The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1)

by Stephen Colegrove

  A weight landed near her feet and Amy blinked at the gray light of morning that streamed from the window. The weight climbed along the quilt, passing her knees and waist, testing each step as carefully as a soldier in a minefield.

  Sunflower stuck his whiskers into Amy’s face and sniffed with his tiny pink nose.

  “I’m not dead,” murmured Amy. “You need to write these things down.”

  “How? Where am I going to keep a pen?”

  Amy sighed and closed her eyes. “I can think of a few places.”

  “How crude.” Sunflower curled up on Amy’s pillow. “I hid on top of a cupboard all night, and thank you for asking. The sacrifices I make for you …”

  “Why didn’t you sleep in here?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I already told you that operators don’t have to do that. The real reason is there are too many humans around, doing this or doing that. Luckily you hairless monkeys never look up, so it’s easy to hide on top of things.”

  “We still have hair, there’s just not enough to keep us warm,” said Amy. “That’s why we have to wear silly things like blue jeans and smelly wool jackets.”

  “Yes! Why do you have to smell so bad all the time? Take for example the bath yesterday. You came downstairs covered in a gassy cloud of roses, like you’d been doused with an entire planet’s worth of the disgusting stuff. Only a homeless cat addicted to poona juice would do something that crazy. I’m beginning to think you humans don’t even like your natural scent!”

  Amy chuckled. “At least we don’t sniff each other’s butts.”

  “Of course not! You don’t do anything right.”

  “Speaking of doing things right, don’t think I haven’t forgotten about that gold Super Nintendo,” said Amy. “You still owe me.”

  “That old thing? We’re in the wrong century and wrong continent.”

  “It’s still mine.”

  “What about the jewelry we’re going to liberate from your human friend? That should be enough to make you forget about that stupid gold prop from the future.”

  “I don’t know,” said Amy. “Maybe we don’t have to steal anything from his family. Maybe I want to stop taking things that aren’t mine, period. Too much stress and too many problems.”

  “Don’t get soft on me now! With the Lady after us, we’ll need to bring something back to her as a peace offering. Preferably many valuable somethings.”

  “But what if I want to stay here?”

  Sunflower blinked his green eyes. “I give up my Egypt plans and you’re the one who wants to stay?”

  “I’ve got a right to change my mind.”

  “It’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? You don’t want to leave him!”

  “He’s not my boyfriend and stop repeating yourself, Sunflower. You sound like a broken record.”

  The orange cat sighed. “So what was all that stuff about the gold Super Nintendo? And don’t forget, if you stay here you’ll never see your family again.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, does that help? I want to go back, but I don’t want to go back. I know what I want but not how to get it. Half my brain is saying one thing, and half another thing.”

  “Too much rose gas is what my brain says,” murmured Sunflower. “You should really look into that.”

  Amy turned onto her stomach and jammed her face into the pillow.

  “Thanks for the advice,” came her muffled reply.

  Chapter Twelve

  Philip had suggested leaving for Yorkshire as early as possible, so the morning turned busy far faster than Amy would have liked. Jane brought her a tray with a cup of strong tea and a plate of two fried eggs, sausage, sliced tomatoes, and a scoop of something Jane called “bubble and squeak,” which looked and tasted like a mix of refried vegetables and potatoes from yesterday’s dinner. After Amy finished breakfast, the maids brushed and re-braided her blonde hair and helped her wear the yellow dress from the day before.

  Farewells were polite and reserved. Mark pulled away slightly and his face turned red after Amy squeezed him in a tight embrace.

  “Thanks for letting me keep the clothes,” said Amy.

  The butler bowed his head. “Considering the situation, I’m certain Her Ladyship would want you to have them.”

  The two teenage maids grinned after Amy hugged them.

  “Don’t be bothered by it, Miss Armstrong,” said Jane. “She never liked that dress anyway.”

  Mark sent one of the girls out to the cab stand. A few minutes later, a two-wheeled black hansom pulled by a chestnut mare stopped in front of the house. The driver climbed down from his perch at the back of the cab and held out a hand to assist Amy into the small box of a compartment that was covered on all sides but the front. She and Philip took up both seats while Betsy and Sunflower sat on their laps. The driver stepped up behind them, took the reins in his hands, and clicked his mouth, causing the chestnut mare to snort and trot away. Amy waved at Mark and the young maids as the hansom bounced along the cobblestones.

  Betsy looked up at Philip. “Can I talk now?”

  “Please, don’t. The driver might hear you.” He turned to Amy. “How was breakfast?”

  “It was great, thank you, although I could die for a glass of orange juice.”

  Philip squinted at her. “Does that you mean you want orange juice, or not?”

  “Thanks for asking how I’m feeling,” said Sunflower. “Which is awful, by the way.”

  “It means I’d like a glass. But don’t worry about it.”

  Philip nodded. “Tropical fruits aren’t as common in London as they are in California. My family has an orangerie––they were all the rage years ago––but it’s May and I’m afraid nothing will be ripe.”

  The cab rattled over the streets and through intersections packed with horse-drawn transport of all shapes and sizes, directed by policemen on raised stands in the center of traffic, arms waving like marionettes and high-pitched silver whistles between their teeth. The traffic was far more furious than Amy expected, with pedestrians dodging between carriages and few laws apparently governing the speed and passing behavior of the equestrian mob. Steel-shod wheels rattled, horses in blinders stamped their hooves and whinnied, and drivers snapped whips and shouted all manner of epithets at all manner of people under the gray morning sky. Guards in red jackets and black bearskin hats stood at the front entrances of official-looking limestone buildings. Shopkeepers in black ties and white aprons swept the sidewalks. Schoolboys in blue caps and coats stampeded by, carrying stacks of books tied with rope over a shoulder. Children dressed in ragged clothing stood at busy corners with brooms in hand, waiting to sweep horse manure out of the path of well-dressed men in exchange for a farthing or two.

  “It’s almost like Junktown,” said Amy. “Apart from all the people, the buildings, and not being inside an asteroid slash spaceship. In space.”

  Philip laughed. “You must be joking, because that’s everything.”

  “Not exactly,” said Sunflower. “I’ve seen hundreds of cats in London, and not one of them is smarter than a hair on the tip of my tail.”

  “I met one!” barked Betsy. “His name is Mr. Bismarck and he lives in a box!”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Shush, both of you,” whispered Philip.

  The crenelated spires of a four-story Italianate structure of red brick rose on the north side of the street to Amy’s left. A square tower with large clock faces stood on the far corner, its roof covered in gray-blue tiles that matched the color of the overcast sky.

  Amy pointed at the tower. “Is that King’s Cross Station?”

  “Not quite,” said Philip. “It’s a hotel that fronts St. Pancras. King’s Cross adjoins it.”

  They passed an intersection staffed by an energetic traffic constable and pulled to the curb behind a long line of horse-drawn cabs, each emptying a load of passengers. Beyond an open-air cement plaza stood a more modest building with a plain
rectangular facade of beige limestone. Two huge half circles of paned glass bracketed a clock tower, and made Amy think of a nose separating massive eyes. Through the half-moon “eyes” she saw the glass-covered galleries over the railway platforms and clouds of white steam.

  Philip paid the cab driver. He escorted Amy and their two animal companions––who for the sake of appearance wore a collar and leash––into the station and purchased a pair of first-class tickets.

  Instead of sitting in the stuffy and tiny first class waiting room, Amy went out to the platform to watch the monstrous black engines roll into the station, wheezing and puffing like asthmatic iron beasts. After a final screech of brakes, the polished wooden doors of the carriages swung open and freed a swarm of determined, briskly walking travelers.

  “Strange to see so many doors,” said Amy. “One for every compartment.”

  Philip laughed. “Those are the first class carriages. The second class are more closely packed together, with only one entrance at each end of the carriage. We won’t have to worry about that, thank goodness, because we’ve got proper seats.”

  “Can I ride with you, Philip?” whispered Betsy. “Or do I have to wait in a hole like last night?”

  “Of course you can stay with us. There isn’t anything like a hole when it comes to a train.”

  “You obviously don’t know Betsy,” murmured Sunflower. “I think the Lady gave him a special ‘hole-finding radar.’ ”

  Amy pointed up at the curved steel beams and glass panes above. “It seems like a waste to have such a huge roof covering the whole station.”

  “Not with our English weather it isn’t,” said Philip. “It’s much safer and convenient to embark out of the pouring rain, especially for the ladies who travel.”

  Their train arrived a quarter-hour before departure, hissing with steam and shaking the concrete platform below Amy’s feet. Porters in dark green jackets and brimmed caps arrived and helped the arriving passengers exit the carriages and to cart away the substantial amount of luggage on metal dollies.

  Unlike the silver Amtrak trains that Amy had seen streaking through the Salinas Valley, the carriages were all wood. Each compartment was separate from the others, and had no interior hallway. A door on either side of the compartment served as entrance and exit.

  Philip found the appropriate carriage and held Amy’s hand as she lifted her skirt and stepped carefully up and through the high door. The interior of the compartment was lined in polished walnut and the seats were heavily padded chestnut leather.

  Amy sat down and sighed.

  “Good gravy! I hate long skirts, especially with these boots.”

  Philip grinned. “Please don’t say that, Miss Armstrong. You look absolutely beautiful.”

  “You’ll sing a different tune if I slip and fall on my face. There’s a high chance of that happening, since this outfit is basically made for two things: sitting and standing.”

  Betsy jumped into the carriage, followed by Sunflower.

  “Are you two lovebirds arguing?” asked the orange cat. “I love watching humans yell at each other.”

  Betsy barked. “Yeah! It’s like a weird little show!”

  “Keep quiet, you two,” whispered Amy. “People can see through the windows, and someone else might sit next to you.”

  Philip held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Mark gave me enough money to purchase four tickets. The animals can talk freely once we leave the station.”

  “I’m glad at least one of you humans knows what he’s doing,” said Sunflower. “Such a bright thing he is.”

  “Too bad you two will have to split up,” said Betsy. “It’s like a movie!”

  Amy sighed. “I’d like another seat. Preferably at the other end of the train from these two.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Philip.

  “When are you getting married?” asked Betsy.

  Sunflower licked an orange paw. “Today, I bet. That’s why they want to get away from us.”

  “I’ll tell you when,” said Amy. “Right after cats fly.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Maybe. Just don’t go near open windows. Or be on a speeding train.” Amy held a finger to her lips. “Wait a sec––there’s a window … and you’re on a train. That’s too much of a coincidence.”

  Sunflower curled up on the seat. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point. You don’t have to rub it in.”

  Betsy scrambled over to the window and put his paws on the glass. “Did you guys hear that?”

  “Was it the sound of my life slipping through my paws?” murmured Sunflower through his tail. “Because that’s definitely happening.”

  “No, it was more of a pew-pew, boom-boom, oh-god-help-me kind of sound.”

  Philip shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything strange. One of the porters must have dropped a package.”

  “Maybe,” said Betsy. “It must have really hurt, though, because he wasn’t happy. Not even a little bit.”

  “Welcome to the club,” murmured Sunflower.

  Doors slammed, conductors shouted warnings, and the whistle blew. The train shuddered forward with a wheeze and slowly pulled out of the covered glass tunnel of the station. Amy waved at a pair of young girls standing outside the station with an older woman, but they were pointing at something behind the train.

  “Does anyone smell a fire?” asked Philip.

  “Even I know this is a steam train,” said Amy. “It basically runs on fire.”

  “Not that kind of smell. This is a heavier kind of smoke.”

  A red flash lit the sky. A half-second later, a roll of thunder vibrated the compartment windows.

  Sunflower opened his eyes. “Uh, oh.”

  “I thought you got rid of that thing!” yelled Amy.

  “I did!”

  A pair of windows bracketed each door to the compartment. Philip jerked up the sash of the nearest and stuck his head out. Amy tossed her wide-brimmed hat onto a seat and opened the other window.

  A breeze tossed strands of her hair as the train clanked along the rails at little more than a horse trot. A column of black smoke rose from the railway station behind them.

  A window in the next compartment slid up and a gray-haired man in a bowler hat leaned out, just in time to see another red flash. Glass panes fell from the roof of the station and shattered on the platforms. Another stream of smoke rose into the sky, boiling orange with heat and flame.

  “It’s on fire, by Jove,” said the man in the bowler hat. “Look there!”

  A tiny silver octopus floated through the fiery cloud, linked to the station by a crimson ray of light. Steel beams turned yellow and white and twisted into ghastly curls under the crimson ray, and the pair of curved gallery roofs collapsed in an explosion of glass and smoke.

  “Come and have a look,” said Amy. She grabbed Sunflower and held him halfway out the window.

  The man in the bowler hat pointed at the inspector. “That’s the Aldgate demon! The German scourge!”

  “It’s not from Germany and it’s definitely not a demon, I can tell you that,” yelled Sunflower.

  “Thanks for that, Kitten Obvious,” said Amy. “But if this train doesn’t move any faster, we’re all going to that great big recycling bin in the sky.”

  The bowler-hatted man looked back at Philip and Amy, and the orange tabby clinging to the window frame.

  “Great what in the sky?”

  Sunflower sniffed. “You heard what she said, buster.”

  “She said recycling!” barked Betsy from inside the compartment.

  The man pointed a trembling finger at Amy. “Am I going mad, young miss, or did your cat just speak?!!”

  Philip cleared his throat. “Sir, a killer robot from the future is pursuing this train. Talking pets are the least of your problems.”

  The train rapidly increased speed, either through luck or the actions of a quick-thinking engineer. The inspector dwindled into a silver dot against the columns of smoke and f
inally disappeared as the train thundered north at maximum velocity.

  Philip and Amy closed the two windows of the compartment and returned to their seats.

  “This is going to put a crimp in your plans of staying here,” said Sunflower, and jumped up to the leather cushion across from Amy.

  Betsy wagged his tail. “A big, inspector-sized crimp!”

  “What plans are you talking about?” asked Philip.

  “It’s not important,” said Amy. “It’s a moot point if the inspector catches us.”

  “An inspector-sized moot!” barked Betsy.

  Philip rubbed his forehead. “Steady on, you two. It’s a machine. There must be a way to disable and destroy it.”

  “There is,” said Sunflower. “But the cat who designed the tools to make the weapon that can destroy it hasn’t been born yet. You don’t want to wait around for that.”

  “You lost it by going underground,” said Amy. “Can’t you do that again?”

  “Sure, but I’m not a cave troll so don’t expect me to stay in a hole for more than half an hour at a time. My name is Sunflower, after all.”

  Philip sighed. “We either think of a plan, or we’re done for.”

  “If you only had a portable voice controller backpack,” murmured Betsy, glancing back and forth. “I heard those work really well on inspectors.”

  “Right,” said Sunflower. “And if monkeys fly out of my butt, we’ll all go to heaven.”

  “Just saying.”

  Amy looked down at the handbag in her lap. “The three of us will leave at the next station and Philip will continue to Yorkshire. There’s no reason he can’t go home.”

  “There is too a reason! I’m not leaving you to the mercy of that inhuman machine!”

  “Don’t be stupid! The entire point of this trip was to take you home.”

  “I might jolly well be stupid, Miss Armstrong, but I won’t save myself at the cost of anyone’s life, especially yours. How could I stand to look at myself, knowing that you had perished or suffered imprisonment by the Lady on my account? That’s a dog’s life, and I’d rather not live it.”

  “What a silly thing to say.”

  “Exactly!” growled Betsy.