Chasing the Valley (7 page)

‘Right!' warns Teddy.

The foxaries hurl themselves to the right, changing direction as nimbly as leaves on the wind. Unfortunately, I'm not as agile as the creature I'm riding. I'm already sliding sideways and I barely manage to grab a fistful of fur before I'm flung left by the force of its turn.

‘Argh!' I hang off the creature's side, one leg still hitched over its back. I dangle from one clump of reddish fur and the rest of my body threatens to smash against every passing log and tree-trunk as we hurtle through the forest.

Teddy twists around, alerted by my cry. ‘What're you doing down there?'

‘Admiring the view,' I snap, as I struggle to find a better grip.

I can tell Teddy's swallowing a laugh – I guess I must look stupid – but he manages to hold himself together for a second. He hauls me back up into a sitting position, just in time to avoid a faceful of prickly thornbush.

‘Thanks,' I manage.

The foxaries slow, then bring us to a halt. Fur bristles beneath me, spiky with anticipation, and some strange instinct makes my own hair prickle down the back of my neck. For a moment I wonder whether it's my proclivity mark appearing but soon I recognise the feeling as nerves.

Clementine brushes a stray curl back behind her ears. ‘Where are we?'

I sniff, hoping to pick up a hint of what drew the foxaries to this place. There's an odd tang to the air. It sends a lurch into my stomach – something about the smell triggers a terrible impulse to run. It's like a forgotten memory, just out of reach . . .

The realisation slaps me.

‘Bombs,' I say quietly. ‘I can smell burning metal.'

What I really smell – and taste – is a sudden memory of
that
night. The scent makes me hear those screams again, tells me that my family is burning before me and I have no way to save them. Again and again, I must watch them die. I must smell
them die.

I slide down from our foxary's back. My feet aren't too steady and I almost slip when I land in the leaf litter, but I manage to catch myself just in time. I can't afford to look weak in front of the others. I'm already furious at myself for needing Teddy's help during the ride; Radnor probably regrets inviting me to join the crew.

‘Yes,' says a voice. ‘It smells like bombs.'

I turn around, surprised to hear an unfamiliar female voice. It's the quieter twin, the one whose name I've never managed to learn. She slips down from her own foxary, eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of her stomach.

‘Dunno about you guys,' says Teddy, ‘but I always thought bombs came out of biplanes. Don't hear any planes up there, do you?'

I glance up. The canopy is too thick to make out the sky; if one of the king's biplanes were overhead, we wouldn't spot it until it was too late. But Teddy is right about the noise. Those planes rattle and spit: hunks of metal that choke their way across the skies. The forest is too quiet for a biplane to be overhead.

I sniff again and then spin around to follow the source of the smell. After traipsing through a few metres of tangled undergrowth, I see it: a tiny wisp of smoke twisting up among the mess and roots of a nearby thicket.

‘Hey, over here!' I whisper.

The others join me, hot and nervous in the thick of the trees. We push through the foliage, pulling aside leaves and twigs to squeeze our bodies further into the thicket. Even from here, I can tell that something's wrong – there's too much light ahead, as though something has smashed a hole through the canopy itself.

Finally, we thrust our bodies into the clearing.

‘What the hell?' says Teddy, as sunlight hits his face.

I stare down, right at the source of the smoke. The burning metal, the crumpled glass, the shattered wings . . . and a scorched golden tattoo that marks the impact of a signal flare. The debris flickers oddly, as though an invisibility enchantment is still wearing off. It must be tainted with magical residue, to still be smoking so long after last night's carnage. This broken hunk of metal is no ordinary wreckage.

‘Is that a . . .?' breathes Clementine, sounding horrified.

I swallow. ‘Yeah. It is.'

This is one of the king's biplanes, scorched with the mark of a signal flare. And last night, by launching that guard-tower's flare, I shot this plane right out of the sky.

 

 

 

The only sound is wind in the trees. We stare at
each other. Then we stare back at the plane, stunned by the sight of a palace machine, broken and smouldering, in the middle of the forest.

‘Those markings,' says Clementine. ‘Our mother told us about the signal flares. Each turret has a unique tattoo, so guards in the other towers know which part of the wall has been threatened.'

I nod. ‘My flare.'

Silence.

When it becomes clear that no one else is keen to look, I take a step closer. If there's a body in there, if I've killed someone . . . 

‘Don't look, Danika,' says Radnor. His voice is calm, imitating the tone of a leader, but a twinge of uncertainty lingers in each word.

‘What if the pilot's still alive?' I say. ‘What if he's just unconscious?'

No one answers. I don't want to think what sort of injury could knock someone unconscious for the better part of a day. With a couple of shaky steps, I find myself at the edge of the wreckage.

I bend down, trying to ignore the stink of bombs – no, not bombs, just hot metal – and peer through the shattered window.

The cabin is empty. ‘There's no pilot!'

‘What?'

‘There's no body or anything!'

I straighten up and find Radnor raising an eyebrow. ‘A plane can't fly itself,' he says. ‘And no one could just walk away from a crash like that.'

‘Not unless . . .' I say. ‘Maybe the pilot got out of the plane before it crashed. Maybe he had an emergency parachute, or maybe his proclivity was Wind or Air or Darkness or something, and he just floated down into the trees.'

‘Oh, that's just fantastic,' says Clementine, glancing around with a nervous twitch. ‘Another enemy to worry about.'

‘Why was there a plane around, anyway?' says Teddy, frowning. ‘I mean, if I had a plane I'd go for joy-flights too, but I reckon it was a bit dark to see much.'

‘There were heaps of planes over Rourton last night,' says Clementine impatiently. ‘Or have you already forgotten we got
bombed
?'

Teddy scowls at her. ‘I'm not stupid, richie! But the bombing finished back when we were still in the sewers. Why the hell would a single plane hang around and check out the view?'

‘To report on the damage?'

‘There are hundreds of guards in Rourton – any one of them could report that stuff. I still don't see why this plane needed to hang around after the bombings.'

There is silence as we all mull this over. If this lone plane had its own, secret mission, and I shot it down before it could complete it . . . 

Someone nudges me. I turn to see Clementine's quiet twin tilting her head as though to ask permission to pass.

‘May I have a look?' she says, so shyly that I barely make out her words.

‘Go ahead,' I say, and make space for her to squeeze between the trees.

She bends down to examine the plane, a frown upon her face. For a second I think she doesn't believe me – that she's about to search the cabin for the pilot's body. But instead she peers beneath a broken wing.

‘Six bombs,' she says.

‘What?'

She straightens up and looks at Clementine. ‘There are still six alchemy bombs, ready to launch. That's the maximum these biplanes can carry, isn't it?'

We all nod. Even in years when the bombs don't fall, we're regularly treated to displays of biplanes soaring overhead. They're a constant threat to ensure we behave, so we make damn sure to learn as much about them as possible. Everyone knows these biplanes carry six bombs each: no more.

‘So,' I say, ‘this pilot was part of the bombing crew. He had a full load of alchemy bombs. But he didn't drop them on the city, and he waited around afterwards for . . . what?'

Radnor gazes at the smoking metal. ‘Must've had a special mission. Maybe he was going to bomb the survivors, to take us out when we thought it was safe again.'

Silence. I feel a little sick. In the aftermath of the bombing, so many people were out on the streets. If this plane was waiting to launch a second strike . . . 

‘You might have saved a lot of lives, Danika,' says Teddy. ‘Hey, we should throw a plane-smashing party! Can you believe it, what you've just done? You've taken out one of the king's own biplanes.' He grins. ‘Anyone got a bottle of wine?'

The impact of his words hits me hard in the throat. ‘Oh no.'

‘What's wrong? Don't you see, this is awesome!' Teddy raises his fist in a pump of triumph. ‘This must be the best blow that anyone's struck against the palace in decades.'

I shake my head, trying to hide the fear that's just taken seed in my gut. ‘And don't you think the palace has noticed?'

Teddy's grin fades and he drops his fist. ‘Oh.'

‘We might've struck a blow against the palace,' I say, ‘but we've also blown ourselves to the top of the palace's kill list.'

‘Every hunter in the land is going to be gunning for us,' says Radnor tightly, glancing between the wreckage and my face. ‘You're gonna be the most hunted person in Taladia.'

‘Imagine the price they'll put on your head,' says Clementine. ‘They'll plaster your face across the papers, on wanted posters . . . The scruffer who shot a biplane from the sky! Whoever catches you will win a fortune.'

‘Trust a richie to think about money,' mutters Teddy.

‘It was an accident!' I say. ‘I didn't even know the plane was there.'

‘You think the king will care?' says Radnor.

Clementine throws up her hands. ‘Well, you can't come with us! This trip is already dangerous enough, thank you very much.'

‘Danika saved our lives!' says Teddy. ‘Anyway, we already had hunters after us. What difference will a few more make?' He gives a cocky grin. ‘We can get away from a few overfed palace buffoons.'

‘A few overfed buffoons?' says Clementine. ‘I'm glad you think this is so amusing, but I refuse to treat this journey like a game. If we stay with this scruffer girl, Nort, we are all going to die.'

‘Bit melodramatic, don't you reckon?' Teddy says.

I gaze down at the remains of the plane. It still doesn't feel real. How could I, a runty little scruffer kid from Rourton, destroy a palace biplane? Clementine is right. I'll have half the kingdom after me, all eager to set an example of the fate that awaits traitors. As long as I stay here, I'm a danger to the crew.

‘I'll go,' I say. ‘I won't be responsible for the rest of you getting caught.'

‘They're gonna kill us if they find us, anyway,' says Teddy. ‘I reckon your illusion skills are the best hope we've got.'

‘If they're busy chasing me, maybe they'll leave the rest of you alone. This could be your chance to get out of the forest, to find the river . . .'

‘Forget it, Danika,' says Teddy. ‘They'll be after all of us now. You set off the flare to help us escape, remember? They probably reckon we planned it all together.' He brightens. ‘Hey, do you reckon the papers will run my old mugshot from the jewellery store heist? I reckon I look pretty dashing in that one.'

Clementine shakes her head. ‘They won't be able to identify us. It was dark, and –'

‘The city wall is lined with picture spells,' says Radnor. ‘They'll have images of all our faces by now.'

A breeze eddies across the ruins of the plane, twisting smoke into the air. We all know what Radnor means. Rourton is a hive of rats: of whispers and rumours and dealings in the dark. The guards need only flash my picture around the dodgier end of town, and I can think of a dozen scruffers who'd sell my name for a fistful of coins. It won't be hard to identify the richie twins, either, and as for the infamous Teddy Nort . . .

We can never go back. If we set one foot back in Rourton now, we might as well sign our own death warrants. The realisation tightens in my stomach like a fist.

‘You should get going,' I manage. ‘The smoke's going to draw the hunters this way.'

Radnor nods. ‘Come on, everyone.'

‘Her too?' says Clementine sharply, tossing her head in my direction.

‘No, I'll stay here,' I say. ‘I mean, I'll head off in another direction, and maybe –'

Radnor shakes his head. ‘No, you're part of the crew now, Danika. I want an illusionist on my side. Anyway, this is my crew and I make the rules. We don't leave anyone behind, and we don't betray each other – no matter what.' He gives Clementine a stern glare. ‘If we can't trust each other, we're not going to survive.'

Clementine doesn't look convinced, but she nods. I hesitate before I do the same. Then I swing up onto Teddy's foxary and tighten my grip on its fur.

This is going to be a long ride.