hadn’t completely collapsed. Smudge claimed it had been shored up in olden days and used as a lookout post by Cap’n Belzybub, the masked raider who once reddened these waters with the blood of innocent sailors.
Light Fingers indicated the window from which the rope ladder had been lowered. It was near the top.
It was down to Kentish Glory to swarm the tower.
Looking at the window, she made herself light. She floated up two or three feet in a spurt and bumped against the inclining stone wall. Her friends winced in sympathy, but she held her tongue.
The wall was rough enough to afford handholds every few feet. The way was too crumbly and irregular for mountaineering, but she was a floater not a climber. She pulled herself up, careful not to get too far from the wall. She angled her body to avoid scraping her legs. It was like swimming through air. The cloak-wings helped her manoeuvre. Could she ever use them to fly properly? A strong wind blew. She had to be wary of being caught by a gust and borne off into open air.
She had a moment to realise she’d never floated this far off the ground before. Then, near the window, the urgency of her mission overcame other concerns.
She heard voices inside the tower. The shock made her suddenly heavier. Gravity tugged and she slithered down a few yards, then flattened against the wall, sticking like a moth, cloak spread around her. It took all her concentration to stay light and hold her position.
The talk was in a language she didn’t know. Eastern gabble, she thought. Mr Chattopadhyay had many enemies in his home country, especially former in-laws. Could this be a revenge plan? Using the bandit rajah’s daughter to lure him to a spot where he could be assassinated. If someone else killed her father, Kali would be furious.
Amy inched up towards the window. Rather than pop her head over the sill, she climbed beside the opening and listened. The conversation stalled. She detected dim light from inside the tower.
Then, she surged up the final few feet and reached the broken battlements. She hopped over, and made herself heavy enough to put her feet on what turned out to be the rotted timbers of a platform-like roof. Creaking wood began to give way under her. She had to float again, taking her weight off the unsafe roof, and gripped the secure stone. She sat in a gap in the battlements and listened. Her racket had not alerted the Hooded Conspirators.
She looked down and waved. Frecks and Light Fingers – Willow Ermine and Large Dark Prominent – waved back…
…when Kali was in the Moth Club, what name would she take? Amy hadn’t looked up the moths of Kafiristan, but suspected they were exotic species.
She hooked her feet around stone and let herself float face down. At full stretch, she reached the window – and peeped in from the top.
The window let into a small room. No one stood guard here. Amy made out a coiled rope ladder, attached to pitons newly hammered into cracks between the flagstones. She also saw the famous hamper, open and empty. It wasn’t large enough for a feast, so she assumed only two or three Hooded Conspirators guarded Kali. Did the villains bother to give their captive anything to eat or drink? It would be just like them not to.
Crawling insect-like, Amy entered the room.
Letting go of the window-rim, she bobbed up against the low ceiling. She gradually thought herself heavier and settled her ballet pumps on the floor.
There was a doorway, which had stout, rusted iron hinges – but no door. That must have rotted ages ago. Beyond the opening was a light. Poking her head out, she saw a winding staircase. She went back to the window and quietly let down the rope ladder, which Frecks and Light Fingers caught before it flapped away in the wind.
Soon, all three girls were inside the tower.
This time, Frecks had brought a hockey stick for use as a cudgel.
Amy remembered that the Hooded Conspirators had firearms. Was their leader here? The fellow
Light Fingers indicated the window from which the rope ladder had been lowered. It was near the top.
It was down to Kentish Glory to swarm the tower.
Looking at the window, she made herself light. She floated up two or three feet in a spurt and bumped against the inclining stone wall. Her friends winced in sympathy, but she held her tongue.
The wall was rough enough to afford handholds every few feet. The way was too crumbly and irregular for mountaineering, but she was a floater not a climber. She pulled herself up, careful not to get too far from the wall. She angled her body to avoid scraping her legs. It was like swimming through air. The cloak-wings helped her manoeuvre. Could she ever use them to fly properly? A strong wind blew. She had to be wary of being caught by a gust and borne off into open air.
She had a moment to realise she’d never floated this far off the ground before. Then, near the window, the urgency of her mission overcame other concerns.
She heard voices inside the tower. The shock made her suddenly heavier. Gravity tugged and she slithered down a few yards, then flattened against the wall, sticking like a moth, cloak spread around her. It took all her concentration to stay light and hold her position.
The talk was in a language she didn’t know. Eastern gabble, she thought. Mr Chattopadhyay had many enemies in his home country, especially former in-laws. Could this be a revenge plan? Using the bandit rajah’s daughter to lure him to a spot where he could be assassinated. If someone else killed her father, Kali would be furious.
Amy inched up towards the window. Rather than pop her head over the sill, she climbed beside the opening and listened. The conversation stalled. She detected dim light from inside the tower.
Then, she surged up the final few feet and reached the broken battlements. She hopped over, and made herself heavy enough to put her feet on what turned out to be the rotted timbers of a platform-like roof. Creaking wood began to give way under her. She had to float again, taking her weight off the unsafe roof, and gripped the secure stone. She sat in a gap in the battlements and listened. Her racket had not alerted the Hooded Conspirators.
She looked down and waved. Frecks and Light Fingers – Willow Ermine and Large Dark Prominent – waved back…
…when Kali was in the Moth Club, what name would she take? Amy hadn’t looked up the moths of Kafiristan, but suspected they were exotic species.
She hooked her feet around stone and let herself float face down. At full stretch, she reached the window – and peeped in from the top.
The window let into a small room. No one stood guard here. Amy made out a coiled rope ladder, attached to pitons newly hammered into cracks between the flagstones. She also saw the famous hamper, open and empty. It wasn’t large enough for a feast, so she assumed only two or three Hooded Conspirators guarded Kali. Did the villains bother to give their captive anything to eat or drink? It would be just like them not to.
Crawling insect-like, Amy entered the room.
Letting go of the window-rim, she bobbed up against the low ceiling. She gradually thought herself heavier and settled her ballet pumps on the floor.
There was a doorway, which had stout, rusted iron hinges – but no door. That must have rotted ages ago. Beyond the opening was a light. Poking her head out, she saw a winding staircase. She went back to the window and quietly let down the rope ladder, which Frecks and Light Fingers caught before it flapped away in the wind.
Soon, all three girls were inside the tower.
This time, Frecks had brought a hockey stick for use as a cudgel.
Amy remembered that the Hooded Conspirators had firearms. Was their leader here? The fellow
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