The Dark Flight Down (15 page)

A guard ran over and tried to find the catch Maxim had used.

“It’s locked from the inside,” he said.

Frederick practically jumped onto his throne, and stood there, quivering with rage.

“Find him! Search the palace. Close all exits! Bring him to me!”

The Tower

The Place of Revelation

1

The whole court was in turmoil.

Guards raced here and there, as Frederick shouted orders from atop his throne.

Willow ran to Boy. Kepler hurried after her, pushing his way through the crowds, but Willow was faster and more nimble.

“Quick!” she said to Boy. “Now’s our chance.”

“Kepler’s after us!”

“He can’t follow both of us. Split up. I’ll meet you in the South Tower. You know the way?”

Boy nodded.

“Go!” he cried, and pushed Willow away from him. She skittered toward the nearest door, just as Kepler got to Boy.

“Got you!” he said. “You’re coming with me. I need you.”

Boy wriggled free. Amid all the chaos, no one was paying them any attention.

“No!” Boy cried. “I don’t want to.”

“But it’s not safe for you here!” Kepler shouted.

“I know that!” Boy laughed. “It’s not safe for anyone here.”

“You don’t understand,” Kepler said. “You’re mine. You’re all I need.”

“Get away from me!” Boy cried.

He turned and began to push his way through the crowd. Kepler pursued, trying to get past people, but he could not keep up with Boy, who was used to moving his small frame through tight places. Boy was about halfway across the room, making for another door, when the noise in the court suddenly increased tenfold.

There were screams from the door, and a huge swell of people pushed back from the main entrance. Boy could see ladies being crushed in the panic, men screaming to get away, as a circle opened in the crowds.

There was Maxim, advancing on Frederick, who was still dancing about madly on the throne. But Maxim was not alone. He had brought someone, or rather something, with him. He held a chain of iron links in his hand, at the far end of which was a struggling, snarling, spitting creature.

The Phantom.

It could be nothing else but the creature Boy had met in the tunnel, squatting over its victim in the trampled snow.

Screams flew to the heaven-painted ceiling; some of the courtiers fainted on the spot, as the Phantom was led against its will through the shiny bright court. It scrabbled on the polished floor, fighting to keep on its feet, which were callused and strong. It loped on its hands, moving like an ape, though Boy could see it really was human, in an appalling, twisted way. It pulled against its chain, trying to get away from the bright world into which it had been dragged, but Maxim was a powerful man, and headed unerringly for Frederick.

No one else in the room moved. Boy looked at the emperor. There was horror, anger, fear, disgust and repulsion on his face, but strangely, no surprise.

“So!” Maxim shouted.

He reached the foot of the dais, and turned and yanked so hard on the Phantom’s chain that it lost its footing entirely and went skidding onto the floor, where it tried and failed at first to find its feet.

“So! Beautiful people!”

The room fell silent, everyone staring openmouthed at the creature struggling at Maxim’s feet.

“So! There is your emperor. Frederick the Magnificent! Frederick who wished to be made immortal because he had no heir, no son to succeed him! But he lies!

“He lies! For there is a story to tell. Fifteen years ago, he took a consort. Sophia Beebe! And the book prophesied that there would be an heir. That much some of you know. You may remember that the Beebes were disgraced, and you may believe that the offspring died! But you were lied to!

“You want a son, Frederick? Well, here’s your son! This killing thing, kept hidden from everyone for fifteen years. Your son, Frederick! Your son, this beast!”

Frederick stood on his throne, stricken with horror. He glanced from the Phantom to his people, who began to call out in fear and shame at what they were witnessing.

The Phantom had got to its feet, and squatted, crouching, spitting and struggling on its short chain. Boy could not take his eyes off it. There was something offensive, yet fascinating, about it. It was only a child really, but malformed and powerful beyond its years.

“No,” Frederick said, quietly, weakly. “No, it—”

“Don’t lie!” Maxim shouted. “You know it as well as I do, as well as Bedrich did! The only other witness from those days! You wanted an heir? Well, this is the rightful heir to the throne.”

“Guards!” Frederick screamed. “Arrest him! Arrest him! And take that . . . thing . . . away!”

Maxim snarled as three guards closed in on him. Swiftly he moved close to the beast and loosed the chain from its neck. Maxim began to back off and one of the guards made for him.

Faster than Boy imagined possible, the Phantom, who thought it was being attacked, leapt at the guard, and clawed him away in a second. Blood welled across the polished floor, and people screamed. The chaos that had been stilled while Maxim made his speech returned in a moment. There was pushing and shouting; another guard tried to swing his sword at the Phantom, who jumped right over the blade, dispatching his assailant with ease as he landed on his feet again.

Maxim ran. The Phantom, maddened by fury and fear, lashed out at anyone who came near.

Boy joined others running from the room, but stumbled, and went sprawling over several other people. Kepler was nowhere to be seen, but the panic was universal. The furor continued behind them, as the beast became frenzied, lunging at people. Boy got to his feet, and saw that he was bleeding. He had fallen on the sword of one of the guards, which was so sharp he hadn’t felt anything at first. He now bled from a gash in his right forearm. He grabbed it with his other hand and ran for his life.

He had to get to the South Tower and find Willow.

He made it through the door, and tried to work out which way to go, as the screaming continued in the court. Frederick was jumping up and down on his throne, ranting, but could no longer be heard.

The Phantom, still on the loose, saw a gap in the crowd, and loped toward the door. No one tried to get near it, to stop it. A dozen guards who had attempted to do so lay on the floor, badly injured.

As it emerged from the court, it saw something it liked. Blood. A trail of blood leading out across the marble floor of the hall.

It followed.

2

Boy ran as fast as he could, leaving the screams behind him. He hurried through the palace, through bits he knew, then bits he didn’t, trying frantically to remember Willow’s description of the interior route to the Old South Tower.

He passed no one. It seemed that the entire palace had been present for the bestowing of Frederick’s immortality, and everyone had witnessed the farce it had become. Likewise, everyone had seen the horror of the Phantom— everyone except Willow. Boy quickened his pace, but he had to remember what she had said, and it would be worse to get lost altogether.

He came to a junction and couldn’t remember Willow’s instructions. He hesitated, then guessed left. Years of navigating the City’s mazelike streets had given him a good sense of direction, and he decided to trust it now.

He was right. As he ran down a long corridor with tall windows, he could see the South Tower to his left through the snowfall. The corridor turned and he came to the foot of the Tower, in a small hall with a spiral staircase.

Noting the position of the door to the outside, he began to leap up the stairs, two at a time. He didn’t notice the spattered blood he was leaving behind as he went.

Willow and Kepler’s rooms were at the very top of the Tower. Boy cursed. The stairs were steep and dark and he couldn’t make his legs go fast anymore. But at least Willow should be easy to find—he just had to make it to the top of the staircase.

Suddenly he could go no higher. He put his foot up for the next step and there was none. He stumbled forward and looked about him.

“Willow?” he called, but quietly.

There was no answer. He could see doors in front of him and to the side, three in all.

He looked around. Everyone was in court, or running screaming from the Phantom. He decided he could risk shouting.

“Willow! Are you there?”

Still no answer. There was nothing else for it.

Boy made for the door nearest him and opened it.

Immediately he saw Willow. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing him. As he walked in, she looked up. There was an odd expression on her face, which stopped Boy where he was. Not a look of surprise, or joy, or relief, it was something else, something like fear.

On the floor in front of Willow lay the book, wide open.

Boy pointed dumbly.

“Did you . . . ?” he began, but stopped. He didn’t know what he was asking.

“Boy . . . ,” Willow said, slowly. Then she noticed his arm. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s all right,” said Boy. “It’s not too bad. . . .”

“Let me look at it,” said Willow, getting to her feet.

Boy shook his head. They were wasting time.

“No!” he cried. “The book. You’ve read the book!”

Willow stood, like a guilty child, the book at her feet. She looked down at it.

“You’ve read the book, Willow! Tell me! What does it say?”

“Boy . . . I . . .”

“What did it tell you! Tell me! Or I’ll read it myself.”

“No!” Willow cried.

Boy strode to where the book lay on the floor. Willow grabbed his arm to stop him and Boy howled with pain. He shoved her away with his good arm and sat down in front of the book.

“No!” cried Willow, and tried to pull the book from Boy.

“Leave me alone!” Boy screamed at her. He pushed at her hands.

“No, Boy! Don’t read it! Don’t read it! Please!”

Something desperate in Willow’s voice struck Boy. He hesitated.

“Why not?” he said, his voice faltering. “Why not? I have to know.”

Willow shook her head.

“Maybe it’s best you don’t. Maybe it’s not what you want to hear. Maybe . . .”

“Just tell me, Willow.”

“All right. But I want to tell you something first.”

Boy waited for her to go on.

“I want you to know. I love you.”

Boy showed no emotion, nothing.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

“Valerian’s not your father,” Willow said. “That’s true.”

“Then who?” asked Boy.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Boy said.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t think you’ll want to know. Boy, your father . . . Your father is the emperor. Frederick.”

Boy stood, speechless, stunned into silence. A strange look came into his eyes. He smiled, then began to laugh, but stopped just as quickly.

“Don’t talk rubbish,” he said. “That’s ridiculous. . . .”

“I’ve seen it all, Boy. I’ve seen it all. Fifteen years ago, the emperor had a son by one of the Beebe women. Sophia.”

“Yes, I know. There was something wrong with it. Willow! You weren’t there! It’s the Phantom, Willow. It’s grown into some kind of monster. Maxim let it loose in the court. It’s gone crazy, hurting people.”

Willow did not seem surprised.

“I know. I saw it in the book. About the strange baby. Frederick had it taken away from Sophia, put it in the dungeons imagining it would die. But it didn’t, and even Frederick couldn’t bring himself to have his own flesh and blood killed. And he believed he couldn’t kill the son the book had foretold. That he would risk Fortune’s retribution if he tried to alter the path of Fate by killing the child. But that’s not the son I’m talking about, Boy.

“There were twins. One hideous, the other normal. Sophia was horrified by what Frederick had done to her baby, and furious. In revenge, she escaped one night with the healthy child.

“Frederick began to persecute the Beebes. They fell from favor overnight. He confiscated lands and money and removed titles he had bestowed only a little while before. He searched high and low for Sophia.

“Knowing she would be pursued, Sophia tried to hide her tracks. She faked the death of the child. I don’t know what happened exactly. I saw . . . in the book . . . I saw the millrace at Linden, and people dragging a woman’s body from the water. All I know is that the baby did not die. Somehow, someone must have saved it, and it grew into a boy. A boy who lived on the streets for years, by himself.

“You, Boy. You. You’re Frederick’s son.”

She stopped.

Boy stared through her as if she was a ghost, but if anything it was he who felt like a ghost.

“This can’t be true . . . ,” he said.

“It’s the truth. It may not be the truth you want, but it’s the truth all the same.”

She put her hand out to him. He didn’t push it away but he didn’t take it either.

“What did you want to find, Boy? What did you think would make you happy?”

Boy shook his head.

“I don’t . . . I don’t think . . .” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “I don’t know if I wanted to be happy, I just wanted to know.”

“And now that you do . . . ?”

“I can’t believe it. Frederick . . . my father.”

“It’s funny. He’s so tiny, like you.”

“Funny?” cried Boy. “Funny? That’s not what—”

“I’m sorry!” Willow said. “I only mean—”

“Never mind,” Boy said. “It’s just . . . That means that the Phantom . . . is my
brother
.”

Willow nodded.

“And Boy, do you know what else it means?”

Boy looked up at her.

“What?”

“When Frederick dies . . . you’ll be emperor.”

Boy walked over to the window, beyond which was a small balcony. He put his hand to the catch and pushed the narrow glass door open.

“Boy . . . ,” said Willow.

He stepped out onto the balcony, and watched the snow. He stood there, staring at the thousands of snowflakes plummeting to the end of their journey, the end of their dark flight down.

He wanted so much to join them.

But only for a moment. He turned back to Willow.

“Willow,” he said.

“Boy?”

“I want to tell you some things too. I love you too. But listen to me. I know who my parents are now. I’ve got my answers. They’re not answers I like very much. Sophia Beebe, who died fifteen years ago. The emperor.

“No. I’ve been stupid. I’ve been so desperate to find out, to find the truth, and now that I have, it’s all meaningless. It doesn’t alter who I am.”

Willow smiled. She nodded.

“It doesn’t change me,” Boy went on. “I was wrong to think it would. I’m just me, Willow. I’m Boy, who lived on the streets, who lived with Valerian, and now who’s in love with you. That’s who I am.”

Willow rushed over to him and they held each other tight.

“And now I know,” Boy said, “I don’t want anything to do with him. I’m not going to be anyone’s emperor. Only you and I know about this—”

“No, Kepler knows.”

Boy swore.

“Of course!”

“Kepler knows. That’s why he’s been trying to get to you.”

“What? To get me out of here?”

“No, he wanted to bring you here.”

Boy shook his head.

“I don’t understand.”

“Kepler knows who you are. He’s known it ever since he got the book. Ever since he cast your horoscope. And he knew immediately he could use you. He wanted to bring you here, and present you to the emperor. You, his long-lost son. He wasn’t quite the unassuming scientist Valerian thought he was. He craved power, having spent years in the wilderness after leaving the Academy. He thought that if he brought you here, and the book too, he’d be showered with money, power. He intended to take Maxim’s place.”

“I can’t believe it. That’s why he’s been so desperate to hang on to me?”

“Yes. It makes sense. Only it happened too soon. Your coming here, I mean. Kepler wanted to do things in his own time. He knew about Maxim, told me how dangerous he is. He was wary of him, and wanted to take things carefully.”

“So why did he tell Valerian I was
his
son?”

“It was all he could think of to save you. He knew you were the right age, so he told Valerian the one thing that could save you, and it worked. But all the time he had other plans for you. To bring you here, use you, to get the position of power he wanted.”

Boy said nothing, taking time to think it all through. He roused himself, turned to Willow.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “All that matters is that I’m not going be anyone’s emperor. We—”

He stopped.

“What?” Willow cried. He was staring past her, over her shoulder.

“Willow!” he choked. He didn’t move.

Sensing the fear in Boy’s body, Willow turned slowly in his arms, until she saw.

The Phantom.

The Phantom was standing in the doorway of the room. It stared hard at both of them, and lifted one finger to its mouth, licking it. Boy could see blood on the finger,
his
blood.

The beast took a step forward, and in the lamplight, Boy could see its face clearly for the first time. Now at last he knew what it was that had horrified him the night he had run into the Phantom in the palace tunnels. What it was about the thing’s eyes. It was that they were his own.

His brother. His mutated monster of a brother.

Boy and Willow waited for the attack, yet still the Phantom paused. It seemed not to have noticed Willow at all, but kept its eyes fixed on Boy alone.

Eye to eye, their gazes met, Boy and beast. Boy looked deep into those eyes. Beyond the tragic face, beyond the watery gray film across the eyes themselves, and further, he looked into the Phantom’s mind.

Were there thoughts there? Real thoughts? Or just impulses, to kill, to eat, to run?

There had to be more to his brother than that. Boy took a deep breath, and smiled.

He stepped forward, and put his hand out to his brother.

The Phantom looked at Boy, put his head on one side, like a dog considering something. He licked the blood on his fingers once more, and moved slowly forward.

There was a clattering of feet on the steps, and Kepler burst into the room.

“No!” he shrieked, and flung himself at the Phantom from behind.

The Phantom was thrown to the floor, but pulled Kepler down with him, knocking over the table with the lamp. The lamp shattered and oil spread across the floor, a moment later catching fire and exploding. The room was lit only by the flames flickering up the side of the overturned table.

Willow screamed.

Boy screamed too.

“No!”

But it was too late. The Phantom rose and attacked Kepler, who had come armed with a knife.

Boy watched horrified as the two figures struggled to their feet. They stumbled as one body, and backed into the burning table, which caught on the Phantom’s rags instantly. It shrieked with pain and lashed out at Kepler, dashing him backward onto the balcony.

“No! Stop it! Stop it!” Boy cried.

The Phantom lurched after Kepler, who was getting to his feet. The Phantom hit him hard in a crazed attack that sent them both hurtling toward the balustrade. Boy and Willow shrieked as both figures plunged over the balcony.

Boy rushed out and was in time to see the burning figures plunge like a comet through the snowy night to the flags of the courtyard below. They were still.

“No!” he cried, heedless that the whole palace could hear him. “No!”

Willow hurried to his side and looked down. Then she turned and buried her face in Boy’s neck.

Boy put his arm around her.

“Come on,” he said. His voice sounded calm, and strong.

Willow looked up at him.

“It’s time we left,” he said, “but there’s one more thing we have to do first.”

Willow nodded.

The book.

They both turned to where it lay on the floor, a few feet from the burning table. The book that had caused so much pain and death.

Together they made their way over to the book, and knelt by it. What they did next was not easy. It seemed to be radiating hostility toward them, as if it knew. They began to shake as they lifted the thing between them, the book suddenly feeling much heavier than ever before.

“Maybe . . . ,” began Willow, but Boy shook his head.

“No,” he said, powerfully. “It’s the end.”

They opened it and fanned its pages into the flames of the burning table.

“Die,” said Boy under his breath. “Die.”

The flames seemed to lick around its pages and cover, but they would not take. It was as if it was impervious to fire.

“It won’t burn!” cried Willow. “It won’t!”