The Story of Cirrus Flux Read online

  The boy caught him staring. “I’m Cut Throat Charlie,” he said. “This ’ere’s Glass Eye, that’s Half Thumb, and over there is Nell. Now, don’t be affrighted. We ain’t gonna hurt ye. All we want is that sphere.”

  A hand shot out from beneath the boy’s jacket and Cirrus suddenly felt a knife at his throat. He swallowed as its icy edge bit into his skin.

  “Move, mind,” said Cut Throat Charlie, “and my knife’ll slip and take off your ear. Scream”—and his voice was now as sharp as his blade—“and I’ll rob you of your tongue.”

  Cirrus was breathing hard, his heart pounding. He looked from one boy to the other, wondering if he could escape, but the other boys all looked keen for a fight. They had boxed him in, keeping him out of sight of passersby. The one called Glass Eye was built like an ox, and the boy next to him, though small, had a devious squint. And Nell … Cirrus only now realized that she was a girl. A strong, fierce-looking girl with a mop of black hair.

  His eyes shifted back to the smaller boy, who held up his hand, a fingerless stump.

  Cirrus gulped and was about to plead for mercy when there was a sudden crash from the neighboring road. A horse whinnied, someone shrieked and a thunderous explosion shook the air.

  Cut Throat Charlie turned to see what had caused the commotion and Cirrus darted to his feet. He slid out from beneath the blade, which glanced across his cheek, and then dodged sharply as Glass Eye aimed a mistimed blow at his head. The boy’s fist connected with Half Thumb instead, who went reeling into the path of Nell.

  Cirrus had no time to think. He dashed out of the courtyard and into the street. A cart had collided with a grocer’s stall; Cirrus leapt over the carnage and made a hasty retreat.

  A cry rose up from behind him.

  “Stop! Thief!”

  Horrified, he turned to see that his would-be attackers had raised the alarm and were racing after him. They were getting nearer. People were suddenly reaching out for him from all directions, trying to hold him back.

  “It’s not me!” he cried. “I’m innocent!” But no one seemed to listen and he had to duck and weave to avoid their clutches.

  Desperately, he sprinted to the end of the street and raced blindly round the corner … right into the path of an oncoming carriage.

  As the horse reared above him, Cirrus dropped to the ground and rolled clear under its belly. The horse’s hooves came crashing down just inches from his head.

  He glanced back. His pursuers were now blocked by the horse and driver, who was unleashing his fury at anyone who came near, lashing at them with his whip. Heart pounding, Cirrus charged up the adjoining street. His lungs were on fire and a great gash of pain was tearing across his side, making it difficult to breathe.

  There! Up ahead! He spotted a thin alley between two tottering buildings and raced toward it, forcing himself into the narrow gap, just as another horse and carriage clattered by.

  A sour, gassy smell rose from the ground and he cupped his hands over his nose and mouth as he waded further into the gully. Something wet and furry slithered across his foot and he shrank back, disgusted. Still he did not stop until he was well out of sight of the road. He pressed himself against the wall. The buildings were so close together here they almost touched.

  He waited. Slime trickled down the wall and oozed beneath the collar of his jacket.

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, he began to relax. He could hear nothing of Cut Throat Charlie and decided to follow the passage through to its other end.

  Minutes later, he emerged in another street, almost identical to the one he had left behind. He looked around nervously, ready to bolt the instant he saw an unfriendly face, but the shopkeepers were all too busy with customers to notice a wretched waif. He was covered from head to toe in filth.

  Further down the street he spotted a large open area. A warm, savory aroma filled his nose and he limped toward it. His ankle was throbbing painfully and he had cuts on his feet.

  The market was bustling with people and he searched it hungrily, trying to detect the source of the smell. On a low wooden platform near him stood a man with his head and hands slung through some holes in a post. His body had been pelted with rancid tomatoes. Children were picking whatever edible scraps they could find from the ground.

  The smell of gravy tugged at his nose. He turned. A woman with scabby cheeks was selling Bow Wow Pies from a stall.

  He moved closer.

  All of a sudden a musical voice lifted above the crowd.

  “Fireball over London! Earthquake in Devon! Parishioners fall down on their knees and pray!”

  Cirrus was sure he recognized the voice. He searched the square and then blinked in amazement as he saw Jonas standing on the opposite street corner, calling out to passersby. He was weighed down with ballads and broadsheets, and was sporting a fresh black eye.

  Cirrus rushed over to him.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Jonas, catching sight of him. “I never expected to see the likes of you again.” Then he took another look at Cirrus and shook his head. “What’s happened to you, Flux? Run away?”

  Cirrus was unsure what to say. Luckily, his stomach chose to intervene. It rumbled loudly.

  Jonas heard it, too. “When did you last eat?” he said.

  Cirrus shrugged. He had lost all sense of time. He felt dizzy with exhaustion.

  Jonas looked around the square. “Wait here,” he said, stacking his ballads on the ground, and slipped through the throng.

  He returned moments later with two pies.

  “Here, sink your teeth into this,” he said, handing Cirrus one of them. “Can’t tell you what’s in ’em, but they’re a darn sight better than Mrs. Kickshaw’s grub, I daresay.”

  Cirrus bit into his pie greedily, scooping up every last dribble of gravy with the spoon of his thumb and sucking the crumbs from his fingers long after the pie had disappeared. It was mostly crust and gristle, with a few stringy bits of meat mixed in, but his belly purred with satisfaction.

  “Now tell me what’s happened,” said Jonas, suddenly serious.

  Cirrus looked away. He considered telling Jonas everything about the sphere, but then remembered how Jonas had teased him about what he and Bottle Top had seen in the Gallows Tree. He doubted Jonas would believe him.

  Jonas was regarding him curiously. “Look. I don’t know what made you run away,” he said, “but, if you want my opinion, you’d best go back. Life outside the hospital is hard. I’ve got a good master, but not everyone is so lucky. Trust me. The Governor always liked you. He’ll take you back.”

  Something stirred inside Cirrus—a bitter, resentful feeling—as he remembered how Mr. Chalfont had agreed to hand over his sphere to the man from Black Mary’s Hole.

  “No, I can’t go back,” he said firmly. “I need to find Bottle Top. Can you tell me where he is?”

  Jonas remained silent and thoughtful for a while, then jumped to his feet. “I can do better than that,” he said, dusting off his breeches and collecting his things. “I’ll take you there myself.”

  The Scioptric Eye

  For the second time in as many days Pandora found herself in a horse and carriage. Only this time she was not crouched on the back, clinging on, but was squeezed next to Madame Orrery in the richly upholstered compartment.

  She felt like a prisoner in the hot, airless cell. The streets were thick with traffic and carts kicked up dust all around them. A confusion of cries tugged at her ears.

  Beside her, Madame Orrery sat still and statuesque, a fan pressed to her nose. This close up Pandora could see fine cracks in the woman’s face-paint and faint tea-colored stains under the arms of her dress. She remembered what Mr. Sorrel had told her—how Madame Orrery had once been the most admired woman in France, until her husband had broken her heart—but any sympathy she might have felt immediately evaporated when she recalled how the woman had threatened to burn her mother’s token the night before.

  The carriage rocked a
nd juddered as it passed through the crowds and Pandora scanned the faces that lined the roads, hoping for a glimpse of the boy. She didn’t really expect to see him in this moving mass, but she wanted to know that he was safe.

  Could the man with the all-seeing eye really find him?

  Wharves and warehouses flanked the river to her right, and boats and barges were just visible on the water. Men rolled barrels back and forth along the quays. She thought of the man who had briefly appeared outside her window and wondered again who he was. How did he know Cirrus Flux? And how was he able to hover above the ground?

  They continued east, toward St. Paul’s.

  At last they came to a halt outside an impressive stone building in the heart of the city. It looked more like a temple than a house. Thick columns supported a massive pediment on which sculpted figures reclined, and the roof was surmounted by a vast structure with long windows and an extremely tall lightning rod.

  “Mr. Sidereal’s observatory,” remarked Madame Orrery, following her gaze. “Where he keeps his Scioptric Eye.”

  Pandora had no idea what this meant, but she imagined a monstrous individual with an eye in the center of his forehead, and a shiver rippled down her spine.

  Madame Orrery grabbed her by the arm and forced her up the steps.

  A footman answered the door and escorted them into a corridor with pillars on either side. Peculiar jets of flame flickered in glass spheres attached to brackets along the walls.

  “What an unexpected surprise,” said a thin, fluty voice from somewhere up ahead.

  Pandora could not tell at first where it had come from—it seemed to descend from the heights—but then, as Madame Orrery guided her past a row of metal urns, she realized that it belonged to a tiny figure seated on a thronelike chair at the far end of the hall. His chair, Pandora noticed, was set on wheels.

  “Hortense,” said the little man as they stepped nearer. He reached out to kiss her hand. “What brings you so far from Midas Row?”

  “You must know,” said Madame Orrery coldly, withdrawing her hand. “I can feel your Eye on me wherever I go.”

  The man’s lips curled in a smile, but there was no trace of humor in his eyes. His face was smooth and delicate, like a child’s, and without a single strand of hair.

  “Pleasantries aside,” he said, “what is the purpose of your visit?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  Mr. Sidereal considered her with his jewel-bright eyes. He was dressed in a robe of exquisite silk and wore a matching peacock-colored turban on his head.

  “My Eye,” he said after a while, arching his brows and elevating his gaze.

  Pandora followed suit and saw an airy dome stretching overhead. A tier of rounded windows circled its base and light fell in streams through the air.

  Madame Orrery nodded. “I trust it still functions in this weather?”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Sidereal. “The dust may have obscured the heavens, but my sights, as you know, are set elsewhere. I can see all over London.”

  He was silent for a moment and then began to twist a knob on the arm of his chair, setting in motion a series of cogs and gears that moved the wheels beneath. The chair creaked slowly forward.

  “Very well,” he said, wheezing slightly. “Follow me.”

  Pandora felt a tug on her arm.

  “Go on, girl. Help the gentleman. Push his chair,” said Madame Orrery.

  Pandora did as she was told. She found two metal prongs attached to the back of his chair and began to push him toward a staircase that sloped along the insides of the walls. There were no steps—just a gradual incline that spiraled round and round, slowly climbing upward.

  The man might be small, Pandora thought, but his chair was certainly heavy. She had to lean forward to keep him going. His back was hunched and thin, propped up by pillows, and his short, spindly legs were stretched out in front of him. She studied the swirl of green and turquoise fabric wrapped round his head, wondering if he kept his special eye underneath.

  “And who is the girl you have brought with you?” asked the man as they approached a door at the top of the ramp.

  Madame Orrery’s face hardened. “She is no one,” she said. “An interfering child, nothing more.”

  Two footmen stood before the door and, at a signal from Mr. Sidereal, they swung it open to reveal a dazzling chamber filled with all manner of equipment. Globes and armillary spheres cluttered the floor, while lofty windows offered panoramic views of the whole of London.

  Pandora sucked in her breath. She could see far and wide across the city. To the west was the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, rising above the dingy streets, while far to the north, obscured by haze, were the fields and hills she knew so well from the hospital. The sight brought a pang to her heart.

  Long wooden telescopes had been positioned next to the windows, pointing like cannons in all directions.

  Mr. Sidereal took control of his chair and wheeled it toward a low circular table in the center of the room.

  “Who is it you wish to find?” he asked.

  “A boy,” said Madame Orrery.

  “What is his name?”

  “His name is not important.”

  A shadow passed over Mr. Sidereal’s face. “I fear, Hortense, that it is,” he said. “I must know exactly what I am looking for if I am to help you find it.”

  There was an edge of malice in his voice and Pandora saw Madame Orrery hesitate. The woman bit her lip.

  “Very well,” she said. “If you must know, his name is Cirrus Flux.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Ah, I see,” said Mr. Sidereal. “So Captain Flux had a son, did he? How fascinating!” He leaned forward and examined Madame Orrery more closely. “Tell me, Hortense, what makes you so interested all of a sudden in his orphan?”

  Pandora shuddered at the chilling way he said this word, as though he wished the boy to be without a father. She looked at Madame Orrery.

  “He has something I seek,” responded the woman flatly. “I need to locate it.”

  “The sphere?” asked Mr. Sidereal in a high-pitched wheeze, unable to conceal his excitement.

  Madame Orrery turned away and said nothing.

  “So the rumors are true?” said Mr. Sidereal, wheeling toward her. “The man went to sea without it? Could it be that after all these years the sphere is actually here in London?”

  Madame Orrery remained silent and gazed out over the surrounding buildings.

  “We seek, I am sure you are aware, the same thing,” she said finally. “Only, I know who has it—and you, Neville, can find him for me.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “And what is in it for me?” he said. “Supposing, of course, that I help you … Or do you propose to go missing, too, like the boy’s father?”

  Madame Orrery shook her head. “Do not be a fool. Of course I shall not disappear. We shall unlock its secrets—together—and discover the true nature of the sphere.”

  Pandora’s heart quickened. Did Madame Orrery mean to suggest that the sphere had a special power?

  “How very thoughtful of you,” said Mr. Sidereal.

  There was no warmth in his voice, but Pandora could tell that he was tempted from the way his fingers gripped the armrests of his chair.

  “Cirrus Flux, you say?” he murmured, wheeling back to the table. “Describe him for me.”

  Madame Orrery turned to Pandora. “The girl had a better look at him than I,” she said, with venom.

  “Ah yes, the girl,” said Mr. Sidereal. “Tell me, child, about this boy I am to search for. What does he look like?”

  Pandora glanced at Madame Orrery. “Like—like any other boy,” she stammered.

  “Do not be obtuse,” snapped Madame Orrery, and reached into the bodice of her gown. She withdrew not the silver timepiece, but the charred piece of fabric.

  Pandora went cold all over.

  “Tell him, child, or I shall see to it that our little barg
ain is fulfilled.”

  Pandora’s heart faltered. She did not want to betray the boy called Cirrus Flux, but she did not want to lose her treasured token, either. She could feel the heat mounting in the room, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Dark curly hair,” she found herself saying at last. “Green eyes. About my height.”

  Unexpectedly, she remembered the freckles that had speckled his nose, but decided to keep this detail to herself.

  “And would you recognize him if you saw him?” asked Mr. Sidereal, his eyes bright with desire.

  She tried to look away, but suspected there was nothing she could hide from his sharp, prying gaze. She nodded unhappily. “I think so,” she said.

  “Very well,” said Mr. Sidereal. He turned to Madame Orrery. “I shall find the boy for you, with the girl’s assistance, but on one condition: we share the prize.”

  Madame Orrery smiled. “Of course,” she said, returning the piece of fabric to her gown. “I would not dream of anything else.”

  Mr. Sidereal grimaced in reply, then grabbed an assortment of lenses from a nearby table and called out to his footmen, “Mr. Metcalfe, Mr. Taylor, if you please. Adjust the curtains!”

  Instantly, the two footmen, who had melted into the shadows, rushed forward and climbed a series of ladders around the room, releasing bolt after bolt of black fabric that unfurled like giant bat wings to cover the windows. The observatory was plunged into darkness.

  Pandora stood very still, wondering what was going to happen next, and then gasped as right in front of her, on the circular table, a strange apparition began to glow. A ghostly vision of the city all around them, made, it seemed, from grainy shafts of light.

  “How does it work?” she said aloud, thinking it must be some kind of magic.

  “Optics,” said Mr. Sidereal, moving toward her. “I have lenses mounted all over London. On the Monument, around St. Paul’s, not to mention the tallest rooftops and steeples. They gather reflections and I study them from here. I can see into every street and corner of the city. Nothing escapes my Eye.”

  He handed her a pair of special spectacles with numerous eyepieces fanning out from the sides.