please – and that I need to speak with him as soon as possible. Got it?”
Fizz lifted a wing and saluted her.
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Chapter Nineteen
ICE SKATING
Ivy pulled on her fur-trimmed warrior suit. It strained at the seams thanks to all the extra cakes she’d been eating lately. It’d been a while since she’d been down into the basement of Shiversand Towers to work out, but now, with the girl in town, there was a definite chance she’d get her hands on the right sword. She could feel it in her bones. So she needed to get into better shape to be prepared for all eventualities.
The way Natalie Walker’s guardian had tried to persuade her that the sword wouldn’t bestow the power and youth that she knew it would, the more certain she was that Catherine Walker had found the sword and had hidden it somewhere for her brat to find.
It’d been easy to remove the guardian from her path. He was so polite that even after their heated argument he’d taken tea with her. A lethal powder slipped quickly into the cup and bingo! A heart attack and he was gone.
She took the secret elevator from her armour room. When the doors opened, she stepped into a floodlit ice rink.
Alfonso, her personal trainer, was waiting for her on the edge, holding her skates.
“Saskia here yet?” she said.
He shook his head and escorted her over to a velvet-covered throne. She sat down and lifted a foot up. Alfonso knelt down and placed it inside one of her fur skating boots. He laced it up and did the same with the other. The signature drumbeat from WarZworld started to play over the speakers.
The very sound of it made her feel ready for battle.
Ivy got to her feet, balancing on the blades. The boots felt tight on the ankle. Alfonso handed her a fencing sword, a shield with the WarZworld “Z” logo on the front and a protective face guard.
“Ready, ma’am?” he said, grabbing the same equipment for himself.
“Indeed,” she said, pushing past him and launching herself on to the ice.
She would never be as good as her championship-winning parents but she knew all the moves after a childhood spent on the ice.
“Couple of warm-up laps, ma’am, then let us begin.”
She really was out of shape. She broke into a tsunami of sweat on the warm-up.
Once around the rink was enough. She moved into the centre where Alfonso stood waiting.
“Let’s just get on with it,” she said, catching her breath.
Alfonso pulled his face guard down, raising his sword and shield. She did the same. Battle time.
“En garde!” he said.
He waited for her to make the first move
. She swiped the sword to the right and made a jab at him. He blocked it with his shield, deflecting her. She tried again, but already her arms felt like jelly.
He took his turn and lunged forward. Ivy raised her shield at the same time as trying to skate backwards, but she was so out of practice that her blades slipped away in opposite directions. Her legs were not strong enough to bring them back in. She face-planted on to the ice.
Alfonso heaved her back up on to her skates.
“Mater!”
Ivy lifted her face guard to see Saskia marching across the ice in a purple camouflage-patterned dress. She had a look of thunder on her face.
“Limpet called me into his office. He told me that I am never to speak with, or go near, the Walker girl ever again. If I do, I shall be expelled. The humiliation of it, Mater!”
Ivy pursed her lips. “Did he say why?”
“He said it would be ‘too distressing for Miss Walker’ because our home was the last place her guardian visited prior to his death.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see! Everyone at school is talking about the Walker girl and her guardian dying, and they all somehow KNOW that they both visited our house! Everyone is whispering horrid things about us. Someone said they think we actually killed him!”
Ivy sucked in her breath. That was a bit close to the bone. She’d have to find a way to scotch that rumour.
“Now now, darling, people do jump to utterly ridiculous conclusions in times of trouble. Sit tight and the gossip will soon go away. I’ll call Mr Limpet and have a word.”
Saskia stamped her boot on the ice.
“You don’t understand, do you? It’s not just me. Limpet’s banned you from the school. He says if you ever set foot on Boxbury property he’ll expel me. He also suggested I might want to leave anyway, in light of the situation.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes and puffed up her chest. “That’s my alma mater! How dare he!”
She threw her fencing sword at Alfonso and skated off the ice. She didn’t bother removing her skates as she stomped off into the elevator. It was time to pay Mr Limpet a visit.
Chapter Twenty
BEAN INVADERS
Nat reread Philippe’s email and climbed out of her hammock. She didn’t have much time so she ran across the deck, through the hatch and down to the galley.
“You OK? I make cake,” said Ah Ping, handing Nat a plate on which sat a thick slice of freshly baked plum cake. It smelled of sweet warmth, of life.
“Thanks, Ah Ping.”
She grabbed a can of cherry juice from the fridge and headed down the corridor, back to her cabin. A fug of sandalwood incense hung in the air, making her cough. Ah Ping must be cleansing the boat of ghosts.
She closed her cabin door.
“Have you got the full directions?” she asked Fizz, sitting on her bunk and breaking off a piece of cake.
“Yes. Philippe has sent them. We are to meet him at Bean Invaders café in the City. We must leave now to be there in time.”
“Can you fetch my Slider, please? I’ll meet you at the main entrance to the dock.”
Fizz saluted her with his wing. “Aye aye, Captain!” he said, flying out of the porthole.
Nat hung a tattered old “Do Not Disturb” sign from the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong outside her door and locked it behind her. She didn’t want Ah Ping to know she’d gone out. She set a playlist on loop through the speakers above her bunk. Ah Ping wouldn’t try to get in and check on her if she could hear music playing.
The warmest jacket she possessed was the dragon waterproof that Wen had created using her 3D printer. Nat took it off the hanger and put it on, making sure it was zipped up against the London drizzle.
The rain was to her advantage. It had driven away the latest batch of tourists that had gathered at the quay to photograph the boat. She was able to easily slip out through her porthole unnoticed and run up to meet Fizz.
He was waiting at the entrance to the tunnel under the road, perched on the handlebars, keeping the Slider in hover mode. Nat crammed on her helmet and jumped up.
“Zoula!” she said, setting off at a fast clip through the tunnel.
Under Fizz’s directions she zoomed up through the City to the Slider entrance to Leadenhall Market. A valet parking attendant was on duty. She jumped down and handed her Slider over.
“Jolly fine dragon,” he said as Fizz flew up from the handlebars to his perch on her shoulder.
Fizz fluttered his wings and made a short bow.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“Show off,” whispered Nat, heading into the market. She stopped in her tracks. “Zoinks! This place is ancient.”
A cobbled street lit by gas lamps lay ahead. It was lined with glass-and tile-fronted shops. Each shop had a gold nameplate over it in fancy writing. A glass and iron roof arched overhead. Women were milling about in smart dresses and large hats decorated with plumes of feathers. Many of the men wore super-tall top hats wrapped with thick, brightly coloured satin ribbons.
“I like this place. They have dragons,” said Fizz.
She looked to where his snout was pointing. On top of a gold and purple pillar stood a carved silver dragon with its wings spread.
“Bean Invaders is the fourth shop on the right.”
They set off towards a small sign showing an ancient Space Invader alien holding a cup of steaming coffee. A few rows of metal chairs and tables stood outside. They were occupied with crowds of people, drinking coffee from Bean Invader cups.
“Tiger’s teeth, how will we ever find LaPlante here?” she said.
“With no visual identity of him anywhere online, it may prove bamboozling,” said Fizz.
“No one must know me,” said a deep French voice behind them.
Nat jumped in surprise. She spun round to find a slight, pale man dressed in an old-fashioned green lab coat with a Bean Invaders badge stuck on the pocket. He had brown and red striped hair and thick, square glasses. If he didn’t want anyone to know him then she thought he might want to lose the stripes.
“Please follow quick,” he said.
He led them inside the café to a long counter stacked with cakes, muffins and cookies in jars. An industrial coffee maker was humming, buzzing and steaming alongside a giant yellow Space Invaders robot that was serving the customers. The laser firing sounds from the old game played over the speakers, while the robot hummed a sci-fi movie tune.
“Ku!” said Nat.
The robot heard her voice, turned, raised its mouth into a smile and winked at her. It stopped humming, then started again with “Twinkle, twinkle, little star”. The people in the queue burst out laughing.
“That’s a first,” said one of the customers.
But for Nat, the ghost box had sprung open. That was the nursery rhyme in an old film she had. The one where they were all on the deck of the Junko, her dad at the wheel, her mum holding her as they lounged in the hammock next to him. When she couldn’t sleep at night, even now, that was the one she asked Fizz to replay for her again and again.
Chapter Twenty-One
BLACKCOD
“Hurry,” said LaPlante, pushing on one of the mirror panels in the back wall. It swung inwards and he stepped through into a tiny brightly lit kitchen.
She wondered why LaPlante had brought her in here. He said he would be showing them some kind of laboratory but this was a kitchen with a sink, fridge, bin and a rack of shelves laden with plates, cups and napkins. A massive coffee grinder stood in the corner. Next to it stacks of coffee-bean sacks were piled high, up to the ceiling. The smell of coffee was so strong it made her feel light-headed.
The mirrored door slammed shut behind her. Now LaPlante was opening the fridge.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Follow me. We’re going to the lab,” said LaPlante, stepping inside the fridge.
Nat reached the fridge door. Her jaw dropped. “Zoinks!”
Fizz let out a long, l
ow whistle. There were no racks, no food. In their place loomed the top of a spiral staircase. Cold air gusted up its metal steps.
Nat turned back to the kitchen. Normal world. She looked back into the fridge. Other world.
“Vite!” shouted LaPlante, his voice echoing up from below.
“Zoula,” she said, following him, her Slider boots clanging on the metal.
CLUNK! The fridge door slammed shut, leaving them in a dimmed half-light from the emergency footlights. Fizz’s eyes lit up in torch mode.
“I’ve lost my external communication connection,” said Fizz.
“Bon dieu, hurry or you will set off the security motion detectors and the system will lockdown!” shouted LaPlante.
Nat jumped down the last couple of steps. Her heart was hammering in her chest.
“Fizz, fly on ahead in torch mode,” she said, breaking into a run.
Fizz took off from her shoulder and took the lead. They turned a corner and entered a long blue-lit tunnel. It twisted and turned, sloping downwards, finally ending at a submarine-like open hatch.
Nat sprang off one foot at full pelt and came hurtling through into a dimly lit underground cavern. Her boots skidded to a stop on the smooth concrete floor. A musty, damp smell made her nose twitch.
She looked around her. Rusty tool racks jam-packed with old computer equipment towered up on all sides. Cables sprang up out of the floor in snaking clumps. Wires hung down from the ceiling in spaghetti strings. Long steel tables stood stacked high with plastic boxes, and dismembered robots lay in a sagging heap to one side. An ancient virtual-reality pod hung suspended over a sunken work pit.
