by Ransom Riggs
Despite the freeze, there was free-flowing water here: it sprung from a tap shaped like a falcon’s head, tumbled into a small channel that circled the room at the base of the walls, and flowed into a shallow pool at the edge of the room, ringed by smooth black stone at the far edge of the room. This water was the source of the cavern’s heavenly light. Like the stuff inside soul-jars, it glowed a ghostly blue, and it pulsed dimmer and brighter in regular cycles, as if breathing. It might’ve been oddly soothing, all this, like some Nordic spa experience, if it weren’t for the distinct and human sound moaning at us beneath the water’s pleasant burble. It was exactly like the moan we’d heard outside—the one I’d dismissed as wind whistling through doors—but there was no wind here, nor any possibility of hearing wind. This was something else.
Bentham hobbled into the cavern behind us, winded and shielding his eyes, while Caul strode to the middle of the room. “VICTORY!” he cried, seeming to enjoy the way his voice ricocheted between the towering walls. “This is it! Our treasure house! Our throne room!”
“It’s magnificent,” Bentham said weakly, shuffling to join his brother. “I see now why so many were willing to give their lives fighting for it …”
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Miss Peregrine said. “You mustn’t desecrate this sacred place.”
Caul sighed dramatically. “Must you spoil every moment with your schoolmarmish moralizing? Or are you simply jealous and mourning the end of your reign as the more-gifted sister? Look at me, I can fly, I can make time loops! A generation from now, no one will remember there was ever such a silly creature as an ymbryne!”
“You’re wrong!” Emma shouted, no longer able to hold her tongue. “It’s you two who will be forgotten!”
Emma’s guard moved to strike her, but Caul told him to leave her be. “Let her speak,” he said. “It may be her last opportunity.”
“Actually, you won’t be forgotten,” said Emma. “We’ll write a new chapter in the Tales about you. The Greedy Brothers, we’ll call it. Or the Horrible Awful Traitors Who Got What They Deserved.”
“Hmm, a bit flat,” Caul said. “I think we’ll call it How the Magnificent Brothers Overcame Prejudice to Become the Rightful God-Kings of Peculiardom, or something to that effect. And you’re fortunate that I’m in such excellent humor right now, girl.”
His attention turned to me. “Boy! Tell me about the jars here, and skip no detail, however small.” He demanded an exhaustive description, which I gave, reading aloud many dozens of their spidery, hand-scripted labels. If only I spoke Old Peculiar, I thought, I could’ve lied about what was written on them, maybe tricked Caul into taking a soul that was weak and silly. But I was the perfect automaton: blessed with ability but cursed with ignorance. The only thing I could do was try to divert his attention from the most obviously promising jars.
Though most of them were small and plain, a few were large, ornate, and heavy, with hourglass shapes and double handles and gem-toned wings painted on their surfaces; it seemed clear they contained the souls of powerful and important (or self-important) peculiars. The larger size of their coves was a giveaway, though, and when Caul made me rap on them with my knuckle, they rang deep and loud.
I had no tricks left. Caul would get what he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it. But then he did something that surprised everyone. Something that seemed, at first, bizarrely generous. He turned to his guards and said, “Now! Who would like first crack at this?”
The guards looked at each other, confused.
“What do you mean?” said Bentham, hobbling toward him in alarm. “Shouldn’t it be you and I? We’ve worked so long …”
“Don’t be greedy, brother. Didn’t I tell them their loyalty would be repaid?” He looked again to the guards, grinning like a game show host. “So which of you will it be?”
Both of their hands shot up.
“Me, sir, me!”
“I’d like to!”
Caul pointed to the wight who’d been guarding me. “You!” he said. “I like your spirit. Get over here!”
“Thank you, sir, thank you!”
Caul pointed his gun at me, thus relieving my guard of his duty. “Now, which of those souls sounds like your cup of tea?” He remembered where I’d identified certain jars and began to point them out. “Yeth-Faru. Something to do with water, flooding. Good one if you’ve ever fancied a life under the sea. Wolsenwyrsend. I believe that’s a sort of centaurish half-horse, half-man creature who controls clouds? Ben, sound familiar?”
Bentham mumbled something in reply, but Caul was hardly listening.
“Styl-hyde, that was a good one. Metal skin. Could be useful in a fight, though I wonder if you’d have to oil yourself …”
“Sir, I hope you don’t mind my asking,” the guard said meekly, “but what about one of the larger urns?”
Caul wagged his finger. “I like a man with ambition, but those are for my brother and me.”
“Of course, sir, of course,” the guard said. “Then … um … were there any others?”
“I gave you the best options,” said Caul, his tone edging toward warning. “Now choose.”
“Yes, yes, sorry, sir …” The guard looked anguished. “I choose Yeth-faru.”
“Excellent!” Caul boomed. “Boy, retrieve the jar.”
I reached into the cove Caul indicated and removed the jar. It was so cold, I pulled the cuff of my jacket over my hand like a glove, but even through the fabric it felt like the jar was stealing all the warmth left in my body.
The guard stared at my hand. “What do I do with it?” he said. “Take it like ambrosia?”
“I’m not certain,” Caul said. “What do you think, brother?”
“I’m not sure, either,” said Bentham. “It’s not mentioned in any of the old texts.”
Caul scratched his chin. “I think … yes, I think you should take it like ambrosia.” He nodded, suddenly sure of himself. “Yes, that’s the ticket. Just like ambro.”
“Are you sure?” asked the guard.
“Absolutely one hundred percent sure,” said Caul. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll go down in history for this. A pioneer!”
The guard locked eyes on me. “No tricks,” he said.
“No tricks,” I said.
I uncorked the jar. Blue light shone out of it. The guard put his hand around mine, guided it and the jar above his head, and tilted back his face.
He took a long, shuddering breath. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and tipped my hand.
The liquid poured from the jar in a viscous stream. The instant it reached his eyes, his hand clenched so tight around mine that I thought my fingers would break. I wrenched free and leapt backward, and the jar fell to the ground and smashed.
The guard’s face was smoking and turning blue. He screamed and fell to his knees, his body shuddering, and then he pitched forward. When his head smacked the ground, it shattered like glass. Bits of frozen skull shot out around my feet. And then he was silent—and very, very dead.
“Oh, my God!” cried Bentham.
Caul clucked his tongue as if someone had spilled a glass of expensive wine. “Well, drat,” he said. “I guess it’s not like taking ambrosia after all.” His gaze roved around the room. “Well, now someone else has got to try it …”
“I’m quite busy, milord!” cried the other guard, who had his gun trained on both Emma and Miss Peregrine.
“Yes, I can see you’ve got your hands full there, Jones. Perhaps one of our guests, then?” He looked at Emma. “Girl, do this for me and I’ll make you my court jester!”
“Go to hell,” Emma snarled.
“That can be arranged,” he snarled back.
Then there was a loud hiss and a brightening of light at one edge of the room, and everyone turned to look. The liquid from the broken jar was dripping into the channel by the wall, and where the water and blue liquid had mixed, a reaction was taking place. The water bubbled and churned, glo
wing brighter than ever.
Caul was gleeful. “Look at this!” he exclaimed, bobbing on the balls of his feet.
The quickly flowing channel pushed the bright, bubbling water around the edges of the room. We turned, watching it go, until it reached the shallow, stone-rimmed pool at the far end of the room—and then the pool itself began to churn and glow, a column of strong blue light rising from it all the way to the ceiling.
“I know what this is!” Bentham said, his voice trembling. “It’s called a spirit pool. An ancient means of summoning and communicating with the dead.”
Hovering above the pool’s surface in the column of light was a ghostly white vapor, and it was coalescing, slowly, into the form of a man.
“But if a living person enters the pool during the summoning …”
“He absorbs the spirit being summoned,” Caul said. “I do believe we’ve found our answer!”
The spirit hovered, motionless. It was dressed in a simple tunic that revealed scaly skin and a dorsal fin that jutted from his back. This was the soul of the Yeth-faru, the merman chosen by the guard. The column of light seemed a sort of prison from which it could not escape.
“Well?” Bentham said, gesturing at the pool. “Are you going?”
“I’m not interested in another man’s leftovers,” Caul said. “I want that one.” He pointed to the jar I’d rung for him earlier, the largest of them all. “Tip it into the water, boy.” He pointed his gun at my head. “Now.”
I did as I was told. Reaching into the oversized cove, I took the urn by both handles and tipped it toward me—carefully, lest it splatter and ruin my face.
Bright blue liquid ran down the wall into the channel. The water went crazy, hissing and bubbling, the light it produced so bright that I had to squint. As the urn’s liquid flowed around the room toward the spirit pool, my eyes darted to Miss Peregrine and Emma. This was our last chance to stop Caul, and there was only one guard left—but he wasn’t taking his eyes or his gun off the women, and Caul still had his pistol aimed squarely at my head. It seemed we were still at their mercy.
The great urn’s liquid reached the spirit pool. The pool frothed and heaved as if a sea creature was about to break the surface. The column of light rising from it grew brighter still, and Yeth-faru evaporated into nothing.
A new vapor began to coalesce, much larger than the one it replaced. If this was taking the shape of a man, it was a giant one, twice as tall as any of us, its chest twice as broad. Its hands were claws, and they were raised, palms upturned, in a way that implied great and terrible power.
Caul looked at the thing and smiled. “And that, as they say, is my cue.” He reached into his cloak with his free hand, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and shook it open. “I just have a word or two I’d like to say first, before I officially change stations in life.”
Bentham hobbled toward him. “Brother, I think we’d better not dally any longer …”
“I don’t believe it!” Caul shouted. “Will no one allow me a moment to glory in all this?”
“Listen!” Bentham hissed.
We listened. For a moment I heard nothing, but then, distantly, there came a high, sharp sound. I saw Emma tense and her eyes widen.
Caul scowled. “Is that … a dog?”
Yes! A dog! It was the bark of a dog, far away and lost in echoes.
“The peculiars had a dog with them,” Bentham said. “If it’s following our scent, I doubt it’s alone.”
Which could mean only one thing: our friends had overpowered their guards, and led by Addison, they were coming after us. Yes—the damned cavalry was coming! But Caul was moments from taking power, and who knew how far echoes traveled in these caverns. They could still be minutes away, and by then it would be too late.
“Well, then,” Caul said, “I suppose my remarks will have to wait.” He tucked the paper back into his pocket. He seemed in no particular hurry, and it was driving Bentham mad.
“Go, Jack! Take your spirit and then I’ll take mine!”
Caul sighed. “About that. You know, I’ve been thinking: I’m not sure you could handle all this power. You’re weak-minded, see. By which I don’t mean unintelligent. On the contrary, you’re more intelligent than I am! But you think like a weak person. Your will is weak. It isn’t enough to be smart, you know. You’ve got to be vicious!”
“No, brother! Don’t do this!” Bentham begged. “I’ll be your number two, your loyal confidant … anything you need me to be …”
Serves you right, I thought. Keep talking …
“This groveling is precisely what I mean,” said Caul, shaking his head. “It’s the sort of thing that could only change the mind of a weak-willed person, like yourself. But I am not susceptible to emotional entreaties.”
“No, this is about revenge,” Bentham said bitterly. “As if breaking my legs and enslaving me for years wasn’t enough.”
“Oh, it was, though,” Caul said. “True, I was cross with you for turning us all into hollowgast, but having an army of monsters at my disposal turned out to be quite useful. But if I’m being honest, it’s not even about your weak character. It’s just … it’s my own failing as a brother, I suppose. Alma can speak to this. I don’t like to share.”
“Then do it!” Bentham spat. “Get it over with and shoot me!”
“I could do that,” Caul said. “But I think it would be more effective if I shot … him.”
And he aimed the gun at my chest and pulled the trigger.
* * *
I felt the impact of the bullet almost before I heard the gun roar. It was like being walloped by giant, invisible fists. I was knocked off my feet and thrown backward, and then everything became abstract. I was looking up at the ceiling, my vision tunneled to a pinhole. Someone was screaming my name. Another gun fired, then fired again.
More screams.
I was dimly aware that my body was experiencing a great deal of pain. That I was dying.
Then Emma and Miss Peregrine were kneeling over me, anguished, shouting, the guard out of the picture. I couldn’t understand their words, as if my ears were underwater. They were trying to move me, to drag me by the shoulders toward the door, but my body was limp and heavy. Then came a howl like hurricane winds from the direction of the spirit pool, and despite unbearable pain, I managed to turn my head and look.
Caul was standing calf-deep in the pool, his arms outstretched and head tilted back, in a state of paralysis as the vapor gripped him, merged with him. It poured into every opening in his face—tendrils of it sliding down his throat, ropes of it reeling up his nose, clouds of it settling into his eyes and ears. Then, in a matter of seconds, it was gone, the blue light that had shone throughout the cavern dimming to half strength, as if Caul had soaked up its power.
I could hear Miss Peregrine shouting. Emma picked up one of the guards’ guns and emptied it at Caul. He wasn’t far and she was a good shot. She must have hit him, but Caul didn’t so much as flinch. Rather than falling, he seemed to be doing the opposite—he was growing. He was growing very quickly, doubling in height and breadth in just a few seconds. He let out an animal scream as his skin split open and healed, split open and healed. Soon he was a tower of raw pink flesh and tattered clothes, his giant eyes electric blue, a stolen soul having finally filled the old blankness he’d nurtured so long. Worst of all were his hands. They had become huge, gnarled things, thick and twisted like tree roots, ten fingers each.
Emma and Miss Peregrine tried again to drag me toward the door, but now Caul was coming after us. He stomped out of the spirit pool and bellowed in a bone-rattling voice: “ALMA, COME BACK HERE!”
Caul raised his awful hands. Some unseen force ripped Miss Peregrine and Emma away from me. They were pulled into the air and hovered there, flailing, ten feet off the ground, until Caul flipped his palms down again. Quick as a bounced ball, they slammed back to earth.
“I’LL GRIND YOU BETWEEN MY TEETH!” Caul howled, starting across the c
avern toward them, his every footfall an earthquake.
Adrenaline, it seemed, had begun to focus my vision and hearing. I could imagine no crueler death sentence than this: to spend my last moments watching the women I loved be torn apart. And then I heard a dog bark, and something worse occurred to me: watching my friends die, too.
Emma and Miss Peregrine ran. They had no choice. To come back for me now was impossible.
The others began pouring out of the corridor. Kids and ymbrynes, all mixed up. Sharon and the gallows riggers, too. Addison must have led them here, as he led all of them now, a lantern dangling from his mouth.
They had no idea what they were up against. I wished I could warn them—don’t bother fighting it, just run—but they wouldn’t have listened to me. They saw the towering beast and threw all they had at it. The gallows men pitched their hammers. Bronwyn hurled a chunk of wall she’d carried in, winding back and letting it go like a shot-put. Some of the kids had guns they’d taken from the wights, which they fired at Caul. The ymbrynes transformed into birds and swarmed his head, pecking him wherever they could.
None of it had the slightest effect on him. The bullets bounced off. He batted away the chunk of wall. He caught the hammers between his giant teeth and spat them out. Like a swarm of gnats, the ymbrynes seemed merely to irritate him. And then he spread his arms and his knotty fingers, the little feeder roots that dangled from them dancing like live wires, and slowly brought his palms together. As he did, all the ymbrynes circling his head were pushed away, and all the peculiars were smashed together in a clump.
He brought his palms together and folded them over and over as if crumpling a piece of paper. The ymbrynes and the peculiars rose from the ground in a spherical crush of limbs and wings. I was the only one left alone (except Bentham—where was Bentham?) and I tried get up, to stand and do something, but I could only lift my head. My God, they were being pulverized, their terrified screams echoing off the walls—and I thought that was it, that in a moment blood would pour from them like juice from a squeezed fruit, but then one of Caul’s hands flew up and began to flap in front of his face, waving something away.
