The City of Ember Deluxe Edition

by Jeanne DuPrau

  They went into Miss Thorn’s room and, out of habit, sat at their old desks. “I don’t think they’ll look for us here,” said Doon. “If they do, we can crawl into the paper cabinet.” He set his pack down next to him on the floor.

  For a while they just sat there, getting their breath back. They hadn’t turned the light on, so the room was dim—the only light came from beneath the blind over the window.

  “Those posters,” Lina said after a while.

  “Yes. Everyone will see them.”

  “What will they do to us if they catch us?”

  “I don’t know. Something to keep us from telling what we know. Put us in the Prison Room, maybe.”

  Lina ran her finger along the B carved in the desktop. It felt like a very long time since she’d last sat at this desk. “We can’t hide in here forever,” she said.

  “No,” said Doon. “Just until it’s time for the Singing. Then when everyone is gathered in Harken Square, we’ll go and tell about the boats and the mayor. Won’t we? I haven’t really thought about it—I haven’t had a chance to think at all this morning.”

  “But the guards are always there at the Singing, standing next to the mayor,” said Lina. “They’d grab us as soon as we opened our mouths.”

  Doon’s eyebrows came together in a dark line. “You’re right. So what will we do?”

  It was like finding yourself on a dead-end street, Lina thought. There was no way out. She stared blankly at the things that had once been her daily companions—the teacher’s desk, the stacks of paper, The Book of the City of Ember on its special shelf. The old words ran through her head: “There is no place but Ember. Ember is the only light in the dark world.” She knew now that this wasn’t true. There was someplace else—the place where the boats would take them.

  As if Doon had read her thoughts, he looked up. “We could go.”

  “Go where?” she said, though she knew right away what he meant.

  “Wherever the river leads,” he said. He gestured to the pillowcase sack. “I packed up my bag this morning—I’m all ready. I’m sure I have enough for you, too.”

  Lina felt her heart shrink a little. “Go by ourselves?” she said. “Without telling anyone?”

  “We will tell them.” Doon was on his feet now. He went to the cabinet and got a sheet of paper. “We’ll write a note explaining everything—a note to someone we trust, someone who’ll believe us.”

  “But I can’t just leave,” said Lina. “How could I leave Poppy? And not even say goodbye to her? Not know where I’m going, or if I’m ever coming back? How could you go without saying goodbye to your father?”

  “Because,” said Doon, “once they find the boats, the rest of Ember will follow us. It’s not as if we’re leaving them forever.” He strode across the room and rummaged in Miss Thorn’s desk. “Who shall we write the message to?”

  Lina wasn’t sure about this idea, but she couldn’t, at the moment, think of a better one. So she said, “We could write it to Clary. She’s seen the Instructions. She’ll believe what we say. And she lives close by—just up in Torrick Square.”

  “Okay,” said Doon. He pulled a pencil from the desk drawer. “Really,” he said, “this is a perfect idea. We can get away from the guards and leave our message behind us. And we can be the first ones to arrive in the new city! We should be the first, because we discovered the way.”

  “Well, that’s true.” Lina thought for a minute. “How long do you think it will take before the rest of them find the boats and come? It’s a lot of people to get organized.” She numbered on her fingers the things that would have to happen. “Clary will have to get the head of the Pipeworks to go down with her and find the boats. Then she’ll have to make the announcement to the city. Then everyone in Ember will have to pack up their things, troop down to the river, get all those boats out of that big room, and load themselves in. It could be a big mess, Doon. Poppy will need me.” She pictured frenzied crowds of people, and Poppy tiny and lost among them.

  “Poppy has Mrs. Murdo,” said Doon. “She’ll be fine. Really. Mrs. Murdo is very organized.”

  It was true. The thought of taking Poppy with her on the river, which had darted into Lina’s mind, darted out again. I’m only being selfish, she thought, to want to have her with me. It’s too dangerous to take her. Mrs. Murdo will bring her in a day or two. This seemed the most sensible plan, though it made her so sad that it cast a shadow over the thrill of going to the new city. “What if something goes wrong?” she said.

  “Nothing will go wrong! It’s a good plan, Lina. We’ll be there ahead of everyone else—we can welcome them when they come, we can show them around!” Doon was bursting with eagerness. His eyes shone, and he jiggled up and down.

  “Well, all right,” Lina said. “Let’s write our message, then.”

  Doon wrote for a long time. When he was finished, he showed what he’d written to Lina. He’d explained how to find the rock with the E, how to go down to the boat room, even how to use the candles.

  “It’s good,” she said. “Now we have to deliver it.” She paused a moment to see if she had any courage inside her. She found that she did, along with sadness and fear and excitement. “I’ll deliver it,” she said. “I’m the messenger, after all. I know back ways to go, where no one will see me.” An idea struck her. “Doon, maybe Clary will be home! Maybe she would keep us safe and help us tell what we know, and we won’t have to leave right now.”

  Doon quickly shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “She’s probably with her singing group, getting ready. You’ll just have to leave the note under her door.”

  Lina could tell from his tone of voice that Doon didn’t really want Clary to be home. She supposed he had his heart set on their going down the river by themselves. Doon glanced up at the clock on the schoolroom wall. “It’s a little after two,” he said. “The Singing begins at three. After that, everyone will be in Harken Square and the streets will be empty. I think we can get to the Pipeworks safely then—why don’t we leave about a quarter after three.”

  “You still have the key?”

  Doon nodded.

  “So after I’ve delivered the note to Clary, I’ll come back here,” said Lina.

  “Yes. And then we’ll wait until three-fifteen, and then we’ll go.”

  Lina got up from the cramped desk and went to the window. She moved the blind a little and peered out. There was no one in the street. The dusty schoolroom was very quiet. She thought about Doon’s father, who would be frantic when he saw his son’s name on those posters and then realized later that Doon had disappeared. She thought about Mrs. Murdo, who might already have seen the posters, and who would be frightened if guards came looking for Lina and terrified if Lina didn’t come home by nightfall. She tried not to think about Poppy at all; she couldn’t bear it.

  “Give me the note,” she said to Doon at last. She folded the piece of paper carefully and put it in the pocket of her pants. “Back soon,” she said, and went out of the room and down the hall to the rear door of the school.

  Doon went to the window to watch her go. He moved the blind aside just enough to see out into Pibb Street. There she was, running in that long-legged way, with her hair flying. She started across Stonegrit Lane. Just before she reached the other side, Doon’s breath stopped in his throat. Two guards rounded the corner from Knack Street, directly ahead of her. One of them was the chief guard. He leapt forward and shouted so loudly Doon could hear him plainly through the glass: “That’s her! Get her!”

  Lina reversed her direction in an instant. She raced back down Pibb Street, turned down School Street toward Bilbollio Square, and vanished from Doon’s sight. The guards ran after her, shouting. Doon watched, sick with horror. She’s much faster than they are, he told himself. She’ll lose them—she knows places to hide. He stood frozen next to the window, hardly breathing. They won’t catch her, he thought. I’m sure they won’t catch her.

  When Lina heard the
guards shout, terror shot through her. She ran faster than she ever had before, her heart pounding wildly. Behind her, the guards kept up their shouting, and she knew that if other guards were nearby they would come running. She had to find a hiding place. Ahead of her was Bilbollio Square—was there a spot she could duck into? And like an answer, Doon’s words came back to her: “The library. It’s almost always open, even on holidays.” She didn’t have time to think. She didn’t ask herself whether Edward Pocket would be willing to hide her, or whether there would even be a good place to hide in the library. She just ran for the passageway that led to the library door and darted down it.

  But the library door wouldn’t open. She turned the knob frantically, she pulled and pushed, and then, at the same time that she heard the running footsteps of the guards coming into the square, she saw the small handwritten sign stuck to the door: “Closed for the Singing.” The guards were very near now. If she ran, they would see her. She flattened herself against the wall, hoping they wouldn’t think to look in the library passage.

  But they did. “Here she is!” yelled one of the guards. She tried to shoot past him, but the passage was too narrow, and he caught her by the arm. She pulled and twisted and kicked, but the chief guard had her now, too. He gripped her other arm with fingers that felt like iron. “Stop your struggling!” he shouted.

  Lina reached up and grabbed a handful of his wiry beard. She pulled with all her might, and the chief guard roared, but he didn’t let go. He yanked her forward, almost off the ground, and the two guards dragged her across the square at an awkward, lopsided pace that made her stumble over her own feet.

  “You’re hurting me!” Lina said. “Don’t hold so tight!”

  “Don’t you tell us what to do,” said the chief guard. “We’ll hold you tight till we get you where you’re going.”

  “Where is that?” said Lina. She was so enraged at her bad luck that she almost forgot to be afraid.

  “You’re going to see the mayor, missy,” said the chief guard. “He’ll decide what to do with you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “Spreading vicious rumors,” said the guard. “Telling dangerous lies calculated to cause civic unrest.”

  “It’s not a lie!” she said. But the guard gripped her arm even more tightly and gave her a shove so she stumbled sideways.

  “No talking,” he said, and they walked the rest of the way in grim silence.

  A few people had already gathered in Harken Square, though the workers were still getting it ready for the Singing. Street-sweepers crossed the square back and forth, pushing their brooms. Someone appeared at a second-floor window of a building on Gilly Street and unfurled one of the banners that was always displayed for the Singing—a long piece of red cloth, faded after years of use but still showing its design of wavy lines, representing the river, the source of all power. That was for “The Song of the River.” There would be a banner on the Broad Street side of the square, too, this one deep yellow-gold with a design like a grid to represent “The Song of the City,” and another banner on the Otterwill side for “The Song of Darkness,” perfectly black except for a narrow yellow edge.

  The guards marched Lina up the steps of the Gathering Hall and through the wide doorway. They took her down the main corridor, opened the door at the end, and gave her one last push, a push that caused her to stagger forward in an undignified way and bump up against the back of a chair.

  It was the same room she’d been in that other, much happier day—her first day as a messenger. Nothing had changed—the frayed red curtains, the armchairs with the upholstery worn thin, the hideous mud-colored carpet. The portraits on the wall looked down at her sorrowfully.

  “Sit there,” said the chief guard. He pointed at a small, hard-looking chair that faced the large armchair. Lina sat. Next to the chair was the small table she remembered from before, with the china teapot and a tray of china teacups with chips around their edges.

  The chief guard left the room—to find the mayor, Lina supposed. The other one stood silently with his arms folded across his chest. Nothing happened for a while. Lina tried to think about what she would say to the mayor, but her mind wouldn’t work.

  Then the door to the front hall opened, and the mayor came in. It was the first time Lina had seen him up close since she had delivered Looper’s message to him. He seemed even more immense. His baggy face was the color of a mushroom. He wore a black suit that stretched only far enough across his vast belly for one button to connect with its buttonhole.

  He moved ponderously across the room and settled into the armchair, filling it completely. Next to his chair was a table, and on the table was a brass bell the size of a fist. The mayor gazed for a moment at Lina with eyes that looked like the openings of tunnels, and then he turned to the guard.

  “Dismissed,” he said, waving the back of his hand at him. “Return when I ring the bell.”

  The guard left. The mayor swung his gaze back to Lina. “I am not surprised,” he said. He lifted one arm and pointed a finger at Lina’s face. “You have been in trouble before. Going where you shouldn’t.”

  Lina started to speak, but the mayor held up his hand. It was an oddly small hand, with short fingers like ripe pea pods.

  “Curiosity,” said the mayor. “A dangerous quality. Unhealthy. Especially regrettable in one so young.”

  “I’m twelve,” said Lina.

  “Silence!” said the mayor. “I am speaking.” He wriggled slightly from side to side, wedging himself more firmly into the chair. He’ll need to be pried out of it, Lina thought.

  “Ember, as you know,” the mayor went on, “is in a time of difficulty. Extraordinary measures are necessary. This is a time when citizens should be most loyal. Most law-abiding. For the good of all.”

  Lina said nothing. She watched how the flesh under the mayor’s chin bulged in and out as he spoke, and then she turned her eyes from this unpleasant sight and looked carefully around the room. She was thinking now, calculating, but not about what the mayor was saying.

  “The duties of a mayor,” said the mayor, “are … complex. Cannot be understood by regular citizens, particularly children. That is why …,” he went on, leaning slightly forward so that his stomach pushed farther out along his lap, “certain things must remain hidden from the public. The public would not understand. The public must have faith,” said the mayor, once again holding up his hand, this time with a finger pointing to the ceiling, “that all is being done for their benefit. For their own good.”

  “Hogwash,” said Lina.

  The mayor jerked backward. His eyebrows came down over his eyes, making them into dark slits. “What?” he said. “Surely I heard you incorrectly.”

  “I said hogwash,” said Lina. “It means—”

  “Do not presume to tell me what it means!” the mayor cried. “Impudence will make things worse for you.” He was breathing heavily, and his words came out with spaces between them. “A misguided child … such as yourself … requires … a forceful lesson.” His short fingers gripped the arms of the chair. “Perhaps,” he said, “your curiosity has led you to wonder … about the Prison Room. What could it be like, eh? Dark? Cold? Uncomfortable?” He made the smile that Lina remembered from Assignment Day. His lips pulled away from his small teeth; his gray cheeks folded. “You will have a chance to find out. You will become … closely acquainted … with the Prison Room. The guards will escort you there. Your accomplice—another known troublemaker—will join you, as soon as he is located.”

  The mayor turned to look for the bell. This was the moment when Lina had planned to make a dash for freedom—she thought she had a slim chance to succeed if she moved fast enough—but something happened in that instant that gave her a head start.

  The lights went out.

  There was no flicker this time, just sudden, complete darkness. It was fortunate that Lina had already planned her move and knew exactly which way to go. She leapt up
, knocking over her chair. With her arm, she made a wide swipe and knocked over the table next to the chair as well. The furniture thumping to the floor, the teapot shattering, and the mayor’s enraged shouts made a clamor that covered the sound of her footsteps as she dashed to the stairway door. Was it unlocked? She reached for the knob. Grunts and squeaks told her that the mayor was struggling to rise from his chair. She turned the knob and pulled, and the door sprang open. She closed the door behind her and leapt upward two steps at a time. Even in the pitch dark, she could climb stairs. In the room, the bell clanged and clanged, and the mayor bellowed.

  When she got to the first landing, she heard the guards shouting. There was a crash—someone must have fallen over the toppled chair or table. “Where is she?” someone yelled. “Must have run out the door!” Did they know which door? She didn’t hear footsteps behind her.

  If she could make it to the roof—and if from the roof she could jump to the roof of the Prison Room and from there to the street—then maybe she could escape. Her lungs were on fire now, her breath was burning her throat, but she climbed without stopping, and when she came to the top, she burst through the door to the roof and ran out.

  And that was when the lights came back on. It was as if the blackout had been arranged especially for her. I am so lucky, she thought, so extremely lucky! Ahead of her was the clock tower. She went around to the other side of it. No dancing on the roof this time.

  A low wall ran along the edge of the building. Lina approached it cautiously and peered out over the swarm of people assembling in Harken Square. Directly below her was the entrance of the Gathering Hall, and as she watched, two guards dashed out the door and down the steps. Good—they had gone the wrong way! They must think she’d escaped into the crowd. For the moment, she was safe. The clock in the tower began to chime. Three great booms rang out. It was time for the Singing to begin.