Read Online The Dark Flight Down by Marcus Sedgwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcus Sedgwick
Tags: Fiction, Family & Relationships, Family, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Fantasy & Magic, Horror & Ghost Stories, Magicians, Parents, Parenting, Royalty, Kings; queens; rulers; etc., Identity, Fatherhood, Fathers, Horror stories
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strange curiosity to most people, and though it still governed the City in name, most decisions were taken by various guilds, leagues and organizations. The City and the palace largely ignored each other.
Still, due to the paranoia and vanity of a succession of peculiar emperors, each dottier than the last, the palace retained notions that it was a castle, and as a result, ingress to and egress from it were strictly controlled. Despite its current state of decline, the reputation of the palace as a seat of influence, wealth and great learning remained alluring to travelers across the entire continent.
Willow had run away from the orphanage without even collecting a week’s pay. For the first time in her life she was out on the streets, and had already started to learn what it must have been like for Boy all those years. Hunger had taken the edge off her sharp sense of right and wrong, and she had stolen some bread from a street merchant. As soon as she had eaten it, however, she felt guilty, and vowed she would pay the man back three times over when she could.
Now she sat on a stone bollard across the street from one of the main entrances to the palace, the East Gate. Like the only other main entrance, the North Gate, this way into the palace was heavily guarded, and fortified. Willow had watched for hours to see if there was some chink in the armor that might offer her a chance to get inside, but she had seen none. Every trader or visitor had to present themselves at a grilled window, and explain the purpose of their visit. Many of them seemed to wave a paper document or similar at the guard inside before the heavy iron spiked portcullis was raised to allow them in.
There was no way in through the East Gate unless you had official business. It was exactly the same at the North Gate, Willow knew, because she had spent several hours there the day before doing just the same thing.
She sat disconsolately on her bollard, getting colder by the minute. It was late afternoon, and the snow fell incessantly. It had been days since anyone had seen the sun, and the City was grinding to a halt. Willow had heard two merchants muttering that there would be food shortages soon if the snow went on. They seemed solemn for a moment, then laughed about putting their prices up as supplies became scarcer.
Willow got up and began to walk around the palace again. There was a cobbled street that ran right around its base. It was called the Planting, because on either side the street was lined with lime trees. In the summer they provided beautiful rustling shade from the sun; in the winter they were bare, stripped things that pointed fingers rudely at the sky.
Willow had walked nearly a mile and was close to the North Gate once more. As she gazed at its impenetrable face yet again, she noticed something.
Keeping herself alert to all the comings and goings, she watched one particular man. He was carrying a large bag on his shoulders, and after a lengthy conversation with two of the guards, was let in through the outer gates.
Willow ran forward, and was in time to see the man being escorted by another guard up the sloping road that led to the inner gates.
Suddenly she heard footsteps close in behind her, and before she could turn felt her arms grabbed from behind.
She wrenched herself free and spun around.
“You!” she cried.
In front of her stood Kepler, scowling.
“Willow,” he said. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
8
On the third day Maxim paid Boy a visit.
He stood outside the cell in which Boy had been moldering, by turns sleeping and waking, ravaged by hunger.
“You, boy,” he said. “What’s your name?”
Boy wondered what he meant. Maxim stared at him, fixing him to the spot. Boy looked back at him. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Valerian, but he was bigger, heavier. His face was somewhat round, giving way to the passing years maybe, but it was nevertheless striking, with strong eyes and nose. He had no
Still, due to the paranoia and vanity of a succession of peculiar emperors, each dottier than the last, the palace retained notions that it was a castle, and as a result, ingress to and egress from it were strictly controlled. Despite its current state of decline, the reputation of the palace as a seat of influence, wealth and great learning remained alluring to travelers across the entire continent.
Willow had run away from the orphanage without even collecting a week’s pay. For the first time in her life she was out on the streets, and had already started to learn what it must have been like for Boy all those years. Hunger had taken the edge off her sharp sense of right and wrong, and she had stolen some bread from a street merchant. As soon as she had eaten it, however, she felt guilty, and vowed she would pay the man back three times over when she could.
Now she sat on a stone bollard across the street from one of the main entrances to the palace, the East Gate. Like the only other main entrance, the North Gate, this way into the palace was heavily guarded, and fortified. Willow had watched for hours to see if there was some chink in the armor that might offer her a chance to get inside, but she had seen none. Every trader or visitor had to present themselves at a grilled window, and explain the purpose of their visit. Many of them seemed to wave a paper document or similar at the guard inside before the heavy iron spiked portcullis was raised to allow them in.
There was no way in through the East Gate unless you had official business. It was exactly the same at the North Gate, Willow knew, because she had spent several hours there the day before doing just the same thing.
She sat disconsolately on her bollard, getting colder by the minute. It was late afternoon, and the snow fell incessantly. It had been days since anyone had seen the sun, and the City was grinding to a halt. Willow had heard two merchants muttering that there would be food shortages soon if the snow went on. They seemed solemn for a moment, then laughed about putting their prices up as supplies became scarcer.
Willow got up and began to walk around the palace again. There was a cobbled street that ran right around its base. It was called the Planting, because on either side the street was lined with lime trees. In the summer they provided beautiful rustling shade from the sun; in the winter they were bare, stripped things that pointed fingers rudely at the sky.
Willow had walked nearly a mile and was close to the North Gate once more. As she gazed at its impenetrable face yet again, she noticed something.
Keeping herself alert to all the comings and goings, she watched one particular man. He was carrying a large bag on his shoulders, and after a lengthy conversation with two of the guards, was let in through the outer gates.
Willow ran forward, and was in time to see the man being escorted by another guard up the sloping road that led to the inner gates.
Suddenly she heard footsteps close in behind her, and before she could turn felt her arms grabbed from behind.
She wrenched herself free and spun around.
“You!” she cried.
In front of her stood Kepler, scowling.
“Willow,” he said. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
8
On the third day Maxim paid Boy a visit.
He stood outside the cell in which Boy had been moldering, by turns sleeping and waking, ravaged by hunger.
“You, boy,” he said. “What’s your name?”
Boy wondered what he meant. Maxim stared at him, fixing him to the spot. Boy looked back at him. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Valerian, but he was bigger, heavier. His face was somewhat round, giving way to the passing years maybe, but it was nevertheless striking, with strong eyes and nose. He had no
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