In a nearby bed, Bella lies still, undisturbed by the commotion. Close by, Gwen’s siblings, Joanna and Mikey, weep holding on to each other. Although extremely weak, they still manage to have enough energy to cry for their only parent. Their father was called to protect the Queen of England on the day the bombs dropped and never returned. Their mother was all they had left.
My legs fail me, and I collapse near Joanna and Mikey. I have no words of comfort. Joanna and Mikey crawl to me and bury their heads in my lap. As natural as it is to breathe, I pull them close, feeling as if I’m lost in a dream I’ll never wake from. The Professor wasn’t only a mother to Gwen, her sister, and her brother, but also to so many others: the children abducted by Hook and his Marauders, the Lost Boys, and in some ways—in every way—she’s the only mother I’ve had since I lost my parents when I was just a kid. A hot tear slips down my cheek as I lose a mother for the second time.
Drums beat wildly in the distance, the nightly party in the Poison Garden summoning those who wish to end their lives. They answer Maddox Hadder’s call to spend one last evening giving in to indulgences before letting death take them.
After the Professor died, I insisted on seeking Maddox’s help on my own. Leaving Pete in charge of the castle, I follow the rhythmic call. With Pete comforting Gwen, Lily looking after Joanna and Mikey, and Pickpocket and the rest of the Lost Boys standing guard, I know that those within the castle walls are in good hands. Gwen’s obvious grief over the death of her mother makes me think of my own pain at discovering my parents’ bodies. I try hard to push those thoughts away. I need to be strong now. Silently, I pass through the slums. Cries ring through the rickety city, mingling with the evening songs of bullfrogs and crickets. Zigzagging, I duck under clotheslines draped with dirty sheets, trip over garbage and broken bottles, and pass people sleeping in huts made of scraps. Many call after me, begging for water, food, and help as I pass by them, but I don’t meet their gazes. Each glance into the pleading faces, eyes that reflect my failure as duchess, makes me feel as if I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. Instead, I keep my face hidden beneath the hood of my cloak as I race into the night, chasing the beat of the booming drums.
Following the cobblestone walkway past the Alnwick Garden gates, I veer left, making my way to the only part of the grounds’ gardens that are still being maintained by Caretaker Maddox. He seized control of the Poison Garden when the Horologia sickness spread, locking everyone out to create his own version of a sanctuary for only those who were the sickest. Not that there was anything in there at the time that anyone would want. Now they all beg for entrance, for relief of their symptoms … for a merciful death.
As I draw closer, the entrance buzzes with activity. Torches illuminate a dirt pathway, leading to a wrought-iron fence. Kerosene lanterns hooded by copper cylinders with odd shapes cut from them spin wildly, casting peculiar pictures in every direction: mushrooms, teapots, cakes, and bottles.
The skulls of those who have died in the garden hang like ornaments along the length of the enclosure. Adorned with machinery parts, the glitter of the torchlight reflects off their metallic grins. The entrance gate is marked with a skull-and-crossbones symbol and a dire warning: THESE PLANTS CAN KILL. Music rises into the evening sky, pulsing from somewhere in the middle of the garden. The bass rattles my bones. Above the entrance, Chester, a smiling copper cat, bobs his head to the tempo of the music. Hordes of people gather at the gate protected by a single guard.
Koh, one of the few left from the royal military and Katt’s personal guard, watches over the surging pool of refugees. Armed with a scythe, he glowers at them, as if challenging them to give him a reason to take off their heads. The lamplight gives his thick leather-and-chain-mail armor a burnished glow. If the rumors are true, its red tint is not from rust, but rather the blood of those who have crossed him.
A boy in a dark cloak dashes from behind a shrub and toward the fence. He scales the elaborate loops and swirls of the black metal. But as his left hand grips the top, his scream is so fierce that I cover my ears. Flailing, he falls, striking the ground with a sickening thud. Others rush to his aid, but it’s too late. There is very little left of his hand. Bloodied bones shrouded by hunks of burned flesh hang from the end of his arm. Koh shakes his head and snorts but doesn’t bother to offer assistance. Even I knew of the acidic poisons glazed along the top of the fence.
This is not the first time I’ve watched someone attempt to climb the poisoned fence and seen their limbs become nothing but scraps of skin and bone. It won’t be the last, at least not anytime soon. Still, my stomach turns. No one enters the garden without invitation and even then, it is no ordinary garden. Every single plant, shrub, tree, and flower in there will either make one as mad as a hatter or dead as a dormouse. Once you go through the gates, you don’t come back.
The others now ignore the boy writhing on the ground, and fists start to fly as Koh grants someone else admission. Another boy rushes the entrance, but he is struck across the back of the head with the shaft of Koh’s scythe. The boy crumples to the ground like a marionette. Partygoers swarm him, stealing everything they can get their hands on. Soon enough, his unconscious body lies in nothing but his ragged drawers. For as many times as I’ve seen this same scenario, I’m left horrified and sick to my stomach.
I scoot through the crowd, overwhelmed by the flashing lights and music. The salty smells of sweat and liquor sting my nose. Bodies press against one another, making it difficult to walk. Each person is in varying stages of the disease. Some still only have blisters on their fingers, while the limbs of others are covered in scaly-looking scabs.
A boy grabs my hand and pulls me into him. He stares at me with yellow irises set within crusty eyelids. Like a maniac, he twirls me, releasing me back into the mob of kids. I stumble, falling into the arms of a girl, one of the very few left and just a few years older than me. She licks her dark, scabbed lips. Repulsed, I pull away, bumping into another girl, who hisses. Hands paw me, tugging at my cloak. A scream catches in my throat. I pull my sword from its sheath. With wide-eyed alarm, the crowd backs up from me in a synchronized hush, but hooded as I am beneath my cloak, none seem to recognize me. By the disdain that flashes over their faces, I feel as if I’ve broken some unspoken rule.
“Duchess Alyssa, miss me already?” someone growls behind me.
Spinning, I turn toward the voice. As the crowd parts, Katt pushes open the iron gates. Koh steps to her side. Through his shaded aviator goggles I sense his glare.
“I’m here to see Maddox,” I say, my voice rising above the music. My knuckles ache as I tighten my grip on my sword.
Katt leans up against the gate and crosses her arms, smiling at me smugly. Koh draws closer, his sharp scythe glowing in the torchlight. My breath quickens as I take a step back, keeping my sword between me and the hulking boy in front of me. Dozens of eyes bore into me.
“You ought to know by now that no one enters the garden unless Maddox Hadder says so,” Katt says with a tilt of her head and a wide smile.
“As the Duchess of Northumberland it’s my right to access the garden.” I try to keep my tone reasonable, although I’m sure the effort is wasted on Katt.
“Unless you’ve come to tell us you’ve miraculously developed the cure, you aren’t welcome here. Go back to the castle, Alyssa,” Katt sneers.
“Alnwick is my jurisdiction, this garden included. You will grant me entrance or … ”
“Or what? You’ll infect me like you’ve done to my sister? Too late. Let me remind you, Duchess Alyssa, I am the next in line to take up the royal crown. I may not sleep in a castle, but it’s still my kingdom. At any given point, all this power, this authority you seem to think you possess, can be gone in an instance,” Katt says, snapping her fingers. “Consider yourself warned.”
Narrowing my eyes, I point my sword at Katt. “Then find the cure yourself, or let me in.”
Giving me an amused look, Katt reaches behind her and pulls he
r own sword from its scabbard. “You will have to get past me before you ever step foot inside,” she says.
Chester, the warden of the garden and an incredibly annoying beast on a good day, especially for an animatronic, lifts his metal face toward the sky, filling the night air with mechanical laughter. He peers down at me from atop the gate’s entrance. “Be gone, lest you desire to be beheaded,” he says with a wave of his paw.
As if on cue, Koh aims his scythe in my direction.
Thinking of how many have already died, I swallow back my fear and dig my boots firmly into the damp grass. “I assure you, I am skilled with the sword. My father taught me well. With one swipe I’ll take down your guard, incapacitate you, and just to be rid of that smarmy machine, I’ll turn Chester into scrap metal. I’m sure the Tinkers can find something to do with his scraps.”
Chester hisses.
Katt laughs wildly. “Now that is something I would pay to see.”
The animatronic’s eyes made of cogs spin crazily. His head twirls on his elongated neck. His attempt to appear vicious fails, drumming up laughter from all around.
“You bore me,” Katt says with a wave of her hand. “You heard the cat: Off with her head.”
The crowd roars as Koh strong-arms my sword from me and restrains my wrists.
“This is absurd, Katt,” I shout, struggling in Koh’s grip.
“Those pretty gold locks will be a nice addition to my collection,” Chester says, waving a paw toward the rotting skulls.
I shudder, wondering what violation the owners of the skeletal remains made to deserve such a horrendous punishment.
Koh knocks my legs out from under me. He thrusts me to the ground and rips the hood of my cloak off my head. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he shoves me so my cheek rests on a tree stump, its dark rings stained with what appears to be blood.
“If you want a cure, you’ll let me meet with Maddox,” I say desperately as I struggle beneath the soldier’s grip.
Katt paces around the tree trunk, casually twirling her sword. “You can’t fool me. If Maddox had access to the cure, don’t you think he would’ve given it to us?”
“He doesn’t know,” I reply, still pinned.
“Shut up, girl,” the guard says, shoving my head even harder onto the stump.
“What’s wrong, Katt? You have to have your big, strong soldier to deal with me? Can’t handle me on your own, can you?” I mock.
Katt laughs loudly. “Do you have a death wish, Duchess Alyssa?”
Panic and fury twist in my stomach. It’s a very real possibility I might end up dead here. I push on, forcing bravado as I say, “And you, Chester. How easy is it for you to wave your rusty old paw and make demands? You can’t fight your own battles either. That must be why everyone calls you ‘Chester the fraidycat.’”
Koh twists his hand, causing me to bite back the urge to yelp in pain.
“I have information about the cure. Any chance to save yourselves will die with me,” I say, refusing to give into the pain.
Katt circles the stump once more and then kneels so her dark eyes meet mine. “I’ll tell you what, Duchess Alyssa. I hardly believe what you’re saying is the truth, but I’ll grant you the benefit of the doubt. Since you’ve dampened the lively mood with your intrusion, why don’t we make a deal—a challenge of sorts. To get back in the spirit of things. Not a challenge of brawn, since you’re such a scrawny little thing, but of wit. You against Chester, the most brilliant animatronic in all of Europe. If you win, you will be granted entrance into the garden.”
“Deal,” I say as Koh shoves my face harder into the tree stump.
“Let her up,” Katt says.
Koh grumbles as he releases me.
Katt struts over to the collection of skulls clattering against the fence in the breeze and runs a gloved finger over the skull that hangs from the entrance. “If you lose, your head joins the rest of our unwelcome guests. Since you are royalty, I’ll even give you prime real estate, the beloved entrance into the garden,” she says, her ice-white teeth mocking me from her twisted smile.
Dusting the dirt from my cloak, I stand.
Katt sheathes her sword and places her hands on her hips. “Can you handle this, Chester?” she asks.
The cat yawns, a single paw covering his jowls. “A battle of wits? How childish. You forget that I am configured with the latest technology. With one sweep of my eyes I can assess the slightest variation in my opponent’s core body temperature, sense changes in their trivial nuances, calculate the minor shift from one foot to the other. I can detect an enemy from a mile away. I accept the pitiful challenge.”
“This will certainly be entertaining,” Katt says. “Okay, then: a riddle. Chester gets first stab since I’m making up the rules.”
I roll my eyes.
Katt paces for a moment, then stops as a devious grin spreads across her face. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Chester repeats, his wired brows creasing. His springlike neck contorts, spiraling toward me until his face meets mine, peering at me upside down. As his eyes study me, I keep my features still. I can’t let him know that I know the answer. Chester’s copper ears twitch before his neck retracts and he sneers at me.
Excitement blooms in my stomach. I know the answer. All those years of governesses and endless studies that might have left me lonely and friendless suddenly don’t seem too terrible. They were supposed to prepare me for a good match to a proper family, but, turns out, they also prepared me for this.
“Well?” Katt says to Chester. “We’re waiting.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he finally hisses. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
“Duchess,” Katt says, scowling at the cat, “do you know the answer?”
“Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and it is nevar put with the wrong end in front,” I crow triumphantly.
The crowd growls dangerously, and Katt looks startled that I got it right. Then she turns to Chester, shouting, “You daft pile of junk, you lost the challenge. When Maddox finds out, he’s going to be a storm in a teacup. He’ll likely melt you down and make a lovely copper kettle out of your noggin. Your whiskers will do just nicely as a plaited handle.”
Chester’s face glows red with heat that I assume is from the gears revving up within his metal skull. “Never! You’re a trickster!” he jeers, retracting his head back onto his body before coming for me. “A tricky, tricky trickster!”
“A machine defeated by a girl,” I sing as I march for the gates.
Koh leans against the gate, arms folded, glaring at me.
“Entrance granted!” Katt declares above the ruckus. “Let her through.”
“No!” Chester howls.
The iron gates swing wide, allowing Katt to saunter in. Koh bows as she passes. “As you wish.”
Protests continue to erupt as I trail behind her, stepping through the grand entrance. My heart thumps against my ribs; my skin tingles with trepidation. Koh slams the gates hard. The fence shudders loudly behind me as I listen to tumblers of the lock click into place. Chester’s head swings toward me, his face now on the wrong side of his body. He grins, exposing teeth made of bits of metal, before bursting into manic laughter. “Turn back, Duchess Alyssa,” Chester calls. “Turn back before it’s too late. You’re mad to go in there. Absolutely bonkers!”
For a split second I reconsider, fear rising in my throat.
“Let’s go,” Katt says. “You belong to the garden now.”
When I turn back toward her, she blows smoke in my face. It smells earthy, like sage. I cough and my vision blurs, stinging from the smoke. “Wait, what?” I ask in surprise.
“When you made your deal, you never said you wanted to be able to leave again—just get into the garden. And those that enter, well, you know … they don’t leave,” Katt says with cruel satisfaction.
Horror spreads across my face
as I realize what I’ve done. There’s no turning back now.
“Welcome to the Poison Garden, Your Grace,” she purrs. “Make yourself comfortable. You’ll be staying with us for quite some time.”
Charred and splintered boards poke from the hull of the zeppelin that sits beyond the Lohr Castle courtyard. It is what is left of the ship that I salvaged before escaping after the Lost Boys torched the entire fleet. Despite the massive damage, the zeppelin endured the long journey back to Germany. My stepbrother, Hook, and I barely got out of the fiery remains of Everland. We were on our queen’s mission for world domination. However, with the city turned into an inferno and our fleet of zeppelins destroyed, it felt as if we were on the losing side of a war.
The irony is a hard slap across the cheek, since it was our bombs that began it all.
From the high tower of the castle, I watch crews repair what they can of the damaged zeppelin.
A cough pulls me from my thoughts and I turn around. My stepmother takes in a shallow, ragged breath. Her lips lack the painted garnet luster they normally have. Sitting at her vanity, she runs a brush through her long, ebony-colored hair. It used to fall like beautiful waves down her back, but now it’s as sickly looking as the rest of her.
Since our return, her symptoms have grown worse. In fact, all the residents of Lohr are showing one sign of infection or another. London may have been her intended target, but devastation spread farther than anyone anticipated. While the adults of London died off quickly when the Horologia went airborne, their suffering was limited to weeks or even days. Those infected farther away from the epicenter of the outbreak have seen symptoms develop slower, their pain lingering longer. It’s really only a matter of time, though. Soon we all will be in the same shape as the Bloodred Queen.
Indeed my stepbrother has been ill since our time in England. His left hand is covered in blisters and oozing sores that seem to be spreading up his arm. On our trip back, I, too, developed symptoms. I scratch at my hand through my gloves, though it provides little relief and seems to just exacerbate the pain.
Umberland Page 3
