The Story of Cirrus Flux (10 page)

She put down the tin of ginger and peered into the Governor’s eyes.

“What have you done with it, you sentimental fool? Have you given it to the boy?”

The idea seemed to play in her mind. Her fingers twitched the sides of her dress. Then, spying a loop of keys, she reached over and snatched them. “Shall I go upstairs and find him?”

The Governor blinked and Pandora, unable to contain herself, gave a little squeak of fear. Immediately Madame Orrery spun round—

—but Pandora had already fled from the room. She could think of only one thing to do: find the boy and warn him that Madame Orrery was after his sphere.

In a heartbeat she was on the landing, rushing toward the stairs. The boys’ dormitory, like the girls’, would be on the top floor; she knew the layout of the hospital well.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Had she been seen? She quickened her pace and dashed up the next flight of stairs. Her candle flame flickered, showing her the door just ahead.

She raced toward it.

Desperately, she searched through her keys, eliminating all those she had used before, and finally settled on one that was unfamiliar: a large black key with prominent teeth. She inserted it in the lock, gave a little twist and felt the bolt give way. With a sigh of relief, she opened the door and crept in.

The Dark Room

C
irrus had just drifted off to sleep when the voice found him.

“Cirrus? Cirrus Flux?”

The words slipped into his ear, sneaking into his slumber, but he went on hugging the safe, fleecy edges of a dream. He was climbing the Gallows Tree with Bottle Top. They were high above the fields.

The voice grew louder, more insistent.

“Cirrus Flux?”

It was a girl’s voice.

A girl! What was she doing here? Everyone knew the rules: boys and girls were to be kept in separate parts of the hospital, only ever glimpsing each other at chapel. His eyes opened in alarm and he sat up in bed, his dream collapsing all around him. He craned his neck to check the rest of the ward, but the other boys were fast asleep, their snores rising and
falling in waves. A light, however, was moving through the darkness toward him.

He blinked, trying to make it out more clearly. At first he thought it was an angel. All he could see was a tangle of copper-colored hair, illuminated by a candle; but then he noticed the plain brown dress the girl was wearing and the familiar twist of red ribbon woven into the fabric, and he realized that she was another foundling like himself. But how had she found her way inside the boys’ dormitory? And what was she doing here?

“Cirrus Flux?” she asked again, a flicker of anxiety in her voice.

This time he grunted and the girl rushed toward him. “Thank goodness I found you!” she gasped. “We must talk!”

Her voice was like a locket opening, giving him a glimpse of the girl inside. She was barely older than himself, he realized, and scared. The light from the candle she carried guttered and she glanced toward the door.

Suddenly she clasped him by the elbow and dragged him to the floor.

“Shhh!” she said. “She’s coming!”

For an instant her eyes burned into his, fierce points of light expressing something he could not comprehend. Like amber, they seemed to trap remnants of her past: hard, hidden tears.

“Who’s coming?” he said, but she turned her head to
listen and extinguished all of his questions like the flame, which sent the room gushing into darkness.

Cirrus listened, too. Apart from the relentless thud, thud, thud of blood in his ears, he was aware of the tread of footsteps rising up the stairs. They were too soft to be the Governor’s. They crossed the landing and stopped outside the dormitory.

His eyes flitted to the dark wooden door the Governor always took care to lock with his key. A square of light was slowly seeping round its edges, squeezing in through the cracks.

The girl beside him stiffened. “I forgot to lock it,” she whispered, as two pegs of shadow grew in the hollow at its base.

The handle began to turn.

Unable to resist, he watched as the door inched open and a woman in a long silver gown looked in. One of the shutters was partially open and moonlight dusted her skin.

Cirrus sucked in his breath; the girl’s fear was contagious.

Slowly, carrying an oil lamp, the woman entered the room and moved from cot to cot, occasionally stooping to examine the tags the boys wore round their necks. Instinctively, Cirrus fingered his own metal disk. He was the boy without a number, the boy who did not exist.… A few of the other boys mumbled in their sleep, but none of them awoke.

The girl’s fingers tightened round Cirrus’s wrist. She pulled him even lower to the floor. They were out of range of
the woman’s light here, hidden behind his bed. Then, as the woman drifted closer, the girl tapped him on the shoulder and started creeping toward the door, round the perimeter of the room.

Cirrus followed, careful not to make a sound, but then looked up as a small figure in one of the beds sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Cirrus’s heart leapt into his throat. It was Tobias!

“Are you a ghost?” said the little boy in a voice that was still half asleep.

The woman stopped and turned toward Tobias, devouring him with her shadow. “No,” she said. “I am not a ghost. I am perfectly real.”

She placed her oil lamp on the ground and pulled a silver object from her gown. She opened it. The instrument made a soft ticking noise that seemed to fill the air.

“Would you like to see it?” she asked the boy.

Tobias nodded.

The girl tapped Cirrus on the elbow, urging him not to listen. She had cupped her hands over her ears and then continued creeping along the floor. She was heading for the windows, which would give them a clear run at the door.

Cirrus followed, but then, unable to bear the suspense, looked up once more.

Tobias was staring deep into the woman’s eyes. His breathing had slowed, his eyelids had sagged and then his head drooped back onto his pillow. The woman gave a little
smile and pulled the sheet up over him, then folded it back in a strange maternal gesture. Cirrus shivered.

The girl was urging him to hurry. He started creeping after her once again.

A voice halted him in his tracks.

“I can hear you,” it said.

Cirrus froze.

The woman was standing in the middle of the dormitory, surrounded by rows of matching beds.

Instantly, the girl raced back, seized Cirrus by the arm and propelled him toward the doorway. Before the woman could gather up the folds of her gown and give chase, they were hurtling down the staircase.

Cirrus peered madly all around him. Where was the Governor? Why was no one coming to assist them? They were taking the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping in their haste. He clutched the wooden banister to his left, trying to keep from falling down, dimly aware of the light from the woman’s oil lamp scratching the walls behind them.

At last they spilled out into the hall and the girl rushed toward the front door. Barely pausing for breath, she flung it open and then, just as quickly, whisked him back.

“What’re you doing?” he gasped, as she pulled him into a nook of shadow behind the staircase.

She clamped her hand over his mouth and, moments later, he saw the woman step right past them. She strode out into the darkness. They heard her footsteps peck at the paving stones and then recede into the distance.

Finally, the girl released him and motioned him toward a tiny closet beneath the stairs. Cirrus had never noticed it before. How had she known it was there?

“Quick! Inside!” she said, bundling him into the narrow space.

The closet was cold and dirty, barely large enough for him alone, but she squeezed in beside him and closed the door, sealing them in total darkness. He could feel her breath, hot on his cheek, and the tickle of her hair.

“Stop fidgeting!” she hissed, as something small and spidery crawled across his foot. “Madame Orrery must not find us.”

“Madame who?” said Cirrus, not understanding, but the girl simply pressed her hand to his mouth and continued listening to the silence.

And then he felt her give a little shudder. Footsteps were scrunching back toward the hospital. The girl leaned even closer—so close he could smell the tang of sweat on her clothes.

Moments later, a light drifted back into the hall and he heard the woman pacing back and forth, just outside their hidden doorway.

Lamplight sifted through the crack under the door and he stiffened. His heart was battering against his ribs and he wondered if the girl could feel it. Cirrus held his breath and kept very still, afraid that any movement might betray them. Then the floorboard shifted slightly and he was relieved to see the light fading once more to blackness.

A short while later the stairs above them creaked, one at a time, as the woman climbed to the next landing. They waited until the steps had completely withdrawn and then slowly, gradually, relaxed.

Only now did Cirrus allow himself to speak.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he gasped, the questions tumbling out of him. He was embarrassed to find that his voice was shaking. “Why is that scary lady after us? And what did she do to Tobias?”

The girl was quiet for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts. Then she said, “My name is Pandora. I used to be a foundling. I’ve come to warn you.”

Cirrus frowned. “Warn me? Of what?”

“Madame Orrery,” she said, her voice dying to a whisper. “My employer. I think she’s after your token.”

“My what?”

“Your token,” said the girl. “It’s something your mother or father left you when they gave you to the hospital. Your father, I think. I heard Madame Orrery mention him once before.”

Cirrus suddenly felt very dizzy. “My father?” he said. Even in the darkness he could sense her eyes burning into his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said eventually, pushing the thought away. “I haven’t got a father. Or a token, either.”

“Yes, you have,” said Pandora. “I’m sure of it. It must be important, because Madame Orrery wants it. I think it’s a sphere. The Governor may have hidden it in his study upstairs.”

She gave a little gasp. “The Governor,” she said. “I forgot about him!”

Before he knew what she was doing, she had pressed something hard and jagged into his hand—a bunch of keys—and started wriggling back through the door to the hall.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“To wake the Governor. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Wait! I’ll come with you,” he said, and made as if to follow, but she pushed him back into the closet.

“No. Stay here,” she said. “There’s no telling what Madame Orrery might do if she finds you.”

She shut the door behind her. Reluctantly, Cirrus did as he was told. He closed his eyes and sank to the floor. His mind was teeming with questions. His father? A token? And now a strange woman was looking for him, too—and possibly the man from Black Mary’s Hole.…

He sat back, hunched in thought, waiting for the girl to return.

Only, she didn’t.

The Silver Timepiece

G
ripping the banister, Pandora started up the staircase, guided only by the slivers of moonlight shining through the windows. Everything was black or tinged with silver. She could barely see without a candle.

She listened carefully. The clock on the landing was ticking above her. But where was Madame Orrery? Was she still hunting for them? Or had she returned to the Governor?

The stairs suddenly gave way to smooth ground and she stumbled across the landing. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she found the door to the gallery and sneaked inside. Light flickered from the adjoining study and she tiptoed toward it. Cautiously, she tilted her head and peered in.

The Governor was seated just as before, in an armchair before the fire. He had not moved. His hands were neatly folded in his lap and his short legs barely touched the floor. There was no sign of Madame Orrery.

Pandora rushed over to him and waved her hands in front of his eyes. “Mr. Chalfont! Wake up,” she said, as loudly as she dared. “I need to speak to you. It’s important.”