فصل 25

CHAPTER 25

BAD THINGS

PETER PEERED OUT THROUGH THE CELL BARS, looking in both directions to make sure there were no guards nearby. Then he stepped back to the center of the cell, exhaled, and rose slowly off the floor. He made his body horizontal and floated up to the ceiling, then became vertical and drifted gently back to the floor. He allowed himself a small smile.

James smiled, too, although the effort made him wince because of the still-raw wounds Ombra had caused him to inflict on his own face.

“Feeling better?” said James.

“Yes,” said Peter. “Much. Another day and I’ll be as good as new.”

“Fat lot of good that will do,” said Tubby Ted, sprawled in the corner of the cell he had made his own. “Flying won’t help if they never let us out of here.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Peter. He tried to sound confident, but Ted had a point: the boys were being held in a dungeon deep inside the palace. The iron cell bars that contained them looked out on a dim, torch-lit corridor with guards posted at either end. The only other opening in the cell was a small barred window at the top of the back wall. This window looked out on the palace courtyard, a vast space surrounded by a high stone wall with guard towers evenly spaced along the top. Inside the wall were two odd-looking, freestanding towers perhaps fifty feet high, tapering at the tops to sharp points. These were a dull reddish color, unlike any stone Peter had ever seen.

The boys had been given rough, itchy, camel-hair blankets to sleep on, and the two nights they’d been there had been far from restful. There were no beds, so they had to lie on the cold stone floor.

And then there were the monkeys—a half dozen of them housed in a nearby cell. The boys couldn’t see them, but they could certainly smell and hear them. At odd times—sometimes in the middle of the night—they would erupt in a loud chorus of shrieks and gibbering that made sleep impossible. Peter wished he had Tink with him; she could talk to monkeys.

The boys had not yet left the cell. The door had been opened only twice, both times to allow a man—a doctor, apparently—to come in and examine Peter. The only other visitors were Slightly and Tootles, who brought food twice a day, passing pots through the cell bars. It was an unfamiliar cuisine—round, flat bread and strange-tasting pastes in small earthen pots. At first only Tubby Ted would eat anything other than the bread. But by the second day the boys’ hunger got the better of them, and they wolfed it all down.

The food delivery was supervised by guards, but they did not speak English, so Peter used the opportunity to get information from Slightly, who had picked up some of the Rundoon language. Because of this, he was able to eavesdrop on King Zarboff’s conversations. This morning he had brought disturbing news.

“A strange man came last night to see Zarboff about you,” he said. “If it was a man. Very strange.”

“What did he look like?”

“That’s the thing: I never actually saw him. He was more like a cape with a black ghost inside. And the way he moved…it gave me the frights, I don’t mind telling you. Even Zarboff seemed scared of him, and Zarboff ain’t scared of nobody. I swear even the snake was afraid of him.”

“He’s called Ombra,” said Peter in a whisper. “You’d best stay away from him.”

“Believe me, I will. But it’s you he’s interested in. Heard him ask if you’re healthy enough yet.”

“Healthy enough for what?”

“He mentioned the Jackal,” said Slightly, with a look that told Peter this was not a good thing.

“A jackal? That’s some kind of animal, right?”

“Not this Jackal. It’s said to be out in the desert somewhere, along with the other tombs and temples. I never went there, mind you, and never want to. People say bad things happen out there. Zarboff went once and came back with a look of death on his ugly face.”

“Why am I supposed to go there?”

“Dunno.”

Peter was silent for a moment. “What about my mates?” he said.

Slightly’s eyes swept over James, Prentiss, Thomas, and Tubby Ted, all busily eating.

“I’m to train them,” he said. “They’re going to help me and the other boys work for Dr. Glotz.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Glotz works for Zarboff. Calls himself a scientist. He uses us as workers because he don’t speak Rundoon. Those are his monkeys making all that racket.”

“What are the monkeys for?”

“For Glotz’s experiments.”

“What experiments?” said Peter.

But before Slightly could answer, the conversation was halted by a guard, who shouted something and clouted Slightly on the head. He said something in Rundoon that Peter didn’t understand; but the message was obvious: Shut up. The boys finished eating in silence, then passed the empty pots back through the cell bars. Peter decided to risk asking Slightly one last question. He did so in a faint whisper.

“Did Zarboff say I was healthy enough to go to the…the tomb?” he asked.

Slightly nodded somberly. “Tonight,” he said.

Five hours later, darkness had fallen and the boys were asleep—all except Peter, who sat against the cold stone wall, waiting and listening.

Footsteps approached. Two guards. They opened the cell door, and the boys stirred. The guard gestured to Peter, who rose and walked out. James looked up but didn’t say anything. The guards closed the door and, one in front of Peter and one behind, marched him through a maze of dim corridors, then up a steep flight of steps to a heavy door. The lead guard opened the door and shoved Peter outside and into the waiting arms of four soldiers. Next to them was a horse-drawn cart with a robed man sitting in the driver’s seat, his back to them.

Two of the soldiers held Peter, gripping him so tightly that his arms hurt. The other two put a heavy metal ring with a chain attached to it around his neck. It felt cold against his skin. A lock clicked shut. The soldiers lifted Peter into the cart and locked the other end of the chain to a metal ring bolted onto the cart. They checked to make sure the lock was properly closed and the chain secure. Then they stepped away from the cart. The robed man flicked the reins, and the cart rumbled into the darkness.

In a few minutes they had left the city and were moving across the starlit desert. The air was alive with sounds and smells that were strange to Peter. Finally, he saw something in the distance—pointed ears, then a giant head. It looked like an animal poised to strike as it rose out of the sands. The Jackal. Peter remembered Slightly’s words: People say bad things happen out there.

They approached the mouth, its huge teeth framing the entrance. The cart stopped. The robed man did not turn around. They sat there, unmoving for a minute, two minutes, three. Peter could not take his eyes off the gaping mouth of the Jackal.

Suddenly the horse began to dance nervously sideways, whinnying. Peter felt the air go cold. He turned slowly, not wanting to face what he knew would be there.

“Step down,” groaned Ombra.

Peter climbed out of the cart. Ombra flowed toward him. Peter stepped back; the chain attached to his neck went tight and stopped him. Ombra oozed past him to the cart, and Peter heard a metallic sound. The other end of the chain was no longer attached to the cart, but instead was somehow connected to Ombra himself, disappearing into his black form.

“You will follow,” groaned Ombra, and he began gliding toward the Jackal, pulling the chain. Peter resisted for an instant but immediately stumbled forward as he was yanked by what felt like immense strength. He was forced to half trot to keep up as Ombra moved silently across the sand toward the Jackal.

They entered the open mouth, walking down a giant stone tongue. The dim starlight gave way to darkness, then utter blackness. Peter fought to control the fear rising in him as Ombra dragged him relentlessly forward.

Ombra stopped. Peter jerked awkwardly backward to avoid bumping into the hideous thing leading him.

“We will descend steps,” said the groaning voice, much too close.

Peter felt the tug of the chain again. He shuffled forward, putting his hands out. He touched a cold stone wall. He slid his toes forward until he felt a step, then started down. He had never experienced such utter, disorienting blackness. He counted twenty-seven steps before they arrived at a landing. The chain tightened, and he was pulled down another flight of steps. He could sense Ombra just in front of him, the only sound the clinking of the chain.

Down they went, down and down—seventeen more steps—Peter utterly blind and increasingly unable to control his mounting dread. Down and down and…

“Stop,” said Ombra, sounding farther ahead all of a sudden. His groaning voice echoed, suggesting a larger space. Peter waited in the blackness, barely breathing. He heard a new sound, like whispering—many low voices whispering. And then…

Peter.

Peter jumped at the sound of the voice. It was like Ombra’s cold moan, but it was stronger, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once—ahead of him, behind, above—as if from the darkness itself.

Peter, the voice said again.

“Yes?”

Do you know why you are here?

“No.” It wasn’t exactly a voice, he realized. It was more like he was thinking what was being said to him.

You are here because you are a Watcher.

“I don’t know what that means.”

You have powers, and you will use them to show us where the starstuff falls.

“But I don’t know where any…”

You will show us. You are a Watcher, as your father was.

Peter took a staggering step backward, as if he had been struck. The chain clattered. “My father? You know my father?”

Your father helped us. He did so to keep you alive. You will help us now, to keep your friends alive.

“But I don’t know what you’re talking about! How can I help you if I don’t…”

When the time comes, you will know. You will feel the Fall and you will take us there. If you fail to help us, your friends will die. Do you understand?

“Where’s my father now? Can I—”

Do you understand? The voice inside him was so loud that Peter clutched his head in pain.

“Y…yes,” Peter said. But he didn’t understand anything.

If you fail, repeated the voice, your friends will die.