Sargasso Skies (6 page)

Without any warning, two huge white paws came clamping down on their shoulders. If the weight hadn't held him down, Trundle might well have leaped clear out of his prickles with the shock.

“It is splendid, indeed!” boomed the count. “This here is my most wonderful work! With it, will I tour the Worlds!”

And with that, the count reached past them and grabbed up the chart and the pile of papers that represented the fruits of all Trundle's labors.

 

Twilight of the Dogs

An Epic Opera in Three Acts

Words and Music by Count Leopold of Umbrill

 

“Excellent, excellent,” said the count, striding to the door and disappearing through it. “A genius am I!”

“It drives me crazy, the way they can creep up behind you without a sound,” said Jack. “How do they do that?”

Trundle stared after the vanished count. “Thanks for all your help, Trundle,” he murmured under his breath. “I couldn't have done it without you, Trundle.” He sighed. “Oh, don't mention it, count. It was my pleasure!”

Roaring with laughter, Jack slapped him on the back. “Never you mind, Trundle old lad,” he said. “Editors never get the appreciation they deserve!”

J
ack and Trundle descended from the high tower room and came out into the auditorium. The transformation that had taken place in the opera house was amazing. Order had been created out of chaos. The place looked almost ready for an audience to arrive and take their seats. Brightly painted scenery was being moved into position on stage, and around the walls, animals on carefully held ladders were gilding a final few ornaments and polishing up the last of the woodwork. Trundle was also quite pleased to see Sheila the stoat, up near the ceiling, looking none the worse for wear, hooked into a safety harness and roped up to two stout bears, flicking with a feather duster at the huge chandelier.

Esmeralda was sitting midstage on a papier-mâché throne, checking props and costumes that were being presented for her approval by an orderly procession of albino animals. Beneath her feet was the completed revolving stage, from under the edges of which spouted the odd wisp of steam and from beneath which echoed the odd clank, rumble, and clang.

Trundle and Jack approached their friend. “Hmmm,” she was saying to a raccoon who was standing patiently at her side with several glittery props in his arms. “The silver paper on the crown looks fine, Rocky, but you need to give the orb a bit of a polish.” She clapped her hands. “Everything else looks perfect. Well done, everyone!” She spotted Trundle and Jack and grinned at them. “Hello, boys,” she said. “The count came bounding down in great spirits a few moments ago shouting that ‘It is all in best order and finished.'” She pointed down to the orchestra pit. “He's busy giving his instructions to the conductor. Looks like you did a first-rate job there, Trun.”

“You, too,” said Trundle, gazing around admiringly.

“I seem to have a natural talent for motivating people,” said Esmeralda.

“Yes, it's called being a bossyboots.” Jack grinned.

Esmeralda stuck out her tongue at him and then laughed.

Trundle was gazing down into the orchestra pit. The chinchilla conductor was standing on his tall plinth in his tail suit and white tie, nodding and pointing while the count loomed over him. Trundle's opera chart was spread on the podium, and the count was talking rapidly and making wide gestures with both arms.

“Have you it, mousetro?” asked the count.

“You go too quick!” complained the conductor.

“But have you it, yes?”

“Yes, yes, I have it!”

“Then is all good!” boomed the count, straightening up and letting his voice roar out through the opera house. “Wonderful is it all! At two o'clock this afternoon will there be dress rehearsal! Last touches finish, and then for lunch will everyone break.”

 

A few busy hours later Esmeralda, Jack, and Trundle were sitting quietly together at the side of the stage, their legs swinging as they nibbled their gruel sandwiches. All over the auditorium, worn-out animals were also having a well-earned break.

“This stuff is just awful,” moaned Esmeralda, putting her sandwich aside and making a disgusted face.

“Really?” said Trundle, eating appreciatively. “I was thinking it reminds me of home.”

“It would.” Jack sighed, chewing slowly. “It tastes like week-old cabbage!”

“I think we should have a quick word with the commander,” said Esmeralda, nodding over to where the fat old bulldog was sitting in a circle of his Hernswick Hounds. Trundle had told her all about the nocturnal activities of the soldier dogs and the lizards, and she was determined to find out whether he had guessed correctly.

The three friends headed over to the ring of dogs and stood at the commander's side.

“We know where you're getting your powerstone from,” Trundle said in a low voice. “I saw your people and the lizards together last night.”

The Commander frowned at him. “Fine chaps, those lizards,” he barked. “They're a bit of a rabble, but show 'em some authority and they soon rally round the flag, don't you know. Meek as dormice. Most obliging fellows.”

“And have they given you enough powerstone to fly out of here yet?” asked Jack.

The commander's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Last night was the final consignment,” he hissed. “All in order. Final checklist and we're off. Splendid job! First rate!”

“You still haven't told us how you plan on getting the windship out from under the dome,” said Esmeralda.

“Aha! That's all in hand, young lady!” said the Commander. “We've been systematically weakening the roof beams over the past weeks. Sawing through 'em, don't you know. All carefully planned. When the ‘Ride of the Volekyries' reaches its crescendo, my most reliable hounds will make their way up to the dome and saw through the remaining supports. The dome has powerstone attached. It'll simply float away! Then we get everybody aboard, and sail off! Mission complete!”

He eyed them suspiciously. “You've been collaborating with the enemy,” he growled. “Bad show! But you helped to keep that nutty old Lion busy while we finished our work—so there are places on the windship for the three of you, if you're interested.”

“How do you plan on getting through the whirlwinds up there?” asked Jack.

“No problem!” declared the commander. “Expert navigators aboard. Excellent windshipmen. They'll find a way through. Absolutely!”

“You mean the same excellent navigators who got you marooned here in the first place?” said Esmeralda. “I see.” She turned to Trundle and Jack, twirling her fingers at the side of her head and going cross-eyed.

“And if you
do
break through, where will you be heading?” asked Trundle.

“Back to Hernswick,” snapped the bulldog. “Reporting for duty! Imperative I explain absence from the flotilla. Court-martial otherwise!”

“So you wouldn't be going anywhere near Hammerland, then?” asked Trundle.

“Rather not!” said the Commander. “Totally wrong direction! Needed back at base. Absent without leave. Must report to the high command.”

“In that case,” Esmeralda said, “good luck with the winds, matey. We won't be coming with you.” She patted him on the shoulder, mimicking his way of speaking. “But jolly good luck, old chap! First rate and all that! Spiffing! Absolutely spiffing!”

She turned and walked away from the goggling hounds and their spluttering commander. “Come on, boys, we're done with these loonies! We'll stay with the count and hitch ourselves a free ride to Hammerland.”

“Extraordinary!” huffed the commander. “Young women these days! Absolutely extraordinary!”

 

Esmeralda and Trundle found themselves a couple of good seats in the front row. It was almost two o'clock. The curtain had been drawn down, hiding the stage. The orchestra was tuning up, and a sense of anxious anticipation filled the auditorium.

Sitting silently all around the two friends was a delegation of steam moles, all in long black leather coats, all wearing thick glasses and all writing things down in spiral notebooks. Congregating in the other seats were all the animals who had worked so long and hard to get the opera house ready for the grand dress rehearsal.

Down in the orchestra pit, Jack sat among the other musicians, all of them taking a last look at their musical scores, warming up their instruments, and waiting for the mousetro to give the sign that meant everything was ready for the overture to begin.

There was no sign of Count Leopold, but occasionally his voice could be heard booming out from behind the curtain.

Then . . . at long last . . . an expectant silence descended.

The mousetro beat his baton thrice on the podium.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The music began, starting low but then swelling up like rising floodwaters, filling the entire auditorium with sound as the melody grew and grew.

“Blimey!” hissed Esmeralda, leaning close to Trundle. “This doesn't sound half bad after all!”

“Shhhh!” hissed a dozen steam moles.

Trundle stared around himself with his mouth half open. He was tingling with nervous excitement all the way from his spiky head to his furry toes. He was about to hear, for the first time, the opera he had been working on solidly for the past three days! Would anyone like it? Would it get booed? Would the count blame him if it fell flat? He crossed all his fingers and toes, his heart palpitating.

The curtain rose to reveal a landscape of purple mountains under an orange and flame-red sky. In among the saw-edged mountain peaks stood the ancient fortress of Bruinhilda, warrior maiden and formidable champion of the noble bears of Volehalla.

As the music reached a frenzied climax, the hefty, armor-clad albino bear playing Bruinhilda strode to center stage. She came to a halt, her armor shining in the light of a row of candles set in small metal cups along the front edge of the stage. She threw back her yellow braids and lifted her sword.

“Well, look at that!” gasped Trundle, staring at the sword in Bruinhilda's big white paw. “I wondered where that had gotten to!” It was his own sword, being used as a prop in Count Leopold's opera.

Fancy that! he thought, rather liking the idea. At least I'll know where to find it if I need it.

Meanwhile, Bruinhilda took in a deep, bosom-expanding breath and opened her mouth to sing the opening aria of the first act of
Twilight of the Dogs
.

But then Trundle saw her eyes almost pop out of her face as she goggled in astonishment at something that was evidently taking place at the rear of the auditorium.

A moment later she gave a high-pitched shriek. “Lizards!”

Esmeralda leaned close to Trundle. “I didn't know there were lizards in the opera,” she whispered.

“Shhhh!” hissed a dozen steam moles.

“There aren't!” said Trundle with a dreadful sinking feeling.

“Lizards!” howled Bruinhilda again, pointing over everyone's heads. “Lul-lul-lul-lizards! Blooming millions of them!”

Everyone turned and everyone saw, and suddenly everyone was also yelling and screeching, “Lizards! Lizards!”

And they had good reason! For streaming in through the wide-open doors at the rear of the auditorium was a whole army of cudgel-wielding lizards!

Even though they were taken by surprise, many of the animals seated in the opera house managed to grab something to fight back with. They stemmed the flow of hissing lizards, battling them with hammers and wrenches and leftover pieces of wood and metal—not to mention the occasional ripped-up chair and handy ladder.

A bunch of albino animals came rushing from backstage, singing the same eerie song that had driven the lizards away before. But the lizards took no notice. It was almost as if—

“They have earplugs!” yelled Trundle. He gestured wildly to the singers. “It's no good! They can't hear it! You have to fight!”

And so saying, he leaped up onto the stage and snatched his sword out of Bruinhilda's grip. “Sorry,” he said. “I need it back.” He brandished his sword angrily at the Commander, who was busy barking orders to his hounds.

“This is all your fault!” Trundle raved at him. “Those lizards were just using you to find out where all your tunnels were! It was their plan all along to sneak in here and eat the lot of us, you nincompoop!”

“I say,” growled the affronted bulldog. “Steady on there, old chap! Unforeseen circumstances! Seemed decent enough fellows! Dashed turncoats, every one of them!”

“Yes, they are!” howled Esmeralda. “So start fighting them, before it's too late!”

The commander glared at her for a moment. Then an iron-spiked cudgel went whistling past his ear, and he decided not to care so very much about women giving him orders.

“Hernswick Flotilla!” he roared. “Grab any weapons you can, men! By the left—
chaaaarge
!”

It was an absolute uproar in the auditorium, with whacks and thuds and yells and howls echoing to the ceiling as the lizards clashed headlong with the worker animals. Combatants on both sides went tumbling over the chairs as the battle raged.