The Keepers (45 page)

“It's not gone, Chloe. Just traveling. Traveling to you.”

“No, no, it isn't anywhere. I would know if it was. It's nowhere in the world right now.”

Horace knew there was nothing he could say to make this better, so he said the only thing he could. “We have to move. We've been here too long.”

Chloe slowly rose. “I can't feel my feet,” she muttered.

“You have to walk. Let's go, Chloe. This is the way back to it. But you have to walk.”

“Walk,” Chloe said, her voice like dirt. “Walk.”

He tried to give her back some of the strength she'd given him. Slowly, agonizingly, he led her past the boiler, out into the wet hallway. He would have given almost anything to have Gabriel show up just then. If they were spotted, they were cooked; there was no way Chloe could run. And now worse thoughts came to him. Horace's first trip through the Nevren had almost cut him off permanently from his Tan'ji—dispossessed him. Were they running that risk now? Had he made a terrible mistake? Perhaps the reason no one would stop Chloe from being taken tomorrow night was because . . . there was nothing left to save.

But he'd gotten through that first Nevren, and he remembered how. “Chloe,” he said. “You want it back, don't you? The dragonfly? The Alvalaithen?”

“It's gone,” she mumbled.

“No, it's not. It's with me. I have the dragonfly.” He released her and backed away. He held up a clenched fist. She stumbled but then moved toward him.

“That's not yours,” she said. “That's mine. That's me.”

“Come and get it.” She came on slowly, muttering. It
could barely be called progress, but at least they were moving. They inched on, sticking to the shadows. They saw no one—no Riven, not the mysterious flute girl. They never heard the golem. Once, Chloe seemed to forget what the dragonfly even
was
, but then she remembered, calling for it, and kept after him step by aching step.

When they were nearly at the utility tunnel that led to the ladder, Chloe yanked out her jithandra, bathing them both in its red glow. Alarmed by the sudden light, Horace was faced with the embarrassing prospect of putting it back in her shirt for her. He swung it around between her shoulder blades, dropping it down along her back. But then he froze. “Oh, hell.”

The dumindar was still around her neck.

The dumindar couldn't safely go with Chloe or Horace right now, and it would be a shame to lose it. If he'd been thinking more clearly, he would have sent it through the box along with the dragonfly. Now he took it off Chloe, dropping the chain over his own head. Maybe he could find a place to hide it before he was caught. So many turnings, so many things to go wrong. What else had he overlooked?

“It's gone again,” Chloe said. “You're taking it again. I'll tell.”

“Yes, I'm taking it. Come get it.” He started moving forward again. “Here it is, Chloe. You'll have to take it back from me.”

At last Horace led Chloe down to the little alcove they'd
hidden in before. She sagged into it, swaying. At the far end was the ladder that led up to the side door through which Chloe would return in less than twenty-four hours.

“Okay, Chloe. This next part, you have to do alone.”

“I am alone.”

“You're not alone, not yet. I'm here. Horace. Chloe, you have to listen to me. You have to remember.”

“I can't remember anything. Everything.”

“Remember to tell Mr. Meister, Chloe—we sent the dragonfly through the box.”

“The dragonfly. It's gone.”

“Not gone—traveling. Tell him that. You're traveling toward each other, you and the dragonfly. You go up the ladder and out. Get away from this place. That's the way back to the Alvalaithen.”

“Up and away.”

“Yes. And then one last thing.” Horace bent in front of her, trying to catch her eye. “The ash door, Chloe. Remember the ash door. Don't forget me.”

“The ash door, oh god,” said Chloe, her voice breaking. Tears poured from her eyes. “That's so awful. It's so awful. Oh, god.”

“Hey, it's okay.” Horace reached out and took her hand. It was lifeless and cold, but he held it. “We're going to be okay. Together we can outdo any dark thing, remember?”

“No,” said Chloe. Her tears fell from her chin, wetting Horace's arm, and suddenly he was fighting back his own.

“Well,” he said. “That's okay. You just have to watch.” He pointed down the tunnel, to where the ladder was. “When you see the blue light, go to it. Go up the ladder, and straight out. That's where the dragonfly is. Go to it as fast as you can, okay? But not until you see the blue light.”

“Where is it? Someone had it. The blue light has it.”

“Yes, good. The blue light, and then what?”

“Go to it. Up and away. That's where the dragonfly is.”

“Yes. Up and away.” Horace hoped beyond hope that Neptune would be there still, that she would find Chloe and take her far from this place. “Okay now. Wait here. Don't move until you see the blue light.” He released her hand. It fell to her side like a dead branch. He turned to go, his throat cable-tight.

“Horace,” Chloe said then. Her cheeks shone.

“Yes?” Horace replied, his heart rising. But she said no more.

H
ORACE LEFT HER
. H
E MOVED DOWN THE TUNNEL TOWARD
the ladder. Faint voices trickled down through the hole in the floor above. As he suspected, the side exit was being guarded now. The Riven knew someone was still in the nest. Horace removed his jithandra and held it in his fist, hiding its light. He started cautiously up the ladder.

The voices above—two, or three?—spoke the strange language of the Riven. None of them were Dr. Jericho. At the top of the ladder, Horace cautiously stuck his head out and down the hallway toward the side door. In the shadows he spied two Riven, still talking, gesturing with long limbs. They were dressed in human clothing, but their pale hands and faces shone. Their eyes were large, their heads strangely elongated. They hadn't noticed him yet. Quietly, he pulled himself up out of the hole.

Horace gathered his legs beneath himself, ready to spring. From his awkward sprinter's crouch, he held the jithandra in his fist over the hole. Straight ahead was the hallway down which he and Chloe had come earlier, the one where he'd knocked over the metal rods. It looked clear—no lights, no movement, no sound.

Horace opened his fingers, letting the jithandra fall into the hole. It flared to life, falling bright and blue and clean.
Please be looking, Chloe
, he thought.
The blue light
. It clattered to the floor far below, and after a moment it winked out. Had it been enough? Had she seen? Would she remember?

And then a shout from the side door, like a hiss and a crack. He'd been seen. Horace broke into a run, finding his feet even as the Riven tumbled from the hall, their long-fingered hands reaching for him. He tore down the cluttered corridor, his heart wrestling itself high in his chest, his pursuers' heavy footsteps close behind. He managed to yank a rack of musty clothes into their path, slowing them. He ran as though he was sure all of this was going to work.

He barreled out into the room beneath the stage. Behind him, he could hear the Riven catching up again. It was almost completely dark, and he had to grope his way through the cluttered room. He cracked his shin and banged his elbow. The Riven seemed to be having no such troubles; clearly they could see in the dark far better than he could. He knew he would be caught eventually, but he had to put off that moment for as long as possible. If they caught him now, he might be
sealed in behind the ash door all day and night, waiting for a Chloe he could not be certain would return. Maybe Chloe hadn't seen the blue light. Maybe she'd been caught.

They were on his heels now, their heavy breaths hissing. And then suddenly, miraculously—gray. A gray that swallowed the world, drowning the sounds of pursuit and replacing them with far-off voices that rose in dismay and fear. Horace collided with something solid, cracking his head hard—a wall, or a column. He pressed himself against it. Gabriel's massive voice rolled into him, winded but full of surprise. “Horace!”

“Gabriel.” Horace kept his voice low and clear, knowing Gabriel could hear him. He closed his eyes against the overwhelming endless gray of the humour. “Thank god.”

“I was just coming down to find you. Where's Chloe?”

“Gone. You were right; we found her tomorrow night in one of those cells in the boiler room. But for now she's gone—I hope. I helped her escape.”

“And what about us?” Gabriel said. “There are Riven in the humour even now.”

“I can't tell you what to do.” Horace tried to make himself smaller. He heard voices far out in the gray fog, searching. “But I stay. I stay until Chloe returns.”

“That is a dangerous plan.”

“It's not a plan. It's what happens. I stay.”

“Then so will I. Come with me. I'll keep us both safe. I can't keep the humour going forever, but we can find a place to hide.”

“No,” said Horace, pushing away the power of Gabriel's voice and the temptation it offered—to be hidden and safe, to have an ally at his side. “No, I get caught. They catch me.”

Horace could almost feel the questions in the air as Gabriel paused. “That's why Chloe returns tomorrow night,” Gabriel said. “To rescue you.”

“And her father, of course.” Horace started to mention the Alvalaithen, but didn't, fearful of how Gabriel might react.

Another pause. “If they catch you, they will take the box.”

“I know. And I need to get back to the boiler room first. Something important is happening there tomorrow night. I need to see.”

A hand fell on Horace's shoulder, strong and unseen. Horace gasped. But instead of dragging him forward, the hand gave him a friendly squeeze. “Very well, Keeper. Follow me, quickly.” Gabriel's hand steered Horace forward. Horace stumbled through the humour, keeping his eyes closed and responding to Gabriel's firm hand and words: “A little left. Now straight on. Now quick, quick.” All around them, the voices of the Riven rose and fell. “You're bleeding, by the way,” Gabriel said at one point. “Check your head.” Horace didn't bother. “We're in the stairwell. There's a wall to your left—feel for it.” Horace reached out, scraping his knuckles against a rough surface. “Straight ahead the stairs lead down. Six steps, then a bend, and six more steps. When you reach the bottom, you will be out of the humour. Do what you must. I'll continue to use the staff, to keep the Riven distracted.”

“How many are around us now?”

“Six are in the humour right now,” said Gabriel. “One of them a Mordin. And the crucible dog is somewhere nearby. The stairs are clear, though.”

“The Mordin. It isn't Dr. Jericho, is it?”

“No. If it were, we would not be having this conversation. He is . . . keener than the rest.”

“And the golem?”

“It's above, guarding the ground floor. The golem does not act entirely on its own, you know; someone must hold the reins. There is a Tanu one wields, and the golem obeys. Whoever wields that Tanu at the moment—possibly Dr. Jericho—wants to make sure we don't escape. But apparently he is wasting his time.”

Again Horace's thoughts flickered back to Chloe, hoping beyond hope she'd gotten away. “If it helps,” Horace said, “I didn't see you tomorrow, back at Chloe's house. Neptune and Chloe, yes. But not me or you. I should have told you sooner.”

“Thank you, Keeper. I suppose it does help, in the strangest way imaginable.” He squeezed Horace's shoulder again. “And . . . there's something I should have told you too. Before we left the Warren tonight, Mr. Meister told me to do what I could to ensure that Chloe would extinguish the crucible.”

At first Horace didn't understand. Melding the crucible had been Horace's idea—hadn't it? “But why didn't he just come out and say that to us, if that's what he wanted?”

“I don't know. Perhaps he feared you would not listen to him.”

Part of Horace recognized that the old man might have been right about that, but the rest of him flared with anger. “So this whole mission to rescue Chloe's father—it's just an excuse. We're really here to destroy the crucible.”

“I did not say that. Mr. Meister wants to see Chloe's father rescued as much as anyone.”

“Sure, only because he's worried the Riven will use him to get at Chloe—to get at the Alvalaithen.”

“Are his motivations so important, if the end goal is the same?”

And Horace found he had no answer for that. No answer at all.

Abruptly Gabriel's hand fell away. “They are coming. Go now. Believe me when I say I am on your side. Rescuing Chloe's father comes before all else. I'll find you again before Chloe arrives tomorrow night. Go.” A warm pressure enveloped Horace's hand—not a touch, but the humour itself, firm and reassuring. And then Gabriel said no more.