The Cloudfarers

  STEPHEN ALTER

  The Cloudfarers

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Contents

  PART I : Paramount Academy

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  PART II : The Sky Journey

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  PART III : The Hidden Valley

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE CLOUDFARERS

  Stephen Alter lives and writes in his home town, Mussoorie, Uttarakhand, where he is surrounded by mountains, clouds and mist. He studied at Woodstock School, which isn’t at all like the school in this book . . . except, maybe just a little. His other books for younger readers include The Phantom Isles, Ghost Letters and The Secret Sanctuary. He and his wife, Ameeta, have three very large, ferociously affectionate dogs, who insisted on making a cameo appearance in this novel.

  Also in Puffin by Stephen Alter

  The Secret Sanctuary

  For all Woodstock School students,

  past and present

  Long before this earth was fully formed,

  When mountains rose out of the sea,

  And new species took shape as others vanished,

  Our first ancestors descended from the sky.

  Their old planet had faded into eternal darkness,

  Its sustaining star having lost all light and warmth.

  Wandering the firmament, they walked upon clouds,

  In search of a new homeland, seeking shelter and solace.

  Even now, sometimes, when storms sweep in

  And cloak the mountains with fog and mist,

  Their footprints are still visible in the clouds,

  Those long-lost pathways of a celestial tribe.

  We can trace their tracks in the soft cumulus,

  Faint impressions of unshod feet upon windswept cirrus.

  Those footprints tell us of our origins, recalling

  The first Cloudfarers who came to Earth, exiled from the sky.

  The Cloudfarer Chronicles Vol. X

  Ch. V, verses 1–4

  The five of them were running as fast as they could, down a spiral staircase and through a dark corridor that stretched ahead like an infinite tunnel. Kip could see a faint rectangle of light at the end. He knew it was the only way out. Behind them, two vicious dogs were baying, and the warden’s whistle sounded a shrill alarm.

  When they finally burst outside, the sun was just rising over the mountains to the east, and the blaze of dawn light was blinding. Juniper and Scruggs were a few feet ahead of Kip, bounding down a broad ramp that led to the school’s playing field below. Right behind him were Meghna and Ameel, racing on to the gravel pitch. Nobody else was around at this hour of the morning, and the field seemed much larger than it had before as they sprinted across.

  Glancing back, Kip could see the warden and three security guards blundering out of the tunnel. Angry voices shouted at them to stop. He could just about make out the sleek black shapes of the dogs pulling on their leashes and barking wildly. The cold air made Kip’s lungs ache as he gasped for breath, running harder than he had ever run before. His legs were so tired it felt as if they were going to fall off. He knew that Juniper and Scruggs were headed for a small gate at the far corner of the field, though Kip had no idea what they were going to do after they got there. Most of the buildings around them were still in shadow, but it seemed like the five of them were being watched from every window, as if the school were a monster with hundreds of eyes. Suddenly, the bell in the clock tower began to ring, a metallic clanging that sounded like chimes of doom.

  The guards, all in khaki uniforms, were chasing them across the field, but Kip and the others had already reached the gate. Juniper struggled to get it open as five anxious faces stared down at a rusty latch, which finally gave way. Kip was the last one out. When he looked over his shoulder, he could see that the guards had released the dogs. Frantically, he shoved the latch back in place and then leapt down the path, trying to catch up with his friends, who had already reached a hole in a fence and were crawling through it.

  From here the path wound its way downhill, through a stand of pine trees and circled the ridge. As he dove under the fence, Kip’s jacket caught on a jagged wire. He heard the cloth rip but didn’t care. Ahead of them lay a sea of clouds, filling the valley and erasing everything below. The tops of the mountains rose above the white tide like scattered islands. Quilted folds of mist were tucked up against the hillside beneath them, like covers on a freshly made bed. The last time they’d been here, a couple of days ago, Kip and the others had gone as far as the ruined watchtower at the edge of the cliffs, which fell away on every side.

  By now, the bell had stopped tolling, but the warden’s whistle continued to shriek. From the sound of barking, Kip knew the dogs were gaining on them.

  Scruggs was the first to reach the crumbling remains of the watchtower, which stood at the edge of the clouds. The broken stone staircase led into vacant space, offering no place to hide. Kip figured it was all over. There was nowhere to go. It was foolish of them to have imagined they’d be able to escape from the school. Though he kept running, Kip had already resigned himself to being recaptured and locked up for the rest of his life.

  At that moment, he saw Scruggs race up the ruined staircase. All Kip could think of was the precipice below. He wondered what Scruggs was going to do but before he knew it, his friend had stepped out into the clouds. Had he lost his mind? Didn’t he know there was nothing except for the cliffs beneath him? Panicking, Kip tried to shout a warning, but he was so scared and out of breath, he couldn’t make a sound. His heart skipped a couple of beats, though it was pounding in his chest. He expected Scruggs to disappear into the layers of condensed moisture and tumble hundreds of feet on to the rocks below. But instead of falling, his friend sank up to his knees and then struggled forward, as if he were wading through snow. A moment later, Scruggs was standing on top of the clouds. Meghna and Ameel followed. Kip watched with alarm and amazement as both of them stumbled at first, before gaining a foothold on the ruffled white surface.

  Juniper was right behind them. She stopped at the top of the broken steps and beckoned to Kip.

  ‘Come on!’ she shouted.

  Kip could see the dogs bolting out of the trees, as the guards appeared, shouting warnings.

  Stepping backward, Juniper put one foot in the clouds and steadied herself.

  ‘Follow us,’ she cried, as Kip reached the base of the watchtower. The clouds looked soft and feathery, anything but solid. He shook his head.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ Kip cried.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Juniper insisted. ‘Don’t give up!’

  She jumped up and down to show that she wasn’t going to fall through. ‘You can do it, Kip! Come on, they’ll never be able to catch us.’

  By now the dogs were less than 30 feet away, snarling as they rushed forward. Kip quickly dashed up the staircase, terrified and unsure of what he should do.

  Scruggs, Meghna and Ameel were watching and shouted encouragement. ‘It’s easy,’ they yelled. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

  Kip remembered looking down from the watchtower the last time they were here, how his stomach had knotted up when he
had peered over the edge of the cliff. He wondered how many seconds it would take before he hit the rocks at the bottom . . . maybe two, maybe three, before he crashed to the ground. Nobody could ever survive that fall.

  Juniper was waving both her arms at him. ‘Trust me, Kip! Just trust me!’

  The warden’s whistle pierced his ears as the dogs rushed up the stone steps, their sharp teeth aiming for his legs. Kip didn’t want to be left behind. Nor did he want to die. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and jumped, as one of the dogs lunged and snapped at his heels.

  For several moments, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a cold, moist sensation closed in around him and he began to feel himself sinking slowly but steadily. When Kip opened his eyes, he saw that he was already up to his waist in the clouds, which were inching towards his chest. Flailing both arms and kicking his legs, he felt himself going under. It was like trying to float when you don’t know how to swim. There was nothing to hold on to until Juniper reached down and grabbed his hand. By now he was up to his neck in the mist. He could faintly hear the guards shouting and dogs barking, but all of that seemed muffled and far away. Juniper’s fingers clutched Kip’s wrist as he sank deeper into the clouds, pulling her down after him.

  ‘Kip!’ she shouted. ‘You’ve got to believe me. Don’t panic! Just try . . .’

  PART I:

  Paramount Academy

  One

  As the taxi raced up the winding hill road, Kip sat in the back seat, squeezed between his twin aunts. Out of the windows, he could see mountains leaning this way and that, the earth tilting up in all directions. Trees with outstretched limbs spun past. Parapet walls along the side of the road flashed by like a row of crooked gravestones. The driver didn’t slow down at the corners and Kip was feeling carsick. Nausea welled up inside him like a slithery gecko resting its head and forelegs on the back of his tongue, while its twitching tail coiled down his throat. Any minute now, he felt sure he would gag.

  Kip’s stomach churned and a dull headache made his vision blur. He didn’t get carsick often and wondered if it might have been the greasy cutlets his aunts had ordered for breakfast at the railway refreshment room that morning, when they got off the night train at the foot of the hill. Or it could have been the spicy pink sauce he had poured over the cutlets to try to disguise the taste of pumpkins, carrots and potatoes all mashed together and fried into fat little lumps. Whatever it was, the contents of his stomach threatened to regurgitate with every bend in the road. There wasn’t much traffic, but the taxi driver blew his horn as if he were practising the clarinet—tooting persistently off-key. Kip closed his eyes and debated if he should ask his aunts to stop the car and let him throw up on the side of the road. Then maybe he could make a run for it, escaping into the surrounding forest and never coming back.

  Ten minutes later they reached the crest of the ridge and came to an enormous gate, with a large sign that arched over it:

  A guard in a rumpled khaki uniform peered in the window without speaking. Then he shambled over and unlocked the gate, which creaked on its ancient hinges as if it hadn’t been opened for years. They drove inside, up a steep incline that corkscrewed through a dark maze of trees. Kip finally saw the school. The buildings were jumbled together in a disorderly clutter of walls, rooftops and windows, perched on top of a ridge. Eventually, they came to a courtyard covered with slate flagstones. Auntie B opened the car door and pried herself loose from the taxi. Kip followed her out, gulping fresh air but feeling the ground listing under his feet. He might have thought he were seeing double because he was dizzy but knew it was just his twin aunts standing side by side.

  Kip noticed a sign in front of him: PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE, and below it: ADMISSIONS. The principal’s door opened and a tall man with a limp slowly stepped out. He had a face like a dull axe, the broad blade of his nose curving down from a prominent forehead. Beneath a neatly trimmed moustache, his pinched mouth was set in an unfriendly scowl above a deeply notched chin. His hair was thin and parted in the middle, a tarnished grey colour. He was dressed in some kind of naval uniform, all white, with brass buttons, gold braid and epaulettes on the shoulders. His trousers were tucked into boots that came up to his knees. These were polished to such a lustrous shine that Kip could see his own reflection in them.

  ‘Welcome, I’m Captain Lovelock,’ the principal greeted them in a gruff voice.

  Auntie B introduced her sister and herself. ‘. . . and this is Kip,’ she added.

  Kip could feel the principal’s eyes upon him, but the gleaming toes of the boots had him hypnotized.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of the boy,’ Kip heard the principal say, or something like that. His ears were plugged from the altitude and his head felt like a football filled with too much air. The nausea from the car ride up the hill welled up inside of him again as if the slithery gecko was determined to escape from his throat. He tried to turn aside, but before he could stop himself, Kip vomited on Captain Lovelock’s polished leather boots, regurgitating a sour slurry of half-digested cutlets and pink sauce. The principal swore with alarm and staggered backwards.

  Auntie C gripped Kip’s arm and scolded him, wiping his mouth with a crumpled tissue that smelled of lavender cologne. Kip spat out the last of his breakfast into a sad-looking puddle on the flagstones.

  He was feeling better already.

  Sometime later, in the Admissions Office, Kip sat patiently as his aunts filled out pages and pages of forms in duplicate, each scribbling with her pen. The registrar watched them like a mongoose. His alert little eyes didn’t miss a comma or decimal point. Kip could see Auntie B signing ‘Beauty’ and Auntie C signing ‘Cutie’, though he had never used those names himself. Like his father, he only referred to them as ‘B’ and ‘C’. Several years ago, when he was much younger, Kip had asked, ‘Why isn’t there an Auntie A?’ Laughing as if it were the best joke he’d ever heard, his father shook his head but didn’t reply. Later, he told Kip’s mother what their son had said, and the two of them laughed so hard they had tears in their eyes. Kip didn’t think it was a funny question to ask but he liked to remember his parents’ laughter, before all the unhappiness filled their home.

  The papers were signed by both of his aunts, attesting that they were his legal guardians and were handing him over to the school for the rest of his youth. As his aunts kissed him goodbye and left him standing alone beside his suitcase and bedding roll, Kip felt a sour hollowness in the pit of his stomach, as if he were going to be sick again. Their taxi drove off and the sooty smell of the engine’s exhaust was like the last whiff of the big city from where he’d come.

  Glancing around, Kip felt as if he were standing at the brink of the world. He could see crags and cliffs on all sides. Range upon range of forested mountains unfolded in every direction. And in the distance, to the north, stood a line of higher peaks crowned with snow. But at this moment, his attention was fixed on the school buildings with their high stone walls, lines of chequered windows, rain gutters, drainpipes, balconies and terraces, all connected by ramps and staircases that seemed to go up and up forever. It looked like a fortress. And at the centre of the campus was a bell tower, with four clocks facing in different directions.

  Two

  After he had been left standing alone for at least ten minutes, Kip began to wonder what was going to happen next. He didn’t really care, but he hoped the principal wouldn’t appear again. Just then, a bell began to ring, not a buzzer like they had at his old school, but a real bell in the tower overhead, pealing loudly with a brassy sound that was loud enough to wake the dead. Looking up, he could see the two hands on the clock folded together at noon. Seconds later, Kip heard a steady, solemn drumming that grew louder and louder. As he watched, the balconies and staircases were filled with hundreds of students pouring out of classrooms, all of them marching together in regimented lines, two by two, their shoes thundering on the steps.

  As they paraded down into the courtyard, the
marchers joined ranks, each class merging together in formation. Trooping past Kip, a few of the students eyed him with amusement and sneers. Over the din of their footsteps, he could hear them saying:

  ‘Another victim bites the dust!’

  ‘Poor baby, I bet he misses his mummy . . .’

  ‘Doesn’t know what he’s in for, does he?’

  Kip tried to act as if he didn’t hear anything they were saying, but the queasy feeling in his stomach had been replaced by an ache of fear that rose to his chest and made him break out in a cold sweat.

  Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he jumped. When he turned around, he saw an elderly woman with tangled red hair. Her heavily wrinkled face gave her a worried, concerned sort of look, though her eyes were sharp and grey.

  ‘Are you Kip?’ she asked with a crimped smile.

  He nodded.

  ‘Welcome to Paramount Academy. I’m Mrs Lobo, your housemother.’

  Kip tried to smile back but his teeth were clenched. All he could do was nod.

  ‘If you bring your luggage, I’ll show you to your dormitory,’ said Mrs Lobo.

  Kip could barely lift his suitcase and wished it had wheels. The bedding roll was bulky but not too heavy. He stumbled after his housemother, who led him across the courtyard and towards a cavernous door. By now the students had funnelled into the dining hall for lunch, and as they passed by, Kip thought he could hear a low rumbling sound, as if they were all chewing at once.

  The dormitory seemed miles away, up one ramp and down two sets of stairs, then around the back of another building, through a windowless passage that opened into a labyrinth of arched doorways and across an open veranda until they reached another flight of steps and finally passed through a heavy wooden door, which led them into a long hall draped with shadows. Mrs Lobo took out a key and unlocked another door. By now, Kip was dripping with perspiration and his legs and arms felt as if they were ready to fall off.