Shipwreck Island

by Struan Murray

  ‘Um … it’s Ellie. Ellie Stonewall.’

  ‘I will take Ellie before the court and plead her case.’ His voice grew sombre for the first time. ‘Do not fret, fellow servants of Our Most Glorious Vessel, I shall make sure fairness prevails. Praise Her!’

  ‘Praise Her!’ the crowd roared.

  ‘Is that agreeable with you, loyal subject?’ Loren said to the Warden. The man’s face was purple, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. He looked at the crowd, scowled, then nodded.

  ‘We must keep your arm steady, brave Ellie,’ said Loren. ‘Probably best I carry you, if you don’t mind?’

  Ellie nodded dumbly, and Loren lifted her, filling Ellie’s nose again with the smell of jam and woodsmoke. The bard broke into song, but was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as they swept through the streets, parading round Loren, Ellie and the disgruntled Warden. The scribe followed too, walking and writing at the same time. Ellie read over Loren’s shoulder:

  Brave Loren carried the sickly hero through the streets. The crowds flocked round them, golden-voiced children singing Loren’s name. Men and women danced and embraced, and it was as if the gods themselves had returned from death to celebrate.

  There were no golden-voiced children that Ellie could hear, just an endless off-key chanting of ‘LOREN, LOREN, LOREN!’ and people were not embracing or dancing but jostling each other to get closer to him, kept back by four burly men in leather armour.

  ‘Sariah!’ Loren called, reaching out to the crowd. ‘How is your grandfather’s elbow? Did that Essence of Ambrose do the trick? My word, Malma, is that your son? Look how tall he’s grown!’

  The crowd swelled as they processed through the streets, passing beneath painted paper constructions of whales, peacocks and octopuses strung from one building to the next. People threw flower petals from their balconies, so the air shimmered white and purple.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, dear friends!’ Loren said, laughing as petals fell on his face. The buildings around them turned grander, straw-roofed huts giving way to sandstone houses, vivid murals embellishing their walls.

  ‘We’re going to the Ark,’ said Ellie. ‘We’re going to see the Queen?’

  Loren smiled. ‘Indeed we are.’ Nerves prickled Ellie’s neck, like hailstones on glass. ‘Tell me, Ellie, I don’t suppose you’re looking for employment? Assuming I can convince Her not to throw you in a cell, I think the Queen may have a use for your talents.’

  Ellie looked up at Loren, dumbfounded. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Loren declared. The street opened up on to Revelation Boulevard, and there was the Ark ahead of them, heat shimmering across its sprawling grey-white surface. Ellie looked nervously at the crowd, offering a hesitant wave that was met with fresh cheers. Her face flushed with joy.

  ‘LANCASTER!’

  It was like the roar of a wounded bull. Heads turned, and Ellie wriggled in Loren’s grip, her stomach twisting.

  Hargrath marched through the crowd, black coat fluttering behind him. His eyes were bright red, his skin clammy. He looked as if he had never slept.

  ‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ he snarled.

  ‘What is this?’ said Loren, frowning at the commotion.

  ‘Let me through!’ Hargrath demanded, as the crowd jostled him. ‘How dare you touch me! I am an –’ Hargrath swallowed. ‘An –’

  But even Hargrath seemed to have realized that, on this island, announcing he was an Inquisitor from the Enemy’s City was a bad idea. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ he growled. ‘She’s dangerous!’

  ‘She’s a hero!’ cried a woman. ‘Get out of here, monster!’

  Hargrath shrieked and drew his sword. Screams pierced the air. Loren laughed. ‘Another crazed fan. Gregory, Aidan, could you deal with him?’ he asked two of the burly men in leather armour.

  ‘I’ll handle it,’ said the Warden, reaching for his sword, but Loren put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Sir, you’ve had a trying ordeal,’ he said politely. ‘Let my men take care of this.’

  ‘I don’t take orders from a preening fool like you!’ yelled the Warden, flecking Loren’s face with spit. Up close, Ellie saw the shadow of a frown mar Loren’s perfect features. He laughed softly, dabbing his face with the sleeve of his gown as his two bodyguards leapt upon Hargrath and wrestled him to the paving stones.

  Loren leaned in close to the Warden, whispering in his ear. The Warden stuttered. ‘You know my name?’

  Again Loren whispered.

  The Warden’s face paled. ‘I, uh, well –’

  The crowd laughed and whooped as Loren’s guards pulled off Hargrath’s coat, revealing the stump where his left arm would have been. Hargrath lashed out wildly, ripping his coat back from them then fleeing down an alley, Loren’s men in pursuit. He looked over his shoulder, and his black eyes met Ellie’s one last time before he vanished round a corner.

  ‘Well, I’m glad that’s sorted,’ Loren said. ‘There are some peculiar people in this world, aren’t there, Ellie?’

  Ellie glanced about. The Warden seemed to have vanished too.

  ‘LOREN, LOREN, LOREN!’ The chanting swelled as Loren carried Ellie towards the gates of the palace. The mural on the front of the Ark reared overhead, the winged, angelic figure staring down at them.

  The gatekeeper smiled at Ellie. ‘You’re back. And look at that, you’re wearing shoes this time.’

  Loren raised a hand to the crowd. ‘Friends! Sadly this is where we must part, but rest assured this child shall receive the accolades she deserves!’

  The crowd cheered as Loren carried Ellie through the gates. The double doors swung open, and Ellie shielded her eyes against a new flood of light.

  At last, she was inside the palace.

  The Room of a Hundred Animals

  The air was cool and clean; all Ellie could smell was the woodsmoke and jam of Loren’s strange perfume, and her own sweat. This was not how she’d imagined this moment – she’d been walking tall, her hair brushed at least, not being carried, coated in dust, with an arm that resembled a shredded steak.

  Portraits of men and women hung from the walls, every one of them beautiful, surrounded by flowers and with a dog or a cat or a colourful bird in their lap. Their hair was sleek and dark, and they had halos of gold leaf round their heads.

  ‘The Queen’s ancestors,’ said Loren. ‘Now prepare yourself, you’re about to see the Grand Atrium.’

  He carried her through another door, and for a moment Ellie thought they were outside again. She looked up into a world of white light.

  It felt like every other building on the island could have fitted inside this chamber. A thousand circular windows shone like shards of precious stone glinting on a white-sand beach. The walls were painted white, with white marble staircases that stretched endlessly over their heads. The cleanness of the place made Ellie feel even dirtier: a smudge on a fresh sheet of paper.

  The chamber echoed with the patter of footsteps, and somewhere cellos played a gentle melody. Boys and girls dressed in white shirts and black trousers hurried up and down the staircases, in and out of a hundred doors, and Ellie felt she was in the glittering, pumping heart of some giant, pristine sea creature.

  Servants opened another set of double doors, and a new corridor stretched away into darkness. Loren set Ellie down, and she tugged at her collar.

  ‘What is the Royal Court?’ she said.

  ‘Ah, it’s nothing to worry about,’ said Loren. ‘Merely the council that advises the Queen, made up of the most respected and wealthy people on the island.’

  ‘That sounds like something to worry about,’ said Ellie.

  Loren laughed. ‘It’ll be fine – they’re terribly fond of me.’

  They entered the corridor, the doors closed, and darkness enveloped them.

  A dim orange light lay ahead. Ellie heard voices, and tried to make out what they were saying, but the pain in her arm turned her thoug
hts thick like syrup.

  ‘Do you have any more of that essence of willow bark?’ Ellie whispered, and Loren shook his head in apology.

  ‘Whatever you do,’ he said softly, ‘don’t look Her in the eye.’

  They emerged into flickering candlelight, and a new chamber appeared to Ellie in parts: a great darkness, high above, where there should have been a ceiling. An elephant. A black marble floor, with some stubby white candles to light the entire chamber. A horse. Shifting figures in chairs. A bear.

  A bear was glaring at her with fierce black eyes.

  Ellie jumped a step back. The bear did nothing. She breathed deeply, then realized the bear was dead, and stuffed, and that there were a hundred other dead animals in the room, along with a smaller number of people, who were still alive.

  ‘Beetroots,’ croaked a dry, whispery voice from the darkness. ‘Yield down three per cent, all sources.’

  There was the sound of a page being turned.

  ‘Aubergines. Yield down twenty-two per cent, all sources.’

  Old men and women were seated round the chamber, squeezed between the animals. It was clear the animals had come to the room first: they’d taken all the prime spots. Ellie wondered whether they’d been stuffed before the Drowning. There were lots she’d only ever seen in illustrations – the elephant for one, and a mountainous rhinoceros. Suspended from the ceiling was what looked like a squirrel, only it had a furry lining between its arms and legs, like an outstretched cape, like it had once been able to fly, or at least glide.

  ‘Onions. Yield down thirty-one per cent, all sources.’

  An ancient man sat behind a large, shrivelled tortoise, his body arched over like a wilting plant, a thick, tattered book open in his lap. Each time he spoke, his tongue swept across his bottom lip, unsticking itself with a wet pop.

  Ellie looked around, searching for the Queen, but finding only the handmaidens, gathered at the centre of the room in their purple dresses.

  ‘Now, the fishing,’ the man with the book droned on. ‘Mackerel, all sources –’

  The handmaidens held their breath hopefully.

  ‘– down forty-five per cent.’

  They let out a small, collective groan.

  ‘Anchovies,’ the man said, with the same wet pop. The handmaidens breathed in again. ‘Down forty-eight per cent.’

  Again they groaned.

  ‘Tuna.’

  The handmaidens breathed in.

  ‘Down eighty-seven per cent.’

  The handmaidens gasped.

  ‘Stop. That.’

  The voice cut through the chamber, straightening spines as it passed, making the hairs on Ellie’s neck stand on end. She had never heard a voice so melodious and yet so deep and commanding.

  Loren stepped forward. ‘Your Divinity, I bring an urgent matter before you.’

  Something shifted in the darkness, and Ellie noticed a shadowy figure behind the handmaidens, much taller than they were.

  Ellie swallowed.

  ‘Andre Catlos, how do we fix this?’ said the voice, ignoring Loren entirely. The shadow raised a long, trailing sleeve, and Ellie saw a finger glinting with jewellery, pointing to a prim, upright man with a long neck, sitting next to an ostrich.

  Catlos scratched his neck. ‘The Academy is looking into it, Your Divinity, and I think we have some promising leads.’

  ‘And what are they?’

  ‘Oh.’ Catlos clutched his knees. ‘I’d … have to consult my colleagues, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ said the voice. ‘Your leads are so promising that you can’t remember what they are.’

  Ellie rubbed her throbbing arm, the air suddenly stifling. This was not a person who would look kindly on her setting off a bomb.

  ‘Your Divinity?’ said Loren.

  ‘Silence.’

  The jewel-covered hand fell on a huge snow leopard, frozen forever in time with its teeth bared.

  ‘Benevolent Protector?’ said a thickset, grouchy-looking man near the rhinoceros. It occurred to Ellie that everyone in the room was sitting next to an animal that in some way resembled them. Ellie wondered if the Queen had arranged this on purpose.

  ‘Speak, Cassor,’ said the voice.

  ‘Well.’ Cassor shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m not sure why we are concerning ourselves with these shortages. It has been many years now since the last Festival of Life – of course the harvests are poor. But the next Festival is just weeks away. You will make the island fertile again.’

  The shadow turned sharply. Ellie gasped and lowered her gaze.

  For a moment, she’d seen them. Piercing golden eyes.

  ‘Of course I will,’ said the voice. ‘But in the meantime I will not let my island starve.’

  ‘Your Divinity, I have some help I’d like to offer?’ said Loren, smiling bashfully, but keeping his eyes on the ground.

  ‘Speak again without my say-so, Loren Alexander,’ said the voice, ‘and I will have your tongue removed.’

  ‘Beloved Provider, forgive me, but has my help not been instrumental so far? It was my artisans who made all the false plants now filling the island’s public gardens.’

  Ellie looked at Loren in shock. She’d spent a lot of time moping in the gardens, and would never have guessed the plants weren’t real.

  ‘You forget your place,’ said the voice. ‘Your wealth and popularity may have won you a position in this court, but I don’t need your help. And I certainly don’t need a sickly girl with a fondness for blowing things up.’

  Ellie shivered as she felt the golden eyes on her. Loren frowned. ‘The news has already reached you?’

  ‘That fire in your mines spread to a hidden cache of grain – a secret royal supply that could have kept the whole island fed for a month. Matters are now –’ the voice paused – ‘much worse.’

  ‘Your Divinity,’ said Loren, ‘I have a large store of grain on my estate in the outer islands. I can have it brought to Shipwreck Island in days. Then –’

  ‘The girl must be punished,’ said the voice. ‘The recipe for fire powder is a divine secret. Its creation is blasphemy.’

  ‘But I can help!’

  Ellie froze as her own words echoed in her ears, sounding feeble and small. She felt like even the dead animals were staring at her.

  ‘Please, Your Divinity. I … I’m an inventor. I know I’m young, but I’ve invented all sorts of things, um, back on Ingarth Island. I made a device for trapping wild animals in a net. I made a boat that can swim underwater. I know lots about plants too – I can help with the harvest problem!’

  Ellie could hear her heartbeat, feel the pain pulsing up and down her arm. She risked a glance up, and found those golden eyes staring back, filling her mind.

  ‘So be it, inventor,’ said the Queen. ‘You shall remain our prisoner. Prove that you can create such wonders as you describe, or I will have you publicly executed.’

  The New Workshop

  Ellie had never been in prison before, but she was certain they didn’t normally come with chandeliers, balconies or four-poster beds. She doubted they had mahogany wardrobes or gilded bathtubs, either, or a fruit bowl larger than her head.

  Ellie’s prison had all these things. She hobbled around, admiring the lace pillows, then a tall suit of armour made from segmented plates of black metal. It had a spear, a purple cape, and a reflective mask that was smooth and featureless, like the face of a mannequin. She touched a finger to the mask, and an armoured fist grabbed her hand. Ellie yelped and leapt backwards, as the suit of armour clasped its spear again, and was motionless.

  The door swung open, and the tiny, tortoise-like man shuffled in, carrying a wooden trunk.

  ‘That suit of armour just moved!’ Ellie told him.

  ‘That’s because there is a person inside that suit of armour; you are honoured to stand in the presence of one of the Seven Sentinels. Perfect warriors devoted to the protection of the Queen.’

  Ellie studied the armour, feel
ing strangely reassured to have a perfect warrior watching over her, in case Hargrath should find his way up here. ‘Doesn’t it speak?’

  ‘They have taken a vow of silence, so as to never divulge the Queen’s secrets.’

  ‘How does it see through that mask?’

  ‘Young lady, I am here to mend your arm, not answer silly questions.’ The man pointed to a cushioned chair.

  Ellie sat down. ‘It’s fractured, and the muscle has contracted round the bone,’ she told him. ‘You need to pull my arm to fit the ends back together, then tie a splint to it.’

  ‘Where did you learn that?’ said the man, opening his trunk.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘I’ve dissected a lot of rats. Is the Queen going to come and see me?’

  ‘Absolutely not. The Queen isn’t interested in the activities of –’ he looked at Ellie over his glasses; her torn clothes, dusty hair, the dried blood on her arm – ‘whatever you are. Now come on, let’s get this over with. And please try not to scream too loudly. I have sensitive ears.’

  ~

  An hour later, Ellie was led from her prison, clutching protectively at her arm in its silk sling. A Warden guided her down a dank spiral staircase, deep into the Ark’s belly, and she felt a swell of disappointment as they emerged into a grimy, moss-smelling corridor, empty but for a mop and bucket, and a faded painting of a man that someone had drawn a moustache on.

  The Warden pulled Ellie through a doorway, and she stood in a spacious, candlelit room filled with four squat workbenches, several desks and a large kiln in one corner.

  ‘A workshop,’ Ellie whispered, awestruck, then realized she was speaking to nobody – the door slammed shut behind her.

  A shiver of excitement ran up her neck as she investigated, flinging open every drawer, inspecting the materials she’d been given – screws and nails and wire, sheets of brass and copper, saws and wrenches and vices, and even an axe for some reason. She wasn’t sure who’d prepared the room or what they thought she’d be doing in it – on one desk lay an arrangement of parrot feathers, a chunk of red gemstone, and three turquoise birds’ eggs sitting in cotton wool. Ellie picked one up, wondering if the room had once belonged to a scholar of some sort. She hoped they had retired by choice.