by Paul Collins
She closed her eyes and concentrated.
Tab could see sweat breaking out on her forehead. Summoning an object as large as a rowboat was no joke. Even some fully-fledged magicians couldn't manage something like that.
Just then, an impact nearly tore the door half off its hinges.
‘Hurry!’ hissed Philmon, darting looks back and forth between Amelia and the door. More pounding came. Bits of plaster fell from the wall around the door frame.
Tab hurried out to stand by Amelia's side, as if her presence might somehow help. Then she gasped. ‘What are they doing? Why are they just sitting there?’
Barely a mile away, cruising slowly under full sail, was Quentaris. ‘They don't know Tolrush is here,’ said Philmon. ‘Tolrush is cloaked. When we followed the raiding party, we couldn't figure where they were going. I mean, there was nothing there. Then suddenly we were here.’
‘You mean, this whole city's invisible?’ asked Tab.
‘And sort of soundproof, too,’ said Philmon. ‘It's like there's a bubble or something around it. So Quentaris doesn't even know we're here. They can't see us.’
Behind them, the pounding had intensified. Any second now and the door would crash in, and it would all be over. ‘I'm sorry I got you two into this,’ said Tab to Amelia and Philmon.
Philmon pushed his way in front of the girls. ‘Nonsense,’ he said.
‘We're trapped like rats,’ wailed Fontagu.
‘Look!’ cried Philmon.
Rising into view beyond the balcony's rail was an old rowing boat. Unseaworthy, with ragged tears in its planking, it nonetheless floated in mid-air. Tab looked at it doubtfully. It didn't appear sturdy enough to carry the five of them.
Amelia wove her hands in the air and the boat drew closer, and bumped into the balcony's rail. One of its planks popped out from the impact and fell into the street far below.
Fontagu pushed past the others and climbed unsteadily into the boat. It tipped and yawed with his weight. ‘Hurry, you fools!’ he screamed.
The children needed no urging, for just then, the stairway door crashed in. Yells and curses followed, and bodies falling over one another, then pounding feet coming straight for the balcony.
Philmon dragged Tab into the boat and Amelia vaulted the railing and joined them. The rowboat shuddered and started to pull away from the balcony, but with agonising slowness. They weren't going to make it.
At the same moment, Tab realised Torby wasn't with her. She spun wildly. He wasn't in the boat. ‘Amelia, stop!’ she shouted frantically. ‘Where's Torby?’
‘There he is!’ yelled Philmon. Tab gasped. Torby was standing in the middle of the balcony. When Tab cried out his name he turned and looked at her with his owl-like eyes. Then the Tolrushians rushed them.
There was a blinding flash of light. Then nothing. The balcony was empty.
‘Wh-what? What happened?’
The boat rocked as though a large wave had hit it.
‘We have to go back!’ yelled Tab.
‘We can't,’ said Amelia. ‘Tab, I'm sorry. It's all I can do to get us home – and I may not be able to do that… ’
Tab stood up, went to leap back to the balcony, but suddenly Fontagu's arms were around her, dragging her back into the boat. ‘He's gone, Tab,’ he screamed. ‘He's gone. We must think of ourselves!’
In another moment the crisis had passed. The rowboat was now too far from the balcony for anyone to think of jumping to it.
Tab slumped against Fontagu. She had promised Torby that she would protect him, no matter what. And he had trusted her…
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She felt awful. Was it always this easy to betray someone?
Fontagu produced a monogrammed silk handkerchief, the kind that equalled a week's wages for a poor Quentaran, and dabbed the perspiration from his brow. Noticing Amelia and Philmon glaring at him, he offered the handkerchief to Tab. She snatched it from his hand and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she offered it back to Fontagu.
He eyed the dampened handkerchief with disdain. ‘Consider it a gift,’ he said through gritted teeth.
The boat picked up speed as it sailed out over the rooftops of Tolrush, avoiding Kull's castle which protruded from the portside like a dark tumour.
‘I'm glad that's over,’ said Philmon, breathing a sigh.
But he had spoken too soon. A flurry of arrows suddenly whizzed past them. Several twanged into the bottom of the boat and one came whistling through the gap where the plank had fallen off.
‘They're firing from that rooftop,’ said Tab, pointing.
Amelia muttered something, wove her hands in the air. The boat tossed and twisted, nearly flipping over at one point. Philmon and Fontagu looked ill.
‘You idiot!’ Fontagu screamed as the boat spiralled downwards instead of up. ‘We're doomed! Oh! Oh!’
The boat righted itself and began to fly straight, though it sagged alarmingly at the stern. Everyone had to hold on tight to stay aboard.
‘I'm falling!’ Fontagu screamed piteously. Tab grabbed him and tugged. The boat suddenly veered into a clear area, away from the higher towers, but several planks popped their rivets and were snapped away, as if torn by a buffeting wind.
‘We're breaking up. Do something!’ cried Fontagu.
‘Yeah,’ growled Amelia, ‘somebody do something. Gag him, so I can concentrate.’
Philmon awkwardly clamped a hand across Fontagu's mouth. Over the top of Philmon's hand, Tab could see Fontagu's eyes bulge.
Amelia was struggling to keep the boat moving and under control. They began to lose height, though they were still high above Quentaris.
Faster and faster they fell. The ground appeared to rush up at them. Then, just as a crash-landing seemed inevitable, they veered off towards Quentaris. Amelia groaned and her eyes rolled back.
SHIPWRECKED
By now Amelia was white-faced and shaking from trying to keep them in the air. The boat continued to lose height in an alarming fashion.
Tab didn't think Amelia could hold out for much longer. Fontagu's extra weight didn't help either. A sudden thought smote her. Had Torby known that his added weight would have doomed them?
She looked over the side. Quentaris was appreciably closer, but still a long way down. Then, clutching the gunwale, she peered back at Tolrush, hoping beyond hope to see Torby. She gasped loudly. Tolrush had vanished!
Philmon looked over her shoulder and nodded. ‘It's cloaked, like we said. That's why Quentaris isn't piling on the canvas and getting out of here.’
Tab's chest hurt. If Tolrush was still there, then hopefully Torby was too, but it felt as if a piece of her heart had disappeared.
Behind her, Philmon said, ‘Hey, look at that!’
Though there were few clouds about, lightning struck suddenly across the broiling grey sky. Thunder rumbled. As they watched, a fog appeared from nowhere and began to envelop Quentaris.
They were now almost over the city and as they drifted in amongst the swathes of canvas, masts and rigging, the fog thickened. Suddenly, Amelia cried out. At the same moment she lost control of the boat, which began to spin, dropping faster and faster. Everyone grabbed the gunwale and held on for dear life.
‘We're going to die!’ wailed Fontagu, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The boat lurched, nearly spilling them into the air.
Everyone screamed.
‘Hold on!’ shouted Tab.
The boat bucked frenziedly, as if it were trying to shake them out of it. It whizzed amongst the rigging and whirled around the First Mast six times until everyone on board was dizzy.
The boat banked sharply, dropped still lower, and accelerated towards the mainmast. ‘We're going to crash!’ yelled Philmon. ‘Hard over, Amelia!’
‘The rigging!’ cried Tab. ‘We've got to jump!’
The boat zoomed towards a tangled spider's web of rope work. ‘Not yet!’ yelled Tab. She forced Fontagu unsteadily to his feet. The others were already p
oised to leap. As the boat soared past the rigging, Tab half leapt and half fell out of the boat. From the corner of her eye she saw Philmon and Amelia make it safely but Fontagu had waited too long. By the time he jumped the boat was nearly past the last cord and he had barely managed to grab hold of it.
‘Help me!’ he shrieked, hanging by one hand as he dangled six hundred feet above the deck, as the ground level was called. Tab scrambled across the rigging, mindful she didn't plunge through one of the large gaps. She managed to reach him just as his grip started to slip.
She grabbed his wrist and hung on, her injured hand burning. Behind her, the boat crashed into the mainmast in a shower of splinters.
Then Amelia and Philmon were beside her and between them they yanked Fontagu onto the rigging where he sat, pale and gasping, not daring to look down.
‘Now what?’ Amelia gasped. She didn't look any happier than Fontagu.
‘Just follow me,’ said Philmon. ‘This is my territory.’
He led them, slowly and carefully, up the rigging that was like a big sloping ladder made of rope, to a cross-spar. The spar, which held the great billowing sail in place, was almost as wide as a lane and led straight to the mainmast. From there they could make their way down to the deck.
Tab was pondering on what had happened to Torby, and how it might have felt to have had a little brother in her life, when the next mishap happened.
Reaching the more or less solid ground again seemed to have gone to Fontagu's head. And if the truth were known, he very much wanted everyone to forget just how scared he had been moments before. ‘Now wasn't that fun?’ he said, in a loud and jovial voice. ‘We should do it again some time.’
Philmon grunted. Amelia, however, jumped forward and yelled, ‘Boo!’
Fontagu screamed and leapt backwards – towards the edge of the spar.
‘Fontagu!’ yelled Tab. But it was too late. He had stepped too far and was teetering on the very edge, his arms windmilling as he tried to save himself. ‘Nooo… ’ he cried.
Tab lunged forward just as he started to tilt backwards, grabbed his outflung arm and tugged with all her might. It was just enough to tip the balance. Fontagu staggered forward, groaning with relief. For better purchase, he gripped Tab's tunic and pulled hard, but in doing so, Tab suddenly found herself stumbling towards the edge.
‘No!’ she cried out, plunging headfirst off the cross-spar.
As Tab fell, she heard the others scream, then the air was whistling past her ears and she was dropping… Below her was a great sail, straining against the wind. She was falling towards it.
Moments before she hit, she yanked the dagger from her belt, then ooomph! – she struck the canvas, which collapsed a little beneath her. Then, winded, she began to slide over the bulge of the sail. She twisted round and plunged her knife into the thick sheeting.
Her sliding fall slowed, but not for long. As soon as she hit the outermost bulge of the sail she would be flung out into empty space toward the mizzenmast… unless the dagger helped her cling to the canvas!
Which was exactly what happened.
She continued to slide. Her dagger slicing into the canvas, she followed the curve of the sail. But this was only a brief reprieve.
Below her, the sail came to a sudden lethal end. And then she saw something, and her heart leapt. It was a knotted double rope with foot and arm loops, the kind used by canvassers. It was the job of these men and women to deploy the canvas and also repair it, a task which often had to be done while Quentaris was under sail.
The sling-rope dangled the length of the sail some twenty feet to Tab's right. If she could somehow angle the dagger so that she veered that way as she fell, she might just be able to reach it before running out of sail.
Clutching the dagger with both hands Tab turned the blade to the right. Immediately the new direction of the ‘cut’ caused her to move towards the sling-rope. Looking down, she moaned in fear.
If only she had spotted the sling-rope when she had been higher up, she might have made it… Arms and legs burning from the friction with the canvas, she turned the knife blade further. She skewed too far to the right. The knife buckled and caught. Clutching it tightly she angled it downward again.
She had twenty feet of canvas left, then a fall of some two hundred feet. She looked across at the sling-rope – so near and yet too far…
Except… somehow… she was moving towards the sling-rope.
No, she wasn't. It was moving towards her!
Amelia! She must be levitating it.
Tab reached out and just as the sail ran out and she dropped, her good hand closed tightly on the knotted rope.
Three distant voices cheered from the rigging.
Tab's legs were shaking when she climbed down to the deck to join the others.
‘That was amazing,’ said Philmon.
Fontagu bit his lip, looking thoroughly abashed. ‘I thought you were going to… That you would… That you couldn't possibly -’ He grinned lamely.
‘I'm so sorry!’ Amelia gushed. ‘If I hadn't been so childish -’
Tab said, ‘I would have died just then if you hadn't levitated that rope, Amelia.’
Amelia stared at her. ‘What rope?’
‘The sling-rope – you made it slide towards me so I could grab it.’
Amelia shook her head. ‘It wasn't me. I couldn't even see you.’
Tab appeared stunned. ‘Then who?’
Suddenly Philmon's eyes widened. He was gazing over Tab's shoulder at something behind her. The hairs on the back of Tab's neck stood up.
She whirled, visions of Tolrushian assassins in her mind. But what she saw made her gasp. ‘Torby!’
The beaten and battered boy was standing not twenty feet from her. She hurled herself at him and threw her arms about his shoulders, hugging him tightly. He grinned guardedly.
‘However did you -?’ Tab began. She had a million questions and they all came bursting out of her. The others crowded round.
Finally Amelia called for quiet. ‘Torby,’ she said. ‘How did you get here?’
Torby glanced fearfully back to where Tolrush might be lurking.
‘Not exactly the talkative type, is he?’ said Philmon. Amelia hushed him.
‘Did you fly somehow?’ asked Tab.
Torby looked pensive, as though pondering the question. Then in a very small voice, he said, ‘I sewed.’
Tab frowned and looked to the others. ‘Sowed? Sewed? What does he mean?’ ‘There!’ said Torby.
They all glanced up. Fontagu wailed. Overhead, Tolrush – now visible – looked as if it was dropping down on top of them. Bells tolled, and people ran from their houses and swarmed the decks. The rigging came alive with sailors.
Chunks of rock, which were always falling from the sides of the floating cities, crashed down onto Quentaris. Some landed in the harbour, sending up great spouts of water.
‘We're done for!’ cried Fontagu. He hurriedly reached into his pocket and thrust the icefire gem into Tab's hands. ‘For safekeeping,’ he explained. ‘In case anything happens to me.’
Tab hesitantly pocketed the gem, wondering at Fontagu's sudden thoughtfulness.
‘This is very bad,’ said Amelia. ‘It will take time to get up to speed… ’
‘Can I help?’ said Torby. Everyone turned and looked at him. Fontagu snorted and even Philmon shook his head.
But Tab had an odd feeling. ‘Yes… yes, help us, Torby.’
Amelia and Philmon exchanged looks.
‘I know what you're thinking,’ Torby said quietly. ‘I was drained beneath the ground, but now I'm free. It will take time for me to build… ’ He stopped, as though guilty of something. With some exertion he then raised his arms and wiggled his fingers. A light wind picked up about him.
Philmon said, ‘I'd better report to my battle station. They're going to need all hands before -’ He stopped suddenly.
‘Now will you look at that?’ he said, frowning in wonderme
nt. High above them, Tolrush was in difficulty. A fierce nor’-nor’-easterly wind had sprung up from nowhere and was pushing her rapidly away from Quentaris. At the same time a sou’-westerly wind was filling Quentaris’ sails and the fog was thickening. Within moments, Tolrush had veered off and was dwindling astern. Then the fog closed in and obscured most of the enemy city.
Everyone turned and stared at the wind-swept Torby who slowly lowered his arms. He looked for a moment as though he had borne the brunt of the inclement weather.
‘I don't believe it,’ said Amelia.
‘He's some kind of magical genius,’ said Philmon.
Tab said, ‘You're not wrong.’ Suddenly Torby went cross-eyed and reeled. She caught him just as he was collapsing. ‘Help me!’ she cried.
Amelia and Philmon rushed to her aid. Standing well back Fontagu looked up at the beleaguered Tolrush, then at the full blown Quentaran sails. Then he looked down at Torby, a calculating look on his face.
Tab let the curtain drop and sighed. Torby was sleeping soundly, after a night of sudden fever and chills. The two of them were back in Tab's old lodging house.
She joined Philmon and Amelia in the sitting room. All three had long, gloomy faces.
And they weren't the only ones. Everyone had gone crazy lately. It wasn't surprising. A week of fog and rain, no sun, no fresh air, and the constant threat of attack from Tolrush were enough to drive anyone to desperation. To make matters worse, Tab had been hauled before the Grand Council and chastised. Even the return of the icefire – and enough energy to power Quentaris for a year – did not make up for her theft of the gem in the first place or her subsequent hiding of it. It had taken all of Verris’ authority to keep her from being thrown in the brig, and even so she was under a kind of house arrest. She had also had to fudge the truth to keep Fontagu's name out of the proceedings. She hated to think what would happen if the magicians verified what they had suspected from the beginning: that their gem had been used to ignite the Spell of Undoing.
And if all that wasn't bad enough, she was blamed – along with Amelia and Philmon – for bringing the wrath of Tolrush down upon them. Luckily, it was quietly bandied about that Tab had somehow concocted the fog and the strange wind that were keeping them out of Tolrush's claws.