The Queen and the Nobody Boy (21 page)

The nest skimmed inland, lifted over a forest, flew across a rushing river, then over more forest. Hodie clung on, sweating. Twigs jabbed into his legs. For a moment, the nest stuck in the top branches of a tree and rocked madly. It tore free but stuck in another tree almost at once.

Sibilla's hands were still white-knuckled. “This is definitely one of The Ties,” she began.

“You don't have to make conversation,” Hodie said, trying not to be actually sick.

The nest lurched and Sibilla let out a yelp.

“Ouch …” Hodie clung as tight as he could and tried shifting to another spot. “If you're being exact,” he continued, “this flying nest could be a sort of tumbleweed. It does come from one of the seeds that seem to be part of some treasures. It is unusual, but there is often a scientific explanation.”

The little Queen's jaw clenched, probably on the Royal Swear Word. “It is obviously magic. It's more obvious all the time.”

The nest was still stuck, high above ground. The tangle grew more prickly with every moment.

“Ouch,” Sibilla muttered. It would be awful if she burst into tears. Instead she tried to smile, but it looked fake-jolly. “Well, we can argue about that later. I just hope it takes us to my brother. Jasper will know what to do.”

“For goodness sake!” shouted Hodie. “If you're the Queen, you should know what to do at a time like this! What on earth do royal people teach their children?”

She gave him such a filthy look he was sure she'd come out with the Royal Swear Word. But something small flashed past, flashed back and clattered into the bottom of the nest. A mechanical brass pigeon – one of Jasper's? Sibilla stretched a foot out and gave it a nudge.

Whirring noises came from the pigeon, clacking and a beep.

“Jasper!” she said.

“Get to …” said Jasper's voice. “… too far for me (
clack
) map is lost … (
clack clack
) Sibilla, I believe you're out of Um'Binnia. You have to find the old … quickly as … (
whirr, click, clack
).”

“But Jasper!” cried Sibilla. “Where will I find the old dragon-eagle?”

“(
whirr
) … you have The Ties, might also have the map… magic is hard to manage but … trust your instinct… the dragon-eagle will tell (
whirr, clack
).”

“Jasper!” she yelled again. “Just come and get me!”

“… take The Ties, especially … tinder-cup … Mount of the … (
scraunch
) … I'm sailing across the Great Salt … (
whirr clack
) … Beatrix and the
Royal Traveller
an hour ahead of me … important for you to know … she discovered … Queen's sceptre, you know, the (
graunch graunch
) … in two places for safe-keeping … (
click-ick
) … When you save the old dragon-eagle, come at once, meet us at the foot of Um… (
clank
).”

One wing of the pigeon fluttered up and then collapsed. A puff of smoke rose from where a real bird might have an ear.

The flying nest rocked madly in another gust and ripped free from the tree.

Sibilla's hair was in the worst tangle Hodie had ever seen. “Now do you believe me?” she shouted.

“I believe the pigeon is a poorly made mechanism!” he shouted back.

The nest hurled through the sky for a moment as if someone had thrown it in a fit of temper. Then, at the edge of the forest, the wind dropped and, with a sickening plummet, dumped the nest down beside a roaring river.

~

Within seconds, the squirrel (when it had stopped reeling) hopped out to nose about. Hodie scrambled out too, getting thoroughly scratched, and had a thorough retch into some bushes. When he staggered back, Sibilla was still in the nest, standing up, looking around with her hands in fists.

“Where are we?” she cried. “We're nowhere! I thought … I thought The Ties would spring into life when I needed them. That we were heading towards Jasper.”

He shook his head. “It's not a good idea to believe everything will turn out the way you want.”

Again she looked as if she'd love to give his shins a royal kick, but she stayed in the nest. “But the Toads came just in time. The wind blew exactly when we needed to escape.”

“The first Toad liked the Roar-juice, told its friends, and they sniffed us out at a lucky moment,” Hodie said. “Lucky for us, I mean. Bad luck for Prowdd'on. And either the Toads or the Um'Binnians have got Murgott, so it's definitely bad luck for him.”

“Sometimes you seem so stupid!” She put her fists to her mouth but it didn't smother the Royal Swear Word.

Hodie tried to calm his temper. “I just know how things work. Watch something long enough, think about it, and eventually you figure it out.”

“You are impossible!” She bashed the nest. “Ouch. Get back in – it might take off again.”

He stayed where he was and spread his hands. “I think it's people who made the difference, not magic. Special people who keep on trying, who don't give up. I actually think if you get the chance, you'll be a good enough Queen…”

“Good enough?” she shouted. “Good enough's not good enough!”

He nearly strode off and left her. But the wind skirled, waves wrinkled across the river, and Hodie felt his forehead wrinkle too. “Maybe it's true that a special royal person can… um … communicate with magic – if that's another word for nature – and help keep the world safe, so children don't lose their parents and …” His throat hurt with a rush of pain and sadness. “But people do lose their parents. And you're in danger of losing yours too, as well as your brother.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Since the wind set us down here, come and have a proper look at the map.”

She clambered over the edge of the nest, ripping her pyjama trousers. He opened the bag for her to ease out the silver map. She held it carefully. The wind was absolutely still, but the map weighed nothing and moved in the breath from their mouths. She made him rest his hand under a corner to keep it steady.

“It's just a lot of scribbles,” she said.

“Pass your hand over it,” said Hodie.

She flattened her palm and slowly moved it over the silver sheet. The map glowed and seemed more beautiful. The images and names shimmered. There was the Eastern Isle on the right side of the map – the east – where the dragon-eagles bathed and fed. There were the hills behind the lake, where the dragon-eagles lived. How far could they fly? Around the entire world if they wanted, Hodie supposed. But even very small non-magical birds – and mechanical ones – could do that.

“Eagles usually built their nests in high places,” Hodie said. “Is that what dragon-eagles do?”

“They don't need a usual nest.” She traced the curve of the coastline and mountain ranges, from the Isle, south around Old Ocean and west to the City of Spires, up over the Stones of Beyond to Um'Binnia, to the northern ranges and back again to the Eastern Isle. Together all the ranges made a broken oval. It could almost be the shape of a huge nest.

“There …” Hodie pointed at a spot near the centre of the nest made by the curving mountain ranges. It was sort-of near the area Murgott had called the Waiting Lands, halfway between Um'Binnia and the Eastern Isle. A low hill was marked there, inland, but it had no name. Sibilla reached out and touched the image with a fingertip.

Tiny green flames flared out of the map, then died away. For a brief moment a line of writing curled under the image –
The Mount of the Four Storms
. Four wings appeared in the silver and beat ripples across the whole map. Then the map was still again.

~

Magic at last. The little Queen looked sick and drained. Her lips parted. “How do I get there?” she murmured.

Hodie was practical, not magic. He folded the secret pocket back over the map and looked at the nest. It had put down roots again, huge thick ones. The coin-shaped leaves rustled in the breeze and the flowers sent out sweet scent.

“That's not lifting off a second time,” he said. “You can try the rest of the shoots but there's no guarantee they'll grow. And if they do, there's no guarantee the wind will blow in the right direction.”

“Don't bring out the shoots,” Sibilla said.

He thrust his hand deeper into the shabby bag for the battered cup. “What about this?”

“What about it?” Sibilla asked.

“I thought you'd know by now,” said Hodie.

“I don't have a clue!” she snapped.

His last drop of patience vanished. He dropped the bag at her feet. “Nor do I! And it's not my business!” He slung the satchel off his shoulder and held it out. “You'll need this to protect the bag. There's the cup and the rest of those seeds, and the spanner, I don't know why. I'm off!”

The little Queen didn't reach out to take the satchel from him, so Hodie simply dropped that on the ground too and walked away.

“Stop!” she called in a cold and regal voice.

He took no notice.

“You complained that you'd never been paid!” she called more loudly.

“I don't care!”

But he couldn't resist a glance back. The satchel still lay on the ground, though Sibilla had fumbled the drawstring bag over her shoulder and was putting her dressing gown on top.

“You are a wretched stupid boy!” She tossed something.

The spanner landed beside his boot.

“I believe you found that useful. You'll be able to find work with it.” Her voice dripped with scorn. “I thank you, odd-job boy, for all your help.”

~

There was no point in letting an excellent spanner lie there and rust. Hodie snatched it up, stuffed it down his shirt and marched off. Within moments he was back in the forest. He bashed his fist against a trunk and let out a tirade about which one of them – the Queen or him – was the most stupid. King Jasper and his metal birds had given the Queen false hope. False hope was cruel.

The trees muttered and whispered. He started to walk on but heard a louder roaring from the river. He swung round and, through the trees, made out the shape and colours of a high-speed Um'Binnian warship, smoke rising from its funnels. A small boat had already left the ship and nosed into the river bank, letting off a group of soldiers. A scruffy squirrel was sniffing about, getting its paws wet, as if it wondered whether to try stowing away.

There on the deck of the warship was a tall, portly figure in purple and gold. Beside him stood Princessa Lu'nedda in her bedraggled pink frock, and the Commander with skinny arms akimbo.

What could Hodie do? Not one single thing.

~

In stories, Hodie had heard that travellers spent the night in ditches and used their bags for pillows. He no longer had a bag and thought that ditches would be damp. A crook of tree roots made a more comfortable bed (“more comfortable” didn't actually mean “comfortable”). He half-hoped the squirrel would turn up and help him keep warm, though perhaps it had hidden on the warship.

Hodie tucked his legs up and pulled the collar of the cloak around his neck. He felt something hard in his top shirt pocket. The last of the seeds. If it hadn't sprouted from being soaked with sea water, it must be a dud. Just his luck. Bad again.

So he curled up alone in the Um'Binnian cloak, spanner down his shirt, and asked if he could have done anything differently. Never have left the Grand Palace in the first place? Not have left Queen Sibilla like that back by the river? Everything had been a mistake. Now he was feeling sorry for himself again – how pathetic.

When morning came, he didn't wake up because he hadn't been to sleep at all. The leaves of the forest grizzled at him. The wind slapped him in a bad temper. The sky was yellowy-grey, the colour of misery.

He stood up at last. Walking out of the forest seemed the best idea, otherwise he might go in circles. He followed a stream inland, and it didn't take long to leave the trees behind. The stream dwindled into just a boggy patch and his boots were soon covered in mud. He trudged on till it dried and fell off. The land was fairly flat, with still no house in sight, although there was a field of cows.

Then, more or less south he saw a hill. Just a hill with a flat top, hardly high enough to be the magical (
ha ha
!
) Mount of the Four Storms. But that flat top was unusual. From there, Hodie might get more of a view, at least, and see the best road to travel. It might be interesting, too, to see if there was a hill in the distance that could be the Mount of the dragon-eagles. Whether a boy was somebody or nobody, if he was normal he was expected to be curious.

~

The day continued as miserable as early morning, and sent rain in sulky splatters. But it wasn't cold, and though he'd had no sleep and nothing to eat, Hodie didn't feel tired. The wind blew steadily. The lower slope, smooth at first, soon thickened with bushes. He found a way through easily enough.

Around midday the thin clouds thickened and the wind dropped
.
Hodie could have sworn he heard horses whicker and a jingle of harness. There must be a road, but he was hiking over stones and clods of dirt. He suddenly felt furious. He'd tricked himself into believing that magic was real after all, but … his foot slipped.

Down he plunged, crashing through bracken, nothing to break his fall. Then the air thudded out of him and he found himself at the foot of a steep bank, on his back, cramped between a rock and a stout tree root. He struggled, but his own weight simply wedged him deeper. His shoulders and arms were trapped by the cloak. He could kick a little with one leg and move one arm from the elbow, but couldn't grip on anything or wave for help. Not a single person in the world knew where he was.

The jingle of harness sounded again, further off. He tried to call out but couldn't draw breath. But the spanner jabbed into his chest. He fumbled it out with his free hand. If he could just ease the spanner between his shoulder and the root – it would bruise but all he needed was some leverage. He squeezed his eyes tight with the effort.

When he opened them again, a silvery-green glow surrounded him. He could sit enough to get the elbow beneath him and raise himself up. His lungs filled again with air.

On one end of the spanner, a faint curving image had appeared. He rubbed it, but the image didn't get any clearer and, after another moment, faded away. The green glow had faded too.
I was just feeling faint
, he told himself, then
No
, and he whispered aloud, “There is magic.” He tucked the spanner back between his shirt and vest, and hauled himself out of the hollow.

“Thank you,” he breathed, to luck, to quick thinking, desperate thinking, and to the spanner, to the merest shred of magic that had touched an ordinary boy and saved him from dying alone.

His arm where the spanner had levered was sore when he touched it, which meant the best thing was not to touch it. He fought up another ledge of bush and scrub, grabbed a branch and swung himself the last strides up the hill.

The top of the hill wasn't flat. It sloped down like a shallow bowl, so it might once have been a volcano. But Hodie didn't have time to examine it further. Arriving further around the rim were three military carriages pulled by horses. Hodie ducked behind a clump of grass and hoped the green Um'Binnian cloak would work as camouflage.

Out of the carriages stepped Prowdd'on, Lu'nedda (still in yesterday's ruined pink dress), soldiers, Sibilla (still in the hospital dressing gown) and Murgott (arms cuffed behind his back). Something seemed stuck on the top of the last carriage – a scruffy bird's nest? It lifted its head and waved a tail – it was the squirrel. And there, surrounded by a scattering of broken branches, in the centre of the shallow bowl, lay the dying dragon-eagle.

~