The Wings of Ruksh (17 page)

Tatler was correct in his guess. What they were seeing was, indeed, an operations room in the Ministry of Defence in Paris. The eye of the crystal moved round it slowly, revealing a huge, brightly-coloured projection that dominated one of the walls. It showed, in great detail, the blue stretch of the North Sea from the east coast of Great Britain to the deeply indented coastline of Norway. A casual observer might have assumed that a giant computer game was in progress as the map was dotted with a variety of ships of varying sizes that were either strung along the shores of Britain or clustered in the middle of the screen. Those in the middle of the sea, it was noted, were flying little French flags.

Army, Navy and Air Force uniforms were all present in the room but it was the naval officers, stationed nearest the screen, whose faces showed traces of strain. The Army and Air Force officers seemed decidedly more relaxed and clung interestedly to the outer fringes of the group, their
expressions
guarded. Nevertheless, one could, if one looked closely, occasionally discern a fleeting look of amusement on their carefully schooled features. The navy was in the soup! Or rather, in the middle of the North Sea without a lifebelt in sight!

“Well?” Bruiton demanded.

“It’s quite incredible!” answered the most senior of his
admirals
, shaking his head worriedly. “Nothing’s changed! I just don’t know what the devil’s going on out there. Apparently, the fleet is surrounded by a heavy, thick, white mist. It sits out there covering our entire fleet and, as far as I can see, defies all the laws of meteorology!”

“And can’t,” Marcel Bruiton demanded, “can’t they sail through it?”

The admiral gave him an expressionless look. “They’ve been trying to sail through it all day, Minister.”

“What! You must be joking!”

“I’m not,” the admiral muttered.

“But … I don’t understand …”

“Neither do I,” muttered the admiral, “and what’s more,
neither
does the Weather Bureau. Not only that, the satellite shows that the fleet is sailing round in circles.”

“Round in circles!” snapped Bruiton. “You’d think with all the expensive navigational equipment we’ve installed that they’d be able to do slightly better than that!”

“Our captains at sea blame everyone but themselves, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Anyway, surely they can’t
all
be going round in circles!”

“Fantastic or not, that’s what they’re doing!” the admiral paused. “All of them.”

“Even … even the submarines?” gulped the Minister.

“Even the submarines!”

“And what about the British fleet? What are they doing? Where,” his eyes searched the board, “where are they?”

“Laughing their heads off, I should think!” whispered a high-ranking officer to his neighbour.

The admiral blenched. “Sir, they’re doing nothing.” He
gestured
to the screen where ships bearing the white ensign of the British Navy hugged the coast. “Their entire fleet is in port. They haven’t a warship or a submarine at sea!”

“But they must know that our fleet is on its way to destroy them?”

Several heads jerked in surprise at this remark. “
Destroy
them?” queried a rather crusty-looking old general, looking round a room that had fallen suddenly silent. “Is there, by any chance, something that we haven’t been told, Minister? I,
certainly
, was under the impression that the cause of our present
state of alert was the protection of our fishing fleet!”

“Yes, yes,” Bruiton said hastily, “a slip of the tongue! I meant destroy them … if they attacked our fleet.”

The general coughed. “May I point out, Minister,” he said, “that the entire British fleet is in port and that at the moment we seem to have put ourselves in the position of aggressors! Besides which,” he glowered at the admiral, “our fleet must be in a disgraceful state of unreadiness if all it can do is sail round in circles. Thick mist or no thick mist!”

Biting back an angry retort, the Minister looked thoughtful. “The mist is suspicious,” he announced.

“Very suspicious,” nodded the admiral, pleased that they were in agreement about something.

“Can’t we have it analysed?”

“We could analyse it, sir,” there was an agonised pause, “if we were able to find it.”

“But,” he looked at the admiral, “you’ve just said it was around our fleet!”

“Yes, it is, sir. We have proof of that. Our captains confirm it.”

“Then why can’t it be analysed? Am I surrounded by fools?”

“Well, you see, Minister, there are no chemists on board the warships.”

“But for God’s sake, man, the Weather Bureau can send in an aircraft equipped to take samples, surely!”

“Theoretically, yes,” agreed the admiral, swallowing hard.

There was a stunned silence as the Minister digested this reply. “What the devil do you mean?” he said eventually. “Theoretically, yes!”

The admiral didn’t answer and as the uneasy silence
lengthened
, an Air Force officer moved over and saluted respectfully. “We’ve been sending weather aircraft out to take samples, sir. They’ve flown out to the areas indicated but they haven’t found the mist.” He took a deep breath and his eyes shifted to a point over the minister’s left shoulder, “and what’s more important,
sir, neither have they found the fleet.”

This time the silence lasted for several minutes.

Incredulity laced the Minister’s voice. “
They – can’t – find – the – fleet!
”

“No, sir.”

“What on earth do you mean,” his voice was strangled, “they can’t find the fleet?”

The admiral looked as though he were about to burst into tears. “It … it seems to be lost!”

“
Lost!
What do you mean it’s lost? Good heavens, man, you can’t just
lose
the French fleet!”

“Sir,” interrupted the Air Force officer, “when the weather aircraft returned and the crew reported that they were unable to find either the fog or the fleet we sent over one of our best reconnaissance aircraft.”

“Well?”

“With exactly the same results, sir. The weather, as far as they are concerned, is as clear as crystal from Norway to Scotland and our fleet is non-existent.”

“It’s not there? But where can it have gone?”

“No, no. You don’t understand, sir,” interrupted the admiral, “it’s there, all right. Our commanders and captains are sending in reports regularly!”

“So, it’s there — and it’s not there! There’s a mist — and there isn’t a mist! Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered the unhappy admiral, staring at his feet.

The Minister, ageing ten years in as many seconds, looked as though he was going to have a nervous breakdown on the spot. “A secret weapon! It must be!” he said glancing round the room sharply. “The British must have a secret weapon! There … there can be no other explanation.”

“What are your orders, sir? What shall we do?”

“Call the fleet back immediately!” he snarled. “I’ve a strong suspicion that you’ll find that the mist will lift the minute it heads for France!”

“And the fishing boats, sir?”

“No, leave them. We’ll continue to monitor them by satellite. It will be interesting to see if anything happens to
them
.”

With that, he stalked out of the room and, with his departure, the crystal started to cloud over.

Tatler looked absolutely rapturous. “We’ve won! We’ve won!” he said, throwing his arms in the air and dancing round like a madman. “He’s withdrawn the fleet! MacArthur, you’re
fantastic
! I only hope Wyndham and the PM were watching on their crystal! The PM will be over the moon, believe me! Absolutely over the moon!”

Amgarad flew high, his sharp eyes scanning the craggy peaks of the mountains that lay stretched below him like a black and white carpet; for in the valleys, the snow lay thick and deep.

The air was crisp and clear, however, and as he quartered the slopes below, his heart sank at the immensity of the task he had set himself. The snow witches, he knew, could have taken Clara anywhere. And even if she were in the open, her magic cloak would make it virtually impossible for him to see her.

Hours passed as he methodically searched the multitude of mountains and valleys that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath him and, as the day wore on and night started to fall, was actually thinking of returning to his master when a movement far beneath him, caught his eye. As he snapped his wings back and swooped lower, a gleam of amusement spread across his face. This was certainly something to save to tell Archie and Arthur when he got back to the hill!

Far below him, a large, black crow was attempting to ride a broomstick and making a complete hash of it; for the
broomstick
was diving, swooping and looping-the-loop in its efforts to rid itself of its unwelcome passenger. The crow, to give it its due, seemed equally determined to stay on and as it flapped wildly in an effort to keep its balance — not exactly easy when upside down — Amgarad remembered the crow that had
followed
them from Edinburgh. His eyes sharpened and his dive steepened.

Between trying to keep his balance and thinking of how pleased Clara was going to be when he brought her the
broomstick
, Kitor was much too occupied to think of danger and for once neglected to observe the first rule of the wild. Watch your
back, always, all the time!

It wasn’t surprising, therefore, that he almost had a heart attack when Amgarad swooped, caught the broomstick in his talons and eyed him grimly. Wings flapping frantically, Kitor held on as the broomstick steadied and then gulped fearfully at the sight of the great eagle whose beak was mere inches from his face. To avoid certain death, he knew what he had to say — and he said it fast.

“Clara,” he gabbled, “I know where she is! I can take you to her.”

Amgarad tightened his grip on the broomstick with such ferocity that he almost cracked the wood. The broomstick shrieked in pain and Kitor nearly fell off at the sudden noise.

“Where is she?” Amgarad said. “Tell me at once!”

“I’ll do better than that; I’ll take you to her. It isn’t far now. Look, you can see it. That cave in the side of the mountain over there.”

“Why the broomstick?” Amgarad’s eyes were fierce.

“Well, she can’t fly, can she?” answered Kitor, relief making him chatty. “We talked about it this morning and she reckoned that some of the witches’ broomsticks might still be lying round after the battle. She thought she might be able to fly one, but to be honest, I don’t know if she will. I haven’t been able to get this one to fly in a straight line all morning!”

Amgarad looked ahead to the small dark opening in the side of the mountain and his heart lifted as he saw Clara standing at the entrance to the cave, waving to him.

“Amgarad!” he heard her voice faintly on the wind. “Am-garad!”

It took only a few minutes for Amgarad to reach the cave. Clara jumped up and down in excitement as he swooped in with Kitor clinging frantically to the broomstick as it brushed the walls of the cave.

“Amgarad!” she cried. “Thank goodness you’re not frozen any more! I
knew
that Lord Rothlan could undo the witches’
spell! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you again!” And seeing Kitor sitting rather dejectedly on the broomstick, she knelt down so that he could hop onto her arm. “I’m glad to see you too, Kitor,” she smiled, straightening up. “You’ve been gone for ages but thank you for finding me a broomstick!”

“Kitor!” Amgarad’s eyes grew suddenly stern. “Prince Kalman has a crow called Kitor! Is the prince not your master, crow?”

Kitor looked at Clara and shifted on his claws, too petrified to speak.

“Kitor saved my life, Amgarad,” Clara said swiftly, coming to his aid. “He told the prince that I was dead when I wasn’t but somehow the prince knew he was lying. He sent a
thunderbolt
to kill him but I managed to save him.” She looked from Kitor to Amgarad. “He is one of us now, Amgarad,” she smiled, looking at him anxiously, for he was not normally quite so fierce-looking. “He was bringing the broomstick for me — so that I could escape from this awful cave.”

Amgarad looked at the crow who met his eyes steadily.

“If your master, Lord Rothlan, will have me,” Kitor said, “I will be proud to serve him.”

“You can ask him yourself, Kitor,” Amgarad replied, “for we are going to him now.” He looked disparagingly at the
broomstick
. “Once I’ve sorted out this broomstick, that is!”

He gripped the broomstick in his claws and spoke to it with deceptive gentleness. “You are going to carry this girl,
broomstick
, and carry her safely. I want none of your tricks, do you understand?”

The broomstick, who had already felt the power of Amgarad’s claws, hastened to agree and, as a sign of its good intentions, immediately floated into the air and hovered steadily beside them.

“No tricks, mind,” Amgarad warned, “or I’ll turn you into matchwood!”

The broomstick trembled at the very thought. “You’re
scaring
it, Amgarad,” Clara chided as she climbed on. “I’m sure it will behave beautifully.”

Amgarad looked at her sideways. “It had better,” he said. “Don’t forget that it was once a witch’s broomstick!” He turned to the crow. “Kitor, will you fly alongside Clara? Just to make sure the broomstick behaves itself. I’ll lead the way over the mountains.”

Amgarad launched himself into space and Kitor flapped beside her as the broomstick flew out over the precipice that dropped from the cave entrance. Clara, who still didn’t like heights, kept her eyes firmly shut as she sailed out of the cave on the broomstick. Even when they had left the mountain behind and she judged it safe to open her eyes, she felt
decidedly
uneasy at being so high. Broomsticks, after all, were thin things compared to the solid safety of Sephia’s broad back!

The journey, fortunately, was not long and as they started to glide downwards she could see the distant gleam of the sea.

“Look, Clara,” said Kitor, “look over to your left. Can you see the forest and the Black Tower? That is Ardray, the home of Prince Kalman!”

“Ardray!” she repeated, startled, for she hadn’t realized that they were that close. She paled and gripped the broomstick tightly as she turned her head — and as she looked she gasped in wonder for nothing had prepared her for the sight of Prince Kalman’s grimly beautiful castle.

Until then she hadn’t really given much thought to its appearance and the soaring majestic grandeur of the vision that met her eyes was totally unexpected. It took her breath away completely. This, she thought, was a magician’s castle if ever there was one. She stared at it, round-eyed and totally entranced. Tall and turreted, with carved, winged eagles
decorating
its balconies, the Black Tower of Ardray reared high, proud and elegant above the trees of the magic forest.