The Live-Forever Machine (14 page)

“Where?” Eric asked in alarm. “The storm drains?”

“Fire and brimstone!” Jonah hollered above the clatter of rain. “You told them inside?”

“I didn’t,” Eric said guiltily. “He doesn’t know.”

Jonah looked at him strangely—accusingly, Eric thought—and then began to shamble away, muttering to himself.

“We need to get inside the museum,” Eric called after him. “Can you show us?”

The clouds were suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning. A long, drawn-out roll of thunder spanned the sky.

“Listen, Ishmael,” cried Jonah, turning back. “That’s what the thunder said.”

“Forget it, Eric,” Chris said. “He’s nuts.”

“This way, this way,” Jonah called out. “My home.” He was moving towards the museum wall, looking back over his shoulder to see if they were following.

“This guy’s utterly cracked,” grumbled Chris.

“Come on,” said Eric impatiently, brushing water out of his eyes.

Jonah walked aimlessly, letting his hand brush against the rough brick. He suddenly stooped, dropped to his knees and snatched up a long, glistening worm from the mud.

“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed. “Many more where that came from!”

Eric watched him with a sinking heart.
Maybe Chris was right. This was turning into a wild goose chase. Jonah slipped the worm into one of his trouser pockets, pushed himself to his feet and stretched.

“X marks the spot,” Jonah said triumphantly, pointing.

Hidden by a row of low shrubs was a metal grille in the museum wall. Jonah stooped again, swatted the spindly branches out of his way and yanked off the grille. Then, with surprising swiftness, he squeezed through the duct on all fours and scuttled out of sight.

“Follow the leader!” his voice rang out from inside.

“Ventilation duct,” Eric said.

“It’s kind of small,” said Chris uncertainly.

“You’ll fit,” Eric told him. “Just suck in your chest.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chris retorted. “I don’t disappear when I turn sideways. “

Eric flushed, suddenly conscious of his hair plastered to his head, all his clothes clinging to his bony frame.

“You coming or not?” he asked hotly.

“Right behind you.”

Eric crawled into the duct. It wasn’t as narrow as he’d thought. The metal floor dented loudly under the weight of his hands and knees. After only a few metres, the duct opened
into a sizable junction where Jonah waited. There was enough light filtering in from the outside for Eric to see bottles, food tins, and bulging garbage bags strewn around the floor.

“Which way?” Eric asked, looking at all the ducts leading out of the junction.

Jonah rocked back and forth on his haunches a few times before knocking aside a garbage bag and revealing a grille in the floor. A blast of hot air hit Eric in the face. Its dank smell was the same as that in the cellars.

“No, to the museum,” Eric reminded Jonah. “We want to get into the museum.”

“Ah,” said Jonah, and tilted his head up at a single metal grille in the ceiling.

“Thanks.”

Eric pushed at it until it gave way. He tried to lift himself through, but his arms wouldn’t do it. He swore under his breath. “Could you give me a boost?” he asked Chris without looking at him.

Chris cupped his hands and hefted Eric through the opening. It was dark. Eric walked carefully towards a line of light coming from underneath a door. His hand fumbled for a switch and the room was suddenly filled with light.

“It’s just a storage room,” he called back. “Come on up.”

Chris hauled himself through without difficulty. “You sure he’s going to be here?” he asked. “Won’t he have left with everyone else?”

“No.”

Eric opened the door and walked out into the immense machine workshop. It was deserted. Rain clattered against the high windows. All the equipment had been shut down.

“This place is utterly enormous,” Chris whispered in awe.

Eric walked deeper into the room, at a loss. How would he ever find Alexander? Come on! he thought in frustration. You’ve been watching for me for ages. So where are you now?

A droning sound reached his ears, and he turned towards the freight elevator doors at the end of the workshop. Someone was coming up. The low rumble was getting louder. He motioned to Chris and they crouched behind a bank of machinery. Eric’s heart raced. The elevator was taking forever to arrive.

Then there was a heavy thud, and the elevator doors split apart. Standing inside was Alexander, slumped against the wall, coughing.

Eric stepped out in relief.

“It’s too late,” Alexander said. “The live-forever machine is his now.”

“He broke through the cellar wall,” Alexander croaked. “Such a gaping hole! He must have had tools, blasting powder. And the ruin! Countless things scorched and shattered …”

Alexander’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of Chris. His eyes swept over Eric’s companion suspiciously, lingering on the skull-shaped earring, the dyed slashes of colour across his ripped jeans.

“He’s my friend,” Eric explained nervously. He’d been in too much of a hurry to give any thought to how Alexander would react to Chris.

“I don’t know you,” Alexander said, dread flickering in his eyes. “I’ve not seen you before.”

Chris’s mouth moved as if he were about to reply, but he didn’t say anything, only jammed his hands into his pockets and glanced helplessly at Eric. Eric suddenly felt sorry for Chris.
He’d never seen his friend look so unsure of himself.

“I’ve told him everything,” Eric said. “He’s not going to—”

“How could you have done such a thing?” Alexander cried, turning on Eric. “I entrusted my secret to you. Him, I don’t know. How can you be certain he is not in league with Coyle?”

Eric was chilled by the madness in Alexander’s face.

“He’s my friend,” he said again, as forcefully as he could. “He’s never even met Coyle!”

Alexander seemed to crumple, steadying himself against a worktable. “I hope he can be trusted.” He cast a weary glance at Chris. “I hope he can hold the secrets.” He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and coughed violently into it.

Rain drummed fiercely against the windows. A brilliant flash of lightning froze them for a split second as if in a photograph.

“I remained behind as the museum was evacuated,” said Alexander. “I knew the outburst of gas must have been Coyle’s doing. I waited for him here, guarding the entrance to the cellars.” He nodded at the freight elevator. “An hour passed, and then I felt the vibration through my feet, a rumble from deep within the earth. But by the time I reached the cellar, I was too late.”
He shook his head, incredulous. “Who would have thought that was to be his point of entrance?”

“We came to tell you,” Eric said quietly. “He’s been down on the main storm drain—I don’t know for how long, but at least a week. He’s got some kind of machinery down there. We heard it, something big.”

He felt another sharp twist of guilt. Too late, he’d come too late.

Alexander nodded, mopping at his mouth with the handkerchief. “How did you get in?” he asked.

“Jonah showed—” Eric started again. “There’s a guy who fishes through one of the storm drain grates behind the museum. He showed us how to get in through a tunnel, a ventilation duct, I guess. Jonah’s a little crazy, but he knew about Coyle. He knew about the machinery Coyle’s got down there.”

“Some infernal engine, no doubt,” said Alexander, “that will lay waste to all of this.” He looked mournfully around the huge chamber. “It will all be consumed in flames. Now that he has the live-forever machine there is nothing to deter him.”

“What will you do?” Eric asked.

Panic flickered in the ancient man’s eyes, and a fit of coughing snapped his thin body over.
“He will come for me soon,” he said hoarsely. “My lunar cycle commenced last night. He can unmake me now. What alternative do I have but to fly, leave here at once? ‘Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid? / Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?’ “ His gaze seemed fixed on something invisible in the air before him. “So long has it been,” he said in a croaking whisper. “But I recognize it now, one never truly forgets that dreaded face of death. How it glowers at me.”

Eric shot a glance at Chris, who was staring at Alexander, his face frozen in amazement. What must he think? Eric wondered. Does he believe it now, or does he just think Alexander is insane? Eric looked from one to the other: Chris, so strong, so healthy-looking, skin tanned a light coffee brown, and Alexander, paler than Eric had ever seen him, his cheeks hollow, veins winding across his arms, his thin body caving in on itself.

“I must go at once,” Alexander said.

“And just leave the museum?” cried Eric. He couldn’t bear to think of it all destroyed: the dinosaur gallery, the Chinese tomb, the endless network of high-ceilinged halls. He should have taken the scroll.

“Don’t you think it rends my heart also?”
demanded Alexander. “But I am left with no other choice.”

“Unmake him,” Eric said.

“Sacrilege,” Alexander whispered. “I won’t be guilty of it. I would rather be pursued around the earth for an eternity than do such a thing.”

It was insane. Coyle was going to kill Alexander, and he wouldn’t even act in his own defence. Eric gritted his teeth to keep from shouting out in anger and frustration.

“Forgive me, but there is no other—” Alexander stopped abruptly, and Eric could tell by his eyes that something had just occurred to him.

“What?”

“Coyle will not be able to read the scroll. It is written in the ancient languages, the dead languages from the documents I transcribed those long centuries ago. Coyle has forgotten them all.”

Eric remembered the conversation in the medieval armoury, the panic in Coyle’s voice when Alexander had spoken Latin.
Speak English.

“The live-forever machine will be temporarily useless to him,” Alexander went on, “though for how long, I cannot guess. He will translate it somehow.”

“Computer,” Chris said. He looked up from his sneakers. “A computer could do something like that. Remember—” he turned to Eric “—we saw him buy something in the computer store yesterday. He’d have to have a pretty powerful system, though, with a massive memory.”

Alexander gazed at Chris, fascinated. “You understand this kind of machinery, do you, these computing devices? How long would the translation process take?”

Chris shrugged, unnerved by the intensity of Alexander’s stare. “Depends how long the thing is, and how fast his system works. A while, anyway.”

“So there is time,” Alexander said softly, his eyes now on Eric. “Perhaps this computing device could be stopped, and the scroll recovered before Coyle translates it. The two of you …”

Eric could see twin flames of hungry expectation dancing in the pupils of Alexander’s extraordinary green eyes. Alexander wanted the two of them to go down to the storm drains and steal back the live-forever machine.

“No way.”

Chris’s voice sounded a long way away. Eric’s eyes were still locked with Alexander’s. He felt the same tingle of partnership he’d experienced when the ancient librarian had pressed the locket into his hand that day in the corridor.

“Help me, Eric,” said Alexander imploringly.

In his mind’s eye, Eric saw Alexander walking through the cellar, touching things, speaking to them, overcome with memory. He cared only about his artifacts, his past. Just like Dad. They were both dinosaurs. But at least Alexander seemed to trust him, had told him his sixteen-hundred-year-old secret. And twice now Alexander had asked for Eric’s help. Dad wouldn’t do that, not ever. A tiny flame of anger bloomed within Eric. Maybe Dad was beyond help, didn’t even want it. But at least Alexander was asking for help.

“Yes,” he said. “All right.”

“No!” Chris shook his head angrily. “No friggin’ way! I’m not going down there, and you aren’t either. This is stupid.” He tossed his head in Alexander’s direction. “Why doesn’t
he
go down?”

“Think, think,” Alexander said, with patronizing patience. “If Coyle has already completed the translation, he would unmake me instantly. In any event, what use would I be? It is you who has the expertise with these computing machines.”

“He’s right, Chris,” Eric said.

“Crap,” was his friend’s reply. “All of this, crap.”

“Shut up, Chris.”

“Even your Dad would think this was utterly cracked. If you told him.”

Eric glared at him. “Shut up, you jerk!”

Chris’s face clouded over, his whole body went rigid, and for a second Eric thought Chris was going to hit him. He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He was going to get clobbered. He stared at Chris, not recognizing him, afraid, and then all at once the hatred evaporated, leaving only a sick lump in his stomach.

“Are you coming?” he asked, looking away.

“No!” Chris shouted. “This isn’t like going down to see the furnace room, Eric. This isn’t like going down a manhole. This is crazy and dangerous.”

Alexander watched them in silence, his fingers nervously tracing the outline of his pale mouth.

“I can’t go alone, Chris. I don’t know anything about computers.”

Chris just looked at the rain sheeting down the windows.

“Come on,” said Eric, forcing a smile. “You’re the muscle, remember? You can’t let a skinny geek like me go down there alone. If it’s too dangerous, we’ll come back.”

“Eric—”

“It’s almost the end of the summer. You won’t ever have to talk to me again afterwards.”
That was what Chris really wanted anyway, Eric thought ruefully. To go back to school and hang around with all his friends while Eric just faded away. “Last adventure of the summer,” he said.

“Don’t even know if I believe any of this,” Chris grumbled, scratching at his blond hair. “How would we get down to the storm drain? We can’t go through the cellar; he’s probably watching there. Maybe I could run off a hard copy of Mom’s blueprints—”

“Jonah can show us the way,” said Eric. “He’s been down there.”

“You sure?”

“He knew about Coyle before any of us,” Eric reminded him. “He must have gone there himself. He knew what Coyle looked like. He must have seen the machinery. That shaft he showed us in his tunnel—it must lead down to the drains.”