Donal’s mother, Queen Melia, had explained it to her once. Some ancient people had once used volcanic vents to raise and lower the different islands for their own purposes. It was impossible to tell if they had been used as farmland before, but it had taken years of special crops to clear the salt so the land could be fertile. Even if every single person made it off safely—impossible—the kingdom’s livelihood would be gone if their island was submerged.
Mrs. Clemens stood guard as Jes took a candle and slipped through the larder to the root cellar. A trapdoor there led her down into caverns that were natural rather than manmade. At the bottom of the stairs was an armful of torches wrapped in oilcloth to keep them dry. Jes lit a torch with the candle, then blew the candle out. Two more torches went into her pack, to light from the first.
The torch’s light flickered eerily over water droplets on the stone walls, and she could hear her own breathing. Jes set her teeth, and stepped forward towards the darkness ahead. She stopped at a sound from the earring, but it was just footsteps going by the room. Good to know it has that kind of a range.
The tunnel sloped down for a while. Jes sang for a few minutes, until she realized that she’d never hear anyone else over it if they were following her. Her feet made almost no noise in their soft boots. She could hear water dripping, reminding her that she was below the ocean here. If the tunnels flooded, she would drown.
The smoke from the torch made her nose itch, and sometimes a piece of ash would land on her hand, leaving a tiny burn. Old, dead barnacles dotted the walls, reminders from the centuries when this place had been underwater. There was some silt on the tunnel floor, some dried algae, some bones of unlucky fish. She imagined swimming through the tunnels instead of walking. It would be dark. She added a glowing light in her hand, then imagined she was a mermaid to make it all easier.
“If there were really warlocks, they could just imagine things into being,” she told the torch. The flames burned on, uninterested. “Of course, if Lady Umber was a warlock, we’d already have lost. The real way is probably better.”
She stopped after about an hour to have a drink of the ginger water and a bite of the cheese. Her only measurement of the time was the torch, and it had burned about a third of the way down. She remembered that they were supposed to last three hours each, and she hoped the two more she’d taken would be enough.
The first torch was almost gone when Jes reached the little spit of land that powered the vents. Back when her parents and the others had come to fight the pirates, it had been the only part of the island network still above water. Dark Mathis had had his pirate base on the tiny island above, using the higher caverns to hide treasure and guns and supplies. He hadn’t realized the true purpose of the caverns.
Jes lit a second torch from the first and set the last of the dying torch into a wall holder. She took a deep breath, then started up the long flight of stairs. She could tell when she got to the part that had never submerged. The walls were different, a lighter gray without the water’s touch. The mechanism was off to one side, a collection of stone and strange metal that looked like decorations. No one before Melia had guessed that it was more than that. It was the most powerful machine in the world.
Whoever planned this knows about the controls, Jes realized. Not just that there’s a way to do it but details about how they work. Otherwise, how would they know that you can sink just one of the islands?
The power it took to sink the islands took time to build, just as the power to raise them had. Uncle Phineas liked to talk about the blend of fast talk and action they had used to hold the pirates off while the vents filled to the point where Melia could open them. Chris’s parents, King Darby and Queen Lily, had used everything from smoke bombs to channeled lightning as delaying tactics, and Father had done something with soap and sheepskins that nobody would tell her about. Now she was the one delaying.
Everyone knew how steam could be used to move pistons, generating power to run things like trains. Miniaturized systems that could power things as small as her fist were much more complicated. This was wildly different—steam technology on such a huge level that whole islands could rise and fall. There was no man-made fire in the world vast enough for this. The islands used a volcano instead.
The temperatures that melted rock were so hot that humans would be vaporized, but the lava was far away under the ocean floor. The steam was contained in huge chambers there, and could be released to power the great machine in a matter of minutes when they were full. If the steam was let out, however, it would take a long time for it to build up again.
Step one. She opened the safety valve for the volcanic vents fully. Queen Melia said the only downside to leaving it open was that a fifth island was likely to form over the vent, off to the north west, after a few decades. Jes could live with that. Even if the vent was fully closed now, it would take about a day to get the power all the way back up.
Step two. Jes brought out her tools and started individually sabotaging the controls that would sink each of the islands. It could be fixed, but that also would take hours.
Step three. Jes closed her eyes and breathed for a minute, going over the idea in her mind. If someone came to this chamber, they could undo her work. Unless the chamber was underwater.
The previous level of sea water hadn’t reached the chamber, but adjusting that was easy enough. More difficult was setting up the failsafe. Jes decided that the failsafe would be anyone entering this chamber at all. Coming through, from above or below, would cause the tunnels to flood; the spit of land would still exist, but the chamber and the caverns below would be full. Since they were all below sea level anyway, that took no power—just an opening of doors.
It wasn’t as clean a plan as Father would have preferred—he preferred contingency plans to his contingency plans—but it would work.
Did you have a contingency plan to getting shot out of the sky? She hoped fervently that he had.
She headed back down the stairs to the tunnels, pausing at the bottom to think. Protecting the islands had been the first priority, but now she had to find help. She used the burned-out torch to sketch with soot on the stone floor. To the east was the mainland, and the Kingdom of Alsandia where her parents had grown up and King Gregor ruled now. There were other countries on the mainland, but too far away to be helpful. Next were the islands—her own, East Waveborn, was the closest to Alsandia, but still a long ride by ship or a few hours by airship. Her parents’ friends and Mom’s sister were the rulers of the other Waveborn islands.
Dad said that the younger Waveborn royal kids were a direct result of Alex being a cute toddler. Whatever the reason, all four of the ruling families had had a child in the same year, and they’d grown up like cousins. Amalia, who lived in North Waveborn with Aunt Anya and Uncle Phineas, was her cousin by blood, too. Chris lived with his parents, King Darby and Queen Lily, in South Waveborn. Donal lived with his mother, Queen Malia, in West Waveborn.
Any of them would, and could, help her. It was habit more than anything that made Jes turn north towards her cousin Amalia. Aunt Anya always listened, no matter how weird a story was, and Uncle Phineas kept his sense of humor no matter how dreadful things were.
Jes settled her pack onto her shoulders and took the tunnel to the north.
3
Breaking into North Waveborn was much harder than leaving East Waveborn had been.
Her first clue that the way was booby-trapped was a slightly higher pile of silt on the floor in front of her. Jes tapped it carefully with one foot, then sprang back as an axe came out of the wall just in front of her. There was a smiley face painted on it.
That’s a nice welcome. She moved around the axe carefully and studied the path in front of her with more respect. Her second torch was getting low, and she ought to be getting close, but if the torch went out …
Jes pulled the third torch from her pack and lit it from the second. With one in each hand, she could see more clearly. Hopefully
, she wouldn’t drop both of them.
There were no barnacles on the stone to her left. Jes scowled, looking at the wall. She had seen sections without barnacles during her journey, but on the tunnel wall to her right, they were clustered quite thickly. She looked carefully at the blank wall, inching forward.
She heard a tiny creaking sound, and then knife- sharp barnacles shot out of the right-hand wall toward her. She ducked instinctively, and a pit in front of her opened up. She crouched on the edge, rocking back and forth between the floor and whatever lay below her in the pit. The smaller torch dropped from her hand into the pit. Before the torch went out, the light showed sharpened sticks and another drawing of a grinning face at the bottom.
Jes pushed herself back from the brink and swore. She tried out every phrase she had heard, and by the time she ran out of curses—after “Son of a one-eyed newt!”—she felt a little better. Amalia and I are going to have a talk about this. It had to be Amalia, her cousin. Aunt Anya and Uncle Phineas wouldn’t have added insult to the injury of the traps.
There were a few more traps on the way. A couple of darts impaled her torch, and during the upslope, she avoided an oil patch designed to drop her on fist-sized jacks with sharpened ends. By the time she got within sight of the stairway out of the tunnels, she had been through her list of curses twice.
She sidestepped a net trap, ducked beneath a falling sword with a banner proclaiming OUCH!, and regarded the stairs up with suspicion. They were stone, so unlikely to give way beneath her. The walls could have been modified, however, and she poked carefully with a stick she’d taken from the pit trap.
She almost missed the motion sensors on the left, the response was so subtle. The third step triggered something she couldn’t see, then the ninth step caused a sweeping metal rod to come out from the right.
“She has to be able to come down here,” Jes muttered to herself. She waited for the trap to reset, then triggered first the ninth step then the third step. Nothing happened. She waited for the quick click that meant the trap had again reset, then hit the ninth step again. Still nothing.
“I can’t believe she’s patient enough for this.” Jes waited, triggered the ninth step, and walked up past the third to the sixth step and waited. After the click, she took a deep breath and walked up the rest of the stairs.
The trapdoor at the top had the same latch as her own, and she eased the door open a careful inch, listening. She could hear the clink and splash of dishes being washed. People were talking, too far away for her to make out any words. The scent of roasting chicken and baking bread made her stomach growl. She inched the trapdoor up just enough to scramble through. Her last torch was nearly dead; she blew it out and threw it back down.
She was in a storeroom that smelled strongly of vinegar. Jars of pickled vegetables filled the shelves, and the barrels were crusted with brine. Light came dimly from a high window and more brightly from the half-open door. Jes slipped behind a barrel and checked that the trapdoor was closed behind her.
Whom to trust? Was anyone here involved with the conspiracy? Jes chewed her lip and decided that even if no one else was involved, anyone who saw her could give her away. She had to find one of her family.
She’d been to North Waveborn before. She closed her eyes briefly to picture the layout of the castle. From the sounds, she guessed the storeroom she was in was just off the kitchens. The main stairs were too visible, so Amalia preferred the servants’ staircases. She’d shown them to Jes on the last visit.
Jes crept to the door. Footsteps were moving away, and she took a breath before scooting through. The nearly hidden stairs were on her right, and she scurried up them, grateful for the silence of her boots.
She paused in the shadows at the top of the stairway and held her breath. It was quiet except for the sound of her heart beating. She looked both ways, then sprinted down the hallway. She paused in Amalia’s doorway and put her ear to the door. Nothing.
The door was unlocked, and she darted inside. Practice swords were scattered over a four-poster bed, with two more crossed on a white bureau. Blue curtains the same shade as the bed canopy went to the floor, and Jes darted behind one at a slight sound.
Someone stomped into the room, followed by the more sedate clatter of heeled shoes. Jes peeked out cautiously and saw Amalia scowling up at a taller figure.
“No, I don’t intend to ‘dress’ for dinner, although you are welcome to do so. I’d just like a little quiet time, if you don’t mind.” There was the pause that usually meant that Amalia was going to lie. “I may have a headache coming on.”
Amalia never had headaches, and she’d never submitted to quiet time even when she had a concussion. A feeling of dread settled over Jes.
“Then certainly you must rest, Your Highness,” Lady Umber’s voice answered, and Jes caught a glimpse of her before pulling back behind the curtain. Do they have a second airship? How else could she get here so fast?
The door closed, and Amalia knocked practice swords to the ground and landed on her bed, kicking her heels against the frame.
Jes tapped very quietly on the window behind her curtain, waited a moment, and then tapped again. She heard the bed creak, then the quieter sound of Amalia approaching. Amalia pushed aside the curtain, a practice sword in one hand.
“Oh!” Amalia tilted her head, looking her over. “Jes, what are you doing here?”
Amalia was brown skinned and brown haired, like her father, and full of such life and energy that Jes often felt like a ghost next to her. “Shh! I need to talk to your parents. Something terrible is going on.”
Amalia snorted. “Tell me about it. My parents got called to some important thing on the mainland, and King Gregor sent that woman to be my regent while they’re gone. She’s just awful!”
Jes nodded. “I know. Lady Umber showed up just after lunch. When did she get here?”
Amalia shook her head. “Mine is Lady Grey, and she’s been here since mid-morning. This is the first I’ve gotten away from her all day.”
Jes frowned. “But it’s the same woman. Same face, same voice. Twins, maybe?” She shook her head. “Anyway, that’s not the important part. I overheard mine talking with her secretary. They’ve shot down my family’s airship, and she plans to rule as my regent. And she said if my island didn’t cooperate, they’d just sink it.”
Amalia stared at her a moment, then dropped the wooden practice sword and lifted a real sword from the wall. “Over my dead body.” She leapt up to her bed and lifted the sword high so that it almost touched the blue canopy. “We’ll fight them all!”
Jes sighed. “I don’t think your parents would advise a frontal assault right now.”
Amalia looked disappointed. She lowered the sword and hopped back down. “Espionage?” she asked hopefully.
“Remove potential hostages first,” Jes said firmly. “That means us.”
Amalia sighed. “Fine. Let me ring for a tray for supper and then ask not to be disturbed. Then we can head out. I’m bringing my sword, though.”
“Of course.”
Jes hid behind the curtain again while the tray was delivered. They shared the meal, which worked well since Jes wouldn’t eat meat pie and Amalia didn’t like chicken. Amalia packed up her essentials—two daggers, a flask of oil with a fire-starter, and double handfuls of marbles and smaller jacks—she called them caltrops—in their own bags. Jes got her to add a change of clothes, and they were off.
Amalia was prepared. A rope ladder was hidden behind her bed just in case she was ever locked in. They were discussing whether to use it or sneak down to the kitchens when Jes heard a sound through her earring. She held up one hand and concentrated, but she only heard a door open, a few steps, and then the door closing again.
“This thing is incredible,” she murmured.
“What thing?” Amalia asked, examining the rope ladder for weaknesses.
“My—Alex’s earring.” She explained briefly. “I think we’ll be less not
iceable on the servants’ stairs than trying to break back into the castle, don’t you?”
Amalia tossed the ladder back behind her bed. “It should be late enough. I’ll go first, since there’s no trouble if I’m caught.”
They reversed Jes’s earlier trip with Amalia in the lead, but the kitchens were empty, the fires banked. The jars of pickles looked like they might contain scarier things in the near darkness, and Jes imagined disembodied heads floating, watching them. She changed the mental image to Lady Umber’s severed head and immediately felt better.
Amalia led the way into the deeper darkness of the stairs and paused to light a torch once the trapdoor had closed behind them. “I wish I had time to set traps for anyone following us.”
Jes grimaced as she stuck three more torches into her pack. “The traps you have are plenty.”
Amalia shrugged. “Well, you got past them all. After all this is over, you’ll have to show me where I went wrong.”
Jes wasn’t sure if Amalia had realized that there might not be an “after.” She just nodded and let Amalia lead the way until they were clear of the traps.
It felt like she had been walking for days by the time they reached the turnoff for South Waveborn. Jes hadn’t worn a watch, but it had to be getting on to midnight, and she’d left perhaps an hour after lunch. She felt herself starting to lag and was grateful for Amalia’s energy.
“So, after we enlist Chris’s parents, I say we mount a two-pronged attack through the tunnels to free both of our islands,” Amalia proposed. “But do we kill them or arrest them so they can be executed formally?”
Jes was usually a lot less bloodthirsty than her cousin, but she paused to seriously consider the choice. The earring crackled again, and she held up one hand. Amalia fell silent, waiting.
“Nothing about this is going as we were promised,” Lady Umber said. “And no, I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. I’ve sent a group to take possession of the control chamber, so that at least will be under our power.”
The Sinister Regent Page 2