Prince of the Wind Page 8

  I turned my attention to the gate, and my heart sank. It meant serious business. It was crafted from black wrought iron, heavy and ornate, crusted in places with red rust. Solid hinges attached it to the wall on both sides, and a thick chain was wrapped several times round the curved design in the centre, holding the two halves firmly closed. The chain was covered in cobwebs and obviously hadn’t been touched for years. Looking more closely, I saw it wasn’t fastened by a bolt or a padlock, as I’d expected; instead, the links were joined by what looked like red sealing wax, imprinted with the familiar twisted crown emblem of King Karazeel.

  Beside the gate was a plaque carrying the same symbol, along with the words:

  The Royal Seal prohibits entry. Penalty: death.

  ‘Well,’ said Jamie, trying to sound disappointed, ‘that’s that, I guess.’

  ‘That’s what?’ countered Rich, jiggling the chain and picking at the seal with an experimental fingernail. ‘I bet we could chip this wax away in no time flat — it’s so old it’s crumbling to bits! It was never meant to secure the gate in the way an actual lock would — the threat of being boiled alive by Karazeel does that!’

  ‘But —’ quavered Jamie … too late. The brittle seal disintegrated between Rich’s fingers; crumbs of red wax pattered onto the cobblestones at our feet, and the two halves of the chain fell apart.

  ‘Now you’ve done it!’

  ‘Looks like it, huh?’ grinned Richard. ‘That’s one less decision to make, anyhow. And if you think about it, Jamie,’ he went on comfortingly, ‘that threat’s pretty empty as far as we’re concerned. If Karazeel finds out we’re back in Karazan we’re dead meat, seal or no seal.’

  He unwound the chain, and it slid to the ground with a harsh metallic clatter that made us all check anxiously over our shoulders. But there was no one in sight, for the moment at least.

  ‘Hurry — let’s get inside before someone comes!’ hissed Gen, her eyes wide with fright.

  Rich grasped the two halves of the gate and gave a firm shove. They didn’t budge. Frowning, he pulled the other way. They didn’t move. We could all clearly see the wafer-thin, unbroken line of light between the two halves; there was nothing holding them together, except …

  ‘You don’t think they could be … well … magic in some way, do you?’ whispered Gen, echoing my thoughts. ‘This is Karazan, don’t forget. Maybe the chain and seal were Karazeel’s way of saying Keep out, or else, but the gates are actually locked by … I don’t know … a spell, or something.’

  After a quick glance up and down the deserted street, we all stepped back and had another good look at the gate. Staring at it — and really seeing it for the first time — I knew in my heart that Gen’s suggestion was right. What I’d originally dismissed as decorative swirls seemed to take on a deeper, more mysterious significance, and I could tell by Jamie’s sigh and the others’ gloomy silence that they felt the same.

  ‘Look — across the top, engraved in the metal,’ said Kenta. ‘It’s so rusted and weatherworn you can hardly read it, but I think it says: To open the gate …’

  ‘Yeah — but to open the gate, what?’ growled Rich. Now that there was a puzzle rather than a chain to unravel, I knew he felt the way I did: useless and stupid.

  ‘Maybe it carried on somewhere else — on the horizontal crosspiece, say — and Karazeel had it erased so no one could get in,’ suggested Jamie.

  ‘Can’t see any sign of anything,’ said Rich, peering at the rough, pitted surface dubiously.

  ‘The design is odd, isn’t it?’ said Gen thoughtfully. ‘That curved hieroglyph thing — those funny angular specs — repeated inside the circles. You don’t suppose the rest of the clue — the bit that tells you how to open the gate — is somehow in the actual design of the gate?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ grumbled Rich. ‘Though it would be typical Karazan.’

  ‘They’re not glasses,’ said Kenta suddenly. ‘It’s the number five, mirrored.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Kenta’s right.’ Jamie pointed with a chubby finger. ‘A 5, see? And here again, turned back-to-front: 5.’

  ‘Five …’ repeated Gen softly. We looked round at one another, the same thought in all our minds. Five … suddenly I felt certain we were on the right track.

  ‘Are the circles numbers too, then, d’you think?’ asked Jamie. ‘Noughts, perhaps? Zeros?’

  ‘To open the gate,’ Gen was murmuring, ‘to open the gate … mirror five? Turn five?’

  I kept quiet, glad I hadn’t said what I was thinking. I’d got it wrong as usual, just like at school. Instead of seeing a five and a zero, I’d seen the shapes as eights, side by side, in a kind of square … and lying on their sides, one on top of the other. Zero for you, Adam Equinox, I thought with a wry grin. Some things never change — even in Karazan. Listening to the others with half an ear, I ran my fingers absently over the cold metal. First one circle, anti-clockwise; then the one beside it, clockwise … then back again, round and round in figures-of-eight, my mind drifting …

  Then Gen was clutching my hand, squeezing so hard my fingers cracked. ‘That’s it, Adam! You’ve got it! They’re not zeros: they’re eights! The number 8!’

  ‘They could be, I suppose,’ said Kenta dubiously, ‘though it still doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘It does! It completes the rhyme,’ jabbered Gen, practically dancing with frustration. ‘That’s how I know it must be right! To open the gate, turn 5… into 8!’

  ‘And how the heck do we do that?’ growled Rich. ‘Turn the five of us into eight, d’you think? Clone ourselves, like old Karazeel and his monsters? Or grab three strangers off the street and ask if they’d mind risking being strung up …’ He saw the hurt look on Gen’s face and wound down, looking sheepish.

  ‘Could the missing three be Kai and Hob … and Bl-Weevil, maybe?’ said Kenta hesitantly. ‘Except …’

  ‘Except Hob doesn’t ever want to see us again, Kai’s in Shakesh, and old Blue-bum’s frolicking in the treetops who knows where,’ finished Rich. ‘And we need the gate open now, not in six months’ time.’

  The grim reminder of how little time we had silenced us all.

  An image of Hannah’s face flashed into my mind, eyes round as saucers: Will monsters truly come out out of a computer? Real ones — not pretend? I remembered my own words to her: There’s always a way. It’s just a question of finding it. It was the truth — it had to be. I believed it with all my heart; but if I was afraid of making a few mistakes along the way …

  ‘We know it’s to do with five,’ I said slowly, staring at the gate. ‘Five somethings … There are five bars,’ I felt myself turn bright red, but soldiered on. ‘At the bottom …’

  ‘Yeah!’ yipped Jamie. ‘Five bars! So all we have to do is turn the five bars into eight …’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Maybe we’re on completely the wrong track,’ said Gen at last. ‘Or maybe there’s another gate somewhere …’

  ‘We could try climbing over …’ But following Rich’s gaze to the top, I knew it wasn’t an option. The gate was too deeply recessed, and the wall way too high.

  ‘Turn five into eight,’ Jamie was muttering, like a dog with a bone.

  ‘There’s no way, Jamie,’ said Richard bluntly. ‘You can’t turn five bars into eight. It’s impossible. We’ve gone wrong somewhere.’

  Jamie ignored him, staring intently at the bars with folded arms and narrowed eyes, as if he was willing them to rearrange themselves into the number we needed. Then all of a sudden his eyes popped wide open and he punched the air. ‘It’s Roman numerals!’

  ‘He’s finally cracked,’ said Rich, shaking his head. ‘Poor old Jamie … all that maths extension’s blown his brain.’

  ‘You’re right, Richard — it is all thanks to maths extension!’ Jamie’s eyes were shining. ‘What’s the number 8 in Roman numerals?’ He looked from face to face expectantly. So did Rich, and so did I. The answer wasn�
�t coming from either of us, that was for sure.

  It was Kenta who said hesitantly, ‘5 is V … so would it be … V … III?’

  Every eye swivelled from Jamie’s flushed face to the gate. Then Jamie stepped forward, crouched down, and grasped the two left-hand bars firmly in both hands. There was a slight grating sound, and then the bases of the bars slid smoothly together. They touched with a faint metallic click … and the gate vanished as if it had never existed.

  The Summer Palace

  ‘We’re in!’ said Rich, rubbing his hands. ‘Come on, guys — what are you waiting for?’

  ‘I just hope the gate comes back once we’re through,’ said Gen bleakly. ‘Because if it doesn’t …’

  ‘… the first person who walks past is going to know there’s someone inside — and then what?’ finished Kenta, looking sick.

  ‘Let’s worry about that if it happens. Come on!’

  We hustled through the gate into the courtyard, then turned and looked hopefully at the arched gap. ‘There’s probably a special way of closing it again …’ said Jamie.

  ‘Well, we don’t have time to mess around trying to figure it out! Someone could come by at any moment … hopefully they’ll think it’s Karazeel’s heavies doing a spring clean or something. Let’s head inside, have a quick scout around and see what we can find — and then get the heck out of here!’

  We hurried through the nearest archway into the gloom of the interior. There was a feel of damp air long undisturbed, of pale, watery light and crouching shadows. I saw majestic columns crumbled into ruin, cracked flagstones, crumbling masonry. The past drifted in the air like a ghost, brushing my skin with invisible fingers.

  ‘The whole place seems to have been smashed up, like Kai said,’ whispered Jamie. ‘If there were ever any clues, they would have been wrecked or taken years ago.’

  ‘Still, we need to look. Perhaps we should split up to explore,’ suggested Kenta. ‘This place is huge — it’ll take us hours to search it all.’

  ‘Especially seeing we don’t know what we’re looking for,’ said Gen. ‘But what if one of us gets lost? I think we ought to stay together.’

  ‘Let’s explore in pairs,’ Jamie suggested. ‘You can come with me, Gen. I’ve got a really good sense of direction, plus I’ve done orienteering in Scouts.’

  ‘I’ll go with you, Kenta,’ offered Rich. ‘Though that leaves Adam …’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said quickly. Truth was, the thought of wandering through the deserted rooms on my own had an odd attraction.

  There were waterproof digital watches in one of the inner compartments of our packs. We synchronised them, agreeing to meet back at the gate in an hour.

  The others headed off purposefully, peering into shadowy corners, calling and exclaiming, their voices echoing back to me long after they had disappeared. I stood quietly, waiting for the silence to settle again. At last I walked slowly in the opposite direction, deep into the labyrinth of rooms, my feet making almost no sound on the stone floors.

  Kai had said the Summer Palace had once been beautiful, filled with music and laughter. Now all that remained was an empty shell. I reached a huge rectangular hall I imagined might once have been a throne room; with its soaring ceiling and arched windows it reminded me of a church, or a cathedral. Gazing up, I could make out remnants of stained glass in one of the windows, and a bird’s nest tucked into the corner of the sill.

  I moved out into what had once been a garden, bare skeletons of trees grouped beside cracked fountains, tangled grass grown rank and wild. On the far side was a deep pool, fragments of peacock-blue, turquoise and emerald-green mosaic still clinging to its fissured sides. A piece of mosaic the shape of a teardrop, sea-green inlaid with shimmering gold glitter, caught my eye, almost hidden in the grass; automatically, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.

  Once that pool would have held sparkling water; now it was empty apart from a greenish puddle. Had Prince Zephyr swum here when he was a boy? Had he taken his first steps on the level lawn, his laughter mingling with the music of the fountains? In the bare, bleak place the Summer Palace had become, it was hard to imagine.

  A tall, turreted building adjoined the pool. It was set slightly apart from the main palace, almost as if it was a private dwelling. I stepped inside, staring round me. Doorways led off to left and right; ahead, a stone staircase curved out of sight. Curious, treading warily, I followed it upwards.

  The steps were worn to a satiny smoothness, lit by narrow windows set into the wall. The stairway opened onto a landing where a porcelain urn lay smashed on its side, the plinth it once stood on leaning drunkenly against the wall. A rug that would once have been deep, wine red lay crumpled beside it, faded by time to a dull rose.

  I stepped quietly through double doors of honey-coloured wood into another, larger room. It must be above the city wall, I realised: arched casements opened out onto light and space and a distant view of the sea. On one windowsill a small brown bird trilled a few bars of song, then spread its wings and was gone. The early morning cloud had burned off; sunlight streamed through the window, gilding the wood panelling and warming the faded scarlet silk that lined the far wall.

  Suddenly I realised where I must be. Red was the colour of royalty — I had stumbled on the private chambers of King Zane and Queen Zaronel. For the first time, I felt like an intruder.

  The room I was in was a bedchamber — and unlike the rest of the palace, relics of furniture remained. What had once been rich tapestries, blowing in ragged tatters in the light breeze drifting through the window. An empty wardrobe, one door hanging crazily from a twisted hinge. A four-poster bed with an interlocking crown embroidered in gold and silver on its scarlet canopy, the uprights scarred by vicious hack-marks. What I guessed might have been bedclothes lay tumbled in one corner, beside a huge, carved chest that had been upended and smashed almost to splinters. Whatever it had once held was long gone.

  Even now, after so many years, a residue of rage and violence hung in the air. I could feel it, like the vibration left by a scream after the sound has died away. I closed my eyes, trying to tune in to the echoes of the past …

  Karazeel had ordered this to be done. Crazed with grief after King Zane’s death — or so Kai said. But in my mind I could see the twist in Kai’s mouth, hear his bitter, ironic tone. Now I realised his words had been a mockery of the truth: a truth that stabbed through me with the certainty of a sword.

  Karazeel had been searching for something.

  But what? And had he found it … or was it still here, hidden in the wreckage that remained?

  The Chamber of the King

  I moved slowly into the centre of the room. To one side was a small vestibule with an arched doorway; through it I could see a marble shelf holding a shallow bowl and matching jug, both smashed to pieces. Near the window an ornate desk lay overturned, its drawers scattered nearby. There was no sign of whatever they had once held.

  In the far corner, a glint of metal caught the sun. I hurried over and picked them up: two heavy gold coins, with a crowned head on one side and a coiled serpent on the other. I stared down at the face of King Zane. It was in profile, impassive, stern and regal. Strong features; a wide, clear brow. Eyes that gazed unflinchingly to the future — a future he was never to see.

  I slipped the coins into my pocket and moved on.

  As I passed the tapestry beside the bed, I paused to look at it more closely. The brass rod that supported it had been wrenched from the panelling and hung crookedly, the tapestry bunched at one end. It was faded by the sun and mildewed in one corner where the rain blew in off the sea. I could make out some kind of hunting scene — what looked like a boar, with a group of men on horseback in pursuit. So there had been horses once …

  I smoothed it out to have a closer look … and the support gave way completely, dumping a double armful of heavy, musty-smelling cloth on top of me. Instinctively I clutched it to me, but the rod slid out of its sle
eve and fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. Wincing, I lowered the whole lot to the ground; then straightened and glanced at the wall where it had hung, wondering what the chances were of replacing it. Not that it would matter if I left it where it was …

  And then I noticed something odd.

  The wall beside the bed was made of wood: rectangular panels with bevelled edges like expensive picture frames. The wood was beautiful: rich and perfect, the natural grain of the wood patterning the smooth surface like a breeze on still water. It must have been faded by the sun over the years, because the place where the tapestry had hung was darker than the rest … and in the corner of one of the panels there was a knothole. Normally, you wouldn’t have looked at it twice. But not in that room — the Chamber of the King — and on that flawless panelling.

  Frowning, I looked closer, running my finger over it.

  It was at eye level, and completely circular. The wood at its centre was darker than the rest, with a deep indent surrounding it. It looked almost like a button or a switch, concealed in the panelling.

  My pulse quickening, I reached out one finger, placed it in the exact centre of the circle, and pressed. Nothing happened. But this was Karazan, and every instinct told me I was right: it was there for a reason. It had to be. Was it possible that the middle part turned, like a key? I tried to get a grip on it, but the gap between the knob and the surrounding wood was too narrow. I put my thumb firmly on the centre and twisted, but it turned uselessly on the smooth surface. I needed something that would grip like a spanner, something circular, that would fit into the groove …

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, scowling with frustration — and my fingers felt the golden coins. Maybe — just maybe … I held a coin up to the knothole, but it was way too big. Also, it was flat, and I needed something with a rim. But it had started me thinking: what else might do? A screw-on lid! Squatting on the floor, I dug through my backpack and unearthed my drink bottle. One glance showed me it would be pretty close. Quickly I unscrewed it and fitted it to the knothole. For a tantalising second the edge caught and my heart gave a skip of hope … but then it slid off. Also too big, by a hair’s-breadth.