The Unknown Spy (23 page)

T
he following day, though, it wasn’t easy to get close to Dixie. She always seemed to be in the distance, and when he approached her, the boy Louis appeared and tried to engage him in conversation on some pretext or other. The
Leaving Ceremony would begin that afternoon, and Danny became increasingly desperate. The people of Morne, in even greater finery than usual, flocked into the hallways around the vizier’s court. Camroc walked through the crowd, looking around with great satisfaction, humming snatches of obscure songs. Danny found himself face to face with Macari, in bright blue silk and a hat with a peacock’s feather in it. Macari winked at him.

“Glad I didn’t have to leave my mark on you,” he laughed. Danny wasn’t sure whether being branded with a white-hot iron was funny, but he grinned mirthlessly back.

A hand plucked his sleeve and drew him aside. Lily. Her face was taut with anxiety.

“The Cherb will steal the Treaty Stone during the festivities,” she whispered. “We can get out by the storeroom. Danny, I … I need to know …”

“I’m coming with you,” he found himself saying. “We’ve been let down enough.”

“What about your friend?”

“Don’t worry about her, she’s taken care of.” Danny barely recognized his own voice. It reminded him of the time he had taken voice dye and acquired a gruff tone.

More and more people crowded into the hall. The great doors to the court opened and the people surged forward. Danny was separated from Lily. At the edge of the throng he could see the Cherb boy slipping away. Macari grabbed Danny’s arm.

“Your presence is required, my friend.” Across the
room Danny saw Lily being escorted by Camroc, and Dixie, whose arm was being held—presumably to stop her disappearing—being escorted by a not-so-friendly-looking Louis.

The crowd parted as Danny, Dixie and Lily were led toward the dais where the vizier sat, his gaze resting on each of them in turn. The room fell silent.

“Where is our little Cherb friend?” he said quietly. Camroc paled and looked around wildly. “Never mind,” the vizier said, his voice cold, “we’ll deal with that lapse later. He would have been little use to the dead anyway, being treacherous and untrustworthy. No. We will deal with the others only.”

He motioned to Camroc, who handed them each a quill and parchment.

“Each of you will write down what the mountains say and hand your answer to Camroc,” the vizier said.

Now is the time! Danny thought. Tell Dixie!

“You are not to speak, on pain of death,” the vizier said smoothly, as though reading his mind. Dixie smiled confidently at Danny. He stared at her, frozen.

“Write down the answer,” the vizier said. Dixie bent over and rested the parchment on her knees. Danny watched his friend as if she was signing her own death warrant. “Write!” the vizier commanded. Lily bent to her parchment. Danny watched his own hand moving as though it was being controlled by someone else.

“Turn and show what you have written to the subjects of Morne.” Lily turned first. She held up her parchment,
a single word on it:
Alone
. Dixie looked confused, then looked at Danny. Of course Danny had given her the right word! She held up her parchment. A great sigh ran through the crowd. Louis shook his head slowly and smiled. Treacherous! Danny thought, then realized with shame, and a vile sense of accomplishment, that his was by far the greatest treachery. He held up his own parchment.
Alone
.

“Take the girl,” the vizier said quietly. Two of the dead appeared and grabbed Dixie’s arms before she could disappear. With a cry and a look of disbelief, she was pulled off into the crowd. Danny stared after her, stunned. Her parchment landed faceup on the ground.
Storm
, it read.

There was a long silence in the room; then, with a thin sneer, Louis began to clap. The applause spread in ripples until the whole room was clapping. Then the vizier held up his hand. The clapping stopped. Camroc coughed, cleared his throat and emitted a long ululating wail.

It was the signal for the festivities to begin. Jugglers and fire-breathers poured into the hall. The ceiling flowered with brightly colored trapeze artists. Great tables groaning with food appeared in alcoves around the hall. Danny watched, bewildered. The room exploded in flames and firecrackers and music. He prowled the perimeter, looking for his sister, but she was nowhere to be seen. Dixie’s frightened face kept coming into his mind, but somehow he was able to thrust it away.

Finally a frantic Lily grabbed him.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Nala is about to make his move, but the minute he gets his hands on the Stone we’d better be ready to go!”

Nala? Danny hadn’t even thought of the Cherb as having a name.

They slipped out of the hall and raced through the empty corridors toward the museum. The dead blond girl wasn’t at her desk.

“That was a good move, throwing your pal to the dead,” Lily said. “They’ll be distracted with her for a while.”

A shudder ran through Danny. They ran on into the museum. Lily stopped in front of the Treaty Stone. Danny gasped. Nala had woven a cage of strong golden thread around the case. The thread shone in the spotlights aimed at the kingdom’s treasure.

“It’s made of Thread of Independent Motion,” Lily said. “You tell it where to go and it’ll go there. The best thing is that it’s very strong. You can climb on it. Go, Nala!”

The Cherb leapt up from his hiding place and grabbed one of the golden threads. Hauling himself arm over arm, he climbed. Danny could see that the thread had been positioned to avoid the many beams and security fixtures around the Stone, and he could only marvel at the complexity with which it had been strung up. The Morne people had complete confidence in their security, but they hadn’t reckoned on Nala. With breathtaking nimbleness the little figure swung in and around the security beams.
Danny held his breath as the Cherb got closer and closer to the Stone. Once, the boy slipped, only just holding on to avoid the pressure sensors on the floor below him.

After half an hour Nala reached the Stone. Danny felt a hint of admiration for the little Cherb, his bravery and skill. He watched as Nala went behind the Stone. He took an ordinary stone of the same size and shape as the Treaty Stone from a side pocket. With one swift movement he removed the Treaty Stone and dropped the plain one in its place.

“Weight sensors,” Lily said, her eyes not leaving the Cherb. “Hurry, Nala.” He began the long climb back, doing everything in reverse. Nala appeared to be at the limit of his strength, sweat running from his face, his limbs beginning to falter, but still Lily urged him on.

It was bound to happen. Nala lunged for the final golden thread, but his hand slipped and he tumbled to the floor. Alarms started to sound, loud and mournful. There was a great rumbling at the entrance to the Treaty Stone Room and a massive gate started to slide across the entrance.

“Hurry!” Lily shouted. Nala limped toward them, holding the Stone. Lily grabbed it and began to run toward the entrance. The gate was already halfway across, and gathering speed. Danny took the Stone from Lily. It was surprisingly light. They had almost reached the gate when they heard a cry behind them. Nala was limping heavily. He stretched out his arms for help, but Lily pushed Danny ahead. They stumbled through the shrinking gap and the gates closed with a clang behind them.
Nala gripped the bars. He said nothing, but his eyes were fixed not on Lily but on Danny.

“Leave him,” Lily said. “He’s played his part.” Danny followed her, but he felt the Cherb’s eyes drilling into his back.

They heard running feet and shouting, but Lily had planned her route well. They ducked down side corridors and unused maintenance tunnels. Within minutes they were in the little storeroom. Lily opened the door. She pushed Danny through. They stood in the snow, the evening shadows lengthening. There were free of Morne. They had stolen the Treaty Stone. And Dixie was a prisoner, betrayed and abandoned.

A DISCOVERY

F
or some days Les had noticed that the mood of the other pupils wasn’t good. There was continuous grumbling at mealtimes and in the Roosts.

“Everybody seems to be on some sort of punishment detail,” Vandra pointed out. Les nodded. He had spent all his spare time that week scraping ancient raven droppings from one of the disused buildings in Ravensdale as part the punishment for his Fourth Regulation offense. Everywhere pupils were engaged in difficult and sometimes dangerous cleaning jobs, or studying long into the night. There had been several fistfights among the boys, and cliques had formed in the girls’ Roosts.

“Who’s handing out all these punishments?” Toxique asked. Les looked tight-lipped. Vandra watched him.

“Hang on a second,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“What?” Les said defensively.

“It’s Blackpitt, isn’t it? He’s the one who’s handing out all the punishments. He’s the familiar thing that’s changed!”

“I didn’t want to say,” Les said miserably. “Blackpitt was always dead good to me. I can’t understand what’s happened to him. He’s been got at somehow, blackmailed or something.”

“We have to find him and make him talk,” Vandra said.

“How do we do that? None of us has ever seen him.”

“I suppose,” Toxique said, “we find a wire and follow it.”

I
t proved harder than that. There were miles of ducts, and the wires were well concealed. When they did find one, it was difficult to separate it from other wires. All they could really discover was that all the wire led up toward the roof.

“I’m not sure I want to tangle with that roof man again,” Les said, remembering Danny’s run-in with the guardian of the roofs.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Vandra said.

“But how do we get there?” Toxique asked.

Help came from an unexpected quarter. Vandra and Toxique went back to the Roosts to think, but Les, on his
way to Ravensdale, ran straight into Vicky the siren as she leapt from a ledge above his head.

“Sorry, Vicky,” Les said. The siren glared at him.

“Just be more careful next time,” she said.

“You don’t look very happy.”

“Things aren’t the same around here,” she said darkly, “not at all the same.”

“What’s up?” Les fell into step beside her.

“There’s a sneak about,” she said. “I keep looking for him, but he stays out of my way.”

“A sneak? Listen,” Les said carefully, “you’re only one person. A few more sets of eyes might make it easier. I wouldn’t mind helping you. The roof would probably be the best place to look, don’t you think?”

“Would you look?” Vicky said suspiciously. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Les said. “Glad to be of service. The only thing is how to get to the roof.”

“That’s no problem,” Vicky said airily. “I’ll show you.”

S
oon Les, Vandra and Toxique found themselves climbing up through an extremely dirty and wet drainage pipe with Vicky dancing in front of them, seemingly able to negotiate the dirtiest and tightest spaces while remaining spotless. When they got out of the pipe they had to crawl through a ventilation duct, then up a series of back stairs and decrepit ladders with missing rungs. Looking back, Les could see the pale, determined faces of Toxique and
Vandra, who climbed grimly through the dark behind him.

After what seemed like hours Vicky threw open a rusty iron door and they emerged. There was a strong cold wind blowing across the peaks and valleys of the Wilsons roof, and Les gulped great lungfuls while trying to rub the cobwebs and dust off his face and out of his eyes.

“We’ll spread out in a line,” he said, “and try to find Blackp—I mean, the intruder.”

They crisscrossed the vast roof for an hour but didn’t see anyone, although they stumbled across all sorts of rusting and abandoned equipment—pumps, compressors and old spy tools such as broken telescopes and satellite dishes. It wasn’t until they reached the edge that they found something suspicious—a little nest that had been concealed with camouflage netting. Inside were a pair of binoculars and a microphone with a large dish around it.

“It’s a directional mike,” Vandra said. “You can listen to far-off conversations with it.”

“And whoever was here had a perfect view of everyone who was coming and going from Wilsons.”

“Something’s going on.”

They hunted until dusk. The wind had turned colder and they were tired. Les slipped on a broken slate and cut his leg. As he sat with his trouser leg rolled up, Toxique came over.

“There’s nothing here,” Les said.

“You probably right,” Toxique said, “but with Danny and Dixie gone, we’ve got to do something. I wonder how they’re getting on?”

They were about to give up when Les spotted something. The evening light had cast strong shadows across the rooftops, so that the wet slates showed different tones.

“Look.” Les pointed. Leading up to an old wooden door was a trail that had been invisible earlier on. They followed the path to the door. It looked as if it hadn’t been opened for years, but Toxique rubbed his finger around the battered lock and sniffed.