Gregory Grey and the Fugitive in Helika

by Stanzin

CHAPTER 3

  Good Omens and Goodbyes

  Dear Greg,

  Don’t be absolutely ridiculous. If someone should apologise, it’s me. I must have been a complete nitwit to miss you all these years even though you were right under my large nose. I must be going senile.

  It’s wonderful to hear from you. You cannot imagine how shocked yet pleased I was the day that infernal message arrived at my door. Though I am saddened that there is still no word of your parents, I am overjoyed that you are safe and healthy.

  Rest assured that all questions shall be answered no matter how long it takes us. The important thing is that you rejoin your family at the earliest.

  Jo and I can hardly wait to meet you and bring you home. She wants to say some thing so watch the postscript.

  I understand completely that you want to celebrate your birthday with your friends and I’m only sorry that I cannot be there as I am extremely busy at work. Have fun and see you soon.

  Affectionately,

  Uncle Quincy

  P.S.

  Dear Cousin Gregory,

  I am very happy that we will meet soon. Please get me some Monroe Muffins from Pencier. Make sure you have some. They are very good.

  Jo.

  The letter made Gregory feel a whole lot better about meeting his family. He showed it to the director, who clapped his back.

  ‘Greg, you’re a lucky young man. You’ve had a good time here and the orphanage has been your home. But you have a different home now and it would be a shame to waste this gift. Make the most of it, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gregory. He thought of his friends and some of the brightness left his face.

  ‘You’ll make new friends, Greg, I promise you that, maybe even better ones,’ the Director said.

  ‘I suppose.’ Gregory didn’t bother pointing out to the Director that he had no plans at all to make friends at Domremy. The only friends that mattered to him were here, and no sparkler would ever replace them.

  ‘All right, I’ll sweeten it for you. You’ll be flying into the city, Greg,’ the Director said.

  ‘What? Carpet don’t fly that fa-,’ he began to say, when it hit him and his jaw dropped in delight.

  ‘But zeppelins do,’ the Director said with a broad grin of his own.

  And that sealed the deal for Gregory.

  Gregory spent his last days at the orphanage spending as much time with Reggie, Mixer and Alf as he possibly could.

  ‘You’vegotthatlostlookonyourfaceagain,Greg,’ Alf said to him two days before he was to leave.

  ‘It’s Mixer’s fault. I’m telling you, he messed up last night’s soup, curse him,’ Gregory lied easily.

  ‘Hey, there wasn’t anything wrong with the soup,’ Mixer protested.

  ‘You calling my belly a liar, Mixer?’ said Gregory.

  ‘Well your stomach can get along fine without my soup then,’ said Mixer. He could take any kind of ribbing but that about his cooking.

  It will, and soon enough at that, Gregory thought, and looked even more pained. Reggie, Alf and Mixer weren’t the only ones he was leaving behind. The afternoon before he was to leave, a firm hand had grabbed him from behind as he was coming out from butcher’s back entrance, and dragged him into a shaded corner. They second they were alone, Astrid cuffed his head.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘You weren’t going to tell me?’ Astrid said angrily.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Don’t mess about! You’re leaving tomorrow? For the city?’

  Gregory would have denied it if Astrid hadn’t looked so hurt.

  ‘Yeah. I haven’t told anyone. I wasn’t going to. How’d you find out?’

  ‘Your Director Laurie got drunk with mum last night. I heard the whole thing. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Like I said, I’ve not told anyone. You’d treat me different if I did.’

  ‘Of course I’d be treating you different, you idiot! You’re going away forever!’

  ‘You visit the city all the time! We could see each other whenever.’

  ‘I should never see your face again, you sneaky brat!’

  ‘See! This is why I wouldn’t tell.’

  ‘Damn you, Greg! I thought we had a thing!’

  That shut Gregory up. Astrid had never exactly come out and said it before. He looked away from her glare somewhat shamefacedly.

  ‘Yeah, well. I don’t know how that ‘thing’s’ going to happen now,’ he muttered. He looked back at her and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘But you’ve known for almost a month!’ Astrid said less angrily, which just made the hurt in her voice stand out more.

  Gregory nodded.

  ‘You’re such an idiot.’

  To Gregory’s alarm, Astrid’s eyes were shining with tears, and she was furiously blinking them back. Astrid never cried, not even when Gregory had accidentally slammed the door on her fingers some time ago.

  ‘Look, you’ll visit,’ Gregory began worriedly. ‘You will! I bet it’s not that long before your mum brings-’

  Astrid’s lips were as soft as he’d ever imagined them, and then they weren’t, because she’d pressed too hard, and their teeth had bumped painfully.

  ‘Ow.’

  There was blood on her lips, but it wasn’t hers.

  ‘You deserve it,’ she said. ‘If you’d-’

  Gregory had moved less aggressively than her, and this time it lasted much longer. He’d held her by the shoulders, but she’d almost immediately clutched him close. When they parted, there was a hard look in her eyes.

  ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand and dragging him behind like a child.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Gregory would have been happy to never leave that shady little corner.

  ‘You know the books I don’t let you read?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, city boy, they’ve taught me things that even you don’t know! And you’re going to find out what.’

  Many hours later, at the evening dinner, when Gregory had been caught staring off into space for the umpteenth time, Reggie suggested that perhaps he’d gotten a ‘lobotummy’, a gruesome medical procedure the gypsies had demonstrated on their moving picture gadget. Gregory thought that Astrid’s lesson would have made for a much nicer moving picture exhibit. On his way back to the orphanage, he’d dropped by Monroe’s and bought a vacuum-sealed packet of muffins for Johanna.

  The next morning, he woke to firm hands dragging him out of bed and holding him suspended off the ground.

  ‘One!’

  Pain exploded in a series of blows across his rump. He roared… in vain.

  ‘Two!’

  ‘Hey… Ow… ease up! I haven’t recovered from the Bobbins paddle… ARGH… yet,’ he yelled at those kicking him.

  ‘Five… quiet you pansy… six… grow up already and take it… seven… like a man,’ Reggie huffed, kicking even harder.

  He roared and yelled about what he was going to do to them if they didn’t let him down, but still received each and every single one of his birthday bumps.

  With a final ‘Fourteen!’, he was finally unceremoniously dropped to the floor, where he groaned pathetically.

  He had actually forgotten it was his birthday again.

  Then it was time to open his gifts. Mixer gave him a book of his own hand-written recipes. Reggie gave him an old glass compass, traded off a gypsy. Alf gave him an adjustable, if cracked, magnifying glass. The Bobbin’s present was a chess-set he’d carved out of stone.

  The Bobbin also gave him a wooden trunk. It was a simple box with hinges, devoid of any decoration. His name was carved into one side. When he had a quiet moment in the afternoon, he put his belongings into it; three white shirts, three pairs of beige trousers, three pairs of white socks, a book on stars, the book on magical plant and animals from the gypsy, his gifts, a sealed file containing copies of his orphanage documents, the letter from Uncle Quincy and the photographs of his family. The Dir
ector would bring his trunk to the station the next morning.

  He got another gift later in the evening. A red ribbon had floated in through his window, so he’d gone out, where Astrid had given him a slender book. Gregory recognised it at once – A Labyrinth of Thought. It was one of the most fascinating books he’d ever read; it explored the logic, myths, habits and conditions of human thought and judgment.

  ‘I know how much you like this one; treat it right,’ Astrid said.

  Her kiss this time was somewhat formal, and Gregory watched her leave with a deep ache in his stomach.

  The orphanage had picnics every birthday, so that evening, everyone gathered in the courtyard, where the Bobbin’s gigantic and ancient red carpet hovered a foot off the ground, undulating slightly.

  ‘Everyone here? Right. You know the rules. No running off alone. No fighting on the carpet. No littering the hill. I’ll have your hides if you can’t be civil. Joshua, you got the tents clean? Good. Pile them in the center. Harvey, you sit up front here with me. Everyone take off your shoes and put them in that bag there. Anyone getting mud on my carpet gets toilet duty for a month. Everybody ready? Pile on then, and let’s be off.’

  The Bobbin’s repaired staff hummed with energy; the carpet whooshed forward and up. The boys whooped; carpet rides were the best part of any picnic. Gregory took a last look at the orphanage; the bright sun was behind it, about two hours from setting; then it disappeared behind a hill. They sped over villages, forests and rivers. On the way, they caught up with a flock of birds and scattered them gleefully.

  They reached their picnic spot, a hill, in twenty minutes. The Bobbin landed the carpet in a grassy clearing through which a stream ran. The boys shed their clothes and rushed into the cool water. Gregory joined in enthusiastically, wrestling and racing with the rest. The Bobbin sat nearby, whittling away at some wood.

  When the evening darkened, the boys erected five tents, and made a large fire. Gregory and Mixer set up a spit on two forked sticks onto which they skewered a bucketful of marinated meat.

  The stars came out in their splendorous thousands and a white river coursed through them: The Milky Way. A cool breeze picked up and the boys huddled close to the fire and ragged the birthday boy.

  ‘Greg, I saw you take Martha Moser’s girl to the camp yesterday. The two of you eating face now? Was it because it’s your birthday?’ Harvey said.

  ‘Him? Are you crazy? Who’d fall for Skinny?’ asked Joshua.

  ‘Your mamma,’ retorted Gregory.

  The boys lunged for each other. Joshua gave Gregory a tough match this time. The Bobbin refereed and declared Joshua the winner when he managed to pin Gregory in a headlock.

  Mixer brought out a messy looking cake, which was voted brilliant. He blushed with pleasure. He’d spent the whole day in the kitchen.

  At ten, the Bobbin made them pick up all the litter in the campsite before he shooed them all into their tents. Gregory, Reggie, Alf and Mixer crawled into theirs.

  ‘Get your stinking feet outta my face, Alf,’ Reggie said.

  ‘Youwatchwhereyouputyouruglyface,’ndmyfeet’llstayaway,’ said Alf.

  Gregory cleared his throat. ‘Uh, guys? There’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Are you finally done blaming my soup for your constipation?’ Mixer said with a frown.

  ‘Wha-? Oh, yeah, sorry about that,’ Gregory said sheepishly.

  ‘Wha-? You lying little gypsy, I knew there was nothing wrong with my soup. You guys hear what he said? Of all the rotten-’

  ‘Shut it Mixer, the boy’s got something to get off his chest,’ Reggie said, sitting up now.

  Gregory took a deep breath.

  ‘I’mgoingawaytothecitytolivewithmyUnclewho’sfinallyfoundmeaftersevenyears,’ he said in a rush.

  There was a moment of complete silence in the tent.

  ‘Uh, I didn’t quite catch that-’ Mixer began to say.

  ‘WHAT? Whatd’youmeanyou’releavingfor-’ Alf shrieked.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey, slow down for us common folk,’ Reggie said.

  ‘-thecityandwhere’dyougetanUncleallofasudden?’

  Gregory took another breath. ‘I have an Uncle, in Domremy City, who found out I was living here, and he wants me to go stay with him.’

  They stared at him.

  ‘You’re not messing around,’ Reggie said slowly.

  ‘That is just unholy Greg. When did this happen?’ asked Mixer.

  Gregory quickly told them about the letters and the Director’s theories.

  ‘And it get’s unholier,’ Reggie said.

  Gregory looked at his friends unhappily. Alf had a bitter sneer on his face, and Reggie was looking more and more stoic every second.

  ‘You’re gonna be a bleeding sparkler?’ Mixer guffawed loudly.

  And just like that, the tension blew out of the tent. Alf grinned and Reggie snickered while Mixer huffed and heaved in laughter.

  Gregory scowled. ‘I’ll never be a pansy painted sparkler so you just shut up now.’

  ‘I don’t know, Greg, but if you come back with pink orchids flashing all over you, they’ll write on my gravestone that I died laughing,’ Mixer snorted.

  ‘But still, Greg, this is… I don’t know what this is… when are you leaving?’ Reggie asked.

  ‘I’m taking the zeppelin in the morning, at four,’ Gregory said. The Bobbin’s flying me down to the station. You’ll come see me off right?’

  ‘Of course we will,’ Mixer said.

  ‘Why’intyoufreakingtellus?’ Alf demanded.

  ‘I’ve seen how it is when someone’s made apprentice,’ Gregory said. ‘It’s like they suddenly don’t belong anymore. I didn’t want to spend two weeks not belonging.’

  ‘But your uncle being so high up,’ Reggie said, ‘you’re gonna end up studying at the Caverns right?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Gregory said reluctantly.

  ‘Then you’ll get more use out of this, I guess,’ said Mixer, and rummaged out the grimoire they’d stolen from the gypsy Chief. ‘I thought we’d just look at what sort of things we’re missing out on… but looks like you won’t be missing out on much.’

  Reggie and Alf watched him put the grimoire away wistfully.

  ‘You gonna be back?’ Reggie asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I sure want to be.’

  ‘But it’s all on this nob Uncle of yours?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What kind of instrument are you going to get?’ Mixer asked.

  ‘What? I don’t know. Could be anything.’

  ‘Getastaff,’ Alf said. ‘Evenifyounevercastasinglespell, it’llstillbegoodforbreakingoversomeoneshead.’

  ‘Knife’s cooler,’ Mixer said.

  ‘Naw. Baton, like the one Sheriff Shinde’s got,’ Reggie said.

  ‘You got a picture of your family?’ Mixer asked.

  Gregory pulled the photographs out of his jacket. Mixer shook his jar of fireflies, and the tent lit up with the gentle lemon light.

  ‘Yourfamily’spretty,’ Alf said after a few minutes. ‘Soyou’vebeenpiningoveryourownparent’sbooksallthistime?’

  ‘Yeah. Weird, I know.’

  ‘Where are you going to be staying?’ Reggie asked.

  ‘The Eyrie… it’s near the Palace, I think.’

  ‘You’re gonna get your own carpet, aren’t you? Make it better than the Bobbin’s ancient rag!’

  It was a wistful night. Reggie, Alf and Mixer kept up an unending stream of questions of what his life in Domremy was likely to be like. Gregory knew little more than they did, so they conjectured and speculated. One moment, they would tease Gregory for his future fashion sensibilities. The next, they would quietly go over the subjects he was likely to study at the Caverns.

  Hours later, when they finally slept, Gregory thought it was as if they wanted a picture of him to hold in their heads. There was no grudge in their manner or words, but he felt as if they were writing his epitaph: Reggie, Alf and Mixer never e
xpected to see him again.

  The thought stung and cut. Within his own heart, he swore that they would, and that they’d see that a world of riches and magic couldn’t derail his loyalty to them.

  The Director woke them at a nippy three in the morning.

  ‘I have a belated birthday gift for you, but you will bathe first,’ he said to Gregory.

  They were quickly in and out of the freezing stream. Once they’d put their woolens on, the Director held out his present. They were a pair of brown gloves. Gregory slipped them on and gawked with astonishment; they were toasty warm despite the cold.

  ‘Triple-layered Wolly-leather gloves: three layers of airtight leather sandwiching two layers of Wolly wool. They sense if your hands are hot or cold and adjust accordingly. Charmed to resist fire. You could pick up burning coal with them and not feel a thing. I hope you like them. It’s customary for the orphanage to give departing children some token.’

  They were easily his most valuable possessions now.

  ‘They’re brilliant. Thank you. For everything, I mean,’ Greg said, suddenly touched.

  ‘You’re quite welcome, Gregory. It’s been a pleasure knowing you. I know you’ll make us proud in the Capital,’ the Director said, suddenly formal.

  ‘Err… yeah.’

  The Director had got his trunk, which the boys heaved onto the Bobbin’s carpet.

  ‘This is heavy! You carrying rocks to your family?’

  ‘Oh, forgive me,’ the Director said. ‘I quite forgot to mention, Gregory – but you have a lot of books in there!’

  ‘What books?’

  ‘I suppose you could call them your parent’s legacy,’ the Director said sadly.

  ‘What legacy? I don- oh! The folktales?’ Gregory exclaimed.

  The Director nodded.

  ‘They are the first connection you ever had to your parents… it’s only fitting you take them with you. I know you’ll take care of them. Boys, I’ll see you at home. Farewell, Gregory Grey.’

  The old man and the young boy shook hands.

  ‘Goodbye, Director.’

  The boys climbed on to the carpet behind the Bobbin. The Director became smaller and smaller and then the night swallowed him. They sped through a cold and inky starry sky. The boys huddled together, till they came to the Drop.

  The signboard said:

  Next flight to Domremy City: 0400

  The clock beside the sign showed a quarter to four.

  ‘This is it,’ the Bobbin said. ‘The zeppelin will be along in some time. Greg, we need to see the stationmaster, and get your ticket stamped. Boys, don’t wander off. Stay in sight of the window where I can see you.’

  Gregory followed the Bobbin into the shack. There was a counter with a bell hanging down from the ceiling over it, which the Bobbin rang loudly.

  ‘I’m in the loo. I’ll be there. Go easy on that infernal bell,’ a muffled voice shouted from a room behind a door.

  The Bobbin and Gregory stood in silence for a while.

  ‘You’re not very chipper for a boy headed to the City forever,’ the Bobbin remarked.

  Gregory looked out of the window at the platform where his friends were huddled.

  ‘Don’t you worry about forgetting those three,’ the Bobbin said. ‘I’ll make sure they write.’

  ‘Bet I’ll be the dumbest kid they’ll ever see in the city.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said the Bobbin. ‘You can fool the others but you can’t fool me. It was a kindness, what you did for Joshua at dinner. And it takes smarts to be that kind of kind’

  ‘He trumped me.’

  ‘You let him trump you. Everyone knew that you beat him before. And that wouldn’t have been right to Josh’s pride. You saved his face, and lost nothing for it. He knows it and he’ll remember it.’

  Gregory said nothing.

  ‘Cheer up, you! Magic, Greg! Magic!’

  Gregory laughed guiltily, and then looked serious.

  ‘I’m really, really sorry about your instrument,’ he said.

  The Bobbin looked surprised, then smiled warmly. Impatient now, he rang the bell again, clanging it hard.

  The door opened and a stout man with wispy hair walked out. ‘Alright, alright, I’m there already, yeesh.’ He was still putting his clothes in order.

  Without a word to them, but muttering something about ‘sleep’ and ‘infernal bell’, he stamped and signed Gregory’s ticket.

  Gregory and the Bobbin stepped outside. The boys stood together in silence. There wasn’t anything left to say.

  A deep humming filled the night from above. The boys looked up; there was a dark patch in the sky, blocking the stars.

  The giant airship materialised from above into the soft yellow light of the platform. The gondola, a passenger cabin attached to the bottom of the ship, was about a hundred feet long, and the gigantic rigid balloon was almost five times that.

  Written on its underside was, The Scheherezade. Two circular holes opened up on the underside and a metallic ladder unrolled out of it to the ground.

  ‘Passenger, please place your luggage in the blue circle and then step on to the ladder to board The Scheherazade, which will depart in two minutes.’

  Gregory dragged his trunk over as directed, which flew up into the ship, lifted by some unseen force. He turned to his friends. All at once, the four boys rushed into a rib-cracking hug. Gregory heard Mixer choke down a sob. Then Gregory stepped away and onto the cold metal ladder. It began to retract back into the gondola, swaying a little as it did.

  Alf yelled suddenly. ‘Greg,youbetterwriteorheavenhelpyouI’llcomebeatyouintojelly.’

  ‘I’ll write, I promise,’ Gregory yelled back, and then he was inside the ship, being helped off the ladder by a pretty stewardess.

  ‘Welcome aboard The Scheherazade, sir. You’re in row 9, the window seat.’

  As soon as he found his seat, Gregory dashed over to window. They saw him and waved. The Scheherezade rose, and in a minute, he could hardly see his friends at all. Drawing away from window, he forgot to be happy he was finally, as he’d always wanted, being taken away in a Zeppelin.

  The airship moved strangely, rolling and sometimes rearing and shifting from side to side. He unfolded a table from the wall and put his head down on it, trying not to think about things; like if he’d ever see his friends again, or what sort of impression he’d make on his Uncle and cousin.

  Then he blinked.

  There was a moving point of light under his eyes. He sat up and saw a map of the Kingdom of Domremy, enchanted into the table surface. The yellow light, moving slowly across the map, was labelled The Scheherezade. It was moving away from a red point labelled Pencier, and there were other red and green dots scattered across the map, tracing the zeppelin’s path. Greens, he realised, were stations the airship had to reach, and reds were the stations it had passed.

  The last green dot was labelled Domremy City. He touched the dot and ink of the map whirled violently into words and a color photograph.

  He read:

  Domremy City is home to the Occilian royal family. Osmundiaz Occilox, popularly called the Father of Reflection, founded it a thousand years ago. The name Domremy was originally given to a hidden hollow in the round located amongst pasturing cows, in which Occilox hid while Observant forces from Helikapolis scoured the surrounding mountains and forests for him. There he recovered and built his army, eventually creating a stronghold for a millennium-long rebellion that would outlast Helikan persecution and establish a firm ideology of spiritual independence. The City’s current Thrones, King Nathaniel Eavesfather, Queen Renata Eavesmother, and Princess Leliana Eavesdaughter are pictured to the left.

  Gregory looked at the photograph. The King stood in the middle. He was a tall, balding man with a dome shaped head. His wife stood next to him, also tall. There was a broad friendly smile on her face that Gregory liked. And standing between them, clutching both their hands was a tall child of seven or eight. She
was a pretty thing in flowing green robes. Around her neck hung a large green gem.

  He sighed, sat back, and really looked around the cabin. Everything was clean and richly decorated. He suddenly wondered if his clothes were clean enough and if he was muddying up the floor, but a quick check revealed he wasn’t. A rosy scent hung in the air. Next to his seat, there was a panel with many intriguing buttons. Pressing one button filled his seat with air or deflated it. Pressing another replaced the inked map on his table with the face of a clock. These distractions quickly petered out.

  With nothing better to do, Gregory fell asleep, with his ear pressed to the wall of the cabin. The airship hummed warmly through the metal.

  Gha-chunk, gha-chunk, gha-chunk.

  When he opened his eyes again, there was a boy staring back at him, sitting as he was, one ear pressed to the cabin wall.

  ‘It’s quite a thing isn’t it?’ said the other boy.

  ‘The zeppelin? It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!’

  The other boy seemed pleased.

  ‘It’s mine.’