by Kate Elliott
“Out,” said Chryse. “Out of this place.”
“Oh,” said the child, as if this possibility had never occurred to it. “Out!” It glanced up, awe-struck, at the blonde woman. Dark eyes examined Chryse as if she were a saint made flesh. “Out! Hear that, Pin!” The snout-faced child stirred in Chryse’s arms with a weak reply that sounded more like a squeak than words. “Bless Her lady.” The child pointed to the middle door. “Then we wants that way.”
Kate breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Good girl,” she said as the youth started forward to open the designated door.
“Boy,” retorted the child. “I’m a boy. Name’s Mog. Pin here’s a girl, though.”
“Come on,” hissed the youth, impatient.
They entered a vast storeroom. Piles of rough fabric lay heaped in long rows that stretched out to the ends of the room. The tones of the bell, still insistent, clamored around them; otherwise the place was silent.
“You’re our scout, Mog,” said Kate. She still held the two torches. “Get us out of here.”
He skipped on ahead of them. Chryse attempted a jog behind him, but the two children, however thin, weighed more and more heavily in her arms. The youth panted along beside her, Kate in the rear.
Mog led them into a second storeroom, this one lined with row upon row of mattresses, each neatly stacked atop the next. “Along here.” He pointed to a row of double doors at the far end, clearly enjoying himself.
They had not reached the doors when the sounds of many people in pursuit burst into the room behind them. The bell’s loud ringing tolled above, accompanying the cries and a low, rushing sound that grew louder as they neared the end of the room.
“Damn,” swore Kate as two people rounded a corner of mattresses and, spying them, began to shout for reinforcements. She looked abruptly at the torches in her hands and stopped.
“Kate!” Chryse and the others had reached the first set of double doors and Chryse set down the now-struggling Pin to help Mog and the youth tug one open. Kate had moved away from them, back toward the pursuers, but she halted by the closest stack of mattresses and thrust the torches into it. One faded, smoldering, but the flames of the second began to lick at the coarse fabric.
A party of some ten people appeared, running towards them.
“Kate!”
Now Kate responded to Chryse’s cry, turning to dash for the doors.
“Lady!” she gasped as she came into the space.
They stood on a long wooden platform that sided a small canal. Water rippled alongside, jostling boats. At one end a waterwheel pushed around and around, drowning out the noise of alarm behind. At the other:
Light, and a door open to the outside; the stream burbled out beside it through a great culvert in one wall.
“Run!” cried Kate.
They ran. Kate paused to grab a pair of long poles with boathooks attached to the ends, but caught up easily with the others. Chryse waved the youth through the outside door first, followed him, herding the two conscious children before her. But Kate, coming up behind, collided with her as she pulled up short. The youth cried out in fear and surprise.
“’Cor,” said Mog, more resigned than afraid. “We’re in for it now.”
About a dozen sour-faced persons, armed with thick staffs and knobbly cudgels, advanced slowly towards them on their left, along the fence perimeter.
“Hell,” Kate muttered under her breath, the more vehement for its softness.
“No, wait!” cried Chryse. “They’re not going for us. Look!”
“’Cor,” said the imperturbable Mog. “Nobs.”
“Sanjay!” Chryse yelled. She waved one hand wildly.
“Bless that woman,” said Kate, and she too began to shout. “Julian! Julian, you deaf idiot, look over here.”
And he did. He and Sanjay and Thomas Southern stood just inside the fence some ways down and to their right. Julian had a pistol and Southern a shovel. Sanjay was unarmed. The factory party on the left hesitated, unsure now of what action to take. The three men quickly ran toward the factory, avoiding the larger group. “Thank God,” said Chryse as Sanjay stopped beside her. “Don’t ask. We’ve got to get these kids out of here.”
“Now see here.” Julian’s voice was loud and commanding. “You had better get the owner here before you attempt anything violent. I am Lord Vole, and I assure you I will have you prosecuted—”
“Not bloody likely if you’re bloody well dead,” growled one of the burly men. He lifted his cudgel in a hairy hand. “We’ve our orders, from the top—beating first, talk later—if there’s any left.”
Julian shot him. The crack of the report shattered through the air, and with a cry the man fell, writhing, to the ground.
“Kate,” added Julian companionably, keeping his pistol raised as he drew a new slug and a small powder flask from the pocket of his spotless jacket. “What have you gotten into this time? I suggest we all retreat inside.”
“Julian,” began Kate.
“The boats,” said Chryse.
Thomas Southern picked up Pin, balancing the shovel in his other hand.
“Boats?” asked Julian, pressing the others back through the door onto the dock.
“Of course.” Kate caught Sanjay’s eye. “Here.” She handed him a boathook. “You’ll need it. Pursuit behind as well.”
They turned to see a smaller party gathered at the far end of the docks.
“Good.” Sanjay scanned the boats that lay tied up along one side of the wooden platform. “They think they’ve cornered us. Get the children in one of the boats.”
They backed up until they stood at the edge of the dock. Both parties facing them now hesitated, as if waiting for some signal or some one.
“Get them in.” Sanjay held the boathook like a pike, the hooked end out in front of him. Julian had reloaded his pistol and stood now beside Kate. Thomas Southern put Pin down and balanced the shovel in both hands. Chryse set down the child she held and climbed into the largest boat, reaching back to receive the child the youth held.
In her arms, this child lay completely inert, as limp as cloth. She caught her breath, seeing no breath at all, but she laid it down gently in the bottom of the boat and stood up to take the second child, this one stirring slightly. Mog and Pin, both tiring now, Pin trembling, she helped into the boat as well. She looked up to see the smaller of the two factory parties closing in.
From the next boat, moored beside the one they now occupied, she grabbed the oars and thrust one into the hands of the youth.
Julian fired. The shot hit a woman in front, who staggered and cried out, but the others hesitated only a moment before they rushed in.
Sanjay thrust the first one right in the abdomen, the hard metal curve of the boathook knocking the man’s breath out. He bent double, gasping. Kate’s aim was not as good, and now she grappled, the pole held like a quarterstaff in front of her, with one of the others. Thomas Southern lay about himself with the shovel, holding off three while Julian struggled to reload his pistol. The youth waited, uncertain, grasping the oar in one hand. More of the factory people closed in.
“Get in the boat,” yelled Chryse, clambering out and shoving the lad into the vessel. He tripped, dropping the oar on the dock, and stumbled in beside the children.
“’Cor,” piped young Mog, eyeing this disturbance with great interest. “Just wait ’til the guvnor gets here.”
Sanjay snaked his pole between Kate and her adversary and with a strong tug hooked the man and jerked him off his feet. The man screamed. Blood seeped from his shirt where the hook had sunk in.
“Sanjay!” cried Chryse. She swung her oar at the woman advancing on her husband. He battled the man on the floor, trying to dislodge the hook. The oar felled the woman with a blow to her head, but another followed behind her. Sanjay got his hook loose and struck at her companion.
Kate had turned slightly to join Southern as he fended off his attackers. Julian, as he finished reloading, pi
cked up the fallen oar and aimed his pistol.
A roar, huge and penetrating, shook the melee to a brief halt, like an instant’s freeze into a tableau.
“Bloody hell,” swore Julian, looking beyond Kate and Thomas to the figure approaching them from the double doors.
“Told you,” said Mog, undisturbed by the fact that no one but a shivering Pin was paying him any mind.
The youth went dead pale and began to untie the boat with trembling hands, getting the rope tangled with those of the next boat. “Help me!” he cried, and Mog quickly went to aid him.
“Get in the damn boat!” shouted Julian.
The factory people began to back away.
“Dear Lady,” breathed Thomas Southern.
Chryse and Sanjay turned. Chryse gasped.
“Get in the boat,” hissed Julian, grabbing Southern’s arm and pushing him towards the vessel. It was completely untied now, and a thin line of water grew between it and the dock. “Kate!”
The largest person Chryse had ever seen was striding towards them, mouth open. A roar so loud it seemed to shake the floor itself burst out of—him? A shock of unruly hair, coarse and thick as rope, crowned the head of a creature fully one meter taller than herself. Its face seemed horribly scarred, until she realized that that was its natural visage. It used one huge hand, tipped with yellow nails as sharp as claws, to shove aside those workmen who impeded its path.
“Good Lord,” she gasped. “I thought what Mog said was just a figure of speech.”
“Chryse!” Kate’s voice.
Chryse turned her head. Kate was in the boat, children huddled at her feet. Julian straddled, one foot in, one out, barely able to hold the boat, which was rocking unsteadily with the waves, against the dock.
The ogre roared. Behind him he dragged a burning mattress. Like a discus, he flung it at the boat, but Sanjay struck at the bulk as it passed above him and it struck the edge of the next boat instead, setting up a heavy wash of water. Julian tumbled backwards, and their boat separated from the dock and drifted off into the current.
“Chryse!” Kate tossed her boathook towards the dock. Chryse dropped her oar and caught it, turning.
Sanjay, pole out, was facing down the ogre.
“Get in the boat, Chryse,” he said, retreating step by slow step.
The ogre charged. A shot, wild, from Julian’s pistol.
Sanjay sidestepped and swept at the creature’s face with the hook, scoring a cut down the side of its cheek. It roared, stumbled, and turned ponderously around.
“Behind you!” cried Chryse, and parried a blow meant for Sanjay’s head. She thrust at the man wielding the weapon, missed, but forced him two steps back.
“A second boat’s loose,” Kate shouted, and then the first boat was swept out beyond the wall by the current. About ten of the factory hands ran outside, following.
“Straight back,” Chryse called to Sanjay, seeing now the boat that had drifted loose from its mooring.
The ogre charged. Sanjay sidestepped again, but his sweep, grazing the ogre’s side, caught in the tough hide, and the creature grabbed the pole. They grappled. Sanjay was lifted off his feet entirely; he hung, dangling, in the air. Chryse chopped her boathook repeatedly into the side of the ogre’s head, but it seemed to have no effect on him at all.
Then Sanjay kicked, twisted, and was free. The pole snapped, and the ogre flung it at him, striking his shoulder.
“The boat!” yelled Sanjay, one hand holding his injured shoulder.
Chryse jumped into the vessel and began to push it away from the dock. The ogre, face contorted with rage, roared again and stamped. The entire dock shuddered, as if an earthquake shook it. Sanjay fell backward into the water. He flung out his arms and grabbed the edge of the boat just as the current caught it.
The ogre, with a deep growl, leaped into the water after them, but the wash created by his mass picked up the boat and, with Sanjay clinging desperately to the wood, pushed it speedily out the culvert. They were far past the factory wall by the time Sanjay had, with Chryse’s help, dragged himself on board.
On the bank about twenty people ran, pointing and gesturing. The ogre appeared in the doorway. Water pooled off him. Ahead, the stream widened and branched into two channels. The first boat was already in the left hand channel.
“Sanjay,” said Chryse softly as the current pulled them to the right. “We haven’t got any oars.”
Chapter 12:
The Master Of Waters
JULIAN AND KATE WAVED at them, but there was nothing they could do. The current dragged them on, and the boat began to turn around in the water, like a sluggish top.
Already they had lost sight of the other channel. The factory receded until only its smokestacks, fumes a mere trickle now, were visible. The current grew stronger, pulling them inexorably towards some unseen goal. The boat steadied finally into a slow turning pattern, and Chryse moved to kneel beside Sanjay.
“Are you hurt?” She kissed him and reached to touch with tender solicitude his shoulder.
He winced. “Just a bruise. What was that thing?”
“I think it was an ogre.”
Sanjay could not reply for a moment. On the banks, woods and fields and pastures dotted with sheep drifted past them. “I had to ask,” he said finally. He eyed the water and the bank. “I told you we should have taken up canoeing.”
“Can we reach those trees with the boathook?” she asked. She balanced herself carefully at one side, but although it was only a small river, about thirty feet wide, the current carried them along briskly just out of pole’s reach of the shore.
“We might as well drift awhile before we swim for it, get away from the factory.” He leaned forward and embraced her. They stayed for a bit in this reassuring position.
“Chryse,” he said at last, into her ear. “Why were you in there? Where did those children come from? Julian and I were in the stables, and Maretha had found Southern in the inn—and she said—” He pulled a little away from her. “I’m very confused.”
“So am I,” said Chryse, “but I’ll attempt to explain.” She did so, recounting the events that had led them there. The boat rocked and turned like a slowly spinning cradle. “It’s hard to believe what Kate said, using the Gates like that,” she finished. “That dealing out that constant circle allowed the factory to actually run on those children’s life force. Like draining their souls for energy.”
“It’s one of the things they say the earl does, to get his power. I don’t know.”
She sighed and hugged him tightly against her. “I’m just glad Maretha found you. Where is she?”
He gave her a weak smile. “She went to find the weapon of last resort.”
“Oh,” said Chryse, and then she giggled. “I’d like to see him face down that creature. I’ll bet he wouldn’t change expression one least bit. I don’t think anything can break his composure.”
“I beg your pardon,” protested Sanjay, “if you feel I wasn’t adequate to the purpose.”
She smiled. “My sweet, you’re always adequate to the purpose.” Kissed him again.
The boat began to turn more quickly, with the rocking more pronounced. Now, in the distance, a low humming grew, sounding like the rush of wind at first, and building in volume and intensity.
They broke apart.
“Chryse—”
“Sanjay—”
They stared at each other. The river rushed them along. The noise grew louder, and, simultaneously, each knew that the other suspected the same thing: rapids.
“Swim for it,” said Sanjay.
The boat jerked, throwing them both to the floorboards, and began to spin wildly. A hard, abrupt curve in the river kept them pressed to the bottom of the vessel, where they clung, attempting at once to gain the edge of the boat and yet to keep their grip on the thwart. The roaring of the river filled the air around them, and as they lifted themselves up, the boat hit the rapids.
They were both flu
ng down again, Chryse hard enough to take her breath away, Sanjay directly on his bruised shoulder. The boat jerked and bucked and tilted high up, first to one side than the other. Water slapped over the side, wetting them.
“We’ll have to ride it out,” cried Sanjay.
Chryse began to nod, stopped. The noise of the rapids surrounded them, spray tipping off from the bow, but a lower, more ominous sound grew underneath the race of surging water. Even as their grips on the struts tightened, the bucking eased, but the vessel continued to pick up speed. They were being drawn as on the end of a string. She pushed herself up.
The world dropped away. It was the briefest of moments, poised on the brink. It seemed an eternity.
She cried out. Sanjay shouted her name. The trees ended around them, only to begin again below—far below.
And they plunged down. The boat was, mercifully, lost almost immediately. Surrounded, immersed, in water, she felt that she fell forever. Spray hissed and hung around her. She tried to twist her body, to absorb the impact of the pool beneath, but when she struck the water at the base of the falls, she blacked out.
Drowning was a strange sensation, like a waking dream. She felt the water close over her, that initial slap fading into a gentle caress. It was like a thing alive, comforting and safe. Some part of her knew that she would drown, that though her mind could function her body could not, like lying in bed in the early morning aware but not yet awake. Some part of her told herself not to take a breath, while another struggled to gasp.
She sank, and hands took her and gentled her as she descended. Not real hands, not Sanjay’s or some other rescuer’s, but fluid, mobile hands, like her brief vision of water when she had accidentally used the Gates to cast Kate into the village pond. She felt, abruptly, no urge to breathe at all, as if by some spell her lungs had refilled with oxygen of their own. The deep boil of the pool’s water seemed to part before her, and she saw the shore approaching, a long, velvet strand of grass.
She slid onto it gently, felt a haze alternately rising and falling before her eyes. She thought she saw a figure, almost translucent, but as perfectly formed as any supernatural youth, standing before her—heard it speak a single word, and descend with fluid grace back into the pool, dissolving into spray along his skin, edged in rainbows. She sank her head onto the soft grass and passed out.