The Cradle of All Worlds. Jeremy Lachlan
Robin.’ Violet tuts at me. ‘Come on, you could act a little more excited. She’s only the most amazing adventurer Bluehaven’s ever seen. She’s been into the Manor more times than anyone. I’ve read all her books. Kids at school say she went batty after the Manor shut up shop, like most of the old folks round here, I s’pose. She lives under the museum. Never talks to anyone. She’s pretty much a hermit, but, like, a cool one. And you actually got to meet her.’
‘Lucky me.’ Violet cuts through the last few strands of rope and it unravels to the cage floor. I rub the red-raw marks around my wrists and take the knife. ‘Thanks.’
I saw away at the rope around my feet.
‘Why didn’t you just untie that with your hands?’ Violet asks.
‘I tried, but the woman ties knots like a pirate. As for what she was like?’ Actually, I have no idea how to describe Winifred. On one hand, yeah, she smacked me in the head with a shotgun and stuffed me in a cage. On the other, she saved my life. Even offered me a refreshing, poison-free beverage. I cut through the rope and kick it away, stand and stretch. ‘She was the one who slipped the photo through my window this morning, not Atlas. She wrote the message. She’s messing with me, but,’ I hand Violet my baby photo, ‘look.’
Violet gasps. ‘Is that you? Aw, you’re so little!’
‘All those books. It’s the Great Library, right? Under the museum?’
‘Yep,’ Violet says. ‘And we thought you’d never been inside it, huh?’ She shakes her head in wonder, flips the photo. ‘Everything happens for a reason? Weird. What does the drawing mean?’
‘I dunno.’ I check the padlock and chain wrapped around the little cage door. Useless. Pace around the cage and give each wooden bar a shake instead, rub the shotgun lump on my forehead. ‘She said Atlas is gonna do something. She said something bad’s gonna happen, but it’s necessary, and I’m the only person who can help everyone. Maybe at dusk.’
‘You’re the only person who can help everyone? We’re in big trouble then.’
‘Look, this knife isn’t gonna do jack on these bars. We’ll have to break through them. Have a look around for a hammer or something.’
‘Sure thing.’ Violet hands back the photo and hurries over to the pile of junk, has a dig around. She holds up a rusty screwdriver. ‘How about this?’
‘Bigger.’
‘That?’ She points to an enormous anchor.
‘Smaller.’
‘This?’ She twirls a crowbar through the air.
‘Perfect.’
She runs back to the cage, grinning. ‘So what do we do once you’re free?’
‘Sneak out of here,’ I stuff the photo in my pocket, wedge the crowbar between two bars and pull, ‘head back to the house, make sure my dad’s okay, track down Winifred again – and get – some – answers.’ One of the bars cracks. I smile and re-position the crowbar. ‘Atlas is gonna go mental when he finds an empty cage. Did Eric Junior mention what he –’
A hot breath of wind blows through the gaps in the boat shed walls, carrying with it the sound of the drums again. The drums and a distant chuckle. We freeze.
A voice. The slow clippity-clop of a horse. Footsteps getting louder.
‘Go,’ I whisper, tossing the crowbar from the cage. ‘Out the window.’
‘No way, Jane. If they’re taking you somewhere, I’m going too.’
‘Look, I appreciate that but we don’t have time to – what are you doing? ’ She’s crawling under the wagon, that’s what. ‘No, Violet. Get out of here.’
But it’s too late. The horse’s clippities have stopped clopping. The door rattles.
‘Run first chance you get, kid,’ I mutter. ‘If they catch you –’
‘I’ll kick ’em in the nuts,’ Violet whispers. ‘Suckers won’t even see it coming.’
The doors burst open. Golden light fills the shed with a swirl of dust. Four silhouettes stand in the doorway. Atlas, Peg, Eric Junior and a horse.
My worst-case scenario is about to begin.
Dapper three-piece suit. Slicked-back hair. Chiselled jaw. Mayor Atlas is a pompous, barrel-chested statue come to life. Grade-A jerk and then some. ‘Who were you talking to, Doe?’
‘Nobody.’
‘We ’eard voices.’ Peg says, hobbling around, checking behind the piles of junk. He’s changed his clothes since our dip in the ocean. So has Eric Junior. ‘Don’t deny it.’
‘No. I mean, yeah. I was talking to myself. I do it a lot. On account of the whole no-friends-thing and all.’ Violet giggles under the wagon. I stomp my foot to cover the noise. ‘Sorry. Nervous tic.’ I stomp again for good measure. Eric Junior frowns at me, hanging back with the horse. I want to punch him. ‘By the way, I wasn’t trying to drown you, Junior.’
‘Tha’s a lie,’ Peg says. ‘I saw it all.’ He glances under the wagon. Thankfully, Violet’s off the ground, stretched out between the axles, face-up. I can just make her out between the planks beneath me. They’d have to crawl right under to see her. ‘Nobody ’ere.’
Atlas stands right in front of me, hands in his pockets. ‘You were bound and gagged when I left, Doe. Robin helped you out, did she? Made things more comfortable for you?’
‘Maybe.’
Peg reaches into the cage, gives the flask a pig-like sniff. ‘What’d you talk about?’
‘The weather.’ I can’t help covering for Winifred. My baby photo sealed the deal. An unspoken pact, for now. ‘Oh, and swimming lessons. Probably a good idea, really.’
Peg punches the cage. ‘Cut the cheek, you little freak! What’d she say?’
‘Save your breath, Gareth,’ Atlas says, and all I can think is, Gareth? Peg’s real name is Gareth? ‘She isn’t going to tell us what Robin said and she doesn’t need to. After tonight, I am going to be heralded as a hero, and that old meddler will have no choice but to retreat to her precious little museum forever.’ He gives Eric Junior a curt nod. ‘It is time.’
Eric Junior leads the horse into the shed and tethers it to the wagon. Violet shifts a little underneath. Peg gathers the severed rope and knife from the cage floor.
‘Want me to tie ’er up again?’
‘Leave her. The crowd will find it more dramatic if there’s a hint of danger involved.’
My face falls at the c-word. ‘What are you gonna do?’
The mayor’s lips flicker with a smile. ‘Tell me, Doe, have you ever heard of Manuvia? No? Pity. Beautiful place. Turquoise sky. Endless jungle, all of it teeming with life. I journeyed there on my first adventure through the Manor.’
‘Eric Atlas and the Red Temple Siege,’ Eric Junior says, buckling the last strap on the horse’s harness. ‘It’s an awesome story.’
‘The best,’ Peg says, which surprises me. He doesn’t exactly seem like the reading type.
‘If you weren’t forbidden to lay your eyes upon the Bluehaven Chronicles, I would highly recommend it,’ Atlas continues. ‘Not that I like to brag. Anyway, I passed through the Manor with ease. A couple of booby traps – nothing too serious. But trouble was brewing in Manuvia. Upon my arrival, I discovered that an evil tribe of cannibals known as the Gothgans