Archibald Lox and the Vote of Alignment

by Darren Shan

  There’s a hill of clothes piled up in one corner. The rats dip into the pile as they please, picking out trousers, jumpers, shirts, dumping their old rags on top in case anyone else wants to use them. I don’t think they wash anything. My foster mum would be horrified, but I like the idea of never having to worry about laundry. Maybe I should suggest a system like this to her when (if) I make it home.

  I haven’t thought about home in a long while. George and Rachel will be frantic. My friends will be wondering what’s become of me. I’ll be in all sorts of trouble when (if) I return, and I can’t think of a way to talk myself out of it.

  But that seems insignificant when I consider what will happen in this realm if the SubMerged take over. People will be slaughtered or driven from their homes, forced to obey the laws of an apparently merciless race. I have to put thoughts of home to one side, deal with the Born and its problems when (if) I get back. Right now I need to focus entirely on the Merge.

  As I’m brooding about that, someone steps up beside me and says, “You’re the guy with the writetyper.”

  I turn and smile at Pol, who’s squinting suspiciously at me. “Typewriter,” I correct him. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Pol says, nodding vaguely to the Mischief. “I had things to do today. Important things.”

  “I’m sure,” I mutter.

  “I gave you back the writetyper,” Pol says.

  “I know.”

  “It was useless,” he grunts.

  “I told you that,” I remind him. “It was just a prop for the show.”

  He sniffs and looks at Inez. “Who’s this?”

  “Inez.”

  “Is she your sister?”

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  I feel my throat reddening. “Just a friend,” I say quickly.

  He turns his gaze back on me. “So, what do you want?”

  “A favour.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” he snaps. “You picked the lock on my handcuffs, but they might have snapped loose anyway.”

  “That’s true,” I say calmly.

  “And I gave you back the writetyper,” Pol says.

  “Typewriter,” I correct him again. “You don’t owe me. I helped you because I wanted to. You didn’t ask for assistance, and maybe you didn’t need it. I don’t have a right to ask anything of you.”

  Pol looks surprised but approving. “OK,” he says. “As long as we have that clear. What’s the favour?”

  “You remember Queen Pitina?”

  Pol’s face darkens. “That old witch.”

  “Hey!” one of the girls in the Mischief barks. “She’s our queen.”

  “Queen of my backside,” one of the boys mutters, but is shushed by the others. To my surprise, even the carefree rats feel loyal to Family members.

  “Alright,” Pol sighs, rolling his eyes. “I won’t call her a witch, even though she’d give witches a bad name if she was one. What about her?”

  “She was going to build a prison to punish you,” I remind him.

  Pol spits. “I got away before she could even draw up the plans.”

  “Others won’t be so lucky,” I say softly. “If Pitina triumphs tomorrow, everything will change. She’ll build prisons and turn her troops against anyone who defies her. She admitted she doesn’t like rats. How long before she sends her soldiers to break up the Mischief and turn all of you into good little citizens?”

  “They’ll never break up the Mischief!” an outraged girl shouts.

  “Let her come,” a boy thunders. “We’ll show her who rules here.”

  “And if she sends a deviser?” I ask. “Someone who can bring the roof of this cave down with a click of their fingers?”

  A troubled silence descends. The members of the Mischief share anxious looks. Then a boy stands and says, “Why are you telling us this?”

  “Because I want to stop it.”

  “How?”

  “Inez and I might be able to swing the vote away from the SubMerged.”

  The boy looks sceptical but waits for me to continue.

  “We can do it,” I whisper, “but we need help.”

  The boy shakes his head. “We aren’t dumb enough to start a war with a queen. If we got involved, and Pitina found out, we’d be eliminated, regardless of how the vote goes.”

  “That’s why we haven’t asked the Mischief,” Inez says.

  “Only you,” I say to Pol. “Pitina saw me set you free. She doesn’t understand the ways of rats. I know you don’t owe me, but she’ll think you do. If you help us, she’ll assume it was for personal reasons.”

  Pol looks frightened but thoughtful. He licks his lips and shares a glance with the boy who’s standing. “What do you think?”

  The boy shrugs. “He’s probably right. There’s a good chance she’d lop your head off, but I doubt she’d lay any blame on the rest of us.”

  Pol is still wearing his hooks and he scratches his chin with the tip of one. “What would I have to do?” he asks nervously.

  “We need to get to the Cuckoo’s Nest,” I tell him. “There are vines inside Canadu, running the height of the tree. I bet you guys know the way into some of them.”

  “We know where every vine in Cornan leads,” Pol boasts.

  “You could sneak us into one of the palace vines?” I ask eagerly.

  “I could,” he says, “but it wouldn’t do you any good. There are blocks on them and the locks are unpickable.”

  “That’s my problem,” I say evenly. “I just need someone to lead me there.”

  Pol scratches his chin with the hook again and casts a questioning look at the Mischief but they’re not saying a thing.

  “They might have stuck guards in the vines,” Pol says. “Extra protection ahead of the vote.”

  “We don’t think so,” Inez says. “There’ll be guards in most areas, but they trust the locks and won’t see the vines as a weak point.”

  “I don’t know,” Pol says. “It was one thing to steal from a friend of Queen Pitina’s, but to cross her on something this important...”

  “It’s a gamble,” I agree, “but if you help us and the vote goes our way, it will be known until the end of time that the plans of the SubMerged were undone by the intervention of a rat. You’ll be famous.”

  “Only if you succeed,” Pol says pointedly. “If you fail...”

  “Then you’ll suffer whatever fate we suffer,” Inez says. “You might suffer it regardless, if Pitina is furious enough to come gunning for revenge. And if she does, whatever she cooks up for you will be far worse than prison.”

  “The thing is,” Pol says, “I was more terrified by the thought of prison than dying. I would’ve gone mad if they’d locked me up. Imprisonment is the worst torture I can imagine. Death doesn’t bother me. I’d just scurve in whatever sphere lies beyond this one.”

  He thinks about it some more, then nods abruptly. “I’m in.” Before I can thank him, he jabs a hand up beneath my chin and lightly pierces my flesh with four sharp hooks, and snarls, “But if you lead us into a trap, you won’t have to worry about the SubMerged, because I’ll slit your throat before they get anywhere near you.”

  FIVE — THE LOCK

  25

  WE SET OFF IMMEDIATELY. Inez and I are drained, badly in need of rest, but she doesn’t dare wait in case we run into complications along the way.

  Guido and Lena have come with us. Pol didn’t want them tagging along, but the pair convinced him otherwise.

  “What if you bang your head and get knocked out?” Guido said.

  “And we can help Archie if you need to scurve,” Lena added. “He’s not very good at it.”

  It’s nice having Guido and Lena on the team. They chatter away about silly things, distracting us from the obstacles and dangers ahead.

  “I want to see Queen Pitina,” Lena says. “Does she wear a crown?”

  “Of course not,” Guido snorts. “This isn’
t the Born. She dresses normally.”

  “That’s a pity,” Lena sighs. “Maybe she’ll wear a crown for the vote.”

  “I’ll crown you if you don’t shut up,” Guido grumbles.

  We pause after a couple of hours, to catch our breath and munch some dried mushrooms that Pol produces from a pocket. They’re dotted with lint, but I chew on them gratefully. This is hard work. It’s hot and sticky inside the vines. I see now why the rats wear rags instead of proper clothes. You couldn’t keep clean in here.

  “I haven’t been this way before,” Guido says. “It’s good to explore new systems. The more vines you’re familiar with, the more you’re respected.”

  “There are lots of vines I haven’t been in yet,” Lena says glumly.

  “Don’t worry,” Guido says. “You’ll soon catch up with me, and we’ll find more together. Another twenty or thirty years and there won’t be a vine in Cornan we haven’t explored.”

  “Does it take that long to get to know them all?” I gasp.

  “At least,” Pol says.

  “Why don’t you make maps?” I ask. “That would be easier than trying to explore and remember every vine.”

  “Maps are boring,” Pol snorts. “Half the fun of being a rat is figuring out where all the different vines lead. Plus, if we made maps, fleas could steal them.”

  “Why would they do that?” I frown.

  “To get around the place as quickly as we do,” Pol says. “The vines allow us to cross the city secretly, unseen by prying eyes.”

  “Yeah,” Guido says. “We’ll be in great demand if the SubMerged take over. Fleas will pay through the nose to be guided safely out of Cornan.”

  Pol’s eyes narrow. “I never thought of that. They’ll have to give us whatever we ask for.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t take Archie and Inez any further,” Lena giggles.

  She meant it as a joke, but Pol looks thoughtful.

  “The SubMerged will have already considered that,” Inez says. “Fleas will seek out the rats if the vote goes the wrong way, but not all of them will be looking for help. Some will want to stop the rats from acting as escorts.”

  “By any means possible,” Pol mutters, then gets to his feet and leads again.

  “He wouldn’t really have dumped us, would he?” I whisper to Inez as we drag along behind the rats.

  “Oh, he could have,” she smiles. “Rats are only loyal to themselves.”

  She presses on and I follow close behind, trying not to worry too much about the fickle nature of the rats in whose hands we’ve placed our lives.

  Soon after our rest, we start passing through pitch-black vines that aren’t lined with gleam. The rats pull caps out of their pockets, stick them on and rub gleam into them, which provides us with just enough light to navigate by.

  “We’ll gleam up the vines on our way back,” Pol tells Guido and Lena, “in case other rats come this way in the near future.”

  The next time that we stop, Pol turns and puts a finger to his lips. “The vine starts to climb here and we’ll be inside Canadu when it does.”

  Guido and Lena pass spare hooks to us and we loop them over our hands and feet.

  “Try not to yell if you slip and fall,” Pol whispers. “We’ll be able to hear people outside, and they’ll be able to hear us if we make any noise.”

  “I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Inez grins, and the others chuckle at her little joke.

  Pol turns to Guido and Inez. “I want you to stay here.”

  “No way,” Guido snaps.

  “I want to see the queen,” Lena pouts.

  “Don’t worry,” Pol says. “If Archie opens the lock, I’ll come back for you.”

  Guido frowns. “Why not take us with you now?”

  “The vine loops and bends as it curves up through the tree,” Pol explains. “They blocked it off in the middle of a short, straight section. There should be just enough room for three of us, but five would never fit. You’d have to hang back, and it’s better to do that here, where there’s no chance of you making a noise that might lead to us being discovered.”

  Guido and Lena share a dubious look.

  “I swear on my hooks that I’ll come back,” Pol says softly.

  “Alright,” Guido sighs. “How long will you be?”

  Pol arches an eyebrow at me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It depends on the lock. A few hours, maybe longer?”

  “Maybe never,” Pol snorts.

  I gulp but don’t snap at him, because there’s a chance he might be right.

  We turn to leave but Lena stops us. “Do you want to take my cap, Archie, for a bit of extra light?”

  “Thanks,” I sniff, and bend so that she can put it on me. After she’s done that, she sticks her tongue in my ear. “Yuck!” I yelp, shoving her away.

  “You can stick your tongue in my ear for revenge when you come back,” Lena smirks. Then her smile fades. “So make sure that you do.”

  “I will,” I promise, adding silently to myself, if I can.

  Then I nod at Pol and Inez, and the three of us proceed in silence, Pol leading, me next, Inez bringing up the rear. I hear muffled noises outside, people going about their business and getting ready for the vote. I could eavesdrop if we stopped, but we keep moving, so the voices never swim into focus.

  I’m surprised they didn’t take more measures to limit passage through the vines. They could have filled them with concrete, or carved a hole in each at ground level so that guards could keep watch. I know the locks are meant to be foolproof, but it was foolish to rely on a single deterrent. Not that I’m complaining. Their oversight has given us a chance to pierce their defences — if I can pick the lock.

  The noises fade the further we climb. Soon it’s silent again, except for our huffing and puffing. We follow the vine as it twists, curves and bends. Sometimes it loops round on itself or climbs vertically, and I have to dig in deep with my hooks.

  Finally, having wearily dragged myself up another long bend, I come to a straight section and run into Pol, who’s drawn to a halt.

  “We’re here,” he says, and I turn and whisper it to Inez.

  Pol swaps places with me and I see a white borehole ahead, with a black lock set in the centre of it, dark ripples running through the white.

  I frown, remembering the lock that I opened in the village where I faced my first hell jackal. “They blocked the vine with a borehole?” I hiss.

  “Yeah,” Pol says. “All the blocks are boreholes. I thought you knew that.”

  I shake my head. “I assumed they’d be steel doors.”

  Pol snorts. “There isn’t a door that can’t be cut through with the right tools. A borehole to the Lost Zone, on the other hand, is a real obstacle.”

  “The Lost Zone,” I groan. “I meant to ask Inez what that was after I sent the hell jackal there, but with everything else, I forgot.”

  Pol stares at me. “You don’t know about the Lost Zone?”

  I shake my head. “What is it?”

  “A zone of chaos that’s been formed from the rubble of the fallen zones,” Inez says. “If all the Family members of a realm die, it contracts and explodes. That’s happened three times.”

  “Amethyst, Malachite and Jade,” Pol recites.

  “The shattered pieces of the realms drifted together to form the Lost Zone,” Inez continues. “If you cross, you can never return.”

  “Do you die?” I ask.

  “We don’t know,” Inez says, “because nobody’s ever come back. Some think you get ripped to pieces, others that you wander inside a cloud of dust forever, until the end of time.”

  My chest tightens.

  Then Pol says something that frightens me even more.

  “Don’t touch the borehole or you’ll be sucked through.”

  “That’s right,” I wheeze. “Inez told me that any contact is lethal.”

  “It’s like quicksand,” Pol says. “If you touch it, you’re cl
aimed.”

  I gulp. “So how am I supposed to work on the lock?”

  “Oh, you can touch the lock,” Pol says.

  “You did that in the prison village,” Inez reminds me.

  “But that was a basic lock,” I whimper. “I didn’t have to work on it for long. This could take hours. What if I get tired and an arm slips?”

  Inez shrugs. “We have no other options. Pick the lock. Steer clear of the borehole. That’s all I can tell you.”

  I shiver. The lock is large, but the more I stare at it, the smaller it seems to grow. One careless twist of an elbow...

  “He’s got cold feet,” Pol jeers.

  “Shut up,” Inez snaps.

  “Your tail wants to turn tail and run,” Pol crows.

  “Hold your tongue or I’ll tear it from your mouth,” Inez thunders.

  “I’d like to see you try,” Pol sniffs, but falls silent.

  “I know you’re afraid,” Inez says to me.

  “No I’m not,” I respond automatically.

  “Of course you are,” she says, “but this is what we’ve come so far for. If we turn back now, it will have all been for nothing.”

  I lick my lower lip and flick my gaze at her. “Will you stay close?”

  “Of course.”

  “I will too,” Pol promises, before adding wickedly, “not that it’ll do any good if you brush against the borehole.”

  I scowl at Pol, but the teasing toughens me up. I’m not thinking so much of being sucked into a wasteworld now, but rather of opening the lock so that I can show Pol what I’m made of. “Right,” I mumble and wriggle forwards. “Let’s do this thing.”

  I can see by the gleam on my cap that the lock is hexagonal, and a quick run of my fingers around the interior confirms that there are levers in all six sides. I’ll have to spring them in the correct order, although I’ve a feeling this is only an outer layer, that there are more levers behind these, and maybe a third layer behind those. I can’t say why I suspect that — just gut instinct.

  I start with the bottom and top sides. My fingers slide into the openings and explore, and I quickly lose myself in that intricate world. After a while I withdraw and test the other sides, fingers flicking here and there.