The Island of Birds Page 5

  “Pirates?” said Davy, Sam, and Barney together.

  “They appeared out of the blue. I’d glanced down to check the variometer when the basket jolted. I was almost knocked off my feet. A Windrider skimmed alongside my balloon, its engines jetting steam. No colors, no registration number. They’d slung a cable with a grappling hook onto the basket and hauled me in like a fish on a line. I struggled to loosen the hook. I cried out to my parents, but the wind snatched my voice away. Before I knew it they’d bound, blindfolded and bundled me into the craft’s small hold. From there they transferred me to a large cargo vessel – also a pirate ship. They chained me up with a hundred other children of every age and station in life.”

  “And all these children was from Lundoon?” said Harriet.

  “I don’t think so. They were from Earth, but stolen from different cities and towns. They took us to the Moon first where we were off-loaded and dragged to the slave market.”

  Josephine paused, struggling to overcome the painful memories. Memories flared in Harriet’s mind, too: an old gentleman and his companion hustling her into a clockwork conveyancer full of pale, frightened children; Tom the messenger telling her it wasn’t safe for a child on the Moon; the shroom-smoking man in the inn saying she’d fetch a good price.

  Josephine continued. “We were sold at auction. Then transferred to a smaller vessel. They brought me here with twelve others. They cut the others’ tongues out on the way. Being older than the others and well-educated, they left mine. They wanted someone to pass on their orders and answer questions.”

  “Why do they cut out their tongues?” asked Sam.

  “The slave trade – and the island’s location, as you must know – is a great secret. If the slaves can’t speak, then it’s harder for them to organize any resistance; and if they should escape, they can’t easily tell what’s happened to them. At least, I suppose that’s the rationale. It may be simple cruelty.”

  “So how did you lot escape?” said Harriet.

  “At first I worked in the factories along with the rest. But they wanted someone to work for Lord Cranestoft. He’s the high steward and rules as regent until the princess’s birthday, when she will become queen. Honestly, the culture here is terribly backward, medieval almost. And the technology so primitive! The most advanced machinery here is clockwork. The ornithopters are clockwork, too. But forget about the conveyancers back home. These things have batteries of hyper-tense steel springs.”

  “They chose you to work in the palace?”

  “Yes. I was a personal slave to Cranestoft.” Josephine shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold. “They kept me out of sight and they beat me to make sure of my submission. But at least they fed me, and I had the chance to gather a great deal of information about the regime. I know the Royal House has a long-standing relationship with several pirate clans who transport the slaves. They carry them in cargo ships and deposit them on the next nearest island in the archipelago, I forget the name. Ornithopters aren’t much use on long voyages through the Dark Sea, being clockwork, but they can get that far. The Royal House maintains power by ensuring the people’s ignorance. They are given food, housing, medical care, entertainments, hobbies. No one has to work. But there is no learning, no purpose, no… endeavor.”

  “Mon Dieu. And the origin of the legend of the Island of Birds?” Sibelius said, puffing rings of blue smoke.

  “The Royal House invented the legend. They spread the rumors many, many years ago. They don’t want the people to have contact with the outside world, for obvious reasons.”

  “Hang on,” Harriet said. “We had a right carry-on to get the chart and chart-reader. Them pirates was ready to kill us for it. If they know how to get here, I don’t see why they were so desperate to steal it.”

  Josephine nodded. “They didn’t need it to find the island. What they wanted was to stop someone else finding it.”

  “Blimey,” Harriet said. “Everything’s turned on its head, ain’t it?”

  “Miss,” said Davy. “You were telling us how you escaped.”

  “Yes. I made it my business to appear less intelligent than I am. I did everything they asked of me with uncomplaining diligence. After a while I gained their trust. I overheard conversations. I read letters; discovered where they keep keys; found out which guards could be bribed.

  “I plucked up my courage and took a chance. In the factories I freed children from their chains with keys I’d stolen. We overcame the guards and escaped like rats through the city’s drains. By the time the authorities found out, we had vanished into the forest.”

  “They didn’t come after you?” Barney said, speaking for the first time.

  Josephine shook her head. “If they did, they didn’t find us. They call this part of the forest the Forbidden Territories. It is forbidden because it has sites like this. We didn’t build these huts. The village was already here – in ruins. We rebuilt it. The island has an ancient history. These remains are left to the wild now. It’s part of their policy of ignorance. They have become a people without a history.”

  “An’ your mechanicals, ‘ow d’you get ‘em?” said Sam.

  Josephine laughed. “We have become skillful thieves, sneaking into the city after dark, sometimes even into the palace. Food, tools, weaponry, we take whatever we need. And we salvage parts to build machines. We’ve quite an armory now. We are almost ready.”

  Sibelius removed his pipe from his lips and glanced at Harriet.

  “Ready for what?” she said.

  Josephine stood up, her eyes burning with angry passion.

  “For the Revolution.”

  Chapter Six

  Harriet and the crew were at supper around the central hearth. Every child was there, watching the new visitors with wary eyes. The mouthwatering aroma of food enriched the forest air.

  A gathering of hungry children would usually be a noisy affair, Harriet reflected, full of excited chatter, laughter and arguments. But aside from feet scuffing the dirt, the bubbling stew pot, clattering utensils, and distant birdsong, they served the meal in silence.

  When everyone had a spoon, a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a place to sit, Josephine introduced Harriet and her crew.

  The youngest children stared at Sibelius, nudging each other and pointing. He ignored them politely, choosing instead to compliment the cooks on the food.

  “If you lot wants to have a bash at liberating them other kids,” said Harriet, tucking in to the stew, “we’ll be the first to help you, won’t we lads?”

  “Aye-aye, Cap’n! We will that.”

  “And if we can get me ship back while we’re at it, that’d be grand.”

  During the rest of supper, the conversation grew into a general discussion – much of it conducted in signs, mime, scribbled notes and drawings. Harriet and Josephine pooled their knowledge and experience. They assessed their available resources. They considered their strengths and weaknesses. Everyone threw in ideas as they devised a strategy of attack.

  “And the princess?” said Davy. “Sounds as if we’re planning to bring the Royal House to its knees.”

  “We don’t know whose side she’ll be on,” said Josephine. “But we will give her the opportunity to decide when the time comes.”

  “So we’re agreed the best time to attack will be the day of the princess’s birthday, then?” Harriet said to Josephine after supper was cleared away and the older children took the younger ones off to get ready for bed.

  “Yes. Most of the city will be deserted. Everyone will be in the Place of Assembly for the celebrations. We can get in via the drains as usual. There’re a few scientosophists in the city. It’s rumored the old king had an interest. But how can that be in a land whose laws forbid it? I made contact with one of them, Dr. Ravensberg. He supports the princess. He claims she knows nothing of slavery and will b
e a good queen.”

  “So why not wait until she’s on the Throne and just tell her? She’d stop the slave trade once she had the power, wouldn’t she?”

  “He says he fears for her life. Cranestoft may be plotting to kill her. A dead queen is no good to anyone. Ravensberg will help us open the gates to admit our mechanicals. Our first aim should be to free the other slaves. They know what to expect.”

  “It’s a plan, all right,” said Harriet.

  A boy and girl, breathless and sweating from a hard run, burst into the clearing.

  “Daniel! Mary! Over here!” Josephine said. She stood up, waving them over. The children rushed to her, grabbing her skirts and making desperate grunting noises.

  Something’s put the jitters up ‘em, and no mistake, Harriet thought, getting to her feet. “Barney, off to Jo’s place and get a pencil and paper. Quick-sharp. Look lively, lad!”

  Harriet and Josephine did what they could to calm the children until Barney got back. Daniel snatched the paper from his fingers, tearing it in two and thrusting one piece to his sister. He flattened the paper out on a chair and drew furiously. When he was done, he handed the pencil to Mary and held up his drawing.

  He’d drawn two images, side by side. They were primitive, childish scrawls, and Harriet struggled to interpret them. Josephine took the paper.

  “Is this,” she said, pointing, “the starship?” Daniel nodded vigorously. “And these are the Royal House guards?” More vigorous nodding. She turned to Harriet, “The guards have captured your ship, Captain. They have hauled it away to the palace.”

  In the meantime, Mary had written something on her piece of paper. She handed it to Josephine. The young woman’s eyes widened as she read the note. Her hand closed around it tightly, scrunching the paper into a ball. “Roosters,” she breathed, the color draining from her face. Mary stabbed her finger toward the forest; first in one direction, then another. “Closing in on every side,” Josephine said.

  “I don’t like the look ‘o this,” Harriet said to her crew. “But what does she mean by roosters? Them’s chickens, ain’t they?”

  Josephine snapped out of her stunned trance. “Everyone up!” She snatched a pan which had been drying by the fire and beat it with a stick. “Alarm!” she shouted. “Roosters! Run! Run!”

  Children emerged from their huts, bleary-eyed with sleep. Sibelius, who had been telling stories to the older children on the other side of the fire, jumped to his feet, tail flicking, looking to Harriet.

  “Run!” Josephine shouted. The children scattered.

  But it was too late.

  Twelve mechanical roosters, each the height of two adults, with armored riders on their backs, exploded from the surrounding foliage, hydraulic legs hissing, steel talons glinting in the half-light.

  Stone me, Harriet thought, leaping up. They found us.

  The roosters stampeded the camp.

  Whoosh! A flaming brand span over Harriet’s head, scorching her hair as it went. It landed on a thatched roof. Within seconds the huts were ablaze. Black smoke billowed into the branches. Fire crackled and hissed, spitting glowing sparks.

  The whole blooming forest could go up!

  Guided by their armed mounts, the mechanical birds strutted through the village: metallic claws scraped the dirt; tore up dwellings; slashed without mercy at fleeing children.

  Josephine ran shouting to the others, organizing a retreat, trying to protect the youngest.

  “Cap’n?” said Davy, his swarthy face appearing next to her. Sam blew tousled blond hair from his eyes and snatched up his knife. Barney followed suit.

  “Help the others,” Harriet said. “Save the little ones!”

  Sibelius somersaulted over the fire, landing in front of Harriet. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “it is not the children they want. It is us.”

  The rattling screech of metal and the hiss of hydraulics filled the air as the mechanical roosters, vicious claws and beaks flashing, abandoned the fleeing villagers and encircled the crew.

  The monstrous, bird-shaped mechanicals fell into close formation, surrounding them. They were outnumbered and overpowered. There was no escape.

  Twang! A black bundle swooshed over their heads, growing, unfolding as it fell toward them. What the blooming heck…? Ropes thudded over Harriet. Rough twine grazed her skin. It’s a blooming net!

  Knocked to the ground, she could smell monkey fur, then human sweat, then blood – her own or someone else’s? She twisted round, trying to see. The soldiers dismounted the roosters, black silhouettes against the backdrop of fire and destruction, their guns trained on her and the crew. The guard aiming at her pulled the trigger. Pfhut! A sharp pain stabbed her thigh. The forest, roosters, flames, smoke and soldiers, all swam around her. Nausea twisted her guts. And the last thing she saw was a guard slinging an iron hook through the net.

  Chapter Seven

  Harriet came round with the wind rushing against her face. Her eyes watered. A muscle spasm cramped her right thigh. She was still in the net. There was nothing she could do but clench her teeth and wait for the pain to go away.

  The net swung through the sky, suspended beneath an ornithopter, she and her crew bundled up like a catch of airborne fish.

  At least they ain’t killed us yet.

  The forest sped below them, a green blur. They were packed in too tight to move. Harriet twisted her head to one side and found herself nose to nose with Sibelius. It was pointless to try and speak. He winked at her. She winked back. We’ll get out o’ this scrape, Sibelius, she thought. I just dunno how.

  Leaving the forest behind, they flew over multi-colored meadows. Herds of unicorn grazed; golden peacocks fanned their tail feathers; rainbow salmon leaped glistening from the river. They gained altitude, climbing the side of the mountain.

  Waterfalls cascaded down the rocks. Shaggy goats with curling horns bucked over the slopes, nibbling on stubby plants pushing from the cracks.

  As they flew over the city walls, Harriet saw paved streets and houses with leaded windows; gardens and bathing pools; ladies, children, dandies and gentlemen about their daily business in sunlit squares and cobbled courtyards. People stared, shading their eyes against the sun and pointing, as Harriet and her crew swung overhead.

  The palace soared skyward, its pinnacled towers bejeweled by a thousand windows. Blimey, makes any Up-Topper’s place back in Lundoon look like a hovel.

  The ornithopter slowed, approaching a wide oval surfaced with white sand, encircled by a marble wall. Harriet’s stomach lurched as the aircraft swooped downward. S’going to be a bumpy landing, I reckon. She braced herself. A yard above the ground, the hook released. The net dropped. Harriet and the others landed with a thud! Harriet spat sand and blinked. Another couple o’ bruises won’t make much difference, I s’pose. The ornithopter banked round and sped away, back into the blue.

  The net loosened and Harriet struggled free.

  It was hot. The sun reflected on the sand, dazzling them; but at last, sweating, bleeding, bruised, weakened and ragged, her companions struggled to their feet, dragging themselves clear of the knotted ropes.

  The chack-chack-chack of guns being primed echoed around the oval. A harsh voice shouted, “Stand your ground!”

  Chapter Eight

  Annabel had made it back to the palace unnoticed. Katy had been waiting for her, to admonish and fuss in equal measure. The princess had been so relieved not to have been greeted by an angry Lord Cranestoft she had conceded to being stripped, bathed, re-dressed, and doused in perfume, before being led to dinner.

  Annabel’s heart had run away in panic when she’d entered the dining room. She had convinced herself the Regent would challenge her about her whereabouts, but he said nothing.

  Annabel sat beneath the crystal chandeliers, picking at the food on her plate, the silverware heavy between her finge
rs. As the servants and the courses came and went, she forced polite smiles and made small-talk with Admiral-this and Colonel-that’s wife.

  After dinner, she sat with the other women when the men retired to drink brandy, smoke cigars and play billiards. At last, claiming a headache, she made her excuses and escaped to her bedroom.

  As soon as she heard Katy’s heavy snoring in the adjacent chamber, Annabel slipped from beneath her silken sheets and drew her dressing gown over her shoulders. She couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t only anxious thoughts about Ravensberg’s welfare should the guards have discovered his scientosophical instruments that kept her awake, but the realization she hadn’t gone back to retrieve her father’s vicinity scope from the Throne Room window casement.

  Opening Katy’s connecting door, Annabel peeked round and listened. Between snores, the maid was breathing deeply. Annabel closed the door again and soft-footed it to the bedchamber door. She opened it a fraction and peered into the corridor. The guard’s chair was empty. She heard a girl’s coy laughter. A little way down the corridor in the other direction, one of the servants leaned against the wall, the guard pressed against her, kissing her neck.

  Annabel slipped out and tip-toed on bare feet along the corridor. Once she was round the corner, she ran, tripping down the sweeping staircase, along another corridor, through a hallway and on into the Throne Room. She closed the door behind her and allowed her breath to settle.

  At the window casement, she pulled back the shutter, and reached in to take out the device she had hidden there.

  It had gone.

  She shook her head in disbelief. I’m dreaming, she thought. This is a nightmare and if I go back to bed, I’ll wake up and everything will be all right.

  But she didn’t go back to bed.

  Her hand moved frantically, long fingernails scraping plaster and wood in the dark behind the casement. In that small space, there were no nooks into which the vicinity scope might have fallen. The device was too large. Someone’s taken it, she thought. But who?