The Story of Cirrus Flux (23 page)

“Bottle Top, please!” said Cirrus, fear edging into his voice. “What are you doing? I didn’t mean for this to happen, if that’s what you think!”

He angled his head toward the doorway and shouted, “Help! Help!” But Mr. Leechcraft was too far away to hear now and a loud clap of thunder drowned out the sound of his voice.

Finally, Bottle Top stepped out to where Cirrus could see him clearly. He had removed the sling from his arm and was twisting the bolt of cloth into a knot. He was not as injured as he had made out.

Cirrus’s eyes bulged with fright. He watched helplessly as Bottle Top inserted the sling into his mouth and secured the ends with a tight knot. The moist cloth blocked the back of his throat and he had to inhale wildly through his nose.

“Bottle Top, please!” he tried to shout, but his voice came out as a muffled sob.

Bottle Top averted his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cirrus,” he said at last, loosening the collar of Cirrus’s shirt and carefully removing the sphere from the boy’s neck. “But Mr. Sidereal offered me far more than I could refuse for this.” He held up the sphere and looked at it with only mild interest before placing it under his own shirt for safekeeping. “He’s going to make me rich.”

Bottle Top stepped behind him now and began pulling on the ropes. Cirrus felt the swing judder and rise. Within moments, he was dangling a few feet below the ceiling, underneath the glass, while lightning whipped and flashed across the sky.

“Goodbye, Cirrus,” said Bottle Top, still refusing to meet his eye. He slowly made his way across the room and left. He did not look back.

Cirrus wriggled and twisted, but the bonds were too tight. Hot spasms of pain fired down his back. There was no escape. Even if he managed to break free from the harness, the fall
would almost certainly shatter his legs. All he could do was wait for Mr. Leechcraft to return and then beg to be let down.

A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to him. What if Mr. Leechcraft ignored his request and tried to electrify him instead? What if he generated a bolt of lightning, the way he had with Bottle Top the previous night?

Cirrus eyed the Leyden jars uneasily and resumed his struggle to escape.

Just then a tremendous clap of thunder exploded overhead. Startled, he twisted his neck and peered up through the glass. Clouds were churning above him, scratched by silver claws of light.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something streaking toward him, blazing across the sky. It looked like a giant ball of flame.

He blinked as the object grew bigger and brighter, blotting out the entire sky. It was heading straight for him … and would any moment smash through the glass.

Cirrus braced for the impact, closing his eyes.

Escape!

“M
r. Hardy!” shouted Pandora over a near-deafening clap of thunder, as a flash of lightning lit up the sky. “It’s the boy from last night! He’s headed across the square!”

All evening long she and Mr. Hardy had been circling the city in the moon-sail, keeping a close watch on the Guild, but there had been no sign of Mr. Sidereal, who had sent his golden carriage to pick up the boys from the museum, but who himself had not arrived.

Mr. Hardy shifted his weight in the basket and steered the moon-sail into a trough of cold air, bringing them down low over the Guild. The wind slammed into their bodies and shrilled in their ears, and Pandora had to cling to the ropes to keep from falling down.

They were just in time to see the boy hop into Mr. Sidereal’s carriage before the vehicle pulled away, galloping east along the Strand toward St. Paul’s.

Mr. Hardy made as if to follow, but Pandora grabbed him by the arm. “What about Cirrus?” she cried. “We can’t just leave him behind! He could be in trouble!”

Mr. Hardy yelled something that was lost in reply, and Pandora feared he was not going to listen, but then Alerion burst into flame and the moon-sail soared again into the sky, riding a powerful air current back over the Guild.

Pandora fixed Mr. Hardy’s spyglass to her eye, searching the many windows for a glimpse of the boy. All she could see were glimmering candles and reflections of the lightning-torn sky.

Then, as they passed high overhead, she noticed a window set in the roof of the Guild. She could just make out a small figure beneath it, dangling in the air.

“Mr. Hardy!” she called out, and pointed below. “Look there! It’s Cirrus!”

Mr. Hardy leaned over the edge of the basket and peered down. “Hold on,” he said as Alerion folded her wings and the moon-sail plummeted once again.

This time the wind snatched the cap from Pandora’s head and her short auburn curls flew out behind.

The basket landed with a hard, heavy thump on the side of the window, sending a large web of cracks through the glass. Almost immediately, the wind shifted direction and swept them back into the air.

“Mr. Hardy!” screamed Pandora, as they began to ascend.

But the man was ready. Grabbing the anchor from the side of the basket, he dropped it through the glass, into the
furthest corner of the room, and the window shattered into a million fragments that rained to the floor, narrowly missing the boy.

Cirrus looked up at them with terrified eyes and tried even harder to break free from his bonds. The anchor was swinging recklessly back and forth, banging into a table, knocking over some chairs.

Mr. Hardy turned to Pandora. “Quick! Climb down the rope and secure the anchor. Untie the boy and I’ll haul you up!”

Pandora stared at him incredulously and then peered over the ledge. It was a thirty-foot drop, at least. Her stomach revolted inside her.

“I can’t,” she cried. “It’s too far. You go instead.”

Mr. Hardy glanced at the moon-sail and shook his head. “The wind is too strong. We haven’t much time!”

A mass of dark cloud had piled overhead and violent downdrafts of air tugged at them from the Thames. The sky had taken on a terrible greenish gray pallor.

Pandora was shaking from head to foot, but Mr. Hardy grasped her by the shoulders and steadied her with his eyes.

“You can do this, Pandora,” he told her firmly. “I’ve seen you climb the wall of the Foundling Hospital, don’t forget.”

She braved a false smile and took a deep breath. Finally, she nodded.

“Aye, that’s my girl,” said Mr. Hardy.

With his help, she reached over the edge of the basket
and took a tentative hold of the rope, which was lashing beneath her. Slowly, carefully, she began her descent.

The wind twirled around her, screaming in her ears, but she clung onto the rope with work-hardened fingers and eased her way down.

“That’s it, Pandora!” yelled Mr. Hardy, guiding her from above. “You’re almost there.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as she passed through the shattered window, into the relative calm of the room. Cirrus was a short distance from her, squirming in midair. His arms had been bound behind him and his mouth had been gagged. His face was slick with sweat.

“Don’t worry,” she said, quickening her pace. “I’ll let you down.”

As soon as she was able, she dropped to the ground. At once she grabbed the arm of the anchor and secured it to the table, fixing the moon-sail in place. Then she dashed to the pulley in the corner and started lowering the boy to the floor. She removed the gag from his mouth.

“It’s you!” he said, gasping for air. “How did you …? What’re you …?”

Pandora was loosening the straps that bound him to the swing. Then, all of a sudden, she covered his mouth with her hand. “Shhh!” she said.

She listened carefully. Voices were rising from downstairs.

Immediately, she started unpicking the rest of the straps.

Her fingers were trembling and the bonds were too tight.
In desperation, she looked around for a sharp piece of glass to use as a knife.

“Hold still,” she said, as she sawed through the fastenings.

Finally, the last bond snapped loose and Cirrus slumped to the ground. Tenderly, he rubbed the spots where the harness had cut into his skin and kneaded the stiffness from his limbs. He limped toward the door.

Pandora pulled him back. “No, not that way,” she cried, and pointed up.

The boy turned to her in alarm and then peered up at the sky, where the moon-sail was visible, buffeting back and forth. Mr. Hardy was leaning over the edge, urging them to hurry.

Seeing him, Cirrus shrank back in terror. “I can’t,” he said. “That man—you don’t understand—I’ve seen him before. He’s after my sphere.” He clutched the spot where his token had been and looked ill.

Pandora grabbed hold of his wrist. The straps had left a raw, savage mark on his skin and he winced.

“Listen,” she said. “Mr. Hardy’s a friend. He knew your father. He’s here to help. Now hook your legs over the anchor and he’ll hoist you up!”

She yanked the anchor out from under the table and forced it into his hands.

“A friend?” he said, confusion growing on his face.

The babble of voices was getting louder on the stairs.

“Please!” said Pandora. “There’s no time to explain. You’ve got to trust me.”

Cirrus started to protest, but then, remembering how the girl had tried to help him at the hospital, he did as she said. Planting his legs on either side of the anchor, he hugged the metal crossbar to his chest. Almost immediately, the man began to haul him up—pulling him, hand over hand, toward the roof.

Pandora, meanwhile, searched for something heavy to barricade the door. She grabbed a tall, straight-backed chair from beside the table and dragged it across the floor, angling it under the handles of the twin wooden doors.

Cirrus was now through the open window and swinging in the air. Dark clouds were thrashing overhead; the storm was growing more intense.

Heart in mouth, she watched as Mr. Hardy reached over the edge of the basket to drag him in.

At that instant, the moon-sail, freed from its mooring, drifted away. It lifted from the roof and headed toward the clouds. Pandora let out a moan of dismay as the boy and the man disappeared.

She spun round to face the door, on her own.

Footsteps had now reached the landing and she drew in a sharp breath as the ornate handles began to turn. The door inched open—

—and then stopped.

The chair had dug in its heels and become stuck.

There was an exclamation of surprise and then an oath from the other side. Someone hammered on the door.

“What is the meaning of this? Boy, open up!”

Pandora backed away from the door. Her heart was beating against her ribs. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for the moon-sail to reappear.

Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder clapped, but there was no sign of the vessel. Mr. Hardy was not coming back.

Someone slammed a shoulder against the door, making her jump. The chair skipped a few inches and a purple sleeve wedged itself through the gap.

It was the dark-wigged gentleman from the museum. She could just make out his loathsome features through the crack.

“Wait till I get my hands on you,” he snarled, clawing at the chair with his hand.

The chair began to give way with a screech.

She took one last look at the sky. Just then a luminous sail of fabric drifted overhead.

“Pandora!” shouted Mr. Hardy, dropping the anchor through the remains of the shattered window. It clanged to the floor. “Grab hold!”

Pandora nearly cried with relief. She lunged for the rope and caught it mid-stride, jamming her foot down hard on the metal crossbar and starting to climb, not even waiting for Mr. Hardy to haul her up.

Behind her she heard a savage cry. She turned to see the dark-wigged gentleman storm into the chamber. He stopped in confusion and then propelled himself toward her.

“What have you done with my Golden Boy?” he roared.

Pandora was rising quickly now, scrabbling up the rope, but at the very last moment the man leapt onto the table and jumped … snagging his fingers around the arms of the trailing anchor. He tried with all his might to drag it down.

“Alerion!” shouted Mr. Hardy as the rope slipped through his fingers and Pandora began to sink once more toward the floor. “Up, girl, up!”

The great bird flapped its wings and sent another wave of heat into the sail, lifting the vessel into the air.

Cirrus, who had only just managed to stumble to his feet, fell down again as the basket climbed steeply upward. Pandora was pulled through the open window.

She looked down.

The man below her had refused to let go; with a fearful cry, he, too, floated into the mouth of the storm.

Below them, in the Celestial Chamber, the members of the Guild crowded round the shattered window and gaped, unable to take their eyes off the moon-sail, which was rising rapidly toward the clouds. Only one person bolted from the room: a woman with elaborately coiled silver hair. Madame Orrery! Pandora gasped when she saw her and nearly let go of the rope.

The moon-sail was ascending quickly, lifted by a swell of warm air, but the basket was teetering at a crazy angle, tilting toward the ground. Pandora could see the slate-gray roof tiles of the Guild sloping beneath her and tightened her grip on
the rope, which was creaking ominously under the additional weight.