The Story of Cirrus Flux (15 page)

“I have a favor to ask.”

Mr. Sidereal considered her with his jewel-bright eyes. He was dressed in a robe of exquisite silk and wore a matching peacock-colored turban on his head.

“My Eye,” he said after a while, arching his brows and elevating his gaze.

Pandora followed suit and saw an airy dome stretching
overhead. A tier of rounded windows circled its base and light fell in streams through the air.

Madame Orrery nodded. “I trust it still functions in this weather?”

“Of course,” said Mr. Sidereal. “The dust may have obscured the heavens, but my sights, as you know, are set elsewhere. I can see all over London.”

He was silent for a moment and then began to twist a knob on the arm of his chair, setting in motion a series of cogs and gears that moved the wheels beneath. The chair creaked slowly forward.

“Very well,” he said, wheezing slightly. “Follow me.”

Pandora felt a tug on her arm.

“Go on, girl. Help the gentleman. Push his chair,” said Madame Orrery.

Pandora did as she was told. She found two metal prongs attached to the back of his chair and began to push him toward a staircase that sloped along the insides of the walls. There were no steps—just a gradual incline that spiraled round and round, slowly climbing upward.

The man might be small, Pandora thought, but his chair was certainly heavy. She had to lean forward to keep him going. His back was hunched and thin, propped up by pillows, and his short, spindly legs were stretched out in front of him. She studied the swirl of green and turquoise fabric wrapped round his head, wondering if he kept his special eye underneath.

“And who is the girl you have brought with you?” asked the man as they approached a door at the top of the ramp.

Madame Orrery’s face hardened. “She is no one,” she said. “An interfering child, nothing more.”

Two footmen stood before the door and, at a signal from Mr. Sidereal, they swung it open to reveal a dazzling chamber filled with all manner of equipment. Globes and armillary spheres cluttered the floor, while lofty windows offered panoramic views of the whole of London.

Pandora sucked in her breath. She could see far and wide across the city. To the west was the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, rising above the dingy streets, while far to the north, obscured by haze, were the fields and hills she knew so well from the hospital. The sight brought a pang to her heart.

Long wooden telescopes had been positioned next to the windows, pointing like cannons in all directions.

Mr. Sidereal took control of his chair and wheeled it toward a low circular table in the center of the room.

“Who is it you wish to find?” he asked.

“A boy,” said Madame Orrery.

“What is his name?”

“His name is not important.”

A shadow passed over Mr. Sidereal’s face. “I fear, Hortense, that it is,” he said. “I must know exactly what I am looking for if I am to help you find it.”

There was an edge of malice in his voice and Pandora saw Madame Orrery hesitate. The woman bit her lip.

“Very well,” she said. “If you must know, his name is Cirrus Flux.”

There was a long silence.

“Ah, I see,” said Mr. Sidereal. “So Captain Flux had a son, did he? How fascinating!” He leaned forward and examined Madame Orrery more closely. “Tell me, Hortense, what makes you so interested all of a sudden in his
orphan?”

Pandora shuddered at the chilling way he said this word, as though he wished the boy to be without a father. She looked at Madame Orrery.

“He has something I seek,” responded the woman flatly. “I need to locate it.”

“The sphere?” asked Mr. Sidereal in a high-pitched wheeze, unable to conceal his excitement.

Madame Orrery turned away and said nothing.

“So the rumors are true?” said Mr. Sidereal, wheeling toward her. “The man went to sea without it? Could it be that after all these years the sphere is actually here in London?”

Madame Orrery remained silent and gazed out over the surrounding buildings.

“We seek, I am sure you are aware, the same thing,” she said finally. “Only, I know who has it—and you, Neville, can find him for me.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “And what is in it for me?” he said. “Supposing, of course, that I help you … Or do you propose to go missing, too, like the boy’s father?”

Madame Orrery shook her head. “Do not be a fool. Of
course I shall not disappear. We shall unlock its secrets—together—and discover the true nature of the sphere.”

Pandora’s heart quickened. Did Madame Orrery mean to suggest that the sphere had a special power?

“How very thoughtful of you,” said Mr. Sidereal.

There was no warmth in his voice, but Pandora could tell that he was tempted from the way his fingers gripped the armrests of his chair.

“Cirrus Flux, you say?” he murmured, wheeling back to the table. “Describe him for me.”

Madame Orrery turned to Pandora. “The girl had a better look at him than I,” she said, with venom.

“Ah yes, the girl,” said Mr. Sidereal. “Tell me, child, about this boy I am to search for. What does he look like?”

Pandora glanced at Madame Orrery. “Like—like any other boy,” she stammered.

“Do not be obtuse,” snapped Madame Orrery, and reached into the bodice of her gown. She withdrew not the silver timepiece, but the charred piece of fabric.

Pandora went cold all over.

“Tell him, child, or I shall see to it that our little bargain is fulfilled.”

Pandora’s heart faltered. She did not want to betray the boy called Cirrus Flux, but she did not want to lose her treasured token, either. She could feel the heat mounting in the room, making it difficult to breathe.

“Dark curly hair,” she found herself saying at last. “Green eyes. About my height.”

Unexpectedly, she remembered the freckles that had speckled his nose, but decided to keep this detail to herself.

“And would you recognize him if you saw him?” asked Mr. Sidereal, his eyes bright with desire.

She tried to look away, but suspected there was nothing she could hide from his sharp, prying gaze. She nodded unhappily. “I think so,” she said.

“Very well,” said Mr. Sidereal. He turned to Madame Orrery. “I shall find the boy for you, with the girl’s assistance, but on one condition: we share the prize.”

Madame Orrery smiled. “Of course,” she said, returning the piece of fabric to her gown. “I would not dream of anything else.”

Mr. Sidereal grimaced in reply, then grabbed an assortment of lenses from a nearby table and called out to his footmen, “Mr. Metcalfe, Mr. Taylor, if you please. Adjust the curtains!”

Instantly, the two footmen, who had melted into the shadows, rushed forward and climbed a series of ladders around the room, releasing bolt after bolt of black fabric that unfurled like giant bat wings to cover the windows. The observatory was plunged into darkness.

Pandora stood very still, wondering what was going to happen next, and then gasped as right in front of her, on the circular table, a strange apparition began to glow. A ghostly vision of the city all around them, made, it seemed, from grainy shafts of light.

“How does it work?” she said aloud, thinking it must be some kind of magic.

“Optics,” said Mr. Sidereal, moving toward her. “I have lenses mounted all over London. On the Monument, around St. Paul’s, not to mention the tallest rooftops and steeples. They gather reflections and I study them from here. I can see into every street and corner of the city. Nothing escapes my Eye.”

He handed her a pair of special spectacles with numerous eyepieces fanning out from the sides.

Pandora put them on and stared in amazement as figures appeared among the anthill of spires and buildings on the table. Miniature carriages scuttled back and forth through the crowded streets and tiny people went about their business. The figures were faint and fuzzy, but peering closer, using the different lenses, she could just make out their details. In the corner of one street a haberdasher was sweeping the doorway of his shop, while elsewhere a beggar was holding out a hand to passing strangers. A gang of boys streaked by and a flock of pigeons took to the air, circling the buildings like a cloud of midges. She felt like a bird poised above them here, all-seeing but invisible.

Mr. Sidereal had strapped a similar pair of spectacles to his brow and was already scouring the city for a sign of the boy. Pandora focused her attention on the task at hand. If only she could spot Cirrus first, she thought, she might be able to draw attention away from his location.

It was painstaking work. Slowly, parish by parish, they searched for the missing boy, occasionally following the wrong figure through the maze of twisting alleys. Every now and then Mr. Sidereal paused to call out instructions to his footmen, who brought different parts of the city into focus.

The room was stiflingly hot, and her eyes began to tire from the strain of looking at the dusty image. All around the room small spheres of light flickered on the walls.

Mr. Sidereal noticed her wandering eye. “Electrics,” he said, pointing to the jets of flame. “I harness the power of lightning from the sky and store its energy in special vials, using my conductors. They fuel the lamps you see before you.”

Madame Orrery, meanwhile, was helping herself to a plate of refreshments in the corner. Pandora could see the exotic crown of an unusual spiky object poking out from a bowl of fruit. A pineapple, Mr. Sidereal had called it. Her mouth felt taut and dry, and she longed for a rest, but she could not abandon her post—not when Cirrus Flux might become visible at any moment.

“Twenty degrees north,” Mr. Sidereal called up to one of his footmen, who was perched on a ladder high above them, rotating what appeared to be a giant windlass underneath the roof.

Pandora peered up. She could just make out a pinhole of light pricking through the darkness—the source, it seemed, of the apparition on the table.

The image shifted slightly and a new vista came into view. A crowded market full of moving people. They bobbed around like pigeons.

Mr. Sidereal paused to wipe his brow and take a sip of sparkling water.

Pandora studied the scene more carefully. A mob had surrounded a forlorn figure, whom children were pelting with flea-sized vegetables. A woman was selling pies nearby.

Her gaze drifted down to the left-hand corner of the square, where things were quieter. Two boys were seated on the paving stones, deep in conversation.

She leaned forward. One of them was dressed in a plain brown jacket—it could have been a foundling’s uniform—and had a mass of wavy hair; the other was holding a collection of broadsheets.

“What is it, child? Have you found him?” said Mr. Sidereal, catching her sudden movement and rushing to her side.

Instantly, Pandora backed away, but not before he had a chance to follow her gaze down toward the table.

“A boy with unruly hair, you say?” he said, peering closer and adjusting a dial on the side of his glasses. Another lens slid into place. “How is he dressed?”

Pandora did not respond. She was grasping the edge of the table with her fingers.

Madame Orrery squeezed in beside her. She, alone, did not have a pair of spectacles. “Answer him, girl!”

Pandora’s heart was pounding. Her head was spinning. “I
do not know,” she confessed. “When I saw him last he was in a nightshirt.”

A blush stole across her cheeks, but Mr. Sidereal did not seem in the least surprised by her remark. Against her will, she took another look at the table.

The two boys had risen to their feet and were leaving the square by the northeast corner. To her horror, she saw that one of them had adjusted his jacket and exposed a long white shirt beneath. It might have been a nightshirt.

“Have you found him?” asked Madame Orrery again, snapping her fan with excitement. “Is he there? Tell me what you see!”

“Out of the way!” said Mr. Sidereal. “The girl must make absolutely certain.”

To Pandora’s surprise, the woman stepped back and allowed Pandora to continue her inspection. She watched as the two figures worked their way across a busy intersection, full of moving carriages, and continued through a series of tightening lanes toward an unknown destination. Where were they going?

They were still too small for her to make out clearly and kept flitting between buildings, but she was almost certain the boy in the brown jacket was Cirrus Flux.

What should she do? Betray him? Or conceal the truth from Madame Orrery?

She could sense Mr. Sidereal beside her, tracking their every movement.

At last, the disheveled figures came to a stop outside an impressive garden. A golden statue stood on a plinth at the center of the square and gravel paths crisscrossed the lawn.

“Is he there?” asked Madame Orrery again. “Can you see him? Is he carrying the sphere?”

“Patience, Hortense,” said Mr. Sidereal, holding up his hand and peering at Pandora. “Only the girl can tell us.”

Pandora held her breath. She could feel them both waiting for her response. She took another look at the table—the image of the square was firmly imprinted in her mind—and then removed her glasses and wiped her brow.

“No,” she said at last. “I am sorry to disappoint you. It is a boy not unlike him, however.”

Madame Orrery let out an audible groan and collapsed in a chair, but Mr. Sidereal regarded Pandora suspiciously, as if he didn’t quite believe her. He had become quiet and secretive all of a sudden. Once again, he looked at the square in which the two boys were standing and then, as if wearying of the enterprise, he wheeled away from the table and clapped his hands. “Mr. Taylor, Mr. Metcalfe!” he called. “The curtains!”

The two footmen immediately swept back the swags of black material from the windows and light flooded into the room. Pandora had to blink away the tears that rushed to her eyes and she watched blurrily as the image on the table slowly dissolved and disappeared.

“Perhaps we shall have more luck tomorrow,” said Mr. Sidereal.

Pandora looked out through the tall, laddering windows at the surrounding city. The sky was full of turbulent clouds and had a strange brownish hue, like powdered rust. Thunder rumbled in the air.