Umberland

by Wendy Spinale

  “Nasty buggers,” Maddox says, swatting at the bee. “Worse than the mosquitobots, which have no logical purpose for existing. I’m fairly certain the Tinkers created those bloodsuckers specifically to annoy the Bloodred Queen.”

  “How much farther is the Labyrinth?” I ask, noticing a gold object shimmering on the weathered path. Bending, I pick up a small cog. I slip it into my pocket, curiously noticing another slightly larger one just a few meters away.

  “Why? Are you in a hurry? Forgive me for not getting you there faster, Your Grace,” Maddox says.

  Annoyed that he’s gone back to formalities, I say nothing. Instead I focus on collecting the random cogs strewn about the walkway, wondering where they’ve come from and what they’re doing along the road. Beneath one gear is a tiny brass key, and I put both in my cloak pocket. I finally ask the question that has been perplexing me.

  “Why do you help those people? The ones who come to you in the Poison Garden?”

  “The same reason you chose to eat the cake. We both want to help those who are suffering. The only difference is that I recognize our days are numbered and there’s not a thing that can be done about it. I’ve accepted our fate. The least I can do is use my knowledge of plants to make sure their suffering is minimal. Whatever lies beyond this miserable world must be a grand party, and even if isn’t, it has to be better than this.” Maddox stretches out his gloved fingers, clenching and unclenching his hands.

  “You think living your final days in stupor and lunacy is minimal suffering?”

  Maddox swings his pocket watch by the chain. “You never know which moment will be your last before you finally break”—he whirls toward me, snapping his fingers in my face—“so you better make each and every one count. The clock is ticking, Alyssa, and the timer is almost up. These are the days of self-fulfillment, of instant gratification. Wait to chase the things you want and you may run out of precious minutes.”

  “But you’re not helping anyone,” I say, frustrated. “You’re drugging them.”

  Maddox’s face scrunches in disapproval. “Drugging sounds so malicious. I prefer to think of it as easing their pain, providing an environment to grieve for the life they will never get to live, giving them a source of joy and … companionship,” he says, giving me a sideways glance and winking. “One last night of self-indulgence.”

  I grimace as disgust rolls through me.

  He smirks, obviously amused by my reaction, and turns his eyes to the road. “Which is more than you have offered them. And essentially, your solution is no different than mine. You drug them as well.”

  “No, I don’t!” I protest.

  “When it gets really bad, do you not put them in a medically induced coma so they don’t feel the pain? At least my way, they have the opportunity to say good-bye to their loved ones; meanwhile, your patients die in their sleep and alone,” he says.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I struggle to come up with a rebuttal, but he’s right. Only the gravely ill are given painkillers, and even then the drugs provide minimal relief. Sleep is the only relief from their suffering.

  “You, on the other hand, are in denial, and still fighting a battle that can’t be won,” he continues.

  “If it can’t be won, then why did you bother joining me? If death is inevitable, you could have just not brought me here or left me to get the apple by myself and gone back to your never-ending party.”

  Maddox snorts. “By yourself. That is utter nonsense,” he mumbles, appearing amused by such a suggestion. “You’d be dead before you even stepped foot into the Labyrinth. You’d never make it alone, but with me at least you have a fighting chance to get back alive and die with dignity. If this apple is genuinely what you believe it to be—although it’s highly unlikely that it is—then maybe you will prove me wrong, that there is indeed still hope.”

  Hope—it’s all any of us have left.

  “So what about you? What’s driving you to survive? There must be a duke in your future, or at least what’s left of it,” Maddox says, giving me a playful nudge.

  The comment prickles a lingering scar upon my heart. I have always been busy with the obligations of a duchess, never having time for things that pleased me. My days were filled with lessons and attending to duties. Preparing me for a proper marriage match—one that would strengthen the royal bloodline. I had no betrothed yet, much less an actual love interest. I didn’t even have friends. With the state of the world as it is now, chances are, I never will. A lump grows in my throat and it infuriates me. This is not the time or place to think about romance (or the lack thereof). My job, my only job, is to help the people of Northumberland. And why on earth is Maddox even inquiring? It’s certainly none of his business.

  “No, I don’t have time for that,” I snap. I’m unsure if he’s soliciting information for his own benefit, but companionship is the least of my needs.

  “Truly a shame.” Maddox frowns but says nothing more.

  The path leads to a meadow filled with wildflowers. Under a bright moon, a rainbow of petals blooms from tiger lilies, roses, daisies, violets, and larkspur, ending at a massive hedge standing at least twenty meters high. The fortress expands as far as I can see to my left and right, disappearing into the darkness. What lies beyond is far less peaceful than the field of flowers. Instead, the only entrance I can see is filled with enormous wheels with sharp blades. They are as tall as the wall itself and spin in opposing directions, blocking passage into the maze. There are so many that it just looks like a sea of razors.

  “Well, well, it appears the Labyrinth has had some modifications over the years,” Maddox says, taking in its entrance.

  “Perfect,” I say drily.

  Maddox rocks back on the heels of his boots. “I did warn you that the Labyrinth would be dangerous, and that,” he says, pointing to the sharp blades, “is a terrifyingly dangerous entrance.”

  “That? And just how do you suggest we get through? Becoming a diced duchess was not on my agenda for today.”

  Maddox grabs a large branch lying just to the side of the path and launches it into the blades. The limb splinters into thousands of wood chips. By instinct we both shield our faces.

  “Well, certainly not that way,” I declare.

  Maddox steps back, taking in the height and expanse of the barrier, and mumbles to himself, considering whether the living wall, which he claims is poisonous, can be scaled with minimal damage to our lungs, eyes, and exposed skin.

  I ignore him and study the wall. I walk along it, peering as close as I dare. I notice several steel bolts and a single lever protruding from the leafy edifice. They are all different diameters but perfectly round, as if something is meant to fit on them. I kick over the accumulation of nature’s debris at the foot of the hedge: leaves, branches, twigs, and dirt. My eye catches a gear the size of a dinner plate leaning up against the wall, larger than the others I have found so far. It takes both of my hands to heft it up to a pin big enough to fit it. Struggling, I slide the gear onto the bolt. I pull out the handfuls of gears from my pocket that I collected on our journey to the Labyrinth. One by one, I arrange them along the wall, making sure the teeth of each interlock with another, occasionally switching them around until they’re all connected except for one missing piece. I check my pockets, but they’re empty. Wondering if I possibly missed a gear along the path, I step back, taking in the vast wall. From the corner of my eye, something glints in the moonlight behind the leaves of the hedge just to the right of the gear puzzle. I brush aside vines and find a rusted antique compass clock. The timepiece reads 11:26, and the second hand appears frozen at five seconds. Although it’s night, it’s not nearly that late. Beneath the glass is a single cog in the center precisely the size I need to complete the wall of gears.

  Just above the timepiece is a weathered plaque covered with a film of dirt. I dust away what I can of the grime and squint to read the inscription.

  Turn your sight to the stars,

 
And choose your time wisely.

  Hours will cost minutes,

  Minutes devour seconds.

  Death looms at all times but one.

  “What do you suppose that infernal device is?” Maddox asks, looking over my shoulder.

  “It’s a compass clock, an old one from what I can tell. They were once used by airmen and seamen to navigate time by means of a compass and the stars,” I say, placing my hands on either side of the clockface.

  “How in heaven’s name do you know that?” he says, his brows raised.

  I laugh. “What is it you think I did behind those castle walls all day? I wasn’t allowed out to mingle with the people, so instead I read books. Lots of books.”

  Maddox wrinkles his nose. “Books?”

  “Yes, they are pages with written words on them, bound in leather. You must have heard of them,” I say teasingly.

  Rolling his eyes, Maddox snorts. “That’s not what I meant. Of course I’ve heard of books. You just don’t look like a bookish type person.”

  “What does a bookish type person look like?” I ask, trying to decide if I should be offended or not.

  Maddox furrows his face up in contemplation. “I’m not all that sure, but you definitely don’t fit the description.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I say.

  A crooked grin grows on Maddox’s face. “Smart, beautiful, and witty.”

  Blushing, I turn and search the vast blanket of stars above, seeking out the North Star.

  Maddox moves closer to the compass clock. “So how does this gadget work?”

  “Well, it’s based on a relationship between due north and the North Star, which is right there,” I say, pointing up into the sky.

  “Let me guess, you learned about star maps in books, too?” he says.

  “How else would you learn star maps?” I ask.

  Maddox gesturing at the star-strewn sky. “Um, from the stars?”

  I ignore his comment. Glancing at the compass, I try to determine which way is true north, only to discover that the compass is faulty.

  “Are you sure we’re at the south side of the Labyrinth?” I ask.

  “As sure as I know the difference between tea and wine,” he says. “Why?”

  “The compass is inaccurate. It’s impossible to set the clock to the correct time,” I say, tapping the glass of the compass. “Unless … what if this set is based on the moon instead of the sun?”

  “A moondial? Right, of course,” Maddox says. “Surely the Bloodred Queen wouldn’t use a sundial. Too obvious. But a moondial? Who knows how to use those? Oh, wait, let me guess: You know how because you learned from books?”

  Maddox is right. Of course she wouldn’t make it that easy to gain entrance. Studying the stars and compass again, I bite my bottom lip. Taking into consideration where the North Star lies, which direction the compass points, and the time of year, calculations fly through my mind, deciphering what time the clock should be set to.

  “Based on its current position, the clock should say twelve twenty-five, eleven seconds and counting … I think.”

  “You think? That’s awfully precise,” Maddox says.

  Worry flutters in my belly as I take in a breath, counting off the passing seconds in my head. Fifteen. Sixteen. “Precise is our only option.” I point to the last line engraved into the plaque. “Death looms at all times but one.”

  Maddox holds a fist to his lips. “Which means if we’re one second off, this rusty piece of junk is going to blow us to bits.”

  Twenty-one. Twenty-two. “Or something worse,” I say, although I can’t imagine anything much worse.

  Maddox takes my hand. “Alyssa, we don’t have to do this. Maybe we can find another entrance.”

  “Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine,” I say.

  Nodding, Maddox picks up where I left off, counting aloud.

  Grateful for his warm touch and assurance, I squeeze his hand. “I’m not turning back now. And we don’t have time to look for another entrance.”

  Forty-two. Forty-three.

  Smiling, Maddox returns the gesture. “I admire your bravery. Let’s do this.”

  Holding my breath, I turn the hands of the clock—first the hour hand, then the minute hand. Counting out loud, I turn the second hand, careful not to pass fifty-nine seconds on the clock. I can only hope I’ve counted off correctly. The gadget gives a sharp snap and the glass springs open, exposing the cog beneath.

  “Brilliant!” Maddox says, grabbing me in a giant hug. “You are by far the cleverest person I’ve met.”

  I let out the breath I was holding. “Not clever, just lucky.”

  “Luck is finding a four-leafed clover. What you did was exceptional. If it were up to me, we’d be twiddling our thumbs,” he says, releasing me.

  A warmth stirs within my chest, but I ignore it. Gripping the brass cog, I place it on the wall with the others and take hold of the handle, turning the gears counterclockwise.

  A loud clank crashes as I pull the lever. The bladed wheels pull back, disappearing into slits along the inside walls of the matrix. Once they are fully hidden, the handle gives an audible click, locking them in place. Beyond the wall of wheels, the passageway dead-ends into a perpendicular hallway.

  “Very clever,” Maddox says, his eyes wide with surprise. “Perhaps you are brighter than I initially thought.”

  “You didn’t think I was bright?” I say. “Beats your suggestion to climb a poisonous wall.”

  “I can admit when I was wrong,” he says, adding a bow.

  I laugh and then ask, “How do you suppose those gears ended up along the path?”

  Maddox shrugs. “I have no idea.” Then he gazes up at the slits in the wall, his expression growing wary. “Ladies first,” he says, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

  A noise in the brush draws our attention. Suddenly, a man wearing a soldier’s uniform bolts from the trees. A glass-and-copper tank is strapped to his back, filled with a clear liquid. Tubes lead from the tank, over his shoulders and into metal gauntlets. Crisscrossing the strange tank is a modified rifle. He stops just before the entrance, taking a passing glance at Maddox and me. We’re both startled at seeing an actual adult.

  “Save yourselves. The Labyrinth is no place for children,” the man says, before sprinting down the long pathway and disappearing into the maze.

  Drums echo through the night, each percussive beat louder than the last. Leaving the crude camp and its tenants behind, I follow the rhythmic call of the music. The usual large crowd congregates at the gates of the Poison Garden. I push my way through. Hands paw at me, arms wrap around my neck, fingernails rake across my skin. Beneath the orange torchlight, the mass appears to move as one steady beat, an amoeba of sweat-drenched bodies seeking relief from their festering wounds.

  I finally make my way to the garden’s entrance, which is guarded by Koh and his sharp scythe. We’ve never seen eye to eye since my arrival to Northumberland, but thus far our interactions have been somewhat civil. As I approach he stands a little taller, clearly with the intention to intimidate. However, I don’t scare easily. After a year of battling Marauders, this measly punk won’t stop me.

  “I’m here seeking Caretaker Maddox,” I say, gripping the hilts of my daggers.

  The animatronic cat cackles. “No one ever enters the garden without an invitation.”

  “Get lost!” the guard growls.

  The crowd grumbles, seeming equally annoyed by my presence.

  “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” I say, my arms folded.

  Koh marches up to me with his chest pushed out. “I think you’re good and ready right now, Lost Girl.”

  I give an exaggerated laugh. “Lost Girl? How original. If I had a gold coin for every time I heard that joke, I’d be the richest man in all of England and you’d be my minion, sweetheart.”

  Koh sneers.

  “You are Princess Katt’s guard. P
erhaps I should have called you her nanny instead?” I ask.

  “State your business,” Koh says, unamused.

  “I thought I already did,” I retort.

  Koh doesn’t respond; he just stares.

  “Duchess Alyssa came to see Maddox Hadder, and we haven’t heard from her since.”

  “Pete, so nice to see you,” says a sultry voice. Katt passes through the wrought-iron gates and saunters toward me, stopping so close I can smell a hint of sage on her breath. A white rose is tucked behind her ear, almost glowing against her dark hair. “The duchess has abandoned her post, which leaves no one else left to rule but me. Or, let me guess, I suppose she’s left you and your Lost Boys in charge of Northumberland in her absence.”

  I don’t blink, refusing to turn my gaze from hers. “I guess you could say that. At least until I return with Duchess Alyssa, which I intend to do. I’m not leaving here without her. Now where is Maddox?”

  Katt pulls her hookah pipe from her boot. “He’s unavailable.”

  “What do you mean Maddox isn’t available? Is he too busy drinking tea? Heaven forbid that I interrupt his party,” I say, my jaw aching through clenched teeth.

  “Well, aren’t you feisty? Pretty, too,” she says. She looks me up and down as she inhales from the hookah. Rings of smoke lift into the cold evening air with each word. “The infamous leader of the Lost Boys. Many of our guests, your former followers, speak highly of you, especially when they are conveying their happiest thoughts right before they take their last breath.”

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to shut out the images of all the Lost Boys who have died. Pyro, Justice, Mole, and his big brother, Dozer. Some lost to the Marauders, others to the disease. Those who were sick and given the antidote, many of them could not bear the pain and stole into the night, never returning. I’m certain that most, if not all of them, came seeking help from the trustees of the garden.

  Katt saunters even nearer to me. Her body is so close to mine, I’m sure she can feel my heart threatening to leap from my chest. Other than Gwen, I’ve never been this close to any girl. But I don’t budge. She may be royalty, but she is not my queen.