by J M Sanford
Meanwhile, Meg strode across the deck as happily as she might on solid ground, taking in the view. “Captain, might Amelia take a look at the soulchamber?” she called out. “I’m teaching her magic, and skyships are an interesting case.”
Captain Dunnager beamed, his long golden eye teeth flashing in the sun. “But of course. This way please, ladies,” and he swept past Amelia with the clinking of tiny beads and a whiff of salty sea air.
Meg and Amelia followed the Captain down through a trapdoor in the deck, deep down into the belly of the skyship, into a windowless corridor lit by a blue-tinged lamp. In the strange half-light it cast, his eyes shone bright in such a way that made Amelia doubt Meg’s assurance that he was quite human.
“You must be quiet, now,” the Captain whispered as they progressed. “I’ve just put in a new soul, and they always take a few months to settle.”
Up ahead, metal double doors filled the end of the corridor. A faint blue light flickered behind dark glass panes, protected behind a sturdy grille, and the doors were barred and locked with a complex series of dials. Amelia trod softly as they came to it, straining her ears in the eerie quiet. She’d expected the roar and blaze of an engine, like the steam trains she’d read about in her fairy tales. Instead, the soulchamber seemed to have more the reverent, contemplative air of a chapel. Even at a distance, though, she could feel heat radiating from the doors. She became aware of Meg and Captain Dunnager watching her expectantly.
“Well?” said Meg. “Any observations?” Her eyes too had a glow to them. It must be something about the strange light of the blue lamp, too cool a flame to be natural. Their skin had taken on a faint bluish tinge that made Amelia’s eyes ache to look at it.
“It’s quiet,” said Amelia, pulling her attention back to the lesson with difficulty. Did she glow too, under that same light? She supposed she must do. “And hot. And dry.” Again, what observations did Meg expect her to make? She looked to the blue light that danced behind the darkened glass, and thought of Stupid. A sign on the door plainly warned of powerful magic contained within. “It’s… um. Is it a fire sprite or something like that?” Looking at the more arcane signs and symbols marking the double doors, she recognised one of them immediately – she’d seen it only a few minutes ago elsewhere. “Oh, it’s the same as the writing on the dragonette’s cage!” she exclaimed. “It means amaranthine, doesn’t it?”
“No, but a good guess,” said Meg. “It’s a warning sign for dangerous magic. You’d do well to learn it.” She turned to Captain Dunnager. “Can we open the soulchamber while we’re in flight? It’s been a good few years since I flew by skyship.”
“It’ll be all right for a little while,” he said, and pulled down a second grille behind them, blocking them into a space scarcely big enough for the three of them.
“Now, you see,” Meg shuffled round to let the Captain squeeze past in the narrow corridor. “You see, skyships use soul magic to fly. A suitable soul is contained in the soulchamber with binding spells and the like, and provides all the energy the skyship needs. What have you got there, anyway?” she asked the Captain.
“Eagle.”
Meg looked relieved. “I should have asked before we hired you, but that’ll do very nicely, I’m sure.”
The Captain drew back the heavy bars with a clang, turning the dials on the lock, and finally pulled open the doors. “Stand back of the white line,” he warned, indicating the boundary marked on the floor, walls and ceilings of the vault within, where the white line seemed to faintly glow in the darkness with a light of its own. All along its length was annotated in the language Amelia had come to recognise as magic.
She peered in at the glowing blue form huddled shivering and flickering in a far corner of the vault. It took her a moment to see exactly what it was, but when she did recognise it, all she could do for a moment was stare at the ethereal form of the ship’s soul, the remnants of its downy plumage still sticking out at funny angles. “How could you do such a thing?” she demanded, breathless with horror.
Meg and Captain Dunnager exchanged glances over her head.
“It’s just a fledgling!” Amelia cried, and Meg – anticipating her next move – grabbed hold of her to keep her from overstepping the white line, into the soulchamber. Amelia pushed her away: even in her horror she remembered the array of warning symbols on the doors. “But it’s just a baby! How could you?”
Meg rolled her eyes, but in her discomfort avoided meeting Amelia’s betrayed, wounded gaze. “I did say soul magic is –”
“Horrible! You said soul magic was immoral!” Amelia looked again at the shivering form of the fledgling soul, trapped in the dark, perhaps never to see the sky again… “You said before when we caught the dragonette, and it is – it’s immoral and horrible!”
“This is different,” said Meg.
“Why?”
Amelia thought for a moment that Meg was going to give her a proper answer. Then Meg took a deep breath, the look of sad resignation in her eyes hardening. “Because I said so. We don’t have time to debate the rights and wrongs of the matter. Not with the Black Queen and her men coming after us.”
“I’m sorry,” said Captain Dunnager, speaking to Meg rather than Amelia. “I should have guessed she’s the sensitive type.”
Meg shook her head. “That’s all right. End of lesson, Amelia. Let’s go up and get some fresh air.”
~
Meg tried her best to explain away the barbarity of the soulchamber, but Amelia remained unconvinced. Meg had admitted that soul magic was a dubious art, best taken very cautiously and with a case by case approach. There existed only the finest of lines between legitimate use and cruelty. Amelia sat alone in the cabin, trying to put her thoughts in order on this new subject, but found it difficult when every time she pictured the poor little bundle of downy fluff, tears of pity sprang to her eyes. Meg had compared the eagle soul to her snails – a tenuous comparison at best. The snails were beasts of burden, yes, but even on the run, Meg had ensured that they had copious amounts of time to wander in meadows and munch the flowers. The eagle spirit might still soar the wide blue skies – might do so for hundreds of years longer than its mortal brethren – but it wasn’t the same. Captain Dunnager was making the eagle soul a tame bird by cruelty, keeping it locked up in the dark like that…
“Amelia!” shouted Harold from behind the curtain, making her jump. “Amelia! Are you in there?”
She wiped her eyes and shouted, “Go away! I’m trying to sleep!” Captain Dunnager had given up his cabin to the two ladies, but with a hammock hung up opposite the bunk, it was scarcely any bigger than the upstairs of the snailcastletank. Amelia hadn’t liked to complain, though, especially on learning that Harold, Percival and the Captain would be sleeping in rougher hammocks, hastily arranged in the dingy cargo hold.
“Sorry to wake you, but I reckon you’d like to see this.”
Reluctantly, Amelia got up and pulled aside the curtain. “What is it?”
He only shook his head, grinning like a child on his birthday. “It’ll ruin the surprise if I tell you. Hurry up – we’re missin’ all the fun!”
He hadn’t seen the dreadful soulchamber; had given no thought to what fuelled their marvellous journey. Seeing his bright smile, his joy as pure as any eagle’s flight, she didn’t want to ruin it for him. He ran up the stairs onto the deck, and pointed into the clouds, where dark figures flapped lazily. At first, she mistook them for birds, but not for long. Her skin crawled as the dark figures flapped closer, wingbeats thumping loud as drums. “What are those things?”
“Wyverns, that’s all,” said Captain Dunnager. “Pay ‘em no mind, they’re only hoping for scraps.”
“They were right close a minute ago,” said Harold, grinning. “I never seen anything like it in my life!”
Despite Captain Dunnager’s reassurances, Amelia couldn’t help but shrink behind Harold as the biggest of the beasts thudded down on the railing within spitting
distance of her. It was a far cry from the beautiful, vividly coloured illustrations of dragons that she’d seen in storybooks. Its leathery hide was a dull dark brown, its wrinkly dry skin scantly covered by tufty, disarrayed feathers on its head, neck, shoulders and claws. It looked more closely related to a vulture than a dragon. Amelia stared at the wyvern, horrified and speechless, and the wyvern stared back.
“Look, Amelia,” said Meg gently, as something small, brown and fluffy darted by over their heads, its cry a high-pitched keening, “there’s a baby one, too.”
Amelia did her best to swallow her fear. “Is that the mother, then?” she asked, pointing to the third of the wyverns, circling the crow’s nest at a wary distance, smaller than the monster crouched on the railing.
“No, that’s another young ‘un,” said Captain Dunnager. “About seven or eight years old, I reckon. Ma’s usually about somewhere, though.”
“Would you like to feed them?” Meg asked.
Harold nodded eagerly, beaming even brighter, though Amelia would scarcely have thought that possible.
Captain Dunnager grinned. “I keep a bucket of fish guts and the like for ‘em down below, lad. Run and see if you can find it.”
Amelia had never seen the butcher’s boy run so fast. Soon he came galumphing back with the bucket, the wyverns suddenly shrieking in excitement at the smell of it.
“Not on the deck, now!” the Captain warned. “Don’t want ‘em making themselves too much at home, do we? Toss some over the side.”
Harold threw a fish head overboard, and the biggest of the wyverns dropped like a stone after it, spiralling round to snap at it. Harold almost dived over the railings too, keen as he was to see. Made bold by the prospect of food, the two young wyverns came close, clamouring for the contents of the bucket. The youngest came right up to Harold, snatching food from his hand and scampering off across the deck with a weird burbling, trilling growl.
“I said not on the deck!” Captain Dunnager shouted, as the baby wyvern’s big brother almost knocked Harold off his feet. With a shriek, Amelia ducked the wyvern’s claws, the wind from its leathery wings buffeting her face. It settled on the railings, staring at her.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you!” said Meg.
Amelia backed away from the wyvern, gripping Harold tightly by the arm. The smallest wyvern came scampering across the boards, chirping insistently and hopping about at knee height as Amelia whimpered breathlessly and skipped back from it.
Harold threw another fish head, and the wyverns dived after it. Amelia breathed again. What horrible creatures. If the Storm Chaser demanded the sacrifice of a soul, why not a wyvern instead of a beautiful eagle?
With the bucket soon emptied, the wyverns retreated, and Harold turned his attention to Captain Dunnager, who had apparently promised to give him a lesson in sword fighting. In spite of everything, Amelia couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little at the way Harold tumbled from one excitement to another like a happy puppy. Thinking that she’d best stay out of the way of his lessons, she retreated to the cabin. There she lay stretched out on the bunk, leafing listlessly through the spell book Meg had lent her, gazing straight through the words and symbols. She still couldn’t stop thinking about the awful soulchamber. Stupid the fire sprite floated anxiously above her head, casting a dim yellow light that dimmed and flickered each time Amelia gave a dismal sigh. In the corner, the clockwork dragonette clinked quietly as it preened its gleaming golden wings. Amelia watched it: it had a melancholy air of surrender about it now, long since resigned to its confinement. Stupid had taken a dislike to it, evidently seeing it as a rival for his mistress’ affection, and harassed it from time to time, whirling about it in a shower of angry red sparks until Amelia scolded him to stop. Maybe she should set the poor thing free. She might be too late to help the eagle soul, but it would be easy enough to open the clockwork dragonette’s cage – flicking through the spell book she’d seen a verse that claimed to charm any lock that could be opened. She picked up the cage, but the sight of the dragonette’s delicately curved and pointed little claws stirred up the memory of it buzzing and whirring close overhead like some enormous wasp, and she changed her mind almost at once. Still, its jewel eyes looked so sad that she went above deck and found a place to hang up the cage, so that at least the poor creature could freely see the sky as the sun set. If only she could do as much for the eagle’s soul.
12: SABOTAGE
A couple of nights later Amelia stood at the railings, looking out into the starry sky. Her fear of the terrible drop had abated somewhat throughout the easy sailing they’d had so far, and she’d even begun to enjoy the fierce wind in her unbraided hair. She wondered where the family of wyverns had gone, and when they might come back. According to Harold, Captain Dunnager could summon them with a particular whistle, and had insisted on demonstrating the awful piercing noise to her. He’d learnt it well and the wyverns soon appeared at his call, but Captain Dunnager had to forbid him to use it, or the creatures would eat them out of house and home. Still, it would come in handy: the wyverns were a necessary part of her plan, after all. The cloud had cleared, the stars shone bright, and all around them she could see nothing but indigo sky and calm sea. Percival stood at the helm, indefatigable and motionless as a suit of armour on display, the Storm Chaser needing little work to keep it on course. Meg, Harold and Captain Dunnager had all long since retired, but Amelia waited on deck, consulting her spell book, the very picture of studiousness. On Meg’s recommendation, she’d been learning the symbols and syntax for written spells, and had begun to recognise a lot of magical writing. Checking that Percival still stood looking out ahead, Amelia crept away, down through the trapdoor. Armed with a mop and bucket, her spellbook clamped under her arm, she tiptoed down the corridor towards the heavy double doors of the soulchamber. Only the faint blue light of the strange lamp and the glow of the eagle soul behind dark glass lit the corridor, and she took care not to look too closely at her own self, for fear of seeing that eerie blue glow she had noticed before.
“Poor thing,” she whispered to the caged eaglet. “You didn’t ask to be here, any more than I did.” Careful to not make too much noise, she eased the bars slowly back, pausing now and then to listen. The heavy bars were the simplest task, and Amelia stopped to get her shallow breathing under control before she put on her rings. She cast a tiny light spell, setting it where it illuminated both the dials locking the soulchamber doors, and the pages of her spell book. The spell she needed was one that Meg hadn’t taught her yet, but in itself it seemed simple enough. The night before, in secret, she’d practised it on the lock to the deckhouse door. Encouraged by her success with that, she’d then wanted to try it again on the more difficult lock to the clockwork dragonette’s cage, but had been too afraid of it getting free, or of Meg catching her at it. The lock on the Storm Chaser’s soulchamber, more complex, only required more concentration. With enough time and effort, Amelia felt certain she could persuade any lock to open with this spell. Glancing between page and dials, she whispered, and gradually the lock began to answer: clicking, ticking in the dim light in the dark. Brow furrowed in concentration, Amelia kept up the rhythm of the ancient words, feeling the ache behind her eyes, the pressure in her head. Then, with one final click, all the pain and the pressure dissipated in a rush of relief. Amelia scarcely dared to believe it. Breathless, heart thudding wildly, she pulled on the handle of one of the double doors, and it swung open easily. In the corner of the soulchamber, the eagle soul flinched and looked up.
“It’s all right,” Amelia whispered to it. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll be free in just a few moments.” And by the time Captain Dunnager knew of the eagle soul’s escape, it would be too late. He would be forced to find some other way to power his skyship. With the wyverns being regular visitors, and so easily lured with scraps, one of them would surely be ideal…
The eagle soul ruffled its feathers in agitation, shuffling round to better l
ook at Amelia as she picked up the mop and bucket. The white line came up easily enough with a bit of scrubbing, its eerie light dimming as she worked round from the floor to the walls and across the ceiling. She hoped that it would be enough to simply remove the line: even with the aid of her book, she couldn’t properly make sense of the sigils accompanying it. Meanwhile, as the caged soul sensed its imminent freedom, it grew more and more agitated, the blue fire of it flaring brighter in the gloom, ghostly feathers rustling and crackling with the sound of leaping flames. Amelia, afraid up until now of her plan being uncovered and Meg or the Captain putting a stop to it, began to feel a different sort of fear in the heat and confines of the corridor. She had tried her best to decipher all the symbols written on the soulchamber’s doors, but there had been quite a few she couldn’t make head nor tail of. Only as she stood there with mop in hand did she begin to worry that she could have missed something vitally important… Captain Dunnager had said that it was safe to open the soulchamber whilst in flight, hadn’t he? But only for a short time. Perhaps she should lock it up again. It probably wouldn’t matter that the white line was missing – the heavy doors and the locks would be enough, and then she could try again while the skyship was grounded safe on a beach again somewhere…
