by Alex English
‘I bet she’s wishing I hadn’t found her,’ said Echo, with a sigh. She couldn’t help thinking of the expression on Lil’s face when she’d realized Echo had brought King Alfons’s guards on to her ship. Lil’s look of shock and disappointment haunted Echo and she flushed with shame at the thought. She would just have to make things right, and to do all that she could to get them out of this mess.
‘We’ve got to try something. Maybe one of the windows?’ Echo stood and rattled a porthole, but it was tightly shut. She thumped it in frustration, dislodging a dead spider from the curtains on to Horace’s lap.
Horace squealed in alarm and knocked the dessicated creature to the floor, then his face crumpled and he stifled a sob. ‘Oh, it’s hopeless! We’ll never escape. We’re trapped and we’re being taken back to Lockfort and my father’s going to be furious and we’ll probably all get sent to the dungeons forever and ever and ever.’
Echo sighed and sat back down on the bunk beside Horace. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he had a point. Even if they did get out of the cabin, where could they go? Nowhere while they were soaring through the air. And what about the rest of the crew? The professor? Her mother? No, she had to wait until the time was right. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, not quite able to meet Horace’s eyes. ‘You know, Lil told me my father was Edmond, your uncle,’ she said.
‘My uncle?’ Horace stared at her. ‘But that means we’re . . . we’re—’
Echo looked up at him. ‘We’re family,’ she said.
She told him everything as they continued to travel into the night, and soon Echo’s head nodded and the rumble of the Scarlet Margaret’s engines lulled her to sleep. But her dreams were full of dripping dungeons, locked doors and manacles.
And a mother who was so disappointed with Echo she couldn’t bear to look her in the eye.
The first weak light of morning was shining through the portholes when Echo woke suddenly and found herself sliding sideways across the bunk. A sky chart vibrated on the wall and all the gas lamps jingled. She sat up and shook a confusedlooking Horace awake. The whole ship shuddered and, after a few moments, the deep rumble of the ship’s engines softened into a purr before disappearing entirely. They had stopped.
‘How long have we been asleep?’ Echo said, peering out of the porthole at the grey stone ramparts of Lockfort Castle, dull in the weak morning light. There was a thud followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. She and Horace both looked nervously at the door.
Echo flinched as it swung open and Rothschild, in his giltcorded breeches and scarlet jacket, appeared. He beckoned to them. ‘Come with me.’
Echo remained frozen next to Horace. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was Horace who was quivering or her. Perhaps it was both of them. How on earth would she manage to get them out of this? She took a deep breath. If she couldn’t, then Lil would. At least they had her now.
‘Out,’ said Rothschild, ‘and don’t try any funny business. There are armed men waiting for you outside the ship.’
It was getting light as they climbed down from the Scarlet Margaret on to the castle ramparts. As they passed the Star of Lockfort and the Hummerbird, which were tethered alongside, Echo glanced out across the battlements to the streets of Lockfort. How long had they been away? Just a few short weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. There was so much world out there, so much more than these ordered streets, and the people of Lockfort knew none of it.
She automatically put her hand to her shoulder to stroke Gilbert’s tail and remembered with a jolt that he was lost. Where was he? Had he found a place to hide on the Scarlet Margaret? She scanned the deck and ramparts for any sign of the little lizard, but to her dismay he was nowhere to be seen. Had he tumbled overboard somewhere along the way?
‘Keep moving,’ snapped Rothschild.
Echo pushed the terrible thoughts from her head and let herself be marched inside. A guard holding a lantern led her and Horace through the eastern turret door and she remembered with a pang of sorrow how Gilbert had unlocked it for her just a few short weeks ago. They trudged down the castle’s familiar corridors, past paintings of Lockfort nobility and the little bronze bear, until finally they reached the ceremonial doors and stepped down into the dungeons.
King Alfons was waiting for them at the cells. He turned as they approached, his maroon, ermine-trimmed robes swinging round with a swish as they brushed the stone floor.
‘Horace! My precious son! I feared you were lost forever!’ King Alfons spread his arms wide. His brow crumpled into a frown when Horace remained standing beside Echo. ‘Are you hurt?’ He strode forward, pushing Echo out of the way. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘They haven’t done anything,’ Horace said, brushing his father’s hands away. ‘You . . . you shot at us!’
The king chuckled. ‘A silly mistake, my son. A misunderstanding! I didn’t realize you were aboard.’
‘But you knew Echo was.’ Horace glowered as King Alfons put a bejewelled hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s my cousin! Why didn’t you tell us?’
Echo stared at him. Was this really Horace, standing up to his father?
‘Now, now, you’re clearly upset, Horace.’ The king forced his lips into a smile, but his eyes remained steely. ‘Let’s get on with the business of identifying your kidnappers and then we’ll go upstairs for a celebratory dinner. Nutmeg custard, your favourite!’
Horace folded his arms. ‘You lied to me. To all of us. You knew about the world out there. You knew who Echo’s parents were. You even had an airship!’
The king shook his head. ‘It was for your own protection, dear boy. It’s my duty as king. One day you’ll understand. Now, who was it that took you?’
‘I went by myself.’
‘You don’t have to protect these people. They can’t hurt you now.’
‘They haven’t hurt me, Father. They’re my friends.’
‘But Horace—’
‘No, Father. I’m not going to get them into trouble. Not for you and not for anyone. You need to let them go.’
‘I see.’ The king took his hand off Horace’s shoulder. ‘Well, if you can’t identify the guilty ones, then we’ll have to lock them all up.’
‘You can’t!’ shouted Echo, but the king was already leaving.
‘Did you want to see the prisoners, Your Highness?’ asked the guard, trotting behind. ‘They’re just down this way.’
‘No.’ The king waved a dismissive hand. ‘I have no interest in giving that riff-raff any more of my time. Come, Horace.’ He marched off down the dripping corridor, his footmen scurrying after him. Horace remained rooted to the spot.
The king turned when he realized Horace wasn’t following. ‘Come on, Horace. Step to it,’ he said.
Horace folded his arms. ‘I won’t.’
Echo’s eyes widened in amazement at Horace’s courage. She hardly recognized him.
King Alfons laughed uncertainly. ‘What in all Lockfort do you mean, boy?’
‘I’m staying here.’
‘Here?’ King Alfons’s eyes bulged and he looked round the dank walls. ‘In the dungeons?’
‘With my friends,’ said Horace.
Echo’s heart swelled. She took his hand and noticed it was shaking.
‘These . . . these people are not your friends,’ said the king, glaring at Echo. ‘They’re sky pirates! Thieves and liars. Whatever they’ve told you—’
‘Echo is family. And the others took care of me. I’m not abandoning them. Not for a warm bath, or a steaming hot custard, or . . . or . . . anything.’
‘That’s right,’ said Echo. ‘Horace wouldn’t leave us even if you offered him a Greater Brimstone in a jar. Would you?’ She squeezed his hand.
King Alfons looked at her in disgust. ‘You always were just like your mother.’
Echo glared back at him as he turned to Horace. ‘Well?’ he said.
Horace hesitated for a moment, then grimaced. ‘No.�
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King Alfons shook his head, his eyes turning steely again. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘I’m sure a night in the dungeons will make you realize where you really belong. Lock him up,’ he said to the guards. ‘With his friends.’
Echo and Horace were marched down the corridor by Mortice, the dungeon master, and shoved into a small, dank cell. Behind them, the door clanged shut and Echo heard the metallic rattle and clunk of a key turning in the lock.
Echo turned to look and found Mortice staring at Horace appraisingly, his gold tooth glinting in the flicker of the wallhung torches.
‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, Yer Highness, but it beats me as to why you’d choose to be down here,’ he said, fastening the huge ring of keys to his belt. ‘Most people can’t wait to get out of here, and that’s not just the prisoners!’
His footsteps faded away, leaving Echo and Horace alone with just the gentle drip of water on stone and the occasional faraway shriek from somewhere else in the dungeons.
Echo shoved her hands in her pockets. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘You were really brave, standing up to your father like that.’
‘S’okay,’ croaked Horace, his eyes still focused on the corridor outside.
‘I mean it,’ said Echo. She shrugged. ‘Maybe your father’ll see sense tomorrow. When he realizes you’re sticking with us, he’ll have to let us all go.’
‘Or keep us all locked up.’
‘He can’t do that. Not forever.’
‘Can’t he? Remember what he did to your mother.’ Horace sighed and sat down in a corner with his head in his hands.
Echo flopped down next to him on the damp flagstones. At least her mother was here, somewhere in the dungeons too. She would know how to get them out. The very thought of it calmed her. They had nothing to worry about with the fearless Indigo Lil on their side! She patted Horace’s shoulder. ‘Lil will get us out of here,’ she said. ‘Just you wait.’ After all, if anyone could get them out, it was the captain of the Black Sky Wolves.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
And wait they did. As the days trickled by in the dingy cell, long, dark days only punctuated by the arrival of Mortice with bowls of disgusting grey gruel, Echo became despondent. ‘Where is she, Horace? Why isn’t she coming to rescue us?’
‘We’ll get out of here somehow, Echo,’ he whispered, as they sat next to each other in the corner of the cell. Horace swallowed his last spoonful of gloopy porridge and put down his bowl.
Echo shook her head. ‘We won’t. It’s hopeless. We’ll be stuck down here forever.’
She took a shuddering breath and reached to her shoulder for Gilbert before remembering yet again that he was lost. Without him, she felt like a part of her was missing. He’d been with her for as long as she could remember, longer even than Horace. She’d lost him and she’d ruined her mother’s life too. Lil probably wished Echo had never found her. Echo bit her lip to halt her tears.
‘What is it?’ said Horace.
‘I bet Lil hates me,’ she said, with a sob. ‘I bet she’s still furious about me bringing you on to her ship and getting her crew locked up.’
‘She doesn’t hate you,’ said Horace.
‘Why isn’t she coming to rescue us then? She’s a sky pirate. She should know how to fix this.’
‘But mothers can’t fix everything, Echo. Not even sky-pirate mothers. They’re just people.’
Echo wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘Do you remember your mother?’ she asked softly.
‘A little.’ Horace thought for a moment. ‘I remember she was kind, and she read me stories, and she loved butterflies.’ He paused. ‘But she got cross sometimes too. It didn’t mean she didn’t love me.’
Echo swallowed. She’d been so selfish. Horace had lost his mother, but she’d been so desperate to find her own that she’d never thought to ask him about losing his. ‘Do you miss her?’
‘Every day,’ he said. ‘But thinking about her helps keep her alive somehow, in here.’ He touched his chest. ‘I feel like she’s still with me in a way.’
Echo nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Well, if you ever want to talk about her . . .’
Horace smiled. ‘I will.’ He blushed and examined his fingernails. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we really should get on with planning our escape. There’s always a way out for an explorer, you know.’
Echo couldn’t help smiling as she turned to him. What had happened to pudding-hearted Horace? He’d changed somewhere along the way. Then her heart dropped again. ‘How though? My mother isn’t coming to help.’
‘Since when did you need anyone’s help?’ Horace exclaimed. ‘We’ve got this far without Lil, and I think you’ve done a pretty fine job.’
Echo shrugged. But a little spark of something lit deep down inside her. Horace was right; they had done it, together. They’d come a long way since those few weeks when she’d crept off to the Hummerbird.
Horace went on. ‘Lil didn’t help you pilot an airship, escape a Matasan fighter or rescue me from that Goliath’s mantrap.’
Echo nodded slowly. ‘I suppose we could try.’
‘I really think we can,’ said Horace. ‘You and me together.’ ‘You and me together.’ Echo smiled. ‘You’re right, Horace. We can’t give up, not now.’ She sprang to her feet and paced the cell, a new determination blazing within her.
The walls of the cell were high and completely windowless, the dungeons being deep underground below the castle. Echo walked to the bars and casually leaned on them, then gripped them with both hands to give each one an experimental pull. To her disappointment, they were just as solid as they had been the first time she had tried. There was no way out.
Mortice looked up from his guard post and tapped his tankard. ‘Don’t think you’ll be getting away with any funny business. Eyebright tea to keep me awake, see.’
Echo shrugged and wandered back to Horace’s corner.
‘Any luck?’ he whispered.
Echo shook her head, and turned to check that Mortice wasn’t listening. He’d gone back to cleaning the grime from beneath his nails with the tip of a huge iron key.
‘The cell door’s the only way out,’ she whispered. ‘If only they hadn’t taken my clockwork tools, we could have distracted Mortice and I could have tried to pick the lock.’
She inwardly cursed the guards for emptying her pockets.
‘Maybe we can get his keys,’ said Horace, his eye on Mortice. ‘If he falls asleep, perhaps we could reach through . . .’
‘I don’t think that’s going to happen. Not with that eyebright he’s drinking,’ said Echo, with a sigh.
Horace nodded glumly. ‘That’ll keep him awake for hours.’
‘What is it anyway?’
‘It’s the traditional drink of nightwatchmen. You make it from the seeds of the eyebright plant.’
Echo stared at the tankard by Mortice’s boot. Seeds. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. She nudged Horace excitedly. ‘Seeds!’
‘What?’
‘Do you still have them?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The mantrap seeds. Do you still have them? The guards didn’t dare turn your pockets out, did they?’
Horace riffled in the pocket of his breeches and, checking that Mortice wasn’t watching, plucked out a tiny waxed-paper packet. He opened it and showed her the three shiny purple seeds. ‘But what are you going to—’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Echo, carefully taking a seed between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Give me the packet too.’
Horace shrugged and silently handed it over. Echo unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the stone floor, then rolled it into a thin tube. She slipped the seed into the end of the tube. ‘Now do you see?’
A smile crept across Horace’s face. ‘I do.’
Echo grinned back and tucked the makeshift pea-shooter into her palm. ‘Let’s capture the castle.’
‘So, what made you go into dungeon keeping?’ said Horace, nonchalantly lo
unging against the cell door a few minutes later.
‘Eh? What?’ Mortice jerked round on his chair and stared at him.
‘Um . . . dungeon keeping.’ Horace gulped. ‘What, er, why . . . I mean . . .’
‘I was conscripted,’ said Mortice. ‘By yer father.’
‘Oh,’ said Horace.
As Mortice glared at Horace in the awkward silence, Echo, unnoticed, took a deep breath and blew hard through the paper tube. The tiny purple seed flew in a high arc through the air, hit a cell bar and ricocheted off under Mortice’s chair.
Echo clenched her fist in disappointment and almost crushed the paper tube. Still, two seeds left. Her tummy fizzed with fear and excitement.
Horace was still vainly trying to engage Mortice in conversation. ‘So, what would you say are the perks of the job?’
‘Perks?’ exclaimed Mortice, leaping to his feet and slamming a fist on the bars, inadvertently crushing the first seed under one huge, hobnailed boot in the process.
Horace staggered backwards. ‘I just mean—’
‘There are no perks,’ snapped Mortice. He settled himself back on his chair. ‘Finally cracked, I reckon,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Mind, a lot of ’em do.’
Echo took the second seed and slotted it into the end of the pea-shooter. Come on! This one had to go in. She aimed at Mortice’s tankard, inhaled and blew. The seed flew upwards, through the bars and hit Mortice square on the temple. He jumped up.
‘What the . . . ?’ he shouted, glaring at Horace. ‘Did yer throw something at my head, boy?’
Echo shoved the pea-shooter behind her back.
‘N-n-no!’ stuttered Horace.
Echo interrupted. ‘Did you feel a drip, Horace?’ she said, peering up into the gloom. ‘Think I did.’
‘What?’
‘A drip,’ said Echo firmly. She looked pointedly up at the ceiling.
Horace followed her gaze. ‘I . . . I think maybe I did,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Feel anything?’ he asked Mortice.
Mortice followed Horace’s gaze and began squinting at the ceiling for the source of the leak. Echo fixed her aim on the tankard. One seed left.
