The Emerald Atlas (16 page)

Michael shook his head. “… Emma …”

“Emma? What do you—”

“I thought she was following, but she … I had to … either go back … but you wouldn’t stop.…” He lowered his head, still trying to get his breath.

There was no other light coming down the tunnel. No sound of footsteps.

“She must’ve gone,” Michael panted, “to … help Gabriel.”

All thoughts of the book were swept from Kate’s mind.

“We have to go back.”

“How? It’s … a maze! Didn’t you see?! Every room’s the same! That’s why Gabriel warned us! We’ll never find our way back!”

“We have to! We—”

“Kate!”

She turned. A line of black had appeared in the middle of the wall. The rock was splitting open. A wind swept through, and the flame in her lantern fluttered and went out.

A voice like iron spoke in the darkness:

“Hold them.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Prisoner in Cell 47

Gabriel stood with his back to the swinging bridge, his chest heaving, the haft of his falchion slippery with sweat. He had half a dozen cuts on his arms and a deep slash in his side. The swords of the
morum cadi
were poisoned. Any one of his wounds had the power to kill him. But Gabriel wasn’t thinking about that.

He had destroyed six of the monsters already: four he’d cleaved through, two he’d thrown into the void at his back. But there were still more than a dozen clustered around him in a half circle, swords raised, yellow eyes glowing, their breath, or whatever they had that passed for breath, rasping through the cloth that covered their rotting skulls. They had only to advance, and they would overwhelm him.

So why had they stopped attacking?

The answer revealed itself as a torch that emerged from the tunnel and bobbed toward the back of the throng. The Screechers moved aside to allow the Secretary to step through. The short man was breathing hard and mopping his brow with a lacy lavender handkerchief.

“My, my,” he gasped, “all this running about. Must be a better way.”

He waved his handkerchief at the Screechers.

“My companions keeping you entertained, hmm? So, introductions first, yes? Griddley Cavendish, at your service.” He bowed and smiled his awful smile. “And you are, my dear sir?”

Gabriel gauged his chances of reaching the man with a lunge. He thought he could make it, but in doing so, he would leave himself open to the Screechers.

“Come, come,” Cavendish said, his voice slippery and coaxing, “clearly you are a person of substance. Escaped the boat. Able to kill Screechers and wolves at will. Not to mention the clever little passage behind your fireplace. I confess, I almost missed it. Almost, but … the Countess, so intelligent, yes, fortunately, some time ago, condescended to enlighten my ignorance with a few simple spells, such as those that reveal secret doors and panels. Such radiance and foresight. Little wonder children love her. So, your name, sir?”

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you,” Gabriel said.

The Secretary giggled and punched his leg a couple times as if he found this very amusing, all the while shaking his head vigorously. “A sense of humor to boot! Well, well, thank you for the invitation, but we do in fact see what you’re thinking, yes? That long, sharp thing there, hmm? Yes?” He jabbed a crooked finger at Gabriel’s blade and then, for some reason, touched the side of his nose.

Gabriel was beginning to think the man was insane.

“Very well, no names. How about you simply tell us where the children are? Otherwise, I shall have to have my decaying friends here chop you into more manageable bits.”

Gabriel’s face betrayed nothing. But his mind was racing. The Countess wanted these children badly, so badly she had dispatched her secretary and twenty Screechers. That was nearly the entire guard from the town. Was it just their connection to the book or was there something else? Were the children important in some way? He sensed he had made a terrible mistake in leaving them.

“Sent them across the bridge, I imagine. Hmm? Into the maze? Dangerous, don’t you think? So easy to get lost?”

The Secretary took one careful step closer.

“Perhaps we make a deal. These children mean nothing to you. You found them in the woods. Came to their aid. Understandable. Pursued by those terrible wolves. Anyone would’ve done the same. Help us find them. Do this,” he wheezed, straining to maintain his grin, “and the Countess will give you whatever you desire. Wealth. Power. She can be very generous.”

The Secretary had recklessly taken another step forward. A single stroke and his head would fly from his shoulders. But Gabriel knew he would only have time for one blow before the Screechers were on him. What would happen to the children then?

“Tell the witch …”

“Yes?” The man Cavendish leaned forward eagerly.

“I am coming for her.”

He spun around and, with one swipe of his sword, severed the ties holding the bridge. Instantly, it fell into the void, and Gabriel leapt, leaving behind the furious cries of the Secretary.

He reached out with his free hand, straining into the darkness. But there was nothing. Just cold black air. Then he was falling. He had failed everyone. The children would be on their own. His people—

His hand smacked against a board. It slipped off, but Gabriel seized the next one just as the bridge snapped taut, and then he was swinging forward. He struck the rock wall with shuddering force. He hung there for a second, getting back his breath. He saw the wavering torchlight high up the other side of the chasm. The Secretary’s hollow-sounding voice was screaming curses at him.

Suddenly, purely on instinct, he lifted his knees just as a sword smashed into the planks where his feet had been. In the darkness below, Gabriel saw the yellow eyes of a Screecher. It must have leapt after him and seized one of the ropes trailing from the bridge.

Sheathing his weapon, Gabriel began to climb. He had no hope of fighting the Screecher while hanging on the bridge. He needed to get to the top.

“Gabriel!”

He looked up. Forty yards above, illuminated in the glow of a lantern, the pale face of the younger girl, Emma, was peering over the cliff.

His regret at sending on the children was instantly replaced by annoyance. He opened his mouth to scold her, but just then the Screecher’s sword struck again, the tip nicking the heel of his boot. He began to climb more quickly. He didn’t notice Emma’s face disappear behind the edge of the cliff.

His feet were too large to fit in the narrow gaps between the slats, so he had to pull himself up hand over hand. Every slat he passed, he ripped away the board to make it more difficult for the Screecher. But he could hear the creature climbing upward all the same.

“Gabriel!”

He didn’t look up.

“Gabriel!”

Her voice was strained, insistent.

“Gabriel!”

He chanced a look, intending to tell her in very clear terms that any conversation would have to wait. She was standing at the edge of the cliff, struggling to hold a rock several times larger than her head. Seeing him look up, Emma let go of her burden. Gabriel swung himself out to the left. The rock plummeted past, missing him by inches, and caught the Screecher full in the face, connecting with a crunching
thuck
and knocking the creature off the bridge.

Gabriel watched its body disappear into the void, then turned his gaze back to Emma.

The girl waved at him, smiling. “It’s okay! I got him!”

Children, he thought.

He quickly ascended the rest of the way and pulled himself over the edge. The girl was holding the lantern, her eyes bright with excitement. Gabriel looked around, still breathing heavily.

“Where are your brother and sister?”

“I left them.”

“I told you to go on. You should not have come back.”

The girl’s smile vanished; she looked hurt.

“Stop there!” The Secretary’s thin voice carried across the chasm. “In the name of the Countess!”

“Come,” Gabriel said, “we have to move.” He started off, but the girl turned her back on him and crossed her arms.

“I saved your life. I think you could at least say thank you.”

Gabriel was tempted to pick her up and carry her. Any moment, the Secretary and his
morum cadi
would begin looking for another way across the chasm. Yet, in spite of himself, he found he was smiling.

“You are right,” he said. “I am in your debt.”

Emma glanced at him, as if to make sure he was serious. Then she nodded. “You’re welcome. But you’re not in my debt or anything. It makes us even is all. Now, I think we should probably get going.”

“A good idea,” Gabriel said, as if he himself had not just suggested the same thing.

“What’re you smiling at?” Emma demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh, well, let’s—”

There was a swishing through the air, then a soft
thunk
, and Emma gasped and staggered back. Gabriel caught her before she fell. Twelve inches of black arrow protruded from her back. Another two feet stuck out of her stomach.

“Gabriel …” Her eyes were huge and terrified.

Seizing the lantern, Gabriel gathered the small girl in his arms as quickly and carefully as he could. The Secretary was screaming on the other side of the chasm. It sounded as if he were admonishing the creatures.

“Shhh,” he said gently as Emma whimpered in pain, “I have you now,” and he carried her off into the passageway.

Their hands and feet were tied. Hoods were drawn and knotted over their heads. Everything had taken place in utter darkness so that Kate still had no idea who their captors were. But now torches were being lit. She couldn’t see them (it was an unusually thick hood), but she could feel the heat and hear the flames. Then she was picked up and slung across a shoulder, and they were moving, marching.

“Michael,” she called out, “are you there?”

“I’m here!” He sounded a few feet behind her. “I’m okay.”

“Quiet!” barked a gruff voice.

An hour passed. Maybe more. It was impossible to tell in such darkness. Kate’s ribs rubbed painfully against her captor’s shoulder, and she shifted about to relieve the pressure. She had quickly given up on trying to keep track of where they were heading. All she knew was that every step was taking them farther and farther from Emma and the hope of ever being reunited. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She didn’t want Michael to hear her and despair.

Finally, the gruff voice called for a halt.

Kate was set on a stone floor. Her hood was unknotted and removed. She blinked, unable to focus in the sudden glare of the torches. Michael was beside her, having his hood removed as well.

“Michael,” she whispered, “are you okay?”

“Yeah. My ribs hurt, but …”

His mouth fell open. As Kate watched, his eyes expanded to an unnatural, almost alarming size.

“Duh …,” he bubbled. “Duh …”

“Michael? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Dwa …”

Kate turned and, her eyes having adjusted, saw a dozen short, stocky, bearded men gathered about them in the tunnel. For the most part, the bearded men were paying little or no attention to the children. Some had taken out food. A few were in conversation or sharpening weapons. Many had pulled out long, thin pipes and were starting to light them. All of them, Kate noticed, had short swords and fearsome-looking axes stuck in their metal belts.

“They’re … dwarves,” Michael gasped, finally managing to form the words.

They were indeed dwarves, with beards and axes and armor, exactly as Michael had always described them. Kate didn’t know why she was surprised to find out that dwarves actually existed. From the moment she and Michael and Emma had discovered that magic was real, it should’ve been logical that dwarves might be real as well. Her only defense was that it had been a very busy couple days.

“I always knew,” Michael murmured. “I mean, I didn’t know, I just … hoped.” He stared about dreamily, repeating, “… Dwarves …”

One of the troop stepped away from the others. He was stocky (though they were all stocky to some degree) and had a weathered face and a long reddish beard that was braided into neat plaits. He knelt before the children, setting his helmet on the floor with a light clank, and cleared his throat. “Now then”—it was his voice that had been giving orders—“let’s have it.”

Kate was confused. “Have what, sir?”

“Your story,” he said, pulling off his mace gloves. “How you came to be knocking about our territory. Trespassing the like.”

At the word “trespassing,” there was general harrumphing among the dwarves.

“We weren’t trespassing,” Kate said. “We—”

“You’re a dwarf!” Michael blurted out.

The red-bearded dwarf glanced at Michael. He took in the boy’s wide, goofy grin and dazed expression and apparently decided to ignore this rather obvious remark. He turned back to Kate. “Oh, you weren’t, were you? So you had permission? Let’s see it, then. You have a letter of passage, I assume.”

“Well, no, we don’t—”

“No letter of passage.”

“No.”

“No visa? Transit papers? No magical golden ring given your ancestors centuries ago by a dwarfish king granting you rights of access to all dwarfish lands?”

“Um … no.”

“Then that, my girl, means you was trespassing!”

This second, more forceful “trespassing” was followed by even more harrumphing from the others.

“Now,” the dwarf said with an air of satisfaction, “as we’ve settled that you’re a pair of lowly trespassers—”

“You’re dwarves!” Michael exclaimed. “All of you!”

The red-bearded dwarf cocked an eyebrow and nodded at Michael. “He simple or something?”

“No,” Kate said. “He’s fine. He …” She hesitated saying that Michael just really liked dwarves. She had a feeling this red-bearded dwarf might find it condescending. He seemed a little prickly. “He’s … never met a dwarf before.”

“Well,” the dwarf said, smoothing down his beard, “then it’s a great day for him, ain’t it? So, what business did you have, trespassing in our lands?”