by Scott Monk
‘So how’s he mixed up in all this?’ Michael asked.
Luke shrugged. ‘No idea. But there’s something else. A room. No, not a room. Er, it’s in the tunnels too. I remember sneaking inside and’ – his eyes widened. ‘Oh no! All those people!’
‘What is it?’
‘We’ve got to get out of here. We have to get back to Pacifico!’
‘We know that. But why?’
‘Because there’s a secret dungeon. It’s where the harlequins keep their prisoners. And Lady Isabelle – she’s there! We can still rescue her!’
‘Only if we get rescued first,’ Samantha said.
Her bluntness crushed their last hope and they said no more. Luke repacked his pouches, while the others wrestled with their fears.
Watching bats flap out the upper passageway, Michael noticed them pass the levers and their swords. Slowly, he stood as a plan formed in his mind. But for it to work he’d have to open the cage first.
‘Luke, can you use your jetpack to burn through your lock?’
His brother tried twisting around its rocket cylinders pressed against the bars. ‘Not without burning myself.’
Michael pounded his cage with his fist. He’d almost figured it out.
A tingling ran through his gauntlet.
‘I’ll do it anyway,’ Luke said. ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘No,’ Samantha said. ‘You’re not setting yourself on fire. I’d prefer to be a slave than watch you suffer.’
They looked at each other. Nothing was spoken. Nothing had to be.
Michael hit the bars again in frustration. ‘C’mon! Think!’ He hit them again and again, until he left a sizeable dent.
‘Wow! Mikey!’ Luke said.
‘How’d you do that?’ Samantha asked, alarmed. ‘You can’t even twist off a jar lid.’
Michael looked at his gauntlets and felt strength ebbing away. It was the same sensation he’d experienced during his fight with Cavalli at the garrison. The marine had knocked him off his feet several times before he’d retaliated and sent the captain flying across the wet stones. He’d just thought it was a lucky shot. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘My armour comes with some sort of power,’ he said. ‘I can’t figure out how to use it.’
Not wanting to waste the chance, he grabbed the bars and tried prising them apart. They held fast.
‘What’s wrong?’ Luke asked.
‘I don’t know. Suddenly I feel weak again.’
‘What were you doing before?’
‘Hitting the cage,’ she answered for him. ‘Do it again.’
He did. He struck it flat on the knuckles and drew his hand away in pain. Nope, that wasn’t right.
‘Why doesn’t anything make sense?’ she said, exasperated.
Michael refused to give up. He shook his hand then used the side of his fist to hammer the bars. The tingling sensation returned and, within moments, he was bashing them with both gauntlets. It became so intense he stopped hitting the cage and just ripped off the door and threw it into the murky pool below.
‘All right, Super Mikey!’ Luke yelled.
‘Good job,’ his sister said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Now we need to get down.’
They stood at the open doorway and looked below. The thirty-metre drop was too far to jump. But the bats had inspired him.
‘Luke, you said your earpiece records and plays back music, right?’
‘Yep.’
‘Do you have a radio station for whale sharks?’
Bats screeched and scattered as ten minutes later Ningaloo and her pilot fish soared into King Amadeo’s Ghost. She circled Luke’s cage, heeding the music recorded from their first meeting with Aurelio. Only problem was, they had no way of controlling her.
‘Go to Michael and Samantha,’ he said, waving her away. ‘They need to hop on your back.’
‘Over here, girl,’ Michael said, clicking his fingers. ‘C’mon.’
‘Fish taxi!’ she added. ‘Want a fare?’
Michael glared at her. ‘You’re not helping.’
The throbbing of a descending starship’s engine outside reverberated through the cavern and into the library. More bats fled their roosts below, while the whale shark curved away. Luke only managed to stop Ningaloo fleeing by turning up the piping’s volume.
‘Slavers!’ Samantha guessed.
‘We’ve got to do this now,’ Michael said. ‘But the only thing she understands is Aurelio’s music.’
Luke produced the tin of sardines. ‘Or food.’
He tossed it to his brother, who fumbled and dropped them. However, his sister had far better reflexes and caught it before it fell into the mire. Within moments, they lured the whale shark to their cage with the tiny fish, boarded her and steered her – carrot-and-stick – to the levers. Releasing the right one, Michael slowly lowered Luke’s cage to the ground before meeting him there.
‘Quiet!’ she said. ‘Listen!’
Voices echoed from the cavern below.
‘They’re inside!’
Luke grabbed his jetpack before following his brother and sister upstairs. They recovered their swords then tried reboarding Ningaloo, but, in the absence of piping she turned away and disappeared down the shafts again. Instead, they took the path of the harlequins, where, further along, dusk glowed. They surfaced among the mountain tops whistling with a chill wind and saw a vast plain stretching towards the ocean. Directly below, the highest dome of King Amadeo’s Ghost poked through, covered by centuries of rockslides. Long ago, the library had been swallowed by an earthquake.
A few minutes later, when the slavers reached the exit, they were out of patience and puff. Their leader snapped at them to turn around and fetch their ship. ‘Contact the harlequins! The children have escaped!’
The man stood on a rocky outcropping, surveying the vast plain through a pair of electronic binoculars until he spat in disgust and followed his crew. His boots dislodged a scattering of pebbles, which bounced past the triplets cowering underneath. Once the slave ship blasted into the skies, a relieved Michael, Samantha and Luke sought shelter further along the mountain and, in no time, fell asleep.
26
Dawn crept over Michael’s shoulder as he returned to camp holding his bear helmet like a bowl. Water from a small rock pool sloshed around inside and threatened to spill. His sister finally woke Luke as the shadows shortened around their stony hideout. Dozens of floating islands hovered above the long-grass plains, which thickened into forest to the west. ‘Here,’ he said, offering the water. But when Luke looked around them, startled, he added, ‘Don’t worry. We’re safe.’
Luke sipped from the helmet then passed it to Samantha, who announced, ‘We have to keep moving.’
‘We need to reach that forest,’ Michael said as the air heated up. ‘It should give us shelter.’
‘What about Aurelio?’ Luke said. ‘He still might be –’
‘You heard the black harlequin. He’s been captured.’
‘We don’t know that. He could have –’
‘We’re heading west.’
‘But Pacifico’s to the east,’ Luke said, frustrated. ‘We have to get back and warn Queen Oriana.’
Samantha and Michael exchanged glances. Neither said anything. He emptied his helmet then trudged down the mountain.
‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked as his sister straightened her coat and sword.
‘The Knock-Knock Door we arrived through is on the other side of these mountains,’ she said, falling into step.
‘What about Isabelle? Cavalli? All the other Pacificans? The harlequins are about to start a war!’
‘Just pick up your stuff and move.’
Luke stood his ground. ‘I don’t believe this. Yesterday you charged in here, ready to fight a monster. Today, you’re running away? After all the help people have given us, this is the last thing I expected us to do – especially you, Michael.’
‘Hey!’ she snappe
d. ‘Don’t think for one second any of us are happy about this. But what can we do? We don’t have an army. We don’t have the skills to beat them. We don’t even have a boat. Michael does want to help but he’s just a kid. We all are. We can’t stop a war. We need to go home. Pacifico has to fight its own battles.’
‘If my girlfriend was in trouble, I’d do everything to save her!’
Below them, Michael flinched before continuing down the slope, keeping plenty of distance from his siblings.
As the sun rose, warm winds swirled among the plains. Waves broke on the distant shores and the floating isles rumbled like one giant herd. The triplets spoke little, even when they reached the shade of the forest mid-afternoon. They marched up and down gullies, refreshed at streams and cringed when yellow toadstools pop! pop! popped! high into the canopy. Fear kept them moving whenever they ached for a rest.
Discovering trees tied with red rags, Luke, now in the lead, whistled for everyone to stop. They froze until they also heard the low throb of a cargo ship. ‘Slavers!’
Leaves and mulch gusted about them as they rushed behind a boulder to hide. The orange and red cargo ship cruised into view from the east, sweeping the forest with its own sensors. A laser cannon shrieked. A rock exploded and rubble bounced around a fleeing boar. The triplets pressed together, fearing they’d be next.
As the ship neared, Michael felt his armour tremble.
‘W-W-What’s g-g-going on?’ he asked, grabbing the rock. An unseen force was trying to drag him into the open.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered, her sword tugging against her red sash.
It felt like an earthquake but the ground wasn’t moving. Luke tried his radar again – all the readings were twisted and warped. He dared sneak a look. A giant floating isle headed their way. The captain of the slave ship spotted it too and urgently increased the throttle. The engines glowed bright blue as they struggled to escape the magnetic pull. Instead of going straight, the ship curved to the right as the isle reeled it in. Two torpedoes fired and blasted the widow rock into thirds. The sudden jolt freed the ship and allowed it to escape, tailed by flying shards.
‘Did you see the symbol painted on its side?’ Luke asked. It was a logo of an encircled wild dog – possibly a coyote, wolf or dingo – but moved like an electronic billboard. Every five seconds it silently howled. ‘It’s the same one on the crates at the harlequins’ warehouse.’
Samantha rolled up her sleeve and showed her hissing cobra. ‘They’re not just slavers,’ she said, noting the matching style of artwork. ‘They’re pirates.’
More trees sported red rags. Thousands more. But there hadn’t been any clues as to why. As the rainforest thinned and the understorey died away, they hiked to the top of a bald ridge and found their answer – fields of tree stumps.
‘Who could do this to a rainforest?’ Michael asked, spotting several felled logs tied with the red rags.
‘Guess,’ Samantha answered. ‘Pacifico has run out of land. All that furniture, timber and paper come from somewhere.’
‘They’re locusts,’ Luke said.
‘No, that’s civilisation.’
Michael descended a trail worn into the ridge’s side. ‘It’ll take at least half an hour to reach those far trees. Maybe twenty minutes if we hurry.’
‘What if the pirates come back? We can’t hide among those stumps.’
‘I don’t think we have a choice,’ Luke said, his visor scrolling with information. ‘My radar’s just gone haywire.’
‘I don’t see any more floating islands,’ Michael said.
‘There are eight – no fourteen – signals coming straight at us!’
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘I know, I know!’
They drew their swords. No matter what buttons he pushed, Luke couldn’t pinpoint their attackers.
Suddenly, a Scorned warrior – tattooed and cloaked with camouflage netting – dropped from the canopy armed with a spear. Thirteen more men and boys landed around him, jabbing their stone tips forward. Luke readied to blast off when strong hands grabbed him from behind and wrestled away his jetpack. They quickly disarmed his brother and sister as well.
The triplets stopped struggling when the warriors parted for their chieftain: the lame footman.
Marching under armed escort, the triplets headed north at a brisk pace in the middle of the Scorned hunting party. They avoided the open plains and stayed deep in the forest. Occasionally, the teenage boys scouted ahead of them in short bursts then returned, clicking their tongues. The older warriors fanned out and wrung their spears. They were clearly spooked.
With his hands tied, Michael snuck glances at the palace footman hobbling beside him. Stripped of his coat, breeches and neck scarf, he wore a loincloth made from boar hair, a woven straw belt, long jade earrings and a fish net cloak matted with leaves. He no longer stooped like a submissive footman but shouldered the confidence of a chieftain. He was broad, toned and imposing. Tattoos not only covered the right side of his face, but his whole right arm and leg as well. A necklace of shark’s teeth hung around his throat, and cowry shells bulged under the skin of his chest. Nicks scarred his body, recounting the many battles he’d fought. The most serious injury he’d survived was nasty – most of his left calf was gone, bitten off, it seemed, by the same killer whose teeth he now wore.
Noticing him staring, the chieftain placed his spear tip on Michael’s cheek and pointed his face forward.
Samantha had had enough. ‘I’m not going any further until you tell us where we’re going.’
‘Move!’
‘No!’
‘I don’t have to tell you anything, pirate,’ the chieftain said. ‘I’m not your servant anymore.’
He clicked at a warrior, who butted his spear into her back. She bristled but kept marching.
An urgent call sounded from ahead. Trees swayed as a low throbbing bullied the canopy and warned of the slave ship’s return.
‘Hurry,’ the chieftain said.
Hands grabbed the triplets and pulled them in separate directions. All three screamed, kicked and struggled, hoping to escape. No way were they going to be sold into slavery! But rather than flagging down the ship’s captain, the Scorned dragged the triplets towards the largest trees, pulled open curtains of stiff bark and pushed them inside hollowed-out trunks. Three or four warriors joined them and huddled together, gripping the makeshift curtains against the winds stirred up by the hovering vessel. The throb grew louder and louder until it paused right above them, drumming against their skulls. One moment the ship’s radar had picked up blips. The next – nothing.
The slavers lingered for a long time until the throbbing disappeared and everyone cautiously stepped outside.
‘Now will you tell us what’s going on?’ Michael asked.
‘Soon,’ the chieftain replied.
They continued through the forest, spared from the afternoon sun, before stopping at the fringes, which faced a beach. Most of the warriors shared gourds of water as the chieftain cut the triplets free and ordered Michael to remove his armour.
‘Everything metallic,’ he said.
The triplets watched as a pair of warriors dug up two long ropes from the sand and hauled them over their shoulders until a wooden trapdoor lifted up to reveal a buried bunker. They stored Michael’s armour, Luke’s jetpack and their swords before the hatch clattered down again and was locked. When the triplets walked twenty metres away, they could hear their belongings slam against the trapdoor. Michael felt his civilian clothes being tugged as that strange magnetism linked to his costume kicked in.
‘You realise we’re defenceless now, don’t you?’ Samantha whispered.
‘Yes,’ the chieftain said, surprising them, ‘but if I wanted to harm you, my people would have abandoned you to those pirates.’
They didn’t speak again for hours. The triplets sheltered in the fringes of the forest, sitting away from the warriors, greedily eating juicy, yellow
papayas they’d been handed, increasingly uneasy about why they hadn’t decamped. At last, a warrior in his mid-fifties climbed down a tree and clicked his tongue. Concerned, everyone stood.
Specks appeared in front of an enormous, distant, floating island and grew in size. At first, Michael suspected they were sharks, but as they approached they sharpened into a dozen dolphins escorting a giant blue whale.
‘Aurelio!’ he yelled.
The piper was in bad shape. He had a bandaged head and an arm in a sling. By the look of the blue whale, both had survived a ferocious battle.
‘A harlequin ambush,’ he explained, as Michael climbed behind him. ‘They waited for me near the ruins. I’m glad you’re alive, my friend. I tried warning you –’
‘It’s okay. For once, it’s good to know who to trust.’
27
Under the twilight stars, the triplets navigated on foot through thick trees and approached a small camp in the middle of the same enormous floating isle. They passed children dressed in oversized clothes salvaged from shipwrecks and a huddle of mothers and daughters cutting up mangoes, pineapples and coconut for a tropical fruit punch. The chieftain pointed for the triplets to sit on the ground before summoning the warriors together and talking to them in their private clicking language. A few metres away, an elderly medicine woman tended to Aurelio’s wounds as he lay on a torn couch.
The tribe largely ignored the triplets as it prepared the evening meal and quietly laughed at jokes. The only contact occurred when a young girl offered them hot vegetable soup in a turtle shell, which they greedily drained.
Samantha readied to stand and get answers before Michael held her back. The camp fell silent as women ushered girls into the trees, and the men and boys sat in a circle around a fire. An elder carried forward a bowl sloshing with hundreds of black dots that the triplets couldn’t immediately recognise and placed it before those involved in an initiation ceremony. Four boys aged twelve and thirteen passed to the older tribesmen sleeves woven from thin palm leaves before the elders then picked from the bowl. Between their fingers they held big bullet ants, which they wove into each sleeve, stinger-first. As the ants woke up, they found themselves trapped and became enraged. They stabbed and stabbed as they tried to wriggle free.
