Starclimber Read Free Page B

hand had stopped altogether, just a shade from twelve o’clock. Then, as if making up for lost time, the clock started ticking with crazy speed, gasping like a marathon runner in his final stretch.
    Hish-a-hish-a-hish-a-hish-a hish-a-shhhhh…
    With horror I watched the clock hands swirl around with surreal speed, as though the insides of the clock were uncoiling.
    “There’s the water!” shouted Hassan.
    “Heave ho!” I bellowed.
    We put our shoulders to the crate and pushed it over the rim. It plunged down and hit the lake with a mighty splash.
    “Grab hold!” I yelled.
    “Maybe the water’ll put out the—” Hassan began, and then a colossal fountain burst from the lake. The blast tossed us to the deck. Cabin windows shattered. Hot wind shrieked past, creating a hellish symphony in our rigging. Then, finally, silence.
    “It’s spent,” gasped Hassan.
    “Good work,” I told him, struggling to my feet and back to the helm.
    We were losing gas swiftly, and the rudder must have been damaged, for the Atlas was sluggish to turn. But we would make it safely back to the air harbor, and with a bit of luck, I might even be on time for Kate.

THE STARS FROM MONTMARTRE

    T he neighborhood of Montmartre was the highest point in Paris, and by the time I’d jogged up all the stairs to the park at the very top, I was already an hour late, and Kate was nowhere to be seen. Dejected, I sank down on a bench. Probably she’d left long ago in a fury. Which wasn’t entirely fair, since this was the first and only time I’d ever been late for her—and I did happen to have the best excuse imaginable.
    After bringing the Atlas in, Hassan and I were interrogated by the police for a very long time. I was worried they’d think we were the bombers, but luckily Pierre had already been caught. His parawings had snagged in the girders, and he’d been recognized by the police as a known Babelite. Jules and Yves had gotten away. Christophe was dead, as was Andrew. The gendarmes clapped us on our backs, commended us for our bravery, and told us to keep our mouths shut.
    Of course, I had every intention of telling Kate—but she wasn’t even here to listen to my story. I’d been rehearsing it the whole way on the Métro. I shook my head. She could’ve waited a little longer. I’d once added up all the time I’d waited for her, and it came out to something like six days.
    I was just about to head back down to the Métro when a motorcar pulled up. The driver hopped out and opened the back door.
    “I am so sorry,” Kate said, stepping out. She was all dressed up, like she was expecting a night at the opera. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had. Have you been waiting long?”
    “Just got here, actually.”
    “You look a little bedraggled,” she said, concerned. “Are you all right?”
    Usually when we met, I dressed up in my Academy uniform, but this time I’d scarcely had time to change out of my ship’s clothes.
    I gave a world-weary chuckle. “Did you hear that huge explosion a few hours ago?”
    She frowned. “No…well, I might’ve heard something. I thought it was a motorcar backfiring.”
    “No. That was me. I’ll probably be quite famous by tomorrow morning.”
    “Well, that’s nothing new for you, is it?” she said with a smile. “You’d better tell me all about it.”
    As the twilight deepened, we sat down on a bench overlooking Paris and I told her about the Babelites and their bomb plot. As always, she was a very satisfying audience, for she listened, rapt, interrupting only when she wanted more details.
    “You’re going to be a hero when the morning papers come out,” she said. “You kept a cool head. You’ve always been very good in a crisis.”
    I’d seen Kate in some tight situations and knew how capable she was too. “Anyway,” I said, “heroism has nothing to do with it. It was sheer luck Christophe dropped his pistol.”
    “What a complete scoundrel that man was! Still, I hate to say