The Emperor

by N. M. Brown

  After that, the boy dropped low, his feet spread wide and McQueen recognised at battle stance better than anyone. Both hands wrapped around his wicked bat and his feet shuffled; all ready to take a swing at Echo. “No Shade.” He hissed and that was all the warning the kid gave.

  McQueen's palms were slick with sweat, but as he reached out for Echo’s wrist and pull her to safety, she was gone. In two quick strides she was within the boys swinging range; one hand grabbing the bat, keeping it at bay while her other hand - with great power behind it - smashed into the boy’s face. His whole body flew back with such force the kids behind him didn’t get a chance to jump out of the way. Falling like dominos, they collapsed to the ground but only the boy - groaning through broken teeth - didn’t get back up.

  “Shit,” McQueen hissed. As Echo stood over him, victorious. Sweeping the crowd, she looked for any other challengers. No one stepped forward. “Right, well done.” McQueen congratulated Echo, “Time to go.” He tried to pull her away and towards an exit; any exit, but the harder he pulled, the more Echo resisted, until he gave up. “Echo, we need back-up, we need to leave!” He hissed but she continued to ignore him.

  Keeping her head high, Echo found the tallest of the group; a girl who looked like she could hold her own. Not smiling, or even making a threatening gesture, Echo curling one solitary finger in her direction which could only mean one thing: ‘come here.’ Tightly clutching her metal pipe, the girl, no more than seven, shivered as Echo addressed her.

  “Shade.”

  It wasn’t a question, it was an order and like a well-trained troupe, all the children quickly scurried away like ghost in the moon light, leaving the girl on her own. Holding her candle aloft, she didn’t cower, but she smartly gave Echo a wide birth.

  The girl was skinny, her face gaunt and eyes surrounded by dark rings. She was too young to look like that and it scared McQueen. She should have been full of light and joy, playing games and running to sleepovers. But instead she was here, crouched in the dark, dirty and scruffy. Her clothes were caked with dust and dirt, her trousers ripped and two sized too big, held in place by a synched belt. Her t-shirt might have once been pink but now it was yellow with sweat, age and grime. It was ripped, flashing her pre-pubescent chest, while a red bandanna held back her hair. McQueen dubbed her name to be Red; but that only raised more questions.

  Did they have names? Or was it a deeper structure than that; a nature similar to that of a pack ruled by dominance and subordinances. Red could have been down here two weeks or two years, McQueen couldn’t tell, and that worried him. What other states could children be in.

  Red skirted around them, the long corridors of gloom awaiting and McQueen became increasingly unnerved. “Echo. We have our proof; the children are down here. We can get help.”

  “We are not getting another chance like this Queenie.” Echo smile at him, giving him a reassuring pat. “Do you want to find these kids or not? Because if Shade hears of us, and that we left knowing he and his hoards are down here, he will move.”

  McQueen opened his mouth to argue but Echo already had her back to him and when Red began to walk away, she followed. He watched as the firelight shrink and in the centre of a splintered path, he was left with a choice. Follow the tiny flame into darkness unknown or stay where he was; lost and blind…

  Glancing behind, McQueen saw candle flames twists in the dark, their owners watching him. They weren’t children, he reminded himself and if he ran now, McQueen knew he’d never forgive himself. With quick steps, he caught up to Echo and kept pace. Whatever lay ahead of them, there was no turning back now.

  ◆◆◆

  Slowly through the gloom, Red kept her eyes on them suspiciously, which put McQueen more on edge. They were still going deeper, the earth around them becoming colder, all the while the silence between them grew.

  McQueen felt himself shiver despite his winter coat as saw to the true extent how these children were not ordinary. They weren’t stupid; their welcoming committee keeping serval steps behind them, and they’d even created precautions to stop unwanted guests wandering in. The trail they’d been following veered off to the left and into darkness, while Red continued to the right. McQueen would bet it led inquisitive minds in circles for hours.

  After doubling back on themselves, Red lead them to a small crawl space, just like the previous hidden hole. Crawling through, McQueen marvelled how the further they walked, crawled and squeezed through narrow spaces, the more disoriented he got. He didn’t think he’d seen sunlight in hours, and it must have been getting dark by now. Surely Hale or someone at the station would have noticed his absents by now.

  No one had spoken; not that McQueen expected a guided tour or anything, but it only allowed for his ears to pick up the other, creepier sounds. Dripping water, rat claws, falling rocks and the long, hollow sounds that were too far away to distinguish.

  Red silently took them round corners and under broken pipes, through tunnel after tunnel; on and on, left turn, right turn, up and down, turning back on themselves, under themselves. It was so small and tight the entire way, McQueen thought it was a miracle he, nor Echo had gotten stuck in a hole. He chivalrously allowed Echo to go first every time just in case.

  “All clear Queenie.” She called back to him once she was through yet another tight hole. McQueen wondered for the umpteenth time what the rag-tag band of child warriors around him might do if they found him stuck like a suckling pig. He didn’t dare ponder on it for too long.

  Adjusting his coat, and then taking it off all together, he clambered down onto his knees, wriggling forward on his stomach. It was a tight squeeze again, but without too much effort he made it to the other side. Hands on the other side pulled him up and McQueen was surprised by Echo’s charity, but anything he might have said was lost as their new surroundings shocked him.

  “Wow.” He couldn’t help but whisper.

  The walls were almost perfectly smooth, worn away by hundreds upon thousands of tiny hands eroding them over time. They were bathed in warm light as candles flickering in the air, melted onto small crevasse, flickering softly. He had to remain crouched as he found trinkets hanging in his face looped with string, wire or thin bits of fabric. Spinning above down the long corridor dancing above their heads, swayed thousands of children’s mobiles made from beads, bottle caps, strips of fabric and bright pieces of plastics. It was all mesmerising and something he hadn’t expected to find in these dark depths.

  “Put your coat back on.” Echo hissed as soon as straightened to a half crouch.

  “What?” He asked puzzled. It wasn’t cold down here and he was starting to heavily sweat from all their exercise. It wasn’t cold enough for a mid-winter coat.

  “Put it on now!” She snapped again.

  Red flicked them a look and there was something in her eyes that made McQueen slowly slip one arm into his sleeve before the other quickly followed. It hadn’t been a look of annoyance, or excitement, it had been more a look of… victory. It was a look of a conquering challenger when they realised, they’d won before the games had even began. McQueen stuck a little closer to Echo after that, not daring to ask any further questions.

  Three weeks ago, he would have protested. Three weeks ago, he would have demanded a reason behind such a strange request. But he was not only at Echo’s mercy, but that of these children too. He had no doubt he wouldn’t be able to find his way out of these twisting, broken tunnels and as more time passed, and he found more evidence in this crazy case, McQueen felt less sure on what he thought he knew.

  Ignoring the invisible fingers at the back of his neck as he heard the pitter patter of feet behind him, McQueen studied the space around him. The ground was soft dust beneath his feet and though he had to duck, there was more head space than he’d thought. Looking a little closer, he examined what else was at their feet as they passed.

  Junk littered the tunnel’s edges: broken wood, heaps of mouldy cardboard and larger mounds of mush,
indistinguishable. But nothing he’d thought could be significant at first, but he saw more details as the number of candles in the walls increased. There were rags tucked into alcoves; discarded and forgotten, with rejected shoes, broken bottles, sheets covered in stains; dirty with dust and something darker…

  Blood.

  And when he spotted it for the first time, he started to see it everywhere. First on the clothes and rags that were dotted the floor, then on the broken bits of glass or sharp rocks. After that, it was easy to find; on the walls, dried days ago, or in the shadows almost mixing completely in.

  At every turn, on every wall there was blood; old blood, new blood, dirty splashes of stains, dribble marks… there was so much. When he finally noticed what he could see, he started to notice the smell. At first, he’d put it down to the cramp, compact earth full of unwashed bodies and stagnant water, but now he no longer associated the tang of copper with the rich, red walls or the copper pipes that darted in and out of the earth. He no longer expected the stagnant water to only hold water, or the solidified patches of dirt to be just dirt. Suddenly, the pretty, dancing mobiles no longer seemed so cute.

  “This is not a place we should be.” He whispered over Echo’s shoulder. Red was striding ahead at a quick pace, her dirty brown nest of hair bobbed in front, her red bandana flashing with every turn.

  “Shut up.” Was all Echo hissed, flinging a hand back to strike him in the gut for good measure. But McQueen frowned as Echo’s strike was soft and her words a hesitant whisper. Taking in her body language he saw tight shoulders and clenched hands. Something was up with her.

  Ignoring her strange attitude, McQueen looked ahead to see their twisting path was coming to an end and he could only imagine what awaited them. The halls around them were no longer silent, instead alive with a buzz; like a humming of flies or the low groan of wood. The force of the noise grew louder and louder until he and Echo stepped into a mass vaulted room, the ceiling stretching high above, the walls curving upwards in a dome. Roots hung down from the dirt above with more candles hanging in rope cradles, creating to illusion of fireflies, while large dugout firepits circled the edge of the room. It was warm in the hall, with soft sand beneath their feet and trembled with the movement of bodies.

  Two steps into the room and all the buzzing, all the chatter cut off abruptly, like scissors through silk. McQueen froze as hundreds of eyes swivelled as one, trained on him and Echo as the stepped into the inner sanctum.

  At the sight of a hundred small, ragged children, McQueen saw the Under-ert for what is was; a labyrinth full of the lost and forgotten, and he didn’t like that idea one bit.

  XXV

  Echo had almost vomited as they’d entered the underground network of tunnels. What little pizza she’d stolen from McQueen fridge churned in her gut like sour milk, and she’d clamped her teeth together so tight she though they might crack. The stale air hung heavy on her senses and the soft ground beneath her feet felt like she teetered on the edge of a slippery slope. She did not want to be here. It had taken weeks to get all the dirt out of her hair last time.

  In through her nose and out through her mouth; she counted her breaths as they evenly left her lips. After their long recovery escaping this awful place, Adin and Echo had made a pack: never ever would they return, not for saint or soul. And yet here she was, once more following the same dark halls, the same flickering candles and breathing in the same unwashed scent.

  McQueen was slowly trudging behind her, his back bowed due to the non-existent head room. Flashing through her mind memories ran by, ones she’d thought she’d long forgotten.

  Bare feet hurrying past her ears, invisible children’s laugher… If it hadn’t been for McQueen’s heavy foot falls behind her, she might have started to flinch like a jackrabbit at every sound. But if her soft-hearted cop who believed in all that was good wasn’t flinching or breathing heavily, then neither would she.

  It had been a long trek and by the time they reached the Great Hall, Echo realised she hadn’t been paying attention to anywhere they were going. She didn’t even remember when the walls had turned from damp concrete, to hard compact earth. Nevertheless, even knowing what to expect Echo still paused in the entrance, finding her feet heavy with the memories that assaulted her. What had it been when she was last here? A brawl over a dirty jacket leaving three dead and another two critical, who would later die? Or had it been the poor cat, caught in the stampede of tiny feet, trampled to death and then whipped by its tail at any one misfortunate enough to get in the way?

  But it was McQueen's soft intake of breath that drew her from her jittery thoughts. “This… isn’t want I expected.” he whispered down her neck. Any other day Echo would have found it inviting – happy to tease him for such intimacy - but she too was scanning the room. It wasn’t in awe like McQueen though, but through eyes she had developed all those years ago; calculating, judging and guided by her primal instinct.

  Hundreds of eyes followed their movements from around the fire pits. McQueen made the mistake on stepping to close and a clatter of growls warded him off. It was the nature of the Hall, if you wanted the warmth, you claimed your space; fought for it, defended it and allowed your presence to grow. That or you took someone’s else spot, their power and presence. Unsurprisingly, Echo didn’t recognise any of the ‘big-kids’ that now claimed their fires. It had been almost seventeen years since she’d been in these walls or allowed herself to feel that tremor of fear. Seventeen years was a long time for a lot of children she had known to never grow up.

  Observing each group in, Echo sorted the weak from the strong, the leaders from the frail and marked each face in her head. She might have been twenty-three, but these little nasties still had teeth, nails and weapons that they liked to use. Turning her head just a fraction, she spoke to McQueen in such a low voice, she didn’t even know if McQueen would hear. “Do whatever I say.” She ordered, not waiting for his reply, and instead moved onwards into the belly of the beast.

  From the large dome room, several tunnels led off into the dark and though Echo’s memory was foggy, she though one or two were new additions. Yet all thoughts of mapping anything out, flew from her head as fear tore down her spine.

  “And what,” The cold voice asked, “is this?”

  Echo stumbled to a stop in the centre of the room, and despite the cracked clay walls, pulsing with heat and the pits that tickled the celling with flames, she was frozen to her bone. The girl in the Red bandana had scuttled to the floor, her head bowed to the sand and body trembling with fear. A series of grunts and whines sounded, and one might think she was injured, but Echo knew better. This was the language of the Under-ert.

  Colloquial to the animals of this filt, the low whines and key wails were words; or close enough. Loud sounds promoted dominance, whines were subservient and if you hit the wrong note, it could be deadly. It was one of the few hurdles Adin and herself were unable to conquer. Taught to speak from day one, they were eloquent in their speech and the base-instincts to groan and grunt had been unlearnable. However, in their time they’d learnt body language was a whole other set of rules.

  Their guide was cowering, her belly scraping the floor, submissive and subservient. He, however, wasn’t. Walking across the floor, jaw locked in rage, the room went silent as a pubescent teen approach. Shade, King of the Under-ert

  Echo felt her feet slow, McQueen too, falling into step behind her. Stood in the centre of the room, Echo observed Shade as he walked with his shoulders back, his brow furrowed and a dominance in his step. He wore holy jeans with no shoes or shirt, and there was more dirt than skin showing. His hair was long, swept back knotted with dreadlocks and beads, while his nose was long and hooked, with high cheek bones and hollowed cheeks. His eyes were ringed with dark shadows, his skin so ghostly white Echo could see his veins and his thin skin moved over nobbled bones and exposed ribs. With the hint of an Adams-apple, arms and legs that stretched for miles, the guy was a walking skele
ton.

  “What is this?” he cried again, kicking up dust as he stomped past the guide. His eyes flicked to where McQueen and Echo stood, and as he did, a cold finger trailed down Echo’s spine, making her curl her toes. The girl, their guide continued to grunt and snarl, his voice the only sound in the giant cave.