by Barbara Else
“Don’t you know anything? Some mining is on the surface. All right, I should have said from near an underground mine.” Nissy dropped the hat back. “Anyway, I said don’t scoff till I’ve finished. Maybe the Queen was too scared to go herself. Or maybe the Council of Wisdom said it was wise to send a decoy.”
He had to clench his teeth so he wouldn’t jeer. Why would anyone take a four-year-old royal nephew on a plague-solving mission? But why would a kid be so keen on a battered old puppet, decoy or not? And he’d wondered before if the puppet could be mechanical, or even magical.
“Have you touched it?”
Nissy shook her head, so he guessed she was too scared. So was he. They’d be in terrible trouble if they broke it.
Though Rufkin was frightened, and felt awkward, he drew the coverlet down to see more of the puppet. It wore a red cardigan with blue buttons and trim. That had been fashionable last year—Ahria had whined and moaned till she had one like it. The puppet also had a leather belt with a kind of pouch tucked under its side. It had baggy red trousers in thick material with leopard skin knee-patches. It had to be a toy. Not even a mechanical decoy would wear those on official business.
For a moment Rufkin touched a finger to the puppet’s hand. It wasn’t like wood. It was definitely not metal. It was very like a real hand, firm but soft, a clever construction.
Before he dared to touch it again, Vosco woke up. He patted the beanie, then the puppet’s arm, and pointed at Rufkin. “Help.”
“He’s telling it that I’m sent to help!” Rufkin had to laugh.
“I’m here too.” Nissy sounded put out.
“That’s right,” he said, still laughing. “Nissy’s a huge help.”
“Shut up.” She scowled. Then she frowned. “How would a little kid get involved with a clockwork decoy?”
“I’ve asked myself that and I don’t know.” However, he remembered one of those things that are funny but awful as well, and really embarrassing. He rubbed his face.
“What?” asked Nissy.
“Nothing… Well, okay. Kids can get anywhere. Apparently I actually appeared on stage once. It was by accident. I was only two. My dad was playing Dread Pirate Christopher-Richard and he threw back the lid of a treasure chest, expecting to find, I don’t know, treasure. But it was me.”
“So?” asked Nissy.
He wasn’t going to say any more. Two-year-old Rufkin had stood up, wearing absolutely nothing but a beanie, and waved a stolen packet of chocolates. The audience had screamed with delight. He had no memory of it at all. But his family went on and on about it. He was sure that was the reason he was still crippled by stage-fright.
“Is this a puppet?” he asked Vosco now. “How does it work?”
The little boy shucked his shoulders and bent to the puppet’s ear. “Ee-ow,” he said.
Very slowly the figure stiffened, like someone stretching when they wake up. The sun hat settled more on its head. “How did—Vosco—get here.” The voice stayed on one level. In jerky movements the puppet’s head and shoulders rose off the cushion, then toppled back. “The Eastern. Isle. I must. Get.”
Rufkin had a glimpse of its open eyes before they closed again.
“Broken,” said Nissy. “I bet it’s still worth a lot. But it’s not really like the Queen at all. It might be their first try at her. You know, a prototype.”
Its eyes had been blue as the sea on a sunny day, darker rings like storm clouds around the irises. If the real Queen’s eyes were like that, Rufkin reckoned anyone would believe in her magical link with natural things like the wind and the wonders of the air, as Mistress Mucclack had put it.
The puppet’s lips parted again. “Where. Are we.”
“Maybe five or even more days drifting from the City of Spires. Maybe fairly close to Battle Island but who knows?” Rufkin felt nutty talking to a puppet. Nissy looked disgusted with him.
“North—East—Port Feather,” said the puppet’s flat voice. “The Mayor of Port…” One of its hands lifted and fumbled at the strings of the sun hat, the knot under its chin. Then it lay silent.
Vosco glanced at the sky and tugged up the coverlet.
Wind started to ruffle Rufkin’s hair. Ripples surrounded the rusty hull. It took a few moments to be sure, but although there was no engine or sail, the boat seemed to have changed direction.
“Why are you grinning?” said Nissy.
“It’s okay,” Rufkin said. “We’re heading north-east. For land.”
“So what happens when we get there?”
How would he know?
After a moment she fetched the notebook from her pocket and scribbled in it. She was lucky she hadn’t lost it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She frowned. “Trying to remember something. About Madam Butterly.”
“Oh, the tips on how to get rich. Did you get enough out of her? I could tell she really meant it about research. Taking time on it.”
“It’s not that,” said Nissy. “You didn’t see her notebook.”
“Nor did you,” said Rufkin.
“I did. When I came out of the bathroom. When Vosco took off.”
“You shouldn’t read other people’s notebooks,” cried Rufkin. “You might want to be as rich as her, but you don’t get there by spying.”
“What would you know?” asked Nissy. “You’re rich but only because of your parents being good actors and gorgeous. You can’t understand how ordinary people have to live. Or what they have to do to get by, let alone get ahead.” Face tight, she pointed at Vosco. “He’s rich and he’s royal as well. He’s never going to know how ordinary people feel or what they need. Neither of you have any problems.”
“I’m in a problem right here!” shouted Rufkin. “So is my family.” He didn’t want to say his family’s ship had been in the tangle. It was none of Nissy’s business.
Nissy burst into tears, put her hands over her eyes, and almost jabbed herself with the pencil. “Where’s my mam? I want my mam.”
When Ahria cried like this, Rufkin disappeared to the most faraway end of the house. Now all he could do was face the ocean and bunch his fingers into his ears. It wasn’t as useful. Of course Nissy was scared for her mother, but she had no right to say that about him.
At last Nissy quietened. She wiped her face on her sleeve. “But truly—Madam Butterly—what is she doing? If I jot down what I remember I might make sense of it. I only had a moment to see, but I’m used to numbers.” She started scribbling again. “Everyone knows she’s making that new metal. You know, zirbonium. It’s cheap to produce. But things that are made without it are taxed really high. That’s why my mam’s finding life tough.” Her voice went jagged with fresh tears.
Rufkin really wished he could escape. “So just use zirbonium.”
Nissy let out a scream. “You’re as thick as two planks. My mam doesn’t like zirbonium. She says it’s not good enough. And I’ve just told you, ordinary metal costs too much because of the taxes. Stupid rules by the Council of Wisdom.” She flung into the cabin and wrapped herself in Mistress Mucclack’s blanket.
She was bewildering. He climbed back to the roof of the cabin.
Light faded till the ocean had the sheen of crumpled foil. His eye caught a movement that wasn’t a wave. For a second his heart drummed in case it was that dragon shape. When the movement came a second time, it looked like a sailboat. He rested his eyes, then tried again.
After a moment of nothing, it reappeared. Yes, it was a sailboat. It was too far away to be sure, but maybe two people were in it. His breath went quivery with relief. If there were two survivors from the tangle, there were sure to be more.
~
Night came. It passed for Rufkin on the foot of the sled again, with fitful dreams, a smooth rocking of waves, the huffing of wind.
The sky turned dawn-yellow. He watched it turn dawn-pink and lavender. As the sun finally started to lift, it painted a road of light over the water. Rufkin wi
shed they could ride along it and find his family. If this was a play, that’s what he’d suggest to the director. You could do such things on stage—the magical passing of time in a way that made an audience sigh with wonder.
Nissy was still a lump of blanket on the cabin floor. Vosco was curled up with the puppet and the stolen trumpet. By the time the sun was high and the sky blue, Rufkin hadn’t seen anything again that might be the sailboat.
Nissy’s voice made him jump. “Fontania had an end-of-days before. Nearly thirty years ago, I think. The Great Accident.” She was looking up at him, still wrapped in the blanket. “We recovered from that.”
“I suppose,” said Rufkin. “Are you being encouraging?”
“Lady Gall led Fontania through it,” she said. “She was a scientist. And clever at business.”
He let out a snort. “She was a cheat. A liar and evil. Incredibly vain. Her emblem was forever beautiful.”
“So don’t be encouraged.” Nissy rolled over again.
The wind stopped blowing. The launch wobbled without direction. He had a nasty thump of fright like a fist in his chest. The boat seemed lower in the waves.
But soon a fuzzy patch appeared on the northern horizon. Was the tide hauling the launch towards the coast? The waves continued to crumple around so that gradually the fuzzy patch became a white line of surf. Then the shapes of roofs appeared, and the long wharves that made Port Feather famous. Rufkin remembered racing Oscar along them on their trip two years ago. Oscar won, of course. His family had dined with the Mayor.
Nissy woke and so did Vosco. Neither spoke to Rufkin. With Vosco, that was no surprise. Actually it was no surprise either that Nissy was sulking.
The launch was lower and lower in the water. Rufkin hoped Nissy could swim. He could, a bit. But he wouldn’t be able to help Vosco, and definitely not her as well.
He clenched his hands on the rail and another piece splintered off.
Hurry up, Rufkin said to the tide. Take us to the docks.
Hold up, he said to the launch. Just a bit further, please, then you can rest.
Careful now, he said when the tide brought the launch in sight of the wharves with their booths painted red, purple, and blue like candy in a sweet shop.
Very careful now, he said when the tide took the launch under the wharves.
Clusters of limpets and barnacles wreathed around the piles. In the creak and groan of wood, the launch nosed up to a couple of posts. Rufkin tried to grab an old metal ladder but a wave came smashing through and the launch swung sideways. It wedged tight with a crunch. Scabs of rust flaked off.
“Idiot,” cried Nissy.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he yelled back.
“Then whose was it? I’ll be happy to see the last of you.”
“Same!” shouted Rufkin.
“Help!” Vosco shrieked. “Help!”
The puppet sat bolt upright. Without its lips moving, the royal curse came out of it. “Brisket!”
Metal graunched and crumpled again. The launch jolted and dropped lower. Water began to gurgle up through the deck. The puppet lurched right off the cushion and nearly toppled over the side. One of its arms had stuck in the rungs of the ladder. It was in Rufkin’s way. All he could do was shove at its leather belt to bundle it upwards.
“Grab Vosco!” he shouted. “Hurry!”
Waves thwacked and splashed on the piles. Somehow Rufkin found himself on a small platform under the wharf, the puppet in a heap beside him. Nissy appeared, hauling Vosco, who had slung the trumpet round his neck.
The murky water below had signs in it that Rufkin didn’t like. The swish of a tail—he hoped it was only a floating rope. The glimpse of a cave-lizard’s claw—just a broken comb?
Pushing Vosco in front of him now, he scrambled for a set of steps that led to the top of the wharf. After the seventh step they weren’t so slimy. He thought it was Nissy behind him, but when he reached the top he saw it was the puppet. It sagged sideways over a bale marked WOOL. Nissy’s head appeared. She was crawling.
They were all safe. The cave-lizard plague wouldn’t have reached this far, surely. Things were fine. Any moment a kind stranger would whisk them to the authorities. Things would be taken care of.
He looked around. There was nobody here. No one at all.
Why not? It must be, oh, about nine in the morning? Last time he’d been in Port Feather, the wharves were a riot of market stalls from dawn to dusk and after. There’d been performance booths, living statues and mimes, advertisers yelling that their steam-coach was the best to anywhere and the fare included a free pumpkin sandwich.
The sailboat was out there but a long way from the port…
Something bumped under the wharf.
Rufkin ran. Down to the blue gates, out to the quay—he slowed and stopped. There was still nobody there. The road was pock-marked as if things had burst up from below. He couldn’t run on—he couldn’t run back—
Something rattled behind him. It was Nissy coming through the blue gate, pushing a trundler. On it sprawled the puppet. Vosco sat with it, toe sticking out from the sock, and a smug look on his face under the beanie.
~
The trundler smelled like a fish cart. “It’s ancient,” said Nissy. “But it’s wood, even the wheels.”
She was already rattling it out to the quay. If Nissy could dare the possibility of cave-lizards, Rufkin had to as well. He ran to catch up. She’d draped a sack over the puppet.
“You don’t need to keep it warm,” said Rufkin.
She stuck out her chin. “I know. Tell Vosco. Do you want to cope with him in a tantrum?”
“You want a reward for the puppet,” Rufkin muttered. “And for getting Vosco back to his parents.”
Nissy’s look could have fried him alive. “So I leave him with just you to look after him?”
“You’ve changed your tune,” he muttered.
“If you’re scared, stay behind. Otherwise, help push.” She marched off.
So he had to hurry and put hands to the trundler as well. He kept one eye on the road because of the lizard-holes, the other eye out for familiar landmarks. If they reached First Avenue, he was pretty sure he would find City Hall.
The wind gusted now and then. The sky was cloudy but the day was warm and growing hotter. A black cat crouched in a doorway and hissed. Vosco blinked at it. A tabby meowed at something that wriggled under its paw. But not one person was on the streets. They passed steam-cars on expired meters but there was not even a parking warden. Cars, carts, buses, and steam-trucks lay abandoned along the roads. Parcels and backpacks, bags of shopping, various hats lay here and there.
So—the mechanical breakdown had reached here as well. Rufkin remembered what he’d heard on the tangle of ships—Why couldn’t we have had the end-of-days on dry land?
They passed a toy duck with the stuffing pulled out. Rufkin was glad Vosco showed no interest in that. The little kid had found an old newspaper under the puppet and played with that, tearing strips, seeing them flutter, then letting them drop. Most ended up back in the cart. Some fell to the road, but what did it matter? The whole city looked deserted. Or maybe everyone was sulking indoors because they couldn’t use their coffee makers and telephones or enjoy any ice cream. On a building site, three yellow cranes stood tangled as if they’d jammed in a mechanical ballet.
“I wonder if the breakdown is connected with the plague,” Rufkin said.
Nissy shrugged. “Don’t see how. The cave-lizards only ever used to live up Lazy River.”
“Now they’re spreading everywhere,” he said. “Like the breakdown.”
She nodded. “At least it’s good you can sell their casts.”
Rufkin let out a shout. “Who on earth wants lizard droppings?”
“Why do you think they’re blue?” She gave a superior smile. “Because of traces of lazulite in them. I told you the lizards came from an underground mine.”
She was so wrong. They came from river mu
d. Though Mistress Mucclack had said she blamed the mining for the cave-lizards. A lazulite mine near the river? Lazulite—Lazy River. That’s where the name came from? He’d always thought Lazy seemed the wrong name for a wide strong waterway. “But flesh and blood creatures don’t have metal bits.”
“What about dragon-eagles? Their feathers are silver. Real silver that floats in the air.” Her cheeks were plump and smug again.
He felt like an argument. “You’d have to know for sure that cave-lizards everywhere have blue metal droppings.”
“True,” said Nissy.
“And of course the dragon-eagles are magic,” he said.
She smiled. “Your Lord Hodie once said that magic is only science that hasn’t been explained yet. So he’s clever as well as brave. That makes him more interesting.”
Now Rufkin was really annoyed.
Nissy stopped for a rest, so he stopped too. They’d reached Hippo-goose Drive.
A crash from somewhere made him jump. A dog ran past and disappeared. They traipsed on.
“Which way?” Nissy asked. They were under a sign saying Quill Street.
“I’m sure First Avenue crosses this soon.” At least he hoped so.
“I’m sweating,” said Nissy.
It would waste energy to say that he’d been sweating since he saw the state of the road and even before.
Now and then the wheels bumped over potholes. Now and then a wheel wedged and they had to kick it or wrench it straight. Now and then, when the trundler grew heavy, they tried to make Vosco walk. Mostly he had a silent tantrum so they let him keep riding. He’d torn up all the newspaper. A pile of streamers was still in the trundler.
“You look like a mouse in a nest,” Rufkin said.
Vosco grinned. “Ee-ow.”
Nissy laughed.
At last, here was First Avenue. The trundler crunched over a broken message-bird. In the gutter three dogs growled over something gray and rubbery-looking. One of the strays shook its head, and pieces flew out of the struggle. They looked like the leg and tail of a lizard.
City Hall with its banner of blue and gold feathers came into view. Thank goodness Rufkin’s memory didn’t rely on machinery or that would have broken down too. Oh…the big double doors of City Hall used a sensor. Last time he was here, a guard had told him off for running in and out to make it work. Blast. If the doors weren’t open, they’d have to shout till somebody heard.