Page 14

14

CHARLIE

I spent the next three days confined to my room. Surly guards brought me three meals each day, but I did not see the sprite, Rohree. On the second day, I received a basket of books with a note saying they were from Ollie, but he didn’t come in person, either. Inside the basket, I found two volumes on the history of Maethalia and one on the twelve types of dragons. Those were the only instances of human contact I received.

As the hours stretched long, I paced, by turns cursing Essaphine for locking me up and cursing myself for angering her. Things had been going so well. We’d smiled together along the seashore like a pair of lovers. We’d eaten and drank. We’d laughed. And then, like a fool, I’d screwed it up. All I had to do was gain her trust, and I’d utterly bungled it. In the silence, I replayed each word, each look we’d exchanged in excruciating detail, until I decided I was fixating on her a little too much and tried to place my attention elsewhere. But no matter whether I was doing pushups or thinking through air combat scenarios or wondering what Kitty was doing—my thoughts kept coming back to the princess, like a homing pigeon returning to its own nest.

Aside from the books, my only source of entertainment was staring out the window, and I did so for hours. Young knights trained in the courtyard below each morning and I studied them, making notes on their techniques with sword, spear and mace so I could report them to headquarters. In my boredom, I even took a long candlestick off the table and practiced some of their moves.

In the distance, off in the mountains, I could see the dragons and their riders training for the next phase of the challenge, whatever that might be. Yet they were so far away they looked like birds in the distance. The worst part was I knew Essa was training, too. And I knew if I were there, I could help her.

As I paced and pondered and muttered curses to myself and gazed at the dragons far away off the window, my predicament came into greater focus. The queen had placed Essaphine as my protector and escort. The princess could either open all the doors in the kingdom for me, or leave me locked in this room. She could probably even tire of me and order me killed. I had to win her back, to gain her trust and keep it. To do that, I had to have something to offer her. But the only thing I could think of was the very thing she’d rejected—help in winning the challenge.

And yet when I offered that help, it must have seemed an empty gesture. I was supposed to be a reporter, not the greatest ace in URA history. I couldn’t reveal that secret; to do so would mean death. But I needed something, some gift, some gesture, that would demonstrate my goodwill was genuine and the help I offered was real. And halfway through the third day, the solution came to me.

The more I thought over my plan, the more convinced I became that it might work. When Essaphine saw what I had to offer, how I could help her—that I was in fact the only one in the kingdom who could help her—she was bound to trust me.

And so, I waited for nightfall.

Dinner arrived, a bowl of delicious, creamy fish soup, biscuits, and a salad of greens, along with a pot of strong tea which partially assuaged the ache in my head from the lack of coffee.

I ate well, wrapped up the biscuits in a napkin, and added them to my oilskin bag. Beyond the open window the sunlight was fading, bathing the world in the cool purple of twilight. I leaned out the window and peered down along the stone wall of the palace. Though stones jutted out at regular intervals, the wall was utterly sheer. The wind blew hard enough to push the hair from my face and furl the banners on the turrets.

Step one of my plan: climb down this tower in the dark. Steal a horse. Escape the palace.

I gazed again at the dragons wheeling in the distance.

“I sure wish I had a plane,” I muttered. Then I sat down to wait for night to come.

* * *

Two hours later, I clung to the side of the castle wall, a chill wind buffeting me, darkness obscuring my vision. Peering out the window, it had seemed that the stone face of the palace was uneven with plenty of jutting stones. Once I stepped out, however, it became plain that each foothold was no more than two inches deep. Already, my hands ached and my calves trembled as I fought to hang on. To make matters worse, the cloak I wore fluttered annoyingly, catching the wind like a sail, and I cursed, wishing I had my leather flight jacket on instead.

When I thought of the deadly drop below, my heart thudded fast and my hands trembled. And yet I found a smile growing on my lips. This was an ability I’d taught myself in pilot training, a special sort of alchemy. For me, adrenaline became fuel, electricity. The closer I was to death, the stronger and more alive I felt.

Kitty had once suggested I might benefit from visiting a psychotherapist.

I was perhaps a third of the way down when the rain started, just a drizzle at first, then a pelting torrent that made the rocks slick. I’d made vertical dives locked in the claws of fire-breathing beasties and my heart hadn’t pounded this much. But having gone this far, there was no going back up. My hands and arms burned. My calf muscles trembled. I lost track of how many times I nearly slipped and fell to my death. But through it all, I kept moving methodically downward.

I must’ve blacked out, because the next thing I knew, my boots were hitting the ground—terra firma!—and I fell to my knees, overcome by gratitude that I hadn’t ended my spy career as a red splatter.

But there was no time to celebrate. I had to be back by dawn, and there were many miles of travel ahead of me.

The good news was, since the tower my room was in abutted the palace’s outer walls, I’d been able to shift to my right as I descended and come down not inside the courtyard, but outside the perimeter of the walls. It was a security flaw. They should never have put me in that room—but doubtless, no one imagined their prisoner-guest would be foolish enough to scale down two-hundred feet of sheer rock face.

Before darkness fell, I’d looked down at the streets and alleyways from above, sketching a mental map of the city. Now, I traced my way along the path I’d planned out. I guessed it was around nine PM, and light shone from the windows of pubs and inns and houses, illuminating my way, though I kept to the shadows as much as I could with the hood of my cloak pulled up. I very much doubted anyone had seen me climbing down the wall in the rain. Still, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced over my shoulder, but each time I saw nothing but empty streets and drizzle.

As I passed a stable behind an inn, I paused. Having a horse would make my task much easier. But stealing one presented its own risks. I might get caught. I didn’t know what the punishment for horse-thieving was in Maethalia, and I wasn’t keen on finding out.

So, I hurried ahead on foot. At the city gate, a pair of guards sat in a booth at the bottom of the tower, playing cards and sipping from bottles, paying little attention to the few people passing by. I held my breath as she strode by the booth, but they didn’t give me even a single glance.

Once outside the city wall, I stopped pretending to be on a casual stroll and began jogging. The rain let up and stopped and the clouds peeled back, revealing a canopy of stars so brilliant I nearly stopped to gawk up at them. The night sky here was far different than in Ironberg, where the factories and foundries and power plants kicked out smog night and day. The stars shone like scattered diamonds against a sheet of black velvet, and I repeatedly found myself tilting my head back to look at them before admonishing myself. This was a race against the dawn; there was no time for stargazing.

By my calculations, it was at least eight miles along the coast to the place where my crashed plane lay. I’d been a middling track runner in high school and had kept up with it through flight academy. I’d still dash off three or four miles when I could, just to keep in shape. But eight miles was further than I’d gone in a while. And I’d have to keep a keen eye out for the spot where the Silver Wraith waited, a place I wasn’t sure I’d recognize in daylight, much less in darkness.

Still, I felt good as the miles dwindled beneath my churning feet. The air held the sweet musk of rain and sea. The trees and grasses swayed, and a warm wind dried my clothes. The moon came out, nearly full and bright as a searchlight, and I ran with a feeling of triumph in my heart, as if my crazy plan might actually work.

At last, off to my right, I spotted a familiar landmark—a large elm tree—and my steps wound down to a halt. The tree was so huge it would have taken five men holding hands to make a ring around it. From the looks of it, the thing had been struck by lightning at some time in the past. Its trunk was blackened and it bisected into two halves, and yet it still lived. I remembered leaning against it when I’d finished my climb up from the beaches below. This was the place. Now, I?—

What was that?

A sound, like a foot scuffing on dirt, turned me around and I squinted into the darkness, listening . A full minute must have passed, but I saw no movement in the woods or on the path behind me.

Finally satisfied, I turned and waded into the grass, making my way toward the scorched tree and past it, to the edge of the cliff. The sea spread before me, its tranquil, white-capped waves glistening in the moonlight. And yet, in the distance I heard a low rumble like thunder. Mortars. Bombs. The front. The night was so clear I almost imagined I could see the Island of Dorhane, where the knights of Maethalia and the soldiers of URA battled one another night and day. Perhaps my fellow aces were there even now, participating in a nighttime bombing run.

And my little brother, Joey. He’d enlisted and was supposed to be shipping out just as I left. Was he in those trenches now, facing the spearmen and the flaming arrows and the dark mages of Maethalia?

But there was no time to worry about him. Below and to the right, a black gap in the cliff face grinned up at me. All around it, waves burst off jagged rocks in explosions of foam. In that cave the Silver Wraith waited—and that’s where I had to go.

* * *

I dreaded another precarious descent, so I felt relieved when I found a narrow path leading down to the water. From there, I made my way along the rocky shoreline until it ended in a great slab of dark stone that marked the edge of the cave entrance. When I’d left the plane here, the tail had still been visible from this point. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it looked like the plane was gone now, and I felt a pang of worry that it had perhaps washed away, or had been broken up by the crashing waves. But I’d come this far. I had to know for sure.

Hopping from stone to stone, I made my way toward the sea cave. Waves crashed on the rocks around me, sending up great plumes of freezing spray.

I leapt onto a small rock at the same time a large swell came. The water rose to my knees and I felt the push then suck of the water, its flow almost enough to wash me off the rock. I crouched, steadying myself, and the swell passed, leaving my heart beating fast in its wake. I just had to keep my footing, that was the main thing. Get knocked off these rocks, and I’d be washed into the heaving ocean never to be seen again, or else dashed into the cliff face.

I tried to focus, to concentrate all my energy on each leap and each landing. But my mind kept wandering.

I thought of Essaphine and wondered what she’d think if I disappeared from my room and never returned. She’d think nothing. You’re her enemy. You mean less to her than a chunk of gristle stuck between her dragon’s teeth.

I thought of Kitty.

What was she doing now? Was she crying? Mourning? Broken up with grief at my loss? Or had she just resumed the life she’d had before me, nights at the dance halls, days on the reporter’s beat, glamorous dinner parties on the arms of rich men...

No. She’d be crushed that I was gone. At least I hoped so. Not only for the sake of my own ego, but also so that her editor wouldn’t try to contact Hoatan to reschedule her visit to Maethalia. If that happened, I’d be finished…

I jumped again but another swell came, its crest slapping me like an icy hand, disrupting my landing then clawing at me, trying to wash me away as I clung onto the rock with both hands.

I scrambled back to my feet after it receded.

“Focus, dammit,” I grumbled to myself. I looked down to find my hands were bloody, cut by barnacles. My clothes were soaked and I was shivering. The cave entrance still loomed a good fifty yards away. I looked back the way I came, thinking that this was my chance to turn back. It would be far better to return soaked and bedraggled but alive than to be drowned on this god forsaken beach. But I’d come this far…

On I pressed, redoubling my pace, jumping from rock to rock without pausing to think. I found my rhythm, and my constant exertion chased away the chill that had left me shivering. Soon, I was passing beneath the edge of the cave mouth, leaving the moonlight behind. I paused on a particularly large, flat stone, took the flashlight from my pack, and shined it into the dark. To my surprise, light shone right back at me, making me shade my eyes. It was the Silver Wraith’s reflective fuselage. The cave wasn’t as deep as it had seemed, and the plane had been pushed to the back of it. Both her wings on the left side had been snapped off, and she sat pinned to the bottom by the heavy engine in her nose while her tail rested against a stone shelf, jostled by the waves. It was better luck than I’d hoped for. With renewed energy, I bounded forward, stone to stone, until I was standing on the rocky shelf where the plane rested.

The first objective was almost comically easy. A spring-loaded clip was attached to the tail, which was right in front of me. I unclipped it and put it in my bag. The next task would be far more difficult, and to do it, I’d need the tool kit under the pilot’s seat—which was now beneath the surface of the water.

Better not to think too much about it, I thought as I stripped my shirt off and set my bag aside toward the back of the stone shelf. Just jump in and go.

My body convulsed as I hit the cold water. As I surfaced, my mouth salty with brine, a swell shifted the plane. The edge of the cockpit banged into me, leaving my head aching and ringing. I gulped a breath and dipped under again, groping blindly in the dark water under the seat for the hatch where the small tool bag was stowed. Somehow, I got the bag loose and, cradling it under my arm, brought it back and clambered up onto the stone shelf. I took out a utility knife and turned back to the plane, still catching my breath.

For the next step of my plan, I’d have to cut through the doped, painted fabric of the plane’s fuselage, remove one of the long aluminum stays that gave the plane structure, and somehow get out of the cave again with it.

I hazarded a glance toward the cave entrance. It looked smaller than when I’d first come through it. For a moment, I stood staring, perplexed. Then I realized what it meant. The tide was coming in. If I didn’t work fast, I’d be trapped in here and drown. Fantastic.

Despite my aching head, cut hands and shivering body, I moved with renewed purpose, locating one of the aluminum stays and cutting through the fabric along it. After that, I used a hammer and screwdriver to get it loose from the wooden ribs that held the stays together. When I was finished, I held a fifteen-foot-long, squared-off aluminum tube. I slung the oilskin bag containing the clip over my shoulder and looked at my silver steed once more.

“So long, old friend,” I told her.

Then, holding the aluminum stay like a spear, I began making my way, rock-to-rock, back toward the entrance of the cave. The tide had risen so high I had to duck when I came out, and I tried not to think about what would have happened if I’d been any slower in my task.

My return trip along the beach and up the cliff-face path was a blur, but I somehow found myself back up on the path where I’d first met Essaphine. The moon, nearly set, hid behind the trees, and I had to use the flashlight to locate the road. Once on it, I began trudging ahead, the stay making a metallic ringing sound as I dragged it along the path with me. The miles passed in a weary fugue until, at last, Issastar and the parapets of Charcain rose before me, dark shapes against the night sky.

I must have looked more dead than alive as I made my way back through the city gates, but the guards who had been playing cards earlier could still be seen through the window of the guard house, asleep in their chairs.

Another security weakness to note…

As I passed through the gates, I heard a footstep behind me and turned to look back. A man in a dark green cloak with three long scars along the left side of this face strolled behind me, perhaps two hundred feet distant, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Could this be the person who I’d heard following me in the night?

I felt a pang of worry, but the man moved without a sense of urgency, and he seemed to pay me no mind as he turned down and alleyway and disappeared. I exhaled in relief and kept moving.

I took a few wrong turns before locating my destination. Sunlight had begun melting into the eastern horizon and the streets were waking up with activity when at last I came to the door of the blacksmith shop and knocked. I expected a dwarf. Instead, a huge man opened the door. He had black hair, a thick black beard, dark skin and a hard expression in his eyes as he looked at me.

“Sorry. I may have the wrong place. Is Clua here?”

The man glowered at me once more, then turned his head and bellowed into the room behind him.

“Clua! A customer.”

There must have been living quarters attached to the shop, for I glimpsed a kitchen behind the man, with a pot of food cooking over a fire. The smell of it made my stomach lurch with hunger. Then the dwarf girl was there, elbowing past the big man. When she saw me, her eyes widened.

“What…?” she said, looking me up and down.

I’d forgotten how I must look—wet, dirty, cut up by barnacles… I felt a drizzle of dried blood in my hair where I’d banged my head. But none of that mattered now.

I held out the aluminum stay.

“Clua. I need you to help me save the princess’s life,” I said.