The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1)

by Stephen Colegrove

  “I wouldn’t worry about him,” said Sunflower. “He’s not moving. Is that dead or sleeping?”

  Philip groaned. “Either one is fine with me.”

  “Oh, and you’re welcome,” said Sunflower.

  Amy listened to the delicate blip of the cat’s paws on the wet bricks. “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing. I just jumped in the air a little. He was so scared that he ran into a wall. Didn’t I tell you that humans are stupid?”

  “Thanks. I think they were going to sell us into slavery or something awful.”

  “Steady on you two,” said Philip. “Slavery was abolished fifty years ago in England. Unless we’re in the East End of London. We’re not in the East End of London, are we?”

  “Probably,” said Sunflower, and sniffed the air. “Ugh. Most definitely.”

  “What year is it?”

  “How would I know?”

  Amy cleared her throat. “From a newspaper?”

  “Exactly,” said Philip. “From a newspaper.”

  “I don’t have time to stop and read a paper! I may not have majored in Old Earth history, but I don’t think that’s something cats did.”

  Philip sighed. “Yes, that would be a sight.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Amy. “Two blind beggars stuck in London with a sarcastic cat.”

  “Correction: a genius cat with a pair of underdressed and shivering blind beggars,” said Sunflower. “Help me pull the clothes off these dead humans.”

  “I think they’re just sleeping,” said Philip. “But it’s a first-rate idea!”

  Amy heard things sliding over the wet bricks and rustling cloth.

  “I’m not wearing those smelly clothes,” she said. “First tell me why I can’t see anything.”

  Sunflower sighed. “I told your boyfriend. I hate repeating myself.“

  “The name’s Philip, actually.”

  “I told Philip Actually that blindness is a rare side effect for someone new to demat. I don’t see why you care that much anyway. Just use your other senses.”

  “Smelling my way through London is not exactly my cup of tea,” said Amy, and giggled. “See what I did there? London? Tea?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Philip.

  “We can sit here and have a pleasant little chat,” said Sunflower. “Or we can steal the trousers and jackets from these dumb humans before they wake up!”

  Amy waved a hand through the darkness in front of her face.

  “How are we going to walk around while we’re still blind?”

  The sound of rustling cloth stopped.

  “That’s a good point,” said Sunflower.

  “I know,” said Philip. “Some of the blind beggars have dogs that lead them around. We can tie a rope to the cat.”

  “Whatever,” said Sunflower. “Pull off these boots, and be quick about it!”

  “Now look here, cat––it’s a bit hard when I can’t see anything.”

  Amy heard the same wooden clatter echo on the bricks and fade away.

  “What’s that sound?”

  “It’s a wheeled transport,” said Sunflower. “Pulled by horses. Ugh. Don’t even get me started on horses.”

  With the cat’s help, Philip stripped the first thug. Amy’s fingers and toes were numb with cold, so she pushed down her disgust and crawled over to the man she’d smashed in the head with the metal pigtail. She was glad to feel his chest moving as she stripped off his scratchy jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She jerked off his filthy trousers, pulled it up her legs and over her skirt, and stepped into cavernous leather boots. A big, floppy hat draped over her blonde hair.

  “Something’s coming,” hissed Sunflower. “Grab me and run!”

  “I can’t see or hear anything,” said Amy.

  “You wouldn’t! You barely have ears, little monkey girl. Now hold me!”

  “What about the string idea?”

  “No time!”

  A furry weight dragged down the front of Amy’s jacket and she wrapped her arms around the cat.

  “Grab my coat, Philip.”

  “Where? I can’t––oh, I’ve got it!”

  Philip grabbed the hem of Amy’s jacket. She held Sunflower with one hand and the waist of her oversized men’s trousers with the other, and clomped briskly along the lane in her oversized leather boots.

  “Go straight,” breathed Sunflower in her ear. “A little left now, straight on for twenty more steps … get ready to make a sharp right turn …”

  Amy stepped into a breeze that tossed her hair and blew away the stench of the alley, replacing it with the musty smell of horses. The sharp taste of tiny coal particles crunched between her teeth and something sweet hung in the air like the smell of licorice. A group of seagulls screamed high above. Hooves clopped and wheels in need of grease squealed and clattered. Men muttered to themselves, walked by with a rapid tread on pavement, sniffed or coughed in the cold air.

  Amy froze as the ground shook and she heard a loud rumble.

  “You’re fine,” Sunflower whispered in her ear. “Keep going.”

  Pinpoints of cold water collected on the back of her hands and face as Amy walked through what must have been a thick mist. The feeling reminded her of home. She bit her bottom lip and led Philip faster through the street noise.

  “Is it night-time?”

  “Indeed, it is,” hissed Sunflower. “A night as dark as the Lady’s heart and almost as cold. Stop for a moment.”

  The cat squirmed out of Amy’s grip. She heard a metallic clang and rustling fuss nearby.

  “There aren’t many travelers apart from the carriages,” said Philip, from behind Amy’s shoulder. “It must be the dead of night.”

  “Or the middle of nowhere,” said Amy.

  “What a queer thing to say! It’s physically impossible to be ‘nowhere.’ ”

  Metal cans rattled. “You’ve obviously never been to Cincinnati,” said Sunflower. “Here, grab onto this.”

  A strip of something that felt like rope or twisted cloth fell into Amy’s hand.

  “The other end is tied around my neck,” said Sunflower. “Hold on to that and I can lead you around. Don’t jerk it and don’t let go.”

  Philip groaned. “This is absurd! What if I’m recognized?”

  “Do you have a better idea? Both of you silly monkeys are as blind as a newborn poona.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” said Amy. “I can see blobs of black and red. Maybe it’s clearing up!”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Talk to me again when you can see the smirk on my face.”

  “Take me to my parents, you beast!” blurted Philip.

  “All right, all right. I thought the English were supposed to be polite.”

  Amy held the bit of rope and Philip gripped her jacket as the cat led them through the streets. Groups of men and women passed with the sharp smell of tobacco smoke, speaking with thick English accents and laughing at the sight of beggars led by a cat. More carriages rolled by on the street to Amy’s left as they walked, and on the right poured a torrent of piano music, singing, and the sour smell of spilled ale. Fuzzy white orbs joined the red and black shapes in Amy’s sight as she listened to the men’s voices.

  Up the apples an’ pears, and across the Rory O’ Moor,

  I’m off to see my dear old Trouble and Strife.

  On the Cain and Able, you will always see

  A pair of Jack the Rippers and a cup of Rosy Lee.

  What could be better than this -

  A nice old cuddle and kiss -

  All beneath the pale moonlight.

  Then some Tommy Tucker and off to Uncle Ned.

  Oh what a luverly night tonight.

  “We’re definitely in England,” shouted Philip over the music. “Let’s ask the chaps inside what year this is.”

  “Step inside and look stupid if you want, but there’s really no need,” said Sunflower. “I found a newspaper. Sit against th
e wall and hold it so I can read the thing.”

  Amy’s fingers touched painted wood and she slid down against the slick surface. Sunflower pushed a bundle of damp paper into her hands and stepped into her lap. The world in her eyes was still a nebulous red, white, and black, but Amy was able to spread the pages and hold them up for the cat. Men in heavy boots passed by on the sidewalk and entered the pub, the slam of the wooden door shivering the wall at her back.

  Horses clomped and carriage wheels bounced over what sounded like cobblestone. Amy listened to the speech of the men passing by and thought she heard Irish, German, and Italian accents. The quiet murmur of women’s voices and a faint shuffling sound floated to her from the other side of the street. The men in the pub began a new song.

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean

  My Bonnie lies over the sea

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean

  Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me

  Bring back, bring back

  Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me

  Bring back, bring back

  Bring back my Bonnie to me

  “Turn the page,” said Sunflower.

  Next to Amy, Philip stirred. “What’s taking so long? We simply need the date.”

  “Sorry,” said the cat. “I found a very interesting article on a cure for intestinal parasites in dogs.”

  Amy groaned. “Tell us the date!”

  “March 17, 1889. Right on the front page.”

  Philip gasped. “That can’t be right! That’s only two days after I was kidnapped.”

  Amy looked toward the sound of Philip’s voice. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “I was living in Junktown for almost two years. Shouldn’t I come back two years later?”

  “You’d have a lot of explaining to do,” said Sunflower. “They’re not going to believe you lived in a spaceship with dimension-hopping cats and dogs.”

  “That’s as may be, but I’d have less to explain than now. I’ve grown three inches and gained twenty pounds!”

  Sunflower sighed. “Do you think they’ll really notice? Humans don’t like their children very much, I’ve heard.”

  “They’ll definitely notice. It’s only been days to them.”

  Shoes scraped across the pavement.

  “Here now,” came the slurred voice of an old woman. “Is that a cat you’d be speaking to?”

  “Of course,” Amy replied to the red and black blob. “He’s a time-traveling cat from the future with a really bad attitude.”

  “He is, is he?” The woman hiccupped. “You’re a right smart one, darling. That’d make a stuffed bird laugh. Good night and God bless.”

  Amy heard a few uneven steps and a crash.

  “Humans are weird,” said Sunflower. “Especially humans who drink alcohol.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “We’re back home in England,” said Philip. “But where, exactly?”

  “The newspaper is something called ‘The London Standard,’ ” said Sunflower. “If that gives you a clue.”

  “Smashing,” said Philip. “Hail a cab and speed us to King’s Cross! We’ll be home in a few hours.”

  “That’s a cool story and everything,” said Amy. “How are you going to pay?”

  Philip sniffed. “I had a handful of shillings and gold crowns in my backpack but this vile cat forced us to leave all of that behind. It doesn’t matter in the slightest, because the whole of England must be up in arms at my kidnapping. Find a constable and we’ll be neck deep in biscuits and hot tea before you know it!”

  “Turn the page, please,” said a bored Sunflower. “What was your name again?”

  “Philip Salisbury, son of the Duke of Marlborough.”

  “There’s nothing about a missing duke’s son. Or any missing boys.”

  “I’m not a boy! I’m a man, you filthy, flea-bitten beast!”

  Amy waved blindly and pushed Philip away from the hissing cat. “Stop fighting, you pair of idiots!”

  “Amy, please listen to my idea. Give my father’s name to any respectable citizen or police officer and they’ll grant us safe passage.”

  “There’s nothing safe happening at this hour,” murmured Sunflower. “And I’ve never trusted police in any dimension. They remind me of inspectors, and inspectors remind me of awkward dates.”

  Amy sighed. “What exactly is your plan then, Mister Smarty Cat?”

  Sunflower’s fur twitched under her hand. “I don’t know. I thought I’d help you two get settled then wander down to Egypt. I hear they worship cats.”

  “Maybe a few thousand years ago. Philip, do you know anyone in London?”

  “Of course, but it would be unspeakably boorish to wake them at this hour.”

  “You’d rather freeze to death on the street?”

  “Given the choice between embarrassing myself and––” Philip gasped. “Did anyone see that? A rainbow! What could it mean?”

  “It means your eyesight is coming back,” said Sunflower. “Were you born this dumb, or did you grow into it?”

  Amy folded the newspaper and slid it beneath her as a cushion over the cold pavement.

  “Any relatives, Phil?” she asked.

  “Relatives? My word, Kensington! Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  “Is that a home for troubled boys like you?” asked Sunflower. “Because I’ve got better things to do. Hiking to Egypt, for one.”

  “No, no. We have a house in Kensington. My family comes down to London every year for the season.”

  “Will anyone be there?”

  “Definitely. At the very least, Anthony will be at home.”

  “I hope he’s a good cook with plenty of food, because I’m starving,” said Amy. “Let’s go.”

  “He’s not a cook at all; he’s the groundskeeper. I’m certain we can find something in the pantry. Where are we in London?”

  “Don’t ask me, I’m as blind as you,” said Amy. “Sunflower, can you see any street signs?”

  “I see a human face on a building with the word ‘tobacco’ underneath.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “How about ‘Aldgate High Street?’ ”

  Philip sucked in a breath. “Good God! We’re in Aldgate? That’s the East End!”

  “So?”

  “We’re lucky if we make it out alive. This is the Ripper’s neighborhood!”

  Amy laughed. “Jack the Ripper? That’s a story made up to scare children.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been misled,” said Philip. “But even if the ghastly murderer isn’t real, there are a thousand other ways to get sliced, robbed, butchered, walloped, or kidnapped in the East End. Even constables have to travel in pairs! It’s full of thieves, scoundrels, and immigrants, a rotting pit of filth widely known as the most dangerous area of London!”

  “Lots of cats, though, if that’s your thing,” said Sunflower. “The place is crawling with them. I bet I’ve seen a hundred so far.”

  Amy stood up. “Let’s not hang around. Spit spot and clip clop, as you English say.”

  “But we’re blind. You can’t walk from Aldgate to Kensington, where the house is. How exhausting, not to mention that we’d be run over by a hansom cab. They’re notorious for that kind of thing.”

  “We need money for a cab, I guess,” said Amy. “How much is a cat worth?”

  “That’s funny,” said Sunflower. “Don’t quit your day job.”

  “I’m fourteen. I don’t have a day job.”

  “Don’t stop being fourteen then.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Philip. “You said before that you were sixteen.”

  “I wish I was sixteen. I also wish I wasn’t blind and freezing to death!”

  Amy took off her floppy hat and slapped it on the ground in frustration. Steps walked past on the pavement and she heard a dull clink of metal.

  “A couple bob for you, poor dears,” said a man’s voice, and the door to the pu
b slammed.

  Amy reached into the hat and felt a pair of coins still warm from the stranger’s pocket.

  “Did someone just give me money?”

  “That’s exactly what happened,” said Sunflower.

  “This is unacceptable,” hissed Philip. “My family has never begged for money. Not for such small sums, at least. I’d rather be trampled in the street than stoop to that level.”

  “Um … you’re sitting outside a pub on a filthy street in stolen clothes,” said Sunflower. “Begging is a step up.”

  “Shut your mouth, you flea-bitten mongrel!”

  “Quiet, both of you,” said Amy. “Philip, why don’t you look at this money like a temporary loan? If it makes you feel better, you can come back later and hand money out to everyone.”

  “What a superb idea! I say, Amy, you’re just a girl but you’ve got a first-rate mind.”

  “Just a girl?”

  Philip ignored her question. “Yes, it’s a plan. I’m not begging. I’ll certainly return and help a few of these degenerates pull themselves out of their filthy, primitive existence.”

  Sunflower chuckled. “Sounds like what I’m doing with you two.”

  Amy collected money in her floppy hat as the pair sat forlornly at the door of the pub, listening to the sounds of the street and the shuffling, murmuring women. Occasional giggles and the laughter of men broke over their soft voices. Sunflower curled up in Amy’s lap and put on his best wide-eyed ‘hungry kitty’ face for the benefit of the passers-by. The proprietor of the pub came out after a while and gave the two teenagers hunks of bread and a bowl of milk.

  “Poor little moggie,” he said with a smile, and swayed his bald, sour-smelling bulk back inside.

  Amy’s eyesight had improved to the point that she could make out vague shapes. She watched Sunflower’s orange blob sniff the bowl.

  “What in the name of Saint Mittens is that?” asked the cat.

  “It’s milk,” said Amy. “From a cow.”

  “Lactic bovine excretions? Does that human know what lactose does to a cat?”

  Philip laughed. “I’m certain he does, because he gave it to you.”

  Sunflower backed away from the bowl of milk. “Have either of you heard of tri-nitro toluene?”

  “I know!” blurted Philip. “A city in Siam. My father went there once.”

  “It’s dynamite,” said Amy. “A nitrate explosive.”