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The Tombs

Page 12

by Deborah Schaumberg


  “I show you?” He stood and pointed to the small door.

  “Sure, you go first.” I hoped the scorpion he’d shown me wasn’t running loose back there. I ducked to follow him in, and he locked the door behind us. The candlelit room was similar in size to the front room, but shelves lined both sides and a long wooden table ran down the center. “Geeno, what is this?”

  “It my treasure,” he said, beaming. The shelves were crammed with scraps of metal, gears of all sizes, old clocks and instruments, spools of wire, and coffee tins filled with screws and nuts and bolts. I even recognized some old metalworking tools, similar to the ones we used at the Works. Now I understood all the locks.

  “Where did you get all this, Geeno?”

  “Most in the trash,” he said. “Oscar, he give me some, too.”

  “Oscar?” I thought back to what Mr. Malice had said the day of the explosion. “Geeno, what if Oscar was stealing from the factory?”

  “No way.” He shook his head and laughed. “I doubt Oscar that stupid.”

  I wasn’t so sure. “Geeno, you and I both know it’s hard to live on our salary. I bet he could make a pretty penny selling tools like these.”

  “I guess.” He shrugged. “Oscar has been bringing me food, but he say the vendors gave to him.”

  If Oscar had been stealing to feed Geeno, he’d probably saved him from slipping through the cracks of the street and into the sewer below. I hunched my shoulders under the weight of my shame. I’d been more concerned about rekindling my friendship with Grace than taking care of Geeno.

  “Look here.” Geeno stood at the table, pointing to a row of glass mason jars. Each had a metal top poked through with breathing holes for the insect within. Some also held bits of grass or dried fruit. Bending down, I scanned them one by one—a hornet, a spider, the scorpion I’d seen earlier, a dragonfly, a grasshopper, and a giant beetle with iridescent green wings. “I find them,” he said. “Well, the scorpion, my neighbor Tom, he find that. But they all hurt. They need help.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Clearly, helping these insects meant everything to Geeno. How can I tell him it’s not possible? How can I tell him he shouldn’t try to save them?

  A flit of movement caught my eye, and I noticed another dragonfly in a shallow box on the table. Geeno had fabricated two of its four wings. They were beautifully crafted out of paper-thin segmented copper. Fitted around the insect’s abdomen was a silver tube, some sort of patch where it was hurt, I supposed. Attached to the tube were gears linking the wings to it.

  The dragonfly’s wings trembled pathetically. I pulled out a stool and sat quietly, my heart breaking for the bug as well as for the young inventor. Geeno sat across from me, his big brown eyes filling with tears. I took Geeno’s hand. We watched the dragonfly struggle.

  The dragonfly would not give up. I thought about its will to live, its life force, its energy. I wonder . . . ? I turned the box so that I was facing the insect’s eyes, huge turquoise orbs that covered its entire head like a helmet. I relaxed my breathing and focused on my third eye, the way Hurricane had shown me. Instantly, I saw everything bathed in light. The glow flowed around the dragonfly’s body . . . its legs . . . its wings . . . everything except its metal parts.

  I pushed energy into those parts. I imagined them as one with the whole, working together to complete the insect’s body. The dragonfly jerked. Light began to flow around the gears and mechanical pieces. Soon it encompassed the entire insect, metal parts and all.

  In that instant, the dragonfly zipped up into the air. It whizzed past Geeno. He leapt up, clapping. “Avery, you fix it! You fix it! How did you do it?”

  “I can’t explain it. I . . . I can’t believe it worked.” I stared at the flying insect. “But you’re the one who fixed it, Geeno, not me. I just gave it a little push.”

  Despite my words, my heart swelled with a lightness I’d never felt before. It truly is a gift. If this wasn’t magic, I didn’t know what was. “Did you see it, Geeno? Did you see the light?”

  Geeno tilted his head, smiling. “No, but Cyrano was dying like the others, and now he perfect.” He skipped around the room after the glittering dragonfly.

  “It’s beautiful.” I wondered if this was what my mother had felt every time she’d helped someone. This was worth everything, worth being looked down on by the neighborhood ladies who’d called her a witch behind her back, worth not being invited to tea or meetings of the Brooklyn Heights Society Club. This must be part of being a healer like my mother.

  The dragonfly settled atop Geeno’s mop of hair. I laughed, pointing, making it take off again into the air. Swiftly, it circled back and landed on his arm. He burst out in giggles. Geeno’s laugh was like music. I wanted him to always be this happy.

  “Avery, you fix them all?” He picked up the glass jar with the scorpion.

  “We fix them, Geeno. I can’t do this without you, remember?” I glanced at my timepiece. “But before we do, are there any runners around here? I need two.”

  Geeno left and returned moments later with two skinny kids in tow—his friends Simon and Shane. Their bright eyes twinkled as they eagerly took two cents each to run written messages, one to the wharf where Khan lived and worked: Meet me at the Northside Pier in one hour. I’ll be at the fishmonger’s stall.

  Geeno told me the fishmonger was the busiest vendor in the market—a good place to hide. The other message was to my father. Since we’d gone into hiding, we’d come up with a way to write messages in code. I wrote DSOANFOETBWEOCRARRYEIFAUML.

  It looked like jabber, but was quite easy to understand if you read every other letter start to finish, then again, beginning with the second letter: Do not worry. I am safe. Be careful.

  Then Geeno and I worked side by side on the insects. It was as mysterious as it was magnificent to see each glow with new life, accepting their metal parts as if they’d been born with them.

  By the time I left to meet Khan, Geeno had a living mechanical menagerie crawling and flying around the room. He gave each insect a name, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, they all seemed to know who he was. They followed him around as if he were a bizarre Pied Piper. It made me cringe a little, but he promised they would stay in the workroom.

  I broke into a run, smiling ear to ear. People were sure to think me simple, but I didn’t care. Warmth radiated through my body. I still couldn’t believe what’d just happened, what I’d done. Somehow, the world looked different—shinier, more alive. What other wonderful things are possible with this gift of mine?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Impalement Art

  Khan helped me down into the boat. “Are you feeling okay? You have a funny look on your face.” He started up the engine.

  “It’s nothing.” I wanted to keep this feeling inside, like an exquisite secret, like a hidden mystery. I suddenly remembered another secret feeling—how much I’d wanted to kiss him last night. Heat warmed my cheeks. I looked away, feigning interest in the design of the boat. “This is lovely.” I rubbed my hand along the smooth wood. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I was expecting an old rattletrap like you had last time.”

  Khan beamed with pride. “She’s a steam-driven skiff. And she’s fast.”

  The enclosed front end of the boat was long and sleek, made of glossy varnished wood. An open seat in the middle was just enough for two people, and behind us a large engine with a tall black flue pipe puttered out plumes of smoke. Khan adjusted some knobs on the brass instrument panel and turned the wheel, backing us out.

  “Do we have to go around Gravesend to get to the Gypsy camp? Out into open water?” I asked. The East River was bad enough. I did not want to brave the bay, steam skiff or no.

  “No, I know another way.”

  We cruised north along Brooklyn’s industrial riverfront, passing the immense factories lining the shore. Khan turned into an inlet where a sign read Newtown Creek.

  As we sliced through the water, I told Khan how t
he crows had come to the shop. “They broke my father’s nose and arm.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Khan reached down and squeezed my hand, rubbing it with his thumb. A tingle ran up my arm. “Avery, you can’t go back there. You’ll stay with me. My ouma will love it. She hasn’t seen you in a while.”

  “Khan, I can’t do that.” I let go of his hand to hold on to my cap as the wind picked up. “I can’t endanger your grandmother—or you. I have a place to stay, a safe place. Don’t worry.” I knew he would anyway. His brows drew together in a deep furrow. “Can you check on Seraphine for me, though? And my father.”

  “Of course.” Khan flashed me a tense look. “I don’t know many men like your father, Avery. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than I gave him credit for.”

  The creek got smaller and smaller, until we were ducking our heads under low-hanging branches, the chug-chug-chug of the engine putting me in a pensive mood.

  When I looked up, a vaporous fog clung to the water, the afternoon sun tinting it orange. In the distance a stone wall blocked our way, but as we neared, I saw it arched over the waterway. Once on the other side, a strange quiet descended upon us. Huge pine trees blocked out the light, and through the mist creeping up the bank, solemn faces stared down at us.

  “Khan,” I whispered, relieved to see the faces were made of stone. “What is this place?”

  “Strange, right?” He glanced around. “We’re cutting through the Cemetery of the Evergreens.” He slowed the boat to navigate the narrow passage. “The reservoir is up on the hill. There’s talk of filling in this stream, but for now, it’s the best way across Brooklyn. Not too many people know about it.”

  “Oh, I’ve never been inside this place.” The cemetery was built to alleviate overcrowding at the old Brooklyn churchyards, though many complained it was too remote. Squinting between pockets of mist, I saw it was eerily beautiful, a place of rolling hills and lush greenery—just not a place I wanted to dwell in. I was glad when we exited through the arch on the opposite side and left the cemetery behind. Soon we pulled up to Plunder’s Neck, the base of the Gypsy camp.

  The Gypsy scouts must have seen us coming. Katalina met us at the dock in a long red dress, top hat pulled low on her brow. The shade of her lips matched her dress, which puffed out below her waist over a lofty bustle.

  Out of the side of his mouth, Khan said, “Glad I didn’t have to squeeze you into the boat dressed like that, Little Bird.” I laughed, secretly happy that Khan appreciated my practical, if boyish, outfit.

  Katalina kissed Khan hello. When she turned away, his glance flitted toward me. “Well, I know you two have a lot to discuss. I’m going to catch up with the boys.”

  Katalina watched him go, a pained expression on her face. In a soft voice, she said, “Chudato Khaniferre.” Then, seeing my puzzled look, she interpreted, “It is the word for ‘mysterious.’”

  “Do you love him?” I spit out, before I could catch myself.

  She removed a thin cigar from a pocket of her dress and lit it. “Why do you ask?”

  “He’s my best friend, and I was wondering if the two of you . . . No, never mind; it’s none of my business.”

  She blew a puff of earthy-sweet smoke into the air. “I do not think Khaniferre is the type for settling down. Come.” She led me into her tent. There was a large area for shows and, through a curtain, a plush bedroom draped in velvet and silk. All the while, I pondered her inscrutable words. Did Katalina have feelings for Khan that were not returned? But she was so perfect. How could he refuse her?

  Katalina pointed to a settee, tossing her top hat aside. “I would like to discuss your encounter with Hurricane. Please sit. Let me explain.” As I settled myself, anxious for some answers, she tapped her cigar ash into a brass tray. “Indigo is my younger brother.”

  “Your brother?” I had not expected that.

  “Yes, and when I met you, I hoped you were the girl Indy told me about three years ago.” She took a long pull on the cigar. “And then Hurricane recognized you.”

  “I knew it. Was she there that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand.” I folded my arms. “What did Indigo say about me?”

  Katalina sat by my side. I could smell her floral scent, jasmine and rose, weaving through the clove-infused smoke. “On the night of the Midsummer’s Eve festival, Indy came to me and said he had met a girl who completed him. He said he had met his soul mate.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “But . . . but I came back the next night. He was . . . everyone was gone.”

  “Yes.” She hung her head. “He was thirteen. Naturally, I thought he was being dramatic. Indy has always been playful, a trickster. I did not take him seriously. I wish I had.” She set her cigar down before continuing. “He wanted to go after you that night, when your father dragged you from him. He swore something bad would happen, said he needed your help. You see, he has a gift like your own and he can recognize it in others, even if they do not yet know it in themselves. He saw the gift of second sight in you that night. He kept saying over and over that he needed you.”

  “Needed me?” I remembered him being cocky, so sure of himself.

  She nodded. “And I would not let him go to you. Later that evening, men in masks besieged us. They shot Indy with a tranquilizer dart, obviously aware of his special power and preventing him from using it. They beat him.” Katalina took my hand. “There was a cruel leader. He looked to me like a pale rat. White-faced.” She shuddered.

  “Dr. Spector.” I felt a weight press onto my chest. “He’s the man from the Tombs.” Even here, far from the cold shell of the Tombs, a chill settled over my shoulders like a wet shawl. “Spector watched my mother when I was a little girl, before he took her. I saw him once, outside my window.” I wondered if he’d followed us to the Gypsy camp. What if it was our fault he’d come here? Maybe Hurricane was right to blame me.

  Katalina nodded. “Yes, Dr. Spector. We believe he has watched others as well, people who showed signs of a gift. It is possible he came to our festival before. Everyone wears a mask, so we would never have known.”

  She continued in a shaky voice. “Spector asked about you, if you had ‘the sight.’ Indy lied to him.” Katalina crossed her heart. “He swore you did not.” A sob broke through her control. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around her. She stiffened but did not move away. “They held me. Made me watch. Spector turned a metal iron in the flames of the bonfire. Then he—” A low moan escaped her throat. “He branded him, Avery. He ripped open Indy’s shirt and branded his skin with the image of a crow. I’ll never forget my baby brother’s scream, the smell . . .” Her eyes were haunted. When she spoke again, it was from an unimaginable place in her mind. “His flesh still burning, they took him away. They attacked anyone who tried to stop them. My father almost lost his life that night. It was the last time I saw Indy.”

  “Mercy, Katalina!” I squeezed her hand. I waited until she had gathered herself, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. “Have you tried to visit him? My father was able to get in under a fictitious name.”

  “Gypsies do not have the same rights as you and your father. They would never let us in.”

  “I’m sorry. So that’s why you packed up and left.” I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. All this time I’d thought Indigo had played a cruel trick on me. Instead, he was locked up in that vile asylum. “They took my mother one week later. But why?”

  “We do not know. We heard of others who were taken around the same time as Indy and your mother. Spector must have been watching and waiting, deciding when to make his move.” She let go of my hand and crushed her cigar into the ashtray. “We came back, ready to fight. We set up a watch on the Tombs. By then he’d increased the size of his militia. As of yet we do not know what Spector is planning. I fear one day soon we will find out.” Grim-faced, Katalina looked at me as if she was trying to see into my soul. “Avery, you are the only hope we have of ge
tting into the Tombs.”

  I was beginning to understand. “You want to use me as bait?” I didn’t appreciate the idea much.

  “Bait? No. But if an opportunity arises, we must be ready. Indy foresaw this evil coming but had faith that you could help him.” She looked down at her black laced boots. “I did not believe him. I will not make that mistake again. And we will do nothing until we know we can protect you. If you can get inside the Tombs and use your ability to cause an explosion, then maybe we can get them out.” Katalina pressed her hands to her face, wiping away the sadness.

  “Katalina, I wish you’d told me all this as soon as Hurricane recognized me. Of course, I will do everything I can for your brother.”

  “You are right. We must trust each other, yes?” Then she rose and held her hand out to me. “And you. No running away again.”

  I took her delicate hand, and she pulled me up. “I can ask the same of you,” I said.

  “Touché. Have you been practicing the techniques that Hurricane showed you?”

  “Yes, they’re helpful, but I’m far from controlling anything.” I touched my necklace and thought of my father. “Something happened yesterday, Katalina. Two men in crow masks came to the shop. They accosted my father.”

  “Aye, they are looking for you, then. It is good you will come here by boat from now on. This location is much more secluded than the last, but we cannot take a chance of them following you. We no longer hold the Midsummer’s Eve festival. It is too risky.” She tilted her head, studying me. “Avery, can you defend yourself?”

  “Well, my father showed me how to shoot a gun and do some hand-to-hand moves with a knife.”

  “Good. And my father should be back from our sister camp on Long Island later this week. I sent a runner, who has since returned with news. Father is anxious to meet you. In the meantime, he has tasked me with teaching you my particular skill, which I have not shared before.” She lifted her chin. “Of course, you will never be as good as I am.” She laughed, lightening the mood.

 

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