The Wingsnatchers

by Sarah Jean Horwitz

  SARAH JEAN HORWITZ

  CARMER

  and

  GRIT

  BOOK ONE

  The Wingsnatchers

  ALGONQUIN YOUNG READERS 2017

  For Mom and Dad,

  for never laughing at me

  for wanting wings

  of my own

  Contents

  1.

  PREPARE TO BE AMAZED

  2.

  AN IMPOSSIBLE THING

  3.

  A MAD, MAD WORLD

  4.

  IT’S ELECTRIFYING

  5.

  FRIEND OF THE FAE

  6.

  THE PUPPET MISTRESS

  7.

  THE MASKED MAGICIAN

  8.

  A DEAL IS STRUCK

  9.

  BEHIND THE CURTAIN

  10.

  THE PHOENIX ENGINE

  11.

  THE HOLLOW VALLEYS

  12.

  AN OFFER YOU CAN’T REFUSE

  13.

  IN THE LION’S DEN

  14.

  MEN IN BLACK

  15.

  UNDER INVESTIGATION

  16.

  LIGHT ’EM UP

  17.

  MEET THE PARENTS

  18.

  DOWN MEMORY LANE

  19.

  THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

  20.

  UNLIKELY ALLIANCES

  21.

  BREAKING AND ENTERING

  22.

  HOW THINGS WORK

  23.

  THE SHOW GOES ON

  24.

  BOYS OF FIRE AND IRON

  25.

  WINGS TO FLY

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About Algonquin Young Readers

  THE CAT ON THE TRAIN

  The Relerail can take the cat anywhere, except where it wants to go.

  Something funny happens to machines when they get near the city’s oldest and largest public park, Oldtown Arboretum. Most either stop working completely or go a bit haywire. Gears turn the wrong way, buttons push themselves, spring mechanisms unfurl like wet noodles. It’s why the elevated railway travels around the Arboretum instead of through it, and why even the closest platform is at least two blocks away from its wrought iron gates.

  Below, the streets of Skemantis are a churning mass of steam carriages, bicycles, velocycles, and pedestrians all jockeying for space on the evening journey home, and the Relerail isn’t much better. Yet despite the cramped quarters, the passengers give the cat a wide berth. It even has its own seat.

  It’s not a real cat, of course. This cat is an Autocat—a mechanized clockwork creature—and an impressive one at that, even in a city accustomed to seeing shiny brass automata marching down the streets. Yet there’s something different about this Autocat with the glowing orange eyes that people can’t quite put their finger on. If the cat could, it might suspect a few people even switch cars to avoid it. Silly humans.

  The train spits the Autocat out with a crowd of dusty, soot-blackened factory workers who have much farther to go on foot than the Relerail reaches, but they hold little interest for the cat. It doubles back toward the Arboretum, paws clicking lightly on muddy cobblestones.

  The lampposts just inside the Arboretum’s gates flicker as the Autocat approaches. It makes no move to go inside—at least not yet. The cat simply sits, cocking its head to better hear the soft whisper that could be the wind in the trees, but is not.

  The whisper travels up and over the hills and around the frog ponds, shuddering through cattails and briar patches and finally reaching the base of the oldest tree in the Arboretum, an ancient willow with roots wide enough for a man to sit on. The grass rustles. The whisper cartwheels up through shaking leaves, up and away to the very, very top, where the last listener pauses to hear it and frowns.

  At the South Gate, just outside the winding iron bars, the Autocat waits. Its jeweled eyes gleam in the darkness. It watches as each golden lantern on the pathway blinks out, one by one, and it growls—a rough, scraping sound like metal on metal, a sound never heard in the garden before. The creature slinks off into Skemantis’s black night, its mission accomplished.

  For now.

  1.

  PREPARE TO BE AMAZED

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, for my last and final trick! I will be performing the unimaginable, the grotesque, the miraculous! What you are about to see may shock you, but fear not. We will all come out in one piece, after all.”

  Antoine the Amazifier clapped his bony hands together, relishing his own dramatic pause.

  “Prepare to be amazed.”

  Surely, sawing his lovely assistant in half would earn him a shriek or two from the women in the crowd. If not a shriek, then maybe at least a gasp. The Amazifier couldn’t be too picky these days.

  His audience did not look particularly amazed. A handful of underfed mill workers and dirty children, tired after a long day’s work, gathered around him in what passed for the town square. The men wore stony glares, the women deep lines in their faces, and a few of the younger ones eyed the magician’s tip collection in a way that made the Amazifier nervous—not that there was much in there to begin with.

  This was the blessing and the curse of running the country circuit. Far from the pressures of pleasing overentertained city audiences, who were used to all manner of marvels and delights, country crowds were a simpler folk. More often than not, they were pleased that any sort of show had come to town at all. Then, of course, you had years when the harvest was bad or when a mine shut down, and the grandest tricks in the world couldn’t get them to crack a smile—or open their wallets.

  Resigning himself to another mediocre showing, the Amazifier gestured for his assistant, Kitty Delphine, to step forward. There was no response. The Amazifier cleared his throat.

  “With the help of the lovely Miss Delphine!” hinted the Amazifier loudly. Kitty snapped out of her bored reverie and shimmied over to his side, the little golden bells on her costume jingling as she walked. One of the men in the crowd whistled.

  The Amazifier instructed Kitty to lie down in a large black box in the center of the square. As he explained the process to the audience, brandishing a fearsome-looking saw, the third and heretofore unseen member of his entourage prepared to complete the trick without the audience ever knowing. Or at least, that was the hope.

  There was a boy in the big black box, and his name was Felix Cassius Tiberius Carmer III. We’ll call him Carmer, or this book will be much longer than any of us would like.

  What looked like one box to the audience was actually two. As Kitty Delphine settled herself into the first half, Carmer shoved his own skinny legs—stockinged and high-heeled, to look like Kitty’s—out of the foot openings in the second. To the audience, it appeared as if one whole girl was about to be sawed in half.

  Carmer did not particularly like being stuck in a box wearing stockings and ladies’ shoes, but he knew it was necessary. Carmer was Antoine the Amazifier’s apprentice, and if he hoped to become a great magician himself one day, he had to pay his dues. Even if those dues included shaving his legs.

  Carmer heard the grinding noises against the box and Kitty’s scream of pretend shock that signaled the “sawing” had begun. He wiggled his feet a bit for dramatic effect.

  A few muffled, disgruntled voices echoed from outside, and Carmer tensed. If the show was going south, it would be best to wrap it up quickly before things got ugly.

  “The old man’s full of it!” a teenaged boy sneered. Murmured grunts of assent followed.

  “That’s a boy in that box!” cried another.

  Perhaps the wiggling feet had bee
n a bit much.

  Splat. Carmer heard the distinct ooze of rotting fruit hitting the side of the box, just near his head. He cringed at the Amazifier’s tremulous protests as the crowd grew more impatient.

  “Now, just a moment, ladies and gentlemen!”

  Splunk. A tomato, this time.

  “Boo!”

  Sploosh.

  “Get outta here!”

  Squish.

  “Take your sorry excuse for a magic show somewhere else!”

  And finally—mercifully—the sound of retreating footsteps. The Amazifier stood alone in the dirty little square, picking bits of spoiled lettuce off his velvet cloak.

  Carmer shook Kitty’s shoes off his feet and shimmied out of his box. He took a moment to pop his favorite hat, an old and bedraggled top hat, back onto his head. It was too big for him, and only his large ears kept it from sliding down completely over his face.

  Carmer looked at his mentor—old, hunched, and abandoned by his audience—and thought of what it must have been like when the Amazifier was in his prime, when hundreds gathered to see his every performance. Those times were long gone now.

  But Carmer owed the Amazifier his life and his freedom, and he was resolved to help in any small way he could. He wished he could have done something to stop the hecklers, but cleaning up after the fact would have to do.

  “We’ll pack everything up, Master Antoine,” Carmer assured the old man.

  “We?” asked Kitty Delphine. She appeared to be taking a nap in her half of the box. Carmer shot her a look, and she sighed.

  “You go on, just like he says,” said Kitty resignedly. She hoisted herself up and jumped down, careful to dodge the moldy cabbage in a mud pile by her feet. She pecked the Amazifier’s cheek. “Head back to the Moto-Manse and put the kettle on. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Their steam-powered house on wheels, built by the Amazifier himself, was parked at the town limits. Its tendency to take up the entire road did little to endear it to most locals.

  “Oh, well . . . yes, dear. All right.” The Amazifier nodded absentmindedly and tottered off. He was always like this after a bad performance.

  “You think he’ll be all right?” Carmer asked once the Amazifier was out of earshot.

  “Even if he’s not, we’d best shake a leg,” said Kitty, looking around nervously, “I don’t fancy it’ll be long before those folks come back wanting a double refund.”

  Carmer nodded and started to wipe the grime off their box with a spare rag. The wind picked up, scattering bits of rubbish everywhere and making it hard to see through the dust. Carmer and Kitty ducked their heads against it.

  Smack. A piece of paper flew right into Carmer’s face. He yanked it off and was about to toss it aside when something caught his eye. He unfolded the flyer and read it aloud.

  “‘SKEMANTIAN INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION—October 15—For the scientifically inclined, the technologically talented, or simply the curious! Featuring the newest cutting-edge technology from Titan Industries and beyond. Presented by the one and only Titus Archer himself!”

  An illustration of a stern-looking man shaking hands with a brass humanoid automaton looked up at Carmer. He grinned back, all thoughts of the disastrous magic show forgotten.

  “Kitty?” he called across the square. “How would you feel about a trip to the city?”

  Thirteen-year-old Felix Carmer had been interested in “how things worked” since he could babble and point (talking having never been a strong suit of his). His inventions and the various mishaps and minor injuries they caused had made him notorious throughout the orphanage where he spent most of his early childhood. He earned his first caning from the headmistress when he borrowed a wealthy donor’s watch, though he protested again and again that he’d only wanted to take it apart and put it back together again.

  The Amazifier, at least, understood Carmer’s penchant for tinkering, even if he didn’t encourage anything too adventurous. By the time he was ten, Carmer knew the ins and outs of nearly every magic trick and illusion the Amazifier performed, and even more besides. The Indian rope trick, the bullet catch, the levitating linking rings—Carmer picked up on them all. He even convinced the Amazifier to try a few of his enhanced smoke bombs, flash strings, and other magical supplies.

  Carmer made other things besides contraptions for the magic show, of course: self-winding bobbins for Kitty’s sewing machine, a relay system to send messages through all the wagons in a caravan, and other small but (arguably) useful machines. His most prized possession, however, was a miniature automaton soldier he’d built entirely by himself. It was this project that had first led Carmer to discover Titan Industries.

  Helmed by the formidable Titus Archer, the company was at the forefront of modern scientific discovery, specifically automaton technology. Clockwork creatures that could walk, work in assembly lines, play musical instruments, serve a table, or even cut the grass were all the rage from the manufacturing sector to the homes of the wealthy, and they endlessly fascinated Carmer.

  Titan Industries’ base of operations was Skemantis, a gleaming metropolis lauded by many as the “city of the future.” Carmer had never set foot inside it, though he’d traipsed through nearly every one-horse town within fifty miles. Skemantis was no longer part of the Amazifier’s circuit, and convincing his mentor to go off the seasonal schedule for a few days would be no easy feat. But Carmer just had to meet Titus Archer and learn whatever he could.

  “Spirits and zits, Carmer, I sure would love to visit Skemantis!” said Kitty on the way back to the Moto-Manse. (The undead and a poor complexion were the only things worthy of exclamation in her book.)

  Carmer hoped he’d be able to convince the Amazifier with Kitty on his side, even if all she wanted to do in the city was look at new dresses.

  “But you know Master Antoine’ll never go for it,” she said, shaking her head. Beside her, their ancient horse, Eduardo, let out a soft whinny. The weight of their big black box was clearly getting to be a bit much for him.

  “Besides,” Kitty added, “I don’t think this beast would survive the trip.”

  Eduardo snorted into her hair.

  The Moto-Manse was one of Antoine the Amazifier’s proudest accomplishments. A three-story motorized house on wheels, with a small trailer for Eduardo hooked onto the back, it provided nearly every comfort of modern domesticity—a flush toilet, a working stove, and even a shower, just to name a few.

  The cab of the Moto-Manse looked much like the front of any steam car, except that it was nearly double the size and was steered by a giant ship’s wheel. Driving the Moto-Manse was a precarious business, as it had a tendency to tilt rather wildly from side to side if anyone dared push the accelerator to more than ten miles an hour. This did not make it a popular vehicle on the road.

  But to Carmer, Kitty, and the Amazifier, who had no other place to call their own, the Moto-Manse was home. It was with a relieved sigh that Carmer and Kitty sat down to the tea the Amazifier had ready for them. Carmer clutched the flyer for the Titan Industries expo in his pocket.

  After a few minutes of Kitty’s chatter about their day, Carmer finally got up the courage to speak his mind.

  “Sir, I was wondering . . .”

  “What the square root of six thousand five hundred and sixty-one is?” The Amazifier was clearly in a better mood, as he had reverted to his favorite habit of turning everyday conversations with Carmer into Teachable Moments.

  “Well . . .”

  “The origin of the carrier pigeon?”

  “I, um . . .”

  “The melting point of magnesium oxide?”

  “Two thousand eight hundred fifty-two degrees,” answered Carmer automatically. He looked down at his tea.

  “I’ve told you time and time again, Carmer,” said the Amazifier. “If it is knowledge you seek, you need only ask.”

  Carmer extricated his hand from the depths of his pockets and smoothed out the International Exhibition fl
yer on the table. The Amazifier put his monocle to his eye and surveyed it critically.

  “And I suppose you want to go to this . . . exhibition?” asked the Amazifier stiffly.

  Carmer nodded.

  “To poke about with experimental engines and hazardous chemicals and whatever else I won’t let you get your hands on, with a bunch of other addle-brained young men?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  The Amazifier gave Carmer a long, hard look and peered down at the flyer again. “As it happens,” he said, gathering up their empty teacups, “I had plans to bring our little show to Skemantis anyway.”

  Antoine turned to bring their cups to the sink and Carmer and Kitty exchanged looks of surprise. What could the Amazifier want in Skemantis?

  The old magician answered their question by placing an advertisement of his own on the table. It featured a colorful drawing of a dashing magician in a spotlight, surrounded by pretty dancers and flying hawks.

  “The Seminal Symposium of Magickal Arts,” declared the Amazifier grandly, puffing out his chest.

  Carmer tried and failed to hide the skepticism on his face, and he knew Kitty was doing the same. The Seminal Symposium of Magickal Arts was the most prestigious magic convention in the United States. Magicians from all over the country traveled to compete against each other for the grand cash prize. Kitty and Carmer knew that the Amazifier, while great in his heyday, was hardly competition material now. And the biggest one in the country? They didn’t stand a chance!

  But if this Symposium was what Carmer needed to get to Skemantis to see Titus Archer, he’d grin and bear it. He was concerned, however, that the city folk might have even more rotten tomatoes to spare than their usual audiences.

  “Also, it’s eighty-one,” added the Amazifier.

  Carmer looked at him questioningly.

  “The square root of six thousand five hundred and sixty-one, of course!”

  2.

  AN IMPOSSIBLE THING

  In the prickly shelter of Oldtown Arboretum’s famous blue roses, a flame was born. It came to life with a breath and a wish and the rubbing together of two tiny palms. It was no bigger than a candle flame, but that was sort of the point, really. A forest fire was not the goal of the exercise . . . at least not today.