The Lightning Key (8 page)

M
iles Wednesday, soul-soaring and billy-jacked, swooped down closer to his unconscious body. It was vital that he return to himself at once so that he could fight back, but he had no idea how to do it. He tried calling on Little for help, but his voice was lost in the wind and she was nowhere to be seen. “She can't hear me when she's awake,” he told himself. He reached his inert body and tried to push himself back through the porthole, but he found himself as nebulous as the cloud he had tried to sit on during his first visit to the Realm. His hands plunged straight through his own
shoulders. It was a disturbing feeling, and he pulled them out again in a panic.

If you have ever seen iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet you will have a picture of what happened next. Not a very accurate one, but a picture nonetheless. A strong magnetism exists between a person's body and his soul, and once Miles had touched his unconscious self he was sucked back in like, well, like iron filings stampeding toward a strong magnet.

He was almost sorry when he found himself back inside his own predicament. He was suspended halfway out of a flying ship, and his frozen head throbbed from the blow that had knocked him out. He could not move his arms, and he was about to fall to his death in a body that definitely would not be able to learn to fly on the way down. He could feel strong hands gripping his legs and pushing him slowly out through the narrow porthole. His own hands were almost free now, but once they were it would be too late to use them.

He kicked out desperately with his feet and felt them connect with something solid. The hands loosened their grip on his legs for a moment, then grabbed him again with renewed strength. He kicked
again, but their grip was like iron. The hands now seemed to be pulling him back in, and he stopped kicking while he tried to work out this puzzling development. His arms and shoulders were bruised and aching, but at least he was now moving in the right direction.

His legs gave way the moment he was back inside the ship, and he would have fallen to the deck had it not been for First Officer Barrett, who supported him with one hand while closing the porthole with the other. Miles looked around him, shaking uncontrollably, and tried to make sense of the situation. Captain Tripoli stood like a rod of ebony, grasping a shirt collar in each of his strong hands. The shirts in question were occupied by none other than the Great Cortado and Doctor Tau-Tau, the former white-faced with fury, and the latter plum with embarrassment. The captain released his grip (the Great Cortado's feet dropped several inches to the floor), and dusted his hands slowly.

“Mr. Wednesday,” he said, “are you all right?”

“I'm a bit shaky,” said Miles.

“I'm not surprised,” said Captain Tripoli. “Do you know these men?”

“Yes,” said Miles. “That one is called Cortado, and
the other man is Doctor Tau-Tau.”

“I am the
Great
Cortado,” the ringmaster corrected him. He was struggling to master his anger.

“Explain yourself, Mr. Cortado,” said the captain icily.

The Great Cortado forced a smile. His regrouping mustache had reached a stage where it resembled one of those extremely bristly caterpillars, and together with the scar and the eye patch it lent his smile a particularly shifty air.

“It was just a bit of high spirits,” he said. “A practical joke, if you will. The boy and I go back a long way.”

“A practical joke,” said Captain Tripoli, “generally involves an element of humor. Had I not intervened when I did, this boy would have fallen to his death. Perhaps you could explain the amusing aspect.”

The Great Cortado scowled. “The boy cheeked me,” he said. “I was merely teaching him some manners. Perhaps I was a little overzealous, but I had no intention of letting him go.”

The captain's arm shot out like a piston and grabbed the collar of Doctor Tau-Tau, who had turned and begun to inch away down the corridor.
“You are not dismissed,” said the captain, turning to the fortune-teller. “What's your explanation?”

Doctor Tau-Tau straightened his fez with shaking fingers. “The boy is a notorious troublemaker,” he said, avoiding Miles's eye.

“These are the men who stole my mother's diary,” said Miles indignantly. “And now they're trying to kill me.”

“You see, Captain,” said the Great Cortado smoothly, “the boy is a compulsive liar. That's just another of his wild accusations.”

The captain turned abruptly to the Great Cortado and fixed him with a hard stare. “Mr. Cortado, this ship is fitted as a pleasure cruiser, and I regret to say that there is no brig. You and your associate will remain locked in your cabin for the rest of this voyage instead, except at dinnertime, when you will join me at my table. Is that clear?”

The Great Cortado and his quasi-mustache bristled with indignation. “You propose to lock us up on the basis of this worthless whippersnapper's whoppers?” he said.

“Try saying that ten times in a row,” said First Officer Barrett in a gleeful whisper.

“You are forgetting, Mr. Cortado, that I caught
you red-handed trying to squeeze this boy through a porthole. On this ship my word is law, and you had better obey it without question. You will bring this boy's property to the table this evening, or I will personally see to it that you are locked up for life when we reach Al Bab.”

He let go of Doctor Tau-Tau's collar again. “If, however, your behavior is exemplary for the rest of the voyage, I will leave it to the boy whether he wants to press charges. Mr. Barrett, please escort these men to their cabin and take charge of the key. That is all.”

“You come with me and I'll fix you a medicinal drink,” said the captain, smiling at Miles. He took the boy's arm in a firm grip and guided him toward his cabin in the stern.

The captain's cabin was fastidiously neat. It had three small windows with leaded panes, which sloped outward and gave a spectacular view of the dappled clouds and the ocean far below. There was a polished writing desk spread with a detailed chart, and brass dividers for calculating headings and distances. On the wall were framed certificates and diplomas from the finest naval academies, all bearing the captain's name in ornate
script, and a locked glass case containing a pair of dueling pistols with a powder flask and rods.

“Take a seat, Mr. Wednesday,” said Captain Tripoli.

Miles sat in a plush red chair while the captain mixed a drink from a small cabinet in the corner. The drink steamed and fizzed slightly. It burned Miles's throat, but his shaking began to subside at once, and warmth spread to his fingertips.

“What makes those men so interested in your mother's diary, I wonder?” said the captain. His jaw was edged by a neatly trimmed beard, Miles noticed, as though he had been outlined with a heavy pencil.

“The diary contains information that may be the key to something else they stole from me,” said Miles.

The captain raised one eyebrow. “I'm curious to know why you would choose to sail with men who obviously mean you no good.”

“We thought they were aboard the
Albatross
,” said Miles.

“Why did you think that?” asked the captain.

“I saw Doctor Tau-Tau speaking to someone on the deck of the
Albatross
the morning we left.”

“Indeed?” said Captain Tripoli. He was silent for
a moment; then he leaned across the desk, his long fingers intertwined. “There was a thick fog that morning,” he said.

“I'm sure it was him,” said Miles. “I don't know anyone else who wears a hat like that.”

The captain gave a deep chuckle. “You won't be able to use the fez as a form of identification once we reach Al Bab,” he said.

“Can I ask you a question?” said Miles.

“By all means.”

“Why did you invite Cortado and Doctor Tau-Tau to dine at your table? I thought that was considered a privilege.”

“You are quite right,” said Captain Tripoli. “However, a great Chinese general once said, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.' It's a notion I've found useful over the years.”

Miles thought about this for a moment. “So you can keep an eye on them?”

“Precisely so,” said the captain. He got up and walked around the desk, extending his hand to Miles. His handshake was dry and firm. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wednesday. I trust you're feeling a bit steadier now.”

“I'm fine, thank you,” said Miles.

“Capital,” said Captain Tripoli, opening the cabin door. “One other thing. It's my pleasure to invite you and your companions to dine at my table also. And in your case,” he said with a smile, “I hope you will consider it a privilege.”

C
aptain Tripoli, dressed, pressed and chisel-sharp, sat at the head of his table and steepled his fingers as the ship's cook, Airman Tang—who doubled as the ship's waiter—spooned couscous and falafel onto his plate. The captain had taken the Chinese general's maxim seriously, seating Doctor Tau-Tau at his right hand and the Great Cortado at his left. If you think Miles might have felt uncomfortable sitting next to the man who had beheaded Tangerine, and opposite the ringmaster who had attempted to kill him only that afternoon, you would be absolutely right. He fidgeted on his seat and surreptitiously checked on Tangerine about
every two minutes, and he watched the hands on the stateroom clock to ensure that they had not actually been glued in place.

Little, on the other hand, was as bright as ever. She was soon teaching a wind song to First Officer Barrett, who sat opposite her at the end of the table and happened to mention that he liked to play the accordion.

“Might I ask what business takes you to Al Bab, Mr. Cortado?” asked Captain Tripoli.

The Great Cortado seemed to have made up his mind to be on his best behavior. “I am in the business of animal performances,” he said. “I was for many years the director of the finest circus show on the continent.”

“Is that so?” said the captain. “I keep a pair of ocelots at my home, although I have not had a great deal of success in training them.”

“You probably don't see them consistently enough,” said the Great Cortado with unusual politeness, and he and Captain Tripoli embarked on a conversation about the care and training of felines, frequently interrupted by Baltinglass of Araby, who prided himself on being an expert on anything that bites, stings, maims or dismembers.

With the captain and the ringmaster otherwise
occupied, Doctor Tau-Tau paused between mouthfuls and leaned a fraction closer to Miles. “I hope you realize that it was I who saved your life this morning, my boy,” he said in a low voice.

Miles felt himself flush hot, and it was only with an effort that he managed to keep his voice as low as the fortune-teller's. “It was First Officer Barrett who pulled me back in,” he said.

“Naturally,” muttered Doctor Tau-Tau. “I could not risk blowing my cover by wrestling with the Great Cortado over your ankles. Instead I used my considerable psychic powers to alert the captain and first officer to your predicament, and just in the nick of time, if I may say so. If I may say so,” he repeated, “it was a timely move.”

“Blowing your cover?” said Miles, ignoring the second part of Doctor Tau-Tau's improbable statement.

Doctor Tau-Tau glanced nervously at the Great Cortado, who was recommending to the captain a diet of chopped snake to give luster to his ocelots' coats.

“It's vital that I play along with Cortado until I learn mastery of the you-know-what,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, “so that we can be rid of him once and for all.”

“You're forgetting that the you-know-what is mine,” said Miles through clenched teeth. “You stole it from me, and you have no right to use it.”

A wounded look appeared on Tau-Tau's florid face. “My dear boy,” he said, “you know that I am always looking after your best interests.”

Miles took a mouthful of food to stop himself from answering straightaway. Strangely enough he believed that Doctor Tau-Tau really meant what he said—at least, as much as he meant anything—but he could not forget the sight of his beloved Tangerine cruelly eviscerated in an empty bed on a stormy November night.

“Since you've been looking after my best interests I've been almost sliced open by the Fir Bolg, nearly sawn in half by Cortado, and come within seconds of being pushed to my death from an airship,” said Miles in a loud whisper. “I'd rather you just returned the Tiger's Egg and left my best interests alone, thank you.”

Miles saw the Great Cortado glance in his direction at the mention of the Tiger's Egg. A forced smile appeared beneath the ringmaster's mustache. “I almost forgot,” he said, producing Celeste's diary and placing it on the table in front of Miles. “My associate here blundered into the wrong cabin this
morning and picked up this diary, thinking it was his copy of
A Hundred and One Magic Tricks for Beginners
. I only discovered his foolish mistake as we were dressing for dinner.”

Miles took the diary at once and put it in his pocket. Doctor Tau-Tau said nothing and stared at the tablecloth, his face growing darker crimson.

“I'd like you to return the other thing that your foolish associate took from me,” said Miles. He remembered what the captain had said at the porthole. “Then I might decide not to press charges.”

Captain Tripoli fixed Miles with a stern look. “I have already said that my word is law on the
Sunfish
, Mr. Wednesday. However, I have no jurisdiction over events that happen outside the confines of this vessel. Old feuds and misdemeanors must be settled elsewhere, and there will be no further mention of them at the captain's table.”

The Great Cortado smirked at Miles. “That sounds like an excellent opportunity to put our differences aside,” he purred. “I don't believe you've told me where you're headed once we reach Al Bab.”

“We're on an educational tour,” barked Baltinglass of Araby. “A journey into the unknown.”

“I always find a good map useful,” crowed the Great Cortado. “I picked up an excellent one for
nothing in a little place in Cnoc. But, of course, you wouldn't be able to read it, would you, old man?”

“Master Miles is well able to navigate,” said Baltinglass of Araby.

“Still,” said the Great Cortado, “it's kind of the boy to take on the burden of a blind pensioner on an outing, if perhaps a little fool-hurrrk!”

The Great Cortado did not, of course, intend to say “fool-hurrrk,” but before he could finish the word “foolhardy,” Baltinglass of Araby's hand shot out with lightning speed and bull's-eye accuracy and grabbed the ringmaster's tongue. Baltinglass pinched hard with his thumb and forefinger, and tears came to Cortado's eye. Little nudged Miles, and he fought to keep the smile from his face.

The captain put down his fork. “Mr. Baltinglass!” he said in a commanding tone. “You are a guest at the captain's table! Release that man's tongue at once.”

“My apologies, Captain,” shouted Baltinglass, giving Cortado's tongue a tweak before letting it go. “Thought I heard a snake there. The old eyesight's not what it used to be, you know.”

The Great Cortado sank back into his seat, shaking with rage, and Miles could not resist returning his smirk. “Baltinglass has taught me a lot,” he said,
“especially about preparing for the unexpected. He's had a lot of experience in dealing with reptiles.”

The Great Cortado leaned forward and fixed his one eye on Miles with a look of watery malevolence. “Perhaps you should remind him that I have a very long memory,” he said.

Captain Tripoli cleared his throat loudly, and Airman Tang appeared at his shoulder. “We'll take coffee now, Mr. Tang,” said the captain.

Miles and Little thanked the captain for dinner and excused themselves. Miles was impatient to revisit the Realm, and anxious to check that his mother's diary was still intact. They lit the lamp in their cabin, and Miles examined the diary by the flickering yellow light. There appeared to be nothing missing, including the inscription from Celeste's gravestone that he had penciled on the last page.

“Do you think they had a chance to copy this?” he asked Little.

“They didn't have it for long,” said Little, “and they spent at least part of that time trying to stuff you out through the window.” She looked at him and smiled. “We shouldn't have split up,” she said.

“But we didn't know they were on board,” said Miles. “I wonder what Tau-Tau was doing on the
Albatross
that morning anyway?”

Little shrugged. “Maybe he found it was more expensive to sail than to fly.”

Miles climbed into his bunk and lay down. He was too tired to read, and he placed the diary under his pillow and rested Tangerine on his chest. The bear lay still, limp with stuffing deficiency, an unquestioning smile stitched on his face. At one time Miles would have talked to him about the events of the day, but lately he had begun to feel a little sheepish about talking aloud to a stuffed bear, and a bit less sure that Tangerine was really listening. Nonetheless the feel of Tangerine's threadbare fur was as reassuring as it had ever been, and he smiled as he squeezed him tight.

“I was in the Realm again this morning,” said Miles, “after I got that knock on the head from Cortado.”

Little's face appeared over the edge of the top bunk. “Really?” she said. “You found your own way in?”

“I had to do that the first time too,” he reminded her. “But this time there was no lever. I thought you said it was the lever that opened the way in.”

Little laughed, her face framed by a curtain of silver-blond hair. “Don't be silly, Miles. You can get
into the Realm any way you like, once you know where it is.”

“How come it was a lever the first time?”

“Because I suggested it,” said Little. “I tried to explain the way I go in, but you understand machines and solid things much better, so in the end I just told you to look for a lever.”

“But how could it work if you just made it up on the spot?” said Miles.

“In a dream your thoughts
make
the reality. It's the same in the Realm. It's not like in this world, where reality comes in big heavy lumps and it's harder to think them into shape. That's why you have to be very careful to control your thoughts when you're in the Realm.” She lay back on her bunk and added through a yawn, “And whatever you do, don't
ever
think of the tiger.”

Miles listened to the steady rhythm of the airship's engines. The sound seemed so familiar now that he wondered how he would get to sleep without it. “I called you when I was in the Realm,” he said after a while, “but you didn't come. Is that because you weren't asleep?”

There was no answer but the
wup, wup, wup
of the propellers. “
Now
she's asleep,” Miles muttered to
Tangerine, and just for a moment he thought he felt the bear shift himself to a more comfortable position. Miles closed his eyes and smiled, and as the airship
Sunfish
sailed on through the starlit night he drifted gently into sleep.