Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City (12 page)

They stepped out of the alleyway onto College Street, carrying a lantern each. Peter carried the grappling hook while Rosemary had the rope coiled over her shoulder. The breeze caught at her skirts. They walked, lanterns creaking as they swung, their hard-soled shoes clicking on the wooden sidewalk. As they approached the construction site, they slowed.

Work had progressed up the creek and the hoarding had moved with it. Checking to see that the coast was clear, they darted across the sodden open ground and ducked into the shadow of the temporary wooden fence. They followed it to the north end of the construction site. This had also moved, but the creek
still crossed the hoarding through a wide hole. Peter started forward.

“Wait up,” said Rosemary. She passed her lantern over to him, then grabbed the back of her skirts and kilted them up between her legs, tucking the hem into her waist. She looked up and caught Peter staring. “What? You try keeping a dress clean in all this muck.”

Peter’s lips pursed. “Last time you just stripped down to your underwear.”

“Well, that was different.”

“How?”

“Well ....” She blinked. “It just doesn’t feel right this time.” She stopped. Then she slapped her forehead. “I’m worried about showing too much leg. I’ve been in the Victorian era too long. Let’s get out of here!” She grabbed back her lantern, pushed past him, and climbed down into the creek.

“When I get back,” she muttered as she sloshed through the pools of water, “I’m going to a beach somewhere. And spending all day wearing a skimpy bathing suit. Or maybe a bikini.”

“Can I come?”

Without looking back, she swatted at him and hit him in the stomach.

He chuckled. “Imagine the look on Theo’s face when he sees us. You’re sure we couldn’t get our old clothes back?”

“I think Faith burned them.”

“Too bad.”

As they approached the round mouth of the tunnel, Peter tapped her on the shoulder. “Quiet here,” he whispered. “Tom Proctor’s cabin is near here and I’m betting he’s a light sleeper.”

Rosemary felt a shadow fall across them and she started. She thought she saw a silhouette in front of the setting moon, but when she looked up, the sky was clear. She looked back at the tunnel, its mouth open wide. She swallowed.

Peter leaned close. “You okay?”

Rosemary took a deep breath. Her knuckles whitened on the handle of the lantern. “Let’s go.” She stepped past the veil of moonlight into the dark.

The brick tunnel enclosed them. There was not even the phosphor glow to light their way. The soft flow of the creek became a persistent gurgle and they heard the slosh of their steps echo back at them with a tinny edge. Rosemary breathed through her mouth to avoid the smell. Her heart thumped. The water seeped over their laced shoes and soaked their feet. She reached back for Peter’s hand and found it in the dark. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispered. The walls caught his voice and whispered it back to them.

“Just. Keep. Going.”

“We can light the lanterns if you want.”

“Later.” She sucked in a breath. “We have to be further in. So nobody sees us.”

She stumbled on the uneven ground and pitched into the wall. The brick pipe curved. Slimy stone brushed her cheek. Rosemary squeaked. She shoved away from the wall and almost fell. Peter caught her and held her close.

“I hate being like this,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Maybe we should light the lanterns now?”

She swallowed. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s do it.”

Peter handed her his lantern and fumbled around for matches. He struck one. The air screeched and flared up. She blinked in the sudden brightness.

He took the lantern and pulled open a panel. He touched the match to the wick. The light guttered low, then brightened and steadied. The air glowed around them. The brick pipe glistened red and black.

Peter waved out the match and lit another from the lantern. He lit the other lantern while Rosemary held it. The light brightened until Rosemary was nearly dazzled.

He smiled at her. “Better?”

She felt the tightness ease from her shoulders. A little. She looked ahead. The tunnel stretched in either direction, ending in disks of darkness. “How much further?”

“Not far.” Peter hefted his lantern. “I hear the big stream.”

They started forward. The trickling sound beneath their feet was overlaid by a steady, rising rumble ahead of them. A breeze brushed their cheeks, cool as a cave.

Then the ceiling of the brick pipe ended and they were in a cavern.

They stood in a half-pipe, the rough rock walls vaulting above them. The cave glittered grey. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling. Peter and Rosemary stared, mouths agape.

“This is under the city?” Rosemary breathed.

“I’m surprised no one’s selling tickets.”

The half-pipe stretched along the cavern floor, ending abruptly at a brick trench. Grey water rushed past.

Peter handed his lantern to Rosemary, then he hauled himself over the pipe wall, staggering on the sandy ground. Turning, he grasped first the lanterns, then the gear, and then Rosemary to join him. They found, untouched, the footsteps they’d left in the sand when they arrived. They followed these tracks back, shining lantern light over the walls and the ceiling, looking for signs of a cave-in. Several minutes passed before Peter stopped and pointed. “There!”

Rosemary looked. Across the gurgling trench, they saw scattered stones running down to the river. The scree led up to a dark hole in the ceiling. It wasn’t far for someone to fall. “We’ve got to cross that river.”

“Good thing we’ve got the grappling hook.” He tied it to one end of the rope and began swinging it over his head. He cast it across the trench and dragged it back. It snagged on the brick edge of the trench and held tight. Peter passed the rope to Rosemary. “After you!”

She looked at the stream — slower and shallower
than when they’d first arrived, but still knee deep. “I’m going to get this dress wet.”

“You could wash it at Theo’s place.”

“Like I’m going to keep this dress!”

“Well, aren’t you?”

She stared at him. Then she broke into a grin. She turned back to the stream. Holding the rope, she jumped in and used it to pull herself against the current. A few minutes later, both she and Peter had arrived on the other side of the stream. They stumbled to the cavern wall.

It was definitely a cave-in. Rosemary’s breathing quickened. “Theo!” she cried.

Peter covered his ears. “He still can’t hear you! Different time speeds on either side, remember?”

“Come on!” She scrambled up the scree. The wall sloped up and there were plenty of footholds. Adrenaline pushed Rosemary forward, even as Peter held back, bracing himself to catch her if she should fall.

She poked her head into the hole and stopped short with a cry. Her lantern slipped from her fingers, fell past Peter, and exploded on the river’s brick lip. The flames licked the surface before dying out.

“What is it?” Peter scrambled the rest of the way and caught her as she slumped. “Rosemary!”

She clutched her forehead. “I hit my head!” She looked up and snatched at Peter’s lantern. “Give me light! Hurry!”

“Careful!”

He shone the light above her. It bounced against the hole in the ceiling. It was just an indentation. Rosemary brushed her hand over the unbroken rock inside the hole. “It’s solid.” She looked at Peter, her eyes wide and her cheeks pale. “It’s not here.”

He turned, shining the lantern across the cavern ceiling. “This is the only ....” He stopped himself. His face grew pale as well.

“We’re stuck here!” She gasped.

“Rosemary, no, listen to me!” He grabbed her. “You don’t know that. We’ve only just started looking!”

“Where else can we look? Peter, what are we going to do?”

He put his hand to her mouth, but it was the sudden tension in his shoulders that silenced her. He was looking at the stream, listening. He snatched the lantern and blew it out.

“What are you do—.” Then she saw it: where the buried river left the cavern, the tunnel glowed with orange light. Voices echoed, coming closer. A boat pulled into view, pushed upstream by a man hoisting a pole like a gondolier. Two other men sat in the boat, the one in front casting lantern light over the cavern walls.

“The boat’s scraping bottom,” said the gondolier. “If His Nibs wants to take this route, he’s going to have to put wheels on the boat.”

“Keep quiet and keep mapping,” said the man holding the lantern.

“Why should I?” said the third man in the boat, holding a lap desk on his knees. “I know where we are! I’ve been through this cavern twice. The last time, I could have walked it and not gotten my shoes wet.”

“You’re going to walk it if you don’t shut it,” said the man with the lantern. “Unless you want to put up gaslight, I’ll want to trust your maps. Where is this new pipe?”

“Two hundred feet forward north, on your right,” said the cartographer.

“North?” scoffed the man with the lantern. “What does the compass say?”

“North,” said the cartographer.

“Check the compass!”

The gondolier pulled something from his pocket. “North,” he said at last.

The lantern man grumbled.

Peter and Rosemary stared as the boat pushed upstream. A few minutes later, they heard a voice cry out, “Found it! On your right!”

“Just where I said it would be!”

“Good. Let’s go back.”

“Wait,” said the cartographer. “His Nibs wanted the tunnel explored.”

“His Nibs wanted the tunnel
found
,” said the lantern man. “We found it. That’s all we’re going to do. The pipe is dry. Do you want to drag the boat along it?”

There was more grumbling, then silence. A moment later, the boat floated downstream into the
tunnel. The glow from the departing lantern flickered, faded, vanished.

It was a long, silent trek back. When Peter and Rosemary struggled out of their muddy boots and snuck back in to Faith and Edmund’s kitchen, the moon had set. Back in their room, Rosemary slumped into a chair and stared out the window.

Peter draped his dirty trousers by the washtub, then stared at Rosemary’s drooping shoulders. He came up beside her and touched her cheek. “Hey.”

She looked at him, a shadow behind her gaze. He knelt to face her. “Look, we’re not beaten yet. That portal has to be there somewhere. We’ll find it. We won’t be here long, okay?”

Her smile was hollow. “Okay.”

He sighed and turned to bed. Slipping beneath the covers, he fluffed his pillow and stared at the ceiling. After a minute, he looked back at the window. Rosemary hadn’t moved.

“Rosemary, it’s late. Come to bed.”

“I will,” she muttered. But she didn’t move. She stared out at the city until the sun rose and the buildings came back to life.

TWO MONTHS LATER

Rosemary woke gasping. She blinked at the ceiling, then heard Peter snoring in her ear. She relaxed. She wasn’t drowning.

“Stupid dream.” She pushed him aside and slipped out of bed.

After breakfast, Rosemary stood before her mirror, brushing out her hair. The brush crackled as she passed it through the strands.

Her hair was not the only thing that had grown; Peter’s commute was one hundred yards longer, as work had progressed up the creek. He’d complained about it at breakfast.

The breeze from the open window rippled the night-clothes she’d draped over the privacy screens. Leaves
scattered up the laneway. Rosemary sighed, set the brush aside, and twisted her hair back with the ease of long practice. She frowned at the way loose strands dangled down the back of her neck.

“Too long,” she muttered. Then, with a sudden inspiration, she darted out of the apartment and knocked on Faith’s door. “Faith, could you help me?”

Faith muttered something. Rosemary took that as an invitation and opened the door. She started to see Faith look up in shock and shove a bundle behind her back.

“I thought you said ‘come in’!”