Sargasso Skies Page 6

  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.

  The Hernswick Hounds thundered up the center aisle in formation and crashed into a whole swarm of lizards coming the other way.

  Esmeralda led a bunch of musicians out of the orchestra pit, wielding violins and trumpets and bassoons and flutes as they hurled themselves into the fray.

  Jack’s rebec came down on a lizard’s head, flattening it into the carpet.

  “One down!” he shouted. “Two hundred to go!”

  Trundle was about to leap into the melee when he heard a booming voice at his back.

  “Fire they like not!” shouted the count, racing across the stage with a tall candelabra in his paw. “We must on them fire use!”

  Trundle snatched up one of the candlesticks that lit the front of the stage and jumped down into a milling bunch of lizards. The effect of the candle flame, coupled with his slashing sword, was all that he could have wished for.

  Hissing and squealing, the lizards scrambled to get away from him.

  He saw more animals—including many albinos— grab up candles and race forward, beating the lizards back, until half the auditorium was clear of them again and the doors were blocked solid with lizards trying to escape.

  Swept up in the general chaos, it was difficult for Trundle to tell exactly what was going on—but it was clear that the defenders were slowly gaining ground on the spitting and shrieking lizards.

  Suddenly he found himself outside the opera house, fighting a lizard who was making a last stand on the edge of the wooden platform. All around him he could see animals brandishing newly lit flaming torches. The flickering red flames made even more of an impression on the lizards than the candles had. The cowardly creatures leaped from the platform and scuttled off across the mire, weeping and wailing that their intended meal had fought back so hard.

  Trundle turned, waving his sword. “Victory!” he yelled. “Yay, us!” But then he saw that several torches and candles had been dropped during the fight, and that fires were leaping up all over the platform.

  “We’re on fire!” he howled. “Quick! Put them out! The whole place will burn to the ground!”

  With the lizards in full retreat, the defenders turned their attentions to the fires—but in several places the flames were licking high up the opera house walls, far beyond anyone’s ability to stamp them out.

  “Cast off the ropes!” shouted Esmeralda. “Set the opera house adrift before the whole place goes up in flames!”

  Animals raced to the hawsers holding the opera house in place. Tools were snatched up, saws and knives and pincers and anything else with a sharp edge. Trundle even hacked away with his sword.

  One by one the thick ropes were severed.

  “Back inside!” shrieked Esmeralda. “Get into the building, or you’ll be left behind!”

  The opera house groaned and creaked as the animals came flooding in through the entrances. Just as the last foot of the last animal left the burning platform, the opera house broke loose and slowly lifted into the air. It swayed alarmingly from side to side as it rose up from the burning platform and drifted majestically across the bleak expanse of the Sargasso Skies.

  “We made it!’ gasped Trundle, wiping his brow. “By the skin of our teeth!”

  There was plenty of cheering as the opera house floated away over the heads of the terrified lizards.

  A few animals leaned out of the doorways and windows and threw heavy items down on their routed enemies. A few others stamped out the last of the fires. The rest just shouted for joy and hugged one another with relief.

  “Well, that’s got to be more exciting than any silly old opera!” gasped Esmeralda, a little sooty from the fires but grinning happily as she stood by Trundle at the main entrance.

  Jack was just behind them. “Isn’t that the Thief in the Night?” he said, pointing down to a familiar skyboat caught up in the rigging of a windship wreck.

  “By crikey, so it is!” gasped Esmeralda. “Quick, someone—get a rope and a grappling hook. We might just be able to grab it as we go by!”

  A rope and a grapple were swiftly found, and Trundle lay on the bottom step of the main entrance, letting the rope down while Esmeralda and Jack sat on him to stop him from being dragged after it. The iron grapple was heavy, and Trundle knew he would have only one chance to hook the little skyboat.

  He swung the rope. The grapple hooked on to the raised rear end of the Thief in the Night and held fast.

  “Secure this end!” shouted Jack. The three of them wound the rope around and around a doorpost. The rope went taut with a twoiiinnnngg soun
d.

  There was a wrenching, screeching noise. Trundle peered down.

  “It’s working!” he gasped. “She’s coming loose!”

  With a final twist and quiver, the gallant little skyboat shook herself free of the windship’s rigging. Slowly, and with aching muscles, the three friends hauled their in their skyboat and tied her securely to the front steps of the opera house.

  “Everything’s still safe and sound on board!” said Trundle, wiping his brow. “The crowns are there and everything!”

  A low-pitched hooting noise sounded from somewhere above them. A few moments later, the steam moles’ iron tug hove into view, black against the gloomy clouds. Ropes came snaking down.

  Esmeralda grinned at her friends. “Next stop, Hammerland!” She laughed.

  “Next stop, the Crown of Wood!” added Trundle.

  “All the same,” said Jack, “I hope we get to perform the opera before we have to leave. It’ll be such a shame otherwise!”

  “So, that’s Hammerland,” said Trundle. “Odd-looking place, isn’t it?”

  It had taken two days for the steam moles’ steam tug to bring them to the great lump of black and scarred and pock-holed rock that hung below them in the late afternoon sky. And Trundle was right—it did look very odd, indeed. Hundreds of iron pipes and chimneys jutted out of the island, spouting gray and white and black and brown smoke. Here and there, dull steel doors could be seen, set into the black rock, covered in rivets, and from small thick portholes, yellowish lights shone out weakly.

  “There are no buildings on the surface at all,” puzzled Esmeralda. “Not a one!”

  “And I assume those steel rails by the holes are there to take people inside . . . to where the steam moles must live,” said Jack. He shivered. “No. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Where do we start looking for the crown?” wondered Trundle, as downcast by the look of Hammerland as were his companions.

  “It’s a big place,” mused Jack. “Big and dark and dirty and extremely inhospitable.”

  “We’ll work it out,” said Esmeralda. “The Fates wouldn’t have brought us here if they didn’t have something in mind.”

  It had been quite a journey, and it had started in a rather alarming way, as the steam tug had buffeted its way slowly through the endless swirl of winds above the Sargasso Skies. The opera house had sustained some superficial damage, but there had been plenty of time to put things right—and also to fix all the damage done by the invading lizards. The Hernswick Flotilla had joined in, their escape attempt postponed for the time being. With the opera house constantly in view of the clanking steam tug, there was simply no opportunity for them to slip away unnoticed.

  Jack had quite enjoyed himself, though. There had been plenty of time for a full dress rehearsal. It had gone quite badly, and Trundle had been horrified by the mayhem and confusion on stage— but then Jack had explained that the worse a dress rehearsal went, the better the actual performance would be.

  Trundle had done his best to feel reassured.

  As the three friends watched from their vantage point at a window above the main entrance of the opera house, a steam-driven iron windship emerged from a deep hole in the ugly black rock and began its puffing and rumbling way toward them.

  “Let’s go see what’s what,” suggested Esmeralda as the windship moored alongside the main entrance and a party of steam moles trudged down the gangplank.

  They found the steam moles on stage, speaking with the count.

  “Under no circumstances will any of your company be given visas to enter Hammerland,” one of the steam moles was saying. “Visitors are not welcome!”

  “That’s bad,” whispered Jack from their hiding place in the wings.

  “So how the opera will we perform?” asked the Count.

  “The audience will be brought to you,” said the steam mole. “Don’t worry, your opera house will be packed to the rafters. We steam moles enjoy a good opera, and this will be a sold-out performance.”

  “Then, most excellent it is!” beamed the Count. “All for the performance is in readiness!”

  Trundle, Esmeralda, and Jack got into a worried huddle.

  “How are we ever going to find the Crown of Wood if they won’t even let us set foot in Hammerland?” asked Trundle.

  “Don’t fret about it, Trun,” said Esmeralda. “The Fates will show us the way when the time comes.”

  “I rather hope the Fates will leave it till after the performance, if it’s all the same to them,” said Jack. “I really don’t want to miss it—not after all the hard work I’ve put in.” He gazed wistfully down into the orchestra pit. “It was such fun to be among all those musicians, you know.” He sighed. “Such fun!”

  “You’ll get your chance to play, Jack, don’t you worry,” said Esmeralda. “I have a plan! The audience must be brought here on those iron windships, right?”

  “Right,” agreed Trundle and Jack.

  “And they must be taken away again at the end—on windships,” Esmeralda continued. “Which means that all we have to do is disguise ourselves as steam moles and slip aboard a windship at the end of the performance and Bob’s your uncle—we’re in Hammerland and free to start looking for the jolly old crown.” She beamed at her two friends. “What do you say, lads?”

  “How exactly do we disguise ourselves as steam moles?” asked Trundle. “Short of shaving our prickles off and painting ourselves black?”

  “We just need to borrow three of their leather coats,” said Esmeralda. “Buttoned up to our noses and with the collars pulled over our ears, we should just about get away with it, if we keep our heads down.”

  “I suppose it has to be worth a try,” Jack said dubiously. “But it’s almost time for a rehearsal, so I’ll catch up with your chaps later.” He winked. “We’re having a few problems with the ‘Ride of the Volekyries’—the percussion section always seems to get to the end five bars ahead of the rest of us. Cheerio!” And with a merry wave of his paw, Jack went trotting off to be with his fellow musicians.

  Trundle looked at Esmeralda. “He’s going to miss all this when we leave,” he said.

  “He’ll get over it,” said Esmeralda.

  “Hmmm. I wonder if he will . . . ,” said Trundle.

  The auditorium was packed solid with steam moles—in fact, the audience was so large that the worker animals who had helped to put the opera house together were forced to watch the first-ever performance of Twilight of the Dogs from the back and the sides, or from whatever other precarious vantage point they could find.

  A hum of expectant pleasure filled the air as Trundle and Esmeralda picked their way to a small empty space at the side of the orchestra pit.

  Esmeralda stared at the eagerly waiting steam moles. “They’re a strange bunch,” she muttered into Trundle’s ear.

  “You said that about the albinos, too,” Trundle whispered back.

  “Yes, I know, but I’ve gotten used to them now.” She shook her head. “But these fellows are just plain peculiar, if you ask me.”

  “No one is asking you,” hissed Trundle. “Now pipe down—it’s about to start.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The conductor lifted his baton.

  There was a moment of absolute silence. Then the music began.

  The rapt audience of steam moles gasped as the curtain rose and Bruinhilda’s lofty fortress was revealed among the sharp-edged purple mountains.

  Bruinhilda emerged from the wings and swept to center stage.

  Before she could even open her mouth, the steam mole audience erupted into titanic applause and cheering and stamping of feet.

  “You know something?” Trundle shouted into Esmeralda’s ear over the terrific racket that the steam moles were kicking up. “I have the feeling that this will go rather well!”

  The opera house shook to the rafters from the rapturous and unending applause of the steam moles. The opera was over and done, but the ecstatic a
udience would not let the players leave the stage. Five times the curtain had risen and fallen; five times Count Leopold and his performers had joined hands and bowed as the steam moles had cheered and cheered, showering them with an absolute storm of black roses.

  And still the clapping and howling and yells of “Bravo” and “Encore” had forced yet another curtain call.

  Grinning from ear to ear, and applauding as loudly as anyone, Trundle basked quietly in reflected glory. It would have been nice, he thought, to have been invited up onstage to take his own bow . . . but like Jack had said, backroom boys never get to stand in the limelight. That was just the way things were.

  But would the applause never end?

  Finally, after so long a time that Trundle’s paws ached and his ears were ringing, the ovation began to fade away.

  Count Leopold leaned toward them from the stage. “You must up here coming be!” he shouted. “We are for those who helpful have been, a celebration having! Come, Ermintruda—come also, my spiky little chap. Join us! Join us!”

  “Esmeralda!” shouted Esmeralda. “How many more times?” But she grabbed Trundle by the arm and dragged him up onto the crowded stage.

  “But we have to steal leather coats and mingle with the steam moles,” Trundle reminded her.

  “Plenty of time for that!” Esmeralda declared. “I’m not missing out on a party!”

  And what a party it was! Everyone was there—the worker animals, the performers, every single member of the orchestra—all talking loudly at the same time and congratulating one another and leaping up and down around the count while he smiled and bowed and said thank you in his roundabout and upside-down kind of way.

  “Thank you I do!” he said over and over. “My heart’s bottom you all thank!”

  And then Jack struck up a cheery dance tune on his rebec and several other members of the orchestra joined in, and soon an impromptu dance was taking place, all the animals twining in and around one another, albino and captive, Hernswick Hounds and performers arm in arm with Trundle and Esmeralda.