The Tombs

by Deborah Schaumberg

  My thoughts shifted to Mr. Gentry’s scheme for our escape; they circled around the problems and possibilities until my head hurt. All we had was an idea, a vague one at best.

  The morning nurse and the evening nurse came and went. Still my mind was abuzz with questions.

  The first problem was Indigo’s iron cuff. If we could not remove it, he was bound to that room. I couldn’t imagine how to get ahold of the key. He said only the crow-guards could unlock it. One always lurked in the hallway; if a nurse came to escort him to the washroom, the guard released him. Over the years, Indigo had tried everything to pick the lock or break the cuff. Nothing had worked.

  I considered the tools Mr. Gentry had on his workbench. There must be one that would work. Another thought occurred to me. What if it’s not a tool? I sat up. What if it’s a chemical? Mr. Gentry had said sulfuric acid could dissolve anything. Would it eat through metal? I was determined to find out.

  While I waited for the hallways to go silent and the lights to shut down, I practiced seeing the energy around my hands. I had to get better at calming my mind when there was chaos around me—that’s when I’d need my ability most.

  When midnight struck, I made my way up to Mr. Gentry’s greenhouse, skirting the poisonous borrachero trees. I found him pruning roses with a little scissor. Pepper was looking down at him from a nearby tree, and Mr. Gentry was talking to him as if he were real.

  “You see, Pepper, we cut just above the bud, like so. Then we—”

  “Hello, Mr. Gentry. Glad I didn’t wake you again.”

  “Oh, Pepper, look who’s here. Don’t sleep much these days, Miss Avery. Used to, but no more.” He pocketed the scissor and dusted off his hands. “Did you go to the Gypsy boy?”

  “Yes, I found him. Exactly where you said.”

  “Yes, yes, Sally knows all, she does. Are you sure you want to help that boy? From what Sally and I have seen, he’s too far gone for helping. Trouble with a capital T, I tell you. Looks like a wild beast, he does.”

  “He’s been through a great deal. Have you and Sally seen anything else? Did you find Hurricane or the boy?”

  Mr. Gentry turned his head, closed one eye, and studied me intensely with the other. “You haven’t been nipping at my coca leaves, now, have you?”

  “What? No. I don’t even know what coca leaves look like. I get this way when I’m nervous.” I realized I did feel stronger than when I’d first been captured. “I probably have more energy because they’re giving me real food instead of mush. Fortifying my blood, I’m told.”

  “All right, then, all righty. Sally and I have not found them. But we found the board across the tunnel, we did. You saw your mother?”

  I hung my head. “Barely a glimpse. It was too dark, and she did not respond.” Another thought occurred to me. “Mr. Gentry, now that we are working together, can you please show me my mother though Sally’s eye?” Knowing his possessiveness of Sally, I held my breath. “I would love to see Sally in action,” I added.

  “She’s a beaut, she is.” His cheeks turned pink. “Sally, I mean. Although your mother is quite pretty as well.” He glanced up at the moon. “Not much time, but we can try, we can.”

  I followed him to Sally’s spool. He lifted the heavy glass and strapped it to my head. “Sally prefers to work in the light of day, she does. The sun hits the mirrors and brightens things up quite nicely. But we use a lantern at night.”

  With the glass orb in front of my face, I stuck my head into the large cone. Mr. Gentry began unspooling Sally’s immense length. Then he raised the wick on a lantern hanging directly over us. Shocked, I sucked in my breath.

  “I can see.” It reminded me of looking into a kaleidoscope. I saw the ringed sides of the tube; at the end was a view out. I was Sally’s eye.

  My stomach dropped a little as Sally and I went over the edge of the shaft. Then our progress stopped; I heard Mr. Gentry clicking a gear that turned the eye up and into the other opening. He stopped at the grate through which I’d seen the walls of tufted fabric.

  The mirrors within Sally reflected a soft light into the space. There, on a mattress on the floor, was my mother.

  My view blurred as my eyes welled with tears. She was still sedated, her limbs slack in unconsciousness. Seeing her like this made me feel as if I was breaking inside. I pulled my face away, tears dripping onto the glass. She’d looked so close; I almost called out to her.

  “You were right. It’s her,” I said. Mr. Gentry removed the glass from my head. I rubbed my sore temples. “Thank you, Mr. Gentry.”

  “You are most welcome, you are. But you must go now. Please hurry.” He led me down the steps, waving me along. “Don’t want to get caught up here, no sirree.”

  I had to find out about the sulfuric acid without arousing Mr. Gentry’s suspicion. He was so fearful of coming up even a gram short on his supply levels, I was afraid that if he knew what I was thinking, he would stop helping me entirely. I hated to lie to him, but I had no choice. As he escorted me to the entrance, I took a chance. “Mr. Gentry, the other night you mentioned the deadly properties of sulfuric acid. I’m curious—what could they possibly need it for here in the Tombs?”

  “Sulfuric acid, you say?” He puffed up his chest. “Why, how do you think I got them through all the corroded iron doors when Dr. Spector reopened the lower levels? We ate right through them, we did!”

  “Of course. Good night, Mr. Gentry,” I said, and climbed onto the ladder, my blood tingling in excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Indigo.

  Only, as I neared the grate at his room, I heard voices. Someone else was with him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Fresh Source

  Quietly, staying in the shadows, I peered through the bars. Indigo stood tensed, holding a loop of the chain attached to his shackle. A guard in a crow mask approached him slowly. When the guard was a few feet away, Indigo whipped the chain up, smashing it into the guard’s leg. Crack. The guard fell, screaming, then scrambled away, out of my line of sight.

  Slow methodical clapping sounded. “Well, well, well.” Spector! “What’s gotten into you tonight, boy? We have work to do, and you are wasting my time.”

  “I won’t do it,” Indigo said. “Use someone else’s blood.”

  “But we have succeeded in creating the serum, you and I. And I’ve told you before, your blood is special, it’s stronger. Why else do you think I give you all these privileges, treat you well?” Spector moved closer, coming into my view. Sweat broke out on my brow. My muscles stiffened. What if he finds me?

  “You’re sickening. Why are you doing this?”

  “Indigo, haven’t we been through this before?” Spector sighed, as if he were speaking to a headstrong child. “I have my reasons; the industrialists have theirs. But our objectives align beautifully.”

  “If it’s my blood you want, let the others go. I heard a guard say you even have a woman imprisoned here. You don’t need her.” The realization hit me hard—Indigo knew I was hiding in the tunnel. He was talking about my mother.

  Spector slowly tilted his head to each side, cracking his neck. His eyes sliced over the back of the room. I could tell he didn’t like the idea of Indigo getting information from a guard. “You’re right, I don’t need her. I have a fresh source.” He means me.

  “I won’t go with you.” Indigo still held the section of chain, and now he began to swing it slowly back and forth.

  Spector’s voice strained, as if he was trying to stay under control. “Think carefully. I have recently acquired an albino friend of yours. She’s quite young, isn’t she? In the blossom of her youth. . . . Her face may never heal, but the rest of her will work.”

  “You swine,” Indigo hissed. “She’s just a little girl.” But he released the chain, letting it fall with a loud clatter to the stone floor. “Don’t . . . don’t hurt her.” Indigo fell still. His eyes flicked in my direction but in the next breath dropped to avoid giving me away.

  “Y
ou see? You are powerless before me.” Spector snapped his fingers. Behind him came two guards, who rushed at Indigo, grabbing his arms. The one he’d hit with the chain hobbled over, too, pulling a wooden nightstick from his belt. I pressed my fist to my mouth so I wouldn’t make a sound as he lifted it in the air and smashed it into Indigo’s thigh.

  Indigo cried out and doubled over. Raising the club again, the guard brought it down onto Indigo’s back. Indigo grunted, his whole body jerking from the impact. No! I willed them to stop, knowing I was powerless to help. The club cracked down onto Indigo’s shoulder.

  Did I put the fight back into Indigo, only to watch them beat it out of him?

  “Enough,” barked Spector, stopping the guard. He bent over, bringing his face close to Indigo’s. “Maybe next time you’ll make this easier on yourself.” Spector spun on his heels and strode toward the door. “Bring him to the OR.”

  I waited until they were long gone before I dared move. Spector’s words sounded in my head. I have a fresh source. He had moved my mother to the upstairs room because now he had me . . . my blood. And he’ll keep her as a hostage to use against me, just as he used Hurricane to get Indigo to submit.

  I crawled back to my room and burrowed under my blanket. Every noise in the hallway made me tense, every scratch of the pendulum grated on my nerves.

  I watched the clock tick away the seconds. Only five minutes had passed since the last time I looked. Time, like an evil enchanter, played by his own rules, stealing moments with sleight of hand or stretching them out on a torturous whim. And yet, because my father built clocks, it seemed it was always time that made me feel close to my family.

  I rolled to my side and looked at the markings I’d made on the wall, to count down the days to the execution. Today was the eleventh. I had twenty-four hours before my scheduled bloodletting. I had to endure that, since the execution was scheduled for Saturday, November eighteenth.

  One week.

  A public execution in the prison courtyard was the only time the outside world breached the security of the Tombs. Mr. Gentry thought that maybe, by some miracle, and if all went according to plan, we could slip out with the crowd. And somehow figure out a way to stop Spector’s evil plans.

  But now Spector was drawing blood from Indigo. Given how I felt after Spector’s sessions, would Indigo be capable and coherent enough to help me? And so far, Sally had been unable to locate anyone else.

  To distract myself from worrying about the plan, my thoughts drifted to Khan and Indigo. When Khan had kissed me, it felt like home, sweet and familiar. But Khan always had a pretty girl on his arm—he attracted them like bees to honey. I knew he loved me in his own way, but did I want to risk our long years of friendship? And what about Katalina? Where did she fit into Khan’s life?

  Then there was Indigo. Being with him was like being caught in a storm, thunder and lightning crashing down around me. I felt alive, yes; the danger lit up my soul. Yet I could so easily get burned.

  For now, I must restrain my impulses. Until I was out of this prison, I could not think of a future with either of them.

  The morning nurse would arrive soon. Again the clock drew my eye. I imagined its inner workings, which Father so loved to show me: the pendulum swinging back and forth, attached to the escapement, which rocked in place, clicking the teeth of the power gears one by one, engaging the timekeeper gears that moved the hands—beautiful in its simplicity. The continuous and flawless motion was fascinating in a way. I heard my father’s voice: “Without one part, the clock doesn’t work, but together, it’s precision and artistry.”

  It’s like our escape plan, I thought. If all the pieces don’t come together, we’re dead, or worse . . . stuck here forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Specimens

  As the day wore on, my distress intensified. I was emotionally drained from my midnight excursion, leaving me anxious. The nurses seemed like cruel witches, their callous eyes hidden behind black goggled lenses. Even the food seemed vile. I could not stomach another chunk of nearly raw meat swimming in bloody juices.

  Falling into a fitful sleep, I dreamt of Seraphine. She perched on my shoulder as I made my way down the halls of the Tombs. I was following a set of wet footprints. But the footprints changed to blood, and they were no longer made by feet, but by cloven hooves. I stopped, afraid to continue. My only comfort was Seraphine, but then her claws started to grow. They pierced my skin like meat hooks and sent blood running into my hospital gown. When I looked at her in hurt surprise, she opened her razor-sharp beak and plucked out my eyes.

  I awoke in a puddle of sweat. The clock said one o’clock. Later today, Spector would come for me. I had to find out how Indigo was before then.

  Damp and achy, I opened the grate. Like a giant rat in the tunnels, I knew exactly where to turn. Unfortunately, this was a maze with no exit. How I wished to hide from Spector in here. I could do it, but then all the plans would be ruined, and I would never escape.

  When I got to Indigo’s room, my heart sank. It was empty. I rubbed my eyes, the dust in the air shaft making them burn.

  I turned to go when I heard a rumbling, grumbling noise coming from the tunnel to my left, one I had not yet ventured into. It took me a moment to realize it reminded me of my father’s snoring. After checking to make sure I had enough string to keep from getting disoriented, I followed the sound.

  Very quietly, I approached the flickering light of a lantern slanting through the bars of another wall grate. When I put my eye to the bars, I couldn’t believe who I saw: Nelson Lemming, slumped over a tiny desk in an office of some sort. He was dressed in a rumpled maintenance uniform.

  Part of me was desperate to know what had happened to him. Part of me wasn’t so sure I could trust him. But he might know about Hurricane. I had to risk it.

  “Mr. Lemming,” I whispered. No response. “Wake up, Mr. Lemming.”

  “Hmm?” he muttered, eyes still closed.

  “Mr. Lemming,” I repeated.

  He blinked a few times and stretched his arms out wide with a groan.

  “Over here. It’s Avery Kohl.”

  He sat bolt upright, looking around as if he were hearing a ghost. “Who said that? Someone there?”

  “I’m here, behind the grate in the wall. Avery Kohl.”

  He lifted the lantern, approaching warily. When he saw me, his eyes opened wide. “Saints alive, what are you doing in the wall?”

  “I was captured at the party,” I whispered, hoping there were no other guards nearby.

  “But how the devil did you get in there?” He peered through the grate to see the space beyond.

  “I found a tunnel from my cell. I’m glad you’re all right, Mr. Lemming.”

  “Yeah, thought I’d be dead by now. But after some questions, they decided to reassign me to a menial position in the hospital. I really had no choice but to take it. My shift ended a little while ago. I thought I’d slip in a little nap before I left. The bars on the windows of the caravan helped my cause. They thought I was being held prisoner by the Gypsies, which I suppose, technically, I was.” He lowered his voice. “They never did find Jason’s body.”

  “Mr. Lemming, do you know what happened to Hurricane, the little blond girl?” I held my breath. “Have you seen where Spector is keeping her?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But at the far end of Sub-Basement One are some out-of-the-way cells where Spector keeps captives he has no further use for.” He shook his head. “Thought I’d end up there myself.”

  “I have to get back before they notice I’m gone. Can I ask something of you?” Am I taking a risk?

  He nodded. “Anything.” When I hesitated, he added, “You can trust me.”

  I shifted my sight and saw that he was indeed speaking the truth, but just in case . . . “Do you have pencil and paper?” I asked. He rummaged through a drawer and found something I could use. Using the special code my father and I shared, I wrote out the details of t
he escape plan. “All right. Please find my father, Edgar Kohl, and give him this.” I folded the note, handing it through the bars, and told him the address of the shop. “Thank you, Mr. Lemming.”

  “Good luck,” he said. Then he glanced at the door. “I aim to leave the city soon as I have the chance. And when I get far from here, out west maybe, I’m gonna get me another dog.”

  I smiled and turned to go, but thought of something else. His outerwear was tossed on a chair in the corner. “Mr. Lemming, if it’s not asking too much, may I have your overcoat and hat? They’ll come in very handy.”

  Without hesitation, he stuffed them through the bars.

  Once back in my room, the hat and coat hidden in the tunnel, I broke down and cried. I was glad Mr. Lemming would get away from Spector, hopefully soon. But seeing him on the other side of the grate, free to walk out the door, was like seeing the night sky above the greenhouse: a glimpse of an uncertain freedom. If our plan failed, we’d never get another chance to escape.

  They came for me at exactly nine o’clock in the morning. I heard the squeak of wheels in the hall and a key in the lock. Mrs. Luckett entered with a crow-guard. My skin tingled, cold and clammy, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

  “It’s all right, dear. Dr. Spector is in the operating room, all ready to go. It’s a simple procedure, don’t you worry.” She grabbed my chart and nodded to the guard. He came forward and took my arm. I did not resist. My mind flashed to the time my mother ripped the tube from her arm to help me escape. It felt like another life. And here I was, trapped in the Tombs anyway.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Luckett. I’m so nervous. How much blood do you think I will lose?”

  I climbed onto the gurney, and Mrs. Luckett tucked the sheet around my trembling body.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

  As we moved down the hall, I stared at the wire snaking along the ceiling above my head, at the periodic bare electric bulbs. Inside each was a tiny glowing wire that emitted its feeble light. I missed the warm amber glow of the gaslight.