The Dark Flight Down

“What?” Boy asked. “Tell me!”

  “Boy. It’s about Valerian. He’s not your father.”

  Boy said nothing, but flinched as if he had been struck.

  “No,” he said. “That’s not true. No. You can’t know that.”

  “Boy,” said Willow gently. “It’s true. I found out from Kepler.”

  “He told you?”

  “Not exactly. We were talking about you. Well, arguing really. I told him he’d been terrible to you, to split us up, to send you back to the Yellow House, and only a few days after you’d seen your father die.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He shouted at me that your father wasn’t dead. He said he only told Valerian that to make you live.”

  Boy said nothing now, but just sat, slowly shaking his head.

  “He gambled that Valerian would believe him, that there was one small bit of Valerian that wanted to believe he had a son, and could not kill that son for his own sake.

  “Valerian told us he made the pact to spend one night with the woman he desired. And he did, but somehow in the morning she still rejected him.

  “Kepler told me something, something I’d already suspected. He loved that woman too. She was called Helene. That was why he and Valerian fell out, became enemies when they had been friends before. Neither of them saw Helene again, but Kepler knew he could use that story to make Valerian believe you were his son, even just for a short while. Long enough, in fact, for him to go to his death, instead of you to yours. But he’s not your father. He’s not.”

  “Then who is?” Boy cried. “Who is?”

  “I don’t know,” Willow said. “Kepler wouldn’t say, and when I pushed him for an answer, he got angry and sent me to bed.”

  She stopped, trying to think of what she could say to Boy, who sat with his head hanging in his hands, but finding no words that could help.

  “I’m sorry” was all she said, in the end. “Let’s get away from here, at least, shall we? There’ll be time later to think.”

  Boy looked up at her.

  “No,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Willow asked.

  “I mean, no. I’m not going anywhere. Not until I have some answers. I don’t want to think about things later. I want some answers now.”

  Willow put her hand on Boy’s arm, but he did not take it. He stood and looked down at her. She had never seen him like this before.

  “I’ve had enough, Willow,” he said. “I’ve had enough of not knowing who I am, who my parents were, where I was born. I don’t even have a name!”

  “Yes, you do, you’re Boy, you told me that. . . .”

  “I don’t care what I told you! I want a proper name, I want to know who I am! I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

  “Please, Boy, let’s go. Let’s get out of this bad place first and then think about it later. Please?”

  “No,” said Boy. “No. I’m staying here.”

  “But what good will that do?”

  “The book,” said Boy. “The book is here, isn’t it? Maxim may think he’s just pretending it is, but it is here. Kepler has it, doesn’t he?”

  Willow looked at the floor.

  “Yes, I think he does,” she said quietly.

  “Then I’m going to look in it.”

  “No!” Willow said, gripping his arm tightly. “You know how dangerous it can be! You mustn’t.”

  “I don’t care how dangerous it is. Haven’t you been listening to me at all? I want to know the truth about myself now, no matter what the risk. I have to know!”

  Willow shook her head.

  “But we can’t even get to it. I think it’s in the bag he brought with him. It’s very heavy and I’ve seen precious little else come out of there. But he never leaves me alone, we’d never get the chance to see.”

  “Then we’ll make a chance,” said Boy. “That’s all there is to it.”

  Willow stared at Boy. There was something new about him, something stronger than she had ever seen before.

  “The only question,” Boy said, “is will you help me?”

  Willow stood and held Boy’s hands for a long time. She smiled, gazing into his eyes.

  “Of course I’ll help you. We’re together now, see?”

  Boy smiled, and leant toward Willow. He kissed her and smiled, then looked more serious again, the air of strength returning to him.

  “Listen to me, then,” he said. “We don’t have much time. Maxim’s about to make his move, and when he does, he’ll kill us all. You, me, Kepler. All the alchemists and astrologers. No one will be safe once Frederick’s immortal. Tomorrow, we will be in court. Kepler will be called too. And we’ll make a chance to look at the book. I’m fighting now, Willow. I’ve been pushed around enough and I’m going to put an end to it.”

  Willow smiled and nodded. She only wished she felt as sure as Boy seemed to be.

  11

  Boy was right. Maxim was ready to make his move. When Boy woke next morning he found the young serving girl already in his room.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Boy got down out of bed and scratched his nose. “Today’s the day!” the girl declared.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The emperor. Maxim’s going to make him immortal today. This evening, in court.”

  Boy almost felt like laughing.

  “Don’t you understand?” he asked as he got dressed. “Don’t you understand anything about this place? What do you think will happen once Frederick’s immortal?”

  “What?” asked the girl, surprised.

  “No one will be safe. Maxim will see to that. And Frederick will just go on getting madder and madder with no end to it all.”

  The girl ignored him, and began to tidy things in the room. Boy gave up.

  “There’s one person who’s not invited,” she said, not smiling for once. “You.”

  Boy raised an eyebrow.

  “Maxim says you’re to remain here.”

  Boy smiled. It might work in his favor. Maybe he could get to the book while everyone else was occupied in court.

  He crossed to the window and scowled at the falling snow. He had had enough of it. He had believed it was going to help him, he had trusted it to hide all the horror away, but it had failed. He cursed it, and himself for being so stupid as to think it could save him. He was going to have to save himself.

  12

  The whole palace was astir. The news had spread from the highest bell tower to the lowest cellar. Everyone was talking about the emperor’s immortality.

  There was a huge uproar in the Old South Tower. Frederick’s astrologers and other advisors were shocked at the news. Willow and Kepler listened to the debates over the communal breakfast they took in the tower refectory. There was disagreement over what it would mean, and over exactly what Maxim was going to do, and much, much argument about the book, and about whether it even existed, never mind whether Maxim had it.

  Kepler stared at the plate in front of him. He and Willow were the only people in the room not discussing the forthcoming events.

  “Don’t be so obvious,” she hissed.

  Kepler looked up and saw what she meant.

  “Let’s go back to our rooms,” he said.

  “What do you think Maxim’s going to do?” Willow asked, as they walked up the spiral staircase.

  “Just what he says, probably.”

  “But he doesn’t have the book,” Willow said. “You have it, don’t you?”

  “Be quiet!” They had reached their rooms, at the very top of the tower, and Kepler flung the door shut behind them.

  “Yes, I do have the book, and if anyone finds that out, we’re as good as dead. Just to own it means death! People will kill to own it. So keep quiet.”

  He stormed off across the room.

  “But why did you bring it?”

  “I couldn’t take the risk of leaving it anywhere. Nowhere is safe. They’d ransa
cked the Yellow House looking for it. If they made a connection from Valerian to me, as they undoubtedly will sooner or later, they’d have gone looking for it at my house too. The only safe place is where I can keep an eye on it.”

  “But what are we going to do?” she asked. She knew full well what her plans with Boy were, but what if Kepler’s own plans got in the way?

  “I don’t know. It’s turned out differently from what I planned. And once Maxim does his performance today . . .”

  “You mean you got us in here with no idea about getting us out again?”

  “Getting in was the hard part, but that’s not what I mean. And if I can get things back to what I had planned, we won’t need to worry about getting out again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Willow asked.

  “Enough. You’ll see later. Now tell me what you and Boy spoke about yesterday.”

  “No!” said Willow. “I want to know what you mean. Why won’t we need to worry about getting out?”

  “I said enough! What did you and Boy speak about at court?”

  “You expect me to tell you, but you won’t trust me with your plans? You can think again!”

  Kepler grunted and strode to the window, where he gazed out at the City far below.

  Willow watched him; then her eyes were drawn to the large leather bag lying under Kepler’s bed. Its mouth lay slightly open, and though she couldn’t be sure, Willow thought she could see the corner of a book poking out. A huge, weighty tome. The book from the Dead Days when Valerian had died.

  And now Boy wanted to look inside it. Her heart began to race.

  13

  Boy had spent the day idly, locked up in his luxurious prison, and dusk had fallen. The ceremony was due to start in court soon, and he had been prepared to wait for a good moment to sneak out and down to the tower.

  To the tower, to find the book, and then . . .

  Then to know who and what he really was. If Valerian was not his father, then who? Kepler must know; he’d looked in the book enough by now to know all about Boy, surely, assuming that that was what he was looking for. But Kepler did seem to have become obsessed by Boy, by possessing him as Valerian had. Boy couldn’t believe Kepler didn’t have all the answers.

  And Valerian? Boy thought deeply about his former master, and despite all the hurt and pain he’d inflicted, Boy could find nothing in his heart now for Valerian, nothing but sorrow. Sorrow that he had died, that they had failed to make things better between them, but more than these regrets was a greater sorrow.

  That Valerian wasn’t his father after all.

  Maxim might not have wanted Boy to be present during the ceremony, but Frederick had had other ideas, and once again had ordered that his new plaything be brought to court.

  A guard walked Boy down through the palace, to find Maxim himself waiting outside the door to the court. He dismissed the guard, and watched him go.

  “You will say nothing unless I tell you to,” Maxim threatened. Boy acted suitably cowed. It wouldn’t hurt for Maxim to think he was too scared to act.

  “The old fool wants you here, you’re his favorite new pet, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Not yet. So behave yourself.”

  Boy nodded.

  Maxim opened the door and they entered.

  Yet again the palace outshone its own magnificence. The room had been decorated with flags and banners; strips of red and gold silk hung all around, encrusted with jewels that sparkled in the light from four massive chandeliers hanging from the painted ceiling. The room was packed. Far more so than usual. Boy looked around for Willow, but could not see her, or Kepler.

  There was standing room only, and precious little of that. Boy marveled at the accumulation of wealth upon each person present. Even the lowliest members of the palace were dressed in fine clothes, maybe only brought out on occasions of the greatest importance. And there could be no occasion more important than this.

  The Bestowing of Immortality on Emperor Frederick.

  A fanfare rang out across the room, and the emperor was carried in on a large chair slung between two poles, festooned with more ribbons of red and gold, supported by four men. The people struggled to allow him by, and it took some time for the small cortege to make its way to the dais.

  Once there, Frederick climbed up onto his throne as usual, and turned to face the assembly. He smiled, and Boy almost felt sorry for him, but was then horrified to see the emperor looking straight at him.

  “Boy! There you are. Come here! You must be here.”

  Boy hesitated, and looked at Maxim, who inclined his head slowly.

  “Yes, you must be here,” Frederick drawled. “You are a good and faithful servant to the empire. If more of these idiots acted with your quick thinking maybe it wouldn’t have taken so long to get to where we are today. . . .”

  Maxim and Boy stood at the foot of the dais. Frederick looked around once more, and coughed.

  “People,” he said, in his wavering voice, “today is a great day. Thanks to my hard work and struggles, I will today achieve a wonderful thing. I am an old man; there is no . . . heir . . . to the throne. But this problem will be a problem no longer. I have created a superb solution. It will make everything well. You will not be deprived of your beloved emperor after my death, for I am not going to die. In a few moments I will have Maxim do . . . whatever it is he must do . . . and I will become immortal!”

  There was a gasp and then a murmur around the court room. Even though everyone knew already that this was what the old emperor had been seeking, it was still a shock to actually hear him say it.

  Frederick frowned at Maxim.

  “Why don’t they cheer?” he asked.

  “They’re just too happy to express what they really feel, sire,” Maxim said, and he nodded to a guard. Boy watched as the guard pulled his sword an inch or two from its scabbard and glared at some people near to him. They immediately started to clap, and as others began to applaud and cheer, the emperor sat back on his throne, satisfied.

  Maxim chewed his lip, and ran one hand across the top of his bald head. He let the cheering continue for a full minute or two. It would be a good idea, he thought, to put the emperor in as good a mood as possible. Finally he raised his hand.

  “Loyal servants of the Imperial Throne, lords, ladies, dukes, duchesses, marquises. Behold! For today is the first day of a new chapter in the history of the empire, and you are its witnesses.

  “I have obtained knowledge that was occult, but is no longer hidden, for it has fallen into my hands, knowledge that will free our emperor from the constraints of mortality. Having made certain careful preparations, I am about to perform the ritual that will bestow everlasting life on Emperor Frederick the Magnificent!”

  He paused, and after a moment, a subdued cheer came from the crowd.

  “Of course,” Maxim continued, “this ritual is delicate and powerful in equal measure. It cannot be witnessed directly. We will begin at once.”

  He nodded once more to two of the guards standing near the throne.

  “The screen!” he cried.

  A large screen made of a wooden frame over which red silk had been stretched was placed round the three forward sides of the dais, so that Frederick was hidden.

  As he disappeared from sight, the emperor still wore a silly smile. He lifted a hand to his people, and then was gone. Boy stood by the dais, staring at Maxim, who clapped his hands. From the back of the hall, another servant brought forward a tray, on which were certain objects. Magical devices, no doubt, but nothing that Boy thought could bestow immortality. A wand, a cup, a potion and some herbs were all Boy could see as the things were taken up the steps of the dais and behind the screen. Suddenly, as Boy watched Maxim, he was reminded of something. He had a feeling that he had seen all this before. He’d described it to Valerian once, who had told him it had a French name, déjà vu. Already seen, Valerian had said. That was just what Boy felt as he watched Maxim, but this déjà vu had a
mundane explanation. Boy had seen this countless times, onstage, with Valerian. A flowery speech, a few props, a screen. It was all exactly as Valerian had done it, pulling some illusion or other, and fooling a whole crowd into believing something impossible.

  What was Maxim up to?

  He stepped to the front of the dais once more, exactly like Valerian stepping to the front of the stage to make sure he had the audience’s attention before performing the trick.

  “Behold!” he cried. “In a few moments, your emperor will be immortal!”

  And he whipped behind the screen.

  A murmur spread round the room, so that Boy could not hear anything that was going on behind the screen, but from where he stood, Boy could see vague shapes moving behind it. Maybe Maxim had intended it, maybe not, but the light from lamps on the wall behind the dais was casting the shadows of Maxim and Frederick onto the silk of the screen.

  Others had noticed this too. Boy saw Maxim pick up the cup. He handed it to Frederick, who put it to his lips.

  Boy’s heart jumped. That was it! Maxim was simply going to poison Frederick. Right there, in front of everyone, he was going to poison him, and then claim he had died in the arduous process of achieving immortality.

  Boy moved, but a guard barred his way. Frederick drank from the cup. He waited for a scream of pain, or for Frederick to collapse to the floor. Nothing happened. The emperor gave the cup back to Maxim, who set it down.

  Shapes moved, but Boy could see nothing of Frederick now. Maxim came and went around the throne, waving his hands in front of it, picking up other things from the tray, putting them down again. Finally, even Maxim’s movements ceased. There was nothing, nothing at all. The muttering in court grew louder and louder.

  The guard holding Boy was now so fascinated by what was going on that he let go, and moved closer to the screen. He took another step. He was just about to put his head around the back of it when it flew forward and clattered down the steps. Maxim stood with arms raised.

  “Behold!” he cried. “Emperor Frederick is now immortal!”

  There was a stunned silence, and then the cheering and shouting and clapping began. The emperor sat on his throne, as he had before. He was alive, but there was something not quite right about him. He still had a foolish grin on his face, but his eyes seemed to be drifting all around the room, roaming unfocused from floor to ceiling.