Echo Quickthorn and the Great Beyond

by Alex English

  ‘Professor!’

  Professor Daggerwing jumped and looked up, startled. Then his face broke into a broad grin. ‘If it isn’t the young Lady Echo! And her delightful reptilian friend.’

  Gilbert hopped from one foot to another in glee.

  ‘But what on earth are you—’

  Echo beamed. ‘I’m here to rescue you.’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Horace came panting round the corner. ‘You never said anything about rescuing anyone. Who is he anyway?’

  ‘This is Professor Daggerwing,’ said Echo. ‘And we can’t just leave him down here.’ She turned to the professor. ‘This is Horace. He’s not much good at exploring, but he insisted on tagging along.’

  ‘And you insisted on taking my plan,’ said Horace, folding his arms tightly across his chest. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you’d have been caught on the stairs before we even got to the kitchen!’

  Echo scowled. But, before she could reply, Professor Daggerwing cleared his throat. ‘Let me introduce myself, young man.’ He stood and thrust a large, freckled hand through the bars. ‘Professor Mangrove Daggerwing. Inventor, explorer, adventurer. I come from the great city of Port Tourbillon. Beyond the Barren.’

  ‘Beyond the Barren?’ Horace’s pink face paled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Why couldn’t it be true?’ Echo said, desperately wanting it to be. ‘We’ve never been there.’

  ‘But it’s the end of the world!’

  ‘What if it isn’t though?’

  Horace shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t speak of such things,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘It isn’t true. And if Father heard—’

  They all froze as the sound of footsteps rang down the corridor behind them.

  ‘That’ll be Mortice – the dungeon master,’ said the professor. ‘A man heavy of boot and heavier of hand. You two should skedaddle.’ He gave a mock salute as Echo and Horace scuttled round the corner and deeper into the dungeons.

  The tunnels narrowed as Echo ran, as swiftly and as quietly as she could, Gilbert still clinging to her shoulder and Horace close behind. Once Mortice’s voice had faded to nothing, she stopped.

  Horace’s face was flushed. ‘You . . . you tricked me! You didn’t say anything about rescuing prisoners.’ Even in the torchlight, she could see he was close to tears. ‘If Father found out, he’d . . . I don’t even know, but it wouldn’t be nice!’

  ‘But the professor needs our help,’ she said. ‘He’s got a map of places outside. He showed it to me!’

  ‘There are no places outside,’ said Horace. ‘He made it all up, and you fell for it. Just because you’re so desperate for it to be real. You want to think there’s somewhere better where you don’t have to play by the rules. Well, there isn’t.’

  Echo flushed at Horace’s words. She swallowed. Perhaps Professor Daggerwing’s tales were too good to be true. Down in the dungeons, other cities and rivers and oceans suddenly did seem unlikely.

  ‘I want to go back upstairs right now,’ Horace said, with a sniff. ‘I can’t stand it down here.’

  ‘Fine,’ Echo snapped. How were they going to get back upstairs? In her haste to get to the dungeons and find the professor, she hadn’t even thought about their exit route, and they couldn’t risk going back up in a barrel with nobody to seal them in. She took a deep breath and examined the map, hoping Horace hadn’t noticed her cluelessness. ‘This way,’ she said, pointing with fake confidence at one of the tunnels.

  They walked onwards through the greenish-black puddles. In the torchlight, Echo made out walls covered with a stinking yellowish mould that made her grimace, Horace gag and pinch his nose, and Gilbert hide his face in the collar of her jacket. The air weighed down on her, damp and heavy. She stared deep into the gloom of one cell and jumped as a woman with a dark, shaven head appeared out of the shadows, the whites of her eyes glowing eerily in the darkness.

  ‘I recognize you, girl. Now where have I—’

  ‘Nowhere,’ said Echo, hastily backing away and walking swiftly on into the shadows.

  She was about to turn the corner back into the labyrinth of tunnels when the woman shouted after her, ‘You’re the very image of your ma!’

  Echo froze. It was as if the woman’s words had knocked all the breath out of her. She turned back. ‘You knew my mother?’

  The woman squinted at her. ‘Dunno. I can’t quite place her. I just know there was a woman down here who looked just like you. Had a baby with her.’

  ‘Down here?’ Echo shook her head. ‘No, you’re mistaken. My mother wasn’t down here. She abandoned me up on the castle steps. She wasn’t a criminal.’

  The woman chuckled and stared at Echo intently. ‘Eyes like a stormy sea, she had, grey and gold, just like yours.’ Suddenly she lunged between the bars and grabbed Echo’s wrist. ‘Her face shone like moonbeams, so it did.’

  The look in the woman’s eyes scared Echo. She snatched her hand away and stumbled backwards, then set off through the tunnels at a run, her heart pounding.

  ‘Wait for me!’ she heard Horace shout from behind her, but she couldn’t stop her feet from moving. Every part of her was desperate to get as far away as she could from the strange woman and her intense stare.

  ‘Please stop,’ puffed Horace, after they had raced through tunnel after tunnel. ‘We don’t even know where we’re going.’

  Echo finally came to a halt, but she was still shaking. Stupid girl! For a moment, she had really believed that the woman had known her mother. That, for once, someone was going to tell her something about her parents. Anything! She fought back a sob. She’d been stupid to believe in any of it. Stupid to hope that there was something more to life than what she had. Stupid to come down here at all.

  She suddenly realized Horace was talking to her.

  ‘I said, are you okay?’ he said. ‘You mustn’t trust the prisoners, you know. They’re down here for a reason. What did she say to you?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ Echo said stiffly. Horace was right. The woman had been confused; she must have been down in the dungeons too long. Why had Echo ever believed in the professor and his ridiculous fairy tales either? She’d risked another punishment to come down here.

  Echo clenched her hands into tight balls. She wouldn’t cry in front of Horace. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I brought us down here. It was all a silly idea.’

  Horace shrugged. ‘I chose to come – it’s not all your fault. Come on, let’s go back.’

  Echo nodded and stared blankly at the map. She blinked a few times and frowned. But Gilbert suddenly sniffed the air, ran up the folds of Echo’s stolen outfit and leaped on to the wall.

  ‘Gilbert!’ said Echo, as the little lizard skittered away from her grasp.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ said Horace. ‘Looking for flies?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Echo. ‘Quick. Let’s follow him.’ She raced off after him.

  After following Gilbert along passageway after cramped passageway, they turned a corner and Echo suppressed a gasp.

  Before her was a vast, stone-walled chamber lit with flickering torches. In the central wall was a huge, circular gold hatch ringed with skulls and at the far end of the chamber two tall metal gates hung open. Through the opening she could see torchlight and red-carpeted stairs leading upwards.

  Echo ducked back into the shadows as a Royal Guard came into sight and began to polish the metalwork, humming as he worked. This had to be the way back to the castle – through the king’s ceremonial entrance. If they could just sneak past the guard . . .

  Echo grabbed Gilbert, tickled him beneath his chin and lifted him back on to her shoulder, where he curled his tail round her neck. She gestured to Horace and he popped his head out of the alcove to see.

  ‘The ceremonial gate,’ he whispered.

  ‘That’s our way out,’ said Echo.

  Horace nodded. ‘We got lucky,’ he said. ‘They only open
it when there’s going to be an expulsion.’ He pointed at the circular golden door with its ring of skulls. ‘That’s the chute.’

  ‘That’s where they throw them?’ Echo’s eyes widened as she gazed at the door. The eye sockets of the skulls that surrounded it glimmered red in the torchlight and she realized they were inset with rubies as big as gulls’ eggs. She breathed in incense and mildew.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Horace. ‘Apparently, it leads right under the city and beneath the northern wall.’

  ‘And they really throw prisoners down there?’

  ‘Only for bad stuff like treason. I’ve never actually seen it though. Look, he’s leaving.’ Horace pointed. Echo stuck her head out again and saw the guard disappear up the stairs. This was their chance.

  ‘Ready?’ Echo whispered to Horace and he nodded.

  ‘Come on,’ she said and, hauling him by the sleeve, she ducked out of the open door, up the stairs and back into the safety of the castle.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Echo had only been back in her room for a few moments when the door burst open. Gilbert took a flying leap on to the bed and hid beneath the covers just as Martha appeared. ‘There you are, Lady Echo! I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. You left this in the garden . . .’ She held out Echo’s embroidery kit, then stopped and gaped as she took in Echo’s smeared face and creased skirts. ‘You’re filthy!’ She strode forward and examined Echo’s fingernails, then recoiled, her nose wrinkling. ‘And you smell like you’ve been rolling in compost. What in Lockfort have you been doing this time?’

  Echo snatched her hands away and shoved them in her pockets. ‘Nothing much,’ she said, still smarting with disappointment over her useless mission.

  Martha sighed, putting the embroidery kit on the dressing table and disappearing into the bathroom. ‘Of all the days. You know very well it’s the Gate-opening Ceremony tonight. Off with those filthy garments at once, and I’ll draw a bath.’

  Echo sighed. The Gate-opening Ceremony was so dull – a whole evening of ridiculous dresses, boring speeches, being on show as a grateful ward of the king. Although at least it meant she got to leave the castle for once and see the city close up. As always, a small glimmer of hope flared inside her. Would tonight be the night she’d finally catch a glimpse of dark, curly hair? A freckled face like hers?

  ‘Echo, bath!’ Martha called.

  ‘Coming.’ Echo pulled off her grimy pinafore and scurried into the bathroom.

  After a hot soak and a rather thorough scrub from Martha, Echo dried herself in front of the fire and pulled on her undergarments. Martha came in with the armfuls of golden silk that made up Echo’s ceremonial gown and laced her into the stiff fabric. Echo gazed into the mirror and grimaced as Martha tightened the stays.

  ‘How lovely to see you so neat and tidy.’ Martha stood back and admired Echo. ‘Now, doesn’t that feel good?’

  Echo shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ She never felt comfortable in these flouncy dresses. She wrinkled her nose and examined herself in the mirror. She didn’t feel or look like herself at all.

  Outside her window, the whole city was abuzz with the promise of tonight’s Gate-opening Ceremony. Echo took a longing glance outside. What was it like, she wondered, living out there? Not having to be neat and obedient and polite, but instead playing football barefoot in the dust.

  Her thoughts scattered as Martha gave the dress one final, rib-crushing tug and stood back, panting. ‘Delightful, Lady Echo! Now for the Lockfort ruby, I think.’

  She whisked out of the room, leaving Echo still staring at herself in the glass. The dress was beautiful, it was true, but it was like looking at a stranger. How she wished she could be in breeches and boots like Horace. A girl could hardly have much of an adventure in a dress like a sailing ship. Not that there was anywhere to adventure to.

  She glanced back at her day dress, lying muddied and stained in a heap on the floor. With a jolt, she saw her mother’s hairpin hanging out of the pocket. She quickly retrieved it and its wrapper, remembering with a pang of dismay how she’d broken it, trying to pick the lock to the ramparts. She took a closer look and found to her relief that the damage wasn’t serious; the emerald had simply popped out of its clawed setting. The fitting was too tight to force the stone back in and the metal wouldn’t give when she tried to prise the claws apart with her fingers. She needed something stronger. Glancing round the room, her eyes alighted on the embroidery kit Martha had left on her dressing table.

  Echo took out the little pair of embroidery scissors and tried again to prise the setting open. As she twisted the scissors, she could feel the metal giving. Suddenly the blades slipped and the hairpin clattered to the floor, rolling across the bedchamber to the window. Gilbert poked an inquisitive head out from beneath the bedcovers as she raced over to grab it, hoping Martha hadn’t heard. As she lifted the pin in the light of the window, she noticed something engraved in the setting that had held the emerald eye. She rubbed the metal on her skirt and squinted at it again. In tiny letters were engraved the words:

  MESSRS EVERGREEN & SPRUCE,

  GOLDSMITH’S LANE, PORT TOURBILLON

  Echo frowned as she squeezed the emerald back into its setting. Port Tourbillon? She’d heard that name somewhere before, but she just couldn’t place it. She quickly shoved the pin and its wrapper into her pocket as Martha returned with the ruby hairpin. Echo shook her head. What did the writing mean?

  ‘Oh, do cheer up, Lady Echo,’ said Martha. ‘Most children would give their last crust of barley bread to see the Gate Opening from the royal table.’ She softened. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Echo turned the words over and over in her mind, but she still couldn’t make sense of them. ‘Martha,’ she said, ‘why would jewellery have writing on it?’

  ‘Oh, probably just the maker’s mark.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The sign of the jeweller who made the piece. Look.’ Martha took a pearl brooch from the jewellery box and turned it over so that a row of tiny letters caught the firelight: Messrs Lock, Lockfort.

  ‘Of course, jewellery doesn’t really need a maker’s mark any more. There’s only one royal jeweller’s, and that’s the Masters Lock. But it’s traditional to engrave the name of the maker on every piece.’ Martha gave Echo a last inspection. ‘Now, I’m going to check on young Prince Horace. I’ll come back for you in five minutes. Don’t get dirty. In fact, don’t do anything at all.’

  But, for once, Echo didn’t have to be told to sit still. She was frozen in thought.

  She frowned at herself in the mirror. It made no sense. If there was only one jeweller in Lockfort, then who were Messrs Evergreen & Spruce? And Port Tourbillon? She’d heard that name before somewhere, but just couldn’t remember when.

  Echo took her mother’s pin back out of her pocket and paced round the room. ‘Port Tourbillon. Port Tourbillon. Where have I heard it?’

  Gilbert emerged from the bedspread and gave a chirrup, and, with a jolt, she remembered Professor Daggerwing unfurling his map over her covers in the middle of the night.

  ‘The map!’ she breathed in wonder. That was where she had seen it. And the professor had mentioned it too. The great city of Port Tourbillon!

  Echo’s mind bubbled with questions. What did it mean? Her mother’s hairpin had been made by a jeweller in Port Tourbillon. Could the professor’s tales be true after all? Could there really be a world beyond the Barren?

  And, if his tales were true, how had her mother got hold of the pin? Had she been to Port Tourbillon herself? A prickle of excitement ran up Echo’s spine. Could she even be somewhere out there now?

  There was a soft knock at the door. ‘Ready, Lady Echo?’ called Martha.

  ‘Coming.’ Echo planted a kiss on Gilbert’s snout. She couldn’t risk him being seen at the Gate-opening Ceremony. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she whispered, before tucking the hairpin carefully into the pocket of her dress. A ripple of excitement ran through her. At last she w
as finally going to find out something about her mother. She had to get back down to the dungeons and ask the professor.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thoughts of the hairpin, Port Tourbillon and her mother were still whirling through Echo’s mind when she took her seat in the banqueting hall. She gazed round the table. All the richest families in Lockfort were there: Lord and Lady Rolfe sat proudly at the far end of the table nearest to King Alfons and Prince Horace; Sir Everett the Brave greedily guzzled a hunk of roast swan; Baron Hawkeswood guffawed as he clinked glasses with Marchioness Forthwind, who was primped and powdered and dressed in her finest jewels. None of them spoke to her though. None of them were like her.

  Echo speared a juicy piece of quince pie on her fork and chewed it thoughtfully. She had to go back to the dungeons and talk to the professor about the pin. If only this infernal Gate-opening Ceremony would hurry up and finish. But there was always a long drawn-out meal where the king would drink too much mead and eat too much meat, and tell far too many boring stories, before they all were taken in coaches down to the city gates. Oh, when could she escape?

  Eventually, the royal bugles blared and the gathered dignitaries began shuffling out of the banqueting hall. As she followed them through the hall and out of the castle gateway, Horace, dressed in a velvet suit and frilly-collared shirt, caught up with her and tugged on her sleeve.

  ‘I managed to get the dungeon map back to Father’s study.’

  ‘Good,’ Echo mumbled, not really listening.

  ‘I crept back in and slipped it into the slot in his writing desk.

  And I didn’t get caught. I don’t think he suspects anything.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  Horace stopped abruptly and the excitement dissolved from his face. ‘Don’t you even care?’