They improvised a meal of bread and cheese, with some mushrooms from the supply Tibby had picked the day before. As they moved about in the candlelight, their shadows were huge and grotesque against the cavern walls, and Alistair was glad when, as soon as they’d eaten, Slippers Pink blew the candle out to conserve it.
“Well, Alistair, you’ve done it,” Feast Thompson remarked as they lay in the dark. “You and Tibby have found the secret paths, just as Emmeline intended.”
Alistair felt a glow of satisfaction at hearing Feast’s words, but he couldn’t suppress a tug of impatience. “I just hope they help us to free Mom and Dad,” he said, adding, “And that they’re useful for FIG.” After all, he remembered, it was in order to help FIG that his parents had set off for Gerander and the secret paths in the first place. He still couldn’t get over the idea of his gentle mother as a FIG agent. He wondered when she had joined, and if she’d been on many dangerous missions before marrying his father and settling in Stubbins to raise a family. Slippers Pink, who he thought was about the same age as Emmeline, had been on lots of missions, he knew.
“Slippers,” he said, “when did you join FIG?”
“When did I join FIG?” she repeated from where she lay on the other side of Tibby, who was on Alistair’s right. Her voice echoed slightly off the walls of the cavern. “Let me see, it must be fourteen or fifteen years ago, I suppose. I was at university in Grouch when a friend of mine told me about a secret meeting for Gerandan-born students. All the Gerandan families in Grouch knew each other, although none of us ever spoke about our heritage publicly—you know how Sourians feel about us.” Alistair nodded vigorously, having been chased halfway across Souris because of his ginger fur.
There was the sound of shifting, and Alistair guessed that she had rolled over onto her side to face him. “I met Zanzibar at that meeting,” she said. “He and his brother and sister had been living in hiding in Gerander since they were children. Their parents had died in prison. Zanzibar grew up determined to free his country. He started FIG, and began to travel around Souris and Shetlock, talking with Gerandan exiles and sympathetic friends of exiles. He was at the secret meeting and, after he’d finished telling us what life was like in Gerander, every person at the meeting joined FIG on the spot. Zanzibar is very inspiring.”
“He sure is,” Feast Thompson chipped in. “I went along to a meeting with a friend of mine whose father was Gerandan, and I was shocked to hear about the poverty and hunger in Gerander. And the way Gerandans were treated like second-class citizens, unable to travel freely, to express their opinions; any Gerandan who criticized the Sourians was jailed without a trial. Even if you were only suspected of being anti-Sourian you could be taken away for interrogation.”
“But Zanzibar didn’t speak only of despair,” Slippers recalled. “He spoke of hope. He spoke of what we could learn from the experience of Gerander, and how we could use that to build a new and better society.”
“Did you see Zanzibar again after that meeting?” Tibby Rose asked.
Slippers laughed. “I’ll say I did. I introduced him to my best friend and they got married.”
“Zanzibar is married?” Alistair said in surprise. Somehow he had never pictured Gerander’s exiled leader as having a family. He always seemed so . . . so solitary when people spoke of him.
“Was married,” Slippers said. There was no trace of laughter in her voice now. “His wife—my best friend—died not long after.”
“That’s so sad,” said Tibby. “What about his brother and sister? What happened to them?”
Slippers paused a moment before she replied, “Last I heard, they’d both been captured by the Sourians.” Then, before Alistair or Tibby could ask anymore questions, she said abruptly, “We’d better get some sleep. Good night all.”
Alistair had hoped to turn the conversation around to his mother, but Slippers Pink had been so definite in her ending of the discussion that he decided to let the subject drop. After all, he would be able to ask Emmeline herself the questions before long. And with that happy thought, he fell asleep.
10
Undercover
Alice couldn’t imagine where Solomon Honker was taking them as they filed behind him along the narrow path. Perhaps Alex’s guess—that they were going to be traveling by eagle—was correct, though she sincerely hoped not.
A few minutes later they emerged into a small clearing to see a white mouse with tan spots darting nimbly around a tall white basket. A tangle of ropes led to a large swath of sky-blue silk stretched out flat across the ground.
Alex looked transported with joy. “A hot-air balloon! I bet Alistair has never flown in one of these before.”
Even Alice, nervous as she was, felt a flutter of excitement.
Solomon Honker approached the tan-spotted mouse and exchanged a few quiet words then returned with her to the small group standing at the edge of the clearing.
“It might not be as fast as an owl, but Claudia says the conditions are perfect for ballooning.” He nodded to the pilot.
“That’s right,” said the tan-spotted mouse. “Nice and calm. Let’s hope it stays that way. If you two are all set”—she raised an inquiring eyebrow at Alice and Alex—“I’ll get the inflator fan going.”
“Inflator fan?” Alex asked eagerly. “Is that what you use to blow up the balloon?”
“That’s right—though we call it an envelope, rather than a balloon,” she explained.
Alice watched the balloon (she couldn’t quite think of it as an envelope) begin to inflate slowly; Solomon Honker handed her the letter he’d been holding.
“This is a letter from the major commanding your father’s old regiment explaining your circumstances and recommending you for service in the palace. If you should happen to meet a Sourian patrol and they ask for your identity papers, show it to them.”
“How did you get it?” Alice asked, clutching the letter tightly.
“It’s a forgery. A good one, I hope.” He smiled drily. “Now listen, Claudia is going to drop you in a field just on the other side of the Winns, about a three-hour walk east of Cornoliana.”
Alice, picturing the map which hung on the wall of the classroom, thought she knew where he meant.
“Claudia will return to the field every day at sunset. If you haven’t managed to fulfill your objective within two weeks, abort the mission and return to the field. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Then I will leave you to say your farewells.” He turned toward the path, then stopped. “Oh, and Alice? Don’t worry too much about forgetting what you have learned. You have been an excellent pupil, and the information will come to you when you need it. You’ll see.”
Alice gaped at him. How had he read her fears so accurately?
“And, Alex, I know you’re equal to any situation.” He allowed a small wry smile to cross his lips. “Good luck, you two.”
As he disappeared down the path it occurred to Alice that it was the first time he’d used their real names.
The balloon was semi-inflated by now, and Claudia called, “I’m turning on the burner. You’ve got two minutes.”
Alex was casting longing glances over his shoulder. Alice could tell he was impatient to leave.
“I guess we should be going,” she said, as the burner started up with a whoosh and the balloon began to rise toward an upright position.
Although Uncle Ebenezer put on a brave face, his mustache was decidedly droopy as he brushed the cheddar crumbs from Alex’s whiskers and kissed the top of Alice’s head. Beezer looked sad and solemn as she hugged first Alice then Alex.
“We’ll see you soon,” said Uncle Ebenezer, his voice thick. Then he hurried up the path without a backward look.
Alice and her brother jogged over to where Claudia was standing by the basket, which was tethered to the ground.
“Jump in,” said the tan-spotted mouse.
Alex clambered over the side then reached ba
ck to help Alice as she too scrambled in. Claudia pulled out the pegs tethering the basket down then, with one hand on the wicker edge, vaulted neatly in as the basket began to drift slowly upward.
“Okay,” she said, “rules of the basket: no sudden movements, let’s just try to keep things nice and stable, and if we run into any turbulence slip your arms through those ropes.” She indicated some ropes laced through the basket’s weave. “Here we go.” She adjusted a valve and the flame shot up into the balloon, causing it to rise more swiftly.
Alice stood at the edge of the basket, which came up to chest-height, and waved to her aunt, who was still standing at the edge of the clearing.
A light breeze had sprung up, ruffling Beezer’s creamy fur as she stood with her hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.
The basket swayed gently as it rose higher and higher, until they were floating past the treetops. The clearing was a small ragged circle of light green grass fringed by the dark green leaves of the trees, and Aunt Beezer was a small waving speck.
“This is brilliant!” Alex cried over the hiss of the burner. “You can see everything from up here! Look, sis.” He darted from one side of the basket to the other, causing the basket to rock.
“Not too much moving around,” the pilot reminded him. “We need to keep the basket balanced.”
Alice looked where her brother was pointing and saw the Stetson school and the town below. She had a strange sensation of weightlessness, floating high above the ground. She wasn’t sure if she liked the feeling or not.
“How long will the trip take?” she asked the pilot.
“Six hours,” Claudia estimated. “Depends on the wind.”
“How long would an owl take?”
Claudia shrugged. “Maybe three.”
Alex looked slightly put out, but Alice had other concerns than speed.
“You mean we’ll arrive in the dark?”
“Yep,” Claudia replied.
“But how will you find the field?” Alex wanted to know.
“I’ll find it,” said the pilot.
“So you’ve flown this route before?” Alex persisted.
“Mmm.” It was hard to know whether Claudia’s reply was an affirmation or not. She seemed to Alice to be a mouse of surprisingly few words—though perhaps, Alice thought, she was just being discreet. She probably didn’t know any of the details of her passengers’ mission, nor was she meant to know.
“How do you go down?” Alex asked as the pilot sent another spurt of flame into the balloon.
Claudia indicated a rope, which ran right through from the top of the balloon to the basket. “I pull this rope to open the valve up there—what we call the parachute valve.” She pointed to a small circular flap. “That lets out some of the hot air, which is causing us to rise.”
Alice watched the earth below, following the snaking line of a gleaming river winding through a rocky mountain range. “Are we in Gerander now?”
Claudia glanced down. “Yep.”
“Woohoo!” Alex whooped.
Alice stood up to get her first glimpse of the country she’d heard so much about recently—that she was risking her life to save. As she lifted her head above the edge of the basket a cool breeze brushed her fur, and she was sure she could hear the rustle of leaves. “Oh!” she exclaimed as a scent redolent of river and grasses and summer flowers hit her nose.
“Crossing the Winns,” said Claudia, lifting her head to inhale the sweet air.
Alice barely had time to take in a broad blue river and fields of gold and green before they were headed out to sea.
“The Cannolian Ocean,” Claudia said in answer to Alex’s question.
“But doesn’t that mean we’ve left Gerander behind?”
“We’ll stay out here, just off the coast, until the last moment,” the tan-spotted mouse replied. “Less chance of being spotted by a Sourian patrol.”
That made sense, Alice thought, trying to imagine what they must look like from below. She saw the logic in choosing a sky-blue balloon for a cloudless day. The white basket could look like a cloud or a bird, she supposed. She wondered if Claudia also had a gray balloon—envelope—for cloudy days.
Hours passed, with nothing but the hard, glassy surface of the ocean and the blurred line of the Gerandan coast to look at.
When the chill of the wind started to make her nose twitch, Alice sat on the floor of the basket, her back against its side, her arms around her knees.
Alex, who showed no sign of feeling the cold, continued to lean out of the basket asking questions.
“What’s that?”
“A sea eagle.”
“Do they attack balloons?”
“Only if we trespass on their territory.”
“Will we trespass on their territory?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Alex sounded vaguely disappointed, as if he’d been looking forward to coming under attack from a giant raptor.
They flew on into the setting sun.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
“Eagle—no, wait.” Claudia moved carefully across the basket to where Alex stood and squinted into the fading light. “I’m not sure,” she said, more to herself than to Alex.
Alice stood up to see.
Her brother and the pilot were staring at a gray cigar-shaped object moving slowly toward them. It didn’t look like a bird—it wasn’t soaring or swooping—but what else could it be?
“Maybe it’s a cloud,” she suggested, but even as she said it she knew that wasn’t right either. It seemed more purposeful in its movement, whereas a cloud would just drift.
“It looks like. . . ,” Claudia began slowly. “It looks like a dirigible.”
“A what?” said Alex.
“A dirigible,” Claudia replied, her eyes fixed on the craft moving inexorably toward them. “An airship. Uses hot air, like a balloon, but it’s controlled by propellers and rudders.”
“Who would be flying a dirigible around here?” Alice asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Claudia said. “Let’s see if it knows we’re here.”
She adjusted the propane valve to send a jet of flame into the basket, and Alice felt her stomach drop to the floor as they shot upward.
Seconds later, the dirigible too moved to a higher altitude.
“Interesting,” Claudia murmured. She tugged at the rope to open the parachute valve, and their ascent slowed. After a few moments, the dirigible did the same. “Very interesting.” Alice thought she sounded rather grim.
“Could it be someone from FIG?” Alice asked hopefully.
“Nope. FIG doesn’t have any dirigibles.”
As the dirigible grew nearer, Alice saw that it was more silver than gray. Silver and . . . what was that printed on its side? It was getting dark and she couldn’t quite make it out. She craned her neck.
“I think you’ll find it’s a purple crown,” Claudia told her.
A purple crown on a silver background . . . Purple and silver . . . Alice’s chest tightened so that she could barely breathe. “Sourians,” she said.
“Sourians,” Claudia confirmed.
“What will they do?” Alex, who had relished the thought of an eagle attack, sounded apprehensive now.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Claudia said, her eyes never leaving the approaching airship. “Ram us, maybe? Let’s not wait around to find out. Hang on,” she instructed. “We’re going for a wild ride.” She adjusted the valve so that a great spume of flame shot up into the envelope, and the balloon rose suddenly.
The higher they went, the stronger the winds grew, with irregular gusts that battered the balloon and tossed the basket around helplessly. Alice slipped her arms through the ropes on the inside of the basket and tried not to think about her churning insides. Their balloon seemed very fragile now, thrown about at the whim of the wind. What would happen if they fell from this height? she wondered as a particularly strong gust threatened to u
pset the basket. Surely they were too high; surely the balloon couldn’t withstand these winds. They had to descend.
But then she bent her head and saw the dirigible brooding ominously below.
“Hold tight!” Claudia shouted over the roar of the wind. Her face was determined. “Going down!”
And with an almighty tug of the rope they plunged, down, down, until they were beneath the dirigible. Alice’s stomach had barely caught up when, just as the dirigible descended to meet them, they shot up again. Alice couldn’t suppress a moan as her head began to whirl in concert with her stomach and and she rested her head on her knees.
Alex didn’t seem to be at all affected by their dizzying descents and ascents.
“Ha!” he gloated. “That foxed them!”
They’d caught a favorable current at last, and it was sweeping them along at a terrific speed when Alex said in a puzzled voice, “What was that? Something just flew past us. And here comes another one.”
Alice lifted her head in time to see a slim projectile hurtle past, narrowly missing the side of the balloon.
“It’s a spear!” her brother cried. “They’re trying to puncture the balloon!”
Alice kept her head up, transfixed, as a shower of spears flew toward them.
“Incoming!” Alex shouted.
Claudia released a small burst of flame and the balloon seemed to bounce up. Most of the spears passed harmlessly underneath but one hit the basket, the impact jostling them. Alex leaned over the side to pull the quivering piece of wood free from the wicker. “If that’s the best you can do . . . ,” he muttered at the dirigible trailing in their wake. The flurry of spears finished; either the Sourians had run out or they were finding it too hard to fix on their target now that the last glowing edge of the sun was dipping below the horizon.
“That evens up the playing field,” commented Claudia as darkness enfolded them. “Now, let’s try to get our own back.” She released the parachute valve, and the balloon’s progress slowed almost to a halt before beginning to drift down gently.
The Song of the Winns Page 10