Chapter Seventeen

The basket swung violently, battered by branches as it crashed through the forest. Annabel woke in panic. “What’s happening?” she screamed, as the vessel slammed to the ground and bounced, tipping her out like scrunched-up paper from a wastebasket.

The engine cut out and the propeller chugged to a standstill. The air was warm, stinking of engine fumes mingled with the scents of leaf-mold and fungi. As the fumes cleared, Annabel gasped, filling her lungs with air. Birds, disturbed by their landing, screeched overhead.

The captain crouched next to her. “You all right, miss?”

“I think so,” Annabel said. “Where are we?”

She’d never been in the Forbidden Territories. How far had they traveled from the city?

“We’re in the forest, close to the rebel village. It shouldn’t be hard to get our bearings. Sibelius is nifty at climbing trees, so we can check our position easy enough.”

“I’m frightened, Captain,” Annabel said.

The captain smiled. “I’d rather you called me Harry,” she said. “I ain’t your captain, am I? Not any more than you’re my princess.”

“Very well… Harry. And you must call me Annabel.”

“Listen, Annabel, we’ll be all right. We’ve been in worse fixes. We got friends here what’ll help us.”

“They won’t like me. My family enslaved them.”

“But you didn’t know nothing about it. We’ll tell ‘em the truth.”

Sibelius had climbed a tree while they were talking. He swung down again, landing next to them. He smiled. “Bonjour, Votre Altesse Royale!” he said, bowing. “I trust you slept well. Sorry for the bumpy landing, but in a forest as dense as this…” He glanced ruefully at the battered wickerwork and torn envelope. “My heart is sorry for the state of this beautiful balloon. But I’m happy to say it will still fly. Perhaps a stich here and there.”

“Please,” the princess said. “You may call me Annabel.”

The monkey raised his eyebrows. “And you may call me Sibelius,” he said. He turned to Harry. “C’est facile. We are close. I saw the crater.”

Annabel helped them to haul the deflated balloon from the trees, covering it with leaves and branches. Then they set out to the rebel camp.

It was hard going and Annabel’s dress snagged and tore on the dense undergrowth. When she arrived at the edge of the crater, dressed in little more than rags, her skin scratched and her face smudged with dirt, leaves and twigs tangled in her hair, she wondered what Katy would say.

They looked at the village below them. “They built all of this?” she said. “The children, I mean?”

“They rebuilt it,” said Harry. “Seems before your lot took over the show, there was another culture here. This village was a ruin when the children found it. Come on, that’s Jo’s place down there. We’d best go straight to her.”

Annabel hesitated, but Sibelius reassured her. “No-one will recognize you, n’est-ce pas?”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said. None of the children could have seen her. She looked down at her ragged and soiled clothing and pushed her fingers through her messed up hair. “I doubt even Katy would recognize me!” Sibelius took her arm, and they walked together.

But Harry stopped abruptly. “Wait,” she breathed. “Look. There’s no-one here. They must’ve abandoned it after the roosters attacked.”

Annabel and Sibelius scrambled down the slope after her. They picked their way through the village. It was deserted. Half the huts had been burned. Furniture had been thrown out and smashed. Rags of clothing hung on broken door frames. The hearth stones were smeared with blood.

Sibelius knelt by the hearth and put his hand over the embers. “Les cendres sont froids,” he said. “The ashes are cold.”

“Let’s go to Jo’s,” Harry said.

They found the door swinging ajar. Inside everything had been turned upside down. The scientosophical instruments and books were nowhere to be seen.

Harry ran her hands through her hair. “Now what?” she said. “This is a mess and a half, ain’t it? Out o’ the frying pan into the fire, if you ask me. There’s Davy, Sam and Barney stuck in that dungeon in the castle, if they ain’t killed ‘em already. The village has been destroyed and there ain’t no sign of any survivors. And to top it off, we’re stuck out here with no transport.”

Annabel’s heart went out to her. She felt ashamed. This was what her island had done to these good people. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Sibelius put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry drew a deep, ragged breath. She opened her mouth to speak. But an engine rumbling and snapping branches stopped her. Annabel looked toward the noise, heart thumping.

“It’s the kids!” said Harry as two clanking mechanical walkers lurched through the trees and into the village. Steam hissed as the legs lowered the body of one to the ground. The hatch at the rear creaked open and a young woman jumped out, running toward them.

“Mademoiselle Josephine!”

The young woman embraced first Harry and then Sibelius. She stepped back and acknowledged Annabel with a nod of her head before turning her attention back to the others. “I knew it would be you,” she said, smiling. “We saw the balloon approaching and came as quickly as we could.”

“I thought you was all done for,” said Harry, tears welling in her eyes. “The others are still prisoners.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. But no, we’re not done for. It seems, aside from destroying the camp, the soldiers were only interested in capturing you. You’re just in time. There’s a big planning meeting today. It’s the final gathering before we attack the palace. But come, be quick. It isn’t safe here.”

As they turned to the mechanical walker, the young woman said to Annabel, “My name’s Josephine. But I don’t think you’re an escaped slave, are you?”

Annabel swallowed hard. “No,” she said. “I am not.”

Josephine stopped dead. She looked her straight in the eye. It was all Annabel could do to stand firm and return that look. After a second, Josephine nodded. “I understand. You’re the princess aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in danger?”

“They want to kill me to seize the Throne.”

“You will be useful. I imagine you have information which will help us. You can introduce yourself at the meeting.”

Josephine pointed up into the dark belly of the first walker. “In here,” she said.

Annabel felt bile rising in her throat. She regretted what had happened to these children, but she would not be treated in such an off-hand manner. She was innocent, whatever this girl might think.

“All right,” Josephine was saying. “Suit yourself. Walk if you prefer. You’re armed, I suppose? The forest is full of wild beasts.” She banged on the side of the walker and turned away. The hatch began to close.

Annabel glared at Josephine’s back and grabbed the iron handrail just in time to haul herself into the machine before the hatch squealed shut again.

“There are straps on the wall,” she heard Josephine shout from outside the machine. “It’ll be a bumpy ride.”

Annabel sat in the dark, alone. Josephine must have gone with Harry and Sibelius in the other machine. She probably wants to ask them about me. Annabel strapped herself in and rested her back against the hot iron plates of the walker’s interior. She dreaded having to introduce herself at the meeting. Josephine hadn’t exactly been antagonistic, but she’d hardly thrown her arms open in welcome. The others, she was sure, would hate her.

A rumbling started up and the chamber vibrated. The stink of engine fumes thickened the already stifling air as the machine lurched into motion, rocking from side to side as it went. They need to add a gyroscopic balancing mechanism to this thing. Annabel couldn’t tell if the sickness in her belly was from the walker’s movement or her anxiety.

She had never felt, even bullied by Lord Cranestoft, so powerless to guide her own destiny. What respect she’d enjoyed was hers by birthright. The prospect of earning it filled her with doubt. She imagined the anger and hatred that awaited her from these children, stolen from their homes and families, enslaved in secret sweatshops.

I can’t do it, she thought. I don’t know how to face them. Her heart raced. She bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to escape the nightmarish machine and risk the wild beasts in the forest.

Then, with a sudden jolt, the machine stopped, hissing as the chamber lowered toward the ground. This is it, she thought. Too late now.

But the hatch didn’t open. She could hear voices outside the mechanical. There was a lot of movement. Annabel was sure the other walker was moving away. Then the voices died away, too. It seemed they had abandoned her. They can’t have forgotten about me, surely?

Insult and relief struggled to win her over as she wondered what to do. It was hard to judge the passage of time sitting in the belly of the iron monster. It seemed to her like forever.

Then the machine growled, its engines firing anew. The hydraulics hissed, and the mechanical lurched forward again. This time it went only a few strides before stopping. The chamber lowered and at last the hatch sprang open, clanking to the ground. Light flooded the stuffy space. Annabel reached to undo the straps.

She swung to the ground and turned around.

Hundreds of dirty faces watched her. She straightened up, not knowing where to look.

To her left Josephine, Harry and Sibelius stood together, separated from the crowd. You’ve told them who I am already, she thought, heart hammering. She couldn’t tell what they were thinking.

Visceral desperation wrenched her insides. She turned to Harry, and then Sibelius. The sky monkey loped over and took her hand. “Mademoiselle Annabel,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. Come.”

Annabel grasped his hand as if it could save her from her fears. The children sat in a circle on the forest floor.

Annabel’s mind raced, everything seeming to go by in a blur as Sibelius led her to a place where she could sit. They were in a clearing. Birds sang, fluttering among the leaves as her heart fluttered in her breast. None of the children spoke. Harry sat on one side of her and Sibelius on the other.

Annabel clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. There are so many children here. And these are only those who have escaped. There must be hundreds more still in chains.

Behind the children, there were a dozen mechanicals. There were crates loaded with weapons. They really are going to attack.

Josephine stood up and spoke.

“This is Princess Annabel. From the palace. I’ll let her tell her piece.” And she sat down again.

Annabel stood. She held tight to the tattered fabric of her dress, trying to swallow but finding she had no saliva. “I am… well, you know who I am,” she said. “Sorry… for everything that has happened to you. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. Tomorrow is my birthday and the day that by right I will become queen. Once queen, I swear I will free everyone and work hard to build a safer, a more just…”

I sound like an idiot. What do these children care about my promises?

Her heart thumped. Her neck flushed. She stepped forward, releasing her dress, her fists clenched. “Listen,” she said. “I’m on your side. I want to help. I can help. I know the palace. I know how things are run; where we can get in and out; what the weak points are; where the armory is located, and the roosters. It’s true I didn’t know about the sweatshops, but almost nobody does. I am a scientosophist. I can help you improve your machines; make the walkers more stable, faster. That cannon over there could be much more powerful. A slight adjustment to the length of the launch chamber and it would bring down an ornithopter.” She paused. “Do you know they want to kill me, too? Their plan was to murder me so they could take over forever. They have to be stopped. I will do everything I can to help!”

Annabel sat down again. She was trembling so hard she barely noticed the children clapping and stamping their feet. Harry’s arm slipped round her waist. Sibelius squeezed her hand tight. Josephine embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. She was smiling.

“Welcome,” she said.

“Thank you,” Annabel said. She felt light-headed.

Then the rebel leader turned back to the children. “Now,” she said. “The meeting is open!”