by Evan Fuller
10
Underwater Again
She was the most beautiful girl Timothy had ever seen.
“We all call her Leaf, since she just blew in here from nowhere.” Green shot a glance at the girl, who was sitting on her cot sipping a foul-smelling concoction from the bottom half of an old water bottle. “Mum's the word on where she actually came from, and good luck getting it out of her. If five people have asked, you can bet she's told seven different stories.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Emery said.
The gateman started to say something else, but Timothy was barely listening. He couldn't peel his attention from this strange girl who had come from everywhere and nowhere. Every time her glance met his, Timothy was electrified: never in Manoa had he encountered such a creature. She was undeniably a daughter of the wastes, completely unlike Lydia, but different too than anyone Timothy had met in New Providence. Green's warnings aside, Timothy was positive that meeting her was a blessing equal to the chance of finding a cure for his sickness.
“You'll want to leave as soon as she finishes that,” he heard Green saying to Emery. “It should last long enough for you to get back, but not much longer, and it'd be a damn shame if she passed out halfway through the sewers.”
“Thanks for that,” Emery said, pursing his lips. “I don't guess it's every day you find a superstitious young pureblood to torment.”
Green smiled. “You can't imagine how much fun I'm having. Speaking of which, I suppose you'll get plenty wet going through the sewers, so by the time you get into the city, you should know whether it's safe to bathe with those charms on.”
“Delightful.”
“Also,” Green continued, “this probably won't be much of an issue for you, but if you know anyone who likes magic better than you do, stay away from them for a few days. If somebody casts a spell near near an enchanted trinket, it can react in all sorts of surprising ways.”
“Believe me,” Emery said gravely, “I know.”
“We're as close as we can bring the palace to the entrance. You remember the way to the hole, kid?”
It took Timothy a moment to realize the gateman was talking to him. “Oh. Um, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to remember. I don't know if I'll remember my way through the tunnels, though.”
Green sighed loudly and rummaged through his backpack for another copy of the map, this one drawn on what looked like a scrap of old newspaper. “Try to be more careful with this one, will you?” he said, thrusting it into Timothy's hand. “These things are expensive. Paper doesn't grow on trees, you know.” Timothy decided it would be ill-advised to contradict the man.
The girl who the others called Leaf squinted and swallowed the rest of the fluid in a laborious gulp. “Alright,” Green said, “it's time for you to get outta here. I'm sure I'll see your lovely faces soon.”
The girl climbed shakily to her feet and walked with Emery and Timothy to the front of the bus. The palace guards tensed as the door slid open, always ready for whatever threat may assail them in the night. The constant motion and excitement had kept Timothy alert, but as he hopped from the palace steps to the ground, the dark and quiet reminded him how exhausted he was. “Spirit Above,” he murmured, “I think this is my second time doing this in just over a day. And I told myself the first time that I'd never have to do it again.”
“More and more these days,” Emery said with a distasteful glance downward at his new amulet, “I find myself doing things I swore I never would.”
“So you can get into New Providence through the sewers?” the girl asked. “Why don't more people do it?”
“Two reasons,” Emery said. “First, unless you know exactly where you're going, you're more likely to drown than to get anywhere. And second, Rittenhouse isn't generally friendly to outsiders who come crawling up through the pipes. I can't think of a single good outcome for the unlucky soul who emerged soaking wet in the middle of Walnut Street. We have the advantage of knowing the one path that ends in my backyard.” He extended a hand to the girl. “I didn't have the chance to formally introduce myself in the palace. Emery Scott Esposti; it's a pleasure.”
Somewhat bewildered, the girl took Emery's hand. “You can call me Leaf,” she said.
“Yes I can, but I don't think I will,” Emery said. “I realize that people don't give their real names out as freely here as they do in Rittenhouse, but I'm placing a good deal of trust in you by taking you into my home. In return, I ask that everyone who comes to stay with me gives me a name, not just an alias.”
Timothy didn't think the girl had been expecting such a direct approach. “Vera,” she said, glancing away.
“Vera,” Emery echoed. “It's a good name. In my college, we spend a lot of time on linguistics, which is basically the study of the Modern language and how parts of older languages contribute to it. The name 'Vera' comes from a word meaning 'truth.' And you're not telling it.” Emery's eyes looked colder than the night air. “Last chance, miss.”
Timothy was glad that he wasn't the one on the receiving end of Emery's stare, but he wanted nothing less than for a fight to break out between Emery and the beautiful girl. If that happened, would Emery leave her here? Timothy wasn't sure.
The girl whose name was neither Leaf or Vera cleared her throat. “Miren,” she said. “My name is Miren. I'm sorry, I—”
“I understand all the reasons,” Emery said. “It's rough out here. But I have my own reasons for wanting honest answers to my questions. Every time I accept a new guest from outside, it endangers me and everyone in my house if that person isn't honest and doesn't follow the rules. Would you tell Miss Miren the rules, Timothy?”
Timothy swallowed; it was his first chance to address the girl directly. “I'm Timothy,” he said, extending his own hand. “It's nice to meet you.” A thrill ran through his body as Miren's fingers met his. “Um, the rules are…” He strained to remember; it felt like forever ago that Lydia had outlined them for him. “No poppy gum or other drugs, no magic, stay out of the front yard, and you can't use the top floor.”
He breathed a silent sigh of relief that he hadn't embarrassed himself in front of Miren or disappointed Emery. “You're allowed anywhere else inside the house,” he said, trying to sound welcoming.
Emery wasn't done pushing. “Will any of those be a problem, Miss Miren?”
Miren looked at her feet. “No.”
“I have your word?”
She looked up, but at Timothy, trying to avoid the chill of Emery's gaze. “I promise.”
“Good,” Emery said. “This is normally the point where I show you around the house, but this is my first time meeting a new resident out here. When we get to the estate, there'll be a warm meal and a bed waiting for you.” He motioned for them to resume walking. “I just hope that elixir Green gave you will keep you on your feet long enough.”
Miren looked slightly put off by Emery's stern introduction. “You don't like magic,” she said, “but you seem fine with the gateman giving that drink to me.”
“In my house,” Emery told her. “Out here, I go with whatever the king says. Inside, it's different circumstances and different rules.” Miren nodded, seemingly content with the answer, or perhaps just choosing not to argue.
The walk from the palace to the tunnel entrance was much shorter than it had been on Timothy's previous trip; the palace must have been closer this time when they exited. Tonight, they could see the tunnel after only ten minutes.
“Here it is,” Timothy said, motioning toward the circle of black before them. He had thought he'd be able to play brave to impress Miren, but as he edged toward the tunnel, he felt his knees beginning to tremble. He remembered the rush of rancid water that had charged suddenly down the chamber and immersed him, felt the stabbing pain as his lungs were flooded. He had made it to safety, but almost at the cost of his life: had Lydia and the others not found him when they did, Timothy was sure he would never have emerged from the drainpipe. And though he w
as trying to put on a good show, Timothy was weaker by the day: the illness they had set out to cure was eating a little more of him every hour, and with every passing hour he was more aware that his sores were festering with infection from the sewer water. The medicine Lydia had given him at Emery's instruction had helped, but it did little to restore the strength Timothy had already lost. The pain was omnipresent now.
“Flashlights,” Emery said. “Timothy, you have the sewer map?”
Timothy fished his light and the scrap of paper from warm pockets. “Emery,” he said. “I'm sorry, I should have thought ahead. This is going to ruin your good coat.”
Emery laughed. “We didn't take anything on this trip that I really intended to keep in one piece, besides ourselves. If it keeps you from freezing to death in there, it's served a bigger purpose than it ever did before today.”
“I don't have a flashlight,” Miren interjected.
“There won't be any other light in there,” Emery said, “so stay close to one of us no matter what.” Timothy hoped it would be him, and his wish was fulfilled when Miren took his arm. He supposed Emery had intimidated the girl.
They waded delicately through the ankle-deep refuse that surrounded the tunnel's entrance and stepped into blackness. Timothy gagged as the too-familiar odor assailed his nostrils. “It's funny,” Emery said. “Some people inside will spend fifty rai on a single dish, yet either way it ends up here.”
Timothy found himself too weary to converse as they journeyed through the bowels of Rittenhouse, but nevertheless, he was immensely grateful for the company this time. He knew the eyes behind Emery's roving flashlight beam were more vigilant than his own. Emery jumped every time they rounded a corner or heard some unfamiliar sound; in response to Miren's questioning glance, Timothy explained, “He's a little bit crazy.”
“Thanks for that,” Emery said dryly. “From now on, I'll be sure to tell you everything.”
Timothy's feet were soon numb from the water that ran over his boots, but the warmth of the body beside him distracted him from his discomfort. Whenever he felt Miren shiver, he smiled and pulled her closer. The rational part of Timothy's mind told him that a creature this magnificent—and years older than him, besides—would be unlikely to return the adoration he felt for her, but this was almost beside the point. Miren was radiant, and Timothy felt fulfilled just being in her presence. He smiled at the feeling of her hand on his arm, and something in him was sure that Miren too was smiling.
Time was lost in the labyrinthine sewer system. Timothy was not sure how many hours had passed when he handed the map to Emery, who reported, “We're more than halfway there. It should be another hour and a half a most—”
And then Miren staggered, reached for Timothy's arm, pulled him off balance. Timothy plummeted, falling face-first into the water. The impact and the cold stunned him; for a moment, all he could think that he was underwater again, just like last time. He took a panicked breath before he could stop himself, and the freezing water surged into his body. The filthy cold stung the open sores on his chest and stomach and legs.
He felt something pulling him up by the collar of his coat: it was a moment before he realized it was Emery, crouched in the water, holding Miren by the waist in his other arm. “Are you okay?” he shouted.
Timothy coughed, sputtered, and managed a feeble nod.
“The elixir gave out,” Emery said. “She's unconscious.”
Timothy shook himself from his stupor and was by the girl's side in an instant. “Is she going to be alright?”
“I don't think she's hurt,” Emery responded. “Not severely, at least. But we're going to have to carry her out of here. Damn, and this whole holiday was going so smoothly.”
Timothy struggled to recall any part of their journey that had gone smoothly. He knelt next to Emery and inspected Miren, who was, as Emery had reported, mostly unscathed.
“I'm soaked,” Timothy said. “Miren too. We're going to freeze if we're down here for too long.”
“I know.” Emery looked at his own clothes, which had also been covered in sewage. He motioned at the jacket he had inherited from Green. “I think I ruined my lovely new coat.”
For some reason, perhaps because it was a momentary distraction from what had just happened, Timothy found this rather funny. Emery looked relieved to see him laugh.
“Alright,” Emery said. “This isn't going to be easy, but we can do it.” His voice quivered a bit, detracting from his tone of command. The beam of his flashlight traced the walls of the tunnel slowly, scanning. “All we need is—” he abruptly fell silent. “Oh, no.” He reached down into water, frantically feeling for something he did not find. “No, no, no.”
His sudden fear was contagious. “What is it?” Timothy asked softly.
“When I reached to catch both of you, I dropped the map.”