Locked Inside (10 page)

Marnie took a deep breath. Her Sorceress-voice was trustworthy. She knew that. Whereas her own instincts … how often had they led her astray? She didn’t know. She didn’t know.

“Yes,” she said finally, “it’s possible.” And then she added, defensively, “This doesn’t mean that Leah Slaight isn’t nuts. Even if I had a genetic test right here and it said—I’d still think she was out of her mind.”

Yes,
agreed the Sorceress.
Leah Slaight is extremely dangerous.

“I said nuts,” snarled Marnie.

And I added, dangerous
, said the Sorceress quietly.

I
n the hours that followed, Marnie exercised mind-over-matter discipline that she hadn’t known she possessed. Except for drinking the remainder of the soup and using the odious Yertle bucket, she ignored the demands of her body. She needed to stay awake so that she could think, plan. Who knew how much time she’d have? And she’d gone without sleep many times before, hadn’t she, while online? So what if, unlike Paliopolis, this particular place—the small basement room and its contents, and the three players, one of whom was a ghost—wasn’t in the least fun? So what if her game-move strategies might, terrifyingly, have to be acted upon in reality?

And so what if Leah Slaight’s mad claim had made Marnie Skyedottir feel as if she were
a windowless house built on marshland? As if she were slipping inch by inch into some dark airless place …

Put it aside
, said the Sorceress-voice.
Look at the options. Go over them logically.

Marnie took inventory again. One camping cot with canvas stretched over it. One blanket. One plastic bottle of seltzer, half empty. One plaid Thermos, entirely empty.

Ah. Well, to the trained mind, the thing to do was perfectly obvious. At the first sound of Leah Slaight’s key in the padlock, Marnie would emit a giant whoop and do a double back flip across the room. Her feet would hit the door with enormous impact, catapulting it open and hurling Leah Slaight (and her gun) across the basement. Marnie would land lightly beside the stunned Leah and kick the gun halfway into the next millennium.

Be serious.

Marnie buried her head in her hands.

All you really had in Paliopolis was your brain
, said the Sorceress-voice, encouragingly.

After a moment, Marnie sighed deeply and sat up. She wasn’t going to argue with her Sorceress-voice on that one. It was a useful lie, which was Skye’s term for those personal myths that help you organize your life and keep going. And Marnie had to keep going. It was important to evaluate her position; she knew that. If—no,
when
—an opportunity arose to help herself, she had to be ready to act.

And when the wrong opportunity arises, you have to know not to act.

Weird, to hear the Sorceress-voice advising caution.
Marnie didn’t think of that part of her personality as cautious. In Paliopolis … But then, the Elf had been there, egging the Sorceress on, forcing her to think more quickly, more flexibly.

No. She wasn’t going to think about the Elf now; it was too depressing. Except …

Marnie paused, considering. Except, what
would
the Elf say, if he were here in this dungeon? What would the Elf do?

JUMP DOWN AIRSHAFT!

Despite everything, Marnie smiled, remembering. The Elf would do something creative. Something plausible, something real, and yet … unexpected.

Hmm.

Careful! Leah Slaight is dangerous
, said the Sorceress-voice urgently.

“I’m just going over as many possibilities as I can,” Marnie said soothingly. It was amazing, she thought, how much stronger she suddenly felt. “It’s all speculative.”

This isn’t cyberspace!

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

The Sorceress-voice subsided. In fact, Marnie could almost feel that part of her brain lean forward in interest, ready to comment, as she went over her lists again, trying to think like the Elf … or, rather, like the Elf-influenced Sorceress. She lifted the Thermos, and then, experimentally, hit her shoulder with it. It practically bounced off. She clicked her tongue in exasperation. The plaid unit had clearly been designed to be a safe component in a kindergarten food fight.

Could she just hurl it at Leah Slaight? And yell “Food fight?” Marnie actually grinned.

Seriously. Suppose she were to try to conk Leah Slaight on the head with—well, with something. How would she get in close enough, given that Leah was holding the gun? As Marnie had observed earlier, the door opened outward, so she couldn’t hide behind it. But could she flatten herself against the wall next to the door? Would Leah Slaight be fool enough to take a couple of steps into the room even if she couldn’t see Marnie? Was there enough time between the jiggling of the lock and the opening of the door for her to race across the room and position herself properly?

The Sorceress asked,
Could you make it look as if you’re on the cot, covered by the blanket? Could you fluff up the blanket somehow?

Now, that was an interesting idea, even if Marnie couldn’t imagine how she’d fluff up a single blanket. It wasn’t as if she had a bunch of pillows to prop underneath. Still, it was the right kind of thinking. And what about that blanket? Could it be thrown over Leah Slaight’s head? Hmm. Stand still while I entangle you in my blanket. Thank you kindly.

Marnie drank a little seltzer. She wished it were in a glass bottle. Now,
there
was a weapon.

Wait, how about the seltzer itself?
said the Sorceress. She was really getting into this Elf-thinking now.
If you shake an unopened bottle and then twist the cap open, it explodes all over the place. What happens if you shake a half-empty bottle?

Marnie tried it and watched the remaining airspace
in the bottle fill up with bubbles. Only partway, however. She sighed.

But if she gave you a new bottle, just like this one
… The Sorceress was excited.

Marnie did see the potential: an explosive device. Well, sort of. But there were difficulties too. Even supposing that she did get a new bottle, how exactly would she integrate it into a realistic escape plan? Would she say: Hey, Leah, wait just a minute while I get this bottle ready to explode in your face?

Details
, said the Sorceress.
They aren’t important right now. You’ll be improvising in the moment. Any actual plan always goes awry after step one. Or two, if you’re very lucky.

A scary thought, but Marnie knew it was accurate. It was the story of her life.

Well, then. The first step toward getting a new bottle would be to finish up this one. She took another swig. Half the bottle to go. Just thinking of it made her need to use Yertle.

Yertle. Ugh. She was almost used to breathing only through her mouth.

She kept thinking, thinking, thinking, and taking swigs of seltzer as a reward for each new idea, however loony. It turned out that there were rather a lot of things you could do with one blanket, one cot, one Thermos, and one plastic half-bottle of seltzer. Creative things. Unexpected things. But, ultimately, mostly stupid things. And while she could hear the Elf’s voice insisting that stupid was good, she couldn’t quite believe it.

Once more, Marnie visited Yertle. Then, finally, she let herself slip into an uneasy sleep.

*     *     *

In the Lair of the Rubble-Eater, Llewellyne stopped herself before she brought the truth glasses into focus on the beast. As she did so, she felt the hawk’s claws ease a bit. She remembered now the old tale about the glasses; involving a young man who’d observed his lover through them and had gone quite mad. But even if that story wasn’t just a fable, this was not a similar situation. The Rubble-Eater was in considerable distress….

We have other things to worry about!
thought the hawk urgently. Then the hawk stilled, red eyes noticing what Llewellyne, too, could see.

It couldn’t be, but it was. Even after the beating the Rubble-Eater had given itself, it was stirring. It was lifting its head and sniffing the air.

It smells you
, said the hawk.
Let’s slip away, fast.

But all at once, the great, strong beast was on its feet. The giant horned head swung around, and the single, tiny, blind eye fixed itself upon them.

The hawk leapt into the air, wings flapping determinedly, and landed on an outcropping of rock just above Llewellyne’s head.

The Rubble-Eater emitted that peculiar, high-pitched keening. It backed up, preparatory to charging.

Reflexively, Llewellyne dropped the glasses, feeling them fall back on their string against her chest, and drew her pearl-handled sword. Then she paused.

Yes, you’ll need to kill it
, said the hawk encouragingly.
It’s the only way we can escape now.

Between Llewellyne’s breasts, the truth glasses vibrated gently, insistently.

M
arnie’s awareness of Leah Slaight’s presence slowly filtered into her consciousness and woke her. She feigned sleep for a while, though, breathing slowly, feeling her chest rise and fall. Fear clawed relentlessly at her insides. Fear of Leah Slaight; fear of herself; fear of action; fear of inaction; fear of death; fear of—

Better stop there.

You could say a lot of things about Skye—maybe Marnie’s Sorceress-voice was right and you could even call her a liar, a concealer of truths. But you would never call her a coward. If Skye could see Marnie now, trembling, what would she think of her?

Does it matter
? asked the Sorceress incredulously.

Yes, Marnie thought fiercely. But then she felt a quick, deep surge of uncertainty.

That’s right. To hell with her probable opinions! To hell with her!

Yes … no … yes …

“I know you’re awake,” said Leah Slaight impatiently.

Marnie skipped any artistic stretches and yawns. She opened her eyes and stared at Leah Slaight as the woman sat on her stool, gun in lap.

“Sit up,” Leah said. “I want to talk to you. And have something to drink. I brought you more water. And a sandwich.”

More water? Seltzer? Would it possibly be that easy? Marnie sat up slowly, swung her legs over the side of the cot, and glanced down. Yes. Yes! Another plastic bottle of seltzer; raspberry-flavored this time.

Careful
, whispered the Sorceress.

Marnie picked up the bottle. How in the world would she get it ready to explode? She couldn’t possibly shake it openly … could she?

“Have the sandwich,” invited Leah.

Marnie didn’t want to refuse, even though, oddly, she wasn’t particularly hungry. The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly. She ate half of it while Leah watched. She thought about the seltzer. If she drank just a little, the bottle would still explode nicely. She twisted the cap open, gulped some down, and fastened the cap back into place. Suppose she
was
able to shake it up, aim it, explode it in Leah’s face. What would she do afterward?

You’ll run! Look, the door’s ajar. This is really it! You’ve been so biddable, you’ve got her feeling overly secure.

Panic roiled in Marnie’s stomach.

How many seconds would it take to shake the bottle, aim it? Would Leah have time to react, to evade? To aim the gun? Buying herself time to think, Marnie put the seltzer down beside her on the cot, on its side. She ate the other half of the sandwich. Each bite threatened to congeal in her mouth. Talk, Leah had said. Marnie swallowed the end of the sandwich. She focused her gaze on the top of Leah’s head, noticing suddenly the shiny richness of Leah’s thick brown hair. She took another small swig of seltzer, capped the bottle, and put it down again, careful to do it carelessly, shaking it.

“You have beautiful hair,” Marnie said abruptly, without thinking, without smiling. She could hear the truth in her own voice and knew Leah Slaight would hear it too.

She did. Her eyes flickered in surprise. Her mouth formed a little O. Seemingly involuntarily, she put her left hand up to touch her hair. Marnie thought she could see the other hand, the one that held the gun, loosen its grip a bit.

“I do?” said Leah uncertainly.

“Yes.” Marnie pushed herself forward a little, to get her feet solidly on the floor. Beside her, the bottle shifted against her body again. If she could just keep moving around on the cot so that the seltzer rolled a bit, would that shake it up enough?

“Skye was a redhead,” said Leah.

“Dyed,” said Marnie. “I don’t know what color her real hair was. Probably brown, like mine. And
yours,” she added shamelessly. She was in awe at the sound of her own voice. So matter-of-fact. So calm. While inside …

She swayed and shifted on the cot as if to get more comfortable, and felt the seltzer roll up and down on the canvas before again settling against her side. Her stomach made a dreadful noise.

“Are you still hungry?” asked Leah. “I could bring you more soup.” For someone who’d wanted to talk, she certainly wasn’t in a rush to introduce her subject.

“Sure,” said Marnie, even though she knew it was fear that had caused the rumbling. Right now her stomach was so tight, she didn’t think she would ever have an appetite again. She picked up the seltzer bottle as if idly, and put it back down. Was that enough? She hadn’t a clue.

Leah looked uneasy. “When we’re done here, I’ll warm some for you. Do you like chicken noodle?”

“That would be okay.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Marnie wiggled some more, and against her thigh the seltzer bottle went slosh, slosh, slosh. Marnie put her hand on it. She kept her eyes on Leah Slaight, who was fidgeting as well. Was the bottle ready to explode? Was now a good time? No. Leah was staring—

“I need a promise from you,” said Leah abruptly. “I need you to swear on—on Skye’s immortal soul. I’ll believe you if you do that.”

Oh, no, Marnie thought. She couldn’t take any more Skyedottir stuff; not at this moment when she was trying to get herself ready to …