The Lightning Key (6 page)

“Well remembered,” said the stranger, clapping his hands again. “First Officer Barrett of the good ship
Sunfish
, as I am now.”

“The
Sunfish
?” said Baltinglass. “Never heard of her! She a new ship?”

“New, and not new,” said First Officer Barrett with a conspiratorial wink. “She's been recommissioned. Just about to embark on her maiden voyage in the capable hands of Captain Tripoli and my good self. We leave for the port of Al Bab as soon as the fog lifts.”

“For Al Bab?” said Miles in surprise. “But we heard the
Albatross
was the only ship sailing there for days.”

“And you heard right!” said First Officer Barrett, pinching a rasher from Miles's plate with a chuckle. “The
Sunfish
will not be
sailing
to Al Bab; she will be
flying
there. And there's just one cabin left to fill! Think of it, Baltinglass, setting out to explore the
uncharted reaches of the sky.” He turned to Miles and Little, his face glowing. “Picture yourself, young man, climbing a hundred times higher than the tallest tree! And you, little girl, flying like a bird among the clouds! Can you even imagine such a thrill?”

F
irst Officer Barrett, sea-starched and breeze-polished, drew from his pocket a dog-eared postcard and placed it carefully on the table. “Isn't she a sight to behold?” he said. Miles and Little leaned in and examined the photograph. It showed a long balloon like a fat cigar, with fins at one end and an enormous propeller mounted on either side. The wooden hull of a small ship was suspended from the underside of the balloon by a web of ropes and cables, and the whole contraption floated above a field, moored to a stake in the ground. A number of figures in black and white gazed up at the airship. Some of them were people in their best evening
dress. The rest were cows.

“A ship that flies?” said Baltinglass with a snort. “We'll stick to the deep blue sea, thank you, Mr. Barrett.”

“It's a sort of giant balloon,” said Miles, looking up from the photograph, “with the ship suspended underneath it.”

“I was rather hoping you would join us, Mr. Baltinglass,” said Barrett. “To be perfectly frank, Captain Tripoli has entered into a bet with Captain Savage of the
Albatross
. Captain Savage boldly claimed that he could reach Al Bab a full day ahead of us, and there is a large stake riding on the wager, not to mention the pride of both men.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” demanded Baltinglass of Araby.

“It's a condition of the bet that both ships can set sail as soon as they have a full complement of paying passengers aboard. Captain Savage sold his last two tickets this morning and can leave as soon as visibility allows, but we are still three passengers short.”

“She's beautiful!” said Little, who was still staring at the picture and had heard nothing of wagers and tickets.

Miles looked at her. Her eyes were shining, and
he could almost see the clouds in the photograph billowing beneath her gaze. She looked up at him, and he forgot Baltinglass of Araby's skepticism and his own misgivings at once. “There are three berths left?” he said.

First Officer Barrett laughed with delight. “Not if you have your way, I suspect. Three bunks for the voyage, and three meals a day, all for the knockdown price of twenty-four shillings a head, and half-price for the under-sevens.”

Miles's face fell. He had not even thought about how they would pay for their passage, and . . . let me see . . . twenty-four plus twenty-four plus half of . . . forty-eight . . . seventy . . . no, sixty shillings seemed like a lot of money. “We'd love to fly, but it sounds very expensive,” he said doubtfully.

“The money's not a problem!” said Baltinglass. “I'm not short of a few sovereigns, but you won't catch me dangling from a bag of air in a wooden box. If we were meant to go sailing through the sky why would nature have bothered filling the seas with perfectly good water?”

“Indeed, you're probably right,” said First Officer Barrett with a twinkle in his eye. “The skies can be a daunting challenge, even for a much younger man. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds, lethal ice crystals,
storms that make a sea squall look like a bubble bath. A man of your towering reputation has no further need to prove himself, and a gentle sea cruise would probably suit you much better.”

Baltinglass of Araby stiffened in his seat, and his bristly chin extended itself in Barrett's direction. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “I've been struck twice by lightning, young pup, and I still have all that energy fizzing and popping inside me. I'll still be off gallivanting when you're drooling in your rocking chair. Gentle cruise, my backside! Stop your flimflamming, man, and sign us up!”

Miles looked at Little and grinned. He felt pleased, but strangely tired. Little squeezed his hand, but the smile on her face suddenly froze, and she turned quickly and glanced over her shoulder. The door had swung open again, and two figures stepped into the bar. They wore long duffel coats, and their feet made no sound on the floorboards. Miles could make out the pale features of one of the figures, even in the shadow of his hood. It was Silverpoint. The other figure was indistinct, and Miles felt his eyes grow heavy as he tried to see more clearly. He became aware that Little was gripping his hand tightly and kicking him hard on the shin. “Wake up, Miles. Stay awake,” she whispered.

First Officer Barrett looked up from the tickets on which he was carefully inscribing their names. “Too many late nights, young man?” He beamed. “You can sleep as much as you like on board, though it would be a shame to miss—”

Miles interrupted him with enormous effort. He knew that the Sleep Angel had come for them, and he would have to think fast, but the fog that was dispersing outside the window seemed to be regrouping inside his head. “There's a problem with the money,” he said, kicking Baltinglass under the table in turn. The explorer raised his eyebrows, but Miles carried on before he could speak. “You see those two men who just came in?” he said to First Officer Barrett.

Barrett looked over his shoulder and stared at Silverpoint and his shadowy companion with friendly puzzlement. “Indeed I do, but . . . ?”

“There's no time to explain,” said Miles. “They think that we owe them all the money we have, and they won't take no for an answer.”

“But that won't do at all!” said Barrett anxiously. “The captain's wager . . .”

“Exactly,” said Miles.

“It's all a big misunderstanding,” said Little, who had grasped Miles's plan immediately. “Why don't
you go over and distract them for a moment while we slip out quietly?”

“And we'll meet you at the
Sunfish
,” completed Miles, fighting back a massive yawn.

The dapper officer's face took on a mischievous look, and he winked at Miles. “Leave it to me,” he said, tilting his cap and sliding off the end of the bench. “She's moored in the long field just beyond the windmill.”

“What's the hullabaloo?” asked Baltinglass, as First Officer Barrett danced across the room toward Silverpoint and the Sleep Angel.

“This is my expedition, right?” said Miles. He was too tired to explain.

“Certainly,” said Baltinglass of Araby.

“Then we leave at once,” he said. “Where's the back door?”

“There isn't one,” said Baltinglass, tightening his grip on his cane, “but there's a window behind us.” He reached up and fumbled the catch open.

“You first,” said Miles to Little. He picked her up quickly and posted her through the open window like a parcel of dandelion seeds. The irrepressible First Officer Barrett was dancing a jig around the two angels, waving his arms in the air and delivering a barrage of nonsense on a hurricane of enthusiasm.

“You next,” said Miles, turning to give Baltinglass a leg up, but the old man was already disappearing through the window with a flash of bleached shins and a few loudly whispered curses. Miles scrambled out after him without looking back, and found himself landing headfirst on the well-sprung front seat of Baltinglass's vintage car.

“Now you know,” panted the old man, handing him the keys from the other end of the seat, “why you should always park underneath a window, Master Miles.”

Morrigan started with a roar, and they took off from the yard in a spray of gravel, almost colliding with the house opposite before Miles managed to straighten the wheel.

“That's the spirit, boy,” shouted Baltinglass, obviously glad to be done with whispering for the moment.

They drove at speed toward the windmill on the hill. There was a knot in Miles's stomach, a mixture of fear and excitement, and from Little's shouts of “Faster!” from the backseat he could tell she felt the same. The sun had dispersed the fog, leaving shreds of bog-cotton mist snagged on the thornbushes, and ahead of them the airship hung silently in the sky like a fat, unfathomable future.

Miles pulled in by the mill, where a number of other cars were already parked. A gangly teenager appeared from nowhere, wearing a battered cap. “It's sixpence to park,” he said, peering hopefully into Miles's goggles.

Baltinglass of Araby leaped from the car. “How old are you, boy?” he shouted.

“I'll be eighteen in February,” said the boy.

Baltinglass pulled a gold coin from his pocket. “Ever seen one of these?”

The boy's jaw dropped. “Not often,” he said.

“You'll see three more of them if you look after this car until we get back,” said Baltinglass. “We may be gone some time, so you'd better take her out for a spin now and then.”

“You want me to
drive
the car?” asked the boy, who could hardly believe his ears.

“That's what she needs,” said Baltinglass, “and you might find yourself more popular with the ladies in the bargain.” He sent the coin spinning toward the teenager with a flick of his thumb, and called to Miles. “Master Miles, let's board that contraption before I change my mind, eh?”

Miles pulled the duffel bag from the back of the car and heaved it over his shoulder. It swung around and nearly capsized him, but he felt that as
head of the expedition he should be able to carry the kit. He hefted the bag to balance it better, feeling something sharp poking into his back, and set off across the field. Little took Baltinglass's arm and together they half ran, half stumbled past knots of spectators toward the airship's mooring, where a sturdy rope ladder hung from the hull to the ground.

“I hope First Officer Barrett makes it back all right,” said Little.

“He's a wily devil, that one,” said Baltinglass. “He'll come back with their pocket watches and their gold teeth, whoever they are.”

Above them the
Sunfish
seemed to fill the sky. A muscular airman stood at the bottom of the rope ladder, and he took the duffel bag from Miles as though it weighed no more than a coconut. “Tickets?” he said.

At that moment there was a high-pitched shout from the edge of the field, and First Officer Barrett careered into view on a bicycle, his glasses askew and his legs out straight to avoid the madly spinning pedals. “Weigh anchor, able Airman Calloway!” he shouted gleefully. “Embark those passengers at once. That's an order!”

“Aye-aye,” shouted Airman Calloway. He picked
Little up under one arm, and with the duffel bag over his shoulder he fairly ran up the rope ladder and disappeared into a square hatch in the hull.

“Rope ladder,” said Miles to Baltinglass, placing the old man's hand on a rung. “After you.”

At the top of the ladder Miles felt the ropes jerk as First Officer Barrett leaped from the bicycle and began to climb up behind him. “Away!” the dapper man shouted. “Weigh anchor. All hands on deck. Full steam ahead!”

Strong hands reached from the door in the hull and grabbed Miles by the arms. He looked over his shoulder at the last moment, and a shock of giddiness swept through him. He could see no sign of pursuit, but the ground was falling away at an alarming rate. First Officer Barrett swung from the ladder's end like a trapeze artist, waving and shouting, “Arrivederci!” to the dwindling spectators below. Beyond him tumbled the whitewashed houses of the port of Fuera, and out in the bay the
Albatross
rode the sapphire waters under bellying sails, bound for Al Bab with a brisk crosswind and a good head start.

T
he airship
Sunfish
, reborn and airborne, moved ponderously through scattered clouds, a helium-fed hippopotamus among inflatable sheep. The setting sun bathed the airship in orange light, and the purple shadows of the small clouds slid along her flanks and fluttered briefly on the blades of her propellers. In addition to a crew of seven there were some forty passengers in her wooden belly. They had spent the day lounging in the stateroom, or marveling at the ever-changing skyscape from the observation deck. The deck was enclosed with large windows to protect the passengers from
the hundred-mile-an-hour winds and lethal ice crystals that First Officer Barrett had so enthusiastically described.

In the small cabin Baltinglass of Araby straightened his woolly cap as though it were a top hat, and rummaged in the duffel bag for his tobacco pouch. “I'm off to the stateroom for a smoke of my pipe,” he said. “I take it we gave those map-stealing reprobates the slip in that tavern with the help of young Barrett's performance.”

Miles glanced at Little. “It wasn't them we were escaping from,” he said. “They've sailed on board the
Albatross
.”

“So you've got more enemies,” said Baltinglass approvingly. “A man can't have too many enemies. Keeps you on your toes.” He waved his cane around dangerously. “I'm still a spectacular menace with a swordstick, as you may have noticed.”

“I don't think a sword would be much good against this particular pair,” said Miles. He did not want to mention that one of them was Silverpoint.

Baltinglass grunted. “I'll be happy to put that to the test if we come across them again, Master Miles. You just let me know when you spot them.”

“Did you mean what you said to First Officer
Barrett?” asked Little. “About having all that lightning still popping inside you?”

“Night and day, Little,” said Baltinglass. He paused with his hand on the door handle. “To tell you the truth, I sometimes wish I could just let it off in a big blast and get some peace. Can't really do that in polite company, though, eh?” He chuckled and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Miles knelt beside Little on the bench seat of their cabin, and for a while they watched the clouds pass by, their noses pressed to the glass of the twin portholes. “Can you see your people?” asked Miles, concentrating hard on a cloud whose shape reminded him of a nautilus shell.

“It depends on whether I'm looking for them,” said Little.

“Are you?”

“I'm just looking at the clouds,” said Little, keeping her nose pressed to the window. There was silence except for the creaking of the hull and the distant sound of the big propellers beating a soft rhythm through the winter sky.

“That was Bluehart with Silverpoint, wasn't it?” said Miles after a while. Little nodded.

“Do you think they'll find us here?” asked Miles.

Little turned her back on the porthole and sat down on the bench with a sigh. “We might have lost them for a short while, especially if Silverpoint is helping to slow things down like he promised, but I think they'll catch up with us soon.”

“We've managed to keep one step ahead of Bluehart for a long time now,” said Miles hopefully.

“You had the Tiger's Egg then,” said Little. “The Egg is deliberately made to hide itself from the Sleep Angels, and it extends that protection to those close to it. That's why it can help to prolong your life. Now that you don't have it anymore you'll be easier to find.”

Miles felt an echo of the leaden sleep that Bluehart brought, and with it came a flush of anger. “Who does he think he is?” he said sharply.

Little looked at him with a shocked expression. “Bluehart is a Sleep Angel. That's his purpose in the order of things.”

“You sound like Silverpoint!” said Miles. He had felt the comment rising up through his anger and was unable to stop it leaving his mouth, and he felt bad about it straightaway. Little looked down at her feet.

“I just meant . . .,” said Miles, searching for the words. “What I mean is, how can they pass judgment on me for owning the Tiger's Egg when it was passed on to me as a baby? I didn't even know it existed until a few months ago.”

“The Council has known about it for a long time,” said Little, “and they've decided that whoever carries the Tiger's Egg should lose his life.”

“You don't have it,” said Miles, “but they've condemned you too.”

“Some of the angels feel I'm just as guilty because I've been with you while you used it. That's why Silverpoint wants to convince them that I'm just trying to get it back.”

“Nobody's asked our opinion!” said Miles. “Any proper court gives the accused the right to speak. Remember when Lady Partridge was charged with being a menace to public health because of all her cats?”

Little's musical laugh chimed through the cabin. “I remember,” she said. “After her speech the judge apologized, and that pointy-nosed man, the . . .”

“The prosecutor,” said Miles.

“That's right, he was fined a hundred tins of cat food for wasting the court's time.” A cloud crossed
her face. “The Council of Light doesn't quite work the same way.”

“I still think I should have the chance to defend myself,” said Miles. He looked out of the porthole at the strange landscape of the air. High above the
Sunfish
the sky was striped with thin lines of salmon pink, while below them a smooth cloud was passing slowly aft. It looked almost within reach, as though he could leap from the porthole and bounce on its soft white surface, and he had to remind himself that he would fall straight through and plummet to his death. He sighed. “It's not like it's possible, is it?”

Little said nothing in reply. She frowned and crossed her arms, and for a long time she seemed to be staring through the closed door of the cabin. Miles was about to suggest going in search of Baltinglass when Little spoke. “There might be a way,” she said. “But it would be dangerous.”

“More dangerous than being condemned to death?” said Miles.

Little smiled. “I suppose we have nothing to lose. I'm not exactly in their good books either.”

“How can we get them to meet us?” asked Miles. He pictured the stateroom of the ship filled with bewigged angels, glowing faintly in the dead of
night, while he swayed their cold minds with the clarity of his argument.

“We can't summon the Council!” said Little, looking incredulous. “We'll have to go to them, and we'll have to find a way to make them believe you're someone else. If they realize who you are, it's all over.”

“But how can we get there?” asked Miles. “You gave up your wings, and I never had any in the first place. The only way we can fly is inside an airship.”

Little pushed her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. It was the kind of deep breath she always took when she was about to try to explain something that didn't want to be explained, and Miles knew he would need all his concentration for what was coming next.

“The Realm is out there,” she began, nodding at the portholes, “but it's not
exactly
out there. It exists between the light.”

“And what?” asked Miles.

“And what what?” said Little.

“You said it exists between the light. Between the light and what?”

“Just between the light,” said Little. She bit her lip for a moment. “Think of the tiger,” she said.

“Is that where he exists?” asked Miles. “Is that
how he comes and goes like he does?”

“I suppose so, but that's not what I meant. Think of the tiger's pelt. He's orange with black stripes. But what happens to the orange
behind
the black stripes?”

“There is no orange behind the black. There's orange in some places, and black in others,” said Miles a little uncertainly. At one time he would have said this with patient conviction, but he was beginning to learn that Little's ideas often made as much sense or more than the ones he had learned from Lady Partridge's encyclopedias.

“That's what people think,” said Little. “And it's the same with the Realm. No one ever considers that there might be anything
between
the light, and that's why few people ever see it. Except when they're asleep, of course.”

“You mean dreaming? Is the Realm like a dream?”

“A dream is like the Realm,” said Little.

“But my dreams are usually just weird,” said Miles.

Little laughed again. The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone straight through the portholes, beaming twin circles onto the cabin wall.
“So is the Realm,” she said. “Did you think it would be all shiny and twinkly?” She leaned forward and fixed Miles with her clear blue eyes. “If I do take you there, you had better be ready for anything,” she said.