“C’mon! Coast’s clear, for now. Get a wriggle on!” But before Emmeline could move, a large, dark shape blocked out the light behind Thing, and she shrank back into the corner of the boat, too scared to scream.
“Not so fast, young’un,” came a low, rumbling voice. Thing jerked and ducked down out of the way of a pair of strong, thick-fingered hands that burst through the gap in the canvas, grabbing and grasping and searching for him.
“Aaargh!” Thing yelled. “Do somethin’!”
“Like what?” Emmeline shouted.
“Anythin’!” Thing kicked out at the searching hands, but Emmeline heard the man chuckle. He knew he had them trapped.
Emmeline’s eyes fell on a heavy wooden oar lying in the bottom of the lifeboat. She grasped it with both hands and gave it to Thing, who immediately began using it to bash, rather inelegantly but quite effectively, at the man’s hairy knuckles.
“Oi!” they heard him yell. “You little brats!”
“ ’At’s right!” shouted Thing. “Take that, ya big lummox!”
Emmeline, meanwhile, was rifling through her satchel. Her fingers rattled their way between her bottles—gratefully she realized her hydrogen sulfide was safe and sound—until she reached the bottom compartment, where her emergency supplies were stored. She found what she was looking for and grabbed it.
“What the ’eck is that?” gasped Thing, turning just long enough to glance at a small, round object in Emmeline’s hands. The man had recovered well and was almost inside the boat now. The whole thing was rocking on its mooring, in serious danger of plunging away from the side of the ship and crashing into the sea a hundred feet below.
“Hold your breath!” Emmeline whispered, her eyes on the man. She recognized him as the bald-headed creature who’d flung her belongings into the sea, and her resolve strengthened.
“What?” yelled Thing, but it was too late for Emmeline to repeat herself.
Quickly she squeezed the object in her hand. She felt the crunch when the inner pocket burst, mixing the chemicals together. It grew warm in her hand as she readied herself to throw it.
Now! This was her chance. The man leaned into the lifeboat again, roaring. His eyes were on Thing and the oar, so he didn’t even see when Emmeline, quick as a flash, threw the object in her hand straight into his open mouth.
“Yurg!” he gurgled. “Yaaaarg!” A horrendous stench filled the air as the stink bomb started to fizz, making a yellow, disgusting foam gush all over the man’s face. It filled up his mouth and started to bubble out of his nose, and within a second or two his whole head was covered. The man dragged himself back out of the lifeboat, and Emmeline saw him stagger down the deck a few feet, trying desperately to get the stink bomb out of his mouth.
“That is foul! What is that?” Thing looked like he was going to throw up. The smell was like old underwear and rotten cheese and bad breath, except a million times worse. Emmeline was quite proud of the final product, but she didn’t have time to hang around admiring her handiwork.
“Come on! We’ve got to go, right now. He won’t be long in getting rid of it.”
Thing chucked the oar back into the bottom of the boat. Emmeline helped pull him up and out over the side, and soon they were back on deck again.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emmeline watched as Stink Bomb tried to shout, but it ended in a fit of coughing as the stench got caught in his throat. He took a few steps in their direction but soon fell to his knees, retching.
“Come on!” Emmeline took off, heading for the nearest staircase, and Thing was hot on her heels. They kept their ears wide open for any sign of pursuit as they went. Up and up they ran, dodging everyone they met, hiding when they could, and taking detours if they had to, neither of them with any idea where they were going. Eventually they began to realize that if Stink Bomb didn’t catch up with them, exhaustion was bound to. They’d been running for what seemed like hours, and now they were running out of places to go.
“We can’t go back to the storeroom, can we?” gasped Emmeline as they paused to catch their breath. Thing could only whoop sadly in reply as they set off once more. She took that as a no.
They were approaching what looked like a dead end. They’d taken a turn, and then another, blindly, and now they were running along a service gantry, where passengers weren’t supposed to go. It led to a large piece of what looked like meteorological equipment, with a huge, round face and lots of levers, welded to a small balcony that was ringed by a low railing, and there was no way to get down from it unless you were a monkey or had wings.
“What are we going to do now?” wailed Emmeline, leaning out over the balcony. All she could see were layers and layers of ship and the crashing, freezing sea far below. She clambered up onto the railing, shaking off a horrible image of herself falling, like a broken doll, into the water, but it was impossible to reach the balcony beneath them. She looked up, straining to see if there was anything—anything—that they could swing from or climb, but nothing was close enough. The next deck up looked miles away. Their only choice was to go back—or jump.
“You little blighters!” Emmeline and Thing whirled around to see Stink Bomb at the other end of the gantry, accompanied by another man, who was equally big and nasty-looking. There were hints of foam still lingering on his face, and as he spoke, a large yellow bubble sneaked out of his nose and popped, loudly and wetly. This seemed to make him even angrier, and he roared, flexing his arms as though getting ready to rip their heads off. Emmeline felt Thing’s hand slip into hers, and he tried to get her to stand behind him. His breath was glooping through his lungs, whooping all the way, and his whole body shook with effort and exhaustion.
“Hey! Up here!” came a voice. Emmeline started, and Thing stared at her, confusion all over his face.
“What was—”
“Up here! Come on!”
Together, Emmeline and Thing took a few careful steps back, keeping their eyes on their pursuers. Stink Bomb started to pound his way down the gantry, growling, his every footstep like an earthquake.
Emmeline stopped walking when she felt the edge of the balcony at her back.
“About time!” came the voice again, this time from just above their heads.
Emmeline looked up. A young man, dressed in a white shirt and waistcoat, and wearing a sturdy-looking leather body harness, was hanging from a rope. He had curly black hair, dark eyes, an urgent smile, and a white flower stuck through his buttonhole—and his arms were outstretched to them.
Quick as a heartbeat, Thing threw Emmeline at the dangling man, who helped her—and her satchel—clamber onto his back. Just as the roar of their stink-bombed enemy got loud enough to set Emmeline’s teeth on edge, Thing leaped from the balcony straight into the man’s arms—and, with a sickening lurch, they started to rise through the air.
Emmeline clamped her eyes shut and prayed she wouldn’t throw up.
As it turned out, throwing up was the least of Emmeline’s problems.
“Hang on!” cried the man. The rope they were clinging to was being hauled up very fast by something unseen. They swayed and swung in the wind, repeatedly bashing into the side of the ship. Each time, the jolt made Emmeline feel sure she was going to lose her grip. This, coupled with the freezing cold and the bone-rattling terror (which wasn’t helped by the sound of what Emmeline felt sure was gunfire coming from their stink-bombed assailant below), was making Emmeline extremely unhappy, and she was growing less happy with every foot they climbed.
Then, with one final jerk, Emmeline, Thing, and the man toppled over a high balcony onto a cold metal floor, where they lay shivering. Emmeline ran a mental inventory of her faculties—she appeared to be thinking and breathing, and the rest could wait. Slowly, and with huge difficulty, she unstuck her fingers from their rescuer’s collar.
“Edgar!” came a woman’s voice. “Is everything all right? Who’s the boy?” A deep, meaningful groan answered this, and Emmeline felt sure it had come
from Thing. A throb of relief engulfed her.
“Let’s just get them inside, Sasha.” The man’s words were hurried. “We owe this boy a great debt.”
Before she could do any more thinking, Emmeline felt herself being gently but insistently lifted to her feet. Blinking, she saw a large winch, to which Edgar’s harness was still attached. It was hissing in the damp air, like all its surfaces were hot.
“Come on, little one,” said the other voice. Sasha? Emmeline thought. Who on earth are these people? “Let’s get you warmed up, eh?” Emmeline tried to glimpse this new person, but all she could see was a slender arm, dressed in a billowing sleeve, that came to an end in a graceful, red-fingernailed hand. She slapped it away, even as her gaze was drawn by a soft, warm-looking light spilling from somewhere close by. She turned to face it. A huge, luxurious cabin lay to her right, and nothing separated her from it but a pane of glass.
“Ow.” The voice belonged to Thing. “Whoop,” he added, just in case there was any doubt. Emmeline yanked herself out of Sasha’s arms and flung herself down beside him. He was a funny color again, and his clothes were stuck to his skinny body. Emmeline hugged his narrow back as she tried to help him stand.
“Are you all right?” she gasped. Her teeth were chattering, which was rather annoying.
“Never better,” moaned Thing, finding his feet and leaning gratefully into Emmeline as they rose. “What’s happenin’?” Emmeline opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came of it.
“Warmth and food first,” said Sasha in a firm but kind voice. “Explanations later.”
Finally Emmeline looked around and got a chance to stare at her properly. She was tall and lovely, with dusky brown skin and dark eyes, and Emmeline was suspicious of her on sight.
“Who are you?” Emmeline asked, her teeth still clattering like a set of castanets.
“A friend.” She extended her hand. Emmeline ignored this and simply imprinted the woman’s image on her mind so she could recall it later and study it in more detail. For now, all Emmeline could see was that she wore a neat fitted waistcoat over a crisp white blouse and a pair of stylishly tailored pants, which looked so practical that Emmeline made a mental note to acquire some as soon as she had an opportunity. Pinned over Sasha’s heart was a small, nodding flower, white, the tiniest of stitches around its petals giving away the fact that it was made of silk. In every other respect it looked freshly picked.
Sasha smiled and lowered her hand. Emmeline watched as she turned away and stepped into the warm, dry-looking cabin.
“You can trust us, you know,” said their rescuer from behind Emmeline. She whirled on the spot. “I’m Edgar, by the way.” He was back on his feet, his hair soggy with spray and his clothes saturated. He finished shrugging off his harness before holding out his hand to her. Emmeline flexed her fists, willing herself to reach for him, but before she could work herself up to it, the man smiled, a bit wearily, and returned his hand to his side.
“Emm—” she began.
“I know who you are. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go indoors even if you don’t. It would be wonderful if you and your friend would join me, of course.” Edgar nodded decisively and maneuvered around her and Thing, who were left, bedraggled, on the balcony.
“Best go in, I s’pose,” Thing said. He hugged himself, his breath hissing through his teeth. “You comin’?” he asked over his shoulder.
Emmeline rolled her eyes at Thing’s back, but she followed him through the door.
Several things struck her at once when she stepped down into the brightly lit cabin. Firstly, it was huge. Secondly, it was every bit as plush and warm on the inside as it had looked from the outside. Thirdly, to her left stood a large table more suited to banqueting than—well, whatever was going on around it right now. It was covered in maps and charts large enough to drape over its edges, each of them crisscrossed with latitude and longitude lines, pencil-drawn trajectories, and lots of scribbled handwriting. Fourthly, Emmeline’s tiredness begged her to curl up on the thick carpet for a snooze, but she forced herself to stay alert.
“Glad to see you’ve joined us.” Emmeline’s eyes fell on Sasha, who was standing in the center of the room like a lighthouse, isolated and gleaming. Emmeline immediately attempted to assume a dignified and detached air, standing up as straight as she could and wishing she weren’t quite so half-drowned-looking.
“I think there’s been some sort of error,” she said. “I’m on my way to Paris, you see, to meet my—to meet my parents, and I can’t have you delaying me.” Her eyes stung a bit as she spoke, and she thought a tinge of sadness touched the woman’s expression, like a drop of paint diffusing through a glass of water.
“Emmeline,” Sasha said, taking a couple of steps in her direction. “As my colleague explained outside, we know who you are. That, indeed, is why we’re here in the first place.” Emmeline’s heart thundered as she listened. How on earth do they know who I am? Maybe Stink Bomb sent them! They’ve tricked us! She looked around for Thing, but he was already sitting on an embroidered sofa, half-submerged in what looked like a cream-bedecked trifle, entirely unaware of her predicament.
Emmeline looked back at Sasha. “You’d better tell me who you are,” she said, trying not to sound afraid, “or I’ll—”
“Yes, of course.” Sasha took three more steps toward Emmeline, who didn’t move, despite wanting to reach into her satchel for the first caustic thing she could find. “My name is Natasha—or Sasha, to those who know me well. Edgar and I belong to an organization called the Order of the White Flower. We’ve been sent by someone you might have heard of already—Madame Gramercy Blancheflour.”
Emmeline blinked, feeling like she was about to collapse on the spot from a mixture of shock, exhaustion, and sheer confusion, and forced herself to stare straight at Sasha.
“Likely story,” she said, and yanked down hard on the straps of her satchel. Two tiny pops were heard, and Emmeline saw Sasha’s eyes widen in surprise.
Seconds later the room was filled with thick, choking smoke.
“Blast it!” shouted Edgar. “What just happened?”
“Smoke bomb!” coughed Sasha. “Check the perimeters!”
Emmeline crouched beneath the table, hastily resetting the smoke canisters in the straps of her satchel with trembling fingers. Her eyes watered, and she took quick, shallow breaths. At ground level the smoke wasn’t as thick, but even so, her shoulders rattled with silent coughs.
“Whoop!” Thing’s chest sounded loud, and painful, and Emmeline shook away a momentary stab of guilt. He’ll be fine, she told herself, trying to believe it. They’ll feed him full of trifle, and when the ship gets to Paris, he can fend for himself, like he said he would. She felt then as though she’d swallowed something that was too big, that had stretched her throat and made it sore. And I’ll just have to do without him.
“Emmeline!” called Sasha. “Please! We want to help you!” Yes, I’m sure you do, thought Emmeline, peering through the smoke. And to help yourselves to my family’s money, no doubt, too—or whatever’s left of it, at least. Emmeline wondered if her parents’ letter had been intercepted and how these people had managed to insert themselves into her life. Sent by Madame Blancheflour, indeed! Did they think she was a fool? How much ransom were they planning to ask for her, and could her parents be persuaded to put their work aside for long enough to get around to paying it?
“Emmeline, you don’t understand!” This time it was Edgar, his voice stringy. “There are people out there who want to hurt you—who want to use you to do something very awful! Your parents entrusted you to—to…” His voice trailed off in a collection of splutters, and Emmeline ignored him, his words trickling down her back like droplets of cold water. I’ve got to get out of here!
An explosion shattered the rest of her thought.
The next thing Emmeline knew, her ears were ringing and she was lying flat on her back. Her first thought was for her satchel, of course, but she
was lying on it and found that she couldn’t really move very well, so she told herself she’d check it later. Vaguely, out of the corners of her eyes, she could see movement and flashes of light, and then—very gradually, like the sun rising on a dark winter’s morning—sounds started to ooze back through her ears. Sounds like screaming, and yelling, and the crack-ping of bullets, and the roaring of a man in pain, or in extraordinary anger, or both.
There was a gigantic crash, and Emmeline instinctively rolled away from the sound, covering her face with her arms. Loud, heavy footsteps thudded onto the carpeted floor.
“Find the girl!” a deep voice shouted. “I don’t care what you have to do!” Emmeline scrambled back beneath the table again, watching as several boot-clad pairs of feet poured through the now-shattered window. A freezing wind gushed through the jagged gap where the pane of glass had once been, doing an excellent job of clearing the room of the last few thready remnants of her smoke bomb.
“How dare you!” came a reply. Emmeline didn’t need to see the speaker to know that it was Sasha. “How dare you break in here and attack us without just cause in open water—”
“Give it a rest. Who cares about open water? It’ll all be open water soon! When it wakes—” Emmeline heard a sharp slap, followed by a scuffle and the man’s growl of anger. “You’ll regret that,” he muttered, but Sasha didn’t reply.
When what wakes? Emmeline thought, something in the words making her uneasy.
“We do not have the child, and even if we did, there’s no way we’d hand her over to you!” This was Edgar, his words a little less strained than before. She squished back a memory of his face as he’d held out his arms to her, saving her from the balcony, and wondered for the briefest moment whether she’d misjudged this entire situation. “Get out of our cabin this minute! I’ve already called the ship’s captain!”
The Eye of the North Page 5
