Deadly Magic Page 9

  ‘Yeah, but …’

  ‘If it’s sorcerous ink,’ Riff reasoned, ‘maybe it needs a sorcerous gadget to read it.’

  As luck would have it, at that moment, a cluster of fresh cadets bustled up out of the corkscrew into the lounge. They were the gadgeteer cadets, from a range of year levels, and Orbit bobbed along in the middle of the group.

  He smiled when he saw us waiting. ‘Oh, hello!’

  ‘Ah, Orbit!’ Riff clapped him on the back. ‘Just the man we’re looking for.’

  ‘Oh,’ Orbit said brightly. ‘Well, that’s rather nice, isn’t it? Although I should probably inform you I am technically not yet a –’

  ‘I need a gadget,’ Phoenix said. ‘Something to reveal invisible ink.’

  Orbit pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Invisible ink? Oh, how interesting. May I see the ink in question?’

  Phoenix handed him the letter. Orbit scanned the page carefully and shook his head. ‘If you want a gadget to reveal an invisible message, I am afraid I cannot help you.’

  ‘Damn,’ Phoenix muttered. ‘I can’t afford to fail this mission, I’m already behind on –’

  ‘Of course,’ Orbit went on, ‘I could just tell you what it says.’

  Phoenix stared at him. ‘Wait, what? You can read invisible ink?’

  Orbit smiled. ‘Oh, of course not! That would be rather silly, don’t you think? It would rather defeat the purpose of invisible ink – i.e. the fact that it is supposed to be invisible …’

  Now it was my turn to stare. I’d never heard anyone actually use the term ‘i.e.’ in a spoken sentence before.

  ‘There’s no invisible ink on this page,’ Orbit said. ‘It’s simpler than that. Look, the code is hidden in the handwriting itself.’ He pointed at the page. ‘It’s written in an old-fashioned style, with serifs on the letters.’

  ‘Serifs?’

  ‘You might like to think of them as little hats and feet,’ Orbit said patiently. ‘They make the letters look fancier. But look – every few lines, a letter is printed sans-serif.’

  ‘Meaning …?’

  ‘There are no flourishes. They stand out from the rest of the letter. I do believe that if you tally the sans-serif letters, you shall find your secret message.’

  Phoenix stared at him, flabbergasted. ‘How on earth did you figure that out? It’s so simple!’

  Orbit looked down, bashful. ‘Oh, well, it was nothing really. When you’re fixing a piece of machinery, sometimes the simplest solution is the best.’

  Phoenix scribbled down the sans-serif letters, producing a coded word on her notepad. After a few quick substitution tests, she rolled each letter forward five places to produce the word ‘Groovy’.

  We all stared at the result.

  ‘Groovy?’ I said. ‘That’s the secret message?’

  Riff chuckled, shaking his head. ‘You know what? I reckon Skate did write that letter after all.’

  After we’d presented our findings to Skate – and each received an awkward high five of approval – we bustled back into the lounge in a wash of relief. Riff had been allowed to keep ‘Mr Oink’, which he happily placed on the windowsill.

  ‘There we go,’ he said. ‘Better view than the inside of a cardboard box, isn’t it?’

  Phoenix gave him a serious look. ‘Riff, I’m concerned for your sanity.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’re talking to a plastic pig.’

  ‘Piggy bank,’ Riff corrected. ‘If you’re gonna bag out someone, at least get your terminology right.’

  The cadet lounge was truly buzzing now, as the double whammy of relief and anticipation painted the tone of our conversation. Not only was the week finally over, but we were due to leave for Wilderness Camp the next day.

  Riff yawned, stretched out his arms and grinned at me. ‘Sleep-in tomorrow, and then a week at camp. Life’s looking pretty good, I reckon.’

  I returned his grin, hoping he was right. Deep down, though, my insides were still strangely tight. For the past few days, we’d been distracted by classes, briefings and mini-missions – but now, that distraction was over. We still hadn’t heard from Dragon, let alone Nephrite.

  ‘Think they’ve found the vials yet?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Forget it, Nomad.’ Riff clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Not our problem, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, but –’

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘The week’s over, and it’s almost time for camp. I reckon this deserves a celebratory dinner at The Pirate’s Pizza Ship.’

  ‘No,’ Phoenix said.

  ‘But we got interrupted last time.’

  ‘We fled for our lives last time,’ Phoenix corrected. ‘And the answer’s still no. I’m not eating a “celebratory dinner” at a joint where the waiters wear plastic parrots on their shoulders.’

  ‘All right, fine.’ Riff sighed, and then brightened. ‘A round of celebratory spaghetti, then. Wanna try that new Italian place on Flinders Lane?’

  And so we spent the evening in celebration, filled with fizzing lemonade, garlic bread and copious amounts of pasta. The excitement reached its peak when Orbit, slightly overhyped by a sip of my after-dinner coffee, leapt to his feet to excitedly analyse the mechanics of the restaurant’s espresso machine.

  ‘Well, it must include a pump and a boiler,’ he said enthusiastically, ‘and perhaps a solenoid valve of some sort. Of course, if I were building a machine like this, I’d be sure to include a protean-powered override switch, with a cold-water jet in case of scalding emergencies …’

  ‘Uh huh,’ said our bemused waitress, to whom he was directing his speech. ‘Sure thing, Einstein. You want the bill now?’

  We paid our bill and dragged Orbit outside, privately vowing to never offer him caffeine again. But even in the midst of the fun and the laughter, nerves still twitched in my stomach. Part of me joined in, happy and relieved to share in my friends’ relaxation. Yet I couldn’t forget that HELIX itself might be in danger. The easy camaraderie of our friendship might be under threat – and so, in time, might be our lives.

  And beneath it all, a darker twinge of doubt still curled. Memories of previous laughter, previous friends. Memories of Billie in the schoolyard, the depth of our friendship, and the agony of her betrayal. Memories of my mother, whom I had loved so deeply, and who had lied to me for years …

  Not the same, I told myself, for the hundredth time. This isn’t the same …

  But it was too late. The thought had struck, and doubt had crept back into my mind. And that invisible wall began to grow between us once more, locking my emotions behind a set of iron bars.

  My friends had risked everything for me. They had joined my shield at Traitor’s Gate, sharing the threat of the bomb. Just this week, they had given up their mornings to keep me safe, accompanying me on my daily runs. It was ridiculous to compare them to Billie, even subconsciously.

  I could trust them with my life. I knew that as a simple fact, as easily as I knew how to breathe. But even now, I wasn’t ready to trust them with my emotions.

  In a way, I wasn’t ready to trust anyone.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  My bedroom was silent, except for the ticking clock. I tossed and turned, cursing every second as it clicked above my head.

  An old class photo from Hollingvale High sat on my bedside table, beside a jar of paintbrushes and a picture of my dad. On the windowsill, a knock-off Abbey Road street sign served as a souvenir from London, while the walls were covered in my own sketches and paintings.

  My favourite decoration, however, hung on my cupboard door. It was an enormous map of the world, dotted with colourful pins to mark the places I had visited. Bright pins marked the bustling streets of Jakarta, the skyscrapers of New York, the fairytale forests of Bavaria …

  Yet it wasn’t the pins that excited me, but the open spaces. No matter how much I had travelled, it was still a thrill to see how much of the world remained unexplored. Those pin-less cities and countries
served as unfulfilled promises to myself: promises of exploration, excitement, and new adventures.

  Long before I chose my codename, I had always been a nomad.

  Now, I had finally found a home – a real home, where I truly belonged – and yet still, I felt restless. This was my home: this room, this building, my friends. I had a future here. And now, that future was under threat.

  I rolled out of bed. It was 3 am, and there was no hope of sleep. Curiosity scratched at the back of my mind. If the vial situation was as serious as Nephrite had suggested, the entire future of HELIX could be at stake.

  The cadet lounge was empty. A whiff of microwaved meals and burnt toast hung about the furniture. Darkness lay like dappled sheets, painting eerie lines upon the decorations. Even Archibald, who was normally a cheery figure, looked faintly ominous in the shadows. The hollow eye sockets of the skeleton followed me across the room, dark and deep in the recesses of his plastic skull.

  Don’t be stupid, Natalie, I told myself. You’re allowed to walk around.

  Technically, it was true. As spy cadets, we were entrusted with a certain level of respect for our maturity. We weren’t prisoners, or schoolchildren, so there were no official bedtimes. Yet even so, prowling around after midnight was heavily frowned on.

  After midnight, the corkscrews did not belong to cadets. They belonged to the secret agents of HELIX – the spies and operatives who worked out in the city, and who snuck back in at night to make their confidential reports.

  These agents danced constantly on the edge of disaster, and they valued their privacy as highly as their lives. I doubted they would appreciate bumping into a foolish cadet in the darkness. They would think me a troublemaker, or selfish, for interrupting the sanctity of the night. And in a few years’ time, if I applied to join one of their units, they might not remember me too fondly.

  But tomorrow, we would be on our way to camp. We weren’t allowed to bring any modern technology, since we’d be tested on navigation and wilderness survival skills. No communication. No news. No internet access. If an urgent operation unfolded this week, the entire situation could be over – one way or another – by the time we returned to Melbourne.

  Tonight was my final chance to uncover the truth.

  As always, the upwards corkscrew was black. I grabbed a torch and began to climb, running through the plan in my mind. I had to talk to Dragon. All I needed was an excuse to get into her office, to have a look around and to sneak a few new titbits of information about Nephrite’s mission.

  Luckily, unlike most of my fellow cadets, I did have a decent excuse to talk to Dragon in secret. I was the daughter of the Spider, one of the most famous Inductor assassins in the world.

  Surely it was a lead, wasn’t it? We could try to exploit my relationship with such an important Inductor. Perhaps I could try to contact my mother, to figure out the Inductors’ plans for the mysterious ‘vials’ that Dragon was worried about. The Spider had fled the Inductors’ ranks in late February, but she might still know some crucial information.

  What was I expecting to happen? I didn’t know. It was a reckless plan, born of selfish whims and wild abandon. I was half driven by restlessness, and half by a secret wish to speak to my mum again.

  Dragon would never allow it.

  It didn’t matter. My goal tonight wasn’t to convince Dragon of my plan, but to gain entry into her apartment. If I could speak to her, and see if Nephrite was still here, it might be enough to glean some fresh information …

  A footstep echoed on the stairs.

  It was quiet and low, down in the darkness behind me. I froze. Somebody else was climbing the corkscrew. Was it a secret agent, sneaking up through the dark to make a report?

  I hurried up to the next level of HQ. Level Sixteen housed the Initiation Room, as well as a weapon storage room down the end of the corridor. Perfect. I could hide in the storage room until the agent overtook me on the stairs.

  The storage room was dark, and I quickly closed the door behind me. The only source of light was my torch, which cast a narrow beam across the shelves.

  Too late, I spotted the security camera. Clearly, it was devised to catch any cadets who tried to steal weapons or sorcerous chemicals from the room. But I wasn’t here to steal, only to hide. That wasn’t breaking any rules, was it? And if nothing went missing, I doubted anyone would check the footage.

  I crouched behind a stack of boxes and switched off my torch. Footsteps clanged on the stairs outside, and I knew the agent was close. At any moment, he would pass me. His footsteps would move upwards, ascending the stair, and –

  The door swung open.

  I tensed. A fresh beam of torchlight swung across the floor, and a figure stepped into the room. His movements were bold and confident, more swagger than substance, and I caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face.

  It was Steel.

  A moment later, I realised he wasn’t holding a torch. He was pushing and pulling at the darkness with his fingertips, separating every tiny speck of light. He gathered the glimmering flecks in his fists and redirected them, forming a narrow beam. I remembered what Riff had told me; Steel was a Noctilucent, with the power to manipulate lights and shadows.

  Above him, a tiny red light blinked in the darkness. It was the light of the security camera. Carefully, Steel reached up and touched the beam of reddish glow – and with a casual expression, he tugged it down towards him, adding its shine to his collection of stolen light.

  Slowly, he dragged his hand sideways, pulling the light across the room. I felt like a rabbit, hiding from a hunter’s searchlight. I shrank into the shadows, but it was too late. The light hit the side of my face.

  ‘Hey there, Nomad.’ Steel’s tone was cold, utterly at odds with the smile on his face. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  I didn’t respond.

  ‘Seems a bit suss,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s new favourite cadet, sneaking around after dark? Anyone would think you were up to something.’

  ‘Could say the same for you,’ I said.

  Steel shrugged. ‘The agents trust me. I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve proved myself, over and over again.’

  The implication of his words remained unspoken: unlike you.

  ‘What do you want, then?’ I stepped out from behind the boxes. ‘If you’re feeling lonely, I’m sure you’ve got loads of fans waiting to fawn over you back on the cadet level.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?’ Steel said. ‘Before I left, everyone knew who was top dog around here. I was the most promising cadet in the Fifteens. Everyone knew I’d be leading this place one day – and in the meantime, I was the one they should try to impress.’

  Silence.

  ‘But that’s not true anymore, is it? I come home and find there’s a new pup in my territory. A Witness, apparently – and one with a secret mission under her belt. And suddenly, all anyone wants to tell me about is you.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Seriously? This is all about attention?’

  ‘It isn’t just “attention”.’ Steel’s voice was almost a snarl. ‘Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to earn a bit of respect around here? This is about social currency. It’s about relevancy. It’s about my foothold among the cadets, and being the future leader of –’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, before I could stop myself. ‘It is about attention. God, how old are you?’

  Steel’s entire body scrunched, tense with fury, and I knew I’d pushed too far. A moment earlier, this conversation had seemed like a joke – a foolish little boy throwing a temper tantrum. But now, as I saw the depth of fury in his eyes, I realised this was far more serious.

  We were alone. It was dark. Steel was at least a foot taller than me, and twice my weight in muscle. Only yesterday, he had struck me down with a circuit meant for Phoenix. He was a talented sorcerer, with a knack for combat, and the fury that boiled within his blood was on the verge of spilling out into his fists.

  He stepped clos
er.

  Instinctively, I reached for my quintessence. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. There’s a camera overhead.’

  Despite my warning, Steel took another step. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I knew that was what he wanted. He wanted to prove his worth, to prove his superiority. To prove he was fearless – and I was just a useless, scared little rookie.

  ‘There’s a camera,’ I repeated, with far more confidence than I felt. ‘If you touch me, your career’s over.’

  Steel raised a slow hand. ‘Then it’s a good thing I can show you my hand without the camera seeing a thing.’

  With curling fingers, he began to draw upon his own quintessence. I blinked, forcing my vision into the tenebrous shroud – and as the darkness deepened, I watched him pull the strands of magic from the air. His quintessence was a bloody crimson, stained by rage and simmering resentment. With a predatory smirk, Steel wove the strands of its light into a curling crescent. He seized this circuit in his fist, where it congealed into …

  A blade.

  A perfect quintessic blade, as sharp as the examples that Zephyr had shown us in our Sorcery briefing. The magic rippled, raw and red.

  ‘You can see it, can’t you, Nomad?’ he said, with a quiet curl of malice in his voice. ‘You’re a Witness. And now you know what I’m capable of.’

  My mouth was dry. Despite his pretty face – and his cocky attitude – Steel was no fool. If I wanted to report him for threatening me, I would have no proof of his wrongdoing. He threatened me with a weapon that no one else could see. Even if the camera picked us up, it would look like a normal conversation.

  No visible weapon. No visible threat.

  Just a blade of magic, invisible to all but me.

  Steel took a slow step forward. The light of his blade danced and flickered, hovering eerily close to my throat.

  ‘Remember this,’ he said. ‘I’m not a fool, and I’m not a fraud. This is my domain, Nomad, and I defend what’s mine.’