by Nick Travers
Chapter 14
Izzy scowls menacingly at me. “What journal, Nina?” she demands, after I’ve related my tale and showed them the torn page from the arrivals book.
I retrieve the sinister brown-paper package I received for my birthday from my shoulder bag and we sit round the cabin table with the bundle centered in the middle.
Trent reaches across and prods the package. He turns it round to examine the address, and then shrugs. “My master died for that book. Next stop, I’m taking it straight to the constables.”
“We can’t go to the constables.” Scud gently places a roll of paper on the table. “These are everywhere.”
I straighten out the crisp roll of paper. Ice clutches at my heart and I stare in disbelief. Whatever I was expecting to see it isn’t this. “But it doesn’t even look like me,” I blurt. A wanted poster.
Except for the sharp intakes of breath around the table, there is silence. Never have I felt such panic pounding at my chest—what have I done?
“NATASHA SWIFT WANTED FOR MURDER.” A crude, but menacing, line-drawing of my face glowers out from under the heading. There follows a brief, and fairly accurate, description of me. “The suspect may be travelling with other young adults in a stolen airship,” it adds.
“Stolen?” I fume. “I paid good money for this ship.”
Trent looks up in surprise. “You actually own this wreck?”
“She’s not a wreck.” With effort, I force myself to speak normally. “She may look tatty on the outside.” I pat the sleek laminated frame of the ship with affection. “But she’s mechanically sound—especially since the refit at Felix’s.”
“Which is one place we cannot return to,” Izzy says.
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Because,” she continues, “the constables will be watching it.”
“Maybe,” Trent says, “we should take the journal there. That would be the responsible thing to do—then we can prove our innocence.”
Fernando turns on Trent like a hawk. “We just saved your neck, Buddy, and now you want us to put our heads on the plank? Are you trying to get caught or are you just an idiot?”
Trent recoils from Fernando’s fury and I reach my arm out to protect him. “He’s only trying to help.” Secretly, I’m pleased: I think Fernando may have meant, “Put our heads in the noose”, or “Our feet on the plank,” but in any event, he’s standing up for us. The mutiny is done and gone.
He’s right, though, we can’t turn ourselves in. McGraw might be prepared to consider us innocent until proven guilty, he’s a good constable, but Borker will certainly just want to bang us up so he can close the case—or worse.
Fernando turns on me next. “And you… you’ve made me into a criminal. I’m an accomplice to murder. What is my family going to think?”
I wasn’t expecting that. “You know we’re innocent, Fernando. Anyway, it isn’t as though you haven’t broken the law before.”
He actually bares his teeth at me. “I might play a bit fast and loose sometimes, but I have never…never done anything to endanger the family honor.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, struggling to regain his composure. “I wish I’d never set foot on this bucket.”
Now my initial panic is over, I consider my options; not only have I piloted an unlicensed airship, but the constables are hunting me for murder. There is only one way out of this. “We will find the killer and clear our names ourselves,” I declare.
I gaze round the table at the others, who are staring at me in horror. “If we’re not going to give ourselves up it’s the only logical plan, unless you want to spend the rest of your lives on the run. Anyone got a better plan?”
Silence.
Content to have a positive course of action, I reach for the brown-paper package. “It all revolves around this journal—so let’s see what it’s all about.”
I pause, theatrically, partly for effect and partly in anticipation, before ripping off the brown paper. In my hand I hold a slim leather—bound book.
A note wafts to the table which Scud scoops up. “Nina,” he reads, “this recently came into my possession. Now you are of age, it is rightfully yours. Love Felix.”
I hold up the book and open the first page.
The others crowd round to read and I push them back. “Give us some air here.” Then I clear my throat and read, “The Journal of Eve Swift, Archaeologist.”
I turn the page. “This journal records clues, collected over many years, which answer the greatest mystery of our time. Once, billions populated the surface of the Earth, now only those who dwell in the sky remain—us and the Reavers. What happened to the earth dwellers? Where have they gone?” I shudder at the mention of Reavers, those barely human nomads of the skies that hunt us like vermin.
“Billions?” Scud scoffs, “there’s no way the planet can support that many people—she’s exaggerating.”
Fernando shrugs. “I don’t see any mystery—everyone knows they poisoned themselves with pollution.”
I read on. “They simply vanished too quickly for the common belief that they poisoned themselves,” I raise an eyebrow in Fernando’s direction, “to have any credibility.”
Fernando grunts. I grin to myself and carry on. “There must be some other explanation. But be warned, I am not the only one seeking these clues. There are others, and they are not all friendly.”
Trent, annoyingly, is leaning over my shoulder to get a better view and read ahead. He points to the next paragraph. “Hey, Nina, this is written in a different pen and dated just before her final trip.”
I deliberately block his view of the book and read on. “Now I have all the clues, I am setting out to discover the final answers to my questions. Those who would prevent me have already made one attempt on my life. As a safeguard, should anything happen to me, a copy of this journal will be sent to my kin to publish, so confounding my enemies.”
“Wow,” Izzy breaths, “I guess Felix never published, but he still thought he should pass it on to you.”
Scud is looking anywhere except at the package. “Felix said you should destroy it, Nina.”
“Clearly something happened between Felix sending me the journal and him telling me to destroy it. Whatever changed his mind led to his death. Find what changed, we solve the mystery, and clear our names—simple.”
I turn to the only person who might know what happened. “Trent, why don’t you tell us what happened on the trading platform and why Felix changed his mind about the journal?”
Trent looks sheepish, in his gap-toothed way. “It’s the first time I’ve seen the journal—Felix never mentioned it to me. I didn’t see nothing or hear nothing. I came out of the rope shed and someone hit me over the head. When I came round Felix was dead and the platform was deserted.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s all.”
“They were after the journal,” Scud mumbles, “and when they didn’t find it they killed Felix to prevent him from warning you, Nina.”
“Why me?”
Scud points to the book, “A copy of this journal will be sent to my kin to publish. You’re kin too, Nina.”
“Why kill Uncle Felix now though, Mum’s reckless adventure ended ten years ago?”
Scud shrugs. “While Felix kept the secret, the journal wasn’t a threat, but what would you have done with it?”
Everything revolves around the journal.
Fernando glances nervously at Izzy, but can’t help himself. “Izzy’s Father died for that journal, Nina. How could you not have opened it before now?”
I’m asking myself the same question. More importantly, could I have saved Uncle Felix if I had opened it earlier? I draw a blank, but it still bugs me—am I just as responsible for Felix’s death as his murderers? Maybe the wanted poster contains some truth.
“You’re missing the bigger picture here guys—this journal links Felix’s death, my Mother’s death, and our own predicament; whoever killed Felix also killed my Mother—pos
sibly for the same reason. To clear our names, we need to find the murderers.”
“How do we do that?” Izzy asks.
I turn to the next page of the journal. “Easy, we follow the clues.”
