Drowned (13 page)

I want to tell him about the girl in the book, about how it kills me that nobody on the island notices it but me because I have the written evidence and can see how far we’ve fallen. I want to tell him how scared it makes me to think that we don’t have souls anymore, we don’t have any of the good in us that makes living worthwhile. I want to tell him how I feel so alone, and ask him to hold me. But he’d look at me as if I have three heads if I did that. So instead I ask, “Do you think we can find a way out of here?”

“I’m not sure I
want
out of here,” he says. “Do you realize that everyone on the island now thinks we’re dead?”

“Is that supposed to be a happy thought?”

“Well, yeah. Since that’s how they want me.”

I shudder at the thought of my exchange in the craphouse with Finn. “I don’t think I’m much better off.”

“Well, then, I’m in good company.” He laughs a little and ends up coughing and grasping at his side. He looks down at his injury and grimaces. The rough black edge of the scribbler nose is protruding from below his collarbone. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“Finn,” I say softly. “He was the one who hurt you, right? When I was getting the shovel, he tried to— I don’t know what he was trying to do. But he frightened me. I hit him with the shovel.”

His eyes flash to mine. “You did?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” I say, defensive, still feeling guilty. “I think I hurt him bad.”

He smiles wanly. “Well, he probably had it coming.” He is silent for a moment, staring at his wound. “What do you think a...a squirrel...is? You know...she said, ‘even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.’”

I shrug. “Maybe some kind of animal. I know nuts used to be food. It’s in the book. One of the writers had a thing for pistachio nuts.”

“Thought so. They used to talk so funny. And grass. What do you think that is?” When I shrug again, he starts to lean back, then, very offhandedly, but still loud enough to make my ears burn bright red, he says, “What is a kiss?”

“What?” I ask. It’s the only word I can get out. But his face is serious. He’s never read my fairy-tale book before. And he, like me, has never seen a kiss performed. Nobody kisses anymore, just like nobody hugs or shows any affection. That’s what happens, I guess, in a world where everything is dead. “Oh,” I say quickly, looking away so he won’t see my eyes flickering. “I don’t know,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “What are all these crates, do you think?”

“I have no idea. The stores are supposed to be empty, of anything useful, at least. We should check it out.”

The thought makes me squirm. “There are supposed to be ghosts and demons down here,” I say, shivering. I don’t want to turn around and end up face-to-face with any Dark Girl.

“Right. Ghosts,” he says, doubtful. I should have known Tiam wouldn’t be afraid of a little thing like that. He motions to the chute grate. “Think you can hold this on your own?”

“Probably not. What are you...”

“On the count of three, I’ll pull away. Just for a second. One...two...and three. Good. You’ve got it. You okay?”

Before I realize what he has planned, he’s already moved away from the wall. He gets behind a massive crate with the words C BATTERIES HEAVY DUTY on it, and grunting, begins to edge it over toward me. Finally he slides it beside me, and as I inch slowly away from the grate, he quickly inches it into place. I wait for the room to begin filling with water, but it never does.

Success.

“Okay, let’s check it out,” he says, and in the silence after that sentence, just before I agree with him, I swear I can hear a soft swishing sound coming from the crates that are half drenched in darkness. Tiam freezes, and his eyes widen and scan circles around the room. It’s not my imagination.

He heard it, too. Whispering.

Ten

Those Who Have Crossed

T
iam straightens. “I don’t think I want to know what that was,” he mutters.

Ghosts. Demons.
Instinctively, I move closer to him. “Is there someone else down here?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he holds the candle out ahead of us, sweeping it slowly in a half circle around him to light the dusty floor ahead of us. Nothing but piles of crates, neatly aligned, all perfectly untouched. I can read the words on some of them: PLASTIC DINNERWARE. PLASTIC TABLECLOTHS. TABLE SUGAR. But I can’t say I know what any of those things are. He holds the light still, and immediately I see what is wrong. There’s a large hole in the TABLE SUGAR box, as big as the head of my shovel, as if someone kicked it in. No, gnawed it away.

Something moves inside the box. Two tiny orbs of red glowing at us. Two devilish eyes. A demon! I swallow as it squeezes its head out of the crate. Its head is easily bigger than my own. It licks its paws—or are they claws?—and begins to make that same whispering noise, but this time it’s wetter and gurgling, and that’s when I see a row of jagged white teeth. It opens its mouth wider, baring them fully, then draws back on its hind feet, black hair on its back bristling, and leaps forward.

Within a second it is on Tiam, and he topples backward under the thing’s weight. It’s almost as long as Tiam, with a white, coiled tail that thrashes wildly in the air as it attacks. Tiam lets out a groan, and I hear the sickly sound of bones cracking as Tiam wraps his hands around the creature’s neck. Tiam’s arm muscles strain as he tries to push it off him. The candle falls to the ground and rolls out of reach, throwing fire in all directions before going out. In the darkness I can feel the thing’s warm oily fur at my ankles, the whiplike tail thrashing my knees. Frantic, I bring the edge of my shovel down again and again on its back until my skin is coated in blood and chunks of mottled fur and my arm feels as if it’s no longer attached to my body. The thing makes a grunting noise, and all is quiet.

Finally I exhale. “Tiam?” I ask in the darkness.

“Here,” comes his voice, muffled. I hear some scratching on the floor and pray it’s him and not that creature. After a moment I hear the scraping of the flint again. Thank goodness. I locate the candle and soon the light is back. Now there are two small round punctures under his collarbone, and blood is trickling down over his chest and pooling over the scribbler nose. He grimaces. “On second thought, I
don’t
think I want to stay down here.”

“Is anything broken?”

He tries to move his shoulder, which is slanted awkwardly. Then he groans and kicks the mass of fur at his feet. “Probably. What is this thing?”

“I don’t know. Do you think there are any more of them?” I ask, shivering as I survey the area.

“Yeah. Definitely. So let’s find a way out of here.” He claps his hands together. “Here’s the plan—we get out, find the princess and figure out what we’re going to do from there.”

Of course, he thinks of Star at a moment like this. Star, who is so alluring that men like Tiam are easily able to overlook the fact that
she almost got us killed.
I’m glad it’s dark and he can’t see the jealous scowl on my face. He motions for me to follow close behind him, and I do, feeling guilty as I watch him limp into the unknown like an old man. But I guess I don’t feel guilty enough to offer to lead the way. That thing makes a scribbler look like Clam, my pet crab. My heart is beating so fast it might escape my chest.

The room just keeps going and going. The walls are lined with crates at least five high and ten deep, hundreds and hundreds of them. Most are covered with cobwebs and perfect, smooth layers of dust, so it’s difficult to see what they contain. A few have giant gashes gnawed in them, and Tiam obviously sees the holes because he makes sure we don’t tread near them. As we inch forward, I see dozens of tracks in the ground.... Big, clawlike prints. Not a single human footprint.

“It doesn’t look like anybody—any human, at least—has been here in a long time,” I whisper.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he answers without turning back to glance at me. “Look.”

We come to an enormous wall, and directly ahead of us is a small metal door. An exit. I catch my breath as I’m exhaling in relief. What if it doesn’t open? What if—

I grab Tiam’s hand as he’s placing it on the rusted handle. “Maybe nobody’s been here in so long because it’s flooded out there.”

“What?”

I hold out my book. “Cass. She was baby Fee’s great-granddaughter. Somehow she got possession of the book and started writing in it. It was her job to man the stores. Well, the East Stores. She said there were dozens of rooms. She even made a map of them in here, somewhere. But she said that there was a horrible accident, one of the doors had been left open, and there was a leak. Several passageways got flooded out. She said that several people drowned, and the other stores managers were never seen again.”

He turns to me, his eyes fastened on the book. “Show me the map.”

I shrug and flip to the correct page. I know it won’t do any good. We have no idea what storeroom we’re in. And I don’t think it’s complete. Several pages have been ripped from the center of the book. He studies it, asking me what different markings say here and there, and turning the open book in his hand. Then he closes the book and hands it to me with a sigh.

“We should still try this way,” he says, putting his hand on the door again. He motions for me to stand back, and then slowly tries to turn the lever. He pulls and pushes with all his might, but nothing happens. He shakes his head. “It won’t budge. I think it’s rusted shut.”

“Because it’s flooded out there.”

“Maybe. I think we need to go back the way we came.”

I cringe at the suggestion. “But how can we?”

He doesn’t answer me. His jaw tenses as he turns back to study the vast cave of a room. We slowly make our way back to the chute and he takes the shovel from me and lays it against the nearby wall.

“Go stand against that crate,” he says, motioning to something that is quite far off, almost out of the light of the candle. “But stay in the light. Just in case.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, though I already know. I just can’t believe he’s going to do it.

Slowly, he inches the crate away. As he’s pushing, he catches sight of my face. “Don’t worry. The tide should have receded by now. There’ll be some water, so...just stand back again.”

He’s leaving one thing out. The scribblers.

I hold my breath as the water pours through. It only reaches as high as my ankles before the puddle begins to stretch out across the room. Immediately the hissing echoes through the chamber. The water glistens in the firelight, and the black bodies writhe together, screeching. I count...four...seven of them, all jabbing their spear noses at whatever they can. They’re royally pissed off. This time, though, we have the advantage. Tiam takes the shovel and uses the sharp edge to sever their heads, one at a time. He does it with a little grin. Revenge.

When the hissing quiets, we take turns peering up the narrow chute, toward the daylight, about twenty or thirty of my feet above. I have a feeling climbing up is going to be a lot more difficult than going down, but I don’t want to stay in a room with those nasty creatures another moment. Then, even louder than if they were in the same room as us, I can hear voices, coming from above. The walls of the chute amplify the sound somehow.

“Told you, she’s not here. Probably got washed out to sea.” I’m almost positive the voice is Kirba’s.

“She could be with the princess. After all, she’s her new
lady.
” That voice is Burbur.

“Oh, no. The princess would never allow her up there during high tide. Never,” Kirba answers. “Stupid girl.”

“Stupid
girls,
the both of them,” Burbur agrees.

“They think I’m dead,” I whisper, but there is only silence in return. I turn to Tiam, and that’s when I see him staring down at the scribbler nose protruding from his collarbone, contemplating it.

“Are we going up?” I ask.

“Um. Yeah.” He ducks and pokes his head up the chute. When he returns, for the first time, all color is gone from his face. “Um. No.”

“What?”

He clears his throat. “I’m so much bigger than you. And I think it will get caught in the chute.”

“Don’t be stupid. It didn’t catch on the way down.”

“That was a miracle. Please. Just...do it real quick.”

“What?”

“Snap the end off.”

“Me? Why me?” My voice is an octave higher. I start to put a hand on it, then recoil. The scribbler nose is half an inch thick; it’s not as if it’d snap like a fish bone. It’ll take work. When I imagine attempting it, the only outcome I can foresee is Tiam bleeding to death in my arms. Because of me. No way. I’d rather be stabbed with a scribbler nose myself. “No. I’ll do something wrong. Do it yourself.”

He frowns and bends his arm so that it’s touching his shoulder. He tries to wrap his fingers around it, but I see the problem. He can just get his fingers around the tip but can’t fully turn his wrist to snap it off. “Can’t really grab it with this arm,” he says, and then shakes his other arm limply at his side. “And this arm is broken, I think. So?”

“Okay.” I swallow once, twice. My throat hurts. I put my fingers on the edge of the scribbler nose. It’s sticky with blood. I clench my teeth, count to three and try to snap it between my fingers, but it’s too rigid. It goes nowhere. He holds his breath, features tight. Each time I try again, his face gets more and more contorted until finally he opens his mouth in a silent scream, then bites down on his hand.

When he removes his hand and whimpers, I say, “Told you I’d do something wrong.”

He gives up and wraps a piece of fabric around his chest as a bandage. “No. You did it right. But it’s not working.”

“Oh, really?” I grumble. “From the look on your face, I thought it was going perfectly. What do we do? Do you think you can make it up?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try.” He takes a deep breath. Then another. “In a little bit.”

More time passes. I watch him in silence. It looks as if he’s planning for something, for the battle of his life. His breaths start to come quick and even. He clenches and releases his fists. There’s a new coat of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes are focused very intently on some imaginary spot in the darkness. After waiting as long as I can stand, I can’t keep myself still anymore. I scramble to the chute and poke my head inside. There’s no way of knowing how long it will take us to shimmy our way up the narrow passage, especially considering that neither of us have use of both of our arms. We might not make it up at all before the next tide comes, and then what? Finally, I say, “What are we waiting for?”

He swallows. “I...I can’t do it. I can’t go up there.” He looks away from me, and there’s something new on his face. Shame. “I get kind of...sick in closed spaces.”

“Sick?”

“Dizzy. Like the walls are closing in on me.”

“What? Why?” I say, clearly shocked. This is Tiam we’re talking about. Tiam, the bravest person I know. Tiam, who laughs in the face of scribblers and ghosts and taunts the vicious ocean.

“Long story. And with this thing in my shoulder...” He looks at it disgustedly, his voice weakening until he clears his throat. “So just go on up without me. I’ll be fine.”

It may be a long story, but it’s a story I’d give anything to hear. What on this earth could have possibly made him afraid of closed spaces? I think back to him sleeping under the stars every night, instead of in the cramped compartment, with its wall-to-wall people. I’d always thought it was because he loved the outdoors. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t stay here forever. I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m
not
going up that way.” It seems he’s as sure of that as he is that the sky is blue.

“But you went down—”

“Not the same thing. Just go.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll come back for you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get to the princess. Tell her there isn’t much time. She’ll know what to do.”

I just stare at him. Clearly he mistook all of her beauty for brains, because I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who knows
less.
She’s blissfully ignorant to most everything the rest of the world has to deal with. Finally, I nod and say, “Just...take the shovel. In case you meet any more of those things.”

He isn’t looking at me, so I just lay it by his side. It’s totally ludicrous. He’ll die down here, just because of this fear. But I have my own fears, so how can I argue? As I slide my head and rib cage into the chute, then push with my legs off the ground so that I’m standing erect inside it, I start to think he’s not really all that stupid. I’m tiny, but this could make anyone sick. The slick metal sides of the chute are only two inches at the most away from my body on all sides. It would be an even tighter fit for Tiam. I begin to wonder how we ever made it down here in the first place.

I look up. Only twenty feet. Thirty at the most. I can do this.

I press my arms and feet against the sides of the chute and push my way up, making it mere inches. But my toes can no longer touch the bottom of the chute, so I know I am making progress. I wiggle up some more, and then some more, until I’m certain I must be almost there. Maybe it’s the sweat seeping into my eyes, but when I look up, the exit seems to have crawled farther away.

I can do this,
I chant to myself, wiggling my arms, then my hips, then my knees, feeling like a butterfly emerging from a never-ending cocoon. Then I think of Tiam sitting there alone, Tiam the brave, who is afraid of
this,
and I slide back down, erasing almost all my progress before I regain my grip on the sides. Maybe I
can’t
do this. Cursing, I start again. This time, I quiet my doubts by thinking of a plan. A plan to save Tiam. After all, I put him down there, so it’s up to me to get him out. I can figure out the map. Maybe I can check with Burbur, snoop around the stores, see if there’s another exit. That’s the least I can do. I have to.