The Boy Who Went Magic Page 8

  “Is the government really letting us go?” said another soldier. “I heard there was going to be some kind of investigation, after, you know, the things that happened last time.”

  The first man sneered. “They can investigate if they want to,” he said. “But Voss will find a way of getting us airborne. He always does. Just make sure to be alert for spies.”

  Bert swallowed and shuffled by, trying to remain unobtrusive as he listened to the talk. He reached the exit, opened the door, and slipped through. The Professor was close behind him. Just then a soldier in the carriage began to sing. The other men joined in:

  You must pack up my belongings, love,

  And kiss me on the cheek,

  For I’m duty bound to leave this town,

  For the place beyond the sea …

  The Professor closed the door and the voices took on an eerie note:

  When the winter light is failing,

  With the children on your knee,

  Ask the band to play my favorite song,

  The place beyond the sea.

  Bert rested his back against the wall of the empty carriage for a moment and breathed deeply. “I thought you said it was only going to be nannies aboard?” he said.

  The Professor looked at his pocket watch. He seemed to be assessing something. “You can’t plan for everything,” he muttered. “We might be late for our rendezvous.”

  Bert checked his hand to make sure that the mark was still calm. “Professor,” he said. “That blast that I created back at the bank. I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

  “Well, it certainly worked,” said the Professor.

  “But, I mean—I don’t know how to control it,” said Bert. He wrapped the bandage up tight. “What if something like that happens again? It might be dangerous.”

  The Professor gave a hearty laugh. “Well, you don’t look too dangerous just yet,” he said. He continued in a kindly tone, “It’s lucky for us you had that power, Bert. You know, I’ve seen magic artifacts, like the legs I got for Finch, and I’ve seen some strange creatures in Ferenor. But I have to say, I’ve never seen anything like that blast at the bank. It’s an impressive gift.”

  Bert still felt uneasy. Finch’s warning about the dangers of magic hovered at the back of his mind. It was hard not to keep checking the mark every few moments.

  The Professor remained silent for a while. Rows of houses flashed by the window. The soldiers reached the end of their song. “I know this isn’t easy, Bert,” said the Professor. “There’s a lot we still need to work out about what’s happened to you. And many more risks ahead, I expect. But the main thing for now is that we get you away from that madman Voss.”

  “Finch mentioned the danger,” said Bert.

  The Professor nodded. “The man is obsessed with magic,” he said. “He’s made life very difficult for any pirates found carrying magic goods over the years. And there are some ugly rumors about his younger life—torturing and murdering people with any magical knowledge. I suspect that he wants to gain power from it somehow. He wouldn’t be the first person to want to rekindle the old forces, and he has a good reason to need them, with the government in charge now, and the royals on the sidelines. And now you’ve appeared, wielding a power that was meant to have vanished from the world.” He sighed. “I doubt Voss will take that well.”

  Bert nodded. “Is there really no one else with powers like this?” he said. “I mean, I thought if this could happen to me, maybe there are other people that can use magic?”

  “No,” said the Professor. “The government might lie about magic artifacts, Bert, but what they say about mages is true. They’ve been dead and gone for two hundred years. There was supposed to have been a war that finished them off. It sounds like an ugly business.”

  “Right,” said Bert. He swallowed. It was a lot to take in.

  The Professor put his watch away and seemed to grow brighter again. “I have to say, Bert, you’re doing incredibly well for your first day as a pirate. You’re a natural.”

  Bert smiled despite himself. It occurred to him that he hadn’t said thank you to the Professor for rescuing him, or for all the risks he was taking. “Professor … ,” he began. He was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass in the carriage ahead of them.

  “What was that?” said the Professor.

  Bert peered ahead. From the entrance where they stood he could make out a long, narrow corridor with doors on either side, apparently leading to private compartments. There was also a door for disembarking beside them. “I don’t think we’re safe here,” said the Professor. He leaned back and rubbed his brow. He seemed to be considering their options.

  There was a grating sound coming from above them. They’d reached the cable-car section of the journey. Bert felt a strange weightlessness beneath his feet as the train lifted off the tracks and began to run down the metal cables that crossed over the Gulch. He looked outside and saw a hundred-foot drop onto black rocks. “We’re crossing over toward the port,” said Bert.

  “Too late to jump train now,” said the Professor.

  Bert studied the surroundings of the carriage. It was a short, narrow space. Outside, he could see the skyline of the city rising and falling with the sway of the cables. There was a deep valley of sharp black rocks beneath them, and a waterfall spilling from the cliffs across the way.

  “Stay a few paces behind me, Bert,” said the Professor. “I need to check on something.” He crept over to a doorway. There was a shadow at its base.

  Bert was about to speak when the door burst open.

  Cassius flew out of the compartment and tackled the Professor. There was a dull thud and a grunt of pain.

  “Professor!” cried Bert. He rushed forward to help.

  “Stay back,” yelled the Professor. He dropped his weight onto Cassius’s shoulders and heaved the quæstor down the corridor.

  Cassius spun as he hit the wall. His hands flashed to his sides as he drew both his blades. “Thought you’d gotten away, Roberts?” he said as he lunged to attack.

  The Professor drew his sword and performed a sweeping block. There was a sharp clang as one of Cassius’s blades went spinning from his hand.

  Cassius snarled and swung with his other sword.

  The Professor ducked, then rushed close and grasped the quæstor by the wrist. He turned Cassius’s remaining blade downward and a drove it into the floor.

  “Not like training, is it?” said the Professor.

  Cassius cocked his elbow and struck the Professor on the chin. He gave a swipe of his other arm and the Professor’s blade flew from his hand and embedded in the wall.

  Bert again rushed forward but a well-aimed kick knocked him back.

  Both men flew into a flurry of blocks and punches. The air whistled with the speed of their blows and the carriage shook. Bert struggled to keep his footing.

  Suddenly Cassius dropped low and kicked. He caught the Professor’s heel and sent him staggering back. He hit the door of the carriage with a groan.

  Cassius lunged forward to grab him.

  The Professor gripped the quæstor’s arm and threw him full force against the door. There was a rending crash and both men disappeared through the opening.

  “Professor!” cried Bert. He ran to the doorway and looked down. The drop below dizzied him for a moment but he forced himself to lean out.

  He saw movement to his right. The Professor was hanging on to the side of the train. Cassius was luckier. He’d caught hold of a ladder, and was heading for the roof.

  In that position, the Professor would be helpless.

  Bert didn’t have time to hesitate. He grabbed the sword that was embedded in the wall and threw himself up over the doorway. For a sickening moment he felt the headwind lifting his feet out into space, but in a quick heave he managed to pull himself up onto the roof.

  The cables creaked over his head as he crouched uneasily, trying to steady himself. The quæstor was only a short dista
nce away over the carriage, shouting something that Bert couldn’t hear. The Professor was still clinging desperately to the carriage side.

  Cassius turned to face Bert.

  “Get away from him,” yelled Bert.

  The quæstor held out his hands. “You don’t have to do that, Bert.”

  Bert glanced down at the Professor. It was clear that he couldn’t get a foothold, that he was straining to cling on. “Get back,” said Bert. He took a step forward.

  The quæstor didn’t move.

  “I’m warning you,” said Bert.

  Cassius crouched lower to balance himself against the swaying of the carriage. “It’s over, Bert. I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I have to.”

  Bert gritted his teeth.

  The quæstor took a step forward. “Give me the sword, or you’ll get hurt,” he said. “You’ve seen me fighting already. You know you’re no match for me.”

  Bert refused to give in. The sword shook in his hand. He could still hear the faint voices of the soldiers in the carriages below, singing another song.

  Cassius took a step closer. “This is your last warning.”

  A hand shot over the side of the carriage. The blow hit Cassius’s ankle and sent him tumbling backward. His coat swirled around him as he rolled across the roof.

  The Professor heaved himself up. “Well done, Bert.”

  “Look out!” said Bert.

  Cassius was running to meet the Professor. The carriage swayed under them, and both men staggered. The Professor seemed to find his balance just in time.

  “Take that!” yelled the Professor, swinging a punch.

  Cassius took the impact and crumpled. He fell heavily onto a wooden hatchway, and disappeared with a crash. There was a loud thump in the carriage below.

  The Professor ran forward, then froze. “Oh dear,” he said.

  Bert rushed over and peered down through the hole. Inside the carriage, a platoon of royal soldiers was staring up at them from around Cassius’s collapsed form.

  “What’s going on here?” said a bemused-looking officer.

  The Professor smiled. “We had a disagreement over a seat.”

  “Stay right there,” ordered the officer. “Get them, men.”

  “I think we’d better leave now,” said the Professor. He grabbed Bert and ran toward the front of the train. A pistol cracked behind them and a bullet hole appeared by their feet.

  Bert raced as fast as he dared over the swaying roof.

  The Professor took the sword from Bert’s hands and put it into his belt. He nodded to a ladder that ran down the side of the carriage. “Down there.”

  “But we’ll be sitting ducks,” said Bert.

  “We’ve nearly reached land,” said the Professor. He pointed down the line of cables to a large wheat field. “That’s where we make our exit,” he said. “If you’re up to it, Bert?”

  He was already swinging down onto the first rung.

  Bert winced as he followed the Professor down the ladder. His bruises were still stiffening from the last fall. “If I’m not, will you just throw me again?” he asked.

  The Professor grunted by way of reply and lowered himself over the last handhold. The soldiers were shouting nearby. “Make sure to roll,” the Professor said.

  Bert looked down. It was a longer drop than he’d expected—three times his height—and the train was moving fast. When he looked to his side, treetops flashed by at an alarming pace. “What if I … ?” He stopped speaking as the Professor dropped and landed with a rustle below.

  “Come on, Bert!” yelled the Professor, his voice already fading into the distance.

  Bert heard a shout of alarm in the corridor above. There were heavy footsteps heading toward him, followed by the drowsy voice of the quæstor.

  “Wait,” shouted Cassius. “Don’t hurt the child.”

  Bert swallowed. There were worse fears than a speeding fall right now. He looked down at the dizzying rows of wheat, gritted his teeth, and jumped.

  He hit the ground and sank into the wheat with a dull crunch. His head felt cloudy for a moment. He saw a pair of pale orbs peering out at him from a sea of darkness, and at the back of his mind he heard the angry voice of Prince Voss, yelling: “Find the boy! Find the boy!”

  “Bert,” called the Professor. “Come on, we’re not clear yet.”

  Bert shook away the vision and started running.

  Stalks of wheat poked through his clothes. The short stubble growth on the tracks of the field pierced his shoes and cut like splinters. But there was no chance of slowing down now. He kept his head forward and followed the Professor as they raced over the open space. He could hear the voices of soldiers in close pursuit. A whole troop of them seemed to have leapt from the train.

  The Professor stopped suddenly.

  “What is it?” asked Bert.

  The Professor pointed ahead, where the field sloped down abruptly into a hollow that joined the boundaries of a large industrial complex. A thick smog hung over their view, but Bert could make out the jutting shapes of construction works and a tangle of wooden housing.

  “The port’s down there,” said the Professor.

  “Which way do we go?”

  “Straight through that factory.” The Professor shot forward and began to bound and stumble down the steep bank into the smog.

  Bert followed as fast as he dared, but his momentum soon took over, and he tumbled and rolled until he arrived at the bottom of the slope, caked in grass and mud. The Professor picked him up and helped him over a low metal fence. They landed on hard gravel. There were great vats of water on either side of them, with large crane-like girders hanging high above. A steady silver rain fell into the vats from a line of buckets, making a hissing and crackling sound as it hit.

  “Bullet works,” said the Professor. He gestured to the machinery as he ran, apparently enjoying himself. “It’s clever stuff, Bert, for nonmagic.”

  Bert didn’t have any breath left to respond. He pulled a stray stalk of wheat out of his collar and concentrated on moving his aching legs.

  A workman up ahead yelled at them, and the Professor quickly cut between the vats and led Bert to a large hangar. “Keep up,” he said.

  “I’m trying,” panted Bert. His feet were lightened by fear. He could hear angry voices around the yard as they passed, calling out warnings or asking what they thought they were doing. They ran beneath a vast metal hull, ducked through a shower of orange sparks, and arrived at a heavy latched doorway. The Professor knocked the latch open and beckoned.

  Bert went inside and looked around. There was a straight corridor that led to the streets of the port. He was running for the light when a figure stepped into view at the end of the corridor. The figure was quickly joined by another. They were carrying swords.

  “Soldiers,” cried Bert.

  “Quick,” said the Professor. “Go right.”

  Bert tried a door by his side, found it unlocked, and ran through. The Professor followed close behind. They passed over a metal walkway, then down into a room filled with rubbish. The room ended in a series of large metal slides. There was no time to think. Bert jumped into the nearest shaft and slid down. His stomach lurched for a moment, then he hit the earth with a crunch and rolled onto his back. He was outside, in a pile of brittle clay and dirt. All around were stacks of waste metal, papers, and manufacturing materials. It was all strangely familiar to him.

  “Damn,” said the Professor. “We’re in the ratway.”

  Bert looked around and nodded. Somehow he knew this place. Vague memories of early childhood came back to him—dark times after someone had died, hiding in the shafts of the kilnworks, listening for someone returning. “Follow me,” he said. There were doorways and tunnels cut into the rubbish. A whole network of slums bordered the factory.

  “You know your way?” asked the Professor in surprise.

  Bert didn’t say anything. He climbed up a flight of loose steps carved into th
e shale and cut through a tunnel made of rusted cans. At the end of the short enclosure he reached a straight, narrow path that weaved between two metal fences. He could hear soldiers and workmen yelling to one another from around the yard. But he wasn’t afraid of them here.

  “Bert, do you know where we’re going?” said the Professor.

  Bert slowed his pace and crouched as something rattled the fence to his left. He heard a group of boots crunching through hard clay.

  “There’s a path here,” shouted a soldier. “Let’s climb up.”

  Bert grabbed the Professor’s sleeve, popped open a slat in the opposite fence, and ran through a maze of rotting wooden posts. The rubbish closed in around them as they ran, making an almost complete tunnel. They emerged at a flight of steps.

  “Well done, Bert,” said the Professor, beaming.

  The steps took them to a rickety rooftop overlooking the port. Bert caught a glimpse of docked sailing ships and the lazy shapes of airships floating over the waves.

  There was a wooden bridge connecting them to the next rooftop. “This way,” said the Professor. “They should be able to pick us up from here.”

  “But it’s a dead end,” said Bert. He could hear officers yelling out orders from close behind, and soldiers calling in response. The troops seemed to be all around the block.

  Pistols fired from the street below.

  “Keep your head down, and keep up,” said the Professor. The bullets cracked as they passed. Bert ducked and ran with the Professor. They crossed over the bridge.

  Ahead of them was a long, flat roof.

  “We can’t stay up here,” said Bert.

  “Do you hear that?” called the Professor over his shoulder.

  Bert shook his head. His thoughts were filled with the volleys of gunshots and the drumming of his own heartbeat. “Hear what?” he asked.

  “You’ll see,” said the Professor. He crouched, pulled a brass tube from his pocket, and unscrewed the top. There was a crack like breaking glass, and thick red smoke began to pour out of the container. He held it above his head and then tossed it down onto the gravel nearby.