by Alex English
‘No! Shoo!’ said Echo, waving her away from the little lizard in vain. ‘Leave him alone.’
The white cat lowered herself on to her haunches, ready to spring, her blue eyes fixed on Gilbert. But Gilbert scuttled to the end of the table and took a flying leap on to a bookshelf.
Sugarsnap followed, scrambling up the shelves after him, showering books and papers all over the floor. Gilbert sprang for the lampshade and the cat followed, swinging wildly from it. Gilbert dropped down on to the table, leaving Sugarsnap dangling, and scampered up Echo’s breeches and on to her shoulder. He gave a triumphant chirrup at the still swinging Sugarsnap. Dandelion, who was twining round Echo’s ankles, unable to get to the little lizard, gave a dismal yowl and strolled off.
‘Don’t scare me like that,’ said Echo, shaking her head at Gilbert. She turned to survey the mess. ‘The professor’s papers! Horace, could you help me with this one?’ She knelt on the floor and began to roll up a huge map.
‘It’s so big,’ said Horace, staring at it.
Echo nodded, taking in the scope of the world in pen and ink. She pointed. ‘We must be here in Port Tourbillon and those are the Violet Isles,’ she said. ‘That’s where the professor was supposed to be going to see the butterflies.’
‘Cinnabar, Ratamacue, Ambercourt.’ Horace shook his head as he read some of the place names. ‘I can’t believe how much there is out there.’ He paused. ‘It makes Lockfort seem so small.’
Echo smiled ruefully. ‘It always felt small to me.’
They rolled the map up and stashed the professor’s strewn papers back on the shelves.
There was a knock at the door and Professor Daggerwing poked his head round. ‘The marvellous Mrs Milkweed had to go, but she left this for you.’ He passed Echo a scrap of paper. On it was a little hand-drawn map showing the way to Goldsmith’s Lane.
Evergreen & Spruce! Echo’s heart raced. Now she’d get some answers. But what would those answers be? She swallowed down her doubts. There was no time to lose.
‘Thanks,’ she said to the professor, dashing past him with the map in her hand.
‘An urgent matter, is it?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.
‘Er . . . yes.’ Echo stopped and bit her lip. What if she didn’t find anything? The professor seemed nice, but she didn’t want to tell him everything. She shrugged. ‘Just something I need to do.’
‘Well, be careful,’ said the professor. ‘Port Tourbillon is a meeting place for all kinds of people, and not just the nice ones.’ He looked at his pocket watch. ‘I can go with you if you can wait till three bells.’
‘Thanks, Professor, but there’s really no need,’ said Echo. ‘Why don’t you get back to your maps? I promise I’ll stay out of trouble.’
After leaving Gilbert with Horace, and strict instructions not to antagonize the cats, Echo raced down the steps and out on to Hawthorn Square. Following Mrs Milkweed’s map, she soon found herself in a narrow, cobbled alleyway clustered with brightly painted shops. There were windows full of feather-plumed hats, tiny glass horses and carved wooden chests with gleaming brass hinges; there were shops selling boxes of marzipan fruit and sugared almonds, purveyors of strange crystals, flying goggles, even, to Echo’s amazement, genuine antique dragon-skin umbrellas. But finally, finally, she came to a parade of jewellers.
Echo checked each shop name in turn:
GOSHAWK & SON
PENDRAGON ESQ.
BRITCH’S BUDGET SILVERWARE
MESSRS EVERGREEN & SPRUCE
(BY ROYAL APPOINTMENT)
Evergreen & Spruce!
Echo’s heart raced as she approached the window, where a tall, skinny man with gleaming black hair was admiring the display. She peered through the glass at the delicate opal rings and ropes of sea pearls arranged on green velvet in the window, then put her hand in the pocket of her breeches and squeezed the hairpin to steady her breathing. It was the only lead she had. A chance to find out the truth.
‘Lovely stuff, isn’t it?’ The man ran one spidery finger over the glass. ‘I’d love to get my hands on some of these, wouldn’t you?’
Echo swallowed and nodded.
‘After you.’ The man gestured to the door. Echo pushed it open and heard a bell tinkle somewhere deep inside. After a moment, there was the swish of a curtain at the back of the shop and a tiny woman with a neat bun of blue hair shuffled out of the shadows.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, looking between Echo and the man over her half-moon glasses.
‘You go first,’ said the man. ‘I’m just browsing.’
‘Yes, I . . . ’ Echo tailed off and thrust her hairpin at the lady. ‘I want to know where this came from.’
‘Of course, dearie.’ The woman took the hairpin and turned it over slowly in her hands before stopping to look sharply at Echo. ‘Where did you get this?’
Echo swallowed. Why was the woman looking at her like that? ‘I . . . it was my mother’s.’
She went to take the hairpin back, but the woman snatched it away, came round the counter and grabbed Echo’s arm.
‘Hey, get off me!’ said Echo, stumbling backwards in alarm. What had she done? The woman looked absolutely furious.
‘Mr Spruce, some assistance, please!’ the woman yelled, still glaring at Echo and holding her firmly. The black-haired man looked up, interested, as Echo tried to wriggle out of the woman’s grip.
‘Let go!’ squealed Echo. ‘I just wanted to know where it came from, that’s all. The maker’s mark said Evergreen and Spruce.’
A young man with bright red curls and a golden monocle emerged from behind the curtain.
‘What is it, Lucinda? I’m really terribly busy back here—’ His mouth dropped open as the woman – Lucinda – silently showed him the hairpin.
‘Could it really be?’ The man stepped forward and took the pin, adjusting his monocle to examine it. ‘It is!’ He took a step back, still staring incredulously at the pin as he let the monocle drop on to its chain around his neck. He passed the pin to Lucinda open-mouthed.
Lucinda nodded. ‘It is. And the question is, how did you get hold of it?’ She gave Echo a firm shake.
‘I told you, it was my mother’s,’ said Echo, unease flooding through her. What was wrong? Why were they so angry with her?
‘We should call the Queen’s Guard,’ said Lucinda.
‘But why? I haven’t done anything.’
‘Calm down, Lucinda. You’re scaring her.’ Mr Spruce laid a hand on Lucinda’s shoulder, then turned to Echo. ‘This hairpin is part of the Black Sky Hoard,’ he said.
‘I . . . I don’t know what that is.’
Lucinda snorted. ‘Where have you been living for the last fifteen years? In a cave?’
Echo shook her head. Almost, she thought. ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ she whispered. ‘Honest.’
‘The Black Sky Wolves were a notorious band of sky pirates,’ said Mr Spruce. ‘Many years ago, they held up the Royal Zeppelin and stole the Crown Jewels, of which this is one. One of the least valuable pieces, but still.’
‘But you haven’t told us yet how you got your sticky fingers on it,’ hissed Lucinda. ‘And where’s the rest?’
‘I don’t know. I . . .’ Echo trailed off.
‘Lucinda, I really don’t think she knows anything about it.’
‘Nonsense,’ snapped Lucinda. ‘Call the Queen’s Guard. They’ll soon make her talk.’
‘You’re being too hasty. I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll all sit down with a nice cup of tea.’
Echo shrank back, away from Lucinda and her steel grip.
‘This is no time for tea. We’re talking about the Crown Jewels, Mr Spruce! They’ve been lost for fifteen years.’ Lucinda put the hairpin down on the counter and gestured crossly at it. ‘No one has tracked down the jewels – or the Black Sky Wolves – ever since.’
Echo’s eyes darted round the room. The black-haired man was looking intently over at them and the pin. Was he list
ening? Sweat prickled down Echo’s spine. She glanced back at the arguing jewellers.
Mr Spruce studied Echo with folded arms. ‘She doesn’t look like a sky pirate,’ he said, turning back to Lucinda. ‘Perhaps it’s all some kind of mistake.’
‘It’s thievery, that’s what it is.’ Lucinda narrowed her eyes.
Echo saw her chance as they continued to argue. She lunged forward and grabbed the hairpin.
‘Hey! Stop, thief!’ yelled Lucinda.
But it was too late. Echo raced for the shop door, dodged past the black-haired man and pelted off down the street, the hairpin gripped in her hand.
She sprinted helter-skelter through the alleyways, her heart hammering and her boots slipping over the cobblestones as she ducked and dived between the passers-by. Behind her she heard Lucinda cry, ‘Get her!’ and the shrill blast of a whistle. But she didn’t falter, dodging this way and that, that way and this, through the crowd, ducking past a man with a great plume of peacock feathers waving on his hat, swerving between two women riding unicycles and narrowly missing a surprised-looking boy pushing a barrow full of lemons.
Eventually, she burst out on to the main street, almost under the huge brass wheels of a steam carriage. The driver blared his horn at her, but she didn’t stop, just carried on running, running, running, tripping and stumbling over the slippery cobbles, not knowing where she was going, just that she had to get away.
Finally, she clattered past an arch of cogs and suddenly realized she had come to the back entrance of the Mech Market, where the strange metallic animals were displayed. She darted inside and stopped for a moment, her lungs burning and her breath ragged. The whistle sounded somewhere off behind her, but she knew she couldn’t run for much longer. She had to find somewhere to hide. But where?
She put her head down and walked, as fast and as inconspicuously as she could, into the maze of the market, past stalls of clockwork dogs in various states of repair, gleaming brass postal pigeons, even a huge, wheeled, metallic tortoise.
There were shouts behind her. Were they getting closer? Echo caught a glimpse of a glossy blue bun in the crowd. She cast around desperately and spotted the stall of postal pigeons and beetle bugs unattended. She raced over and crawled beneath the tarpaulin where she crouched, panting.
Echo had not even got her breath back when there were footsteps and a pair of battered and oil-stained boots appeared beneath the edge of the tarpaulin. She’d been spotted! But whose boots were they? They were far too grubby to belong to one of the Queen’s Guard.
‘What are you doing under there?’ an amused voice came from above.
Echo flinched as the tarpaulin was flipped back to reveal Abena, the girl who’d been so rude to her before, looking down at her. Great, that was all she needed.
‘Put it back,’ she hissed. ‘They’ll find me!’
Abena smirked and looked Echo up and down. ‘I see you’ve got yourself some more practical clothing. I almost didn’t recognize you out of your fancy ballgown.’
Echo ignored this slight. ‘Please, Abena, they’re after me!’
‘Who are?’
‘The Queen’s Guard! And a . . . a mean woman with blue hair and glasses. Do you see her?’ Echo glanced over her shoulder. There were shouts from outside the market entrance. ‘I don’t have anywhere else to go.’
‘The Queen’s Guard?’ Abena gave Echo an appraising look that turned into a grin. ‘I’m impressed. What’ve you done?’
‘There’s no time. Please—’
Abena suddenly seemed to understand Echo’s desperation and her grin disappeared.
‘Okay, I’ll help. But you can’t stay under there. Come with me.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abena reached out an oil-stained hand and Echo grabbed it. The older girl pulled Echo from under the table and across the courtyard to her dragon, where she pulled a lever beneath its wing. There was a pneumatic hiss and a hatch opened under its belly. Echo felt strong hands shove her inside before the door shut with a wheeze and a click. She crouched in the darkness, breathing in the smell of engine oil and rust, poised to jump out as soon as she had to. Outside there were muffled voices. Echo pressed her ear to the cool metal of the dragon’s insides, her heart racing, but she couldn’t make out who was talking or what they were saying.
She sank back on her heels in the gloom. Could what the woman had said about stolen Crown Jewels be true? And, if it was, how had her mother ended up with one of them? Echo silently shook her head. She’d thought she was going to find answers at Evergreen & Spruce, but all she had were more questions, and now the Queen’s Guard were after her too! She wrapped her arms round herself, her mind spinning with pieces of a very peculiar puzzle. Just where had her mother got the pin, and how did the Black Sky Wolves fit in? Echo clenched her fists in silence as she waited alone in the darkness.
Finally, after what seemed like hours crouching in the dragon’s belly, there was a swish and the door opened, dazzling Echo with daylight. She jumped as Abena’s dark, goggle-clad head appeared through the hatch.
‘You can come out now,’ Abena said. ‘They’ve gone. Said they were looking for a jewel thief!’
Echo uncurled herself and half climbed, half fell out, landing blinking between the dragon’s gilt-clawed forefeet.
Abena stood over her, hands on hips and a twisted grin on her face. ‘So what, exactly, did you do?’ she said, grabbing Echo’s hand and pulling her to her feet.
‘I can’t tell you, not here,’ said Echo, glancing around anxiously. ‘They must still be looking for me.’
The smile slipped from Abena’s face. ‘You’re right. Look, you’ve had a scare. You seem a bit peaky. Are you feeling okay?’
Echo tried to say that yes, she was absolutely fine, but only a croak came out and she staggered sideways.
Abena grabbed her arm. ‘Come with me. I know somewhere the Queen’s Guard never go. We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me everything.’ She turned and searched through a rusty old toolbox. ‘Here, put these on.’ She handed Echo a telescopic monocle on a brown leather strap and a battered brown aviator’s cap.
Echo twisted her hair with trembling fingers, wound it round her head and secured it under the hat, pulling the flaps down over her ears. She set the monocle over her right eye.
‘Very fetching,’ said Abena. ‘Now, come with me.’
Echo followed Abena out of the Mech Market and down a maze of alleyways until they arrived at a dingy old bluebricked building with dirt-encrusted windows. A sign covered with clockwork parts swung from a high bracket over the door. ‘Welcome to the Cog and Gasket,’ said Abena, ushering Echo inside with a theatrical bow.
The Cog and Gasket was a vast dark tavern full of chatter and laughter. Echo breathed in the scent of woodsmoke and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The place was full of goggle-wearing aviators: leather-clad men and scarfaced women.
In the centre of the far wall, a log fire roared and crackled. The walls were a dark lacquered red, covered in faded paintings of airships and aviators, engine diagrams in battered frames and newspaper cuttings of daring adventures. An old wooden propeller hung proudly above the fireplace. Echo noticed that even the door handles were cog-shaped.
They found a booth in a dark corner and Abena went to the bar to order from the mechanical bartender. Echo gaped as the man-sized robot whizzed back and forth, taking orders and serving drinks, its cogs busily whirring. The professor was right – Port Tourbillon certainly did have some impressive inventions!
She was still watching the robot, fascinated, when Abena came back, holding a tray of tea and two huge slabs of cake.
‘Can I take this off now?’ Echo gestured to the monocle. ‘It’s making me feel a bit sick.’
‘Of course.’ Abena sat down. ‘You don’t need a disguise in here. Everyone’s a criminal!’
‘What?’ Echo whispered in panic. She looked around, her eyes wide, taking in the bar, where men and w
omen guffawed and slapped their thighs. Echo imagined them swapping tales of illegal exploits and derring-do. Another thought occurred to her and she scanned the room, her heart racing. Had the Queen’s Guard followed her? What did they even look like?
‘You okay?’ said Abena.
‘Surely the Queen’s Guard will come straight here if they know it’s where criminals hide?’
Abena shook her head with a laugh. ‘Don’t worry about that. Nobody in here is very fond of the Queen’s Guard, and the back door’s right there.’ She nodded behind them to a trapdoor in the floor. ‘Best stay here until nightfall, then make your way home quietly.’ Abena took a swig of tea and a huge bite of almond sponge.
Echo did the same, the hot liquid and sugar warming her insides and soothing her frazzled nerves. ‘Thank you for helping me,’ she said, through a greedy mouthful of cake.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Abena, eyeing her over the brim of her cup. ‘I didn’t have you down as a thief, you know. Not when I first saw you trussed up in that gown.’ She cupped her hands round her steaming tea. ‘So what exactly did you steal to have half of Port Tourbillon’s Royal Guard on your tail?’
Echo swallowed her mouthful, her mind scrambling to make up a story and coming up with nothing. Could she trust Abena? She had rescued Echo after all. And anyway, did Echo even have a choice? She looked up at the older girl, who was still gazing unblinkingly at her with dark eyes. No, she could trust her. She had to.
Echo took a deep breath and explained everything that had happened. When she got to the part about the Black Sky Wolves, and showed Abena the hairpin, the older girl’s mouth fell open.
‘Keep your voice down!’ she hissed, flipping a napkin over the pin, before taking a peek at it. ‘Are you telling the truth?’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The Black Sky Wolves?’
‘Yes!’ insisted Echo. ‘But I don’t even know who they are.’
‘Only the most notorious gang of sky pirates to have ever lived! The worst of them all! They chop off their enemies’ fingers and toes and feed them to the cloud eels!’ Abena’s dark eyes sparkled as she leaned forward over the table and passed back the pin. ‘How do you think your mother got it? Do you think she met them?’