The Spell of Undoing by Paul Collins

screams, hopeless and high-pitched, as if a child were being hurt. Tab's heart ached for the screams’ owner. The rat started to edge back into deeper shadow. >>>No
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    Tab had no idea of what she had done, but suddenly – back in her room, Tab gasped – the rat obeyed. Tab felt a dizzy excitement. Was she actually controlling the rat? Or had it just decided to investigate the noises itself? That seemed unlikely.
    The rat scuttled forward, darting between the metal poles which Tab now realised were the bars of a cell. It crossed a passageway and nosed in between more bars, edging along the wall and into the shadows cast by a bunk bed.
    A youth and two men, all with cruel faces, occupied the cell. One was torturing a small boy with a pale, freckled face and sandy-coloured hair. The boy, who must have been about eight years old, screamed again. His face was wet with tears and his upper lip and chin were covered with snot.
    ‘Where is the icefire?’ demanded one of the men. At a nod from the questioner, a brute of a man tightened a knotted rope around the boy's throat. ‘What did you say?’ the interrogator demanded. ‘Speak up!’
    Tab was breathing heavily. An uncharacteristic anger was building up. She could tell from their livery that they were Tolrushians, but how could the enemy be on board Quentaris?
    Tab now saw the main speaker more clearly. He was a boy of about fourteen, but dressed in rich clothes. He had a crafty look about him. ‘We know your people have icefire,’ he snarled, ‘and we will have it from them!’
    The victim whimpered. Tab could see that he was very, very scared.
    The torturer tightened the rope. The boy choked, and fainted. The boy-leader scowled. ‘Leave him for now,’ he said, spitting on the straw-strewn floor. ‘There are other matters at hand – prey, for instance.’
    One of the men cleared his throat. ‘You still mean to attack, then?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘Is that wise, m'lord, when our own icefire fuel is so depleted?’
    The boy-leader stopped at the door, eyeing his advisor. ‘There is more than one source of icefire, Genkis. There is also the matter of revenge.’
    The boy stalked out of the cell. No one noticed the rat watching from the shadows.
    Abruptly Tab's vision lurched again. This time she was wheeling through the sky. On either side, great bat-like wings slowly flapped. The view banked hard, and into her line of sight swept something that left her stunned.
    Floating in dense cloud was a city.
    Above it stretched enormous sails, torn and tattered and filthy. A grim castle bulged from the port side prow, and huge grappling arms like crab claws projected forward on either side of the bowsprit. The whole thing had an evil look. Like a sky pirate's ship. Or a man-o’-war.
    Tab had never seen such a place, but she recognised it immediately.

    Tolrush.
    It couldn't be, but it was. Tolrush had become a flying city, just like Quentaris. And slowly it dawned on Tab that Fontagu had inadvertently pulled Tolrush into the spell so that the two cities had, in that moment of Rupture, been magically joined. What had happened to one, had happened to the other. And who knew what other cities had also been ripped into the vortex?
    Tab's heart thudded with sudden realisation. Judging by what the boy-leader had said, the Tolrushians blamed Quentaris for their misfortune.
    Which could only mean …
    Tab sat bolt upright.
    She dressed hurriedly and ran as fast as her legs could carry her to the Navigators’ Guild headquarters. She didn't stop at the gates. A guard yelled a warning and she felt an arrow hiss swiftly past her shoulder. Angry shouts followed. She ran faster.
    Breathless, she skidded to a stop outside the operations room. By now alarms were clanging. The doorway opened suddenly, revealing several guards.
    ‘Gotcha!’ someone snarled from behind. Tab was whisked off her feet.
    ‘Put her down,’ said a calm voice.
    The guard