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  Questions began flooding in: ‘What’s it like in the Garrison? Do you get lots to eat? Are the soldiers mean?’

  Vijay held up his hand. ‘One at a time. We don’t want to scare her off or she’ll never come back.’

  They crowded around, everyone dressed in the same clothes with the same shaved heads and scuffed boots.

  Behind them came a wheezing cough. Vijay nudged his way through to where a young girl lay on a bottom bunk. She had dull brown hair that fell in thin strands around her pale face. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her cheeks were hollow and her wrists were thin and bony.

  ‘And this is Samira.’ Vijay sat beside her and whispered to Isabella, ‘Don’t tell the others, but she’s my favourite.’

  ‘I heard that.’ Latif crossed his arms and pretended to be offended. ‘I guess she is cuter than me. Just.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,’ Samira said.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ Vijay sang.

  Her face sparkled. ‘You got them?’

  ‘Mr Finch found them.’ Vijay carefully took a shimmering pair of angel wings from his bag. ‘They’ll bring you good luck.’

  ‘I don’t need good luck, silly. I have you.’

  She coughed again. It was a chest-crunching, bone-shuddering cough that ran through her whole body.

  Vijay pounded her on the back. ‘This seems to help,’ he explained to Isabella.

  Eventually, the coughing fit passed but Samira’s steady wheezing continued.

  ‘Has the doctor seen you?’ Isabella asked

  ‘She comes once a month and leaves medication, but it’s hard when the room is so damp and the wind gets through the cracks in the walls at night.’

  A siren rang through the camp and the kids began to hurry from the room.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Isabella watched them leave.

  ‘Nothing to be scared of,’ Vijay said. ‘It’s only lunch – even though lunch can be scary.’ Samira laughed. He turned to the others. ‘Remember, everyone, don’t make a fuss over Isabella. She needs to blend in if we don’t want the guards to know she’s here.’

  ‘Are we going to have our English lesson later?’ Latif asked.

  ‘Of course, we’ll be studying poetry today. Mr Finch left books by his favourite poets.’

  Vijay fixed Samira’s blanket so that it cradled her face before saying in a posh voice. ‘What would Your Highness like for lunch today?’

  Samira replied with an equally haughty manner. ‘Chicken korma with saffron rice and garlic naan – and be quick about it.’

  ‘Immediately, my lady.’ Vijay bowed and Samira giggled.

  As they piled out of the room, Isabella took one last look at the small, sunken figure of Samira among the bundle of blankets. Isabella felt a need to catch her, as though she were about to disappear at any second.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Grand Tour

  Outside, rows of grey buildings were perched on a vast expanse of dirt and mud with not a speck of green in sight. And between the buildings rushed streams of hungry kids – hundreds of them.

  ‘Where are the adults?’ Isabella asked.

  Vijay laughed. ‘There are no adults. Only orphans or kids who can’t find their parents. I think that’s because we’re cheaper to feed and less likely to rebel.’

  ‘But who takes care of you?’

  ‘We take care of each other.’

  A small kid tripped and fell a little way ahead.

  ‘Get up!’ a soldier stood over him and yelled. ‘Now!’

  Other children swooped in, picked the kid up and brushed him down.

  ‘Are the guards all that mean?’

  Vijay lowered his voice. ‘His name is Franco. He acts tough in front of the other soldiers but he helps smuggle in the deliveries.’

  Isabella whispered. ‘Like the fruit buns from Mrs Gooding?’

  ‘You know who bakes them? Please tell her they’re the best buns I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘So why does Franco work here if he’s against it?’

  ‘At first he thought it was good money, and he has a family to feed, but when he discovered what the camp was really like he realised he could help us from the inside.’

  The fence surrounding the camp soared high above them.

  ‘Oh, and don’t touch the fence,’ Vijay warned. ‘It’s electrified. I did it once and buzzed for days. I got this as a souvenir.’ He showed her a pink scar that ran across his palm.

  At that moment a soldier stepped out of one of the watchtowers, a gun swinging from his shoulder and an Ornithopter on his back.

  ‘Are you afraid of the guards?’

  ‘Not really. For most of them this is just a job guarding kids who are too underfed to fight back.’

  The solider stretched and yawned before returning inside.

  Isabella stepped on wooden planks that lay over the mud.

  ‘Sometimes after heavy rains the ground is as dangerous as quick sand,’ Vijay said.

  A group of kids stood over a series of large troughs, washing their grubby hands and faces.

  ‘They’re from clay sheds on the edge of the camp. They dig up clay, pound it into moulds and make bricks. It’s much better working in the food domes where it’s warm and dry, and being surrounded by so many plants lets you imagine you’re somewhere else.’

  ‘When do you have school?’

  Vijay laughed. ‘There’s no school except for what I teach the kids with the books and notes from Mr Finch.’

  They walked past a building with steam-smudged windows. A column of white smoke billowed from a chimney. ‘That’s the laundry.’

  ‘Let me guess, which is done by the kids?’

  He nodded. ‘We take turns.’

  The kids scrambled up the stairs and filed into the long shed.

  An icy gust of wind tore through the camp. There was a scramble to hold onto each other’s hands and hats. Isabella’s cap lifted from her head and strands of curls rolled down her back.

  Vijay snapped up the hat and within seconds Isabella had tucked her hair back underneath and they kept walking.

  Vijay snuck a look at each of the guard towers. ‘Lucky for us they’re not very vigilant.’ He smiled. ‘And speaking of luck, here we are.’

  Isabella expected the noise inside to be deafening, but all she heard was the shuffle of boots as each kid stood in line clutching a small wooden bowl.

  She took one from a pile and walked under the steely gaze of a soldier. His face was chiselled into sharp lines while grim-faced men in aprons ladled out food. Each kid whispered, ‘Thank you, Chef,’ before taking a seat at the long tables.

  When Isabella reached the front of the queue the chef slopped a thin, watery soup into her bowl and handed her a chunk of dry bread.

  As much as she resented saying it, she muttered, ‘Thank you,’ and left a small pause before adding, ‘Chef.’

  At the table she took her first sip. ‘It tastes of old sock.’

  ‘Then it’s a good day,’ Vijay grinned. ‘Normally it tastes like watered-down mud.’

  Isabella kept her voice low. ‘Why is the food so bad when you grow your own vegetables?’

  ‘All of the good stuff goes to the city, and there are cameras in the domes to make sure not one tomato or zucchini goes missing. The stuff they can’t sell becomes what is supposed to be lunch.’

  A bowl crashed to the floor at the head of a food line.

  ‘Stupid boy!’ A soldier aimed a rag at a cowering child. ‘You won’t get any more – and you can forget about dinner too.’

  He scanned the room, ready to hand out the same punishment to anyone who dared challenge him.

  The boy got on his hands and knees, quietly crying as he wiped up the soup.

  ‘He can’t do that.’ Isabella went to stand but Vijay grabbed her arm.

  ‘If you say anything, it’ll be worse for him. We’ll make sure he gets some food, don’t worry. There are still fresh buns
left from today’s delivery.’

  ‘That guard shouldn’t be allowed to treat him like that – he’s a child!’

  ‘In here it’s safer not to react, especially with the ones who have tempers like Corporal Measley.’

  ‘But it’s wrong.’

  ‘It won’t always be like this, so for now we stay out of trouble. It’s like Mahatma Gandhi said, “In a gentle way we can shake the world.”’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That a small, skinny man with round glasses like him could change the world – or at least India – and all very peacefully. The British rulers were denying Indians their rights and threatened to throw anyone in jail if they disobeyed them, but Gandhi believed in satyagraha, non-violent disobedience, and refused to be told what to do.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘No, they threw him in jail.’

  ‘Jail!’

  ‘Yes, but you know what happened? So many other people agreed with him that they started disobeying too.’

  ‘And they won?’

  ‘No, they were thrown in jail too – but the British couldn’t throw the whole population in jail, and eventually the people of India won the right to rule their own country. All because of one brave skinny man.’

  ‘You’re already in jail and they still haven’t listened to you.’

  Vijay frowned. ‘I’m still working on the finer details, but we will win. We just have to be patient, and when we’re out of here we’ll have proof of the conditions we lived in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A few months ago I stole a camera to record life in the camp. When we get out of here, people can see how we were treated and stop it from happening again.’

  He finished his last mouthful. ‘It’s time to take you back.’

  On the way to their dorm, Vijay looked up as thick clouds tinged with green gathered above them.

  ‘Is it a storm?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘No. Storm clouds are different.’

  ‘So what is it?’

  ‘Watch.’

  The temperature plummeted. The clouds bustled against each other like a thick, boiling stew and small white flakes began to fall.

  ‘Snow?’ Isabella watched the flakes melt on her hand.

  ‘And once upon a time this was summer. It’s as if whatever kept the weather regulated is broken. You better go before it gets worse.’

  Isabella and Vijay hurried along the tunnel until they reached the rope ladder at the end and climbed into Mr Finch’s shed. Vijay turned away again while Isabella dressed in her own clothes.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Isabella Charm. I’m sorry I stole your knife.’

  ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t believe your story about the camp.’

  ‘There are a lot of things that are hard to believe in this city, but you just have to remember, I’m one of the good guys.’

  ‘How do you stay so positive?’

  ‘It’s all in the way you see things.’ Vijay shrugged. ‘Some would say I’m imprisoned in a muddy camp that has bad food and is guarded by people who could squash me like an ant. But to me, I have shelter, a warm bed and more friends than I’ve had in my life. In fact my life just got better because now I have a new friend.’

  Isabella shook her head. ‘You’re amazing.’

  Vijay turned around with his finger in the air as if he were about to impart a great lesson. ‘Ah, but you see, that’s another thing I have to be thankful for – I am amazing.’

  Isabella laughed but then grew serious. ‘I’m going to help you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but I’ll do it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Vijay smiled, ‘but my mum used to say, “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You win more people over by being nice to them. You have a feisty nature – don’t let that ruin what you want.’

  When Isabella stepped outside the shed, the snowfall had become heavier and the air had turned bitterly cold. She quickly slipped into the Ornithopter harness and fastened it tight. She squinted against the swirling snow and sleet. It melted on her skin and ran in rivulets down her cheeks.

  Her Weather Detector beeped in her pocket. She looked at the screen: Blizzard Alert. Seek Shelter. The radar showed the storm was coming fast and pinpointed the closest shelters. She could head for one of those or go back down the tunnel.

  Or she could try to make it back to the Garrison before the blizzard hit.

  She held the remote to her lips. ‘Start.’

  The flying machine began to oscillate and she disappeared in seconds.

  ‘Fly.’ She rose into the air in a jagged climb and was soon flying. All she had to do was keep the machine steady and hold her direction long enough to make it back to the Garrison.

  The wind picked up, buffeting the Ornithopter and making it harder to steer. Isabella’s face and hands stung from ice particles that stabbed at her skin like pins. The wind roared in her ears and snow flurries whirled around her, blurring everything in sight. She looked down to get her bearings and could just make out the ground below.

  Until she was enveloped in a ball of white.

  Isabella squinted through the cold, desperately trying to stay upright. A brief burst of wind created a small window through the snowfall, just long enough for her to see the dark outline of the Garrison in the distance.

  ‘Faster!’ she yelled into her remote.

  But that’s when the full force of the blizzard struck. The Ornithopter’s wings strained against the wind that tossed Isabella back and forth. She tried to lean like Xavier said, to keep the machine steady, but the storm was too strong. An icy updraught dragged her higher. She lost her balance entirely and was hurled into a spinning, frozen vortex.

  She was dizzy. Then she heard a faint crack and knew instantly what it was: one of the wings of the Ornithopter had broken. For a brief moment she felt as if she was floating.

  Her world turned white. She couldn’t tell which way was up or down. She plunged through a cloud of snow and ice.

  She thought of Griffin. Of the kids. Of what they’d do without her.

  A small billow of white powder rose around Isabella as she hit the ground with a muffled thud.

  As she became visible again, snowflakes covered her in a thickening blanket of ice.

  From her pocket she could hear the incessant warning beep from her Weather Detector, and then nothing at all.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Frantic Search

  ‘She should have been back by now.’ Griffin paced the room, unable to sit still. ‘It’s been too long.’

  ‘Maybe she stopped at a shelter to wait out the blizzard,’ Xavier said.

  ‘Or maybe she was already in the air when it hit.’

  ‘Come on, Griff – she’s Isabella! She’ll be –’

  ‘Back. You said that before, so where is she?’

  Xavier sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Corporal Smith knocked on the door. ‘I need Isabella.’

  ‘You do?’ Griffin’s stomach sank.

  ‘The Major General wants to see her.’

  ‘Now?’ Xavier asked.

  ‘Yes, so let’s not keep him waiting. Where is she?’

  There was a strained silence before Griffin admitted, ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ Her face bloomed into a fiery red.

  ‘We … I’ve been in the lab and … I … I thought she’d be here.’

  ‘Do you know where she might be?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Stay here,’ Corporal Smith ordered. ‘When she comes back, tell her not to move.’

  Raffy poked his head out the door of the eagle sanctuary and peered up at the sky. ‘The blizzard has stopped. Can we train Charlie again?’

  The sudden snow had sent them scurrying from the yard.

  ‘I think we better gi
ve him a rest,’ Byron decided.

  ‘But we haven’t tried the last manoeuvre you showed us,’ Fly argued. ‘I think Charlie is looking forward to it.’

  ‘After that, he can rest, we promise,’ Bea said.

  Byron couldn’t resist the three pleading children. He checked his Weather Detector, which was now all clear. ‘Okay, but this is the last one.’

  Fly’s boots crunched into the snow-covered yard as Charlie balanced on her gloved arm. Byron handed Bea and Raffy gloves and a small piece of meat each and asked them to run to the far side of the stadium and stand with their arms raised.

  Charlie’s head flicked back and forth between the twins. He could smell the meat but obediently didn’t move. Fly whispered in his ear and pointed at Bea. She flung her arm upwards and Charlie launched himself into the air. His powerful wing strokes lifted him immediately above the yard and he headed straight for Bea, seizing the meat from her glove in one talon before turning to Raffy and taking his morsel in his beak. Charlie turned and glided back to Fly, landing effortlessly on her glove.

  Fly patted him as he ate his reward, but when the feathers on his neck bristled and he looked up, Fly knew something was wrong.

  Charlie’s head jerked sharply left and right. He released a piercing cry and, with his wings outstretched, leapt from Fly’s arm, soaring above the yard and over the stadium wall.

  ‘Has he ever done that before?’ Fly asked.

  ‘Only when he senses trouble.’ Byron pulled a small computer from his pocket. ‘All the eagles are microchipped. When I enter Charlie’s number we’ll know where he is.’

  A small red dot immediately appeared on a map of the city. ‘That’s him.’

  The dot was moving away from the Garrison, and moments later it stopped.

  ‘He’s landed not far from here. Come on.’

  Byron drove the Armavan through the Garrison gates and into backstreets behind the fortress.

  Fly held the computer and gave Byron directions. ‘We’re close.’

  The twins sat in the back and kept watch. It was Raffy who saw him first. ‘There he is!’

  Charlie was perched on a snow-covered mound, which he was nudging with his beak.

  Byron stopped the van and they all hurried over. ‘Good boy, Charlie.’