by Marissa Burt
Wren started to get annoyed. Was he going to just sit there and stare? She took the foreign feelings and shoved them deep down in the tight-lidded box inside her. Whatever the feelings were, they were a distraction. She folded her arms and stared right back at him.
“We’re not from Nod,” she began.
“Outsiders?” The boy’s face crinkled in alarm. “You three are the worst Outsider spies I’ve ever seen. Nearly got yourself caught back there.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Yeah. Um. Thanks for your help . . .” Wren stared at him. Simon was going to try and smooth talk their way past this?
“Vulcan,” the boy said. “My name is Vulcan.”
Jack choked back a laugh. “That’s your name? Seriously?”
Wren couldn’t stifle her own grin as Jack did an exaggerated Star Trek Vulcan salute.
“You have a problem with it?” the boy said, a dangerous-looking half smile on his face. “What are your names?”
When they told him, he frowned. “Those are old-fashioned, even for Outsiders.”
Simon nodded. “You guys were really impressive, the way you travel over the city.” His voice turned curious. “Tell me, is that your usual mode of transportation?”
Wren rolled her eyes. Simon was seriously going to conduct research at a time like this?
Vulcan grinned at them. “That’s the Scavengers at their best. The city may not want us, but we own the place in our way.” He gestured toward the crooked building in front of them. “The Nest, for instance. All the grown Magicians wanted to condemn it after the plague, but we claim anything condemned.” His face grew hard. “Boggen owes us.”
Simon was scribbling furiously, not bothering to hide his notebook, and Wren could guess what he was writing. The plague? As in the tainted magic? She was trying to think of a way to ask Vulcan more about it without giving anything away, but he had already moved on, frowning at their clothes. “The Outsiders must be losing their edge. Those clothes stick out worse than anything I’ve ever seen.” He grinned again. “Come on. I’ll help you out. We outcasts have to stick together.”
Vulcan led them through the door and into a wood-paneled entryway cluttered with odds and ends. It appeared to be the back entrance, with mops and brooms tottering in one corner and a trash bin in the other. The walls were lined with cubbies, but Wren could make no rhyme or reason of them. There were books stacked three rows deep, precariously balanced atop one another so as to utilize every possible space. Spools of thread filled the nook closest to her, and then there was one with jars and small rumpled envelopes. There were rolls of parchment, globes, goggles, and spectacles. The ones near the stairs seemed to contain articles of clothing, and Vulcan quickly pawed through these.
“I heard that an Outsider was just taken prisoner.” Vulcan’s voice came from within one of the cubbies. “You know anything about that?” He emerged with a basket of boots that he dumped on the ground. “Find a pair that fits.”
“Who took him prisoner?” Wren asked, hoping that if she could ask enough questions, they might continue playing the part of the Outsiders, whoever they were.
Vulcan shook his head. “Who else?” Simon and Jack were looking at him blankly. Wren wished they could at least try to play along.
“Boggen’s henchmen,” Vulcan said, as though this would bring clarity. “His security force? How is it you guys were in the marketplace, anyway? I thought you people liked to come and go through the catacombs.”
Wren cleared her throat. “We got a little turned around, that’s all.”
“Well, if anyone else in the marketplace puts two and two together, Boggen will be after you next. He’s really cracking down on the Outsiders, looking for one of their leaders—called the Knave of Hearts, I think?” Vulcan was tossing articles of clothing to each of them while he talked. “But I don’t intend for Boggen to recognize you. New recruits are always arriving at the Nest”—he gestured to the building around them as he said this—“so you might be able to blend in. If anyone asks, tell them you’re too sad to talk about it.”
“What?” Simon was tugging on a pair of weathered boots. “Why would we be sad?”
“You Outsiders haven’t heard of the Nest?” He looked a little insulted, and then his mouth softened. “This is where Nod’s orphans come,” Vulcan said. “Any new recruit who lands here has something to be sad about.”
By the time they were finished, Wren was outfitted with skirt and shirt held together in the middle by a thick corseted waistband. Over all of this, she wore a vest, but Wren’s hung loosely, like a many-pocketed overcoat. She tugged on a pair of boots, folding the tops down at the knees as Vulcan showed them, and watched the others. The boys were wearing ill-fitting jackets with longish tails, and normal-looking pants tucked into their boots.
Vulcan stepped back and surveyed them with a grin. “Not so bad. Not bad at all.” He began heedlessly shoving supplies back into the cubbies, adding to the cluttered jumble of goods. “You guys hungry?” Vulcan asked as he wedged a wad of clothes behind a stash of umbrellas and took up the satchel he had filled in the marketplace.
“Yes!” Jack finally spoke. “Yes, please.”
“Okay,” Vulcan said. “So every new recruit needs to know that we run a tight crew here at the Nest. There are three hundred Scavengers, and even though the city merchants are required to give us food, we have to find everything else we need to live on our own. For however long you stay with us, you’re part of our crew.” He stopped, giving them a serious look. “Silver’s the captain, and though she might look friendly, she’s not. When she says ‘Jump,’ you say ‘Onto which rooftop?’ Got it?”
Wren exchanged an amused look with Simon. Jack grinned and ran his hand back through his hair, messing it up. Even though Wren didn’t know the expression, Vulcan’s meaning came through loud and clear. Silver was the boss. At least for now.
With that introduction complete, Vulcan led them through a long, dimly lit, darkly papered hallway that smelled like boiled potatoes. They climbed up a scarcely used stairwell to a room crowded with more cubbies. Their contents overflowed so much that they nearly blocked out the weak lamplight filtering through the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows in each of the walls. Hammocks were strung at varying heights between them, and the result made Wren feel a touch claustrophobic. A few boys dozed in their hammocks. One was hunched over a worktable in the corner, and when he saw them enter, he hurriedly covered what he was working on and scowled at Vulcan.
“They’re clear,” Vulcan reassured him. “They’re with me.” He turned to Wren and the others and said under his breath, “Some of us Scavengers can be a little . . . protective . . . of what’s ours.” He ducked under an unoccupied hammock and down a hallway that ended in a cramped room filled with boys and girls of all ages. Wren recognized some of them from the marketplace. The foods they had acquired were piled up on wide platters in front of them. Other kids perched on stools or crowded into window seats, gnawing on the meat skewers. As if in response, Wren’s stomach growled embarrassingly loudly.
“Dig in!” Vulcan said, shoving his way through to the table. “Rocky!” He gestured to a boy whose cheeks were stuffed with food. “Pass that down here.” While the boy complied, the girl on his other side studied them over the full table.
“Silver,” Vulcan said respectfully. “We’ve got some new recruits.”
Wren could see where Silver got her name. Smooth, nearly white hair hung past her shoulders. She took a slow sip from a dented tin cup and finally nodded approval.
“Welcome,” she said, spreading a hand toward their empty plates. “There’s plenty of food. Eat.”
Wren was glad that Silver’s first command was something she wanted to comply with. She didn’t waste any time. There was bread and some kind of meat pie. The food on the stick resembled chicken, and the fruit tasted just as sweet as fruit from home. The pie was good, if a little spicy, and Wren was so hungry she didn’t really care about that. As the ot
her kids finished eating, they moved on to other activities. Some younger boys were hunched over the floor playing a game that looked like marbles, except with balls that glowed blue in the dim lighting. Near them, older kids had fiddles out and were playing a merry tune, and a handful of girls around them had started dancing.
Wren felt people watching her, and she wondered if her costume was fooling anyone. The real Scavengers were similarly dressed. Leather and ruffles, patched and mended fabrics, buckles and straps all over the garments, and pockets everywhere—the waist, the shoulders, and any other place anyone could conceivably want to have a pocket. Wren wondered what it was that everyone put in them. She had seen Vulcan tuck something from one of the cubbies inside one boot, and a spyglass dangled from his belt. Wren wondered what kind of place Nod was that they needed so many tools. Or weapons. Half a dozen times she started to ask Vulcan questions and as many times, she stopped herself. Surely even the outcast Outsiders, whoever they were, knew the basics of how Nod worked.
With her hunger satiated, the reality of their predicament began to settle in. They might have escaped Boggen’s soldiers, but they still were alone in a city of Magicians, all of whom could hate the Alchemists for all she knew. And while they had found a temporary reprieve at the Nest, they couldn’t stay here forever. At least she hoped not. They needed to figure out how to rescue the others and get back to Earth. Next to Wren, Vulcan was pouring a black liquid that looked like tea from a steaming pot. He handed her a cup, and Wren decided to take a chance on some careful questions.
“This Outsider prisoner you heard about,” she said, blowing on the hot liquid. “Do you know where he’s being kept?”
Vulcan gave her a curious look. “Where all the prisoners are kept,” he said, and Wren felt her heart leap. All the prisoners could mean Mary and Cole as well.
She took a sip of the scalding liquid. “I see,” she said, thinking fast. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten so turned around I don’t know where we are exactly.” She gave an embarrassed cough. “But we really do need to get to the prisoner. Do you think you could show us the way?”
“To the House of Never?” Vulcan set his cup down, a gleam in his eye. “It would be my pleasure.”
NINE
Hickory dickory dock,
The three climbed up the clock.
The clock struck one,
Away they run,
Hickory dickory dock.
It was late when they finally arrived at the House of Never. The city sprawled around them in ripples of buildings and alleys, which Vulcan navigated with familiar ease until they began to slowly ascend, the streets swirling upward toward a hill in the center. The buildings here were quiet, no evening lamps lit inside, and at their center a huge brick-and-glass monstrosity loomed over it all. The core of it reminded Wren of a monument, with smooth sides that stretched up to a tapered point, but wooden turrets and outcroppings bulged from the sides, interspersed with large glass-paned additions. The largest of these additions, a big circular window, was constructed of familiar-looking black-and-white glass.
Wren recognized it immediately from her dreams. She remembered how Boggen had looked silhouetted by the black-and-white glass, how angry his face had been when he discovered that she had traveled through the dream. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“The House of Never,” Vulcan said. “Boggen’s headquarters.” He ducked through a crumbling portion of the brick wall that surrounded the House of Never. He swung himself up to a bridge as if they were in a playground rather than a prison. Vulcan paused at the foot of a spiral staircase. “This will take you to the upper levels, where they keep the prisoners.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you need an extra crew member for your mission?”
“Shh,” Simon said. He seemed to be listening for something off in the distance.
Wren exchanged an alarmed glance with Jack. The last thing they needed was someone from Nod tagging along to discover that they were, in fact, Alchemists. However nice Vulcan seemed, he was still a stranger.
“No,” Wren said quickly. “I think we can take it from here.”
“She’s right,” Jack said. “We’ve got our . . . um . . . Outsider plans. Top secret, you know. Can’t tell anyone. Nope.” Jack was rambling now, and Wren stomped on his toe to get him to stop. “But thanks for the offer,” Jack finished with a pained grimace. His words sounded fake-cheerful, and Wren could tell by the look on Vulcan’s face that they might have made things worse.
“O-kay,” Vulcan said slowly, turning away from Jack and giving Wren a crooked salute. “Good luck. And you know you can always find me at the Nest.”
Wren watched Vulcan disappear into the shadows with a fleeting sense of regret and some other emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Oh, come on,” Jack said. “Stop staring at him and let’s go.” Wren blushed, and then quickly scaled the ladder with Jack and Simon following quietly behind. They hurried along a catwalk that skirted a wooden turret. If they could cross over to that bridge there, and then swing up to the parapet outside it, they’d be almost on the upper level. Ducking under the cover of one of the many roofs, she waited for the boys to join her.
“We should put on the invisibility tincture,” Simon said, and pulled out a little bottle from one of his many pockets. Jack and Wren stood shoulder to shoulder with him, forming a little circle that would hide the glistening stardust from sight as Simon worked the rhyme and showed them how to apply it. Soon, they were as unnoticeable as the shadows, darting upward as quietly as possible. After Wren climbed up the final ladder, she leaned against the wall at the top to catch her breath.
“Jack?” she asked, when she heard the sound of someone bumping into a wall, followed by a muffled groan. She recognized the sound of Simon flipping a page in his notebook, which meant that he was somewhere nearby as well.
“Hey,” Jack said. “Did you see that twisty little staircase?” He paused, out of breath. “There’s a door there. I think maybe we can get in that way.”
“Excellent!” Wren said, listening carefully to Jack’s instructions. It was difficult to follow someone you couldn’t see.
Jack’s discovery turned out to be a stroke of luck. The rooftop below them was shabby and untended. It looked like it had once been a main part of the building, but in the intervening years someone had built two bulging turrets to either side, leaving a sliver of a path between them that led up to a forgotten door. But that was where their good fortune ended. The door was shut tight, and there wasn’t even a lock to try to pick. Jack claimed he could have easily done so if there was one.
Wren peered through the smudged window but couldn’t make out anything. “I guess we can try the rooftop,” she suggested. Back at the Nest it had seemed like a good idea to go to the House of Never and then figure out a way in, but now it seemed like they might have made a wasted trip.
“Why don’t we just break the window?” Simon asked.
“And announce to Boggen’s soldiers that we’ve arrived?” Wren said. “I don’t think so.”
“What else is being invisible for?” Simon asked, and Wren could almost hear the smile in his voice. Before she could say anything else, there was a crashing sound of tinkling glass.
“Simon!” she gasped. “We didn’t even—”
“It wasn’t Simon.” Jack’s voice held an unmistakable grin. “He’s right. We’re freaking invisible!”
“Shh!” That was Simon. “Someone’s coming.”
Wren crouched up against one of the turrets, instinctively hiding even though the henchman peering out the window couldn’t see them.
“No one’s here,” he said in a voice with a heavy accent. “The exterior is empty.”
“Are you positive?” A woman’s voice this time. The first man jerked aside, and another face peered out. The woman had a bright red scarf tied smoothly over her scalp. Wren had seen one of those red scarves before, back
at the airship. Whoever wore it seemed to be the leader among the soldiers. The woman moved toward a pipe fixed to the wall near the window and spoke into it. “Glass exterior broken on floor twenty-seven, witnessed by Delta and Omega. No evidence of nefarious activity.” She flicked a switch next to the tube, and another voice filled the air, with the tinny sound of a radio.
“Report accepted,” the voice at the other end of the pipe said. “Delta and Omega: confirm status of prisoners and report back, please.”
“Right away, sir,” the woman with the red scarf said. The two guards swiveled and moved away from the window. Wren inched forward, glass crunching under her boot. It sounded excruciatingly loud in the quiet night air, but they didn’t have much choice. Those soldiers were going to check on the prisoners, and if they moved fast, they might be able to follow them.
The others must have had the same idea, because just in front of the window she bumped into someone.
“Ow,” Jack moaned, as his scalp met her chin.
Wren groaned.
“Wait,” Simon whispered from somewhere behind them. “I heard something.”
“Of course you heard something,” Wren said. “This is a bad idea. All of us bumbling about like this.” Apparently, invisibility had its drawbacks. They needed a plan.
“No,” Simon said, his tone uncharacteristically forceful. “I heard it earlier, too. I think the falcons found us.”
Wren scanned the silent, dark sky. She didn’t know what Simon was hearing, but they were losing time.
“Okay, listen to me. Jack and I are going to catch up to those guards and follow them to the prisoners. Simon, you do what you need to with the falcons and keep an eye on the exit. Everybody, be smart, and we’ll be back here in—” She faltered halfway through the window. It wasn’t like they had a way of keeping track of time. “Well, whenever we’re done, I guess. Be careful, Simon.” But Simon was already gone, his footsteps climbing higher up one of the ladders, toward where the falcons might be.