Ambergate (39 page)

“I know, Gobchick.”

“Now Gobchick is alone again.”

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

He shook his head. “’Tis goodbye at last for we two.”

I bent and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “We’ll meet again, I know it.”

He put his free hand to his face and cupped it there, as if he held the kiss. “In the sky behind the sky.”

I had to watch while he fumbled the key into the lock with his old, bent fingers. Behind us I thought the others must be in
a fever of impatience. Erland and Nate had heaved Chance to his feet; he was pinioned between them. He had a sardonic air
about him.

“Is it that boat we’re to go in? It’ll sink, as sure as maybe.”

“You can be first in, then,” said Nate fiercely. “You try it out for us.”

“You’ll have to untie me first.”

“You’ll come willingly?” said Nate, incredulous and suspicious.

“There’s nothing for me here. I’ve disgraced myself today with that skin thing.” He glanced at the torn swanskin, heaped on
the ground where we had been sitting. “I’ll be blamed. Mather will say I didn’t fix it proper. I’m never going to prove myself
to
him
, so I might as well throw in my lot with you.” He looked at me with strange humility. “That is—if you don’t mind.”

I looked back at him in surprise and found myself giving a tiny nod. Nate cast his eyes heavenward, gave up on us both, and
darted back for his ratha.

Once Gobchick had managed to turn the key we all pulled together, for the double gates were heavy, but at last there was a
space wide enough for us to squeeze through on to the brick platform. Nate lifted the lantern, and we saw that Gobchick
had tethered the boat to the iron ring above the level of the black water.

“Goodbye, wise man,” said Nate to Gobchick, and pressed his shoulder. Then he lowered the lantern gingerly, so that it rested
in the bows of the boat.

Chance seemed surprisingly happy to be first to climb in. The boat bobbed on the gently moving surface but didn’t sink. “Who’s
next?” he said with a cheeky grin, and crouched down in the stern.

Nate climbed in, giving him a disgruntled look, and stored his ratha case by his feet in the bows. He held out his hand for
me. I stepped from the platform onto the edge above the channel. “Erland?” I said. He was still the other side of the Gate.

Leah whirled around on the platform and saw him hesitating. “Erland! Why are you waiting? Hurry, for God’s sake!”

“I can’t come, Leah.”

She stared back at him, her eyes wide and frightened. “What do you mean? You must come!”

He looked over at the two youths. “There’s not enough room in the boat. It will sink with a grown man’s weight. I’ll make
my own way out of the Cathedral. I’ll find you later, never fear.”

If my heart sank, so must hers have done. Her face crumpled; she looked so taken aback and forlorn. If she had not been my
rival, I might have wished to comfort her. At once she ran back through to him. “Then I will stay with you!”

He held her hands, murmuring to her. I saw him shake his head.

“Climb into the boat, Scuff,” said Nate, exasperated, since
I still hovered on the edge, looking back. “Leah will come. Take my hand”

“I need no help,” I said stiffly. “And my name is Clemency.”

“I’ll settle for Clemmie,” said Chance.

Nate looked furious. “What’s it to do with you?”

Erland looked over at me. “Goodbye, Clemency…,” he said, so gravely that I felt my name did have a meaning, as Gobchick had
told me only yesterday if only I’d understood him… “Goodbye, Clemency. Your shoes will fit you now.”

I couldn’t say goodbye. Lifting my skirts, I climbed awkwardly into the boat without looking either at him or Leah again;
and sat on the middle seat with my back to them both, I was so choked. Leah would have the private goodbye I so desired, for
Leah was his true soul’s love, as well I knew. His love for me had been care and kindness and responsibility, no lesser love
but not the same.

So I did not turn around. I feared they might be kissing, and that would send the last bitter pang through me. I gazed at
my hands, clenched together, and when I looked up it was to see Nate on the plank seat in the bows opposite, staring at me,
his back to the lantern, his face in shadow. He dropped his gaze at once, and reached for the oars that were stowed in the
bottom of the boat.

“Leah!” he called, sharply for him, forgetting his usual “Miss.” “We must leave!”

I only hoped he knew how to row, for though the oars looked serviceable enough, I, for one, had no notion what to
do with them. Bu: already he was fitting them into a sort of clasp, one each side of the boat.

“Here’s my bag,” I heard Erland say to Leah. “There’s the water bottle and spare candles inside.”

“But won’t you need them? Let me take them out…”

“No,” he said.

She climbed into the boat with the bag and sat next to me on the middle seat, resting its bulkiness against her skirts. She
was so close I could see the glitter of tears standing in her eyes. Then she started and turned around, and I did too.

It was the sound we dreaded: the hard ring of boots on the steps. Soldiers! How many were coming? Leah’s hand went to her
mouth. “Erland!” she whispered.

The boots clattered on the stone, then stopped. We could hear their raised voices arguing about whether to venture all the
way down. They must know it was a crypt, full of dead people. Then a louder voice, in command, ordering them on.

I thought Erland must join us now, for he was on the wrong side of the Gate; but he still did not leave the crypt. For a second
he was motionless, then he began to push both sides of the Gate together with all his might, while Gobchick struggled to help
him. Beside me on the plank seat, Leah was white-faced and helpless.

“Undo the knot!” Nate hissed at me, and I leaned over to the side where the ring was and tried to loosen the rope, for I must
not let him down now. My hands trembled so much,
it was hard to do. Then at last I’d done it, and I gathered the painter into the boat.

Leah’s gaze hadn’t left Erland. Tears ran down her face that she did not brush away; she made no sound.

“You can’t lock the Gate from this side,” Nate whispered to me.

Erland slipped the key into the lock and turned it, then stood with his back to the Amber Gate, waiting. He made no move to
hide, but Gobchick slipped away into the shadows. I did not see him again.

The soldiers burst into the crypt, too many to count, the leading figure clearly in command. They took a moment to gather
their wits, blinking at the unexpected candlelight, staring about them, kicking the mahogany box to one side, trampling over
the ruined swanskin where it lay on the stone floor. I saw Mather, still in his ceremonial uniform, soot-blackened, disheveled,
scarce recognizable, his control of things run amok.

In the boat, Chance looked sick with fear.

Erland remained where he was; I could see the key clenched in his fingers.

At once Nate pulled on the oars, tentative, not a strong pull. Even so, there was a splash, a ripple of yellow lamplight on
the black water.

They looked over. They saw Erland. And they saw us. “Open the Gate!” shouted Mather.

The crypt suddenly rang with sharp, harsh echoes as they rushed over, Mather in the lead, athletic, determined. There
were six of them. Two soldiers pointed their pistols direct at Erland’s heart as he faced them calmly, his hands behind his
back, standing against the Gate.

In the boat, Nate seemed transfixed, his face aghast. He had stopped rowing at once. I believe he hated to see Erland left
behind and defenseless when he himself had the means to escape. But we were trapped the longer we stayed there, exposed by
the lamplight. Soon they would wrench the key from Erland’s fingers even if they had to break them to do it.

“You’re under arrest for treachery, Messenger!” Mather said brusquely. He glared through the Gate, saw Chance with us and
looked even grimmer. His eyes were still the same as ever, cold, inhuman and now gleaming with an obsessive light. “You’re
all to be taken in for questioning. That includes you, Miss Leah Tunstall.” He jerked his head at the Gate. “Get it open!”
he ordered his men.

They grunted as they struggled with it, pulling and pushing. Mather waited, his face unreadable. “Must be locked, Sir,” said
one, giving up at last.

I saw Erland’s fingers feel the twining branches behind him, the curving bars of the Amber Gate: a tiny searching movement,
undetected by the soldiers.

“Have you the key, Messenger?” hissed Mather viciously. He turned on his men. “Search him!”

With a sudden twist of his fingers, Erland flicked the key through a gap between the branches. There was a brief glint of
gold, then a deep
plop
as the key fell into the water. “Row, Nate!” he shouted hoarsely.

Nate came out of his trance. He dipped the oars in, then out, pulled strongly. The boat lurched, then began to move more smoothly.
We scarce breathed, lest it should sink. We felt the water slide away beneath the wood. Above us, the curved roof dripped.

We gazed at each other, wide-eyed with sudden hope, then back at Erland.

Our last glimpse of him, as we rounded the bend of the tunnel into darkness, was of a dusty white silk jacket pressed against
the glory of the golden birds and amber fruit.

That was when we heard the shot fired.

The blast reverberated down the tunnel, hitting the walls around us so that I thought they would collapse. In that contained
space, it was the most terrifying, ugly sound. I slammed my hands to my head and ducked. My ears rang; I felt sick with terror.

As the echoes went on and on, Leah jerked forward so that the boat rocked. “What have they done?”

There were no more shots, but the silence that finally came was uneasy, full of horror. We stared at each other.

“Erland?” I whispered.

“Mather has his ways with traitors,” muttered Chance. “Sometimes slow, sometimes quick.”

“And you have learnt them, no doubt!” Leah snarled, but was not diverted long. She gazed back the way we’d come
with such a savage look in the lamplight that I think she would have attacked Mather herself if she’d been able.

“Surely they have not killed him?” I said, pleading.

Chance shrugged. “He dropped the key.”

Nate had paused on his oars as soon as the shot sounded. He looked at me so apprehensively, I knew he thought Erland was dead.
We gazed at each other for a few agonized heartbeats, waiting—I don’t know for what, exactly. Perhaps for some further sound
from the other end.

What we heard next was so unexpected I don’t believe either of us could have dreamed of it, ever.

Someone was singing by the Amber Gate.

A clear, pure sound curled along the tunnel toward us, so beautiful it made tears prick in my eyes, as if the singer had been
waiting all his life to sing and was putting his whole self into the song. It filled my ears; it filled my very soul. It echoed
all around us. Ethereal, it was—unearthly. I’d never heard singing like it before, nor since. It was so sweet, it reminded
one of all the joy there is in life, yet it sang of sad things too, for there cannot be one without the other.

At first it was notes alone, like a high sweet caroling; then it seemed to steady itself into a song—a song I knew.

The song came to its end, the voice hung on the last dying note, and faded. There was silence but for the soft slip of water
against the sides of the boat.

Nate clenched his jaw and took up the oars. He began to row again, saying nothing.

“What’s happened to Erland?” I cried as the brick walls skimmed past on either side. “What does it mean? Should we go back?”

Chance shook his head in fear. “Mather will kill me.”

“We can’t go back,” said Leah stonily. She did not look at us but straight ahead at the darkness. “There’s no point. Erland
is dead.”

“How do you know?” I whispered. I knew he must be, but I could not say so. The dreadful sorrow of it swept over me. I could
not be like Leah and suffer in silence. I put my hands to my face and wept, and the sound of my dreadful, shocked weeping
echoed all around us, until I saw the pain that Nate suffered too and was ashamed at my lack of courage.

As I pulled myself together, Leah said quietly to me, “He did it for us, for all of us. And for the future.”

We were silent for a while as the boat eased its way through the suffocating darkness, a tiny floating light on the black
water. The lichen on the dripping walls made a mosaic of rust and emerald green, touched by a faint glitter. Frail, leggy
insects, caught in the lamplight, flickered away to hide beneath it. Delicate ferns grew from cracks in the brickwork; they
brushed us wetly as we moved along the narrow channel. The damp air had a sour, salt smell to it, thick to breathe, as
if imprisoning it for so long underground had changed its nature.

We were all damp, and chilled to the bone. I thought of Gobchick making this self-same journey for our sake, his bent little
arms wielding the oars.

Then I thought of Erland.

“Which of us did he love?” I must have spoken my thought out aloud.

“He loved both of us,” said Leah.

I shook my head. “You were his soul’s love.”

There is no one to love me
, I thought. I had lost Erland, my guardian; I had left Gobchick behind. I did not mean to think such selfish thoughts, but
in the strange, drifting darkness, somehow I was full of melancholy when I should be happy at the thought of my return to
Murkmere.

Leah goes back to Aggie, who is her great friend and loves her as a sister. I have no one
.

Yet I knew that in the past I had not understood about love at all: that there are many kinds, and that it also embraces forgiveness
and compassion and mercy. And thinking of Gobchick, I remembered how he had said that to receive love you must also give it;
and perhaps I had not ever done so in my life; perhaps I had never had the chance.