Brightstorm

by Vashti Hardy

  Maudie leant in towards Arthur and whispered. “Please let him not have been foolish enough to run out of pitch in the Third Continent.”

  Arthur didn’t answer. Dad was meticulous at calculating fuel.

  “The Brightstorm sky-ship, the Violetta, landed at the Last Post shortly afterwards. We exchanged greetings and ate together around a fire in the spirit of comrade explorers, even though, of course, we were rivals to reach South Polaris first. We wished each other luck and went to bed, each needing to take the opportunity of gathering strength before the perilous journey ahead. Little did we know it was the last time we’d see them alive.”

  The auditorium hung off her every word. There was complete silence. Arthur tried to steady his breathing as a great black wave of sadness washed over him, pressing down, drowning him. He looked around the auditorium, searching in the vain hope that Dad would appear, that it was a terrible mistake.

  “During the night, I was woken by the hum of the Violetta’s engines. At first I thought they were trying to get an advantage. I wasn’t concerned, as I knew the Victorious was the faster ship and would catch up.” Madame Vane paused, a frown bending her brow. “Perhaps my chief engineer, Mr Wicketts, should take it from here.”

  A man further along the line stood up, the screech of his chair rasping through the theatre. He was obviously much less comfortable speaking to such a huge crowd. He coughed. Then mumbled something.

  “You’ll need to speak up, Mr Wicketts,” Madame Gainsford said, shaking her head.

  Mr Wicketts cleared his throat. “The engines of the Violetta woke me too. I thought I’d better make a start on the engine checks as Madame Vane would be sure to want to take off soon. I went down to the engine room and the stores. I couldn’t believe what I saw.” He paused.

  “What did you see, Mr Wicketts?”

  He turned his palms upward. “It was almost empty.”

  The audience gasped.

  Madame Gainsford frowned deeply. “Mr Wicketts, could you elaborate for us?”

  He cleared his throat. “The outside hatch had been broken. A great hole gaped in the bottom of the Victorious so I could see the ground below. The pitch had been stolen, and the Violetta had already taken off. The only other person at the Last Post was the watcher, and she could hardly empty a ship of pitch alone in the night. I mean, the population is hardly booming down there. Besides, we questioned her, but she had an alibi. She’d been invited up to the ship’s mess for a drink with Captain Vane and the rest of the crew.”

  Madame Gainsford narrowed her gaze. “Just to be absolutely clear, Mr Wicketts, are you suggesting that your supplies were stolen by the Brightstorm crew?”

  He nodded.

  The audience erupted as people turned to those nearby to exclaim their thoughts.

  Maudie grabbed Arthur’s hand.

  “Dad wouldn’t do that,” Arthur said, his voice shaking.

  Madame Vane raised her hand a little and the audience quickly responded and stopped to listen. “Perhaps I should continue.”

  A couple in front of Arthur and Maudie began looking over their shoulders at them. They tapped the people in front and said something. Soon a ripple of whispers fluttered through the audience with more people turning to look. Maudie squeezed his left hand tighter and Arthur did his best to ignore the stares and focus on Madame Vane.

  “We weren’t going to give up on our dream of reaching South Polaris that easily, so we used the little fuel that remained in our stores to head back inland to find more pitch. It cost us valuable days and we paid a hefty price. Then we battled onwards across the sea, where the rough weather was every bit as terrible as reported, and set us back again.

  “On reaching the Third Continent, we crossed a great frozen forest. Beyond were enormous sheer mountains, too high for a sky-ship’s balloons. We were forced to land on a snow plain before an expansive icy lake which skirted the mountains as far as could be seen. Our calculations told us that South Polaris was on the other side of the mountains. The only way forward was on foot.

  “We saw the Brightstorm ship had landed nearby. We assumed an advance party had proceeded and left the rest of the crew at the ship, but when we approached the Violetta, we found it was completely empty. Everything was left as though the whole crew had suddenly abandoned it. There were tools discarded, equipment strewn. The fuel tanks were nearly full, at a far higher level than they should have been. But the crew had simply disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes. As we looked more closely it was apparent from the state of disarray there’d been a terrible fight. Then we saw them.”

  “The crew?”

  Eudora Vane shook her head and looked at the floor. She’d become pale. “Despite what they had done to us, I wouldn’t wish this upon any fellow explorers.”

  “Go on.”

  “We found traces of animal tracks around their ship, but like nothing we have come across before in all our travels of the Wide. There were huge paw prints, the length of two human feet at least. The Brightstorm crew had clearly been attacked by wild beasts. There were traces of blood in the snow but nothing else. I fear not one had survived.”

  Arthur’s breath caught in his lungs. It was too horrible to take in.

  “Madame Vane, did you see these foul creatures?”

  “Yes.” She signalled to someone at the side of the auditorium. “The crew managed to capture one.” The audience gasped audibly, and two of her men disappeared backstage for a moment, then returned carrying what appeared to be an enormous pile of fur between them. Leaning forward, Arthur saw two pointed shapes – ears, a great black nose and teeth like daggers. It was an animal pelt. They threw it down on the table before the members of the Geographical Society as the audience began muttering in horrified astonishment.

  Madame Gainsford walked around the pelt inspecting it. “This creature’s shoulders must have reached the height of a human.”

  ‘Indeed,’ said Madame Vane.

  The stoat buried its head in Madame Gainsford’s collar.

  “Do continue with your recount, Madame Vane.”

  “We still wanted to try and reach beyond the mountains to South Polaris, to salvage something from the disaster, but we soon realized the lake had become impassable; a sudden thaw had set in and the ice was terribly unstable. We couldn’t be sure of getting across safely, let alone back. The mountains stretched as wide as we could see and the lake was too vast. We didn’t have enough equipment to go onwards and morale was low after what we’d been through.”

  The board nodded, agreeing with her decision.

  “We travelled back, knowing we’d need to make another attempt when the weather was favourable and we were better equipped for the mountain crossing.” Eudora Vane dipped her head and sat down.

  Madame Gainsford shuffled the papers before her, then stood up. “Thank you, Madame Vane. If that is all your crew has to say on the matter?” She paused, but the crew remained silent. “The board will discuss and reach a conclusion tomorrow.” She turned to the audience. “Since neither expedition managed to reach South Polaris after all, we will also discuss the possibility of relaunching the prize fund. As no one has encountered this impenetrable ring of mountains before, it is clear further exploration is needed to find a way through. I would like a full report of what you observed, Madame Vane.”

  Close by, Arthur heard a man mutter that Ernest Brightstorm and his crew got what they’d deserved if they’d broken the code, that it was nature’s way of justice. The woman beside him said that it was proof there was no place for new-blood explorers; they didn’t respect the old ways and should leave it to the respected families.

  The people looking at them weren’t the kindly eyes of people concerned that two children had just lost their only parent. They were all looking at them as though they were seeing Ernest Brightstorm, and they’d already judged him.

  CHAPTER 3

  CLAUSE ONE HUNDRED

  AND FIFTY-
TWO

  That afternoon, time in the library stood still. If Arthur thought hard enough he could imagine the past two days had never happened and Dad had just nipped to the larder for honey to spread on sweet bread. Mistress Poacher had escorted them back to the house, then had disappeared again, saying she had things to take care of.

  Arthur picked a book from the shelf, Exploring in the Third Age, and Maudie sat down in front of his iron arm. “I’m going to adjust the fingers, and it needs a polish. You’ve been neglecting it,” she said quietly.

  They sat in silence, Arthur not reading the words before him, and Maudie buffing his iron arm until it shone like sun on a still pool.

  After a while Arthur looked across. “Maud, we’ve still got each other, we’ve still got home. Dad had insurance; he will have made sure we’re all right.”

  But nothing seemed to be all right.

  Later, the front door banged and clonky footsteps could be heard along the hallway coming towards them. Maudie frowned at Arthur.

  Mistress Poacher opened the library door. A man stood beside her in a crisp suit buttoned tightly at the waist, long tails, and a shirt with cuffs that Dad would have called unnecessarily flouncy. They matched the handkerchief in his pocket and the frill of his brooch-pinned necktie. He walked forward without moving his upper body, making him appear as though he was floating along. Regarding them with stone serious eyes, he tipped his hat.

  Arthur and Maudie looked at each other.

  The man enclosed Arthur’s left hand with his own hands and shook it. His hands were cold and sent shivers the length of Arthur’s back.

  “Bartemaus Smethwyck,” he said, the muscles in his face remaining rigid as he spoke.

  The chill feeling stuck to Arthur’s hand.

  “Take a seat, Mr Smethwyck. I’ll fetch some tea,” said Mistress Poacher.

  The man moved to take a chair at the table, then looked across at Ernest Brightstorm’s chair and sat there.

  Maudie’s lips were so tight, Arthur thought she would pop.

  The twins stood before the guest as he placed his briefcase on his lap, took some papers from within, then folded his hands on top. Not waiting for Mistress Poacher’s return, he said, “I represent the underwriters of the insurance policy your father took out for the Brightstorm expedition to South Polaris. The life insurance policy your father purchased set out that you were to receive the house, contents, and a lump sum, and I believe he instructed his solicitor that in the event of misfortune, Mistress Poacher was to stay on and take care of you until you reached sixteen.”

  Arthur let out a breath. He could handle Mistress Poacher, as long as they were at Brightstorm House.

  “Except,” Mr Smethwyck paused. “There is clause one hundred and fifty-two.”

  Arthur and Maudie exchanged a look as the insurance representative ran his finger down the pages until he reached the relevant section.

  Mr Smethwyck gave a small cough. “If the Explorer’s Code, as laid out by Lontown Geographical Society, has been broken, all insurance is invalidated and we have the right to seize all assets with immediate effect.”

  “But nothing’s been decided!” Maudie said.

  “The board agreed, with a majority vote this morning, that the Brightstorm expedition were guilty of stealing fuel from the Victorious, and so had indeed broken the Explorer’s Code.”

  Arthur’s blood drained to his feet. “But this can’t be right! We need to speak to our father’s solicitor.”

  “There is nothing anyone can do. This is your father’s signature on the insurance document in black and white.”

  “But he knew he would never break the code, so he wouldn’t have cared about this clause one hundred and whatever!” Arthur said.

  “Clearly that isn’t the case.”

  At that moment, they heard a brash knock on the front door.

  “I’m sure Mistress Poacher will see to that,” Mr Smethwyck said.

  Shortly, more footsteps trailed along the corridor. A troop of people burst into the room carrying great crates.

  “You can’t do this!” Arthur said.

  The strangers began rifling through the contents of the library, bundling books into the crates and taking the pictures off the walls and the ornaments from the shelves.

  “I’m afraid we can,” Mr Smethwyck said.

  “Don’t touch that!” Maudie said, hugging her tool belt to her chest. “This was my mother’s; you have no right!”

  Arthur felt frozen. He was jolted into action when a man packing a crate full of books reached for Volcanic Islands of the North, which lay on the table. They tussled, but Arthur lost his grip on the book and a single page ripped away in his hand. The man glared and put the book into his crate.

  Then another picked up Arthur’s iron arm and said something to his colleague about it making a good sovereign if it was melted down.

  “Don’t you dare,” Maudie said, grabbing it. She looked as though she would clobber the next person attempting to take it. “This belongs to my brother.”

  Watching Dad’s possessions being rifled through and thrown into boxes was awful. “We’ll find a way to get everything back; we’ve still got a home,” Arthur whispered to Maudie.

  But Mr Smethwyck was suddenly beside him. “I’m afraid that ‘seizing all assets’ includes the house. This is no longer Brightstorm property.”

  “But we’ve lived here our whole lives. Where will we go?” Maudie cried.

  “I believe that Mistress Poacher remains your guardian; you will go with her.”

  All they could do was watch, utterly helpless as their life was dismantled around them. When everyone and everything had gone, they sat alone on the bare floorboards. Arthur’s whole body was numb. He looked at the page still clutched in his hand. It was the title page, featuring a captioned, full-colour illustration of the Brightstorm moth, discovered on one of the volcanic islands by Dad; Ernest Brightstorm, the first ever Brightstorm explorer. It was a giant moth of brilliant fiery golds and red with great feathery antennae, living against the odds in the hostile conditions of the volcanoes. Arthur folded the page, flipped open the top compartment of his iron arm and put it inside.

  Mistress Poacher flung the door open. “Come along, I haven’t got all day.”

  “Where will we live?” Maudie asked.

  “We? Goodness, I know what it says on paper, but I can’t possibly take care of you!”

  As unhappy as Arthur felt about the prospect of Mistress Poacher looking after them for the foreseeable future, she was at least one familiar thing left that they could cling on to. “But Mr Smethwyck said you’re our guardian now.”

  “I’ve packed you a bag each and made arrangements.”

  They followed her to the door.

  Outside, a black cart waited. It was harnessed to a horse, not like the newer carriages of Uptown where pitch could drive a small engine. A couple perched on the front were dressed in black, tattered clothes, making them look like a pair of great crows.

  Mistress Poacher shuffled Arthur and Maudie out of the door. “Luckily for you, I’ve found two people willing to take you on at short notice.”

  “Well now, Poacher, you never said one of them was…” The woman’s eyes flitted to Arthur’s iron arm which he held in his left. She turned to the man beside her. “Mr Beggins, I don’t know if we can take this unsightly thing – he’ll put me off my breakfast.”

  Mr Beggins squinted his already beady eyes and sniffed through his long nose. It wasn’t a nice, distinctive nose that suited his face; it served to make him look spiteful. “They can eat in their room, Mrs Beggins. The shipyards are looking for cheap labour to mend the freight sky-ships, if the girl is as good with tools as Poacher says.”

  “But what’ll the boy do in the shipyards with one arm?” She turned back to Mistress Poacher. “We’ll just take the girl.”

  Maudie hooked Arthur’s arm. “He’s as capable as me.”

  Mistress Poacher hurried the
m towards the cart. “I can vouch for that. He’s found a way around most problems, though he spends too much time with his head in books, dreaming. A dose of real Lontown will soon put paid to that.”

  Mrs Beggins stared. “We ain’t Mr and Mrs Beggins’ Home for the Unwanted Scraps of Lontown, you know.”

  “We’re not unwanted. Our father loved us,” Arthur said.

  The woman sniffed. “From what I’ve heard, he was no better than the thieves of the Slumps. He was just a nobody reaching above his station.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my brother!” Maudie’s eyes were fierce but filming over. Arthur tried to swallow back his own rising emotion.

  There was a pause. Then the man said, “Well, he might be useful around the house clearing up, don’t you think, Mrs Beggins? Ain’t you always saying Beggins Hall is too much for you? One can earn and one can cook and clean – it’ll be like having our own servant.”

  Mrs Beggins’ eyes lit up. “We’ll be just like these Uptowners!”

  Before they could even take in what was happening, Mistress Poacher bundled them into the cart.

  “Let’s be going to your new home,” said Mr Beggins.

  Arthur sat beside Maudie feeling as though a great unstoppable black wave was carrying them, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Mrs Beggins pass a small pouch to Mistress Poacher. He heard the jangle of sovereigns. He jumped up. “You sold us!”

  Mistress Poacher lifted her chin. “A small compensation for lost employment.”

  At that, Mr Beggins cracked his whip and Arthur was thrown back in his seat.

  “Where are we going?” Maudie cried.

  Mrs Beggins turned and gave a toothy smile which didn’t have an inch of kindness in it. “To the Slumps, that’s where.”

  Arthur and Maudie stared at each other. The Slumps was the poorest district of Lontown. It was rumoured that children were always disappearing from there, sent as slaves to work in the pitch mines to the south. Turning back to look at Brightstorm House, Arthur felt a piece of himself turn to stone inside.

  They rode through increasingly narrow streets, everything becoming darker by the moment, until they were absorbed into the strange grey world of the Slumps of Lontown, where everything was covered in a layer of soot.