by Seth Fishman
“How’s she supposed to clear the courtyard?” Jo asks, getting on the elevator.
“I don’t know, Jo,” Rob says. “She’s a princess. She gets what she wants.”
Jo doesn’t say anything. She looks over the edge as we move. It’s fast, like last time, and my hair whips into my face. It smells oily, feels oily. I almost moan aloud trying to calculate when I might get my next shower. If I get one.
The elevator stops, and for a moment I’m certain there’ll be fifty Keepers strolling about, but Lisa is as good as her word, and there’s no one in sight. The gardens are big and spread out and there is, indeed, a clump of thin but leafy trees not thirty feet from the elevator.
We sprint to the relative safety of the branches, tucking down to make ourselves small. I’d rather not be wearing white, which stands out against the trees. The bark is black, corkscrew and thick, and the leaves are lined with the same familiar shine as the glowflowers. Quiet, our breath settling, I can hear birdcalls. Water flow. And then, suddenly, the steady pacing of someone walking. I can’t see or tell who. I feel as helpless as I’ve ever been.
The footsteps get closer. I squeeze my eyes shut, for once just trying to disappear.
“Rob?” comes a tentative voice.
“Lisa!” Rob whispers. I open my eyes to see a shock of blue; she’s ducked at the waist and peering into our hiding place. It’s normally hard to read the Keepers’ expressions, but there’s no missing the alarm written across her face. She’s not having as much fun as she was back in the penthouse planning this all.
“We have to hurry at the moment,” she says, peering back over her shoulder. There’s a shout from the way she came and through the trees I get a glimpse of a dozen or so Keepers running in all directions, a hornet’s nest of yellows and blues, all looking for us.
“This way,” Lisa says. She runs fast through the garden, fast enough that we all have to strain to keep up. There’s another shout and maybe someone’s seen us but we don’t stop, and soon we’re into the city’s underground tunnels. We move through the tunnels in bursts of speed, and then random standstills in doorways as we wait for armed Keepers dressed in Feileen’s black and white to sprint by. Now that we’re out of Randt’s tower, Lisa’s in new territory, but she never seems to hesitate, and moves unerringly toward wherever we’re going. I guess she has Capian’s blueprint seared in her mind.
“Lisa,” I say, “you’re taking us to my dad, right?”
“Yes, Mia. We go to the Lock. Keepers who are unfaithful to the water are put there.”
“How do you know where that is, if you haven’t been out?”
“There’s a big difference, friend, between being allowed out and going out.” She grins, but turns pensive. “Of course, we might have to subjugate the guards.”
“Subjugate?” Jo responds, sharing a glance with Rob and me.
“Did I use the word wrongly?” Lisa asks, her voice clearly pained. “We will have to overcome them.”
“Knock them out?” Jo says, incredulous, and I agree. I think about Straoc, about how big he is, and about how impossible knocking out one of these semi-immortals would be.
“Yes, Jo. We cannot take their lives before their natural time, so we must bring them as far from awareness as possible, so that the water might still bring them back.” She says it gravely, at once innocent and earnest, like she understands what she’s saying but only in theory.
Rob holds up his hands to look at them, unsure they can do what she’s asking. “I don’t know, Lisa. Can you distract the guards? Get them out of there or something?”
Lisa closes her eyes, which is a striking thing. Her face becomes more Topsider than ever, her blue hair cool and perfect, and I see that she’s quite a pretty girl. My stomach feels queasy at what we’ve got to do, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about.
When she opens her eyes again she looks resigned, as if we just made her job harder. “It must be done. I will approach the guards, you will not let them touch the water,” she says, jiggling the pouch at her belt. She takes off again and we follow because there’s no better option. We’re all amateurs here.
• • •
We reach the prison suddenly, stopping abruptly enough that I’m surprised. Lisa seems to be too, though, because the heavy metal door that she stops at is wide open. The Lock’s entrance is situated at a bend in the tunnel, with two bright torches on either side. The walls glitter in the torchlight, and we can’t see a thing past the flickering light. The door is black and gaping.
“This should not be usual,” she murmurs. “You should stay here.” Without waiting for us to answer, she disappears inside.
But it’s bright out here. And we can hear the sound of voices, of footsteps, of heavily trafficked routes nearby. “I don’t know about you,” I say, “but I’d rather get off the road than be standing with our thumbs out when a group of guards come back.”
“Agreed,” Rob says, and we follow him inside to near blackness. There’s a hallway I can make out that goes on for a while, but I can’t see much else. There are no gas lamps in here. No glowflowers. The room feels hot, sweat lodge style. I wait a beat, letting my eyes adjust, but still can’t really see anything. I hold Jo’s and Rob’s hands and we shuffle ahead. I feel like I’m in a haunted house.
I’m about to call Lisa’s name when she bursts into view, inches from our faces. We scream, all three of us, loud and scared, and I almost pull Rob’s arm from its socket.
“Now is not the best time for those noises,” Lisa says, her face worried.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Jo replies.
“I am sorry, Jo.”
“Where’s my dad?” I ask.
Her eyes dart around behind us, her movements jerky and filled with unease. “I think he is farther. But I found the guards, and they are not alive,” she says, her voice rising in panic. She puts her hands to her forehead and moans. “More dead and more death. More dead and more death.”
“Was it Straoc?” Jo asks.
Lisa takes a few shuddering breaths to gather herself. “Maybe,” she says. “But I have known Straoc for the entirety of my life. He is . . .” She pauses. “He never hurt me.”
“Where are they? Where are the guards?” I ask.
Lisa doesn’t reply, just motions ahead, and we move farther into the dark. The hallway is lined with doors, and the first one is ajar, kept open by a shadowed, muscled foot.
“There is another floor,” Lisa says. “I saw stairs at the end of this hallway. We should keep looking.”
“Lisa,” I ask. “Do you have a light?”
Her shape, now just a shadow before us, pauses. “I have my eyes. Stay close.”
Jo squeezes my hand and we creep slowly down the hallway, following the bare shaft of light that is Lisa as she guides us farther into the prison. We walk unsteadily down steps, and for the first time I’m beginning to pick up a smell, something unclean and sweaty, like the air itself is dirtier down here.
But there is a light. It comes from an open door maybe halfway down this hallway. Not especially bright, and it flickers, but I can see and that gives me strength. Rob and Jo let go of me. The light makes us brave enough to walk on our own.
I put my hand in my plastic pocket and pull the knife. Jo gives me a look, and I shrug. I’m not going in there unarmed.
Lisa starts moving slower, barely making a sound. She is peeking around the edge of the door when we hear a voice I know very well. It’s loud and ragged and desperate.
“Please, please stop. Don’t do this!”
“Dad,” I whisper, and unable to help myself, I leap into the room, my knife clenched tight, ready for everything and nothing at all.
But it’s not what I’m expecting.
Dad’s there, yes, but he’s in a corner of the room, crouched, his face swollen and mottled in
colors, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. His knees are curled up to his chest and his hand is in the air, begging. But he’s not begging for himself.
In the center of the room, lying faceup on a wooden table, is Brayden. He’s pale, a rivulet of blood dripping down his cheek from the corner of his mouth like half the Joker’s smile. My stomach lurches and I almost drop the knife. Behind him, facing us, Straoc stands in the flickering light of a gas lamp. The scroll was wrong, he’s not hurt at all. Next to him, there’s a small birdbath of water. He has his own knife, a big beast of a thing, slick with blood.
My eyes adjust to the light, and I can see the cuts now. Dozens of them scored across Brayden’s forearms. Two thick ones on his cheeks, as if he were a bloody football player. His eyes are closed, his body slack. He could be dead for all I know.
Straoc’s stunned at our arrival. He looks sharply at Lisa and barks at her in their own language. For her part, Lisa manages to stay fairly strong in the face of his yelling. She points at Dad and says something. Straoc clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“Mia,” Dad croaks. He makes to rise but Straoc casually steps over, plants his foot in the middle of his chest and pushes him back down.
“Let him go,” I yell, my voice cracking. I raise my knife, but my hand’s shaking.
“You Topsiders work fast to have so quickly corrupted a Keeper, the daughter of Randt no less,” Straoc says to us, his tone more annoyed than anything.
“I brought them here of my own mind,” Lisa spits. “But I did not know we would find this. I will tell my father and you will be cast from the clan.”
He laughs. “You do not understand a thing, little girl. Your father sent me here to find out what the map said. It is your father who ordered this.” He flicks some blood from his knife as if to emphasize the point.
“I do not believe you,” Lisa shouts.
“Then you do not know your father, Lisenthe. This is what the Topsiders are like. These ones”—he points his blade in my direction—“show up and threaten our world. We are Keepers, we are to keep by any means.”
“But what are you doing?” I ask, unable to mask the wobble in my voice. “Why are you torturing them?” I look at my father. “Dad, why don’t you just tell him what’s on the map? Why does it matter?”
“Because, hon,” Dad says, his voice weak, tired, “as long as they want what’s on the map, they need us. And until they let us go, I won’t give it to them.”
Straoc whirls on Dad, and without the slightest hesitation he slams the knife into Dad’s shoulder. Dad grunts, his mouth open, somehow unable to scream. So I do it for him. Lisa lunges at Straoc but he backhands her across the room. I step toward him and he pulls the knife from my father’s shoulder with a sickening sound and holds it in front of me, waving me forward, smiling.
“Stop,” Rob shouts, digging into his pocket for his OtterBox.
Smart Rob, gentle genius Rob. Hand over the map so my father can live.
“What, young Rob? What do you have in your pocket?”
Rob pulls out his OtterBox. I doubt it will make much sense to Straoc, but Rob turns it on and shows it to him. Straoc’s puzzled, watching the apple on the screen as it boots up. Lisa slides herself up the wall into a standing position, nursing her elbow. She dips her hand into her pouch and licks her fingers, using the water to heal herself. Just like Straoc is doing with the birdbath here: he’s cutting Dad and Brayden up and then healing them, able to torture them forever.
My dad coughs, and as if Straoc were reading my mind, the Keeper cups a handful of the water and tosses it at him. It lands all over, but some does hit his face and his arm, and I can see Dad lick his lips; immediately he begins to breathe easier. And I do too.
The iPhone turns on, and Rob flicks the screen to the map, then hands it over to Straoc.
Jo’s been quiet up to this point, but I can see her, sidling down the wall to my dad. Lisa’s looking at her, making eye contact, and she begins to move as well, slowly, toward the far side of the room.
“What is this? How does it have the map? It is so small.” Straoc seems to forget himself, his Topside fascination overwhelming him. He’s almost eager, bouncing on his giant calves.
“It’s a Topside thing,” Rob says, taking a slow step forward, his hand out, pointing at the screen. “Here, let me show you.” He takes the phone back from Straoc, who’s lowered his knife, his eyes rapt and on this new gadget, and just as pleased with the luck of finding the map, whole, in a perfectly replicated image.
Rob holds up the phone in front of Straoc, the images facing me, so I can see when Rob taps the toolbar at the bottom. I get what he’s doing. I’m actually ready when he pushes the button for the flashlight.
It might not work so well on someone in Fenton, but to a Keeper in a dark room who has eyes as big as apples, the light comes as a complete surprise, blinding Straoc. I’m not sure if Lisa and Jo were expecting it, but they’re as ready as I am, and we all charge together, smashing into Straoc and sending him sprawling to the floor.
I fall with him and land hard on the hilt of my knife. Straoc gulps and pushes me off him, but that’s not too hard to do; I can barely move, my body frozen by the nauseating feeling of his warm blood pumping onto my hands.
Straoc stumbles to his feet. My knife is still in his belly, the hilt so small against his enormous frame that it looks like a toy. He pulls it out, grunts and drops it to the floor with a clang. I step back, my nerves seizing, the room suddenly too small.
But Lisa doesn’t wait. She charges, ducks a huge swing from Straoc and kicks him in the knee, sending him panting to the ground. “Rob, knock over the water,” she cries.
“What?” he shouts.
The water. Straoc can’t be allowed to get to it. She’s standing in front of the birdbath, blocking it, and Straoc’s up again and moving her way, slashing deep into her arm with his own knife. She gasps in pain. Rob hurries to the water and kicks the stand over, sending it splashing onto the floor and into a drain underneath Brayden’s table.
“Help her,” I shout. And that seems to spark everyone in the room. Dad drags himself forward and wraps his arms around Straoc’s leg. I grab Straoc’s arm, Jo pushes hard on his wounded stomach and Straoc’s on the ground again. Lisa stomps on his wrist, breaking his grip on the knife, sending it clattering to the stone. Jo pulls Straoc’s pouch from his belt, spilling the rest of his water on the floor. He’s on his back, tendons in his neck straining tight, bellowing in rage.
I grab my little knife from the floor and hold it to his throat.
“If you move, Straoc, I will kill you.” I don’t know if I believe myself, but I sound threatening enough. I stare in fascination at the wet blade resting lightly against the skin of his neck, a thin line of blood already forming.
Straoc stops, his eyes wide, breathing hard, a wounded beast.
Lisa’s grimacing, her arm split along a seam—it’s amazing she’s not passed out from shock. She looks around at us. “You need to go get someone. We need more Keepers here. We need to restrain him.”
“Mia,” Dad says, staring at my left hand, at some blue stains on my finger. “What’s that?”
“What? Nothing. Berries,” I say, keeping my focus on Straoc, on the blade pressed to his neck. “I took them from the greenhouse. Who cares?”
I can’t move because I’m the one keeping Straoc in check, so there’s nothing I can do when Dad slips his hand into my pocket and pulls a few berries out. A rising dread courses through me as he rolls them in his hand, three blue circles—just like on the map—and then slams his palm over Straoc’s mouth.
“Dad!” I shout, but it’s too late. He pulls his hand away and Straoc’s mouth and teeth and lips are bright blue. He tries to spit, his big tongue working past his lips. He’s like a guppy gasping in the air.
“Oh man,” Rob says.
&n
bsp; “What?” Lisa asks. “What is ‘oh man’? What is going on?”
Straoc seems to get what’s going on because suddenly he comes to life, pushing me off him—getting his cheek cut halfway open in the process—and scrambling to his feet. Before we can even move, he’s out the door, faster than I would have thought possible. But I hear him slam into the wall in the hallway. I run after him but he’s already on his knees, breathing slow. Blood or saliva drips from his mouth onto the stone.
Lisa pulls out her own pouch and takes a shaky step forward, but Rob holds her good arm.
“Not you,” he says, taking the pouch.
Rob moves alongside Straoc and bends at the knees, pouch shaking in his outstretched hand, but before he gets a chance to give water to the Keeper, Straoc slumps forward, head onto the stone. Lisa closes her eyes, unable to watch any more, and I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Are you okay, Mr. Kish?” Jo asks after a while, trying to fill the silence. He smiles at both of us reassuringly. It’s so strange to see him here, the relief in me so palpable that I feel spent, as if there’s nothing more to do. Let’s go home, let’s ignore all this and get home and make pancakes and watch Dead Poets Society. But then Dad’s face shows alarm, remembering something.
“Brayden,” I say, reading his mind.
Jo, Dad and I rush back inside, and all I can think is, Maybe there’s water somewhere, maybe on the floor, can I find some on the floor? But when I see him I can’t focus on saving him. Brayden betrayed me, I know this, but right now, seeing the skin along his chest curled open like a peeled orange, his face streaked with blood—right now it takes everything not to put my hand on his forehead and sob into his chest.
Dad feels for a pulse. He looks tired, grim. “He’s alive, barely.”
Lisa stands in the doorway, blood all over her shirt. She’s looking ragged. We all are. “We have to get him to water. I’ll carry him.”