The Island of Birds Read online

  Harriet cupped her hands around her mouth meaning to yell, but thought better of it. Whoever sent those ornithopters could still be hunting them. Quiet as it seemed, she couldn’t be sure the forest was uninhabited, and if there was anyone around, she could be even less sure they were friendly. Best not take any risks, Harriet, she thought. At least not until you know the others are all right.

  As far as she could see, there was no breach in the canopy where she’d fallen through. The throbbing in her ribs reminded her how the trees had done her more damage than she had them.

  Rustling undergrowth and footfalls suddenly pricked her senses awake. The movement came from behind her. She switched into a crouch, alert, skin tingling, ready to fight or run. But she bounced to her feet again immediately, a broad smile breaking across her face as she skipped forward.

  “Davy! Sam! You fellas all right?”

  Her two companions emerged from the depths beneath the trees. Their clothes were torn and they seemed every bit as battered as she was. But they were otherwise sound. Davy answered her smile with his own, his chestnut eyes dancing. “Aye,” he said, picking twigs out of his thick, dark hair. “Happy to be alive.” Then, looking around at the hostile environment, he added, “I think.”

  Harriet hugged him. She turned to hug Sam, too, but he flinched, pointing to a deep gash down his right arm. He had torn a strip from his shirt to bind the wound, but it still seeped oily blood.

  “Where’re Barney an’ Sibelius?” he said.

  “I dunno,” Harriet said, drawing closer, her smile giving way to an anxious frown. “With any luck not much further than you was.”

  Sam opened his mouth to speak but his words were cut off by a tremendous noise: mechanical squealing, clanking and grinding; the piston-pumping chug of an engine; branches snapping and undergrowth crushed. Birds squawked and fled in flapping panic. Harriet and her friends formed a defensive triangle, back to back, facing outward, with their knives drawn and at the ready.

  “Over there!” said Harriet.

  A mass of thorny bushes shook and swayed as if some monstrous beast were charging through them, and a moment later an extraordinary sight exploded through the leaves, spitting twigs and dirt in all directions.

  But it wasn’t a beast. It was a mechanical. Harriet had never seen anything like it. It had clearly been cobbled together from salvage. Bits wrenched from clockwork conveyancers were riveted to sections of ornithopter; tubes and cables repurposed, combined with steel plate and copper pipe; Harriet recognized bicycle parts and a domestic water tank. The weird, hotchpotch machine walked on two hydraulic legs, its body lurching as if drunk, threatening to topple over at any moment.

  It came to a shuddering, grinding, squeaking halt just in front them. The machine equaled the height of two adults, Harriet guessed. On top, their dark eyes peering out from behind an armored plate, were three ragged-looking children. Mud smeared their faces, and their eyes shone with excitement and fear. A dozen others, in similarly tattered clothes, armed with chains and metal spikes, flanked the machine’s sides.

  Sibelius and Barney were tied together with rope just in front of the machine. A spear-wielding teenage girl in a soiled dress, her scruffy blond locks scraped back in a rough knot at the back of her head, prodded them with a spike. Her blue eyes were alert like a wild animal sensing danger, but unsure where the threat lies.

  Harriet caught Sibelius’s eye. He winked at her, grinning. Beads of perspiration glistened on Barney’s forehead. His eyes flicked from his captors to her and back. He’s a brave lad, she thought. Sticks with it even when he’s scared.

  Harriet had learned to take the initiative in perilous situations. There’d be no point fighting. The children had the machine and were well armed. I reckon we can handle this without a fight, she thought. That blond girl’s their leader, by the look of her. She seems all right.

  She whispered to the others to drop their weapons. As their knives thudded into the dirt, Harriet raised her hands, palms outward and fingers spread wide in the universal gesture of surrender. She took three tentative steps toward the girl with the scruffy blond hair.

  “We don’t mean no harm,” she said. “We bailed out from the starship what just got shot down. We come from Earth. From Lundoon.” Not that they’ve ever heard of it, probably.

  “You’re not friends of the Royal House, then?” said the girl, cocking her head, her voice well-spoken, her eyes narrowing. Harriet guessed that, despite her height, the girl couldn’t have been more than 15 years old.

  “I don’t much care for making enemies,” she said. “And I don’t know nothing about no Royal House. But if it’s them what grounded me ship, I’d agree with you; I ain’t no friend o’ them.”

  Harriet gestured to Barney and Sibelius. “That one there, he’s Barney. He’s a first-class skyfarer, but he wouldn’t say boo to a gnat. The other fella, he’s a sky monkey – and despite what you may have heard about his lot, he’s a decent sort, a proper gentl’man. I’m Cap’n Harry, and this here’s Davy and Sam. We ain’t looking for trouble. We’d be happy just to know what the blooming heck’s going on!”

  The girl lowered her spike. “We thought you were pirates,” she said. “We can’t be too careful.” She ordered two children to untie Sibelius and Barney. Barney let out a low breath of relief. Sibelius rubbed his wrists where they had been bound. Then he doffed his cap, bowing toward the girl. “Merci, mademoiselle,” he said.

  The girl didn’t seem surprised when he spoke. As Sibelius raised a quizzical eyebrow, the young woman walked forward to Harriet, hand outstretched in greeting. “I’m Josephine,” she said, smiling, shaking Harriet’s hand. “Friends just call me Jo. I’m from Lundoon myself. Most of us are. We were brought here…”

  But Jo didn’t finish her sentence.

  Tree branches rocked in the back-draft as several ornithopters swooped over the forest, letting rip a round of machine gun fire. Ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat! Ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat! Bullets bit into bark. The children threw themselves into the dirt, gripping weapons, knuckles white, eyes wild. Blimey, Harriet thought, these kids ain’t just scared, they’re blooming terrified.

  Jo scrambled back to her feet. “Quickly,” she said, turning to her companions. “Back to camp. Go!”

  “Wait,” Harriet said. “D’you know where our ship landed?”

  “Yes. But there’s nothing you can do about it. Not now.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  Jo hesitated. “It’s not safe,” she said. “Look, you’d best come with us. You can stay at our camp. You’ll be safe there. And we can talk.”

  The walking machine’s engines thrummed into life. The vehicle creaked and squealed as it turned, lumbering back the way it had come, clanking and crunching into the undergrowth. Without waiting for a reply, Josephine followed after it. The other children had already disappeared, running ahead through the thicket.

  “I think, mademoiselle, that we have no choice,” Sibelius said. Harriet checked the other’s faces. They all nodded.

  “Reckon they’re our only chance of help,” Davy said, as he and the others retrieved their dropped knives.

  “Aye,” said Harriet. Although me guts tell me they might need as much help as we do. They’re scared, all right. “C’mon then, we’d best be quick, or we’ll lose them.”

  Harriet ran into the forest, Sibelius swinging through the trees above her and the others following behind, on the trail of the terrified children.

  Chapter Five

  Harriet and the crew followed the path left by the mechanical walking machine as it beat a way through the undergrowth. We’d be lost in no time without it and no mistake, she thought.

  Her body still ached from falling and she was dizzy with hunger and thirst, but she forced herself forward. I hope it ain’t much further. I’m cream-crackered as it is. After a scramble down a steep slope where
several of the trees had fallen, tipped at crazy angles, their roots like desperate hands clutching at the bank, she stumbled into a circular clearing. Sibelius dropped onto the ground beside her. He smelled of monkey fur and tobacco.

  They looked down on the camp. The camp nestled in the middle of an overgrown crater. It’s more like a village, Harriet thought, taking in the huts and the well-built corral. “C’mon, Sibelius,” she said, taking his leathery hand and scrambling down the last part of the slope. At the edge of the corral, they waited for the others to catch up with them.

  “What d’you make o’ this, then?” she said, looking to her friend.

  The wooden corral encircled twelve stone huts roofed with thatch. Smoke curled from the chimneys. The huts crowded around a central hearth. Tattered chairs, tree stumps and upturned barrels provided seating. The youngest children played with makeshift toys, or ran about in games of tag. Older children washed clothes, dismantled old machinery, or helped prepare food; cutting meat, chopping vegetables, and stirring the big cooking pot nestled on the hearth’s embers. Delicious aromas of spiced meat and herbs brought water to Harriet’s mouth. Her tummy growled.

  “There must be several hundred children living here, n’est-ce pas?”

  Harriet counted nine mechanicals, three with legs, the others with wheels or tracks, lined up to their right, parked against the inside wall of the corral. A group of children gathered around the walking machine they’d followed. Its hydraulic legs bent with a low hissing noise, lowering the metallic body to the ground. Hinges squealed as a hatch at the back clanged open, hitting the ground with a loud whump.

  Three black-faced children jumped down and unloaded crates from the machine’s belly. The other children helped rummage through the crates, sorting and carrying away the goods.

  “Seems a pretty well-organized set-up, all right,” said Harriet. “But there’s something right odd, ain’t there?”

  “Ils sont tous silencieux, mademoiselle,” Sibelius nodded. “No-one is speaking. Not a sound.”

  “That’s it! Not even them kids playing tag over there. Ain’t that strange?”

  Davy and Sam thumped up behind them, followed by Barney, puffing and red-faced as ever. “Blimey,” said Sam, eying the cooking pot. “Somethin’ smells good. Let’s ‘ope we’re invited to supper. I’m famished!”

  Sibelius smiled. “Here is Mademoiselle Josephine, now.”

  Josephine had stepped out of a nearby hut and was striding toward them, lifting her tattered skirts as she stepped over a fallen log. Her hair, pulled up on top of her head, she’d tied with a faded ribbon. She greeted them with keen eyes. “You made it,” she said.

  Sibelius bowed. The crew nodded. Harriet said, “I don’t think we’d have found you without following that mechanical o’ yours.”

  “That’s the idea,” Jo said, shaking hands with each of them. “The forest will cover our tracks again within a few days. We’re about as safe here as it’s possible to be on this unholy island. But come, the evening meal will be ready before long and we’ve much to discuss.” As they fell in next to her, walking back to the hut she’d just come from, she said, “I’ve told everyone about you. I’ll introduce you at supper.”

  It was murky in the hut. Light spilled in through the thick glass of a small window stained green by the forest. Three bunks lined one wall. A wood burner, fashioned from a discharged fuel canister, squatted in the corner. A handful of rickety chairs, a tattered ottoman, a chaise longue with horse hair escaping the seams, and a sturdy farmhouse table completed the room’s furnishings.

  The stuff on the table surprised Harriet. Piles of books and papers teetered from its surface. A quill, an ink pot, and a knife for trimming the nib lay next to a writing board. A brass microscope, a clockwork orrery, and other scientosophical instruments cluttered the table, too. Josephine invited them to come in and sit.

  As she pulled up a chair, Harriet resisted the impulse to take charge of things. It would not be good manners to boss someone around in her own home. Josephine remained standing, her back to the table, and folded her hands in front of her. Her dress, now torn and soiled, had once been a good one and her hands, beneath the dirt and scratches, were too slender to have been the hands of an urchin or a street child.

  “Welcome to my home,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s not much. We do what we can. Now, I know you are from Lundoon and you arrived in the starship which the Royal House shot down.”

  “I’m keen to get me ship back if we can find it,” Harriet said. “You said it would be dangerous, but…”

  “I don’t think the ornithopters that flew over before were looking for us. I think they chanced on us and took a few potshots for the heck of it. They’d have been looking for your ship. It’s likely they’ve sent people out there already. It’s a scientosophical design. They’ll want to get rid of it as soon as they can. Scientosophy is outlawed here. There’s a death sentence for practicing it.”

  Harriet and Sibelius exchanged glances. “Without me ship, we’re stuck here.”

  “Why did you come? I assumed you were pirates, slavers gone off-course, at first.”

  “We come for adventure; to see if the legend about the island paradise was true,” said Harriet.

  “Yeah, an’ now we know the truth, we’d like to go ‘ome,” said Sam. Davy elbowed him in the ribs.

  Davy spoke. “But what d’you mean you took us for slavers, miss? You mean a ship full of slaves?”

  Josephine nodded. “All the children in this camp, myself included, are escaped slaves. The citizens of the island prosper. They live in luxury and comfort. But all on the back of the slave trade.

  “All the food here is imported from neighboring islands in the archipelago subdued by endless wars. There are hidden factories under the palace, sweatshops where the slaves work. Everything is manufactured there. I doubt any of the commoners know about it. They are too content with their lot to ask questions. No-one ever questions things when they are happy.”

  The door creaked open and two ragamuffin urchins stumbled into the room.

  “Just in time,” said Josephine. She turned to Harriet and the crew. “I sent for these two,” she said. “Daniel and Mary. They’re brother and sister.” She spoke to the children again. “Go to the place where the ship crashed and see what’s happening. Go on foot. Be careful and keep yourselves hidden. There may well be soldiers.” Josephine picked up a sheet of paper and a lead pencil. She handed them to the girl. “Report back what you find. We’ll save supper for you. All right?” The children nodded.

  “Mademoiselle Josephine,” said Sibelius, standing, “to send these enfants to do such work, it is not right. It is our ship. We should go, n’est-ce pas?”

  “These children know the forest well. They’ll be quick and they’ll be silent. I wouldn’t send them if I thought I was putting them in more danger than they enjoy every day.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened as Sibelius spoke. He snatched the paper and pencil from Mary and scribbled something. He handed the paper to Josephine. She smiled. “He says, ‘the monkey can talk.’”

  “Indeed,” said Sibelius, bowing to the children. “I am a sky monkey of the Monkey Nation. We can all talk.” Then he added, “But you, I notice, cannot?”

  The two children shook their heads. Sibelius raised an eyebrow.

  “They can’t speak,” said Josephine in a matter-of-fact tone, “because their tongues have been cut out.” She took Mary’s hand. “Show them,” she said.

  Mary opened her mouth wide. In the cavity Harriet saw nothing except a blackened stump of flesh where the girl’s tongue should have been.

  “Mon Dieu! Je suis désolé,” breathed Sibelius.

  Josephine said, “The Royal House doesn’t want them talking.” Then to the children, “Now, off you go!”

  Daniel gave Sibelius one last, quizzical glance, and taki
ng his sister’s hand, dashed out of the hut.

  The silence was full of tension. Harriet looked at the others. She looked back at Josephine. The girl’s hands were clenched on her lap, the fingernails of her right hand digging in to her left.

  “Jo,” she breathed. “Mayhap, you could tell us everything what’s going on? I reckon we could help, see?”

  Josephine lowered herself onto the edge of the chaise longue. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was bright and determined again. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  “They took me years ago,” she began. “My father was… is… an eminent scientosophist back in Lundoon. Yes,” she looked at Harriet, “my family is from Up-Top.” She smiled at Sibelius and added, “Dad had dealings with your people, I believe. I have known about the Monkey Nation as long as I can remember.” She turned her attention back to them all. “My father educated me. I was interested in aviation. On my twelfth birthday he presented me with a balloon. It was a beautiful gift.”

  “Ah, oui!” Sibelius said, his eyes half-closed in rapture. “A beautiful flying balloon is a superb gift!” His eyes snapped open again. “I miss mine even yet.” Then, shaking his head and holding up his pipe, “Mademoiselle, may I?”

  Josephine nodded, acknowledging both his sentiment and her assent to his request. As he fingered the dark, aromatic tobacco from his pouch into the bowl of his pipe, she continued to tell her story.

  “It was my maiden voyage. I was not to go too far, but circle the top of the tower where our house was and return to the garden where my father and mother stood watching. It should have been safe.” Josephine sighed and shook her head. “I would be out of sight for a minute or less, as I flew round the back of the house. I misjudged the wind direction, and it blew me a little off-course. Oh, not far, and I was confident in my skills. I am sure I would have returned without difficulty, had it not been for the pirates.”