Umberland

by Wendy Spinale

  “The apple you’re speaking of does not exist in this garden,” he says. “In fact, no one has seen that apple tree in quite some time.”

  Feeling as though I’ve been punched in the gut, I stop, unable to move. Every ounce of optimism washes away, and I feel the heavy weight of defeat crumble over me.

  “However, I do know where such an apple resides,” he adds.

  Hope bubbles within me, and for the first time in over a year, my despair lifts just ever so slightly. “You do? Where is it?”

  “Nowhere a young duchess such as you would ever venture.” He winks.

  Rushing over to him, I grip the lapels of his coat with both hands. “Take me there! Take me there now!” I insist.

  Maddox gently removes my hands, straightens his coat, and folds his arms. “The journey is much too dangerous for a girl like you. At best, you’ll find yourself in a pool of your own tears. At worst, you’ll be dead by morning. There is nothing I can do for you.” Then he shoves me aside, heading toward the sound of music.

  My body stiffens. “A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You shouldn’t have come, Your Grace,” he says with a note of actual regret in his voice.

  “I’m not afraid!” I shout.

  Maddox continues walking, appearing unmoved by my persistence.

  “Maddox Hadder, people are dying from this disease. They’ve come to me for help. If I have to drown in my own tears to help, I will cry a billion worthless tears to ensure their survival.”

  Maddox stops but doesn’t face me. He balls his hands into tight fists.

  “You will help me or you will hang for treason,” I bluff.

  After a few moments he turns and marches up to me, stopping within centimeters of my face. He pauses, saying nothing as he studies me. Although fear wells up in me, I stare into his gold, inhuman eyes, unblinking. “I don’t take kindly to death threats, Your Grace.”

  Shuddering, I hold my ground.

  “However, I admire your boldness,” he says. He reaches into his coat pockets. Opening his hands, he reveals a small green bottle with a label that says DRINK ME in one hand, and in the other sits a bite-size cake with the words EAT ME iced elegantly across the top.

  “To retrieve the apple, you will face your greatest fears. You will meet demons you never knew existed. You cower in your pretty little boots just standing here next to me, but this is nothing compared to the horrors you will face,” he says.

  My cheeks flush. Is my fear that obvious?

  “You have a choice. Take a sip of the bottle and this encounter, this visit to the Poison Garden, will shrink away, and you’ll have no memory of being here, no memory of the possibility that the apple exists. You’ll wake up back in Alnwick Castle.” Maddox holds up the cake. “Eat the cake and you’ll fall into a brief slumber. When you wake, your dangerous journey begins, and there’s no turning back.”

  A brief slumber? I’m not all that sure that I want to be unconscious under his care. Uneasy, my eyes dart from the bottle to the cake. I don’t want to take either one of them, even if one is a way out of this wild garden. In spite of my attempted display of courage, I’m terrified.

  Lifting my gaze from Maddox’s hands, I meet his intense stare. “And if I don’t choose?”

  “You’ll never leave the Poison Garden again,” he says. “When you passed through those gates, you signed away your former life. No one is exempt. Not even you, Your Grace.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat but don’t break his stare as he places the cake and bottle in each of my hands.

  “And what happens if I choose the cake? If I go on this journey and succeed? What then? Will you allow me to return to Alnwick?” I ask.

  Maddox frowns. “That remains to be seen.”

  Each beat of my heart aches as I peer through the branches of the trees and take in the corner tower of Alnwick, knowing my only sure way home comes down to a sip from a bottle. But doing so will ensure the death of us all.

  “Come now. Make your choice.”

  My pulse races as I consider my options. I stare down at both the bottle and the cake in my trembling hands. Maddox uncorks the small bottle and smiles. “Bottoms up.”

  I lift the green bottle to my lips, my eyes fixed on Maddox’s. He gives me a look of satisfaction, as if he knew this would be my choice all along. I pause, the bottle barely touching my lips. Suddenly, I smash the bottle to the ground, shove the sugary pastry into my mouth, and swallow.

  Maddox’s eyes grow wide with surprise. My world quickly spins and fatigue settles over me. I crumple, my legs failing to support me any longer. The beat of drums and music become distant as I lie on the dirt path. As my eyes grow heavy, Maddox kneels in front of me and brushes a lock of my hair from my face. From the corner of my eye, I see a small animal dart into a den just beyond a tree blooming with exotic flowers.

  “Sweet dreams, Your Grace.”

  Darkness settles over me and I’m lost in a nightmare filled with images of oozing sores, kids screaming in pain, and the sick smell of burning bodies.

  Gears whine as the Steam Crawler scrambles over the countryside beyond Lohr. It’s been hours since we left the castle, and Hook hasn’t muttered a word. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the monotonous scenery: villages, trees, and sprawling farms. I attempt to engage in conversation a few times, but after I’m met with primal grunts, I opt to try to mirror Hook’s silence.

  But the quiet leads to festering thoughts. Thoughts about what went wrong on our last trip and what’s happened between us. Finally, when the quiet and the thoughts are too much, I burst out, “I could’ve left you for dead in Everland. Let you bleed to death or worse, let you throw yourself in the crocodile pit. And now you’re not speaking to me? It was your fault we were in that mess in the first place.”

  Hook glares at me with his one good eye and holds up his metal-and-gear hand. “You think I should be grateful for this?”

  “It’s a lot better than your flesh being ripped from your bones by those stupid reptiles of yours,” I say.

  Hook turns away, his eyes fixed on something far off. “You should’ve let me die.”

  “Trust me, next time you’ll get your wish,” I say.

  Hook doesn’t flinch.

  “Ungrateful idiot,” I mutter under my breath.

  Lush green hedges rise in the distance past a break in the trees within the Black Forest. Past the living walls is a world that none dare to venture into. Years ago it was the bustling town of Schwarzwald. Its cobblestone streets were a thriving marketplace for those with wares to sell or trade. Hunters gathered to sell their game, farmers their crops, and tailors their woven goods. Those days are long gone. Legend has it that overnight the walls grew and the town was lost to nature, as if it never existed. By morning, none of the inhabitants could be found. Now all that remains is a massive maze built from vines and shrubs, a labyrinth of death.

  Steam rises above the eastern entrance of the Labyrinth like an ethereal blanket. Towering several dozen meters high, the structure expands so far in either direction that it doesn’t appear to have an end. Then I notice a break in the hedge slightly bigger than the width of a person. As we exit the Steam Crawler and approach the entrance, darkness is all we can see within the passageway.

  Hook, armed with his Gatling gun and a broadsword strapped to his back, reaches for one of the branches on the tall bush. “We could just climb over it to get a better vantage point. Maybe even find a direct path so we can get that apple and get out of there as quickly as humanly possible.”

  “Be my guest,” I say. Hook grips the wall with his metallic hand and prepares to climb. “But that right there is poison privet. By the time you get to the top, you’ll have breathed in so much of its toxic fumes you’ll be dead, which will certainly make this trip that much easier.”

  Hook scowls as he backs away from the plant and wipes his hand on his dark trousers. “So, what? We’re going through there?” he asks with a
wave of his hand toward the gloomy passageway.

  “Looks like it,” I say, picking up a broken branch from a nearby tree. I pull out a bandage from my rucksack and wrap it around the end of the limb.

  “What are you doing?” Hook asks.

  “What does it look like? That place is darker than the Bloodred Queen’s dungeon,” I say, lighting the cloth on fire.

  “A torch?” he says.

  Ignoring him, I approach the opening in the wall and hold out the torch. The flames dance, fueled by a draft. Inside, boilers of all heights and shapes line both sides of the walls. Copper and brass pipes climb toward the ceiling, venting steam overhead and blanketing the room in a thick cloud. Through the sweltering corridor, torchlight illuminates the passageway at the end.

  “Seems like some kind of old boiler room,” I say, scanning the narrow chamber.

  “Looks pretty harmless to me,” Hook says, taking a step forward. “Half of them don’t even appear to be functioning anymore.”

  It’s too simple. I put my arm out, holding him back. “Wait just a second.” It won’t do me any good if Hook dies before we even enter. I might need him, or at least his skills as a Marauder, later. Scooping up a fistful of gravel, I toss it into the passageway. The corridor erupts in bursts of steam. Plumes of hot gas blast from both sides of the walkway, and we are serenaded by a harsh melody of hissing. Even from here, the heat of the vapor burns my skin. I shield my face as the cloud rolls out from the fortress.

  “Perhaps not as harmless as I thought,” Hook says.

  “Another brilliant assessment from Captain Observant. Next time, you’re on your own. If you think you can just strut into unknown territory, count me out,” I say.

  Hook sneers. “Trust me, little stepbrother, your help is the last thing I need.”

  With the torch in hand, I step onto the copper-tiled floor of the hallway. “It’s booby-trapped, probably tripped by motion. Let’s make this easy for you. Why don’t we pretend we’re playing follow-the-leader. Do everything I do, step where I step,” I say. “Are those instructions simple enough for you?”

  Hook shoves me, catching me by surprise. I teeter, trying not to misstep.

  “Don’t tell me what to do. Just so we’re perfectly clear, I’m here only because my mother sent me,” he says.

  “Great, I’ll stop saving your life, then. Just do me a favor and stay out of my way,” I say, shoving him back.

  As I head into the structure, I wave the torch, chasing away the dark shadows. Taking in the long, narrow boiler room, I notice pinhole-size spouts protruding from the tanks. When we approach the first one, a small wisp of steam rises from the end of the spout fixed on the boiler at about knee level, as if sensing our presence. Carefully, I climb over an invisible wire. Hook does the same. We continue down the passage, climbing, ducking, avoiding being in the line of fire of the boiling-hot steam.

  We are nearly halfway through when alarms blare overhead, and within seconds a loud hiss erupts from the entrance. I force myself to focus on that. An echoing bang comes from the end of the hallway as a metal door on the far side starts to slide. The boilers rumble and growl on either side of us. One by one, they burst in puffs of steam, hot gas spurting in all directions. I involuntarily gasp as I struggle to take in a breath. The air feels thick and moist, hard to breathe. Over my shoulder, I notice that the hilt of Hook’s broadsword is in the path of one of the spouts. It must have set off the alarms.

  “Run!” I shout.

  When we’re nearly three-quarters through the corridor, a loud screech from the end of the hallway startles me. Drawing my attention away, I shift, my arm accidentally slipping into the aim of one of the spouts. Scalding steam bursts from the boiler, burning through my shirtsleeve and scorching my skin. My scream reverberates off the walls and metal tanks. The torch falls to the ground, extinguishing as it lands and plunging us in darkness. Although my instinct is to pull back, jumping out of the steam’s path, I force myself to shift subtly, preventing myself from being completely boiled in the hot vapor. Keeping still so as not to burn myself further is nearly impossible. My arm feels as if it’s on fire, the nerve endings beneath my skin bubbling in pain.

  We race through the corridor, leaping over and rolling beneath the hot gas. Knowing that there is no way to get through this unscathed, I throw my arms over my face to protect it, thankful for the goggles covering my eyes, and sprint as fast as I can to the other side of the room. Hook screams in pain but continues to follow, his ragged, heavy breaths so close behind me I can almost feel them. My heartbeat keeps the cadence of every pound of our boots on the floor.

  The door ahead of us is nearly shut, not much wider than a person.

  “We’re not going to make it!”

  “Yes, we are!” Hook says. He reaches back and pulls me ahead of him. I don’t recall him passing me, but in the darkness and thick steam I wouldn’t have seen him anyway.

  Steam continues to billow from all sides of us and there’s no room any longer to try to dodge it. Every part of me cries out in pain. All we can do is run through it and hope for the best.

  When we are only a few meters away, Hook shoves me through the gap, sending me hurtling to the floor. He has to turn sideways in order to fit, and the door presses against his chest. He yelps as he works to squeeze through the gap. Just in time, he pulls his arm free and falls hard onto the floor as the door slams shut with a metallic bang.

  As the fog fades, bright blue light stings my eyes. Blinking, I find myself lying on a nest of blankets with a soft pillow beneath my head. Gears squeal nearby. I push myself upright and take in my surroundings. I am in a large metal capsule as big as a steam-train car. Levers, wheels, and dials cover the walls on both sides of me. Pipes run along the ceiling in a macramé of copper and chrome. Massive windows cover the front and back of the capsule, and what I see before me absolutely takes my breath away.

  Maddox sits at a massive console, steering the capsule through a watery wonderland. Sea life of all kinds swims past, unafraid of the massive metal beast that has entered their aquatic lair. Brightly colored fish dart by, a few stopping to peek through the windows, seeming somewhat intrigued by the newcomer to their world. Stingrays and octopuses drift through the current as we speed along. Glancing over my shoulder, the dark outline of the water’s edge fades away as we are propelled into the open sea.

  Maddox, noticing me, checks his bronze pocket watch and grimaces. “It’s about time.”

  Irritated by his tone of voice, I plop down into the passenger seat of the watercraft and fold my arms. Before I can retort, I notice two large metal flippers attached to the vehicle, swimming through the water like a sea turtle’s legs. In the rear windows, I can barely make out two back flippers beyond the shell of the ship.

  “A turtle?” I say, awed by the magnificent machine.

  Maddox rolls his eyes. “This is the Mock Turtle.”

  The ship lists to one side and my stomach lurches. A wave of wooziness comes over me.

  Maddox gives me a sideways glance. “Lightweight. The side effects of that little cake should’ve worn off at least twenty minutes ago,” he grumbles.

  I stand and lean on the console, taking in the aquatic scene outside. “Where exactly are we and where are we headed?”

  “We are exactly in the middle of the North Sea and we’re headed to Germany,” Maddox says matter-of-factly.

  Chills race over my body. I’m unable to breathe, to form words in protest. He’s taking me straight to the Bloodred Queen. How I could have been so stupid to trust him? And now I’m stuck in a hunk of metal underwater with no escape.

  Momentarily taking his eyes off the course in front of him, he gives me a puzzled look. As if finally connecting the dots, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a pinch, Your Grace. I am not delivering you to the Bloodred Queen. You can’t possibly be worth anything to her. Although one has to wonder what she’d do if she got her hands on you.”

&nb
sp; Placing a hand on my chest, I try to steady my breath. “I can’t even imagine what she’d do, thank you very much.”

  “Well, first she’d probably—”

  Holding a hand up, I cut him off. “Let’s just agree it would be extremely unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant is putting it kindly. Besides, what kind of person do you think I am? I might be a mercy executioner, but I’m certainly not a traitor,” he says, seeming genuinely offended.

  “Then why Germany?” I ask.

  “You want the poison apple, right? There is only one known tree left in the world, and legend has it that it can be found in the Black Forest, hidden within a vast maze. A labyrinth of living hedges, protecting the tree and imprisoning those who once resided near it,” he says.

  “Imprisoning? You mean there are people living in there?” I ask, horrified by the thought. “Can’t they just leave?”

  “It’s not that simple, Your Grace,” Maddox says. “The town woke up to the Labyrinth. One day it wasn’t there, the next it was. As they slept, the hedges grew around them, and by sunrise anyone within the walls was there for good.”

  “How is that even possible? Bushes don’t just grow overnight,” I say.

  Maddox’s countenance darkens. “Trust me, there are ways.”

  “How do you know all of this?” I ask.

  He presses his lips together but doesn’t respond. The only possible answer strikes me, and I search his face, wondering if my thought could be right.

  “You know because you were there, weren’t you?” I ask.

  He grips the wheel of the machine a little tighter. “My father was the Lohr Castle groundskeeper and my mother was a medicinal herbalist. Between the two of them they knew everything about every plant that you could imagine. My father collected rare species. This tree, this poison apple tree, was one of the many specimens he possessed. He figured out how to grow a tree from the tropics in a colder climate. I never quite understood how he did it. But that tree became the pride and joy of the queen’s garden. It was stunning, more beautiful than you could imagine. It was my father’s favorite of all of them.”