by Darren Shan
“They must be in the teeth,” I mutter, running a finger over them, searching for hidden mechanisms. When I don’t find any, I thoroughly test each tooth. That yields no results, so I push on a few teeth at the same time, thinking that maybe they need to be pressed in a certain order, but I get nowhere.
Running out of options, I stroke a finger across the rough, stippled surface of the tongue, but that doesn’t seem to hold any secrets either.
I push my hand into the mouth, concerned that it might suddenly snap shut, either trapping my hand or biting through my wrist. Thankfully that doesn’t happen, but my fingers meet resistance at the back, where the throat would be if this was a real person’s face. I tap the wall, hoping to find a secret panel, but it’s solid.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, moving back to stare at the open mouth. The lips and tongue continue as they were, pulsing minimally to give shape to the noises that now sound as if they’re spewing forth to mock me.
I like to think I’m a pretty good locksmith, but how am I expected to open a lock that I can’t see?
In the end, after running my fingers around the mouth several more times, tapping the teeth and jabbing at the tongue, I admit defeat and retire for the night, lost and uncertain.
And now the sleepless nights come.
I toss and turn over the course of the following three nights, trying to make sense of this insensible barrier. I’m missing something, but what? I keep returning to the lock, examining the mouth, studying the teeth through a magnifying glass.
Nothing.
I wonder if maybe there’s a hidden layer of locks, in the nostrils or worked into the lines of the woman’s face. I look inside the nose, trace every wrinkle, run my fingers over all the moles, looking for a button that will cause a secret panel to slide open if pressed.
No joy.
I pore over the eyes and ears again, but if there are levels that have yet to be revealed, I can’t find them.
Eventually I need a break from the face, a chance for my brain to reset, so I go watch the gropsters training and report to Baba Jen. She doesn’t mention the room, just dumps a load of bandages on me and barks at one of her assistants to show me what I’ve missed.
I’m walking back to the palace in a dejected haze afterwards, thinking about the lock and wondering what I can try next, when a huge hand clasps my shoulder. I glance up to find Cal beaming down. “Good evening, Archibald,” he says. “I haven’t seen much of you these last few days. Did you get bored watching us train?”
“No,” I smile. “I got sidetracked by a lock.”
Cal nods approvingly. “Work should always come first. Are you done with it?”
“Just taking some time off,” I sigh.
Cal studies me carefully. “Your eyes are bloodshot,” he says. “You look tired.”
“That’s why I’m taking a break.”
He nods again. “Where are you eating tonight?”
“Canadu, I guess.”
Cal shakes his head. “I have a better idea. Come with me.”
He leads me through the forested city to a small restaurant built into one of the trees. It’s busy, and there’s a buzz of hushed conversations. Heads keep swivelling towards the far corner of the room. As Cal guides me around tables, I spot the source of the commotion — Ghita is here, along with Inez and Cindy.
“May we join you, ladies?” Cal asks, stopping beside the table.
Inez squints at us. “No. We’re talking about boys, so it’s girls only.”
Cal almost bolts for the door, until I pat his arm and tell him, “She’s joking. Pull up a seat.”
“How do you know I’m joking?” Inez scowls.
“If you were really talking about boys, you wouldn’t have told us,” I smile.
Cindy laughs. “He’s sharp, for a boy.”
To drive the lock from my thoughts, I focus on what the others are discussing and make that the centre of my world for the next hour or two. The talk is refreshingly light — fashion, grop, the high quality of the food.
“This is one of my favourite restaurants,” Ghita says, tucking into what looks like a fried leg of chicken. “It’s as close as you can get to the taste of Born food.”
“Does the chef devise the food?” Cindy asks.
“No,” Ghita says. “He gets the ingredients at various markets, from devisers who turn mushrooms into foodstuff. He’s just able to do way more with the food in the kitchen than most.”
Cal finishes off a bowl of pasta that could have easily fed four normal people. He runs a finger round the bottom of the bowl, then licks it clean. “This is our third time here since we came back,” Cal says to Ghita. “We shouldn’t come again.”
“I know,” Ghita says, rolling her eyes. “I mustn’t visit the same spots too often, in case my enemies set a trap for me.”
“I doubt they’d attack you in your own kingdom,” Inez says, “but Cal’s right, better safe –”
“– than sorry,” Ghita says bitterly. “The story of my life.” She points at me with a bone. “You don’t know how lucky you are not to be a royal. It’s a pain.”
“You could always walk away from it,” I suggest.
She snorts. “And hand my realm over to the SubMerged? No way. But if I’d known all that I know now when I’d been offered royalty, I’d have made them wait before I accepted.”
I frown. “You have a choice?”
“Of course,” Ghita says. “You have to enter the Merge to be activated. Inheritors are never forced to do that. It always has to be their choice. Even if a realm is down to its last royal, as Diamond is with King Lloyd, we wouldn’t frogmarch a newly discovered inheritor into the Merge if they didn’t want to come.”
“Do many inheritors refuse to be activated?” I ask.
Ghita shakes her head. “It’s very rare. We understand how important we are to the Merge, and the millions of people who live here. Having said that, I wish I’d waited, so that I could have led a normal life for another ten or twenty years, before committing to a life of duty. I loved the idea of being a princess, and couldn’t cross spheres quickly enough, but having lived the life I’ve lived...”
“I wouldn’t be in any rush to sign up for royalty either,” I say softly.
“I’d be in there like a shot,” Cindy laughs.
“It would be the greatest of honours,” Cal says.
“I can’t even imagine wanting to wait,” Inez agrees.
“But you’re Merged,” I remind them. “Try to remember what you were like when you were Born. Would you have been so quick to sign away your freedom then?”
“Royals are free,” Inez says.
“No we’re not,” Ghita says softly.
“You could stay in the Born,” Inez says.
“And leave Hugo to wrestle with Pitina and Farkas all by himself?” Ghita shakes her head again. “I’m not complaining. I’m just saying, given the choice today, I’d choose to be activated much later in life.”
Inez scratches her head as she thinks about that. Another dish is delivered by a waiter who can’t stop smiling as he sets it before his princess. She nods politely at him, and it’s as if he’s been tipped a thousand pounds.
“I’m trying to see your side of things,” Inez says as we dig in, “but our brains change when we’re delivered to the Merge. I don’t remember the old me exactly, so I can’t say if that person would have been keen to accept the burden.” She wrinkles her nose. “But I can see that it is a burden, so I guess...”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says. That slight crease of her nose set my brain whirring. It reminded me of the first time I saw her, on the bridge in London, pulling faces to open a borehole and escape from Orlan and Argate.
There are all sorts of keys for locks in the Merge. Most are physical, but others are just gestures or words. I’ve known that for a long time, but something new just struck me. If a facial tic or whistle can be a key in this sphere, maybe...
&nbs
p; “...it can also be a lock,” I mutter, stumbling to my feet and weaving.
“Archie?” Inez asks, staring at me with concern.
“I have to go,” I gasp.
“But we haven’t had dessert,” Ghita says. “And I was thinking maybe you and I could go for a walk afterwards. I promised to show you round the city if I had time, and I do tonight, so, if you want...”
“I can’t,” I say, barely clocking her disappointed look.
“Is everything alright, Archibald?” Cal asks.
“I think so,” I pant. “Maybe better than alright. I... I’ll explain later.”
Without another word, I make my way out of the restaurant and hurry off towards Canadu, sprinting most of the way, impatient to test my new theory.
I’m excited when I reach the room with the panels. Without knowing quite what I’m going to do, I sense that I’m close to making a breakthrough, as I did when I shifted my focus from the eyes to the ears in London. My mistake was in looking for a normal set-up, when I should have been looking for the abnormal.
I settle down in front of the face and listen to the noises buzzing from its mouth, low and nonsensical. Except... are they nonsense, or is there a pattern?
I hadn’t paid much attention to the noises before, but now I focus on them, sitting in front of the panel, legs crossed, hands on my knees, eyes closed. For a long time I can’t make any sense of the jumble, but I don’t give up. If I’m right, this is a new type of lock (well, new to me) and I can’t expect to crack its secrets in a matter of minutes.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, listening, but eventually I start to pick up on little things. Certain words and sounds are repeated at specific intervals. Most are there just to confuse the listener, but underneath... hidden beneath the chaos...
There’s a code.
I open my eyes and smile. I’m used to working with pins, levers and tumblers, but there’s no reason why a lock in the Merge should depend on physical parts. If a key can be a sound, then elements inside a lock can be sounds too.
That understanding has brought me a long way to unpicking the mystery of this lock, but I’ve only solved half the problem. Knowing that the noises are parts I have to pick is one thing. Knowing how to pick them is something else entirely.
Or is it?
I stop thinking about how to pick the lock and just look for a pattern in the noises, trying to figure out how they connect. A fuzzy map begins to form inside my head, as I realise that a certain word is linked to a specific sound, and both are tied to others in a complicated web. As the map slowly clarifies, I start to see what parts need to be moved if the lock is to open. Words must be slid back, the way pins can be slid in a regular lock. Sounds need to be twisted like tumblers. Everything must align.
As for how to manipulate the noises... That answer comes to me as the map grows. I don’t even need to think about it. It’s just there, and I find myself humming, making little sounds at the back of my throat, twitching my lips in preparation.
When I’m ready, I lean closer, as if I’m going to kiss the face, and whistle sharply. It’s at a point when a word that sounds like fribbitib is about to be repeated. The word is part of the underlying loop, and comes at set times. But now, in response to my whistle, there’s a change, and a low noise, similar to the purr of a cat, spills out of it instead.
I open my eyes and smile. “Got you,” I whisper.
Then I relax back into the rhythm, confirm my place in the order, and make a clicking sound when I feel it’s appropriate. In response, a scheduled snort becomes a quiet sigh.
It continues in that fashion, me grunting, squeaking and mumbling into the mouth. If anyone chanced across me, they’d think I was going mad, but I’m in control here, shaping the sounds of the lock into a form of my choosing, dancing with the noises in a way that I instinctively know only a very few locksmiths ever could.
My throat’s aching and my mouth’s dry, but I don’t stop. I need to keep going. If I quit, the lock will reset, and while I could get back to this point, I’d have to go through everything again. I can normally take shortcuts with a lock when I return to it, but I sense that isn’t the case with this one.
More hours pass. I’m almost hoarse. Sweat’s pouring down my forehead, stinging my eyes even though they’re closed. I’m suffering with pins and needles, and my back’s in agony, but I don’t dare pause.
At one point someone hammers on the door and I hear Dragoslav calling, “Archie? Are you OK in there? Do I need to go get Ena?”
“I’m fine,” I croak, realising it must be morning. I’ve worked on the lock all through the night.
“Archie?” Dragoslav calls again.
“I’m fine!” I shout, and this time he hears my response and leaves me be, and the dance continues.
Finally, when I feel like I’m going to have to quit and try again another time, I make a small croaking noise, and instead of the word tangle coming out of the mouth, there’s a swishing sound.
Then silence.
I frown, waiting for the babbling to restart. When nothing happens, I open my eyes, then stand, groaning and rubbing the small of my back. I roll my arms and shake my legs, rotate my head left and right a few times, then fall still and stare at the panel.
It was a solid object, like a pane of glass, when I started work on it, and a maroon colour, but now it’s a floating patch of pale white light, and the face has disappeared. The lock’s been picked. The borehole’s open. All that’s left now is to find out what’s on the other side.
FIVE — THE HEADS
16
First things first. It’s early afternoon when I emerge from the room of panels. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open, so I head for bed and sleep for ages, dead to the world until the following morning.
I grab something to eat when I wake, and tell Havel when he comes to check on me that they don’t need to do that any longer. Then I go looking for Inez. I could nip through the borehole by myself, but I have no idea what lies on the other side, so it would be foolish to cross without saying anything to anyone. And there’s another reason why I want to tell her about it.
Inez is with Hugo, in his grop-playing Logu guise. He hasn’t reported for training yet. They’re in the room that he’s sharing with three other gropsters. His teammates aren’t present, so Hugo’s running through some of the kidnapping plans with Inez.
They pause when the door opens, but when they see it’s me, they carry on talking. I take a seat on the bed and wait for them to finish. I still find it weird to think that this Indian-looking gentleman is Hugo. He doesn’t even sound like the biker.
When they wrap up their plotting, Inez turns to me with a smile. “Everything OK, Archie? You left the restaurant the other night as if your tail was on fire.”
“What’s that?” Hugo asks, and she tells him how I rushed off.
“Sounds like he was in a hurry to meet a girl,” Hugo grins.
“Maybe it was Ghita,” Inez smirks. “Archie’s sweet on her.”
“No I’m not,” I bleat, cheeks reddening. “Besides, she was with you.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Inez says. “So what was so important that you couldn’t stay for dessert? Did you have to practise tying bandages for Baba Jen?”
“No,” I growl. “I haven’t been to lessons for a while. I’ve been hard at work on something else.”
I tell them about the room of panels, and the face that looked the same as the one in Seven Dials. I don’t cover everything that was involved in opening the lock, just say it was extremely difficult. They listen politely but without too much interest.
“Where do you think it leads?” Inez asks when I stop.
“I don’t know,” I sigh.
“Why didn’t you check?” Hugo asks.
“There’s something different about this lock,” I mutter. “I became obsessed with it the moment I saw it. Winston helped me work on it, taught me things that would allow me to maybe tease it open.�
��
“Why didn’t he just show you?” Hugo asks.
I shrug. “He didn’t know how to open it.”
“Nonsense,” Inez snorts.
I shrug again. “I’m only telling you what he said.”
Inez and Hugo share a look. I’ve finally tweaked their curiosity.
“You’re telling us you opened a lock that Winston couldn’t?” Hugo asks. When I nod, he turns to Inez. “Winston’s one of the best locksmiths, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she says. “Other Loxes talk about him with awe.”
“I remember when the royals of Sapphire hired him to help block the vines,” Hugo says. “I never met him – I’d only recently come to the Merge, and all I wanted was to play grop – but I recall them saying he was a genius.”
“He is,” I say proudly.
“But not as skilled as you, if what you’re saying is true,” Hugo says softly.
I shake my head. “It’s just that some locks only open for certain people.”
“Winston never said anything about where the borehole leads?” Hugo asks.
“No.” I think back. “I’m not even sure he knew. He was familiar with that type of lock, but he never said anything else about it.”
“Have you come to us because you’re scared?” Inez asks.
“No,” I snort. “I just didn’t want to run any risks so close to the Tourney, in case I stepped through and couldn’t get back. Also...” I pause.
“What?” Inez presses.
“This could be something special,” I whisper. “After everything you showed me the first time I came to the Merge, I wanted to share it with you.”
Inez blinks. “Archie,” she murmurs. “You’re full of surprises.”
“No I’m not,” I grin, “but the borehole might be. Want to come check it out?”
“How could I refuse?” she laughs.
“What about me?” Hugo asks. “Can I come too, or is this a date thing?”
“Don’t be crass,” Inez growls, punching his arm.