Artemis struggled all the way up the cellar steps, limping whenever his bruised ankle was put to use. He barely made it halfway before his leg gave way altogether and the dogman had to leave his lantern on the floor and drag him up into the shop, with his dog and the bowman close behind.
Soon only the gray-eyed man was left in the cellar, and he stood there, motionless, staring at the wall as if he could see Kate and Edgar cowering behind it. The bird on his shoulder cocked its head to one side, and Kate pressed her nose right up to the stone beneath the eyehole, watching. She wanted to move back, but any movement might give her away. Edgar’s chest was wheezing with each nervous breath, and she squeezed his hand, desperate for him to be quiet.
“We’re ready, sir,” came the bowman’s voice from the floor above. “There is a girl’s room on the top floor, but the rest of the house is clear.”
“Very well,” said the man. “Return to the square.”
With the wardens gone, the gray-eyed man opened the lantern and slid a small book from a storage shelf beside him. He cracked the book open with one hand, touching its pages to the lantern’s exposed flame. They caught at once. The book smoldered and burned with growing fire, and he carried it up the cellar steps to begin his work.
“He’s going to burn the shop,” whispered Kate, as heavy footsteps crossed overhead.
“Maybe he’s just trying to scare Artemis,” said Edgar. “To make him tell him where you are.”
The hot smell of burning paper crept in around them, and Kate pressed the key into Edgar’s hand.
“He’s doing it!” she whispered. “Open the door. We have to get out.”
Edgar fumbled with the key, dropping it in his panic. “Kate, that man . . .”
“I know,” said Kate. “Just get us out.”
“No, you don’t understand . . .”
Something thumped nearby. A door, slamming open.
“What was that?” Kate twisted back to the eyehole. The man had returned, his face glowing in the light of a flaming torch that blazed in front of him as he walked down the cellar steps. He stopped for a moment at the bottom, looked along the shelves one last time and then rammed the head of the lit torch into the box nearest to him, letting the flames catch, crackle, and spread.
“Oh no,” said Edgar, desperately searching for the fallen key.
The man moved to the next shelf, then another and another, until one side of the cellar was a rising wall of flame. Edgar found the key and felt around for the keyhole, but Kate held him back, pulling on his arm with all her strength. The man did not hear the scuffle above the crackling noise of the flames. He threw the torch into the center of the room, watched it splutter against the stone, and then climbed back up to the doomed shop floor, leaving his deadly fire to spread and grow.
Edgar struggled and scratched the little key into place, fighting to make it turn.
“Stop! It’s too late,” said Kate. “Listen to me!”
Firelight seeped in through the open eyeholes, reflecting in Edgar’s frightened eyes as he turned to her. “The shop is on fire!” he said. “We have to get out!”
“Yes, but not that way. Give me the key.”
“What? No! You said . . .”
“Edgar, please.”
“We’re going to die in here, Kate!”
“No, we’re not.” Kate tugged up a corner of the floor blanket and rapped her knuckles on what sounded like hollow wood where stone should have been. Edgar looked at her, confused.
“Artemis knew what he was doing, putting us in here,” she said. “There’s another way out. Please, Edgar. Trust me.”
Chapter 3
The Warrens
Thick smoke swirled around the cellar, creeping along the stairs, up the chimney, and under the door of the little hiding place. It crawled up Kate’s and Edgar’s noses like ghostly worms, making them cough and choke as the air around them was churned into a deadly soup.
“Here.” Edgar thrust the key into Kate’s hand, and she wrestled the blanket out from under her knees, flapping it back to uncover a circular trapdoor with a sunken handle. Her fingers felt for the keyhole, pushed the key in, and turned it, sending a deep clunk echoing from under the floor.
“Open it. Open it!”
The rusted hinges cracked and moaned as Kate lifted the hatch, sending a gush of dead air swirling up to fill the smoky space. A match flared as Edgar relit Artemis’s lamp and held it out over the deep narrow shaft. There was just enough light to make out a passage at the bottom and a long wooden ladder nailed down the side.
Kate went first, leaving Edgar struggling to keep his eyes open, they were so sore with the smoke.
“It’s not far,” she said, dropping onto hard earth. “Come on.”
Edgar swung himself down the hole and descended the ladder as fast as he could, closing the trapdoor as he went. He jumped the last two rungs and looked back up the shaft, half expecting a warden to come slithering behind them. “Where are we?” he asked.
Kate could hear the worry in his voice and he clung to her wrist. They were standing at the end of a low tunnel built of small gray stones, not far from a shadowy crossroad where it linked with two wider tunnels that split off at sharp angles.
“I’m going to take a look up ahead,” she whispered. “You stay here. Watch the door.”
“Me? Why? Hey, wait!”
Kate ignored him and headed off down the tunnel, taking their only light with her.
Even with the lamp, the tunnel felt tight and claustro-phobic. The walls were rough and uneven, and narrow enough at some points to rub against her shoulders unless she turned to the side. The little flame flickered, burning dangerously low as she drew close to the junction up ahead. She ran her fingers along the wall and was trying not to think about the fires tearing through her home above her, when something crunched under her feet.
Kate stopped and stepped back, worried that the old floor might collapse into a tunnel below. She shone the light toward her feet. The ground felt sturdy enough, but there were tiny brown things scattered over it: things that crunched and clicked under her boots. And they were moving.
The little shapes clambered over one another, writhing across the floor, making it wriggle and shine as if the entire place was alive. Artemis had complained for months about hide beetles attacking the leather-bound books in the cellar; now Kate knew where they had been coming from. She stepped straight through them, reached the junction, and pressed her back against the wall, summoning the courage to look out.
The left-hand tunnel sloped downward and turned a corner some way along, where a torch was burning on a hook in the wall. Maybe someone else had found their way into the tunnels: a neighbor, perhaps, someone who might help her save Artemis from the wardens. Then she looked to the right, where the second tunnel had a torch of its own much farther away, linking on one side with another branching path.
Footsteps echoed slowly in the distance and a third torch moved into sight, carried by a hunched figure walking with slow, shuffling steps. It was a man, his face lit by the flames while his eyes stared hard at the ground.
Kate stayed still.
The man stopped, straightened his back with great effort, and raised his nose to the air. Then he turned, his bloodshot eyes suddenly looking right into hers. She ducked out of sight, pulling her coat over the lamp, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Hello?” the man called down the tunnel, making that one word sound dangerous and threatening. He definitely was not a neighbor.
“Who’s there?” he shouted again.
“Kate?” Edgar called her name from the ladder, and she turned back, gesturing for him to be quiet. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“Hello?”
Kate squeezed along the tunnel as fast as she could and pounced on Edgar, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!” she hissed, pulling him down into a crouch and blowing out the lamp. “There’s someone else down here.”
“Better
come out,” came the man’s creeping voice. “Come on out, now.” A scratching sound scraped the walls: the sound of a blade being dragged slowly along uneven stones. “Yer trespassin’! You got no business bein’ in my place. Come on, now. Show yerself and yer sweet young bones. Let old Kalen pick ’em clean.”
Kate and Edgar waited as the footsteps drew closer, trying to make themselves as small as possible in the space next to the ladder. There was nowhere to go, and smoke was seeping down through the trapdoor as the fire made quick work of the cellar.
“Where are ya, eh? Don’t think I didn’t see you up here, girly.”
The man’s torch swelled the tunnel junction with a wash of light, and he shuffled in after it. He was dressed in the long black robes of a warden, but he looked much older than any wardens Kate had seen. His robes were shabby and worn, he had strips of rags wrapped around his feet instead of boots, and every piece of uncovered skin was streaked with pale mud, making him look grim and skeletal in the half-light.
He raised his torch, turned a grimy dagger in his hand, and looked down the bookshop’s tunnel. Kate and Edgar stared back, not knowing what to do. The man’s light did not stretch all the way along the tunnel. Maybe the shadows would keep them safe. Kate looked up the shaft. The hatch was starting to crackle now. The fire had made its way into the hiding place and the trapdoor was smoldering, sending small sparks fizzling through cracks in the wood.
Something snapped above them, and a handful of hot sparks rained down from the trapdoor into Edgar’s hair. Kate brushed them out before he could notice, but the edges of the door were glowing and curling in the heat. A few minutes more and they would be getting more than sparks dropping on their heads.
The old man showed no sign of moving.
More sparks sprinkled down. The trapdoor began to buckle.
It was time to go.
Kate grabbed Edgar’s arm, pulling him awkwardly behind her, and together they ran for it. The man looked up, spotted Kate’s frightened face heading his way, and grinned.
“Ha!” He lifted his blade, but Kate kept running. She had just one chance. Dozens of shiny beetlebacks were glistening on the floor and some were creeping their way steadily up the tunnel walls. As soon as she was close enough, Kate scraped a handful of squirming beetles from the stones and threw them into the old man’s face. He yelped with surprise, trying to scratch them off with his fingernails, and Kate collided with him, struggling to keep her balance as he fell to the floor.
“Keep going!” shouted Edgar, holding her steady as they clambered out of reach of the old man’s slashing blade. A fist-sized chunk of burning wood bounced down the bookshop’s ladder, sending fiery splinters spearing toward them from the dark, and the man cried out, shielding himself from the sudden burst of flame. Kate and Edgar didn’t wait to see what would happen next. They were already past him, hurtling as fast as they could along the right-hand tunnel, hoping to find a way out—but instead of heading upward, the tunnel dipped steeply down. Edgar grabbed a flaming torch from the wall and tried to keep up.
The tunnel walls whipped past them in a flicker of stones and damp slime, widening slightly the deeper they went. It was like running through a dirty alleyway closed off from the sky. Rotten food spilled out of paper bags stacked against the walls, old blankets were piled up high, wrapped around pieces of rusted metal left leaning against each other, and there were rats: dozens of brown, furry bodies scuttling through it all, carrying off whatever they could salvage from the mess.
At last the tunnel sloped upward and Kate checked the ceiling as they ran, hunting for another trapdoor, a ladder, anything that would take them back up into the world outside before the old man caught up. She could hear him in the tunnel behind them, shuffling along like a vicious crab, gaining on them all the time.
“What’s this?” said Edgar, stopping suddenly. “Look! A door!”
Kate doubled back and found him tugging frantically at a curled handle jutting out of the wall.
“It won’t open,” he said, trying to push it instead. “It won’t . . . Got it!” With one good shove the door scraped open through a mess of food spilled over a hard stone floor. They squeezed in as soon as there was room, bolted the door, and backed away from it, listening for any sign of their pursuer on the other side. He was definitely faster than he looked. He reached the door less than a minute after they did. They could hear him moving in the tunnel, talking to himself.
A sharp scratching noise traced the door’s frame, the handle rattled suddenly, and Kate stepped farther back. The bolt was small. One good kick and it would snap from its screws in a second. “We have to get out,” she whispered. “Where do you think we are?”
The torch shone around a large underground room lined with shelves, each one holding rows of different colored bottles and rough sacks, but for every bottle and sack lined up along the walls, at least two lay smashed or torn open on the floor. Dark brown liquid seeped through islands of bread rolls, fresh meat, and squashed vegetables, and the warm tang of alcohol thickened the air.
“Smells like ale,” said Edgar, crunching through a scattering of broken glass. “I think we’re under an inn.”
“It looks like the wardens have already been here,” said Kate. “We should be all right, so long as they’ve gone.”
Kate made her way over to a wooden staircase at the back of the cellar and listened for any sound coming from above.
“Hear anything?” asked Edgar.
“No. I think we can risk it.”
The tunnel door rattled hard with a loud bang, sending one of the bolt’s screws bouncing across the floor.
“You first,” said Edgar. “Better he gets me than you.”
Kate didn’t have time to argue. She grabbed the handrail and threw herself up the staircase, heading for the sunlight that was seeping in under a door. She flung it open and burst through, emerging in the main room of the inn behind a long thin bar. Sunlight streamed in through a row of small arched windows decorated with stained-glass shooting stars.
“We’re in the Falling Star,” said Edgar, panting up behind her. “We’re on the other side of the market square.”
“So where is everyone?”
The inn was deserted. Most of the tables were crushed or upturned and some of the spindles were snapped on the banister of the staircase leading to the rented rooms above. They could still hear the thump-thump of the old man smashing something against the cellar door, but other than that, the whole place was horribly silent.
“All right,” said Edgar. “We’ve got wardens on the loose and a creepy old guy in the cellar. Now are you ready to run?”
“I’m not going anywhere without Artemis.”
“They think he’s one of the Skilled, Kate! They think he was the one who brought that bird to life. They’re not going to just hand him over. You know what that means, right?”
Kate didn’t want to think about what it meant. All she knew was that her uncle was in trouble because of her. She was not going to leave him behind.
“That man we saw back at the shop, he’s trouble,” said Edgar. “Have you ever heard of Silas Dane?”
Kate shook her head.
“He’s a collector. One of the best. Whatever the High Council wants, he goes out and gets it for them. And if he’s got your uncle—”
A shout from outside cut him off, and Kate ran to the window, rubbing grime away from a blue pane to look out across the square.
The market square was not a market any longer. Clustered among the squat wooden stalls were dozens of metal cages, each one mounted on wheels, with two horses at the front and big enough for four or five people to be squeezed inside. There were wardens out there. Kate counted at least thirty, with more arriving all the time, all pacing around the square in their black robes, surrounding groups of people like vultures circling a kill.
The wardens shouted orders as they walked, dragging people out of the crowd and forcing them into the cages, ready to be se
nt off to war. Every one of the wardens was armed, but the town had been taken by surprise and there had been no resistance strong enough to require bloodshed yet. The town would be harvested, and the wardens would be gone as suddenly as they had arrived. Everyone knew what to expect. Morvane was beaten, and there was nothing anybody could do.
The sun was shining brightly now and the air was crisp and cold, tainted by the smell of smoke. Kate looked across the square to the bookshop. The little building was completely ablaze. Its windows were smashed, the lower floor was engulfed in flames, and smoke was pouring from the upstairs rooms, snaking up into the sky, taking everything she had ever known with it.
“Look,” said Edgar. “Over there.”
Something was going on in the northeastern corner of the square, where a tall man was standing next to the town’s memorial stone. Kate recognized him at once. The man with gray eyes. Silas Dane.
She pressed her cheek against the window to get a better view and saw a group of prisoners standing near him with their hands tied. One of them was being supported by one of the others, unable to put his weight upon an injured ankle. “Artemis,” said Kate, pushing away from the window and making a sudden run for the door, all fear of the wardens forgotten.
“Kate! Look out!”
Something sharp and silver cut through the air, narrowly missing Kate’s arm, and Edgar ran to her, fleeing from a face that had appeared on the other side of the bar.
The old man from the tunnels looked even more terrifying in the sunlight. Everything about him looked pointed and vicious. His nose was short and sharp, his cheekbones jutted out, and his mouth looked more like a beak, with a pointed top lip spiking down over a thin scar where the lower lip used to be. He crept forward and drew a second dagger from his rat-eaten belt, a smile squirming across his lips.
“Gotcha now, girly.” He raised his hand to throw another blade, and the bright glint of metal flashed again.
Shadowcry Page 3