Diggs hooted with laughter.
"What?" Scupp demanded.
"You talkin' like you're the queen o' hearts over here!" Diggs said, "You ain't never even kissed a boy!"
"The hells I ain't," Scupp scoffed.
"What?" Diggs exclaimed, sitting bolt upright, "Who?"
"None o' your concern," his sister replied airily.
"Who was it, Scupp?" Diggs growled, "I'll beat his tail clean off! You remember what ma said!"
Scupp flashed her brother an evil grin and crossed her hands behind her head as she leaned back on the ruins of the cart. Suddenly, the wood snapped and gave way beneath her, and she went down in a heap.
Diggs howled with laughter until his sister's foot caught him right in the mouth. The rest of the cart disintegrated in the fracas that followed.
"I don't know what to do," Garrett sighed.
"Do somethin' else then," Warren said with a shrug, "Take your mind off of it."
"Well, magic practice didn't work out," Garrett said, "I guess I could buy the essence somewhere else, but..."
"No," Warren said, "somethin' else that doesn't have anything to do with Marla or essence or fake hair."
"It's not fake hair!" Garrett said.
Warren stared at him.
"Well, all right, it's sort of fake," Garrett said, "but its not like I'm wearing a wig or something."
"You're wearing a magic wig," Warren said, "That's way more impressive."
Garrett laughed. "Fine!" he said, pulling his hood on again, "What do you want to do?"
Warren thought for a moment. "Let's find that dead guy you were lookin' for."
"The Chamber of Kings?" Garrett said.
"Yeah," Warren said, "my dad was doing better this mornin'. Let's go ask him where he thinks it might be."
****
They found Bargas and Lady Ymowyn walking together in the street in front of Warren's house. The old ghoul winced with every step he took, leaning heavily on a rusty iron bar that served as his walking stick. Ymowyn walked beside him, urging him on with equal parts praise and derision. Exhaustion dripped from Bargas's gray face, but he smiled at the approach of his son and Garrett.
"Mornin' boys," he panted, "just havin' a bit... of a walk."
"Hi, Dad," Warren said, "How're you feelin'?"
Bargas raised his eyebrows. "Alive," he said, "I'm pretty sure the dead don't hurt this much."
"Poor dear," Ymowyn said, "Would you like us to stop for a while so everyone can feel sorry for you?"
Bargas frowned at her and kept walking, each pace punctuated with the dull thunk of his iron cane.
"Well, I'm glad you're out of bed," Warren said, "Garrett and I had a question for you."
"What is it?" Bargas asked.
"You remember the stories about the place where they buried the old kings of Wythr, right?" Warren said.
"Chamber o' the Kings," Bargas said.
"Yeah. Well Garrett needs to find it, and I thought you might point him in the right direction."
Bargas stopped for a moment and leaned against the iron cane, squinting at them. "Your uncle know you're lookin' for the Chamber?" he asked Garrett.
"No, sir," Garrett admitted, "It's more of a... personal project."
"The Chamber o' the Kings ain't no project," Bargas said, "It's a death trap. Stories say it's guarded by Death itself."
Warren shrugged. "That's all right," he said, "Garrett works for Death. He can just flash his badge at him and walk right in."
Garrett gave Warren a sideways look.
Bargas sighed. "Anyways, it's just stories," he said, "Only ghoul I ever met knew anythin' about it was old One-ear, and he died not too long after we came to Marrowvyn."
"Did he have any idea where it was?" Garrett asked.
Bargas shook his head. "No, but he told me his grandpap had seen it once and almost died. Seven ghouls, he said, found the tomb, and all but one left their bones there. Some kinda white devil guards it. One-ear's grandpap told him that he'd never go back again, and he wouldn't tell One-ear where to look for it either. Only thing he'd say about where to find it was that it was halfway down to hell."
"So, lower than the catacombs then?" Warren said.
"Don't you boys be sneakin' off to the 'Combs by yerselves!" Bargas growled, lifting the iron rod and shaking it at them, "I'm not too sick to whip the both of you!"
"We're not goin' to the catacombs, dad!" Warren said.
Bargas looked at Garrett. "Whatever your business is in the Chamber, boy, you'd better clear it with Tinjin first. He'll tell you not to go throwin' yerself down holes you can't climb outta."
Garrett nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.
Bargas sighed.
"Do you need a moment to catch your breath," Ymowyn asked him, "or shall we continue?"
Bargas rolled his eyes. "I'm beginnin' to question the wisdom o' rescuin' you, girl," he muttered.
Ymowyn laughed and patted him on the arm. "All the way to the town square this time," she said.
Bargas mumbled something indelicate, while Garrett and Warren watched him hobble away.
"I kinda want to stay with my dad a bit," Warren said, "Are you all right on your own?"
"Yeah," Garrett said, "sorry the magic practice didn't go right."
Warren snorted. "Don't matter," he said, "Diggs has been drinkin' too much bug juice anyway. It'll do him good to miss a week. Sorry about Marla though."
"Yeah, I probably shouldn't have mentioned Claude. I feel bad about that," Garrett said.
Warren stuck his tongue out. "Don't worry about that guy," he said, "If she likes that creepstick better'n you, she deserves him."
Garrett scratched the skin of his temple through his hood, feeling a little sick to his stomach at the thought of Claude.
"Your magic wig botherin' you?" Warren asked.
Garrett frowned. "It itches a little when it's wearing off," he said.
"Well, don't bother wearin' it on my account," Warren said, "You're just as ugly to me either way."
Garrett laughed. "You're just jealous of my beautiful magic hair," he said.
Warren snickered. "No, the truth is..." he raised his voice to a screeching falsetto, "you frighten me with your manly ruggedness... I'm just not ready for this kind of commitment."
Garrett laughed again. "I'll see you later," he said.
"Later, Gar."
****
Garrett was almost back to the surface when he realized that he had told Annalien that he would be back to pick up Lampwicke for magic practice. He muttered one of Warren's favorite curses and turned on his heel to head back down. He paused at the old roundhouse where several of the main sewer lines converged to drain into a large central pit.
As he wondered which tunnel would prove the shortest cut to the Old City, a thought crossed his mind. Garrett turned and walked to the edge of the pit in the center of the room and stared down into the blackness. He and Warren had thrown a lot of junk into that pit over the years, and never heard anything hit bottom. How far down did the shaft go? Did it go halfway to hell?
He walked slowly around the pit, admiring the nearly seamless brickwork of the shaft's walls. He moved as close as he dared to the edge and held his torch out. The bricks went down almost thirty feet, but, below that, the walls glistened like natural stone, smooth and dark and perfectly round. The humans who built the new city above must have found the pit and incorporated it into the design of their sewers.
Garrett stepped away from the edge and looked up at the ceiling above. In the dim light, he made out the weeping red stains left by old iron rings that had been driven into the stone of the cloister vault above. He doubted they would hold the weight of a rope ever again, but they had done so once.
He paced a slow circle around the pit, hopping over the drain channels and arguing with his fears and doubts. Why would people intentionally drain their sewage into the tomb of their ancient kings? It didn't make sense. Then again, maybe the people who
built these tunnels didn't know what the shaft was for. Perhaps this wasn't the entrance to the Chamber of Kings after all, but what if it got Garrett deep enough below the city to find the chamber? He couldn't pass up the chance that it might. Surely Warren would know enough about climbing. It could be done safely.
Then he remembered Bargas's warning about the tomb's guardian, but whatever fears this stirred within him were quickly drowned out by the excitement of his discovery. In any case, he had faced demons before and won. All he would have to do is bring Diggs along and a large enough supply of essence. No demon in the world could stand up to that ghoul's fiery breath.
Garrett laughed aloud and leaned out over the pit again, looking down into the blackness.
"See you soon, Songreaver," he said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A cold, misty rain dampened Garrett's face as he emerged from the underground in an unfamiliar part of the city. He pulled his hood a little lower and then shouldered the ironbound door shut behind him. He had decided to leave Lampwicke with Annalien for another week, but left her with a whispered promise that he was working on a plan to free her. He prayed that it would not prove to be a false hope.
The rain had thickened to a heavy patter by the time he reached Vaaste Street, soaking him through his purple robe. He wished that he had worn something a little more appropriate for the season, and then he remembered why he had chosen to wear the nice robe this morning, and his heart sank. He let the chill sink in as he walked and thought of Marla.
As he neared Uncle's house, Garrett fished around in his pocket for the key. Finding it, he lifted his eyes and saw her standing there.
Marla stood on the sidewalk in front of the house, her cloak and hair dripping rain. Her eyes tightened, watching him approach. Her lips trembled.
"I'm sorry, Garrett," she said.
Garrett stared back in stunned silence.
"I'm sorry... I should have been happy for you... I..." Marla's voice trailed off in a hoarse whisper.
Garrett shook his head slowly. "No," he said, "You were right... about the hood thing. I just wanted... it doesn't matter now."
Marla's body blurred with speed as she leapt forward and caught him in a tight hug. Garrett wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her cold, wet hair.
"How long have you been standing here?" he asked as she stepped back.
Her eyes looked skyward. "A while," she said.
"You could have waited inside," he said, "Uncle Tinjin would have let you in."
Marla gave him a wan smile. "The rain seemed more... appropriate."
"You'll get sick," Garrett said.
Marla laughed. "I don't get sick," she said, "I just say mean things to my friends, and then I feel sick."
Garrett looked at her and smiled a little. "It's all right," he said.
She looked down at the robe plastered to his chest. "Garrett!" she said, "You're going to catch a cold."
Garrett glanced toward the house. "Come inside," he said.
"No," she said, "I should be going. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry."
"Come on," he said, "stay for dinner. Uncle will be glad to have company... I would be glad if you did."
Marla wiped a strand of lank hair from her face and nodded. "All right," she said, "just for a little while."
Garrett started toward the front door with key in hand. "Oh," he said, "I guess we don't really have anything to... drink. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Marla laughed, "I'm not really hungry right now, but I can pretend to eat. I'm quite good at it."
Garrett's laughter froze in his throat when he saw the dark gap where the front door hung, slightly ajar.
"Uncle Tinjin!" Garrett cried out as he rushed inside.
A shadowy silence hung over the house within, an oppressive, warm darkness.
"Caleb?" Garrett called out. A cold fear seized hold of him, and Garrett ran down the hall to Uncle's study and threw the door open wide.
Uncle Tinjin looked up from his book, frowning. "You need something, Garrett?" he asked.
Garrett stood, moving his mouth, but no words came out.
"Good afternoon, Master Tinjin," Marla said, stepping up close behind Garrett.
"Hello, Marla," Uncle Tinjin said, "Is it afternoon already?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
"And I gather it's raining outside?" he said.
Marla smiled. "Yes, sir."
Uncle Tinjin eyed them both for a long moment, then shook his head. "Garrett," he sighed, "remind me to purchase a parasol next time we are in the market. It is a lovely invention... one you might find useful if you insist on running around in the rain."
"The front door was open," Garrett said, "I was afraid something had happened."
Uncle Tinjin sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his wispy hair. "I heard nothing," he said, "You should probably be more careful in closing the door behind you next time."
Garrett started to protest, but settled on a, "Yes, sir."
"It's good to see you again, Marla," Uncle Tinjin said.
"And you, sir," she said.
"And now... if you will excuse me, I am rather busy," Uncle said.
Garrett nodded and pulled the study door shut.
"I know I locked the door behind me," he whispered to Marla.
"We should check the house," she said.
They searched the first floor, and then the basement before going upstairs, finding nothing missing except Caleb.
"Why would he leave without permission?" Garrett said as he hung his satchel from the top corner of his door and blotted it dry with a towel.
Marla scrubbed her hair with the towel he had given her. "You said he was different," she said, "Perhaps he's capable of making his own decisions now."
Garrett looked at her, a cold feeling in his stomach. "Annalien says I should... destroy him... set him free."
Marla looked surprised. "You visited the ghost again?" she asked.
"Yeah," Garrett said, "she's taking care of Lampwicke for me. She's really nice."
Marla shook her head. "Garrett," she said, "I don't like you going down there. It isn't safe."
Garrett laughed. "I know my way around now," he said, "I haven't been anywhere near the spiders since... you know."
Marla frowned.
"What?" he asked.
"Something has been bothering me about that too," she said.
"The spiders?" he said, "Yeah, I had nightmares for a month about that."
"No, I mean, how did we get away from the spiders?" she asked.
"You and Warren fought them off," Garrett said, "...well mostly you."
Marla shook her head. "I don't remember doing it," she said, "I mean I remember fighting them... and then... we were at the ghost's lair."
Garrett snorted.
"What?" she asked.
"Lair?" he said, "It's just a house. It's actually pretty nice inside."
Marla laughed. "Yes, if you like being roasted in an oven."
"Does sunlight really burn you like that?" he asked.
"It's not exactly burning," she said, "It's more like someone pouring hot sand into all your internal organs at once... not a very pleasant experience."
"I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I wish you could see it... it really is beautiful."
Marla shrugged. "An open flame is beautiful too," she said, "You still wouldn't want to stick your hand into it. I'm just a little more sensitive to sunlight than you are."
Garrett smiled.
Marla laid her towel aside. "Do you have a comb?" she asked.
Garrett chuckled. "I... don't really have much use for combs."
Marla's face drained of what little color it had. "Oh, Garrett! I'm so sorry," she gasped.
He raised his hand. "Don't worry about it!" he said, "I've got a magic wig now. Who needs combs?"
Marla stared at him for a moment and then snorted with laughter. "Magic wig?" she said.
"Yeah, well... go
tta call it something," he said.
Marla smoothed back her tangled hair with her hands and looked away, a little smile on her face.
"Anyway," he said, walking into his room, "I'm worried about Caleb."
Marla followed him inside, sitting down on the edge of his unmade bed. "Do you think he will come back on his own?" she asked.
"I don't know," Garrett said, "If he doesn't come back by nightfall... well, I don't want the Night Watch to find him... again."
"I'll help you look for him," she said, "We'll find him and bring him home before Curfew."
"Yeah, just let me get changed," Garrett said, pulling a heavier robe and hood from his dresser drawer. He pulled off his hood and tugged open the collar of his sodden dress robe before he realized what he was doing. He glanced toward Marla who sat on the bed, watching him. She did not take her eyes from him, her face expressionless and calm.
Garrett lowered his eyes and peeled off his wet robe and his undershirt as well. He felt her eyes on his scars, burning like dragonfire. He tried not to, but he looked at her anyway. She was smiling.
Garrett smiled back and pulled on the fresh robe and hood.
****
The rain had stopped by the time they reached the alleyway where Caleb had died. They found the zombie kneeling at the end of the alley with his hand stuck in the drain grate.
"Caleb!" Garrett called out, "What are you doing?"
The zombie lifted his milky eyes to Garrett, and his face twisted in a miserable groan.
Garrett and Marla cautiously approached him, but Caleb turned his attention once again to the drain grate. He moaned again as he tried to force his hand through the narrow bars.
"He's trying to reach something," Garrett said.
Marla knelt beside Caleb then glanced back toward the entrance of the alleyway. She waited until the people in the street beyond had passed, then she grasped the bars of the grate in both hands, planted her feet squarely, and pulled.
The grate came loose with a shriek of rusted metal. Caleb fell over onto his backside, staring numbly at the grate in his lap, struggling to pull his pale hand free of it. Garrett helped him get it off.
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