by Barbara Else
An older man laughed. “Mechanical? It might be clever Fontanian spy parrot!”
A young man sucked his teeth in a sarcastic manner. “The Great Prowdd’on protects us from Fontanians.”
“Emperor’s first aim is protect Emperor Prowdd’on,” said someone else. “Poor Fontania could not even take away his golden spoon – too kind and gentle, sorry for him!”
The carriage filled with waves of grown-up laughter at a grown-up sort-of joke.
The tall man patted Sibilla’s cap. “Little waiter-boy, take no offence. You need good clean-up, but you will grow out of very daft look. It is your royal family that is hopeless. Magic? Excellent joke. Phoof! Dreams in air.”
Sibilla’s jaw clenched as if she might let out the Royal Swear Word. But all she did was dump the tea towel and bits of metal in the rubbish bin.
“Maybe it is Prowdd’on’s bird,” a stout man said. “Spying on own people. Hunting for rebels.”
“Of course he hunt for rebels. They are not loyal,” said the woman in the sequinned hat.
“They are not loyal to Emperor, that is why they are called rebels. But they have own admirable leader, whom they adore. So I heard,” replied the man.
Chattering continued. People nibbled on their crusts to make them last. Hodie listened. If there was trouble in Um’Binnia – because rebels wanted to get rid of Emperor Prowdd’on – would it be easier or harder for the Queen and Murgott to travel home? They might be able to get a message to King Jasper and the Excellent Eagle. Or what about the King’s fiancée, Lady Beatrix, and the Royal Traveller? At the moment, Queen Sibilla was being a very good (though grubby) boy waiter. If she kept pretending as well as this, she might eventually be reunited with her family. Hodie felt a twinge of self-pity, but he was definitely fine all by himself. He’d got over the shock about his mother. He could forget her. Some day he’d find his own home.
He whispered to the little Queen. “Maybe Murgott can use the tools on his pocket-knife to fix the bird. Could you send it back to the King with your own message?”
Sibilla gave a grateful, worried smile.
~
The wind-train swerved violently, the floor tipped and for a moment became the wall. Dishes toppled. Passengers screamed. The grater flew against the oven with a musical clang! Sibilla grabbed one of the brass poles, hung on tight, then dived at the rubbish bin. Good on her. Hodie braced himself between the counter and kitchen wall so that Sibilla couldn’t be thrown past before she had the bird again.
The sails creaked and groaned. The engine driver’s voice came through a loudspeaker. “Emergency. Emergency landing ahead at Shattered Rock.”
Murgott clambered over fallen crockery towards Hodie and the Queen. “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “When I was at sea, the darkest moments always came before it started getting better.”
Hodie felt a flare of hope. “Really?”
“I’ve learned not to lie,” Murgott said. “So I should add that getting better never actually meant becoming good.”
It was pitch black outside now. In another lurch, Hodie was thrown under a table. There was a crash as the carriage behind bumped into the dining car, another crash as it bumped the one ahead. The squirrel skidded out from somewhere and slid the whole length of the dining car, chittering like mad. A bump jarred Hodie’s bones. Bigger bumps followed. Murgott let out a little scream (which was surprising). There were yelps and cries from the passengers. Hodie caught a glimpse of Sibilla, hanging onto the counter now, eyes wide, face ashen.
There was another stomach-dropping swoop and one last bump – then Hodie saw lights glowing outside. The wind-train had landed.
~
15
dubious pie or stale muffin
in the canteen
Hodie staggered up and peered through a window. Grit dashed against it. Across a wide platform he saw a long, low building like the Depot, though much bigger. The name on a battered notice was: …hattered Roc… This is where he’d got himself – halfway to Um’Binnia instead of peaceful southern fields with a chuckling stream, a flock of sheep (or goats) (or even llamas) and plenty of sunshine.
A station official in a yellow storm jacket beckoned from a doorway. Passengers had begun to struggle off the wind-train and grip stout barriers of rope. Coats billowing, clutching their hats and sometimes each other, they stumbled across. The wind scooped under a little girl’s cloak. She nearly took off like a bird. Her parents tugged her down and huddled her between them. She probably thought she was lucky to have parents … Hodie realised the lump in his stomach was self-pity. He gave himself a buffet on the chin.
The Queen put her head beside his at the window. “Look,” she whispered. “More wind-trains. Maybe the Emperor is here. Maybe you’ll find your stuff.”
He felt very much ashamed that he planned to leave her. “You must be careful,” he muttered back, “especially if the telegraph’s been fixed. Maybe we should swap hats.”
She eyed his cap. “My hair wouldn’t fit in that. But thank you …” In a small voice she added, “Hodie? I’m sorry you’re mixed up in this.”
He felt even worse. “I’m sorry you’re mixed up in it too… er … little brother.”
She gave half a laugh, and made him grin. She smiled back. He thought her quite pretty if you didn’t look at the dirt, and also if you knew she was a girl.
At one platform a long wind-train was tied down with hooks and hawsers. A shorter wind-train was being tethered at another platform. Through the gloom and glimmer Hodie could make out a few small wind-cars that might be like private carriages. A strut of broken wind-sail bowled along the platform, followed by scraps of paper and a lost sunbonnet.
The station guard fought through the gale towards the dining car and tapped the window. Murgott pushed Hodie aside and slid it open. Sibilla stepped back, hand on her cap.
“I hear there is cook and helpers,” the guard called in. “Ah, yes. Wait in canteen. Get something warm into boys. To me, little bloke looks worth not one penny.”
Hodie felt Sibilla stiffen, but he elbowed her and gave an older-brother sneer. She made a little-brother toothy-face at him.
“Terrible storm. Could last for days?” asked Murgott.
“All services are stopped for storm and other reason,” the guard said. “Rebels attacked wind-train of Emperor. He was not hurt. Commander Gree’sle not hurt either. But Princessa Lu’nedda? She has been kidnapped.”
Murgott stood to attention, shock written on his freckly brow.
“Yes. Terrible news.” The guard actually seemed to think it was rather a joke.
Murgott ran a trembling hand over his bald spot. “The poor lady!”
The guard shrugged and struggled off into the wind. Hodie felt Sibilla’s finger prod his ribs. “Lu’nedda will annoy the rebels so much they’ll send her back home faster than you’d drop a hot potato!” she hissed.
Hodie gave a snort of laughter. He’d never eaten a hot potato, let alone touched one, but he knew the expression. He had to admit, in the circumstances Queen Sibilla was being brave.
Murgott still looked upset but he settled his duffle bag over his shoulder, and put a finger to his lips. “Now listen, boys. We must not let a certain royal Sibilla be discovered. Since she must not be discovered, even though we’re still not at war, I am in charge. Orright?”
“I suppose so,” said Sibilla.
Hodie nodded. From the canteen, there might be a chance to leave the Queen and Murgott to it. They’d be fine without him. He could stow away again on a likely wind-train to the Beaches of Summerland. From there, he might manage…
“And,” Murgott added, “we will keep our eyes and ears open in the canteen. Pirates learn an awful lot by listening and watching in canteens. So does the army. Orright?”
“Orright,” said Sibilla.
“Orrigh
t. If you say so,” muttered Hodie.
~
The canteen door swung to behind them. Hodie had never been in a place like this. It smelled of fatty hamburgers, which he could see were decorated with tiny strips of browny-green. Was it meant to be lettuce? If so, it hadn’t grown in fresh air and water, like the vegetables in the gardens of the Grand Palace.
Murgott cocked his head, one hand on Hodie’s shoulder, the other on the Queen’s. In Um’Binnian accents, customers were saying things like, “Not bad hot coffee, considering it taste remarkably like cold mud.” And, “I chose tea – urrggh. Never again.”
Scraps of other conversations floated around. ‘Kidnap Princessa Lu’nedda?’ somebody said. “I thought rebels were clever people. Rebels are fools!”
“Quiet!” another voice shouted. “There might be government informer!”
“What is gov-ing-mint informer?”
“A spy, you idiot!”
“Should we also watch for rebel information-er?”
“Yes, indeed, because fools are dangerous.”
Murgott spoke up, pretending-jolly. “Is there a table here for a thirsty traveller who was also second-in-command on the pirate ship the Double Cross?”
“You are far from home on very stormy night,” said a thick-set Um’Binnian with a half-eaten hamburger. “Are boys part of pirate crew? Or – ha ha! – are they what you will scramble for your dinner!”
“We is on a school trip.” Sibilla simpered the way people often did when they first met her. (Hodie had seen her turn away and stick a finger down her throat, and Lady Helen scold her for it.) “But I’d rather be home wiv my new puppy.”
A scrawny lady with a suntan smiled. She had a big blue coat on the back of her chair. “What sort of puppy, dear?”
“I don’t have it yet.” Sibilla wiped her nose. “But when I’m home, I’m going to grizzle like stink until I get one.”
A man sitting next to the suntanned lady laughed and flicked at the little Queen’s cap.
“Oi.” Murgott showed his fist, still pretend-jolly. “These are my boys. If there’s roughing up to do, I do it. Orright?”
The customers chuckled and went back to curling their lips at the coffee and tea, and jumping at the bangs and pounding of the gale outside. If you asked Hodie, Sibilla had just had a lucky escape.
“Don’t overdo it,” he muttered.
An explosion of gravel hit the roof. Hodie startled. So did the Queen.
A skinny man in a check beret grinned at them. “Don’t worry. Wind hurls around bones of little boys who cheek Emperor Prowdd’on. You are Fontanian? I recognise accent?”
Murgott pushed Sibilla and Hodie to a table against the wall. “Just a pair of travel-sick kids. Why I said I’d travel with ’em, I’ll never know.”
The skinny man scratched under his beret. “Terrible thing, children travelling in Stones of Beyond. There is not weather report in Fontania?”
A man in a big red scarf let out a chuckle. “Fontania? Nobody governs there in any manner. They rely on two very large chickens that never lay eggs.”
More laughter filled the canteen. “They think magic will save them. Tired old magic against Um’Binnian machines!” Billows of laughter and more chatter.
“Have you volunteered for army yet?”
“I will wait till Emperor makes me.”
“For crying-in-your-tea, watch for government informer.”
“Shut up and have sip of stone-cold urrggh.”
Hodie heard Sibilla take a shuddery scared breath. But she turned to Murgott, blinked and did a buck-tooth smile. “Uncle, can I please ’ave an ’ot chocolate?”
A man at the next table glanced at Hodie under his hat brim. “You are also from Fontania?”
Hodie shrugged and pulled his fringe over his eyes. Luckily, just then a waiter came around. Murgott gave an order for pies, a ginger beer and two hot chocolates. Sibilla started to kick her chair leg, bump-bump-bump, just like a boy. It was excellent acting indeed, and very fast it was annoying.
A canteen ogre lumbered up with their plates of pies. Hodie was starving. He snatched his pie and dropped it back. “Ow!”
“Use the cutlery!” said Murgott. “You’re not a pirate.”
“It’s hot!” Hodie blew on his fingers. Why did people ever want hot food?
“It’s not hot, only warm.” Sibilla grabbed one in her fingertips and started nibbling. “Ew – it’s stale. Ew – what is it? Not pork – not chicken – I don’t think it’s carrot …”
“Don’t ask,” said Murgott. “Shut up, eat up and be grateful.”
The canteen ogre clattered dirty dishes onto his tray. “What kind of father bring boys into Stones?” he muttered to Murgott. “For shame, for shame.”
Sibilla’s eyes were cautious but she showed her front teeth in a goofy smile. “He’s not our Daddy, he’s an Uncly.”
The ogre scowled. “Tell Uncle to beware of riff-raff.”
She looked uneasy. “What’s wiff-waff?”
The ogre’s face softened. “Riff-raff is bandits,” he said. “Riff-raff is spies and rebels.”
“Oo, all of them?” asked Sibilla. “S-spies for who?”
“The other side.” The ogre winked. “No matter what side you are on, there is always other side. And rebels are against own side.” He kept smiling at Sibilla.
“But there’s no webels in Fontania,” Sibilla said.
The ogre spoke from the corner of his mouth. “That is because Fontanians have good royal family who do not give ordinary folk a lot of bother. They are not very bright and best at laziness.”
A frizzy curl sprang out the back of Sibilla’s cap. Hodie kicked her. She poked the curl back and scratched her hands all over the cap. “It must be my little nits,” she muttered. “Very bad itchies.”
The ogre had started to lean closer but drew back. “I say no more. But some folk in Um’Binnia think democracy would be improvement.” He finished loading the tray.
Sibilla kept both hands on her cap. “How would democ-ra-what improve the Emperor?”
Hodie put his hands over his eyes. Any moment she would give herself away. They’d all be in trouble.
“Democracy,” muttered the ogre, “is even better than having lazy King and little girl Queen.”
Murgott drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Sibilla. The ogre continued. “Democracy is when people spend time arguing about what is best, not just say Hoorah for Emperor to his face and heaven-save-us-all-especially-ogres behind his back.”
The man in the check beret leaned over too. “Democracy is also not paying taxes to buy fancy footwear for Princessa.”
“Ha! Man is not wrong.” The ogre staggered off with his heavy tray.
A gust of wind tossed more gravel onto the roof (unless it was bones). Hodie tested his pie and had a cautious bite. He was just deciding it wasn’t too terrible when a tug at the string around his boot made him glance down. A small squirrel, ears perked, sat and watched him. Was it the one from the wind-train? Could it even be the one whose friend Prowdd’on had squeezed to death? Hodie held out a crumb. It ate from his hand. Its whiskers tickled.
“Such nice boy.” It was the lady with the suntan and the big blue coat. She turned to the man in the beret. “I do not think there is much wrong about Fontanians. I do not understand why there will be war.”
“Agreement with you,” said the man. “We do not need to own Beaches of Summerland. And if Fontanians believe in magic, what is the harm?”
Hodie saw Sibilla’s jaw clench.
Murgott put a big hand over hers. “I’ve seen magic at work,” he whispered to her. “One day you will find your abilities. Wait and see.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She gave a little shrug and shook her head, but stayed quiet, sipping her chocolate.
Hodie covered how uncomfortable he felt by holding out another crumb for the squirrel. The squirrel accepted it but stared at him, tail flouncing and eyes narrowed.
~
At a nearby table sat three rough-looking men. One had a bandage round his wrist. Another had a plaster over his ear. The third kept crinkling his eyes shut, as if he had a pain where Hodie couldn’t see. The wind had died back and Hodie realised he could hear what the men were saying in their thick accents. He stayed down and pretended to retie the string round his worn-out boot.
“Ogg’ward says we have to hide out till we can return to our hide-out.”
“Where is our hide-out from here?”
“Ogg’ward will not say. It is secret hide-out.”
“But we are all going to hide in it, yes? When we find it?”
“Oh yes. Ogg’ward very clever.”
They glanced towards the counter. A broad-shouldered man in a tweed coat and thick black beanie was buying himself another coffee – it must be Ogg’ward. He had an enormous black moustache.
The men huddled closer. “We agree Ogg’ward would kidnap Princessa. But what did he do? No Princessa, but one of her slippers! Much easier to hide than such tall lady. Slipper is decorated with expensive jewels. We will be rich.”
Hodie’s heart raced. These were the rebels! These men wanted to get rid of Emperor Prowdd’on! He sat up for a better look at Ogg’ward. There was definitely something heroic about the man. Maybe Hodie could join the rebels. They might help him out of the Stones, and show him a safe way of getting south.
“But where is Princessa?” said one of the rebels.
“Ah, Ogg’ward has not told us where she is, to keep it secret,” said another.
“Our leader has such clever brain,” agreed the third.
Ogg’ward glanced over at the men. They pretended not to know him, but weren’t actually terribly good actors. Ogg’ward trudged off to a corner table by himself. He sipped his coffee, spluttered, and put a hand to the moustache as if he was scared he’d cough it off. It was by far the biggest moustache Hodie had seen yet, like half a guinea pig glued under the man’s nose.