The Gold Thief

by Justin Fisher

  “Kitty told me that my true potential was to do with the missing pages from the Engineer’s Manual. If only I knew what was on them.”

  “Have you ever thought why they’re missing? The Engineer’s gift, it runs in your family just like being a Medic runs in mine. What if they tore those pages out so that their children or nieces, or whoever, couldn’t even try whatever is described there? What if it’s too dangerous?”

  Ned looked at his friend with her bright, brave eyes and knew that no matter how powerful or strong the Engineers before him might have been, there was something he had that they hadn’t. Lucy’s gift of “sight” would get him through it, whether she believed it or not.

  “Lucy, on that mountain I asked you if you were scared – do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that you weren’t because you had me. Well, I’m not either, not really. I’ve got something the Engineers before me didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got you, dummy.”

  But instead of the smile he was digging for, Lucy grabbed his shoulder and forced him to the deck, “Ned – get down!”

  A vast black shape flew at them from above.

  “Aark!” it screeched.

  At its front was a razor-sharp beak the size of a man’s head and the beast’s grey wings and chest were covered in engraved plate-metal armour, jointed to allow them movement. It landed with a heavy crash, its great talons cutting deep grooves into the Gabriella’s deck. At the rear of the airship Ned saw a flicker of electric blue light, closely followed by the Guffstavson brothers as they ran to meet the intruder.

  Ignoring them, the creature brought its head down low and paced menacingly towards Ned and Lucy. The young Engineer stepped in front of the Medic and the ring at his finger thrummed in readiness. Ned was staring into the cold armoured gaze of a giant owl that would have dwarfed even George. On top of its back sat what looked like a knight. His tapered visor was shaped to match the owl’s beak and he carried both a shield and a cast-iron lance.

  He raised the beak of his helm and addressed them in clipped military English.

  “Am I speaking with Master Ned Armstrong and the Lady Beaumont?”

  “Err, yup?”

  “Welcome,” the knight said. “I’m to escort you to St Albertsburg.”

  A Night of Terrors

  tto Yager had been Chief of his clan for more than two decades.

  Warlocks of any kind are feared for their prowess in battle, but none so much as the Yagers. Though a small clan, few are as hardy in battle and fewer still have as many scars to prove it.

  It came as no surprise, then, that Otto Yager was amongst the first of the Hidden to receive the Viceroy’s call, saying that he was assembling an army to fight the growing threat.

  Otto had been asked to travel to St Albertsburg with an escort, and as such had selected his finest men. The Yagers would take great pride in reminding the rest of the Hidden that, though small, their clan still had teeth.

  One last prayer in the sanctity of his chambers and Otto Yager made ready to leave. The night was as cold and bitter as the news that had come from the Viceroy – news that Gearnish was lost, that the Darkening King may return, that the Twelve had lost all their tickers, and with them their ability to monitor the Darklings.

  And it was with those dark tidings that Otto made his way into his castle’s courtyard. He frowned. His airship lay silenced and still, and the usual barking of orders that came before any flight was somehow eerily absent.

  It took some time to register why. Through flickering torchlight, Otto saw the arrogant yellow eyes of a gor-balin.

  The thin-limbed creature wore little more than a loincloth to protect himself from the elements and he was bracketed on either side by two Nightmongers, their scissor-sharp claws trailing lazily on the ground.

  But three Darklings, no matter how repellent, were no match for Otto’s guards or his fortress’s stone walls.

  And that was when he saw.

  Movement in the shadows beyond the Darklings revealed the true danger. Under archways and on windowsills, in the stone cornices and alcoves perched a hundred sets of eyes.

  Some cats, some pigeons, some rats and some creatures no larger than a housefly, with not a real bone or heartbeat between them.

  It was true then, Otto realised. The Twelve’s eyes and ears had been plucked and given over to Barbarossa. The tickers had infiltrated the Yagers’ grounds by sewer and air and laid waste to its defences.

  “Hellfire!” he commanded, and his hands brimmed with flames. But even a warlock’s magic would not suffice and no sooner had he uttered the words than the Yagers’ Chief joined his men, on the frozen cobblestones of his courtyard.

  The Viceroy of St Albertsburg

  ed was staring at one of the famed owl riders of St Albertsburg. In the flesh it was even fiercer than he’d imagined and Ned could see why Benissimo had talked about them with such glowing respect.

  “Captain Hamilton of the First Air Lancers at your service, sah!” saluted the knight, and with no small measure of pride.

  “I-I didn’t know we’d requested any, um ‘service’.”

  “Everyone approaching the isles is under the Viceroy’s protection. There have been a total of six assassinations in the past twenty-four hours, sah, besides which His Highness personally ordered my ‘wings’ and I to fly you both in.”

  “‘Wings’, Captain Hamilton?”

  The armoured rider blew on a high-pitched whistle that was embedded into his gauntlet. The heavy cloud on either side of them immediately parted, revealing a V-shaped squadron of flying owls formed round the Gabriella. The reflections along the birds’ and their riders’ armour gave them an otherworldly appearance, as if they were statues carved from light.

  “Wow,” offered Ned.

  “Wow indeed, sah!” saluted the Captain.

  The owl and its rider took to the air with a great beating of wings, leaving Ned and Lucy to watch their ascent. As the clouds thinned before them and the Gabriella’s engines slowed, there was a final barrage of thunder followed by great forks of lightning, as if their approach were being announced by the very sky.

  Though every crossing over the Veil is different, none is more so than at the Hidden Isles of St Albertsburg. Come at them from one direction and you might be met by blazing heat, try another and heavy snow could bring your engines to a stall. Ned took in the customary change in smells, something between cardamom, honey and freshly poured tar. He never tired of the magic that the Veil and the Hidden offered, but nothing could have prepared him for the city that they now approached.

  Rising miles out of the sea was a giant pillar of rock and coal. At its top sat a glistening statue of Prince Albert made entirely of white marble. It must have been at least half a mile high, and at the prince’s feet lay a city cased from top to bottom in glass. The main island’s black sides were vertical, and surrounded at every level by great iron platforms. Mineshafts burrowed deep into its surface and what hadn’t been given over to the sourcing of fuel was used to house its fleet. Ned had seen photos of naval armadas from the Second World War, but this gathering of floating hulks dwarfed anything he could have imagined. They were the equivalent of modern-day aircraft carriers, their vast decks holding several rows of the wings that were now Ned’s escort.

  “The Months”, as they were called, were much smaller isles surrounding the city, each differing from the next in climate, from the cold snow of December to the balmy tropics of August. George had explained the history behind their colonisation at the beginning of their flight. Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, Prince Albert, had died from typhoid and the bereft Empress was to spend the rest of her days in the creation of a secret memorial. It was only when reports of missing ships were followed by the discovery of the Hidden Isles, however, that its location was set.

  Outside of the extraordinary weather, the spire of rock which now housed St Albertsburg was unique
for two reasons. A seemingly limitless supply of coal and a flock of giant owls that watched over its shores, perfect to both protect the memorial and power the machines needed to build it. To ensure its secrecy, no one who had anything to do with the project had ever been allowed to leave its shores and their descendants had unwittingly joined the ranks of the Hidden. For all the sacrifices made, the Empress tragically died before seeing it complete.

  As they came in to land, Ned marvelled at the city’s protective cover of iron and glass, a great sparkling jewel on a coal-black rock. It worked as a great greenhouse built above the city’s buildings to keep off the rain and salt-sea spray.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” marvelled Lucy, and neither had Ned.

  They landed on the Viceroy’s personal runway at the top of the spire of rock. An entire regiment of his guard were waiting for them, along with a rail carriage that led straight down to the city. Ned took Whiskers and his shadowy familiar and joined Lucy and Benissimo. As they stepped on to the waiting red carpet, they were greeted by trumpets and an ancient-looking herald in full military braiding.

  “I fought with the Viceroy’s grandfather. With him behind us, the others are sure to join against my brother. Let’s just hope we can get your parents out of this mess in time. And remember, politeness is key in politics – if you haven’t anything nice to say, then keep your mouth closed,” whispered Benissimo.

  The herald took a deep breath and began.

  “His Grace, the Viceroy and Governor-General of St Albertsburg, 37th Duke of de Fresnes, Baron of Hoo, Protector of the Twelve Isles, Wing-commander of the Eternal Flight and Knight-bishop of the Order of the Roiling-Sea –” the ageing herald looked quite pale under the exertion and took another gulp of air before continuing – “Master of Glass, Champion of Clouds and—”

  “Oh, Winthrop – do belt up!” came an irritable voice from inside the carriage. Its door was swiftly opened by a waiting footman, and the owner of the voice stepped down. The man they all hoped might help them wore more medals than jacket, and looked as though he had been frozen in another era. He had a large greying walrus moustache, a powerful red-cheeked glare and looked to be about the same age as Ned’s dad.

  As he approached them, Winthrop took another large breath.

  “The Heroes of Annapurna, Engineer, Medic and Saviours of the—”

  “Need no blasted introduction!” cut in the Viceroy, before turning to Benissimo. “Hello, Bene, do forgive Winthrop. I retired him years ago but he insists on following me everywhere.”

  “It’s good to see you, Tom,” said Bene. “It’s been a while.”

  “And you, you bounder. Now let’s hear about this plan of yours, shall we? You’ve arrived just in time – the Hidden are dropping like flies and no one has a dashed idea what to do about it.”

  City of Glass

  en minutes later, as they sat in the Viceroy’s carriage, rolling down the cobbled streets, Tom sat back and whistled through his teeth.

  “Is this really true, Master Ned? Is it true you’ve actually managed teleportation?”

  Whiskers gave Ned a piercing glare from Lucy’s lap. “Managed”, as far as the mouse was concerned, was clearly subjective.

  “Err, yes, Your Highness, but we still have a few details to iron out.”

  “Best get ironing. If Barba has his hands on both the book and your father, time is not our friend.”

  Ned’s stomach turned. As much as he knew it, the Viceroy’s reminder could not have been more unwelcome. Seeing the look on his face, Benissimo quickly changed the subject.

  “Tell me, Tom, what of Madame O?”

  “She’s here and wants to see you. The Mirabelle arrived last night.”

  “And what of the others?”

  At this Tom’s eyes dimmed.

  “I summoned everyone, all the leaders, as soon as I got your message. Raising an army in so short a time … well, let’s just say that not as many as I’d hoped have arrived, though time has not been our only obstacle. Your brother’s been busy: Otto Yager and a half-dozen more met with untimely endings before they’d set sail for our shores, and some have simply refused the call.”

  At this Benissimo flushed red.

  “Refused?! Do they have any idea what’s at stake?”

  “I doubt anyone could refute the Elder Librarian’s claims or what was scribed on his walls. Of those not willing to take up the fight, I shouldn’t wonder that fear has been their undoing or that Barba has managed to turn them. Our issue lies not only in our need for numbers, but what best course of action to follow. There are those insisting we take our time and prepare our armies for war, but there are others who simply want to hide.”

  Benissimo grimaced. “Hide? Tom. This creature Barba aims to raise will finally give him what he wants. To destroy the Veil and make slaves of all of us. He aims to rule, no matter what the cost. Hiding won’t save anyone.”

  “I agree. But, you know what we’re asking is no small thing. We’ve heard reports of Darklings crossing the Veil in great numbers too – with no tickers to keep watch, we simply can’t stop them. Let’s hope your girl can find the machine and your boy can teleport to it and shut it down before any bloodshed is necessary.” He looked at Ned and Lucy. “He could well be our only solution.”

  Ned swallowed, and looked away. As much out of embarrassment as fear: what would the Viceroy say if he knew that the Darkening King was speaking to him, both in and out of his dreams?

  “You two have already done so much for us,” said the Viceroy, turning his attention back to Benissimo. “But people and especially those in power do strange things when they’re scared. It will be down to you, me and Madame Oublier to convince the others of your plan. Our word still counts for a great deal.”

  “I resent having to do any convincing at all,” said Benissimo.

  The Ringmaster was a man of certainties, his world black or white. The mere idea that the Hidden wouldn’t band together was unthinkable.

  “There’s no need to go twitching that ’tache of yours,” said the Viceroy. “If I dare say so myself, in the realm of politicking and diplomacy my crystal city still reigns supreme. We will carry the argument, you and I, with Madame O’s help.”

  “Let’s hope so, Tom, for all our sakes.”

  As the carriage clanked its way into St Albertsburg, Ned watched out of the window and hoped that the Viceroy was right. So much now hinged on their plan and only he, Lucy and Jonny Magik knew their secret, that the creature that would end them all was somehow in his and Lucy’s heads. More than hope, he prayed now that his training might be enough to keep its voice at bay.

  Looking at the streets of the city was like being transported back through time, but a time that had been altered. Everyone wore the garb of the Victorians, though there wasn’t a hint of white or colour anywhere, and the architecture was all in the gothic fashion of that era, though here the buildings were carved from the same dark rock that the island itself was formed from.

  One thing was sure: there was an abundance of coal. Children in matching outfits scurried along its streets delivering the stuff by the cartload and it was burned in high volume, to the constant whistling of steam engines everywhere. The entire skyline was crisscrossed by wrought-iron girders and glass, and every street corner had a complex pipework of ventilation shafts to take away the fuel’s burning fumes.

  If the citizens of St Albertsburg had worn any white, they would soon have looked filthy, as even those not directly involved with the production or distribution of coal had some sooty smatterings of its powder on their skin. Of everything in its gothic sprawl of buildings, the most prevalent were the effigies of Prince Albert. Every doorstep, windowsill, chimney breast and brick held either a plaque, statue or prayer dedicated to the man, and at one point he even saw a woman place her hand on her heart, following up with a “Blessed be Albert”.

  Amongst its citizens the long-dead prince had become more than a saint, he was almost a
thing of worship. The busy streets had no police – only the same knights that he had seen on arrival and before in the air, though they were all denoted by various complexities of armour and silver-black braiding.

  “The palace,” announced its Viceroy.

  The building was housed at the foot of Prince Albert’s throne and in the same white marble as the statue that towered over it. An army of harnessed scrubbers worked round the clock to keep it clean and Ned dizzied at the thought of those posted at the prince’s head. As they climbed the seemingly endless marble stairs to the palace’s entrance, they were greeted by a deafening crescendo of even more trumpets.

  “Winthrop,” growled the Viceroy. “Always with the trumpets!”

  Inside the palace a small army of butlers, chambermaids and various other attendants were dashing about in preparation for the coming talks. Unlike the citizens outside, they were all dressed in spotless white.

  “Ned, Lucy, wait here. I don’t care what the Viceroy says, we still have Madame O – and if I know the old girl as well as I think I do, I’ll be coming back with more than my whip.”

  Benissimo went for a private counsel with his Prime, while Ned and Lucy were ushered into a waiting room. They were joined a short while later by an extremely irate George.

  “A cage, I tell you!” grunted the ape, his chest and back muscles heaving. “Can you believe they wanted to house me in a cage! Of all the stupid, pompous, rude people I’ve met – and not a single nana amongst them. I mean really, it’s like going back to the dark ages!”

  “Georgey-boy, we’ve other things to be a–dealin’ with,” came the calming tones of Jonny Magik, stepping out from behind the ape.

  “Jonny! I’m glad you’re up,” beamed Lucy, at least until she saw his face.

  “In no small thanks to you,” croaked the sin-eater.

  Ned too was shocked by the sight of him. He still managed to smile, but the inks in the sin-eater’s skin had spread to his neck, and his eyes looked dull and dark.