The Tombs

by Deborah Schaumberg

  The steam elevator hissed to life. I shifted to see. The crows stood at the base, waiting, while the lift ascended toward the perch.

  Mr. Malice must have heard it. He looked out the window. I was too far away to make out his expression.

  The passenger became visible in Bessie’s glow. I saw a white face through the bars of the cage. Spector!

  Come on, Mr. Malice, I thought, don’t go soft on me now. If you’re ever going to pummel someone, this is the time.

  The elevator stopped. Through the windows, I saw Spector speaking with Mr. Malice. A few moments later, the back door opened and Mr. Malice stepped out onto the abandoned catwalk. I could hear him now, voice raised.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but as you can see”—he pointed down at the factory floor—“she’s not here.” He hesitated and then added, “In fact, I fired her.” He held his bandaged arm in the air. “She caused an accident, so I fired her today.”

  He was lying to cover for me, and talking too loudly. He wanted me to hear his warning.

  “No. I have no idea where she went. Now get out.”

  Spector emerged from the office behind him. I knew he said something, but unless he shouted like Mr. Malice, it was impossible to hear.

  Mr. Malice’s jaw dropped. “He sent you? Why would—”

  Spector lifted his hand. I clearly saw the outline of a tranquilizer gun. And the next second, I heard a pop.

  Mr. Malice cried out, a dart embedded in his chest, “What the—”

  I held my hand over my mouth, fully expecting Mr. Malice to lose consciousness or fall to his knees. But he just stood there, arms slack, face expressionless. Spector spoke again, and for some reason, Mr. Malice turned and made his way further out onto the catwalk. I heard it creak and groan beneath his weight. Where is he going? He can’t go out over Bessie.

  A sickening feeling crept into my gut. I ducked out to get a better look, despite Geeno desperately trying to wave me back. Mind whirling, I closed my eyes and fought to focus on my third eye. It was hard to do, my concentration scattered and elusive. But when I opened my eyes, I saw something terrible, something I’d never seen before.

  The aura around Spector was unfathomably dark. Long tendrils stretched away from him like black eels, sliding along the catwalk, slithering toward Mr. Malice.

  What’s happening? Mr. Malice continued to shuffle forward. He was eighty feet in the air, directly over Bessie. Somehow, Spector was controlling him, I just knew it.

  To my horror, Mr. Malice unclipped the guide wire. With a loud twang, it snapped free, dangling from the bridge. Without hesitation, Roland Malice stepped off the catwalk into the air.

  He fell in complete silence and what seemed like slow motion. Bessie’s large opening received him with nothing more than a hot sigh.

  I screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bessie Baby

  Vaguely, I felt pulling on my arm, but all I could see was Bessie, silently digesting her evening meal. It was wrong. She was his baby. I heard crying and realized it was my own.

  Shattered, I turned to see what was shaking me. Geeno. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him over the thumping in my brain.

  A whirl of black rushed toward us. The guards. They moved so fast it was as if they’d learned to fly like crows. My mind sprang to the danger we were in. I have to get Geeno out of here.

  “Run!” I yelled.

  A flood of relief washed over Geeno’s face. “That’s what I say.”

  I sprinted, clutching his hand in mine. We twisted and turned, trying to outrun the swishing cloaks and hammering boots behind us. The sounds were getting louder. They were gaining on us. But I knew this place like the back of my hand. Think!

  The main entrance was out, as it might also be guarded, but there was a place we could hide, if we could get to the Siemens furnace room. “This way,” I hissed, taking a sharp right turn. I heard Geeno cry out, and I spun around. One of the crow-guards had his other arm. Without thinking, I caught up a pair of sharp metal-cutting shears from the station next to me and hurled it at the guard. I missed him entirely, but my missile embedded deeply in the wooden table, pinning his cloak. Geeno wrenched his arm free and we bolted.

  Ducking down an aisle stacked high with crates, we looped back around toward the elevator, which was descending from the perch. We’d lost the guards for the moment, but we’d have to be fast or risk running into the murderer in the elevator.

  “Come on, Geeno. We’re firing up the Works.” I shoved him ahead of me. “Faster!”

  Spector’s white face stood out starkly in the darkness over our heads. His mouth was curled into a sadistic smile. I was in a nightmare—the sudden sense of dread, spiking adrenaline, disorientation. Only seeing Geeno’s little body running ahead of me kept me from crumbling to the ground.

  We were almost there. The elevator was still twenty feet or so above us. We skidded to a stop at the control panel door. “You start on the left.” I fished for my key, mingled with the other trinkets on my necklace. Everyone at the Works was given a key to the control panel, to shut the machinery down in an emergency. I’d never had an occasion to use it before. My hand shook as I tried to jam the key into the lock but dropped it in my haste. “Bloody hell!”

  “Here, let me.” Geeno shoved his key in, swinging open the steel cage door. Memories of our instruction kicked in as I pushed knobs and pulled levers. At my side, Geeno did the same. We turned on anything that moved—the belts and the trolleys, the iron depositors, the jets of the water-cooling tanks, the Siemens furnace, and Bessie. Within seconds, the ironworks had exploded to life in a cacophony of turning gears, hissing steam, clamor, and commotion.

  We locked the control panel door so they could not shut the equipment down again, and turned to run. The elevator came to a stop.

  “Avery Kohl.” A cold whisper entered my brain. “I’ve been searching for you.”

  I froze. My whole body began to tremble.

  “You are sick. You need my help. Come with me. I will take you to your mother,” he assured me.

  It’s a trick, I told myself. He murdered Mr. Malice. The only thing separating me from Spector was the elevator gate and a few feet of space. His crisp gray suit hung oddly on his skeletal frame, his top hat too formal. His clothing was a mask, too, I realized, as if the finery could hide the evil. My sight flickered, and I saw his true nature unfold. The energy of others appeared to me as vaporous, smoky clouds that shifted from black to gray to white. Those auras were malleable, and I knew people had the ability to change them, to own them. This was something else entirely. The smog surrounding Spector was so dense it was devoid of light, darker than black. It moved and writhed like a monstrous octopus, infused with a life all its own.

  His eyes bored into mine, and I felt the unnatural tentacles curl around me, trying to penetrate my soul. I stood transfixed as he slid the gate of the elevator open and took a step forward. He was so close I could see his small teeth, outlined in black as if they were rotting in his mouth. “Come with me, Avery Kohl.”

  “Avery?” The small sound of Geeno’s voice broke the spell I was under. I spun, grabbing Geeno’s arm, and ran.

  Behind us, I heard another pop. He’s firing at us! I dragged Geeno into the Siemens furnace room, the sound of the machinery drowning out everything else. Geeno tripped again, dragging at my side. “Come on,” I whispered. “Almost there.”

  On hands and knees, I crawled under the coke oven, pulling Geeno through to the conveyor belt, which exited through a small hole in the wall, just big enough for Geeno and me if we laid ourselves flat on its surface. “Lie down! Watch your hands and feet.”

  Geeno climbed onto the moving belt and lay on his stomach. I jumped on behind him and was about to lower my head when I saw something sticking out of his leg. It was an ampule of murky liquid. No!

  “Hold on, Geeno! I’m right behind you.” I ducked my head as the conveyor belt took
us through the wall and tilted up, up toward the coal reservoirs. Below us were the great rollers that flattened steel into thin sheets. If we fell, there would be nothing left of us to find.

  Geeno’s arms went limp. I wrapped my fingers tightly around his ankle and slid my body forward over his legs. I felt the belt quiver below me as it angled more steeply. We were going higher. “Don’t move, Geeno.” I gripped the glass tube and yanked. Geeno cried out. “It’s all right,” I reassured him. “Just hold on.”

  Once we were over the metal grate floor, I jumped off and ran to catch up to Geeno. Throwing my arms around him, I lifted him off the belt and carried him into the coal runner’s station, where we huddled against the wall. We’d wait until they gave up looking. We could hide here all night if we had to.

  Geeno’s head lolled to the side. I made a pillow of a burlap sack and removed his helmet. “Avery, what hap—” He tried to speak but his eyes fluttered closed.

  “You’ll be all right. You’ll be all right,” I repeated, stroking his cheek. Lifting the strange ampule, I studied the swirling liquid inside. Please don’t die.

  From up here I had a direct view of the perch but could not see down into the factory. As I stared out, trying not to think about what had happened, Bessie released a cascade of fire, sparks raining down onto the factory floor like fireworks.

  I thought of all the times I’d heard Roland Malice talking to her. He’d yell, “Come on, little lady. You got it, girl,” or “Show us your stuff, Bessie baby,” as she prepared to tilt her enormous body.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Malice,” I whispered. “Goodbye.”

  I must’ve fallen asleep. My eyes felt swollen, caked with sweat and dirt and dried tears. I rubbed them open, to darkness. Something wasn’t right. It took me a minute to realize that the factory was quiet. I looked at my timepiece. Half past five.

  Did the crows break into the control panel and switch everything off? I wasn’t sure, but somehow I knew they were gone. I could no longer feel the chill of their presence. They must’ve thought we’d escaped to the streets.

  “Geeno, wake up.” I peeled my arm out from under him. Pressing my face against his chest, I felt him breathing, but he was out cold. I had to get him to the Gypsies. The herb doctor would know how to counteract Spector’s poisons.

  Luckily, Geeno was light enough for me to carry. I hoisted him up. It was slow going, and I stopped every few feet to listen. The only sound came from Bessie as she crackled and hissed.

  On the main floor, I passed the control panel. It was still locked. Strange. How was the factory shut down? I stared up at Bessie as I continued toward the rear entrance. Now I’d really have nightmares about her. A tear slipped down my face and fell onto Geeno’s. I needed to talk to my father. We had to report the murder of Roland Malice to the police.

  Then I remembered what my father had told me about Tammany Hall and the police. They were all corrupt. Besides, who would believe me if I told them what’d happened? I’ll end up in the asylum for sure or worse, hanged.

  I laid Geeno down and ran to the workstations. I grabbed our coats and put away our tools so it would appear as if we’d left for the day. Then I sprinted back to Geeno, catching a glimpse of a piece of black cloth with the shears still lodged in the middle of it as I ran.

  After the long night, I felt weak and disoriented. I was bent over, recovering my breath, when the oddest thing happened. Even though I knew we were alone, I felt like someone was watching me. When I placed my hand against the wall, I could’ve sworn it sank into the metal. For an instant, I had the distinct feeling of fingers interlaced with mine, and jumped back, looking at the place where my hand had been. There was nothing there.

  Gingerly, I touched the wall with the tip of my finger. Solid as ever.

  I have to get out of here. If I hadn’t recently convinced myself I wasn’t mad, this would have sent me over the edge. Lifting Geeno, I made my way to the sliding door that led to the rear docks and rail terminal. Padlocked. I’d have to go out the front and around the entire building. I started in that direction, but behind me I heard a loud click. I whirled around. The lock was open.

  “What the hell?” I yelled at the factory.

  It was as if the Works was helping me. I looked around again, half expecting to see the ghost of Mr. Malice. I even closed my eyes and focused on my third eye. Everything was exactly as it should be. Static. No energy that I could see, other than that surrounding Geeno and myself . . . until I looked up. Above the door, a set of numbers on the wall glowed for a brief second.

  I sat Geeno on a chair, pushed a crate over, and stood on top of it. Reaching up, I ran my hand over the metal surface of the wall. The numbers were raised, as if pressed out from behind: 8-13-21. How strange. I’d never noticed them before. Then again, I didn’t usually come out this way.

  Geeno groaned. I jumped down just in time to stop him from falling off the chair. Forgetting everything else, I lifted him and removed the lock. The door slid easily along its metal track. Before shutting it, feeling silly but grateful, I whispered into the space, “Thank you, Mr. Malice.” Just in case.

  The cold night air felt good after the heat inside. I stayed in the shadow of the building and made my way around to the side, where the all-night pubs ensured plenty of hansom cabs would be hovering like flies.

  My only chance was to get Geeno to the wharf where Khan worked and pray he could get us to the Gypsies in time. I dug forty cents out of my pocket and approached the first cab in the line. It was a typical hansom, the driver sitting up high on the back of a buggy just big enough for two. The buggy was open in front but had a roof and three sides to hide us. His horse bobbed its head at my approach.

  “Excuse me, sir.” I tried to sound as grown-up I could. “My friend is ill. I need to get to the wharf along Furman Street as quickly as possible.”

  “You got money?” I showed him the change. The driver had several missing teeth and a threadbare top hat, but the horse looked to be in good condition. And I couldn’t afford to be particular; the crows might be lurking nearby.

  Getting Geeno in was easier said than done. I found a blanket under the seat and covered him up, my sack serving as a pillow. The streets were quiet, the clop-clop-clop of the horse the only sound. I realized I still had my helmet on, so I tossed it by my feet and ran my hand through my hair. It was nice to feel the cool breeze on my face.

  So much had happened since I’d caused the explosion at the Works. And now Roland Malice was dead. What was going to happen when the men showed up for work in a few hours? My life was spiraling out of control, the words of a madman—Come with me, Avery Kohl—etched on my brain. No matter how hard I tried to block them out, I heard them again and again.

  I kept nodding off, lulled by the rocking motion of the buggy and the darkness of the streets. My mind sifted through thoughts randomly. I wished I could curl up in my bed and sleep, and wake tomorrow to find it all a terrible dream.

  The way to the wharf took us around the navy yard. A choking heaviness came over me as we passed the entrance to my street. I gripped the sides of the buggy, torn between jumping out to see my father and telling the driver to whip his horse to a run. The shop was a dangerous place, especially as Spector had also found Cross Street Ironworks.

  As we turned a corner, warm light swelled over my face. I sucked in my breath. A spectacular sunrise peeked between the tenement buildings, tinting the sky pink and purple. The East River shimmered in the distance, illuminated by the dawn.

  My mother had not seen a sunrise in three years. What would she say it was trying to tell me? I allowed a small kernel of hope to enter my heart as the long slanted rays drove out the shadows. I would talk to the guard from the Tombs today. He’d said he could help.

  With or without the Gypsies, I would come up with a plan.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Weld Rats

  Sunrise was no quiet time on the Brooklyn waterfront. We turned up Furman Street into the
loud congestion of early morning traffic, on the street, on the river, and up in the air. Tugboats lined up next to great sailing ships with two-hundred-foot masts, yards of sailcloth, and miles of rigging that snapped and clanged in the wind. Massive tramp steamers carried coal or cargo from around the world. Impossibly tall floating grain elevators were towed up to large brick warehouses that lined the docks, and the factories beyond spewed ash into the yellow-black clouds.

  And everywhere the airships, casting rippling oblong shadows along the water.

  I lifted Geeno out of the cab—my arms were tired now; I couldn’t carry him much longer—and paid the driver. Where was Khan? Was he working outside this morning? I scanned the area, but he was nowhere in sight. A gilded sign outside his building read John Englis & Sons. Englis was an old-time ship builder. Khan said he’d built the first of the Union’s gunboats, the Unadilla, in just forty-eight days at the start of the Civil War.

  I stepped through the two-story sliding wood doors into the cool, dark interior. The smell of freshly sanded pine hung in the salty air. Four or five men looked up; thank goodness, one of them was Khan. He ran over.

  “Avery, what are you doing here?” He lifted his work goggles and grabbed Geeno, laying him on a pile of sandbags. “What happened?”

  “Khan, he found me.” I looked around, lowering my voice. “Spector came to the factory. He murdered Roland Malice. He shot Geeno with a vial of liquid.” I took a deep breath and wiped my forehead. “We must get him to the Gypsies right away.”

  “Man alive! I’ll be right back.” Khan sprinted over to a group of workers sanding the tall wooden ribs of a ship. A man with white hair and eyes like the sea looked us over as Khan spoke.

  “Let’s go,” Khan said, hurrying back.

  “Wait! I’ve got to get word to Tony. He will be worried sick when we don’t show up for work. Do you have a runner?”

  On the way out, Khan flipped a coin to a scrawny boy and relayed the message. Geeno is ill. I’m taking him to the same place as Oscar. From A.