The Emerald Atlas

by John Stephens

  Michael raised his head and looked at Kate and Emma. “I said … I’m sorry.”

  Michael’s tears glistened in the lamplight, and it seemed to Kate that he was hardly aware of the other children or what was about to happen, or if he was aware, then he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was that his sisters understood.

  “Well, that’s fine,” Stephen McClattery said, “but rules is rules.” When it came to executions, the boy was clearly all business. “You’re a traitor and we gotta hang you.” He looped the noose over Michael’s head, and the cry went up a second time, “Hang ’im! Hang ’im!” The mob began to drag Michael away. Kate knew now that she’d have to fight. She’d have to fight Stephen McClattery and beat him. If she did that, the other children would fall in line. She was about to launch herself at him when a voice spoke—it was a voice she recognized.

  “For the love of all that’s—Nobody’s getting hanged.”

  Stephen swung the lamp around, and Abraham limped into the light. Behind him, Kate saw a sort of a door in the wall where none had been before.

  “Clear off, you hooligans,” he said, pushing through the children till he could take the noose from around Michael’s neck. The children holding Kate and Emma melted away. “Hanging. That’s what you’re up to now, is it?” He cuffed Stephen lightly on the back of the head. “Where’s your sense, boy?”

  “He’s a traitor,” Stephen said. “They’re probably all traitors.”

  “These two ain’t. I promise you that.” He gestured to Kate and Emma. “I saw ’em nabbed by the Screechers.”

  “Well, he is. We can’t just let ’im go.”

  Abraham took the lamp and held it up to Michael’s tear-stained face.

  “That he is. But listen to me, all of you.” Despite the muffling of the rain, Abraham kept his voice low. “These are bad times. Everyone’s done things that want forgiving. But we start turning on each other, and she’s won. What matters is we hold together. That’s all we got in the end. Each other. Remember that.”

  No one spoke for a few moments. Kate saw Emma bend down and pick up something from the floor. Michael’s glasses. They’d been knocked off in the scuffle. Emma turned them over in her hands, then silently held them out.

  “Thanks,” Michael said, choking a little.

  The other children seemed to have forgotten Kate and her siblings. They were pressing around Abraham.

  “What’d you bring us?”

  “What you got, Abraham?”

  Kate was amazed at how quickly the hysteria had left the children. She had seen it happen before, with other groups of children, but never quite so suddenly.

  “Everyone settle down,” Abraham said. “I want to see Annie first.”

  A murmur passed through the crowd, and the little girl with pigtails who’d been dangled off the edge of the dam moved to the front. Abraham knelt down. He pulled a handmade doll out of his jacket. “I made this myself. I’d be happy if you’d take it.”

  The little girl accepted the doll and hugged it to her breast, not uttering a word.

  Abraham produced a stack of letters. “Now, let’s be quiet as I hand these out. Stephen and the others will help you young ’uns read ’em.”

  A reverent silence fell across the room. One by one, as Abraham whispered the names on the letters, the children stepped up, received the envelopes, and carried them back to their beds.

  When he’d finished, Abraham came over to where Kate stood with Michael and Emma. “The witch don’t know about the secret passageways in the house, so I try and sneak in least once a week. Bring food. Letters from their parents. I’m sorry about earlier, you girls getting nabbed and whatnot. I was just told to take a photo a’ the boy holding that ‘help me’ sign. Didn’t know it was some sort a’ trap. Anyway, I saw them monsters drag you off and I figured you’d end up here. Seems I arrived in the nick a’ time.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said. “I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “They’re good children. Just been scared for too long is all. They wouldn’t a’ really hung your brother … most likely. Now, you three best be coming with me. The Countess has something in mind for you, and I tremble thinking what it might be.”

  “But if you can just come and go,” Emma asked, “why don’t they all escape?”

  Abraham gave a dry laugh. “That’s where she’s smart, the witch. Keeps everyone separate, children, mothers, fathers. Has them monsters a’ hers guarding ’em all. These young ’uns know if they try and escape, their mothers and fathers will be put on the boat. Tortured. Worse, even.”

  Stephen stepped up and whispered something in Abraham’s ear. He nodded.

  “I need to check on one that’s been sick. Then we go.”

  He followed Stephen to a bed a few yards away. Kate felt someone tug her hand. Annie was standing there, clutching her new doll. The little girl raised her arms. Kate understood at once. Most of the children here were younger than Emma. Besides that day at the dam, they probably hadn’t seen their mothers in years. That made her the next closest thing. Kate picked the girl up, and Annie wrapped her thin arms around her neck.

  “Kate,” Emma said.

  She turned. Twenty small children had gathered around. They were staring at Kate and Annie with eyes of deep longing. Kate felt her heart throb with pain and wished she could comfort them all.

  Abraham approached with Stephen. “All right, then. Time to go. There’s no telling when she’ll send one of them ghouls to check on you.”

  Kate lowered Annie to the floor.

  “You leavin’ us?” Annie asked.

  Without thinking, Kate said, “I’ll come back; I promise.”

  “She don’t mean it,” Stephen McClattery said.

  “Yes, she does!” Michael had spoken hotly, and everyone looked at him in surprise. “When my sister says something, she means it. She came for me, didn’t she?” He looked at Kate and Emma. “If she says she’ll come back, she will.”

  “That’s right,” Emma said. “And if any of you try and hang my brother again, you’re gonna have to hang me first!” She nodded fiercely at Michael, and Kate saw it was forgiven.

  “Quickly now,” Abraham said, and he stepped into the passageway. Kate followed Emma and Michael through. She looked back at the ghostly faces of Annie and Stephen and the other children. Then Abraham closed the door with a soft click, and all was dark.

  “Hold here a moment,” Abraham whispered. And they heard him move off down the passage.

  The air was musty and stale, and their shoulders pressed against each other in the tight space. Kate felt Michael shudder, and when he spoke, his voice was raw.

  “I thought … I could do something myself. You’ve always taken care of us, Kate. I just thought, for once, I could …”

  “It’s okay.”

  “And I know Mom and Dad are coming back. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Yeah,” Emma said. “Just don’t be so stupid again.”

  And there, in the darkness, they sought each other’s hands.

  Abraham returned, bringing the smell of rain and mud on his clothes.

  “It’s clear. Now we can’t risk a light, so the going’ll be slow. The rain’s a help, but be quiet as you can. All our lives depend on it.”

  He set off, Emma behind him, Michael following, and Kate bringing up the rear.

  The passageway was only a couple of feet wide, and Abraham would whisper back warnings to duck or step over a board or about holes to avoid. Now and then slivers of light penetrated the walls. But for the most part, Kate could only just discern the dim outline of Michael’s head. Abraham guided them, left, right, up a few stairs, down a couple. After ten minutes of winding through the maze-like corridors, he paused. It had grown lighter, and they could make out each other’s features. Abraham put a finger to his lips, warning them to be even quieter.

  It was a good thing he
did, for when they turned the corner, the Countess was waiting for them. She was not in the passageway itself. Rather, she was in one of the mansion’s many sitting rooms, staring through an oval window that was set into the wall that separated her room from the passage. Emma couldn’t help but emit a small gasp, and Abraham immediately clamped a hand over her mouth. But it was too late; the witch had noticed them.

  Or had she? Seconds passed, and the Countess simply stood there, inches from the glass, calmly turning her head this way and that. Then Kate remembered: she’d been in that room. There was a mirror on the wall. Exactly where the Countess stood. And as Kate watched, the Countess touched a hand to her hair and, still giving no sign of having seen the children, turned and stepped away.

  Abraham motioned the children to come along, and they were about to follow when someone in the Countess’s room began talking.

  “And what will milady do now, if her poor servant may inquire?” The gray-toothed Secretary was hunched at a drinks cart, pouring ice-cold vodka into a glass, the yellow bird perched atop his shoulder.

  Across the room, the Countess reclined in a comfortable chair, her dainty feet resting on a stool.

  “I will make a full report. I should have done so when the children appeared the first time.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, an indubitably intelligent course of action.” Scraping low, the man handed her the glass.

  The two-way mirror was on the wall directly opposite where the Countess was seated; this meant the children, clustered in the passageway, had a clear view of all that transpired. It was thrilling to be so close, the more so since Kate couldn’t quite believe they were invisible. Each time the Countess’s gaze drifted over the wall, Kate had to fight the urge to run. She was thankful for the enveloping thrum of the rain, certain that otherwise the Countess and her secretary would hear her heart hammering against her chest.

  “What is it, you sniveling little rodent?” the Countess snapped. “I know you’re thinking something.”

  Twisting his fingers, the man Cavendish bowed quickly three or four times. “Just … no, impossible, not my place to venture, no—”

  “Your place is to do what I tell you, you gnat. Now, what is transpiring in that putrid brain of yours?”

  Alone with her secretary, the Countess apparently felt no need to be charming or to act the part of the airy, gold-speckled teenager. She looked the same, certainly, but her manner, her voice, everything about her now spoke of power, malice, and a greedy, jackal-like hunger.

  Cavendish sucked in his head like a turtle. He spoke in moist little gasps. “Yes, milady, and forgive my imbecility, I was just inquiring of myself what exactly the Countess would report? That she had one of the Books of Beginning and lost it?”

  “That was beyond my power to control. You know that.”

  “Undeniable, yes, certainly undeniable, the Countess is innocent. And fortunately”—he corkscrewed two of his fingers and gave a ghoulish, insincere smile—“fortunately, our master is known for his understanding nature.”

  Their master? Kate was stunned. There was someone else? Someone maybe worse than the Countess? How was that even possible? She looked over and saw Emma shake her head and mouth the word “great.”

  “You think I should not tell him,” the Countess said slowly.

  Cavendish took an eager step forward. “The missing book must be close, milady. You said so yourself earlier—very beautifully, one might add. And a person, even a person as dull as myself, can’t help but conjecture how much better it would be to say, ‘I have your prize, Master.’ Not, ‘I had it, then lost it. Oops!’ ”

  Sipping her vodka, the Countess rested her head against the leather back of her chair. “You have a point, worm. Very well. I will wait.”

  The man bowed even lower, as if being called “worm” was the highest compliment. But he continued to study her from the tops of his small eyes.

  “How is it,” she said quietly, “that after all these thousands of years, three unremarkable children should just stumble on one of the Books of Beginning?”

  “Chance, perhaps? Simple hazard?”

  The Countess laughed scornfully. “There is no such thing as chance where magic is concerned. Those children are important somehow. In a way I do not fully understand.”

  Back in the passageway, Abraham plucked at Kate’s sleeve, signaling they had to leave. But Kate shook her head. She and Michael and Emma were being discussed. She wanted to hear what was said.

  The Countess finished her drink and held out the glass for Cavendish to refill. “And you’ve searched the cellar completely? This chamber the boy spoke of, the underground study where they found the book, there’s no trace of it?”

  “None, milady. And no evidence of enchantments hiding such a space. This chamber, if the child was telling the truth, must have been created in the future. Does milady still believe the old man is behind this?”

  “Of course,” the Countess sneered, “who else could it be?” She tapped her fingernails against the glass, suddenly gleeful. “Imagine, once I bring our master the book, I shall be raised up higher than any other. I will rule at his side.”

  Cavendish dropped the carafe with a clatter onto the cart. The Countess looked up sharply. “Careful, toad!”

  “Yes, yes, Countess. A million thousand pardons.” He fiddled with the bottles pointlessly, knocking them against each other.

  “You truly are a moron, you know that? When you have something to say, say it. Instead of blundering about like a drunken parlor maid.”

  The man turned. He was pulling on his fingers with such force that Kate thought he might yank them free of his hands. “It is just, milady, I worry for you, yes, I worry for you, I do.”

  She laughed. “For me? And why should you worry for me, you walking collection of dirt?”

  He shuffled close to her chair, still twisting and wrenching his fingers, seemingly unable to look her in the face. “The Countess is so beautiful and so strong, and our master, terrible and awesome as he is, has been known to be … unpredictable.”

  The room became very still. The Countess stared at the sweating, twitchy man.

  “You think he will deny me my reward?”

  “No, no,” he said, glancing up quickly. “I would never say that. Never. But …” He put his fingers in his mouth and bit them viciously.

  “What would you have me do? Speak.”

  “It’s just …” He inched closer. His voice was like the hiss of a snake. “The Countess is already so powerful that I wonder, once she has the book, who then would be more powerful? The Countess or—”

  The Countess’s hand shot out and seized the man by his stringy hair. The bird took off from his shoulder in alarm.

  “Are you suggesting, you miserable creature, that once I am in possession of the book, I betray our sworn master and turn its power to my own purposes?”

  “Milady, no! Never! You misunderstand—”

  “Do I?” She gave his hair a terrific yank.

  “Please, Mistress! I beg you! I never—never—”

  She smiled then, beautiful and deadly. “Calm yourself, Mr. Cavendish. I know you only mean to protect me. And in any case”—she smoothed the man’s greasy hair—“I do not yet possess the book, do I?”

  In the damp and dark of the passageway, Kate felt a chill as she watched the man and woman look at each other and something pass between them.

  Abraham pulled her sleeve again. Insistent. She nodded. Every moment they lingered was dangerous. She’d just started to turn when the Countess said:

  “Did you notice the oldest one, the girl? The book has marked her.”

  Kate froze.

  “I wonder,” the Countess murmured, “is it possible.… No, it can’t be.…”

  The Secretary grinned horribly. “I know what milady is thinking. Impossible, and yet if it were true … Perhaps the Countess wishes to examine the child again? Before I entered, I took the liberty of dispatching one of the mor
um cadi to retrieve her. She should be here any moment.”

  Emma and Michael looked at Kate, their eyes wide with panic. They had to go—now. But before any of them could move, a scream ripped through the walls of the house.

  They ran, no longer making any attempt at being quiet. They heard the shrill, raised voice of the Secretary, the far-off uproar in the children’s room, the cries of the Screechers.

  Very quickly, they reached what looked like a dead end. They could hear more Screechers outside, circling the house. Abraham was breathing heavily.

  “I’ll go first. You three wait till you hear me draw ’em off. Then run for the trees. Keep going as far and as fast as you can. Find someplace to hide tonight. Come morning, head south along the river. Watch the sky. Folks say the witch uses birds as spies. A day’s walk and you’ll reach the lake. Any boat should take you to Westport. I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

  “You’ve done so much,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

  “Tell me this,” Abraham said, “is it true you’re from the future?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re here to set things right?”

  “What? No, we—we just came to get Michael.”

  “You promised them kids you’d come back.”

  “And I will. But I don’t know how to help them.”

  For a moment, Abraham just stared at her. “Maybe not,” he said finally. “But you heard the Countess. There’s no such thing as chance when it comes to magic. Things happen for a reason. Including you being here. Now, enough talk.”

  Kate and Emma both hugged him. Michael hung back, still too ashamed, but Abraham put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “You made a mistake, but you’re a good lad, and your sisters here love you.”

  Michael nodded, swallowing thickly. Abraham grasped a handle protruding from the wall. Kate could just discern the outline of the door.

  “Remember, run and don’t look back.” And he opened the door, letting in a blast of air and rain, and was gone.

  Darkness again. They waited, listening to the cries outside.

  Emma fidgeted. “So who do you think this master guy is?”

  “I’ve got a few theories,” Michael said.