The Dark Flight Down

by Marcus Sedgwick

  “Oh. Yes,” said Boy. “Yes, you were asking about Valerian’s books. Have you found what you needed?”

  Boy realized as soon as he said it that it was a mistake. Maxim closed the distance between them, and though Boy flinched, he still took most of a blow to the side of his head.

  He fell to the ground, holding his head, feeling for blood, though there was none. Maxim yanked Boy to his feet and pushed his face close.

  “Listen, Boy. Listen!” he snarled. “I know you are lying. I know you have the book somewhere. So make an end to your foolishness.”

  “N-No . . . ,” stuttered Boy. “No, I don’t. . . .”

  “Yes, you do. You have the book. Or maybe it is your friend Willow who has it now?”

  Boy’s face betrayed him immediately.

  “Willow!” he cried, and then knew that Maxim somehow knew the truth.

  “Yes, your friend Willow,” said Maxim, smoothly. He dropped Boy back to the floor, went to fetch a chair and brought it back to sit on. “Let’s have a little talk, shall we? Now that we understand each other. And now that you see it is pointless to lie anymore.”

  “Willow’s got nothing to do with all this. You don’t—”

  “I decide what is important here. Understand me! Your conversations with your friend Bedrich were very helpful. You were much more forthcoming with him than you have been with me so far.”

  Boy’s thoughts whirled as he struggled to understand, but it was obvious that Maxim had somehow been listening to them. He tried to remember what he and Bedrich had talked about, but he knew it was not good.

  Everything. They had talked about everything.

  “Yes, it was good of you two to become such friends after I had you put next to each other. And when you saw the chance to get a message out, you kindly took it. . . .”

  Maxim laughed, and Boy saw that the whole of his imprisonment had been a trick to get him to talk to Bedrich. It had seemed strange that the old doctor had been moved in next to him.

  Sickeningly Boy realized that in talking to Bedrich he had exposed Willow to danger too. He cursed himself.

  “What have you done to Bedrich?” Boy asked.

  “He is well enough, for the time being.”

  They needed him alive, Boy realized, to look after the Phantom. That was something else about Bedrich’s release that hadn’t made sense, but the prisoners had been too preoccupied with their own thoughts to see it at the time.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Boy asked, miserably.

  “Silence!” Maxim shouted. “Just tell me this: Where is the book? Does your friend Willow have it?”

  “No!” cried Boy.

  “You’re lying again! You will die if you persist. Are you that stupid? The girl has the book! Where is she?”

  “No, no, she doesn’t!” cried Boy. “Really. Please believe me.”

  Maxim said nothing, obviously trying to weigh up the truth or otherwise of Boy’s words.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “It’s the truth, I swear it’s the truth,” Boy said, hurriedly. “I don’t know where the book is. I don’t know where Willow is. . . .”

  “Come now,” said Maxim. “You know your friend Willow is at the orphanage.”

  Boy felt sick again.

  “Yes,” said Maxim. “You are right. I do have my men going there right now. So maybe we’ll find the book sooner than I had hoped.”

  “No!” cried Boy. “She doesn’t have the book!”

  “Then who does? If your girl doesn’t have it then who does? Tell me that!”

  “I don’t know,” said Boy. He dared not mention Kepler.

  “Then maybe Willow will be more helpful than you have been,” Maxim said. “And believe me, I am in no mood to reward unhelpful people, so think carefully about what you choose to say from now on. In ten minutes we are due in court, where you will confirm everything I say to the emperor. About the book, about the magician, about your friend. If you make the slightest mistake, I will have you back in the dungeon, but not for long. Perhaps you have seen a certain dark stairway, a flight down to the very depths of Hell? That is where you will be headed, my lying little Boy, if you make one more mistake. And your stay there will be a short one, believe me. Believe me.”

  He pointed at another chair, on which some new clothes lay.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “I will come back for you in ten minutes. And remember, your first mistake in court will be your last.”

  4

  Once more Boy was simply awestruck by what he saw around him.

  He had never seen anything like the court before, never even imagined that anything so beautiful, so majestic, so elaborate could exist. How could he? He whose life had been spent on the streets, whose only contact with wealth had been on those occasions when he relieved some careless rich person of their purse.

  It was not only the setting, but the people, dressed in magnificent clothes, with sculpted hair, or in some cases flamboyant wigs, and more jewelry than Boy had seen in his whole life.

  Boy had scratched at his new clothes as Maxim had walked him down to court. They were stiff, heavy, formal clothes for a young man of the palace, and Boy did not like them, but as he stood in court for the first time he forgot all about them. His jaw dropped as he stared at everything, from the shining stone floor covered in thick rugs, to the arched ceiling far above his head, painted with heavenly scenes, rich in blue and gold. Boy was so busy staring at everything that he didn’t even notice that everyone else was staring at him. Hushed conversations flurried around the room.

  “Shut your mouth, Boy,” Maxim whispered as Frederick arrived.

  Frederick was brought into the court on a low chair carried by four men. They placed him at the foot of the dais on which his throne stood, and they and everyone else in the room bowed as the small, old, thin man climbed up into his seat of power like a toddler climbing onto his father’s lap.

  The proceedings began.

  “Where is the boy?” Frederick drawled.

  Maxim grabbed Boy by his elbow, holding it so tightly it hurt, then marched him forward. Boy felt the eyes of everyone in the room fixed on him alone as he approached the throne. Everyone except the emperor, whose face was turned to the ceiling.

  “Why do we have to do everything so early?” he whined.

  “Sire, it is nearly midday . . . ,” Maxim said, in as gentle a tone as he could muster.

  “When will you learn that this palace exists to operate around the hours I wish to keep? And not any other way?”

  Boy was almost embarrassed by the old man’s bickering in front of all the nobles, but the emperor was oblivious. Maxim was so used to these debates that he paid little attention, yet Boy found it utterly strange.

  “This is the brat?” Frederick asked, still not actually looking at Boy.

  Maxim nodded.

  “Indeed, sire. He goes by a rather strange name. His name is Boy.”

  There was a titter around the court and Boy felt himself flush with shame, and anger too.

  Finally Frederick seemed to be interested in something.

  “His name is Boy? How peculiar. Did the magician not give him a proper name?”

  “Apparently he did not see fit to do so,” Maxim intoned slowly.

  There was another giggle around the room, and Boy could stand it no more.

  “That’s not—” he began, but Maxim grasped his neck. The wind was plucked from his throat, and though Maxim let him go almost as fast as he had grabbed him, for a moment Boy was unable to speak.

  “Very well,” Frederick muttered. “It matters not. What news is there? Does he have the secret?”

  “Things are proceeding very well,” Maxim declared. “As Boy will testify. The book will shortly be in our possession, and when it is, we will be able to attend to your immediate situation, just as you desire.”

  Frederick did not seem impressed.

  “Even now,” Maxim went on, “my men are
closing in on the book. The boy has informed me of its whereabouts. It will be here before the day is out!”

  Boy wondered how Maxim dare take such a risk. Did he really believe it? Maybe he was playing for time.

  Where was Willow? He hoped to God it was nowhere near the orphanage. One thing was sure, the men of the Imperial Guard would not find the book there. At least it was safe with Kepler, and it seemed Maxim knew nothing about him. If Maxim got hold of the book, not only would he wield terrible power in the palace, putting all their lives at risk, but Boy’s chance of using it would be gone too.

  Boy snapped out of his musings. He realized the whole court was staring at him again. He looked at Maxim, who was glaring down at him.

  “Is that not so?” Maxim asked, meaningfully.

  Boy understood that this was his moment, when he had to confirm everything Maxim had claimed.

  “Yes,” he blurted out, almost shouting. “Yes. The book. Yes.”

  Frederick nodded, and smiled mirthlessly.

  “Very well,” he said. “For both your sakes I hope you’re right. Now let us get on with the day’s business. . . .”

  Maxim moved round to the side of the dais and motioned for Boy to follow.

  There were a small commotion and a short fanfare, and then someone called out.

  “Applicants for positions in the royal palace!”

  Maxim hissed to Boy where he stood at his side.

  “Be quiet. Watch and say nothing. You have done enough for one day.”

  Boy did as he was told. He had obviously slept late into the day, as Maxim had told Frederick it was midday. He had eaten far too much too quickly and his dreams had been strange affairs once more. Bits of them came back to him now as he vaguely watched what was going on in court. He had been crawling down a tunnel too low to stand upright in, and there had been something he had been trying to get to. He struggled to remember. Then it came back to him—not something, but someone. Willow. She had been at the end of the tunnel, but no matter how far he crawled, she remained as far away as ever.

  In the court, a man in black stepped forward. Several other applicants had been curtly dismissed already, and Maxim was glad that the emperor was not in a murderously vindictive frame of mind on this particular day. The man in black announced, “Your Majesty, I am an alchemist.”

  Frederick stared at the ceiling.

  “Really?” he said. “Prove it! And quickly. My legs are beginning to ache sitting here all the time. . . .”

  The man bowed.

  “Of course!” he said. “My things!”

  He called to the back of the room, where some flunkeys had been holding his equipment. In a few minutes he had set up a burner over which sat a tripod.

  He began to rummage in a bag, and pulled out a little stone crucible.

  “I will now turn a small quantity of lead into gold, in this alchemical wonder, the secret system, the torment of the metals, the genesis through the twenty-seven transformations . . .”

  Boy, who had become interested in the goings-on, muttered to himself.

  “It’s a trick.”

  “Be quiet,” Maxim said, but Frederick leaned round in his throne.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” Maxim replied.

  “I want to hear what the boy said,” Frederick said to Maxim acidly. “What did you say, Boy?”

  Boy hesitated.

  “What did you say? Tell me!”

  “I said it’s a trick.”

  “How do you know?” Frederick asked, carefully.

  The man in black seemed to hesitate. He opened his mouth to speak, and Frederick, not even looking in his direction, held up his hand.

  “One more word from you and I’ll have you killed right now.”

  So, thought Boy, the old emperor was sharp when he wanted to be.

  “Now, Boy. Tell me how you know it’s a trick,” Frederick said.

  “It’s a stage trick. The crucible has a false bottom, made of wax. When it heats up, the wax melts and there’s gold underneath already.”

  There was a gasp around court and everyone began to speak at once.

  “The brat lies!” cried the alchemist, but before he could defend himself, Maxim snatched the crucible from the man’s hand. He scratched inside it rapidly with his fingernail.

  He held the crucible in the air, turning it over, showing the insides first to the assembly in court, and then to Frederick. Flakes of wax fell to the floor.

  From the base of the small crucible came the unmistakable glint of gold.

  The room fell silent.

  “Kill him,” said Frederick.

  “No!” cried Boy. “You can’t kill him just for that, you can’t!”

  But no one paid Boy any attention, except Maxim, who walked over and clapped his hand across Boy’s mouth.

  Boy turned away as the man was led struggling from the room. He wrestled with Maxim, pulling his hand away from his mouth.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I . . . You can’t kill him.”

  Maxim grasped Boy again and squeezed his throat.

  “One mistake, Boy. Remember, one mistake.”

  Boy fell silent.

  The man had been an impostor, a trickster, but that was surely not reason enough to kill him? Boy had done much worse in his time. Much worse.

  Frederick turned to Boy.

  “Excellent Boy!” he cried. “Well done! You have proved yourself a worthy young man already! Don’t you think so, Maxim? Eh, Maxim? Clever Boy. We shall have to look after him. Eh, Maxim?”

  Maxim forced a smile.

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “Worth keeping him after all, eh? You should take more notice of what I say, Maxim, then we might be closer to our goal!”

  Maxim forced another thin smile, but in his eyes there was only anger, thinly veiled.

  Boy said nothing, but watched the emperor grinning at him stupidly, nodding in appreciation. He felt wretched for the alchemist in black. If not for Boy, he’d be alive.

  “Next!” called a footman, and the crowd parted as the last applicants of the day took the risk of applying for favors within the royal palace.

  A man and a boy, both wearing hooded capes, made their way forward to the front of the court.

  They removed their hoods and Boy saw that the smaller figure was not a boy but a girl. A man and a girl.

  Kepler and Willow.

  5

  “They had better be good,” Maxim muttered to Boy. “Whoever they are they had better be good. Once he’s in the mood for blood . . .”

  Boy looked at Willow.

  Yes, she had seen him, he could tell, from the way she was looking anywhere but at him. It was the same with Kepler. Both of them were studiously avoiding eye contact with him. He understood what it meant. Say nothing, do nothing to give us away. But Boy desperately needed to warn them.

  They didn’t know that their lives hung by a thread, and that if they failed to impress the emperor, their end would have come.

  Boy tried to catch Willow’s eye, but she was having none of it. She gazed straight ahead, paying attention only to Kepler when necessary. Boy tried to twitch his head to get her attention, but Maxim saw him.

  “What are you doing, idiot? Be still. They’re the last for today, then you can go to your rooms until we have the book.”

  Boy stood still, shut his eyes and prayed.

  “What do you have to show us?” Maxim asked Kepler.

  Kepler stepped forward.

  “I am Arbronsius!” he declared. “This is my assistant, Mina.”

  He indicated Willow with a flourish of his hand.

  “We have come far to your great City to demonstrate our mystical powers to Your Highness.”

  “Get on with it, man,” Frederick barked.

  Wordlessly Boy urged Kepler to hurry up. The old lunatic might have them killed for taking too long.

  “Indeed,” Kepler said, searching in a bag at his f
eet. “I just need some equipment. . . .”

  “Equipment? Equipment?” snapped Frederick. “You’re not some confounded telescopist, are you? Can’t stand those upstarts!”

  “No, indeed, no,” Kepler said hurriedly. “I have no truck with those modern natural philosophers, those scientists, treacherous telescopists!”

  He sounded unconvincing to Boy, but then only Boy and possibly Willow knew that that was precisely what he was, a scientist, albeit one whose mind had definitely been influenced by the finding of the book. But Frederick and the rest of the court seemed to have believed him, as he bent down once more and pulled some things from his bag.

  “No, sire, this is a truly magical appurtenance which I hold before you.”

  With a flourish worthy of Valerian, Kepler pulled a short brass cylinder from his sack. Immediately Boy recognized it as the lens from the camera obscura, upon the end of which was mounted a frosted glass tube.

  “Behold,” Kepler said dramatically, “the Spirit Tube.”

  Frederick stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

  “The Spirit Tube is a conduit through which we can see the spirit world. Sometimes we are lucky enough to capture visions of this other world inside. Allow me to attempt a summoning!”

  Kepler passed the device over for Willow to hold, while he moved his hands around it. He began to mutter under his breath, not loudly enough for anyone to hear. Boy was surprised. He had never imagined that Kepler could equal Valerian’s ability for performing, yet that was precisely what he was doing. Boy knew Kepler had no magical powers, was a scientist pure and simple, yet as he watched, Kepler made a very fair show of playing the magician.

  For a while nothing happened; then the tube began to glow with a yellowish green light, soft and sickly. Kepler held the tube high above his head for everyone to see, and then there was a gasp as people saw a face appear through the glow inside the tube.

  Now Boy knew what he was seeing—it was basically the same trick Valerian had used to summon the fairy in his hands for the first part of the Fairyland Vanishing Illusion, his most famous trick. Perhaps this was something Kepler had shown him too. A question arose in Boy’s mind. Was this why Kepler had sent him to the Yellow House to fetch the lens? Had he had this in mind even then?