The Lightning Key (Wednesday Tales (Quality))

by Jon Berkeley

  “You mean we could stow away?” whispered Miles.

  Baltinglass nodded. “Even the smallest schooner has a dozen hidey-holes,” he said. “And there’s always a member of the crew who makes a few extra coins from filling those places with passengers who don’t wish to be seen waltzing up the gangplank in a panama hat.”

  “That sounds like fun!” said Little. “How do we know who to ask?”

  “Simple.” Baltinglass chuckled. “The Mermaid’s Boot has been the place to buy a berth in the bilges ever since I was a boy, and for many years before that. Anyone who’s running a sideline in stowaways on the Albatross will be in here before long, looking for a last few coins in his pocket. All we have to do is sit back and enjoy our breakfast.”

  As if on cue the barman appeared carrying three plates of grease in which limp morsels of breakfast swam. A moment later he returned with a pot of tea and some chipped mugs. They had just started eating when the inn door burst open and a man with a graying beard and round spectacles entered like a dapper whirlwind, wearing an immaculate blue uniform and an officer’s cap.

  “Maurice, Maurice,” he piped, clapping his hands cheerfully and addressing the barman as though he were a long-lost friend. “A ball of malt, please, no ice.” He surveyed the occupants of the bar with a beaming smile. “Gentlemen, good morning!” he said. “A bit foggy, but it’s lifting fast. Just the day for an unimaginable adventure, I’d imagine.” His eyes lit on Baltinglass and his two companions, sitting in a dim corner under a suspended fishing net full of crabs, and he gave a gasp of delight. He fairly pirouetted across the worn floorboards toward them, coming to rest by the bench where Miles and Little sat staring at him with curiosity.

  “May I?” he asked, indicating the end of the bench with a sweeping gesture. Miles scooted along the bench to make room for the neat man and his enormous enthusiasm. “Well, well!” said the stranger in a loud stage whisper. “Baltinglass of Araby, isn’t it? You’ve become a legend since we last met. This is indeed a pleasure.”

  Miles looked at Baltinglass in surprise. The old man put down his knife and fork and dabbed his wrinkled lips with a napkin. He frowned, and the other man beamed at him patiently. “Sounds like Barrett,” said Baltinglass at last. “The cabin boy on the Admiral Tench.”

  “Well remembered,” said the stranger, clapping his hands again. “First Officer Barrett of the good ship Sunfish, as I am now.”

  “The Sunfish?” said Baltinglass. “Never heard of her! She a new ship?”

  “New, and not new,” said First Officer Barrett with a conspiratorial wink. “She’s been recommissioned. Just about to embark on her maiden voyage in the capable hands of Captain Tripoli and my good self. We leave for the port of Al Bab as soon as the fog lifts.”

  “For Al Bab?” said Miles in surprise. “But we heard the Albatross was the only ship sailing there for days.”

  “And you heard right!” said First Officer Barrett, pinching a rasher from Miles’s plate with a chuckle. “The Sunfish will not be sailing to Al Bab; she will be flying there. And there’s just one cabin left to fill! Think of it, Baltinglass, setting out to explore the uncharted reaches of the sky.” He turned to Miles and Little, his face glowing. “Picture yourself, young man, climbing a hundred times higher than the tallest tree! And you, little girl, flying like a bird among the clouds! Can you even imagine such a thrill?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A HULLABALOO

  First Officer Barrett, sea-starched and breeze-polished, drew from his pocket a dog-eared postcard and placed it carefully on the table. “Isn’t she a sight to behold?” he said. Miles and Little leaned in and examined the photograph. It showed a long balloon like a fat cigar, with fins at one end and an enormous propeller mounted on either side. The wooden hull of a small ship was suspended from the underside of the balloon by a web of ropes and cables, and the whole contraption floated above a field, moored to a stake in the ground. A number of figures in black and white gazed up at the airship. Some of them were people in their best evening dress. The rest were cows.

  “A ship that flies?” said Baltinglass with a snort. “We’ll stick to the deep blue sea, thank you, Mr. Barrett.”

  “It’s a sort of giant balloon,” said Miles, looking up from the photograph, “with the ship suspended underneath it.”

  “I was rather hoping you would join us, Mr. Baltinglass,” said Barrett. “To be perfectly frank, Captain Tripoli has entered into a bet with Captain Savage of the Albatross. Captain Savage boldly claimed that he could reach Al Bab a full day ahead of us, and there is a large stake riding on the wager, not to mention the pride of both men.”

  “And what does that have to do with us?” demanded Baltinglass of Araby.

  “It’s a condition of the bet that both ships can set sail as soon as they have a full complement of paying passengers aboard. Captain Savage sold his last two tickets this morning and can leave as soon as visibility allows, but we are still three passengers short.”

  “She’s beautiful!” said Little, who was still staring at the picture and had heard nothing of wagers and tickets.

  Miles looked at her. Her eyes were shining, and he could almost see the clouds in the photograph billowing beneath her gaze. She looked up at him, and he forgot Baltinglass of Araby’s skepticism and his own misgivings at once. “There are three berths left?” he said.

  First Officer Barrett laughed with delight. “Not if you have your way, I suspect. Three bunks for the voyage, and three meals a day, all for the knockdown price of twenty-four shillings a head, and half-price for the under-sevens.”

  Miles’s face fell. He had not even thought about how they would pay for their passage, and . . . let me see . . . twenty-four plus twenty-four plus half of . . . forty-eight . . . seventy . . . no, sixty shillings seemed like a lot of money. “We’d love to fly, but it sounds very expensive,” he said doubtfully.

  “The money’s not a problem!” said Baltinglass. “I’m not short of a few sovereigns, but you won’t catch me dangling from a bag of air in a wooden box. If we were meant to go sailing through the sky why would nature have bothered filling the seas with perfectly good water?”

  “Indeed, you’re probably right,” said First Officer Barrett with a twinkle in his eye. “The skies can be a daunting challenge, even for a much younger man. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds, lethal ice crystals, storms that make a sea squall look like a bubble bath. A man of your towering reputation has no further need to prove himself, and a gentle sea cruise would probably suit you much better.”

  Baltinglass of Araby stiffened in his seat, and his bristly chin extended itself in Barrett’s direction. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “I’ve been struck twice by lightning, young pup, and I still have all that energy fizzing and popping inside me. I’ll still be off gallivanting when you’re drooling in your rocking chair. Gentle cruise, my backside! Stop your flimflamming, man, and sign us up!”

  Miles looked at Little and grinned. He felt pleased, but strangely tired. Little squeezed his hand, but the smile on her face suddenly froze, and she turned quickly and glanced over her shoulder. The door had swung open again, and two figures stepped into the bar. They wore long duffel coats, and their feet made no sound on the floorboards. Miles could make out the pale features of one of the figures, even in the shadow of his hood. It was Silverpoint. The other figure was indistinct, and Miles felt his eyes grow heavy as he tried to see more clearly. He became aware that Little was gripping his hand tightly and kicking him hard on the shin. “Wake up, Miles. Stay awake,” she whispered.

  First Officer Barrett looked up from the tickets on which he was carefully inscribing their names. “Too many late nights, young man?” He beamed. “You can sleep as much as you like on board, though it would be a shame to miss—”

  Miles interrupted him with enormous effort. He knew that the Sleep Angel had come for them, and he would have to think fast, but the fog that was dispersing outside the window seemed to
be regrouping inside his head. “There’s a problem with the money,” he said, kicking Baltinglass under the table in turn. The explorer raised his eyebrows, but Miles carried on before he could speak. “You see those two men who just came in?” he said to First Officer Barrett.

  Barrett looked over his shoulder and stared at Silverpoint and his shadowy companion with friendly puzzlement. “Indeed I do, but . . . ?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” said Miles. “They think that we owe them all the money we have, and they won’t take no for an answer.”

  “But that won’t do at all!” said Barrett anxiously. “The captain’s wager . . .”

  “Exactly,” said Miles.

  “It’s all a big misunderstanding,” said Little, who had grasped Miles’s plan immediately. “Why don’t you go over and distract them for a moment while we slip out quietly?”

  “And we’ll meet you at the Sunfish,” completed Miles, fighting back a massive yawn.

  The dapper officer’s face took on a mischievous look, and he winked at Miles. “Leave it to me,” he said, tilting his cap and sliding off the end of the bench. “She’s moored in the long field just beyond the windmill.”

  “What’s the hullabaloo?” asked Baltinglass, as First Officer Barrett danced across the room toward Silverpoint and the Sleep Angel.

  “This is my expedition, right?” said Miles. He was too tired to explain.

  “Certainly,” said Baltinglass of Araby.

  “Then we leave at once,” he said. “Where’s the back door?”

  “There isn’t one,” said Baltinglass, tightening his grip on his cane, “but there’s a window behind us.” He reached up and fumbled the catch open.

  “You first,” said Miles to Little. He picked her up quickly and posted her through the open window like a parcel of dandelion seeds. The irrepressible First Officer Barrett was dancing a jig around the two angels, waving his arms in the air and delivering a barrage of nonsense on a hurricane of enthusiasm.

  “You next,” said Miles, turning to give Baltinglass a leg up, but the old man was already disappearing through the window with a flash of bleached shins and a few loudly whispered curses. Miles scrambled out after him without looking back, and found himself landing headfirst on the well-sprung front seat of Baltinglass’s vintage car.

  “Now you know,” panted the old man, handing him the keys from the other end of the seat, “why you should always park underneath a window, Master Miles.”

  Morrigan started with a roar, and they took off from the yard in a spray of gravel, almost colliding with the house opposite before Miles managed to straighten the wheel.

  “That’s the spirit, boy,” shouted Baltinglass, obviously glad to be done with whispering for the moment.

  They drove at speed toward the windmill on the hill. There was a knot in Miles’s stomach, a mixture of fear and excitement, and from Little’s shouts of “Faster!” from the backseat he could tell she felt the same. The sun had dispersed the fog, leaving shreds of bog-cotton mist snagged on the thornbushes, and ahead of them the airship hung silently in the sky like a fat, unfathomable future.

  Miles pulled in by the mill, where a number of other cars were already parked. A gangly teenager appeared from nowhere, wearing a battered cap. “It’s sixpence to park,” he said, peering hopefully into Miles’s goggles.

  Baltinglass of Araby leaped from the car. “How old are you, boy?” he shouted.

  “I’ll be eighteen in February,” said the boy.

  Baltinglass pulled a gold coin from his pocket. “Ever seen one of these?”

  The boy’s jaw dropped. “Not often,” he said.

  “You’ll see three more of them if you look after this car until we get back,” said Baltinglass. “We may be gone some time, so you’d better take her out for a spin now and then.”

  “You want me to drive the car?” asked the boy, who could hardly believe his ears.

  “That’s what she needs,” said Baltinglass, “and you might find yourself more popular with the ladies in the bargain.” He sent the coin spinning toward the teenager with a flick of his thumb, and called to Miles. “Master Miles, let’s board that contraption before I change my mind, eh?”

  Miles pulled the duffel bag from the back of the car and heaved it over his shoulder. It swung around and nearly capsized him, but he felt that as head of the expedition he should be able to carry the kit. He hefted the bag to balance it better, feeling something sharp poking into his back, and set off across the field. Little took Baltinglass’s arm and together they half ran, half stumbled past knots of spectators toward the airship’s mooring, where a sturdy rope ladder hung from the hull to the ground.

  “I hope First Officer Barrett makes it back all right,” said Little.

  “He’s a wily devil, that one,” said Baltinglass. “He’ll come back with their pocket watches and their gold teeth, whoever they are.”

  Above them the Sunfish seemed to fill the sky. A muscular airman stood at the bottom of the rope ladder, and he took the duffel bag from Miles as though it weighed no more than a coconut. “Tickets?” he said.

  At that moment there was a high-pitched shout from the edge of the field, and First Officer Barrett careered into view on a bicycle, his glasses askew and his legs out straight to avoid the madly spinning pedals. “Weigh anchor, able Airman Calloway!” he shouted gleefully. “Embark those passengers at once. That’s an order!”

  “Aye-aye,” shouted Airman Calloway. He picked Little up under one arm, and with the duffel bag over his shoulder he fairly ran up the rope ladder and disappeared into a square hatch in the hull.

  “Rope ladder,” said Miles to Baltinglass, placing the old man’s hand on a rung. “After you.”

  At the top of the ladder Miles felt the ropes jerk as First Officer Barrett leaped from the bicycle and began to climb up behind him. “Away!” the dapper man shouted. “Weigh anchor. All hands on deck. Full steam ahead!”

  Strong hands reached from the door in the hull and grabbed Miles by the arms. He looked over his shoulder at the last moment, and a shock of giddiness swept through him. He could see no sign of pursuit, but the ground was falling away at an alarming rate. First Officer Barrett swung from the ladder’s end like a trapeze artist, waving and shouting, “Arrivederci!” to the dwindling spectators below. Beyond him tumbled the whitewashed houses of the port of Fuera, and out in the bay the Albatross rode the sapphire waters under bellying sails, bound for Al Bab with a brisk crosswind and a good head start.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE SUNFISH

  The airship Sunfish, reborn and airborne, moved ponderously through scattered clouds, a helium-fed hippopotamus among inflatable sheep. The setting sun bathed the airship in orange light, and the purple shadows of the small clouds slid along her flanks and fluttered briefly on the blades of her propellers. In addition to a crew of seven there were some forty passengers in her wooden belly. They had spent the day lounging in the stateroom, or marveling at the ever-changing skyscape from the observation deck. The deck was enclosed with large windows to protect the passengers from the hundred-mile-an-hour winds and lethal ice crystals that First Officer Barrett had so enthusiastically described.

  In the small cabin Baltinglass of Araby straightened his woolly cap as though it were a top hat, and rummaged in the duffel bag for his tobacco pouch. “I’m off to the stateroom for a smoke of my pipe,” he said. “I take it we gave those map-stealing reprobates the slip in that tavern with the help of young Barrett’s performance.”

  Miles glanced at Little. “It wasn’t them we were escaping from,” he said. “They’ve sailed on board the Albatross.”

  “So you’ve got more enemies,” said Baltinglass approvingly. “A man can’t have too many enemies. Keeps you on your toes.” He waved his cane around dangerously. “I’m still a spectacular menace with a swordstick, as you may have noticed.”

  “I don’t think a sword would be much good against this particular pair,” s
aid Miles. He did not want to mention that one of them was Silverpoint.

  Baltinglass grunted. “I’ll be happy to put that to the test if we come across them again, Master Miles. You just let me know when you spot them.”

  “Did you mean what you said to First Officer Barrett?” asked Little. “About having all that lightning still popping inside you?”

  “Night and day, Little,” said Baltinglass. He paused with his hand on the door handle. “To tell you the truth, I sometimes wish I could just let it off in a big blast and get some peace. Can’t really do that in polite company, though, eh?” He chuckled and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

  Miles knelt beside Little on the bench seat of their cabin, and for a while they watched the clouds pass by, their noses pressed to the glass of the twin portholes. “Can you see your people?” asked Miles, concentrating hard on a cloud whose shape reminded him of a nautilus shell.

  “It depends on whether I’m looking for them,” said Little.

  “Are you?”

  “I’m just looking at the clouds,” said Little, keeping her nose pressed to the window. There was silence except for the creaking of the hull and the distant sound of the big propellers beating a soft rhythm through the winter sky.

  “That was Bluehart with Silverpoint, wasn’t it?” said Miles after a while. Little nodded.

  “Do you think they’ll find us here?” asked Miles.

  Little turned her back on the porthole and sat down on the bench with a sigh. “We might have lost them for a short while, especially if Silverpoint is helping to slow things down like he promised, but I think they’ll catch up with us soon.”

  “We’ve managed to keep one step ahead of Bluehart for a long time now,” said Miles hopefully.

  “You had the Tiger’s Egg then,” said Little. “The Egg is deliberately made to hide itself from the Sleep Angels, and it extends that protection to those close to it. That’s why it can help to prolong your life. Now that you don’t have it anymore you’ll be easier to find.”