بخش 02

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hamish

Four dwarf guards, led by Captain Robbie McLaur, guided Dr. Pym and the children along a series of passages and stairways to the throne room of King Hamish.

“Not that it’s any of my business, Wizard,” Robbie McLaur said as they marched along the torchlit corridor, “but for the sake of these children, I’ll warn you that my brother is not a dwarf to be trifled with.”

“We appreciate your concern, Captain,” said Dr. Pym. “But I think we can handle ourselves.”

“Fair enough; it’s your necks. Just don’t like seeing children chopped into bits and pieces when it can be avoided. Old-fashioned, I guess.”

Soon, they began to pass dwarves going the other way, carrying serving trays piled high with the greasy remains of a great feast. One trotted by with a dozen empty flagons rattling along a stick, and then, at an intersection, they had to stand aside as two dwarves rolled a wooden cask down the corridor, yelling, “The King demands more ale! More ale for the King!”

“Oh dear,” Dr. Pym said, “I do hope he is not too drunk.”

“I wouldn’t bet money on it,” Robbie McLaur muttered.

As they approached a set of enormous golden doors, the dwarf captain called out in a booming voice, “Captain Robbie McLaur escorting the prisoners requested by King Hamish!” and the two dwarves standing sentry pushed the doors open to admit them.

Kate reached for Michael’s hand.

“Stay close.”

Michael nodded, but said nothing. He was afraid if he spoke, his sister would hear how excited he was to be entering the throne room of a real dwarf king.

“And maybe don’t grin so much,” Kate suggested.

“Quiet!” Robbie McLaur barked, for they were just then stepping over the threshold. But he needn’t have said anything; the hall itself silenced the children.

It was the largest room the children had ever seen. It stretched on and on and on. The ceiling was so high that the great stone columns supporting it seemed to rise up and disappear into darkness. But beyond the size and scale, it was the wealth on display. Diamonds embedded in the ceiling sparkled like stars in the night sky. Precious gems were laid into the floor like flagstones. Murals painted in gold and silver covered the walls, depicting dwarf victories over trolls, goblins, dragons, hordes of salmac-tar. Everything about the hall was designed to impress the visitor with the majesty of the dwarfish throne.

Kate and Michael stood in the doorway, staring.

Then Kate said, “It’s a pigsty.”

All around them were stacks of dirty plates, rotting scraps of food, half-empty flagons of ale, and unconscious, filthy dwarves. Exhausted servers hustled back and forth along the sides of the great hall, exchanging empty plates and flagons for full ones. Robbie McLaur let out a low growl of displeasure.

“King Hamish is known for his appetites,” Dr. Pym whispered. “A feast might go on for days or weeks at a time.”

“This isn’t right,” Michael said. “Dwarves shouldn’t behave like this.”

“Aye, lad,” growled Robbie McLaur, “truer words were never spoke.”

“Well, lookee lookee!” called a voice from the other end of the hall. “If it ain’t the conjurer! And he’s got brats with ’im too! Bring ’em ’ere! Bring ’em ’ere!”

The guards marched their group forward. The children took care to step over snoring dwarves and puddles of fetid ale.

“Very ’appy you could trouble yourself to visit us, Magician! Ha! You prat!”

Hamish sat at the center of a long table of greasy-faced dwarves. A few were still eating and drinking listlessly, but most were unconscious, either slumped forward onto the table or propped sideways against a neighbor. Hamish was the only one still going strong.

He was by far the largest dwarf the children had yet seen. Though only the height of a small man, he possessed enormous mass. Kate thought he looked like a giant, bearded warthog.

“Hope you’ve been comfortable down in the dungeons. We like to keep our guests happy, we do. Wouldn’t want people speaking ill of us.” He laughed unpleasantly and took a long slurp of ale, most of which ended up on his beard. Kate thought that his beard, which spread down his chest fan-wise, resembled nothing so much as a hairy blond apron. She could even see things stuck in it: bits of cheese and pie, a crust of bread, a drumstick, a fork. He was a sharp contrast to Captain Robbie McLaur, standing at attention beside them, with his neatly trimmed beard and spotless uniform.

As Hamish drained the last of his ale, a serving dwarf quietly removed an empty platter and began to hurry away.

“Oi!” Hamish yelled, hurling his goblet so it bounced off the dwarf’s head. “I wasn’t done with that, you!”

Amid bows and mumbled apologies, the dwarf returned the platter, and Hamish scooped up the last crumbs of whatever it was and crammed them into his mouth.

“There!” he mumbled, tossing the platter over his shoulder so it clanged loudly against the floor. “Now you can take it.” Then he wiped his fingers on his beard—in the process dislodging several miniature sausages—and belched. The sound echoed the length of the hall and back and seemed to rouse the dwarves at the table, for they all suddenly sat up and began belching in unison, as if trying to cover for their king’s lapse in manners. Soon the great hall reverberated with the echoing symphony of burping dwarves.

Brrrraaaappht—

Errrapphth—

Grrappphhaaaa—

Blllluuupppgggg—

Ugggrrraapphhhh—

“E-NOUGH!” shouted Hamish, bringing a fist down on the table. The dwarves instantly fell silent, and in a few seconds the last eerrrppptt had died away.

“Honestly,” said Dr. Pym, “he does set a terrible example.”

“Dr. Pym”—Kate tugged on the old man’s sleeve—“what’re we going to do?”

But the wizard only shushed her and kept looking at the King.

Suddenly, Hamish clapped his hands. At first, nothing happened; then, in the distance, the children heard a rhythmic thundering. It grew louder and louder, and all at once the great doors flew open and two lines of armored dwarves marched into the hall. They separated, stamping their mail-bound feet as they came down the line of columns, and in what seemed like mere moments, the hall was filled with hundreds of dwarves, their helmets gleaming, the edges of their axes razor-sharp and shining in the torchlight.

“Right, then, Magician”—Hamish loaded the word with as much contempt as he could muster—“I believe I’m ready to receive you proper-like. But ’fore we get started on the whole thingamabob, what’re the names a’ these brats a’ yours who think they can just go walkin’ in my land when and where they please? Eh? Tell me that.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Kate began. “We—”

“Oi!” Hamish smacked the table. “Did I tell you to speak?! Huh? Did I say, ‘I want to hear from one of the brats’? Did I say, ‘I wish one a’ them brats would pipe up’?” The dwarves around him shook their heads vigorously. “No! I said, ‘Magician.’ That’s ’im!” He pointed a chicken wing at Dr. Pym. “So you, lassie, just keep your yapper shut. Bloody manners on this one.”

“May I present,” Dr. Pym said calmly, “Katherine and Michael. Surname P.”

Kate managed sort of a half curtsy, but Michael just continued staring glassy-eyed at Hamish. He seemed to be in a state approaching shock.

“And as I believe Katherine was about to tell you, their presence in your lands was entirely due to chance. You see, they had fled from the Countess—” At the mention of the Countess, there was a great deal of ill-tempered harrumphing. “And in running away, they stumbled into your lands.”

“A likely story,” Hamish said. “Very neat and pretty.”

“In fact, while in your maze, they became separated from their younger sister. If Your Majesty would give leave, they wish very much to be reunited with her.”

“Youngest sister, you say? How old’s she?”

“Eleven,” Kate said. “Her name’s Emma.”

“Little Emma out there all alone. That’s right terrible, that is. Brings a bloody tear to me eye. Don’t it bring a tear to your eye?” Hamish smacked the dwarf on his right, who nodded and wiped at some gravy dribbling down his cheek.

“Well, then,” said the King, “since you been so honest with me, about how it was you come here and your business and all, I guess I got no choice but to let you go, maybe send out a party to escort you to your sister, then. How’s that sound, hmm?”

Dr. Pym smiled genially. “That would be most kind, Your Highness.”

“Specially since”—Hamish dug his paw into the middle of a pie, scooping out a hunk of meat and cheese—“these ’ere children are just innocent and all, and not after the same bleedin’ magic book you and that witch’re after, the one buried in some bloomin’ secret vault under the Dead City and that by rights belongs to the dwarves! Ain’t that so?”

Hamish stuffed the mass of pie into his mouth and smiled through it at Dr. Pym. Kate felt her legs suddenly lose all strength. They were in deep trouble.

“Your Highness—” Dr. Pym began.

“Shut yer yap, you!” Hamish jumped up and swept his arm across the table, sending platters and goblets crashing to the floor. His face was bright red and bits of food flew from his mouth as he jabbed a short, thick finger at Dr. Pym. “Don’t go lying to me! Who the bloody ’ell you think you’re dealing with, eh?! You think Hamish’s some Simple Simon simple dwarf, that it? You think ’cause I’m a dwarf and my body’s smaller that my brain’s smaller than yours too, that it?! Think it’s so easy to fool me?! You think I don’t know every bloody word that’s spoke in my own bloody dungeons! That there weren’t bloody dwarf stenographers listening to your every snore and whisper?! That I don’t have a bloody complete and spell-corrected transcript of every prisoner’s midnight bloomin’ murmurings delivered every morning?” He reached under his beard, presumably into his shirt, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment, which he threw across the table. “And you come here and try to lie to me! To me! To take treasure that belongs to the dwarves! Bloody Books of bloody Beginning. I think not! I think not indeed!”

Dr. Pym kept his voice calm. “No, Your Highness, the book does not belong to the dwarves. They were merely guarding it.”

“It’s buried beneath a dwarf city! In a vault built by dwarves! It belongs to the dwarves! Period! Full stop! End of the bloody story!”

Dr. Pym looked at the children and smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Kate hissed back. “How are we not supposed to worry?”

“Well,” Dr. Pym said, “maybe worry just a little bit.”

Hamish was still ranting. “I’ll teach you to trifle with a dwarf, my good conjurer.”

“My King—”

Hamish waved his hand. “Nah nah nah, don’t you go ‘my king-ing’ me; we’re too late in the day for that.” Hamish stood and began pacing back and forth, running his hand down his beard and talking half to himself. “Now ’ere’s what’s gonna happen. We slip in quiet-like to this back door, find Mr. Magic Book all on ’is lonesome—What’s that? Why, yes, we will ’elp ourselves—book goes in the bag, we sneak out all rickey-tick, and the witch never has to know it was us that took it. She just finds the vault and thinks, Oh, ’ello, empty vault, what?”

“Yes, but as you no doubt read in your transcript, I cannot remember how—”

“The bleedin’ golden cavern; I know, I know,” and Hamish turned his head and screamed, “FERGUS!”

An extremely old dwarf, bent nearly double with age and with a long white beard that touched the floor, emerged from the shadows along the wall and tottered forward … slowly.

Hamish groaned. “Oh, for the love of—would you ’urry up there, Fergus? You’re gonna die before you get to the bleedin’ table!”

And, in fact, Kate could see dwarves exchanging money, presumably making bets whether or not Fergus would die before he got to the table. But then Captain Robbie stepped up and supported him the rest of the way.

“So, Fergus,” said Hamish, “you know this”—he snapped his fingers and a serving dwarf, bowing obsequiously, brought the transcript forward, and Hamish flattened it on the table and read—“this ‘golden cavern’ below the Dead City that Mr. I’m-Such-a-Bloody-Smart-Wizard was talking about.”

The old dwarf’s voice came out in a quiet, shaky rasp. “Oh yes, yes … golden cavern. Dead City … secret passage below the … the … the …” Kate thought he was going to be stuck on the word indefinitely, but then he managed to get it out: “… the throne room.”

“That’s right, Fergus, that’s right. In the Dead City. A secret passage below the throne room. You said you knew a way to that cavern, ain’t that right?”

Fergus didn’t respond.

“Fergus?”

For a second, Kate thought he might actually have expired. Clearly, a few of the dwarves agreed, for there was more exchanging of money.

“FERGUS!”

“Hmm? Wha …” The old dwarf had fallen asleep.

“You told me you know a way into this ’ere golden cavern?”

“Ah yes, there’s a way. Dangerous, though. Dark passage …”

“Right, then,” Hamish said, looking satisfied. “That’s settled. Now, you”—he looked at Dr. Pym—“are gonna hand over the key to this ’ere vault, and maybe, just maybe, I won’t chop off all your ’eads when I come back with me magic book. How’s that sound, then?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Your Highness,” Dr. Pym said mildly. “You see, I am the key.”

“What?”

“Neither the main entrance to the vault nor the back door has a lock in the traditional sense. The door was sealed by an enchantment. It can only be opened by a designated few.”

As Kate and Michael watched, Hamish’s face went from his normal unhealthy pallor to red to deep red to purple to finally almost an indigo color, like a bad bruise. Then he started screaming—

“You think I’m an idjit?! You think because you say that, I’m gonna take you along so you can do some hoinky-doinky magic and escape with me book?! You think—” Hamish stopped himself. “Wait, you said a few—it can only be opened by a few. Who else can open it?”

Dr. Pym opened his mouth, then paused.

“Ha! I caught you, didn’t I? Who else?”

“I’d rather not say,” Dr. Pym replied.

“You’d rather not say, you’d rather not say!” Hamish pointed at Michael. “Chop off that one’s ’ead!”

“Wait!” Dr. Pym said, sighing. “Very well. The vault will open under my hand or … the hands of these children.”

Both children whipped their heads around and looked up at Dr. Pym. He, however, was staring at Hamish.

Michael whispered, “What’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Kate had no idea if Dr. Pym was lying, if this was some plan he hadn’t told them about, or if he was, in fact, telling the truth. And if so, how was it they could open the vault? What did that mean?

For his part, Hamish seemed to accept Dr. Pym’s statement as being perfectly reasonable. He scratched his chin (or he scratched his beard; his chin was under there somewhere) and wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “Aye, I figured there was something to do with them brats. Wandering through the maze and they come bang up to the secret door. Fishy, that was. Right! Someone lock up the wizard, and collect them runts! We’re going on a field trip.”

Kate heard the words before she was aware of having spoken. “I won’t help you.”

The hall fell silent. Hamish leaned forward onto the table so that he rested on his knuckles like a gorilla. His voice was slow and full of menace. “What did you say?”

“I won’t help you open the vault.” Kate wasn’t entirely sure why she was standing up to Hamish. Obviously, she didn’t want him to have the book. But mostly, she reflected, she just thought he was gross. She let go of Michael’s hand so that she could cross her arms, thinking it made her appear more resolved.

“Un-bloody-believable.” Hamish looked to the dwarves on either side of him. “You hear the cheek on this one? Whose bloody throne room is this anyway? Who’s the bloody king of the bloody dwarves? Oh, you’ll help me, my girl! Trust me, you will help me. What is this? Stand Up to the King Day? I don’t think so. ’Cause if it was …” He paused, unsure how to continue, then said, “Well, there ain’t no such day!”

“Whatever,” Kate said, turning her head imperiously to the side. “I’m not helping you.”

Hamish stood there, snorting in anger and glaring at her. “You’ve got spirit, lass, I’ll give you that. ‘Owever, unfortunately for you, I don’t need your help, since according to this silly prat of a magician, all’s I need is your pretty little hand.” He threw a fork at one of his soldiers to get his attention. “Oi! You there! Bring me that little tart’s hand. But leave the rest of her! I’ll teach her who’s king round ’ere!”

“You’re no dwarf!”

The entire hall, Hamish included, turned and looked at Michael. The King raised his hand to stop the dwarf who’d taken a step toward Kate.

“What did you say, boy?”

Michael was red-faced and furious and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “I said you’re not a dwarf! And it’s true!”

Kate immediately understood what Michael meant; she knew how gravely Hamish, a real, actual dwarf king, must have disappointed him.

“I know more about dwarves than almost anyone,” Michael continued hotly. “All my life I’ve read anything I could find. They were the bravest soldiers, the most loyal friends. People were always underestimating them, but they always won because they were the smartest and worked the hardest.”

The dwarves who’d been slouching at the table had perked up as Michael spoke. Kate saw Captain Robbie staring at her brother, a stunned expression having broken through his soldier’s mask.

“But, you,” Michael said, “you’re a disgrace.”

“Is that right, then?” Hamish said coldly.

“Michael,” Kate whispered, reaching for his sleeve to pull him back. But all Michael’s focus was on the dwarf king, and he took a step forward, out of her reach.

“That’s right. And if you knew half the things my sister has done, it’d be you kneeling to her and not the other way around. She’s twice as brave as you could ever be. We only want the book so we can get home. You just want it because you’re greedy. You want to cut off someone’s hand—cut off mine.” And he stepped up and laid his thin wrist on the table.

For a long moment no one moved or spoke. All the hundreds of dwarves in the hall, those sitting at the table and the ones standing at attention, were as still as statues. Kate was both terrified for and unbelievably proud of her brother. Michael, the little boy who’d gotten picked on at orphanage after orphanage, who’d frequently had to have his younger sister bail him out of fights, whose glasses were routinely stolen and thrown into toilets, was now standing up to an ax-wielding (and clearly unstable) dwarf king. He looked so small and thin. Yet his hand was perfectly still upon the table and he was staring boldly at Hamish. Kate had always known Emma was brave, but she had never thought of Michael that way. She vowed she would never do him that disservice again.

Hamish shrugged and gave a casual wave. “Fair enough. Chop off ’is hand … then the girl’s too.”

Kate looked desperately at the wizard. “Dr. Pym, do something!”

“Now!” Hamish cried, slamming his fist on the table. “Make with the choppity-chop!”

A soldier stepped forward, pulling his ax free from his belt. He didn’t get more than two steps before he was sent sprawling, his ax clattering away across the floor. Captain Robbie had struck him across the chest.

“What—” Hamish began. But Captain Robbie turned on him, and the righteous fury in his voice overrode the King’s.

“No, brother. I won’t let you do this.”

If it was possible, the tension in the hall became even greater.

Hamish rose up to his full height, which being a dwarf was not that considerable. His small eyes burned with anger, but he kept his voice low. “I think maybe you’re forgetting who’s king here, eh, brother?”

“I am no traitor,” Captain Robbie said. “And perhaps we should retrieve this book just to keep it from the witch. But we should be helping these children. Not seeking our own gain.

“This boy is right. You dishonor our people, and I do you good service by stopping you. You have lost yourself, brother. This corruption and laxity has gone on too long. It must be stemmed. Think what our mother would say if she could witness what you have become.” He gestured to include the entire hall, the overturned tankards, the drunken dwarves.…

For a brief instant, Hamish seemed to waver and Kate allowed herself to hope. Then he raised his hand, jabbing a short finger at Captain Robbie. “Hold that traitor.” Three dwarves rushed forward. Captain Robbie made no attempt to resist.

“Your Highness,” Dr. Pym said, “if I may speak. It’s true, I would rather I controlled the book myself, but forced to choose between having it in your possession or in the Countess’s, I choose you. But I warn you, a severed hand will not open the vault. A living child must perform the duty. Ensure their safety, and I promise, the children will help you.”

For a moment, Hamish looked as if he might argue, then he grunted and, picking up a slice of chocolate cake, waved it toward the wizard and Captain Robbie. “Fine. Lock the two a’ them together. I’ll deal with ’em when I get back. We leave immediately.”

The two lines of armored dwarves turned and marched out of the hall.

Dr. Pym knelt beside Kate and Michael. “I’m sorry for this. You will have to manage on your own.”

“Wait!” Kate said. “You were telling the truth? About the vault?”

“Oh yes, it will open for you.”

“But how do you—”

“My dear, the moment you stepped into my cell, I saw that the book had touched you. That could only have happened if you and your brother and sister are the children I have been waiting for.” Then he smiled, and in the way he looked at her, it was as if her face held confirmation of something he had long suspected. “And that it should be you, of all children. I was not mistaken in the signs.…”

“What do you mean?! I don’t—”

“There is no time to explain. However”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“you must be the one to pick up the book. Not Hamish. You understand? I can’t tell you how to do it, but you must make sure you are the one. It is essential.” Then he put his hand on Kate’s head and mumbled a few words. She felt an odd tingling.

“What did you do?”

“The book has chosen you, Katherine. You alone can access its full power. But it will not do your bidding until your heart is healed. I hope I have given you the means.”

Before Kate could ask what he meant, the dwarf guards were dragging him away.

“Someone bring them brats,” growled Hamish. “And wake up Fergus.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Granny Peet

“Come now, wake up, wake up! No good pretending you’re still asleep …”

Emma groaned and burrowed under the stiff, heavy blankets. She lay there in a state of half sleep while the woman’s voice kept chiding her to get up. Her first thought was that the voice belonged to Miss Sallow, the ornery, House of Bourbon–hating housekeeper at the orphanage. That would mean that everything that had happened—finding the book, going into the past, the Countess, Gabriel—had been a dream. But it had all been so real! Everything had seemed so … What was that smell?

She opened her eyes and found that she was lying in a bed in a dimly lit wooden cabin. The air was smoky and close, the floor made of packed earth, and what she’d taken for blankets were actually piles of old animal hides. She turned her head. In the center of the room, a thin boy crouched at a fire, his back to her, stirring something in an iron pot and filling the cabin with the smell of cooking meat and vegetables.

Okay, Emma thought, so it wasn’t a dream.

“There you are. Sit up now. You’re not dead. Not yet anyway.”

The person speaking shambled into view from behind the bed. She was a very fat, very old woman, and she had a great deal of tangled gray hair and a face with more wrinkles than Emma had ever seen. Her hands were gnarled with arthritis, and dirt was caked under her yellowed, claw-like nails. She wore an old black dress and a black shawl and at least a dozen long, dangling necklaces that were decorated with charms, feathers, beads, tiny jars and vials, bits of root and bark, dried flower petals, the tooth of some enormous animal, and several small, beautifully carved wooden boxes. She shuffled forward in a pair of extremely worn deerskin moccasins, her necklaces jangling softly. If Emma had seen her on the street, she would’ve thought she was a crazy lady. She pretty much thought the same thing now.

She drew back as the woman reached toward her.

“Who are you?! Where am I?! Where’s Gabriel?! Don’t come near me!”

“Touchy one, aren’t you?”

“You’d better get away, or when Gabriel gets here, he’ll kill you!”

“Gabriel, Gabriel. He warned me you’d be a fighter; yes, he did.” The old woman had a mumbly, singsongy way of speaking.

“Gabriel brought me here?” Emma said, relaxing her guard a little.

“If he hadn’t, think you’d be alive and talking to me? No’s the answer. Ah, but do you not remember? Think now.”

And in a flash, it came back to Emma.… Standing on the edge of the chasm, feeling that sudden hot jolt … looking down and seeing the feathered end of the arrow sticking out of her side … her fever as Gabriel carried her through the maze. Instinctively, her hand went to her stomach.

“Now, now,” the old woman said, “let Granny do that.”

She pulled up Emma’s shirt (Emma noticing only then that she’d been changed into a fresh, unfamiliar set of clothes). There was a patch of hardened mud a few inches to the side of her belly button. The old woman’s yellow nails picked at its edge, and the mud began to flake off. Emma stared, half horrified, half fascinated, expecting to see a great hole going straight through her side. But when the last of the mud had flaked away, there was only a small pink scar.

“Hmph,” the old woman said, “not bad work.”

Emma was dumbfounded. “But how …”

“I know a thing or two, yes, yes, old Granny Peet knows a thing or two.” She shuffled away, cackling softly to herself.

“I want … oh.” A wave of dizziness swept over Emma and she had to lie back down.

“Food, what you need now. Granny’s own stew. Make you strong.”

“I need to talk to Gabriel. My brother and sister are lost.”

“Not lost, no, not lost.” The old lady was mixing and pounding something in a bowl, moving about with practiced assurance, adding a sprig of this, a dash of that, opening various vials and jars attached to her necklaces to tap in a bit of this silver powder or shake out a few drops of that green liquid, mixing and grinding all the while. “Found.”

“What do you mean? You mean they’re here? Where are they?”

“Not here, no. Still under the mountain. Found a friend. Always where you least expect it.” She glanced toward the boy at the fire. “Hurry with that stew.”

“What’re you talking about? What friend? Where?”

The old woman scraped what she’d been mashing into a wooden cup, added water, swirled it about, then held it toward Emma. “Drink.”

At first, Emma tasted only dirt, but when she got past that, there was mint and rosemary and honey and what she could only call sunlight and, if it were possible, birdsong. She lowered the cup. She could feel a soft golden wave traveling through her blood, spreading down to the tips of her fingers and toes, to the ends of her hair, warming her from within. “Wow.”

The old woman smiled, multiplying the wrinkles in her face. “Maybe Granny knows something, hmm?”

“Who’d they find, Kate and Michael?”

“The wizard.”

“Wait—you mean Dr. Pym?! They found Dr. Pym?! How do you know?”

“Saw it, how else? Silly question.”

“Well, we have to go find them! Dr. Pym has to kill that stupid witch! She’s awful! Where are they? We should go right now!”

The old woman shook her head, picking up a basket from the floor. Emma could hear jars rattling inside. “You have a different path.” She pulled back the leather flap hanging over the doorway, briefly letting in the full morning light. She turned to the boy at the fire. “Make her eat. I’m going to Gabriel.”

“Wait!” Emma called. “I want to—” But as she stepped out of bed, her strength failed her and she crumpled to the floor.

The boy left the fire and helped Emma back to bed. It was then Emma saw that he was not a boy at all, but a girl, maybe a year younger than Kate, but thin and wiry with close-cropped hair.

She was rough, more or less shoving Emma into bed; then she went to the fire, ladled stew into a wooden bowl, and carried it over, wiping a spoon on her shirt as she came. “You can feed yourself, can’t you? You’re not a baby?”

“Course I can,” Emma said stubbornly, though truth was, even after drinking the old woman’s potion, she was weaker than she had ever felt in her life. She took the bowl and spoon from the girl. The stew was a yellowish broth with hunks of meat, vegetables, and potatoes. It smelled like heaven.

The girl sat on a stool, crossed her arms, and stared at Emma as if to make sure she finished it all.

Emma wanted to stare back, but she was also ferociously hungry, so she alternated between glaring at the girl and slurping up greedy spoonfuls of stew.

“I thought you were dead. Gabriel brought you in last night. Another five minutes, Granny said, it’d have been too late.”

“She’s your grandmother?”

“Nah. Everyone just calls her Granny. Granny Peet. She’s a wisewoman. Does magic. That’s how she cured you. Course she owns your soul now.”

Emma stopped eating.

The girl gave a lopsided smile. “I’m kidding. She’s not like that. You believed me, though.”

“Did not.”

“Sure you did. You thought Granny Peet had your soul in a jar or something.”

Emma decided she didn’t like this girl and was going to ignore her.

“Gabriel said the witch had you locked up but you escaped; that true?”

Emma shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“She’s got them men digging in the Dead City, down under the mountain. I snuck in there. Seen ’em.”

Emma stopped eating, her curiosity piqued. “What’s the Dead City?”

“Place the dwarves used to live. See, long time ago, they had a city under the mountain. Then one day there comes this big earthquake, right?” The girl seemed to get excited telling the story. “Half the city just got swallowed up. Killed lots and lots a’ dwarves. That’s when they left and built that other city. Now-days, people think it’s haunted. Won’t even go there. But I ain’t afraid.” She looked at Emma. “You know what the witch’s got ’em digging for?”

Emma stared down at her food. “No.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“I said I don’t know. How come the Countess doesn’t have you locked up?”

The girl laughed. “She don’t mess with us. Only the townspeople. You ask me, they deserve what’s happened to ’em. Lettin’ themselves get caught like that. I’d have fought her. I don’t care if she killed me. Them townspeople’re a bunch of cowards.”

Emma spooned up a last carrot, then lifted the bowl and drank the broth. She was thinking of the children trapped in the mansion and how if they tried to escape, the Countess would hurt their mothers or fathers. “What’s your name?”

“Dena.”

“Well, Dena, you don’t know what you’re talking about. So why don’t you just shut your stupid mouth.”

The girl jumped up, her hands balled into fists. “If you weren’t sick and smaller than me, I’d make you take that back.”

Emma threw away the bowl and leapt out of bed. The old woman’s stew must’ve had something in it besides meat and vegetables because Emma suddenly felt as strong as she ever had.

“Go on and try it!”

A second later and the two would’ve been rolling on the ground, fighting and punching like wildcats, but just then the flap over the door opened and a man stepped in. He had the same long dark hair as Gabriel, but he was smaller, more slender, and his face was young and unscarred. Whether he understood what had been about to happen or even cared was impossible to tell, for his expression did not change. Glancing at Emma, he said to the girl, “She needs shoes.” Dena hesitated for a moment; then, huffing in annoyance, she bent and pulled a pair of worn mocs from under the bed and shoved them in Emma’s hands.

“Come with me,” the man said, turning and raising the flap.

“I want to see Gabriel.”

The man looked back over his shoulder. “Gabriel sent me.” And he stepped outside. Emma slipped on the moccasins and ran after him, throwing one last defiant glance at Dena.

The village was nestled in the shoulder of the mountain between a pair of pine-studded ridges. Stepping out of the hot, close cabin, Emma paused to take a breath. The air was cool and fresh and filled with the smells of a summer morning. Emma saw that there were maybe two dozen wooden cabins, some set back among the thick-waisted trees, others crowding in to form the borders of a central thoroughfare that stretched up the slope (if “thoroughfare” can be used to describe a twenty-foot-wide strip of dirt). Emma walked behind the young man, wondering where all the people were; then they rounded a curve, and she saw. The entire village, or what she assumed was the entire village, was gathered in front of a single cabin. The people were listening to a group of six or seven old men. Emma was too far away to hear, but it seemed like a council of sorts. As Emma and the young man approached, the old men fell silent, their eyes trained on her. Emma’s guide nodded respectfully, then held back the flap of the door so she could enter the cabin.

The room was dark, and darker still once the flap fell to. The young man hadn’t followed her in. Emma stood there, letting her eyes adjust. There was a foul, poisonous smell in the air. A large dark shape came toward her. Emma blinked and recognized Granny Peet. The wisewoman took Emma by the arm and drew her into the cabin.

“Where’s Ga …”

The question died in her throat. The old woman had led her to a bed at the back of the room, where Gabriel lay, eyes closed, naked to the waist. Half a dozen deep cuts crisscrossed his arms and there was a vicious gash in his side. But it was not the wounds that made Emma suck in her breath and bite down on her lip. Blossoming outward from each of the cuts, visible under the surface of the skin, were thick black tendrils.

“Poison,” Granny Peet said. “It reaches his heart, he’s finished.”

“So do something!” Emma pleaded. “Save him! Do something! You gotta!”

“Not so easy, child. The ingredients in the antidote are very difficult to find. Used all I had saving your life. Gabriel insisted.” She picked up a bowl half filled with a chunky yellowish paste and began stirring. “I don’t know, I don’t know.…”

Emma looked down at the giant man. He’d saved her, and now he was dying. It wasn’t fair. There had to be something—

Emma yanked her head back. Granny Peet had suddenly snatched at her face.

“What’re you …”

But the old woman wasn’t looking at Emma. She was staring at the end of her thick yellow fingernail, from which hung suspended a single one of Emma’s tears. Granny Peet gave a thoughtful sort of mumble, then shook the tear into her bowl, told Emma to hold still, and collected half a dozen more tears, adding them all to the yellowish mixture.

“Hmm,” she murmured, shuffling around the bed, stirring, “maybe …”

“You …” Gabriel’s eyes were open. “… Wanted to see you …”

Emma forced herself to smile and put as much cheerfulness and confidence into her voice as she could manage. “I’m okay. All because a’ you. And you’re gonna be okay too. Granny’s gonna fix you like she did me. She says she can for sure. Good as new.” Across the bed, the old woman began smearing the concoction on his wounds. Emma could hear it beginning to bubble and hiss.

“I am … glad to see you well,” Gabriel said, and closed his eyes.

Please, Emma thought, please let him be okay.…

She placed her small hands in one of his. The medicine must’ve burned terribly, for he clenched his hand into a fist, crushing both of Emma’s. But she didn’t let go. She would not let go.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

To the Dead City

Kate and Michael walked in the center of the group, directly behind the dwarf assigned to carry the ancient, white-bearded, and loudly snoring Fergus on his back. Hamish marched up front. There were seven in their party.

There had been no fanfare when they departed the dwarf city. Hamish said if his people knew he was leaving, they’d insist on throwing a parade and he’d be kissing babies for days on end. Kate caught the other dwarves trading glances, and Fergus even snorted, then tried to disguise it as a cough, then ended up actually coughing horribly for nearly a minute.

They’d left through a small, out-of-the-way gate and proceeded along a series of well-maintained, torch-lined tunnels. All the while Hamish kept up a constant chatter about the history of the Dead City, various legends associated with it, how many bicep curls he did every morning.…

Kate moved close to Michael.

“You shouldn’t have stood up to Hamish like that,” she whispered, then squeezed his hand. “But it was really, really brave.”

Michael looked embarrassed. “It was no big deal.”

“Yes, it was. Emma would’ve thought so too.”

Their conversation was muffled by the rattling of the dwarves’ armor, the clank of iron heels on stone, Fergus’s snores, Hamish’s droning commentary, and when Michael spoke again, Kate had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“I do,” Kate said, with more confidence than she felt. “And like Dr. Pym told us, Gabriel is with her. He won’t let anything happen.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever see her again.”

“Of course we will. Don’t even think that.”

Michael nodded, and then quickly changed the subject, saying he didn’t understand why Hamish wasn’t bringing more dwarves. The Countess couldn’t have that many Screechers. Why not just order his army to drive them away?

“It’s the salmac-tar.”

The dwarf who’d spoken was walking behind them. He had black hair, a black beard, and a thick, heavy brow. He looked younger than the other dwarves. He made a point, Kate noticed, of keeping his voice low. “Like a year ago, right, King found out that ever since the witch got ’ere, she’s been talking to them slimy, dwarf-murderin’ fiends. You know about them, right?”

Kate nodded, remembering her dream in the dungeon … the pale, sightless creature advancing on Gabriel, its claws tapping on the stone floor of the maze.…

“Well, she’s been promising ’em stuff. Baths’re what they need, ask me. Point is, she’s protectin’ ’erself. Building alliances. So now if Hamish—the King, I mean—tried to attack ’er Screechers, she’d have ’ordes and ’ordes a’ salmac-tar to ’elp ’er out. Be open war, wouldn’ it? King don’t want that.”

“What’s your name?” Kate asked.

“Wallace,” he said, then added, for no obvious reason, “the dwarf.”

The party had been walking for nearly an hour, and they came out of the tunnel to the edge of a large crevasse. Kate and Michael could hear, but not see, water flowing in the darkness far below.

“The Cambridge River,” Hamish proclaimed, kicking a rock over the edge. “Runs down through the mountains, past the town, and right up to the dam. Used to be how we traded with them idjit townspeople. Till the witch came. Woman has no respect for the forces a’ commerce. Come on now. The bridge is close. We can cross over into the old kingdom.”

“Hamish would make a good tour guide,” Michael said as they walked along the edge of the crevasse. “He’s really well informed.”

“ ’E used to be one,” Wallace said. “ ’Fore the Queen died, when visiting dignitaries would come, ’e’d show ’em around. Always did a right fine job. When ’e was sober, I mean.”

As they neared their destination, Kate found herself thinking about the things Dr. Pym had said. Why should a vault sealed more than a thousand years ago, a magic vault that would only open for a few special people, open for her and Michael and, she assumed, Emma? How was that possible? And what had the wizard meant, “that it should be you, of all children …”? Her of all children what? And what about him saying the book had chosen her, but to access its full power, she first had to heal her heart? The more Kate thought about everything, the more confused and troubled she became.

They arrived at an arched stone bridge guarded by a single dwarf. Seeing the King, he went down on one knee.

Hamish asked for news from the Dead City.

“Nothing, Your Highness. Though whatever that witch is looking for, she’d better find it in a hurry. Them townsmen ain’t gonna last much longer. Not with how them Screechers whip ’em and starve ’em and work ’em night and day. You ask me, we should drive them out a’ our mountains and—”

“Right, but who asked you, eh? You just stand there and hold your bloody spear, you nit!” Hamish shook his head and started over the bridge, muttering, “Everybody’s got a bloody opinion.”

On the other side of the bridge, Hamish ordered his dwarves to take off their armor. He didn’t want them making more noise than they had to. Then he poked Fergus awake.

“Come on, you old coot; time to sing for your supper.”

Fergus opened his eyes. They were rheumy and unfocused. “Hmm?”

“We crossed the stone bridge. How do we get to this golden cavern, then?”

“The golden cavern …” He seemed to have no idea what Hamish was talking about.

“Aye, the golden cavern, the golden cavern! If you were lying and don’t know—” He seized the old dwarf’s beard.

“Through the gate,” Fergus murmured. “West along the ridge. There’s a doorway marked with crossed hammers, and then stairs, many stairs.…”

“Right,” Hamish said, turning to the group, “you lot ’ad better be like mice.”

They crept down a dark, poorly maintained tunnel, which ended abruptly at a large iron door. Hamish dug beneath his beard and pulled out a heavy key. He fit it into the lock, took a breath, and turned it. The bolt shot back loudly, the sound echoing down the corridor. Kate felt the dwarves cringe.

Hamish looked back, sheepish. “Sorry ’bout that.”

The tunnel ended some twenty yards past the door, giving out onto what looked like a huge, brightly lit cavern. Hamish silently ordered them onto their bellies, and the five dwarves and two children got down and crawled forward. Kate could hear the sounds of hammering and smashing, shouted orders, the crack and slap of whips. Then she and Michael were at the lip of the cavern, looking over.

They were several hundred feet above the floor of the city, which—as far as Kate and Michael could tell for its borders stretched away to darkness—entirely filled the hollowed-out heart of the mountain. Kate thought it resembled nothing so much as a vast snow-globe metropolis, one that had been shaken and shaken until towers collapsed, buildings crumbled, and fissures tore open the streets. It was the corpse of a city, left to rot for centuries.

Until now.

Directly below them, dozens of hissing gas-powered lamps poured down light onto the ruins. Most of the work was taking place in a giant roofless building. Kate could just make out men-sized shapes moving about, but they were too far away and there was too much dust in the air to see clearly what was happening. Not that it mattered. She knew the building had to be the old throne room, and the shouting and the snap of whips told the rest of the story.

“Calmartia,” Hamish said quietly. “The Dead City.”

“I can’t believe it,” Michael whispered, pushing back his glasses, which were threatening to slip off his nose, “an ancient dwarf city. I wish I had my camera.”

Kate did not mention that she had seen this city once before. In a dream two nights before, she had seen it being destroyed.

Hamish motioned them back from the edge.

“Keep low and silent,” he hissed, “or we are all dead.”

Granny Peet eventually shooed Emma out of the cabin.

“But—but—but—” she stuttered as the old woman hustled her to the door. The black tendrils of poison under Gabriel’s skin had faded, but he had yet to reopen his eyes. Emma wanted to be there when he did.

“I need him alone,” the wisewoman said. “I’ll call you soon enough.”

Outside, the morning was nearly gone and the crowd in front of the cabin had disappeared. Emma stood there, looking up and down the dirt street. The only signs of life were a few dogs nosing through the remains of breakfast.

“Is he gonna die?”

Emma turned. The girl Dena stood at the side of the cabin. Emma guessed she had been trying to peer in the windows.

“Course not,” Emma scoffed. “Take more than a bunch a’ Screechers to kill Gabriel.”

Dena didn’t say anything. She just stood there, looking at her.

“What?” Emma demanded. “He’s gonna be fine!”

Dena neither spoke nor moved.

Emma turned away and sat down on a log. She scooped up a handful of pebbles and began pitching them one by one at an iron pot. After a few moments, Dena came and sat beside her. She gathered up her own handful of pebbles but instead of throwing them just moved them from hand to hand, sifting out the dirt.

“My parents got killed last year.”

Emma looked at her, but Dena was focused on the pebbles going from hand to hand.

“They were up near Cambridge Falls. Some of the witch’s Screechers caught ’em. Probably thought they were from the town. Trying to escape or something.”

“… Really?”

The girl nodded.

Then Emma said, “My parents disappeared. Ten years ago.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. I mean … I don’t know.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, “about what happened to yours.”

“Gabriel tried to get everyone to go fight the witch then, but they wouldn’t do it. Same like they won’t do it now. Bunch a’ cowards.” And the girl hurled the entire handful of pebbles so they clattered dully off the pot.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“That’s what they’re in there talking about,” Dena said, nodding up the hill to a large two-story rectangular cabin. “Last night, Gabriel woke up the whole village, yelling that they all had to go fight. He was almost falling over ’cause of the poison. Now they’ll just talk about it and talk about it and won’t do nothing. They’re all—Hey, where you going?”

Emma was striding up the dirt lane. She could feel the blood in her cheeks, and the edges of her vision were clouded with anger. Gabriel had told them they had to fight. Emma was going to make sure they did.

She pushed through the flap and into the warm, smoky air. It was a single large room. The old men Emma had seen earlier were gathered around a fire in the center, while the rest of the village ringed them on benches, stood against the walls, or looked down from the tiered balconies above.

One of the old men was speaking:

“We’ve no way of knowing how powerful the witch truly is! We have a responsibility, yes. But not to the people of Cambridge Falls. We have a responsibility to our blood! To our history!” He was beating his cane against the ground, raising small clouds of dust. “What if we fight her and lose? What revenge would she take? We don’t know. We don’t know what she could do. We can’t risk it!”

He sat down to much murmuring. In a flash, Emma had leapt up onto a bench—

“You’re all gonna die!”

The entire meeting hall—the old men in the center, the people on the benches and against the walls, the ones in the balconies overhead—all turned from whomever they were talking to and looked at her.

“You think you don’t do nothing, she’s just gonna let you go?! Is that how stupid you are?!” A voice inside Emma’s head said she should probably not call these people stupid, but she ignored it. “ ’Cause that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard in my life!”

The old man who’d spoken raised his cane and pointed it at Emma.

“Remove that child!”

Emma saw a woman move toward her. She wished Kate were here. People listened to Kate. “It’s true! I’ve seen it! Everything’s dead! The trees! The animals! They’re all dead! I’ve seen it! This place is gonna be cursed!”

“Remove her!” the old man croaked, stamping his cane on the ground.

“No.”

Everyone stopped and turned, including Emma. Granny Peet’s large, somewhat shabby form stood silhouetted in the doorway. She dropped the flap and shuffled forward to stand beside Emma.

“She has come to us from the future. If she says these mountains will become a wasteland, then I believe her.”

“But, Granny,” the old man said, a new tone of respect in his voice, “if what this child says is true—”

“It is true! Are you deaf or—” Emma began, until a look from the wisewoman silenced her.

“How are we to know what caused this devastation?” the old man continued. “Perhaps in the future this child comes from, we did fight the witch. And failed. Perhaps what the child describes was her revenge.”

“Call him an old chicken,” Emma hissed.

Granny Peet ignored her. “Then we must make sure we do not fail.”

She took Emma’s hand and led her forward till they stood beside the fire, in the center of the old men.

“I have been wisewoman of this village longer than most of you have been alive, and yes, if we confront the witch and fail, we are doomed. All we are, all our history, all our stories, will be wiped from the memory of the world. And yet”—she turned slowly, looking across the congregation—“we have no choice but to fight.”

Emma noticed a strange thing begin to happen. The wrinkles were fading from the old woman’s face, her eyes grew brighter, the curve in her back straightened. The old Granny Peet, wrinkled and hunched, was still there, but as she spoke, this other woman, tall and proud and beautiful, appeared as well. It was as if one were laid on top of the other.

“We all know the stories that tell of an object of great power buried in these mountains. Many of us believe these stories are what drew the witch. But what is this object she seeks? What is it capable of? The stories do not say.”

Granny Peet paused. Emma could see men and women leaning forward. Overhead, balconies creaked as those above shifted to better hear.

“It is a book.

“There were once three great books of magic, the most powerful books of magic ever written. But they were lost, thousands of years ago. Even so, all wizards and wise people know of them, know of their power. Each one has the ability to reshape our world.

“Long ago, I came to believe that one of these books was buried here. But which one, I did not know. Now, thanks to this child, I do.”

She laid her hand on the back of Emma’s neck. Emma could feel the twisted, callused hand of the old woman and the smooth, strong hand of the young one.

“The book hidden in these mountains, the one the witch seeks with all her might, is the one that holds the secrets of time and space. It is called the Atlas.”

A murmur swept the room, and even though she was standing beside the fire, Emma felt a chill run through her. Granny Peet raised her hand. The murmuring stopped.

“The Atlas allows the user to step through time. To move across the map of history. That alone should seed fear in all our hearts. But there is more.” Emma felt the crowd of listeners press in even further, each of them hanging upon the old woman’s words. “If a person can truly harness the book’s power, he will be able not only to move through time and space, but to control it. The very fabric of our world will be subject to his whim. On that day, all our lives, the lives of all those we love, the lives of every person on this planet, will be at his mercy. The Atlas cannot be allowed to pass into the hands of the witch.”

She stopped speaking. From the corner of her vision, Emma saw the beautiful ghost woman crumple and fade till once again only ancient, elephant-skinned Granny Peet stood beside her. For a few long moments, there was nothing but silence. Then a tall, muscular man stood at the back of the room.

“I will fight.”

And one by one, they rose from their places on the benches or stepped forward from the walls until every man between sixteen and sixty was standing, declared and ready to fight.

The old man sighed. “Very well, if we must, we must. But who shall lead?”

“I shall.”

Gabriel was standing in the doorway, a blanket draped around his shoulders. In a moment Emma was hugging him, burying her face in his side to hide her tears.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Black Lake

Keeping close to the rock wall and moving as silently as possible, Kate, Michael, and the small band of dwarves made their way along the ridge above the old city until they arrived at a doorway into whose arch was carved a pair of crossed hammers. They passed through and found themselves in a dark chamber. Hamish rummaged under his beard and pulled out a fist-sized crystal, which he tapped against the wall. Immediately, white light filled the space, revealing a nearly vertical staircase corkscrewing away into darkness. Hamish jabbed the old dwarf, Fergus, awake.

“Oi! You’ll get plenty a’ sleep when you’re dead, which’ll be soon enough, trust me. This ’ere’s the right way to go, yeah?”

Fergus blinked his rheumy eyes and peered down the stairs. “Aye, that’s the way. Down, down, all the way down. Left, right, another right, third left, sixth right, eighth left and on down, follow your nose is all.…” And he fell asleep again.

“Oi! Keep ’im awake; we’re gonna need him. Bloody ’ell.”

The staircase was narrow and steep and full of sharp, unexpected turns (“Like whoever made it wanted you to break your neck,” Michael whispered, then added, “I bet it wasn’t a dwarf; they probably used an outside contractor”). Fortunately, the other dwarves had produced crystals similar to Hamish’s, so Kate and Michael could at least see where to put their feet. What bothered Kate more than anything was that each time they reached a place where the stairs split, Fergus would be prodded awake and forced to tell them which way to go. She pleaded with Hamish to write down what the old dwarf said so they wouldn’t always be waking him, but Hamish scoffed at the idea.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Writing things down! There’ll be no writing as long as I’m around! You can bet on that! Ha!”

The further down they went, the colder it grew; soon icicles were hanging from the ceiling and Kate and Michael could see their breath before them. Kate noticed that the dwarves had begun looking about nervously.

“Supposed to be haunted,” Wallace whispered. In his right hand, he held the glowing crystal; his left gripped the haft of his ax. “It’s why few dwarves ever come here. Too many died bad in this place. There’re stories of dwarves who’ve gotten lost in the dark and felt icy hands—”

“Maybe you could tell us later,” Kate suggested.

Wallace glanced at Michael, whose eyes were nearly as wide as the lenses of his glasses. “Aye,” he grunted. “I can do that.”

“Stop!”

The cry had come from Fergus, who Kate had supposed was still sleeping against the back of his porter. His shout caused the children to look up (they had been staring at their feet, fearful of missing a step and tumbling down the stairs), and it was then they noticed that the staircase was ending and they had arrived in a cavern. Fifteen feet away was another doorway, and the stairs resumed their downward spiral.

“This is it,” said the old dwarf.

“Here?” Hamish said. “This can’t be it.”

Kate had to agree. The cavern was a raw room of earth and rock. The only notable points were the two entrances and a small dark lake at one end.

“Nope,” Fergus said, climbing to the ground and settling himself against the wall. “This is it.”

“Is that right?” Hamish sneered. “This is the golden cavern you were soooooooo certain you could find?” He grabbed Fergus’s beard and gave it a vicious tug. “If you’ve led us wrong, you old pile of bones, I’ll make you eat your beard!”

Fergus chuckled. “Course this ain’t the golden cavern. That’s through there, it is.” He pointed at the black lake. “Down to the bottom of the water, you find a tunnel, swim through, through, through, come up, bang there you are, golden cavern neat as you please. Careful, though.” Fergus pulled out a long clay pipe and began to pack the bowl. “Something lives down there. Dark and wiggly it is.”

He lit a match and gave the pipe three short pulls, his cheeks caving inward. Then he leaned back and blew a large, lazy smoke ring. None of the other dwarves had spoken or moved.

“This,” whispered Wallace, leaning close to Kate and Michael, “is not good.”

“What do you mean something lives down there?” Hamish demanded. “What lives down there?”

The old dwarf shrugged. “Dunno. Never gone in there meself. Not daft, ye know.”

“THEN ’OW THE BLOODY ’ELL DO YOU KNOW IT GOES TO THE BLOODY GOLDEN CAVERN?!”

As far below the city as they were, Kate wondered how the Countess’s Screechers couldn’t hear Hamish’s ranting.

Fergus calmly blew another smoke ring. “Me brother went through. Told me all about it.”

“So why am I not talking to your brother instead a’ you, you worthless old cod?!”

“Suspect ’cause ’e’s dead. Remember it clear as day. I was sitting ’ere, right where I am now, enjoying me pipe. I do like a good pipe. Dennis—that’s me brother—he disappears into the pool there, I wait, wait, wait, awful long time, finally ’e comes back out, ’ead bobbing up yonder, saying, ‘Fergus, old boy, there’s a tunnel and it leads to a beautiful golden cavern!’ ‘A golden cavern?’ I says. ‘Aye,’ ’e says. ‘And is it real gold?’ I says. ‘Not real gold,’ ’e says, ‘it’s—urp!’ ”

“Urp?!” Hamish sputtered. “What the bloody ’ell does ‘urp’ mean?”

“Nothing. That’s the sound he made when the monster ate ’im. Grabbed ’im around ’is neck and down ’e went. Urp.”

For a long moment, no one said anything.

Then Hamish exploded. He jumped around, screaming and spitting and smashing anything he could with his ax. For a second, Kate thought he was going to attack Fergus, who was sitting there smoking his pipe and not bothering to hide the amused grin on his face.

“Traditionally,” Michael whispered, “dwarves aren’t big swimmers.”

“I’m not sure the swimming is the problem,” Kate replied.

Huffing noisily through his beard, Hamish stuck his face into the old dwarf’s. “So this is your secret bloody way, sending us traipsing through some underwater monster’s living room?”

Fergus shrugged. “Not my way. The way. The only way.”

Hamish glowered, and Kate saw his knuckles tighten on his ax as if he were considering lopping off the old dwarf’s head, but then he turned. “Right! Into the drink, you lot!” He sneered at Kate and Michael. “And yeah, that means you brats too.”

Fergus sent out another smoke ring and chuckled quietly. “Urp.”

The party gathered around the black pool. The dwarves had to take off their heavy boots and leave behind all but their lightest knives. Kate and Michael removed their jackets and shoes. Kate transferred the two photos she was carrying, the one of herself in the bedroom and the photo Abraham had given her, the one he’d said was the last picture he’d ever taken, into her pants pocket. Seeing Abraham’s photo brought back the morning she’d spent in his room with Emma. It seemed to Kate that, though only a few days had passed, the memory belonged to another life.

“Are you going to be okay?” Michael asked.

“Of course. I’ll be fine.” Of the three siblings, Kate was far and away the weakest swimmer. The first few orphanages they’d lived at hadn’t bothered giving the children lessons. When Kate finally did learn, she was nearly nine, and she had never overcome her fear and unease in the water, her sense that she was always struggling not to drown. And now, as she stuffed her balled-up socks into her shoes, her hands were trembling.

A couple of the dwarves gingerly dipped their toes in the water, only to pull them out quickly. “Maybe it’s dead, whatever it was,” Kate heard one mutter. Fergus was still chuckling and smoking at the back of the cave. Black-bearded Wallace approached with two glowing crystals.

“You’ll be needin’ these. Dark as pitch down there, looks like.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. Despite the light it gave off, Kate found the crystal was cool in her hand.

“Right, then.” Hamish stepped to the edge of the pool. “No time like the present,” and he seized a dwarf and threw him in.

There was a large splash, and the dwarf’s head reappeared as he thrashed about, struggling to stay above the surface. “Under the water, you!” Hamish shouted, snatching up a large rock. Seeing he had no choice, the dwarf took a breath and dove. Kate watched the glow of his crystal slowly fade and disappear. There was another splash as Hamish pushed a second dwarf into the pool.

One of the dwarf guards began to back away. “I can’t swim, Your Highness.”

“Then it’s ’igh time to learn!”

A splash, and he disappeared as well.

Hamish turned on Kate and Michael. “You goin’ in yourselves, or you rather I toss you? Either way, you’re getting wet!”

“Come on,” Kate said.

She and Michael waded into the dark water. It was so cold that Kate’s feet and ankles began to ache almost immediately. They came to a ledge; the water barely reached to Kate’s knees. The next step would take them into the abyss.

“Michael, your glasses.”

“Oh, thanks.” He fumbled them into his pocket, trying not to drop his glowing crystal.

“You’d better go first. You’re a faster swimmer. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Kate—”

“It’ll be okay.”

Even as he nodded, she wondered just how unconvincing she must sound. And for a brief moment, she realized the insanity of their situation. They were inside a mountain, under the remains of an ancient dwarf city, about to dive into a black pool where a monster might or might not still be living, all so they could retrieve a lost magic book. What was she thinking? She had started to take a step back, pulling Michael with her, when a rough hand shoved her from behind.

“In ya go!”

They were swallowed by icy black water. Almost immediately, Kate saw Michael’s crystal begin to move away. He was swimming downward. She followed, terrified at the thought of losing him. After a few strokes, Michael leveled off. That’s when Kate saw another light, off in the darkness, and another, faint and fuzzy, past that. She realized how far they had to go.

Don’t panic, she told herself, don’t panic.

They had entered a kind of narrow trench, walls on either side, the rocky ceiling directly above, and below them … well, Kate didn’t look below them. She concentrated on the light from Michael’s crystal and her own jerky, weak stroke. It was impossible to say how much time passed. Her arms grew heavy. Her heart hammered in her chest. Worst was the pressure in her lungs; it felt as if they were collapsing upon themselves, squeezing out every last ounce of air. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t falling behind, even as the glow from Michael’s crystal grew more and more faint.

Then something struck her foot.

Panic shot through her, and she whirled about. She saw a mass of flailing limbs and thought for a moment it was the monster. Then she recognized one of Hamish’s dwarves. He was making wild gestures, urging her to move aside. She did and he swam past, with strokes even more crazed and unschooled than hers. He was perhaps five feet further on when three long fingers slid up out of the darkness and seized him by the leg. The fingers were a cancerous yellow-green, each one nearly a yard long and as thick around as a man’s arm. The dwarf hacked at them with his knife, bubbles exploding around him, but he was already being pulled down. Kate tried to scream and her lungs filled with water. Choking, she swam to the top of the trench, pounding at the rock, searching for air, for escape. The crystal fell from her hands. She grabbed at it, fumbling, but it slipped into darkness, and then there was nothing but darkness, all around her, enveloping her.…

“Kate! Kate!”

Her eyes opened. A second later, she was coughing and hacking, the foul-tasting water spewing from her nose and mouth. Michael pounded her on the back.

“Come on! Come on!”

“Michael … I’m okay.…”

“I thought … I thought …” He hugged her tightly.

“Hey there now, let the lass breathe.”

Kate felt Michael being pulled away. Wallace stood over them. Water was dripping from his long black beard, and his matted hair was plastered to his face. All about them, dwarves were wringing out their beards, shaking water from their clothes, and meanwhile everything was suffused with a soft golden light emanating from thousands of points on the walls and ceiling.

“What happened?”

“Wallace found you floating in the tunnel. He pulled you out. He told us”—Michael lowered his voice—“he told us what happened.”

The dwarf was helping her to sit up. “Thank you,” Kate said. “You saved my life.”

Wallace reddened, then, glancing about, he said quietly, “Captain Robbie told me to look out for you two. But keep that between us, then, eh?” He gave a very unsubtle wink.

“Are you really okay?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” Kate said, though even as she said it, she noticed that her whole body was shaking and the tips of her fingers were blue.

“Right, then!” Hamish was a few feet away, coiling his beard into a rope to squeeze out the water. “Spread out, lads! There’s a door hidden here somewhere.” He looked at Kate and Michael. “You two brats can help.”

“No!” Michael said fiercely. “My sister’s cold and wet. She needs to get warm.”

Hamish looked about to argue, but then he saw how Kate was trembling and waved his hand. Wallace pulled out flint and a piece of black wood and somehow, in moments, had a fire going. Michael had Kate move close to the flames.

“Drink this.” Wallace held out a leather flask.

Kate took a sip and nearly gagged, but immediately a warmth spread through her body. The shaking stopped. Her fingers returned to their normal color.

“You too,” Wallace said to Michael.

“What is it?”

“Whiskey. Me ma’s own special mash. She always said it could bring back the dead.”

It did not take Hamish’s dwarves long to find the hidden doorway. There was a cry, and Kate saw the dwarves clustered at a spot along the golden wall, staring down a tunnel that had not been there moments before.

“Now that’s more like it.” The dwarf king was beaming. He snapped his fingers at Kate and Michael, who were still huddled around the small fire. “Right. This ain’t a picnic. Let’s go get me book.”

Fifty yards down the passage, the band came to a door. Kate’s first thought was that they’d made a mistake. This was not the door to a secret vault. It was more like the door to someone’s bedroom. Painted white wood with a brass handle. There was even a small plaque in the center that read PRIVATE.

Kate thought the plaque had to be someone’s idea of a joke.

Hamish grasped the handle and pulled.

The door didn’t budge.

He braced his foot against the rock wall and pulled again.

Nothing.

“Dr. Pym said it would only open—” Michael began.

“Shut it, you!” Hamish snapped. He ordered a pair of his dwarf guards to take hold of him, and together the three of them strained against the door till Hamish’s hands slipped off the knob and they fell to the ground in a grunting pile. Hamish leapt up, searching for anyone who might be laughing.

The dwarves were stone-faced.

“You there”—Hamish pointed at the one dwarf who’d carried his ax through the tunnel—“ ’ave a chop at it.”

“I doubt it’s actually wood,” Michael said. “An ax won’t—”

“Oi! You want a great bloody sock in the mouth? Then shut your bleedin’ piehole! Now ’ave at it!”

Kate and Michael stepped back as the dwarf raised his ax, took two running steps, and swung with all his might. There was a clang, the sound of shattering metal, and something flew backward. The something was the dwarf; he lay stunned upon the ground, his ax in pieces beside him. The door did not have a mark on it.

“Right,” Hamish said, “had to try. Guess here’s where we see if it was worth bringing you kiddies along. Come on, we’re not getting any younger.”

“I’ll do it,” Kate said. She was thinking the door might be booby-trapped, and if so, she didn’t want Michael getting hurt.

But as she stepped forward, Kate found herself wishing more than anything that the door would not open. If it didn’t open, she and Michael and Emma were not special. They were just three ordinary children and everyone would see that and let them go.

She reached out and took hold of the brass knob. Please, she thought.

There was a soft click, and the door swung open.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Inside the Vault

The first thing Kate felt—as the door opened, revealing a high-ceilinged room lit by crystals in the walls, and there in the center, sitting on a stone pedestal as if it had been waiting for her, the book, their book—the very first thing she felt was that after everything that had happened in the last few days, this—the fact the vault door had opened for her and no one else—was the worst turn yet.

We’re in deep trouble, she thought.

Hamish knocked her to the ground as he rushed past.

“No!”

Hamish’s fingers paused inches from the book’s leather cover. He turned to Kate, who was being helped to her feet by Michael and the black-bearded Wallace.

“No?!”

“You can’t touch it.”

“Oh, I can’t, can’t I? Well, just you watch, missy—”

“You’ll die.”

Kate saw Michael glance at her. She had no idea what she was saying. All she knew was that Hamish couldn’t touch the book first. Dr. Pym had said so.

“You’re lying,” the dwarf king sneered.

“Michael and I are the only ones who can pick it up. Dr. Pym told me. But go on if you don’t believe me. See what happens. Except you won’t, ’cause, you know, you’ll be dead. But go ahead.” She crossed her arms and tried to look unconcerned.

Hamish turned from Kate to the book, back to Kate, then back to the book. It was obvious he wanted it very badly. But finally he muttered something under his breath, spat, and then snapped his fingers angrily. A dwarf grabbed Kate by the arm and dragged her forward. Hamish leaned in, his breath warm and rotten in her face. “If you’re playing with me, girl, you and your brother are dead, understand? I’ll cut your throats and feed you to that monster in the pool. Now—bring me that book!”

Propelled by Hamish’s shove, Kate stumbled to a halt a foot from the pedestal. The book appeared to be glowing, the light in the vault enhancing its natural emerald hue. It was then—standing above the book with nothing and no one between it and her—that she finally heard it.

The book was speaking to her. It told her it had been waiting for her for a thousand years. It told her to claim it as her own.

She reached out and lifted it off the pedestal.

Now what? she thought.

She felt a tug in her stomach, and the floor disappeared beneath her feet.

“Hello.”

Kate blinked. She was in a study, books and manuscripts in piles everywhere, a small fire crackling in the grate. Outside the window, she could see the tops of cars passing in the street below. Snow was falling, muffling the sounds of the city. But what truly caught her attention was the man sitting three feet away: he was swiveled toward her in his chair, a paper- and book-strewn desk behind him, dressed in his habitual and habitually rumpled tweed suit, pipe in one hand and a teacup halfway to his mouth as if he had been in the act of taking a sip when Kate had stepped out of thin air. Naturally, he was smiling.

“Can I help you?” Dr. Pym said.

For a moment, Kate could only stand and stare, trying and failing to grasp what had happened.

“Dr. Pym—” she began, then stopped, remembering her mistake in the dungeon the night before, when it turned out he hadn’t the foggiest notion who she was. “Do you—do you know who I am?”

“Of course,” he replied amiably. “You’re the young lady who just appeared in my study.”

Her heart sank. She had traveled even further into the past, back to a time before their meeting in the prison. And not just into the past—to another place. As she looked out the window, seeing the cars, a lamppost, everything that suggested a normal human city, it was obvious she was somewhere very far from Cambridge Falls. How was any of this possible? She hadn’t placed a photograph in the book. She hadn’t even opened it!

“My dear,” the old man said, interrupting her thoughts and pointing with the end of his pipe at the book, “is that what I think it is?”

“Yes—but why did it bring me here? All I did was touch it!”

“Did you now? Fascinating.”

“I picked it up before Hamish could! Just like you told me to!” She knew he wouldn’t understand what she was saying, but she couldn’t help herself. It was all pouring out.

“Hamish? Is that oaf involved in this?”

“Wait! You must’ve known what was going to happen! That’s why you told me to touch the book first!”

“I did? Can’t say as I remember—”

“No, not now! In the future! But how would you know the book would take me here? Unless …” Kate could feel the answer tugging at her, that she just had to keep talking. “You must’ve done something! Back in the dwarf throne room! When you told me to make sure I touched the book first! You put your hand on my head and I felt this tingling. You must’ve done some spell to make the book bring me here!”

Dr. Pym leaned back in his chair, placed his teacup on a messy stack of papers, stuck his pipe in his mouth, and proceeded to pat himself down for matches. “I think you had best tell me everything. But first”—his pipe lit, he shook out the match, then reached forward—“why don’t you give me that? I suspect the type of magic that brought you here is somewhat unstable, and I don’t want you popping off.”

“But what if the book disappears and I can’t get back? It must already exist, right? In this time?”

“Ah. I take it the book has disappeared once before?”

“Yes.”

“And this other instance, how much time passed before it vanished?”

Kate thought back. She and Emma had gone into the past, found Michael, been captured by the Secretary and dragged to that strange fantasy ball, then had been forced to sit on the patio talking to the Countess.…

“Half an hour. About.”

“So we have a bit of a window. Come, come.”

He held out his hands, and Kate relinquished the book. Dr. Pym placed it on the desk behind him.

“Now,” he said, “from the beginning.”

Kate stamped her foot in anger. “No! I’ve already told you twice; you just don’t remember because it hasn’t happened yet!”

“Well, that hardly seems my fault.”

“But there’s no time! Hamish is going to have his dwarves kill us if we—”

“My dear, why do you keep mentioning Hamish? That scoundrel would never have the authority to kill anyone.”

“But he’s king of the dwarves!”

Dr. Pym chuckled. “No, no. I’m afraid that simply couldn’t be. I am close friends with the present queen. Esmerelda, lovely woman. And she agrees with me that Hamish would make a disastrous king. Robbie is to assume the throne.”

“But she died without a will!” Kate could hear herself shouting. “And because Hamish was older, he got to be king! And he wants the book! He’s in the vault right now with Michael! Well, not now-now, future-now!” She knew she wasn’t making much sense. She wanted to pick up something and throw it at the wizard to make him understand. “And you can’t do anything because you’re still locked in the dungeon back in the dwarf city!”

“Oh, that is bad,” Dr. Pym said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Very bad indeed. But I’m afraid I still don’t understand. How could Hamish get into the vault? It’s quite impossible without …” He stopped and gazed at Kate. His voice became very soft. “You. You opened the vault.”

Kate nodded.

He leaned forward. “You say you have a brother?”

“And a sister! Michael and Emma! And they’re both in trouble! You have to do something.” Kate could feel her eyes welling with tears.

“Oh dear,” Dr. Pym said quietly. “I’m afraid now I must insist you do tell me everything. From the beginning.”

“Stanislaus?” It was a woman’s voice. Kate turned, listening to footsteps approaching down a hall, the voice getting closer. “Richard’s stuck at the college. I think we should just go ahead and have lunch, don’t you? And who are you talking to?”

The door opened and a young woman entered. She was wearing jeans and a gray sweater. She had dark blond hair, hazel eyes, and a kind face. She was casually beautiful. The moment Kate saw her, two things happened. First, she realized the woman she was looking at was her mother. Second, the floor disappeared beneath her feet.

“WHERE IS IT?!”

Kate stood at the pedestal, bathed in greenish light, gasping, her heart hammering in her chest. Before she could begin to process what had happened, she was seized by the arm and yanked around.

“Where is it?”

Her face was sprayed with spittle. She was dimly aware of being shaken violently. The book. That’s what he was yelling about. The book was gone. But so what? She had seen her mother.

“You tricked me! You and that wizard!”

… Her mother. She had seen her mother.

“I’ll kill you!”

Kate saw something flash in Hamish’s hand, then heard footsteps behind her, and she was wrenched out of his grip and thrown to the ground. She could hear Wallace arguing with the King that they might need Kate to get the book back; they had to bring her to the wizard. She knew he was saving her life.

“Are you okay?” Michael was kneeling beside her. “You disappeared, then you came back, but the book was gone. What happened?”

Kate gripped her brother’s hand. “I saw—”

There was the sound of a blow, and Wallace staggered back. Hamish was breathing loudly through his beard, one hand grasping his knife, the other curled into a meaty fist. For a moment, the dwarf king glared at Kate, then he sheathed his knife and barked, “Bring ’em! But if that wizard don’t get me book back, they all die! The old man and the brats!” And he turned and stalked out of the chamber.

A dwarf grabbed Michael by the collar and dragged him into the tunnel. She hadn’t been able to tell him. Another dwarf approached Kate, but Wallace waved him off. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the door.

“You all right, then?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Kate replied, her mouth dry. “Thank you.”

Walking down the dark tunnel, Kate replayed the memory of her mother entering the room. She wanted to lock in the details before they had a chance to fade. She saw her mother’s blond hair and hazel eyes, her face, intelligent, gentle, surprised at finding this girl standing before her. Richard! That was the name her mother had said. That had to be their father. Kate marveled at how seemingly so little—a voice in a hall, a name, a woman walking through a door—could mean so much.

But (and here Kate felt herself growing angry) why hadn’t Dr. Pym told them he knew their parents? Why would he keep that secret? Could he find them now? And how was it that simply touching the book had sent her into the past? For that matter, how had she come back with no book at all? Her head spun with questions. Kate forced herself to stay calm. She had seen her mother. For now, that was enough.

The party arrived in the golden cavern and clustered around the pool. The dwarves stared at the dark water nervously. Kate could tell Michael was burning to talk to her, but the guard held him back.

Hamish was ranting about the things he was going to do to Dr. Pym. “I’ll rip ’is bleeding spine out! I’ll make ’im eat his own foot!” And, still ranting, he pushed the first dwarf into the pool.

The monster did not reappear, and the journey back through the trench was uneventful. As she swam, Kate could see the twin lights of Michael and his guard ahead, and the few times she looked back, Wallace was there, knife gripped in his hand, staring into the darkness below, ready to protect her in case of attack. But nothing happened.

Then her head broke the surface of the pool, and she sucked in the stale cave air and heard a voice that froze her heart.

“Ah, there she is.”

Cold hands lifted her up. As the water cleared her eyes, she saw that all the dwarves, including old white-bearded Fergus, were on their knees, hands bound behind their backs. A dozen black-clad figures, brandishing swords and crossbows, stood guard over them. One of the Screechers held Michael by the shoulders. He looked frightened but unharmed.

Kate’s eyes went to the speaker, who was moving toward her, giggling and rubbing his hands.

“My dear, my dear,” cooed the Secretary, smiling his gray-toothed smile, “how very nice to see you again.” CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Raven

Emma and Gabriel, along with the girl Dena and the rest of the band, climbed the mountain along no trail that Emma could see, but that Gabriel and the others seemed to know by heart. Gabriel explained they would circle the peak to a secret tunnel that the village scouts used to spy on the Dead City. The way was steep and rocky, and they had been climbing for less than half an hour when Gabriel abruptly picked Emma up and swung her onto his back.

“We must move more quickly.”

Gabriel had not wanted to take Emma. But Granny Peet had insisted.

“She is tied to the Atlas. If you find it, you will need her.”

“That’s right,” Emma had said. “And you gotta take Dena too. Or I’m not coming.”

And so Emma had been outfitted with new clothes and boots and a knife and, an hour after the meeting, she and Dena and the small band of men had been given a blessing from Granny Peet and had set off up the mountain.

Gabriel called for them to stop in a stand of pines just below the summit while he sent a scout to the tunnel entrance. The men squatted and checked their weapons in silence. Gabriel was conferring quietly with two of his men, so Emma wandered off through the trees. Ten yards in, the mountain gave way to a sharp cliff. Emma found a boulder jutting out past the trees and scrambled up the side.

Lying on her stomach, she had a view out across the valley, and for the first time in two days, she saw Cambridge Falls. The blue expanse of lake shone jewel-like in the midday sun, and on its far side, Emma could make out a dark clustering she guessed was the houses of the town.

Seeing Cambridge Falls again, the place where everything had begun, made her think of her brother and sister. Granny Peet had said Dr. Pym was with them. That gave her hope. Perhaps Kate and Michael would even be waiting in the village when she and Gabriel returned. Wouldn’t that be something? Arriving in the village having defeated the Countess’s Screechers, leading all those poor, grateful men. Michael would no doubt want to hear the details of the battle, but she’d just wave her hand and say, “Oh, you know how battles are. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” And if Kate scolded her for abandoning them back in the tunnels, Emma would apologize and tell Kate she was absolutely right. “Though,” she would add after a moment’s pause, “if I hadn’t gone back, I couldn’t have saved Gabriel’s life, but you know best, Kate dear.” Emma smiled, and for a moment she actually relaxed, allowing herself to savor the warmth of the rock beneath her, the cool of the wind against her face, and what was, in many respects, a beautiful summer’s day.

“You oughta get down from there.”

Emma lifted herself up and looked back over her shoulder. Dena stood just inside the trees.

“Someone could see you.”

Emma laughed. “Who’s gonna see me up here?”

“You don’t know. The witch, she’s got ways. You shouldn’t take the chance.”

Emma sensed the girl was right; unfortunately, whenever someone told Emma she “should” do this or “shouldn’t” do that, her lifelong habit had been immediately to do the exact opposite.

“Let her see me. I’m not afraid of her.”

Just then a caaawww echoed across the valley. Emma looked up to see a large black raven soaring high above their heads. She felt a sudden queasiness in the pit of her stomach as she remembered what Abraham had said the night they escaped from the mansion, that the Countess used birds as spies. Emma was trying to make up her mind what to do when she heard feet pounding down through the trees, and Gabriel was there, calling to her in a fast, angry hiss:

“Get down! Now!”

She scrambled off the rock, skinning the heels of her hands.

Gabriel unslung his long rifle and put it to his shoulder. The bird was flying away from them, and though it grew smaller and smaller with each wingbeat, Gabriel didn’t fire. He merely followed it, as if there were an invisible string stretching from the bird to the tip of his rifle. With each passing second Emma’s panic rose, and she prayed for him to shoot, as if by killing the bird he could erase her fault. Finally, he did, when the bird was no more than a black speck against the blue. For a moment, nothing happened, and Emma was sure he’d missed. Then the bird torqued sideways and fell in a twisting spiral into the trees.

The other men were beside him now, gathered at the edge of the cliff.

“One of her messengers. She knows.”

“Perhaps.” Gabriel slung the rifle back across his shoulder. “Our only hope is speed. We leave immediately.”

As one, the men disappeared into the trees up the hill.

Emma seized Gabriel’s hand. She was on the verge of tears. “Gabriel, I’m … It’s my fault. Dena told me to get down, but I was stupid.… I …”

Gabriel knelt beside her. She expected him to be angry. The mission was already dangerous; now it was only more so. But when he looked at her, he seemed simply disappointed. Somehow, it made her feel even worse.

“If the raven was tracking us, it has been tracking us since the village. Seeing you made no difference. Come.”

He turned and allowed her to clamber onto his back. She locked her arms around his neck, burying her head against his shoulder as he rose and started up the mountain. Hot, silent tears streamed down her face, her fantasies of a minute before, of acting haughty when she saw Kate and Michael, returning to haunt her. She promised herself she would be smarter. She would do whatever Gabriel said, sacrifice whatever was asked, if only it meant seeing her brother and sister again. She would be better.

Emma closed her eyes and let herself be borne, effortlessly, up the mountain.

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.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Kate’s Vision

“You see, when Katherine touched the book and traveled into the past—four years from this point, which for you three is not the present at all but already fifteen years into the past—she told me everything that was going to transpire with the missing will and Hamish becoming king, et cetera and et cetera … I, armed with this terrible knowledge, went immediately to Queen Esmerelda (Robbie and Hamish’s mother and a very dear friend of mine). Then and there, she wrote out her will proclaiming Robbie the next king and had the document notarized and sealed, and together we secreted it away.…”

Dr. Pym was explaining to the children how it was that he and Robbie had escaped Hamish’s dungeon and come to arrive in the Dead City with a brigade of armored dwarves. They were all of them—the children, Dr. Pym, Robbie, and Gabriel—crammed into the room where, before the battle, the Secretary had interrogated Kate. It was now being used as a sort of informal head-quarters as messengers pushed past one another on their way in and out, and Robbie and Gabriel huddled around the desk with a group of hotly arguing men and dwarves.

The children had been summoned there without being told why—following the battle, they had been in the building across the square, bringing each other up to date on their respective adventures. Upon entering the room, Emma had literally launched herself into Gabriel’s arms, crying, “You did it!” For her part, Kate wished that whoever was in charge would’ve chosen a different meeting place. The memory of biting into the Secretary’s ear, and the sour sweat-and-blood taste that accompanied it, had returned the moment she crossed the threshold. She wondered when she would get to brush her teeth again.

“You might well ask,” Dr. Pym continued (he had led the children a few feet away), “why I waited as long as I did to produce the queen’s will. But here is the crucial point—I needed Kate to enter the vault, touch the book, and bring it to me in the past. Only by hiding the book in the past could I protect it from the Countess. And I knew if I merely bided my time, this was exactly what would happen. Therefore, I waited. When I finally deemed the moment was right, I had Robbie summon his lawyer.…” Dr. Pym then revealed the location of the will; it was recovered and examined by a panel of judges, as well as by handwriting and fingerprint experts, dwarves being sticklers for protocol (this received an approving nod from Michael), and the will being verified genuine, Captain (now King) Robbie mustered his army and marched to the Dead City.

“So you see,” Dr. Pym concluded, “it is as clear as a summer’s day.”

“I don’t get it,” Emma said.

“Which part, my dear?”

“The whole part.”

“Dr. Pym planned it all,” Kate said. “He knew Hamish would be listening to us in the dungeon. He tricked him into taking me and Michael to the vault. He made sure I touched the book first. He planned everything.”

“But”—Michael had been taking notes; now he paused, addressing the wizard—“did you only know to do all that because Kate had gone into the past and told you what was going to happen? Were you just pretending not to recognize us in the dungeon?”

“That requires a bit of a complicated answer,” Dr. Pym said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “as there are now two versions of the past. In the original past, I knew nothing of future events and no doubt based my actions upon the connection I saw between your sister and the book. However, in the rewritten past, which occurred after your sister retrieved the book and went back in time …”

Kate was watching the wizard. Her feelings toward him had changed. He had outsmarted Hamish and the Secretary, made Robbie king, saved Gabriel and the men; Kate now truly believed he was on their side. But he was still not telling them everything he knew: about their parents, obviously, but also about her and her siblings’ role in all that was happening. In the throne room, he’d said they were the children he’d been waiting for. And the Secretary had said almost the exact same thing, that she and Michael and Emma were the chosen three. What did that mean? What was the wizard hiding?

“… I knew how events had played out in the other, now-alternate past,” Dr. Pym said, “and wishing things to proceed in exactly the same way, I attempted to behave as I might have done had I been ignorant of the future. This is the version of the past, Michael, that you and I remember. Katherine, being the time traveler, is the only one who remembers the original past. So, to answer your question, as far as your memory is concerned, yes, I did pretend not to recognize you in the dungeon; as far as your sister’s memory is concerned, no, I had absolutely no idea who she was.”

Michael looked at him. “Now I don’t get it.”

“Then just understand this,” Dr. Pym sighed, “if Katherine had not shown the resourcefulness she did, King Robbie and I would still be in the dungeon, and all of Gabriel’s men, all the men of Cambridge Falls, would be dead.”

“ ’E’s right”—Robbie had stepped over from the group at the desk—“and should you ever need my strength or my people’s, you’ve only to ask.” With that, the new dwarf king bowed so low before Kate that the braided tips of his beard brushed the floor.

“Oh please,” Kate said, blushing deeply. “Don’t do that. It’s really kind of embarrassing. Anyway, Michael did as much as I did.”

Robbie straightened up. “Aye, true enough.” He coughed into his fist and assumed a formal tone. “Michael Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is, it was you telling off Hamish for the prat he was that reminded me what it means to be a dwarf. In recognition of that, I do hereby appoint you Royal Guardian of All Dwarfish Traditions and History.” He snapped his fingers, and a dwarf stepped forward and handed the King a small badge, which he pinned to Michael’s sweater.

“Your H-Highness …,” Michael stammered, “I—I wish I’d had a chance to prepare some remarks.”

Robbie clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, lad, you’d have made a grand dwarf, a grand dwarf.”

Emma looked less than thrilled to see Michael getting so much attention, and as Robbie gave Michael a furry kiss on each cheek, Kate heard her mutter, “I’m the one that got shot with an arrow.” Emma had been, of course, impressed to hear about Michael standing up to Hamish and placing his own hand upon the chopping block, or perhaps not so much impressed, Kate reflected, as dumbfounded, since she’d kept repeating, “Really? Michael did that? Really? Michael?” In any case, Kate was about to tell her to quit muttering and let Michael enjoy his moment when he turned toward them, grinning and puffing out his chest, a look of pure joy upon his face, and before Kate knew it, she and Emma were both hugging him, saying how proud they were of him, Emma punching him in the arm only a little too hard. It wasn’t till Michael cleared his throat and offered that he might say a few words after all that Kate jumped in and suggested that later might be better.

“Yeah,” Emma said, looking immensely relieved, “we always love to hear you talk about dwarves and stuff, but we got other things to talk about first. Like the Atlas! We should probably talk about that!”

“My dear,” Dr. Pym said, “how did you learn that name? I’m quite amazed.”

Kate saw Emma glance at Michael and give a pleased little shrug. “Oh, I know lots of things. Did you know that’s what it’s called, Michael?”

Michael shook his head.

“Well, that’s what it is, all right. The Atlas. You should write it down so you don’t forget.”

Kate did not mention that she had heard this from the Secretary.

“Your sister is indeed correct,” Dr. Pym said. “Each of the Books of Beginning has a unique name. Technically, the book we are searching for is the Atlas of Time—”

“That’s right,” Emma said, nodding seriously. “Technically.”

“—but it is usually just referred to as the Atlas, an appropriate name, as the book contains maps of all possible pasts, presents, and futures and allows one to move through both time and space. But now is not the moment to get into all the whys and wherefores.”

“Sure,” Emma said, “we can get into those later. All the whys and stuff.”

In listening to Dr. Pym, it had occurred to Kate that ever since hearing the book’s true name, she had begun to think of it as the Atlas. The name simply felt right.

“What about Hamish?” Michael asked. “Is he really not king anymore?”

“That ’e is not,” Robbie said. “I sent ’im back to the palace, said I wanted it scrubbed top to bottom by ’im personally. And to shave off that beard a’ ’is. Disgusting it was.”

“Hamish used to be the king,” Emma informed Gabriel; he also had left the group around the desk and entered their circle. “He tried to cut off Kate’s hand. Then Michael stopped him. At least, that’s the story—”

“Hey!”

“Fine, you’re a hero.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Go polish your medal.”

Robbie told them that upon hearing he was no longer king, Hamish had tried to commit suicide by chopping off his own head. However, all he succeeded in doing was knocking himself unconscious, and it required several buckets of cold water to bring him around. This was, Robbie added, the closest Hamish had come to a bath in months.

As the others continued talking, Kate stepped over to the blown-out wall and looked down into the square. The battle won, the dwarves had erected a field kitchen and set about boiling huge vats of carrots, onions, tomatoes, and beef, the smell of which had quickly overwhelmed the rancid stench of expired Screechers. Now men who hadn’t had a decent meal in two years gobbled down bowls of stew as fast as the dwarf servers could bring them to the tables.

Kate turned to look at the cages.

The Secretary was the sole prisoner. He was in the nearest cage, cradling his hurt arm and rocking back and forth. Was it true what he’d said? Did Dr. Pym intend to send her back in time to retrieve the Atlas? Her heart quickened at the thought that she might see her mother again. At the same time, she felt a stab of guilt. Twice now—first with Michael, then with Emma after the battle—she’d told her story of touching the book and going into the past. Neither time had she mentioned seeing their mother. Why? What was her reason for keeping it secret?

Kate became aware that the Secretary was staring directly at her.

“Enough! We must act!”

Tearing herself from the man’s gaze, Kate turned back to the room. The speaker was the gaunt, fierce-eyed man who’d told her which key opened the cage doors. He was leaning forward on the desk, and Kate suddenly noticed his tangled mass of red-brown hair and realized why he’d looked so familiar.

“We know your son! Stephen McClattery! We met him!”

She added quickly:

“He’s fine! We saw him a couple days ago, and he was totally fine.”

The effect of Kate’s words was instant and dramatic. It was as if the man had been straining against a rope, and the rope was abruptly cut. His head dropped, and his whole body seemed to sag forward. Kate knew this must be the first he’d heard of his son in two years. He probably hadn’t even known if the boy was alive or dead. Finally, the man wiped at his face and looked up. There were smeared tear tracks on his grimy cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said thickly. “But every moment we spend talking gives the witch more time to take revenge on our children.”

“Right you are,” Robbie said. “Doctor, you want to tell the young ’uns what we need from ’em?”

“Here is the situation.” Dr. Pym adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses, a process that made them no less crooked. “Our next task is to march to Cambridge Falls and liberate the imprisoned children, including your friend Stephen McClattery.”

“He’s not my friend,” Emma muttered. “He’s actually pretty annoy—oww!” She glared at Kate. “Why’d you poke me?”

“The issue,” Dr. Pym continued, “is that as long as the Countess holds the children hostage, we can’t risk a direct assault on her house.”

“But you’re a wizard,” Michael said. “You made an earthquake. Can’t you do something?”

“Unfortunately, the Countess has set up certain barriers around the house and town that limit my capabilities. We must resort to more conventional means. Which again brings us to you three. You were able to escape the house. I wonder—”

“Oh! Oh!” Emma’s hand shot into the air.

“Yes, my dear.”

“There’s a secret passage! It goes from the room where the kids are and comes out the side of the house. Abraham took us through. But we could find it again! Easy!”

“We already told him about that,” Michael said. “Back in the dungeon.”

“True,” Dr. Pym said. “But I was going to ask you to tell everyone else. Wonderful foresight, my dear.”

“You’re welcome,” Emma said, and smiled triumphantly at Michael.

“Right, then!” King Robbie clapped. “ ’Ere’s what we do: a few of us creep up to the house, slip the nippers out through this secret passage all sneaky-Pete; once that’s done, ’ello-’ello, the rest of us make our attack! Aye, that’s a brilliant plan, that is!”

There was general nodding and murmuring.

Michael was nervously fingering his new badge. “What if the Countess already knows she’s lost the battle? Won’t she be expecting us?”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Pym said, “but we have little choice except to proceed and hope for the best. As Mr. McClattery pointed out, many young lives hang in the balance. Now, Gabriel and I and the children will—”

Just then there was a large thud, and everyone looked to see Kate lying unconscious on the floor.

“Feeling better, my dear?”

Kate blinked. A trio of concerned faces stared down at her. She forced herself to sit up. She had been laid on a very hard, very lumpy couch in a room she didn’t recognize. Emma, Michael, and Dr. Pym moved back to give her space.

“What happened?” Emma asked. “You were standing there and then you, like … fell over.”

Kate pressed her fingers to her temples. Sitting up had made her light-headed. She could hear, outside the door, many footsteps moving quickly past.

“I think I’m just tired. And hungry.”

“Well,” Dr. Pym said, “you have all had a very trying day. We’ll get you something to eat.”

“And drink,” Michael said. “I bet we’re dehydrated and don’t even know it.”

“Your brain’s dehydrated,” Emma said.

“Very likely,” Michael replied. “The brain’s the most sensitive organ in your body.”

Emma muttered something inaudible.

Kate looked around. There was a single gas lamp on the floor, and stacked against one wall were baskets of turnips, onions, carrots, sacks of potatoes. The cooks were clearly using this room for storage.

“You’re certain that’s all it was, my dear? Hunger?” The wizard was staring at her intently.

Kate closed her eyes. She could still see it happening.…

“Katherine?”

She wished he would stop pressuring her. She knew why she’d fainted, and she had no intention whatsoever of talking about it.

“Perhaps I could help if—”

“Why didn’t you tell us you knew our parents!”

Instantly, Kate realized what she’d done. She’d only meant to distract everyone, to get them talking about something besides her fainting. But she’d spoken in haste, and now …

She glanced at Michael and Emma and saw their confusion. How long did she have before they put it together?

“When should I have told you, Katherine?” Dr. Pym had taken off his glasses and was cleaning them on his tie. “In the dungeon? I’ve already explained why it was important to pretend I had no idea who you were. And in the original past, well, then I truly had no idea who you were.”

“But you gave me that memory!” Now that it was out, Kate wanted an answer. “You sent me to that moment! You had to have known!”

“Well, I suspected, yes. Partly from your story. But also because one cannot look at you and fail to see your mother.”

This silenced Kate. She looked like her mother? Against her will, she felt a thrill of joy.

“Wait!” Emma cried, finding her voice. “What’re you talking about? How’s Dr. Pym know our parents?”

“Your parents”—Dr. Pym replaced his glasses—“are very close friends of mine. Richard and Clare. Those are their names.”

“But—no! That’s not—you would’ve told us! You—why didn’t you tell us?”

“Again, my dear, when could I possibly—”

“When we met you!” Emma was almost shouting now. “When we got to that stupid orphanage in the first place!”

“My dear Emma, that is more than fifteen years in the future. I can’t very well explain why I did something that I haven’t done yet.”

“But how …” Michael was looking at Kate.

Here it comes, she thought.

“… did you find out Dr. Pym knew our parents?”

Kate swallowed. Her throat was like paper.

“Our mom … was there. In the past. When I saw Dr. Pym. I … didn’t tell you.”

For a long moment, Michael and Emma simply stared at her. On their faces were expressions of utter disbelief. Not that Kate had seen their mother. But that she hadn’t told them. Emma began crying, and the sight of it almost broke Kate’s heart.

“Emma—”

“Where are they?!” Emma wrenched her head toward Dr. Pym. “Take us to them! Take us there now!”

“Emma—”

“Now! I want to see them now!”

“My dear,” Dr. Pym said, “don’t you know I would like nothing better than to do just that? But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?!” Tears were streaming down Emma’s face.

“He can’t take us now,” Michael said quietly. “He has to stop the Countess first.”

“Shut up!” Emma snatched off the badge Robbie had given him and threw it into the corner. “And that’s what I think of your stupid medal!”

“Emma, stop it!”

Emma jerked away from Kate’s hand.

“Don’t touch me! You lied to us! You should’ve told us and you lied to us!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Again Kate reached for her sister and again Emma pushed her away.

“I said don’t touch me!”

Kate had to stand because Emma was also standing, and this time when she reached for her, Emma didn’t fight but let her sister hold her, and Kate felt how tight and angry she was, but she kept holding her and whispering, and slowly Emma’s sobs eased and her body relaxed.

Finally, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Emma nodded, sniffling, and wiped her sleeve across her face. She went to the corner of the room and retrieved Michael’s badge.

“I’m sorry. I hope it’s not dented.”

Michael forced a laugh. “You dent a piece of dwarf craftsmanship? Not likely.” But then he looked at her and offered a real smile. “It’s okay.”

“Now,” Dr. Pym continued when they were settled and Michael was once again wearing his badge, “believe me, I do understand how confusing all this is and how badly you three want to see your parents. And I promise that once the Countess is defeated and the children are safe, I will answer any questions you have. But today, we have a great task before us and many whose lives depend on our success. That must be the focus of our efforts.”

“But can’t you tell us anything?” Kate said. “Where they live? What their jobs are? Anything?”

Dr. Pym sighed. “Very well. Your parents are academics. Professors.”

“Our parents were teachers?” Emma’s tone was decidedly unexcited.

“What was their field of study?” Michael asked.

Emma let out a moan. “This is like the greatest day of your life, isn’t it?”

“They are magical historians. It is not, I should say, a discipline treated very seriously in the academic world. But your parents believe in the importance of what they are doing. And they are both interested in the Books of Beginning. In fact, that was how they met. At a conference in Edinburgh. Your mother was delivering a paper dispelling a theory that a ninth-century Japanese shogun, called Rosho-Guzi, the Eater of Lives, had been in possession of one of the Books. Your father came up to her afterward, and, six months later, they were married. You see, children, the Books are in your blood.”

“How did you meet them?” Kate asked.

“In my own personal search for the missing two Books, I made a practice of following the current academic research. I read your parents’ articles and felt they were people I could trust. We began to work together. Of course, I hardly imagined who their children would turn out to be. In hindsight, yes, there were signs.…” He shrugged and let his hands fall. “But then, four years ago, just after Christmas, Katherine appeared in my study and that was that.”

At the mention of Christmas, a memory shook loose in Kate’s mind, and she saw a tall, thin man standing in the doorway to her bedroom. The memory was from that last night with their parents. The pieces suddenly fell together, the feeling she’d had—in the library in Cambridge Falls, in the dwarfish dungeon—that she’d met Dr. Pym before.…

“It was you! You took us from our parents!”

“Perhaps. But again, what you’re talking about has yet to happen.”

“Fine,” Kate said. “What did you mean, ‘who their children would turn out to be’? Who are we?”

“You three are very special. And one day, when we have the time, I will explain it all.”

Kate started to argue. They deserved to know—

“And you will. When the moment is right. Katherine, you must learn to trust me.” He stood. “Now, I want to see how Robbie and Gabriel are coming along.”

“Wait,” Michael said. “What’s our name?”

“Your name. Yes, I suppose I can tell you that. Your real last name … is Wibberly.”

The children looked at each other.

“Wibberly?” Kate said. “You’re sure?”

“Oh yes. It’s Wibberly, all right.”

“At the orphanage, they said our name started with P!”

“Did they? That’s odd.”

“But you must’ve told them to call us that!” Kate protested. “You’re the one who took us there! Why would you tell them to call us P when our name was Wibberly?!”

“I imagine I was trying to keep you hidden. The children W would’ve been too much of a tip-off.”

“So why not just give us a different name?!” Michael said. “Smith! Or Jones! Anything! Do you know how much we got picked on having a letter for a last name?”

“Hmm, I suppose I didn’t think that through. Apologies there. Now I must go. We will talk more later.”

For a long time after the wizard left, none of the children spoke. Outside the door, they could hear the army beginning to move.

“Wibberly,” Kate said. “It does … feel right.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “It does.”

“I still like Penguin,” Emma said. “But I guess Wibberly’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I should’ve told you right away about seeing Mom. I guess I just … I was afraid if I talked about it, I might lose it. Lose her. Again.”

“I understand,” Michael said. “That’s why I write stuff down. It’s too easy to forget things. You write something down, you know it’s there.”

He ran his hand over his notebook, and Kate suddenly saw him, a boy who’d had a whole life taken away, clinging to what he could.

“Will you tell us now?” Emma asked. “Please?”

Kate looked at the two of them, saw the trust they still had in her, that they would always have in her, and wondered how she could’ve kept something like this to herself. It belonged to all of them or none of them. As she reached for the memory, she found that already some of the details had grown distant and fuzzy. She didn’t panic. She forced herself to focus on what she knew, the clothes their mother had been wearing, the color of her hair, the words she’d spoken, and the more she talked, the more she found she remembered; she described the warmth of her tone, a small mole on her cheek, the way her hand had rested on the doorknob; she talked about the room, describing the fire in the grate, the swirling reds and browns on the rug, Dr. Pym’s impossibly cluttered desk, the snow falling gently outside, and soon it was as if she was there again, standing before her mother, only this time Michael and Emma were with her and it was their memory as well. Kate knew that as time went on, Emma and Michael would change details to suit themselves, what their mother had been wearing, the things she’d said, the snow would become a rainstorm, but it made her feel better knowing that the memory now belonged to all of them, and together they would hold on to it, and hold on to their mother, more tightly than she ever could alone.

Afterward, they were all silent. The air seemed to have gotten cooler, and through the walls came the reassuring sound of barked orders and of men and dwarves at work.

Then Kate said, “I had a vision. That’s why I fainted. Not because I was hungry or anything.”

She told them she had seen the battle in the Dead City. Only it had been different. There were fewer Screechers. And no dwarves or hordes of monsters rushing up from the deep. Just Gabriel’s small band of men. And they had won. They had beaten the Screechers. And then Gabriel’s men and the freed prisoners had joined forces and marched on the town.

“But that’s not how it happened,” Emma said. “You must’ve seen it wrong.”

Kate shrugged. “It’s what I saw.”

“Was that the whole thing?” Michael asked.

“No.”

Kate said that in her vision, the Countess knew Gabriel and the others were coming and she moved herself and all the children to the boat in the center of the lake.

“But why would you see something that didn’t happen?” Emma insisted. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it did happen,” Kate said. “Maybe it still does. Right before the vision, Robbie and Dr. Pym were talking about marching on the town. I think my vision was a warning.”

“Warning about what?” Emma said. “Gabriel saved those kids, right? You must’ve seen that too?”

Kate reached into her pocket and pulled out the two photographs she’d been carrying. They were still damp from her swim through the underground lake. There was the one of her in their bedroom in the house in Cambridge Falls, which Kate had thought of as their ticket home, and there was the other one, the last picture Abraham had ever taken. She studied Abraham’s photo, the dark figures emerging from the forest, the flare of their torches. She turned it over.

“No. The dam broke, the boat went over the falls, and the children died. With her last breath, the Countess cursed the land.” She handed Michael the photo. “Abraham took this when it happened. Look at the back.”

Written in a tiny scrawl were dozens of names. Kate pointed to one.

Michael read, “Stephen McClattery.”

“They’re all going to die.”

“No!” Emma jumped to her feet. “It’s not gonna be like that! That was the other past! That’s what you saw! Before we ever got here! You said yourself Dr. Pym wasn’t there! And the dwarves! They gotta be good for something! They’ll stop her! It’ll be different this time! We weren’t there to help! It’s gotta be different! We’ll save the kids and then Dr. Pym will take us to see our parents! You heard him! He promised! You heard him, Kate!”

The door banged open; Wallace stomped in.

“Right, then. It’s chow time for you lot. Hup-hup-hup! Left foot. Right foot. Come on; army’ll be leaving soon!”

“Go ahead,” Kate said. “I’ll be along in a second.”

Michael slid Abraham’s photo into his notebook, then he and Emma headed out with the dwarf. At the last moment, Kate called her sister back. She held out the other photo, the one of her in their bedroom. “I think you should hold this.”

“Really? Why?”

Because I want you to have a picture of me, she almost said.

“I just … think you should. Go on now.”

And then she was alone.

Kate knew with absolute certainty that if she did nothing, if she merely allowed Gabriel and Robbie and Dr. Pym to proceed with their plan, the children would die. Despite everything they’d done, nothing would be different. Time, Kate was learning, was like a river. You might put up obstacles, even divert it briefly, but the river had a will of its own. It wanted to flow a certain way. You had to force it to change. You had to be willing to sacrifice. Kate thought of her promise to Annie and the other children that she would come back for them.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key she’d used to open the cage. She would’ve liked to have seen her parents.

Ten minutes later, a man passing the Secretary’s cage noticed the door was open and the prisoner was missing. At the same moment, Emma, running to fetch her sister, found that she too was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Devil’s Bargain

The air told Kate when they were getting close. It was no longer the damp, stale air she’d been breathing since the previous morning; this was clean, fresh. The Secretary must’ve sensed it as well.

“Almost there,” he gasped, tightening his grip on Kate’s arm, which he seemed to be holding more for support than control, “almost there …”

No guards had been posted outside his cage, and Kate had been able to sneak up unnoticed and whisper her proposal through the bars.

If the Countess would free the children and leave without harming anyone else, Kate would deliver the Atlas. But the Secretary had to get her to Cambridge Falls before Robbie and Gabriel’s army. Could he do that?

Yes, the man had sneered, there was a way.

Now, as the pair stumbled along the tunnel, Kate holding aloft their pilfered lantern, she thought about Emma and Michael. Given the chance, she would’ve told them that her visions weren’t like movies. She didn’t watch them happen; she lived them. She had been on the boat as it went over the falls. She had felt what the children felt as it plunged toward the rocks. Their terror had been hers, and she would do anything to spare them that pain.

She and the Secretary rounded a bend, and for the first time in two days, Kate was in the open air.

They were high over the valley, on a path cutting down the side of the mountain. The moon was full, and it bathed the entire world in a calming, silvery glow. The sheer sense of space took her breath away. Kate thought it was the most beautiful sight she’d ever beheld.

The Secretary fell to his knees at the edge of the cliff and started drawing in the dirt with his finger.

“What’re you doing? The others will be after me! We have to—”

“Quiet! I need to concentrate!”

Kate looked back toward the tunnel. She expected at any moment to hear her name being called, to see the light of approaching torches.

“There.” The Secretary straightened up, wiping his hands on his jacket. “Done.”

“Done what? All you’ve done is draw a line in the dirt!”

“Ah, but it’s a special line.”

“Dr. Pym and Gabriel are going to be here any second! You said you knew a way to town!”

“I do; this way. Step over the line.”

Kate looked at the not entirely straight yard-long scratch in the dirt. Stepping over it would mean stepping off the cliff and into thin air.

“You’re joking.”

“It will take you to the Countess. It is magic she granted me.”

“Uh-huh. Well, there has to be another way. If we run—”

The Secretary lurched at her, shoving his sweating face into hers.

“There is no other way! Your friends will be here soon! Does the little birdie want to save the children? Then birdie has to fly! Fly, fly, fly …”

He stepped back, gesturing to the line like a gruesome maitre d’. Kate noticed he was clutching something in his hand. It was the tiny yellow bird she’d seen earlier, but its body was motionless and limp.

“What about you?”

“Very kind of you to ask, very kind. But only room for one birdie. Griddley Cavendish will find another way.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to kill me?”

He smiled his filthy, cracked-toothed grin. “You don’t. Now—fly.”

Her insides felt like they had turned to ice. She took a trembling step to the edge of the line. A breeze blew in off the valley, pushing back her hair. She looked down. Far below, she could make out the rocky base of the mountain. Then she heard it—the faint echo of a shout. And again. It’d come from the tunnel; someone was calling her name.

Kate closed her eyes and stepped off the cliff.

Her foot struck something solid. She heard a sound like water slapping against metal, the low rumble of an engine. She opened her eyes. She was on the deck of a boat; the moon reflected off the surface of the lake. The Secretary’s magic had worked.

“Katrina …”

Kate spun around. The Countess stood there, flanked by two morum cadi. She clapped gleefully.

“You’re here! I’m so happy!”

After failing to find her sister, Emma had run to tell Michael and discovered everyone in an uproar over the fact the Secretary had disappeared from his cage. She pulled her brother aside.

“You gotta help me find Kate. She wasn’t in the room.”

Dr. Pym overheard this and lunged toward them, grasping Emma by the arm.

“What did you say?”

Emma told him, and Dr. Pym let out a long sigh. “Oh, this is very bad.”

Just then, a man was brought forward. He had seen two figures running toward the eastern end of the city.

Dr. Pym told Gabriel, “Go. We will catch up,” and the giant man turned and like that was gone. Dr. Pym instructed Robbie to put together a larger group and follow as quickly as he could. “Come, children. I fear your sister is about to make a grave mistake.” And the three of them set off after Gabriel.

As they hurried along the dark tunnel, Dr. Pym pressed Michael and Emma to tell him what they knew. There was no mistaking his seriousness, and Michael and Emma held nothing back. They told him about Kate’s vision, about the Countess gathering the children onto the boat, about the dam being destroyed, how all the children had died. They told him that Kate believed the vision was a warning.

“I should have been more careful,” Dr. Pym muttered, striding faster and faster. “I only pray we are in time.”

When they emerged from the tunnel onto the side of the mountain, Gabriel was kneeling, studying the earth in the moonlight.

“I do not understand. The tracks show the man ran off alone down the path. But the girl”—he paused, glancing at Emma and Michael—“her tracks say she stepped off the cliff. I do not think she was pushed. But nor do I see a body on the rocks below.”

“What?!” Emma’s voice spiked with panic. “No! You gotta be wrong! I’m sorry, Gabriel, but it’s dark and all; you probably just didn’t see it right! Read those tracks or whatever again!”

Dr. Pym was looking at the line the Secretary had drawn in the dirt.

“There is no body,” he said, “because Katherine is with the Countess.”

He explained that the line was a portal.

“So can’t we use it too?” Michael asked.

“No. It was designed to transport one person. Stepping across it now would mean stepping to your death.” He wiped it out with the toe of his shoe. There was the sound of footsteps, and Robbie and several other dwarves, along with a few men, came sprinting out of the tunnel. “We are too late,” Dr. Pym said. “The Countess has her. Gabriel and I and the children will go immediately to Cambridge Falls. When your forces are mustered, lead them down this path. It will take you to the town.”

“You’re mad,” the dwarf gasped. “If the girl’s with the witch, our goose is cooked. Anyway, take you bloody hours to get to town on foot.”

“Then we mustn’t dawdle. Just follow the path.” Nodding to Gabriel and the children, he started down the trail, moving with his brisk, long-legged stride.

“Dr. Pym!” Michael and his sister hurried after him, struggling not to trip as the rocky path snaked down the mountain, Gabriel following close behind. “King Robbie’s right. It’ll take us hours to get there like this.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, “why don’t you make one of those portal things?”

“Unnecessary. I know a shortcut. Stay close now.”

As he said this, the children noticed that they were walking into some kind of mist or cloud, which was strange since moments before the sky had been perfectly clear. Soon the mist became so thick that Dr. Pym ordered Michael and Emma to hold hands so that neither wandered off the edge of the cliff. They followed the wizard by the dim outline of his back, and, when that had been swallowed up, by his voice, calling to them through the fog, “Careful now, there’s a tricky bit here. Careful …” Then, as if not being able to see wasn’t bad enough, their other senses began playing tricks on them. They smelled trees they knew weren’t there, heard nonexistent water slapping against a bank; even the rocky slope of the mountain seemed to level out and become soft. Michael was just making a mental note to do more research on the disorientating effects of fog when Dr. Pym announced:

“And here we are.”

Michael gasped.

“How …,” Emma began.

“I told you,” Dr. Pym said, “I knew a shortcut.”

They had stepped out of the fog and were standing at the edge of the lake in Cambridge Falls, looking out across the moonlit water. Michael glanced back to see Gabriel emerge from a misty tunnel in the trees. Once he’d joined them, Dr. Pym went on:

“My friends, we have reached the most difficult part of our task. I needn’t remind you of the lives at stake. Katherine and the children are on the boat with the Countess. I will see to them. Gabriel, you’d best hurry to the dam. I fear the Countess may have sabotaged it. Do what you can.”

“I’ll go with Gabriel,” Emma said. “He might need me.” She looked up at the giant man. “You might.”

“Very well,” Dr. Pym said. “Michael, my boy, you’re with me. Quickly now, and good luck to us all.”

Kate closed her eyes and called up the image of the book-lined room: she pictured the fire in the grate, the snow falling outside, Dr. Pym at his desk with his pipe and cup of tea; she saw her mother enter, heard her say that Richard was still at the college; every detail was vivid and clear.…

Kate opened her eyes and saw the red satin curtains, the armchairs upholstered in deep velvet, the mahogany-and-gold table; from the corner, a Victrola played a high, haunting melody as gas lamps flickered on the walls, the light refracting through an ornate crystal chandelier. She sighed. She was still on the boat. Still in the Countess’s cabin.

“Katrina, you are testing my patience.”

The Countess was wearing a black gown that made her white skin almost luminescent, and in the wavering light, her eyes changed from violet to indigo to lavender in the space of moments. She poured herself a glass of wine and looked at Kate with a bored expression.

Since she had arrived on the boat, nothing had gone as Kate had planned. Starting with her demand to see the children …

“My dear, that’s quite impossible. But I admire how you’re always thinking of others. We’re very alike in that way.”

“If you’ve hurt any of them, I won’t help you get the Atlas.”

“Oh, oh, oh, look who’s learned the name of her magic book! Brava, ma chérie!”

“I mean it!” Kate had shouted, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I’ll let you kill me first. I know about the monster you keep here.”

“Aren’t you clever! As it happens, I released that nasty thing before I came aboard. I thought it could greet the townsmen when they arrive.”

“What? You can’t! You—”

“Now now, did you come to save the children or a mob of loutish townsmen? I’m afraid you can’t do both.”

“Fine,” Kate had snapped, telling herself that Dr. Pym and Gabriel were more than a match for any of the witch’s creatures. “Let the children go, and I’ll get you the book.”

The Countess had clucked her tongue. “I think you’re confused about the order of things. First, you bring me the Atlas. Then, my charges go free.”

“That’s not—”

“Darling, be reasonable. You must know the children are my only protection! Not that I need protection from you; you’re an angel! But I suspect you’ve been consorting with some less than savory characters, dwarves and wizards and the like? I forgive you, of course. We all make mistakes when we’re young. I could tell you about a certain Italian dancing instructor. No, no, book first, children second!”

“But—”

“The instant I have it, I’ll release them! I give you my word!”

The Countess had looked at her with a taunting expression, and in that moment, Kate realized how fully she had placed herself in the witch’s power. Gripping the arms of her chair, she’d thought of the children locked somewhere in the belly of the ship and asked what it was she had to do.

“My love, it is the easiest thing in the world!”

Apparently, Kate had only to imagine the desired moment; then, once she held it firmly in her mind, she would, with the Countess’s assistance, be transported to that time and place. Did Kate remember when she and her brother and sister had first traveled into the past? How they had placed a photo upon the blank page?

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well, you can’t imagine that the Atlas was designed, all those thousands of years ago, for use with photos! The photo merely provided a clear image. Given a specific destination, whether through a photo, a drawing, an image in your mind, or even—if you had enough control, which, sadly, you do not—the statement, ‘Take me here,’ the Atlas would obey. We do not have the Atlas. However, some of its power now resides in you, and the same principle applies.”

So again and again, Kate had closed her eyes and pictured herself in Dr. Pym’s study, and again and again, she opened them to find herself still in the cabin.

Her frustration boiled over.

“It’s not working! You said you’d help me!”

“I am helping you,” the Countess sighed. “In ways you cannot understand. But are you truly imagining yourself in the past? Envisioning the exact moment in time in which you left our precious book?”

“Yes! I’m doing everything! Maybe I just can’t—”

“Shhh.” The Countess came and placed a hand on the back of Kate’s neck. The cabin was uncomfortably warm, and the young woman’s hand was cool. “You must relax or the magic will never come. How far into the past are we speaking of?”

Kate exhaled, wanting to knock away the Countess’s hand and at the same time loving how good it felt.

“… Four years.”

“Four years. And where are you? Describe it.”

“It’s a room. Like a study. There’s a fire. It’s snowing outside. Dr. Pym is there.”

“Anyone else?”

Kate thought of lying, but what was the point? She needed the Countess’s help.

“My … mother. She comes in.”

The Countess let out a small “Ah,” as if Kate had just shown her something beautiful. “And how do you feel about your mother?”

“I love her.”

“Of course you do. But is that all? She did abandon you and your brother and sister.”

“She had to. They were protecting us.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

Kate had no answer.

“I see.” The Countess was caressing Kate’s hair. “And when she went away, who did she leave to take care of your brother and sister?”

“She told me to.”

“But you were just a child!”

Kate knew the outrage was an act, but part of her couldn’t help responding, the same part that was worn out with the strain of caring for Michael and Emma, the part that for so long had prayed for someone to come and say, “It’s okay. You can stop now. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Perhaps removing this will help.”

Kate saw the Countess’s hand pass before her; there was a flash of gold; and when she looked up, she had to stifle a cry. The Countess had somehow unclasped her mother’s locket.

“A gift from her, I’m guessing. You were touching it as we spoke.”

“That’s mine—”

“Oh hush. This memory is about your mother. That’s why the wizard chose it. Your feelings are the gateway. You feel love, yes, and loss. But that’s not all.” Her fist closed over the locket. “Magic such as this demands you lay yourself bare. Your parents deserted you. Tell me you don’t feel anger, frustration, even rage. If you want to save the children, you can’t shut anything out.”

“I’m not!”

“Continue to lie, and their deaths will be on your head.”

Kate tore away from the woman’s gaze. She found she was trembling.

“I know you’re afraid. But this is the only way.”

Kate could see the end of the chain, dangling; she could just reach out and grab it.

“Katrina.”

A long moment passed. Kate listened to the eerie melody from the Victrola, watched the gaslight wavering against the walls. She nodded.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”

Kate obeyed. Once more, she put herself in the study, imagining the falling snow, the smell of Dr. Pym’s tobacco, the fire. She pictured her mother coming in. And then, because nothing was happening, she finally let go, and all the anger and fear and doubt she’d held at bay for so long flooded her heart. Why had their parents abandoned them? What possible reason could they have had for leaving them on their own? For ten years, Kate had held their family together all by herself and the strain had almost broken her. She wondered if their parents had ever tried to find them. Or had they just walked away? Started a new life with—

There was a yank in her gut, and Kate knew it had happened.

She opened her eyes, and there was her mother, exactly as she’d left her, hand on the doorknob, mouth frozen in surprise. Kate glanced at Dr. Pym. He sat at his desk, smiling.

“Oh my.” Her mother took a step back. “You were just here, and then you … Oh my …”

Emma and Gabriel were crouched behind a fallen tree at the edge of the wood, forty yards from the dam. Three morum cadi with torches stood guard. Gabriel had unslung his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Two arrows more were stuck into the ground. He was waiting for a cloud to cover the moon.

Emma looked up past the mouth of the gorge to the wide black expanse of the lake. She tried to imagine the dam breaking and all that dark water rushing down and over the falls, carrying along the boat, the children, her sister, everything. They couldn’t let that happen.

“Gabriel …”

“Shhh.”

He’d turned and was staring into the trees behind them.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something …”

A shadow swept over them, and Emma looked up to see the last glowing sliver of moon disappear from view. There was a soft swooft beside her, then another, and two of the torches fell burning to the ground and Gabriel was pulling back a third arrow; then it too was gone and Emma watched as the last remaining torch stumbled and vanished into the gorge.

“Quietly now,” Gabriel whispered. “There may be others inside.”

They ran across the open ground, Emma stepping around the smoking bodies of the Screechers as Gabriel paused to retrieve a torch. The top of the dam loomed over them, rising seven or eight feet above the lip of the gorge. Up close, the structure was massive, and Emma realized that she’d thought of the dam as a single solid block of wood. It wasn’t; there was a door, and Gabriel opened it, exposing a set of stairs going down. He went first, waving Emma forward when the way proved clear; then it was down two flights through the dank air, Gabriel’s torch lighting the steps, and out onto a kind of balcony.

“Whoa.” Emma stopped dead, staring.

Faint orangish lights were strung up throughout the dam, outlining a network of wooden beams that stretched from wall to wall like the ribs of some enormous beast. It felt strange to be standing there, with a dozen flights of stairs still below them and the body of the dam curving away; the impression was one of great space. At the same time, the front and back walls were only twenty feet apart, so everything seemed narrow and compressed. Emma gripped the railing to steady herself.

“Weird how it’s all hollow, huh?”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“What’s that noise?” Emma asked.

An eerie, unmoored groaning rose and fell all around them.

“The pressure of the water causes the wood to rub against itself.”

Emma tried to picture the water massing against the curved face of the dam. It seemed to her she was in the belly of a giant wooden whale.

“There.”

She looked to where Gabriel was pointing. Far below, through the dim orange haze, she could make out a handful of green lights, spaced across the front of the dam.

“Gas mines. We have little time. When the light goes red, they will explode.”

Questions sprang to Emma’s mind: Exactly how long did they have? How did you turn a gas mine off? What was a gas mine? Before she could ask any of them, Gabriel shoved her to the floor and something flew past with a terrifying shriek.

Gabriel was on his feet instantly, whipping off his bow. Still flat on her stomach, Emma craned her neck upward. A dark shape was weaving between the beams of the dam, circling back in their direction. She watched as Gabriel’s arrow ricocheted harmlessly off the creature’s hide. Two more arrows fared no better, and the creature landed vulture-like on a crossbeam a few yards above.

Nothing Emma had encountered, not the Countess’s Screechers, not the sightless, shadow-dwelling salmac-tar, nothing had prepared her for this. The thing had the body of a man—the same arms, legs, shoulders—but Emma’s first thought was of an enormous bat. It had leathery wings, long talons that gripped the wood, and a gray-black hide bristling with dark hairs. Its skull was oddly narrow, with eyes that were little more than black slits, and its lower jaw jutted out horribly, displaying dozens of needle-like teeth. Emma could almost feel them tearing through her flesh.

Gabriel dropped his bow as he lifted Emma to her feet.

“What … what is it?”

Gabriel unsheathed his falchion. The creature was watching them, hissing. “It is what the witch was keeping on the boat. I thought I sensed it in the woods.” He turned Emma so that she met his eyes. “You must defuse the mines. Everything depends on you. You understand?”

“What about—”

“Do not worry about me. And whatever happens, do not look up. Go!”

He gave her a shove toward the stairs. She paused to look back and saw the creature rise up, its wings spreading wide, jaws gaping, all those teeth gleaming in the darkness. She saw Gabriel raise his falchion.

Then she ran, the creature’s shriek following her down the stairs.

Michael and the old wizard were skimming across the lake toward the Countess’s boat. They’d found their own boat (“dinghy” was the word that occurred to Michael) abandoned on the shore.

“Ah, Providence!” Dr. Pym had exclaimed.

The boat’s oars proved unnecessary; Dr. Pym had merely whispered a few words, and the craft shot off, skipping over the surface of the water.

“But won’t they see us coming?” Michael was gripping the sides for support.

“Not to worry,” the wizard called back, the wind whipping away his words, “to the unfriendly eye, we will appear as no more than a patch of mist. Quiet now. We draw close.”

Their boat began to slow, and Michael could discern a pair of dark figures on the deck of the Countess’s ship. Dr. Pym said something under his breath, and to Michael’s surprise, the two black-clad forms suddenly grasped the railing and leapt into the water. He waited for them to emerge, but after a few moments the water settled and he knew they were gone.

Dr. Pym was tying their boat to a ladder bolted down the side of the ship.

“Quickly, my boy. The noise may bring others.”

Their feet were scarcely on the deck when Michael heard pounding boot heels and four morum cadi charged out of the darkness, two from either side. Dr. Pym took Michael’s arm and whispered, “Don’t move,” and the creatures were pulling their swords, close enough now that Michael could see the unearthly pallor of their skin, and he braced himself as blades flashed all around him, the clanging crashing against his ears, and just as Michael realized the Screechers were fighting each other and paying not the slightest attention to either him or Dr. Pym, all four fell, smoking and lifeless, to the deck.

He gaped at the wizard. “How did you do that?”

“Confusion and misdirection. The mainstay of any parlor magician. Come along now.” And he strode off down the deck.

They met two more of the Countess’s guards; the first they nearly collided with while rounding a corner. Before it could attack, Dr. Pym waved his hand, and the creature dropped its sword, sat down, and proceeded to stare off into space.

“Much better,” Dr. Pym said. “This way, I believe.”

He led Michael through a doorway and down two flights of narrow metal stairs to a hallway deep inside the ship where a single morum cadi stood guard over half a dozen doors. Dr. Pym muttered something inaudible, and the Screecher lowered his sword and his face broke into what Michael considered a fairly gruesome grin. Dr. Pym reached out and touched the creature’s lips.

The thing that used to be a man swallowed twice, flexed its jaw, and spoke.

“How can I help you, sir?”

The voice was stiff and croaking, as if it had not been used in a hundred years.

“How many of you are there on the boat?”

“Ten.”

“So there’s one more. No doubt on the bridge. And the Countess is in her cabin with the young lady?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. I take it you have the key to the children’s cells?”

It was then Michael finally heard the scared, muffled voices of the children. They echoed forth from either side of the hall. The children were calling out, crying, banging on the walls with their fists. The banging was so constant and steady he’d been mistaking it for the thrum and whine of the engine.

The creature drew a key out of its ragged tunic.

“I want you to open the doors, lead the children out in an orderly fashion, and help them into this young man’s boat. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Pym turned to Michael. “I’m going to deal with the last of the morum cadi. Then I will find your sister. Ferry as many children as you can to the shore. You will have to make a few trips.”

“Okay.”

“I’m very proud of you, my boy.” He gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze. Then, to the guard, “This young man is in charge. Do whatever he says,” and he was gone, disappearing up the metal stairs.

Michael looked up at the mottled green face of the Screecher. He took a deep breath, adjusted the badge Robbie had given him, and tried to sound confident.

“All right, let’s get them out. But stop smiling. It’s creepy.”

“Clare, allow me to introduce Katherine.…”

Even as he said their names, the wizard’s eyes were traveling between Kate’s face and her mother’s. She could see him making the connection, realizing who she was.

“… Katherine, this is Clare.…”

It seemed to Kate that time had slowed. It wasn’t magic. It was the fact of standing here as the wizard introduced her to her own mother.

Her mother was smiling now and saying something, but Kate could make no sense of the words.

Her mother put out her hand.

Kate looked down. Her own hand was stained with dirt and grime, and there was dried blood from where she’d cut herself on a rock. She suddenly realized how she must look; after all, she had not changed clothes in days, she’d run through a rainstorm, slept in a dungeon, swum across an underground channel, had a floor-rolling, ear-biting wrestling match with the Secretary; she felt the dirt and grease in her hair, the rips in her clothes, the fatigue that was no doubt showing in her eyes; she understood that her mother’s smile was one of pity for the poor creature before her.

“My hand’s dirty.”

“Oh please.” She clasped Kate’s filthy hand in both of hers. “It’s so nice to meet you, Katherine. You look as if you’ve had a very long journey. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I could heat up some hot chocolate. And ‘Katherine’ is so formal. Do you think I could call you Kate?”

Kate felt an enormous sob welling inside her. She’d waited for this moment for years; so why was it that all she wanted was to get the book and leave? She pulled her hand out of her mother’s and shook her head stiffly.

“No, I’m fine.”

Dr. Pym coughed. “I think the young lady came for this.” He reached onto the desk and lifted the Atlas.

“What is …” Her mother stopped herself, staring at the emerald-green tome. “… Is that … It can’t be.”

“Yet it is.”

“But, Stanislaus, you told us it was locked away! You said it was safe!”

“For the moment, that remains true. But apparently things are going to change. You see, this copy is from the future. And Katherine here, at great personal cost, brought it to me for safekeeping. Now, I can only assume, she has come to take her copy back.” He added, “Before it vanishes into thin air.”

“Yes, but—she’s just a child—”

“Clare—”

“Tell me you haven’t actually involved this poor girl!”

“These are desperate times. And it wasn’t me per se. Though future-me—”

“She’s a child, Stanislaus! Look at her! She can barely stand! Lord knows what she’s been through!”

“It’s okay,” Kate broke in. “I can do it. It’s okay. Really.”

“My dear”—Dr. Pym leaned forward in his chair—“I have to ask, is it safe?”

It was a logical question; of course Dr. Pym would want to know that the danger had passed before he gave her the book. But it caught Kate unawares, and in that moment, she felt his gaze sharpen. Luckily, she recovered quickly, sighing and letting the tension melt from her shoulders. “Everything’s fine. At last.” She even offered him a little smile.

“Very good,” said the wizard, and he handed over the Atlas.

She expected to feel the yank in her gut, to blink and find herself in the Countess’s cabin, but she held the book, heavy and familiar in her hands, and nothing happened.

“Now”—Dr. Pym stood—“I will leave you two alone.” And without giving Kate any indication of what she was supposed to do—tell her mother who she was, not tell—he was gone.

“I’m sorry,” her mother said the moment the door was closed, “but I am very, very upset. Not at you, of course. I’m angry at whoever pulled you into this. You’re much too young.”

Kate said nothing. She just stood there, the book clasped to her chest.

“I know I shouldn’t question Stanislaus. If he thinks you’re up to it, I have to believe him. He’s a great man, you know. Besides being a wizard and all that. Richard and I—Richard’s my husband—we’d both trust him with our lives.”

It was so peaceful in the room, with the fire beside them, the snow falling gently outside, Kate felt she could just lie down on the rug and go to sleep for years.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something?”

Kate shook her head.

“Where did Stanislaus go? Is he supposed to be sending you back to where … or whenever you’re from?”

“Last time it just sort of happened. I don’t know why it’s not now.”

“You know, Richard and I have been involved in the search for the Books of Beginning for quite a while now. With Stanislaus, of course. Is that really the Atlas?”

She leaned in, and Kate smelled her perfume. She knew it immediately. The years seemed to slip away, and Kate could hear her mother’s voice, asking her to protect her brother and sister, promising that one day they would meet again. Kate felt something inside her break open.

“My … brother and sister and I found it.”

“You have a brother and sister? What are their names?”

Kate looked down, unable to meet her mother’s gaze.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you? Is Dr. Pym helping you? In the future, I mean. Oh dear, does that even make sense? What about your parents? You really are so young.”

Kate felt her eyes welling with tears, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

“Oh, you poor thing …”

And before Kate realized what was happening, her mother had stepped forward and was holding her. There was no stopping the sobs. They quaked through her body as if all the tears dammed up over a decade had suddenly broken free. Kate found herself crying for the times she’d held a sobbing Emma or Michael and promised them that yes, their parents were coming back; she cried for the missed Christmases and birthdays, for the childhood she’d never had; she collapsed into her mother’s body, letting herself be held, crying, finally, because this was her own mother, stroking her hair and murmuring, “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.…”

Then, abruptly, her mother’s hand stopped. Kate didn’t move; she could tell something had happened. Her mother took a step back, holding Kate by the arms while staring deep into her eyes.

“Oh my … Are you … You’re—”

Kate felt the tug in her stomach, and the scene vanished. She was never to hear those next words. But even so, Kate knew that in that last moment, her mother had recognized her own daughter.

“You see, my dear,” said the Countess, lifting the book from Kate’s hands, “I knew you could do it.” CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Dire Magnus

“Have you been crying? I must say you look dreadful. There’s a mirror if you’d like to freshen up. Oh, and this is yours.”

Kate felt the locket dropped into her hand. Numbly, she fastened it around her neck. Her vision was blurred, and she could taste the salt from her tears. With an effort, she pushed the thought of her mother, the memory of being held in her arms, from her mind. She was back on the boat, and the children needed her.

“Let them … let them go.”

“Hmm?”

“Let them go.”

“Let who go?” The Countess had carried the book to a table across the cabin and was turning the pages, a greedy, almost ugly look on her face.

“The children! You promised! You—”

The Countess flicked her hand, and Kate’s entire body went rigid. She tried to open her mouth, but it was clamped shut.

“To think, I now possess the Atlas of Time! And that it came to me when I had finally given up hope, when I was prepared to ride to oblivion with these miserable brats! My master is not one to tolerate failure lightly. There would have been no returning to tell him that the men of the town had revolted! But now I have the book, and all is changed.” She caressed the blank page, and her voice fell to a whisper. “Nor will I relinquish this power. Even to him. I see that now. The Atlas is intended for me alone. It found me.” She smiled at Kate. “Of course, the dam will still be destroyed and the children will die. But it really is no more than they deserve. Tiresome place, Cambridge Falls.”

She lied, Kate thought. She was always going to kill the children, and now she has the book too. Sick at heart, Kate cursed herself. Why hadn’t she told Dr. Pym about her vision? Why did she always think she was the one responsible?

Please, she thought, please …

And then, as if her wishing had summoned him:

“Loyalty is certainly not what it used to be.”

The old wizard stood in the doorway, tweed suit, glasses askew, his face a mask of quiet fury. He glanced her way, and, for a moment, their eyes met. Kate saw that he understood why she’d done what she had and he forgave her everything. The relief she felt was so profound that, had it been possible, she would have burst into tears.

The Countess laughed. It was a hard, bright, joyless sound.

“I didn’t know we were expecting visitors. Am I correct in guessing that you are the great Dr. Pym?”

“I am Stanislaus Pym.”

“May I say, sir, it is an honor to meet you.” She curtsied, a mocking smile playing on her face. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I am here to free the children and reclaim the book you stole.”

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult. You see, the children will all be dead in a few minutes; afterward you’re certainly welcome to their corpses, I won’t stop you there. As for the Atlas … No, this is simply not going to work. May I offer you a glass of wine instead?”

“I did not come to play games. I will give you one last chance.”

The Countess giggled and gave a little hop. “Or what? Or what? Tell me! What will you do?”

“I will be forced to destroy you.”

The Countess made a shocked ooooooohhhh face and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Katrina, did you hear? Did you hear what the awful man said? Well, you drive a hard bargain, Doctor. I guess I have no choice.” The Countess picked up the book, proffering it in her small white hands. “Here. Take it, you beast.”

Dr. Pym raised his hand, and the book inched toward him. Just then shadowy claws leapt out of the dark corners of the room, clamping on to his arms and legs and pinning him to the wall. Instinctively, Kate tried to run to him, but the invisible force held her where she was. She watched as Dr. Pym struggled but was also held fast.

“Oh, poo! Is it over? After all the stories one hears about the great wizard, mysterious powers, tra-la-la, I confess I feel cheated. But I guess everything in life is a bit disappointing, isn’t it?”

Kate stared in disbelief. Was that it? Had Dr. Pym really lost?

The Countess turned to the table, setting down the book and pouring herself a glass of wine. She was humming. She clearly meant to savor her triumph.

“I know what you’re thinking, Doctor dear. How will my master react when he learns I plan to steal his prize? Well, he won’t be happy, I’ll tell you that. But never you worry; once I’ve wriggled free the secrets in these pages, I will be as powerful as he.”

“Hag, you are a fool.”

She pouted. “Not nice.”

“You have no idea of the depths of his power. Or, may I say, mine.”

“Grandfather, if you’re trying to anger me so I kill you more quickly, I promise it will work.”

To Kate’s amazement, Dr. Pym smiled. “You truly believe it possible he doesn’t know what you’re planning? That you could have one single thought he hasn’t anticipated? You were doomed from the first moment.”

Something like fear flashed across the Countess’s face. But she shook it off.

“You are funny! Isn’t he funny? But I think you forget, Mr. Funny-Man-with-Your-Funny-Eyebrows—which you should really consider trimming, quelle horreur—I have more than the Atlas: I have the girl. Soon, I will have her brother and sister. With them will come the other Books, and then even my master will bow before me. The prophecy is coming true, mon oncle, and there is nothing you or he can do to stop it.”

She raised her glass in a toast and drained off her wine.

Kate’s mind was racing. A prophecy? What prophecy? And what had the Countess meant, “Soon, I will have her brother and sister. With them will come the other Books”? She felt dizzy, as if, despite the Countess’s spell, she might suddenly tumble over onto the floor.

“Oh, lambkins, I see confusion in your young eyes. Has the mean old wizard not explained what fate has in store for you?” She wagged her finger at Dr. Pym. “Shame on you, keeping the poor girl in the dark.”

“Witch, I forbid you—”

“You forbid me? What a laugh! No, no, it is high time Katrina found out why she and her siblings are children of destiny. I wager you haven’t even told her what the Books are capable of! Well, my dove”—she skipped across the room and leaned her head close to Kate’s, as if they were two schoolgirls exchanging secrets—“do you remember the night you arrived, how I explained the history of the Books of Beginning? How there were three Books into which an ancient council of wizards wrote down the secret magics that brought this whole world of ours into being? No need to nod—you couldn’t anyway—I see you do remember.

“Well, mon ange, let us think for a moment: if this magic was used to create the world once, a person might reasonably ask, why couldn’t that same magic be used again? The answer is, it could! That is what is so tantalizing! With the power in the Books of Beginning—one of which, the Atlas of Time, you so graciously brought to me, I thank you for that, the other two are still out there somewhere, waiting—with the Books’ power a person could simply wad up all of existence like a poorly done sketch and begin afresh with a new sheet of paper!”

“And only a mad person would even imagine doing such a thing,” Dr. Pym said.

The Countess groaned. “Has he always been so tedious? Of course you wouldn’t destroy the world on a whim! Though you certainly could. For instance, say you wanted a world where everyone wore red hats? Using the power of the Books, you would simply get rid of this world and create a new one where red-hat-wearing was de rigueur. Or green hats or blue hats or really whatever-colored hats you wished!”

“Totally and completely mad,” Dr. Pym said.

“Or you could create a world where every creature lives and breathes solely to serve you. I think you begin to see, my sweet Kat, why the search for the Books of Beginning has consumed so many lives. It is the promise of ultimate power. Which leads us”—she brought her face even closer—“to the reason you and your brother and sister are so dreadfully important.”

In the corner of her vision, Kate saw that Dr. Pym’s eyes were half closed and his lips moving.

“Long ago,” the Countess whispered, “at a time when the Books had not been seen for a thousand years, it was foretold that three children would one day find the Books and bring them together. Yes, three children! One for each volume! You see, my dear, you and Michael and little Emma are the key.” She touched a soft hand to Kate’s cheek. “I’m afraid your journey is far from over.”

Kate didn’t have to glance at Dr. Pym for confirmation. She knew, on some deep, instinctual level, that the Countess was telling the truth. It explained so much. Like how she’d been able to open the vault under the Dead City. A dwarf-made door locked with enchantments and yet she, a normal human girl, had been able to open it easily? How was that possible unless the person who’d sealed the door—that is, Dr. Pym—knew she was coming? And how would he have known she was coming unless there’d been a prophecy? A prophecy also explained why they’d been sent away from their parents. Someone looking for the Books—perhaps even the Countess’s master—must’ve figured out who she and Michael and Emma were! Kate could imagine the danger, the terror her parents must’ve felt. Of course they let Dr. Pym take their children. Kate could almost hear the wizard promising, “I’ll hide them. They’ll be safe.” It suddenly all made sense.

“But enough of this,” the Countess said. “It’s time to kill this silly old wizard—”

She turned and raised her hand.

Just then, an icy wind blew through the cabin. It rattled the china and set the chandelier swinging. It seemed to Kate to cut her to her very bones.

“What’re you doing?” The Countess advanced on Dr. Pym. “Stop it! I command you!”

“My dear, it isn’t me.” And as he spoke, the lights flickered again and went out. For a moment, everything was still. Silent. Then, in the darkness, Kate heard the far-off sound of a violin. The song it played was beautiful, ancient, chilling, and it was growing louder.

“He is coming,” the wizard said. “The Dire Magnus is coming.”

Emma would not look up. Gabriel had given her a job, and that was all that mattered. Everything else, the shrieks, the grunts, the thuds of blows, of bodies hitting wood, she shut out, along with the knowledge of how much Gabriel had already fought that day and how tired he must be. Gabriel had given her a job, and she would not fail.

The stairs had been built directly into the side of the gorge, and she ran down them, flight after flight, till she was even with the six green orbs that formed a glowing dotted line along the front wall of the dam. There were tiers of narrow catwalks built into the wooden face, and Emma leapt onto one and raced across, feeling the emptiness all around her, the mountain of water pressing to get in, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of the battle that was raging above. She stopped in the dead center of the dam.

Up close, she saw that the mines were composed of two parts. There was a glass egg the size of a grapefruit, in which the green-yellow gas swirled and flowered ominously, and this was nestled in a circular metal base, which was itself stuck to the wall of the dam by a grayish putty. Emma stared at the first mine, wondering what she was supposed to do. Couldn’t Gabriel have given her a hint? How was she supposed to know how to defuse a mine? No one had ever taught her that in school. Her classes had all been about useless things like math or geography. As she stood there, it seemed to her that the gas was changing colors, taking on a dark, orangish hue. That, she decided, was probably not good. She briefly contemplated just smashing the egg, but considering that whatever this thing was, it was supposed to explode, she thought that might not be the greatest plan. It occurred to her that Michael would know what to do. He’d probably read all about defusing mines and could make you a diagram in his stupid little notebook. She wasted a few moments being angry as she imagined Michael parading around with another medal given to him by that annoying dwarf king, till finally, no other ideas presenting themselves, she reached out and placed her hands on the egg.

It was warm to the touch, and she could feel the thinness of the glass. Too much pressure and it would certainly crack. Closing her eyes, Emma gave a gentle tug. The egg didn’t budge. She pulled harder. The egg remained firmly attached to the metal base and the base to the wall. Emma took a deep breath and prepared to pull with all her strength. Before she could, something happened. Searching for a better grip, her left hand dropped an inch, and the egg moved.

Carefully, Emma turned the entire egg counterclockwise. There was a dull scraping as glass rubbed against metal, but soon Emma saw that there were grooves etched into the lower part of the egg, and she turned it more quickly. Moments later, she was holding the egg in her hands. Free of the metal base, the glass began to cool, and the vapor lost its threatening hue, shifting from orange to yellow to green and, finally, becoming clear and disappearing entirely.

The metal part’s heating it up, Emma thought.

She looked at the other mines, which were now throbbing orange-red. Gabriel had said that when they turned completely red, they would explode. Time was running out. She set the glass egg on the catwalk and sprinted to the next mine.

Meanwhile, high above her, Gabriel was in the fight of his life. After sending Emma away, he had leapt onto one of the six-inch-wide beams that arced between the walls of the dam and, with both hands, swung his falchion into the side of the creature. It was a blow that would have cleaved a man in two. But the blade glanced off the creature’s hide, and a moment later, Gabriel was flying backward, struck with dizzying force. He ricocheted off a beam, fell ten feet, careened off another beam, and finally caught himself on a third. Looking up, Gabriel saw the creature had not followed its attack. It stayed perched above, grinning down at him. Gabriel understood: it was saying it could kill him whenever it liked. Gabriel knew then that this would be the last battle of his life. So be it, he thought. He only needed to survive long enough for Emma to defuse the mines.

The creature flew at him, and Gabriel tried to roll away, but its talons ripped deep gashes in his side. The monster turned and came back with terrifying swiftness, sweeping him off the beam and into the air. Gabriel hammered at its back and head with the butt of his falchion, then felt himself raised high overheard. He scrambled for a hold, but the beast flung him down. His body crashed through beams as if they were matchsticks, and he thought he would plummet all the way to the bottom, till with a bone-cracking thud, he hit a beam and stopped. He pulled himself up. He could feel his broken ribs scraping against each other. His falchion was gone. Looking down, he saw Emma. She had defused three of the mines. Just a little longer.

There was the sound of wingbeats, and he moved just as the creature flew past, its claws tearing through the wooden beam. As it pivoted in the air below him, Gabriel leapt, landing full on the creature’s back. They dropped fifteen feet before the beast adjusted to the weight. It shrieked and tried to claw at him, but Gabriel pulled his knife and began sawing into the soft tissue of the wings. For the first time, the creature’s cry became one of pain. It flew crazily through the web of girders, frantic to dislodge the man on its back. Gabriel’s head slammed into a beam, and he fought to remain conscious as he continued ripping through the muscle of the wing. Unbalanced, the creature swerved, and Gabriel struck his head again; this time, everything went black.

On the catwalk, Emma was just getting to the last mine when she heard something crashing down through the beams and had to look up. She saw a dark shape plummeting toward her. A moment later, a body smashed onto the catwalk.

“Gabriel!”

He was covered in blood, his left arm was bent at a strange angle, and there was a large bruise on his forehead. But he was alive. She could see his chest rise and fall.

She heard a shriek and looked up to see the creature coming toward them, leaping from girder to girder.

“Gabriel! You gotta wake up! Gabriel!”

The giant man did not stir.

Spotting another catwalk twenty feet below theirs, Emma set her shoulder against Gabriel’s side and pushed. It was as if he were made of stone. But she kept pushing, straining, trying not to listen to the sounds of the creature getting closer. Ever so slowly, Gabriel began to move. He rolled off the edge and landed with a crash twenty feet below.

A thud shook the catwalk, and Emma spun about to see the monster standing there, jaws open in a grotesque grin, its wounded wing dangling from a strip of sinew and muscle. She knew she should be terrified; it was really the only natural response. But instead of fear, she felt a pure, blazing anger.

“Look at you! You know how stupid you look?! You shouldn’t a’ messed with Gabriel! You’re lucky he didn’t kill you! What’re you gonna do with that wing now, huh?”

As if in response, the creature reached back, ripped off the wounded wing, and hurled it into the void. Then, without pausing, it seized its healthy wing, twisted it around and around, and, with an awful ripping and shrieking, tore it free as well. Holding the bloody wing in one taloned fist, the beast took a step toward Emma and screamed.

Emma’s mouth fell open in horror, and now, finally, the fear came. This creature was going to kill them. She commanded herself to be brave or, at least, to pretend. Gabriel deserved that much.

“You’re … you’re …”

But try as she might, no more words would come. The creature took another step, close enough that Emma could feel the warmth of its breath on her face.

Don’t cry, she ordered herself, don’t you dare cry.

Then she saw the mine, just to the creature’s left, turn blood-red, and without thinking, Emma leapt off the catwalk. The fall felt like forever. When she landed beside Gabriel, pain shot through her ankle, but her scream was drowned out as the mine exploded.

The gunwales of the boat rode just a few inches above the water. Michael had crammed aboard as many children as he dared, mostly the younger ones, though he’d also brought three boys his own age to help work the oars. He’d left at least thirty children on the Countess’s ship, promising he’d be back. There had been no sign of Dr. Pym or Kate, and Michael had been tempted to send the boat on without him and search for his sister.

But he couldn’t leave the children.

Now, as the overloaded boat pulled across the dark lake, he thought back to when the Screecher had opened the cell doors and fifty terrified children streamed into the hall. For a few moments, they teetered on the edge of riot as Michael struggled to make himself heard over the din.

“Please, you have to be quiet, please.…”

Had it not been for the Screecher, he might’ve lost control completely. But the creature shouted for silence, and the children, shocked to hear actual words coming out of its mouth, complied instantly.

“Good,” Michael said, “now—”

“You!”

He was spun around to face Stephen McClattery.

“What’re you doing here?! And how’s that thing talking all a’ sudden?”

For a moment, Michael just stared. Only recently, this same boy had tried to hang him. Michael could almost feel the cord around his neck.

“Well?!”

Shaking off the memory, Michael explained as quickly as he could how he and Dr. Pym had come to rescue them, how Dr. Pym was a wizard and had put a spell on the Screecher, how Kate was being held by the Countess, how they had to get the children off the boat as fast as possible.…

“You have to believe me. We don’t have time to—”

“Right,” Stephen McClattery said, “let’s get moving, then.”

The red-haired boy herded the silent, still-terrified mob of children up onto the deck and, once there, helped Michael cull the twenty youngest. Stephen McClattery and the Screecher then worked together to pass the children down the ladder and across to Michael in the boat. Michael kept hoping he would see Kate and Dr. Pym appear at the railing, Kate safe and smiling, Dr. Pym announcing that the Countess was defeated and all was well, but soon the boat was full and it was time to go and his sister was still nowhere to be seen. Stephen said he’d stay behind and keep the others organized till Michael returned for the next boatload.

“I know you’ll come back. I shoulda believed you before. You and your sisters are all right.”

“There’s something else,” Michael said. “Your dad’s on his way.”

Stephen McClattery was perched on the ladder, one foot resting on the bow of Michael’s boat. His mouth opened, then closed.

“Me and my sisters met him in the Dead City,” Michael went on. “We told him you’re alive. He’s on his way here with the other men.”

A long moment passed. Their boat rocked gently on the water.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said finally, “I’ve gotta go.”

The boy swallowed and nodded, but still said nothing. Even so, the look in his eyes was one that Michael would never forget. Stephen McClattery pushed them off, and as the boat drifted away, Michael saw the boy draw a hand across his face, then turn and climb up the ladder.

Annie, the girl the Countess had dangled off the dam that first day, was in the boat beside Michael.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll get everyone.”

She’d nodded up at him from the bottom of the boat, her hands clutched around her doll.

It took a few minutes to coordinate the rowing. At first, the oars slapped at the water randomly, the boat making little or no progress, once even going in a full circle. But Michael got the rowers into a rhythm, calling out, “Row … row … row,” and soon they were pulling steadily across the lake.

Then, halfway to shore, when Michael’s back was aching and he was wondering what earthly reason Dr. Pym could’ve had for not keeping their boat bewitched, there was an enormous PHOOM, and a giant plume of water shot into the air near the dam. He grabbed at Annie, yelling for everyone to hold on; a moment later, the shock wave nearly swamped them.

Then Michael was seizing the oars, shouting, “Row! Row! Row!”

“He is coming, he will be here.… How did this happen?! What am I to do?!”

“I should think you might have prepared for this eventuality before you betrayed your master.”

“Silence!”

The lamps were back on, but the violin was growing louder by the second. The Countess paced the cabin, the book clutched to her chest. Seeing her scared made Kate even more afraid. How terrible must this Dire Magnus be if the Countess, who had an army of undead soldiers at her command, who upset as she was still managed to keep Kate frozen and Dr. Pym pinned to the wall, trembled at the mere thought of him?

“It just seems to me,” Dr. Pym said mildly, “that you might have put more thought into all this.”

“I said silence, you fool!” The Countess was a cornered beast, dangerous and terrified.

“Well, I don’t really see how I’m the fool. I didn’t betray a being ten times more powerful than myself and expect simply to get away with it.”

The Countess whirled on him. “It was you, wasn’t it? You told him! Sent him some sort of message!”

A knife gleamed in the Countess’s hand where none had been before. Kate strained to move, but it was no use. The music was growing ever louder, its pitch climbing as the tempo spun faster and faster. The Countess advanced on Dr. Pym.

“If I’m to die,” she hissed, “it will not be alone.”

Kate wanted to scream at Dr. Pym to do something, say some spell, spit on her if he had to.

Then, quite abruptly, the music stopped.

So did the Countess, knife poised above the wizard, her face a mask of rage and fear.

“My dear,” Dr. Pym said, “I’m afraid your time has come.”

And like that, the Countess crumpled to the floor.

Kate felt the grip on her relax; she almost collapsed herself, so great and immediate was the sense of liberation. Dr. Pym was free as well, but he signaled Kate to stay where she was. He was staring at the motionless body of the Countess. The Atlas lay beside her on the floor. What was he waiting for? This was their chance. They had to grab the book and run. Escape before—

The body on the floor moved.

Slowly, the Countess got to her feet. But something was different. Her blond hair had turned a deep shade of green, and her eyes glittered as if set with diamonds. If anything, she was even more beautiful and magical than before. For one brief moment, the shining eyes rested on Kate, then she turned to Dr. Pym and smiled.

“Stanislaus, it has been far too long.”

And Kate understood: she was not looking at the Countess.

“So my sweet Countess was going to betray me and keep the Atlas for herself. My, my, when did loyalty become such a rare commodity?”

The creature stretched out the Countess’s arms as if admiring how long and slender they were. It was a strange sight, watching someone appraise their own body.

“Perhaps the fault,” Dr. Pym said, “lies not in the follower, but in the leader’s inability to inspire.”

The green-haired being laughed; it took Kate by surprise, for it was a real laugh, easy, mirthful, nothing like the bright, empty laughter of the Countess.

“Touché, Stanislaus! You are no doubt right! As always, my old friend! And this young woman, I wager, is unfailingly loyal to you.”

Kate stiffened as she (he?) approached. Up close, Kate saw that the green of her hair was not the emerald of an open field but the deep green-black of a jungle, the color seeming to move and shift as if alive, and there was a hunger in those glittering eyes that terrified Kate. Once again, she heard the violin. Faint at first, it was calling to her, inviting her to dance; it told her the day was ending, the world was on fire; it told her to dance while there was time to dance; it told her of burning cities, of people running in fear, of darkness, destruction, chaos, and ruin; come, the music called, join the dance, join the dance. It reached deep, deep inside her, and to her horror, Kate felt part of her respond; she wanted to spin away, to live if only for a moment, before it all ended, no cares, no thoughts, and then she was staring at a skeleton with glittering eyes, and she yanked back as if she’d been teetering on the edge of a cliff. The music stopped.

The Countess stood before her, green-haired, diamond-eyed, not the Countess, but not a skeleton either.

“Stanislaus, it seems your protégée doesn’t wish to join my dance. It’s only a matter of time, my dear. We all dance in the end.”

Her chest heaving, Kate did her best to put on a fearless, defiant glare.

“Such bravery. That’s good. You’ll need every bit. You are one of them, aren’t you? The children of the prophecy. I see it in your eyes.” The creature reached out and stroked Kate’s hair. She could hear the eagerness in his voice and feel how his hand trembled with excitement. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? I watched mountains climb out of oceans. I’ve seen empires rise and fall. Entire races have died forgotten, and through it all, I have waited. Your Dr. Pym talks of loyalty; I have been loyal, my dear, such loyalty as has never been seen, for I always knew that one day we would find each other.”

Kate stared into the ancient, glittering eyes and saw it all. She saw the centuries he’d waited. She saw how the world had changed about him and yet he’d never lost purpose. How could she fight such resolve? This was her fate. There was no escape.

From across the room, Dr. Pym said, “You cannot stay here.”

“Hmm?”

“Look at your hand.”

The creature called the Dire Magnus held up the Countess’s hand: to Kate’s shock, the knuckles were growing thick and knobby; veins were beginning to push against the pearl-white skin. The Dire Magnus seemed neither surprised nor particularly worried.

“Clever Stanislaus. You invite me here to defeat my own servant, knowing full well I cannot linger. You’ve lost none of your wit, my friend. No matter”—he looked at Kate—“I have seen what I needed to see.”

He turned then and picked up the book. He was aging quickly now, middle age, old age, and it was a bent-backed crone who shuffled across the cabin and offered the Atlas to Kate. The once-beautiful face was lost in wrinkles, the green hair was dry and patchy; smiling at Kate, he showed two rows of broken yellow teeth. His words were a hollow croak.

“The end is near, child. I will be coming for you. Our destinies are one. I will be coming, and when I find you, all the world will dance.…”

At these words, the creature departed; Kate felt his presence leave the room, and the Countess’s body dropped to the floor and didn’t move.

Dr. Pym staggered.

“Dr. Pym!”

“I’m fine, my dear. Simply the strain … He was pushing so hard.…”

“What happened to him?”

“The Dire Magnus cannot take form here. He must possess another, and the Countess … was too frail a host.… I will explain later.… We must hurry.… There is little time.… We …”

He collapsed. Kate ran to his side, and she was still shaking him and calling his name when she heard the explosion.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Children of Cambridge Falls

Emma’s ears were ringing. Her ankle throbbed, and she was drenched, head to toe. All around her, huge jets of water streamed through cracks in the face of the dam. The sound was deafening. She looked but didn’t see the monster. Was it possible the explosion had killed it?

The dam groaned; more boards cracked and splintered.

“Gabriel! You gotta wake up! Gabriel!”

His eyes opened; he wasn’t dead.

Thank you, Emma thought, though it was unclear exactly who she was addressing, thank you thank you thank you.

Gabriel sat up, cradling his injured arm. “How did I get here?”

“You were fighting that monster; only he must’ve been fighting dirty or tricked you ’cause you fell on that.” She pointed to the catwalk above them. She thought for a moment and added, “But you bounced real hard and landed down here.” If he didn’t remember her pushing him off the catwalk, she saw no need to offer that information.

“The mines …”

“Yeah, one of them exploded! That monster was standing right beside it. We gotta get out a’ here! Come on!”

Limping, they set off down the catwalk. The river was pouring in, filling up the hollow center of the dam. By the time they reached the stairs, water was already splashing about their ankles. Emma knew that once the dam filled with water, the pressure would be too much: the whole thing would simply snap and wash away. Then anyone still on the Countess’s boat would die.

But Dr. Pym had to have rescued Kate and the others by now! What good was him being a wizard if he couldn’t do something as simple as get a bunch of kids off a boat!

She let her annoyance at Dr. Pym distract her from the pain in her ankle. It helped as she climbed the stairs. They were halfway to the door when Gabriel suddenly stopped.

“Gabriel, what’re you doing?! We—”

Then she saw it. The creature was climbing up through the ribs of the dam, jumping from one beam to another. Her heart sank. What did it take to kill that stupid thing?

“Your brother was right. It fears water.”

It took Emma a moment to understand what he meant and recall how, back in Gabriel’s cabin, two days and what felt like a lifetime ago, Michael had suggested the Countess was keeping the monster on the boat because it was afraid of water. And now, as a new crack opened in the front wall and a fresh jet blasted through, Emma watched the creature howl and spring clear of the water’s path.

But still, it continued to climb.

“We gotta hurry!” Emma shouted. “It’s gonna beat us to the door!”

Gabriel nodded and, with his good arm, hoisted Emma onto his shoulder. He took the stairs three at a time. The higher they went, the more the dam swayed and shuddered. Up they raced, amid the cracking and groaning, the thunderous pounding of the water, the sounds of timbers snapping, and as fast as Gabriel climbed, the monster kept pace. Again and again, it tried to move closer, but each time the dam splintered and a new jet of water forced it back.

Emma silently urged Gabriel to go faster.

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs, and Emma could see the door. Gabriel set her down. He was panting, and his clothes were soaked with fresh blood.

“Come on!” Emma cried. “We gotta hurry!”

“I am not going.”

“What’re you talking about? This thing’s gonna fall apart!”

“The creature cannot be allowed to escape. When the dam breaks, it must be inside. That is the only way to kill it.”

“So we’ll lock the door! We won’t let it out!”

Gabriel shook his head. “I must make sure.”

Emma was growing frantic, trembling on the verge of tears. There was another massive crack! The landing they stood on dropped two feet.

“No! You—That’s crazy! I won’t let you!”

Gabriel knelt so their faces were close together. “I must do this. Or every person this creature kills will be my responsibility. Life gives each of us tasks. This is mine.”

“But you … you …” She was crying freely now, but didn’t care. She had to make him see why what he was saying was so stupid, why he had to come with her, but for some reason, all she could manage was, “You can’t.… You can’t.…”

Gabriel placed his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes.

“I do not know what happened with your parents or why they did what they did. But in all the world, I could have wished for no daughter but you.”

Sobbing, Emma threw herself around Gabriel’s neck. She told him she loved him, she would never let him go, she didn’t care what he said, she loved him.

“And I you. But you must go.” And he pulled her arms from around his neck and pushed her toward the stairs. “Go! Now!”

Shaking, hating herself with every step, Emma obeyed. Reaching the door, she looked back. Gabriel had turned to face the monster. He had no knife, no weapons, and as it sprang toward him, he leapt to meet it, grappling with the creature. Together, they plummeted into darkness.

Moments later, Emma was stumbling along the edge of the gorge, tears streaming down her face, repeating, over and over, “He’s Gabriel, he’ll be okay, he’s Gabriel, he’s Gabriel.…”

When Michael and the children reached the shore, they were met by a group of men and dwarves who’d come through the passage Dr. Pym had created.

“ ’Ere, pull that boat up!” called a familiar voice. “Look sharp now! Ah, blast ya, I’ll do it meself!”

King Robbie grabbed the stern of the boat and, with half a dozen men and dwarves leaping to help, hauled it onto land. As the men began lifting out the children, Michael finally released the oars. He’d never been so exhausted; pain arced across his back and shoulders, and he could scarcely raise his arms. He started out of the boat and promptly crashed face-first into the gravel shore.

“Come now, boy, you’re all done in!”

It was Wallace. He set Michael on his feet but continued to support him, clearly fearful he might topple over a second time. Robbie and Stephen McClattery’s father hurried up.

“There’re … more kids.”

“How many more, lad?” Robbie demanded. “Quick now.”

“Thirty … at least. And Dr. Pym and Kate. Dr. Pym took care of the Screechers. I don’t know about the Countess.”

More men and dwarves had gathered round.

“We’ve gotta go back for them!”

“Get the boat in the water!”

“Hold now!” Robbie shouted. “We all ’eard that explosion. And you can ’ear the dam creakin’ and groanin’ from ’ere. You won’t get ’alfway ’fore she bursts!”

“What’re we to do, then? Let our children die?”

“Course not. But we gotta use our ’eads! ’Ow we gonna get there and not get dragged down the gorge when the dam goes? There’s the question, blast it!”

Most of the men and a few of the dwarves began shouting at once, some offering ideas, some cursing the Countess, some saying they didn’t care if they were swept down the gorge, that those were their children on that boat; the arguing went on and on, with Robbie and Stephen McClattery’s father calling again and again for order.

Michael looked at the Countess’s boat, sitting there so still upon the dark lake. The dam gave off another mournful groan, like some great beast in pain.

And then it came to him. He saw how the whole thing would play out and that he was the only one who could save the children. He took off running down the shore.

“Oi! Lad!” Wallace yelled. “Where you going?”

But Michael just kept running.

Outside the Countess’s cabin, there were children screaming. Inside, Dr. Pym would not wake up. No matter how many times Kate shook him and called his name, he just lay there. Finally, throwing one last glance at the unmoving body of the Countess, she placed the book on Dr. Pym’s chest, grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him through the doorway, down a hall, and out onto the deck, apologizing each time she bumped his head. The deck was pandemonium.

Terrified children were running and screaming in all directions. Twice, Kate was knocked to the ground, and the child who’d collided with her got up, screamed, and ran off in the direction he had come. There were torches visible on both sides of the lake, and many of the children were standing on the railings, calling into the darkness for their mothers and fathers.

Kate stared about in confusion. How had the children gotten free? Where were the Countess’s Screechers? Had Dr. Pym done this? Even as she asked the questions, she realized that none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was how she was going to get all these children off the boat.

“Hey!” Stephen McClattery was coming toward her. “That the wizard?”

The question surprised her. “How did you know—”

“Your brother told me.”

“Michael? He’s here?” She felt her panic rising. She’d assumed he was safe. If he’d come to rescue her and was now in danger himself—

“No, he already took a boatload a’ kids to shore. Said he’s coming back. Better hurry, though. You hear that explosion?”

“Yes.” Kate prayed, guiltily, that Michael would not return.

“Dam’s been groaning and creaking ever since. Got all the kids scared.” He nodded to Dr. Pym. “So, he dead or something?”

“No. He just won’t wake up.”

“What about the witch?”

“She’s in there. Dead, I think.”

The boy’s face broke into a broad grin. “Really? So we’re gonna be okay, huh?”

Kate hesitated. Did she tell him the truth about the explosion? Tell him what all that groaning and creaking really meant? Could she trust him or would it cause even greater panic?

She never got the chance to decide.

Emma had a plan. It boiled down to this: find Dr. Pym and demand he fix everything. With that in mind, she’d run along the top of the gorge in a sort of staggering, hob-legged lunge—her ankle was really hurting her—doing her best to ignore the wailing of the dam and push back thoughts of Gabriel, wounded and weak, fighting the Countess’s monster. In her heart, she knew he was still alive. And if she could just get to Dr. Pym, everything would be fine.

There was only one problem. As she neared the mouth of the gorge, she became aware of a cluster of scared-sounding voices rippling out from the center of the lake. With horror, Emma realized that the children were still on the boat. That meant Kate was still on the boat. Maybe Michael too. And certainly Dr. Pym.

Therefore, she had to be there.

She knew the village would have boats, and so she started over the narrow bridge that spanned the gorge, head down, running full tilt, not looking where she was going.

Suddenly, with a whoof, she was on her back, her head ringing. She scrambled to get to her feet, imagining she’d crashed into a Screecher; then a voice spoke:

“Are you all right? Didn’t see you coming.” A hand helped her up. “I heard the explosion, so I hurried down to take some pictures. ’Fraid I was looking the other way.”

It was Abraham, and he had a camera hanging from his neck. He stared at her.

“You’re one of them children I helped escape. What’re you doing here?!”

The words spilled out. “Gabriel’s in the dam fighting a monster! The whole thing’s gonna break apart any minute! I gotta get to Dr. Pym! The kids are still on the boat—”

“Slow down, slow down. Who’s Gabriel? Who’s Dr. Pym? What monster?”

“No, listen! Those kids are still on the boat! We gotta—”

“Wait, the children are on the witch’s boat?”

“Yeah! That’s what I been saying! Are you deaf or something?!”

“We gotta get ’em off! If the dam goes—”

“Duh! That’s what I was doing when you got in my way! That’s why I gotta get to Dr. Pym!”

“Well, I don’t know this Dr. Pym, but we gotta organize rescue boats. We need to get those children to safety!”

Fine, Emma thought, you do that, but I need a boat now! And she started to say that when there was a rending and scraping unlike any that had come before.

Emma turned.

Abraham gasped, “Oh dear Lord.”

The dam was folding outward, split down the middle, and as the dark water rushed through, one entire half dislodged and was carried away. Emma threw herself against the railing, crying out her friend’s name. To Abraham, who hadn’t truly understood what she’d meant about Gabriel or Dr. Pym or the monster in the dam but who knew suffering well enough, it sounded as if the young girl’s heart was breaking.

They were moving. Scarcely a minute had passed since Kate and Stephen McClattery had heard the unmistakable sound of the dam ripping free, and now, with each passing second, the boat was picking up speed.

Kate thought the gorge was like a giant mouth, intent on swallowing the lake and everything in it, including them.

She continued to shake Dr. Pym and call his name, but it was no use. And as she looked at Stephen McClattery running about, yelling at the children to grab hold of whatever they could find, she marveled that she’d come here to prevent this exact thing. How could she have failed so miserably?

Even so, Kate was strangely calm. After all, she had been here before. In her vision, she had stood on the deck of the boat as it hurtled toward the falls. That had felt real. This, by contrast, seemed almost like a dream.

“Hold on!” Stephen McClattery yelled.

Kate looked up to see the jaws of the gorge rushing toward them. She was unprepared for the impact, and it sent her flying, slamming her hard into a wooden chest. The shock jarred her out of her reverie. She saw Dr. Pym’s body sliding toward the edge of the deck, his arm still draped limply over the book. Kate dove at the wizard, pinning him down as the boat spun clockwise. She braced herself as the opposite wall came flying at them.

They were in the gorge. There was no escaping now.

She couldn’t think about Gabriel. Kate and Michael. Kate and Michael. Think about them. They were still alive.

But for how long? From where she and Abraham stood on the bridge, they’d seen the boat crash into the mouth of the gorge, get sucked into the narrow chute, and then be battered from one rocky wall to another, all the time going faster and faster. If that wasn’t bad enough, the other half of the dam had finally broken free, which meant nothing now remained to stop the boat as it hurtled toward the falls. And all she could do was watch. Emma had never felt so helpless, so hopeless.

“Emma!”

Michael ran panting up the bridge. She threw her arms around him, sobbing.

“Michael, you’re alive! I thought you were on the boat!”

Michael was so out of breath he couldn’t speak, and it allowed Emma to say a few more times, “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

“Kate and … Dr. Pym. They’re on the boat. With the kids.”

“I know! What’re we gonna do? Oh, Michael, Gabriel … he’s …” But she found she couldn’t say the words to pronounce her friend dead. Not yet.

“That’s Abraham!” Michael was staring at the man beside her. “That’s good.”

“I know that’s Abraham! So what? Kate’s on the boat! Why doesn’t Dr. Pym do something?! He should be—”

A sickening crunch made them turn. The boat had slammed into the wall of the gorge just fifty yards away, close enough that they could see the panicked children swarming the deck. Another moment and the boat would pass beneath the bridge.

“Make sure he takes the picture!” Michael was climbing onto the railing.

“What? What’re you doing? Michael!”

“Make sure you take the picture!” Michael yelled at Abraham.

“Here now, lad …”

“Michael, get down!”

Standing on the railing of the bridge, Michael glanced once over the edge, then turned and looked at his sister. Something in his manner made Emma pause. She couldn’t have said why it was, but it occurred to her suddenly that Michael was her older brother and how she never thought of him that way.

“I love you,” Michael said, and jumped.

“MICHAEL!”

Emma flung herself against the railing in time to see her brother falling through darkness as the boat appeared below them, huge, spinning, doomed; she saw him land on the deck and roll, and then he was gone, the boat wheeling away toward the mouth of the falls and there was nothing, anywhere, to stop it.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL!”

She screamed so hard that her voice cracked, and she would’ve kept on screaming, but she heard other cries; dark-clad women from the town, their shawls trailing, their hair loose, were emerging from the trees along the ridge; they ran with torches and lanterns and called to the children on the boat, and there was something so familiar and haunting about the scene that Emma kept staring; then Abraham’s camera flashed—he’d been holding it down by his chest and seemed surprised it had gone off—and Emma understood what Michael had said.

Make sure he takes the picture.…

He’d meant the picture Abraham had given her and Kate that day in his room, the one Abraham had said was the last photo he’d ever taken, the one with the names of the children written on the back. But why had Michael wanted him to take it?

A wailing rose along the ridge, and Emma turned to see the boat spinning about and teetering, backward, on the lip of the falls; for one excruciating moment it hung there, and Emma gripped the railing of the bridge and said her brother’s name once more, almost a whisper, “Michael”; then the bow rose, the stern went down, and the entire boat, and all its passengers, disappeared over the falls.

Michael had landed on a pile of tarps. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, for the boat was spinning faster and faster down the gorge, slamming first into one wall, then the other. All around him, children were clinging to railings, to ropes, to each other, screaming and crying. He glanced back and saw the silhouetted arc of the bridge. He prayed Abraham would take the picture, that Emma had understood. Then he put it out of his mind.

He was running down the side of the boat in a drunken stagger, calling Kate’s name, when someone grabbed his arm. It was Stephen McClattery. He was holding a young child and had an astonished look on his face.

“You came back! Again! How’d you even—”

“Where’s my sister?”

Stephen McClattery pointed to the front of the boat.

Michael shouted, “We need all the kids together!”

“You crazy?! They can’t move!”

“They have to! It’s our only chance!”

“But—”

“Just do it! Bring them to my sister! Go! We don’t have much time!”

For a brief instant, the boys stared at each other; Michael was younger than Stephen McClattery, scrawnier, but there was no question who was now in charge. Stephen McClattery nodded, turned to two boys standing nearby, and began yelling orders. Michael took off running.

When he got to the forward deck, he found two dozen wailing, terrified children and Kate, up against a wall, her arms in a sort of hug around Dr. Pym and the book. Dr. Pym was unconscious.

“Michael? What’re you …”

He knelt beside her. “Kate, look—”

“No! You shouldn’t have come back!” She began crying and hitting him. “Who’s going to take care of Emma? You shouldn’t have come back!” Then she wasn’t hitting him anymore, just leaning against him, sobbing, “You shouldn’t have come back.…”

“No! Look! I brought this!”

He dug into his jacket and pulled out his notebook. Opening it carefully, for the wind was whipping all about them, he showed her the photograph. Kate immediately recognized the dark figures running out of a wood, carrying torches and lanterns. It was the picture Abraham had given her and Emma.

“We can use it! We can put it in the book!”

But Kate was already shaking her head. “What about the others?”

“I got ’em!” It was Stephen McClattery, and he was dragging half a dozen children with him. “Part of ’em anyway! They got the rest!”

He waved to the far side of the deck where the two older boys had just appeared, herding a group of children. By Michael’s count, there were now more than thirty panicked children packed into the front of the boat.

“Make them hold hands!” Michael shouted. “Hold hands!”

Stephen McClattery and his lieutenants took up the cry and ran about, pushing kids together, yelling in their ears, but whether the children didn’t understand or were simply too terrified to obey, either way, it was hopeless.

“We need Dr. Pym!” Kate was shaking the old wizard fiercely.

Michael thought for a moment, then told Kate to stop, and he dug into Dr. Pym’s pockets till he found the tobacco. He shoved a wad of it under the wizard’s nose, and almost immediately, Dr. Pym snorted and his eyes blinked open.

“Hmm,” he said groggily. “What’s that?”

“Dr. Pym,” Kate cried, “we’re on the boat! We’re about to go over the falls! We have a photo, but we need the children to hold hands!”

Dr. Pym nodded, appeared to think, then said, “What’s that?” again, as if he’d not understood a single word.

As Kate repeated what she’d said, Michael looked up and saw that they had run out of water. There was nothing but air before them.

“Kate—”

That was as far as he got. Just then they struck a rock with such force that the entire boat spun around so the front was now the back.

And still they were rushing forward.

“It’s too late!” Stephen McClattery shouted. “We’re going over!”

The deck of the boat started to rise, and for the first time, Michael heard the roar of the falls.

“Kate,” Michael said, “I’m sorry, I thought …”

“It’s okay,” she said, and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. We’re together.”

“Take the photo, Katherine. Be ready.”

It was Dr. Pym. His voice was sharp; it snapped them back.

Kate took the photo from Michael and opened the book; Dr. Pym was whispering something, and Michael suddenly found Stephen McClattery grasping his hand; he in turn grabbed his sister’s arm, and then, as the boat dipped forward and the deck continued to rise, a strange calmness came over the children, and each one reached out and in the darkness found the hand of another child, forming one long chain snaking around the deck, and Dr. Pym was still whispering as the chain grew longer and longer till the last child was joined in, and the deck was so steep now that Michael had to brace himself to keep from sliding, and he looked down and saw past the boat to the nothingness below, and they were falling, all of them, falling, and Dr. Pym shouted:

“Now!”

And the boat plunged forward.

“It’ll be okay,” Emma repeated, for the fourth or fifth or ninth time. “It’ll be okay.”

For a few seconds after the boat had gone over the falls, there had been a terrible, drawn-out silence. Then they heard the crash, far below, and the women on the ridge fell to their knees and wailed. Amid the shrieking, Emma heard other voices, men’s voices, coming along the gorge behind her. But she didn’t turn. Just as she didn’t run to the cliff to look over, or stare at the spot on the falls where the boat had disappeared. She kept her eyes fixed on the woods behind the women. And waited.

Please, she thought, her hands clenched around the railing of the bridge, please …

And then there was a different cry. One that stopped the women on the cliff and made them turn. It was a young girl’s voice. She was calling her mother.

The girl was no more than seven or eight, and as she came running out of the trees, one of the women cried out and ran to meet her, folding the girl in her arms, and then there were more cries, and children streaming out of the woods in twos and threes, and tearful reunions began happening all along the ridge, and Emma felt the tight knot of fear that was binding her dissolve, and she was running down the bridge toward the trees, the pain in her ankle forgotten, knowing they would be there, knowing they would never desert her, running into the waiting arms of her brother and sister.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rhakotis

“Remember,” Dr. Pym said, “by going into the past, you children changed history. We must therefore imagine what would have transpired had you not traveled through time.”

Kate, Michael, and Dr. Pym were sitting on the side of a fallen tree. Ten minutes had passed since the boat had gone over the falls and they had appeared in the woods, and still, all around them, families reunited for the first time in two years, mothers and fathers who minutes before had thought their children lost for good, were clasping each other in disbelief.

Dr. Pym was in the process of answering one of Michael’s questions. Michael had wanted to know how the Atlas could’ve gotten from the vault in the Dead City to the study underneath the house. It was the sort of academic, essentially pointless question that he found fascinating. Kate was only half listening. She was watching Emma, who had wandered off to the edge of the gorge. For now, Kate thought it best to give her sister space.

“So,” the wizard continued, “in what I will call the original past, prior to all your time-jumping, the Countess would have searched for, but not discovered, the Atlas under the Dead City. Led by Gabriel, the men of Cambridge Falls would have shaken off their captors and rebelled. The Countess, knowing her master would not accept failure, would have destroyed herself and the children, and, in the process, cursed the town.

“Now, in any version of events, I would have found myself in Hamish’s dungeon. Let us assume I eventually freed myself, though not in time to thwart the Countess. Fearful that the witch’s master would send another emissary to pick up where the Countess left off, I would have removed the Atlas from the vault. From there, I can easily imagine how I might have taken over the Countess’s house and constructed an underground room to serve as a new repository. It would have appealed to my sense of irony, as if I were placing the book under her very nose. Then I would simply have woven a new enchantment so that if one of the three of you showed up, the door would reveal itself. Is that more or less what happened?”

Michael said it was.

“Well, there’s your answer.”

They all fell silent. Michael seemed to have run out of questions. It was Kate who finally spoke:

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dr. Pym replied. “You have done what you came to do. It is time.”

Kate rose and crossed to her sister. The wind was whipping up over the lip of the gorge, carrying spray from the falls.

“Are you cold?” Kate asked.

“No.”

“Emma, we did a really good thing.”

Emma said nothing.

“I’m so sorry about Gabriel.”

“He’s down there somewhere.”

Kate didn’t reply, but she put her arm around her sister, and together they gazed at the dark water rushing over the falls.

“Dr. Pym wants us to go, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

They walked over to Michael and Dr. Pym. From her jacket pocket, Emma pulled the photo she’d taken of Kate in their bedroom, the one she’d snapped just before they’d gone back in time to rescue Michael. She gave it to her sister. Around them, families were beginning to drift toward the town.

“Will you be there?” Kate asked. “When we get back?”

“Believe me, it is my firmest intention.”

“Dr. Pym—” Emma began.

“My dear, Robbie and his dwarves are already looking for Gabriel. He will be well taken care of.”

“Dwarves are excellent trackers,” Michael said. “G. G. Greenleaf—”

“Michael,” Kate said.

“Yes?”

“Be quiet.”

“Okay.”

Emma and Michael joined hands, and Michael took hold of Kate’s arm. Kate opened the book. She stopped.

“Dr. Pym …”

Kate picked up something from between two pages. It was Abraham’s photo showing the women running along the top of the gorge, the one Michael had given her as the boat was hurtling toward the falls. Kate didn’t understand. She’d used this picture to move them through time. It should’ve disappeared!

“Ah,” Dr. Pym said quietly, “so it’s happened.”

“What do you mean?” Kate demanded. “What’s happened? Why’s it still here?”

“Katherine, do you recall what I told you in Hamish’s throne room?”

“No, but—”

“Try and remember. It will make things clear. Either way, I will explain in the future. For now, put the other photograph in the book. See if it disappears. My guess is that it will not.

“Please,” he said when he saw her hesitate, “trust me.”

“I do,” Kate said. And she meant it.

Kate handed Abraham’s photo to Michael, who slid it in his notebook, and then she made one last check to ensure that she and her brother and sister were touching. She noticed something sliding along the shadows of the trees. She looked closer, but whatever it was had faded into the darkness. Just get on with it, Kate thought, and with that, she placed the photo of herself on the blank page. There was the familiar tug, the scene before them disappeared, and then they were in their bedroom in the mansion, and once again there was the feeling of being held in place as they watched the other Kate and the other Emma prepare to travel into the past to rescue their brother, then Kate watched her other self place the photo in the Atlas, vanish, and they were released.

“Boy,” Emma muttered, “are they in for it.”

“Did the photo disappear?” Michael asked.

“No,” Kate said, showing it to them. “It’s still here.”

Just then they heard the door open behind them.

“So Your Majesties are here after all!”

The children turned; the old housekeeper was standing in the doorway.

“Miss Sallow,” Kate said, “we didn’t—”

“Hear me knocking the last ten minutes? Thought you’d play a joke on old Sallow? What a laugh you must’ve had! I wasn’t aware I was employed at the Comédie-Française.”

“Miss Sallow—”

“Dr. Pym is below and wishing the pleasure of your company. Will you be making an appearance or should I say their royal highnesses wish to stay in their chamber making bon mots and fa-la-la-ing at an old woman’s expense?”

Kate whispered to Michael and Emma, “Go on. I’ll catch up. I want to hide the book.”

As soon as her brother and sister disappeared with the old lady, Kate turned and stuffed the book under the mattress. Her hands were shaking. She knew that the photos not disappearing was important. But how? What was it Dr. Pym had told her in Hamish’s throne room? If only she could focus; if she could just clear her head for a moment. But there was so much else to think about: the prophecy and all that entailed; the other two Books of Beginning; the Dire Magnus, he was still out there; her mother.… Her mother had known who she was; her mother had recognized her. Kate was still thinking of that, or not thinking of it so much as reveling in the warmth of the memory, when she drew back the blanket and stood. That’s when it came to her. Dr. Pym had told her that she was the only one who could access the book’s full power. He means I can move through time, Kate thought, that I don’t need a photograph.

But he’d said something else as well. What was it?

She had to find the wizard.

“Katrina …”

Kate spun around. An ancient woman, a crone, bent-backed and wrapped in a ragged, filthy shawl, shuffled forth from a panel that had opened beside the fireplace. Her arms were little more than bones; the skin that clung to them was slack and spotted with sores. Lank strands of hair hung from her skull. Her blackened, swollen feet poked through the cracks in her shoes. She smiled, showing a mouthful of brown teeth. Kate’s eyes shot to the door; Emma, Michael, and Miss Sallow were long gone.

“Fifteen years,” the Countess croaked. “Fifteen years I’ve waited. For you it’s been a matter of moments. You stepped across time as you would over a crack in the floor. But I’ve waited, mon ange, every day, every hour, for fifteen years; waiting for when we would meet again.”

She moved between Kate and the door, blocking her escape. Not that it mattered; Kate couldn’t move. Fear held her in place. The Countess was alive. But how was that possible? Kate didn’t have to ask what the woman wanted. She had come for the Atlas.

“You can’t believe your old friend the Countess is still creaking along, can you? You thought my old master killed me, yes? No, no! He merely took back his power! Left me empty and weak! A wretched sack of skin and bones. You didn’t know that I woke up on the floor of that cursed boat, that I dragged my broken body onto the deck and saw you and that wizard and the rest of the brats. I knew what you were doing. Oh yes, and I joined your little chain at the last moment. When you saved the children, my sweet Kat, you also saved my life.”

She began laughing; it turned into a coughing fit, and she hacked something into her fist, which she wiped on the edge of her shawl.

“Afterward, I stayed hidden in the trees and watched the children reunite with their pathetic mothers and fathers. I couldn’t risk facing your wizard. But I saw you and your brother and sister with the book, and I knew then that I would wait. Everyone would believe I was dead. Even my master would think I had perished when the boat went over the falls. I saw how the Atlas could still be mine!”

She seized Kate’s arm. Her nails were black and splintered.

“Year after year, I waited. The townspeople didn’t recognize me. The same children I had once imprisoned brought me food and water. I was patient. Then, one day, I heard of the three children who had come to the house across the river. I had long ago discovered the hidden passages in the walls; unnoticed, I slipped in, I crept along, I watched, and there I saw you, my beautiful Katrina, not a day, not a moment, older.…”

She was close now, her sour breath washing over Kate’s face.

“Give me the Atlas.”

Kate hesitated. Should she scream? Would anyone hear her?

“I know what you’re thinking, my dove. But your Dr. Pym won’t hear you. He’s too far away. You know who will hear you? Little Michael and Emma. They’ll come running. And I will make you watch as I kill them both! I’ve waited too long—give me the Atlas!”

From the folds of her shawl, the crone drew a long, rusty-toothed knife. Kate let her eyes go to the knife’s edge, then back to the hag’s eyes.

“Promise you won’t hurt Michael or Emma.”

“Please”—she smiled horribly—“I’m not a monster.”

“And you’ll leave right after.”

“Like I was never here.”

“Okay, then.”

Kate turned and reached under the mattress. She had no intention of handing over the book. She merely wanted the witch to think she’d won so that her guard would relax. Gripping the book’s cover, Kate stood up suddenly, spinning around, swinging the leather-bound tome with all her might at the Countess’s head—

The old woman’s hand shot up and caught the book. They stood like that, Kate holding one end, the Countess the other, her nails digging into the emerald cover.

The witch began cackling. “Tricky little girl. Not so trusting anymore, are we? Fortunately, the Countess is stronger than she looks. Now—LET! GO!”

The Countess gave a terrific yank, and Kate’s hands slipped. But it was too much; the crone lost her balance, and the book fell, landing open upon the floor. Kate and the witch both dove for it—

Then the Countess was clawing at the book, hissing, jabbing her knife at Kate’s face, and Kate was leaning back, her fingers locked over an open page, refusing to let go, refusing to let this woman win, and as the blade came toward her, Kate did the only thing she could think of. Closing her eyes, she reached for the magic in the book with every fiber of her being, and prayed that Dr. Pym was right.

She felt the tug immediately. Strange as it seemed, Kate had the sense that the Atlas, and the power inside it, had been waiting for her all this time. But the thrill only lasted a second; then it was as if she was cast in the middle of a great ocean, far from the sight of land. The Countess was still with her, but only as a presence. Kate started to feel herself sinking, and she realized that she could just disappear, vanish into time itself. Maybe that was okay, maybe that’s what was meant to happen. But then, as she had in the bedroom, she found herself remembering being held by her mother, remembering how her mother had recognized her, and a flame of pure love sparked in her breast. In that moment, the rest of what Dr. Pym had said came back to her.

Before she could access the book’s power, her heart needed to heal.

Okay, she thought, imagine you have a photograph. Tell the book where to go.

The next moment, she was blinking in the sunlight, standing on the roof of a building in a brown, sun-baked city. Red dust hung in the air while shouts rose from the street below. The Countess had fallen to her knees, gasping for breath. Her knife lay on the ground, and Kate kicked it away.

“How did you … how did you do that?”

“I don’t need a photograph anymore. The Atlas just does what I want.”

“No, it’s not possible.…”

“Really? Look around. Seems pretty possible to me.”

“But you can’t—”

“Actually, I think I always could. I just wasn’t ready. Dr. Pym knew that. He told me the book wouldn’t listen to me till my heart was healed.” Kate was speaking more to herself than to the Countess. She needed to say aloud what she now knew. “Imagine having one question at the center of your life, and until you answer that question, you’ll always be lost. For me, it was wondering if our parents had really loved us. How could they, when they’d abandoned us? But when you helped me go back in time, my mother knew who I was. She recognized me as her daughter. I’ll never question her love again. It’s like knowing where north is. Whatever happens, I’ll have that to guide me.”

The Countess had struggled to her feet. Her once-violet eyes were black with hatred. Kate wasn’t scared anymore. In fact, she felt a remarkable sense of calm.

“It’s funny, if you hadn’t sent me back in time, I never would’ve figured that out. Though then again, I’m pretty sure Dr. Pym planned it all from the moment he gave me the memory of my mother. I’ll have to ask him when I see him.”

“Child, I am going to rip—”

Her threat was cut short by an explosion in a nearby street. The Countess whirled about.

“Where are we? Where have you brought us?”

Kate shrugged. “I forget the name of the city. It’s the one you told me about, where the council of magicians first wrote the Books. You said it was destroyed by Alexander the Great. I told the Atlas to take us there.”

“You brought us to Rhakotis?”

“I guess.”

“You foolish girl! Look!”

The Countess pointed one long, crooked finger, and Kate turned. Behind her stretched an endless blue sea, shining in the sun, and upon it were thousands and thousands of ships. Kate could hear drums sounding across the water, and as she watched, balls of flame shot up from the decks of the closest ships. The missiles crashed about the city; in the space of a few seconds, a dozen fires were raging all about them. Kate could hear people screaming as they ran for safety.

“We must go! Help me, and I will help you! You have power. I see that now. The Atlas has claimed you! But you have no idea what lies ahead! Help me, and I will help you!”

“Why would I need your help?”

“Because I know my master. He is always searching. For you and your brother and sister! For the Books! The Dire Magnus will find you!”

At the mention of his name, Kate imagined she heard the violin. She knew it was only in her head, but even so, the memory of the music chilled her. The Countess lunged closer.

“You have seen him! You know he will break your magician like a twig and then you will all become his slaves! I can help! Help you get the other two Books! Don’t you see that is your only hope? He will never stop searching! You must get the Books first!”

“We’ll hide—”

The old woman hissed and waved her gnarled hand dismissively. “Hide? For how long? Your entire lives? He’ll find you! He’ll find you, and through you he’ll find the Books, and then he will ravage this world! I have told you what the Books can do! And”—she paused, leering—“I would have thought you cared more for your parents.”

Kate’s heart lurched in her chest; she suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“What … what do you mean?”

The Countess smiled, sensing she had gained the upper hand. “So, the wizard hasn’t told you yet? Too bad, too bad. But I still have my old ear to the ground, don’t I? Especially when it comes to mon petit oiseau. Ten years ago, the Dire Magnus finally tracked you and little Michael and Emma down.”

“But how …”

“The prophecy, of course! There were signs. But the wizard was too fast. Spirited you away. Your sweet parents, not so lucky! No, no, not so lucky at all.” She came closer. “Ten years now, ten years your loving parents have been the prisoners of the Dire Magnus!”

“You’re lying.”

“Oh, be nice to think so, wouldn’t it? But you know I’m not! The Dire Magnus has your parents, and the only way you’ll get them back is to find the other two Books first! For that, you need the Countess’s help!”

Her parents were prisoners. That was why they’d never come for them. Terrible as it was, Kate felt a strange sense of relief; her own history finally made sense.

There was a ripping in the air, and Kate and the Countess both looked and saw another fiery salvo, even larger than the last, erupting from the ships. The city was doomed. The Countess seized Kate’s arm.

“Now! Take me back! I am your only hope!”

But Kate shook her head and said, simply, “No. You stay.”

She wrenched her arm free at the same time as she reached for the magic. The last thing she saw was the Countess flying at her as the sky around them filled with fire.

A second later, Kate was standing in the bedroom, alone, holding the emerald-green book.

“Hey! What’re you doing? I thought you were hiding that.” Emma was at the door. “Are you okay?”

Kate realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled.

“I’m fine. I just—Emma, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Her sister had tears in her eyes.

“You gotta come, Kate! You gotta see!” CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ghosts of Christmas Past

As Kate hurried with Emma through the dark hallways of the house, she couldn’t help noticing that everything was in a state of extreme disrepair: mirrors were crusted with grime, cobwebs clung to the corners, mouse-eaten rugs covered creaking, dusty floors. In short, the house looked exactly as it had before they’d gone into the past. Emma wouldn’t tell her what had happened, which was fine, actually, as Kate was still thinking about all the Countess had said, how the Dire Magnus was holding their parents prisoner, how their only hope of rescuing them was to get the other two Books. She knew she had to tell Michael and Emma. But first she wanted to talk to Dr. Pym.

They stopped at the door to the ballroom. Emma faced her.

“Are you ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, Emma turned the handles. As the doors swung open, Kate was assaulted by a blast of light and music. The ballroom was filled with people, eating, drinking, talking, and for a moment, Kate thought they had stumbled into the Countess’s ghostly St. Petersburg gala. Only this wasn’t the Countess’s gala. The music was festive. There was a huge tree in the center of the room. The walls were hung with garlands and holly. The guests, while dressed in their seasonal best, were very clearly not the cream of St. Petersburg society. And then there were the children. They ran about, weaving between the adults, chasing one another and yelping with high spirits.

“What is this?” Kate said.

Emma didn’t reply, and Kate saw that she was being noticed. One partygoer would look over, whisper to another, who would whisper to another, who would whisper to another; in just a few seconds, the entire ballroom had fallen silent and turned to stare.

“Emma, what’s going—”

She was drowned out as every person there began to cheer and clap.

“Okay,” Kate said, “this is creepy.”

“There you are! Welcome! Welcome!”

Dr. Pym, wearing the same tweed suit she’d seen him in fifteen years and not five minutes before, emerged from the applauding crowd. He was beaming. “A Merry Christmas, my dear! A Merry Merry Merry Merry Christmas!”

He bowed, folding himself nearly in half.

“Dr. Pym,” Kate said, “… who are … What’s going on?”

“Why, it’s a party!” Then he lowered his voice so only Kate could hear. “Have no fear. The Dire Magnus cannot harm you tonight. I have seen to it.”

Kate nodded dumbly. She was staring at the crush of party-goers closing in on them.

“Uh-huh, but—”

Michael stepped up behind the wizard. “It’s okay, Kate. Everything’s all right.”

And indeed, all the people seemed to want to do was shake Kate’s hand, say thank you, and wish her a Merry Christmas. They were men and women of all ages, and Kate saw that many had tears in their eyes, and they held on to her hand as if they’d been waiting for this moment for many years and were unwilling to let it pass too quickly.

“Dr. Pym,” she said as she emerged from the embrace of a round woman who’d blubbered all over her shoulder, “who are these people?”

“These are the fine people of Cambridge Falls. We host an annual Christmas party here at the house. I find it a good way to dispel bad spirits. Though I still can’t persuade Miss Sallow to clean the place properly. She really is a dismal housekeeper.”

“Don’t you see?” Emma cried. “They’re the kids! The ones we saved! All grown up!”

Just then a young couple with a baby walked up. Both the man and the child had curly red hair.

“It’s really you,” the man said. “We hardly believed it when Dr. Pym said you’d be here tonight. You don’t look at all different. Smaller, I guess, but that’s to be expected.”

Kate had the feeling she knew this man, but she couldn’t say from where or how.

The woman smiled. “They don’t recognize you, dear.”

“Right, of course. I’m Stephen McClattery. I grew up a little. And this is Annie, my wife. Do you remember her?”

“… Oh …,” Kate said, “… OH!”

“I had glasses,” Annie said.

“I remember.” Kate was thinking of how she had once held this girl, now a woman, in her arms.

“We’d like you to meet our daughter,” Annie said. “We named her Katherine. We owe everything to you. We all do. Everyone here.”

Kate looked at the baby and felt her eyes welling with tears. Choking, she was able to murmur, “She’s beautiful.”

“ ’Ere now!” cried a hearty voice. “Lemme through! I want a crack at ’em!”

The dwarf king Robbie McLaur was pushing his way good-naturedly through the crowd. He wore a red-and-green-checked vest, and his beard was neatly plaited into four braids, each tied with an emerald ribbon. With his vest, his braided, beribboned beard, and his general air of smartness, Kate thought he looked like nothing so much as the most prancing of all prancing ponies—that is to say, she thought he looked marvelous.

Michael exclaimed, “Your Highness! No one told me you were here!” and immediately dropped to a knee.

Emma groaned. “You are so embarrassing.”

“ ’Ere now, none a’ that from you!” Robbie dragged Michael to his feet and clasped him in a ferocious hug. “A sight for sore eyes, lad! All three a’ you! A sight for sore eyes!”

Then Kate saw the other dwarf standing a few paces back. He wore a red-and-gold vest and was grinning broadly through his black beard.

“Wallace!” she cried, and ran forward.

Laughing, he wrapped her in his short, muscular arms, then stepped back to better take her in. “Last I saw you was in the Dead City near fifteen year ago. In fact, you mighta been wearing them exact clothes.”

“Wallace, I’m so sorry about what I did—”

“Now, now, no apologies. Things turned out right in the end.”

“Aye, that they did,” Robbie cut in. “Not least, we’ve reestablished ties with the Cambridge Falls–ians. Not a bad egg among ’em! Oh, before I forget, Hamish sends his apologies he couldn’t make it.”

“Really?” Kate said.

“Really?” Michael said.

Robbie roared with laughter and slapped Michael’s back so hard that Michael nearly toppled over.

“Course not! I’ve got that degenerate back at the palace ’anding out presents. I make ’im dress up like Santa every year. Bounce ’em young dwarfies on ’is knee. Lord but ’e hates it!”

Kate saw that her sister was standing on her toes, straining to peer out over the crowd. Kate’s heart sank, realizing what, or who, Emma was searching for. Kate knew that now was the time to go to her. But just then she was waylaid by another pair of grown-up children who wanted to meet her, thank her, have her kiss their child. When she turned back around, Emma was gone.

She found her sister outside, on the back patio, the same one where, fifteen years earlier, the three of them had sat with the Countess while the witch had explained the history of the Books of Beginning. That night had been warm, filled with the end of summer. It was winter now; a hard crust of snow covered the stone-flagged patio, and Kate could see her breath. She closed the doors behind her, shutting out the noise of the party, and crossed to her sister. Emma was staring at the dark line of trees, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Kate wondered if she even felt the cold.

“I thought he’d be here,” Emma said. “I thought … I mean, everyone else is here. Those dwarves and … I just thought he’d be here too. Stupid, I guess.”

Kate put her hand on her sister’s back.

“I’m sorry.”

They stood like that for perhaps half a minute, neither moving nor speaking. Kate wondered if she should make Emma come inside. It was too cold to be out without a coat, and she wanted to tell her and Michael what she’d learned about their parents. She was about to speak when Emma let out a gasp and bolted down the stone steps and out into the snow.

“Emma! Wait! What’re you …”

Then she saw the dark shape that had separated itself from the trees and was moving toward them.

No, Kate thought. It can’t be.…

Emma was running through the knee-high drifts, shouting the name, and when she reached the figure, she threw herself into its outstretched arms.

Kate heard Emma’s muffled voice. “I knew it! I knew it.…”

Moments later, the man, still holding Emma, stepped up onto the patio. He was wearing a long bearskin coat, and snow had gathered on his shoulders and hair. The face was more lined than Kate remembered, and there were gray streaks at his temples. Emma’s face was buried in his collar.

“Hello,” Gabriel said.

Kate nodded, still dumbstruck.

“You’re cold. We should go inside.” And he stepped forward and opened the door.

“Ah,” Dr. Pym said as Gabriel approached with the two girls, Emma walking beside him now, clutching his hand, “you made it. I heard there was quite a bit of snow your side of the mountain.”

Michael stared, his expression, Kate suspected, much as hers had been a few moments earlier. “I thought he was … Wait … How …”

The wizard was smiling, enjoying the confusion and saying nothing.

“It is good to see you,” Gabriel said in his deep, serious voice.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “But Michael’s right. How …”

“Am I not dead?”

“Well … yes.”

“Because Gabriel’s too tough for some stupid monster!” Emma blurted. “Ain’t that right?” She wiped at her face, and Kate saw that she was crying with happiness.

“I have you to thank,” Gabriel said to Michael.

“Me?”

“Him!” Emma said. “He didn’t do anything! I’m the one who took apart those mine thingies! I’m the one who pushed you off the catwalk!”

Gabriel looked at her.

“I mean,” Emma said quickly, “found you on the catwalk. After you fell there, when you’d bounced off the first one.”

“Had it not been for your brother,” Gabriel continued, “it might not have occurred to me that the monster feared water. But that was how I finally defeated it. As the water rose, I was able to drown the hellish creature.”

“And you still escaped,” Kate marveled.

“The last thing I remember is running up the stairs as the dam fell to pieces around me. King Robbie and his dwarves found me unconscious at the edge of the gorge.”

“That we did.” The dwarf king tucked his thumbs in his vest pockets and swayed back and forth. “ ’Ad a devil of a time trying to move ’im. Lad weighs more’n a draft ’orse.”

“Wow, I guess dwarves are good for stuff after all,” Emma said generously.

Then she pulled Gabriel down, and Kate saw her whisper something in his ear, and she heard Gabriel reply, “I know, me too.…”

Kate looked at Dr. Pym. “So it’s all right, then. Everyone’s okay?”

“Much more than okay. Look about you; this is all thanks to you.”

And Kate looked at the families arrayed before them and thought, We did this, whatever else happens, we did this.

“Now,” Dr. Pym said, “if you will excuse me, I’ve been eyeing that cider—”

“No! I have to tell you something—”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I …”

The old wizard was waiting. So, in fact, were Michael and Emma, Emma holding Gabriel’s hand, Michael standing with King Robbie and Wallace. Both looked happier than Kate had ever seen them.

“Yes, Katherine?”

Kate knew that the moment she told them what the Countess had said, that it was up to them to rescue their parents from the Dire Magnus, the night was over. She thought of what a long journey they’d had to get here, how far they still had to go. Michael and Emma would need tonight.

“I … just wanted to say Merry Christmas, everyone.”

And so the evening went on, and there was singing and dancing, caroling around the fire; Stephen McClattery apologized for having tried to have Michael hanged, and they told him not to worry about it; the children saw Abraham, hobbling about with a camera, and they hugged him and thanked him for everything; Wallace and King Robbie taught the children dwarf Christmas carols that seemed to have only passing mentions of Christmas and be much more about the benefits and drawbacks of various mining techniques (Michael took notes); there was a long table with the best kinds of food imaginable: roast pig with maple glaze, lamb and mint jelly, crispy golden potatoes, garlic-and-cheese mashed potatoes, steaming bowls of chowder; the desserts alone took up two tables, one of which was devoted entirely to different varieties of donuts: chocolate donuts, cinnamon donuts, chocolate-and-cinnamon donuts, powdered donuts with raspberry filling, with blackberry filling, with strawberry or blueberry filling; Michael pressed Emma to try what he promised was a delicious mushroom donut, but she told him not to be disgusting; there were apple and pear and honey ciders, steaming vats of mulled wine, great frothy mugs of hot chocolate, a keg of dwarf ale that King Robbie had brought and that seemed to be extremely popular; and adults who’d already come up and thanked the children came up a second and a third time, dragging along Abraham to take their picture; and they met children named Kate and children named Michael and children named Emma, so many that Kate wondered how when a mother called her son or daughter home in the evening, she didn’t get half the town’s children stomping through her door; and the children ate too much and drank too much, and the only person who was grumpy in the least was Miss Sallow, and that was simply the way she was.

Kate tried her best to join in, but the thoughts of all that had happened and all the Countess had said wouldn’t go away. Who was the Dire Magnus? What did it mean that she could use the Atlas without a photograph? Was there more to the prophecy than what the Countess had mentioned? And what about the other two Books? What powers and secrets did they contain? There was so much she didn’t understand.

And then there were the questions about their parents.

Thinking of what they must have gone through, what they must still be going through, made Kate dizzy with fear and sadness.

But even so, there was one thing she did know for certain.

If their parents were alive, then she and Michael and Emma were going to find them. She didn’t care how powerful the Dire Magnus was, or that to rescue their parents they would have to find a pair of magical books that had been missing for thousands of years; she and Michael and Emma were going to put their family back together and nothing was going to stop them.

“Kate!” Emma ran up, Michael just behind her, their faces bright with joy. “King Robbie’s gonna whistle ‘Deck the Halls’ through his nose! Dwarves, right? This should be hilarious!”

“Nose-whistling is an ancient dwarf tradition!” Michael protested, then added, “But it should be pretty funny.”

“Come on, Kate! You gotta come!”

“You really shouldn’t miss it.”

“Robbie’s gonna whistle Christmas carols through his nose?” Kate laughed. “What’re we waiting for?” And, smiling, she let herself be led away by her brother and sister.