It was easier to think about boots than the whip-thin scars she’d seen crossing Bayne’s abdomen and chest in the starlight.
Vespa struggled with her corset laces, cursing under her breath. Then Bayne’s hands were at her back, pulling the laces with expert fingers.
“How do you . . . ?” she began, then stopped as he pulled so tightly, she gasped.
He finished up with a final tug. “I did have three sisters, you know.” She could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it.
“Ah.”
When they were dressed, they stood in silence, looking up toward the City they’d once known. It was eerily quiet. Even the River made no sound. Piskel floated over and collapsed on Vespa’s shoulder, and his wheezing was as loud as the old trolley that used to barrel down the hill on Industrial Way.
She wished she could feed him some energy or, at the very least, some jam cake. But she guessed that Bayne would frown on the former, and she had none of the latter.
“You will have all the cake you can stand when we bring Syrus home, I promise,” she whispered to him.
Piskel squeaked in halfhearted anticipation.
“I definitely think we’re going to need glamours,” Bayne said.
“Can’t say that I disagree,” Vespa said. When they’d snuck into the vampire coven a few months ago, they’d used glamours to make certain the rumors were true. They’d never have gained access to the coven den otherwise.
One moment he was Bayne. The next he was a vampire, even down to the stench of the cold grave.
“Very nice,” Vespa murmured.
It had taken her a while to learn to cast glamours, which were different entirely than shifting shape. A glamour was like throwing a skin over her own, rather than changing her entire being. Too thin and the mask would tear. Too much and it would be a rough approximation of the thing she was trying to cast.
But it was perhaps the one skill she’d managed to perfect, determined to show Bayne that she was capable of learning on her own.
After the incident yesterday she wasn’t sure she could cast anything, but there was nothing for it but to try. One breath and she was herself. Another, and the thin tissue of a hag settled over her features. She was stooped and bent and hooknosed. And she hoped no one looked too closely because she guessed that the hair under her tattered hood might not be fully white.
“Well, then,” she said to Bayne. “Where do you suggest we go?”
“Is Piskel well enough to lead us? I don’t want to do anything that might alert whatever is here.”
Piskel sighed heavily. He was about to lift himself from where he was sheltering under Vespa’s hood, when she held him there and said, “Just tell me which direction, little man. Save your strength.”
Piskel made a sound that seemed like north, if Vespa remembered her directions properly from Syrus’s lessons. He’d been trying to teach her the old language, both written and spoken, but she admitted she wasn’t very good at it.
“I think he wants us to go north,” she said.
They oriented by the few stars they could still see. But when they climbed up to the street, they were plunged into a darkness so deep, it was like walking through ink. Piskel crawled under the damp strands of Vespa’s hair that had come loose during the swim and shivered there.
“We may need to try something else,” Vespa whispered. “I think Piskel isn’t going to be much help.” Her voice sounded like it was muffled by velvet, so thick was the darkness.
“I can give us night vision,” Bayne said. “I’m loathe to do it, but it will be better than carrying a flame. Just be ready to shield yourself in case someone senses it.”
Vespa nodded, then remembered he couldn’t really see her in the dark. The next thing she knew, he had stepped in close to her and put his hand over her eyes. He whispered and there was a soft flare of magic.
His hand fell away, and she could see him. Not in color, but in shades of gray.
It occurred to her that he could have done this much earlier without her knowledge. “You . . . ah . . . didn’t do this at the River, did you?”
He chuckled. “I could hardly call myself a gentleman if I had, now, could I?”
She gripped his wrist before she realized what she was doing. Under the false chill of vampire flesh she could feel his real pulse. “Bayne.”
He looked at her, the blue of his eyes dimmed into gray by the spell.
“Do I have any chance of winning your regard ever again? Is there any chance that you might . . .” Her throat constricted, and she swallowed the last words she wanted to say. Her hag’s voice made everything sound wrong. And yet the words still hung in the heavy air. That you might love me.
Now was not the time, she knew, but she couldn’t help but ask. If they didn’t come through this, she needed to carry the knowledge that there was still some possibility. She didn’t want to die without knowing, and she knew that tonight there was a real chance she might.
She was surprised when he not only did not shake off her hand but took it between his own. His hands were cold as marble.
“There is nothing in my heart that is against you. But there are reasons why we must remain only business associates. Trust me in this. Let us leave it where it lies.”
She swallowed again, wishing she hadn’t said anything and feeling incredibly naive for thinking he might have changed his mind. Finally, she nodded, and he released her gnarled hand.
She was grateful for the glamour, sure it hid her true expression.
Bayne cleared his throat softly and looked up toward the broken dome of the Museum.
“Let’s find Syrus, then. Shall we start in the Museum?”
Vespa felt Piskel cling even more tightly to her nape, if that were possible. He moaned into her hair. “Judging by Piskel’s reaction, I’d say that might be both the best and worst place to begin.”
Business it was to be, then. Business she had done and could do. She was glad the sound of her heart breaking wasn’t obvious.
She followed him as he made his way through the rubble. Things flitted at the corners of her vision, and she saw enough to once again wish that she was still blind. The dark magic here was heavy as the night. The last time she’d experienced malevolence of this weight and immensity had been in the Grue’s presence, and it filled her with foreboding. What if the Grue hadn’t been lost? What if he’d somehow returned to take his revenge?
She considered asking Bayne what he thought, but the closer they got, the quieter they both became. Soon it seemed she was even holding her breath for fear the darkness would hear her. And the hags and boggarts who passed them with gleaming eyes surely hadn’t failed to notice them. She just hoped they accepted them as yet more dark Elementals drawn to this place.
The pounding of hooves from the hill made Bayne pull Vespa into an alley with him. A kelpie thundered by, its eyes white and wild. Vespa quelled the urge to follow it, to ride it straight into the River. She knew what waited for her if she did.
Once the twisted avenue was relatively quiet again, Bayne slipped out, and Vespa followed behind him.
She considered that it might be wiser to lead him to a side door into the Museum than through the front doors, and she plucked at his sleeve, tilting her head toward the University entrance. He looked toward the crushed main doors and took her meaning. Probably a bit too easy.
The old gates with Saint Bacon and Saint Newton had crumbled. The statues of the saints stood on either side of the entrance, their upraised hands holding nothing. The old boxwoods were skeletons of themselves. It looked like centuries had passed, though it had only been a year.
“Piskel,” she whispered, “we need you to help us find Syrus now. Can you help? Is he here?”
The sylph floated out from underneath her hood. He was all gray, a ghost of himself. He nodded, his eyes big and solemn, and drifted toward the entrance Vespa had anticipated using.
The door was off its hinges like the front doors
were, but there was no sign that anything had entered or left there for quite a while.
Vespa reached for the handle, but Bayne stopped her.
“I’ll go first, just in case.”
Vespa let him. If it came to it, he was more accurate with defensive magic than she was. And offensive magic, for that matter.
There was nothing in the hall but whispers. Piskel floated about for a bit, testing the dank air, deciding on the best course.
He made a dipping motion and flew closer to the floor.
“I think he wants us to find a way to go down.”
“Where is the nearest staircase, if it even exists?” Bayne asked. Though he spoke as quietly as possible, his words seemed to take wing and flutter down the corridor.
“This way,” Vespa said. She guessed that large portions of the floor had sunken or fallen away into the deep cave beneath the Museum when Tianlong had been freed. She wasn’t sure, then, how they would get to the lower levels. She herself had never gone far into the depths of the Museum for fear of meeting the Grue in some dark hallway. She’d never realized he’d been hiding right beside her the entire time.
With Piskel nestling back in her hood, Vespa led them toward the nearest staircase to the lower storerooms. To do so, they had to pass across the Great Exhibition Hall, which was sagging and broken and festooned with cobwebs. It hurt her heart a bit to see the Museum in such ruin, even as she knew that her beloved place had caused such misery and suffering to so many. Piskel was obviously not enjoying being back. He kept making hissing noises, like an irritated kitten.
“We’ll get Syrus and be out as soon as we can,” she said to him.
Bayne gave her a look and put a single, corpse-thin finger over his lips. The heat that rushed to her face almost burned away her glamour.
Though the malice was even more palpable than it was out on the street, nothing stopped them, and they saw no one as they crossed the Hall. They descended the cracked stairs carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible.
It seemed ages ago that she had come here seeking a refiner, and even greater ages since Bayne had brought her down here and they had inadvertently kissed. That sweet golden country seemed so distant as to be almost imaginary.
They continued, skirting the gaping hole that had led them deep into the Well where Tianlong had slept for so very long. They went farther down the hallway than Vespa had ever gone, a corridor that tunneled and plunged through what she guessed was the living rock above the Archives. Shattered glass and housings from everlanterns crunched under their feet. Sometimes Bayne wiped away cobwebs that came away red and sticky from his hands.
At last they pushed through a metal door that by all appearances had been neverlocked at one time. It gave with a vast clang.
They stepped out onto a giant ledge, the edge of a spiraling path cut into the living rock. It smelled of dirt and dark and death. What looked like thousands of caverns opened out onto this broad path. Far above, something Vespa couldn’t quite make out sparkled and glowed. Dark lines stretched across it; the strands of a vast web, perhaps.
Clicking noises echoed and eyes gleamed as hundreds of spiderlike creatures emerged from various entryways.
“If they didn’t know we’re here, they know now,” Bayne said.
“What should we do?” Vespa said. The nearest spider-creature was about one hundred yards away, but it had already turned toward them.
“Keep calm. Consider this an opportunity to gather more information while we search for Syrus.”
Vespa swallowed. When she had faced the Grue or Olivia’s predecessor, she had not been dealing with an entire army at once. Even the Raven Guard, as frightening as they’d been, had been few compared to the vast number of spider-creatures confronting them now. Something very wrong indeed was afoot.
“If they don’t eat us for breakfast first.”
“I don’t think that’s their intent. Not yet, anyway. For all they know, we’re a vampire and a hag looking for a place to hide from the sun. Just pretend that we got lost. The less we say, the more we might learn.”
“Hmph.”
“Piskel,” Bayne asked, “can you seek out Syrus? Find us when you can.”
Vespa clenched her fists in the ratty hag sleeves and watched Piskel become a speck of ash in the vast darkness.
The nearest spider-creatures closed in on them. Bile rose in Vespa’s throat as she saw that they were some sort of human-mechanical hybrid. Who was doing this and why?
“You must come with us,” one creature said, its voice hissing and bubbling as though it was drowning in fluid.
They were escorted up the long path around the pit. Through open passages Vespa glimpsed things hanging from the ceiling, reminding her of visits to the butcher for special occasions when Aunt Minta wanted to be sure she got just the right cut of meat. The smell was almost the same. But Vespa had a bad feeling that the things hanging in the caves were not livestock, at least not as she defined it.
She wanted to ask Bayne if he thought Syrus was in one of these places, but she held her tongue. Surely the spider-things would be listening and reporting to whomever they were taking them to. And Piskel was doing his best to find him. He could probably find him more quickly than they could. All she could do was wait and hope there was another chance to get Syrus free.
The creatures herded them up to a great spiral staircase that seemed to have been blasted out of the living rock. Vespa couldn’t remember it ever having been here before. Like the path, it was wide enough for several people to walk abreast. What creature or Elemental might need such a wide passage?
Up the stairs they went, the clicking shuffle of spider-feet going before and behind. Dread closed in from every side, wrapping Vespa’s lungs in its iron fist. There were so many. She hadn’t imagined there would be so many.
At the top she finally realized where they were. They had just come up under the broken dome of the old observatory at the southern end, where the old orrery lay in skeletal shambles.
Where the Machine had been was a giant web stretched over the pit, the roof she’d seen from below.
In that web sat a spider of such immensity and darkness that Vespa stepped back at the sheer horror of it. One of the creatures behind her poked with its sharp metal appendage to get her moving again.
They were herded to the edge of the pit. A scarlet-wrapped sack hung from a shattered balcony nearby. Vespa could just make out the face of a faun. Olivia’s envoy. Syrus had been right. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from gagging.
Vespa realized that the back of the spider was to them, its heavy abdomen sagging on the web strands. Its head was under the shambles of the Machine and other fallen rubble that seemed to have been piled together to make what seemed a very uncomfortable nest. She could see the forelimbs moving, turning, and patting something. Or many somethings. For she also saw more of the spider-creatures emerging from the nest, carrying what looked like glowing balls—or eggs—very gingerly between their front appendages and taking them back down to the caves below.
Vespa bit back the curse on the tip of her tongue. This explained why there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of these things. The giant shadowspider was laying them, and her workers, like ants or bees, were taking care of them. How and why they hybridized with humans, she had no idea. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She looked up and saw that on the crumbled catwalk around the dome, scarlet-robed xiren like the one that had attacked Olivia stood in waiting. She could just make out the gold markings on their foreheads. They must be higher-ranking than these hybrid minions who tended the caves in the pits.
This was not simply some rogue Elemental they were dealing with. This was a queen. With a court and an army.
The false saints only knew where Syrus was now. Or if he was still even alive.
Bayne exhaled a little sharply, and Vespa could see he’d also noticed the xiren waiting above. But his vampire countenance remained impass
ive, except for the marbled veins running even darker through his white flesh.
Then the giant spider turned.
“On your knees,” the spider-creature nearest them hissed. “On your knees before Ximu, Queen of the Shadowspiders.”
The spider-creatures pushed them down, stabbing and poking, until both Vespa and Bayne knelt at the edge of the pit with heads bowed.
Nothing was said aloud or in the mind, but Vespa felt a wave of assurance from Bayne, as if he would say, “Calm and steady,” if only he could. They had been in situations before that had been harrowing, but none quite so much as this since dealing with the Grue and restoring the Heart to Tianlong. She wanted to reach out to him and take his hand for some reason, but she knew that would be purest folly. She gripped the inside of her sleeve instead and kept her head bowed.
Though the air had seemed dank and stale and occasionally meat-scented since they’d entered the Museum, nothing compared to the stench that drifted over them as the great spider turned and faced them. It was the smell of venom and silk, droppings and death. It was the scent of a malice so ancient as to be nearly incomprehensible to the average mortal.
The stench rippled around them, tugging and warping and finally shredding their glamours like a pair of invisible scissors.
Vespa struggled to hold on to hers, but it turned to ash in her hands.
And then the thing was laughing. The laugh was so familiar that Vespa couldn’t help but look up.
For all that she had changed, there was no question of who crouched on the web above them. It was the answer to what Vespa had often pondered.
Lucy Virulen had not been lost in the destruction of the Machine.
She was alive. Horribly, horribly alive.
CHAPTER 11
When next I wake, the cave moss seems to be moving, stretching, creeping up and down the wall. I squint. Maybe the venom is destroying my sight. After the dreams I’ve had, I can no longer tell if I’m seeing anything at all.
The Tinker King Page 8
