by Lisa McMann
News from Underground
Tell me everything,” said Thisbe. “Is Maiven okay? I’ve been anxious to ask ever since I saw you without her. I thought you must have been captured. I pictured Maiven in the dungeon again . . . It was so depressing.”
“Maiven is—” Rohan stopped abruptly, as if thinking something through. Then he glanced at Thisbe’s worried face. “Oh, she’s fine. Wonderful, in fact.” He flashed a smile. “I would have let you know what happened if I could have. But I thought you were compromised by the Revinir, just like you thought I was.”
Thisbe grasped Rohan’s hand. “Thank goodness we are both such good actors,” she said with a laugh. “And you haven’t had any training!”
“When your life depends on it, you don’t need training,” said Rohan. He peered out of the tunnel at his door. “And speaking of that, I’m surprised no one has come to check on the racket you’ve been making. Where’s Mangrel? He’s been acting different lately.”
“I noticed that as well! Maybe he slept through the noise this time.” Thisbe checked her door too and grew uneasy. “He’d have been here by now if he’d heard, though, right?”
“I imagine so. But with fewer guards around, maybe nobody heard or felt the explosions.”
“Well, then,” said Thisbe, feeling a little more at ease, “tell me whatever you can before it’s time to go back to work.”
“First, may I express how glad I am that you’re alive? I was a little worried about the volcano network.” He gazed earnestly at her.
“That’s a story for later,” said Thisbe. “We ended up in a very creepy place, but made it out all right.”
“Did you find Sky?”
“Yes! She was in our world.”
“Thank goodness.” Rohan settled in. “After you and your friends left, I explained to Maiven everything I knew about the broths and what they did to you—how they affected you. She and I determined that the ancestor broth worked something like an antidote to the dragon-bone broth. And we knew from what you’d told me that the ancestor broth worked only on those with black eyes, like our fellow slaves. So once we got settled and Maiven started feeling better, she and I slowly hatched this madcap plan for me to fake being affected by the Revinir’s roar so I could infiltrate the catacombs and try to get our fellow future rulers back to our side.”
“That was very smart of you,” said Thisbe. “But dangerous, too—what if she forced you to drink the dragon-bone broth?”
“I drank the vial of ancestor broth you gave me as a protectant right before I came.”
“Ooh.” Thisbe leaned forward. “So you see visions now too?”
“Oh . . . ,” he said, seeming suddenly troubled. “Yes. I . . . We’ll get to that later. I wonder if we’re seeing different parts of the same events of the past . . . or if maybe we’re getting slightly different points of view.”
Thisbe was intrigued, but she had a million other questions to get to in such limited time. “How did you come to join this group, though? Didn’t the Revinir suspect something when you didn’t have scales?”
“Ah, but I do have them.” He pulled up his sleeves and showed Thisbe. “Maiven and I stuck them on with a glue she made out of sap. They look real, don’t they?” He pulled a small container of glue and a bag of scales from his pocket. “I have more in case I lose any.”
Thisbe pulled a magical highlighter from her pocket and lit it so she could see better. “Wow!” she said. “That’s amazing. How did you find actual dragon scales?”
“Maiven,” said Rohan. “She had a whole wooden box full of them in her house. We found them when we were cleaning up, and that planted the first seeds that led to our little plan.”
“Why would she have a box of dragon scales?” asked Thisbe, trying to imagine the answer.
“She said she and her siblings collected them when they were young, sort of like you and I might collect bird feathers or leaves from different kinds of trees today. It was very common back then, since the dragons were plentiful around here.”
“They’re plentiful again,” said Thisbe wryly.
“Indeed they are. The circumstances are quite different now, though.”
“Yes.” Thisbe paused for a moment to check the door once more. “So you glued the scales onto your arms and legs and just knocked on the castle door? Or what?”
Rohan laughed. “I wasn’t quite that bold. I hid near the castle and waited for her to roar, then showed up as if responding to the call.” His smile faded. “She was calling for us—you and me. And she was delighted to see me, to say the least. She asked where I got the dragon-bone broth. I told her I’d stolen a bottle at the market after you and I split up, because I was so hungry. She’s continued to sell it there, you know.”
“Is that why so many people are just blindly doing what she wants?”
“Yes. She’s given it to all the king’s green-uniformed soldiers too. Just enough so they obey her.”
“Oh no.” That was hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people. “I guess I knew she had to be planning to do something with all of those vials. She’s taken more herself. I can see the difference.” Thisbe shook her head. “You told her you and I split up? We should get our stories straight.”
“I . . . yes.” Rohan looked pained. “I wasn’t expecting the question. I should have been. I told her you were rescued—I couldn’t think of anything else plausible that would cause us to separate. I should have said you were killed or something. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I inadvertently sent her in search of you and put you all in danger.”
“Well, don’t feel bad,” said Thisbe. “She saw all of my fellow Artiméans fighting her, so she would have assumed they’d taken me with them when they left. She’s known for a long time how to find us. You didn’t ruin anything.”
Rohan blew out a relieved breath. “So you must have seen us coming and heard the roar—is that what made you and Drock decide to infiltrate?”
“Mostly we left Artimé because we were afraid the Revinir would attack our people. I assumed the Revinir wouldn’t have stopped until she found me.”
“You’re right,” said Rohan. “She was prepared to attack anything in her way. And she would have sent us in to find you—that’s why we were along for the ride. I was determined to get to you first and convince you to come. She’s not going to kill us. She just wants our loyalty.”
“We thought that too.” Thisbe almost smiled. How cool it was that she and Rohan had been thinking so similarly while they were apart. But her thoughts returned to the Revinir. “She’s greedy, and she won’t stop until she has everything and everyone. Drock and I believed that if we gave ourselves up, she’d be satisfied and leave Artimé alone. And thank goodness she did, because we weren’t prepared to fight dragons.”
“You did the right thing.”
“The problem is that I hadn’t expected her to want Fifer, too, since she’d hardly seen her and never had her working for her before. But I should have known better. She and the pirate captain have had their eyes on us since we were toddlers.”
“You were smart to tell her Fifer was here. That was quick thinking.” Rohan looked admiringly at Thisbe.
Thisbe felt her face grow warm. “Thanks, but I’m worried for when she figures out I lied.”
“The good thing is that as long as she believes you’re under her mind control, she won’t be expecting you to lie. So you should be able to continue tricking her if you don’t make a mistake.” Rohan shifted. “And we’ll just take things one day at a time. Keep sounding certain that Fifer is in this land somewhere. That’s how we’re going to get through this. Besides, didn’t Fifer and your other friends hide out in the forest for a long time before this?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’ll probably be a while before the Revinir starts to become suspicious.”
“I hope so.” Thisbe suppressed a yawn. It had to be very late, but she didn’t want to sleep. “How are we going to explain the tunnel to Mangrel?” She wave
d her hand at the opening in the wall.
“Same as last time. I think just piling up bones to cover the view of the hole is our best option. He won’t be expecting it, since we are supposedly fully obedient while under the Revinir’s spell.”
“I’m starting to grasp that—and I think it can work in our favor.” Thisbe nodded slowly. “Do you think Mangrel is . . . maybe . . . I don’t know . . . sympathetic? A little bit?”
Rohan looked sidelong at Thisbe. “It’s funny you noticed that too. When I arrived, I think he was truly troubled to see me back here.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Thisbe, sitting up. “Me too.”
“But he certainly isn’t trying to help us escape,” Rohan said bitterly. “Not him or the soldiers. They have the power to help us, but they have no inclination to do it. I wonder how they are human at all.”
Thisbe slumped again. “I’ve wondered that many times.”
“If they don’t support what the Revinir is doing, they are too cowardly to stand up and speak out against it.”
“Unfortunately, unlike them, we can’t afford to be cowardly,” said Thisbe. Her eyelids drooped, but one question remained unanswered. “How were you planning to get the other black-eyed slaves back on our team when you weren’t able to make ancestor broth?”
Rohan lolled his head sleepily to one side to look at her. “I was still trying to figure out how to cook a secret batch when the Revinir called us to assist with the mission to capture you and Drock. So your timing, Miss Thisbe, was impeccable.”
They dozed side by side, cradled by the curve of the circular tunnel walls. Before Mangrel could discover them in the morning, Rohan snapped awake. He crawled carefully over Thisbe so as not to disturb her and built her bone pile to cover the view of the tunnel. Then he did his own before gently waking her and sending her down to the floor to await the crypt keeper’s arrival. The ancestor broth, simmering in the kitchen, would be finished and ready to bottle.
But when Thisbe arrived in the kitchen, Dev was already there. And her cauldron of ancestor broth was empty.
One Vial at a Time
Dev!” hissed Thisbe. “What have you done?” She ran over to her cauldron and stared inside. It was clean and empty.
“You made a mistake,” said Dev evenly. “The servant, Rohan, gave you the wrong bones. I had to dump it out.”
“Oh,” said Thisbe, crestfallen but trying to regain her composure. Inside she was throwing a fit. Outwardly she fought to control her frustration. “I am sorry for my mistake.”
Dev didn’t respond and turned to his station, starting his new batch for the day. Thisbe looked around helplessly. Where had he dumped it? Was it salvageable?
“I bottled and shelved several before I saw that the bones were wrong,” Dev said. “You should remove them from the throne room. They’re the ones on the far end.”
Thisbe’s pulse quickened. She moved deliberately to the throne room and looked at the long stretch of table that held stockpiles of dragon-bone broth. At the far end were a handful of bottles that had a slightly richer, golden-colored broth within. Shaking, Thisbe shoved a few ancestor broth vials into her already full pockets, and then slipped a few more into the waistband of her pants, pulling her shirt over to hide them. She took a handful of dragon-bone broth vials and ceremoniously uncorked them and dumped them down the drain so that Dev would notice and be able to report that she’d done it, if asked. She hurriedly rinsed the bottles and put them with the empties, then turned back to her station. With no more ancestor bones in sight, and with Dev there to stop her from making the same “mistake” again, Thisbe wasn’t sure what else to do but begin a new batch of dragon-bone broth, which she reluctantly did.
Sometime later, two soldiers on their rounds stopped in to check on them. “The Revinir has ordered you slaves to take another dose today,” one of them announced. The woman stood there waiting for Thisbe and Dev to act on the command. “Bring me enough for the others so I can distribute them.”
“Yes, soldier.” Thisbe kept her expression dull, but inside she was freaking out. “I’ll go get them.” She went into the throne room again, trying to come up with a plan on the fly. Was there a way to start slipping the ancestor broth to the others so that they didn’t keep getting more and more embroiled in the Revinir’s plan? Thisbe didn’t have enough bottles in her pockets and waistband for everyone, but she had enough for most of them, at least.
She pulled all but one of them out, counted them, and grabbed a couple of the dragon-bone broth vials too. Returning to the kitchen, she handed one of the bottles from her pocket to Dev, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize it or notice its darker color, and kept one for herself. The rest she gave to the soldier. She uncorked hers and drank it obediently, trying not to make a face at the horrible taste. A rush of warmth rolled through her, and the familiar images posted like wallpaper around her mind, not impairing her vision at all but still distracting her with the sounds that accompanied the scenes. Maiven Taveer! Maiven Taveer! echoed in her ears. She set the glass container on the counter.
Dev uncorked his vial, barely looking at the contents of the bottle before chugging it down. He frowned after swallowing and wrinkled his nose. “Prindi and Reza must have made that batch,” he said, and set his bottle into the sink. “They got fired from kitchen duty.”
It was the most information Dev had given since Thisbe had been back. Thisbe rinsed the bottles, still feeling a bit dazed by the broth. The image of the girl being taken away by pirates loomed large.
Satisfied, the soldiers left.
Thisbe glanced at Dev, who stood with his back to Thisbe, hands pressing on the counter as if to steady himself. He didn’t move for a long moment, and then he shook his head and made a noise.
Thisbe glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to make sure the soldiers were gone, then went over to him. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
“I think so,” Dev whispered back, but he appeared unsteady.
“Let me help you sit down,” said Thisbe, eyeing him carefully. His face was flushed and covered in sweat. Thisbe took his arm and lowered him to a sitting position on the floor.
Dev pressed his palms against his eyes and let his head fall back against the cupboards. He didn’t say anything, and Thisbe, though she wanted to pelt him with questions, knew to stay silent or risk being thought of as suspicious. Instead she took a moment to close her eyes and focus on turning off the volume in her ringing ears. To her great surprise and relief, she managed to quiet the screaming of Maiven’s name.
After a moment, Thisbe returned to her station to light her fire and get her broth going. Dev got up and went back to work too, his once blank expression looking slightly puzzled now. Thisbe held her breath and watched him closely. Was he lucid? Had just one dose helped counter the effects? Should she say something to him?
“Feeling better?” Thisbe asked tentatively.
Dev startled. He turned toward her, still mildly puzzled, and studied her face. Then he looked away again without a word and carried on with his work.
Thisbe did too, all the while wishing there was a way to tell Rohan she needed more ancestor bones today—she knew he wouldn’t risk bringing more when he’d just done it, and he probably expected there to be plenty of ancestor broth to last several doses for each slave.
But even if Rohan did bring more, how was she going to make the broth with Dev’s watchful eye on her?
As she worked her familiar tasks in the kitchen and puzzled over how to get to the next step in the plan, she let her focus stray to the images that had found a permanent place around the edges of her vision. In general she’d gotten so used to them that she hardly noticed them. But since taking the extra dose of ancestor broth just now, they were more prominently displayed in her mind. She focused on the girl and the pirate ship, which was the scene she saw far more often than any other.
When Thisbe studied it this time, she noticed the girl’s face was much clearer than it
had been in the past. With a start, she thought the girl looked a lot like Fifer and her. The memory of what Frieda Stubbs had said in Artimé came pounding back too, as well as the suspicion she’d felt but hadn’t had time to linger on. Frieda had said that Thisbe’s mother was a pirate who’d come to Quill as a girl around Frieda’s same age, before their group had gone through the purge. That would have made them twelve or so. The girl in the image could totally pass for twelve.
What if Thisbe’s mother hadn’t actually been a pirate? But instead she’d been torn from this land before the worlds split and had somehow arrived in Quill by pirate ship? What if the girl in the image wasn’t Maiven Taveer, whose name was being screamed by someone Thisbe couldn’t see? What if the girl was . . . Thisbe’s mother?
Willful Ignorance
Frieda Stubbs, head mage of Artimé, couldn’t access the mostly secret hallway. So in order to get the grand living quarters she felt she deserved, she evicted the people in the apartments on either side of hers, busted down the walls between them with a magical sledgehammer, and turned the space into a giant suite for herself.
While her supporters and opponents clashed daily on the lawn outside the mansion, Frieda ignored them all and took to collecting as many weapons as she could find around the magical world, taking a great number of them from the theater auditorium, much to Samheed’s chagrin. She decorated her extra-large space with them, happily making up stories about how she’d used each piece in a previous battle . . . though she’d never actually participated in any battles. She counted the stories as real when she began retelling them to her faithful followers. Some of them believed her. Others didn’t, but they let her tell them anyway.
Florence struggled to control the two factions fighting in Artimé, and Simber sank into a deep depression. The only thing keeping him sane was a lie he’d told Frieda—that he couldn’t access the family hallway where she lived because he wasn’t part of anyone’s family. It was a weak excuse and totally untrue. Simber could go anywhere in Artimé as long as he could fit. But he almost never went down that hallway—not that anyone could remember, anyway—so his plan worked, at least for now. It kept him from having to spend so much time with the mage.