The Tombs

by Deborah Schaumberg

  Just as Mr. Gentry had described, we stood before the gallows. It was an angry contraption of wood and metal, the top of the platform high above our heads. Two mammoth posts held a beam, from which hung the noose. My body went rigid at the sight. Gently, my mother squeezed my hand in reassurance, but I felt her shaking beside me, from fear or cold I couldn’t be sure.

  I lifted my goggles. Mother took the sack out from under her hospital gown, and I helped her change into Indigo’s old clothes and Mr. Gentry’s shoes. I changed as well, lacing Indigo’s boots tight, and then stuffed the nurse’s uniform into the bag.

  The sides of the platform were made of panels of slotted wood. We walked around the perimeter, searching for a way underneath. But there was no opening. It occurred to me that we could pull the lever and open the trapdoor, but what if the noise was heard or we could not shut it once inside? No, we had to find another way.

  “I’ll be right back.” I ran over to a workbench and sorted through the tools until I found what I was looking for.

  Next to the bench was a pile of scrap metal. I pulled out two short lengths of L-shaped steel angle iron. Working quickly, I unfastened the bolts holding one of the panels in place. We could easily fit through the two-foot-wide opening. Turning it sideways, I pushed the panel through the hole and laid it on the floor under the gallows. Back at the workbench, I slipped my arms through a work coat someone had left behind, put on my goggles, and picked up a welding gun, still warm from earlier use. I climbed inside the gallows platform with the tools. My mother quietly watched me, her mouth slack.

  Gripping a steel bar in one hand, I pulled the trigger, sparking the gun to life. I welded one bar to the top of the steel frame of the platform, and one to the bottom, creating a track upon which to slide the wood panel. Then I returned everything to its place at the bench, except for a small pointy awl and a screwdriver that I thought we might use as weapons. “Come on, let’s get in,” I whispered hoarsely to my mother.

  We crawled through the opening. “Hold that side.” I pointed to the wooden panel. On our knees, we lifted it up, slipped it into the tracks I’d created, and closed ourselves in. “Now we wait.”

  I removed my goggles and wiped the sweat from my face. My mother sat on the floor and held out the bag of extra clothes; I tossed the goggles in. She lifted the canteen and drank heartily. “Avery . . .” She studied the welded steel, her eyes wide in disbelief. “How in God’s name did you know how to do that?”

  “Mother, I see you’re feeling better.”

  “My head has cleared somewhat but I feel quite weak.” She handed me the water and I took a sip.

  “One day I’ll show you the place I work . . . or used to. You won’t believe it.” Even as I said this, I wondered if I would ever go back to the Works. Try as I might, I could not imagine what life was going to be like once we were out of the Tombs. If we made it out. “Here, hold on to this.” I gave her the awl. “I hope you won’t need it.”

  She was about to respond when we heard a sound. I held up my hand and put my eye to a slit between the wood slats. A crow-guard had entered the room, and his evil pointy beak was staring in our direction.

  Chapter Forty

  The Execution of Norman Bale

  The guard held a hooded prisoner by the arm. Was Bale being shown his imminent future? Or maybe this was a cruel test to make sure the gallows worked properly in front of the public. I held my finger to my lips and whispered, “Shhh.”

  At any moment, the outside door would open and the gallows would be pulled out into the courtyard. Footsteps approached our hiding place. We stiffened.

  The guard bent down, his goggled eyes searching the darkness below the platform. “Avery? Are you in there?”

  It was Indigo. I took a deep breath. He must have found Hurricane!

  Just then another sound vibrated through the floor, up into my body. The outside door was opening. “Avery!” Panic swept through Indigo’s voice.

  “This way!” I slid the wood panel open. Indigo pushed his prisoner through and climbed in after.

  I closed the panel just as bright fingers of daylight reached into the room, banding the slatted wood of our hiding place like a window blind.

  The prisoner let out a muffled cry. Quickly, Indigo lifted his crow mask, letting it hang from his neck, and removed the sack from over the prisoner’s head. Thank goodness! It was Hurricane.

  Her face was bruised and swollen, almost unrecognizable. My heart wrenched at the thought of someone doing this to her. I placed a hand on her arm—it was all I could offer at the moment. She lifted her eyes, tears welling in them.

  My mother held a hand over her mouth as though she wanted to cry out.

  A grinding hum stayed any conversation or questions I had for Indigo, but relief at his sudden appearance comforted me like a warm shawl on my shoulders. I crept to the other side of the platform and peered out. Two enormous doors were sliding open on tracks that resembled those at the barn where my father used to board our horse. I blinked in the gray morning light, but could not peel my eyes from my first real view of the outside world since I’d been captured.

  The courtyard beyond was empty, save for a rank of blue-uniformed police officers with guns strapped to their waists and swords across their backs. A soft rain misted the cobblestones.

  The officers led a team of horses through the opening and hitched them to a crossbar. Their hooves stomped and scraped on the stones as the officers urged them forward into the courtyard. Slowly the chains lifted off the floor and the gallows jerked forward, its metal wheels squealing loudly in protest. The wood posts and beam overhead creaked and groaned, as if aware of their deathly duty.

  Inch by inch, the gallows moved. We moved with it, praying the shadows would keep us hidden. If we were discovered now, we would be trapped, with no way to escape.

  The horses were unhitched and led away. Four officers remained, one at each corner of the gallows. Cold air whistled through the wooden slats; rain dripped coldly onto our heads and backs. Our boots sat in muddy puddles, but I was glad for the steady patter, to mask the sound of our breathing. Silently, I handed my mother a wool cloak and gave Hurricane some clothing from the sack. I wished I had another cloak. Instead, she wrapped the blanket around her tiny frame. I tied the other cloak over my shoulders. The crow-guards would sooner recognize me than Hurricane.

  Eight o’clock was shrilly announced by a bugle call in the distance, the forlorn notes hanging in the sodden air. Boots pounded militantly from one side of the bridge to the other. They must be taking Norman Bale to the courthouse.

  The next two hours crept by achingly slow. Crouching low, I felt my muscles cramp and stiffen. Pain shot up my legs. I worried my mother or Hurricane would faint from the strain. When Hurricane started to shake in the frigid air, Indigo put his arm around her. Now and then, he and I exchanged a look, his dazzling eyes the only thing keeping me warm inside.

  Another barrage of stomping boots, closer this time, pricked my attention. A cluster of prison officers passed by; moments later, the shuffling and shouts of the spectators drew near, as if they were jostling for the best view of the scaffold. The rain had not kept folks from coming out to see the infamous Norman Bale.

  The gallows platform was engulfed in a sea of commotion, the four of us finally able to shift positions and massage the numbness from our limbs amidst the tumult in the courtyard. Indigo untied his crow mask and shoved it into a corner. He slid his arms into the black frock coat and derby that I’d gotten from Mr. Lemming. Hurricane put on the last pair of canvas shoes. She’d have to hold the blanket over her head like a hood, but even still, I was afraid it would not hide the terrible bruises on her face.

  We had to hope for a chance to slip into the crowd. This was the part that had my head spinning. How will we open the panel and emerge without being seen?

  Another hour must have easily slipped by. No opportunity arose. In whispers, I briefly introduced Indigo and Hurricane to my mot
her, and Indigo told me what he’d accomplished. Wearing the mask, he’d snuck into the morning room before anyone arrived. He’d poured the serum into every pot and jug he could find. Then he’d found Hurricane, just where Mr. Gentry had said she’d be.

  “It must have worked, or we would’ve heard an alarm by now,” I said.

  Indigo added, “I looked for the boy you told me about. I’m sorry. He wasn’t there.”

  Just when I felt I would jump out of my skin, I heard shouting somewhere near the entrance gate.

  “It bit me!” screamed a woman’s voice.

  “Kill the bugger,” shouted a man. “There, up there!”

  More cries sounded. Through the slats, I saw officers rush by to stem the commotion. “Calm yourselves,” they ordered. “What’s the problem here?”

  Amid the confusion, there was a loud knock on the wood. I jumped and looked at Indigo, his eyes as wide as mine.

  Then I heard Katalina’s voice. I’d know it anywhere. “Come out, quickly!”

  How did she know? I took a deep breath, gave everyone a final once-over, and slid open the panel. One by one, we stood up under a black umbrella that shielded us from the crowd. I took the handle, keeping Hurricane tight to my side, and closed the panel. Katalina handed Indigo and my mother identical black umbrellas. Brilliant, I thought.

  “This way,” Katalina whispered, “quickly.” She wore a thick black cloak and held a tapestry bag. We followed her toward the center of the throng. Everywhere I looked were similar black umbrellas and capes; I realized the rain was helping to hide us.

  We were in a large open space, tall prison walls on two sides, the courthouse on another, and only one gate to the street. Tilting my head, I made out the looming shadows of the dirigibles floating nearby. But the spattering rain quickly forced my eyes down, and the umbrellas blocked my view of the perimeter. Was Spector or Boggs lurking somewhere nearby?

  “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” I squeezed Katalina’s gloved hand as we proceeded. “How did you arrange this? And how on earth did you cause the diversion?” I watched a police officer swatting at something in the air.

  “Geeno set his little flying friends loose in the crowd.” Katalina grinned. “Nelson Lemming found your father. Your father found us. We came to help.”

  “Thank you, Kat. Though I do wish you hadn’t brought Geeno.”

  “I tried to talk him out of it, but he is so stubborn. He would hear none of it. He did come up with a good idea to distract them, yes?” Katalina stopped when we were sufficiently surrounded by people on all sides. Then she took Indigo’s hand. “Indy . . .” Tears slipped down her cheeks; her eyes tried to say everything in one look. I’d never seen Katalina speechless before.

  She composed herself and nodded at my mother. “Mrs. Kohl, I am very glad you are safe.”

  Last of all, Katalina turned to Hurricane. “I was so worried about you, Hurricane. I will slice that swine. I swear it,” she said, touching Hurricane’s face. “Here, I brought extra cloaks. Put one on before you draw any attention.” Out of her bag, she gave Hurricane and me thick hooded cloaks and stuffed my old cloak and the blanket into her carpetbag.

  “Who else came with you?” I looked around to see if I recognized any faces.

  “Khan is here,” Katalina said. “We did not want to risk anyone else. Horatio and his men are stationed outside the gate.”

  “Where is Khan? I don’t see—” Before I finished my sentence, a gentleman standing a few feet away tilted back his umbrella and winked at me. The sight of him made the words evaporate from my mind. His hair was trimmed short, accentuating the strong lines of his face. He wore a dark brown wool suit, expertly cut to fit his broad shoulders, and a silk waistcoat. To complete the look, he had a matching top hat and wool cape. He was the very picture of a merchant or a trader. His golden eyes searched my face, as if needing to see for themselves that I was alive and well.

  I smiled up at him, thoughts buzzing in my brain. Even in the midst of turmoil, I felt the safety of my best friend’s warm gaze. He leaned forward and whispered, “This is the last time I give this back to you. Don’t misplace it again.”

  He held out something bound in cloth. I unwrapped the corner to find my knife snuggled inside. The weight of it in my hand gave me courage. My knife was like a trusted friend.

  I smiled gratefully at Khan, then scanned the crowd. “Where’s Geeno? I don’t want him out there alone.”

  “He will meet us here.” Katalina huddled us together. “Khaniferre,” she whispered. “I would like to present my brother, Indigo.”

  The two faced each other, simultaneously reaching out to shake hands. They held the grip through two long breaths, exchanging a look I wished I understood. Khan broke the tension by letting go and turning toward my mother.

  “Mrs. Kohl, it’s been a long time,” he said. “I’m so happy to see you’re all right.” He bowed slightly, his eyes full of relief. She’d been like a mother to him, too.

  Hurricane kept her head down, but she could not hide how badly she’d been beaten. Khan balled up his fist when he saw her injuries. “Those bastards.”

  With a skimming glance around, Katalina lowered her voice. “We will wait until the gates are open, and stay in the middle of the pack as we exit. Horatio is waiting.” She raised her chin up at the sky. “And your father is hovering nearby. He has a ship, ready to get us out of the area.”

  My father . . . in an airship?

  My mother’s mouth parted.

  “Katalina, are you sure?” I wanted to believe her, but . . . “Sometimes my father says—”

  “I saw it myself,” she said, cutting me off, and continued in a low voice, “The crow-guards have taken up station at the exit. They will be watching carefully, so do not attract their notice. Be vigilant.”

  Just then, a boy pressed his way into our circle. Geeno smiled up at me from under a baker boy hat. He wore knickers and a jacket, and had a bag of newspapers slung over his shoulders.

  “Get your paper here,” he said out of the side of his mouth. Except that his satchel, unlike one full of newspapers, quivered with movement from within. “They almost squash Harriett,” he whispered, “but she get away.” Tears sprang to my eyes. I’d missed Geeno terribly.

  Khan reached out to take my hand, then caught himself. Instead, he tapped his fist to his heart and lowered his head to my ear. “Avery, I—”

  Before he could say another word, a horn blared, announcing the prisoner’s death march. The crowd surged with anticipation; we were squeezed together as everyone turned toward the bridge.

  “Tell me after,” I whispered.

  The courthouse door banged open. Out came Norman Bale, marching between two rows of police officers. Jeers rang out; men raised their fists, shouting vulgarities. A ripe tomato flew up toward the bridge and smashed on the rail, showering the unfortunate people below with red pulp.

  Finely dressed women held gloved hands to their mouths. I shook my head in disgust. Some in the crowd had even brought their children, who took this as an opportunity to splash around in the puddles. The spectators looked to be a mix of middle-class citizens here for entertainment and working folks wanting justice.

  Going through the door on the opposite end of the bridge, the hanging brigade reappeared in the courtyard moments later, just beyond the gallows. Bale ascended the steps to the top of the platform, an officer on each arm. The priest awaited, as did the noose. The officers released Bale and stepped to the side.

  The priest spoke softly, “Any last words?”

  Bale looked over the crowd. “This is a mistake,” he pleaded. “I am an esteemed member of society. Those girls worked for me. They were commoners. . . .” The crowd drowned out the rest of Bale’s last words. A chill ran down my back. He was as awful as Ogden Boggs and the others.

  The priest placed his hand on the condemned man’s shoulder and bowed, mumbling some words. Then he, too, stepped aside, leaving Norman Bale to his fa
te.

  A heavy stomping quieted the crowd as the executioner, wearing the black hood of his trade, thudded up the wooden steps. My pulse quickened. Bale’s expression changed to one of fear as the masked man slipped the noose over his head and slid the knot tight. I was never happier to have an umbrella, and I tilted it down instantly. Putting my free arm around Geeno, I made sure the umbrella blocked his and Hurricane’s line of sight as well as my own.

  The courtyard grew eerily quiet, Bale’s labored breathing the only sound. Then a loud metallic clang rang out as the trapdoor dropped open, followed by a quiet swish of fabric. Hurricane, Geeno, and I jumped at the same instant. In the seconds that followed, the only noise to reach my ears, one I will never forget, was the creaking of the beam as the rope swayed with the weight of its burden.

  The solemnity was broken by cheers, claps, and a buzz of conversation recounting every detail of the execution.

  “Did you see his eyes, how they bulged?” or, “His body twitched once or twice, I’m quite sure of it,” and, “Are you aware if the neck does not snap, it takes quite a while to expire?”

  The back of my throat went dry and my stomach pulled tight. I just wanted to get out of there, away from the horror of the place.

  In a surge, the crowd moved toward the gate, carrying us with it. I kept my head down as we approached the tall stone wall that stood between us and freedom. Geeno walked alone. I had Hurricane on one arm and my mother on the other, afraid one of them would collapse. We did not want to risk pairing either of them with a black man or a Gypsy, so it was up to me to help them. Hurricane could barely stand, and a cut on her cheekbone had reopened, allowing a tiny trickle of blood to run down her face like a red tear.

  The sea of people narrowed like sand in an hourglass to pass through the gate. For all their garishness, they were quite civilized as they exited, satisfied with the day’s entertainment.

  The spikes of the tall iron gate came into view. My knuckles turned white around the handle of the umbrella. We followed Katalina through the crowd. I watched her pass through the gate, my eyes boring into her back.