The Dark Water (5 page)

As we descend, I think back to the Cave, which my father built and the other Westbrook alums funded. All of those tunnels, created entirely to research the water, constructed in the hope that the water would come back again. It's crazy that they poured millions of dollars and years of their lives into speculation about the water that's just lying around in this world. This tunnel would put my Dad & Co. to shame; compared to down here, the Cave seems like it was built by a toddler in a sandpit. This tunnel's wide, maybe twenty feet across, and has something like track lighting made of small gas flames on both the floor and ceiling. The walls are polished and look like travertine, Dad's favorite, alternating, like the road, between white and black, and the floor is tiled in onyx inlaid with long, looping designs of gold and silver. I see Rob scuff his boot at the gold in curiosity, then glance up at me with an
oops
after he leaves a mark.

The walkway splits. Down one of the hallways I can make out some Keepers strolling along a series of stalls that run the length of my view, like a grand bazaar. It's grandly illuminated and full of voices and sounds. It's the first sign of real
life
here. As if aboveground were just for show.

I see clothing on display, dangling on lines, in the brightest of colors. There are several dozen pale men and women here, hawking or scrutinizing merchandise, and when we pass, they stop and stare. The women are almost as tall as the men, thinner, willowy. Their eyes are smaller, but similarly strange. Both men and women wear dresses or pants or sleeveless toga-like garb. They have sandals and shoes that remind me of Sperrys—trendy boater shoes lots of the richies at Westbrook wore. Everyone has different hair, braided or dyed, short or long. There are necklaces and earrings and once, I swear, I see a nose ring. I might as well be walking down a street in Turkey or India or Germany or East Timor. It's oddly comforting to feel the familiarity, even if I've only seen those places on TV.

“This is all part of the Exchange,” Straoc says, motioning toward that pathway. It's hard to ignore the frowns and the palpable tension of our presence. “And that was the garment district. You will find food and engineering and plants and game and medicine and all things in other districts farther along the Exchange.”

A couple Keepers break off from the crowd, and I realize that I don't know how to gauge their age. Everyone seems to look the same. These two might as well be twins: both female, both with high cheekbones and black hair parted in the middle, both in pearly white tops with black skirts that splay wide around them. Their eyes are sharp and angry. I take an instinctive step back.

One of them pulls a long piece of red silk from out of a pouch she carries and waves it languidly back and forth before me. The same sort of ribbon that Straoc whipped out earlier. The other spits on the ground and says something to Rob in their native tongue, something quick and nasty.

Straoc snaps right back at them, then points to the ribbon. The Keeper reluctantly puts it away but then gets right up in Rob's face, her smile wide and vicious.

“Hey, hey,” he says, putting his hands up. “I didn't do anything.”

“Word of your descent spreads quickly. You are here, and Keeper Feileen is gone.”

“I didn't have anything to do with that.”

The woman's slender hands shake and her lip trembles. It takes me a second to realize she's crying, her eyes filling with tears. “We spend cycles dreaming of meeting our first Topsider,” she says in a harsh whisper, breathing raggedly through a stuffed nose. “And Keeper Feileen warned us. She said you were nothing but rot. That we should never go Topside. That we exist to stop you from coming here. We are Keepers.” She wipes her tears from her face and her friend pulls her back by the arm. “You come, she dies. You come, and my clan leader's heart is ripped from her chest.”

Rob opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. What is there to say?

“And you,” she wheels on Straoc, who doesn't bat an eye. “Tell your Keeper Randt that we will maintain our place at the Three.”

“Yes,” says the twin, “Randt and Arcos cannot divide Capian in two. Clan Feileen will not have it.”

“Please,” Straoc says reassuringly. “Your clan cannot but be a member of the Three, yes? But to expect me to share your message after you threaten my charges? Absurd.”

“We know you, Straoc. We speak and Randt hears.”

She controls herself, runs her hands over her face and through her hair. Her cheeks are flushed and I can see how painful it is for her, thinking of her dead leader. Death here hits hard. If they really think we had something to do with it, for sure they must hate us.

The twins loop arms and leave, looking back over their shoulders, their faces full of hate. I realize that no one is moving. All of the other Keepers in sight are watching, faces set in stone. Word
did
travel fast. I wonder if Feileen told her followers we'd come. Could the source tell her that?

“What just happened?” Jo asks. “And that ribbon she had?”

Straoc doesn't speak until they're gone, and it's only then that I see one of his hands tight on the hilt of a dagger at his belt. He looks at Jo and smiles reassuringly. “Nothing at all, friend. But do not touch those ‘ribbons,' as you call them. They are very sharp. Remember, not everyone is happy you are here. Please, hurry with me. We must be on time.”

He keeps quiet after that and so do we. It just feels safer. The Keepers around us continue to stare and those enormous eyes bore into us with every step. I lower my head and follow Straoc's feet, and we go for a while until we hit a platform that curves gently around a corner.

“A subway?” Rob asks.

“A gastrain,” Straoc replies. “And we only barely arrived for it.” In front of us is a silver pod shaped like a football with a gaping door that opens as we near. Inside, things get tight, but there's a bench that's just big enough for all of us. I realize, as Straoc slides the door into place, that I've never ridden a subway before. I wonder how close this will feel to New York. I bet Brayden knows. We sit and stare and Straoc closes his enormous eyes and leans his head back. Resting, he seems gigantic, and I'm struck with a sense of helplessness. I want to say something, I want to be in control, but that's not possible and a growing sense of claustrophobia finally locks in. I try to control my breathing, but even the exercises I've learned over the years swimming don't help. Straoc's relaxed pose is in such contradiction to my fear, exhilaration and exhaustion that I finally get how reliant we are on him; if he wanted, we'd never leave this city, or even this little box again. He's got our lives completely in his hands.

We begin to move, but there are no bounces, no jolts, just momentum. Maybe two minutes later, even that fades. Jo takes my hand and I close my eyes but am still here, stuck. “What is this thing?” Rob asks, rapping his knuckles on the wall. There's no
clang,
it's too thick.

Straoc smiles, pleased again to show off. “It's a wheel, built flat underneath the city. This gastrain is one of many around Capian, all attached to the wheel at different junctions, all sitting on top of it.”

“So what, it spins in a circle and every gastrain in the city has to move at the same time because they are all attached to the same wheel?” Rob asks. “I guess if they have a strict schedule . . .”

“They do,” Straoc assures us. “There is no need to wait as we know when the wheel turns.”

“Like a record player,” I find myself saying, the idea somehow helping me feel better. “This is like having a record player underneath the city and little cars glued to the record and they all go around when the player's turned on.”

“It's also a clock, too,” Rob adds. “No sun, regular intervals.”

“I do not know exactly what you mean, but I am eager to find your gastrain record player Topside when I can.” I feel a tug, and we've stopped. Straoc opens the door, his thick muscles bulging, and looks back at us. “This is the tower of Randt of the Three, a ruler here in Capian. Behave, and we will all see Topside soon enough.”

BEYOND THE GASTRAIN, DOWN A FEW STEPS, I SEE A
door, circular and sparkling, covered in jewels the size of tennis balls. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires are the easy ones to pick out. Opals and amethyst, and more and more, each one big enough to adorn Queen Elizabeth's crown. It feels like there's a pattern here, and I wonder if this is like those Magic Eye tricks in books, where if you cross your eyes you can suddenly see in 3-D.

Before I have a chance to step closer, though, the door lifts like a portcullis. No
scrape
or
rumble.
Quieter by far than our garage door. But I don't linger on the mechanics because beyond the door, in a bright profusion of scent and color, is an enormous garden. We're in the middle of one of the towers we saw from the higher level and I'm reminded immediately of concept art for gardens in outer space. Around me is the perfectly manicured greenery cultivated to support life in an alien environment. It feels like we're in one of those space stations right now. I'm not sure I can prove that we aren't.

“Impressive,” Rob says, craning his neck in awe, his mouth hanging open. He takes a distracted step forward, almost bumping into Jo. I have to suppress the childish urge to knock him off balance. I can't help it. A small part of my mind hasn't changed after all I've been through.

“This is the home of my clan.” Straoc seems smug, if I'm reading him correctly. He's hard to pin down, I realize. He seems important, entrusted as he is with bringing us back, and yet still as eager as a kid to amaze us. Here he is, bragging about his people. “We are one of the most ancient lines, traced back to the birthing waters of our universe. And this is a First Tower, one of the homes of a Keeper of the Three.”

I'm guessing that Arcos has another First Tower. And Feileen did too, before she was killed. Seats of power for the Keepers, I suppose. Something to be proud of.

There are Keepers here, walking, sitting, enjoying the day, just like you might see students doing on campus in April between classes. Birds with glimmering feathers zip above us and I think I see a four-legged something lounging in the grass, more dogg
ish
than dog. I almost expect to see red plastic cups filled with beer or Frisbees lofting through the air. The Keepers all look our way, casting furtive glances, though there's a younger-looking Keeper, with a shock of blue hair, sitting in a circle and full-on staring. The Keeper to her left covers her eyes with his hands, blocking her view of us. As if our looks could kill.

I want to ask Straoc about her but a couple of men, both in blue billowy shirts and mustard-yellow jackets over blue jean–like pants, approach carrying bowls of water. They're smiling, something we haven't really seen much of down here. They're the opposite of the Keepers we saw at the Exchange. “Welcome and drink,” they say in unison. One has black hair in a bowl cut with narrow eyes, and the other has blond curls with wide cheekbones.

Straoc nods, and we drink. The water gives me a buzz of energy and a pulse of warmth that goes right through my head.

“Wow,” Rob says, apparently feeling the same thing. “Like a bump of caffeine.”

One of the Keepers—the one with dark hair—reaches out tentatively and touches Jo's blond hair. Jo manages not only to not cringe, but even to smile. The perfect diplomat.

“You have very small eyes,” the hair toucher says.

“Breacha,” Straoc warns.

“Is it true that for half of every cycle you must hide?” the other asks, looking at me for answers. He's got an earring—a thin chain that snakes in and out of the lobe.

“Hide from what?” I ask.

“From the burning.”

“The sun?” Rob asks.

“That is not the way of it,” Straoc admonishes, and the two cower back, as if in trouble. “Keeper Randt speaks better than that. You take your moments to speak to Topsiders and you ply them with questions of superstition?” Straoc had untied us while we drank, and now he hooks my arm and pulls us along. “Enough, you two. Go tell your friends of your speaking with Topsiders and leave us.”

We keep walking through the grass, no other Keeper brave enough to approach.

“So each building has its own clan?” Jo asks after a while, stroking her hair absentmindedly.

“Yes, that is correct,” Straoc says. “Come now,” he continues. “I am sure you are exhausted. Let us go to your chambers, where you can rest.”

I catch Rob's and Jo's eyes. Taking a nap is the last thing I can imagine doing right now.

Straoc guides us down a lovely path toward a gazebo-like structure and invites us to sit. There's a Keeper standing in the corner, a reedy man who refuses to meet my eyes, but peeks at our feet. “These are our chambers?” Rob asks. Straoc doesn't respond, and so, reluctantly, we take a seat. As soon as we do, the gazebo shoots into the air, surprising me but terrifying Rob, who was never the best with heights. He yelps. I fear the dark; Rob fears heights; Jo stepping immediately to look over the edge, fears nothing.

The reedy Keeper pushes a few buttons, kind of like an elevator operator. Maybe exactly like that.

“Mia,” Jo says, practically dangling from the side.
Oh, it's great to be a high diver.
“Come see!”

Battling my own beating heart, I stick my head out and take it all in. I can't see the actual mechanism of the elevator, so there must be a cable or something pulling us up. We ride smoothly, quickly, passing balcony after balcony catching glimpses of Keepers through open windows going about their daily business, whatever that means here. Jo points to one woman who is hanging glowflowers upside down from a line, as if to dry them. They shiver and sparkle and remind me of Christmas.

I look down, and shouldn't have. We're
high
up. Thirty, fifty stories, I don't know. I grab Jo's hand.

“Aww,” she says, making a funny face. “You should go sit with Rob and be scared.”

“Watch it,” Rob says, his eyes closed. “I know where you live.”

“I do not know where you live,” Straoc says eagerly. “Tell me more, please. Are you of separate clans?”

“We have clans, just small ones,” I say. “Our families. We live in a small city, on campus at a school.” Only now that I'm taking time to think about it do I realize how strange it is that the Keepers not only understand English, but that they clearly developed in a similar way to us. Being stuck down here for as long as they have, the chances are crazy small they'd be
anything
like us.

“How small are families?” he asks.

“Oh, they can be big, but usually only a few kids and a mom and a dad.” I pause. Next to me, I can feel Jo take a deep breath, no doubt thinking of her father.

“Isn't it beautiful?” Jo says, obviously resigned to being here. “A whole world, like Atlantis.” She's quiet for a moment, and because I'm staring at her, I catch the quiver of her lip. “It's like all of this has happened for a reason.”

All of this,
for her, has to mean the death of her dad. But Mr. Banner didn't die in some freak accident. It was an avoidable tragedy, it was Sutton's
fault,
but now we're here, witnessing the impossible. She can finally have a
why
for his death. Jo sniffs, tucks her knees to her chin. The floors whiz by; none of us say a thing.

And then we stop. It's so sudden and soft that I don't realize we're not moving until Straoc steps off onto a colorful mosaic of tiles. We're at the penthouse, so close to the golden domed ceiling that I could touch the curve. The balcony is large, enclosed like a sultan's foyer, with two trees on either side and a couple of bronze gas lamps. I take Jo's hand and help Rob up. It's only when I get to the edge that I realize the mosaic on the floor is of a familiar image. It's like a bridge made of stone, held up by two rows of evenly spaced arches rising higher and higher into the air. But it's too thin to be a bridge, and there's water pouring off the end.

“What's going on?” Rob says in disbelief.

“No way that's the aqueduct,” Jo adds, but it sure looks like the aqueduct, the one we broke into and blew up to keep Sutton off our trail. In fact, the image shows what I'd expect the aqueduct to be now,
after
I blew it up. My mind flashes to the woods, and I wonder where all the water's draining now, if we've flooded the whole forest. Or if it's frozen into a mini-pond, an iced waterfall.

“Who made this?” I demand.

“Made what?” Straoc asks, confused. He's moved past the mosaic and is standing near a great wooden door, the entrance to the floor.

“The tiles, that image,” Jo exclaims, flustered. “How do you know what the aqueduct looks like? How is it here? What the heck is going on?”

Straoc frowns, then answers very slowly. “I have paid no notice to this before.” And with that, he beckons us through the door.