Button Hill (19 page)

“Harper,” said Dekker.

“Indeed. The governess has confined her to the ossuary and its grounds, behind Charnel House. The vault itself is ancient and is where the remains of Understory's founders and other creatures of note are kept.”

“So it's dangerous too,” said Riley.

“With the station shut and the Nightclock run down, everything has become dangerous. In time, even your Dayside world will be affected.” The guard finally stopped at a door at the end of the hallway. “Your room awaits.”

“Thanks, mister,” said Riley.

“It has been a pleasure to stand in your light, if only for a moment. May the hopes of the dead speed your travels. Farewell.”

Nineteen

“Look,” cried Riley. “Grilled cheese sandwiches!” She ran across the room to a small table and started devouring the food. Dekker walked to the window and looked out. The graveyard lay at the rear of the manor, shrouded in mist, a dizzying patchwork of tombstones, crypts and barrows wedged in between one another with no apparent regard for pattern or passage between them. The graves climbed the side of the mountain as far as he could see. Not far from their room Dekker could see a small gap in the high stone wall that divided the cemetery from the manor grounds.

“I don't think it should be too hard to get down there from here,” he said.

Riley mumbled something, her mouth stuffed with the last of the sandwiches.

“How can you eat at a time like this?” Dekker asked.

“I'm starving. Aren't you?”

Dekker ran his fingers through his hair, and strands came loose, clinging to his fingertips like cobwebs. He breathed in deeply through his nose and sighed. “Not eating wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the smells. Everything smells so much stronger since I died. Melted cheese and buttered toast—it's like torture. What I wouldn't give for a bite of one of those.”

Riley looked guilty. “Sorry, I just ate the last one.”

“It's okay. I can't anyway.”

Riley stood up and reached for Dekker's leather bag. “I wish Cuddles was here. You could bring him to life again. You should at least take some other stuff in case we need help again.”

“Wait!” he cried. He tugged at the bag, and several white bone crabs spilled onto the floor.

“What are those?” asked Riley, stepping back quickly.

Dekker hunched over, gathering them in his arms. “The conductor gave them to me back at the station, and I stuffed them into my bag without thinking. I forgot I had them.”

“Well, good. Let's call them little skellies.” She patted one on the head. “Here, little skellies, good boys.”

“That's a stupid name, and they're not your pets—ouch!”

She had punched his shoulder again. “That's for not showing me before. And they're called little skellies.”

He rubbed his arm and, for fear of hastening his body's decay, held back the rude comment he wanted to make. “Fine. Little skellies. We should get out of here while we have a chance,” he said before she could punch him again.

Dekker examined the door. It was narrow with a rounded top. Hanging on the door was the same coat of arms made of bones as they had seen at the entrance to Charnel House—a raven, wings swept back, leaning forward to peck at the eye socket of a human skull. Dekker tried to twist the doorknob, which wouldn't budge, then hammered on the door with his fist.

“Oy, such a racket! Keep it up if ya want the blood knights to hear,” said the door. Dekker stepped back. The raven on the coat of arms cocked its head. “But why listen to me? I'm just a bunch of bones.” Its voice was thin and reedy, like two sticks being rubbed together.

Riley clapped her hands. “Look, a bird!” She reached out her hand to touch it. “What's your name, little guy?”

The raven pecked at her outstretched fingers, and she yanked them back quickly. “Watch it, girlie. Not for nothin' but I'm meaner than I look.”

Riley studied the assortment of bones that made up its body. “What kind of bird are you supposed to be?”

The bird puffed out its chest. “I'm Herald with an
e
, the door raven of Charnel House.”

“How cute—a talking birdie for a doorman,” said Riley.

Herald raked his beak across the thin bones that lined the coat of arms, rattling them like bars. “Door raven, and I'm not cute,” he cawed.

“We need to get out of here,” said Dekker. He showed Herald the half-skull burned onto his palm. “If you're the doorkeeper, maybe you can help us.”

The raven tapped at Dekker's palm with his beak. “What is that schmutz, tar? I'd try soda water on that before it sets.”

“But the skeleton guard said you bone people would help,” said Dekker.

The bird shook his wings. “Excuse me—do I look like a bone man to you? Governess said not to open this door, and that's what I'm doin'. Not doin'—you know what I mean. I am definitely
not
helping you. Now scram! Go read a book or somethin'.” Herald hid his head inside the mouth of the skull and pretended Dekker and Riley weren't there.

“Just leave it, Dekker—he probably doesn't even know how to open the door,” said Riley. She moved out of the bird's line of sight as she spoke and winked at her brother.

Dekker nodded. “Oh yeah, he's just a dumb bird. We can figure this out on our own.”

The raven squawked and pulled his head out of the skull, rattling the coat of arms, but Dekker and Riley ignored him.

Dekker pulled out
The Book of Night and Day
from the leather bag. “Actually, Herald had a good idea. Maybe there's a clue in here. Help me look.”

Dekker propped the book open in his arms while Riley flipped the pages. “Let's see. Traveling, no… Borderland…Flora and Fauna…way past that, Nightside Trains and How to Get Off Where You Intended. Hmm, could be useful later.” Riley kept thumbing through the book, listing off chapter headings. There were only a few scant entries about Understory, and nothing about the governess's mansion.

As soon as they had opened the book, the raven had hopped to the top of the skull and was now craning his neck to try and get a better view. As they neared the blank pages at the end, he cawed. “Awk, you're doing it wrong.”

Dekker looked up. “What do you mean?”

He gestured at the book with his beak. “You're usin' it like Daysiders.”

“We are Daysiders,” said Riley.

“In case ya didn't notice, you're not in Dayside anymore. That kinda book works different here.”

Dekker frowned. “It's just a book. It's not even finished.”

The raven choked and scrabbled to regain his footing on the skull. “Just a book, he says. I never heard such dumb talk from a Daysider. Just a book. Did they teach ya anything useful at school?”

“Well if you're so smart, why don't you show us?” said Riley.

“Yeah,” said Dekker. “Show us how it works.”

The raven peered down at them from his perch. “The book has two names, see?
The Book of Night
and
Day.
Works different dependin' on where you are. Dayside's all about workin' for what you need. Someone works at writin' it, then someone else works at readin' it.”

“So what? All books are like that,” said Dekker.

The raven looked from side to side and lowered his voice. “Nightside don't work like that, kid. Down here, it's all about sacrifice. You gotta give if you wanna get. You got to pay the price for what you need.”

Riley wrinkled her nose. “That doesn't sound very nice.”

The raven threw back his head and cawed again. “Nice, she says. Nightside, nice. How do you like them apples? You're hilarious, kid.” Herald sighed loudly and cocked his head to look at Dekker. “Come closer. I'll show ya—and this don't count as helpin'!”

Dekker held the book up to the raven. “That's the wrong page—ya need a fresh one,” said Herald. Dekker balanced the book while Riley flipped to the blank pages near the end. As she did, the raven stabbed Riley's hand with his beak.

“Ow!” Riley yelled, and Dekker dropped the book on the floor. Blood ran down Riley's fingers and dripped onto the empty page.

“Ask it a question, quick,” said the bird.

“How do we open the door to this room?” asked Dekker. He watched as the blood sank into the paper and disappeared. Nothing happened for a moment, and then a crimson drawing bloomed onto the page. Dekker and Riley watched in fascination as a perfectly detailed illustration of the door to their room began to appear, as if drawn by an invisible hand. After completing the door, the book sketched a finely dressed man holding something near the keyhole. Finally, the words
Corvus reserat
appeared in neat copperplate lettering beneath the drawing, and the ink began to fade from red to brown.

“Riley, your hand—it's gone all white!” cried Dekker.

Riley was pressing down on the cut with her other hand while she examined the new page in the book. “Never mind that. What's the man holding?”

The raven leaned far out from the door, trying to see what they were looking at. Realization of what it was came to Dekker and Herald at the same time. “The raven is the key!” Dekker shouted as the raven squawked and flew to the top of the coat of arms. The bird clattered his bone wings as he flitted back and forth, but he seemed to be bound by the limits of the door, and Dekker soon caught him and grasped him firmly between his hands.

As he pulled the squirming bird away from the coat of arms, he noticed a fine silver chain laced around Herald's foot that ran back into one of the eye sockets of the skull. Herald squawked and tried to wriggle away, but Dekker guided Herald's beak into the keyhole and turned him until there was a click. Dekker tried the knob and the door fell open, just a crack. “Thanks, Herald,” he said, and patted the raven gently on the head before returning him to his perch on top of the skull.

The raven cawed. “I didn't do nothin' I wasn't made to do; remember that if anyone asks! And be careful with that book. Just 'cause ya think you know how to use it don't mean ya should. That was baby stuff. The bigger your ask, the greater the cost.”

Dekker looked at Riley's hand. Some of its color had returned, but it looked thinner than it had before. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

Riley smiled, but her face was tight. “Don't worry about it.” Dekker frowned and opened his mouth to argue. “I said it's fine,” snapped Riley.

“All right, all right. Let's go find Harper.” Dekker stuffed the book back in the bag and beckoned for Riley to follow him.

“See you later, Herald,” whispered Riley. The sound of the raven rattling the coat of arms was silenced as the door shut behind them.

The hall outside appeared empty. They moved quickly down a spiral staircase to the main floor. At the bottom, two suits of armor stood at attention on either side of a tall wooden door.

“Blood knights?” asked Riley.

Dekker stepped forward and rapped on one of the breastplates. The sound echoed against the walls. “Nope, just decoration.” He grasped the iron ring set into the door and pulled. It swung open silently.

Outside, fog crept low across the barren ground, covering the path. Riley read the words inscribed on the square pillars that flanked the entrance to the graveyard. “
Our bones lie here, for yours we wait
.” She shuddered. “There's no way I'm getting buried in there.”

“We need Harper, so we have to go in there. Just stay close to me.”

Riley was already squeezing Dekker's arm. They walked through the gap in the wall, into the cemetery. After only a few minutes, the gate was hidden from view by the maze of tall slate tombs and marble crypt doors. Dekker took a deep breath and yelled, “Harper, it's us! Where are you?” But the forest of graves seemed to soak up the sound.

Riley shivered. “It's colder in here. Let's hurry.” They moved deeper into the cemetery. After a few minutes they came to a tall winged statue; its face had crumbled off, and one wing lay broken on the ground. “Didn't we pass this once already?”

“I think you're right. We just went in a big circle. But I don't want to try the book again, not this soon.” Dekker remembered the conductor's gift and pulled out one of the bone crabs from his bag. It was wriggling like mad in his hands, trying to get away. He made a cage with his fingers and put his hands to his lips. “Harper Asphodel. Find her, lead us to her.” Gently he blew into his fingers. The creature stopped moving in his hands for a moment, then gathered its legs underneath its body and sat up. Dekker set it on the ground. It shook itself and began to scuttle farther up the slope. “Come on, we don't want to lose it,” he said.

They followed the bone crab between chiseled markers and statues that time had worn away to almost nothing. The creature stopped every few feet, lifting its front mandibles and waving its white antennae this way and that. “I think the little guy understands,” said Riley. “I don't remember seeing any of this before.” The crab led them on through the graves, always moving higher up the mountain. Eventually they circled a steep outcrop of rock and stopped at a wide marble door carved into a vertical rock face. The little bone crab waved its antennae back and forth.

“I think we should see what's inside here.” Dekker moved forward, flexing his fingers. He put his hands against the doors and closed his eyes. He pushed with all his might, heaving against the stone until his shoulders ached with effort. At last he fell back. “I give up,” he said. “This door is completely smooth—there's nowhere to get a grip. And it's so cold, even my hands are seizing up.”

“Let me try,” said Riley.

“Don't bother. If I can't move it, there's no way you're going to.”

She ignored him and moved closer, studying the door. “It's freezing, but it's not smooth. Maybe you can't feel it in your condition, but there's some sort of picture carved into it.” She traced the faint etchings with her fingers. “Ooh, I'm getting all tingly.” She reached above her head, and light spidered up the door from her fingertips, tracing an almost invisible pattern in the stone. The door began to crack and steam, and the air grew thick with soft green light. The outline of a tree shone from the door, its long branches bare but glowing with tiny dots of light. Gradually the lights began to unfold into delicately traced leaves that shimmered in the dark, and the door swung slowly inward.