The Emerald Atlas (31 page)

“It’s not working! You said you’d help me!”

“I am helping you,” the Countess sighed. “In ways you cannot understand. But are you truly imagining yourself in the past? Envisioning the exact moment in time in which you left our precious book?”

“Yes! I’m doing everything! Maybe I just can’t—”

“Shhh.” The Countess came and placed a hand on the back of Kate’s neck. The cabin was uncomfortably warm, and the young woman’s hand was cool. “You must relax or the magic will never come. How far into the past are we speaking of?”

Kate exhaled, wanting to knock away the Countess’s hand and at the same time loving how good it felt.

“… Four years.”

“Four years. And where are you? Describe it.”

“It’s a room. Like a study. There’s a fire. It’s snowing outside. Dr. Pym is there.”

“Anyone else?”

Kate thought of lying, but what was the point? She needed the Countess’s help.

“My … mother. She comes in.”

The Countess let out a small “Ah,” as if Kate had just shown her something beautiful. “And how do you feel about your mother?”

“I love her.”

“Of course you do. But is that all? She did abandon you and your brother and sister.”

“She had to. They were protecting us.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

Kate had no answer.

“I see.” The Countess was caressing Kate’s hair. “And when she went away, who did she leave to take care of your brother and sister?”

“She told me to.”

“But you were just a child!”

Kate knew the outrage was an act, but part of her couldn’t help responding, the same part that was worn out with the strain of caring for Michael and Emma, the part that for so long had prayed for someone to come and say, “It’s okay. You can stop now. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Perhaps removing this will help.”

Kate saw the Countess’s hand pass before her; there was a flash of gold; and when she looked up, she had to stifle a cry. The Countess had somehow unclasped her mother’s locket.

“A gift from her, I’m guessing. You were touching it as we spoke.”

“That’s mine—”

“Oh hush. This memory is about your mother. That’s why the wizard chose it. Your feelings are the gateway. You feel love, yes, and loss. But that’s not all.” Her fist closed over the locket. “Magic such as this demands you lay yourself bare. Your parents deserted you. Tell me you don’t feel anger, frustration, even rage. If you want to save the children, you can’t shut anything out.”

“I’m not!”

“Continue to lie, and their deaths will be on your head.”

Kate tore away from the woman’s gaze. She found she was trembling.

“I know you’re afraid. But this is the only way.”

Kate could see the end of the chain, dangling; she could just reach out and grab it.

“Katrina.”

A long moment passed. Kate listened to the eerie melody from the Victrola, watched the gaslight wavering against the walls. She nodded.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”

Kate obeyed. Once more, she put herself in the study, imagining the falling snow, the smell of Dr. Pym’s tobacco, the fire. She pictured her mother coming in. And then, because nothing was happening, she finally let go, and all the anger and fear and doubt she’d held at bay for so long flooded her heart. Why had their parents abandoned them? What possible reason could they have had for leaving them on their own? For ten years, Kate had held their family together all by herself and the strain had almost broken her. She wondered if their parents had ever tried to find them. Or had they just walked away? Started a new life with—

There was a yank in her gut, and Kate knew it had happened.

She opened her eyes, and there was her mother, exactly as she’d left her, hand on the doorknob, mouth frozen in surprise. Kate glanced at Dr. Pym. He sat at his desk, smiling.

“Oh my.” Her mother took a step back. “You were just here, and then you … Oh my …”

Emma and Gabriel were crouched behind a fallen tree at the edge of the wood, forty yards from the dam. Three
morum cadi
with torches stood guard. Gabriel had unslung his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Two arrows more were stuck into the ground. He was waiting for a cloud to cover the moon.

Emma looked up past the mouth of the gorge to the wide black expanse of the lake. She tried to imagine the dam breaking and all that dark water rushing down and over the falls, carrying along the boat, the children, her sister, everything. They couldn’t let that happen.

“Gabriel …”

“Shhh.”

He’d turned and was staring into the trees behind them.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something …”

A shadow swept over them, and Emma looked up to see the last glowing sliver of moon disappear from view. There was a soft
swooft
beside her, then another, and two of the torches fell burning to the ground and Gabriel was pulling back a third arrow; then it too was gone and Emma watched as the last remaining torch stumbled and vanished into the gorge.

“Quietly now,” Gabriel whispered. “There may be others inside.”

They ran across the open ground, Emma stepping around the smoking bodies of the Screechers as Gabriel paused to retrieve a torch. The top of the dam loomed over them, rising seven or eight feet above the lip of the gorge. Up close, the structure was massive, and Emma realized that she’d thought of the dam as a single solid block of wood. It wasn’t; there was a door, and Gabriel opened it, exposing a set of stairs going down. He went first, waving Emma forward when the way proved clear; then it was down two flights through the dank air, Gabriel’s torch lighting the steps, and out onto a kind of balcony.

“Whoa.” Emma stopped dead, staring.

Faint orangish lights were strung up throughout the dam, outlining a network of wooden beams that stretched from wall to wall like the ribs of some enormous beast. It felt strange to be standing there, with a dozen flights of stairs still below them and the body of the dam curving away; the impression was one of great space. At the same time, the front and back walls were only twenty feet apart, so everything seemed narrow and compressed. Emma gripped the railing to steady herself.

“Weird how it’s all hollow, huh?”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“What’s that noise?” Emma asked.

An eerie, unmoored groaning rose and fell all around them.

“The pressure of the water causes the wood to rub against itself.”

Emma tried to picture the water massing against the curved face of the dam. It seemed to her she was in the belly of a giant wooden whale.

“There.”

She looked to where Gabriel was pointing. Far below, through the dim orange haze, she could make out a handful of green lights, spaced across the front of the dam.

“Gas mines. We have little time. When the light goes red, they will explode.”

Questions sprang to Emma’s mind: Exactly how long did they have? How did you turn a gas mine off? What was a gas mine? Before she could ask any of them, Gabriel shoved her to the floor and something flew past with a terrifying shriek.

Gabriel was on his feet instantly, whipping off his bow. Still flat on her stomach, Emma craned her neck upward. A dark shape was weaving between the beams of the dam, circling back in their direction. She watched as Gabriel’s arrow ricocheted harmlessly off the creature’s hide. Two more arrows fared no better, and the creature landed vulture-like on a crossbeam a few yards above.

Nothing Emma had encountered, not the Countess’s Screechers, not the sightless, shadow-dwelling
salmac-tar
, nothing had prepared her for this. The thing had the body of a man—the same arms, legs, shoulders—but Emma’s first thought was of an enormous bat. It had leathery wings, long talons that gripped the wood, and a gray-black hide bristling with dark hairs. Its skull was oddly narrow, with eyes that were little more than black slits, and its lower jaw jutted out horribly, displaying dozens of needle-like teeth. Emma could almost feel them tearing through her flesh.

Gabriel dropped his bow as he lifted Emma to her feet.

“What … what is it?”

Gabriel unsheathed his falchion. The creature was watching them, hissing. “It is what the witch was keeping on the boat. I thought I sensed it in the woods.” He turned Emma so that she met his eyes. “You must defuse the mines. Everything depends on you. You understand?”

“What about—”

“Do not worry about me. And whatever happens, do not look up. Go!”

He gave her a shove toward the stairs. She paused to look back and saw the creature rise up, its wings spreading wide, jaws gaping, all those teeth gleaming in the darkness. She saw Gabriel raise his falchion.

Then she ran, the creature’s shriek following her down the stairs.

Michael and the old wizard were skimming across the lake toward the Countess’s boat. They’d found their own boat (“dinghy” was the word that occurred to Michael) abandoned on the shore.

“Ah, Providence!” Dr. Pym had exclaimed.

The boat’s oars proved unnecessary; Dr. Pym had merely whispered a few words, and the craft shot off, skipping over the surface of the water.

“But won’t they see us coming?” Michael was gripping the sides for support.

“Not to worry,” the wizard called back, the wind whipping away his words, “to the unfriendly eye, we will appear as no more than a patch of mist. Quiet now. We draw close.”

Their boat began to slow, and Michael could discern a pair of dark figures on the deck of the Countess’s ship. Dr. Pym said something under his breath, and to Michael’s surprise, the two black-clad forms suddenly grasped the railing and leapt into the water. He waited for them to emerge, but after a few moments the water settled and he knew they were gone.

Dr. Pym was tying their boat to a ladder bolted down the side of the ship.

“Quickly, my boy. The noise may bring others.”

Their feet were scarcely on the deck when Michael heard pounding boot heels and four
morum cadi
charged out of the darkness, two from either side. Dr. Pym took Michael’s arm and whispered, “Don’t move,” and the creatures were pulling their swords, close enough now that Michael could see the unearthly pallor of their skin, and he braced himself as blades flashed all around him, the clanging crashing against his ears, and just as Michael realized the Screechers were fighting each other and paying not the slightest attention to either him or Dr. Pym, all four fell, smoking and lifeless, to the deck.

He gaped at the wizard. “How did you do that?”

“Confusion and misdirection. The mainstay of any parlor magician. Come along now.” And he strode off down the deck.

They met two more of the Countess’s guards; the first they nearly collided with while rounding a corner. Before it could attack, Dr. Pym waved his hand, and the creature dropped its sword, sat down, and proceeded to stare off into space.

“Much better,” Dr. Pym said. “This way, I believe.”

He led Michael through a doorway and down two flights of narrow metal stairs to a hallway deep inside the ship where a single
morum cadi
stood guard over half a dozen doors. Dr. Pym muttered something inaudible, and the Screecher lowered his sword and his face broke into what Michael considered a fairly gruesome grin. Dr. Pym reached out and touched the creature’s lips.

The thing that used to be a man swallowed twice, flexed its jaw, and spoke.

“How can I help you, sir?”

The voice was stiff and croaking, as if it had not been used in a hundred years.

“How many of you are there on the boat?”

“Ten.”

“So there’s one more. No doubt on the bridge. And the Countess is in her cabin with the young lady?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. I take it you have the key to the children’s cells?”

It was then Michael finally heard the scared, muffled voices of the children. They echoed forth from either side of the hall. The children were calling out, crying, banging on the walls with their fists. The banging was so constant and steady he’d been mistaking it for the thrum and whine of the engine.

The creature drew a key out of its ragged tunic.

“I want you to open the doors, lead the children out in an orderly fashion, and help them into this young man’s boat. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Pym turned to Michael. “I’m going to deal with the last of the
morum cadi
. Then I will find your sister. Ferry as many children as you can to the shore. You will have to make a few trips.”

“Okay.”

“I’m very proud of you, my boy.” He gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze. Then, to the guard, “This young man is in charge. Do whatever he says,” and he was gone, disappearing up the metal stairs.

Michael looked up at the mottled green face of the Screecher. He took a deep breath, adjusted the badge Robbie had given him, and tried to sound confident.

“All right, let’s get them out. But stop smiling. It’s creepy.”

“Clare, allow me to introduce Katherine.…”

Even as he said their names, the wizard’s eyes were traveling between Kate’s face and her mother’s. She could see him making the connection, realizing who she was.

“… Katherine, this is Clare.…”

It seemed to Kate that time had slowed. It wasn’t magic. It was the fact of standing here as the wizard introduced her to her own mother.

Her mother was smiling now and saying something, but Kate could make no sense of the words.

Her mother put out her hand.

Kate looked down. Her own hand was stained with dirt and grime, and there was dried blood from where she’d cut herself on a rock. She suddenly realized how she must look; after all, she had not changed clothes in days, she’d run through a rainstorm, slept in a dungeon, swum across an underground channel, had a floor-rolling, ear-biting wrestling match with the Secretary; she felt the dirt and grease in her hair, the rips in her clothes, the fatigue that was no doubt showing in her eyes; she understood that her mother’s smile was one of pity for the poor creature before her.

“My hand’s dirty.”

“Oh please.” She clasped Kate’s filthy hand in both of hers. “It’s so nice to meet you, Katherine. You look as if you’ve had a very long journey. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I could heat up some hot chocolate. And ‘Katherine’ is so formal. Do you think I could call you Kate?”