The Unlikely Escape of Uriah Heep

by H. G. Parry

  There was a crowd of people in the room now. Millie had entered, accompanied by perhaps twenty fictional characters of assorted shapes and sizes. Her army, I assume. Any of them could have taken Uriah Heep with one hand, yet none of them moved. Because of me. If they moved—if anything happened to twitch Uriah’s fingers—I would be dead. It seemed such a stupid thing to be stopping an entire city in its tracks.

  “Uriah,” Millie said, too calmly. She was breathing heavily, perhaps from the stairs or the fight or some combination thereof. “We’ve taken this house. I’ve one more group to come up from the courtyard, and it’s all over. We can take you too. Don’t do this.”

  “You know I can do it now, Master Charley,” Uriah said softly. He ignored Millie entirely. The red-brown eyes were fixed on my brother. “Not like the first time we met. I’ve grown since then. If any of you come near me, I’ll kill him.”

  “Let him go,” Charley said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Millie turn toward the Scarlet Pimpernel and whisper something. He nodded quickly, and left.

  “You can’t send me back,” Uriah said. “Not in time. If I feel even a tickle that makes me think I’m starting to go, I’ll slit his throat and leave his corpse behind me. And if any of you come near me, I’ll do the same.”

  “And what if one of us decides we don’t care that much for Dr. Sutherland’s brother?” That was one of the Darcys. Jane Austen apparently has depths of heartlessness I didn’t suspect.

  “Shut up, Two,” Millie said.

  Uriah smiled. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll decide that. Not when you think about what Dr. Sutherland might do to someone who makes that decision. I have some of his thoughts in me, you know. They wouldn’t be very kind on that point.”

  “Don’t any of you dare move,” Charley confirmed, without looking at the Darcys. I was reminded painfully of the time I had seen him present at a conference when he was sixteen. I knew his heart was pounding and his nerves stretched to the breaking point, but his words had been as deliberate and precise as the knife point at my throat. They were so now too. “Let him go, Uriah. I told you already I wouldn’t put you back. I promised.”

  He snorted. “As I think I’ve said before, Master Charley,” he said, “I’m umble, not stupid.”

  “Charley,” Millie said. “Something’s happening to the city.”

  “I know,” he said, without looking at her. “It’s dangerous, I keep telling everyone. It needs to be read away.”

  I finally found my voice around the blade at my throat. “Then read it. Quickly.”

  “If you do,” Uriah said, “he dies. I’ll do it. I don’t want your brother dead. It’s you I need gone. But I’ll do it.”

  “I know,” Charley said. His voice caught just a little. “And you can have me, of course you can have me. Just let him go.”

  Eric was right. Charley is so much weaker around me.

  Around us, the city raged. It creaked and groaned: the noises our house made settling at night, but so much louder, and it wasn’t settling, but rising up. The sky outside was a red so dark it was almost black. The darkness beneath the text. And still nobody moved.

  If I just thrust my neck forward quickly, the blade would slice my throat. The thought came to my mind, and I knew at once that it made sense. Uriah wouldn’t have me then. He would have nothing on Charley, now or ever again. He could be put back. It could all be put back: Uriah, Moriarty, the city. Lydia could come back. Charley could be safe. It could all be put right again.

  I felt the steel against my throat, and I knew I could do it. My heart was racing so fast I would probably bleed out in seconds.

  One move. That was all it would take.

  I would have done it. I hope I would have, at least, despite how sick the thought still makes me. But at that moment, the Scarlet Pimpernel came back. With him was Charles Dickens. In the house he had written, he glowed twice as alive as he had in the hospital. His clothes were richer and more flamboyant, despite the dirt and a tear or two in the fabric. His dark hair around his flushed face seemed to stir in a breeze that touched nobody else. His eyes were bright as stars.

  “The house is ours,” he was saying. “Satis House. I must say, if it weren’t for the dire nature of these circumstances, I would be unable to forgo the opportunity to explore further. I always thought it among my most vivid creations. Now, Sir Percy said that you wanted me for some—”

  He stopped short at the scene before him, and the twinkle faded from his expression. That was nothing compared to the reaction of Uriah Heep. I couldn’t see his face, twisted around as I was, but I heard the gasp he gave right in my ear. It was a death rattle.

  Uriah Heep, I realized, had not known Charles Dickens was among us. He must have been gone, along with Dorian, by the time he and Holmes had reached the Street. And now, in the middle of a crumbling Dickensian world he was trying to claim as his own, he was face-to-face, for the first time, with the author of the story of his life. The author who knew—who had seen to it—that the story of his life was not really his at all. It was named for David Copperfield.

  “Master Dickens,” he whispered.

  “Hello, Uriah,” Dickens said.

  I could feel Uriah shaking. His grip tightened on my arm, a convulsive squeeze that hurt. His breath came quick and fast on the back of my neck. He was terrified.

  “Uriah, put down the knife,” Dickens said. “You must know you can’t succeed. Not here. I didn’t write you to succeed. I wrote you to fail, so better people may be happy.”

  “You wrote me as a scapegoat,” he said, in the same broken whisper. “You wrote me to be punished, so your precious David Copperfield wouldn’t have to be.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this world was never meant for you.”

  “No…” With me still tight in his grip, the knife still at my throat, Uriah took a shaky step back, then another.

  We had all, I think, forgotten about Beth-Moriarty. Perhaps Charley hadn’t—he had a good memory for fictional characters. But she’d been so quiet, there on the floor; I hadn’t even noticed the rasp of her breathing since Uriah had grabbed me. I’d thought of her as dead. She had looked dead.

  As Uriah took a third step back, almost on top of her, her eyes flashed open.

  They had been gray before. Now, they were the same absolute black of the Hound of the Baskervilles, in his monstrous form, and like him they seemed to burn with phosphorous light. I have never seen so much hatred on anyone’s face, not even Uriah’s, and I never want to again. Her hand had shot out and grabbed Uriah Heep by one bony ankle.

  He shrieked, the same wail of outraged despair I had heard the first night I met him, the night in the English department. As then, it chilled me. It was the cry of a specter, or a shadow. It took me a moment to realize the cause. He was starting to flicker. I wrenched myself out of his grip, and seized the knife from his hand; he writhed a little in resistance, but not much. Already, he was warping out of existence.

  “No!” he cried. “No, you can’t, you can’t—”

  Beth-Moriarty tightened her grip. “If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me,” she said, but it scarcely seemed to be her saying it, “rest assured that I should do as much to you.”

  There was a flare of light, bright and harsh. Beth-Moriarty drew her breath sharply, shuddered once, and slumped. Her eyes closed.

  Uriah was gone. He hadn’t even had the chance to scream.

  For a moment, none of us moved or spoke. Not even me, suddenly finding myself free of a knife to my throat. Not even Millie, usually the first to react in any situation. Not even Dickens. We all just stood there.

  Charley, in the silence, bent down over the body of Beth-Moriarty and laid his hand on her shoulder. She vanished in a tiny flare of light.

  “I know she thought there was no book for her to go back to,” he said. “But you never know.”

  The city heaved. The buildings and streets outside were mere shadow
s in the dark now, but I thought I could see them move. I felt, once again, the ground beneath my feet ripple. It shook us awake.

  “Charley…” Millie said, softly but urgently.

  “I know.” He stood very slowly, as if everything hurt almost too much to move. “It’s okay. I have it now.” He closed his eyes.

  It wasn’t dramatic, as so much else that day had been. It was gentle, almost imperceptible, like a plant unfurling to embrace the sun. Like the growth of the tree at the bottom of our childhood garden, which I couldn’t think of as less beautiful because I now knew it was also a grave. The sky lightened, and the light fell on the crooked houses lining the crooked streets and healed them. The ugly slashes in the walls closed; the cobbles settled; the shadows in the room smoothed and retreated. They didn’t disappear: nothing disappeared, not the dirt or the shabbiness or the disorder. I could still feel the darkness there, quivering. But it was fading. It no longer overwhelmed the city.

  This was it, I thought. This is the way the world disappears.

  Then Charley’s eyes opened.

  “Is it safe now?” Millie asked.

  “It’s stable,” he said faintly. He swayed and caught himself. When he spoke again his voice was firmer. “Beth gave me the key to her interpretation. As Rob said earlier, it wasn’t a very balanced reading of Dickens. I’ve made it less dark. It wasn’t too difficult, apart from the scale. It’s a terrible oversimplification to trace everything about Dickens’s world to one childhood trauma. There’s more to Dickens than anger.”

  “But it’s still hovering over Wellington?” Millie checked.

  He nodded. “I’ll read it all away soon. The whole city. Just… give me a minute, won’t you?”

  “Give us one too,” she said. “I have a few of my people still downstairs. A few of Beth’s too.”

  “Where are Mum and Dad?” I asked.

  “Downstairs,” Charley said, at the same time as Millie. He shook his head at my expression. “I have the whole city in my head at the moment. I know where everyone is.”

  “They’re with the wounded,” Millie said. “They’re all right—your father took a spear cut from a goblin, but the Duke of Wellington will patch him up. Your mother’s trying to gain control of the dragon. She made it beautifully, but it follows its own rules. Since we’re inside, though, I could—”

  “Don’t let them come up,” he said. “Please.”

  I went over to him as Millie motioned Dickens and the bloodthirsty Darcy to follow her out to the landing. Charley turned to me at the same time, so we nearly collided.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, before I could ask him the same. “Did Uriah hurt you?”

  “No worse than last time,” I assured him. I rubbed my neck; my hand came away streaked with blood, but not too much. “Why does he keep holding knives to my throat? Didn’t you say Uriah Heep is David Copperfield’s shadow self, or something? Is there something we should be talking about?”

  He smiled slightly. “Only if you put down that knife first.”

  I realized then that my desire to protect him, the desire I had chafed at for years, really had very little to do with how frustratingly helpless he could seem. He wasn’t helpless now, frustratingly or otherwise. He was holding a whole world, about to save another. And I wanted to protect him more than I ever had in my life. I didn’t care what he could handle. He shouldn’t have to.

  “We’re nearly done, aren’t we?” I said. “You just need to read the city back, and it’s over?”

  “Yes.” He was very tired. “Yes, it’s over then.”

  “All right,” I said. “Only a little bit longer then. Just… hang in there.”

  It was a stupid reassurance, and he must have known it, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t even seem to think so.

  “Hang in there,” he repeated. I saw the resolve strengthen on his face. “I can do that.” He paused. “Rob—”

  “All clear downstairs!” Millie’s voice came. She entered the room. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Good,” Charley said. He turned away from me. “So it’s time.”

  “Yes.” Millie hesitated, uncharacteristically, and bit her lip. “Charley… I don’t know how it was for you, but we barely got into this city. The place is surrounded. Patrol cars, barricades, all sorts. If you go out there, it might be difficult for you to find the time and space to—”

  “I couldn’t anyway,” Charley said. “I wouldn’t be able to see the city out there, much less touch it. I need to be right in the middle. I’m guessing at the middle, of course, but I assume it’s about here. It’s Satis House. It’s where the past haunts the present. It’s where hearts are broken. It fits.”

  Millie nodded. “And—I don’t know if you know this, either, but according to your mother, you’re—”

  “It’s all right,” Charley said. “I know.”

  “Well. That might mean that when the city disappears—”

  “I know,” he repeated. “All of it.”

  “What do you know?” I demanded. My weary heart had quickened in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

  He ignored me for the moment. “You’ll have to get them out,” he said to Millie. “You and Rob. I’ll hold this place still as long as I can, but make it quick. And whatever you do, make sure Mum and Dad get out too. If you have to make up a story about where I am, do it. When it does start to go, I’m not sure how long it will take. It might only be the space between heartbeats.”

  She nodded. Her face was white. “I understand. I say, I do wish—”

  “It’s all right,” he repeated. “Honestly. It makes sense. The Street will go, too, I’m afraid, if the new world’s reached it, but try to stay together if you can. All of you—Beth’s people, too, if possible. Things are probably going to be difficult for you all now.”

  “I’ll handle it,” she said. “Not to worry.” She gave him a quick, fierce hug. When she pulled away, I saw the glint of tears in her eyes, and something in me chilled. I hadn’t known Millie Radcliffe-Dix could cry.

  And then, all at once, I knew what they were talking about. If there had been a picture of my soul, as there had been of Dorian’s, it would have turned to ice in that moment.

  All of it. That’s what he’d said, all the way back downstairs, beside the body of David Copperfield. He’d make all of it go away.

  I’m such an idiot.

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  “And you,” he said. She gathered herself, visibly, before she turned away and raised her voice. I heard a faint quaver in it, but nobody else would.

  “Come on, chaps!” she called. “We need to get out of this place before it goes for good!”

  He’d more than just said it. He’d promised me.

  This was what he’d been promising.

  I went over to Charley. He was still watching Millie, and I couldn’t read the look on his face. But his eyes shifted to Dickens for a moment, who was standing in the doorway. Dickens nodded very slightly, and smiled. Charley nodded back. They had never had a chance to exchange words.

  “You’re not staying here,” I said bluntly.

  “Only a little while.” He finally turned to me. For a moment, I could see the Dickens in him. “Then the city’s going away, and I suppose I’ll go with it. Wherever it goes.”

  I had to swallow hard before I could speak. “You can’t—”

  He laughed tightly. “Rob, please, stop telling me I can’t. I can. I can do anything, remember?”

  “You said I didn’t believe that.”

  “That’s because it’s not true. But I can do this—I have to. This city can’t stay here. It doesn’t fit. It’s going to keep growing, and it’s going to swallow up everything and everyone that gets in its way.”

  “Right. But you’re in control of it now, aren’t you? You can stop it growing.”

  “I can. I am, right now. But it’s already done too much damage for that to be enough. Half the city’s gone. It
’s already taken Lydia. It needs to go, and I’m the only one who can send it back.”

  “But if you send it back—”

  “Everyone inside it goes too,” Charley said. He would have sounded almost preternaturally calm, had he not been trembling. “Everyone fictional, at least. I still don’t know where they go—into their books, into nothing—but you were there at the tunnel. They go somewhere. That’s why you and Millie need to get everyone out, and let me send this city away.”

  “And you go with it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I go with it.”

  My chest tightened. “Don’t be an idiot,” I managed to say, in something like my usual voice. “What am I supposed to do after that? What am I supposed to tell Mum and Dad—that you’ve just dissolved into the written word?”

  He almost smiled. “You can’t expect me to think of everything…”

  “I’m serious.”

  “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do,” he said. “I’m serious too, Rob. You’re supposed to get out of this mess, find Lydia, go back to your life, and try to remember that I did my best to fix all those things in it I broke, all right? Oh, and tell Mum and Dad—I don’t know. Tell them I’m sorry I didn’t go to see them last weekend.” The resolve on his face flickered for a moment. “God, this is hard.”

  “Good. So don’t do it.”

  He shook his head quickly. “No, I shouldn’t have said that—it’s not important how hard it is. There isn’t another way. I told you, it makes sense. Narrative sense. It’s how stories work. For order to be restored, there needs to be a sacrifice.”

  “This isn’t a story.”

  “You aren’t. Lydia isn’t. But I am, and this world is. This moment is too. It’s why I’ve been here, all this time. I’ve spent twenty-six years learning to read and to summon and to love your world, so that I can be right here, and do this one thing, for it and for you. I was always this.”

  “You weren’t this. You were my brother.”

  And I realized, too late, that I had said it in past tense.

  Charley must have noticed; it was exactly the sort of thing it was his job to notice. But he didn’t point it out.