Authors: Eoin McNamee
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Action & Adventure - General, #Children's Books, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Espionage, #Children: Grades 4-6, #Juvenile Mysteries, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #All Ages, #Men, #Boys, #Boys & Men, #Spies, #Schools, #True Crime, #School & Education, #Science Fiction; Fantasy; Magic, #Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories
THE MAID OF THE NORTH SHORE
Danny shone his torch around the room. It had bare walls and a high vaulted ceiling.
"Turn off the big torch," Les said, taking a smaller flashlight from his pocket.
"So what now?" Danny asked.
"All we got to do," Les said, "is to get to the floor above this one. That's where the statue was."
Danny looked around him doubtfully. Who knew what secrets the upper floors held?
"All right," he said, "let's get this over with."
Danny went to the door in the wall opposite and eased it open. Beyond it was nothing more sinister than a corridor lined with doors, dimly lit by a single bulb in the middle. Each door had a nameplate on it. There was MR. M. BRUNHOLM, and MASTER DEVOY, MISS R. DUDDY, and
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on a shabby disused door, MR. S. PILKINGTON. Danny remembered the photograph of the legendary spy in Ravensdale, and realized with a pang that he had thrown the spy's coat aside without a further thought.
They crept past Brunholm's door carefully. Les paused at Duddy's door. From within there came the sound of loud snoring. Stifling a laugh, they crept on.
The corridor opened into a dining room that was obviously used by the instructors, and continued into another room with comfortable leather armchairs. There were piles of exercise books sitting around, and report cards on the polished wooden table. The room looked just like the staff room at school, Danny thought, apart, that is, from the display of blowpipes on the wall, over a case full of brightly colored darts with a notice saying POISON! DO NOT TOUCH!
At the far end of the room Danny spotted a staircase leading up.
"That looks like the one we need," he whispered. His nervousness was now replaced with a growing sense of dread. "Les, come on!" he said. Les had stopped in front of a small silver-colored door with a barred window.
"I wonder what's in here," he mused.
"Les, please," Danny begged. With a strange reluctance and several backward glances, Les moved away from the door.
The two boys climbed the staircase, which seemed to be barely used. Thick dust rose from the boards each time they put their feet down. Halfway up, there was a
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window. Danny peered out and could see the niche where the statue had stood.
"That's funny," he whispered, withdrawing his head and staring at the floor.
"What?" Les said.
"Look at the floor." Danny pointed. The floor was covered with undisturbed dust. "Whoever pushed the statue wasn't standing here. They would have left a footprint."
"We better take a closer look. Maybe there's some kind of opening we can't see."
The staircase ended at a landing. Again, it looked as if nobody ever came this way. Old furniture and carpets were stacked in one corner, and great sheets of cobwebs hung from the ceiling. A single door led off to the left. Les gently turned the handle. The door swung silently open.
"Look at this," Les said quietly. The hinges had been recently oiled.
"I don't like this," Danny said. "We should go."
"One quick look," Les said, "since we came this far."
Feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck, Danny stepped into the room, followed by Les.
The furniture was covered in white dust sheets, ghostly in the flickering beam of the torch. The two boys made their way to the window. Danny had been right. There was no way that anyone could have got near enough to the statue to topple it toward Danny far below. And yet it could not have fallen on its own.
"A mystery," Les said. "Might as well take a quick
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look around the room, doesn't look as if anyone would miss anything...."
"I hope you're not thinking of ... of ... taking anything that doesn't belong to you," Danny said.
"You mean stealing it," Les said cheerfully. "Only if it looks as if nobody has any use for it...." He flicked back one of the dust sheets and froze.
"Look at this." Danny went over and found himself looking at a long iron bed with shackles at each corner. There was a large handle at one end.
"What is it?"
"A rack." Les looked pale. "They have them in the Lower World. You put a prisoner on it and stretch them until they confess."
Les threw back another sheet to reveal a shelf of vicious-looking instruments.
"Thumb-screws, teeth pullers, flesh pincers ..." Les ran his fingers along the shelf.
"Look at this." Danny threw back another sheet. There was an electrical generator with bull clips on the end of wires. "They don't ..."
"'Fraid they do, Danny."
There was a brazier under another sheet, with branding irons neatly stacked in it. A sheet hung over a large upright object. Danny knew that it wasn't a good idea, but he caught a corner of the sheet and pulled.
"I think I've seen this on TV," he said queasily. It was a hollow iron figure the size and shape of a man. His hand trembling, he took hold of the catch at one side. The front
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of the figure swung open. On the inside, long spikes pointed inward. "What ...?" Les began.
"It's an iron maiden," Danny said. "They make you stand in it, then close it. The spikes ..."
"Even the Ring never did that," Les said quietly. "Let's get out of here."
They threw the sheets back over the torture instruments and left the room quietly. Danny was shivering, even though it was not cold. His friend's face was pale. Neither of them looked up, or they would have seen the sign: DEPARTMENT OF INFORMATION EXTRACTION.
Moving swiftly and silently, the two boys went down the stairs. They were halfway across the dark staff room when they heard the voice. Danny froze in his tracks, an icy hand running down his spine.
"Help me," a woman said, low and desperate.
Les had stopped dead as well. The two boys looked at each other, the whites of their eyes showing in the dark.
"Help me, please." It was a low, musical voice, sad and full of despair. Les was first to react. He went to the little silver door. The barred window framed a woman's face. A pale face, a little careworn, perhaps, but still beautiful. She had long blond hair and deep green eyes, which she kept cast down. Her small hands gripped the bars as if they were the only things holding her up. Danny could feel his heart go out to her. She glanced up at them quickly, then looked down again, as though she scarcely dared hope that someone would help her.
"Brunholm," she murmured, "he is holding me
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prisoner here--a hostage. He means to send me to the Cherbs. I do not need to tell you boys what might happen to me there." A tear ran down her cheek.
"But who are you?" Danny said. "Why is he keeping you locked up like this?"
"It is a long story," she sighed. "Brunholm and Master Devoy are suspicious of anyone they can't control. I suppose that is what happens in time of war."
Danny found that he was only half listening to her words. She glanced up at him again, holding his eye until he felt like telling her everything that had happened to him since he had got to Wilsons, knowing that she was the only person who would understand. He could see that Les was enthralled as well.
"If only I could just slip away into the night, far away from here ..." She gulped back a little sob.
Les had his lockpicks in his hand and was working dreamily at the lock on the door, all the time staring into her big green eyes. Danny vaguely felt that he should stop his friend, but that feeling was overridden by a longing that she would switch her gaze from Les to him....
With a gentle click the door swung open. The two boys stood back as though a queen was about to enter the room. Smiling, she stepped forward. She was small, about the same height as Danny, and she wore a green dress that shimmered as she moved. There was something girlish about her, even though Danny suspected that she was much older.
"That's better," she purred. "And to whom do I owe my freedom?"
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"I--I'm Danny, and h-he's Les," Danny stammered, feeling his face redden.
"Thank you, Danny and Les."
"Who ... who are you," Les stuttered, "if you don't mind me asking ..."
"Me? I'm Victoria, Maid of the North Shore, the Siren of the Two Worlds. But you can just call me Vicky--that's what my friends call me."
"Siren of the Two Worlds ...," Danny said. "Isn't a siren a woman who ..."
"Yes, yes," she said dismissively, "lures ships onto the rocks, drives sailors mad with love so that they throw themselves overboard and drown--that sort of thing. That's kind of my stock-in-trade, keeps things ticking over, so to speak, but I've been trying my hand at a bit of spying and treachery this past while. Things are a bit slow in the drowned sailors line."
There was no sign of the sorrowful voice and the downcast eyes now, and Danny was beginning to feel that perhaps they had acted a little hastily in letting the siren out of her prison.
"Now," she said briskly, "I'll just take a few minutes to do for old Brunholm, and I'll be out of here."
"'Do for old Brunholm'?" Danny could feel his heart sinking to his boots. "What do you mean?"
"It's just too good a chance to miss," Vicky said, picking up a blowpipe and running her eye along the row of poison darts.
"I don't think that's a good idea, really," Danny said. Vicky turned to him and raised one eyebrow. Les gave
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Danny a look that said, Don't argue with a siren with a blowpipe in one hand.
"Who made you the boss around here?" Vicky said, her eyes narrowed in a way that made him think she was measuring the distance between them.
"No one," Danny said quickly, "it's just that the last person I saw hit by a poison dart ... well, they turned black and swelled up and squealed really loudly. If the whole place wakes up, you might end up back in the cell."
"Not that we wouldn't fight for you," Les added. "But there's only two of us."
Vicky looked regretfully at the blowpipe in her hand.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "Never thought of that. I could strangle him, but you never know with Brunholm--you don't really want to get close to him.... I suppose I'll leave it for now."
Danny almost collapsed in relief. He wasn't very fond of Brunholm, but he didn't want to see him hit by a poison dart.
"Well, I suppose I better be making tracks," Vicky said, tossing the blowpipe onto the floor. "All I can say to you two is, I owe you one."
She glided over to them and planted a kiss on each of their cheeks. Danny smelt a perfume that was sweet, but with an undertone of dark fishy ocean depths.
"Bye," she said, and in a moment she had disappeared into the gloomy corridor.
"Phew," Les said, "that was close. When was the last time you saw somebody hit by a poison dart?"
"Never," said Danny. "I had to make up something."
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"I thought I was supposed to be the liar around here," Les said. "But at least she's gone."
"Yes," Danny groaned, "she is gone. What have we done?"
"Yes indeed," a grave voice said behind them, "what have you done?" The two spun around. Devoy was standing in the doorway wearing pajamas and carrying a candle.
"Come with me, boys," he said.
They followed Devoy to his office. Danny could see the whites of Les's eyes in the dark corridor.
"Mr. Blackpitt?" Devoy spoke out into the darkness.
"Who's that?" a sleepy voice said from a speaker mounted onto a beam overhead. "What do you want?"
"It is Devoy," the master said. "I am sorry to wake you, but the siren has escaped. I want you to see if you can locate her in the building."
"Yes, Mr. Devoy, I'll let you know," Blackpitt said politely. But just before the speaker crackled and went silent, they heard him mutter something about "If they can't keep a siren under lock and key, what hope do they have against the Ring?" If Devoy heard it, he gave no sign.
They reached Devoy's office. The two boys stood in the middle of the floor. Devoy sat down behind the desk. He folded his hands.
"Does either of you know what disinformation is?" Devoy said.
"It's like in a war--you tell lies to the enemy to make them think ... things, sort of ..." Danny started well but ended lamely.
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"Yes, well, you are going in the right direction," Devoy said. "You lead the enemy to believe that you are stronger than you actually are. Spreading disinformation is a very great part of spying. Take Wilsons. Our survival depends on the Ring thinking that we are stronger than we in fact are."
Danny watched Devoy with a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was more to their release of the siren than they had thought.
"The siren operation was my idea. We captured her last week. We were going to feed her false information. Then we would let her escape. She would go to the Ring and sell them the false information, thus helping to protect Wilsons."
There was a long silence in the office. Danny could feel the tension in Les's body beside him.
"Your intervention has prevented that. Now the siren is loose in the building. She was very difficult to capture first time round. I have several nasty scratches to prove it."
"We were only trying to find out who was trying to kill Danny," Les cried.
"Perhaps," Devoy said. "Did you find anything useful?" There was a long silence.
"We found out that the statue couldn't have been pushed," Danny said.
"Mr. McGuinness has already established that," Devoy replied. "Anything else?" Another pause ensued. "I thought not. For you, Mr. Caulfield, this is a first offense, although grave, and it does not merit a Tenth