Freefall

by Roderick Gordon

  “Look, haven’t you got anything better to do?” Martha asked gently.

  “Not really,” Will said listlessly.

  “Are you bored because you and Chester can’t play together as much as you used to?” she said.

  “We don’t play together — that’s for kids. We just … hang out, do stuff,” he said a little sharply, then checked himself replying more civilly. “Well, we can’t really, not with Elliott the way she is. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “It’s more than just that, isn’t it, lad? You’ve got that restless look in your eyes, like Nathaniel did before he went off on his expeditions. Itchy feet,” she pronounced, giving him a knowing glance as she continued to cut up the pennybun.

  “Yes, s’pose … a bit,” Will replied, then pulled himself up in his chair. “Martha, you know we … Chester and I … we can’t stay here forever. We have to get back up Topsoil somehow — and soon. If the Styx go ahead with the Dominion plot …” He trailed off.

  “I know, I know,” Martha said sympathetically. “Will, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you might be wasting your time. You might be too late already.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Will said tersely. “We’ve still got to get back — just in case we can do something to stop them.”

  “And as far as getting back — it’s never been done, and never will be. There’s no way back,” she said, with a thrust of her knife into a slab of mushroom flesh. “You can’t climb up the inside of the Pore or any of the other Seven Sisters. It’s miles. You would never make it.” She paused to look directly into Will’s eyes. “Don’t think we didn’t try.”

  “What about whatsisname? De Jaybo?” Will asked as Martha resumed work on the pennybun. “He managed it, didn’t he?”

  “Ah,” Martha began, taking a moment to pick her nose. Will rolled his eyes. “You’ve obviously been told the story. He claimed he fell down the Pore and that he kept on going to a hidden place where he saw all manner of weird and strange things — horrible things. Another world, where there was daylight.”

  “Yes, I heard all that.”

  “Another world, with its own sun?” Martha said, shaking her head. “There were some in the Colony that said he didn’t know his up from his down, and that he’d blundered out Topsoil somewhere, and all the things he said he saw were a load of old —”

  “Codswallop,” Will interjected, remembering the precise word Tam had used to describe the story.

  “Yes, codswallop — or maybe it was just a sham,” Martha agreed. “Some believed the whole yarn was put around by the Styx, to fill people with a fear of the Interior.”

  “My dad thought there might be something down there,” Will said wistfully. “On the pages I’ve got from his journal, he’s made notes about carvings in a temple he found, about a Garden of the Second Sun.” Will couldn’t stop his voice from shaking as he thought about him. “Dad must have been so excited — bet he was whistling his head off.” He bowed his head, stabbed by a sudden pang of grief.

  Martha rubbed her hands together to rid them of the fungus, and came around the table to him. She patted him on the back. “You’ve got new family now,” she said tenderly. “We’re together, that’s what counts.”

  He raised his head and looked gratefully at her.

  “You could do with getting out of here for a while, and we could do with some fresh meat. I’ve been spooning broth into Elliott, but my stocks are running low. So why don’t you gather up your kit, and tell Chester we’ll be gone for a couple of hours.”

  Chester was none too happy that Will and Martha were leaving him alone with Elliott. “What happens if you don’t come back or something?” he said. “What’ll I do then?”

  But Will was relieved to be out of the stockade, even if it was only for a short while. As Martha led him along one of the tunnels, some sprigs of Aniseed Fire tucked under her belt and her crossbow cocked, he kicked out his legs, relishing the exercise.

  “Now keep the noise down,” she warned him as they dropped into a new section of tunnel. “This is spider country.”

  A little farther on, she raised her crossbow and slowed to a crawl. Will fell in line behind her, trying to make out what lay ahead.

  “Careful,” she whispered as they crept toward a junction. Martha didn’t seem concerned that Will was using the lantern, so he made no effort to dim it.

  Then he saw that a trap had been sprung — a net just like the one he’d been caught in. It was gathered up into a bundle and hung from the roof above, suspended by a single line. As they came nearer to it, Will could see the multiple legs protruding through the netting.

  “Got ourselves a catch,” Martha whispered.

  Sure enough, there was a single spider-monkey trapped inside. Sensing their approach, it began to thrash its legs, sending the net bobbing up and down.

  “Whoa — that’s gross. It stinks!” Will said, cupping his hand over his nose.

  “They do that — spew out a defensive stench. It’s a last resort when they’re cornered,” Martha told him, drawing out her knife. She walked around the bobbing animal, chose a spot, and jabbed at it. It was instantly still.

  “That’s rank!” Will said as he pinched his nose, wondering if he would ever be able to bring himself to eat the meat again. But as Martha untied the net, his curiosity surpassed his repulsion. Intrigued by the creature, he let go of his nose. “Those eyes are incredible,” he said, leaning over the spider-monkey to study the three circular reflective patches on its disklike body.

  “They’re not eyes — they’re ears,” Martha informed him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes — see the two small spines there above its fangs?” she said, indicating a pair of what Will had taken to be extra-thick bristles with the tip of her knife. “They send out the screeching sound, which the ears pick up.”

  “Really?” Will said again. “So it’s like a bat?”

  “Just like a bat,” Martha confirmed, “but Nathaniel also said they use them to sniff out injured or dying creatures.” Putting away her knife, she rolled the dead spider into a sack. She passed this to Will to carry, and then took them on what was clearly a regular circuit as she checked more traps along the way. In no time at all, Will was lugging around three dead beasts on his back.

  Eventually they came to the wooden benches piled deep with old meat and body parts. “Hey, I recognize this place,” Will said.

  “You certainly do,” Martha replied as she took the sack from him and emptied out the dead spider-monkeys. Then she pulled a large sprig of Aniseed Fire from her belt, lit it, and handed it to Will. “Wave it around. We’ve been lucky so far, but I’m not taking any risks with you here. They might swarm when I begin the cutting and they scent blood.”

  Will did as he was told, passing the sprig in front of him, the movement causing the smoldering fronds to glow brightly as the smell of licorice flooded the cavern.

  “Sweeney Todd time,” Martha said under her breath as she flipped the dead spiders onto the closest bench, then took hold of the murderous-looking cleaver. “You might want to take a few steps back,” she warned Will as she raised her arm. “This can get messy.”

  On their return journey she announced they were going to make a slight detour.

  “Because it’s dust puppy season,” she informed him.

  Will didn’t ask what she was talking about, thinking he’d find out soon enough.

  She led him to a large bank of soil steeped high against the tunnel wall. Will took some in his hand and rolled it between his fingertips — it was rich and loamy, the sort of soil a gardener would die for. He watched as Martha seemed to be looking for something, then fell on a small opening. She began to dig away at it, clawing the soil with her hands.

  She’d dug a good foot in when she suddenly let out a triumphant cry and plucked a wriggling object, the size and color of a newborn piglet, from the soil. She held it up by the scruff of its neck so Will could see it clearly. It had a p
lump little body, with four stubby limbs, no discernible eyes, but tiny white-pink ears tucked back against its head. It looked like an overfed and bald hamster. It writhed and twitched as she continued to hold it up, its pale whiskers vacillating and its mouth opening, but not making any noise.

  “So that’s a dust puppy,” Will said in amazement. “Is it a baby?”

  “No, it’s fully grown.”

  “It sort of looks like a little Bartleby. A Bartleby kitten!” Will laughed, then blinked several times as she dangled it closer to him. He stepped back. “Ugh! It reeks, too … smells of—”

  “Urine,” Martha said. “Yes, their warrens are completely drenched in it. Somehow they can live with it.”

  “The odor’s so strong it’s making my eyes water,” Will said. “Does everything stink to high heaven down here?”

  “That’s why the dust puppies are left alone — the smell protects them. But their meat is good … tastes like liver,” she said.

  “I hate liver, and that smell’s making me feel ill,” he replied, the thought popping into his head that Martha was none too clean, either. He’d certainly never seen any evidence that she washed herself.

  As they returned to the shack, Will began to chuckle.

  “What is it?” Martha inquired.

  “I was thinking you’d better make sure Chester doesn’t see any of this before you cook it,” Will said, as he hoisted up the bloodstained sack he was carrying. “It’ll put him off his food for weeks!”

  Dr. Burrows was becoming desperate.

  “It’s no good — I need my drawing of the Burrows Stone to work out what all this means,” he said, the small stone tablets spread out in front of him.

  “And where did you say it is, again?” the Rebecca twin asked as she walked slowly around him.

  “I told you — my journal was left behind at the top of the Pore,” Dr. Burrows answered a little squeakily, indignant at the girl’s constant inquisition.

  “How very careless of you,” she said, tapping a foot impatiently. “But you said you could remember enough to get by,” she snapped.

  “I said I hoped I could,” he countered. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before replacing them again. “But I don’t seem to be able to. And your constant interruptions aren’t —”

  Rebecca made a move toward Dr. Burrows as if she might strike him, but froze as a high-pitched squeal filled the warm air. “Sounds like another one of those absurd spider things.” She flicked her fingers at the Limiter. “Go deal with it,” she ordered the ghostlike figure hovering behind her. The soldier brought up his spear — a makeshift weapon he’d fashioned by binding his scythe to the end of a fungal stalk — and slipped away soundlessly.

  “I don’t understand…. How is it you can speak to him like that?” Dr. Burrows dared to ask, now that they were alone. “He’s a soldier.”

  “Oh, he’s much more than just a soldier. He’s a Limiter … he’s Hobb’s Squad,” she declared proudly to Dr. Burrows as she lowered herself into a sitting position in front of him. “Best, most fearless, and most brutal fighters in the world. And you love your history, don’t you? You probably think the Spartans were the toughest kids on the block?”

  “Well —” he began to answer with a small shrug.

  “Nah, they were Boy Scouts,” she said sneeringly. “You give me a full-strength battalion of Limiters, and London would be mine in a week.”

  “D-don’t be so silly, Rebecca,” Dr. Burrows stuttered. “Why do you say things like that?”

  “Just concentrate on the map, Daddy, so we can all go home,” she said. “Because I do so miss my homey-womey,” she added in a sickly little-girl voice.

  “You don’t listen, do you? I think these stones might be a guide down to somewhere, rather than showing us a way back up,” Dr. Burrows said.

  “I don’t care — anywhere is better than here,” she barked, her voice hard as steel.

  “And I also need to tie the map to something on the ground — I need to find a landmark down here that corresponds to an icon on the map itself.” He swallowed noisily. “My throat is absolutely parched. Can I have something to drink?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Let’s try to make some progress first, shall we?”

  “But I’m thirsty,” he complained.

  There was a whump sound and Dr. Burrows started as a pair of dead spider-monkeys landed by his side. “Oh … my … God,” he said. “What are those? Some sort of spider? Arachnids?”

  “Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey,” the Rebecca twin recited. “Not that you ever found time to tell me nursery rhymes. You were always too busy hiding down in your stupid cellar with your stupid books.” There was genuine resentment in the Rebecca twin’s voice, and she glanced at the Limiter, almost embarrassed that she’d dropped her guard and revealed her emotions, human emotions.

  But Dr. Burrows hadn’t heard what she said. He was nervously regarding the twitching legs of the spiders. He edged back as blood leaked from the creatures’ bodies, flowing in little crimson streams through the dust by his leg.

  “If you’re thirsty, help yourself to some of that,” the Rebecca twin offered, absolutely unaffected by the grotesque sight. “Otherwise we can have some water with our evening meal,” she mocked in a schoolmarmish voice. “But we need to press on with our homework first.”

  11

  “HIYA,” CHESTER SAID as he emerged from the shack and saw Will lounging in a chair on the porch. “Martha chucked me out. She’s giving Elliott a sponge bath.”

  “How’s she doing?” Will asked him.

  Yawning, Chester stretched his arms wide. “We managed to get some more broth into her,” he said, then sank into the chair beside Will. “Martha’s doing everything she can to keep her strength up.”

  “That’s good. But she’s not getting any better, is she?” Will said.

  Chester shifted uneasily in response. Neither of them had voiced their concerns to each other that Elliott might actually die, just as Nathaniel had. The subject was almost taboo.

  “No,” Chester finally said.

  For a while neither boy said anything as they gazed down the length of the garden, so deep in thought they barely took in the display of colors that fluxed and pulsed in the air like a scaled-down version of the aurora borealis. Will cleared his throat. “Um, Chester, something’s been bothering me,” he said.

  There was concern in Chester’s eyes. “What is it, Will?” he asked.

  Will lowered his voice and looked in the direction of the door. “Martha’s out of earshot, isn’t she?”

  “She’s still in with Elliott,” Chester confirmed. “Tell me, what’s the matter?”

  “Well,” Will began uncertainly. “I know Martha’s been brilliant, and she’s doing everything she can for Elliott, but could we be doing more?”

  Chester shrugged. “Like what?”

  “We’ve been here for weeks now, and we’ve become so reliant on Martha that we haven’t even considered that there might be someone else around who could help Elliott — really help her,” Will said.

  “But Martha says —” Chester started.

  “I know what Martha says,” Will cut him off. “But we don’t really know her, do we? What if there are other people down here, with medicine, or someone like Imago, who could help Elliott?”

  Chester looked at him blankly. “But why on earth would Martha keep that from us?” he asked.

  “Because she’s basically a lonely old woman who all of a sudden has got a couple of stand-ins for her dead son,” Will said.

  “That’s harsh.”

  “Yes, but it’s also true,” Will replied. “Don’t you ever kind of get the feeling that we’re prisoners here? Martha tells us there’s no one else in these parts, and we shouldn’t risk going outside by ourselves because of the spiders, and how it’s too dangerous to take us to see the ships her son found, and that there’s no way back up to the Deeps, and nothing
down below….” He paused to draw breath. “I reckon she’s doing everything she can to keep us right here.” He tapped his index finger against the arm of his chair to emphasize the point.

  Will was watching Chester intently, trying to see if any of what he was saying was raising a doubt in his friend’s mind.

  Chester gave a small nod. “So, if what you’re saying is true, what then?” he asked. “We ditch Martha and trog off into the darkness? We drag a sick girl out of her bed in the hope that we might just bump into someone?”

  Will blew through his lips. “Maybe I’m completely wrong and it would all be some terrible mistake, but I think we both know how this is going to turn out, don’t we?”

  Chester didn’t answer.

  “Come on, Chester, if we don’t do anything, the same thing that happened to Martha’s son is going to happen to Elliott. She’s going to die. We shouldn’t kid ourselves about that,” Will said. “And maybe — just maybe — we can take Elliott with us and get some help for her. Maybe we could find a way back up the Pore and contact Drake or something, or one of the other renegades.”

  Chester banged his head against the back of the chair. “I don’t know, Will,” he murmured. “I just don’t know.”

  “We’ve got nothing to lose, have we? Or rather, Elliott’s got nothing to lose, has she?” Will said desperately.

  Over the next week, Elliott showed no sign of improvement. Will, Chester, and Martha watched her, fed her, and tried to keep her temperature down, and on the occasions the boys were alone neither one of them brought up the subject of leaving again.

  It was as if an oppressive pressure had descended over the shack, one in which it was wrong to laugh or to permit themselves to have fun because their friend’s future hung in the balance, and that was all that mattered. The boys spoke in muted tones even when away from the shack, as if they might somehow disturb Elliott. The atmosphere even seemed to affect Bartleby, who spent most of the day sleeping in front of the hearth or scratching around in the land at the rear of the shack, sometimes giving himself dust baths.