Angeline looked hard at Rector and told him, “And you’ll take the news to Yaozu, because I’m not going to do it. Come on, back around this way.” She led them around the rear of the tower, leading them in the hard, dark places between the bricks of the water reservoir and the stones of the wall.
“But we need to go downhill, not up!” Rector objected.
“I know, but we’ll avoid ’em better over here. The wall heads farther north, see? Cuts across the cemetery, like I said. And I know a secret or two inside that cemetery.”
When they were far enough to move without drawing attention, they ran as best they could—huffing and puffing through the struggle of their filters and stumbling along in the wall’s shadow, where they could scarcely see the ground in front of them.
Once they were out of earshot, Houjin began asking questions. “Is there an underground entrance near here?”
The princess confirmed this without turning around or looking over her shoulder.
“Is it inside a mausoleum?”
“That’s a real big word,” she said. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s like a house for dead people. They had them in—”
“New Orleans,” she cut him off. “You saw a lot down in Louisiana, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. And a mausoleum is for burying dead people when you can’t put them in the ground.”
“A house? For dead people?” She shook her head. “Sounds like a waste of time and trouble to me. No, we aren’t going to no house of the dead.”
Instead, they were headed for the keeper’s shack—or that’s what Rector thought it must be. A tiny outbuilding at the edge of the cemetery gates, it was boarded up tight, but Angeline went around behind the thing and lifted a panel, then ushered all three boys through it. They scooted on their hands and knees, and just when Rector thought there was no way they’d all fit, he noticed the ladder.
He also noticed he was mere inches from bypassing the ladder altogether and toppling down to whatever unlit space waited below, so when Zeke crowded into him, urging him to make room, Rector socked him on the shoulder and said, “Watch it! I can’t go no farther.”
“You can if you head down that ladder,” Angeline said from outside. “Go on, move it.”
“But there’s no light!”
“There’s a light at the bottom, and I know where it is. Just stand by the ladder and don’t wander off. You’ll be fine.”
She was right, he was sure, but that didn’t make it any easier to descend an unknown depth into an unknown space, navigating by the feel of the rungs under his hands and feet.
When he reached the bottom, there was almost no illumination at all. Even the square overhead told him nothing, except that Huey and Zeke were leaning over to see how he was doing.
“You two get down here, would you?” he griped. “Don’t leave me all by myself. I can’t see a goddamn thing.”
Two minutes later, they were beside him—shivering and pretending they were cold, when they were only scared silly. They clung to the ladder and waited for Angeline, who joined them as fast as she could. She dropped down beside them, skipping the last four rungs. She struck a match, and within moments, had located not a lantern, but a stash of candles.
“Sorry. I’m not out at this end often. Nobody is. Seemed like a waste to leave a perfectly good lantern here where it’d wind up going to rust before anyone had a chance to use it.” She passed the stubs around and said, “These’ll do for now. We’ll pick up lanterns when we get back to the tracks.”
Half an hour later they were back at the Sizemore House. All of them were relieved to see the familiar spot, even though it meant they still had a ways to go before the Vaults. Even Rector’s recently changed filters were more clogged than he would’ve confessed—he was having real trouble breathing, his chest ached badly, and his heart hurt with every breath he drew. He switched them out again when they paused to reset the carts for the track, knowing they could take off their masks twenty minutes after that.
And they did, letting the rushing air of the pump cart’s progress dry their sweat-and-breath dampened faces, and breathing deeply without strain for the first time all afternoon.
Fifteen minutes more and they were back in the underground Rector recognized, and soon they’d reached the huge, round door to the Vaults.
Houjin leaped up to it and flipped the lever to let the door swing out and open. Like Rector and Zeke, Huey was impatient to get inside—to get someplace sealed and safe. But Angeline said, “You all go ahead. Huey, Zeke—you know your way around best. Comb through the Vaults and see who you can find, who you can tell. Red, you see about paying Yaozu a visit. We need to call a meeting.”
“But I don’t know the way,” Rector objected.
Zeke backed him up. “He’s only been out there once or twice. One of us’ll have to show him.”
The princess thought about it, then said, “Then skip it. Houjin, you rustle up a message and run it to the Station; you’ll do it faster anyway. Tell him what you heard up at the tower. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Houjin said, with a firm nod.
“And when you got that taken care of, see if there’s anyone in Chinatown you think should be informed. I got to admit, I don’t know too much about who runs the show down there. I know you’ve got Doctor Wong, and he seems like a reasonable man. If you got anybody else who acts like a leader, bring him up to join us.”
“Join us where?” he asked.
“Maynard’s—where else? Zeke, you know what to do while Huey’s gone?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take Rector and round up everyone useful, and tell ’em to meet us at Maynard’s.”
Angeline turned on her heel and dashed off down a corridor marked by a hand-painted sign that read COMMERCIAL STREET and pointed the way with an arrow. After she vanished, the boys looked at each other. Then Houjin drew the big door open and said, “You heard the lady. Go on down without me. I know a quicker way to Chinatown than this.” From his back pocket, he pulled out his gas mask and put it back on with a sigh. “I’ll catch up in an hour or two.”
And then he, too, was gone.
Twenty
If you’d asked Rector how deep the Vaults went, he would’ve shrugged and said, A couple of floors? However, the answer was Five. And this meant quite a lot of stairs. Before long, he was tired and his head hurt. And he still wanted sap. A lot. But no one would give him any, not even Yaozu, the man who ran the entire goddamn business. Rather than run back to the Station on a sap raid that would surely be more suicide mission than solace, Rector ran along behind Zeke, who acted like all these stairs were nothing at all. Then again, Zeke lived there, and he took the stairs all the time. Rector figured that anybody could get used to anything, given enough time to adjust. Maybe, in time, he’d adjust to life without the sap. Maybe he’d adjust to different people, and different air. Maybe not.
One floor held regular rooms, some of which were stuffed to overflowing with so much junk that you couldn’t climb inside them if your life depended on it. One of these rooms—which didn’t have a door to cover it—showed off a couple of old bed frames stacked on boxes, accompanied by what looked like a horse team’s tack set, a counter for an apothecary’s shop, and enough wagon wheels to outfit three or four carts.
But the next held three men, all wearing gloves up to their elbows and aprons to cover whatever clothes they didn’t want dirtied. The room smelled pungent to the point of making Rector sick. Inside there were slabs of sliced fish lying out to dry, being set out for salting in a row of barrels.
“Frank, Willard. And Ed?” Zeke said. He seemed unsure of the third man’s name. “You fellows think you can wrap it up down here and come up to Maynard’s? Miss Angeline’s calling a meeting, and it’s real important.”
Frank, if Rector had gauged the greetings correctly, jabbed the point of a long, thin knife into the wooden countertop. “Real important, you say?”
“No, that’s what t
he princess says,” Zeke grinned. “So it’s up to you whether you come or not. But if I was you, I’d be there.”
Zeke then passed the message to two fellows named Mackie and Tim. Rector let the younger boy do all the talking since he knew all these people—and anyway, it was like getting a guided tour of the Vaults. He’d rather pay attention to which way the corridors went, and where the exits were, and how to get to the indoor-outhouses, should he require one later.
These things were important.
On the next floor down, they found more people, and Rector finally met Miss Lucy. Lucy O’Gunning was old enough to be Rector’s mother and then some, and she only had one arm, which was made of metal and the fingers of which clicked like a typewriter’s keys when they opened and closed. She had a big smile upon meeting him, which was something that didn’t happen every day. He liked it. He smiled back and shook the mechanical hand when she offered it to him, and did his best not to flinch or act as though it was odd.
She said, “It’s good to meet you, Rector. I’d be happy to stand here and get acquainted, but I have to get back to the bar. It’s all closed up since I’ve been down in the store levels stocking up, but if the princess wants everyone to come together, I’d better get moving and open it.”
After she was gone, Rector asked Zeke, “What’s wrong with her … arm?”
“She’s only got one.”
“I can see that, but it’s a machine. That means she ain’t got no arms, don’t it?”
Zeke nodded. “Sort of. One she lost in an accident, and one she lost to a rotter bite.” Then he continued down the hall to the sickroom, where Mercy Lynch was writing at the medical counter. She was concentrating hard and writing slowly, but there were stacks of paper beside her, in testament to her determination.
“Miss Mercy.” Zeke announced their presence.
She looked up and took note of both boys, then said, “Hello Zeke … and Rector. Still haven’t died on us?”
Rector said. “Not yet, ma’am. Not planning on it anytime soon.”
“You and your plans.”
Zeke repeated his edict, then added, “We’ve got intruders inside the city,” to give it some extra spice. “They’ve got bad ideas for the lot of us, and I think Miss Angeline has a plan.”
“Intruders? Who would want to intrude…” she stopped herself. “Ah. Men who want to make money on the sap trade.”
Tired of remaining silent, Rector fleshed out the story with a flourish. “We saw them. They’re here to raise hell, Miss Mercy—but we ain’t gonna let ’em.”
“I’m sure I’ll sleep better at night for knowing that. All right, I’ll be there soon. Go up to the main floor, and I’ll swing down to the other end of this one and get my daddy—unless you saw him already.”
Rector said, “Nope. Haven’t seen him.”
“All right. Then you two keep spreading the word, and we’ll be up at Maynard’s as soon as we can.”
On the main floor they found Joe Burns, Jay Arvidson, and someone else whose name Rector barely heard and didn’t remember. Like a great broom, the two boys patrolled the Vaults and swept everyone they found upstairs.
When the place had been scoured to Zeke’s satisfaction, he and Rector went down to the main-level storage room and switched out the filters on their masks. “Time to visit Fort Decatur,” Zeke said, screwing a clean carbon disk into place and twisting hard to make sure it was secured.
Rector nodded agreeably and fiddled more slowly with his own filters. This wasn’t old hat to him yet, and he was still getting the hang of making sure every seal was fixed as though his life depended on it. Because his life did depend on it, and that thought made him twitchy. His whole life, hanging upon a small black filter that could clog or fail at any time … but probably wouldn’t, if he set it up just right.
No pressure.
“Hey Zeke, I’ve been wondering,” he said as they made for the exit. “Why’s it called Maynard’s? Is that after your grandpa?”
“Sure is,” he answered proudly. “Miss Mercy says the Doornails treat him like he was their patron saint. But I only know what a patron saint is because of you and the orphan home.”
It wasn’t a bad comparison. “Yeah, that’s right.”
He thought about the small cards the nuns passed out, each one with the image of a saint and a short biography on the back. Maynard’s would depict him in his hat, with his badge, buckle, and rifle. He’d be wearing a halo of gold-colored gas, and all the poor sinners would venerate him on bended knee with eyes averted out of respect. Maynard Wilkes: lawman and folk hero. A man who obeyed the spirit of the law if not the letter. He braved the Blight without a mask, back in the days before anybody knew what it was, or how it worked—only that it killed. He fought his own officers, his fellow lawmen, and the remaining civil authorities one and all … and he ran to the city jail to set the prisoners free. Gave ’em a fighting chance. And his famous last words, according to people who professed to be in the know, were, “None of those men were condemned. It’d be murder to let ’em die.”
It was a great story, and at least some of it was true.
If there was one thing Rector had learned in Sunday school, it was that people liked stories. People needed stories, same as they needed heroes. Dead heroes were the best kind, really. You couldn’t argue with them, and mostly, you only remembered the best things they’d ever done—while forgetting about the worst.
Once or twice, when he’d been too sublimely bored to think straight, Rector had opened up one of the Bibles lying around the orphanage. The words inside had been arranged funny, like they were spoken by someone in a play, but he got the stories anyway—and he learned about how a man after God’s own heart had lied, cheated, killed, and schemed … but went down in history as a great king all the same, all because of a lucky shot that knocked down a giant.
Maybe Maynard Wilkes had arrested half the people inside that prison. Maybe on another day, the occupants would just as soon have shot him as name a saloon in his honor. But it was those big stories people remembered, in the end.
And now the job of sheriff belonged to Maynard’s daughter. She wasn’t half the hero Maynard was, in Rector’s somewhat biased opinion; but if anybody had to call the shots, it might as well be her. Just like it might as well be Yaozu running the Station and the sap, and it might as well be Captain Cly turning away from pirating and setting up the docks inside the city.
How much did they choose—and how much was chosen for them by coincidence and lore?
Rector shrugged off the question. How much had he chosen, when he’d come inside the wall? And how much had he only been driven to?
Out through the huge round Vault door and under the streets the two boys dashed. They paused to spread the word to everyone they met, an assortment of men whose names Rector forgot as soon as he heard them. Along the damp corridors and muddy halls braced by mining timbers and railroad ties, the boys continued until they reached the ladder that would take them up inside the fort. Rector realized he almost could’ve found it on his own, a fact which surprised and pleased him, and made him wonder if his brain hadn’t cooked up like a boiled egg quite as bad as he’d thought. He was still capable of learning his way around, and that was something.
Up the rungs they went, and into the gloomy yellow-gray air.
Zeke headed directly to the main yard with its half-built docks at the east end and called out for Captain Cly or anybody from the Naamah Darling. No one answered. At first Rector thought the fort was a dud, but then a man stepped out of the fog. He was wearing a mask with a hole cut in the back for his ponytail, similar to the way Houjin wore his. This newcomer dressed halfway between a Chinese man and an airman, so Rector knew it must be somebody from the Naamah Darling, but he couldn’t recall anybody’s name except for Cly and Troost.
Zeke called out, “Fang! I know you don’t mean to sneak up on people, but goddamn.” Then, to Rector, he said, “Fang ain’t got no tongue, so he don�
�t talk. He’s the first mate on the Naamah Darling.” Turning back to the first mate, he said, “Princess Angeline is calling an underground meeting, down over at Maynard’s.”
Fang nodded, then mimed looking at a pocket watch.
Zeke understood. “When? Now, pretty much. I think. Hey, you seen my mom around? Or the captain? Anybody you want to tell, tell ’em right away. After we spread the word around the fort, we’re heading down to the saloon ourselves.”
Fang began to sign with his hands, but changed his mind and instead held up a finger, asking the boys to wait. He walked over to the lean-to. When he returned, he had a pencil and a piece of paper. Upon it, he wrote, I’ll tell Kirby. Your mother is inside the ship. Knock first. Loudly, and handed the paper to Zeke.
“Knock first? Well, all right. Come on, Rector—one more message to pass along, and then I’ll show you Maynard’s. You’ll like it, I think.”
Rector had a feeling that unless the saloon sold sap by the pound, he could take it or leave it … but Zeke’s enthusiasm was such that he sat back and let the kid run with it, all the way over to the big, bobbing hull of the Naamah Darling, which was tethered to the old totem pole.
Forgetting Fang’s note, Zeke rushed up to the ship and seized the hatch that would let him inside.
Rector, getting an inkling of what Fang’s note meant, reminded him. “Hey, you saw what Fang … said. Maybe you should—”
“Knock, oh yeah—that’s right.” He struggled with the hatch, which didn’t want to release. “Ain’t I making enough racket, though? What’s wrong with this thing, anyhow?” He gave the hatch a whack with the back of his hand, then scanned the ground for something heartier to hit it with. Not seeing anything, he made a fist and punched at the hatch while hollering, “Mother, Fang said you’re in there. I need to talk to you real quick. It’s important! Mother?”
And the hatch dropped violently open. It was all but flung to the ground, snapping back against the underside of the ship with a clang before settling into the usual position. But it wasn’t Briar Wilkes scowling down from the ship’s interior.
The Inexplicables (Clockwork Century) Page 22
