The Iron Bells

by Jeanette Battista

Chapter Nine

  Dham takes off almost as soon as we got back to the main warren. I make sure that Cat and her handlers are squared away before making myself scarce. There's something about her that makes me edgy, like I have toothache that won't go away. Instead, I decide to find out where Dham disappeared to.

  His foray into the tunnels did not go well, that much is obvious. I want to ask him what happened with his bells; I've only had occasion to see him ring once before—when he first saved my hide—and the sound of the bells had worked. But today they did practically nothing. I don't know if that's normal, but it doesn't bode well for his trip to the Gate.

  The Gate. As I walk down the streets in the early afternoon sunshine, I think about the slip that Dham made. Ryland hasn't mentioned this discovery to me at all. It's odd. I don't expect to be invited to go on the mission; there are far more capable people than me to go with Dham and the others, but I do find it odd that I am so in the dark about it all. Perhaps it's for safety reasons—the less people that know about it, the less likely it is to be leaked to the Inquisition.

  I climb the steps to Auntie's, still preoccupied with thoughts of gates and bells and secret meetings. And Patrick. I wonder if Ryland will be able to find out anything about him. And I wonder what I'll tell Mrs. Bowen if he doesn't.

  I knock on the door to Dham's room and wait there for several minutes with no answer. I trudge up the stairs to drop off my bag and jacket and throw myself on my bed. I'm not even sure where Dham would go if not back here. He doesn't know London that well, but he's from a big city; he'd be able to find his way around with little problem.

  My stomach grumbles at me. I check the clock and I still have a good while until dinner time, but clearly my stomach is seriously displeased as it raises a ruckus again. I try to ignore the rumbling, but after a few minutes, I give up and go get some tea and a couple of biscuits that Auntie keeps stashed for snacking.

  The front room is already occupied, so I decide to take my tea out in the back garden. I am not feeling up for company—there's too much on mind for me to relax and be pleasant company. I let myself out through the kitchen. Two steps down and I'm in a small oasis of deep green grass and ornamental winter plants. Spring hasn't quite taken hold yet, so the flowers haven't sprouted, but I can see the telltale sign of new growth. The tree in the corner has begun to show green leaves.

  Dham is sitting on the bench beneath the spreading limbs. His head is tilted back, resting against the back of the bench. His eyes are closed and I take a moment to stare at him without him knowing it. His hair is dappled with sunlight, making it turn a dark gold. His face is calm. For once he looks to be truly at peace.

  I sit down on the bottom step and put the napkin with the biscuits up on the next step. I don't want to disturb him, but I don't want to go back inside either. I take a sip of my tea, letting the stillness of the garden wash over me. I can understand why Dham's fallen asleep here—there is something very private and removed about this place. The sounds of the city are muted back here, almost unintelligible. The walls of the garden help block out the noise of city life.

  But what the walls do not block out are any number of the neighborhood cats. A large black and white one winds around my legs, seeking attention. Loudly. Its meow seems to echo off of the brick walls to bounce like a children's ball around the garden. I shush it gently, stroking its head, but that just seems to encourage it. The cat meows again, insistently, putting its paws up on my knee. I check to see if Dham's still sleeping, only to find him looking over at me and smiling.

  "Looks like you made a friend."

  I nod. "A very loud one, apparently."

  Dham waves me over. I watch as he puts his hand down, beckoning to the cat with light snaps of his fingers. It sashays over to him, waving its tail like a plume and I trail in its wake like some kind of crossbred handmaiden. It hops up and settle into Dham's lap. I sit down on the opposite end of the bench and watch as he scratches behind the cat's ears.

  "I've been replaced," I observe after I've gotten settled. The cat is purring contentedly on Dham’s lap, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

  "Nah. It's just because I've got a trout stashed in my pocket." I laugh and his smile grows wider. "What are you doing out here? I thought you preferred the roof?"

  "I do, usually. But today I felt like I wanted someplace green. It seems you did too."

  He doesn't respond to that statement, instead choosing to focus on scratching the cat's chin. I wait, watching his face for a reaction, but he's calm and steady. Finally I say, "Actually, I was looking for you."

  He raises his eyes to my face, the green fringed by heavy dark lashes. "Yeah?"

  Why do boys get the lovely lashes? It’s heartily unfair. I swallow, suddenly very conscious of his eyes on me. So not fair, this effect he has on me and my breathing. "Yes." I force myself to straighten up and act like a sensible human being rather than a moony child. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened back there. In the tunnels."

  His face closes like one of those snap fans children play with. His eyes drop back down to the cat. "What about it?"

  I ignore the sullen tone in his voice. While he might make me a bit weak in the knees, I still need to be practical. "The bells. They didn't work." I try not to sound accusatory.

  He shrugs, but still doesn't look at me. "Sometimes they don't." As if it's no big deal.

  "Dham." I channel my mother's tone—the one that she used when she knew I was lying.

  He ducks his head again. "What?"

  I give him the look that accompanies that tone even though he isn't looking up at me. "Really?"

  He sets the cat down on the grass. I think he's going to get up and leave; instead he turns so his face is in profile. He seems to be looking out at the garden, but I don't know if that's what he's really seeing. "What's going on?" I watch him carefully.

  Dham rubs at his knee absently. "Sometimes the bells fail me."

  I frown. "I don't understand."

  "I don't either. I can't predict when it will happen—it just seems sort of random. Sometimes, when I ring them I can feel the power of them. And other times, it's like nothing I do is right. I know it doesn't make any sense."

  I pick at a rough spot on my cuticle as I try to suss this out. I don't know enough about how the bells work or the differences between the types to be of much help. But this doesn't seem like normal behavior. “Perhaps we can figure it out together,” I say reasonably. “Tell me how the bells are supposed to work.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated look on his face. I add, “Maybe it will help to talk things out a bit. Sometimes that works for me.”

  “Fine,” he huffs out. He won’t look at me as he begins. “So I have to tell you a little bit about the history of bells for you to understand things, okay.”

  I wave my hand at the garden. “I’ve got the whole afternoon free. Enlighten me.”

  Dham takes a deep breath. “Okay. So back in the Middle Ages, the church bells didn’t just call the faithful to prayer. The bells were blessed in a pretty intense ceremony before they were hung in a church. The sound of a blessed bell could put a demon to flight. It was a form of protection.” He paused to take a look at me to see if I was following.

  I nod. “So church bells could be use to banish demons. Got it.” I chew my bottom lip. “No wonder they wiped out all of the churches.”

  Dham absently strokes the cat. “Right. It was for their own protection. Imagine what a giant bell in one of the cathedrals could do. And it wasn’t just the baptism of the bells that made them a powerful force. My father,” here his lips twists as if he’d tasted something awful, “believes that the older a bell, the stronger it can be.”

  “I don’t understand. What has the age of a bell got to do with anything?”

  Dham fidgets. I wonder what happened that makes him so uncomfortable when talking about things relating to his father. “Imagine centuries of belief, of worship, of faith from all
of the people attending a church. Now imagine that bell above them absorbing that same belief, that same faith. The bell drinks it in, soaks in it, and it might gain power from it.”

  I look at him askance. “So bells marinate in belief and then get more powerful? Is that what your father thinks happens?”

  “It’s not a pot roast,” Dham answers sourly.

  “Sorry,” I say, grinning at him. When he manages a weak grin back, I continue. “Has he ever been able to prove this theory?”

  Dham shakes his head. “No. I mean, how could he? Every church that used to have a bell has been demolished.”

  I sit back and think on this bit of news. It makes sense that the demons would eliminate any and all threats to them, and supercharged church bells would certainly qualify as a threat. “What about hand bells? Does the same hold true for them?” And what about Cat’s deid bell? That thing looked monstrously old--perhaps that’s why she had more success with the corpse-reviver demon than Dham.

  “I would think so,” he replies, also leaning back.

  He still isn’t looking at me. I risk my next question. “Does the person ringing have anything to do with it? Like how they feel? Do the bells draw anything from the person holding them?”

  Dham shrugged. “We’re getting into a lot of theory here. There’s no way to prove anything.”

  I try another tack. "Has it always been like this for you? Did you ever run into times when the bells just didn’t work?" I try not to feel weird that I'm talking about bells as if they are alive.

  He shakes his head. "No, that's what's so weird. I don't remember having this problem when I was younger. And my sister Victoria never had anything like this happen to her." His voice takes on a bitter quality.

  "Any ideas what might be causing it?" I keep my voice neutral rather than trying to root around in his familial problems. Those are his and his alone and it sounds like he doesn't want to share. I can appreciate that.

  "I suck?" He bangs his fist on his leg in frustration.

  "Hey now." I wait until he's met my eyes before I continue. "That's not it and you know it." I think for a moment. "Maybe the other Ringer can shed some light." He snorts in disbelief, throwing his head back. I put my hand on his knee. "We'll figure it out."

  Dham goes still beneath my hand. I can feel my face go hot as I realize what I've done. I go to snatch my hand back, but Dham's hand falls on it, holding it in place. My eyes skitter up to his face, my gaze drawn to his like metal to a magnet. He has a lopsided grin on his face as he stares at me. I don't know what to do, but feel like I should do something, say something, but I find that my mouth is dry. I've never been this tongue-tied and easily flustered around a boy before.

  The cat's disgruntled meow blares out at our feet, causing us both to jump. It stares up at us grumpily. I take the chance to pull my hand out from under his and chuckle weakly. "It's not happy about being ignored."

  "I don't know of anyone who is," Dham says, leaning back against the bench again. He's put some distance between us, which I don't know if I'm unhappy or relieved about.

  I haven't forgotten the conversation we were having, but wonder if it's best to let it lie. For now. "So what about the Gate?"

  He picks the cat back up. It settles in between us, furry body soft against my thigh. He won’t meet my eyes. "I swear I thought you knew."

  I shrug, determined not to show how much it bothers me to be excluded. Ryland made the call. He must have had a good reason to keep whatever is going on to himself. "When did you find out?"

  Dham looks at me strangely. "I was told back in New York. I wouldn't have been sent over here otherwise." He pauses, rubbing the cat’s chin. “I only know that they think they may have found THE Gate, and they might need a Ringer to help close it.”

  I hope my surprise isn't evident on my face. That would be even more embarrassing and pathetic. So Dham knew, or at least suspected the mission's goal the whole time. The logical part of me knows that it made sense—asking someone to risk their life is much harder to do if you have absolutely no details to offer them. But that part is having a hard time being heard over the feeling of hurt that fills me. I had really been kept out of the loop. And here I thought that I was an important member of the Resistance—that I was Ryland's go-to person when he needed something done.

  How stupid was I?

  "Amaranth? You okay?"

  I blink, yanking myself out of my bad thoughts. I put on what is probably the fakest smile in the history of fake smiles and nod. "Yes, yes, sure. Just thinking about things."

  The dubious look he throws my way makes me wonder what my smile actually ended up looking like. "Right." He draws the word out for longer than necessary. I know he doesn't believe me.

  I meet his eyes. "Do you know anything else about it? About how they think they can close it?"

  He shakes his head, returning most of his attention to the demanding cat on his lap. "Not much else. We're supposed to get briefings once everyone gets here."

  I narrow my eyes. "Cat's one of them?"

  "I assume so. It makes sense anyway.”

  I chew at my lower lip. So two Ringers in town, plus a host of other unknowns on the way, and all for a possible try at the Gate. I wonder how they came by the knowledge of the Gate’s location; the Resistance had been searching for it for decades. For all the cell leaders to be called in, Ryland would have to be positive about its location. But, as far as I know, we still don’t know how to close it once we get there. Unless that’s changed too. I could just go ask Ryland about it, but already feel too beholden to him for his help with Patrick.

  "Why two Ringers?" I can see the advantage in having a backup, but Ringers are rare; putting multiples in one basket just means an easier set of targets.

  Again the head shake. "Don't worry about it, Amaranth. When we're supposed to know, they'll tell us."

  "Doesn't it bother you?" I stand up and begin to pace. I need to think and movement helps. "I mean, you've been sent across the bloody ocean for a mission you know next to nothing about! Don't you want to know what's going on?" I turn and face him. "How can you be so…" I'm having trouble finding the word. "…casual about it?"

  He stands as well, upsetting the cat who protests loudly at being upended from her comfy perch. "What do you think I should be doing, Amaranth?"

  I flap my hands. "I don't know—anything? Don't you think it's kind of important to find out why?"

  "Of course I do," he says mildly, unperturbed by my outburst.

  "Then why are you acting like this is some kind of vacation?"

  He looks at me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Because I don't know what's going to happen when I get to the Gate--if I get to it." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't even know what's going to happen tomorrow." He looks around the garden. "So I might as well enjoy today."

  I stand there, gaping at him. He tugs at my hand and pulls me back down on the bench. He says, "How about you enjoy it with me? Stop stressing before you tear yourself apart."

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. As time passes, I can feel the urge to move, to fidget rising inside me. I try to keep from bouncing my knee or jiggling my leg, but can't stop myself. Dham puts his hand on my leg to still it.

  "I'm not very good at this," I say, doing my very best not to think of the pressure of his hand on my knee.

  He smiles. "I can tell."

  "So how did you get lucky enough to score an all-expense paid trip to London?" I look at Dham out of the corner of my eye. "Draw the short straw?"

  His face freezes, eyes wide and staring at me. Pain and anger flash across his face so quickly that I almost miss them. I'm not sure what I said that was so terrible, but I can see his jaw tense as he clenches his teeth together. He obviously didn't appreciate my lame attempt at humor. Brilliant.

  His voice drops low, and I can tell it is only through a lot of self-control that he maintains even a little calm. "My father assigned me this mission--I wasn't g
iven a choice. He wanted me gone, so he didn't have to look at me anymore."

  I can feel the color leave my face. I had no idea. "I'm sure that's not it, Dham." No parent would do that to his own child.

  Dham won't look at me. "He told me so himself."

  Before I can say another word, he's disappeared back into the house.

  I wander the garden, dazed. Dham's admission has rattled me. I never expected that this mission was actually a kind of banishment for Dham. Instead, I made light of something obviously very painful to him. Patrick was right. I shouldn't be let loose among regular folk without a keeper.

  "You are an utter idiot," I say aloud to no one in particular.

  The cat meows, as if in agreement.