Noir (14 page)

“They’ll go off to the science labs. To be used in experiments,” Livinea says matter-of-factly. “We all will, eventually . . . that’s why we’re ’ere.” Her voice lilts up, punctuated at the end in giggles. I feel awash with sudden fever.

“They can’t do that,” I say.

Livinea pulls her face in tight to my own, resting her forehead against mine. “Theys can do whatever they wants with us.” She stares into my eyes. “We’s their lab rats. Every last one of us.
Oooooh
.”
She launches back, rubbing her hands together. “Look! I was right! Sausages! It must be Sunday!” She breaks into a gallop.

It hits me, and I freeze.
Sunday.
If this is truly Sunday, Urlick will go to the gallows first thing in the morning. I’ve little time left to save him. I reach out, catching Livinea by the sleeve, and whirl her back around. “Are you sure they serve sausages only on Sundays?” I look deep in her eyes.

“Pretty sure, why?” She wrangles a bite of her sausage. Casing and guts squish between her teeth.

“Think, Livinea! It’s very important!” I shake her.

She sucks in her bruised, swollen lip. “I dunno.” She swallows the sausage. “Could be Mondays.”

Tw
enty-Four

C.L.

Second window from the left. Second window from the left.
I chant in me ’ead, remembering Pan’s original instructions. She’d flown over’ead checking out the premises, back when she delivered Eyelet’s original Ladybird message. Then made sure to mark the ledge of ’is sill, so’s the rest of us could find ’im later. Guidin’ the elephant up onto the grass at the back of the building, where we’s less likely to be seen, I squint me eyes and search for ’er sign through the ’azy mornin’ fog as we idle. The soup’s particularly thick today in Brethren. I ain’t seen it this thick in years. The trollin’ clouds part slightly, and I nearly jump from my seat, pointin’ and shoutin’ to the elephant as if ’e was real. “There! There it tis! Lower set of windows, second from the left, just as she said.” I spot the torn flag Pan said would be flyin’ above it. “That’s got to be it!”

All the windows ’ave flags. But Pan tore the one above Urlick’s window before she left, to ’elp us locate exactly where ’e is. There it tis, flappin’ wild in the wind. And there’s the splotch on the sill she left as extra precaution.

Now, to rescue Urlick.

“All right, big boy.” I swallow, popping the elephant in gear. “We’ve only got one chance to get this right. Can’t afford to make hash of it.”

I shift the lever to engage the beast in motion, then run me toes through me ’air, me nerves clatterin’ like windswept kettles as we launch forward. I lift me eyes, focused on the target, and push the throttle full steam—torn flag flappin’, trollin’ cloud cover swirlin’, giant animal approachin’ a lumberin’ jog. I pounce on the controls as we near the window, workin’ the gears, coaxin’ the beast up into a barrelin’ run. I lower ’is ’ead. “This is it!” I shout. “Give it all yuh
got
, boy!”

I lean forward, pushin’ the elephant to ’is limits, the two of us stompin’ up the back lawn. Flywheels whir inside the elephant’s ’ead, stripped teeth occasionally slippin’. I should ’ave taken time to replace those gears when I ’ad the chance. Too late now.

The animal missteps, and I fall forward. My stomach takes a violent turn. “Don’t die on me now, big fella!” I shout, yankin’ his ’ead back up, and throw the throttle full-on forward again. The elephant strains to keep up the speed, ’is ears smokin’ as we close in on the window bars.

“Come on, come on, just a little bit farther!” The elephant bows ’is ’ead and steams forward, rammin’ the stone wall hard. Bars bend, blocks crumble as we bounce back, jarred by the impact. Rubble falls all around us like a landslide.
“Boulderdash!”
I scream, then cough and fan away dust.

A tattooed brute the size of the window gapes at me out the ’ole in the wall I’ve just made. ’E has but one eye, a glob of flesh for another, and the sharpest teeth I’ve ever seen. ’E blinks at me through the clearin’ debris and smiles.

“Yer not Urlick,” I mutter, shocked.

“No, I ain’t! But I’s glad to see yuh anyway!” ’E grabs ’old of the damaged metal-bar window, tosses it aside, and in one fluid motion ’oists ’imself up and out of the ground. A split second later ’e’s away, ’oofing it across the lawn.

In the background I ’ear a guard’s whistle blow. It rings shrill in my panickin’ ears. I throw the elephant into reverse, thinkin’ only of escapin’.

“Wait!” I ’ear a voice. Eyes flicker through the settling dust of the broke-open cell. A young boy’s ’ead pops up out of the rubble. “You’re looking for the heir to the Commonwealth, right?”

“Not exactly,” I say.

“Yuh ’ere for Urlick Babbit, aren’tchu?” The boy blinks.

“Yeah, ’im!” I say.

“Come wif me.” The boy waves me in. “I’m supposed to take you to ’im!”

I ’ide the elephant among the trees at the back drive and ’ustle through the window.

“And ’urry,” the boy says. “Whilst they’re chasing the other runaway prisoner!”

’E turns and I follow him into the belly of the jug.

The boy throws open a door at the end of the cavern ’allway. Beyond is nothin’ but darkness. I slow to a stop, ’esitatin’ over the jamb. “Come on.” The boy motions to me. “’E’s inside ’ere. The cage to the left.”

I swing the lantern through ahead of me, but it’s not much ’elp. I’ve never seen darkness like this before, so thick and seamless—’ell’s own porridge. “Urlick?” I whisper. “Yuh in there?”

“C.L.?” Urlick calls out. ’Is voice is gravelly and weak. “C.L., is that you?” I ’ear feet shuffle in the dark.

“Urlick!” I shout, runnin’ toward the sound, swingin’ the lantern in ’is direction. The boy chases after me. “Urlick?” The light pierces the darkness just long enough for me to make out a gaunt, white face behind the bars—wearin’ ’is infamous purple scar. “Blinkin’ blimeys, look at yuh. Yuh look like yuh ’aven’t eaten in a month. What’s happened to ’im?” I hiss back at the boy.

“The ’ole will do that to yuh, sir,” the boy says.

“Where’s Eyelet?” Urlick interrupts. “I thought she’d be with you. Where is she?”

I swallow that answer and save it for later. “One thing at a time, sir,” I say. “’Ow do we get ’im out of ’ere?” I ask the boy.

’E grins and pulls a ring of keys nearly the size of ’im from the pocket of ’is pants. “I lifted them in all the confusion.” The keys twinkle gold and silver in the limited light. “One of ’em should do the trick.”

“Which one?”

“That I dunno, sir.”

“Quickly, pass ’em to me.” I try the first three keys—all unsuccessful—and I’m bathed in relief when the fourth falls snug into the slot. I turn the copper key and the lock churns. I grab ’old of the bars with me foot and yank the cell open. “Good to see yuh, ol’ man,” I tease, slapping Urlick on the back.

“You’re a sight for sorry eyes, yourself,” Urlick says, stepping over the threshold, free. “Now where is she?” ’E presses me with sorrowful eyes. “Where’s Eyelet?”

“All in due time, sir. First we need to get outta ’ere.” I steer ’im back toward the cavern entrance.

The door at the top of the stairs creaks ajar. Light spills into the darkness, spiralin’ down the staircase, seepin’ in under the bottom of the giant door. The boy’s ’ead whips round and back. “’Urry, sirs!” ’E leans over and blows out me lantern. “I’ll distract ’em, while yuhs two get outta ’ere.” ’E pushes us toward the cavern door.

“Wait!” Urlick turns back for ’im, but in a flash of ’is buttons the boy is gone, already through the giant door and riflin’ up the spiral staircase, ’is bare feet strummin’ ’ard against the metal treads.

“Come on.” I grab Urlick by the arm. I ’ave to force ’im to move. Urlick stops partway. “No,” ’e says. “We can’t just leave him here! They’ll kill him.”

“We can’t go back for ’im now,” I breathe. “I accidently sprung your ex-cellmate loose from the jug trying to save yuh. It’s ’im they’re lookin’ for, not the kid. If we don’t get outta ’ere whilst the guards are distracted, we’s won’t be gettin’ outta ’ere!”

Urlick purses his lips. Boots thunder overhead. He looks up, dismayed.

“We’ll ’ave to come back for ’im, sir, please . . . Time’s runnin’ out ’ere.”

A gunshot rings out overhead. “No!” Urlick turns and sprints backwards. ’E’s through the doors before I can move.

“Don’t do this, sir!” I shout after him. “It will be your end!”

But he doesn’t return.

“Oh,
shake a flannin!
”
I turn and race after ’im.

Tw
enty-Five

Urlick

I gallop up the winding metal staircase I was once led down. I curl my fists, prepared for a brawl at the top. C.L. appears behind me on the landing, and I fling out an arm, knocking the wind out of his chest, throwing him back against the stone wall beside me. I raise a finger to my mouth, cautioning him not to speak, signalling there’s someone on the other side of the short partition wall that hides us.

I whisper near his chin, “On the count of three, we rush ’em. I’ll distract whoever it is. You retrieve the boy. Ready?”

C.L. nods, eyes wide, objection on the tip of his tongue.

A show of three fingers and I pounce out from behind the wall, C.L. on my heels.

A body lies in the hallway, bleeding, below a trail of steamrifle smoke. The boy holds the gun.

“I’ve killed ’im, sir,” he says in a small voice. “I din’t mean to. But I ’ad to, sir. ’E was comin’ for yuh. ’E was gonna kill yuh.” The boy’s lips quiver.

My heart sinks like a boulder in a river. I ache from the look in his eyes. “It’s all right, boy,” I say, reaching for the gun. “Hand me the rifle, son. Hand it over.”

He lifts the gun in my direction, but it’s too late—guards converge on us from behind. They pop out at every angle, from every crevice of the hallway. Their steamrifles cocked and already firing.

Bullets jump off the walls and shatter the windows.

C.L. and I dance between them, lunging behind the small partition for cover. I reach out, swooping the boy up in one arm as we fly off around the corner and down the stairs. “Go! Go! Go!” I shout, pushing a stumbling C.L., leaping to the landing from the stairs. I shove him through the wooden blocker door between the stairs and my cell and slam it shut behind us, temporarily locking the guards out.

They butt the door with their shoulders, shouting.

“This way!” C.L. shouts, leading me again to the cavern passageway through the dark. We race through to the other end and up another staircase, back into the hallway leading to my old cell.

“Shhhhh.” I bring a shaky finger to his lips, falling behind a jut out in the stone wall, and flick my eyes in the direction of three Brigsmen bent over in my old cell, rooting through things found in the rubble on the floor.

My coat. I spy it in the hands of a Brigsman. I’ll need that coat. I need it now.

A wide-eyed woman in a mourning dress paces in front of them, twisting her red-gloved hands into knots. “How is this possible?” She spins around, dress whirling. Her brow is winched, her eyes small yet still an ungodly size behind her bottle-bottom glasses. “Who sprung him?” She is enraged, her already fiercely sharp voice pitching to a squeal.
“How did they do this!”

She doesn’t wait for the Brigsmen to answer. “How didn’t any of you
bobbleheads NOTICE
!” she shouts at them. Her voice rockets around the room, reverberating off the walls like dynamite. I have a notion to protect my ears, she’s so loud.

“Never mind.” She snaps a levelling look in the direction of the Brigsmen as one’s about to answer. “Just find him!” she shouts. “And when you do, deliver him up to Madhouse Brink!” She whip-turns, her dress swooshing. “We’ll see if he can escape from
there
!”

Her shoes clap the length of the hallway, snapping violently against stone, crunching down dust and debris as she leaves.

Two Brigsmen scramble after her, while the last crawls up through the hole in the cell and races across the prison lawn, gun drawn, chasing after the criminal.

“Follow me,” C.L. whispers once we’re sure the way is clear. He zigzags through the crumbled remains of my cell, hoisting himself up on the wall. He pokes his head out and scans the yard before continuing. “All clear,” he whispers and rises out of the hole.

I swoop down, collect my jacket from the rubble, then turn and scale the wall after him.

“This way!” C.L. waves me toward a brink of trees at the back of the yard.

I chase after him, grinding to a startled stop at the edge of the leaves. “My God,” I gasp, stunned at the sight of the elephant.

“Our chariot awaits, sir.” C.L. grins.

He steps up into the chest of the animal as I look down at the face of the child in my arms. “No.” Sebastian’s skin is ashen. Blood seeps through the fingers of my left hand that holds him. “No, no, no, no, no.” I work to pull back his shirt, revealing the boy’s chest. Blood bubbles up between his ribs like a fountain. I look up at C.L., tears threatening my eyes. “He’s been hit,” I say.

“Sir?” The boy’s eyelids flutter slowly open, his eyes searching for mine. “I stole the registry for yuh,” he says in a whisper, his voice thinning. He coughs and gulps down a bloody breath. “It’s ’idden beneath the porch of the manse of the church. Yer gonna get it and get outta ’ere, right, sir?” He stares up at me, his eyes penetrating.

“Of course,” I say. “With your help.”

His eyes waver. They roll back in his head.

“Listen to me.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “We are going to retrieve that registry together. Do you hear me?
Sebastian?
” I shake him.

“I don’t feel so well,” the boy says. His eyes lose their focus.

“Sebastian?” I shake him.

The tension in his body slackens. His head drops limp over the side of my arm. “No!” I curl over him, checking for breath. “No! No, no, no, no, no . . .”

I melt to the ground, softly sobbing, pressing the lifeless child to my chest.

C.L. lets out a tattered sigh.

“He did this for me, all of this was for me,” I whisper, staring off in the distance.

“Whatchu doin’, sir?” C.L. chases after me as I stand and stalk the final few steps to the elephant, the bloody child in my arms.

“We’ve got one more stop to make before we leave town,” I say, hoisting myself up into the passenger seat. “Take us to the churchyard.”