“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Writing things down! There’ll be no writing as long as I’m around! You can bet on that! Ha!”
The further down they went, the colder it grew; soon icicles were hanging from the ceiling and Kate and Michael could see their breath before them. Kate noticed that the dwarves had begun looking about nervously.
“Supposed to be haunted,” Wallace whispered. In his right hand, he held the glowing crystal; his left gripped the haft of his ax. “It’s why few dwarves ever come here. Too many died bad in this place. There’re stories of dwarves who’ve gotten lost in the dark and felt icy hands—”
“Maybe you could tell us later,” Kate suggested.
Wallace glanced at Michael, whose eyes were nearly as wide as the lenses of his glasses. “Aye,” he grunted. “I can do that.”
“Stop!”
The cry had come from Fergus, who Kate had supposed was still sleeping against the back of his porter. His shout caused the children to look up (they had been staring at their feet, fearful of missing a step and tumbling down the stairs), and it was then they noticed that the staircase was ending and they had arrived in a cavern. Fifteen feet away was another doorway, and the stairs resumed their downward spiral.
“This is it,” said the old dwarf.
“Here?” Hamish said. “This can’t be it.”
Kate had to agree. The cavern was a raw room of earth and rock. The only notable points were the two entrances and a small dark lake at one end.
“Nope,” Fergus said, climbing to the ground and settling himself against the wall. “This is it.”
“Is that right?” Hamish sneered. “This is the golden cavern you were soooooooo certain you could find?” He grabbed Fergus’s beard and gave it a vicious tug. “If you’ve led us wrong, you old pile of bones, I’ll make you eat your beard!”
Fergus chuckled. “Course this ain’t the golden cavern. That’s through there, it is.” He pointed at the black lake. “Down to the bottom of the water, you find a tunnel, swim through, through, through, come up, bang there you are, golden cavern neat as you please. Careful, though.” Fergus pulled out a long clay pipe and began to pack the bowl. “Something lives down there. Dark and wiggly it is.”
He lit a match and gave the pipe three short pulls, his cheeks caving inward. Then he leaned back and blew a large, lazy smoke ring. None of the other dwarves had spoken or moved.
“This,” whispered Wallace, leaning close to Kate and Michael, “is not good.”
“What do you mean something lives down there?” Hamish demanded. “What lives down there?”
The old dwarf shrugged. “Dunno. Never gone in there meself. Not daft, ye know.”
“THEN ’OW THE BLOODY ’ELL DO YOU KNOW IT GOES TO THE BLOODY GOLDEN CAVERN?!”
As far below the city as they were, Kate wondered how the Countess’s Screechers couldn’t hear Hamish’s ranting.
Fergus calmly blew another smoke ring. “Me brother went through. Told me all about it.”
“So why am I not talking to your brother instead a’ you, you worthless old cod?!”
“Suspect ’cause ’e’s dead. Remember it clear as day. I was sitting ’ere, right where I am now, enjoying me pipe. I do like a good pipe. Dennis—that’s me brother—he disappears into the pool there, I wait, wait, wait, awful long time, finally ’e comes back out, ’ead bobbing up yonder, saying, ‘Fergus, old boy, there’s a tunnel and it leads to a beautiful golden cavern!’ ‘A golden cavern?’ I says. ‘Aye,’ ’e says. ‘And is it real gold?’ I says. ‘Not real gold,’ ’e says, ‘it’s—urp!’ ”
“Urp?!” Hamish sputtered. “What the bloody ’ell does ‘urp’ mean?”
“Nothing. That’s the sound he made when the monster ate ’im. Grabbed ’im around ’is neck and down ’e went. Urp.”
For a long moment, no one said anything.
Then Hamish exploded. He jumped around, screaming and spitting and smashing anything he could with his ax. For a second, Kate thought he was going to attack Fergus, who was sitting there smoking his pipe and not bothering to hide the amused grin on his face.
“Traditionally,” Michael whispered, “dwarves aren’t big swimmers.”
“I’m not sure the swimming is the problem,” Kate replied.
Huffing noisily through his beard, Hamish stuck his face into the old dwarf’s. “So this is your secret bloody way, sending us traipsing through some underwater monster’s living room?”
Fergus shrugged. “Not my way. The way. The only way.”
Hamish glowered, and Kate saw his knuckles tighten on his ax as if he were considering lopping off the old dwarf’s head, but then he turned. “Right! Into the drink, you lot!” He sneered at Kate and Michael. “And yeah, that means you brats too.”
Fergus sent out another smoke ring and chuckled quietly. “Urp.”
The party gathered around the black pool. The dwarves had to take off their heavy boots and leave behind all but their lightest knives. Kate and Michael removed their jackets and shoes. Kate transferred the two photos she was carrying, the one of herself in the bedroom and the photo Abraham had given her, the one he’d said was the last picture he’d ever taken, into her pants pocket. Seeing Abraham’s photo brought back the morning she’d spent in his room with Emma. It seemed to Kate that, though only a few days had passed, the memory belonged to another life.
“Are you going to be okay?” Michael asked.
“Of course. I’ll be fine.” Of the three siblings, Kate was far and away the weakest swimmer. The first few orphanages they’d lived at hadn’t bothered giving the children lessons. When Kate finally did learn, she was nearly nine, and she had never overcome her fear and unease in the water, her sense that she was always struggling not to drown. And now, as she stuffed her balled-up socks into her shoes, her hands were trembling.
A couple of the dwarves gingerly dipped their toes in the water, only to pull them out quickly. “Maybe it’s dead, whatever it was,” Kate heard one mutter. Fergus was still chuckling and smoking at the back of the cave. Black-bearded Wallace approached with two glowing crystals.
“You’ll be needin’ these. Dark as pitch down there, looks like.”
“Thank you,” Kate said. Despite the light it gave off, Kate found the crystal was cool in her hand.
“Right, then.” Hamish stepped to the edge of the pool. “No time like the present,” and he seized a dwarf and threw him in.
There was a large splash, and the dwarf’s head reappeared as he thrashed about, struggling to stay above the surface. “Under the water, you!” Hamish shouted, snatching up a large rock. Seeing he had no choice, the dwarf took a breath and dove. Kate watched the glow of his crystal slowly fade and disappear. There was another splash as Hamish pushed a second dwarf into the pool.
One of the dwarf guards began to back away. “I can’t swim, Your Highness.”
“Then it’s ’igh time to learn!”
A splash, and he disappeared as well.
Hamish turned on Kate and Michael. “You goin’ in yourselves, or you rather I toss you? Either way, you’re getting wet!”
“Come on,” Kate said.
She and Michael waded into the dark water. It was so cold that Kate’s feet and ankles began to ache almost immediately. They came to a ledge; the water barely reached to Kate’s knees. The next step would take them into the abyss.
“Michael, your glasses.”
“Oh, thanks.” He fumbled them into his pocket, trying not to drop his glowing crystal.
“You’d better go first. You’re a faster swimmer. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Kate—”
“It’ll be okay.”
Even as he nodded, she wondered just how unconvincing she must sound. And for a brief moment, she realized the insanity of their situation. They were inside a mountain, under the remains of an ancient dwarf city, about to dive into a black pool where a monster might or might not still be living, all so they could re
trieve a lost magic book. What was she thinking? She had started to take a step back, pulling Michael with her, when a rough hand shoved her from behind.
“In ya go!”
They were swallowed by icy black water. Almost immediately, Kate saw Michael’s crystal begin to move away. He was swimming downward. She followed, terrified at the thought of losing him. After a few strokes, Michael leveled off. That’s when Kate saw another light, off in the darkness, and another, faint and fuzzy, past that. She realized how far they had to go.
Don’t panic, she told herself, don’t panic.
They had entered a kind of narrow trench, walls on either side, the rocky ceiling directly above, and below them … well, Kate didn’t look below them. She concentrated on the light from Michael’s crystal and her own jerky, weak stroke. It was impossible to say how much time passed. Her arms grew heavy. Her heart hammered in her chest. Worst was the pressure in her lungs; it felt as if they were collapsing upon themselves, squeezing out every last ounce of air. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t falling behind, even as the glow from Michael’s crystal grew more and more faint.
Then something struck her foot.
Panic shot through her, and she whirled about. She saw a mass of flailing limbs and thought for a moment it was the monster. Then she recognized one of Hamish’s dwarves. He was making wild gestures, urging her to move aside. She did and he swam past, with strokes even more crazed and unschooled than hers. He was perhaps five feet further on when three long fingers slid up out of the darkness and seized him by the leg. The fingers were a cancerous yellow-green, each one nearly a yard long and as thick around as a man’s arm. The dwarf hacked at them with his knife, bubbles exploding around him, but he was already being pulled down. Kate tried to scream and her lungs filled with water. Choking, she swam to the top of the trench, pounding at the rock, searching for air, for escape. The crystal fell from her hands. She grabbed at it, fumbling, but it slipped into darkness, and then there was nothing but darkness, all around her, enveloping her.…
“Kate! Kate!”
Her eyes opened. A second later, she was coughing and hacking, the foul-tasting water spewing from her nose and mouth. Michael pounded her on the back.
“Come on! Come on!”
“Michael … I’m okay.…”
“I thought … I thought …” He hugged her tightly.
“Hey there now, let the lass breathe.”
Kate felt Michael being pulled away. Wallace stood over them. Water was dripping from his long black beard, and his matted hair was plastered to his face. All about them, dwarves were wringing out their beards, shaking water from their clothes, and meanwhile everything was suffused with a soft golden light emanating from thousands of points on the walls and ceiling.
“What happened?”
“Wallace found you floating in the tunnel. He pulled you out. He told us”—Michael lowered his voice—“he told us what happened.”
The dwarf was helping her to sit up. “Thank you,” Kate said. “You saved my life.”
Wallace reddened, then, glancing about, he said quietly, “Captain Robbie told me to look out for you two. But keep that between us, then, eh?” He gave a very unsubtle wink.
“Are you really okay?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Kate said, though even as she said it, she noticed that her whole body was shaking and the tips of her fingers were blue.
“Right, then!” Hamish was a few feet away, coiling his beard into a rope to squeeze out the water. “Spread out, lads! There’s a door hidden here somewhere.” He looked at Kate and Michael. “You two brats can help.”
“No!” Michael said fiercely. “My sister’s cold and wet. She needs to get warm.”
Hamish looked about to argue, but then he saw how Kate was trembling and waved his hand. Wallace pulled out flint and a piece of black wood and somehow, in moments, had a fire going. Michael had Kate move close to the flames.
“Drink this.” Wallace held out a leather flask.
Kate took a sip and nearly gagged, but immediately a warmth spread through her body. The shaking stopped. Her fingers returned to their normal color.
“You too,” Wallace said to Michael.
“What is it?”
“Whiskey. Me ma’s own special mash. She always said it could bring back the dead.”
It did not take Hamish’s dwarves long to find the hidden doorway. There was a cry, and Kate saw the dwarves clustered at a spot along the golden wall, staring down a tunnel that had not been there moments before.
“Now that’s more like it.” The dwarf king was beaming. He snapped his fingers at Kate and Michael, who were still huddled around the small fire. “Right. This ain’t a picnic. Let’s go get me book.”
Fifty yards down the passage, the band came to a door. Kate’s first thought was that they’d made a mistake. This was not the door to a secret vault. It was more like the door to someone’s bedroom. Painted white wood with a brass handle. There was even a small plaque in the center that read PRIVATE.
Kate thought the plaque had to be someone’s idea of a joke.
Hamish grasped the handle and pulled.
The door didn’t budge.
He braced his foot against the rock wall and pulled again.
Nothing.
“Dr. Pym said it would only open—” Michael began.
“Shut it, you!” Hamish snapped. He ordered a pair of his dwarf guards to take hold of him, and together the three of them strained against the door till Hamish’s hands slipped off the knob and they fell to the ground in a grunting pile. Hamish leapt up, searching for anyone who might be laughing.
The dwarves were stone-faced.
“You there”—Hamish pointed at the one dwarf who’d carried his ax through the tunnel—“ ’ave a chop at it.”
“I doubt it’s actually wood,” Michael said. “An ax won’t—”
“Oi! You want a great bloody sock in the mouth? Then shut your bleedin’ piehole! Now ’ave at it!”
Kate and Michael stepped back as the dwarf raised his ax, took two running steps, and swung with all his might. There was a clang, the sound of shattering metal, and something flew backward. The something was the dwarf; he lay stunned upon the ground, his ax in pieces beside him. The door did not have a mark on it.
“Right,” Hamish said, “had to try. Guess here’s where we see if it was worth bringing you kiddies along. Come on, we’re not getting any younger.”
“I’ll do it,” Kate said. She was thinking the door might be booby-trapped, and if so, she didn’t want Michael getting hurt.
But as she stepped forward, Kate found herself wishing more than anything that the door would not open. If it didn’t open, she and Michael and Emma were not special. They were just three ordinary children and everyone would see that and let them go.
She reached out and took hold of the brass knob. Please, she thought.
There was a soft click, and the door swung open.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Inside the Vault
The first thing Kate felt—as the door opened, revealing a high-ceilinged room lit by crystals in the walls, and there in the center, sitting on a stone pedestal as if it had been waiting for her, the book, their book—the very first thing she felt was that after everything that had happened in the last few days, this—the fact the vault door had opened for her and no one else—was the worst turn yet.
We’re in deep trouble, she thought.
Hamish knocked her to the ground as he rushed past.
“No!”
Hamish’s fingers paused inches from the book’s leather cover. He turned to Kate, who was being helped to her feet by Michael and the black-bearded Wallace.
“No?!”
“You can’t touch it.”
“Oh, I can’t, can’t I? Well, just you watch, missy—”
“You’ll die.”
Kate saw Michael glance at her. She had no idea what she was saying. All she knew was that
Hamish couldn’t touch the book first. Dr. Pym had said so.
“You’re lying,” the dwarf king sneered.
“Michael and I are the only ones who can pick it up. Dr. Pym told me. But go on if you don’t believe me. See what happens. Except you won’t, ’cause, you know, you’ll be dead. But go ahead.” She crossed her arms and tried to look unconcerned.
Hamish turned from Kate to the book, back to Kate, then back to the book. It was obvious he wanted it very badly. But finally he muttered something under his breath, spat, and then snapped his fingers angrily. A dwarf grabbed Kate by the arm and dragged her forward. Hamish leaned in, his breath warm and rotten in her face. “If you’re playing with me, girl, you and your brother are dead, understand? I’ll cut your throats and feed you to that monster in the pool. Now—bring me that book!”
Propelled by Hamish’s shove, Kate stumbled to a halt a foot from the pedestal. The book appeared to be glowing, the light in the vault enhancing its natural emerald hue. It was then—standing above the book with nothing and no one between it and her—that she finally heard it.
The book was speaking to her. It told her it had been waiting for her for a thousand years. It told her to claim it as her own.
She reached out and lifted it off the pedestal.
Now what? she thought.
She felt a tug in her stomach, and the floor disappeared beneath her feet.
“Hello.”
Kate blinked. She was in a study, books and manuscripts in piles everywhere, a small fire crackling in the grate. Outside the window, she could see the tops of cars passing in the street below. Snow was falling, muffling the sounds of the city. But what truly caught her attention was the man sitting three feet away: he was swiveled toward her in his chair, a paper- and book-strewn desk behind him, dressed in his habitual and habitually rumpled tweed suit, pipe in one hand and a teacup halfway to his mouth as if he had been in the act of taking a sip when Kate had stepped out of thin air. Naturally, he was smiling.
The Emerald Atlas Page 21