by Alex English
‘What?’
‘That I did it. That I didn’t get into trouble?’
‘I said it’s good, didn’t I?’
Horace huffed. ‘I risked my hide to help you,’ he grumbled.
‘I’ve got other things to think about.’
Echo turned her back on him and scrambled into the royal coach opposite Martha. Horace got in next to Echo and was about to continue the argument when King Alfons appeared through the coach door in a swish of velvet robes and squeezed himself into the last seat next to Martha.
‘Ah, the young Lady Echo,’ he said, laying his emeraldencrusted sceptre across his knees and adjusting his crown. ‘And how is the embroidery going? I hear you have quite a talent with the needle.’
Echo shrugged. ‘It’s all right. I suppose.’
‘Hmm.’ King Alfons gave her an appraising look. ‘I see we still have some way to go with the etiquette lessons.’
He turned to Horace. ‘And the swordsmanship?’
Horace squirmed under the king’s gaze. ‘Do I have to learn fencing, Father?’
‘Of course you do. Boys have to fight. It’s what they’re made for.’ King Alfons turned to Echo. ‘Just like girls are made to learn the needle.’
‘But why?’ Echo couldn’t help herself. ‘I bet I’d be better at sword fighting than Horace.’
‘Echo!’ exclaimed Martha.
‘I just mean . . .’
The royal carriage jolted off and Echo’s words were lost in the clatter of hooves on the cobbles. The king leaned closer to the window and gave a gracious wave to the passers-by as the carriage rumbled off into the crowds.
Echo silently shook her head. Everything the king did was for show. She glanced over at Horace, who was flushing miserably beneath his own crown. Why should he be forced to fight when he’d clearly much rather be engrossed in a book about bugs? He didn’t suit the role he’d been given any more than she did. It was all so stupid. What was the point of forcing them into these things that made them miserable?
Echo peered out of the carriage window, as always searching the hundreds of faces in the crowd for one like her own, but there was nothing. She put her hand in her pocket and squeezed the hairpin in its velvet wrapping. Her mother was out there somewhere: she could feel it. And, when Echo found her, she would finally belong.
The coach rumbled through the streets of grey-roofed houses towards the city walls and before long they were drawing up to the gates. Echo leaned out of the window and peered up at the great iron-studded wooden doors that towered above them. For so long, they had marked the edge of her world, but what if there was more out there?
The coach juddered to a halt and bugles blared to herald their arrival. The ceremony was the same every month: the king would go through the motions of unlocking the gate and, as always, find that it wouldn’t budge. Tonight though there would be celebrations and fireworks to commemorate the thirty-year anniversary of the gates being locked. Echo remembered Miss Brittle’s words about Beatrix Skitterbrook: Listen carefully at the Gate-opening Ceremony and you will understand that the prophecy is impossible to fulfil. There had to be some way though, didn’t there? Nothing was really impossible.
A page opened the coach door with a bow and King Alfons led the way out of the coach, followed by Horace, Echo and finally Martha. The seated dignitaries all clapped politely as they passed, while those people standing in the rows behind whooped and leaped into the air to get a better look.
‘Good evening, Your Majesty,’ simpered Marchioness Beauregard, fanning herself with a black ostrich-feathertrimmed fan.
‘A most delightful feast, Your Majesty,’ said Baron Hawkeswood. ‘You have outdone yourself.’
Sir Everett the Brave, Sir Garamond the Fearless and the other knights stood to attention as the group made their way to the royal platform.
‘Good evening, good evening,’ said the king, as he lumbered up the steps and everyone took their seats.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced King Alfons from his gilt-covered throne. ‘Tonight is an important night. Tonight we celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the gates of Lockfort being locked for good. These gates protect our city. They protect us! Now, let the ceremony begin!’
The crowds hushed as the Royal Reader stepped up to the podium and Echo sat up in her seat as he read the prophecy from the Great Book.
‘When Tuesday arrives on a Sunday night,
When a she-wolf soars by dragon flight,
When the king’s blood turns from red to white,
Then the gates of Lockfort shall open.’
Echo had never really listened to the prophecy before; she was usually too busy searching the crowds for a head of dark hair. Tonight though she was listening intently. And, as she did, she realized with dismay that Miss Brittle was right. Dragons, wolves, Tuesday on a Sunday? It just couldn’t ever be.
‘Well,’ said the king, swinging a chain of three huge, bejewelled keys, ‘I’m afraid it’s a Thursday night tonight, but I’ll do my best.’ He grinned as the crowd laughed and cheered at his joke, then strode over to the gates.
A hush fell as he inserted the first key, made out of gold encrusted with pink tourmalines, into the lock. As he attempted to turn it, the crowd drew a breath. King Alfons turned to his audience, shook his head and shrugged.
The audience seemed to sigh as one. He turned back to the gate and inserted the second key, this one covered in scarlet rubies.
Echo leaned forward in her seat in expectation, willing the gates to open this time. She slumped in her seat as, for the second time, the key didn’t turn.
Finally, the king flourished the last key, studded with glimmering white diamonds, before grunting with effort as he attempted to turn it in the lock.
As he turned back to the crowds and made his way to the podium, the king gave a mock grimace. ‘The prophecy holds!’ he said. ‘The gates of Lockfort shall not open tonight. Let us celebrate these closed gates. These gates of tradition and keeping Old Lockfort alive. These gates that keep us, the people of Lockfort, safe from harm.’
The crowd cheered and the royal bugles blared again as King Alfons lumbered back to the carriage.
The journey back to the castle through the city streets was a blur. Echo had never really been interested in the Gateopening Ceremony before – after all, it was the same every month. But Professor Daggerwing’s arrival, and the map and the hairpin, had shown things in a different light. What if there were other cities out there? And rivers, and mountains, and the ocean. What if the prophecy was meant to be fulfilled and the gates did open? What if Beatrix Skitterbrook didn’t fall off the edge of the world, but had found somewhere new out there?
Echo climbed out of the carriage and into the castle courtyard in a daze, her mind still whirling with possibility. Then she stopped. Usually, everyone filed straight back into the castle, but something different was happening tonight. The king, a huge goblet in his jewel-encrusted fingers, stepped into the centre of the courtyard and addressed the assembled dignitaries. The chatter hushed.
‘Gentlemen, ladies.’ King Alfons gazed proudly round the courtyard. ‘We are celebrating not one but two great events this evening.’
A murmur reverberated round the walls. Echo blinked.
What was going on?
‘Not only is it the thirtieth anniversary of the closing of the gates . . .’ There was a great cheer and clinking of goblets from around the courtyard. King Alfons gestured for quiet. ‘I am also pleased to announce that only a few hours ago I was able to personally expel a traitor to the throne from the city.’
Echo was suddenly cold with shock. A traitor? Expelled? She tried to catch Horace’s eye, but he was staring resolutely forward at his father.
The king continued. ‘This individual was a danger to the crown and a danger to the very foundation of Lockfort. He was a troublemaker, a rabble-rouser and had dangerous ideas that have no place in a society such as ours.’
A murmur of agreement rippl
ed through the crowd. Echo’s heart filled with fear. No, no, no! Not him! Please not him!
‘And not only that,’ the king went on, ‘but he was caught breaking into the castle in the middle of the night.’
There were gasps in the crowd. Echo fought back the urge to cry. It was Professor Daggerwing. It had to be. But expelled? Surely King Alfons couldn’t have thrown him out into the Barren?
‘Worry not, worry not.’ The king waved a hand lazily in the air, his ruby signet ring twinkling in the candlelight. ‘He has been expelled from the city. I saw him slide down the chute with my own eyes. He is now outside the great walls in the Barren where he can do no harm to anyone.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘And now – fireworks!’
A great cheer went up in the crowd and people leaped to their feet. But Echo was frozen where she stood. The professor would die out there in the Barren! How could they leap around, squealing about fireworks, as though nothing had happened? She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, unable to stop the terrible thoughts filling her head. The professor, alone in the Barren, stranded without even his ship. What would he eat? What would he drink? What would become of him?
And how in all Lockfort would she find her mother now?
CHAPTER NINE
Echo let herself be carried along with the crowd to the outer courtyard, where the ladies and gentlemen of distinction would watch the firework display. Everyone was gazing up at the night sky, drinking mead and chattering. Horace was talking animatedly to Lord Rolfe. Even Martha was completely preoccupied with the show that was about to start. And that, Echo suddenly realized, meant nobody’s eyes would be on her. Echo knew how to recognize an opportunity when she saw one. And she had to help the professor. But how?
Echo gazed up at the darkening sky above the castle ramparts, where the last tendrils of evening sun were disappearing. The ramparts – that was it! Daggerwing’s airship was up there. What was it called? The Hummerbird. An idea was bubbling up inside her. The professor was alone in the Barren without his ship. But what if he had his ship? If someone took it to him . . . Did she dare?
Echo plunged her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers round the familiar metallic shape of the pin. This was her only chance to find her mother. She couldn’t go her whole life without getting answers to her questions, and nobody in Lockfort was going to help her, not even Martha. No, there was only one way out. She had to take Daggerwing’s ship and find him! If she slipped out now, while everyone was watching the fireworks, nobody would even notice she was gone.
Echo felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Horace. ‘What are you up to?’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ lied Echo.
‘You seem all . . . happy or excited or something.’
She tried to look nonchalant. ‘It’s just the fireworks.’
‘You? Excited about fireworks?’ Horace snorted. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Echo turned away from him and pretended to be waiting impatiently for the show. As soon as it started, she’d give Horace the slip and race up to the rooftops. Then, once the fireworks had finished, she’d fly off in the airship and find Professor Daggerwing. He’d be so grateful, he’d take her to Port Tourbillon, she’d find Evergreen & Spruce and then . . . Well, she didn’t quite know. But what she did know was that saving the professor was the first step to finding her mother, and she wasn’t going to let Horace, or anyone else, stop her.
There was a boom and the first firework crackled across the night sky. Echo slipped backwards into the crowd. There was a tug at her sleeve. It was Horace again.
‘What now?’ she snapped.
‘What are you doing?’ whispered Horace.
‘Nothing! Nothing to do with you anyway,’ she hissed back.
‘You’re going to do something stupid.’
‘What’s it to you?’
Horace swallowed, his cheeks reddening. ‘Echo, you can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘You’re going to try and rescue the professor, I know it.’
Echo shrugged. ‘None of your business if I am.’
‘But Echo, it’s dangerous!’
‘I’m not asking you to come.’ Echo pulled her sleeve out of Horace’s hand and pushed her way into the crowd towards the eastern entrance to the castle. She glanced back, but Horace was hidden in the mass of bodies. Good. She didn’t have time to deal with him and his nerves.
Echo inched open the heavy oak door and slipped inside the castle. She crept as quietly as she could past the rows of suits of armour lining the corridor, their polished metal reflecting the sparks in the sky outside, and over the grey flagstones to the turret archway.
She stopped on the bottom step and stared up at the staircase as it spiralled away into darkness. Was she crazy? Maybe. She paused for a moment, struck all of a sudden by the madness of her idea. Could she really hope to fly the airship? And, even if she could, would she be able to find the professor? Sparks of fear and doubt rocketed through her like the fireworks outside. Maybe she should turn back. Outside, the sky flashed red, then blue, then gold.
Echo felt again in her pocket for the hairpin, turning it over in her fingers. She might not have much chance of success, but she had to at least try. And there wasn’t any time to waste.
She hitched up her skirts and ran up the stairs.
Echo took the ruby pin from her hair and used it to pick the lock before racing across the ramparts to the Hummerbird and rolling away the stones that held down the deflated balloon. She scrambled up the ladder and pulled open the entry hatch with a pop. As she glanced out over the Lockfort rooftops, each ring of houses twinkling with lanterns as golden sparks exploded across the sky above, it hit her that perhaps this would be the last time in a long while that she would see the city. She felt a sudden pang of sadness and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
Down below, the royal bugles blared. The ceremony must already be more than halfway through. She had to get going before it finished. She put a hand to her shoulder for Gilbert, then suddenly remembered. She’d left him in her bedchamber for the Gate-opening Ceremony!
Echo slid back down the ladder and clattered down the staircase, across the hall and back to her room without stopping for breath. She had to find him before someone noticed she was gone! She flung the door to her bedchamber open.
‘Gilbert,’ she hissed. Oh, where was he? ‘Gilbert!’
There was a rustle, and the little lizard emerged from under her covers, blinking in confusion.
‘Quick, on to my shoulder!’
Gilbert shook himself in a way that said, What? Now?
‘Yes, now. Come on!’ The fireworks outside were getting closer and closer together. How long would they go on for? Echo rushed over and slung him on to her shoulder.
‘Hold on,’ she said, and flew back out of the door, through the empty castle, up to the roof and over to the airship. Without a further glance, she clambered up to the entry hatch and slipped in, slamming the hatch shut behind them, her heart hammering.
Inside the airship, Echo blinked as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, then shivered in awe. ‘Gilbert, look!’ she breathed.
Copper pipework snaked and coiled all over the walls. Towards the rear of the ship, a hammock, a battered enamel saucepan and a pair of brass binoculars hung from hooks above a low cupboard. In front of the large window at the fore stood two worn leather seats, a dashboard covered with dials and buttons and a large, spoked wheel of polished red-brown wood. A real airship.
Echo climbed into the pilot’s seat and clasped the wheel in both hands. It seemed to fit her grip perfectly. She scanned the dashboard, her heart beating a wild rhythm in her chest. Now she was here, things suddenly felt a whole lot more real. And a lot more dangerous. If only she’d had time to make a plan. She peered more closely at the dashboard. How in Lockfort would she even get the ship started? There were so many dials and buttons and levers. Sweat prickled on her forehead and she pushed her hair back, her
fingers closing on the ruby hairpin. She quickly ripped it off and replaced it with her mother’s. She could do this; she had to.
Echo took a deep breath and pressed each button in turn. ‘Surely one of them has to start it,’ she muttered.
Gilbert ran down her arm and on to the dashboard, where he scuttled up and down, squinting at the dials. Through the windscreen, a shower of gold burst into the sky with a bang that made them both jump. Far away she could hear the cheers and whoops of the crowd and the bugles playing the royal salute.
‘The show’s nearly over,’ she said, fear sparking through her. She frantically stabbed at the buttons, grabbing at levers and flicking switches, her hands growing slippery with sweat. ‘Nothing’s happening!’
She took a hasty glance outside, and saw to her horror that the fireworks had slowed and the night sky was filled with drifting clouds of gunpowder smoke. Time was running out. Martha was bound to notice she was gone soon. Perhaps Horace had even told on her already. A terrible thought hit her. What if the ship had been damaged and couldn’t fly? After all, when Professor Daggerwing had arrived, he’d drifted into her window. Echo slammed her palms down on the steering wheel in frustration. ‘What do we do now, Gilbert?’ she said.
Suddenly the airship shuddered and something above them whirred into life. Echo jumped. She glanced at the dashboard. Gilbert was sitting on a button she hadn’t tried. A button with, when she looked closely, a tiny brass inscription beneath it saying inflate. Echo’s cheeks burned. Of course! How had she been so stupid?
‘That’s it, Gilbert, you’ve done it!’
Gilbert sat up proudly on the dashboard as the whirring continued and the balloon silks pulled up and away from the portholes.
‘Yes!’ Echo punched the air in delight. The floor rocked and bobbed beneath her as the airship began to float. Excitement bubbled in her chest. ‘It’s working!’
‘Hey!’
They both jumped at the sound of a shout from outside. Somewhere a door slammed and Echo heard the clatter of boots on stone. She raced to the rear porthole and made out two guards with lanterns marching across the ramparts towards her. The airship was floating only a little above the ground. Close enough, Echo realized, for the guards to grab the bottom of the ship and drag it back down. She couldn’t let them!