فصل 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Battle of the Dead City

Hamish had refused to get out of the pool. He stood there, waist-deep in the black water, knife in one hand, roaring at the Secretary and his Screechers to come get him. But something must’ve brushed his leg, for he gave a yelp and, with one remarkably nimble leap, flew out of the pool. He was fallen upon and bound immediately. Even then, with a Screecher’s boot on his neck, he kept up a string of curses.

The Secretary ignored him. Grinning victoriously at Kate, he jerked his football-shaped head toward the stairs, and the morum cadi yanked the dwarves to their feet and began marching them up toward the Dead City.

Kate and Michael, the only two whose hands weren’t tied, were allowed to walk together, in the middle of the group. Wallace and the white-bearded Fergus were at the head, while Hamish, who sounded like he was being dragged protesting up each step, brought up the rear.

“Kate …”

“I know. It’ll be okay.”

“You always say that. How is it going to be okay?”

Kate had to admit Michael had a point. “I don’t know. But it will be. I’ll think of something.”

She took his hand and for a moment they walked in silence, listening to Hamish cursing the Screechers behind them.

“So what did you see?” Michael asked, even more quietly than before. “What were you going to tell me?”

Kate opened her mouth to tell him about their mother, but the words that came out were, “I saw … Dr. Pym.”

“You saw Dr. Pym? In the past?”

Kate had to shush him, and he continued in an excited hiss:

“Oh, Kate, that’s not a coincidence. Absolutely not! The odds would be … Well, I’d need a calculator, but it would be highly, highly unlikely that the book would happen to take you to Dr. Pym. You’d better tell me everything.”

So as they climbed the steep corkscrew of stairs, she told Michael about Dr. Pym, the study, the snowy city outside the window. But though she commanded herself—Tell him who you saw, he deserves to know—each time she started to, she was seized by an inexplicable fear. In the end, she said nothing, and the memory of seeing their mother stayed locked inside her.

“Amazing,” Michael said. “He’s up to something. Some wizardy plot; I can feel it. But how were you able to come back without the book? You need it to move through time. Then again, the book took you to Dr. Pym and you didn’t need a photo. It’s all very curious.”

“I kno—”

Suddenly, Kate heard something and looked over her shoulder. The Secretary, wheezing from the climb, had come up behind them. “What are you two birdies talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure. Just so happy to see you again. Very bad losing you in the tunnels. Couldn’t tell the Countess that. Thought to myself, Where will they go? Clever little birdies like them. To the book, of course. So off I hurried to the Dead City. And came you did. Saw you and the little dwarvsies, sneak-sneak-sneaking around.” He coughed violently and hacked something gray against the wall. “But where is little sister? Separated? Lost? Dead, perhaps? Such a shame.” He clucked his tongue in exaggerated sympathy, and Kate had to fight the urge to knock him backward down the stairs.

She gripped Michael’s hand fiercely. “Don’t listen to him.”

They climbed on in silence and, half an hour later, entered the Dead City.

The Screechers led Michael and Kate and the dwarves down rutted, debris-littered streets between the shells of ancient buildings. Overhead, dozens of lamps hissed gassily, casting everything in a yellow-green hue. Everywhere they passed Screechers. There seemed to be no end to the black-clad ghouls. Finally, the party stopped at the edge of what Kate guessed had once been the main square. Four enormous open-air cages had been erected, and the children watched as a line of thin, hollow-eyed men were driven into one by a crew of Screechers. More men—perhaps fifty total—huddled in the other cages. They sat or stood about listlessly, like ghosts, but as awareness of the dwarves and even more—or so it seemed to Kate—of her and Michael spread among them, the men began to gather at the bars of their cages, staring at the children with wide, sunken eyes.

The Secretary hissed an order, and she and Michael were wrenched apart—Michael and the dwarves herded toward the cages, while the Secretary, with a clammy hand locked about her wrist, dragged her toward one of the shattered buildings that ringed the square.

He brought her to a room on the second floor and shut the door.

“Have a seat, my dear.”

The room was empty save for two chairs, a desk, and a gas lamp that hung on a chain from the ceiling. The setup of the furniture, along with the air of displeased authority, reminded Kate of Miss Crumley’s office at the orphanage. How long ago had that been? A month? A year? Had it even happened yet? Of course, Miss Crumley’s office wasn’t missing a wall the way this one was. Kate stepped toward the edge, hoping to see Michael in the square below.

The Secretary slammed his hand on the desk, startling Kate.

“Little birdies should do what they’re told. Now pleeeeaaasssse, have a seat!”

Reluctantly, Kate came and sat across from him. The man folded his hands and attempted something like a smile. It was then Kate saw the tiny yellow bird peeking out of his jacket. The head and beak were visible for only a moment, then disappeared. The man seemed not to have noticed. He was staring at Kate with a hungry expression.

“So, my dear, you opened the vault?”

Kate shrugged.

“Don’t know what that means, do you? But I do. Didn’t I see it, hmm? Yes, moment you arrived. Before even the Countess, I saw.” As he spoke, his fingers twisted themselves into knots. “The first dwarfie we caught told me how you opened the vault when no one else could. How you touched the book and, poof, disappeared. Then came back, but no book. Just you. Dim-dumb Hamish couldn’t have been happy about that, could he?” He clucked his tongue. “Not happy at all. But”—he gave Kate another of his hideous smiles—“to business—once you touched the book, exactly what happened? And please, be as precise as possible.”

Kate said nothing.

“Not talking? Of course, so brave. Such a heart. But …” He turned his head and whistled. A few moments later, the door opened and a Screecher entered, carrying a brutal-looking crossbow. He took up a position behind Kate, where the open wall looked out over the square. Kate watched in horror as he fitted a bolt into the instrument and cranked it back.

“What’s he doing?!”

“Why, he’s going to kill someone. Now, I’ll not pretend I’m going to harm your brother. You both are far too valuable. However, for every one of my questions you don’t answer, he will kill a man from Cambridge Falls, no doubt the beloved father to one of those dear children you met back with the Countess. Understand?”

Kate nodded numbly.

“Excellent. So you touched the book and …”

“I … went into the past.”

“See, that wasn’t difficult. When in the past?”

“I’m not sure. A few years, I think.”

“And?”

“And then I came back.”

The Secretary barked at the Screecher, shocking Kate with the abrupt harshness of his voice. “Kill one!”

“Wait! Wait! Okay … Dr. Pym was there.”

“Ah! So the old wizard has his hand in this. I suspected as much. A powerful adversary. Very powerful indeed. And perhaps this wasn’t the birdie’s first time meeting the good doctor, hmm? You had a previous acquaintance?”

“Yes,” Kate said quietly.

“The picture becomes clear. And did anyone else attend this pleasant reunion?”

Kate hesitated. The Secretary raised his hand.

“Yes! There was … a woman.”

“A woman. Any guesses who?”

Kate shook her head.

“So just a random woman. Of no importance. Hmm.” He scratched the side of his head with a jagged nail, then looked at the Screecher. “I changed my mind. Kill the brother.”

Instantly, the Screecher brought the crossbow to his shoulder.

“No! I’ll tell you! Please!”

The Secretary held up a finger. The black-garbed creature paused, waiting.

“It was … my mother.”

“Your mother? That’s very odd. Very odd indeed …” As Kate watched, he took the yellow bird from inside his jacket and began to caress its head, cooing, “What’s he doing, my love? Why the child’s mother? How could …” The Secretary began to giggle. “Yes, yes, of course, ingenious. And elegant. Clever old man.” He stowed the bird in his jacket and gave Kate his widest, most revolting grin yet. “Well, if the book is in the past, you’ll just have to go back and get it, won’t you, my dear?”

“What’re you talking about? That’s impossible! I can’t!”

“Ah yes, for how can you go into the past to retrieve the book if you need the book to go into the past? Doesn’t make a great deal of sense, does it? A conundrum. A puzzle. Indeed. Shall I tell you?” He jumped up, scuttling around the desk till he was in front of Kate, pinning her shoulders back and staring into her eyes. “You’ve been having visions, haven’t you? Things you can’t explain. That is because part of the book has passed into you. You and your little brother and sister are the chosen three. And the Atlas has already marked you as its own!”

Kate’s mind was spinning. The Atlas. It was the first time she had heard the name.

“What do you … what do you mean, marked me?” Kate couldn’t stop her voice from trembling.

“The Atlas is an ocean of power. A few drops of it now run through your veins. Can’t the little birdie feel it?”

As much as Kate wanted to tell the stringy-haired man she didn’t believe him, the fact was, she did. Ever since that night in the orphanage in Cambridge Falls when the blackness had crept off the page and into her fingers, she had known something in her had been changed.

“You mean, I can travel through time?”

The Secretary let out a rough laugh and released her. Kate felt the blood returning to her shoulders. The man began pacing back and forth, yanking on his fingers as he spoke.

“No no no no no! By yourself, not possible, not possible! But with the help of a powerful witch or wizard? Oh yes. You see what the old man did? He wanted to hide the Atlas from the Countess and her master. Where safer than in the past? So he puts a spell on the little birdie, makes her travel back in time. Then he has the birdie leave the book with him, thinking the two of them can retrieve it anytime they like.”

“But it’ll disappear!” Kate cried. “It’s already disappeared!”

“True,” the Secretary said, mock-thoughtfully. “The book’s no more! E-vap-o-rated years ago!” He smiled at Kate and then did something truly repellent—he winked. “But what if old man Pym sends the birdie back to the second just after she brought him the book? Hmm? What about that?”

Finally, Kate understood. Yes, the book was gone. It had disappeared a half hour after she left it in the past. But for that half hour, however many years ago, the book had existed. Dr. Pym would simply have her return to that window in time.

“But how can he send me into the past?! I still don’t—”

The Secretary’s patience was ebbing.

“Is the birdie deaf? The power is in her now! The wizard can call upon it!” Leaning close, he ran a filthy finger along Kate’s cheek. “Must’ve anchored her here with the same spell that gave the memory, hmm? Made it easy to reel her back. Kept his birdie on a short string, didn’t he?”

Kate was trying her best to put it all together. In the throne room, Dr. Pym had done something to her, cast some spell that had made the book (or Atlas, as the Secretary was calling it) take her to a moment in the past. And somehow that same spell had kept her tied to this time, so once she’d given Dr. Pym the book, she was yanked back to the moment she’d left.

The Secretary was pacing again, rubbing his hands together. “Ingenious, ingenious! To hide it in the past! Thinks he’s foiled the Countess. She can look all she wants, but no book, no Atlas, hmm? Doesn’t exist! Gone gone gone! Only too bad for him, the Countess also has the power to send the birdie back in time. And she will, my dear. Oh, she will.”

“But”—Kate hated asking the wretched man anything, especially this, but couldn’t stop herself—“why was my mother there?”

“Why? Why? That is everything!” he shrieked gleefully. “Yes, a brilliant detail. You see, the sly old fox knew that one day he would have you retrieve the prize, and even with the power in you, it is no simple thing to send someone across time. Before, his spell could borrow on the power of the Atlas. Now, there’s just the little birdie. Much more difficult. Requires a strong connection to the moment you wish to reach. A bond, yes? So what did the wise doctor do? He gave you a memory that would outshine all others. One that would burn like fire in your heart. He gave you your mother.”

Kate didn’t dare move. She had been holding herself together through force of will, but in that moment, she felt as if she were suddenly about to break apart.

Just then there was a squawking and something large and black tumbled through the open wall and crashed onto the floor. The Screecher swung around his crossbow, but the Secretary screamed, “No!”

It was an enormous black bird. The creature was wounded and flopped about in a circle, making desperate cawing noises.

“Something is wrong,” the Secretary said. “Gather the host. Fortify the entrances—”

His command was cut off by a hard thuck, and the dark end of an arrow suddenly protruded from the Screecher’s chest. The creature fell to its knees; a foul-smelling smoke rose, hissing, from the wound.

“ATTACK!” the Secretary shrieked. “We are under attack!”

Gabriel’s band had entered through the dark northern end of the city. Two Screechers standing sentry had been felled by arrows, another by Gabriel’s falchion. Emma was amazed at how silently the large, heavily weaponed men moved. They were like deadly shadows, sliding among the ruined buildings, and it thrilled her to be with them.

Gabriel stopped everyone along a half-destroyed wall a block from the center of the city. They were close enough to the gas lamps to see clearly, and Emma could hear, out in the square, shouting and the sounds of blows. Glancing down the wall, Emma saw the men spreading out, disappearing down alleys and into buildings to take up closer positions around the square.

Dena was beside her. Gabriel had placed them in the charge of a young warrior only a few years their senior, giving the boy strict orders to keep the girls back once the action started.

Dena poked Emma in the side and the two of them, the boy, Gabriel, and half a dozen others passed through a gap in the wall and into the ground floor of a building that bordered the square.

A memory came back to Emma. It was from one night a few months earlier. She, Kate, Michael, and the other orphans at the Edgar Allan Poe Home had been taken to a baseball game in Baltimore. Emma couldn’t remember anything about the game itself, but she remembered the long tunnel they’d walked down, the muffled sounds of the crowd, the darkness, and then the sudden explosion of light as they’d entered the stadium. It was like that now, crouching with Dena at the hollowed-out window, staring at the harsh, bright scene before them.

There were at least three dozen morum cadi in the square, most of them gathered near four large cages. Inside the cages, Emma could see fifty or so sickly-looking men huddled about. Immediately, her heart filled with pity. She thought of the Countess, dressed up in her finery, having pretend balls in the Cambridge Falls mansion. Someone should lock her in a cage and see how she liked it! In her mind, Emma went ahead and put Miss Crumley in the cage as well. She knew the orphanage head wasn’t the same kind of evil as the Countess, but as long as Emma was locking people up, she figured why not.

Emma’s gaze stopped on a group of figures in the farthest cage. They were half the size of the men and, for a brief moment, she thought they were children. Then she noticed their beards and the stockiness of their arms and legs and realized she was looking at a group of dwarves. Emma reflected that if Michael were here, he would be having like nineteen heart attacks. Personally, she couldn’t see what the big deal was. They were short, okay, and their beards were kind of funny, but she wasn’t going to go out and start a fan club. As she was thinking this, the largest of the dwarves, the one with the filthy blond beard who’d been hurling abuse at the Screechers, moved, and Emma let out a gasp.

Ignoring the hiss from the young warrior, Emma scampered past Dena to the break in the wall where Gabriel knelt. He was fitting a thick black arrow on the string of his bow. Emma seized him by the arm and pointed. It was all she could do not to cry out. In the farthest cage, standing among the dwarves, wearing clothes she had seen him wear a thousand times before and an expression that even from this distance told of bewilderment and fear, was her brother, Michael. A black-bearded dwarf stood beside him, his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

Gabriel nodded, indicating that he’d seen Michael already, and gestured to a building across the square.

The whole front of the building was missing, allowing Emma to see directly into the rooms. There, on the second floor, sitting between a Screecher and a short figure in a suit whom she immediately recognized as the Countess’s secretary, was Kate.

Questions swirled through Emma’s mind. How had her brother and sister come to be here? Were they all right? How had the Secretary found them?

A pained cawing cut the air, and a black shape fell out of the darkness and into the room where Kate was being held. There was a soft twang beside her as Gabriel released his arrow. The Screecher with Kate staggered and fell. Then—it was all happening so quickly now—the Secretary gave a strangled shout, there was a volley of rifle fire, the thick swoof of a dozen arrows taking flight, the broken thudding as they found their targets, and all was chaos and shouting. Dropping his bow, Gabriel pulled the falchion off his back, gave a great, bellowing cry, and leapt through the gap in the wall. The battle had begun.

Kate lay on her stomach beside the motionless body of the Screecher. A dark, foul-smelling ooze was leaking from its wound.

“Birdie!”

The Secretary was behind the desk. He’d scurried for cover in the first moments after the attack.

“Come here!”

She ignored him. Propping herself on her elbows, she inched forward till she had a clear view into the square. It was a mass of dark, struggling figures; there were shouts and cries, sickening crunches, the clang of metal on metal, and, above everything, the inhuman shrieks of the Screechers. Kate felt the familiar sweeping weakness, the inability to draw breath, and, to her surprise, she found she was furious. No, she told herself, it’s not real! Her anger must’ve given her thoughts force, for while the screams were still awful, the invisible hands crushing her lungs vanished almost at once.

Breathing deeply, Kate sent Gabriel a silent thank-you.

She stared down into the square, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Who was fighting who? How did they not all hit each other accidentally? Then, just as she was noticing the bare heads of the attackers and feeling relief that they were men and not some strange underground race of mole people—she didn’t actually know if there were such a thing; she would have to ask Michael—she saw Gabriel himself.

He was in the thickest knot of the fighting, carving his way through the Screechers with long, vicious swings of his falchion. He looked unstoppable, and the sight of him gave her hope. But only for a moment. For as Kate watched Gabriel hack his way through the Screechers, she noticed that more and more of the Countess’s black-clad horde were pouring into the square. At the start of the battle, Gabriel’s men and the morum cadi had been fairly evenly matched, but with each passing second, the balance was shifting to the Screechers. Gabriel’s men would soon be completely surrounded, and that would be that, the end.

“Kate!”

Michael’s voice penetrated the din, and she looked left, toward the cages. Michael and Wallace stood apart from the pack of dwarves and men massing at the bars. Michael jumped, pointed toward the fighting, and shouted something. It was lost in the clamor, but Kate understood. He’d seen Gabriel and thought they were going to be rescued. He couldn’t see that Gabriel and his men were doomed. They needed help. They needed two, three times the men.

An idea seemed almost to explode in Kate’s mind. She turned to the dead Screecher, reaching beneath its tunic. The corpse had an unnatural, cold hardness; just touching it made Kate nauseous, but she forced her hand between its body and the floor, feeling along the creature’s belt. Earlier, when it had entered the room, she’d heard a soft jangling. Come on, she thought, come on.… Her hand closed on a bundle of keys.

A weight slammed down on her.

“No, no! Bad birdie! Bad-bad-bad!”

The Secretary had thrown himself on top of her. Clammy hands scrambled for her wrists. He was panting, his breath warm and sour against her cheek. Kate struggled, but the man was much stronger.

“Must be punished, yes. Disobedient. The Countess has ways. Ways to make you obey. Bad birdies must learn—”

He was still hissing threats when Kate turned her head and bit down on his ear. It tasted foul and sweaty and the man shrieked, but she kept biting, harder and harder, till she tasted blood and he let go of her wrists. Then, using all her strength, she pushed against him. She’d only planned on getting him off her back, but she heard his shriek change and looked in time to see him disappearing out the open wall. She crawled to the edge. The Secretary lay without moving on the ground. Well, Kate thought, serves you right, and she spat to clear her mouth. Turning back, she reached under the Screecher, took hold of the keys, and yanked them free. Then it was down the stairs, out the building, and across the square.

Michael had squeezed through the crowd of men and dwarves, and they embraced awkwardly through the bars. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but there was no time.

“Gabriel’s here!” Michael began. “He—”

“I know. He needs help.”

She was looking at the ring of keys. There were a half dozen. She would have to try them all.

“The silver key! With the hole in the center! Hurry!”

It was a man who’d spoken. He was as thin and filthy as the others, but there was still fire in his hollow eyes. Something about him struck Kate as familiar.

“Hurry, girl!”

With nervous fingers, Kate started to fit the silver key in the lock.

“Oi, now! That ain’t the way!”

A hairy-knuckled hand reached through the bars and grabbed at the keys.

“I’m the king, right? Only fittin’ I’m the one opens the door! Protocol and such!”

“Stop it!” Kate yelled. “There isn’t time!”

“Stop it?” Hamish snorted, still yanking at the keys. “Who’re you to tell me to stop anything, eh? Who’s the bloody king here?”

“Watch out!” Michael cried.

Kate looked over her shoulder. A Screecher was running at her, sword raised to strike. Suddenly, the creature jerked about and collapsed. Two arrows were buried in its back.

“See there? Now quit actin’ the brat and let go or—woof!”

The keys were released. Wallace had stepped up and calmly punched his king in the gut.

“Go on,” Wallace said. “Open the door.”

Kate fit the key in the lock, turned it, and a flood of men came pouring out. The man who’d told her which key to use was among the first.

“Free the others,” he commanded. “Do it quickly!” And he picked up the sword from the fallen Screecher, shouted, “Follow me!” and charged toward the battle. Weak and sickly as the men had seemed minutes before, they ran after him, grabbing what weapons they could—swords, shovels, axes—along the way.

Hamish lumbered out, still gasping, and pointed a sausagey finger at Wallace. “You’ll get yours one day, laddie. Don’t you worry.” Then he snatched up an ax, marshaled the other dwarves, and charged into battle. Kate had to admit, whatever else Hamish was, he was no coward.

Michael nearly knocked her over with his hug.

“I know,” Kate whispered as she hugged him back, “I know; it’s okay.”

Wallace stood a few feet off. He’d picked up a short pickax. Kate could see he wasn’t going to leave them. She kissed the top of Michael’s head. His hair was unwashed and greasy, but she couldn’t have cared less.

“Come on. We need to free the others.”

“Lemme go!”

“Gabriel said—”

“My brother and sister need me!”

The moment Gabriel and the other men had charged into the square, Emma had set off. Kate and Michael were nearby and in trouble. She wasn’t going to wait around with her hands in her pockets. She would free Michael from his cage (she wasn’t quite sure how yet), the two of them would get Kate away from the Secretary (she wasn’t sure how she’d accomplish that either, but it would probably involve her being incredibly brave while Michael scribbled some nonsense in his notebook), and then they would all three finally be together (of that she was absolutely sure). There was just one problem. The young warrior, her and Dena’s appointed guardian, had intercepted Emma as she made her break and now held her, struggling, a foot off the ground.

“You gotta let me go!”

“Gabriel wants you to—stop!”

He grabbed Dena by the ankle just as she was climbing out the window, knife in hand, clearly intent on joining the battle.

“Let go a’ me! I’m gonna kill a Screecher!”

“And I gotta help my brother and sister!”

They continued like this for several minutes, the two girls struggling, pleading, threatening, Emma warning the boy (he really was just a boy) that if he didn’t let her go by the time she counted to five, he was going to be really, really sorry, then counting to five and announcing she would give him to ten, but then that was it (Emma knew the boy was only doing what Gabriel had told him, so she didn’t think it really fair to bite and kick her way free, which made her threats finally somewhat empty), and Dena doing much the same on her side of the young warrior, prying at his fingers, digging her nails into his hand, and the boy wondering what he had done to make Gabriel punish him like this, when they heard a low, raspy hiss.

They turned as one. The Screecher stood there, sword drawn and watching them.

Immediately, the young warrior dropped Dena and Emma and reached for his falchion. But the girls had sent him off balance and he stumbled backward, tripping over a pile of rubble and falling just as the Screecher’s sword cut the air in front of him. Without thinking, Emma grabbed a stone. The Screecher was moving in for the kill when the stone bounced off its head, drawing the creature’s attention. At the same moment, Dena attacked from the other side, burying her knife in the Screecher’s leg. The creature let out one of its terrible, breath-crushing shrieks and sent Dena spinning with a backhand blow. It pulled the knife free and—

There was a thick, crunching chunk. Everything stopped. The creature looked down. The young warrior had buried his falchion halfway through its body. The boy stood, yanked the blade free, and then brought it down, driving the monster to the ground. The creature’s body lay there, smoking. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds.

The young warrior wiped his falchion on the back of the Screecher, then faced Emma and Dena.

“All right, we’ll find your brother and sister.” He looked at Dena. “And you can help kill any Screechers we meet on the way.”

Together, the three of them moved out of the house and along the edge of the square. Groups of morum cadi continued to spring from the shadows of the city, and the young warrior had to force Emma and Dena to take cover as the creatures ran by. At one point there was an explosion when a gas lamp ignited. It collapsed into a building, and soon a fire was raging on the far side of the square. Their views of the battle were fragmented and confusing, but even so, it soon became clear that Gabriel’s fighters were badly outnumbered.

And then something unexpected happened.

Emma and Dena and the boy had paused in an alley between two ruined buildings and were watching the fighting with sinking hearts when a group of men rushed past from the direction of the cages. It took Emma a moment to realize that the men were prisoners and must’ve somehow gotten free. Her next thought was of Michael. Had he been freed as well? Was he safe? From the alley where she and her companions crouched, they couldn’t see to the cages themselves, but more and more men were running past. They were a sight to behold: thin and ragged and wielding such weapons as they could scavenge, they fought with a ferocity that even Gabriel’s men couldn’t match. They had been prisoners for nearly two years. This was their moment.

And they weren’t alone. Emma saw the stout blond dwarf, flanked by several other, smaller dwarves, chug past, huffing and puffing through his thick beard. He literally bulldozed into a pack of Screechers, knocking them to the ground, and then, without stopping, he set about chopping his way through the Countess’s army. Rather than surrounding Gabriel’s band, the morum cadi were now being forced to fight enemies in front and behind. The tide of the battle was turning.

After they had opened the last of the cages and the last of the men had half stumbled, half charged toward the battle, Wallace made Kate and Michael climb to the third floor of one of the buildings overlooking the square.

“Look!” Kate cried when the three of them had gathered at a blown-out window and could take in the scene in its entirety. “They’re winning!”

The two groups of men—Gabriel’s band and the newly freed prisoners—had surrounded the amoeba of dark figures and were steadily carving it into smaller and smaller pieces. A yellowish haze hung over the battle, which puzzled Kate until she recalled the rancid vapor that escaped the bodies of expired Screechers.

“They aren’t screaming as much,” Michael said.

It was true. The air was being rent less frequently by the creatures’ inhuman shrieks, mostly, it seemed—and this was the encouraging fact—because there were fewer of the monsters. Just then, one of their cries was cut short. The sound echoed away across the cavern before finally fading into the darkness. Kate held her breath. The next cry came a few seconds later. It was followed by another, then another, but these were not the dead shrieks of the morum cadi; the shouts came from the men, yelling because the battle was over and they had won.

“They did it,” Kate marveled. “They really did it.”

“You deserve credit too, girl.” Wallace’s eyes glowed warmly under his dark brows. “Hadn’t been for your quick thinking, whole affair would a’ gone very different. Aye, no doubt a’ that.”

Michael clucked his tongue. “It’s just such a shame.” He saw the other two looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Not having my camera. It’s a historic moment.”

Footsteps pounded toward them. Wallace whirled about, raising his pickax. Kate just had time to glimpse the figure charging at her and think, No, it can’t be, and then Emma was in her arms. And it was her! It really and truly was her! Kate and Emma hugged, cried, broke apart to look at each other, then hugged and cried some more. Even Michael, whose sense of personal dignity as the only boy in the family kept him from ever appearing too effusive, had to remove his glasses and rub at his eyes because he “got some dirt in them.”

“Emma, it’s you, it’s really you; oh, Emma …” Kate kept repeating her sister’s name over and over, pressing her close as if she would never let her go ever again.

“I’m so sorry.” Emma had tears streaming down her face. “I know I shouldn’t have disobeyed you. You said not to go back, but—”

“No, shhh. It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“Yes, but she did disobey you,” Michael pointed out.

“Michael—” Kate gave him a warning look.

“Oh, who cares,” he said generously. “All’s well that ends well, right?” And he gave Emma a manly pat on the shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked. “Really, truly okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was with Gabriel. I saw you both before the battle, then I spotted you in the window here. Oh, this is Dena and I-Don’t-Know-His-Name.” Emma gestured to the two figures who’d followed her up the stairs and who Kate was only now noticing. One was a dark-haired, serious-faced girl not much older than Emma herself; the other was a teenage boy who held a fearsome-looking weapon similar to the one Gabriel carried. “Gabriel told him to watch out for us, though we kinda saved him—”

“Hey!”

“This is Wallace!” Michael blurted, pointing at their companion.

“Hi,” Emma said. She turned to Kate. “You wouldn’t believe all that’s happened—”

“Wallace is a dwarf!” Michael was grinning broadly.

“Yeah,” Emma said, a little annoyed at being interrupted. “I figured that out.”

“Dwarves are real!”

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned. “I knew he was going to do this.”

“Just tell your story,” Kate said. “I want to know everything. What happened after you left us?”

“Right! So I got to the bridge, the rope one, remember, and Gabriel was fighting these Screechers, and I saved his life! But then I got shot in the stomach!”

“Oh! I had a dream, I saw you hurt—”

“I’m okay now. Gabriel took me to his village—on the way he had to kill this monster; I was asleep for that part so I couldn’t help—and there was this wisewoman named Granny Peet, and she fixed me! She said you found Dr. Pym! Is that true? I wish you could meet Granny Peet, she’s one of the good ones, she—”

Kate wanted to tell her to slow down. But before she could, there was a high-pitched shriek from the square.

“FOOLS!”

They turned. The Secretary had climbed onto a massive mound of rubble. Kate was shocked he was alive, much less moving around, and she watched as the men—who with the battle over had begun seeing to their wounded—stopped and faced him. The Secretary’s head was bleeding, his suit was ripped, and there was something wrong with his right arm, which he cradled against his body. The man was shaking with hatred and rage; Kate could see spittle flying from his mouth.

“You are all fools! You think you can fight the Countess? Defeat the Countess? You have no idea of her power! You will all die! All of you will die!”

“Is he crazy?” Emma said. “He lost. Why doesn’t someone conk him on the head?”

“What’s that noise?” Michael asked.

Kate listened, and at first heard nothing. What was Michael talking … She stopped; there was a soft pattering in the far, dark reaches of the city. It grew louder, and Kate realized it was moving toward them. Glancing down, she saw the men in the square had heard it too.

“You will all die! All of you!”

The sound quickly became a thrumming, a pounding. She felt it through her feet. The windowsill vibrated under her hands. And then Kate saw the blackness beyond the lights become liquid and surge toward them.

“No,” Wallace whispered. “Can’t be …”

“What?” Kate grabbed at his arm. “What is it?”

“There!” Michael shouted.

The dark tide had reached the perimeter of the gas lamps.

Kate stared, and all hope inside her died.

The Secretary was giggling hysterically, hopping up and down. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

There were hundreds of them, a gray-green mass of hunchbacked figures, scurrying along the streets, scrambling over the ruins, close enough now the children could hear the snarling and growling, the scrape of their claws on stone, and still, under and above it all, the pounding of their feet, like the onrush of a storm.

“What are those?” Emma cried.

“The salmac-tar,” Wallace said. “The witch has summoned them.”

Kate, of course, had seen such creatures before. In her dream, she had watched Gabriel fight one as Emma lay unconscious on the floor of the maze. They were the sightless, razor-clawed monsters that lived in the deepest bowels of the mountains. She remembered Wallace telling them how the Countess had made alliances with the creatures. This was her doing. The witch had called up this evil to destroy them.

“TO ME!” Gabriel roared. “TO ME!”

No! Kate thought. No! They had to run. There were too few of them. They were tired. Wounded. The Secretary was right. They were all going to die.

But already a line was forming with Gabriel at its center, and she watched as men and dwarves alike raised their weapons, and then Gabriel, tall, fearsome, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, stepped forward so that he stood in front of the line, alone, waiting for the wave to crash.

“What’s he doing?!” Michael said. “He’s crazy!”

“Shut up!” Emma cried; her voice was desperate, breaking, betraying all her fear. “He’s showing them how to be brave! He’s—he’s—”

She threw herself against Kate, burying her face in her sister’s chest and sobbing. Below them, the creatures poured into the square, snarling, hissing; Gabriel raised his falchion; Kate pressed Emma to her breast even more tightly—

Brrruuuuaaaawwwhhhh!

Instinctively, Kate’s head whipped toward the sound. It had come from somewhere off in the darkness. A horn, she thought. That was a horn.

“They stopped!” Emma cried.

Kate looked back. The salmac-tar were only yards from Gabriel; their numbers filled the square. But the entire gasping, drooling mass had indeed stopped and was turned toward the sound.

“ ‘Ells bells,” Wallace said, and Kate saw that the dwarf was grinning. “It’s about time.”

BRRRRUUUUAAAAAHHHH!

Michael suddenly let out a yelp (it sounded sort of like “Wah-ha-hoo!”) and jumped, jabbing his finger in excitement. “Look look look look look! Look who it is!”

A short figure was racing up one of the half-lit streets toward the square. He was encased head to toe in dark armor so only his face and beard were visible (the plaits of his beard slapping against his breastplate as he ran); he held a great, shining ax in one hand and a bone-colored horn in the other. Despite the darkness and the distance, Kate recognized him immediately.

“It’s Captain Robbie!”

“Who?” Emma asked.

“He’s our friend!” Michael said. “Well, he did lock us in jail, but that was just following procedure. You can’t fault him for following—”

“Why’d he come alone?” Emma interrupted. “He’s gonna get murdered. Dwarves are so stupid.”

Before Michael could argue, Captain Robbie reached the edge of the square, planted his feet, and blew once more into the horn.

BRRRRUUUUAAAAWWWWWWWHHHH!

The sound echoed across the cavern, fading, fading, and then silence. No one stirred. Not the salmac-tar, not Gabriel or the men, not Wallace or Dena or the young warrior, not the children. Then they heard it—a rhythmic, metallic pounding, growing louder and louder, and then legions of dwarves were charging out of the darkness, filling the streets, their axes reflecting the glow from the lamps, their armor clanking and jangling, their collective breathing an even, reassuring huph … huph … huph. When they reached the square, Captain Robbie stepped forward and barked a command. The army stopped.

“What’s he doing?” Emma demanded. “He needs to attack. He should be killing those things! Dwarves are so stu—Whoa!”

Kate reached for her sister. The entire building had begun to sway and rock. Dena fell into the young warrior, knocking them both to the floor. Looking out the window, Kate saw that everything, the whole ruined city, was in motion.

“What’s going on?” Emma yelled over the tumult. “What’s happening?”

“Damn my soul!” Wallace shouted. “It’s a bloody earthquake! Hold on! Hold on!”

“No!” Michael was gripping the windowsill as you would a ship’s railing during a storm. “It’s Dr. Pym!” He pointed, and Kate and Emma saw the white-haired wizard, standing atop a building, his arms raised out over the city. “He’s doing it!”

“What the bloody ‘ell for?” Wallace shouted. “He’ll kill us all!”

“Kate!”

Emma tugged at her arm, and Kate looked toward the square. At first, she didn’t understand; the main body of the monsters seemed to be sinking. Then she realized—the earth was opening up under them. The thought barely had time to register before fully half the horde was swallowed up in a screeching, tumbling mass, disappearing into darkness. Just as quickly, the fissure closed, the shaking and rolling stopped, and the children’s own building came to rest. Kate turned back to Dr. Pym. The old man had lowered his arms and was calmly taking out his pipe. She made a mental note never to doubt the wizard’s power again.

“Dwarves”—Captain Robbie raised his ax—“ATTTTTAAAAACCCK!”

The remaining salmac-tar turned and fled.

“No! No!” The Secretary was jumping up and down, tearing at his meager strands of hair. “Fight! You must fight!”

But his cries were useless. The salmac-tar were clambering over each other in a panicked attempt to escape. Gabriel and the men had stepped back to let the charging dwarves pass through, and above it all, above the clashing of the armor, the thunderous stamp of boots, the frenzied terror of the monsters, Kate could hear the voice of the dwarf captain, filling the cavern:

“Drive them, brothers! Drive them to the pits! Drive them! Drive them!”

And she knew then, finally, the battle was over.