The Secret Throne

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The Queen gave Taggie a secretive little smile and raised her right arm so the sleeve of her robe fell back, revealing the charmsward around her own wrist. ‘I sometimes wear it myself,’ the Queen said.

  Taggie drew a sharp breath. Of all the strangeness from travelling back in time, seeing the charmsward on her wrist and her grandmother’s at the same time was definitely the weirdest.

  ‘Though I dislike some of the spells it knows,’ the Queen continued. ‘So you see, part of my essence will be with you on your quest.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Taggie smiled round a slice of the juiciest honey melon she’d ever tasted.

  ‘All Dad left me was some money,’ Jemima said in a disappointed tone as she held up the suede purse.

  The Queen smiled. ‘Oh Jemima, what a bright hot fire you are. How you will delight those who know you.’

  Jemima blushed, unable to meet her grandmother’s intense gaze.

  ‘But you judge your father falsely,’ the Queen chided. ‘He loves you too much to simply buy your happiness. Have you forgotten what else is in the purse? I can sense the seers’ runes from here. Unless I’m very much mistaken, they are the ones that belonged to my cousin Ballania. Oh, the mischief she and I got up to together when we were your age!’

  Jemima scrambled through the coins in the purse, anxiously retrieving the old stone dice. ‘Do you mean these?’ she asked excitedly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t know they were runes.’ Jemima pursed her lips together in puzzlement. ‘What do I do with them?’

  ‘You throw them to see,’ the Queen told her.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘What you want to see. What you need to see. If you have the sight.’

  Jemima quickly flung them on to the table, and studied the tiny symbols intently. They were mostly parallel lines, little more than crude scratches. ‘What do they show?’

  ‘They only ever reveal their meaning to the seer to whom they belong.’

  ‘But I can’t see anything!’

  The Queen ruffled her hair. ‘Patience. Though even without runes I can see how hard that will be to your nature. You must practise long and hard. Seers always say they never perfect their art in their lifetime, they only ever improve.’

  Jemima became sulky again, putting the runes back into her suede purse.

  ‘And you, Felix Weldowen,’ the Queen said. ‘What have you to ask me?’

  Felix’s tail fluffed out as he bowed. ‘Nothing, Majesty. It is my honour to serve the Queen of Dreams.’

  ‘Your loyalty deserves some reward. I see you have endured much in pursuit of your duty.’ The Queen slipped a plain gold ring from her finger. ‘If you need comfort in dark times, if you need soothing when there seems to be no hope, I will be with you and do my best to ease your suffering.’

  Felix bowed again, the tip of his tail quivering as he slipped the ring on his paw. ‘Majesty.’

  ‘And now you must be on your way,’ the Queen said. ‘In that at least I can help you.’ She got up and tapped lightly on the cupboard doors at the back of the tree house. ‘Taslaf, you will return these fine girls to the Realm where they were born.’

  ‘As you wish, Majesty,’ a voice said behind Taggie. She jumped, but of course there was no one there.

  The cupboard doors opened silently, revealing a wooden spiral staircase behind.

  ‘Taslaf is another of the Great Gateways,’ the Queen said. ‘It will take you back to the Outer Realm. And it certainly won’t let anyone follow you back.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Taslaf said in a haughty voice.

  ‘However,’ the Queen continued, ‘be careful when you get there. You will have to go back to Orchard Cottage and confront Arasath, for only Arasath can undo the mischief it has created.’ She held Taggie’s hands. ‘Be firm with it, be resolute about who you really are, and make sure it fully knows that too.’

  ‘Yes, Grandma.’

  The Queen kissed her, then turned to Jemima. ‘So little time is a dreadful crime, but I am grateful to have had these few minutes with you. Be strong, my bright little fire, know that I love you now and always.’

  Jemima hugged the Queen of Dreams tightly. ‘I don’t want to go.’

  ‘I know,’ the Queen replied sadly.

  Their hug went on for a long time. Taggie eventually took Jemima’s hand and led her through the door.

  ‘And remember to practise your sight,’ the Queen called out as they started to climb the stairs.

  ‘I will,’ Jemima promised.

  The spiral stairs stretched up a lot higher than those in the roundadown of Orchard Cottage, and certainly taller than the tree they’d started inside. After a couple of minutes the light began to fade around them, not that Taggie had ever seen where it was coming from. She took her torch out and began climbing again. Several spirals later she realized the steps were now cast iron rather than wood, and the walls were brick.

  Abruptly she came to a door with a large brass handle. She could just make out muffled sounds on the other side.

  ‘Felix?’ she said softly. ‘What do I do?’ She looked round and saw that he’d shrunk in size again; he was almost as small as a real Outer Realm squirrel now.

  ‘Open it,’ he said simply.

  Carefully she turned the handle. The door opened inwards a couple of inches. A dreary grey daylight spilt through the crack. There was no one directly outside, so she pulled the door back.

  The sound of traffic was the first thing she noticed, though there was something oddly grating about the engine noise, as if sand had got into the gears. Directly opposite her was a brick wall, darkened by grime. It had an alcove in it, the same shape as the doorway she stood in. The ground in front was some kind of sloping cobbled road with two sets of iron rails running along it. To her right was the rectangular entrance to a tunnel. They’d come out halfway along a ramp that led up to ground level. When she looked up she could see buildings and trees above the railings that lined the top of the ramp wall.

  ‘Quickly,’ Taggie urged.

  ‘What is this place?’ Jemima asked, peering up at the railings.

  ‘A city somewhere,’ Taggie said. ‘Come on.’ She started up the ramp, towards the sound of traffic and people. Felix scooted directly up the vertical brick wall without any difficulty. Then he was running along the top of the railings, head swivelling from side to side.

  ‘What’s up there?’ Taggie asked him.

  Before he could answer, a bell sounded. It was brash and insistent. Taggie glanced over her shoulder and yelped. An old-fashioned tram was trundling out of the tunnel behind them, the driver glaring at them as his arm pulled the bell chord.

  ‘Run!’ Taggie shouted. She and Jemima pelted up the ramp with the tram closing on them, bell still clanging wildly. They reached the end of the railings, and dived sideways. A car horn hooted. Taggie grabbed Jemima’s hand and tugged her forward on to the closest pavement. Only then did they stop, hearts pounding, and take a good look around.

  They’d come out at a broad road intersection, with the tramlines curving round to the right, and cars and buses trundling about, seemingly in every direction. The cars were all ancient, small and drab-coloured, with narrow spoke wheels. Buses were similarly old-fashioned.

  ‘What’s happened to all the windows?’ Jemima said in puzzlement. ‘They’ve all got crosses on them.’

  Taggie saw what she meant. Every window along the city street had white tape stuck across it. Then she noticed the people walking past were giving the sisters curious, semi-suspicious stares. The clothes the women wore were the kind her mum’s Vogue magazine had shown in their 1940s retro feature the other week. And most of the men seemed to be in military uniforms. She suddenly realized what the Queen of Dreams had meant when she said: ‘Only Arasath can undo the mischief it has created.’

  ‘Oh no!’ she groaned. ‘We’re still in the past. We need to get back to Orchard Farm and go through Arasath to get back to our own time.’


  She looked round, trying to work out where they were. The street sign on the corner of the intersection read ‘Southampton Row WC1’. She knew that was a London sign.

  Jemima was tugging her arm.

  ‘What?’ Taggie snapped.

  A very subdued Jemima simply pointed up into the sky. Taggie followed the line of her finger. A huge grey oval balloon with three fat fins at the rear was floating above the rooftops. More were visible across the skyline behind it.

  ‘Where are we?’ Jemima asked in a small voice.

  ‘London,’ Taggie told her. ‘During the Blitz.’

  A CITY AT WAR

  ‘I’ll keep look-out,’ Felix said to the sisters as they stared round in surprise at the wartime city. He jumped on to the wall of the shop behind them, and scaled it effortlessly, jumping across window ledges, then scampering up a drainpipe with his tail waggling energetically as he went. When he reached guttering he leaned over and raised a paw. Taggie was sure it was a thumbs-up gesture, and hoped no one else had seen. The last thing they needed now was people asking them difficult questions – any questions at all, actually.

  She and Jemima walked for fifteen minutes, taking a route along Bloomsbury Way and out on to Oxford Street. Taggie had been to London dozens of times; she even remembered visiting department stores along Oxford Street. But there was no Centre Point tower, no small noisy tourist shops with ‘I LOVE LONDON’ T-shirts, mugs and tea towels. It was so different to the London she knew, so drab and depressing. People gave her and Jemima curious glances, almost frowning at their bright coats.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Jemima asked.

  ‘We have to get back to Orchard Cottage and Arasath,’ Taggie said.

  ‘But how? Melham is over a hundred miles away.’

  Taggie stopped in the middle of the pavement. As she tried to work out just how they could travel back to Melham an acorn landed on her head.

  ‘Ow!’ Taggie looked up to see Felix peering over the guttering, wearing his purple glasses. His paw was jabbing out urgently. She followed the gesture.

  On the other side of the road there was a man in a long black leather coat and a trilby hat. He was looking directly at her and Jem. His hat cast a shadow over his face, so all she could see of his features was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Something about him unnerved her.

  ‘Come on, let’s keep moving,’ she said.

  ‘But how do we get there?’ Jemima insisted.

  ‘Think about it: the railway lines are still the same,’ Taggie replied, rather pleased with herself. ‘We’ll go to King’s Cross station and catch a train up to Grantham. After that, we’ll walk the rest of the way if we have to. It’s only ten miles.’

  ‘All right. But how do we buy a ticket?’

  It was all Taggie could do not to stomp her foot. Did the pestering questions never end?

  ‘You’ve got money. Remember? The kind of money that people always accept: gold.’

  ‘Do they take that at railway ticket offices? In wartime?’

  ‘Jem, will you stop trying to rubbish everything I say.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just saying you need real Outer Realm money to buy anything in the Outer Realm.’

  ‘Really? And since when have you started calling this the Outer Realm?’

  ‘Since I found out that’s what it is. And you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘It’s very simple, actually.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Taggie squared her shoulders, trying desperately to think.

  ‘How then?’ Jemima asked sneeringly.

  An old memory came slithering to the rescue. ‘Jewellers buy gold,’ Taggie said, trying not to sound relieved. ‘We just have to find one.’

  ‘There’s one over there,’ Jemima pointed behind her.

  ‘Huh?’

  Even Jemima looked surprised at what she’d done. She peered down the street. ‘There.’

  The jewellery shop was a hundred metres away. Taggie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. But there was no way she was asking Jemima how she had known it was there. That would have been admitting defeat. ‘Well spotted, Jem,’ was all she’d allow herself to say.

  They hurried forward. Taggie made a series of what she hoped were unobtrusive hand signals to Felix, who was loping along the rooftops above them. Then she wondered if Felix actually got that five fingers splayed out meant five minutes. Oh well, he was magical – he’d work it out.

  The jeweller’s shop was as dreary on the inside as it was on the out. Wood-framed display cases showed off a small collection of rings and necklaces. The one for watches was half empty. A single yellow light bulb hanging from the ceiling was the only illumination.

  The man behind the counter frowned when they came in, giving Taggie’s quilted orange coat a long look. Eventually he said: ‘Yes, young ladies, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I was wondering if you bought gold coins?’ Taggie asked in her sweetest voice. She held out the smallest of Jemima’s collection.

  The jeweller’s eyebrows shot up in in amazement. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘It was my grandmother’s,’ said Jemima, who was now also being as charming as possible. ‘She left it to me.’

  ‘I see,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘Does she travel abroad a lot?’

  ‘She may do,’ Taggie said, reluctant to give details. ‘Please, will you buy it?’

  ‘I wish I could,’ he said, scratching the back of his head. ‘But it’s not something I deal in.’

  ‘Oh. Do you know anyone who does?’ asked Jem.

  ‘That’ll be Mr Glenton. He has a shop in Covent Garden. He’s interested in foreign coins.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Taggie said with a smile.

  The jeweller consulted his watch. ‘He’ll be closing up now. But he opens at half nine sharp in the morning.’

  ‘We have to wait until the morning? Why, what time is it?’

  ‘Half past five.’ The jeweller was staring at her watch, which was just visible below her coat cuff. Taggie realized it was the one with a liquid crystal display – and they certainly never had those during the Second World War.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your help. We’ll be going now.’

  They started walking to the door.

  ‘Where did you say you were from?’ the jeweller asked.

  ‘Grantham,’ Jemima said at exactly the same time that Taggie said: ‘King’s Cross.’

  ‘Um, that is, we were evacuated from King’s Cross to Grantham,’ Taggie said hurriedly. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘What did you say King’s Cross for?’ Jemima hissed when they were outside.

  ‘I . . .’ Taggie looked back through the glass door, to see the jeweller lifting up a telephone. ‘It didn’t make sense to say somewhere outside London.’

  ‘We could be visiting. We are visiting.’

  ‘Come on.’ Taggie pulled at Jemima’s arm, wanting to get a long way from the jeweller’s.

  ‘Now what?’ Jemima grumbled.

  ‘The shopkeeper is suspicious. It’s wartime: people are suspicious about anything out of the ordinary.’ As she said it she looked back and saw the man in the leather coat again. Her breath caught in her throat. He was there, along with someone who could have been his twin. They were both wearing identical black leather coats and trilbies, the setting sun reflecting off their glasses. She began to think no one else could see them. Other pedestrians were walking past the leather coats without even glancing at them.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Taggie insisted. She glanced up, relieved to see a flash of white fur on the roof above.

  The sisters set off down Oxford Street. It was getting noticeably darker now as the sun sank below the rooftops. Smoke was pouring out of every chimney, bringing the strong bitter smell of coal to the air. Buses and army trucks rumbled along the road, puffing out fumes. London had never smelt so bad when she visited. And now she was really looking round, Taggie noticed every building was coated
in soot and grime.

  ‘What are we going to do until morning?’ Jemima asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose we can sleep on a park bench.’

  ‘Really? Did they have homeless people in the war?’

  Taggie pressed her teeth together to prevent her annoyance showing. Questions, questions, always questions. But then she was the older sister, and with that came responsibility. Besides, she was just as nervous as Jem, so she put her arm round her sister’s shoulders. ‘They must have. So many people lost their homes in the bombing.’

  ‘What bombing?’ squeaked Jem.

  ‘That’s what the Blitz is,’ Taggie said in exasperation. ‘The German Luftwaffe fly over every night and drop bombs on London. Other cities, too.’

  Jemima gave the dark grey sky with its looming barrage balloons a frightened glance. ‘People are going to drop bombs on us?’

  Taggie desperately wanted to be reassuring, but at the same time she couldn’t lie, not to Jem. ‘I hope not.’ Then she looked round again to check on the leather coat twins. Sure enough, they were there, keeping pace on the other side of the road. The number of pedestrians was thinning out now, which allowed her to see a third leather coat walking fifty paces behind them on their side of the road. ‘We’re being followed,’ she whispered to Jem.

  ‘What!’

  ‘Keep moving.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. They look . . . They look like . . .’

  ‘What?’

  Taggie pulled a face. ‘They look like the kind of spies you see in old films.’

  Jemima turned round. ‘Oh gosh. Yes, I see what you mean. All four of them are dressed exactly the same.’

  ‘Four?’ Taggie gulped. ‘Run!’

  The sisters ran along the street, drawing far too much attention. A couple of soldiers in uniform called out to them. A few hands made half-hearted attempts to catch their shoulders. Someone even laughed at the sight of two gaudily dressed girls running in a panic.

  ‘Down here,’ Taggie said, and they sped off along a narrow side road. Half a minute later Taggie risked a glance back. The last of the daylight was draining away, and she saw six leather-coated figures silhouetted across the end of the gloomy street. There was no one in front of them. They were in the middle of London, and the whole place seemed deserted.