It’s ingenious, really: a perfect shortcut across the mountains that divide Northern Taladia from the south. King Morrigan couldn’t drill through the mountains, or run a normal train line over its peaks. But this solution – a suspended train, winched between pylons – is enough to take my breath away. I can’t begin to grasp the amount of silver, or alchemic enchantments, that went into crafting this sky-bound railroad. The train’s name makes sense now: Bird of the North. A train that almost seems to fly between our nation’s divided halves.
I duck back inside and slam the window. It’s too late to keep the cold out, though. The others rub their hands together and shiver as I report my findings.
‘It’s like a chairlift,’ Maisy breathes. ‘I read about them in a history book – they used to build them in the ancient western cities. But a chairlift large enough to carry a whole train . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘Imagine the level of alchemy involved.’
‘Imagine how much it must have cost,’ says Clementine, looking impressed.
‘Yeah,’ mutters Teddy. ‘Bet you could feed Rourton’s scruffer kids for years with that much cash.’
I stare at the black window, and my reflection stares back. The train is tilting upward now, into the mountains. Outside we must be passing pylons, climbing that network of cables through the dark. If I ever needed proof of King Morrigan’s resources . . .
But why? The king doesn’t need to impress anyone – let alone a pack of richie partygoers. There must have been some urgent need, some hidden reason to build this route across the mountains.
‘Why?’ I say aloud. ‘Why bother to build it now, and why to a useless town like Gunning?’
There is no response. We settle back into our spots and wait for the night to pass.
When morning comes, I awake to sunlight through the compartment window. I must have dozed off because my eyes are bleary, and I can’t remember the last few hours passing.
Teddy and Clementine are still asleep, but Maisy smiles at me when I open my eyes.
‘Are you all right, Danika?’ she whispers.
I nod. ‘You?’
‘Yes, I’m okay. I was just looking out at the mountains.’
I twist around to stare out the window. Now that it’s light outside, I can actually see the landscape passing by. We are high above a valley, in the midst of the Central Mountains. Below our carriage, everything falls away into a white fog. I don’t want to imagine how cold it must be outside. I can see the very top of each pylon as it passes – but below, all is mist.
‘I wonder if this is how birds feel,’ I say, pressing my fingers against the glass.
I find myself wanting to turn to Lukas, to ask him if this is what he sees when he borrows the eyes of an eagle. Then I remember, with a surge of fresh pain, why he is not here. He doesn’t need to borrow a bird’s eyes to fly through clouds. He’s done it himself, in a palace biplane full of bombs.
‘Are you . . .?’ Maisy begins, a little hesitant. She wrings her fingers together nervously, then starts again. ‘Are you worried about Lukas?’
‘Why would I worry about him?’ I realise from Maisy’s expression that I’m at risk of waking the others, so I force myself to lower my voice before I continue. ‘I mean, he’s a traitor. He’s a royal. He dropped bombs on Rourton, just like the rest of those filthy pilots.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Maisy says.
‘Of course he did!’
Maisy shakes her head. ‘When we found his plane in the forest, all of the bombs were still intact. Remember? I thought it was strange that a biplane pilot would wait around after the attack without having dropped any bombs.’
I turn back to the window. ‘Who cares? He was still part of the bombing raid. Maybe something just went wrong with his mechanism and he couldn’t drop the bombs.’
‘I don’t think the royals have much choice, Danika,’ says Maisy. ‘They have to become soldiers or hunters or pilots when they’re young. It’s a tradition. And he’s King Morrigan’s own son – for all we know, the king might even have chosen his skill for him.’
‘Lukas should have run away, then! He shouldn’t have joined a mission to bomb innocent people’s houses.’
Maisy doesn’t have an answer for that. Maybe I’ve snapped too angrily, scared her into silence again. She’s been speaking up more often in the last few days, and I’m starting to forget how timid she can be.
The train jerks to a stop regularly, every fifteen minutes or so. It only lasts twenty seconds – just long enough for power to sizzle across the cables, recharging the train’s energy. There’s nothing new to see, though, just fog. I press my fingers against the glass and stare into a sea of white.
When the others wake up, we try to figure out a plan. Clementine wants to stay on the train as long as possible.
‘But we don’t even know where the train line heads next,’ Teddy says. ‘I don’t reckon it’s gonna veer off east towards the Magnetic Valley, do you?’
Clementine scowls. ‘Of course not, but it’s better than nothing. If we cover enough distance by train, we’ll save ourselves weeks of walking.’
‘Yeah, great plan,’ says Teddy sarcastically. ‘And if anyone recognises our faces, we’ll save ourselves decades of breathing.’
I clear my throat. ‘Um, aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘What?’
‘This carriage is hanging in the air. We could be hundreds of metres high, for all we know. Unless you’ve got a way to sprout wings, we’re stuck on this train whether we like it or not.’
‘There!’ says Clementine, looking satisfied. ‘Good. I don’t want to waste weeks of my life trekking through those mountains.’ She shudders. ‘Imagine how cold it must be in the snow.’
As much as I hate feeling trapped, I find myself silently agreeing. I know all about the cruelty of winter. If we tried to hike through these mountains ourselves, with no food supplies and not even a foxary to carry our remaining packs, we’d be frozen dead in days.
Teddy doesn’t look happy but after a few minutes’ silence, he seems to accept the situation and brightens a little. ‘Hey, I wouldn’t say no to a gourmet breakfast. Reckon I could bluff my way into the dining cart?’
‘I thought you were scared of being recognised,’ says Clementine.
‘Yeah, but it’d be worth it. I bet they’ve got those fancy caviar rolls.’
I can’t help smiling. If there’s one thing I can rely on with Teddy Nort, it’s his ability to find the best in a bad situation. Maybe it comes from too many years of getting stuck up richies’ chimneys.
Unfortunately, this talk of breakfast has set my stomach grumbling. It reminds me of the days we were lost without food in the wilderness. In a way, this hunger feels even worse, because I know there’s wonderful food nearby but I can’t go near it. I close my eyes and lean into the packs, imagining the train’s dining cart. There could be spicy potato wedges, perhaps, or bowls of steaming pumpkin soup . . . massive platters of deep-fried pastries and sugar puddings with syrup and cream . . .
Maisy’s stomach grumbles. She looks embarrassed, but I offer her a smile. ‘I know how you feel.’
To take our minds off the hunger, we decide to improve our richie disguises. Clementine digs through the packs to offer more stylish outfits, better coordinated than the rushed ensembles we threw ourselves into last night. Teddy selects a peacock waistcoat and I choose a gauzy veil to cover my face. Clementine tells me it’s supposed to look ‘alluring’, but I’m just happy to find a way to conceal my features. Since my face was plastered all over Gunning, the irritation of draping mesh across my eyes seems worthwhile.
Teddy holds up a pink satin sash with obvious distaste. ‘Why did you even bring all this junk?’
Clementine shakes her head, refusing to answer.
‘Our mother created all these clothes,’ says
Maisy. ‘She was a fashion designer.’
My breath catches in my throat. This is the first time I’ve heard the twins mention any family. Their wanted poster called them ‘daughters of a prominent businessman’ but that applies to almost every rich girl in Rourton.
‘Oh,’ says Teddy. ‘Was?’
Maisy glances away. ‘She died a long time ago.’
Teddy looks a little guilty, and I feel the same. All this time I’ve assumed that Clementine brought the clothes because she was vain and stupid – not because they might have sentimental value. I finger my own mother’s bracelet, which is looped around my wrist. I’m slightly shocked when my fingers touch Lukas’s silver rose charm. I had forgotten about it. Part of me wants to throw it away, but not in front of the others. I don’t want to get them talking about Lukas.
I glance out the window to distract myself. The world is pure cloud, white and tumbling. And with a sudden stab, I’m reminded of Radnor’s waterfall. White water, churning. His body, falling. I squeeze my eyes shut. There is too much to remember.
Radnor is gone. Hackel is a traitor. Lukas is the king’s own son.
And for a moment, I wish I could go back. I wish I could turn back time and reverse this whole insane trip. Climb back over Rourton’s wall, and call that flare back down from the sky. Slip into the dark of the alleyways, and the wine-scented air of the Alehouse. Back to a time when I didn’t need anybody. When I was better off alone.
When there was no risk of losing someone.
But it’s too late. There are hunters on my trail, and a price on my head. My face bedecks a hundred wanted posters, and the scruffers of Rourton would sell me out in a second. And even if I could go back, what then? Would I go back to living alone? Trusting no one?
I open my eyes and glance around the compartment. I see Teddy, in his peacock waistcoat. Clementine, blonde curls splayed against her seat. Maisy, fingers knotted in her lap. Their mouths are hard, and their eyes are tired. But there’s a silent resolve beneath those stares. Solidarity. Unity. And it strikes me, suddenly, that we’re in this together.
To go back to my old ways . . . it would still mean losing something. Not through death, or treachery. But a loss, nonetheless.
The train jolts into one of its regular stops. Out the window, the cables sizzle with a recharge of alchemy power. The pause only lasts twenty seconds, then we’re off again, flying into the mist.
Clementine takes a deep breath. ‘I need some air. If I stay in this compartment, I’m going to go insane.’
No one answers. It’s risky, of course, but we can’t stay crammed in here forever. The train trip might last days, for all I know, and we won’t survive long without food or water. And I have to admit, the idea of escaping this cabin is tempting.
‘I’ll suss out the other carriages,’ Clementine adds. ‘There might be a way to get food.’
‘I’ll come too,’ says Maisy.
‘And me.’ I gesture at the gauze across my face. ‘No one’s gonna recognise me behind this thing.’
We turn to look at Teddy, who frowns. ‘Try not to let anyone see your faces,’ he says. Then he slaps a flowery hat over Clementine’s head, concealing her blonde curls. It helps disguise the fact that she and Maisy are twins, so I give an approving nod.
‘What are you going to do?’
Teddy shrugs. ‘I’m going to find a way off this train. If anyone’s gonna find an escape route, it’s the professional burglar, right?’
We leave Teddy in the compartment and head off down the corridor. There aren’t many people about – perhaps they’re sleeping in, too exhausted by their ordeal in Gunning to bother with a gourmet breakfast. The compartment doors are closed, with ‘Do Not Disturb’ tags hanging from the handles. Whenever the train bumps past one of the line’s support pylons, the carriage jerks and the tags all flap against the doors.
At the end of the corridor, there is a thick metal door with a window. I peer through the glass and flinch at the sight beyond. To go any further, we have to cross a buckled metal platform between the carriages.
‘That doesn’t look too safe,’ Clementine says doubtfully.
‘Do you still want to go?’ I say.
The twins nod, so I open the door. There’s a blast of freezing air, and the world seems to fall away below us. White fog coats my hands and face with the sting of frost. I step onto the platform and try not to look down. There’s a valley somewhere below, or a mountain slope, but it’s too foggy to see. If not for the safety rail, I might fall fifty metres – or five hundred.
I push open the next carriage’s door and slip inside. The others stumble in after me, and we slam the door behind us. Maisy looks as white as the fog; too late, I remember how sensitive she is to the cold. She doesn’t have any coverings for her hands, so she rubs them together and blows on them to soothe the redness.
This carriage is the same as our own. We hurry down the corridor, take a deep breath, then brave another few seconds outside to cross into the next carriage. We repeat this trauma four times before we open the door onto anything different, and by this point I’m just about ready to quit. But then Clementine shoves open the final door and we stumble into a carriage full of people.
This is not a sleeping cart. It must be the dining carriage. There are no compartments, no narrow corridors. It’s a wide, open space, with wooden tables and metal cutlery that winks in the light. There are massive windows, much larger than the one in our compartment, and for a confused second I think I’m still outside between the carriages.
Then I spot the dozens of figures. Richies, the lot of them, clustered around the tables. I’m relieved to see a few other teenagers – the last thing we need is to stand out from the crowd – but the majority are middle-aged gentry. The closest is only metres away: a hungover man who repeatedly stabs his tablecloth with a fork. He is dining upon some kind of breakfast pudding, made with peaches and custard, and the scent of hot cinnamon makes my mouth ache with hunger.
‘There are guards!’ whispers Maisy.
I follow her gaze to the far side of the carriage. A group of men and women stand munching on toast, with pistols sheathed in their belts. I don’t recognise their uniform, but the letters ‘B.O.N.’ upon their sleeves suggest they’re special guards for the Bird of the North. I raise a panicked hand to check that my veil is in place.
‘Where are they going?’ says Clementine, as the guards open the door and cross into the far carriage.
‘Maybe they’re checking the carriages one by one?’ I say quietly. ‘We should get back and warn Teddy – if they start questioning people about the fire . . .’
I hurry forward for a closer look. If I can glance through the windows, perhaps I can glimpse what lies in the carriage ahead. It might be another dining cart, or perhaps more sleeping carriages. Maybe it’s even the front of the train, and the guards are going to consult the driver. But I’m too late; heat has already returned to the carriage, fogging up the window and blocking my view.
When I turn back to the others, I see that a stranger has joined the twins on the far side of the carriage. It’s the hungover man with the fork. He’s given up on stabbing his tablecloth, and instead he’s lurching at Clementine and Maisy with a hungry expression. He leans towards Maisy, lips parted, and huffs stale breath across her face.
‘Hey, sweetheart.’ He grabs her hair and yanks her head towards him. ‘You’re really pretty. Fancy a kiss?’
Maisy has frozen. She doesn’t speak, or cry, or slap him. She just closes her eyes. I shove through the carriage, fighting to reach them. A richie woman snarls at me when I trip over her handbag, spilling coins and fancy lip stains across the floor.
Then Clementine is there. She grabs a knife from the nearest table and thrusts it towards the man’s eyes. Now he’s the one who’s frozen, the one who wants to break away.
‘Whoa!’ he
says, and releases Maisy. ‘What’re you doing? We were just having a bit of fun, weren’t we, sweetheart?’
Maisy scrambles backwards, paler than I’ve ever seen her. She’s faced hunters and waterfalls and traitors and fire. But I’ve never seen her lose control like this. She shrinks into the corner, trembling against the carriage’s velvet wall.
‘If you go near my sister again,’ says Clementine, ‘I will cut out your eyes. Do I make myself clear?’
The man looks like he wants to nod, but the blade is too close to risk any movement. ‘Yeah, all right.’
‘We gave up everything to get away from old creeps like you!’ Clementine presses the blade against his eyebrow. ‘Stop looking at her!’
‘All right, I get it! I’m sorry!’
She digs the knife into his skin, enough for a thin droplet of blood to run across the metal. Then she yanks it away. The man sinks to his knees, clutching a hand to his face, just as I reach them.
The rest of the carriage has fallen silent. Dozens of richies are staring at us, eyes wide and horrified, their hands across their mouths.
‘Come on,’ I say quickly. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
We pull Maisy to her feet and hurry back towards the carriage door. So much for an easy ride over the mountains. We need a way to escape the train – and we need it now. As soon as the man finds a guard, as soon as he reports that he’s been attacked . . .
‘Hurry,’ I say. ‘We’ve got to find Teddy and get out of here. That man’s going to find a guard, and –’
‘He was asking for it!’ snaps Clementine, as though I’m questioning her judgement.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘You did the right thing, but we’ve got to move.’
We wrestle with the door between carriages, then step out onto the platform. It’s as terrifying as ever – the feeble handrails, the hidden drop below, the blast of snowy wind – but there’s no time to worry about the height.
We’ve got more pressing dangers to deal with.
We collide with teddy in the corridor of the third carriage. He takes one look at our faces and stiffens. ‘What’s wrong?’
Chasing the Valley Page 17