The Keepers (41 page)

“Come on,” Chloe said. “We'll figure it out on the way.”

Horace nodded. They set off. He stayed half a block behind the Mordin, using the box as infrequently as he dared. Chloe and Gabriel followed silently. Meanwhile—both inside and outside the box—Horace caught an occasional glimpse of Neptune sailing overhead, or clinging to some improbable perch. When Horace commented on the fact that Neptune would be following the Mordin again tomorrow night, Gabriel said, “Neptune is always watching.”

As it turned out, following the Mordin was far easier than anyone had anticipated. The Mordin took such a straight path that Horace barely had to use the box. Once or twice Dr. Jericho looked back in Horace's direction, but he never slowed. At one point, the Mordin turned and took a walkway over the train tracks, and Horace caught a glimpse of tomorrow's Neptune simply walking far behind them, not bothering to stay aloft. Several blocks on, they passed through a rundown little business district and entered a dingy, treeless area lined with old brick buildings and alleyways. They passed a scrap yard, aglow with dirty yellow lights. Just beyond it was an abandoned drive-in restaurant.

Horace checked the box again:
all three Mordin, angling across the street with Chloe in tow, headed for a large brick building, tall and dark and deep, like a little castle, or a church; the building flickered like a flame
.

“Wait, wait,” Horace said, lowering the box. He saw the building now, today, nestled between the scrap yard and the abandoned restaurant, but he hadn't noticed it at first. And through the box—
Chloe and the Mordin, walking along the side of the little fluttering castle, down into a darkened stairwell; now the crack of a door, a sliver of deep darkness
. They disappeared inside.

“They're gone,” Horace said, pointing. “They went into that brick building there. That must be the nest.”

“Which building?” Chloe said.

Horace pointed again, leaning into her. “Right there. Between the scrap yard and the restaurant.” Neptune dropped out of the sky onto the street, cloak billowing. She could not seem to understand what Horace was talking about either.

“The crucible conceals itself and hides the nest,” Gabriel said. “Describe the place, Horace. Help them see it.” Horace described it: the strange, boxy canopy out front; three arched windows above; a rounded and ornate roofline; windowless brick walls down the sides. As he spoke, first Chloe and then Neptune let out astonished breaths, seeing it at last.

“This is the crucible at work,” said Gabriel. “But the Fel'Daera was able to see otherwise, just as Mr. Meister said.”

“So this is the nest,” Chloe said. “This is where they brought my dad.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “We should find him below.”

But Neptune was gazing at the brick building, her face worried. “Gabriel,” she said, keeping her voice light. “The Mordin. They led us straight here. That's not what they do.”

“They did not know we were following.”

But Horace hardly heard that. Neptune's words were ringing in his head.
“That's not what they do.”

And yet they would.

Horace said, “They're going to come straight here because by then, they'll know we already found the nest. There won't be any reason to pretend.” Three faces turned toward him, but his thoughts were far away, working the lines of influence between today and tomorrow. Everything that was about to happen, here and now, would lead back to the ashes of Chloe's home in twenty-four hours.

“Horace,” Chloe said, quiet and clear. “Why will I let them bring me back here?”

Horace focused, letting his mind work into the problem. Although he could not piece all the events together, not yet, one thing shone clearly to him. He thought maybe he'd known it right away, back at Chloe's house, but just hadn't let the connections form. Chloe and Gabriel were about to enter the nest. Chloe would come out again, and Neptune would be free too—Horace had seen them both through the box. And yet there was this troubling fact—
no one would stop Chloe from
being caught tomorrow night
. Not he himself, nor Neptune nor Gabriel, nor Mr. Meister, who by then would know what the Fel'Daera had revealed. And most of all, not Chloe. Everyone would know what was coming and would
choose to let it happen
. Tomorrow—there was no other conclusion to draw—some great need would be met when Dr. Jericho came to get Chloe in the ashes of her home. Someone would set those deeds into motion for a reason. Someone would have grounds for believing in that particular path.

And Horace knew who that someone was.

“What does it mean, Horace?” Chloe asked.

“It means,” he said slowly, holding on to the box, “something is about to go wrong. But it also means you believe you can fix it.”

Chloe's dark eyes held his for a long moment. “So do I go in? Now?”

“You do,” Horace said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “And so do I.”

H
ORACE WAITED FOR THEM TO TELL HIM HE COULD NOT GO
in. He prepared himself to do battle with any reasons they could come up with. But no one said a word. No one even looked doubtful. Instead, Gabriel nodded firmly and said, “Come then. But take care. Stay close to me. Our instruments will keep Chloe and me safe, but yours will not. Neptune, you must go back and—”

“I'm not leaving,” Neptune said. “I'll be out here, overhead. You might need me.”

Gabriel's face gave nothing away. “May yours be light, then.”

“And yours,” Neptune sang, and then she was gone into the air.

Gabriel cocked his head as if he could hear her go, and then he said to Horace, “Walk with me. Show me the way.”

Head pounding with all his new convictions, and with the speed at which everything was happening, Horace guided Gabriel across the street. Chloe followed. Gabriel spoke to them in low tones, his words swift.

“We should have little to fear until we are underground. Like us, the Riven bury their safeguards deep. Once below, however, we must be wary. The crucible dog will be prowling.”

Horace wasn't sure he heard right. “Crucible dog?”

“The Keeper of the crucible. It's not actually a dog, of course, but . . .” Gabriel shrugged. “It moves on all fours. It has teeth.” Horace and Chloe exchanged a glance. “Remember, stay close. With the staff, I can provide some protection from almost anything we might encounter in the nest.”

Chloe tugged on the strings of her hoodie. “You just remember your promise. You don't use that thing unless I say.”

“I remember the terms of our agreement,” Gabriel replied coolly. “But we must all use our Tan'ji only when there is no alternative. And remember, you are as valuable to them as your instruments. They will take your instruments, yes, but they will seek to turn you, too—to bring you to their side. Without us, after all, our instruments are useless. Of course, if they can't turn you, they will kill you.” Horace shuddered at the easy way the word
kill
rolled off Gabriel's tongue.

At the front of the building, two sets of double doors along the front were crooked in their frames, boarded over. Above the doors, the broad, square canopy jutted out.

“It's a theater,” Chloe said, and now Horace saw—not a
canopy, but a marquee. Above the marquee, the three arched windows stood, two of them painted over and the center one a motley patchwork of panes. Through the panes, Horace could just make out a huge slab of something—the ceiling?—that had collapsed. He tried to let go of the sensation that someone, or
something
, might be watching them from the broken window above. He reminded himself that if they were, Neptune, hovering higher still, would know about it.

They trekked around the side of the theater. Horace pointed out the side door he'd seen the Mordin take Chloe into, and they gave it a wide berth. “We must find another way in,” said Gabriel. “Not the way the Mordin took—this door will be guarded.” A little farther on, they found what they needed. A thick, dark column rose along the brickwork: an old spiral fire escape, snaking up to a door high above.

Horace tested the bottom step. It seemed solid. He went up a few steps and shook the railing hard, but the structure held fast. “Here,” he said, for Gabriel's benefit. “Stairs going up.” Gabriel followed, very cautiously—clearly the staff, without the humour fully expanded, was not much help climbing stairs. He eased onto each new step, one strong hand gripping the rail. Chloe brought up the rear, staying well back.

At the top, the stairs ended at a cramped landing that couldn't hold them all. The door—battered and graffiti scarred—was locked fast. “Me,” said Chloe. She slid through, and a few tense moments later, a bolt was thrown back. The door creaked open.

Inside, the theater was utterly black. The smell of mold and decay filled Horace's nose. They moved forward cautiously by the combined light of Chloe's and Horace's jithandras, a dull violet glow. Horace wondered if Gabriel had a jithandra, and if so, whether it gave off any light.

They were in the balcony. Beyond the low wall in front of them, a sea of shadow hung. High overhead, a jagged hole in the roof opened onto a patch of night sky. They moved along the aisle between rows of dusty and moth-eaten seats, Chloe leading the way slowly up the shallow steps. Debris lay all around, big chunks of plaster from above and ragged strips of fabric and splintered woodwork. As they walked, they kicked up clouds of dust that glowed lavender in the ghostly light of their jithandras. At the back of the balcony they found a staircase, broad and curving, that led down to the first-floor lobby. Here a series of gaping doors opened into the main part of the theater.

“There will be a basement,” Gabriel whispered. “A level below the stage. We need to get backstage and find it.”

They entered the theater and made their way down the aisle to the front of the stage. After testing its height with his staff, Gabriel leapt lightly onto the stage, leaving Horace and Chloe to clamber after him. Behind them, the auditorium was a huge and shadowed space, the balcony barely visible.

“Careful.” Gabriel pointed the tip of his staff at a square black hole cut into the stage floor. An open trapdoor. Gabriel passed it on the right and Horace and Chloe went
left, keeping their distance.

A few seconds later, Gabriel stopped. He tapped the tip of the staff softly against the floor, catching their attention. “Wait,” he whispered sharply. “Wait.” He turned back toward the yawning hole in the stage behind them.

The golem exploded from the trapdoor like a black geyser, splintering the floorboards and surging high into the air. Horace staggered as the floor shook beneath his feet. The golem towered overhead for a moment, serpentine, and then fell toward them with a mountainous roar.

Chloe darted forward, grabbing Horace's shirt and yanking hard. “Run!” she shouted. He stumbled after her. Across the stage, Gabriel charged in the opposite direction, staff out in front. Gabriel winked out of sight just as the golem's monstrous form dropped between them, barely missing them all. The golem began to gather itself again with a speed no amount of muscle could ever have managed, searching for them with its eyeless gaze, a swaying river of stone.

Horace tried to stay on Chloe's heels, following the bouncing red glow of her jithandra as she ran. The stage was littered with crates and equipment and leaning stacks of scenery and half-torn-down stage sets. They wove through the clutter, feet pounding, Horace's heart nearly punching through his chest. Behind them, the golem crushed its own path, as wide as a bus.

When the back wall of the stage loomed before them, Chloe veered left, and they found themselves entangled in
a tower of metal scaffolding. They began to duck and swing their way through it, Chloe as nimble as a squirrel, not risking the dragonfly even now—or maybe, Horace thought, she just wasn't willing to leave him behind. With his bigger frame, Horace had a harder time, unable to find a rhythm through the narrow triangular gaps—banging his shins more than once, cracking his head, skinning his palms on the rough pipes. He heard the brutal clatter of the golem behind and felt the whole structure tremble. He didn't look back, but by the sound of it, the golem was breaking into pieces to trickle through the maze of heavy pipes. A piercing clamor arose, hammering Horace's ears—like a dense and endless downpour of hail.

A dozen feet ahead of him, Chloe was through, her face again glowing red in the darkness, her lips moving but her words inaudible. The structure rocked, caught in the grip of an earthquake. A couple of boards, shaken loose from high above, came slicing down through the gaps, crashing to the floor to Horace's left and right like spears. He dared a look back. The golem was nearly upon him, all around and overhead too. The scaffolding was slowing it down, but not enough—it was going to catch him. In some places, it simply tore through the pipes, ripping them free. He saw, or he imagined he saw, the cruel red heart of the golem, flashing through the mass.