White Wind Rising Page 8

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Keeper. ‘I was hoping you would know.’

  ‘Me?’ said Writer, surprised. ‘Why would I know?’

  ‘Because the chains must be magic,’ Keeper said. ‘And you can do magic.’

  ‘I cannot do magic,’ she said. ‘I wish I could but I simply got lucky. More to the point, it was totally a random incantation. I do not know what spell would make chains come open. I am sorry. I wish I could help, they look so very tight and painful but me doing magic on them will not work. I would probably make things worse.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Keeper. He hugged Burp tightly and whispered something into Burp’s ear. Burp looked exactly like he always did but he seemed to lean into Keeper’s stocky body as they hugged and he hissed quietly. ‘I’ll give you some cabbages soon, Burp. Your fire can’t do any harm up here in the open air.’

  Keeper looked up at Archer. ‘If I was in Cobnut Forge I would just get a chisel and a big hammer and smash through these chains,’ he said.

  ‘Slight problem with that, Keeper,’ Weaver said.

  ‘I know that, don’t I,’ Keeper said. ‘I was just saying.’

  ‘Perhaps it would help if I look for some answers in the Alchemist’s books. There are lots in his study, with scrolls on metallurgy and things like that,’ Writer said. ‘Do you know anything more about them, such as where he got the chains from? Are they normal iron? They are black like iron but it may be some sort of alloy. I believe there are different types you can make using specific quantities of each kind of metal. But it has been a while since I did any writing on metals and smithing and so on. I will have to see what I can find.’

  Keeper looked confused. ‘You’re going to see if you can find out how to get the chains off?’ he said. ‘Even though you said you couldn’t earlier?’

  Archer thought Writer was going to explain the difference between magic and just knowing stuff but she did not.

  ‘That is correct,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Keeper, grinning again. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Won’t do any good anyway,’ said Weaver. ‘Even if you do get those chains off, there’s no way he would be able to fly with any of us on his back. He’s smaller than us. He wouldn’t even be able to fly with me or Archer on his back, let alone Keeper or Writer.’

  ‘Yes he could,’ said Keeper. ‘He could fly anywhere with me on his back. He could fly halfway round the world, probably. You’re just mean because you’re jealous.’

  ‘Shut up, I’m not jealous!’ shouted Weaver. ‘You’re just ignorant. You’re just an ignorant boy.’

  ‘I am not,’ Keeper said, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘I’m not an ignorant.’

  Weaver laughed in his face. ‘You don’t even know what ignorant means, do you?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Keeper.

  ‘Go on, what is it then?’ Weaver said.

  Keeper hesitated and Weaver laughed again.

  ‘Well, it’s nothing nice,’ Keeper cried. ‘I know that much, don’t I.’

  ‘Stop it, stop arguing,’ said Writer. ‘You are not helping anything. We simply need to get down from here. I shall attempt to find something to get Burp’s chains off. But even if I can I do not think he will be able to fly right away. And I agree that he probably will not be able to carry us. Will he, Keeper?’

  Keeper shook his head.

  ‘And Weaver?’ Writer said. ‘Please stop making things worse.’

  ‘Posh know-it-all,’ Weaver muttered, crossing her arms but she did not say anything else.

  ‘Archer?’ Writer said. ‘Have you thought of anything yet? How can we get down from here so we can all go home? Perhaps we could use the rope?’

  Archer was thinking back to the Vale Fair a couple of years before.

  There had been a man who had flown up in the air. He had lit a fire under a great big enormous upside down sack. The sack was tied to a huge basket. And the man had climbed into the basket and the sack floated up into the air. It went up and away before slowly coming down to the ground about twenty furlongs away with an enormous crash.

  Archer’s father had explained at the time that it was not magic but the heat from the fire getting trapped inside the sack. The hot air inside made it go up.

  His father said that when he was a boy there had been a game for children where they would make tiny toy versions and watch them float away into the night sky.

  His father said that anyone who built one that big and climbed inside it must be totally mad as it was the most dangerous thing he could imagine and the man had been injured quite badly. The flying man was not at the next year’s fair. After his failure, he was said to be fed up with being called Crazy Roger.

  ‘He can’t think of anything,’ said Weaver. ‘Look at him dithering. We’ll just have to live here forever, won’t we. Might as well all get comfortable downstairs, put our feet up.’

  ‘Shush,’ said Writer. ‘Let him think.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ Weaver said. ‘Let’s just live here. Why not?’

  Everyone ignored her.

  ‘Come on,’ said Keeper. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘Did any of you go to the Vale Harvest Fair a couple of summers ago?’ Archer asked them. They all looked at him, confused.

  ‘I did,’ said Keeper. ‘It was wonderful.’

  Writer and Weaver had both also been.

  ‘Do you remember the man who flew up in the air? He called himself the Amazing Flying Roger. I think he came from down Morningtree way. He turned one of those flying fire toy things into one big enough for a man to fly in.’

  They all looked at him blankly.

  ‘Come on, you must remember. If you were there, how could you not have seen it? Everyone who was at the fair saw it. The crowd was huge, everyone was betting on whether he would actually go up in the air at all, and how high. Some people said he would just float off out of the Vale altogether and never be seen again. Other people said he would not be able to get beyond the Alchemist’s magic in the forest.’ Archer rubbed his temples. ‘The man called it a balloon. Yes, that was it. That is what Crazy Roger called it. A balloon.’

  ‘That’s a funny word,’ said Keeper.

  ‘Just means like a type of ball, I think,’ Archer said. ‘Crossed with a type of trousers. Or perhaps it was a bird. A ball loon?’

  ‘Are you certain that this actually happened?’ asked Writer.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t lost your mind, more like,’ said Weaver.

  ‘I believe you, Archer,’ said Keeper.

  ‘I’m telling you, this happened, this actually happened, everyone in the Vale saw it happen,’ Archer said. ‘Even if you weren’t there, how can you have not heard about it?’

  ‘But I was there,’ said Writer. ‘And there was no flying man, I can tell you. The Polstead Players did a fine performance of Up the Vale, Down the Vale. It was very funny, wasn’t it.’

  They all looked at her blankly.

  ‘Who are the Polstead Players?’ Archer said, confused.

  ‘They’re an acting troop, aren’t they,’ Writer said. ‘From Polstead. And very good they are too, if I may say so.’

  ‘Never heard of them,’ said Weaver.

  Keeper shrugged.

  ‘Well what did you see at the fair two years ago, then?’ Writer asked Weaver.

  Weaver shrugged. ‘The usual. You know, the log chopping, the archery, the biggest turnip. All that stuff. Definitely wasn’t no Polstead Players and there’s no way there was a man flying through the air with fire.’ She shook her head with her eyes closed.

  ‘What about you, Keeper?’ Writer asked.

  Keeper looked down. ‘Don’t know, really,’ he scuffed his boot on the floor. ‘Same as Weaver, really.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Weaver. ‘He didn’t even go.’

  ‘I wasn’t allowed, alright?’ Keeper said. ‘Grandma and Grandpa always say fairs and towns and places where lots of people gather together are full of bad humours and
bad water and bad food that gives you the wet gripes, and worse. So they never let me go to anything good.’

  ‘Well, they’re not wrong,’ said Archer. ‘But I’m sorry you didn’t go. And I can’t believe you two didn’t see him if you were there. But none of that really matters anyway because I remember perfectly.’ He looked at each of them in turn, including Burp. ‘I think we should build one.’

  They all looked at him blankly.

  ‘You know,’ he said. ‘Build a balloon.’

  A Thousand Nights

  ‘Build a balloon?’ said Writer. ‘Build a thing that flies through the air?’

  ‘Fly off the top of the Tower?’ said Keeper.

  ‘In a basket?’ said Weaver.

  ‘Yes,’ said Archer.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ said Weaver.

  ‘It was the great big basket that made me think of it,’ Archer said. ‘That’s what we will sit inside. And the other thing is that the fire will come from Burp. You see, the man at the fair had his balloon over a fire on the ground. So it went up very well but then there was no fire with him in his basket so it came crashing back down. But we will have Burp and Burp can breathe fire into while we are up there.’

  ‘I still have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Keeper. ‘But if you think it will get us home then I trust you.’

  ‘Thank you, Keeper,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t,’ Weaver said.

  ‘All we need is a great, big, huge, massive upside down sack thing in the shape of a ball.’ Archer looked at Weaver.

  ‘Well, where are we going to get one of those from?’ said Writer. ‘I am afraid that you have not thought this through.’

  ‘From me,’ said Weaver. ‘That’s right, isn’t it,’ she said to Archer. ‘Those huge sheets of cloth I make for the Alchemist on the loom.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Archer. ‘Do you think that you could weave them together to make a sort of upside down sack? In the shape of a ball but as big as you can possibly make it. The one at the fair was huge. So we will need an even bigger one, probably as wide as the top of the Tower.

  ‘That’s a lot of work,’ Weaver said. ‘But most of it is done already. The largest bolts of cloth are three yards across and I don’t know how many yards long. So it’s just joining it all together. Probably take me a day or two of stitching, if I have some help. I’m extremely good at it.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Keeper. ‘I wish I was extremely good at something.’

  ‘And when the balloon is ready, then that’s where you and Burp comes in,’ Archer said to Keeper. ‘You will need to feed him lots and lots of cabbages and then his dragon fire will heat Weaver’s balloon and it will lift the basket up in the air and us with it.’

  ‘And that is the fault in your plan,’ said Writer. ‘We want to go down to the ground. Not up into the air. We are already rather high, are we not?’

  ‘But it will go down,’ said Archer. ‘We will just float gently down, all the way down to the ground. Then we can be on our way. But first it has to lift off from the top of the Tower and float away a little bit. We have to make sure we don’t just fall straight down.’

  ‘How does the basket attach to the upside down sack?’ Writer asked.

  Archer thought for a moment. ‘That loom thing that Weaver uses,’ said Archer. ‘That had hundreds of really long strings. We will have to take it apart and use those. We will tie them all round the rim of the basket and then each one will go right up to the rim of the cloth ball. Probably we should use extra strong ropes for the four corners. There should be enough on that loom for all that.

  ‘Good,’ said Weaver. ‘I’ve wanted to smash that device since the day I was captured.’

  ‘Let’s get going, then,’ said Archer. ‘There’s not a moment to lose.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Keeper. ‘I’m feeling a bit weak right this moment.’

  ‘I am quite tired out, too,’ said Writer. ‘I believe I shall need a rest.’

  ‘We’ve been escaping for ages, ain’t we,’ said Weaver. ‘And I need a bit of a sit down.’

  Archer nodded, squinting up at the sky. ‘Let’s go back downstairs for a bit,’ he said. ‘Then we can make a start.’

  Weaver, Keeper and Burp started to make their way back down to the Alchemists room.

  Archer kept looking up. Something was bothering him.

  Keeper stopped and turned. ‘Come on, Archer.’

  Writer walked over to Archer. ‘What are you looking at up there?’ she asked, peering up where he was looking.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that it’s only a little after midday?’ he asked her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Why should that be strange?’

  ‘Well, I got captured at around midday,’ Archer said, thinking back. ‘I was having my lunch and I walked all the way down the Vale and it was afternoon when I got here. Then the Alchemist did a spell on me and I was in the kitchen. I was in there for quite a while I think, looking round. Then I climbed into Keeper and Burp’s room and was there for ages. Then we went up to Weaver’s. Actually I went up and down a few times. Then we came to you. Then there was the Alchemist. That was loads of time. So how can it still be midday?’

  Writer laughed. ‘It must have been a whole day, Archer. You were probably busy all afternoon and all night and a whole other morning, only you didn’t notice because you were indoors.’

  ‘Of course,’ Archer said, feeling incredibly foolish. ‘I’m sorry, of course that’s it.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she laughed. ‘You must be incredibly tired. Let us go downstairs and have a little rest.’

  Archer realised then that he was exhausted.

  He had not slept for over a day. His stomach felt empty and his legs were weak. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Rest. That would be good.’

  They had a short breather. They gathered and ate a bit of stale bread. And then all of them worked very hard indeed for the rest of the day and long into the night.

  Before bed, Archer climbed all the way down to the ground floor one last time. He pulled up buckets of water one by one, up every floor from the well. Everyone was thirsty and filthy.

  They passed up sacks of cabbages from Keeper and Burp’s room right to the top floor.

  The hardest job was heaving up all the bolts of cloth from Weavers room. Archer did the most climbing and became incredibly filthy from the soot in the lowest chimney. He washed his face and hands as best he could.

  Archer’s arms ached from all the climbing. So much that he could not lift a cup to his mouth without shaking the water out everywhere.

  Weaver worked tirelessly on stitching together the great sheets of cloth into a giant bag. She was still working up on the roof when the sun went down and even when it was too dark to see properly still she tried to work. Archer pulled her back downstairs so they could all sleep in the Alchemist’s room.

  The room was dominated by the large wicker basket that had been the Alchemist himself.

  It was a strange thought.

  And there was the Alchemist’s bed. That bed was huge, big enough for all of them to lie on and have plenty of room left over. Nevertheless, Burp curled up on the floor next to the bed and of course Keeper curled up right against Burp, just as they had done every night for as long as they had been prisoners. Keeper said he would never be able to get comfortable without his bed of sand. He fell asleep as he was saying it.

  They all had plenty of blankets, taken from Weaver’s room for keeping warm. Keeper did not use any because he had all of the heat coming from Burp.

  ‘I’m not getting on that filthy old dead man’s filthy old bed either,’ Weaver said, rubbing her sore fingers.

  ‘He’s not dead, he’s just...’ Archer tried to think of a good way to put it ‘A basket.’

  He sat the edge of the bed kneading his sore arms and stretching his back.

  ‘That’s not the point, Archer,’ Weaver said. She curled up on the floor, on the oth
er side of the bed from Keeper and Burp. She punched a rolled up blanket into a pillow and started snoring the moment she laid her head upon it.

  ‘She has a point,’ said Writer and she covered the dirty bed with clean blankets before she climbed on to them and lay down.

  Archer climbed on to the other side and lay down. He had never been so physically and mentally exhausted. He had used every ounce of his strength and endurance and then he had gone beyond those limits repeatedly. He had not slept nor barely rested for two days.

  The bed was huge. He was on the other side of the bed from her but it still felt a little strange being lying on a bed with a girl he only just met. A very interesting girl who was unlike anyone else he had ever met before.

  But he only felt strange for a moment before he began dreaming.

  He dreamt the white wind was swirling around him and lifting him up, higher and higher into a clear blue sky. White clouds came pouring in from all sides, filling his vision. They turned a deep purple, the colour of an old bruise, and then black as night and thunder cracked and lightning flashed.

  Then he fell. Tumbling through the storm the earth hurtled toward him. In the last moment before he smashed into it, the white wind caught him up again, jerking him to a stop inches above the ground.

  The shock of it half woke him up and he heard himself think, that’s strange, I’m so tired that I’m dreaming before I’ve even fallen asleep.

  And then he slept.

  Rising and Falling

  Archer was so sore he could barely move. His arms and back were stiff. He groaned as he got up off the bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. The view of the Vale in the morning sun made him sad and excited at the same time.

  After stretching a bit he realised that he felt really quite good. His aches and pains were almost gone.

  He was surprised to see that he was the last one awake. The others were talking up on the roof.

  He climbed up. They were all working on sewing up the cloth bag that would make up the balloon. Burp lay awkwardly in the morning sun on a big folded area of it, growling and dozing.