by Marissa Burt
The green vegetation soon disappeared into a flat ring that encircled what was clearly a city. The dusty plain ended in a wall of thick bricklike blocks stacked on top of one another. Towers dotted the wall’s surface at regular intervals, but Wren saw no roads entering or exiting the city.
Above the wall, Wren spotted the arched catwalks she had seen from afar in her dream crisscrossing a horizon full of spindly towers. It was as though at that moment everything became real. She was about to land on another planet. Even the threat of the tainted stardust, even the guilt of not being able to cleanse the gateway, couldn’t compete with the wonder of it.
Nearer and nearer they came, until Wren thought that the airship would surely scrape the top of the wall. There was a horrible jolt, as if their vessel had struck a solid mass, and she could smell the acrid tang of oily smoke. A horn began to sound, which she and Simon uneasily concluded had to be an alarm, and the next moment the airship began to move, but not as before. An invisible current seemed to catch them up, one that drove the ship along even as its engines hummed to a halt below them. Once they passed the wall, the light faded, as though they’d come under a thick veil of clouds. The airship soared over bridges and past brick and glass outcroppings as something—or someone—took them deeper into the heart of the city.
As the ship tilted to turn, Wren got a clearer view of the land below. Some of the arched bridges ended in spiraling ramps that angled down toward the ground. Narrow bricked roads intersected around buildings with sloped walls, giving everything the off-kilter feeling of a house of cards. Remarkable glass domes topped many of the structures, some trailing gusts of steam into the blue sky. Far below, vehicles moved through the streets. Wren squinted, wondering if she could be seeing them correctly: carriages drawn by actual horses inching along the narrow roads.
The clouded sky was smudged with a brilliant orange and smoky gray, the steam from the buildings enhancing its resemblance to a dingy watercolor painting. The city seemed to stretch on and on. Rain began to fall, coating the window with tiny droplets, and then everything disappeared as the ship entered a dark tunnel.
“I think we’re here,” Simon said.
“Wherever here is,” Wren said. The airship was moving very slowly, descending past hammered-metal walls that shimmered in the blue light of lanterns hung at regular intervals. It docked with a gentle bump, and Wren heard William’s voice shouting something from beyond the door. Outside, a group of what must be Magicians approached the ship. Their long black jackets fastened up the front with an array of buckles, and leather caps with goggles attached fit snug against their scalps. They pressed in around the airship, carrying narrow spears tipped with glowing stardust.
“They don’t look like a welcoming committee,” Simon said.
Then William appeared below, pulling Cole and Mary behind him until armed Magicians surrounded them all. Wren wished she could hear what they were saying. William was shoving Cole and Mary forward, one hand spread as though he were offering the Magician soldiers a delightful gift.
One of the soldiers jabbed his weapon toward Cole and Mary. He might have been the leader, because he wore a red scarf around his neck where all the others had gray ones. He motioned to his underlings, and they surrounded Cole and Mary, herding them toward a far door.
The last Wren saw of her friends was Cole’s dignified form disappearing through an archway. As the soldiers turned, Wren saw that their glowing spears were attached to backpacks that they wore strapped over their long fitted uniforms.
“Are those stardust-powered weapons?” she asked Simon, but his attention was directed somewhere else.
“It looks like William is arguing with them about something.” William was frowning, his arms folded across his chest stubbornly, while the red-scarfed captain pointed at the doorway. But whatever argument had occurred, William seemed to have lost, and the entire party headed toward the archway.
Wren watched them go. She was listening so intently to what was going on outside that she wasn’t prepared for what happened next. There was a heart-stopping bang on their cabin door, which burst open the next moment, sending Wren scrambling to hide. She was halfway across the room when she realized who was standing in the doorway.
“Jack?”
Jack stood there, fully dressed in his apprentice cloak, with a pack slung across one shoulder and his familiar crooked smile on his gaunt face.
“Nice to see you, too,” he said, as though they had merely bumped into each other in the Crooked House.
“Excellent stowaway skills,” Simon said politely, as though Jack’s surprise appearance were a matter of course, and went back to his notebook like Jack had been with them all along.
Wren was not so unruffled. She glared at both of them. “What are you doing here, Jack?” she said when she could find her voice.
Jack snorted. “Same thing you are. Saving the world.” He raised one eyebrow as he moved to join them at the window. “Though I must agree that I was a much better stowaway than Simon was. I mean—” He stopped short as he saw the cage with the sleeping falcons in it. There was an awkward pause.
Wren cleared her throat. She had killed Jack’s falcon in order to stop him from helping Boggen. The cocky smile disappeared from Jack’s face.
“Why are you really here?” Wren asked.
When Jack turned around, his face was somber. “I’m here to make things right.” He waved a hand to forestall a reply. “Look. I know you probably won’t believe me. I don’t blame you, but I couldn’t just sit there in the Crooked House when I knew you guys were going to the gateway, could I?” He looked at Wren as though to plead his case. “And good thing for you I did come along. Because it means I’m here now to rescue you.”
Wren leaped to her feet. Jack’s arrival had distracted her from what was important. “We shouldn’t be standing here chatting. We’ve got to decide what to do next. The Magicians have Mary and Cole”—she hardly thought William was worth saving—“and I doubt William has forgotten about us.”
“I’ve got it all figured out,” Jack said, patting the white rope that hung looped about his shoulder.
“Um, guys?” Simon said from his observation post by the window.
“Simon, come on!” Wren interrupted him. “You’ve got to stop taking notes. Now is our chance to get out of here!”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Wren raced to the window. Not all of the soldiers had left. The captain had returned, and even with the window closed, it was very clear what he was doing. He was ordering his troops on board the airship.
“I hope you really do have this figured out, Jack,” Wren hissed, grabbing the falcon cage and stumbling over Simon’s discarded pack. “Come on! We don’t have any time!”
“This way,” Jack said, pointing to the far side of the ship.
As they moved down the passageway, Wren could hear footfalls above, and the gravelly voice of the soldier in charge. Wren wondered how long it would be before they came below deck. There were shouts and the sound of running feet.
Jack paused, one ear cocked toward the steps that led upward. He snaked them through the galley kitchen and into one of the sleeping cabins, where a porthole stood open. They were on the side of the ship opposite the landing platform, and the scaffolding dangled into darkness broken by gleams of metal framework. It seemed the hangar was built to house much bigger airships. Who knew how high up they were? Jack tied one of the ropes to the pipe below the window.
“This is your brilliant plan?” Wren hissed. “Dive out the window into who knows what?”
“Whatever’s out there sure beats what’s coming for us in here. Besides, it’s a docking station, not a bottomless pit. We just have to make it to some of that metal scaffolding over there,” Jack said, tossing the rest of the rope out the porthole and tugging hard on it to test his knot. “The rope should hold all of our weight, but try not to wiggle. Or else it will swing.”
“And if we fall?�
�� Simon asked, but without any of the fear that was inching up Wren’s spine. Simon sounded like it was merely a matter of clinical interest.
“Don’t” was all Jack said, and then he gave Wren a crooked-smiled salute before propelling himself out over the edge. Simon and Wren looked at each other after Jack disappeared.
“We can’t take the falcon cage that way,” Simon said.
“You’re right.” Wren bent to open the door, carefully cupping her hands around a dazed Coeur and setting her on the window ledge. “They’ll stand a better chance if they’re free.” Coeur ruffled her feathers and then launched, followed by Simon’s bird, and then Simon himself, until only Wren was left in the room. She stood at the window watching the others, who were working their way down the rope toward the precarious metal latticework that made up the docking station, and her knees grew weak. Heights hadn’t bothered her too much before the gateway, but now things were different. Her mind flashed back to the time when she had tackled Jack and fallen into the darkness. She could almost feel the invisible pressure that had nearly squeezed the breath out of her. Her chest felt tight, and little spots danced before her eyes. What was wrong with her?
“Wren,” Jack’s loud whisper came from below. “Where are you?”
Wren peeked back over and saw that the rope was empty. It disappeared into the shadows below the airship, but her friends weren’t on it or the metallic framework beyond. Wren hesitated a moment longer, fighting hard for control over the panicked feelings, and then she won, shoving them deep inside. She could hear the soldiers calling to one another right outside the captain’s rooms. She flung a leg over the edge and eased herself down, one hand over the other, slowly making her way lower, and not a moment too soon. Somewhere above her, she heard a door bang open and the guttural sound of the soldiers talking.
“Hurry!” Jack hissed from below. “They still might see us.”
Wren willed herself to move. Her palms burned with the friction from the rope. Her body swung. The rope twisted.
“Hold the rope,” Simon’s voice said from just below her. “Come on, Wren. You can do this.”
Another few handholds, and then she was down. Just in time, too. The end of the rope dangled above a small platform that was connected to the larger landing dock by a narrow strip of metal.
“How did you know this was here?” Wren asked Jack in a shaky voice as she found her footing.
“I didn’t,” Jack said with a smirk.
“Captain!” a soldier’s voice called from above. “You need to see this.”
“They’ve found the rope,” Simon said, shouldering his pack.
“Come on,” Wren said, pointing toward an opening on the other side of the platform. Beyond it, she could see a familiar smudge of orange-streaked sky. “Follow me!”
EIGHT
There was a house on Scavenger Hill,
And, if not gone, it sits there still.
It grew so tall, it reached the trees,
So build a nest there if you please.
A damp cloud of mist enveloped Wren as she and the others raced away from the docking station. The opening led to a metal mesh balcony high in the air, and as Wren hurried along it, she saw that it bridged the spires of two spindly buildings. Both were constructed at odd angles, with glass bay windows protruding like tumors. There were no cries of pursuit from behind. At least not yet.
“We need to get down to the street level,” she called over her shoulder. Far below, she could see a maze of bricked roads and narrow alleyways that crisscrossed between cluttered city blocks. Lamps flared on the corners, sending pools of light into the overcast sky. The streets were bustling with activity. With luck, they could lose themselves among the crowds.
“The falcons will follow us from the shadows,” Simon said, puffing up behind her. “They don’t want to be seen in this place.”
Wren nodded in response, too out of breath for words. She didn’t blame the birds. She waved at Coeur, watching her form coast stealthily along the rooftops, and hoped that they’d be able to find each other again. One of the tight curving staircases appeared in front of them, and Wren ducked down it, beckoning for the others to follow. From somewhere above, she heard a voice calling and heavy footsteps. Perhaps the soldiers had discovered their trail, but it wouldn’t do them any good. Once on the ground, Wren hustled toward the intersection, where a throng of people was going about its ordinary business. Soon, she, Jack, and Simon were just another group jostling through the crowd.
Up close, the Magicians seemed ordinary enough, even if their clothing was a bit odd. Wren saw men wearing tall hats that matched dark jackets with tails and women with corseted waists and ruffled skirts.
Some of the scene was familiar, as though Wren had stepped into a setting from more than a hundred years ago on Earth, but it all felt not quite right. The top hats had goggles strapped to the front, for instance, and the women’s petticoats were tucked up at the corners, revealing fitted leather pants. The children ran to and fro wearing vests covered with buckles and pockets. And there were other things that were completely foreign. The sleek three-wheeled cart that sped by, for instance, and the unrecognizable contraption that stood on a street corner, whirring and ringing to the delighted cries of children.
Simon paused to study the machine. “I wonder what its purpose is,” he said, adjusting his pack and pulling out his notebook.
“Nod doesn’t seem so bad,” Jack said, coming up beside Wren and grinning at the children. He took a deep breath. “And something smells really good.”
Wren’s stomach growled in response, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever. In the center square, near a stone fountain, merchants were selling their goods, calling out prices for white cheeses, fruits, and some kind of roasted meat on skewers—the source of the mouth-watering smell.
“Please, can we stop and get some?” Jack plucked at Wren’s sleeve, his tortured face focused on the food stalls.
“And pay for it with what?” Wren said in a sour voice. She was as hungry as he was.
“Maybe we could barter?” Simon suggested.
Just then, a crowd of boys and girls descended on the marketplace with a chorus of whoops. They slid down gutter pipes as though they were spiders, slipping down into the market’s center. The vendors did not look pleased to see them, but they made no move to stop the new arrivals from pressing in and taking their food.
“Some pies, I think,” the boy who seemed to be their leader said, swiping a whole platter full of baked goods into an open sack. His companions did the same, taking fruit and cheese without even asking. “Thank you very much, kind sirs,” the leader said with a dramatic bow. “Your generosity is, as ever, most unwillingly given but greatly appreciated.”
The other customers pressed to the sides of the market, making room for the strange group, until Wren realized too late that she and Jack and Simon were standing on their own in the middle of the square.
“Whatcha staring at?” the leader said in a gruff voice, but then his eyes softened when he looked carefully at them. “New recruits?” he said with a grin, tossing each of them an apple. “I can pick ’em out a mile away.” His friends were finished collecting their loot, and had begun to scale the brick walls again. “Well?” the boy asked them. “What are you waiting for? Get your food, and then come with me. I’ll get you settled.”
Wren looked at Jack and Simon, who shrugged. Jack was already stuffing his face with one of the meat kabobs, and it took all of Wren’s willpower not to follow suit. From somewhere behind them, the sounds of the bustling market were overtaken by something else. The blast of a strange horn echoed through the square, followed by a ripple of worried mutters among the crowd.
The boy in front of them darted a glance back the way Wren and the others had come. “You wanna wait for Boggen’s soldiers to get here? Suit yourself.” And then he dashed toward a metal ladder, which snaked up the side of a building like a fire escape. That dec
ided it for Wren. She turned to the others. “I think our chances are better with the kids than with Boggen’s soldiers.”
Jack grunted agreement around his mouthful of food, Simon nodded thoughtfully, and they all hurried to follow after the strange boy, who was already halfway up the building, climbing as quickly as a cat. Wren went first. It took all her attention to focus on the slick footholds in front of her. Don’t look down, she told herself. Anywhere but down.
Painstakingly, Wren made her way upward, and after a few very long minutes, she had joined the others on the rooftop. Most of the pack of kids were already slinking across it. When the leader looked back and saw them following, he gave them a funny sort of salute. “Good. Glad to see you made the right decision.” He winked. “This way to the Nest.” And then he was racing down the slanted side of the roof. A little staircase connected to the peak and Wren, Jack, and Simon hurried up it. There was no space for conversation or questions. All of Wren’s energy was focused on keeping up with the others. Trotting over the steep rooftops. Dodging laundry lines and steaming pipes. Scooting around inconveniently placed chimneys and avoiding the odd apartment with windows glowing blue green. She lost count of how many rooftops they crossed before dropping back down into an alley. Yellowish lanterns lit up the corners, casting reflections that glistened wetly in the gathering puddles. Finally, in what appeared to be a forgotten corner of the forgotten street, the wild race stopped. The children pushed and shoved their way into a jumbled mess of a building, which stretched up for five or six stories at least, its strange curved architecture towering over the small figures, while their leader turned to face Wren and the others.
“So,” the boy said, adjusting his jacket and tightening the belts and straps on his vest. “New recruits. What neighborhood did you come from?”
Wren and Simon looked at each other. Jack had already slumped to the ground, the rooftop flight seemingly taxing his physical reserves. Wren didn’t know how she was going to bluff her way through this one. She wanted to trust the boy. He looked friendly enough. Wren fidgeted under his gaze. With anyone else, she wouldn’t have squirmed. With Simon, for instance. Or Jack. But this boy made her feel odd inside, almost like she was off balance. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She was being stupid. Or overtired. All of this because a boy with the most striking eyes she had ever seen was looking at her, was scrutinizing her, actually, and saying nothing.