by Susan Moore
She blinked through the smoky haze to find a pink rat standing where the old man had been. It scurried off under the table.
A round of applause broke out around them. The elf took a bow.
“Rude goblin. He got what he deserved.”
She turned her attention back to Nat.
“Now then, where were we, my dear?” she said, as if nothing had happened.
Nat didn’t fancy being turned into a rat. She grabbed the nearest book. A cloud of dust flew up, making her sneeze. On the cover was an etched title in faded gold lettering. She brushed the rest of the dust away with her sleeve and blinked. Tiger’s teeth, was she seeing things? There on the cover were the words: “The Quest of Natalie Walker”.
Her hand began to tremble. She pinched the cover between her fingers and lifted it. A musty smell wafted up as it creaked open, but instead of finding pages she found that the book was hollow. Inside lay a miniature wooden canoe and golden egg.
“You like?” said the elf, stroking the edge of the box.
Nat reached in. The elf rapped her on the knuckles with the stick.
“Ai yah! Why did you do that?” said Nat, snatching away her throbbing hand.
“Fifty shillings first for my merchandise before you can handle it. As you can see it’s very special.”
The elf was looking at her with greedy, beady eyes. Nat fumbled through the layers of her dress, searching for a pocket. Nothing.
“I don’t have any money,” she said.
With a flip of her stick the elf closed the book.
“No money, no deal.”
“But it’s got my name on it!”
The elf shrugged. Despite her tiny frame she tugged the book out of Nat’s hands and landed it back on the pile.
“Fifty shillings,” she said, hopping on top of it.
“But how can I get the money?”
The elf folded her arms across her chest and sat down cross-legged on the book.
“If you need it badly enough you will find it. Then come back and see me.”
Zoinks, how could she get fifty shillings?
Nat turned and set off down a row of stalls piled high with vials and jars of luminous powders and liquids. Handwritten price tags were stuck to everything. Everything was for sale, so there had to be a way to somehow earn or win money. And where was Fizz? How in rats’ tails would she ever recognise him?
She came out into the centre of the square, where, on a raised stage, a green-faced man was wrestling a squat, fat, hairy creature. An elf was walking around the roped edges carrying a basket.
“I’ll place a bet!” shouted a woman in a hooded cloak standing next to Nat. She was waving a wad of money at the stage.
The elf walked over.
“Twenty says the troll wins,” said the cloaked woman, throwing the money into the basket.
The green-faced man grabbed the troll and threw him to the floor where he lay, winded. There was a whoop from the crowd, but just as the green man threw his fist up in the air for victory, the troll sprang up, knocking the man clean off his feet.
Nat winced. That must have really hurt. The green man had been knocked unconscious.
The troll started to dance a fast jig. The crowd groaned. The troll threw his fist into the air.
“The winner!” said the elf, handing the troll a handful of cash.
A few people peeled away. The elf paid off the winning bets in the crowd and walked over to the cloaked woman. She reached into the basket.
“Forty back.”
Nat looked longingly at the money. She needed fifty.
“Anyone want to fight the troll?” shouted the elf.
There were murmurs in the crowd. The troll started to jump up and down, beating his chest like a caveman. No one came forward. Nat pictured the wooden canoe and golden egg in the book that had her name on the front.
“I will,” she said.
The elf ran over and offered her a hand on to the stage as gales of laughter and jeering broke out on all sides. People started shouting, waving wads of cash at the elf.
“Thirty on the troll to win!”
“Forty on the troll!”
“Fifty on the troll!” came the shouts.
Not one bid came in for her.
The troll moved in close, sniffing her like a dog. She clasped her nose and recoiled from his stink of stale sweat and fetid cheese. The crowd swelled and the laughing became even louder.
“A girl against a troll, ha, ha ha!”
It was hard to size him up because of all the hair. She wasn’t sure if he was muscular or just plain fat. Speed was probably her only advantage.
“All bets are in. Let the fight begin!” said the elf.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE TROLL
The troll didn’t wait for Nat’s first move. He put his head down like a bull and charged straight at her, barrelling along so fast that she had no time to react.
“Ouf!” she cried as he slammed her to the ground.
That hurt. Real physical pain shot through her back and legs. She’d never felt pain like it in virtual reality before.
The crowd cheered. The troll beat his chest, claiming victory. Nat had to get up. Fast. Turning on to her side she tried to jump up but her foot caught in her skirts. She fell back, hitting the stage floor with a thud.
More laughter erupted, more money exchanged hands. Nat crawled to her feet. The troll had his back to her. She took a run at him, leaping into the air, legs ready to high-kick him at his shoulder. But as she extended her legs they tangled up in her skirts. She crashed into the troll, landing on top of him.
More whooping sounds from the crowd. The troll roared underneath. He pushed off the wooden boards with his squat legs, jettisoning Nat up into the air, catapulting her out into the crowd.
“Ai yah!”
Hands caught her, lowering her to the ground.
“You done, are you? You’ve earned me some good money!” said a warty goblin, clapping her on the back.
“She’s not done; she’s not even started!”
Nat turned to find a caped golden dragon at her side.
“Fizz?” she said.
He was the same height as her. His scales were shining with a violet tint. “We need the money. Get in there and win.”
“I don’t stand a chance.”
Fizz reached down, grabbed the hem of Nat’s dress and ripped it with his talons, tearing off strips, until the long dress became a mini.
“Jamuka trained you to fight,” he said. “She’s coming back in!”
The crowd groaned and jeered. Nat thought of Jamuka, the fifty shillings, the book with her name on it. She climbed back on to the stage.
Now her legs were free to move like they did in the Junko’s dojo. She squatted down into horse stance and opened her arms out wide, adjusting her fingers into tiger-claw position. The crowd whistled.
The troll took one look at her and snorted. He pawed a foot at the ground, put his head down and charged at her again.
Nat brought her hands in towards her chest, channelling chi energy to a central point. The troll was closing in on her fast. She focused on his hairy head. Just as he was about to butt her she whipped out her right arm, slicing it through the air in a lightning-quick flash of explosive power. The energy flowed into her clawed fingers as she smacked the side of the troll’s head.
He flew across the ring with a roar, hitting the ropes and then the floor. The crowd gasped.
For a moment the troll lay on his back, stunned. He blinked, grunted and got back to his feet. Steam started to blast out of his nostrils and his eyes turned red with anger.
“Throw me the cloth!” Nat shouted at Fizz.
He bunched up the strips of green velvet from her dress and threw them over the ropes. She caught them as the troll beat his chest and let out a deafening roar. Adrenalin was now pulsing through her body.
The troll put his head down and charged again. The boards of the ring wer
e shaking under his weight as he thundered towards her. Nat let the strips drop down from her hand. If he was a bull, then she was the bullfighter.
She raised them in front of her. Just as the troll drew close she whisked them to one side. He followed the movement of the cloth and charged towards it. She sprang off one foot, popping her other leg up and around, executing a perfect flying kick straight at his head.
The crowd gasped as her slipper met his skull with a loud THWACK! The troll crashed back to the floor, making it shudder and shake.
Nat crouched down, waiting for him to get up, but he lay there unmoving, out cold. The crowd whispered words of disbelief.
“The girl is the winner!” announced the elf.
The crowd groaned and grunted in collective disappointment. They’d lost their bets. From the other side of the stage came the clacking sound of a pair of talons clapping.
“Your winnings,” said the elf, handing Nat a huge pile of paper cash. “My take is thirty per cent. Come back any time.”
Nat took the money. The paper was warm and sweaty. She counted it quickly – five hundred and twenty shillings. More than enough to buy the book.
“Jamuka would have been proud,” said Fizz, helping her down from the ring.
She smiled. “He taught me well.”
The troll was skulking off the stage behind her. He caught her eye and scowled at her.
“I can buy the book now. It’s got my name on it. Come.”
She clasped his talon in her hand.
“I feel majestic being the same size as you,” said Fizz.
She guided him along the row of stalls, clutching the money tight in her palm. The elf was up ahead still in the same position – cross-legged on her book. Her beady eyes zoomed in on Nat.
“Aha, back again so quick? Needing that which bears your name, Natalie Walker?”
Nat pointed to the book the elf was sat on.
“That’s what I’m buying,” she said, counting off fifty shilling-notes from her winnings.
She held them out to the elf, but instead of taking them the elf’s stick shot out, coming to rest on the top of the bundle of money.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE QUEST
The elf stood on tiptoe. Her eyes bulged at the sight of Nat’s pile of cash.
“My price has gone up. I’ll take all that you have for the book.”
Nat shook her head.
“Zoinks, no way!”
The elf cackled.
“Then you shan’t have the book.”
“You must honour your deal,” said Fizz.
The elf turned and glared at him.
“It’s none of your business, dragon. This is between the girl and me.”
Fizz snorted out a plume of smoke. “That is where you are wrongly informed, elf.”
Nat looked at the money. She might need more for her quest and it had been very hard won.
“I will pay you double what you asked for. A hundred shillings,” she said, counting out the notes and stuffing the rest into the sash of her dress.
The elf’s lip curled as she lifted her stick.
“Come closer, girl.”
Her bony fingers reached out and pulled Nat in. Nat could smell her breath; a foul, rotting meat stench filtering out between yellowing, sharp teeth.
“Book for the hundred shillings plus all that money you just stuffed in your dress.”
Nat tried to pull back but the elf, despite her tiny frame, had a very strong grip on her dress. They were eye to eye now. She blinked; even up close the creature seemed so real – the stinky breath, the beady eyes, the skin.
Quick as a flash Fizz’s claw flew out from his cloak. He grabbed the elf around the waist and jerked her up sharply off the book, into the air. She squealed, letting go of Nat’s dress.
“Put me down, you odorous dragon!” screamed the elf, wriggling to free herself from his vice-like grip.
“Take the book, leave fifty shillings and scram,” Fizz said to Nat.
“But what about y—”
“GO! I will find you,” he said, trying to contain the furious elf, whose face was getting redder and redder.
Nat put down the full hundred shillings, grabbed the book and ran into the crowd.
Behind her she heard an ear-splitting screech. A loud thunderclap ripped through the air. Sparks flew and flames flashed across the market.
They were followed by a loud screech.
“You’ll regret this, girl! Never mess with an elf!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE SPY
Beetlebot Alpha scuttled over to the throne and climbed on to Ivy’s lap.
“I have a spy report that I thought prudent to bring to your attention,” it said in its raspy voice.
Ivy reached for the cup of cold Russian caravan tea next to her and took a sip.
“Go ahead, Alpha.”
The beetlebot’s hard shell lit up and turned into a screen the size of a small, round handbag mirror. Nat and Fizz appeared, hopping off a Slider outside Leadenhall Market. She watched them walk in across the cobbles to the Bean Invaders café. They were talking but Alpha wasn’t close enough for her to be able to hear what they were saying above the din of the crowd. A man with striped hair walked over to them.
“Who’s that?” she said.
“He is anonymous, ma’am. Very well cloaked and not on record anywhere online.”
She watched them walk into Bean Invaders, go behind the counter and disappear.
“They went in and didn’t come out again. I waited until the market gates closed.”
“Why didn’t you follow them?” Ivy said, slugging back the rest of the tea and grabbing a large slice of jam sponge.
“The café repelled me. It has been smart-skinned against robotic surveillance techniques, just like the Junko. I tried several different approaches, but each time I was pinged back on to the cobbles. On the last ping I sustained damage to a wing tip and retreated.”
Ivy’s mind was racing. She had no idea who the man was, let alone why the Walker girl and her dragon had disappeared inside the café. She started to drum her fingers on the desktop, her heavy gold rings clanging together.
“Call Saskia, and get her in here. There are more pieces to this puzzle than I thought.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
MRS STALICK
Nat removed the VR glasses to find Philippe leaning over her, his forehead concertinaed with concern.
“Bon dieu!” he said, taking the glasses from her. “Are you OK?”
Nat blinked, assimilating back into the real world of the lab. Her mind was buzzing; her nerves were jangling. Philippe released the suit attachments from the VR chair and helped her to sit up. Every muscle in her body ached. Fizz swooped in to perch on her shoulder.
“You disappeared,” she said.
“I was ejected by that elf and couldn’t get back in. What about the book?”
“I ran to the edge of the square and opened it, but the second I lifted the cover I blacked out and found myself back here.”
“Tell me all,” said Philippe.
She and Fizz recounted the adventure.
“You are on a quest,” said Philippe. “That must be stage one completed. What I am concerned about is that the rest is still under construction.”
She reached for the glasses that he’d placed on the desk, but he blocked her.
“I want to go back in, now!” she protested.
He shook his head. “No, you must rest, Natalie.”
She didn’t need rest; she wanted to find out what was going to happen next.
“You need to rehydrate, eat and sleep. Do you have any idea how long you were in there?”
Nat frowned. “I don’t know. Twenty minutes?”
Philippe shook his head and showed her his watch. The digital readout glowed 6.53pm.
“That can’t be right.”
“Four hou
rs forty-one minutes and ten seconds,” said Fizz. “The quest has calibrated time.”
“What? Why?”
Philippe ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends.
“It must be so that the body can cope with the human energy required for the quest.”
No wonder she felt stiff.
“Mrs Stalick from Boxbury will be arriving at the Junko in seventeen minutes to help you pack,” said Fizz.
Reality hit her like a hammer. She’d have to get back otherwise there’d be big trouble.
“Zoula! We’ll come back tomorrow,” she said, sliding off the chair and unzipping her suit.
“Mr Limpet said you can only leave Boxbury at exeat weekends.”
She sighed. “We’ll find a way.”
By the time she reached St Katharine Docks a blue Boxbury Overrider was already pulled up alongside the Junko’s gangplank.
“Tiger’s teeth!” she said, bringing her Slider to an abrupt halting hover along the quay. She jumped down on to the cobbles. “You’ll have to park it up on deck for me.”
Nat sprinted to the edge of the water, took a flying leap on to the barge moored behind the Junko, ran across its roof and dived in through her open porthole on to her bunk.
Someone was rapping loudly on her cabin door.
“Natalie, Natalie!” called a woman’s voice.
Nat ruffled her hair and messed up her bed, then hopped across the rug and opened the door. A small woman with short grey hair and wearing a blue and brown striped suit was standing with Ah Ping behind her.
“Sorry,” Nat said with a yawn. “I was asleep.”
“Ah, you poor thing,” said the lady. “I’m Mrs Stalick from Boxbury. I’ve come to collect you. Have you packed everything?”
She was looking around the cabin.
“Um, no, not yet.”
“Well, I’ll help you then. We’ve got to get back to Boxbury in thirty minutes for supper. Where’s your case?”
