The White City (35 page)

The sentinel threw its massive head from side to side and then leaped forward. The erupting rails pummeled its sides, but the monster fought through it, clutching for perch with its claws and driving itself forward. Smoke plumed from the glowing bores of its nose.

Still pushing out with his hands, Ray backed up, trying to find some other way to knock the creature into the void. He caught sight of Si’s lantern from the corner of his eye. They were farther down, descending the immense spiral.

The momentary distraction was enough to weaken the repellent force coming from his outstretched palms. The beast lunged from the breaking track and landed a few feet before Ray, its claws squealing on metal.

Ray took a step back, nearly toppling, and thrust a hand forward. The clockwork sentinel snapped its massive head to one side but then brought its snout down as if pushing against some heavy object. Flames glowed at the seams of its skull as it took a step forward. The pressure from the beast’s effort suddenly pressed back into Ray, lifting him from his feet and throwing him against the churning wall of machinery.

As Ray caught hold of a metal bracket, the string from the toby was sucked into the teeth of a gear. The cord drew tight against his throat. Hanging by one hand, Ray snatched at the string strangling him. It broke. Holding the toby tightly, he flipped to one side as the clockwork sentinel rammed into the spot where Ray had just been. The spinning cylinders of teeth ground into the wall, ripping apart machinery.

Ray found a toehold and kicked, reaching up with his free hand and clutching the edges of casing until he climbed higher. The beast reared up on its hind legs and snapped its grinding,
saw-toothed jaws. Ray had time only to turn and catch a foothold before the beast lunged for him again.

Ray held out the toby. The repellent pressure returned, bearing down on the sentinel’s skull. Crush it, Ray thought. He focused all his will on trying to drive back the sentinel like he had done with the clockwork men. But this monster was too powerful. The sentinel rose taller, grabbing at the machinery with its front claws and getting closer to Ray.

The grinding teeth whirled. The sentinel opened its jaws, exposing the iron inner works of its throat. Gas hissed from its gullet, and flame exploded. The white-hot jet blasted Ray. He shut his eyes. He was certain he was dead, but he felt no pain.

Ray realized the flames had gone out. He drew in a huge breath. He saw his hand was still extended before him holding the toby, nearly in the mouth of the clockwork sentinel. His skin and the fabric of the toby were not burned. Then he remembered Redfeather’s copper.

Ray bore down hard with the toby, pressing out with invisible force against the sentinel. He pried the jaws wider and wider. But at the same time, the beast was leaning closer. Ray’s hand was in the monster’s jaws—those grinding, spinning teeth. Fire erupted once more. Ray forced open his eyes.

He could not falter for a moment. If the clockwork sentinel broke through Ray’s spell, if it clamped those jaws shut, he’d lose his hand … if not more.

Ray felt all his energy directed into his palm, all his powers welling in that single outstretched hand. Had it been the same for his father when he had confronted the Hoarhound in the Terrebonne?

The iron frame of the sentinel’s mouth shook as it struggled to bite down.

“No!” Ray cried, forcing every bit of strength into that hand. The broken string from the toby dangled near the whirling teeth.

The jaws drew closer.

In an instant, the string was caught in the teeth and the toby was torn from his hand before disappearing into the saw-blade depths of the sentinel’s mouth.

Ray pulled his hand back just as the teeth closed with a terrible clank and grinding. Without the repellent force bearing down on the sentinel, it fell forward, driving its head into the machine-encased wall, tearing away metal in chunks. Ray leaped from his perch, falling out into the void.

His fingers disappeared. His arms and legs transformed. Feathers bloomed from his skin, and his body shrank.

The sentinel dropped to the ramp and reared out, snapping at the crow.

Ray circled around, gliding on outstretched wings. The sentinel spewed a stream of white flame. Ray banked, twirling over in a loop. He dropped down on top of the clockwork sentinel’s back.

His talons clutched at a pipe running down its spine. As the claws closed over it, Ray crossed.

Lights flashed, and the enormous well of the Gog’s Machine vanished.

In the dark, he felt his beak scrape against the soft, rotting wood of the Wolf Tree. The weight—of the dying Tree, of the Gog’s terrible guardian in his talons—was tremendous, and Ray pumped his wings fiercely to rise.

Dropping back again and again, Ray fought to fly higher. He climbed slowly until he no longer could. He had traveled far in the Gloaming and knew he wouldn’t come out in Grevol’s hall, but where he would return he wasn’t sure.

Ray crossed again, lights flashing as he left the pathway of the Wolf Tree and emerged in the open air.

He let go of the clockwork sentinel.

The breeze of the lake rose up under his wings. Rain pelted his back, beading off his oily feathers and trailing behind him. Lightning flashed, and Ray looked down as he flew to watch the sentinel—transformed now into a steel trap—fall into the waters of Lake Michigan. It splashed once far below and disappeared.

Ray pumped his wings, turning to the dim, ghostly lights of the Expo. Over the white buildings, he saw fires blazing and gunshots flashing off the heavy smoke and streaming storm clouds.

Dawn should have come hours ago. But the Darkness hovered over the city.

Lightning flashed again, striking in the thick of the battle.

Ray flew on. He could not go back for Conker and Si. They were alone now. He had to reach Nel and the others. He had to help defeat the Gog.

But how? The toby was lost.

C
ONKER LOOKED UP AT THE DARK.
“W
HAT JUST HAPPENED?”

Si stared and then cocked her head to listen. She brought up the lantern and opened the damper. Conker blinked in the brightness. The lantern light reached the far side of the shaft and a few levels higher on the circling ramp, but they saw and heard nothing.

“Ray!” Conker boomed. He cocked his head, but all he heard was the incessant roar of the Machine.

“He’s gone,” Si said.

Conker stared a moment longer. “That beast is gone too. I don’t hear nothing.”

Si lowered the lantern’s flame and turned back to the path before them. She nodded at Conker. “Let’s go.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Conker said.

Side by side, they walked past the clattering, chugging machinery. The darkness enveloped them but for the faint bubble of sooty light escaping from the lantern. Conker watched Si as she stared at the golden spike in her hand.

“Are you afraid,” Conker asked, “of what we’ve got to do?”

Si closed her fingers over the spike and looked up at Conker. Fear filled her eyes. He had never seen Si look like that. Brave Si. Fierce Si. She was trembling. Conker brought his hand around her shoulder and pulled her close against his side.

“Can you do it?” Conker asked. “Can you hold the spike while I drive it?”

Si pressed her face against him. “And bring about our deaths?”

“And end the Gog’s Machine,” Conker said gently.

They walked on like this, Si shaking at Conker’s side as they went deeper and deeper. Si murmured something, and Conker asked her, “What did you say?”

“Why us?” she repeated. “Why does it have to be us?”

“There’s no one else. It’s just you and me.”

She wept for a time, her tears soaking his shirt. Conker said nothing, but he rubbed his rough palm across her arm and let her mourn.

“I should not have come with you,” Si said after a time. She brought her sleeve up to her nose to wipe her face. She was still trembling, shivering almost as if with cold, but the Gog’s pit was hot and thick with fume-laden air. “I should have stayed with Buck and never come.”

“If you had, then I would be alone now. And who would help me?”

“Help you,” Si scoffed halfheartedly. “By holding the spike—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Conker said.

Si looked up at him, her eyes red and her cheeks blotchy. “How am I helping you?”

“You give me courage.”

Si scowled. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I ain’t.”

She looked back up at him again. “Are you really afraid, Conk?”

“Yes,” he said.

She stared at him while they walked and then lowered her gaze and slipped from his arm. She took his hand and drew in a deep breath. “You give me courage too,” she whispered.

Deeper and deeper they spiraled down until Conker could no longer fathom the enormity of the Gog’s Machine. The mass of writhing parts, turning and hissing and pumping, clouded his mind like poisonous black smoke.

They were walking slower now, each step a struggle and a terrible effort. But it was not his body that was weary. Each step brought Conker closer to a feeling of desperation, of hopelessness.

Si fell to one knee and did not try to rise. She lowered until she sat on the metal lip of the track. “We’ll never reach it,” she panted.

Conker sat beside her. He leaned back and looked at the shaft above. The black was as complete as anything he had ever witnessed. All other shadow was nothing more than haze compared to this void.

He sat up and planted one foot on the track’s iron rail, forcing himself to rise. He held out a hand. “Come on.”

Si shook her head, and he let his hand drop. He stared into the blackness below. “Give me that lantern.”

Si looked up sharply and then after a moment’s hesitation handed him the lantern. Conker took it and extended his arm over the side. He turned up the damper and bright light bloomed.

“The bottom!” he gasped.

Si leaped to her feet and clutched Conker’s waist as she peered down. The light reflected off a damp floor several flights below.

“Let’s go,” she said, snatching back the lantern and hurrying down the ramp.

In a matter of minutes, they came to the end of the ramp. The track extended several yards, disappearing in a rotten, wet tangle of roots making up the floor. Conker and Si walked out. She held up the lantern so they could see their surroundings.

It was some sort of cavity with soft roots underfoot and walls encased with pulsating machinery.

“There.” Si pointed.

Conker turned to face a gap in the machinery. They walked together toward the opening. Holding forth the lantern, they saw a tunnel extending into the Machine.

“The heart,” Conker whispered. He pulled the Nine Pound Hammer closer to his chest. He looked down at Si. They nodded to each other, then entered the tunnel.

The walls were lined with machinery embedded in the roots. Although the passage was tall and for the most part wide,
Conker had to squeeze through sections where spinning rods extended out in their path.

After they had walked for a time, Si blew out her breath in frustration. “How far back is it?”

Conker shook his head, and as he did the lantern’s flame flickered and dimmed. They looked at each other nervously, but the flame did not die.

“Reckon it won’t last much longer,” Conker said.

“I’ll cut it down as low as it will go,” Si said, and darkened it until only a faint light escaped. Their eyes adjusted. It was enough, and they continued forward.

They traveled farther and farther, and every so often the lantern’s light sputtered. After a time they came to a junction. The path split three ways.

Conker peered down the passages and asked, “Which way do we go? Which way you reckon is the heart?”

“Straight?” Si suggested.

“What if it ain’t? How long would we travel before realizing we’d gone the wrong way?”

“I don’t know, Conk. What’s there to do but pick one?”

“This is too important for guessing!” he growled.

Si narrowed her eyes. “Well, what else do you—”

The lantern’s flame died.

Conker reached out quickly to grab Si, as if the empty blackness would devour her. Si was struggling with the lantern. “It won’t light!”